trinket999's Looking-Glass World

Off With His Clothes!

2011-11-18T22:28:00.001-05:00

The Kiss IV

2011-10-02T13:29:00.001-04:00

Face Time

2011-09-11T13:23:00.000-04:00

At the Movies: Superheroes and Such

2011-08-28T14:13:00.000-04:00

Superhero movies are all in vogue in my world. Films featuring our favorite super-powered heroes from our adolescence do brisk trade at the box office, and it's a sure bet that every summer, there will at least be several blockbusters bearing the well-known names from the comic books of our childhood.

Needless to say, the superheroes of my world are quite different from those in yours. For one thing, from Superwoman to Spider Woman, from the Watchwomen to the X-Women, all the heroic characters in the big-name comic books are female. The vast majority of male characters are nothing but dudes in distress who also double as temporary sexual conquests that commonly last no longer than a few panels, or an issue at the most. Any longer-lasting male characters usually play the role of a long-suffering yet intensely devoted lover, or secretary, or domestic servant. The only distinguishing feature these men possess over those of the long litany of nameless playthings, is that they are privy to the secret identities of our masked crusaders. If there are any story arcs about them in the glossy prestige titles, it's more than likely to involve being kidnapped and (more often than you think) being violated in some way before being rescued.

Males with superpowers? There are only a few, and those powers are mostly reduced to such "soft" abilities as limited telepathy or an ability for premonition. For instance, the only ever male quasi-member of the X-Women was a mutant psychic who got shown once every few issues having vague premonitions of foreboding. He was kidnapped several times too, before the writers eventually killed him off as almost all readers thought his continued existence ludicrous.

Because the prestige titles – expensively produced with detailed art and color and with intricate plots – are geared to girls, they do feature graphic violence and sex, and what some would call derisory attitudes towards the weaker gender (check out the frequent gags about fragile males in the sack with super-powered females for a laugh!). However, in spite of laws prohibiting any males from buying such material from newsstands and bookstores, it's well-known that many of them have a massive male fan-base who manage to evade the rules meant to guard their delicate senses.

There are also cheaply-produced comic books geared for boys in the superhero genre that feature the long-suffering lover or secretary or domestic servant in the title role. Thus, The Life and Times of Louis Lane, about the Daily Planet's society pages reporter, who also manages to scoop stories about Superwoman due to his "special access," and his struggles in his on-again, off-again relationship Earth's greatest superhero. Then, there's Pepper Potts, about Iron Woman's devoted and permanently infatuated secretary, often depicted picking up her hastily-dispatched clothes and those of the latest notch on her belt off the floor of the many rooms of her palatial estate. Since these comics are written for boys, the sex is only hinted at, and there's not much violence. Even the kidnapping and extortion plots are sanitized. Many male fans of superhero comic books dismiss them – with their cheap paper, artwork and rote romance plots – as nothing more than Archie with capes. It must be said, though, that they do sell incredibly well, and they have a vast audience among teenage boys. It must also be said that Archie is still doing gangbusters after all these years of angst-ridden romantic entanglements with billionaire playgirl Veronica Lodge and high-school quarterback Betty Cooper.

In this era of superhero movie-making though, with deeper plots and more rounded characters, even poor old Louis Lane has come to have a prominent role in the new Superwoman movie. We male comic book fans in our world hope that this might lead to better depictions of male characters in superhero comics and other media meant for our young and impressionable adolescent audience.

At the Beach IV

2011-07-06T00:56:00.003-04:00

The Belt

2011-06-19T17:01:00.003-04:00

It was some time before he stopped sobbing. She waited for his weeping to subside, patiently. It was a beautiful morning, with a brisk breeze that rustled the acacias lining her property and rippled across her glittering pool. She could hear clearly the distant crash of waves onto the rocks below the cliffs.

The race the afternoon before had been particularly hard-fought, in tricky gusting winds that followed the morning squall. She and her crew had barely beat their closest rivals, and in the yacht club that evening, seeing as the season was statistically won, she had bought more than a few rounds for them in celebration. The girls were in a particularly boisterous mood, and as the night wore on, they each departed with a squirming serving boy or two in their arms—and in one case, dragging a whimpering boy behind her by his hair to the laughter of the other women in the bar—to the clubs' rooms provided for the members' more private entertainments.

