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Theory on the De-Evolution of Man

30 Sep

I have this theory, that when faced with a problem, mankind will inevitably begin with the most technologically advanced option, and will then proceed backwards along the evolutionary scale until we eventually reach Hit It With a Rock and finally Bite It.

Right now that scale tops out at Particle Accelerator, or if you are not an astrophysicist, a Smart Phone App.

This theory was confirmed recently while watching two friends try to figure out why their car would not start. They both pulled out their smart phones and downloaded automobile repair troubleshooting apps. Then the internet was consulted. The Great Google God of Information. Next, volt-meters were applied. Then ratcheting wrenches, hammers, and and finally one lost his temper and just kicked the damned thing. The loose wire was eventually tracked down and repaired.

But the real story is the event that lead me to developing the theory in the first place.

Kasini’s story of lighting herself on fire reminded me of this one friend of mine I used to go camping with. One time, and this is not the relevant story but a segue, he was trying to start the fire using kerosene. Predictably, the can caught on fire, causing him to scream bloody murder, throw the can down, and proceed to stomp out the fire. He stomped on the can of kerosene, which then crushed and sprayed flaming fuel twenty feet across the campsite. I emerged from my tent to see a wall of fire separating me from what appeared to be a deranged orangutan running in circles screaming ‘oh god oh god were gonna die.’

No eyebrows were lost, the forest didn’t burn down, and he has yet to live down the event.

One a subsequent trip all our food for the entire three day back country packing trip, except for a bag of instant rice, was in cans.

Guess who forget the can-opener.

I did not find this out until we had set up camp five miles down Lower Courthouse Wash in Arches National Park. Not only had he failed to bring the assigned can-opener, but my emergency opener, which was wired to the zipper of my backpack, had mysteriously disappeared.

We didn’t have a particle accelerator, or a smart phone with a can opening app. But we had a hatchet.

That didn’t work.

Neither did a pocket knife, or keys or anything else we could think of . Finally, out of sheer frustration and desperation, I hit the damn can with a rock, which burst open, spilling forth its delicious guts of chicken and gravy. I swear, had the rock not worked I would have just bitten the damn thing and sucked out the juice, I was that hungry. There may have been warpaint applied, I cannot recall.

Half an hour later we found the can-opener that my friend had stolen off my backpack to try to gouge open a bag of beef jerky.


On Pornography

21 Sep

I too had my share of porn experiences when I was young, though I never had a porn ring like Kasini. My father didn’t own any porn, he felt he didn’t need it because he had a healthy view of sex and sexuality. Surprisingly, his voicing of that opinion probably did more to damage my view of sex than early exposure to pornography could have.

A healthy view of sex and sexuality precludes an interest in porn.

Like any other pubescent male, I was very interested in images of naked women and sex. All of my friends had access to pornographic magazines or movies. Every father on the street had a treasure trove buried at the back of their closet. But not mine.

I was probably ten or twelve the first time I saw a pornographic magazine, when a friend brought out his father’s stash. I had regular access to porn in that manner, where we would sit around and point and giggle and ooh and aah. But I wanted more, I wanted to take those magazines and movies and run off by myself, and I didn’t know why. They moved me in disturbing and compelling ways. I managed to find enough to get by, but barely.

When a friend got caught stealing his father’s stash to bring to the neighborhood clubhouse, all the mothers were notified. Mine sat me down to talk about it, probably thinking she was going to be enlightened and open. All she did was confuse me. I was told it was ok to look if I was curious, but in the same breath she told me only perverts and men who didn’t respect women would ever keep that kind of stuff in their house. She offered to buy a Playboy for me, so that I would not try to steal one, but only a Playboy because anything else was filthy perversion.

I was 19 before I had my own stash, a stack of mixed magazines I found in a parking lot. Again, my mother sat me down to talk about it after she found them, once again thinking she was being enlightened and open. “It’s ok to have those,” she told me, “but you do realize, don’t you, that women don’t really do those things?” What, don’t enjoy sex? Don’t suck cock? Don’t kiss other women or play with dildos or masturbate? So much for a healthy and open view of sex.

