As I have mentioned before, my blog is THE PLACE for information on military frotting. Now I don’t have anything particularly interesting to add to the whole idea of frotting while enlisted, but I’ve been wondering if having openly gay people serve in the military would increase or decrease the frequency of frotting in the bunks. My assumption is that there would actually be less since frotting strikes me as being one those activities a closeted gay would do in the dead of night when all the other cadets are sleeping. Once the closet door swings open, I’d assume there would be less frotting and more straight up… well, love making.
Anyway, I know some people are new to this blog since I decided for the first time ever to tweet it and post it on facebook. I don’t usually talk about military frotting except that for some unknown reason it was the #1 referral from google for a few months… Now I’m just looking to attract more of the same. I don’t usually write about sex. Anyone who knows me knows I’m not that crass or immature.
And how do I know that more people are reading this? My hits sextupled yesterday. That’s right, sex-tupled.
A few weeks ago at the Brooklyn Flea–or actually in this gorgeous brownstone opened up selling some old junk–I made the most amazing find ever.
Group Therapy, the board game. Could it be?! A board game dedicated to therapy??? AMERICA’S TWO FAVORITE PAST TIMES COLLIDE??!??! How could I pass up this unbelievable value at $3.50. Therapy sessions are pricey and it’s a recession.
The game is from 1969. It’s quite the groovy trip to a distant past I will hopefully never know.
So I haven’t been able to get anyone to play this game. I’m not really sure why. It’s pretty straight forward, like CandyLand but with more awkwardness and crying.
First, you get to pick one of the multicolored nipply playing pieces. You go in a circle and I think roll dice? (It didn’t have dice, so I’m not sure).  At each space you take a card that asks you to perform a task. You start at “Hung Up” because, well, you are hung up until you let yourself go and embrace this game. Everyone in the group then gets to judge how you perform the task using the “Cop Out” or “With It” cards. If everyone disagrees with the way you interpreted a card, you don’t move forward. If you fuck around with this game, it will fuck you.
The highlight is really the Therapist cards. Every card is like a blessing from some tripped out psychologist from the 60’s. There are four colors; red, yellow, blue and white. From what I can gather the cards get “harder” in the ascending color order of yellow, red, blue and white.
Here are some yellow cards:
Please take note of the following cards: “Ask someone to hold you and rock you. Give yourself to the experience.”
My favorite of this bunch is “Advertise yourself as a lover. What does your ad say?”
Then we accelerate to the moderately traumatizing blue cards:
Okay, so I think each one of these cards is a real treasure. I would be PROUD TO DO ANY OF THESE THINGS IN FRONT OF YOU AND WITH MY FRIENDS.
“Hold someone in your lap. Rock and sing to him personally.”
“Using your face and body, assume the position which makes you most vulnerable.” Hot. Hot. Hot
“Tell the group a way in which you could be a better lover.”
Again, I am happy to do this in front of every single one of you out there. But, more importantly, I am totally comfortable to be there for you as we go through this journey together.
I like the way these three cards cover the spectrum of Oedipal, pedophilia and frotting.
Here are some of the Group Therapist cards where the group helps you. This is the sort of freaky, group sex part of the game.
Again, I’m happy to play this game with ANYONE who is a firm, attractive young man.
The. Best. Cards.
Group Therapy descends into madness.
My favorite part about this card is that the people who make me the most nervous are the people I want to sit on. Score.
Impossible card! Impossible card!
My answer: “Because I am a ray of sunshine, you cold bitch.”
Again, I will play with ANYONE who is a solid, masculine man who works out daily.
“I had friends until this game.”
These three are really my favorite:
So, curiously, peen really enters into the equation for all three of these cards for me.
Here’s the deal, I’m a fiercely independent and against-the-system person. I don’t give a fuck. I’m punk rock. Rock’n'roll. Rebel.
I also work 9 to 5 at a nonprofit and dress essentially the same at work as you see me on a Saturday night mid-way passed out at a bar. Slovenly grandfather, basically.
Unfortunately, some of my breeder friends have decided to get married! MARRIED! Which means I have to dress up. No converse and jeans for me, it’s gotta be a suit and tie.
Right?
I’m faced with a dilemma of a friend who is having her wedding in two weeks. It’s an evening wedding, well after 6 PM. Now I bought a suit for the last wedding I went to. But what color did I buy? For some unknown reason, light grey!!!! LIGHT FUCKING GREY! When can I wear this suit? To the one middle of the day, summer wedding I went to last year and Easter.
