Sep 27, 2015

Legal age, there's such a thing as legal age --- This is heaven --- teaser


"You and your parakeetish tendency to find some fitting line in the GREEN EYES or whatever your novels are called"---writes our friend Glenn---"here, take this:...




...this will shut you up, or at least your GREEN EYES." 

Well, for starters, Glenn,"---we write back---"we never intended the GREEN EYES to have a fitting word for everything---it's just the way it worked out. And second, of course we have something fitting your picture, here, in Chapter 18 of This Is Heaven, titled Post-coital Checkup..."...context: Alex and John are hauled by Professor Bienpensant into Juliette's hotel room, the room where the girl, by all accounts, has just lost her virginity to Romeo

She bangs on the door and attacks the door knob. No reaction. “Hold the line,” Alex says to her, “briefly.” 

“Juliette,” he says to the door. “Wonder girl, we need your help.” He knocks twice. 
“It’s too late,” Bienpensant says, “we need somebody to open the door. The concierge. The ambulance.”  
“Wonder girl,” Alex pronounces, “Alex.” 

This is a noisy building from the 70’s, we should hear something inside—if. And yes, there’s a sound, the bounce of a closet door maybe. The door opens and Juliette’s head appears in the crack. She looks drowsy at first, then defiant, then resigned. She lets the door go and retreats. Romeo is on the bed, half-hiding under the sheets (Juliette wears a bathrobe).

“What is this,” Bienpensant says, “who is this boy?”
“False alarm,” I say (idiotically).
“This is Romeo,” Juliette says, “who else?” She walks up to the bed, sits down.
“I’m not a boy,” Romeo says. It looks like he’s preparing for one of his I-am-not-a-boy routines, rises, drops the bed sheets, and just stands there naked—whether he knows it or not, he’s the perfect expression of juvenile charisma. Where have we seen this posture before? Bienpensant can’t help being impressed. She shrieks.

“Perhaps we could start a drawing class with you,” Alex says, “angry male nude.” Romeo gets back under the sheets. 


"How about this picture, then?" --- "This picture we found ourselves."

Alex pulls out the phone, swipes, holds it up. “Have you seen this,” he asks Juliette. Bienpensant rushes forward and snatches the iThing. 
“No no,” she cries, and pockets the device.

Alex half-raises his eyebrows, looks at Juliette.

“Did you take your pill,” Barbette interrupts.
“No,” she says.
“This boy,” Barbette says and points at Romeo, “this non-boy.” 

Juliette sticks her tongue out.

“Legal age, there’s such a thing as legal age,” Bienpensant says.
“Juliet was thirteen,” Juliette says.
“Just chillin’,” Romeo adds. “We’re chillin'.”



Are you still there? Then you'll possibly like the GREEN EYES. The first part is available as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:


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Sep 26, 2015

Philippines (3) --- taxis are for the faint-hearted --- connubial bliss

We've arrived in Baguio yesterday, and this morning we decide on a stroll through the city. Let's go to Mine's View, which is a neighborhood in the northeastern part known for it residential vibes and views. "You know where it is?" Chang ask as we are leaving the hotel. Michael, flapping his internet maps, answers in the affirmative.

We stride past a terminal for Jeepeneys (a taxi-bus hybrid)...

and a construction site, where the construction crew reacts with
loud cheers to Chang's photographic efforts.

Otherwise, the first 15 minutes pass uneventfully, 
but then we get a repeat of yesterday.

Chang chokes on the traffic, the pollution, the noise (not shown). He covers his nose with the decollete of his T-shirt (as if this would help against the exhaust fumes). He then uncover's his nose and says: "Let's take a taxi."

Sep 25, 2015


("GOP" means grand old party, and refers to the American Republican Party. The elephant is their mascot)

Philippines (2)

"Lying with your beard" would be a more appropriate header, perhaps...

Sep 22, 2015

Philippines (1)


Note the dress code; background is the Thuner Lake (in Switzerland)
we haven't even arrived in Zurich.

Sep 20, 2015

Zurich Airport (reposted)

(This post was posted first in May 2012, when we were on our way to Thailand. Now we're heading for Baguio, in the Philippines, but again we're staying over for the night in Kloten, the town next to Zurich's airport. Little has changed in the meantime:)



Why Zurich, why zee airport? Well, we are en route to Thailand, and the plane will leave the next morning at 11:25am, and the counter will close 2 hours prior to departure, the website kindly informs us, and we would risk missing the plane if we take the early train from Visp, in the Valais, where we've started our summer sojourn in Switzerland, as we've vacated our house for the summer rentals. So we come a day early, and will spend the night in an airport hotel. And it's the Welcome Inn, located in Kloten, the suburb that gave the airport its name.

