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While I was Dreaming
Welcome to The Dreamery. There have been a few changes, but my blog is still simply a random series of Thoughts and fantasies, examining my past and my impossible future. Nothing on this blog is a lie. When I say nothing that follows is made up you can be sure it is the truth. Even the dreams are real dreams that I have had . And all the fantasies are my real fantasies.

There are however some questions which may never be answered:
Is it possible to actually laugh your arse off?
How sick is a parrot?
Are sandboys truly happy?
And just how mad is a box of frogs anyway?

And mostly, I do have it all in perspective!
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Slip Slidin Away
Posted:Mar 31, 2014 3:44 pm
Last Updated:Apr 10, 2014 3:51 pm

Have you ever had one of those situations where you know you are heading into dangerous waters, putting yourself in a risky position but you just keep rolling on down that hill and can't stop yourself? You don't even really want to stop yourself.

Me too. Right now. Maybe it will be okay. I hope so. I might be able to tread the line and not step over it. I know I can't make myself turn round and run away. I don't really want to. I just don't want to have to take the consequences. Maybe there won't be any.

Maybe just by blogging this and acknowledging that I know there might be consequences I can't even bear to think about will help me navigate the minefield.
It's blogging Jim, but not as we know it, not as we know it, not as we know it, Captain
Posted:Mar 27, 2014 4:36 pm
Last Updated:Apr 10, 2014 3:52 pm

Smurfnturf has just pointed out that the site seems to have changed the setting on the profile preview so that they pop up like a premature ejaculation if you so much as skim over them with your cursor.

She reckons it is so that it looks like more people have viewed your profile so you are tempted to pay for gold membership so you can contact them. Probably right, but as I am mostly only here to blog and rarely browse the profiles I remain un-tempted.

It has been going on in one form or another for years, but smurf is right, this is worse. I keep accidentally looking at my own profile. Maybe the site will send me a message asking if I would like to hook up. Wait. I already did that.

But I also noticed something else. I never update my own profile either, and there is still that picture I did as a spoof for some cock-pic competition one time. It was never meant to go on my profile, but I uploaded it and it ended up there so I left it. It's a good picture. It took me ages to fake it. Sorry to disappoint you ladies, my cock is a good one, but it's not that big.
The Dreamer Returns
Posted:Mar 26, 2014 4:39 pm
Last Updated:Apr 17, 2014 12:49 am

Researching holiday cottages, stop.

Glass of wine, stop.

Accidental kick of the table, stop.

Lap-top. Complete stop.

Three weeks later, fixed, back on line, can't think of anything to write about, stop.

Love you bye. Stop.
There’s about three hundred thousand of you fuckers out there
Posted:Feb 28, 2014 10:18 am
Last Updated:Mar 10, 2014 4:18 pm

Seeing as how it is the last day of February, in honour of my friends from No Filters February, for the first and last time ever on this blog I am going to do politics.

But before I go on, I want to make it clear that I am well aware that I am going to be glancing past complex issues, and there are no easy answers. As I write, Syria is in what can only be called civil war, Ukraine is close to it, or worse still, let's hope not: a possible invasion – by a concerned neighbour intent on restoring a democratically elected government? Or by a once controlling former mother country with dreams of restoring what was only an oppressive Empire called by another name? How do we know? Maybe it would be a bit of both. So don't think I am saying I know the answer.

Anyway, in researching the title of my previous post I had occasion to go onto the tube and listen to a song from the sixties by the Mamas and the Papas. Having checked the lyrics for a suitable quote, I idly looked to see what else I could listen to, and I was reminded of that all-time great protest song, the strangely titled "Fish Cheer" by Country Joe McDonald. (I think the song is actually called the "Feel Like I'm Fixin' to Die Rag," but it has always been known as Fish Cheer for short, after the chant which usually preceded it. Hip will know it. )

If anyone reading this has not heard this song, they must, without fail, on pain of never having another orgasm as long as they live (I couldn't think of any other curse likely to be more important to you lot ) go and listen to it.

It may be a quirky, cynical, popularist, simplistic comment on matters far more complicated than any of us will ever realise, but the sentiments behind the song became deep seated in me from the first time I ever heard it, back when I was too young to really understand, and I find they are as relevant and full of meaning today as they were over forty years ago.

I love my own country, and I love Americans. I also have a great deal of respect for the USA and its traditions and values. As I do for my own here in Great Britain. I respect the men and women who put their lives at stake to defend the freedom I tend to take for granted, and I know that sometimes you have to fight for what you believe in. I believe democracy to be, as Winston Churchill put it, "the worst form of Government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time".........But I don't think that gives us the right to force it on other people. If I see two people fighting, I might well try to split them up and help them find a peaceful solution. I would not wade in to help one side against the other, even if asked, but it would be tough decision to choose not to, if it looked like the weaker one was going to get badly beaten. But with strangers, even with people you know, you may not always know the full facts, and you certainly can't predict the outcome.

