Shy Never Got Me Anywhere … again

I have decided to revisit certain posts from time to time. Call them a Marty-Replay.  Posts I like. Or I’m happy with how they were written and catch the moment just right. Or are particularly relevant even now. But mostly that I like. Here’s the 3rd.  As I contemplate the Between The Times series I find it worthwhile to remember how Marty was before.

When I was a freshman at university one course I took was Biology. I hated Biology. Except I looked forward to every Tuesday and Thursday at 1:30, the times for my biology lecture or lab.

And as you might guess, it was because of a woman. I was kind of lonely my freshman year, certainly the first term. I missed the girl friends I had had in high school. Particularly one special one who was a year younger than me. She would occasionally come to my university to visit that term, and I went a couple of times to where her older brother was at college to meet. But it just wasn’t the same.

And there was this girl in Biology. She was a dead ringer for Katharine Ross. You know, quiet, laid back, brunette goddess Katharine Ross from The Graduate and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid fame. I was nuts over Katharine Ross, as any red blooded American teenager would have been.  Her dark haired beauty, long tresses,  and understated smouldering sexuality were pretty riveting.

So Biology Hottie was always on my mind on Tuesdays and Thursdays. But I was much too shy to do anything about it. Out of the corner of my eye I would watch her, and I could tell she was also watching me. In lab, we never sat together, but always exchanged smiles and looks. But never words.

Had it been a year later, I am certain she would have been a regular visitor to my bedroom. Because the next year I learned how to jettison my timidity. I may get to those stories some time. I hope to.

I took the year after Freshman year off and learned oh so much. That year was a lab of its own … for learning the inner workings of the female of your species.

When I returned to campus a year later I kept an eye out for Biology Hottie. My whole 3 years back I never saw her once. Because if I had …. well, you know … And being so shy, I never knew her name, not even her first name. So all my skills of internet search are useless in trying to find this beauty who got away.

So being shy never got me anywhere. That’s why I’m not shy around women any more. I think it’s time to watch Butch, Sundance, and Etta again don’t you think?.

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I’ve Been On The Road To Damascus

No, not actually.

Damascus is a very dangerous location these days. But figuratively, yes. So much has been revealed. My mind is ablaze. What follows may seem at first like a religious rant. I assure you, it is anything but.

Damascus has been a major Middle East city for over 8,000 years, and archaeological evidence of settlement in the area dates back 11,000 years. Imagine the learning buried beneath its walls and in its ruins. The history to which it has borne witness.

It is not only a Saul of Tarsus-type voyage, revelation and conversion I have been on. Lawrence arrived in Damascus, too, on October 1st, 1918, the Great War only 49 days from its merciful end. A very different man than when he was first posted to the Arab revolt.

I have always loved the story of Lawrence of Arabia. It’s a story of clashing civilizations and cultures … Arab, British, Turkish, waning empires, the call of family and tribe, the role of duty, rugged individualism, unthinkable victory, and devastating false hopes.

And how what happens today has a long delayed and unknown aftermath. We are all an imperfect, badly flawed replica of our history.

Just before he left Damascus 4 days after its surrender, Lawrence wrote:

‘I was sitting alone in my room working and thinking out as firm a way as the turbulent memories of the day allowed, when the muezzins began to send their call of last prayer through the moist night over the illuminations of the feasting city. One, with a ringing voice of special sweetness, cried into my window from a nearby mosque. I found myself involuntarily distinguishing his words: “God alone is great: I testify that there are no gods but God: and Mohammed is his Prophet. Come to prayer: come to security. God alone is great: there is no god but God.” At the close he dropped his voice two tones, almost to speaking level and softly added: “And He is very good to us this day, O people of Damascus.” The clamour hushed, as everyone seemed to obey the call to prayer on this their first night of perfect freedom.’  T.E. Lawrence Seven Pillars of Wisdom

I wish I had perfect freedom. I do not. But I have always felt that knowledge, while not full, perfect freedom, is certainly liberating. I feel more liberated.

The Guardian published this at the time, about the capture of Damascus by the Arab armies:

Arab horsemen from distant Hejaz today galloped in triumph through the streets of Damascus. As the sun was rising over the mosques and spires, Major TE Lawrence, the young British officer whose tactical guidance has ensured the success of the Arab revolt, drove through the lines in an armoured car. One Arab rider waved his head-dress and shouted, “Damascus salutes you”.