There she was left somewhat alone with this intriguing little thing, many of the other women left in the club bar being similarly entertained. Alan, the head boy, had yet again excelled in his staffing assignments that week, she had mused to herself, as her chosen one ran his soft lips up her thigh.

Tamara had warned her, of course.

"We've had to leave the boys mostly unsupervised in the last few years, Mom and I," she had said quietly as if in apology. "You'll probably find James to be a spoiled brat for a husband, although I'm also quite sure you'll be able to whip him into shape." They shared a laugh, and she had gazed over the sunlit rim of her champagne flute at the handsome boy across the garden who, still oblivious, had just been engaged to her earlier that afternoon.

Perhaps she shouldn't have favored him over her other husbands so much the few days after the wedding, but he had proved to be a delight in bed, eager and hungry to please, with a body so responsive that it surprised even her. She couldn't help herself.

The lights were still on when she returned from the yacht club that night. She had stayed very late, yet somehow, she had been expecting a scene. He was in the living room, screaming obscenities at her as she entered, her other two husbands standing helplessly, pleadingly behind him. There was a broken vase on the floor. He rushed at her and she caught his wrists in one hand and threw him on the ground. She undid her belt with her other hand and with it, tied his wrists and ankles together behind him. "Get to bed," she had said to the others, "he'll clean up the broken glass after his punishment is over in the morning." They left, quick steps running softly up the stairs. She picked him up by the free end of her belt, strode out to the back patio with him dangling helplessly, and threw him on a patch of lawn. "You'll sleep outside tonight," she said to him, and she closed the door behind her as she went back in the house.

"Do you know why I whipped you?" she asked him as his sobbing finally died down. His little body was still shaking. He nodded, miserable. One side of his face was still marked by the impressions of the rough concrete paving from when she had held him on the ground with her foot on the side of his head.

"Yes..." he choked, his voice a hoarse whisper. He had screamed uncontrollably beneath her foot, his body writhing with each lash of her belt across his back, his small hands desperately grasping at her ankle. She hadn't whipped him hard, not enough to break his skin or raise any significant welts. His back and buttocks would be tender for a week or two at most.

"Is this the first time you've been whipped with a belt?" she asked.

He shook his head and stammered, "It's been a long time since my sister's... punished me." He still hadn't looked up at her since she had ordered him onto her lap. The lack of female influence in their family couldn't be helped. After all, Tamara had lived and worked in New York City for several years now, with a family of her own, while Helen, their mother, had been away from home most of the last decade since she was elected to the Senate.

"You are now my husband, James. A husband should not disobey or question his wife. What kind of example would that set for my children?" She let that sink in. "Do you remember the vows you took last week?"

He nodded.

"What were they?"

"To love, honor and obey you." His voice trembled.

"Completely," she added.

"Completely." He looked up at her, and then quickly cast his eyes down again.

"And if you fail to do so?" She placed a finger and thumb on his quivering chin.

"You shall discipline me as you see fit."

She leaned forward and kissed him forcefully, felt him tense and struggle before yielding to her, his hard arousal pushing against her stomach. She broke the kiss off and looked him, a fresh tear rolling slowly down his cheek.

"Get into the house and clean up the broken vase in the living room," she said. "You can have breakfast after you finish." He nodded. "After you eat and shower, you will help Eric and Ross prepare for the dinner party tonight."

"Yes, Angela."

"Good."

He gingerly climbed down, bent to retrieve his robe that she had stripped off him so that it would not be torn as she lashed him. She smiled as she watched him trying to to conceal the erection he was carrying ever since she had let him rise from whipping position.

His punishment was not over, she thought to herself. Tonight, after the last dinner guests leave, she would order him to her room, throw him roughly on his tender back, and take him. She would not be gentle.