The receptionist looks stressed. She asks for our passport, then speaks Dutch (we have Dutch passports), asking whether we could speak Dutch. Sure, I reply in German. She looks stressed-er. We are handed the keys, and I like the room, especially the bed covers, and have a nap. I meet her (the receptionist) again in my dreams, and a theory develops. She's so stressed, I theorize, because "kloten" means "balls" in Dutch, and she was possibly raised by seven dominant sisters, who are all married now, and always ask her to explain to the nieces and nephews why she, the lonely spinster, works in Kloten, of all places. Dutch humor, I know it so well. 

Anyhow, when I return to the reception area after my nap, the camera ready, she eyes me suspiciously. Can I take a picture, I ask kindly in Dutch. It does not help. Yes, she replies, and flees the scene to hide behind a pillar that the architect must have put in place for that purpose. Here's the result:


Stay tuned.

Sep 12, 2015

A cheap motel for intercourse with a near stranger --- This is heaven --- fragment

Our friend Glenn sends this picture... 



Question: wouldn't "intercourse with a perfect stranger" be much funnier?


...while we are writing Chapter 28 about John and Taylor making out in a hotel room...so we simply had to post this post. There's a lot of sex in the chapter that we omit...some of the text overlaps with recent posts, apologies...what we are trying to do, give you an impression of the entire seduction sequence...seduction isn't possibly the right word, defloration might be a better word...although we're doing a bit more than just defloring Taylor who has just turned 18...

For more context go here, or here.


So we’ve been set free, and are now walking past the row of nervous aspen trees lining the Davis Canal, heading north in the direction of Georgia Avenue. We feel a bit experimental, both of us (I guess), so we make conversation that’s not centered on what happens between horny males in overheated bathrooms and decrepit trailers, or whether it’s accidental or providential (what happens there).

Still, as you might imagine, it’s on my mind whether there’s a follow-up to this, a Taylor-closure, as it were, some full sexual act with this youth played out in some convenient location, like, say, my bedroom---which would be the least convenient location in all of Georgia Beach with Maurice and Ben and everybody else around. Taylor doesn’t know about Maurice and Ben, of course, although he’s possibly assuming that Alex could be a roadblock, the only person who isn’t available as a roadblock at this juncture, sadly. Perhaps we could apply my overcharged credit cards to the reservation roster of the Lupo di Mare, the hotel-restaurant around the corner, or consider the Atlantic Sands Hotel, where we would bump into a wisened Juliette who’d figure us out immediately, the way providence (and female instinct) works.


A propos roadblocks

We’re about to reach the corner of Canal Street and Georgia Avenue. We would have to turn left here (and then left again) to get to my apartment with its bed chamber and other ingredients of supposed privacy, or turn right in the downtown direction and return to the Surfside Field, supposedly. Another round of green-room sex is out of the question, of course, not to mention trailers and police tape. We’ve painted us into a corner. Where do we go from here?
“Where do we go from here?” I ask (one of my better lines today).
“You go home now?” he asks.

Sep 10, 2015

John Dunno of Wichita Falls --- This is heaven --- teaser (3)

Tee time for Teaser 3 of This Is Heaven, the sequel to the GREEN EYES. It's short and sweet, this teaser, true balm for our challenged attention spans.

(The Happy Ending Is over now, is the title of the second (ie. the first) chapter, and John will know it. He's picking himself up, dusting himself off after yet another morning triangle in the gay dunes, and the plot thickens already. John is with Alex of course---so much is still left of the happy ending (go here for the previous teaser)---but in the meantime Ben has called, the other guy John met last week, and Alex was all-ear. "What was Ben's last name?" Alex has just asked:) 
  
“Ben is his pet name,” I say.
“He has a real name?”
“John.”
“Ben is John. Cool. John and John. Could be a bit confusing, though. Glad his real name isn’t Alex. You sure?”
“How do you mean?”
“Alex. He’s not another Alex. You sure?”
“Yes.”
“And his last name?”
“Dunno,” I lie.
“John Dunno, funny.”
“It’s not Dunno. It’s ‘I-don’t-know’.”
“How do you know it’s not ‘Dunno’ if you don’t know?”
“I mean,” I say.
“John Dunno of Witchita Falls, Texas. Not likely I would know the guy.”
“Yes.”
“Not likely you would know the guy.”