In the nineteen sixties America fought a war, the original principles of which, according to all the moral standards I hold dear, may well have been justified. Originally, in the most simplistic way of looking at it, they were asked to help a country which was being overrun. But the horrific nature of that war as it unfolded and escalated left everyone who witnessed it traumatised, and gave rise to what was possibly the biggest popular protest movement of all time. Times are different today I know. And I know that today, as I write this, we are in the process of pulling out of Afghanistan, and we have, so far, resisted the pressure to take military action in Syria. But underneath much of our joint foreign policy, there is still the feeling that, if necessary, we might. And yet this thinking comes from societies whose civil laws state without very many exceptions that violent conduct is against the law. Why should it be different when countries are involved instead of people?

Sometimes, when I feel like I am a grown up, I think I understand why international relations might be different. But then I remember the black and white clarity with which I could see my moral standpoint forming in my younger days, before I learned the grey shades of how real politics works. And I think of that song.

Listen to it. Because that song cuts through all the politics and tells it how it really is for the people involved.
The Russians Love Their Too
Posted:Feb 26, 2014 2:42 pm
Last Updated:Mar 3, 2014 6:18 am

This was going to be a sentimental little post about how I cried buckets watching the closing ceremony of the winter Olympics. But I have had to add an opening paragraph, because I know there is a chance someone will want to start a discussion about homophobia. As a result I am forced to use what was going to be the opening line of my next post – "In honour of my friends in the No Filters February Group, for the first and last time ever I am going to do politics on this blog."
The funny thing is that I know the person most qualified to do so also was captivated by the games and isn't going to be upset by what I have written here – because that person knows that as far as I am concerned homosexuality is like the sunrise. Beautiful if you are up for it, but otherwise unremarkable.

But I don't want to be misunderstood so I will say this - Of course some people will say the Russians are homophobic. Maybe some of them are. But in the light of a current scandal here in the UK about an organisation which campaigned for the rights of a certain group in the 1970s ( I probably can't mention the group or this post will be denied, ) I would like to point out that although I was alive and living in this country then, I don't subscribe to that point of view. In fact if I remember the dates correctly, homosexuality may still have been illegal in this country when I was born. Yes, if we have the luxury of voting in a democracy then we must take responsibility for being careful who we elect. But at the same time, if we are going to start to blame everyone for the decisions of their governments then no one is above reproach.

Anyway, back to Dreamer's blog:

I am not ashamed to admit that I had a tear in my eye, just like the bear in the Winter Olympics Closing Ceremony. There were echoes of the Soviets' 1980 Moscow closing ceremony, and I remember thinking then that despite all the cold war rhetoric I grew up hearing, despite all the dodgy east west politics - the automatic taking of opposite sides in any international dispute - the Russian people must love their too. How could they not? How could the producers of these two extravagantly dramatic shows have such a sure touch, such an acute sense of the fine line between moving imagery and cheap sentimentality if they didn't know the meaning of love? And we loved the games.

I loved the camaraderie between opponents – frequently waiting for crashed out rivals to make it to the finish, checking they were okay before celebrating their own success. I loved the BBC total coverage – every event live or nearly live as it happened. And some of the quirky commentaries, especially by the snowboarding guy who said freestyle snowboarding was like trying to write "Ulysses" with your left and right hands at the same time, described one cold eyed athlete as having "a stare like pickled onions," and said when a ski half-pipe run went wrong it was like someone had thrown a matchstick model of an aeroplane into a ceiling fan.

The breath taking beauty of the ice skating, and the awful disappointment for the young Russian skater star who fell twice as nerves got the better of her, and yet still produced the dance which everyone will remember. Top class sport is often so poignant. The amazing desperate last ditch stand by the Canadian ice hockey women, mirrored by heartbreak for the Americans. I just put the tv on and let it run while I worked each day, just turning down the sound to take the odd phone call.

And now I miss it. I feel like someone I was close to has gone away and I won't be able to see them again, at least not for years. But I guess I should be used to that feeling by now.
On Such a Winters Day
Posted:Feb 20, 2014 4:10 pm
Last Updated:Mar 27, 2014 1:20 am

I was invited to a threesome today.

I'll pause for a moment while that sinks in.

I know.