The Kiss #3

2011-04-09T00:16:00.000-04:00

Her Favorite Lover

2011-03-12T23:49:00.000-05:00

The Long Kiss Goodbye

2010-07-18T08:12:00.049-04:00

Update: Fixed the dark smudges in the bottom right of the image, which has been bugging me since I uploaded this image. Mar 12, 2011

I shivered, nestled against her warmth. The chills of spring still clung tenaciously, leaving me cold to the bone. She carried me lightly on one arm, running her free hand through my hair, watching me with those deep blue eyes. I wanted to cry, to scream and beat my small piteous fists against her.

"Take me with you," I whispered. My voice trembled.

—

The older ones always said they would break your heart, these college girls that arrived when the leaves began to wink into yellow and red, warmed themselves among us townie boys through the dark winter, before leaving in the bright spring sunshine. They told us we'd be nothing to them, these young blue-blooded women of privilege. They told us that it would be safer to try and secure the stabler favors of a woman from town. But we were young boys, and naive.

I was no longer as naive as before. I had not been her only boy here of course—she had kept several, and taken many others, no doubt—but of those she kept steady she had treated like gentlemen, unlike the way some of her girlfriends had treated theirs. Only once had she made me perform a degrading public act at a sorority party, and wiping my tears away the next morning she had made clear that this would not happen again. I know now, of course, there were other boys for that. But still, among her boys, she had kept me for four years, longer than any other I knew of.

A kept boy of a college girl mistress gets used to the finer things; nicer clothes, better food, a more comfortable life. On the nights I did not spend at the sorority house with her I had a rented room in a house in the nicer part of town, with several boys of other girls. The pocket money she gave me meant I did not need to work at the all-night diner, that I no longer had to dodge the pawing of drunk women, or endure those times when one of the boys would be chosen to crawl on hands and knees beneath the desk of Ms. Tracy the owner, or suffer those walks home all huddled together with the other boys in the frigid morning darkness in sheer terror of any looming shadow over us or the heavy cracks of a woman's footsteps around the corner. Was that what I had to go back to, even if Ms. Tracy would have me?

And of course, there was her. No longer would there be evenings spent on her lap at the dinner table in the sorority dining hall, listening to the rapid conversations of these girls, so sharp and quick, swerving deftly into topics of dizzying intellect or ribald hilarity that would leave us boys in either dumb incomprehension or, among those of us who could keep up with their turns of phrase, blushing hotly, clinging ever tighter to his girl. No longer would I wait for her, lying naked on her bed, beneath warm luxuriant covers as she studied at her desk, waiting for her to reach over and flick back the downy duvet, watch her looking at me.

No longer would I share her bed, feel her firm and unyielding body wreak its exquisite and rough torture upon my own, thrown about like a helpless leaf in an insatiable roaring hurricane, long into the night.

—

I breathed in her scent, clinging to her. I heard her intake of breath, as if she was breahing in my own. Still she said nothing. And then with a brush of her cheek, she gently pushed my head backwards, and I felt her lips on mine, and I could do nothing else but melt before her.

On the Moderation of Comments

2010-06-13T01:15:00.000-04:00

New comments policy at work here, because the online Viagra peddlers have somehow discovered this tiny tiny corner of the Internet, and we can't have that, the irony is just too rich.

For now, anonymous comments have been disabled and all new comments will be moderated by your humble blogger.

At the Movies: The Kiss and Other Romances

2010-05-23T13:06:00.006-04:00

Like in your world, people in my world enjoy watching movies as well, whether they be big-budget action films, tense crime and spy thrillers, science fiction extravaganzas, or sweeping historical epics. The most noticeable difference between these genres of movies in my world and in yours, of course, is that the main protagonists here are always women; any male characters in movies of this sort are usually cast as sexual objects, to be used casually and then easily discarded with little afterthought, or sometimes as men-in-distress to be rescued and then subsequently ravished by the dashing heroine. Of course, this merely reflects reality here: male action heroes simply do not make sense in my world—where even the strongest male is so much weaker than any female—while the only significant roles played by men in history deemed worthy of record was that of desired chattel as pretext for war, or of defiled chattel as impetus for vengeance.

Within the last few decades in the West however, with parts of the male population gaining some modicum of spending power and access to literacy, a rapidly-growing industry has burgeoned, cheaply mass-producing works of fiction geared to a male readership. One sizable sub-genre of these books of dubious quality, of course, focuses on hopelessly romanticized ideas of love, something heretofore unexplored in classical literature and mainstream film, targeted as they are to a female-dominated audience.

As the pulp book market grew, the B-grade film industry quickly joined in. Dozens of film romances and romantic comedies are made each year, most also of dubious quality, many for daytime television. Many major movie stars cut their teeth in such productions, building a loyal male audience before breaking out into the mainstream. There are also actresses that specialize in such movies and roles, although they are often ridiculed by other women and film aficionadas. The male actors of course, as I have described before, have careers that seldom last longer than a few years, their names and identities lost to anonymity as quickly as the turnaround to the next movie season.

Such romantic movies feature the same plot skeleton with minor variations, drawn of course from the tried-and-true successful formula originally discovered by the genre fiction market. Boy meets girl, boy falls hopelessly for girl, girl has her way with boy. Boy is subsequently spurned, boy goes through inconsolable period of angst and tears declaring unconditional and undying love for girl. Boy eventually meets girl again, there is some contrivance, girl realizes what she's been missing, girl falls madly in love with boy and dispatches forthwith all his other rivals for her attentions, roll credits. Three easy acts in ninety minutes or less.

Most men admit that such movies and their paperback cousins are pure escapist fantasy, yet most men also cannot help but be drawn to such stories, as they pull irresistibly at our most primal urges, to be loved in return by that woman we adore. While some of us see the harm when films and books such as these create unrealistic expectations and role models, many of us also can recognize them for what they are. And besides, what are action thrillers, spy thrillers, and science-fiction adventures if not escapist fantasy of another sort and for another audience?

Like any genre, romantic fiction and film has also evolved beyond its original confines as it has grown and matured in its short history. Several authors, some of them men even, have explored deeper and darker themes in love and human relationships in my world, and so have several notable genre films. The poster above is of one such film, based upon a similarly deep novel, an honest and unflinching meditation on the tricks that fickle fate wreak upon our small lives, on faith and faithfulness between a woman and a man, on the meaning of mortality and loss when women live significantly longer and age much slower than men, and of course, on what love could mean in such a world.

Spare the Rod

2010-03-26T01:20:00.004-04:00

In my world, there is a common saying: "Spare the rod and spoil the man." This reflects the belief that men need regular discipline at the hands of women if they are to flourish in their roles in life. Even in relatively modern societies here, men are expected to remain submissive and obedient to women — husbands to wives, fathers to daughters, brothers to sisters — and common wisdom is that the proper way to inculcate such behavior is through the crop, the belt, the whip, or even more severe punishments.

The practice of punishment and disciplining of men has existed on my world for as long as recorded history, and there are many ancient texts from multiple cultures on the topic. Some cultures even consider the punishment of men a form of art in itself, while certain religions even have entire sections of their scriptures dedicated to appropriate punishments for the smallest transgressions. Even now, new books such as Keeping Men Obedient: A Practical Guide to Discipline in the Home and Modern Techniques in Male Punishment still rocket up the bestseller lists once every few years. After all, faced with all the rapid changes in society, women must stay current with the most modern innovations in thinking.

The last few decades have seen many changes in thoughts and opinions on this topic in the West, with opinion tending towards a more balanced velvet glove approach as opposed to the unrelenting iron fist of old. Certain harsh practices have also become unfashionable. It was not too long ago in Western societies that particularly disobedient or inattentive men were hooded, bound, and dragged to a public square, tied to a post, and whipped in front of amused crowds. That practice has thankfully died out.

Another formerly common punishment that has fallen into disfavor in the last few decades is the bridle of silence, imposed upon men who have uttered something especially displeasing. It is a leather muzzle with a heavy ball of metal that is forced into a man's mouth. The ball is studded with sharp metal spikes so that the only way the punished man can avoid excruciating pain is by keeping his tongue still to balance the weight of the ball evenly across its surface. A man thus punished is supposed to wear this bridle in public to shame him for having spoken out of turn.