John Dunno of Wichita Falls, Texas

Is he playing with me? Will he be always like this? It’s not too late to explain. I could have met Ben a few weeks ago, days, eons before I met Alex. Met him a few weeks ago, introduced him to Luke, Luke needs a hand for the festival. Ben has my number, of course he calls. Explain, John, explain.

Sep 5, 2015

This is heaven --- "We need a room"

Just a few paragraphs; (John and Taylor are heading for the Atlantic Sands Hotel). For more context, refer to the previous post


We direct our steps in the direction of the Atlantic Sands Hotel, which, as you know, is not far.

To be more precise, I trot in the direction of said hotel while Taylor stays abreast. We’re quiet now. That’s fairly typical with a new trick, you’re either quiet or you talk a lot on the way to the venue. It happened barely a week ago under very different circumstances on the way to Godehart’s place, remember, where it ended in an in-flagrante masterclass of Wagnerian proportions. Let’s see what we’ll be getting this time.



(The title is misleading, this is one of the famous "room" scenes from the Pink Panther movies)


The walk takes us along North Surf Avenue, the dunes to left, occasional multistory condos to the right, all stylized as beach holiday homes gaping at the sea. They would be pretty, the condos, if they weren’t too large, comely porches transposed into five story balconies---the effect doesn’t quite work for me. The condos are prettier than the Sands Hotel, though, which had been cheaply inserted into its prime location forty years ago. A giant inverted sign on the roof spells its name backwards. I point at the sign (just to make sure). Taylor nods. We enter through a back door and arrive in the lobby from the wrong side, none of the reception people has seen us coming.

The way we look, sweaty, exhausted by the heat, shabbily clad (me), or untidily (clad) (Taylor), booth of us in mere sneakers, shorts, and T-shirt, we may not even own a motorized conveyance, they could easily turn us away. Too late. An assistant manager has made eye contact (‘What are you doing here?’).

“We need a room,” I answer. She’s more tactful that Luke, at least, in that she isn’t lowering her gaze as we speak; instead, she casts it at the main entrance where she keeps it there for two seconds (‘Has she decided to ignore us?’), but then returns it in my direction (‘Has she changed her mind?’). Squeaky footfalls break the silence, somebody has a hand on my shoulder, in passing, and---you guessed right---it’s Alex, in full alpha-mode, beaming his post-felo-de-se grin at all of us. “I have an urgent appointment with the Professor Bienpensant,” he says, “replacing Mr. John Fletcher of Wichita Falls, Texas.” The receptionist couldn’t care less, of course---a place like this accommodates thousands of sex acts per day during peak season---but Alex is simply too beautiful not to evoke second guesses or wistful smiles. The assistant manager keeps her libido in check, though, and asks: “You know the room number?” And yes, Alex knows the room number and disappears squeakily into the direction of the stair well, ignoring the convenient elevator nearby, for emphasis.

Sep 4, 2015

This is heaven --- real-quick

We're finally back to Part II (we're so happy), and here's just a little in-between fragment, which involves John following his dick one more time. There's a lot of stuff that requires more context but you'll get, I think, the gist. It's about John and this youth, Taylor. They made out twice already, sort-of, once in the bathroom of the green room and once in a trailer on the festival field where they got caught in flagrante by inspector LaStrada. (This is serious fiction, folks, at least in the sense that it's really unrealistic). So they've spent some serious slapstick time in the local jail, and now:


So we’ve been set free, and are now walking past the row of nervous aspen trees lining the Davies Canal, heading north in the direction of Georgia Avenue. We feel a bit experimental, both of us (I guess), so we make conversation that’s not centered on what happens in overheated bathrooms and decrepit trailers between horny males, or whether it’s accidental or providential (what happens there). 

Still, as you might imagine, it’s on my mind whether there’s a follow-up to this, a Taylor-closure, as it were, some full sexual act with this youth played out in some convenient location, like, say, my bedroom---which would be the least convenient location in all of Georgia Beach with Maurice and Ben and everybody else around. Taylor doesn’t know about Maurice and Ben, of course, although he’s possibly assuming that Alex could be a roadblock, the only person who isn’t available as a roadblock at this juncture, sadly. Perhaps we could apply my overcharged credit cards to the reservation roster of the Lupo di Mare, the hotel-restaurant which is more or less around the corner, or consider the Atlantic Sands Hotel, where we would bump into a wisened Juliette who’d figure us out immediately, the way providence (and female instinct) works. 


"The Persian ambassadors," Aubrey Beardsley

Look at it this way---how to make it to fame inside less than a week?



Kim Davis, County Clerk, Rowan County, Kentucky

(PS:)


The view this morning