Friends forever I hope

Dear Magic Eyes, 

I want to thank you for the most wonderful time the other day.  I would have enjoyed come to you earlier, but the day was excellent.  The rain put a damper on the events of the day but the scenery outside was magical as we drove a route I had never driven.  It was a mix of dwarf sized BC scenes and scary hillbilly Deliverance territory.  Discovering a small part of Canada, was a metaphor to learning about you.  I enjoyed showing you were I grew up and parts of my favourite places, in this scary boonieland.  

Showing you the ruins and telling you the stories of this area was fun.  The best part was when I brought you up to my room and I showed you love and excitement; Doctor Who and Guillotine.  I loved to see you smile and laugh and get really comfortable around me.  It would be nice if I felt comfortable to touch you; I am getting there.   

That we delayed until it was nearly too late for me to take you home was a complement to how much fun we were having, but I got you home before midnight.  Emotionally, the trip home was the climax of the day.  We were unpacking our luggage that we have acquired in our lives, I showed you my Hawaii shirt and you showed me you clubbing gear, I my sandals, you your nine inch stilettos.  I showed you my axe collection and you your collection of butterfly knives.

When you arrived home we hugged, I lifted you up, my signature move.  

I loved being around you, I loved hugging you, I liked that you could show me what was in your suitcase.  Perhaps my reaction to your stilettos and your knives, the clubbing gear, acceptance and with embracement, is why I feel things have changed.  You complimented my hug, you have been eager to meet with me again, I wish that we had in retrospect.

You don't love me.  I don't love you.  But it might be possible.  For both of us.  I talked about you at work to try to clear the air because the texting that I have been obsessing for and of.  The long courtship, the non-courtship. Continues once a week maybe.  

Friend a person with whom one has a mutual affection that is usually free of sexual relations or family relations.

However, the best lovers are often, always, friends.  

To friendship, may it last forever, through the fall of society and the end of morality.

Yours truly,

Greenpsychopomp

I will not

When fear exists that someone will lose a very important part of their life forever;
They will accept any type of contact as long as it is contact.
I look into your heart and I see things besides star dust.
Your actions prove this to me.

I will not accept 'no contact.'
The rest is up to debate.

A Weak Without You

The summer heat has fallen with a wet thud on the lands,
The fans have been humming throughout the night,
Whilst others close all windows and rely on mass refrigeration units.
I sit here fan off, windows open in comfort.

I work all day with two possible locations:
Outside the sun beats me down and crispifies me,
Inside the sun dries me out with wet heat that starts before nine at forty cee.
I think on things that are neither, I am trained by heat to ignore it.

Sleep is easy, days are hotter than most people can stand.
I write on endless, while others watch and vegetate,
I drink all night, so that I can sweat all day.
Such is the heat of this past week.

I crave to chat with you.
Our last date is three weeks ago,
 Last as in no more, but I look to you for all that you have given me.
I desire your gentle hand upon my wheel.

You fear that you will love me and place yourself last.
I fear that too, I fear that I will go too far,
I fear that I will push you away.
I seek to know you.

I propose, our first and second dates went well.
Expectations that things would move from there,
Moving to touch to tongue to bliss.
Can we move on to something else?

I have decided that I would like you however you present yourself.
I would love you as a lover, treat you as a friend, never treat you as a stranger,
You seem to want to be stranger, friend, and lover last, lest you forget yourself.
I would rather be your lover, but failing that, I would be your friend before losing you forever.

I want you as my friend.  
Talk with you, text with you,
Do things with you in person, platonically.
You see I like you and I would rather suffer a death of a thousand cuts then the stab of forever loss.

Simply put, I want to be your friend.
I want you to be you,
I want you to be a better person.
I have experience in this, being forever just a friend; I am good at it.

So I guess, if you count the first blog that I failed to write anything, I have been blogging for a year.  If you count the first word, then it is the 26th of June.  Either way it is close.  So I wanted to post a few numbers and stats.

