a failure in reasoning that renders an argument invalid.
faulty reasoning; misleading or unsound argument.
“the potential for fallacy which lies behind the notion of self-esteem”
Youth ~~ A time of Life when the world is your Oyster and you truly believe that like the Disney character Jiminy Cricket that if you wished upon a star all your dreams will come true.
I have to admit that joining the Army afforded me the opportunity to deviate from my strict upbringing and experience the wide world of sex, drugs and partying. I was not allowed to date until I was 17 and even then my Dad chaperoned my dates. So when I went into the military I had a kind of unchecked freedom in which to turn every No-No to a Yes-Yes. I had yet to realize the difference between friendship and Love. As they used to say back in the day I was Wild. Not to the point of having a child out of wedlock because that would have brought shame and disgrace to my family so I chose not to bring any kids into my free-wheeling lifestyle.
Also I knew that I did not want to get married. Ever. I made the decision when I was young to remain single. Being a Woman does not automatically make you a good candidate for marriage or motherhood. Being strong willed I’ve followed this Life of Singledom course with very few regrets. Occasionally I do wonder how my life would have turned out if I had gone the traditional route but after giving it some serious thought based on my personality for me to have pursued marriage or being a Mom would have been a disaster for all involved.
Now where does the word Jeopardize come in? Well often when you are young you jeopardize friendships with the opposite gender by introducing sex into the equation. After living in an abusive domestic violence relationship for seven years with my common-law husband I finally got physically free (he left me) in 2007. However it took years before I was mentally or emotionally free and to tell the truth I am not the same person that I was before I met him nor will I ever return to that open trusting young woman that was me.
I have dated a little (very little) in the last few years but I’ve learned that it’s best for me to remain friends with men and not engage in intimate behaviors. I’ve only deviated once to take a chance with a man whom I was friends with for several years and again disaster. Now we are no longer friends. Sex will ruin friendship every time.
I have one particular divorced male friend with whom I used to work with until he retired last year. We still talk on the phone about once a month and I emailed him when anything interesting happens at the job. Of course initially there was that sexual attraction but now that I’m in my 50s and he’s in his 60s we know better than to make mistakes which will destroy a great friendship. I really enjoying being able to talk with him because we have the same core values, we can discuss a wide variety of topics, he gives good advice and has a great perspective on Life.
Romance is something found in books, theater plays and movies. Real life is totally different. The Divorce rate in America is I believe 50% that includes Christians also. Therefore I’ve never seen any good reason to join myself to some man’s Life and exclude and deny my own goals, dreams and aspirations. As a Woman you always have to weigh what you gain in a relationship against what you will have to give up. Usually as the woman you put aside your wants, dreams, and desires to fulfill his. Having been through that many times I always sided with Me as opposed to him therefore I am not wife material.
I’m glad I’m no longer in my youth excepting my bodily aches and pains. In that case I wish I had my 27 year old pain free body back!! LOL!! This 57 year old body mocks me on a daily basis!
With aging has come not only knowledge but wisdom. The dumb, stupid, foolish mistakes of my youth are behind me. I don’t compete with other women young or old for the attentions of men. Of course I enjoy hearing and getting compliments from men. What woman doesn’t? (My next post will be on that subject.) But my perspectives have changed. Menopause has simmered down my hormones. The desire for sex decreases. With my hectic crazy work schedule if offered the choice between sex and sleep I’ll take sleep. By myself. Alone.
I can’t say what the future holds. Will I meet the man of my dreams and yes I still do dream but on the other hand I’m not looking for him because one of the graces of old age is to accept Life as it is and not to relive or try to revive a youth that no longer physically exists. Inside I still have the excitement I felt when I was 18 getting on my first plane ride to Ft. Jackson, SC for Basic Training and AIT. When I’m alone walking through New York City streets, Central Park or any Botanic Garden I still marvel and wonder at both creations of man and God but now instead of acting on impulse it’s a quiet awe, reverence and respect and quiet Thanks to my Creator for allowing me to make it thus far and prayers as I travel to my 60s and begin the next phase of my life.
Time to add some romance to my life. Had one summer fling last year but I’ve decided I don’t want to deal with men in their mid-60s who think they are still players. I ain’t got time for that. I see other women in their mid- to late 50s dating younger men so I do believe I will expand my horizons. Not interested in robbing the cradle but women should have the same options as men have had for many years.
Yes there might be snow on the roof but there is still fire in the furnace! Well not much snow thank’s to L’Oreal Feria!! LOL!! For those women who have not crossed the bridge past 50 romance is not just the domain of the teens, 20 or 30 somethings. Menopause is not the end of one’s sex life or it should not be. Things might slow down but there is always the opportunity to restart one’s engines. Also I’d like to sweat for a better reason than a hot flash! My head still turns when I see a good-looking Bronze brother-man except now my common sense dominates as opposed to my hormones.
Wanted: Young and Single and Free!! Well not too young. Searching for my Chocolate King from 45 to late 50s. All your mechanics must work without the help of that little blue diamond shaped pill. I’m not trying to push your old ass offa me after you done had a heart attack!
Financially stable. No romance without finance. Yes I want the flowers, chocolate, spa treatments including hair, hands, feet and all that a true Queen deserves. If you’re ready to obtain. You must maintain. Yes I am worthy! Gigolos hit the door!
Personal hygiene is a must. Ladies you’d be surprised how many men who don’t believe in bathing, deodorant or brushing their teeth think they deserve a mate. No way!
Yes you must believe in God. Going to church every so often won’t hurt. I need a Christian man who is free-spirited and a free thinker. They are not mutually exclusive. Read the Song of Solomon. The most romantic book in the Bible.
Must like to laugh and have a sense of humour.
I take good care of my body and so should you! I am 50+ Fabulous!!
Louis Jordan Reet, Petite, And Gone
Physically fit. I’m not trying to get next to Quasimodo or the Pillsbury Dough-Boy. If you gotta lift up your gut to find your “package” then I’m not the woman for you. No Jabba the Huts need apply. Your application will be returned marked Rejected in big red letters. Yup! Returned to Sender at address unknown!! Bald is no problem. Telly Savalas aka Kojack and Issac Hayes ~~ Mr. Hot Buttered Soul were the sexiest men on the planet!
Don’t cha just wanna reach out and rub that head? Tell the truth! You know just wanna caress the dome!
Who Loves Ya Baby
Must love cats. Love me. Love my cats. Both of them. Otherwise you won’t be getting anywhere near the other ‘cat.’
I’m ready to be your Ebony Queen. I don’t do side chick nor do I believe in man-sharing. I’m more woman than you might know what to do with. If you have an account with Ashley Madison stay away from me. But then again you’re probably already busted anyway?! Right!
I like to go out and enjoy myself. Life is meant to be lived. I’m ready to travel and see the world. How about you? Curl up with a good book? Better yet curl up with a good woman.
We are in Love with the idea of Love but Reality is oh so different. Romance is a broken down heap in an unused garage with a drunken clipped wing Cupid splayed out beside it swilling in his own vomit. The illusions of Cupid were shot down by his own arrows. Arrows tipped with poison that turn healthy beating hearts into gangrenous rotting putrid shells. Love is anxiety, disappointment, hurt, pain and stress coupled with fear. Vitreous Spears of viperous snakes slithering from brain to core corrupting of part of human life.
Last night I spied Venus and Mars exiting the House of the Rising Sun on their way to the local dive bar. Yup Love and War. Two sides of the same coin.
Cupid and his mother Venus are thinking of getting their own Reality show called Life’s Broken Dreams. Broken Dreams lead to Broken Hearts. Walk in the Light of Truth and kick both Cupid and Venus to the curb! The Steel Iron Armor has sealed my Amore and the key has been thrown in the River Styx.
Semper Fi never removed his spectacles even in the heat of desire. His pince-nez caught, captured and dispensed salty yearning drops of sweat upon whichever passion princess he had chosen for his evenings of lust.
His bull powered thrusts accompanied by violent shakes and heaves of the Brass headboard threatened to crash through the plaster thin wall and into the adjoining room. Fellow patrons and madams nicknamed him the Bull in the China Shop for his furious jackhammer prick pounding he gave to Ladies of the Evening with his equine sized crimson member. His broad face with flaring nostrils and rather full lips rendered him some animalistic qualities which he gladly played out in the boudoir.
His sonorous speeches gave way to animalistic grunts, groans, and growls that increased with intensity of each hammer G-Spot driven plunge. At the crescendo when he could no longer hold back the volcanic force surging inside he withdrew to spew his semen eruption over his mistress rounded abdomen, full firm breasts and thick thighs.
During the week he was a respectable Antique Bookshop Owner dealing with annoying customers and fickle publishers and shady book collectors. By the weekend it’s like all that ferocity wrapped up inside he was ready to be released in the Ultimate Weekend Fuck Fest. Sometimes he was able to release building tension with whichever out of town female research bookseller/collector was in town for a convention or a project. He was usually able to win them over with his humor, charm and dinners at the finest restaurants in town. Fortunately for Semper Fi his begetter though rich in seminal fluids was totally devoid of sperm otherwise he would have sired legions offspring with the many young fertile women he serviced on a regular basis. On first glance his dangling appendage had ample girth but seemed to lack length but that assumption was quickly falsified during arousal.
Such was his reputation that every Friday when he made his grand entrance into the Pussy Palace Bordello all the Ladies in Waiting vied for his attention by wearing their most entrancing scintillating garb so that they would be the chosen mare to be rode hard and put out wet.
Semper Fi with his musician fingers explored every nook, cranny, crevice and grotto of the selected woman’s body blessing her with multiple orgasms before entering her moist dark chambers with his elephantine rod of steel.
The aromatic oils that he liberally anointed his body daily provided powerful pheromones when mixed with his natural man musk scent. Sometimes his spurting semen cascaded over the woman like golden glistening raindrops against a window pane. Other times he ejaculated copious white cream which sprayed over flaming hips and thighs like a profuse foggy mist mixing with her fragrant perspiration murky perfumes.
His favorite of the entire harem was Sophronia whose twisted back gave him a thousand pleasures in mind and body while away from her or when tracing his fingers along the S-shaped curve that she desperately tried to hide with elaborate costumes. She was a looker that one with her Almond shaped eyes hazel eyes and burnished skin. Sophie was an African/Native American fairytale goddess with her sepia toned complexion, deep burgundy magenta twisty curly Nappy mane that spiraled out from her head like leafy tree branches reaching for sunlight, and full lips that had a natural purple tinge over a set of perfectly formed teeth.
“I Know that I’m not much to look at but I used to be the Crown Prince of Manhood, the Courtier of Cum among Royal Lovers.”
This laughable boast came on an exultation of foul and fetid breath akin to human waste lying in the bottom of a sewer emitting from a wizened and emaciated corpse like figure with a red bulging knobby doorknob on the end of a shriveled pecker. How it managed to stand at attention was a miracle from the saints or gods of nonstop porn. His face was a veritable road-map of lines, wrinkles, valleys, pitted scars with a bird beak blue veined appendage masquerading as a nose jutting forth from sunken cheeks. Above the beak nose were two rheumy eyes topped by beetle brows which looked more like two warring caterpillars wrangling for domination of an egg shaped skull sprouting tufts of errant hairs growing from the beak nose, elongated ears and the various moles on his scrofulous person.
Then it began. I closed my eyes and did my best to disengage all my senses as this old bag of bones began his pitiful assault upon my body. I tried to drown out the sound of the Click-Clacking of false teeth in rhythm with hurried asthmatic prods that gradually became more pathetic and feebler though he put his hairy back best with his pecker pushing. Thankfully he was done in under five minutes. The way he panted and gasped for air I thought he was having a heart attack and about to cum and go at the same time!
Four minutes of torture and hell. Because I have Scoliosis I had to deal with the runts of the litter. Yup I get all the Gumbys and Pokeys. Though we are fed, housed, clothed and housed like Renaissance Odalisques there is still a pecking order of beauty. My face, my sun-kissed umber skin, my small perfectly round breasts and long curly wavy chestnut locks got me a reprieve from just being another filthy dirty street urchin but this curvature of the spine has relegated me to servicing the worst of the many patrons who pass through these palatial doors.
During the week I was spared from my licentious duties but come Friday, payday once again I had to endure filthy spotted old men with dragon breath, bodies smelling like rancid meat who peeled away phosphorous shit breeches from their narrow wrinkly asses. When my luck was especially bad I dealt with the twins Geeky and Gimpy. One classic faced bumbling Nerd and the other though having no malformation of his lower limbs seemed to bang into every piece of furniture in the room no matter how far apart the furnishings were arranged. I grinned and bared the fumbling’s and false starts because they paid well and the other Odalisques either refused to service them or found a way to disappear when they entered the bordello. Though both were fairly young, perhaps in their 20s they did no better in the stamina and endurance department than the old coots in their 70s and 80s. You went in expecting volcanic emissions and received only a little smoke, a few burps and many farts. Dribblers all.
Damn my twisted back!! Relegated to porcine misanthropes and brachiocephalic troglodytes!!