I kind of thought about it. The invitation came from one of the very few women in the world who could probably have me pretty much any time she liked, despite my very good reasons for resisting any sexual entaglements at the moment. I would find her very hard to turn down.

(Actually I guess there are quite a few. Half of them are probably either reading this blog, or getting a name check on it, lol. But maybe we'll come back to that another time. )

It was partly a joke, but I'm pretty sure she sort of meant it too. Fortunately distance and practicality meant that I didn't have to think about it too hard. She knew that, and probably wouldn't have mentioned it otherwise. But in thinking about it I did realise that actually, even if I was available for entanglements, I probably wouldn't be able to accept.

The sox will understand this: The mere presence of guy in the room just wouldn't be okay for me. Guys really don't turn me on. I haven't ever even felt like bragging about sex to a man. In a totally fantasy world, I can almost imagine how I might find circumstances in which I got turned on by a man, but in reality it could never happen. It's not so much a physical thing - it is more how they think and behave. I know I have said before that I imagine if a woman had a cock then I'd want to suck it. But I wouldn't want to fuck a man even if he had a vagina.

I like men for playing sport with and hanging out at the pub. Sex is more intimate, more personal somehow for me. Even if I am not in love, even if it is hot and heavy, no holds (or is that holes?) barred kind of sex, I am really a soft-voices-and-tenderness, one-on-one kind of a guy.

Soft tenderness and one on one with this girl? Now you're talking.
Rose by Any Other Name
Posted:Feb 19, 2014 11:18 am
Last Updated:Dec 16, 2014 3:03 am

Why is it some names are sexier than others?

And I'm not talking about made up names like Ophelia Cox or something, I mean people's actual real names. First names really.

Before I ever even had any formative experiences to be influenced by I have always found myself drawn to certain names. Some intrigued, some affectionately, some to fall in love with, and some in a purely gut instinct I-want-sex-with-that-name kind of way.

I mention this because I was looking at a list of people who work for a company I may be doing business with in the near future, and one of the women was called Marissa. Now as far as I know I have never met anyone called Marissa, but before I knew what I was thinking I found myself wondering whether this woman would be as sexy as her name sounds. (I'm not going to be meeting her, so we aren't going to find out I'm afraid, but in any case that isn't the point. I don't know what kind of person she is or what she looks like or even whether she is twenty of sixty.)

The point is I am wondering am I alone in this, and if not what causes it? Are there names which are attractive to most people, or is it purely subjective and if so why? Of course I might be put off people after bad experiences - Karen springs to mind - or I might like a name by association - say Gladys. ( Gladys Knight for those of you who are off the pace. ) I met someone nice called Elaine, and now I really like that name. plus Elaine in Sienfeld makes me laugh, so maybe that doesn't count.

I have always been affectionate about women whose names begin with a K or the k sound. One of my best friends is a Kate, and I've been out with two others that I can think of plus a couple of Carolines. I don't know any Kirstys or Kellys but I'd like to, and I'm sure it's one reason why I like the TV celebrity Kelly Brook. Maybe subconsciously it's why I chose the name Claire for my friend in a recent post.

For me, names to fall in love with are the ones which end in an "A" sound - but not all of them. Sarah, Joanna, Laura, Louisa, Emma: yes, Agatha, Cynthia, Belinda: No thank you. Mix the two sounds together and you are really pushing my buttons, like, for example, Clara......As in Oswald perhaps?

But for some reason there are other names which just make me want to have sex. There was a blogger here ages ago who called herself "Lissa," some of you may remember her, and her real name was something similar. She was sexy and fun but it was her real name which hooked me once I had heard it I think. Natalia.....Mmmmmmmm, Michele, Isabella...OMG. But why? I don't get it.

I'm sure it works with men too - at least three times women I have been interested in have been seduced away by guys called Nick. I am convinced the name had something to do with it!

Oh bloody hell this post is a bollocks, I can't be bothered with it any more. In fact I can't believe I started it......just leave unrelated comments or talk amongst yourselves, I'll be back with something more interesting later, lol.
Cum in my Frying Pan - Part Two
Posted:Feb 13, 2014 12:30 pm
Last Updated:Feb 19, 2014 10:08 am

The heating is broken at my house this week, and as a result it is pretty cold, especially in the kitchen where there are two outside walls. (Don't worry, I'm doing fine - I still have hot water and I just put on a hat and a couple of extra fleeces, so I'm perfectly happy. )

But the ground nut oil (in the circumstances that's an amusingly appropriate name for the stuff, ) which stands next to the cooker in a plastic bottle ready to fry onions is not. Doing fine that is. It has turned into a semi solid, opaque whitish gunge. I managed to squeeze some out of the neck of the bottle, and I'm sorry to say that it looked horribly like some backed-up porn star had jizzed up a massive load in my frying pan.

