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Brother Where Art Thou?

June 29th, 2009 § 7 comments § permalink

I stepped off the curb and 1990 swept by me.

The time roared into my senses screaming and quickly dissipated like some sort of memory Doppler Effect.

For a few seconds, I was 14 or 15 again, riding shotgun with my brother as he cruised the K-Mart parking lot, just like the two teen-aged boys who had just driven by me at Wal-Mart.

They were driving an old Camaro Iroc-Z, just like my brother did.  Only theirs was mostly primer, where my brother’s, although used, too, was always slick and polished.

Like my brother.  Slick and polished.  And sexy.

Now before you all start jumping to any conclusions about Tennessee, I did not have any kind of attraction or sexual connection to my brother. 1  But, I am able to appreciate when someone has a sexy quality about them.

I don’t know if it was inherited or something he picked up, but it was a quality he got from our father.

I only knew Daddy as a breaking down alcoholic. Not the dangerously seductive wolf that I have heard others say that he was.  But, apparently, in his prime, our father was very desirable, and everyone2 thought my mama had won the lottery when he got her pregnant.

You can’t help but idolize someone who has that kind of charm and magnetism. Especially when you are young.  And especially especially when it is a quality that has eluded you.

So, I was my older brother’s constant sidekick through my early teens.  I wanted to be wherever he was and doing whatever he did.  Maybe in the hopes that some of it would rub off.  And virtually everything in our lives then revolved around or happened in that car.

I first smoked weed3 in that car.  I sat on the hood reading books while my brother fucked girls in the back of that car.  We drag raced in that car.  We received tandem blow jobs in that car.   We slept in that car.4  I learned to drive5 in that car.  I got news of Mama’s death in that car.

I lost my brother in that car.

Figuratively.

My brother had become involved with some illegal activities6 and one day I discovered that I was unknowingly being used as a soldier in his service.

Betrayal.

That was the beginning of the end of my idolatry and our relationship with each other.

I never looked at him the same again.

By the end of that summer I was no longer his wing man.  I had moved to the mountains with my grandparents and he had gotten rid of the car.7

Even though the events are coincidental and even though my brother and I attempted8 to maintain a relationship a few years later, to me, saying goodbye to that car represents saying goodbye to my brother.

I miss that car.

{ fin }

  1. He’s my brother, not my cousin.  :-) []
  2. except my grandparents []
  3. illegally []
  4. When Daddy would lock us out of the house for coming home too late. []
  5. illegally []
  6. which years later would become his undoing. []
  7. Access to a certain kind of money gave him newer and finer cars. []
  8. Unsuccessfully. []

Find Out What It Means To Me

June 24th, 2009 § 8 comments § permalink

R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

This is going to make me sound like a crabby old fart, but what has happened to people treating each other with respect?

It’s everywhere, the disrespect.

Towards parents, towards bosses and co-workers, towards friends and neighbors, towards lovers.

I could apply this to thousands of things, but I’ll illustrate with a recent occurrence,

Last Saturday the Attorney gathered some folks at his pool.  Me, a handful of his friends, and another couple who were friends of a friend.  Late in the evening that couple pulled a trigger that blasted disrespect like buckshot, scattering wide enough to hit other guests, the host, his home, and each other.

The details of their argument aren’t important, but the two of them got into it something fierce.  What started as a couple of snaps at each other went, in a flash, from zero to sixty and out and out screaming at each other across the pool and back yard.  It wasn’t just high emotions, it was also just plain mean.  The vicious attacks escalated and finally came to head when one guy made a threat1 to one day kill the other in his sleep.

I can’t begin to tell you how ugly the whole thing was.  I’ve never seen two people treat each other like that.  Especially in front of other people.  And in someone else’s home.  Particularly the home of someone they had not met until that day.  The lack of respect was on every level and to everyone possible.

The Attorney was disgusted2 and hopping mad, but he held his anger together and in a very dignified manner diffused the situation and sent them on their way. 3  Unfortunately, the fight had buzz-killed the whole evening and everyone pretty much felt like it was probably the best time to head out.

The Attorney’s friend, Jeff, who had brought along the extra couple, stuck around to help us clean.  He was embarrassed and very apologetic.  The Attorney, who I could tell was still burning inside, simply and calmly said to Jeff,  “I’m just going to have to ask that you not bring them by again.”

And that was it.

He didn’t labor the subject.  He didn’t make Jeff feel bad. 4 Just like he had with the fighting couple, in spite of all that had happened, he showed Jeff respect.

And that’s why I love him.  Well, one of the many reasons.  But, it’s a big one.

He treats me with respect.  He always has.

Sure, like any couple we have disagreements.  We have arguments.  Hell, we have fights.

Maybe it’s because of his training in law, but even when we don’t see eye-to-eye, he seems to always have respect for what I say and feel.

And for me.

That means everything to me.

And so does he.

A-T-T-O-R-N-E.5

{ fin }

  1. Which we are not entirely sure was just the alcohol talking. []
  2. As we pretty much all were. []
  3. The argument ignited partially from one of them being ready to leave anyway. []
  4. Or Worse []
  5. …Y []

Water

June 22nd, 2009 § 11 comments § permalink

I love water.

I love water in all forms.

Rivers and lakes.  Baths and showers.

Pools.  Puddles.  Rain.  Falls.

In a bottle.  In a glass.  In cubes.

It’s my favorite thing to drink.  It’s my favorite thing to feel on my body.1

I wonder if it’s because I was born under a water sign: Cancer.2

I wonder if my love for water is what connects me so well to my mama.  She did store me a few months in water before hatching.

I wonder if my love for water had a hand in making me a bit of a clean freak.

Whatever it is, water is a heavenly thing to me.