I bought an Easter suit. For all of the formal Easter events I attend as an Atheist.
Now I do have a black-ish suit I got a few years ago. And by a few years ago, I mean 2001. My dad bought it for me when I graduated high school. On the upside, I was much fatter back then so it could maybe get scaled down to fit. On the downside, no one told me about putting wool in a container with wood chips so moths don’t eat your clothes.
So the dilemma is this: do I buy a new, black suit? The cheapest I can find is about $200 at Macy’s. Or should I try to pull of the grey? Or do I beg someone to fix my shitty black one? Can you even fix moth holes?
The case against buying a new suit is basically that I have no money. I went to Ohio and was unpaid, I have to buy Christmas presents and I’m still paying for Grad School applications. And it’s a recession. Is it such a horrendous faux pas to wear a grey suit? Or is it worse to wear an ill fitting black one with moth holes?
There is an amazing Opinion piece at the New York Times right now about coffee. Christoph Niemann used coffee to draw stains on to napkins to illustrate his history with the highly addictive substance. It’s a wonderful read, especially if you need a caffeine IV drip like me.
My favorite drawing is this one which illustrates his coffee and bagel preferences:
I have to say, my relationship with coffee is similar to his. I’ve been living with an Espresso maker for a few years now and I go back and forth about it. My preference for coffee is steamed milk and coffee added (much like his), though no one does that and I’m not about to operate a milk steamer before I even have a cup of coffee. My Espresso maker is sort of in purgatory at the moment, the frother is clogged I guess? and the espresso is usually weaker than the coffee I brew (it’s definitely put hair on my chest). Moreover, I have love/hate relationship with Starbucks. I hate that they are everywhere, burn their coffee and probably do more harm to the world of coffee shops than good. But I always get their brewed coffee, which is normally priced and sometimes cheaper than Dunkin Donuts, and I’ve grown accustom to having painfully strong, burned, dark coffee.
The bagel questions is important as well. I used to love Blueberry bagels followed by Cinnamon Raisin. I now believe these to be abomination bagels and have fallen deeply in love with Whole Wheat Everything bagels. Because, in my mind, Whole Wheat means I’m being healthy.
Thanksgiving was surprisingly uneventful. The most awkward moment actually came when my boyfriend was talking about his job and my mom said, “So you have to do a lot of ass-kissing?”
She paused, looked around, got flustered and quickly said, “You know what I mean, right right.”
Also, my grandmother was totally into him because they both had matching bright green scarves. I did not engage politics with the Mormons so no idea if they had any participation of stripping people of their civil rights…
I sort of made my imported boyfriend agree to go to D.C. to visit some of my family. Initially it was going to be a harmless “meet-my-mamma” experiment. My mother knows I’m gay and has know I’ve been dating him for a good two years now.
That’s all well and good. But then I find out last week that we are actually going to be visiting my Aunt and her husband as well as my Mormon cousin, his wife and two babies. And of course they all don’t know I’m gay, so my mother has to tell them.
Okay, so a couple of days ago the great grandmother hand-of qas added. My grandmother had been staying with my parents who were taking care of my dad’s parents already. Now, though, she is heading off to Connecticut to stay with my uncle who will be taking care of her while she goes for some surgeries.
This means that my uncle, his wife and two kids will be in DC along with my grandmother. This whole event has completely bloated from a four person family dinner to a massive 13 person event. To add to all this, they are all being told I’m gay this week! And tomorrow they meet my American job-stealing, foreign boyfriend.
I’m not terribly concerned that anyone will be weird. Well, weirder. The mormons I think will be okay, at the very least. And my grandmother apparently knew a gay guy in the 70’s, though he of course died of AIDS. I think the chances that she brings up AIDS over and over again and some sort of bizarre “I Like Gays But They’re Weird” story are at about 80%. I think it’s 50/50 that she’ll ramble something off about anal sex. Add to this that two of my little cousins are tweeners who are either freakishly tolerant at a young age or are going to be curious about the foreign “fag.”
I suspect everyone expects some flamboyant queen to be gay. There can’t be intelligent, good looking, manly, amazing people like me who are poofs. BUT INDEED THERE ARE. I had a joke with my sig-other that he should wear cut-off short-shorts, a belly shirt and roller-skates to dinner to freak them out. But I half suspect they will be more freaked out by how normal we are.
Anyway, if all goes according to plan, this Thanksgiving aux Folles will end on a happy, family affirming note and we all bust out into dance like this:
