trinket999's Looking-Glass World

Anticipation

2013-11-17T19:38:00.000-05:00

The Morning After

2013-08-29T22:01:00.000-04:00

At the Movies: Bond, Jane Bond

2013-08-18T22:21:00.000-04:00

Summer action blockbusters are as popular in my world as in yours. The most obvious differences, of course, are that in my world, the vast majority of protagonists in this genre of film are women, from films featuring tough cops to suave international spies, taciturn cowgirls to fast-talking heist planners, almost every single heroine or villain in these movies are female. In such movies, men play very minor roles as objects of sexual interest, or perhaps ones to be put in peril and distress – a family member kidnapped against his will, as an example – and thus providing the motivation for our movie heroines. Only recently have male characters been written to have a larger role in such films, but again only in such 'soft' roles such as conspiring to seduce and sleep with with an enemy character to steal an important secret. Invariably, these male characters will often be put in peril in the course of the movie in order for him to be rescued, or even killed to provide a motivation for vengeance.

All of this is natural in my world. A full-grown man can barely lift a small handgun, much less fire one without being severely injured, and even a man well-trained in martial arts – and some men are permitted to pursue such sport – can barely hold his own against a young girl, even untrained, much less a full-grown woman. Such are the differences in physical strength and coordination between the sexes. A male action hero would be a risible thing here, indeed.

As is also natural in my world, women may and often do take many lovers, and our larger-than-life heroines on the silver screen take much more than most. Scenes of our protagonists bedding a string of willing (or heretofore unknowing that they are willing) boys in between car chases and explosions are par for the course.

None more so than Bond, Jane Bond, of course. One of the longest running series of spy action films in my world, featuring the suave titular character, who is just as vicious and cold with her male sexual conquests as she is in dispatching her female villainous counterparts and their various henchwomen. Even in most other action films, the heroines do display some heart, perhaps finally falling for one of her many male mates at films' end, a little throwaway to those male romantics in the audience, perhaps. But not our Jane, oh no, just as likely to leave a recent former lover to his untimely fate without a second thought as she is to provide him with a passionate farewell kiss.

A combination, no doubt, that secretly thrills even the most forward-thinking of men in my world, and renders her absolutely irresistible to all men, fictional or otherwise.

Hot Summer Nights III

2013-07-13T23:24:00.000-04:00

Sweet days of summer, the jasmine's in bloom
July is dressed up and playing her tune
When she comes home from a hard day's work
And you're waiting there, not a care in the world

She sees the smile waiting in the kitchen
Food cooking on a plate for two
She feels the arms reaching out to hold her
In the evening when the day is through

Hot Summer Nights II

2013-07-07T22:53:00.000-04:00

Do you remember all the nights we spent in silence
Every single breath you took was mine
We can have it all again
Say that you'll be with me when the sun brings your heart to mine

And I remember how you loved me
Time was all we had until the day we said goodbye
And I remember every moment
Of those endless summer nights

Hot Summer Nights I

2013-07-03T23:59:00.000-04:00

Small town hot summer nights

Radio 'bout to blow

Top down under the lights

Feel the heat, wild and sweet

Hot summer nights

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