Now unlike one mean spirited lesbian I could mention, I'm not averse to a good splodge of jism, (I even tasted my own once in the spirit of academic enquiry, ) but as a girl friend of mine once memorably said, "it tastes nice in a salty sort of way straight out of the pump, but I wouldn't want a steaming plate of it re-heated for breakfast!"

So I can't say I was enthusiastic about the mental image of starting my chicken casserole off with spunk-fried onions.

At least my girl friend didn't call it "pecker vomit."
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
Posted:Feb 12, 2014 3:38 pm
Last Updated:Dec 16, 2014 3:02 am

When I was about thirteen or so, a couple of years before I met Lizzy, I fell in love for the first time. I may have had girlfriends before, I'm not really sure of the timing, but love was new to me. I think I had almost forgotten about this, and I was reminded yesterday when I heard about the death of Shirley Temple. I have absolutely no idea why.

She was a laughing, witty, kindly girl, we'll call her Claire. We met and became friends at the local Church youth group, and the memory I have of her now, she seems young, but grown up, not like a . I remember she was always very positive minded too, and always saw the good in people. She had had a catholic upbringing I think, and retained a strong faith despite growing up and questioning the church, as we probably all did as we formed our own ideas.

I used to write to her from school, and one time I told her I had feelings for her, but she – very gently - crushed me by saying she just wanted to be friends. Looking back, I was far too young for her: I am sure she was interested in boys years older than me. I may have been hurt, but that memory has faded too and I guess there were too many exciting things going on in my young life for me to stay crushed for long. But I didn't forget Claire, and although we didn't see each other that often our friendship remained in the background of my life, occasional maybe, but deeper rather than diminished.

We should now fast forward a few years, through my relationship with Lizzy and the end of my school career to a time sometime around my twentieth birthday. I was away from home most of the time at college, as was Claire, but my mother was friends with hers, and usually kept me up to date. We used to laugh when we did meet up, as we quickly discovered we had no news for each other – our mothers having already told us what we had each been doing. Until one day I heard some less welcome news. Claire was in hospital, diagnosed with some kind of leukaemia. I think that's what it was.......again, I don't remember that well. She was going to be okay though: bone marrow transplants and whatever, and a long slow fight. It had messed up her chances of graduating but she'd get through it. I went to see her and she was tired obviously, but upbeat. As was always her way.

I never saw her again. She died a few months later. Apparently she had been well on the mend and back at home, and then had a massive relapse. I remember her mother looked like all the life had been drained out of her too. I'm not sure if she ever really got over it.

So yesterday I heard about Shirley Temple. Why it made me think of Caire, I don't know, but I'm glad I remembered her, because I hadn't thought about her at all for a very long time. She was a special person, but one who did not grow old. One whom no one can ever remember except for as she was as a girl, or as a young woman who became ill. But her positive attitude towards everything, and the way she accepted her illness and just got on with the job of getting better inspired me in a way that I'm not sure I really noticed at the time, but which has stayed with me through all the rest of my life. Almost like having some kind of guardian angel.
Any Snowboarders out there?
Posted:Feb 10, 2014 10:29 am
Last Updated:Feb 18, 2014 3:18 pm

I really want to have sex with snowboarders. Aimee Fuller to be precise, lol. She was so funny on UK TV commentating on her team mate Jenny Jones' bronze medal in the slopestyle.

But any of them would do probably. I don't know what it is that makes them so sexy. Could it be just their constant smiles and love of being alive? Or maybe it's the thought of the snow getting inside their warm clothing? The fresh-air outdoor lifestyle? Is it the danger? Their perfect white teeth and blonde hair? Or their young-at-heart risk-taking happy-go-luckyness? I don't know, but I love their attitude. Snowboarders are gorgeously sexy.

Keen students of my blog may recall I once posted an imaginary dialogue between Dreamer and me in which Dreamer kept saying he wanted to fuck athletes, and I answered saying that was all very well, but first he would have to find an athlete who wanted to fuck him.

I was going to post a sex fantasy in which I get invited to a party after the medal ceremony, but I realised I have posted about my skier fantasy before. I can't believe it is four years since the last Winter Olympics - it seems such a short time ago. The skier chicks were turning me on then too. I went to the lengths of writing a fantasy about a chance encounter in a frozen equipment shed (Olympic Sex for anyone who would like to go back and check it out. ) It isn't my sexiest piece ever, but I did manage the side attraction of mentioning 12 winter Olympic events in the narrative without breaking the flow. Including use of the words "half pipe" as a euphemism, lol.

