The Polanski Matter

This may sound heartless, but I can’t seem to dredge up any pity for Roman Polanski. He was arrested recently in Switzerland and placed in jail pending a deportation hearing on a 32-year old warrant because he  failed to appear in court for sentencing on a charge of unlawful sex with a minor, a charge he pled guilty to. Instead, he fled the United States and has been living in Europe since.

Almost immediately after his arrest, the elites of France went berserk, accusing the United States of picking on this poor old seventy-some year old man. Then several of Hollywood’s biggest names jumped in on Polanski’s side.

Meanwhile, it turns out that a lot of ordinary French people and Americans as well have no sympathy for Polanski, either. He should come back and face the music, many argue. He committed a crime, he ought to do the time. After all, isn’t that what the bigwigs have told us for years and years?

So, suddenly, these same believers in the sanctity of the law want this guy who had sex with a 13-year old girl to escape justice because he spent his life after evading it making fine movies that are applauded by the elites of Europe and Hollywood. I wonder how these individuals would feel if Polanski’s 13-year old victim happened to be a daughter of one of them.

What about Polanski’s victim? For all of the years Polanski roamed as free as a bird, she’s been psychologically imprisoned by the vile acts committed by him on her body, damaged by thoughts of this man working over her, performing oral sex and sodomizing her mind and body.

Those who support Polanski argue that the judge was biased against him. If I were the judge I would have been biased against him, too. After all, he pled guilty to those acts.  He deserved prison time then and he deserves it now.

His supporters also contend that the judge violated a plea agreement that would have placed Polanski on probation without jail time. As a matter of law, judges do not negotiate pleas with defendants. The prosecuting attorney and the defense attorney work out an agreement and present it to the judge. The judge can accept or reject it.

Judges reject plea agreements every day somewhere in America. They also accept them. In the Polanski case, we actually don’t know how the judge would have decided since Polanski cut out before decision time. Now, the judge is dead and we will never know.

Every year there are over 3,000,000 (that’s three million) reported instances of child abuse in America. Not every case involves sexual abuse and not all reports are verified. But if only 10 percent of the reports were valid, that would still amount to a horrendous 300,000 incidents annually. That is one hell of a statistic for a country that purports to be a nation of laws, not of men.

For the sake of our children, men like Polanmski need to feel the heat of prison. If only one incipient predator gets the message and decides to drive on by instead of abducting a child on the way to school, then Polanski’s incarceration will at least have served a socially redeeming purpose.

If Roman Polanski were an ordinary citizen, his victim would be just another statistic, lost in a bureaucratic spreadsheet. But the publicity surrounding Polanski ultimately resulted in the self-revelation of her identity. Samantha Gailey Geimer, now 45 years old, has decided that she will no longer permit the incident that happened so many years ago to imprison her mind. A revelation like that takes courage.

If Polanski had her courage, if he were any kind of man, he’d voluntarily return to the United States and take his medicine. Then, his supporters might have something to commend him for.

Self Help Tips

Most of us today aim to better ourselves in many ways. We work harder, we have more quality time with our families, and we try and do more for the community. In the end some of us even find the time to have some “me time”. Improving ourselves is a good type of therapy as well.

Embrace the day
Try not to groan when you have to get up in the morning. Wake up, open those curtains and embrace the morning. Eat breakfast outside …

read more on

http://www.sevafrica.com/HealthWellness/Self-HelpTips.shtml

Freshman sex/Ex girlfriend

by Stirling

I broke up with her on the phone because I wasn’t man enough to do it in person or I was too much of man.  She’d hug me the way she did, face pressed to my chest, the nails of one hand digging into my shoulder blade, the other into the small of my back.  She’d press her crotch against my leg until I could feel both labias pressing through two layers of denim and the blood pulsing through the arteries of her thigh.  Then she’d cry, and as mascara and foundation ran down my shirt she would whisper..

“Please don’t go.”  And I wouldn’t.

So, she got a phone call from 142 miles away, to the day-room phone.  I confessed my love but said I just wasn’t ready to get married yet, I had to go, please don’t call, don’t write, please just let me be, let me figure out who I am before I marry you, , please, my love, just give me time.    She cried, and begged, and pleaded, but I was strong.  For once, I had to be stronger then the bounce of her breasts, the curve of her ass, and the smell of her hair.  I had to want what was best for me more then I wanted in her pants, because I knew if I didn’t something in me would die.