Led by Emir Feisal, son of Sherif Hussein, now to be King of Syria, and his British friend Lawrence, who had fought the Turks all the way from Arabia, the Arabs were first into the capital.

At about the same time that they arrived, the first patrols of the Australian Mounted Division of General Allenby’s army also converged on the great city, having fought their way from Egypt to Gaza, captured Jerusalem, and freed Palestine from Ottoman rule before finally entering Damascus.

The capture of the most famous city in the Arab world was an event filled with high emotion for Major Lawrence and for Feisal, the Arab prince who had led tribesmen on their long fighting, camel march from the barren wastes of Arabia. Multitudes of Syrians thronged the streets to celebrate liberation from the Ottoman Empire. The only Turkish soldiers remaining in Damascus today are the wounded, crammed in hospitals and abandoned by their doctors.

There is a serious danger that law and order may break down in a place packed an excitable mixture of desert and city Arabs. Notables who until the last minute worked with the Turks now proclaim their loyalty to the Allies. Already there are reports that some have been shot. General Allenby’s first task will be to install a military government to keep order and restore the city’s public services.

Conforming to arrangements agreed with Britain, the French will take control of Syria. General Allenby’s army is preparing to move east to link up with French forces whose task is now to take the port of Beirut in Lebanon.

In that dispatch can be seen the seeds already sown but yet to surface of treachery, promises unfulfilled, and dreams and hopes dashed. Another legacy from Damascus.

Will I fill you in on what I learn if and when I get to Damascus? It is possible. Then again, maybe not. Like most things in life, it all depends.

Shy Never Got Me Anywhere

MV5BMTUzMjM5NzAyMl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwODEwOTIzNw@@._V1_SX640_SY720_[1]When I was a freshman at university one course I took was Biology. I hated Biology.. Except I looked forward to every Tuesday and Thursday at 1:30, the times for my biology lecture or lab.

And as you might guess, it was because of a woman. I was kind of lonely my freshman year, certainly the first term. I missed the girl friends I had had in high school. Particularly one special one who was a year younger than me. She would occasionally come to my university to visit that term, and I went a couple of times to where her older brother was at college to meet. But it just wasn’t the same.

And there was this girl in Biology. She was a dead ringer for Katharine Ross. You know, quiet, laid back, brunette goddess Katharine Ross from The Graduate and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid fame. I was nuts over Katharine Ross, as any red blooded American teenager would have been.  Her dark haired beauty, long tresses,  and understated smouldering sexuality were pretty riveting.

So Biology Hottie was always on my mind on Tuesdays and Thursdays. But I was much too shy to do anything about it. Out of the corner of my eye I would watch her, and I could tell she was also watching me. In lab, we never sat together, but always exchanged smiles and looks. But never words.

Had it been a year later, I am certain she would have been a regular visitor to my bedroom. Because the next year I learned how to jettison my timidity. I may get to those stories some time. I hope to.

I took the year after Freshman year off and learned oh so much. That year was a lab of its own … for learning the inner workings of the female of your species.

When I returned to campus a year later I kept an eye out for Biology Hottie. My whole 3 years back I never saw her once. Because if I had …. well, you know … And being so shy, I never knew her name, not even her first name. So all my skills of internet search are useless in trying to find this beauty who got away.

So being shy never got me anywhere. That’s why I’m not shy around women any more. I think it’s time to watch Butch, Sundance, and Etta again don’t you think?.

Sea Waves [VI] – Words and Scenes

I apologize to you, my poor readers. This has been so drawn out. The truth is that I have been so overwhelmed with everything that happened over those three days that I have not been able to organize, prioritize, and itemize all that transpired. And so I have given up!

Rather I have decided to give you a stream of consciousness view of my memory from that incredible meeting.  These thoughts will bear no relation to order of time, nor impact.

In case you have forgotten here are the preludes leading up to Cassandra’s visit Sea Waves [I]  Sea Waves [IISea Waves [III]   Sea Waves [IV] and  Sea Waves [V]

Here goes:

Initial kissing and cuddling. Hands touching, squeezing, caressing. Bodies writhing. Clothing discarded. Naked closeness. No time for breathing. Massage. Wonderful taste as lips, tongue, mouth, and fingers meet pussy.  Sighs and coos. Arches, moans, more, time stands still.