Well, all I knew was I was hooked. Not addicted, just fascinated. I loved looking at pictures of beautiful naked women, I loved reading stories about sex, I loved everything about those magazines. And I was torn. On the one hand, I had been taught to embrace my sexuality, that whatever I was feeling was natural, but on the other there were unspoken-and sometimes explicitly spoken-limits to what I should feel. It was natural only if it conformed to their expectations.

I went though my teenage years wondering if I was some sort of sexual deviant. I thought about sex a lot. A LOT. I know now that was normal. But I had no basis for normal. I was the odd kid out, the only one with permissive parents who didn’t make me feel bad for masturbating, and yet I was the only one whose father didn’t own any porn. When the other kids got the urge, they could just sneak into their father’s room for a peak. Not me.

And now I have internet. As much free pornography as I could ever want, right at my fingertips. I still look at pictures of beautiful naked girls. Hell, I have a second tab open right now, with, you guessed it, pornography. I don’t think pornography is dangerous or repressive of women. I think it can be, but no more than any other institution. I think banning pornography is more dangerous than allowing it. I do not think it is intrinsically repressive to women. Woman can give consent, and claiming that all women who participate, even those who do so willingly, are being coerced or degraded, is doing a disservice to women. By making that claim you are putting women into the same category as children or animals or property, as something that is incapable of making an informed decision, something that has to be protected and coddled and taken care of. And I absolutely hate that attitude. I do not deny that there are women being exploited for pornography. But there are women being exploited in every industry somewhere in the world. I still wear shoes, even though women receive less than 20 cents a day to make them in China. I don’t wear shoes made in China, nor do I enjoy porn made by exploiting women.

Worldwide pornography generates between fifty to a hundred billion dollars annually, and Americans spend more at the strip clubs than they do at Broadway, off Broadway, regional and non-profit theaters, the opera, the ballet and jazz COMBINED. This is not a sign of sickness, this is a sign that humans are incredibly sexual creatures, and we need an outlet for that sexual energy. Studies have shown that societies with easy access to porn have a greatly reduced incidence of rape and sexual dysfunction. Pornography is a reflection of sexual desire, not a creator, and usually serves to liberate and satisfy. And not just for men, porn can help women, gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgenders explore their sexuality and even empower them by helping them realize that they are not alone, that their urges are normal and shared by others.

Now, there is porn and there is porn. I do not like fake porn. Professional porn. Women with elaborate hair and makeup and obviously fake breasts being pounded by men with sculpted muscles, tribal tattoos, and ten inch cocks, that does nothing for me. That face they make when pretending to come, I hate that face. “Oh, yeah, give it to me, oh yeah’. Shudder. I don’t like to feel that they are acting. I like amateur porn. I like regular girls, girls next door, MILFs that  you could meet at the corner drug store. Real women who are genuinely enjoying themselves. Curvy girls, girls with love handles and real tits instead of scrawny skanks with plastic faces and silicone boobs.

Even when I was a teenager I knew the difference between fantasy and reality when it came to porn. I knew what was staged, what was done for the sake of more magazine sales. Penthouse Forum, yeah, I didn’t believe any of those stories then either(of course, now I get to live them, but that is another post). I could tell by a model’s expression that she was not really into having her pussy licked by another women or didn’t really like having a cock up her ass. But on some of those spreads, I could tell she did enjoy it, and that opened up a whole new world to me. Women could enjoy sex, and sex could be more than just missionary between a husband and wife. Women enjoy sex. Isn’t that one of the tenants of the feminist movement? Women enjoy sex to, it’s not just for the man. And porn taught me that.