Pageviews today
0
Pageviews yesterday
3
Pageviews last month
73
Pageviews all time history
706

My stalker gave me a high of 127 page views in January but I have been fairly steady with about fifty page views since November.  Pretty good considering there are no pictures.  I am sure if I have a picture of a puppy and title it Lindsay Lohan naked, I would get 50,000 hits in one day.

IQ vs EQ
Aug 12, 2011, 1 comment
19 Pageviews

Kepler 22b part two
Dec 18, 2011, 1 comment
16 Pageviews

40 year old Virgin?
Jan 3, 2012, 1 comment
10 Pageviews

Uneasy Rider
Jun 16, 2012
8 Pageviews

Cambrian Explosion or Cambrian Conclusion?
Feb 11, 2012, 1 comment
7 Pageviews

Behavioral Modification Training
Jul 26, 2011, 2 comments
7 Pageviews

Book Lending Rules
Feb 11, 2012
6 Pageviews

Kepler 22b
Dec 16, 2011, 1 comment
6 Pageviews

Imagination and Asperger's
May 12, 2012
5 Pageviews

Living in Smallville
Apr 23, 2012
4 Pageviews


Nice to see that there is a nice spread of popular posts right from the beginning sort of.  Science posts, AS posts and fiction post doing well … do I have another type of post?

Canada
294

Russia
131

United States
116

Germany
50

Ukraine
14

Philippines
11

Brazil
7

India
7

Australia
5

United Kingdom
5


Nice to see where people read blogs.  I have no clue why Domar.ru refers people to my blog, but that means the people that read my blog outside of my friends and stalkers are mostly Russian.  Odd that.

Pageviews by Browsers
Firefox
276 (39%)
Internet Explorer
188 (27%)
Chrome
105 (15%)
Safari
55 (7%)
Opera
31 (4%)
Mobile Safari
24 (3%)
GranParadiso
9 (1%)
chromeframe
3 (<1 data-blogger-escaped-br=""> Netscape
2 (<1 data-blogger-escaped-br=""> NS8
1 (<1 data-blogger-escaped-br="">
Pageviews by Operating Systems
Windows
534 (75%)
Macintosh
73 (10%)
iPad
30 (4%)
Linux
28 (3%)
Android
24 (3%)
BlackBerry
10 (1%)
iPhone
4 (<1 data-blogger-escaped-br="">

I like this state the most.  It is the coolest. I can look a a daily view of my blog and I can tell who has been looking at it depending on country and device/browser.

Anyways, perhaps my writing career will have started here, maybe it will go on forever from here.  We shall see, eh?

Special thanks to Waif Girl aka ****** ****!  Have a good life in Leeds!

Oh yes and with 137 posts in one year that is like a post every three days… awesome. Let's see if I can do better this time next year.

Schrödinger, Creation, Africa and 1812

My blog thought process of the past half hour on my day off.

1. Schrödinger cat in a box
2. New idea of creation of solar system
3. Africa and social inequity
4. War of 1812

1. Cats are the coolest creations on the planet.  Independent as humans and different.  With the ability to be embarrassed.  Schödinger proposed a way to determine the state of a particle in quantum state of flux without looking at it.  A atom is in the box with the cat, if the atom decays a particle detector detects the decay and releases poison gas and kills the cat.  You can't tell whether the cat is dead or alive until you open the box.  So before you open the box the cat is both dead and alive.

So when we were kids, the family went on a weekend trip to Woodstock.  We thought the cat would be fine, a bowl of food and water and a clean litter box.  So we left and two days or so we came back and there was a full bowl of food, and water and an undisturbed litter box.  We called for the cat outside, because it must be outside.  No cat.  But we heard a meow.  From inside.

When we left, the cat was on top of the bunk beds in a box.  Cats love boxes, they can hide and feel safe and sleep.  Boxes are made of paper, cardboard.  And the cat rolled over in his sleep and the box moved.  He did it again.  He did it again and the box tipped off the wall side of the bed.  The box was just as high as the gap between the wall.  The box slid down between the wall and the bed.

