Halloween

Halloween!
Portland is crawling with people in costumes. Hundreds of scantily-clad women walking around, turning my head and that of my guest. He and I have different tastes in women, but we still enjoy looking and comparing notes. Since he did not have a costume and was not certain he was up to HOWL or the Erotic Ball, we went instead to the Bagdad Theater in the Hawthorne District. We got our pizza and pitcher of beer and watched a hysterically funny movie.

Halloween!
Tammy's birthday. God how I miss her. God how I tried to save her. Some find comfort in thinking that she has gone on to another, better place, but that comfort is a luxury I cannot seem to buy into. The only certainty in life is death and there is no comfort in that. She is gone 10 months now and it feels like the ache of loss will never go away. I know it will, eventually. I know this, but there is no comfort in that knowledge either, just immense sadness and a pervasive sense of failure. I think, in some ways, it is this sense of failure that drives me south, this feeling of having failed my sister and my family and myself.

Thanksgiving!
I am giving up my life here in Portland to move to California, where I will be near my loved ones. The feeling of relief once I made that choice was profound. The emotions are complex. Do I sense within myself hope for redemption for this imagined sin of failing to keep my sister alive? Who knows? In a few moments it is the Day of the Dead. It seems fitting.

The monogamist and the polyamorist speak

"How was your vacation?" a woman friend asked.
I closed my eyes and sighed voluptuously. "Wonderful. Mr X was amazing."
My friend gasped. "But what about Mr M?"
I frowned a little, confused by her question. "Mr M and I are still an item."
She looked like her brain hurt. "Both??"
"You know I'm poly..." I told her.
"Yes, but I don't get it. I thought you loved Mr M."
"I do. Very much."
"Then why someone else?"
"I love Mr X, too. And Ms Y, and Mr Z."
"I'm so confused," she almost-wailed.
I took her hand. "I love you. We've shared the same bed. Snuggled up, touched, shared comfort and tears. Most people would think we were lovers, that our friendship crosses certain 'boundaries', right?"
"Yes, but..."
"But its not like that, right? Or, but they don't understand. Or, but its natural. Or, but we love each other like sisters. Being poly isn't about sex. I'm not a swinger. I love. Sometimes that love expresses itself sexually. Most of the time it doesn't. "
"But you've got someone in your life who loves you so much, Kay, and you love him."
"Yes."
"So why don't you settle down with him? Why other people?"
"One person cannot be all things to another--not for extended periods of time. Besides, why keep all my love just to ourselves? I mean, by your logic, if I can't still be loving with Mr X and Mr Z because of my relationship with Mr M, then I shouldn't be loving with you, or Ms Y, either."
"That's different. We're not sexually involved."
"It doesn't matter. It feels good--being with you feels good. And it seems like the dominant culture thinks that if you are in a relationship with someone and you enjoy feeling good with someone else, you're being bad."
She looked thoughtful. "That is a bit of a stretch, Kay."
"Oh really?" I leaned forward. "What if you were a man. Or I was. Would feeling good with me --you know-- massaging, hugging, laughing, talking, sleeping together -- would feeling good with me be something your Mr M would have problems with?"
"Well, of course."
"Why of course?"
"Why?"
"Yes, why? Why does a change in gender change the acceptability of us being loving with each other?"
"Because it could lead to sex."
"Sweetie, I'm bi. I like women and men. So by your logic, you and I shouldn't snuggle and we certainly shouldn't sleep in the same bed together."
"Oh Kay, don't be silly. Its not like that between us."
"No, it isn't. You know that, and I know that, but people outside our relationship don't. They draw their own conclusions, right or wrong."
"So what does that have to do with Mr M and Mr X?"
"Only Mr M and I really know what our relationship is. The same with me and Mr X, and me and you. I love, sweetie. I don't have sex with everyone I love. But I love everyone I have sex with. And whether or not I'm having sex with someone is of far less importance than loving them and being the best possible person I can be in that relationship."
"It makes sense when you apply it in terms of you, but I don't see how it works out in the real world."
"I think it probably works as well as or better than monogamy. Time will tell which works better, serial monogamy, or polyamory."
She nodded, looked thoughtful for a moment. A sly, somewhat furtive expression lighted her face and she leaned forward. In a whisper, she asked, "So who is better in bed, Mr M or Mr X?"
"I've no idea," I answered.
"You've lost me again," she said.
"I know. Lets leave it that way."

Boston

My companion and I had a wonderful time in Boston. The weather, for mid-October, was quite good. The days were either overcast and almost-balmy, or sunny and brisk. We were rained-on only once, and briefly at that, and it felt good. Boston is one of those cities that has grown organically, not unlike most European cities, and so it is almost impossible to get around in via car. We bought transit passes and rode the T most of the time. I enjoy people-watching except when the conditions are too crowded, at which point I stare inward. When there are too many people around me it is oppressive. Every person has their own sphere of energy, and many people project it, and I can feel them all around me, pressing. My companion was wonderful. He always knew when I was feeling over-crowded. I'm not sure if it showed on my face or if he was sensitive to the changes in my own energy, but he would ask after me, hold my hand, and occasionally distract me with kisses. The kisses, of course, were delightful.