Despite my parents best efforts, I learned a lot from porn. I had no idea you could lick a pussy until I saw it in a magazine. Kids talked about it, but there was no mental image to with the words. I didn’t know what they were talking about. I didn’t know the mechanics of sex, other than insert Tab A into Slot B, repeat. And I didn’t get to experiment till Bayani and started having sex at age 19. My parents were ex hippies, with a healthy fear of AIDS. “It’s not like it used to be, it’s not safe any more”. Save yourself for marriage, that was the message.

I want my children to have a healthy view of sex, I want them to grow up as well balanced and open minded as they can be. But what kind of double standard would I be giving, if I hid my porn from them? Do I let them see what is on my computer at this age? No. But when should they be able to discover it? Should I let them find it on their own, when they are ready? Should I carefully select examples of healthy sex for them to find? Should I just let it happen and be there to talk to them when they have questions? Will people react differently about exposing my teenagers to porn if they know I have daughters instead of sons?

Raising children with a healthy knowledge of sex and sexuality has been on my mind lately. How much of our lifestyle should I let them see? Will Fanny be nothing more than a good friend, or will they be allowed to see consenting adults showing affection for one another?

Our society has certain expectations about sex and how we talk about it, certain rules. Should I teach my children those rules? Or should I teach them how to hide, how to blend in, how to pretend for the sake of appearance? What will that do to them, knowing that their family is different?

I am torn. I do not have all the answers. No parent does. These are all things we have to grapple with, and I like to believe that the fact that I think about it will give my children an advantage over those who just let their kids grow up on autopilot, expecting that whatever society teaches them is good enough.

So I do the best I can, and hope I don’t mess them up to badly.

A different side of the story…Part two–guest post by Bayani

31 Aug

I guess I should go ahead and finish my story of confusion, attraction, and self examination.

After Abe and I had our little makeout session at his house, he went out of town for almost a full week. This gave me a lot of time to think about what it was that made me panic and whether or not I could go through with more.

After Abe came home from his vacation, we planned to meet up again. This time, I knew what I wanted, how far I could go, and was ready to accept the consequences. When I left the house, Myrddwyn stopped me and stuffed a condom in my pocket. Does that seem strange?  A man gives his wife a condom on her way out the door for a date with another man. Strange, yes. Polyamory is strange sometimes.

We didn’t have any concrete plans, again, because we are lame and just don’t make plans well. I met him at his house, took one look at his exhausted self, and decided that he’d be no fun if we went anywhere. We decided to stay in again. We went upstairs again, with the pretense of looking for a movie to watch. Through some unspoken mutual decision, we skipped that part and commenced with the kissing. I will keep the details to myself. I imagine that Myr doesn’t want the details, and none of y’all other readers need to know anyway. All I can say is that it was terrifying, exciting, and wonderful. I got the feeling that Abe was waiting for me to freak out and stop again, but I didn’t.

I came home late that night, and Myr was waiting with fifty million questions. He processes things by gathering every piece of information possible and then rolling it around in his mind. This would have been fine, except I hadn’t finished processing it myself.  I process things slowly, and all in my own mind. It takes me a little while to decide how I feel about most things. I use my emotions and intuition where Myr uses logic and reason. I was still riding the waves of emotion that come from intimacy, especially the first time with a new partner. Myr quizzed me about details that I wasn’t emotionally ready to answer. This is where the *minor* tiff came in. I downplayed a few differences between Abe and Myr. Some anatomical, some techique-related.  I KNOW Myr doesn’t like to be lied to. I still don’t feel like I lied. In all reality, what sane person….okay, let me start this question over…   Who would know how to respond to the question “So is he bigger than me?” when she hadn’t finished processing the fact that she has just slept with the first non-husband man in over 18 years? I admit. I responded with a not-the-whole-truth answer. I responded in the same way a man, when cornered by a wife, responds to the question “does this dress make my ass look fat?”  I was honest, but didn’t give all the facts. Myr got upset. This whole deal has been dealt with in a previous post. I felt a little attacked at the time, and was trying to be reassuring and honest, while letting Myr know that I still wanted to be with him, and still trying desperately to process this HUGE moment in my life. I understood his need for reassurance. I really did, and still do.

