Uncle Jack

I missed Memorial Day. I didn't actuall miss it. I just didn't post. Instead I spent the day recovering from a long, long week. I spent the day watching Band of Brothers. I love that mini-series.

This post is probably more appropriate for Veteran's Day, but here it is anyway.

I have two uncles who fought for our country. One, Uncle Bob, is now deceased. I visit his and my father's graves in Arlington National Cemetary twice a year.

My father, a 20-year Air Force veteran, joined up after the Korean war had ended. He served during war time, but never in a war zone. But don't take this post to mean that I'm not proud him or his military service. I am. Extremely so. Eventually I'll probably talk about my dad. Just not today.

My uncle Bob fought in Europe during WWII, and again in Korea. He was taken prisoner in Korea and held for over two years. My uncle Jack fought in the Pacific during WWII and again in Viet Nam.

Both of them trained as paratroopers at Camp Taccoa in Georgia, although neither were in the 101st. Both of them ran up Mt. Curahee. The mini-series made a big deal of that. Uncle Jack tells me that the Army eventually suspended the practice of running troops up Mt. Curahee. Too many men died doing it.

When Uncle Jack talks about the war, it's almost never about his combat experience. Usually he tells about getting into or out of trouble one way or another. Last summer I saw him at a family reunion and I mentioned having recently had the opportunity to hold an M1 Garrand rifle.

His response was a 20 minute story beginning with how his unit in New Guniea had been assigned M1's but he would rather have had a Browning Automitic Rifle. He then went on to tell about how while visiting some buddies in another unit he found out that their beer ration had been suspended as punishment for some unknown infraction. He asked where the beer was stored, and when told the location of the supply tent, said that he didn't really see a problem.

The tent was guarded by two soldiers at the front entrance, but that didn't stop him and three friends from liberating a case or two out the back. While in the tent he noticed a cache of Brownings.

Then next day while the rest of the troops in his buddies unit were getting chewed out over some beer that apparently went missing from the supply tent, he and the three friends were back there liberating a number of Rifles. That's the story he told. ...in a nutshell.

What he didn't tell me is what I learned the last time I went to visit him. I was flipping through a scrapbook that my grandfather (his father) had put together of his service in The War. In it was a newspaper article about his first encounter with the Japanese in the South Pacific and how, using a Browning Automatic Rifle that he 'borrowed from a friend in another unit' (the author of the article didn't want to say that he stole it), he managed to take out a Jap machine gun nest that could have taken out his whole platoon and that, he said, he could not have done with an M1.

He was awarded a silver star for that action.

Here's to him. And my uncle Bob. And my Dad. And every other veteran, living and dead, who helped make and keep this country great.

I'm home

Back from Disney World. Had a great time except the dryspell continues. Ann had a great idea to just throw her down and do her. Unfortunately it's a health issue so that's not an option right now. Temporary health problem, nothing to worry about I'm sure. Tomorrow we'll hear what the doctor has to say. I imagine it'll be something along the lines of "menopause sucks."

In the meantime my black lab, Daisy, is starting to look... nevermind.

Hard times

Thanks all for your words of support and encouragement. Cuz I know you wanna know... the dry spell continues. Her finals are over. She turned in her last paper today. But she's not feeling her best right now. Physically and mentally drained. To top it off, the next two days will be spent getting ready for vacation.

Sunday we leave for Florida. Stay with the in-laws for a couple days. Tuesday we go to Disney and drop The Girl where she'll stay till January living and breathing the magic of Walt's dream--and cleaning up after tourists.

She'll have a room there. Mrs. A and I will stay in a hotel till Saturday to make sure The Girl is all settled and comfy. No doubt Mrs. A and I will make up for lost time.

Ok, that's it for the personal stuff. Since this is a sex blog, I gotta give you this...

I love watching movies. Especially old movies. And I love picking out the sexual innuendo, allegory and metaphors. For example, (this isn't an old movie, but still) if you've ever seen the movie That Thing You Do you'll remember the scene in the dressing room right after the live TV appearance.

If you've never seen the movie, it's about the rise and fall of a rock group in the early sixties. They form in a garage, move on to local rock shows, then state fairs, then a bit part in a Hollywood movie, then a live appearance on an Ed Sullivan-like TV program. The whole movie is obviously building to a big climax.

Right after the TV appearance is a seen in the dressing room. It opens with a tight, close-up shot of the top of a champagne bottle. Some one pops the cork and what comes out doesn't spray, doesn't even shoot, but rather oozes out and drips to the floor.

The first couple times I watched it it went right past me. When I finally picked up on it I had to call my sister-in-law and tell her. She has the same hobby as me. Seriously, how many movies (other than porn, of course) actually put a cum shot at the climax? You gotta hand it to Tom Hanks.

So, with all that in mind, take a look at this picture and tell me what you see.

A simple request.

Would somebody please suck my dick?

Mrs. Arkay's been so preoccupied lately with school, work, and The Girl leaving home next week that, well, certain things have fallen by the wayside. And right now I really would like a blow job.