In the past, a public punishment was also an invitation for the public at large to hurl abuse at the chastised male. This practice was largely carried out by other men at the urging of women; indeed, it was thought that involving men in the active punishment of other men would have an overall beneficial effect on both the punished and the onlookers.

Occasionally, such older punishments can still be seen in public. Many men who see them are quietly horrified but the most common reaction among women would be mild amusement at the use of such out-of-fashion techniques. The still common attitude in my world when a man is punished, even severely, is that he most probably deserved it, and if the punishment seems harsher than warranted, it is merely to discourage him from behaving so in the future.

The velvet glove approach that is in vogue right now means that men are also rewarded for behaving well rather than just punished for behaving poorly, although many conservative women (and men) believe that such leniency is leading to the demise of Western civilization. There is even a small but growing minority of women in the West who believe that such punishment should be kept to a minimum, who let their men get away with behavior that would have been unheard of a decade or two ago.

Of course, the fact that most men are physically and helplessly aroused by a strong and powerful woman, and that a portion of them — some women believe that all men secretly do — derive exquisite pleasure from being subjected to, among other things, a woman's whip, complicates things further. I have alluded to this before, that some men are compelled to seek punishment and degradation for gratification. Perhaps this explains why many men continue being rebellious, many even playfully so, in the face of the increasing severity of their penalty. They are begging to be disciplined.

Still, even the most rebellious of men must know a woman's limits, as there is no physical punishment that can compare to the horror of being sold to work in the factories or mines. From that ultimate sentence, there can be no turning back.

A Pleasurable Shower

2010-02-20T23:48:00.007-05:00

There's nothing like a refreshing shower on a sweltering summer day, especially if you share it with a friend.

The Christmas Present

2009-12-24T00:08:00.006-05:00

I don't want a lot for Christmas
There's just one thing I need
I don't care about the presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas is You.

Wishing everyone a Happy Holidays and your heart's desire.

Threesome Being a Short Digression on Human Biology

2009-10-04T03:38:00.011-04:00

As my dear readers may have noticed, it is very common in my world for women to have multiple sexual partners. In fact, this is not only the case among humans, but among most mammals as well as other classes of animals.

The first reason for this is simple biology. The birth ratio on my world is significantly skewed towards the male in that there are approximately five human males born to every female human. Also, women live significantly longer lives than men. Finally, even in your world, the greater the sexual dimorphism of a species, the likelier it is for the physically dominant gender to be polygamous, and that principle also applies in mine.

The extreme sexual dimorphism in my world means that all human societies are female-dominated, and cultural variations never vary in this regard. In the majority of societies in my world, women may take multiple husbands, and in the ones that are monogamous, women usually keep additional lovers in the house in arrangements similar to concubinage or slavery. Furthermore, women are socialized to be sexually adventurous and promiscuous, and having multiple husbands and lovers is considered a badge of prestige. On the other hand, even in recent times, men are still expected to be chaste and demure in matters of sex and other earthly pleasures, and to defer in these matters to the wishes of women. In this context, it is thus easy to see why it is that what is called a threesome in your world is merely a matter of course in mine.

Those Lazy Summer Days

2009-09-27T11:44:00.001-04:00

We'd remember them now but for those crazy summer nights.

The Queen of Rock

2009-06-21T11:14:00.001-04:00

A Lazy Country Afternoon

2009-05-17T11:13:00.002-04:00

Life in a farming or ranching town in my world has some similarities to that in yours. The pace is slower, things are simpler, and there's that faint tang of manure in the air. But you get used to it.

In other regards though, life and the division of labor is quite different.

A lot of light physical labor on farms and ranches are performed by hands, young men who hire themselves out for temporary work for a hot meal, a bunk to doss down in, and a little bit of cash. Much of the heavy and important farm work is done by women, who are usually farm owners or are hired on a more permanent basis, and who usually oversee the hands in their light tasks.

Life for a farm or ranch hand isn't all that easy, the hours are long, and the work unglamorous. Yet there persists a mystique in my world about these boys, healthy from the fresh air, strong — for men — from the physical labor, used to the unadorned life, and to the rough and tumble ways of cowgirls and country women.

In my world, there's also a mystique about country girls too, although not quite analogous to that in yours. I've written before about dalliances between hands and the young woman who stands to inherit the property. For these lucky boys, their days of slop buckets and uncertainty could well see an end, for in these relatively liberal times, even farm boys sometimes get the girl.

At the Beach III

2009-05-02T11:32:00.003-04:00

Update: Fixed some glaring errors that I had overlooked but were spotted by the ever-vigilant Undersquid, who gets a virtual hug. May 7, 2009

Update: Fixed some errors in the shadow that BobManDo pointed out in the comments. This may never end. May 17, 2009

The Love Nest

2009-04-25T01:33:00.001-04:00

In my world, as I've written about here and here, it's very common for women to carry on affairs with multiple men. Many women maintain love nests, apartments in the city where they keep their boys, dropping in for quick lunchtime trysts or even afternoons off from the office. These men are oftentimes secretaries or assistants of their mistresses, but are usually just men with youth and looks on their side, latching on to any chance at financial stability. After all, a nice apartment and a steady income is difficult to come by for most men in my world.

Among the demimonde, competition is vicious and the eyes of women wander quickly to other men. Men in these relationships will do anything to keep their mistress' interest. Perhaps this is what makes women enjoy these relationships all the more, and what drives the jealousies of husbands who would love nothing more than to see this class of men spurned by polite society. Yet in spite of their best efforts, sometimes events and time conspire against these poor creatures, and they find themselves thrown unexpectedly and piteously to the sidewalk, faces streaked with tears, their futures bleak and uncertain. Hold your venomous thoughts awhile then, for the boy pictured above, for while he may be living high for now, providence may yet have a more unkind fate in store for him before long.

Rough Women and Sex in Advertising

2009-04-18T23:07:00.001-04:00

One of the most popular brands of denim and leather clothing for women in my world is Leigh, and their "Rough Women" advertising slogan has been in use for several decades. In fact, the phrase Rough Woman is as iconic in my world as Marlboro Man is in yours. While their older ads emphasized a rugged and individualistic woman against the elements, in their more recent years, their ads have become much more focused on sex. The first ad above is from a billboard, with enough hints of the fun stuff for women, yet safe enough for the averted eyes of sensitive men.

The ad below, meanwhile, has been running in the pages of women's lifestyle magazines.

Night in the City of Lights

2009-04-04T01:13:00.002-04:00

An Afternoon at the Courts

2009-03-16T00:25:00.007-04:00

I'd been down to the basketball courts just once before. My sister Tara plays ball there regularly, but that time I went, just to hang out and see what it's like you know, she was out of town for a state championship game. She's out of town often, see. She plays both basketball and baseball for her school, and this year she's gonna make All-State. She's always going out of town for games. So I went just once, cos I know if she caught me there, she'd belt me so hard I wouldn't be able to sit for a month. I didn't tell any of my brothers either, especially not Doug, cos he'd snitch on me for sure. There's always one in every family.

Timo goes though, pretty regularly. He goes he says, to flirt with the girls. It's a scene there, he says. If you wanna get with girls, he says, that's the best place to go.

Timo and I haven't been hanging out long. The last and only time I'd gone before hadn't been with him but with Andy and that was a coupla years ago. Andy and I don't speak no more. It's been a month maybe, not since I started hanging with Timo. I dunno why. It just is. Andy's too uptight anyway. He'd wanted to leave after hanging outside the fence for a few minutes. Not even inside. He said it wasn't right for nice boys like us to be hanging there. We'd been best friends since like forever, and now senior year in high school, a few months away from grad, it's all changed.

Last time I passed him at school he didn't even look at me.

Anyway, Timo told me to go with him, this weekend. "Your sister's out of town, for what, a week? We'll just go hang out, just be cool. No one's gonna even remember you were there." Tara'd been invited by a few colleges out east to check out their athletics programs.

Oh yeah, one thing about Timo, he doesn't give a shit about most things, but he's one that you'd call a jersey chaser. Some boys go for football players, some soccer players, some baseball players. Timo, he's into basketballers. I think he thinks my sister has a chance of making it after college, which she does, which Andy said is the reason he's hanging out with me at all, which was the last thing he said to me couple of weeks ago. So I told him what I thought he could do to himself.

Thing is, I wanted to say no to Timo. I wanted to say there'd be hell to pay if my sister found out, or Doug, which would amount to the same thing. Or Mother. But I said yes, because I didn't want Timo to think I wasn't cool. Timo's one of the cool boys.

So there we were, Saturday afternoon. It's not like it's a dangerous place or anything. The girls in the neighborhood who play ball hang there. And they got their little boyfriends there. And boys who want to just watch them play ball and flirt with the girls hang out there. Like Timo says, it's a scene. Just that the boys aren't what you'd call the good sort. So that's why Tara'd belt me something fierce if she saw me there. That's what sisters do though, keep their brothers in line, but it's all bullshit anyway. I mean, I know she's getting regularly with at least a couple of boys from my school, not to mention Jake her regular boyfriend. And who knows what she gets up to when she's out nights and weekends. She doesn't even have a curfew. It's like what Ms. Purdue said in class, about how you couldn't have the government, you know, give preference to one religion over another because it'd be like a double standard? Nobody ever calls this a double standard though, how girls get to do whatever they want and boys have to act a certain way. They just say that's the way it is.

One good thing, I didn't recognize any of the girls there as friends of Tara's.

There are rules about the place, just like anywhere. You don't have to be told, you learn just by looking. Gotta learn by looking almost with anything. They never teach the useful stuff in class.

So there are these wooden benches on one side, and you can only sit there if you're one of the girls' boyfriends or whatever. The girls play ball and chill out on the benches with their boys. The rest of the boys hang out by the fences, which is where Timo and I were. A couple of girls were standing around shooting when we got there but the rest of them were just sitting and joking loudly, boyfriends in their laps. Some of the boys on the benches gave us dirty looks. Timo just grinned. "Don't worry about the looks, it's just what happens," he muttered to me. We walked past groups of boys standing against the chain-link fence, chatting among themselves. A few of the boys said hey to him, but most of them ignored us. He picked a spot and we stood there and watched the girls a bit.

I guess you'd have figured that out by now but the girls who shoot hoops here are a certain type, you know, tall and athletic. I mean, my sister's six foot five and she's still growing, and Mother is taller than she is, but that's different. If I could do what I wanted, I'd come here to watch these girls play too.

The two girls who were shooting had stopped and were walking over to the benches and they glanced at Timo and one of them said something to the other, under her breath, and the other one just laughed. A couple of boys jumped into their laps when they sat down.

Timo started telling me this story about this party he was at last weekend. I guess I wasn't paying attention cos this girl Melissa Yeager had just came in the gate across the way. You probably heard of her if you're a college basketball fan. I mean she's still a freshwoman, but she already plays Varsity, and ESPN talks about her all the time. They say she's the next big thing, that she's gonna be a star in the NBA. She graduated from the same school my sister goes to and I remember when I went with my sister to watch a few of the games that Melissa had played in and there were reporters and tv crews from everywhere.

My sister's school is known for producing athletic superstars. People say my sister is gonna be the next Melissa Yeager.

I think by then Timo had stopped talking and had his eyes glued on her. She'd gone over to the benches where the other girls were and traded some high-fives and was getting some ribbing for being all famous and shit now. "Where are the ESPN cameras?" one of them shouted, laughing.

"Know who that is?" Timo asked me.

"Yeah."

He nodded. I glanced at the other boys. A few were gawking at her but most were all sorta talking amongst themselves and throwing little glances at her and the girls.

Melissa had flipped her tank top off. She'd taken one of the basketballs lying around the bench and was bouncing it idly while continuing to shoot shit with the girls, then she said, "Back in a sec, ladies," and sauntered over in our direction, dribbling the basketball casually. She winked and grinned at a few of the boys she sauntered past. "Hey Mel," they all said, dreamily, almost in unison.