“FUCK YOU!” were her last words.  I hung up the phone.  Three months later the wedding invitation arrived by email.   Written the bottom  was “Just wanted you to know that I am totally over you now.”   I cried as I held it, and as I burned it.  I moved on.  I got in another relationship. I settled down.  But when my marriage was on the rocks, I thought of my little blond haired fire cracker, far away in the Big City.  I emailed.  She wrote back.  We talked and then…she was gone.

Years later, having failed out of school, I was preparing to move across the country.  Staring at the surf rolling in, I decided I wanted everything to be right between us, and I called.  We spoke. Tears.  Growth. Smiles.  and then, she was gone.

Her second marriage fails.  I get an email.  She wants to be part of my life.  She wants me, alone in a hotel room in the Big City.  I tell her that sounds wonderful, but it’s not what I do.  My wife and I are open, but I don’t fuck strangers.  If she wants to be friends again, get to know each other, and then try to work out sex as a loved equal and not a stranger wearing the memories of my fiancée…then perhaps.

She says she doesn’t believe in sex with people she cares about, and that she doesn’t make her self vulnerable enough to be the kind of deep friends I am talking about.  She tells me it is sad and lame that I still think there are real feelings, and that it’s too bad I haven’t gotten over her like she’s gotten over me, and then, she was gone.

New email.  She wants to know how things are going… so here in my blessed anonymousness let me say how things are going.

Fuck you, you stupid, fucking uppity bitch.  I tried to give you everything when I was freshman in college.  I tried to give you everything when I had a family that depended on me, I tried to give you everything thing when my life was changing, and most recently when I offered you everything I have to offer as the family-man I am, you said you don’t “do that” anymore.

All I ever wanted to be to you was a loved as an equal.  I didn’t want to be your sex slave, I didn’t want you to be mine.  I wanted us to love and take care of one another. You know what you want? You want my dick.  Not because you love me but because since you were 17 years old I’m the only man who had so much self respect that he turned down sex with you just be in control of his life.  You don’t give a shit about love, or friendship, or even having fun with your body.  You just need men to need you. You don’t deserve me.

Take the fingers you used to hold me with, stick them in the pussy you tried to whip me with and go fuck yourself, because I sure as hell won’t.

You've Got Cougars

In ABC’s new Wednesday evening Fall offering, “Cougar Town,” Courteney Cox plays a recently-divorced forty-something who decides to hit the jungle trail. Almost before we can say “sex” she latches onto a handsome stud and hauls him off to her pad.

That’s it. That’s the whole story encapsulated in the 30-minute pilot. Will this show last? Only if the audience likes the odd mix of sex between young and old with no apparent purpose other than watching Courteney under an undulating sheet with a new cookie-cutter stud every week

Don’t get me wrong. Forty-five year old Courteney is built like the proverbial outhouse. Either that or she had a hell of a body double and a pixel mechanic capable of placing Courteney’s head atop the body of the body double.

On balance, however, and after a little logical reflection, I’m willing to give Courteney the benefit of the doubt when it comes to the sterling condition of her aging bod. On a scale of one to ten, she deserves an eight in my playbook.

The problem in the pilot wasn’t her physical shape but her overacting. The word seems an apt summarization of her gesturing and other nonverbal histrionics, which might bring her stardom if silent films are resurrected.

Pending that unlikely occurrence, however, she might profit from observing real cougars in action. As a civic-minded critic, I’m offering a link to the hottest cougar hangouts in San Francisco.

And if Courteney needs a guide, my services are available free of charge. In fact, I can be cougar-ed myself. I’m in the Yellow Pages under Cougar Treks.

Late Night Thinking

Last night, I started thinking about someone who I thought would never pop into my head again… at least not right now. I was laying in my bed desperately trying to fall asleep and I found myself tossing and turning… thinking about my “whatever” guy. All I wanted last night was to be with him, to have him hold me, cuddle with me, kiss me, and just lay next to me. I am, however, having trouble with these feelings because I know for a fact that I don’t want a relationship right now… in fact, I don’t even think I want to have sex right now. For as long as I can remember, I part of me always found sex to be somewhat sacred… not the whole “save yourself for marriage” because that ship has sailed… but sacred as in special; sex is the connection of two soul; sex is the act of pure passion and love. Yes, a part of me wants to have sex purely for pleasure sake at the moment, but does that make me happy? No, having sex at this point in my life just makes me want to have more with other people… no connection… no love… just simple animal desire. I digress… back to my “whatever” guy. I don’t know what to do about him… I texted him last week and asked if he wanted to hang out… he said sure but he would let me know when he was free. Have I gotten a text from him? Nope. I still cannot figure out why I have this need for him to hold me… I have slept with two guy since reconnecting with him… plus I have been talking to about three other guys as well, shouldn’t that take my mind off him? It should, but it doesn’t. I really hope he calls soon….

On a happier note, I am going to attempt to quit smoking on October 1st. First of all, I am going to put the money I would spend in a week on cigarettes in a savings account for my Italy fund… that alone would give me a little over $2,000. Also, to help with my efforts to quit, my mother has offered to give me $50, for every month I quit smoking, again towards my Italy savings. So between my mother’s contribution and the money I would spend on cigarettes, I would have well over $2,500 to go over seas with… and that does not include money I would save with the extra money of my paycheck every week. My trip to Italy is looking more and more promising everyday. I’ll write back probably within the next few days, until then.

How we three came to be (part 2)

(I found this image on Photobucket. Anyone know what it’s from?)

Where did we leave off? Oh, right. Kate and I had experienced our first evening of frisky, lusting, grinding – and I couldn’t quite gather up the balls to confess to Jack.

Nearly a week passed. I don’t think I breathed the entire time. Kate, myself, and the kids met up at a park and kind-of sort-of talked it out. It was a stomach-knotting mixture of being happy to be together, and yet being totally unsure of each other.

Very reminiscent of being in junior high and having a crush on someone. You notice everything: how close to you they sit, the color of their eyes, their body langauage…you decipher every word looking for clues until they lose meaning altogether.

The following Friday Kate invited us over for dinner in her new place. She’s a fabulous cook, yet I could barely eat. Instead I tried to ease my nerves with wine, which ended up working a little too well.

Late into the evening we retired to the bedroom to watch a ‘movie.’ Jack had wanted to leave earlier, but grew suspicious when I was so insistent on staying. Of course, he was right to be suspicious. Just being around Kate again had me so worked up I couldn’t think straight.

We lay, snuggled in her bed, with myself in the middle. No one watched the movie.

Instead, I made my move (in part to let Kate know I was interested, and in part to let Jack know what was going on. I couldn’t seem to get the words out of my mouth to tell him anything – and so I decided to just show him).

I put my hand on Kate’s knee and traced with one finger up and down her thigh. She responded by taking her finger and tracing from my collar bone down to my clothed nipple.

I giggled a bit – and Jack said, “I can see what you’re doing.” To which I replied, “I know. Good.”

From there Kate and I got more comfortable, and began kissing and rubbing each other’s breasts. She is not a shy person normally, and becomes even less so when turned on.

Jack lay on the edge of the bed, observing. I asked him a few times if he was ok, if “this” was ok…and he would chuckle a bit bewilderedly and say, “don’t let me stop you now.”

Soon Kate and I were both topless and getting a bit frenzied. The heat and desire between us grew so quickly I felt dizzy. She climbed on top of me and straddled me, our legs intertwined, pussies rubbing together through our soft pants.

I couldn’t last any longer, and came in waves as she ground against me. Knowing what had happened she lay back down on the bed next to me, then grabbed my hand and put it between her legs. Even from the outside of her pants I could feel her warm, damp heat.

I stroked her as best I could from there, but soon felt frustrated and slipped my fingers into her waistband and into her panties. She gasped a tiny bit in suprise and pleasure, then moved her hips to meet my hand.

With one finger, and then another, I explored her hot wetness. I was amazed at the feeling, and suddenly thought, “so this is what guys can’t get enough of…now I’m starting to understand!”

I spent a few moments circling her clit with my fingers, but could tell she was aching to get off. I slipped two fingers inside of her and stroked, while pressing against her clit with the palm of my hand.

I wasn’t at all sure that I knew what I was doing, but my instincts proved to be good when she came moments later.

Suddenly I became aware once again that we were not alone in the bed. I turned to Jack, who had a hell of a smirk on his face, and asked if he wanted to have some fun with me. He tried to politely refuse (I guess thinking that having sex in front of Kate would be weird – but really, what kind of social graces does a situation such as this call for anyway?), but soon was coaxed into slipping off his pants.

Already hard as a rock from the show we’d only slightly intentionally put on, Jack was ready to go. He stood me up, stripped down my pants and underwear, and tossed me back onto the bed.

