The Mystic Pig

How many books are there out there that bring you to a screeching halt? That make you stop and say ‘wow’ out loud when you read them?

The Mystic Pig by Richard Katrovas

One of — and I’m not kidding — the best books I’ve ever read. And no one’s ever heard of it.

Where to start.

How many books are there out there that bring you to a screeching halt? That make you stop and say ‘wow’ out loud when you read them?

The Mystic Pig by Richard Katrovas

One of — and I’m not kidding — the best books I’ve ever read. And no one’s ever heard of it.

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How’d I get here?

It’s one of those circular kind of things. One of those incestous blogger deals.

It’s one of those circular kind of things.

One of those incestuous blogger deals.

A bloggers circle jerk.

Wait, it’s warm in here. Is it warm in here? Maybe it’s just me.

So I’m reading the incomparable Doxy’s latest blog entry over at Phone Slut Diary. And she mentions Eros Blog.

So I hadn’t looked at Eros Blog in a long time, I’d forgotten it. Oh Yeah, I’m thinking, I should get over there and maybe link to it.

And so I go to look at Eros Blog. And what do I find? I’m already there.

That’s just plain cool. Thanks Bacchus. Links back atcha.

A Fine Day on Folsom Street

Sunday: I lost count of how many penises I saw. We got dozens of men out of their pants. I fell in love with a woman who claimed not to like boys, but had a Daddy’s Little Girl tattoo. She asked to me adjust her corset and enjoyed when I ‘accidently’ felt her up, over […]

Sunday:

  • I lost count of how many penises I saw.
  • We got dozens of men out of their pants.
  • I fell in love with a woman who claimed not to like boys, but had a Daddy’s Little Girl tattoo.
  • She asked to me adjust her corset and enjoyed when I ‘accidently’ felt her up, over and over.
  • A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence fell in love with me.
  • My Kilt Inspector girlfriends showed up, but did not inspect my kilt.
  • Several other people did.
  • A woman asked to me twirl.
  • I twirled.
  • A beautiful woman said I was only her second choice for Big Bad Daddy. Which never happens.
  • A beautiful swinger couple almost took me home, and I should have gone.
  • …At least with HER.
  • I got a leather kilt.

And a very very good time was had by all.

Folsom Street Fair. The Utilikilts booth.

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Leather Sunday

I’m working the Folsom Street Fair today. This is the leather pride/BDSM fair, South of Market, SF. One of my favorite events to work. Yeah, it’s silly. That’s part of why I like it. Now that’s not to say BDSM is silly. Far from it; while I may not dress up in leather or role-play […]

I’m working the Folsom Street Fair today.

This is the leather pride/BDSM fair, South of Market, SF. One of my favorite events to work.

Yeah, it’s silly. That’s part of why I like it.

Now that’s not to say BDSM is silly. Far from it; while I may not dress up in leather or role-play full time, still, I’m bent in that general direction and am certainly as kinky as 98% of the people I’l meet today.

No, it’s the scene that’s silly, with it’s ‘play dress-up’ mentality and it’s rules and stagey vibes of ‘top’ and ‘bottom’. Silly in a very good way, of course. But the fair is silly for lots of other reasons; the kinky and the odd and the people who just like to play dress-up all come out. We’ll see people in chain mail, people in silk, corsets, as much nudity as people can get away with, we’ll see leather and codpieces and people in chains and people playing out games they usually keep in the bedroom. We’ll see posing and pretending, but also those who say “I can be me, here, today”.

Silly. In the best possible way.

Also very titilating. I come home from this event charged up and ready to rock.

The kilt inspector girls from the my last highland games promised they’d show up; we’ll see if they do. I promise, ladies, no names forgotten, but you still owe me pictures.

Thus I shall strap on my kilt, lace up my boots, and off I go north to liberate you from your pants.

Take Me Out To The…

This isn’t really like going to a ballgame. Not at all. It’s like going to fancy hotel that overlooks a ballgame. I can’t honestly say if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But I can tell you it was fun. Last year, at a school charity auction, one of the families we’re friends […]

This isn’t really like going to a ballgame. Not at all.

It’s like going to fancy hotel that overlooks a ballgame.

