Harmful or Helpful?

As part of the Alternative Lifestyles blog-posts migration over to the new blog The Professor’s Lifestyles Memoirs, this post has been moved there. To read this post please click the link to the blog.

Your patience is appreciated. Thank you!

Introduction: Harmful or Helpful?

As part of the Alternative Lifestyles blog-posts migration over to the new blog The Professor’s Lifestyles Memoirs, this post has been moved there. To read this post please click the link to the blog.

Your patience is appreciated. Thank you!


Moments. There are moments in your life that define you. The crossroad laying before you that set the wheels in motion, all the wheels different with different outcomes. I have done some great things in my life. I have done some stupid things in my life. And I have done some things, little and big, that at first were stupid and then turned out to be the perfect thing; the right thing. The stuff when you say afterwards, “Get out the front door! Who’d of thunk?

I have been accused of having a flair for the dramatic. This probably qualifies. It is a true story.

carolyns-rag-dollGrowing up my little sister and I lived just a short walking distance from Pecan Grove Park. Mom would sometimes take us there after school or on weekends to get a break, a breather, by unleashing our never-ending supply of energy six, seven, or eight year olds possess. On this day to the park, my sister brought her rag-doll that she was never without. She had gotten it for her birthday weeks earlier. She slept with it. She traveled with it. She was proud of it. She loved it. It seemed like my second sister to me — and honestly, their relationship made me gag sometimes. At that age I guess a young boy hasn’t matured enough to understand that bond.

We had played out our afternoon park-time and it was time to walk back home. Our home, it’s street, and the park was divided by a busy major boulevard. Mom insisted on holding our hands every time we crossed because there was always traffic and sometimes a car or two that were driving above the indicated speed limit. It didn’t help either that where we usually crossed was atop a hill, where from one direction traffic wasn’t visible until it was just 40-50 yards away. The nearest red-light intersection was two or three blocks down the way, and if taken, two or three blocks right back up to our home street. Crossing the six-lane boulevard was too dangerous for me and my sister alone; that was made abundantly clear. This particular time of day was no exception.

Standing at the curb waiting for the right time, the perfect time, Mom held my hand tight. She’d lean forward but then stop, gripping our hands tighter to make sure we stayed put. The wind from the passing cars would blow my hair and my Mom’s and sister’s skirts. She would lean again, but stopped. This seemed to go on for ten minutes but looking back on it, she was simply calculating how quickly she could get across — at least to the median — with two small kids in her hands before the fast-moving cars would get close…too close. I sensed her rising anxiety.

Suddenly it was lift-off! “COME ON! NOW!” Mom yelled, and with our first step I don’t think our little feet touched the concrete! The three of us darted as quickly as we could to the middle! Gasping we had to stop. There was too much rushing traffic to make it all the way across. Now comes the harder part. We had to go through it all again:  cross(?)…don’t cross! Step(?)…step back! There would not be as much time to judge the oncoming cars because of the hill. Mom was more nervous, her grip squeezed much tighter. LIFT OFF! Run! Run! And then my sister let out a blood-curdling scream.

We are safely on the other side as vehicles whizzed by but with one exception.

My sister had dropped her doll in the middle of the street and was beside herself bawling. Topping the hill are a couple of fast-moving cars. Lying motionless just twenty-five, thirty feet away, I stared at… my ‘second sister‘ who was probably about to get smashed and torn apart while my hysterical real sister watched. For the next few seconds the Earth stopped rotating, the noise, the engines, and the bawling fell silent… and time stood still. A moment became this moment.

In a split second Mom had my hand, in the next it was gone. I jerked it out and took off running those 30-feet — that blurred into a mile — with only one thing in my sight. Got her! I held her to my chest. I am standing motionless in the center. I realize I am not making it back. Time slows even more. I thought, the cars always travel between the lines, between the white dashes. That is where I must stand as they all (fly by it seemed to me) pass by. I cannot move; if I do, I become unpredictable to the drivers and their machines of major pain. Two or three cars pass and I run back to Mom and my sister. My sister was frozen silent with a gaping mouth staring at me. Mom was now screaming…at me! How odd I thought. I handed my sister her doll and got a smile I can never forget. Mom was a different story. I remember thinking how much trouble I was going to get into when Dad heard about it. In hindsight, I think his punishment scared me a lot more than what I had just done in the middle of Kiest Boulevard. In further hindsight today, saving my sister’s doll while almost putting my Mom into a mental institution was clearly a bone-head move, a moment, an impetus that could’ve defined my life permanently like many others I have pulled since:  What Was I Thinking?