"Hey boy," she said as she got closer. She was looking at Timo. Her tone of voice made it as if she'd known him a while.

"Hey Mel," he said. He sounded weird. "How's college?"

"It's... pretty cool." She was standing right over us now, basketball tucked under one arm. God, she was huge. She was quite a bit bigger than my sister, bigger than Mother, and until then both of them were the tallest women I'd ever stood next to. And at nineteen, she had a few years of growing left to go yet. "You heard I was coming back for the weekend huh?"

"Yeah." Timo hadn't told me anything about that. She reached down with one massive hand and caressed Timo's face. He kissed her fingers. "I missed you," he said. She smiled.

She nodded her chin at me. "Who's your friend?" she asked. She kept her hand on his face, but she looked me up and down with her large dark eyes. Some girls have a way of looking at you like they just stripped you naked. This was one of those looks. I shrank back, the chain link pushing into my back, and looked down. Looks like those can scare the shit out of a boy, make you feel all chewed up inside, but sometimes, you get thrilled more than scared. A chill ran down my spine. This was definitely one of those times. I felt my face get hot.

"He's Tara Connelly's brother," he said. "He's cool." I guess if Timo said it, it must be true.

"Tara's brother huh?" She was smirking a bit. "She know you're here?" She'd stopped stroking Timo's face and rested her hand on the fence high above us.

"Ya," I blurted out. I looked up. She raised her eyebrows. "Um, I mean, no." I bit my lip.

Timo started laughing. I felt so ridiculous I started laughing too.

"You're cute," she said. Which made me laugh harder, for some reason.

"Hey Yeager!" one of the girls yelled out. They'd gotten up off the benches and were fanning out across the court. "Quit chatting up the boys and let's see if you can show us what you learnt in college!" There were loud guffaws and jeers from the rest of the girls. One of them drove the net, sailed through the air and dunked loudly. More guffaws. I'd seen my sister do far better though, and she was at least a coupla years younger than these girls. And Melissa, she was obviously in a different class, even if you didn't know nothing about basketball.

"I already taught your brothers last night Ash, you can go ask them," she yelled back. The girls whooped and hollered. Timo laughed, so I laughed too. And then Melissa turned back to us and said to Timo, "I'm heading down to the beach later. Beth is throwing a beach party. Come with." She was stroking his face again.

"Okay yeah." Timo kissed her fingers.

"See if your friend can come too," she said, and she winked at me and chuckled. Then she turned and walked back to the court, my heart pounding with each crack of the basketball on the concrete floor.

What She Wants

2009-02-07T22:29:00.002-05:00

In my world, when it comes to relations between the sexes, the female is the aggressor. Men send signals of availability, and women make the choice of whether they are interested in them or not. Sometimes, women make unwelcome advances, and it is impossible for men, being so much weaker physically, to resist them. Furthermore, the legal and economic framework in my world doesn't make it easy for men to refuse. Men have few legal rights even in relatively progressive cultures here. To press a case, they require a female representative, usually a family member or a wife, in court to represent them, and cases of rape and harassment are civil, not criminal, matters. Furthermore, the court testimony of a male requires the backing of a female.

In other respects, the economic situation of most unmarried men is also quite unstable, and the prospect of having a regular female lover who may provide some financial support, even if she already has husbands, can be quite hard to turn down. For men in my world, choices are sometimes very easy to make, but very hard to live with.

Incidentally, the usage of language in my world is not exactly the same as in yours. Words that exist in your English may have a completely different significance in mine. One such word, in this context, is mistress. In my world, it can be used to describe the usually already-married woman in an extra-marital relationship with a single male, usually much younger than she is. Many words exist in my world to signify the male in such a relationship, many of them diminutive and condescending, such as boy, toyboy, hobby horse and side dish.

In the future, whenever appropriate, I will write more about how languages differ between my world and yours.

Update: Made some small modifications to the text, but not the image. Feb 8, 2009

At the Beach II

2009-01-31T23:26:00.001-05:00

Update: Fixed some small errors that I had overlooked. Feb 1, 2009