I can’t honestly say if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But I can tell you it was fun.

Last year, at a school charity auction, one of the families we’re friends with bought box tickets to a Giants game. I don’t know what they paid, and I have no idea what the box actually costs.

But this is what we’re talking about.

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What’s fifty-six?

“Mom, what’s fifty-six?””Ah, I’m not sure what you mean.””I think it might be a… a…””Mmm-hmm?”(Whispered) “…a set thing…”Long, long pause.

    “Mom, What’s fifty-six?”

    “Ah, I’m not sure what you mean.”

    “I think it might be a… a…”

    “Mmm-hmm?”

    (Whispered) “…a sex thing…”

    Long, long pause.

    “Honey, do you mean sixty-nine?”

    “Oh, yeah, that’s it.”

    “Where did you hear about that?”

    “Some kids at school…”

This is the kind of conversation one has when one has children on the verge of teenager-hood. The kind of conversation that’s easy if you’re up-tight and prudish, because you can just wash a kid’s mouth with soap or spank them or pretend you don’t understand. But when you actually talk to your kids and tell them the truth, it can be a little but complicated.

The truth. That’s the tricky part. What truth? How much?

I’m a dirty bastard. I write erotica. I know sexuality. But putting things like this into a context so it’s both understandable and appropriate; that’s difficult.

How do you explain sexuality, sensuality, to a ten year old?

Honestly though, here’s what happens when you don’t.

I had a co-worker named Suzy, long long ago when I worked at a poster store and head shop, a place connected to Tower Records. We sold bongs and rolling papers, pipes and coke mirrors. Plants and incense.

So Suzy was the honey of the crew. A little older than most of us, I was maybe 20, she was 23 or so. A suntanned California babe. A little dim, but not as dim as she acted. Not really as cute as we all thought she was, but you know, the cutest girl we actually had there with us every day. I wanted to fuck her desperately. So did most of the rest of us. And I realize now, I could have but I didn’t think to just ask.

So I wore a shirt back then, a kelly-green football jersey with a big number 69 on the back. People would comment on it, and I’d say “It was the position I played in high-school.” Some got it, some didn’t.

I used this joke on Suzy one day and got a blank stare. The sort of an embarrassed grin. She moved in close, all intimate-like, and whispered to me.

“I don’t know what that means,” she said.

“What?”

“Sixty-nine. I don’t — uh…”

She paused and looked around.

“I don’t know what it means!” she finished, lamely.

I could have said a lot of things. Now, obviously, I’d suggest that I show her. And it might have worked, for all I know. She might have let me take her in the back room and demonstrate. I certainly would have gone if it’d played that way. But then, twenty years old, I had no idea what I might have gotten away with.

So I decided to go for the prank.

“Ask your mother,” I said.

It was a couple of days later when I saw her again; one or the other of us was off shift. But her face was red when she saw me, her body language all embarrassment and irritation.

She planted a punch in my shoulder, and then started poking me.

“You! You! Y-y-y-y-y-y – YOU!” she sputtered at me.

“What?”

“You told me to ask her!”

“Ask who? What?” I’d forgotten all about it.

“You told me to ask my mother, what 69 is!”

“Ooooooohhhh yeahhhhh….”

“And I did!”

Her face was getting redder.

“And. She. Told me!

Poor Suzy. I doubt that’s the last sexual lesson she had to learn the hard way.

It’s very important to me that my children grow up never having to say “Oh, wow, I didn’t know that.” It’s so easy to teach them, and costs so little. I want them to be the ones who can tell their peers the truth when teen-age conversation turns to adult matters. I want them to be the ones who know what STDs are, who know how you can and can’t get pregnant. I want them to know they can come to us and ask about birth control someday.

BUt still. How do you explain sixty-nine to a ten year old?

I didn’t have to, this time. The conversation above was between mother and daughter, and handled incredibly well; matter-of-factly with enough but not too much detail.

That conversation concluded, after a couple of ten-year old Eeeewwwws and Ughs, with this:

“…And I give you full permission, now that you know this, to forget it completely and pretend we didn’t have this conversation.”

Which my ten-year-old did, and went back to her homework. But now she knows she can ask a question like that and get a real answer.