I once wrote a post on the old blog about which member of the Justice League of America I would be.  For various reasons, I narrowed it down to Batman and the Green Lantern and the Green Lantern won out because Batman’s whole existence came out of vengeance.  And that’s just not me.

I mention this because I eliminated Aquaman in the  process because I felt like he was pretty useless out of the water.  But in hindsight, I think maybe that Aquaman may really be where my heart lies.

Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t feel useless out of the water, but if I could be in the water all the time, I would have no compaints.  In fact, that could kill two birds with one stone because one of my other favorite things besides water is being naked.

And I’m a pretty strong swimmer.  Even though he has a pool and swims everyday at the gym as well, I can out swim the Attorney.  Before you jump to the conclusion that of course I can because I am younger, know this:  even with that 15 year difference, I can’t out run him.  I just work better in the water.

Yet, I have never had sex in the water…hmmm…3 Wait!  Take that back.  Shower.

Anyway, I think that if I had access to organized swimming when I was in school, I might have been a champion swimmer.  I might have been Michael Phelps before he was.  I have more torse than leg, like him. 4 So maybe it could have been possible.

In a response to a tweet I Twittered, Kory said that water was “constant, cleansing, refreshing, always cycling into new states of being..”

I like that.  I think it’s a description that in part describes me too.  As much as I may go through changes, I remain the same.

I am water.

Want a drink? ;-)

{ fin }

  1. Not counting the Attorney. []
  2. June 30.  Mark your calendars! []
  3. Not counting blow jobs and hand jobs or penetration hanging half way out of a hott ub. []
  4. Not to mention the goofy smile and big ears. []

Flashers In The Night

June 9th, 2009 § 11 comments § permalink

I lost my iPod gawking at a bunch of male flashers.

First a couple of them flashed, then a whole bunch of them joined in.  And the crowd loved it.

The Attorney was there with me.  Last night he drove up and we went to see the show.

Synchronized fireflies.

Only we call them lightning bugs around here.

Every summer for just a few days in June, there is a species of them in the Smokies that will synchronize their flashes.  My understanding is that it only happens two places in the world.  Here, and somewhere in Asia.

It’s the first time either of us has been to see it, and it was amazing.

I was expecting to see a rhythm set by one bug and then the rest of them picking up on it and keeping the beat.  But that’s not quite what it was like.

Once the sun finally went down and twilight disappeared, it was pitch black.  Then a couple of flashes.  Then a few more.  Then tons of bugs lit up in response.  Then they all went out.  Then the cycle happened again and again.

Supposedly they were doing it to get the attention of the females.  I guess once one fella starts showing off, they all get to posturing. Kind of like a bunch of frat boys.  Phi Beta Glimma.

I don’t know a thing about the sexuality of insects, but there had to be some Mos among them.  It was well organized and they put on quite a show.

Probably some on the DL, too.  That many guys showing their lower parts, you know there’s at least some mutual checking each other out.

There may be even a few of them that tried to pass by just not tirning their lights on.  Hiding their candy, so to speak, for the ones that are into trannies.  Or for the unsuspecting.1

But, it was definitely one of those  “remember when” moments.

The only damper on it all was the iPod.

I don’t know if it was among the pitch black of the hills.  Or on the trolley to and from the parking area.  Or if someone other than the Attorney briefly had their hand in my back pocket.2  But, somewhere along the way I lost my iPod.

The loss itself is not a big deal.  I can live just fine without it. The bad part is that the only reason had an iPod is because the Attorney gave it to me for Christmas one year.

The back was engraved with 7 characters:  his three initials, the number 2, then my three initials.  No spaces.

A personal code.

That’s how we have signed gift cards back and forth to each other ever since.

And we will continue to, of course.

I guess that’s our own form of synchronicity.3

{ fin }

  1. Always check the thorax.  And for an Adam’s apple. []
  2. It was dark enough. []
  3. I had to look that up.  I knew “sychronization” didn’t seem right. []

Routine Comfort

June 8th, 2009 § 13 comments § permalink

I’m a creature of habit.

Or, at least, I’m not very spontaneous.

I have had oatmeal and an apple for breakfast virtually everyday for the last ten or twelve years, and I have spent virtually every Friday evening with the Attorney for the last year or two.

It’s become our regular thing, Friday evening.  Sometimes we go out to eat, sometimes we play basketball, sometimes we work in the yard, sometimes we stay in and I cook, sometimes we stay in and just knock boots.

To some people it would be a rut.  I guess they would  feel the same about oatmeal.  To me it’s comfort.

Creature comforts for a creature of habit.

I’m not sure how Friday became our regular day.  It wasn’t part of a plan.

The romantic answer is that it’s like when people pick a song that was playing when they met as “their” song.   The Attorney and I met on a Friday, so…

You get the picture.

But I’m more practical than romantic.  So, I’ll go with the practical answer that it’s because Friday is generally the first chance in any given week for us to  get together.

This past Friday he had an out of town trip.  So, our regular day was put on hold.

Although not entirely.

He was away, but I drove down to his place anyway.  I wish I could clearly explain why. Maybe it was muscle memory.  Maybe it was routine.  Maybe I was missing him.  But I just wanted to be around him, even if he wasn’t around.

In a weird way, being at his house, simply watching TV in his big leather chair, occupying his space1 gave me a sense of being with him.  Like maybe he was just in the next room the whole time.

I know it probably sounds like I am one good underwear sniff from being a stalker.

I look at it as looking after his house.  After all, he gave me a key long ago. I brought in his mail, swept off the patio, and did some laundry for him.  All things he would have done had he been there.

I simply took comfort in helping him stick to his routine.

{ fin }

  1. which I often do in other ways on Friday nights anyway. []

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