Few and far in between are opportunities to be with my Beloved Semper Fi a robust man in his late 40s. Mattered not to him my twisted spine as he guided me gently onto his massive bull staff. Skillfully bringing me to numerous orgasms complimenting me on my long curly chestnut hair, my perfect A Cup breasts gifted with large sensitive raisins that grew even larger as he sucked and licked me into ecstasy. What gave me even more pleasure than his substantial endowment was that he chose me. Semper would call at least two or three days in advance specifically requesting my services. I felt honored to be chosen by this man among men. But then again where does the Sycophant stop and the Courtesan begin?
I came here from a rural backwater village after a disastrous arranged marriage. Truthfully there was no consummation on my wedding night once my betrothed disrobed me and began screaming and cursing in horror and disgust at my Quasimodo form tossing me from the matrimonial bed, calling the town elders who made preparations for me to be sent back to my father’s tent. My father who was always ashamed of me and who found himself disgraced not only within our tribe sent me away into the wilderness with only the clothes on my back and what few possessions I could gather whilst trying to escape his stormy anger.
Good fortune did smile upon me as I traversed the dusty road away from the only home I had ever known. Angels in the forms of my mother, aunts and sisters had extinguished my father’s fiery rage through liberal applications of wine. Once he entered the land of intoxicated snores my weeping women saddled horses, loaded them down with as many provisions as they could hold and interception my journey. We hugged, cried and mourned my passing knowing a rejected woman is as one dead. A Jepthah’s daughter placed upon the sacrificial altar never to be seen or heard from again.
They also managed to bargain with the disgruntled groom managing to win back half my dowry which my mother tearfully entrusted to my outstretched hands. I was also given one strong yet steady sway back donkey. A fitting companion who mirrored my disability and temperament. My past I knew well but my future was just a cloudy day on the horizon.
DEPRAVITY, DEBAUCHERY, decadence
Vice ridden timeworn men who still sustain the impure flames of lust despite the chill of old age.
A worthy adage of a man on the cusp geezer-hood.
Stepping from the filthy foul smelling streets men were ushered into exotic elaborately decorated quarters decorated with expensive Persian rugs, medieval tapestries, silk draperies hung upon windowless walls, tables adorned with Tiffany lamps. A subtle scent of incense permeated the airways. The decorations seemed incongruous yet harmonized together in an irregular yet pleasing manner. Palatial taste a bit ostentatious like a Renaissance bordello. The furnishings were highly articulated and faceted Baroque/Rococo objects, many with deep gouges and gashes suggesting transparency and interior penetration. This room and much of the house as well as the street urchins who passed through seemed to us an Orientalist fantasy. At the far end of the living room hung a painting of a Minotaur coupling with a Centauride.
Within this underworld we meet our sardonic proprietors in sex trade, the mirthless dwarf called, BASTINADO BOOBYALLA.
Booby as he was affectionately known had the face of Peter Lorre and the heft and bulk of a miniaturized Sidney Greenstreet. Booby had the misfortune of being scurrilous and scrofulous. His rough skin was spotted with scabies and his body emitted a sepulchral odor. Spiteful
Booby was was the bodily opposite of his Partner in Crime Bumfiddler Clatterfart.
Bummy was six feet tall of bulging muscles, narrow waist and sculpted buttocks. His lack of moral fiber and somewhat limited intellectual faculties innate in most normal human personalities could be easily perceived in his cranial structure and his overall physiognomy. The shock of wild reddish brown hair closely cut on the sides of the head, the high sloping forehead, prominent brow ridges, receding nostrils and thin lips, these features put one in mind of a simian head attached to the body of Atlas. Bummy’s nature embodied the seven deadly sins from head to foot.
Booby and Bummy were the real owners of the bordello that Semper Fi patronized on a weekly basis.
Though the outer streets were rundown, garbage strewn and suspect inside the elaborate bedchambers fit for a king were divided into three sections one being the actual room where Semper Fi carried Bronco Busting escapades with an ornate Italian Renaissance canopy bed replete with seraphim, cherubim, and putti on the ceiling looking down seemingly blessing the lewd acts committed in that bed.
Business offices where the girls reported for inspection and assignments at first resembled an Italian studiolo. Scholarly books that were never read, save those dealing with what he felt was the “science of photography and videography” lined the bookshelves along the walls. There was a collection of opera records beside an ancient Victrola, which either Bummy or Booby played incessantly even during to block the sounds of various vigorous sexual acts committed in the bawdy house. Usually one or both of the duo would choose a woman for themselves and during those sexual gymnastics the music became louder more than likely to mask their grunts and groans plus the simulated shrieks of whatever sex worker was chosen to honor their illustrious owners.