If the cat was a human, he would be surprised and the cat WAS surprised, but it was a cat too so it tried to standup feet down.  The box did not hit the second bunk, because the weight was all centered down.  The box was big.  Part of the box was on the ground and part of the box was wedged between the wall and the bed.  The cat struggled but could not budge it.

I found the cat.  I lifted the box.  The cat ran for the door like lightning. 

Cats like boxes because they feel safe and they like to be able to get out a pounce.  Cats do not like to be shut in boxes.  

When Schrödinger opened the box, he hoped the cat was dead, otherwise he would have no face left, just a bloody ruin.

2. Many people talk about the creation of the solar system talking about the creation of the sun or star and the creation of the planets separately.  This is wrong and it does not make sense.  They occurred at the same time.  The mass at the center accumulated material faster because it had more gravity.  As it gathered more mass it began to spin, smaller lumps in the disc began accumulating matter as well, but they had less mass and gathered less mass and at a slower rate, but the seed of our planet started nearly at the same time as the seed of our sun.

3. We need to bail out Europe for their economy and for our economy.  We need to bail out Europe.  We need to give them a trillion dollars to save them from collapse so that we in turn do not spiral out of control and enter ten years of financial bad times.  Fuck Europe.  Fuck a European bail out.  European bail out is important, but a hundred billion dollars will mean that millions of people will have more money, but giving a billion dollars to the poor people of Africa, to modify their economy, to improve the irrigation systems to overhaul the the cash crop system of the West and allow them to feed themselves.  One billion dollars save millions of lives and prevent future deterioration of their economy and landscape and culture vs one hundred Billion to line our own pockets.

4.  War of 1812, we won!
America declared war on this day two hundred years ago, because they thought they would win with the might of the British army off fighting Napoleon.  The first shot was fired by an American in the battle of Queenston Heights, but that battle was the third conflict in the war.  The first, the British war leader Isaac Brock, knocked on the door of the governor of an American fort and stuck a gun in his face and informed him that his government had declared war a month before and he was there to tell him that and to accept his surrender.  The second battle was a lacrosse game held outside the fort of Detroit.  The ball wizzed over the forts walls and the Americans opened the gate to let them retrieve their ball.  The native people's dropped there sticks and picked up their rifles and invaded and captured Detroit.  

The key to capturing Canada was to take Quebec City and there were no battles there during the war.  

They, the Americans, burned down our parliament buildings and burned down Toronto.  They invaded and held land, they burned towns.  There were pitched battles where thousands died on both sides where the winner was the one who did not run from the field of battle, not because there was a victory, just not a defeat.  

Then Napoleon was defeated in Europe.  The British navy and army landed troops up and down the American coast burning cottage and rickette, including that place at 1600 Pennsylvania avenue in Washington that had just been finished a few years previous.

They did not accomplish their goals, they lost.  They, the Americans gained sovereignty of trade on the high seas, they won.  Manifest destiny of the America had been given a northern limit, we won, Mexico and Latin America lost.  Spain lost, Asia lost, Oceania lost.  But until 9/11, we had the longest undefended boarder on the world and a long friendship and trade partnership, that at least one side is familiar with and still maintains. 

Poems of love

Poems seem to flow from me. It is easier to put things into poetic form, if I could sing maybe I would write poems in song form. This song has been stuck in my head from before I met Magic Eyes, but all through the short time I knew her, it was running through my head with meaning, but not the meaning that the song intended. My own words.

This is not those words, there were no words before, nor is there now.

Are you a woman I used to know?
When I look at you across the room, 
Your magical eyes casting beams around,
They hit me for a second and look away,
Are you embarrassed by the man, you used to know?

When you removed me from your Facebook, were you protecting me?
Did you feel that your actions would cripple me,
Are you going back on your own words,
Friends we would be, but you have cut me off,
Are you a woman I used to know?

When I think of you I see a reflection of me.
Only a gulf of a number years,
Similar experiences in one weird way,
Do you not see me as your opposite?
Will you see me as a man you used to know?

It is scary to think of you,
I see that it could go either way,
As star trapped lovers or life long friends,
Looking into infinity and seeing you there,
Now you are just a person I used to know.

You are the person I most want to know,
Friends like you are more rare than you could know,
When you get older you will truly know.
I don't care if you hurt me,
Because you are the person I most want to know.

You are afraid that the person you most know,
Will become the person I most desire,
And not the person you could become.
But I like the person you are now,
And would love the independent woman you would be.

You are the person I want to know,
You will be the woman I want to love, 
But you are not there yet.
And I shall never know that woman now,
You shall be that person I used to know.

Uneasy Rider

The thrumming of the engine on the open road vibrated through George's Knucklehead Chopper into him.  The scenery past unobserved on either side.  Gunning the engines and cruising along the asphalt dream at a mean 65 mph, George was numb to it all, even to the inevitable sting of some unlucky bug that splattered into his cheek like a needle in to raw flesh.  

He had gotten careless in that last town, nearly a day behind him.  Careless was not a threat, but it was bothersome.  The last time he got careless he had to lay low for nearly a year, sucking the life force out of domestic beasts.  Not fun when you are used to dining on the best, Human.  The first time he had gotten careless, Sheila, his first love died.  "Why didn't they tell me," he screamed into the evening air, like he always did when he got like this.  

A blare from the oncoming transport woke him from his revery just in time to swerve back on to his side of the roadway.  He knew he would not die, but it would have been inconvenient, especially getting another hog like this one and running properly too.  He was unique, as far as he knew, except that he had been adopted and that there were no records of his true parents anywhere.  

Night was present when he pulled into the neat family run motel on the hills overlooking the city.  The sweet smells of cedar and fresh cut hay permeated the area, while still the city lay just off into the distance, its many lights casting a glow into the sky obscuring any but the brightest stars overhead.  He liked cities: trendy, smart, urbane people, with few prejudices and overtly superior attitudes, except for their hick country cousins.  This he could live with.

One more night in some bug infested backwater he thought, then on to the thrill of the hunt.  But here he was and famished.  Eating at the attached diner was a rare treat, utterly empty of hicks.  Actually it was utterly empty of everyone, but the nice matronly woman who served as waitress and front-line cook in the back.  The food would sustain him if not fill him.  She was in her late fifties and was thin for her age, no doubt a side effect of her chain smoking habit he could smell on her breath.  She was not beauty, not by a long shot, he appraised, even in her youth with her misbegotten mouth and a fist full of crooked teeth.  Her breasts sagged under her apron in appreciation for the litter of kids she must have had.  Still she would do, if he could not wait.  Rude though, to dine on the soul of the person who is putting you up for the night.

George thanked his hostess politely, an action that no doubt surprised her.  After paying for the food and leaving an appropriate tip, he passed silently into his room and past out on the bed exhausted.  

—

He had been in the sleepy town for about a week when the two preppy city slickers pulled into the town looking for lodgings.  They were kids who had travelled too far into Deliverance Country and pulled out just in time before they got hurt, but not in time to be stuck in this backwater.  The story circulated that their Lexus had broke down and Hank of Hank's Garage and Groceries, needed a part and it was going to take a few days.  They strolled casually into Buddy's Brew, dressed in matching red checkered lumberjack outfits and ordered something European.  Not a good start really, but the silence it created was laudable, if for the wrong reasons, and short lived.  Breaking the silence, Buddy proclaimed, "We don't serve your kind ere."  

"What kind is that," the stupid blond on the right asked.

Amongst the jeers, were audible words like "Butt Fuckers" and "Fairies" and the occasional "Queers," but mostly laughing and booing.  

"We're not queer," the stupid one stated, as his more world wise friend took the briefest of taste of the crowd and began to pull his junior out of the bar.  As he pulled his resisting friend out of the brewing fight that was just about to fall on them like an avalanche, the first bottle smashed over his head showering him with glass and piss poor brew; the first of many.