Would I do it again? Yes. Looking back over my many decades of stunts, of impulses, of moments of truth… I would do it again. I know myself too well. It’s who I am. Please do not tell my insurance agent.

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For my sister and Mom:  Happy Valentines.

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Live Well — Love Much — Laugh Often — Learn Always

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As part of the Alternative Lifestyles blog-posts migration over to the new blog The Professor’s Lifestyles Memoirs, this post has been moved there. To read this post please click the link to the blog.

Your patience is appreciated. Thank you!

Love Gas – Part Two

Regrettably (or not) this is my second part of my temporary rant and venting from Love Gas – Part One.  My apologies again to those readers who prefer funny, informative, or inspiring posts.  I prefer them as well.

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* * * * * * * * * *

gas maskIn Part One I mentioned two other times when two previous close female friendships had been sacrificed and severed for new exciting, hopeful love with a new partner or fiancé.  One of those two was by a former girlfriend and lover when she started dating a serious potential.  I will start with her and make it short because the other “sacrifice” deserves much more time.

In the scheme of these two posts, closing down or allowing to fade away the relationship/friendship of former lovers or ex-spouses is commonly understood, accepted, and nothing really out of the ordinary.  Mainstream society, or at least mainstream conservative society, seems to believe that once sexual relations have been had between a man and woman, woman and woman, man and man, or that they once passionately loved one another, then if that deep love doesn’t end with married until death, or until divorced, then it cannot be shared continuously and simultaneously with the newest lover.

I do not agree at all with this (American?) societal stigma, but for the sake of time and space I will not argue against it here and now.  Prior to my entrance into the open-swinger polyamorous lifestyles many years ago, I have not had contact with any of my pre-open/poly lifestyle partners, except one.  And she asks that for the sake of peace and her children, we keep it very discreet; at least until her children are grown and out of the house.

Ugh, yes it is complicated; especially for her.  It is also too complicated to get into here.  I considered not even mentioning it.  Fortunately for the sake of peace and her children, we live over 300-miles a part and nothing at all has happened physically between us since 1989; way before her current marriage.  We do have a long great friendship and she completely understands my warnings and the risks she – and to be fair me too – are taking inside traditional frameworks by NOT including him in the friendship!  I’ve accepted that we agree to disagree on how divulging she might/should be with her husband.  In the end, it is her business…. and it could become mine too somewhere down the road.

But in my honesty I have wandered off track.

Regarding my former open-swinger girlfriend – who I deeply care for and will always, and have loved deeply and still could – since we ended our “official” relationship, we have always maintained a close friendship.  However, what has always frustrated and angered me is when a new “vanilla” man enters her life… our close passionate friendship vanishes.  Then when it ends with Mr. Newman (probably because he senses there is another former lover he could NEVER surpass… like it’s a fucking competition anyway!) our closeness picks right up where it left off.  I have expressed to her several times, ever since our official ending, how much that irritates me!  But apparently (and we both laugh at this point) “I just don’t get it!”  Well yeah, no shit Sherlock.

I have learned thoroughly now that I cannot be held or kept responsible for everyone’s “feelings”… and that so includes those men (BFH’s) I have never met!  No surprise there Sherlock; duh, there’s a reason why I’ve never met them and may not ever!  HAH!  Hence, there’s the double-amplified curse/repellant I mentioned in Part One.  Yes, I have been told that I would make the worst spy or secret agent.  I will own that, proudly.

Now For the Really Big One
A likeness of my Aphrodite

An exact likeness of my dear lesbian “Aphrodite” friend.

Several years ago at my favorite club to dance and to the best dancing music by one of Dallas’ best DJ’s, I boldly introduced myself to one of the most stunning women I had ever seen dancing.  She was also there with a guy and noticeably dancing only with him; but he seemed very, very young.  Here, I will call her Aphrodite and the image left, though not her… does not do her justice.  Simply put she turns everyone’s heads; man and woman alike.  She defines a pin-up girl to the max.