Dagmar served as a type of governess to the young women. Their harem quickly became a zone of safety from streets of starvation, disease and death. They were bathed, perfumed and outfitted like odalisques in paintings from centuries past.
As time went on many young women passed through our heathen portals but one stood out from the others. She was literally abandoned at our doorstep. At first we thought the girl to be deaf and dumb because she neither spoke except to make nearly unintelligible sounds nor seemed to respond to our commands. Dagmar and I thought her a poor fit for our scandalous enterprises. Dagmar took her into the women’s’ chambers to be washed cleaned of the dirt and filth that seemed to encased her fragile body and discovered a note pinned to her grimy undergarments. Succinctly the note said her name was Sophronia and that she had just turned eighteen with her moon cycle having started three seasons prior. Dagmar was always good at persuasion and bringing out the best in wounded animals. Coaxing Sophie was no different. After a time Sophie as we nicknamed the girl responded to Dagmar’s gentle persuasions. A bond of trust developed between the two despite the fact that Dagmar knew the girls eventual destiny.
Many moons passed and Sophie as Dagmar liked to call her became quite the coquette. For some odd reason Eve became a favorite of Booby who outfitted her in dresses and skirts of silk, satin, lace, velvet. Many lovely cream colored fabrics some with lace trim others with glass beads and sequins. Before we knew it Sophie’s 21st birthday was upon us and Booby had a special costume made up for Sophie. It was a beautiful blood red silk satin with lace trimming with velvet calf length skirts. However as joyful as Sophie was when she donned the frock what pleased her even more were the Bordello Shoes—Red Velveteen Victorian button-up Boots with a two inch heel. Sophie’s thick dark hair was caught up in a chignon ala Gibson Girl but she had the Bohemian spirit of the Flapper.
As much a disciple of Bacchus as the god’s original followers neither Booby nor Bummy ever touched Sophie. Her chambers were the height of ornamentation and ostentation with elaborate sinks, tubs, showers and a bidet. Something the other girls could only dream about. Yes Sophie was a prize. And such an Odalisque could not be hidden from Semper Fi for very long………….
Even as a young woman I was never one for too much make-up but I was curious. When I was a teenager my mother forbid me from wearing make-up because it would make me too “grown” or scandalous! Not something a good Baptist girl should be. Being a 13 year old my plan to get around this was to take the eye-shadow to school and put it on in the girls’ bathroom, then reverse the process taking it off before going home. Well one day I forgot. Went home with electric fluorescent blue eye shadow which only made me look like a candidate for Ringling Bros. Barnum & Bailey Circus. Well when I got in the house my mother met me before I could remove my Clown make-up. To say she was upset was an understatement. I believe after yelling at me she went through my bedroom and tossed out any contraband make-up hiding in my dresser or closet.
I didn’t really experiment too much with make-up for a while. As a young Enlisted woman on my way to the NCO club with my girlfriends I was always the first one ready because I only used some lipstick and that was about it. Even now I stick with a little lip gloss, lipstick and only use eye-shadow if I’m going out to a party or special event. I see no reason to make Revlon, Bobby Brown or Estee Lauder richer than they already are.
I never tweezed or plucked my eyebrows until my 50s when the onset of menopause means facial hair in places that made me embarrassed thinking I was turning into a guy. Unless you’re in the sideshow mustaches and chin hairs are not a good thing especially if you hope to be attractive to the opposite sex. One of the hot trends now is the fake eyelashes. Not the ones you buy in the store but the ones that need to be individually applied in the salon. Since that involves glue I won’t be doing that ever. I’m lucky in that my own natural eyelashes have a good length and thickness. From time to time I will invest in Mascara to make them appear even longer and thicker. Vanity beckons from the beauty counters.
Many women are into beauty enhancements, some for fashion, and others to fight the aging process. Extensions, hair-weaves, Botox, Restalyne, fake nails, boob and butt jobs, etc… I admit that for special occasions I’ve had fancy African braided styles but then I go back to my Afro. When I was in my late 30s into my 40s I sported my Locs and am thinking of Loc’ing my hair again. I get my pedicures on a regular basis but usually just cut my own fingernails. It’s tacky to have raggedy feet and toes while wearing sandals in the summertime.
As I’ve gotten older most of the men I’ve dated and including my current BF prefer women to be natural. One guy I know calls make-up “War Paint”. Also many men love the natural kink, curl and knaps of Natural hair. Guys really don’t want to run their fingers through your hair in intimate moments and get snagged in hair weave tracks.
Happy to say that my Mr. Geechie Man is very happy with the natural me. No complaints. I’m happy too.