I must say though, I’m waiting for the day she asks about why daddy is always kissing people who aren’t mommy. That will be an interesting conversation.

Head Fulla Fog

I keep having fragmentary ideas for things to write about and then I get a paragraph in and in and the idea fades out.

I keep having fragmentary ideas for things to write about and then I get a paragraph in and in and the idea fades out.

I could talk about Hurricane Karl, which is looking like it’s getting together in the Atlantic with Hurricane Jeanne and Hurricane Lisa, and evidently having itself some sort of a stratospheric three-way. (Yeah I know these are not all officially hurricanes, don’t finger-fuck me with details.)

I could talk about the ‘What is Kinky” conversation I had with my friend Julie the other day, but I can’t even remember the conversation now. I think there was mention on anal sex though, which is about all that stuck in my head.

I could talk about a couple of Hussies at TARCON 5 only they’re not there yet. But all I gotta say is, Amazing Race really doesn’t suck, and the emmys agree, it just beat Survivor for the second year. Really, kids, give it a try. I could talk about those same hussies. But… Well, let’s just say I Love Me some Hussies and leave it at that.

I have a whole piece about drugs and my youth half imagined and slightly written but I keep losing where I was going on that one. I. Um. Wonder why.

And I have a whole essay on true love that was inspired by a conversation on dotnode (which is like orkut but not as much), but I can’t seem to find the right words.

But I guess what it comes down to is, I can’t seem to maintain concentration long enough to actually get an entry done here. Same problem I’ve been having with the several stories I keep trying to get work done on. Where the hell’s my Ritalin?

Templates and Styles and Booths, Oh My…

I’ve changed the style on this blog again, but I must say, I’m sick of the canned styles I can download for MT3. There are a lot of styles free or cheap for MT2. BUt now that I’ve moved to MT3, not only is my style switcher broken, but I’ve got a terribly limited set of choices available.

I’ve changed the style on this blog again, but I must say, I’m sick of the canned styles I can download for MT3.

There are a lot of styles free or cheap for MT2. But now that I’ve moved to MT3, not only is my style switcher broken, but I’ve got a terribly limited set of choices available. It almost makes me regret switching to MT3, only, there’s a lot I like about MT3. The interface is much improved, the speed seems improved, and the look and feel is better, at least on the back end.

But they changed a lot; looks like the almost completely re-vamped the template language (I don’t know why, maybe Elise over at Learning Movable Type could tell me.) Movable Style has a few, but that site has changed hands and isn’t being updated at much as it once was, and the ones that are there are pretty plain. It’s too bad no one’s written an mt2 -> mt3 style converter, it shouldn’t be that hard.

Anyone out there know a good source of mt3 styles and templates? Or better yet, anyone know how to build these things and want to help out? I don’t mind figuring out the technical part but I’m no web designer, so whatever I do will most likely look like crap. I just want a fairly basic three-column style.

You know, i could have just moved my blog over to blogger.com or TypePad and not worried about the technical shit, but that’s not, you know, geeky enough.


In other news, I’m working the kilt booth this coming sunday, August 26th, at Folsom Fair:

Folsom Street Fair

This event is sure to be some kinky good fun, so try to be there if you’re a Bay Area local. I’m not sure where the booth is located but I’ll post that info here when I get it. No promises about spanking this time, but I promise I’ll ask you to take off your pants if you come by.

Wanna Be Sedated

I don’t wanna have to shout it out I don’t want my hair to fall out I don’t wanna be filled with doubt I don’t wanna be a good boy scout I don’t wanna have to learn to count I don’t wanna have the biggest amount I don’t wanna grow up —-The Ramones, ‘I don’t […]

I don’t wanna have to shout it out
I don’t want my hair to fall out
I don’t wanna be filled with doubt
I don’t wanna be a good boy scout
I don’t wanna have to learn to count
I don’t wanna have the biggest amount
I don’t wanna grow up

    —-The Ramones, ‘I don’t wanna grow up’

What is it with the fucking Ramones?

First Joey, dead of cancer in 2001 at 50.

Then Dee Dee, dead of a drug OD, at 49.

And now — does goes Johnny Ramone. Dead of cancer, at 55.

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