A day or two later we met for an afternoon lunch around the corner from her apartment.  She had many questions for me.  What made the afternoon more enjoyable, was her unabashed lack of timidness in expressing her thoughts and feelings; all carefully thought out.  What I appreciated most about Aphrodite was that in less than ten-fifteen minutes, she let me know clearly she was lesbian.  And she did it with no pomp or bitterness due to society’s treatment of gays and lesbians.  I really liked that.  I immediately respected her person and discarded every one of my heterosexual fantasies with her… as much as I hated to hear her proclamation.  Imagine a boy with a 10-inch frozen icicle and it quickly melts under the 110 degree heat.  Nevertheless, we have been close dear friends for over six years.  Yet as is usually the case with gorgeous people, we were not immune to vulnerable moments sneaking into our close friendship.

The Risk versus Reward Dilemma

In the third year of our friendship, and during an emotionally disastrous ending to her then relationship with a pseudo-psychotic girlfriend, Aphrodite made many a wee-hour phone call to me asking me to drive over and be with her.  She asked because she wanted support in not calling the ex-girlfriend and trying to quickly fix it all or understand it prematurely.  This is not an easy road to tread as anyone can attest.  Sometimes it really is best to leave things alone until the hatchets are buried.  That was hard for her.  Ring-ring, my phone goes off 12-midnight, sometimes 1:30am.  Grab my keys, get in the car, drive forty-minutes to her place, talk, hug, hold her until we fell asleep.  This continued for some three or four weeks.

Then one night late, while thanking me and kissing my cheek, she puts her hand down my shorts and proceeds to maul me.  I cannot move — unlike my manly hetero part down there — DAMN IT!  She notices my paralysis. I don’t want to stop” she whispers, “but I will if you tell me.  Are you fucking kidding me!?  I manage barely 3-seconds of brain activity and reply “The last thing I want is something like this to fuck-up our friendship.”  That did not stop her.  In fact, it probably fueled the moment.

A day or two later we talked about that “moment” and wonderfully made nothing big about it or let it define our friendship or situation.  It was what it was.  I wasn’t going to study it to death.  More pressure was not what she required then.  Many of our friends would later ask if we two were dating…an item.  We had been seen spending a lot of time together.  We’d laugh.  I had surmised that she was maybe 90% lesbian, 10% bisexual (with the right guy?), but it was left up to her to determine that not me or the rest of the world.

Then a new “incredible” woman came into the picture three-four weeks later.  Aphrodite was obviously very attracted to her and very hopeful and excited about their possibilities.  Then the grand piano dropped from the 10th floor:  “When you come over to hang out and spend the night, you must sleep in my guest bedroom now.”

The 2011 movie

The 2011 movie “Your Sister’s Sister” where the lesbian sister sleeps with her sister’s hetero boyfriend.

I understood, but what she said did not sit well with me.  She noticed my shocked perplexed expression.  She explained to me that in the LGBT community, she would be ostracized for “being with” a heterosexual man.  She kept saying “you can’t understand it” as if I were some dumb blood-flows-one-way horny Neanderthal.  Granted that is the median in the male high-T world today, I mean there are a shitload of hetero alpha-males who delusionally want to CONVERT hot lesbians, but I am not even consumed by what or where I can stick my dick like the average hetero high-T male!  I asked her “have I ever pushed you to be someone you’re not just to satisfy my brain-consuming libido!?”  Never” she answered, “and that is what I have always loved about you!”

But my simplistic logic wasn’t going to change anything.  Her own image in the “abnormal” different culture of the LGBT community was more important than our intimate supportive friendship.  Now I knew what it felt like to be a nigger in the 1800’s or 1940’s, 50’s, or 60’s – or more accurately all during European and North American slavery.  Now I knew what it felt like to be a gay man in a horribly violent binary life-system in the bigot south.  Now I knew what it felt like to be considered an inferior human being; pick any historical setting.  Take it from me….it really feels like shit.

For 8-10 months Aphrodite and I did not talk.  Since then she has been involved in a later new 18-month relationship to a truly wonderful woman.  I am proud of Aphrodite for how she’s learned and matured, but to this day she doesn’t really know the depth of platonic hurt she caused.  I have moved on from it and we still talk freely and openly as we always have.  But she’s asked that I avoid alluding to that evening to her girlfriend or anyone else… and so that damn annoying question rears its ugly head again:

Why can you not openly comfortably talk to your B-GFH the way you talk and act around me!?

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