Since that day, I have always told Myr the total, brutal truth when he asks me questions. I don’t volunteer information, I don’t see the need to do that. I know more about his trysts with Kasini than he knows about mine, mostly because I read these posts too. if he asks a question, he gets an answer. Occasionally, he regrets asking that question. Sometimes we don’t really want to know the answer. Just like sometimes I regret reading these posts, especially when I get a couple of them in a row that are intense. These are the things we deal with as a polyamorous couple. There is still jealousy. We just know how to deal with it.

On top of all that drama, Abe got me sick that day. He didn’t KNOW that he’d brought home what has now been dubbed “the Vegas Plague”. He didn’t realize that the symptoms that seemed like normal allergies to him would knock me flat for two weeks. He didn’t know that I would then pass it to Fanny, and my daughters, and Myr, and a couple of my co-workers, making me feel  a little like Typhoid Mary. I have since made him feel sufficiently bad for that.

And so the drama continues. The aftershocks of this “affair” are just starting to hit the rest of my life, and I may post at a later date about what it has meant for Abe and me in our other circle of friends.


29 Aug

I recently compared myself to a tortoise.

Plodding along, oblivious to raging storms and howling winds and chattering magpies, I just keep doing my own thing, not letting the world affect me. There is something admirably zen about tortoises, and I liked the comparison. I was even about to type out a tortoise vocalization to enforce this cool analogy.

My fingers froze over the keys.

Tortoises don’t make noises.

This was even more fitting than I had thought, because neither do I.

Continue reading

Still Flirting After All These Years

4 Mar

Just the other night while hanging out with some friends, I was text-flirting with my wife.  They caught me, and tried to tease me mercilessly.  They called us ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’.  Screw them, we are adorable.  I didn’t hide it, I’m not ashamed.  I honestly don’t understand why they thought it odd.

Very soon Bayani and I will celebrate our fourteenth anniversary.  And for those of you who have not yet read my bio, I met her in high-school.  I was eighteen when we met, and I just turned thirty six.  I have now spent more than half my life with the woman I love.

And she is still as awesome as ever.  Awesomer.  And I get to flirt with her.

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It’s a Small World After All

21 Feb

Myrddwn’s side of the story:

Early on in our new relationship(friendship, not romantic/sexual), Kasini and I were sitting in our coffee house getting to know each other and swapping stories.  It’s not that often you find another poly person to be friends with, and we were both reveling in the ability to talk about that part of our lives.

It was my turn, and I was listing my various adventures.  I hadn’t gotten very far yet, I was only on Threesome Number Two, with Babette(of the Nipple Ring Story).  Kasini was looking at me with that odd, narrow eyed expression she gets when she suspects something, or when I’m being an ass.   I forged ahead undaunted.  When I got to the end, telling about why and how Babette stopped seeing us, Kasini’s eyes went real wide and she exploded with a question.

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A Nice Pair of One-Night-Stands

15 Feb

Finding Unicorns, it turns out, is relatively easy for us. It also turns out that not all Unicorns are created equal.

Between Carlotta and Fanny, there were Daphne and Esther. Both girls were one night stands, one by our choice, one by hers. There was an incident with a cat, some squirting, and dime bag of coke. Continue reading


5 Feb

Friday was my one-year anniversary with my girlfriend. Next month is my fourteenth anniversary with my wife.

But it’s ok, my wife knows all about my girlfriend. Not only does she know, she approves. And they’ve met. You see, my wife is also dating someone. And her significant other happens to be, you guessed it, my girlfriend Fanny.

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How We Met(Myrddwn and Kasini)

2 Feb

She was smart, and funny, and had great- um, eyes. We had a few classes together in high-school, and even worked together on a project in Anthropology. But she wasn’t interested in me.

She was the one who got away. Well, not really. She did get away, but she wasn’t the one. I did have a crush on her, but then I had a lot of crushes.

This one was named Kasini.

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