Legs spread, draped over shoulders as lips touch, eyes meet and love is made.

French bistro lunch.  Worlds meet. Time fades. Orgasms, loud, will they hear next door?, touching, more touching, touching for hours, Greek dinner, mouth in a perfect O , part “oh” part gasp, part grunt; hours and hours of continuous orgasms, insatiability, begging, hand around slender neck, kneeling on the edge of the bed hands held behind her back, cock thrusting, watching reflection in picture over the bed, cupping pussy, fingers deep, hand so deep, gagging on cock, coma, eyes rolled back, wanting more, nodding yes, too weak to talk but still wanting more …

I will leave you with this scene. It was our last time in bed together, from mid morning to early afternoon.

“Baby, are you alright?”

She lay there. On her back, eyes wide, chin drooping. About 30 seconds later, her face turned to me and she softly whispered …

“What Baby? What did you say?”

At that exact moment, I knew she would never forget me. Even should she never remember the state her mind was in half a minute before, I knew she would never forget this. Though her cognizant mind may have been absent for a tiny block of time, her subconscious had totally absorbed all that was happening and had happened. Her total being was caught up in the sensations she had been experiencing for the past 3 1/2 hours. Her pleasure zones were close to overloading. They had even now overwhelmed her state of consciousness.

I have been with many women. And most loved sex. Many craved a lot of sex. But Cassandra is different. Very different. What exactly does “sexually insatiable” mean anyway? I now understand. Now I have seen it. Over 3 days we had several multi-hour sessions in bed. With my cock, with my mouth, with my hand, with my fingers, with my touch, with my voice, with her vibrator she orgasmed above me, beside me, and under me. I watched her ever so closely, her beautiful face contorting. I pressed closely as she writhed and arched, felt her body as she first shuddered, then shook, then quaked as the outbound energy roar surged through her entire body. Then the gush. Only to leave her whimpering and utterly spent.

For a few seconds only … as the force regathered and began its rush to another climax. This to be repeated for hours, the onslaught broken only by a few minutes of tender after care. My whispers, my touch, my hand cupping her tender pussy until I start with my fingers again.

“Can you cum again for me, Baby?”

Her eyelids heavy, she has strength only to nod slightly. And the tide rolls in, the waves begin to crash from within her again. . . and another hour of pleasuring begins…

“OHHHHH … OHHhhh … Ohhhhh … ohhhhh.”

 

 

 

 

 

Behind The Mask

It’s not that I believe in fate. And certainly not astrology. But there is most definitely some unnatural force involved in all this. I plainly can’t explain it. Clearly it was through chance I found you. And that you played along with me.

The mystery woman intrigued me. I love a good mystery, don’t you know? I could see you wore a mask to the world. But how much of the covering was disguise? How much protection?

It was getting behind the mask, and discovering what was hidden below the elaborate costume you weaved that had me so engrossed. But what captured your attention? How did I ever manage to be close, let alone pierce your elaborate armor and the multilayered shields you employ to guard your persona? The Nevada odds makers would never have taken that bet.

The ride we’ve had! No amusement park roller coaster, no state fair Ferris wheel, no alpine switchback road can compare to the torrents and droughts and undulations we have tracked through.

Why am I still here? Why are you? What magnetic force seals our inseparable connection so tightly?

And now? Now that I have examined underneath? Now I have seen what is behind the disguise? I have peered through this outfit, more elaborate than any Venice carnival costume. And I see it fits you like a glove. Yes, it hides the blemishes you want no one to know of. You who are the mistress of control. But I know your concealed Ins and Outs. Your inhibitions, your insecurities, your inside secrets, your intricate conspiracies, your indiscretions. Your outstanding talents, out facing demeanor, outside shifts, outsized dreams, outward confidence, outlandish vanity.

Today I know all this. There are no more disguises, no longer hiding who you are. What at first you buried and now we laugh at.

Yet despite all I know, there is still mystery. The mystery of the force that draws our engagement, drives us onward, ever closer, deeper in love, more to a one. The power beyond our own wills.

I do so love a good mystery.