That kinda makes me sound like a selfish, misogynistic bastard, doesn't it? In an attempt to redeem myself let me say that I've been almost as busy and preoccupied myself with house, yard, work, and getting vehicles, pets and family ready for the long drive to Orlando.

I say almost because I freely admit that I never quite achieve the same level of intensity over... hell, anything the way she does. It's not that I don't try, but you know, I'm a guy.

Anyway, I don't give a damn what I'm doing, if she says she wants to fuck I'll drop it in a heartbeat and fuck her. She just hasn't said recently.

If it feels good

From the time I turned 12 till about, oh I don't know, maybe 10 years ago I was perpetually horny. Once I discovered what fucking was, I could do it on demand if necessary. Although it was almost never necessary. Mrs. Arkay isn't really the demanding type, you see (much to my regret). However when no demands are made of me, I make them of myself. At least once a day since that very first time. Sometimes more. My masturbation record is five times in one day.

Now my state of horniness is less perpetual than it is cyclical. I still go to sleep almost every night with my hand on my crotch and sometimes I'll find myself stroking in the middle of the night. Every morning I wake up with a hard-on, but now I'm not always compelled to deal with it like I used to be. So what was once a daily routine is now of the several-times-a-week variety. Little Arkie and I are still very close, but overall we have less quality time together than we used to.


I will say that when the mood strikes me there's still no stopping me. I'll jack off anywhere. At work in my office. In the car driving home. Friends homes. I've even done it at church. For the longest time I wouldn't do it in front of Mrs. A. Now I do.

My younger brother is the one who taught me how to jack off. I was in my early teens at the time. He's about a year and a half younger than me. It wasn't really instructional he didn't really understand what he was doing. He only knew that stroking felt good. He had, I gathered, only handled himself a few times for short periods. He did not do it with any regularity nor had he ever carried the act to completion.

He was a step ahead of me, though. Until then, I though the "pumping action" every one referred to was done by contracting the muscles down there. Sorta like (if not exactly like) Keigel exercises. I even tried it a few times knowing that if you did it long enough 'something' was supposed to happen. But it never did.

So there he and I were, naked from the waist down, playing strip poker I think where the pants were the first to go. He fondling himself between hands and said, "try this, it feels pretty good." So I did. And it did. Over the next few weeks, I did it a couple more times and, yep, it still felt pretty good. Then one day I was in the bathroom, and I thought to myself what would happen if I kept on going. I mean, it feels goo, right? So why stop? I could not say for sure if at that time I had ever heard of orgasms. If I had, I'm sure I had no conceptual understanding of what they were. So I wasn't really expecting one.

But, boy, I sure found one. It's like watching a really great movie with a surprise ending. Suddenly you're swept with both realization and understanding. What the hell? Ohhhhhhhhh. NOW I understand. And although you can watch the movie over and over and always enjoy it, it's never quite the same as that first time, is it?

To give credit where credit is due, the above image comes from Jackinworld

The good, the bad and the weird

Um, lets start with 'the good':

Mrs. Arkay got a new job. Retail still, but better pay and (hopefully) better working environment than the one she's leaving.

She's leaving Victoria's Secret. I loved that job. The managers sucked and the pay sucked, but still, there was something about it that appealed to me. Anyway, we can still shop there so I guess it ain't all bad. Just no discount any more. Some day I'll have to tell you about my relationship (read 'love affair') with Victoria's Secret panties.

Now the weird. Why do we dream what we dream? Do they have any meaning at all, or are they just random impulses in our sleeping brains that our waking brains try to give some semblance of order and reason? Yeah, whatever.

So last night I dreamt that Mrs. A decided to start her own business. She got a video camera and a bunch of her girlfriends together and started making lesbian porn. Swear to God, that's what I dreamed. It ended when I went in to watch the filming and one of her friends looked at me and said "I really had fun last night." I said "shhh" pointed to Mrs Arkay, then woke up.

What do you make of it?

Harold. Not the cute one with the crayon

The first cock I ever touched (other than my own) belonged to Harold. I was 8, he was 7. I was spending the night at his house.

It was Harold's idea. He actually planned it out in advacne. He said that if my mom would let me spend the night, we could "do cuss." That's what doing cuss was. Touching his cock. He didn't touch mine back.

When we were young we were best friends--all through grade school in fact. Now he's one of the few people I can actually say I hate. I haven't spoken to him in over 30 years.

Harold was an instigator. He was the kind of kid who would talk you into throwing a rock at the neighbor's dog, then go tell on you. His mom was the kind of mom who believed her precious little boy could do no wrong.

I remember once in high school some kid at the bus stop had a box of white tip, strike-anywhere matches (those things are cool) . He passed a couple out to his friends. I got one. Harold was sitting in front of me on the bus. When we got to school he went straight to the principal's office and told on me for striking matches on the bus. The vice principal pulled me in, just as I was entering the building. Just me. No one else. I still had my match. It was unlit.

Fat little bastard. I should have beat the crap out of him for that. Today he's 46 years old and still lives at home with his mother. To my knowledge he's never been on his own. Can you hate some one and feel sorry for them at the same time? Cuz if you can, I do.

I did like doing cuss though.