Fabu Friday

Where’s the Street-wise Hercules

I’ve made the mistake and learned from it. Never will I become emotionally entangled with a man who orders well drinks, doesn’t eat grits, and to whom the “Wife of Bath’s Tale” is foreign. RACK had better be the adjective before sub, and he can’t have margarine in the house.

Okay, so I’m back to being completely picky — wanting my custom fit in an off-the-rack world. Well, there’s nothing wrong with that. In a run of the mill fuck puppet, I don’t care. He’s just got to appeal to me for a short time, but a true sub has to have so much more.

Any oaf can order a martini, but it takes a man of taste to know that a Tanqueray dirty is something far removed from a Citadelle (clean).  Keep them seperate, Babycakes, or they’ll start fighting. And oddly enough there’s not room for vermouth in either of them.

And to get things completely, er, straight, you have to know more than Wolves are much cooler than ‘Pires. You need to be able to talk about why. Be a complete slut in my bed and an ice prince in public. Yep, Jack’s a man on a mission again. Look out.

Monday’s Workout

As much as I enjoy running along the river in the early morning hours, I’ve been inside the gym lately. It’s been too cold to be outside, and even on these warmer mornings we’ve been having, I figure I might as well get used to being inside until sometime in March or April. Plus, I’m lifting more. When I’m away from the cable pulls, dumbbells, and plates I forget how much I totally enjoy pulling on the lifting gloves and moving a few tons around before I start my work day.

There’s another advantage as well. There are other people. And lately there are some really hunky, compact guys who are shorter than me — a fetish pleaser if ever there was one. I suppose it was a little obvious that I was interested when I damned near walked into a one of the bright purple ceiling support columns watching him walk. Yeah, Jack’s back in the high life.

Saturday Night

beast and burdens hours past
pour the drink and pass the glass
pile the plate and merry meet
dip the bread in honey sweet
your touch upon my skin
warm with comfort of iced gin
silken leather’s velvet touch
gird your loins to tie you up
make you howl and beg for more
in the morning you’ll be sore
and i will be on my way
with the money that you paid

The OUUCH Hymnal

My church is having a drive to purchase new hymnals. When you make the donation, you can choose a book-plate, typeface, etc. You also choose how you want it identified. I wrote out my check and asked it be to: “Celebrate: OUUCH.” OUUCH being the Organized Unitarian Universalists for Consenting Hierarchy — aka the Leather People.  OUUCH describes itself as: a group for people who are UUs (or are interested in UUism) as well as being into Bondage & Discipline, Dominance & Submission, and/or Sadomasochism.

On a realistic and rational level, I know the bookplate will be well received or go unnoticed. On the other hand, I know that there are people in who don’t agree. One of them may take it upon her/himself to rid us of the offensive book — or maybe just the book-plate.

In December, we do a similar donation of poinsettias to decorate the sanctuary. I think that I’ll get at least one OUUCH plant to help liven the place up. Hmm, I wonder if poinsettias come in blue or black.

Folsom Street Fair

For a number of reasons, I wasn’t able to make the trek to Fog City for Folsom this year. I’ll think of it often and my Spirit will certainly be there. I might just need to make the travel arrangements early next year — like February. That should ensure I won’t be sitting in Falls City with my heart in San Francisco.

And the thing is, my boots really need the tender attentions of a dedicated — and hopefully uncollared — bootblack who will give them the love, attention, and matte finish they deserve. He can give the soles a good shine, make sure the 0-rings on the straps have that fine, nickle shine to them…Okay, before I start into a fantasy from which I won’t easily recover, I’ll change the subject — sort of.

The thing I’ve always found at leather events, is that you’re accepted for who you are — well inked bear who’s into much kink or pretty vanilla twink. That doesn’t mean that everyone there desires you — or you everyone else. It simply means accepted for who and what you are. “She’s a bisexual dominatrix, vegan, ex-nun from the Bronx, and he’s a gay muscle Dom — complete bottom sexually though.” It’s all good.

And as I often am wont to do, I wonder why the rest of the world can’t learn these lessons. “So what if they do,” should be everyone’s point of view.

Salacious Saturday

Jack seeks…

…a well-inked, RACK sub, who has a decent paying job, a bear fetish, and shares his gym passion, likes a wide variety of music — castrai opera to Icelandic death metal — enjoys the arts, is shorter than him, is discerning about gin, has similar spiritual interests and, preferably, is uncut.

I can’t imagine it would be difficult to find him. ; )=

Salacious Saturday

Freshly Inked.

My name is Jack, and I’m a ink adict. It has been six hours since my last tattoo.

Were I to think long and hard about it, I’m certain that I could come up with something more interesting to do on a Saturday afternoon that head out to my favorite little shop and get some ink embedded in my chest. The think is, I don’t want to think about it. I have enough tattoos that it’s pretty old hat for me, but I still have a child-like sense of excitement when The Artist calls me back to his domain to start the process.

This one hurt — a lot. Near the end I was biting down on my wallet to keep from biting down on my tongue. Adam explained that the main reason for the pain was that it’s close to my collar bone. At one point, I thought he was tattooing on my neck. He wasn’t. And he said that the animals with fairly smooth coats would be less painful. He suggested a seal. “I’m thinking the fucking Cookie Monster,” I countered with a laugh. I do need one on the other side — for balance of course. I’m thinking about a sugar skull to commemorate the end of the world in a couple of years, but I’m open to suggestions.

After some honey mead, authentic Mexican, and a hot shower — all in different places mind you. I used some Tattoo Goo. This was the first time I’ve tried the product, but it won’t be the last. In fact, it is made of quite a few oils, so I may find some other uses for it.

Overall, it was a glitter page day, and I’m looking forward to making the week ahead fabulous.