It isn't just that I find snow sports women sexy - I find I really like most of them too. I can't really explain this. I have never been skiing, or ever had a girlfriend who did. I did once date an international athlete (not a well known one.) I would have gone out with her anyway, but her sporting ability was definitely an added attraction.

There has been an advert on TV here recently for a dating website for people in uniform. Or those who want to meet them. I thought, "okay, that's a bit limiting.....slightly weird really, but fair enough, each to their own." But then here I am having a fetish about snowboarders.

I wonder if there is a website called snowboarders.cum or something. Maybe I should blog there instead.
Not. You. Obviously
Posted:Feb 7, 2014 7:38 am
Last Updated:Feb 10, 2014 3:34 am

For the avoidance of misunderstanding, can I just say that the words, "Not. You. Obviously," at the end of my last post were intended to make any lesbian readers feel more comfortable, but I realise now that may not have been apparent to some of you, maybe not even the lesbians.

It was probably also completely unnecessary, as one of the said lesbians have since been caught speculating (dare I suggest in a somewhat competitive sounding manner ) over the number of erect penises they inadvertently leave in their respective wakes.

Not. Mine. Obviously.
1 comment
Will you come see me - Thursdays and Saturdays?
Posted:Feb 5, 2014 2:06 pm
Last Updated:Feb 14, 2014 2:06 am

There's a reunion going on.

I didn't know anything about it. There used to be a group of smart women bloggers who became close friends and helped each other through some tough times. One or two of them used to drop by here now and then. They were good fun too. And now they are back for a month to catch up with each other and see how the blogs are getting on.

But how these blogs work and what they mean to you seems different according to the attention you are giving them. I know I find less and less time to spend reading new posts by people I haven't come across before; I don't flirt verbally as much as I used to, and I don't write much anymore. No wonder it seems different here. There is still a sense of community, but it is different, to my eyes anyway. I am absolutely sure that on here somewhere there are others marvelling wide eyed at the wonderful freedom of expression and cathartic effects from the judgment free understanding of others to be found here.

I don't imagine Crosby Stills and Nash had AdultFriendFinder in mind when they wrote the song I was listening to, but the lyrics caught my attention. Because in many ways they symbolise things we find out in each other here. We create relationships, even with the casual comments we leave here and there, let alone with the people who become important to us. And they evolve.

Reading about this "No Filters February," seeing the comments of people touching base with each other for the first time in a while - the first time here anyway - made me think about some of the interactions I have had with people here too. Some of them have moved on and I may never hear from them again. Some I am still in touch with, some not so much, some closer than ever. But, as CSN so evocatively describe in their song, relationships always change. Their words epitomise how I sometimes feel about things here.

It's getting to the point, where I'm no fun anymore, I am sorry
Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud, "I am lonely."
I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are.
You make it hard.

Remember what we've said and done and felt about each other. Oh baby, have mercy.
Don't let the past remind us of what we are not now.
I am not dreaming.
I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are.
You make it hard.

Tearing yourself away from me now, you are free and I am crying.
This does not mean I don't love you, I do, that's forever, yes and for always.
I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are.
You make it hard.

Something inside is telling me that I've got your secret. Are you still listening?
Fear is the lock and laughter the key to your heart and I love you.
I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are
And you make it hard.

Lovely harmonies. And I know they don't mean it the way I hear it, but I always smile and think of you when they sing "You make it hard."
Not. You. Obviously.
Was that funny? Yes it Was!
Posted:Jan 30, 2014 4:56 pm
Last Updated:Feb 5, 2014 3:34 pm

I know it wasn't that funny really, but it seemed it to me at the time. I wondered, fleetingly, if it meant I had been blogging here too long. But no, that just means I have a place to share the joke.

I was out having a drink with a friend. Not a really close friend, but a guy I know through work, and we get on pretty well. But on this occasion he was being a bit emotional, because his twenty year old has been living away from home, and he was telling me what great Christmas presents he had sent back.

First he told me about the great letter he'd received, then explained how he'd obviously really put some thought into the presents. He gave his mother some beautiful earrings he told me.

And then he said, totally straight faced, "He gave his sister a pearl necklace."

I was utterly speechless. He chattered on, totally unaware of what he had just said. I was almost dying inside trying to keep a straight face and not laugh - he obviously had no idea what he had said, and if I'd laughed I would have had to explain, and then suddenly that wouldn't have been funny at all!!!

It was so funny though, kind of the way he said it so dead-pan as well. You had to be there. But if you had been there, we would have taken one glance at each other and burst out laughing for sure. In fact I would have ended up ROTFLMFAO, if that really is possible.

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