I laughed, then turned to Kate, and asked her if this was ok with her. She answered with a bit of a smile and a sincere, “Yes.” We began kissing and playing with each other’s tits again, while Jack climbed in behind me.

I maneuvered myself so I was on my hands and knees on top of Kate, and Jack came around behind me. He pressed the head of his cock onto my pussy, which was still so wet. He thrust into me slowly and smoothly as my muscles tightened around his shaft.

His pace quickened, and I began to feel the workings of another orgasm coming. Kate sucked on my nipple and reached down with one hand to rub my clit and Jack continued to fuck me at a strong, steady pace.

All of the stimulation at once was too much for me to last, and I began to cum. As often happens between us, my spasming muscles tipped Jack over the edge and he came as well, letting out a gutteral groan of pleasure.

We rested for a few minutes, then dressed again and said some awkward but happy good-bye’s. I was relieved to have Jack know my secret, and in some sense of the word, have given us his blessing. Ha!

More to come on the Jill/Jack/Kate story soon!

Photos: bing.com

Comfort Zones Be Damnned

If you’re friends with me on Facebook, you probably saw this message from me early Sunday morning:

It’s gotta be a good night when you laughed as much as I did, come home with more wine/booze than you went with, got kissed like he meant it and didn’t make it home til AFTER Google Calender sent the next day’s schedule. Oh, the rain …is falling over my bedroom ceiling…and not through. Knock on wood. Not so bad tonight. ;-p

(If we’re not friends on Facebook, why the hecklberrys NOT?)

Yeah, Saturday night, migraine be damned. I drugged myself up good with double allergy meds, some migraine meds and went out, pomegranate vodka and seltzer in hand.

I also took a huge step outside my comfort zone…

This weekend, I took a deep breath and kissed a guy in front of friends and people I didn’t know.

You might ask what the big deal is, people kiss each other all the time in front of others…but to me it is a big deal for a few reasons.

1. While I’m very much into affection, I’m not ok with sucking face and tongue swallowing where you look like you’re trying to devour each other’s faces where others either can or have to see it.

I’m more of a “Hey, let’s get out of here, I have a better idea…” even if getting out of there is just to duck around a corner or find a quiet spot for a few min kind of girl…

I’m actually one of the ones whose going to tell you “to get a room”, interrupt said kisses/groping with questions, or let GenWar physically separate you. What can I say? No one needs to see that!

(Let me clarify now, that I’m ok with the quick kiss as you walk past or the hugs/cuddles here and there…but I don’t really want to see your version of foreplay if that’s ok with you.)

2. Because of the above, I’m almost positive that it was the first time that the dear friends who were in the room at the time had seen me kiss anyone (other than some girlfriends)…let alone the kind that might have easily resulted in removal of clothing had it happened elsewhere.

3. It was someone who I sort of have a thing for and well, I don’t know if he’s into me like that. The uncertainty of that part typically makes me err on the side of not getting rejected in front of others. What can I say?

Don’t get me wrong, I love hugs, I’ll kiss my gay boyfriends right on the kisser, but I’m just not into the whole affection display.

Instead, as the guy gave me a bottle of wine he had made and  hugged me (full body style) GenWar handed me his phone with a tweet on it, “Thinks (the guy) might be straight after all”. I had already kissed him on the cheek so as we still stood there half hugging, I put my hand on the side of his face and kissed him.

The kiss I got back got him a second one complete with arm wrapped around his neck and him pulling me closer. Or maybe I pulled him closer. I don’t know. Does it matter?

Yikes. I was part of that duo that I had spent all night making fun of…Shit!

GenWar (who typically only takes digs at the guys I bring around or express interest in as more than friends) just looked at me after the guy left and said, “So you like him?” and I didn’t really have an answer, because I’m sort of into him, but not really sure, mostly because I don’ t know how he feels about the idea of being more than buddies…I told him, “Kinda, but I didn’t really know – yet”.

He told me to give it a chance. Granted we’d all had a bit to drink (and by a bit, I mean some sort of phrase meaning “LOTS more” – but I’m trying to downplay our antics here…)

So today, I sent the guy in question a text asking if I could interest him in dinner and a movie this week. I guess we’ll see. (This too is something seriously outside my comfort zone. Asking a guy out first with the intention of it being more than a buddy thing.)

Regardless, it was a really good kiss…I’m glad I stepped outside that particular comfort zone. And I do like me some good kisses.

***

Request for the Day! Send me your pictures from this weekend. I’ll be posting some good ones soon.