The Museum of Fine Arts is huge, and the quality of the artwork and the displays was above reproach. They even allowed photography. The Boston Commons is a lovely park criss-crossed with broad walkways and containing well-placed statuary. The roasted nuts were wonderful to hold, a treat for my nose and my chilled fingers. The Aquarium was fun. I particularly enjoyed watching the penguins and the jellyfish. The central, multi-story aquarium was massive and the flow of fish was hypnotic. It suffers in comparison to the aquarium in Monterey, CA, which I visited in February, but given the space they have to work with, it is a fine facility. I saw Dark Knight on the IMAX at the Aquarium. It was a brilliant film, engrossing and thrilling to watch on such a large screen. We did a tour of the city by road and water. The cruise on the Charles River at sunset was truly lovely, if a bit cold. Boston is loaded with Irish pubs. We stopped at one near Faneuil Hall and I ordered shepherd's pie and Sam Adam's Oktoberfest brew. It was a good meal, filling and warming. On our final day we went to the JFK Museum and Library. It is a beautiful setting and a well-designed facility. He was dead before I was born, and while I'd known of JFK most of my life, it was refreshing to get a glimpse of the past from primary materials. Jack and Jackie brought something to Washington that has been missed ever since -- the hope and energy of youth. I would have voted for him, I know that.

It was a wrench, leaving Boston, leaving my companion. I have loved him for years, and sometimes it is years between seeing each other, despite our best efforts. Friend of the soul, heart of my heart. Of everything I experienced during our vacation -- he was my favorite part.

Sensitive nipples

We watched the man practicing the ancient art of burning a canoe from the trunk of a tree. He was wearing the native attire common some 500 years ago -- deerskin leggings and loincover, and over one shoulder he carried a blanket of sorts. He was otherwise bare of torso, and the cold air caused his nut-brown skin to pebble, and his nipples to stand up.

The breeze from the bay picked up, making me shiver. I moved closer to my companion, seeking his warmth, and my nipple brushed his elbow, making me gasp. Normally sensitive, my nipples had attained a whole new level of sensitivity -- one so extreme that the barest touch sent out waves of pleasure-pain signals.

I had not seen him in a long while, but within hours of meeting me at the airport, my companion reminded me of his mastery of nipple play and brought me to orgasm that way. My nipples made an unconditional surrender, standing like flagpoles from the hills of my breasts. They pulsed with an ache I assumed nursing mothers must feel, and I found it most erotic that when his mouth smiled they tightened up.

There, by the burning tree and standing amidst the tourists, I wanted to peel off my shirt and bra and offer up my breasts for more torment. The look in his eyes said he knew this -- and bade me behave. Which I did -- after one more brush of my nipple against his sleeve.

Big Wally

She'd been tracking the box's progress from the Midwest. Every time the shipper scanned the package she received an update, and she knew that today would be the day it arrived. She'd taken the day off because she knew the box would arrive in the morning. Special rush delivery by 10:30am--she'd paid extra for it.

The contents of the box already had a name, one she'd given it the day it was ordered. Wally. She was so excited about Wally's arrival that she'd taken great pains to make sure that everything was perfectly arranged. She walked back to her bedroom to check again, wondering if she'd missed something. She'd put her yoga mat on the floor in front of the mirrored closet doors. Nearby was a small stack of hand towels with a handful of condoms on top, and beside it, two bottles: one of water, one of lube. Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a short babydoll nightie with a silk robe over it. Her legs gleamed in the morning light, shaved smooth and lightly oiled. And though she could not see it, she knew her pussy was wet and open. She could smell her own arousal.

When the doorbell rang, she wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there, hypnotized by the images playing through her mind, but the sound of it galvanized her into action, and she rushed to the door, her body suddenly on fire with excitement. The delivery man was nice enough to bring the heavy box inside, and when he gave her the slate to sign, her hands were shaking so much she dropped the stylus.

No sooner had she closed the door after her breathy "thank you" than she turned to the box. She had placed a razor knife on a nearby table and she quickly reached for it. With deft, sure strokes she sliced the tape holding the box closed and pulled the packaging out until Wally was revealed.

She stopped for a moment to admire the gleaming black hump. Her fingers caressed it, pressed into it, tested the firmness of the padding. She lifted it from the box, and in her eagerness it might have weighed one pound instead of twenty, for all the notice she took of it. Putting Wally down, she reached into the box and pulled out the attachments and the illustrative pages with the word SYBIAN printed all over it. Her hands tingled, and that tingle spread through her body with such force it made her shiver.

A sybian. Her very own sybian.

Scooping up the fucking machine, she headed for the bedroom. She couldn't wait another minute to give Big Wally a ride.