 "I don't care about homosexuals," he thought.  "They are just people, one of the easiest food sources around actually, they are almost always eager to fuck any time and any place.  And liberated too, so a little kink does not unsettle them too much so it is all good.  I prefer women, something that, well since Sheila, has remained untasted.  While I don't care about them, I do hate homophobes.  I don't care if you hate black people, I don't care if you hate the poor or the rich or both, but I do hate hypocrisy."  Over the years he had  made it a mission to seek out those that say one thing and then privately do the opposite and had noticed that many hard line Homophobes really like dick in their ass.  And it looked like Buddy was heading for some bad times.

—

The thunder rumbling in the distance was what he heard in the background when he woke, the flashes seen clearly through the blinds, but it was the erection that had woken him in earnest.  The tent had formed beneath his worn leather pants, the strain of it bending his erection painfully.  There was a scent in the air that he had not felt in years.  A lure that had driven him insane while he slept.  There was a woman nearby, a special woman.

The distant city was completely hidden in the storm.  Rain lashed the ground, stirring it up into a frothy mud that splattered on everything.  In a flash of light the parking lot was lit up.  Grey rain streaked filled the way between the two buildings, the motel where he stood and the diner/registry on the other side.  The crack of thunder began before the light faded and the area was washed with the smell of fresh ozone.  Through the darkness, the light in the registry room was barely visible.  He pushed into the shroud of water that ran through the night.  After a few steps, his hair was plastered to his skull, and after a minute his leather was soaked through to the skin and his erection had mostly melted away, leaving merely a solid imprint along his groin, if anyone noticed.

The screen door was open wide, tied to the banister with a practiced knot.  The  rain was piling up on a small lake on the misaligned flooring, pooling against the stoop.  The rain was drumming loudly upon the roof.  She leaned back in her chair resting its back against the far wall, with only two legs on the floor.  He light mousey hair was drawn back in a limp pony tail with a few strands dangling forgotten by the elastic.  Glasses with a fine wire frame rested lightly on he nose.  In one hand she played with a orange HB pencil that rested firmly between her pursed lips that sucked gently on its rubber end.  Two beautiful brown  eyes darted to and fro on the pages of the thick Psychology book supported in her final hand.  Her right leg kicked lazily back in forth while the other stayed motionless on the other side of the chair leaving her thighs parted in her worn and tattered acid washed cutoffs.  Her strong scent washed over him from between her legs, causing his fading cock to pulse back into readiness.

Lightning flashed and booming thunder clapping at the same time jostled her to look up and seeing him mid stride appear out of the darkness, startled her and she lost her balance.

He caught up to her as lay on the floor holding the back of her head and wincing in pain.  "You startled me," from her and "I'm sorry I startled you," from him simultaneously caused her to laugh, and sending painful needles into her eyes.  

He stooped to help her up, an action that relieved his swollen cock to no end, allowing it to find more space to comfortably relax away from the binding leather.  He fumbled to get her chair righted, distracted by her very smell, that now much closer, was impossible to ignore.  

He gently lifted her up cradling her in his arms allowing her to regain her feet, his hands pressed gently along her thighs bum and back.  Feet once again resting on the floor  she attempted to resist gravity and stand and failed.  Grabbing hold of his waist she stood shakily pressed close to his body.  He felt her pert nipples against his stomach and she felt a throb from his penis, clearly outlined and pressed against her.  "I'm sorry," he said, and not meaning her fall. Clearly no used to his reaction to her at all.  

She pushed herself back, but still unable to stand began to sink back to the ground, her legs like jelly.  At his reassuring touch, she glanced up and stopped, her mouth like a small 'o'.  Eyes like deer's eyes caught before traffic at night.  

He leaned forward to kiss.  Sparks leapt forth from this touch, stronger than any touch or kiss of a man.  Pushing her back and up upon the registry desk and registry book he began kissing down her chin, holding down her scrawny arms.  He kissed and sucked his way on to her throat and around her neck.  Kissing roughly her shoulder he inexpertly fumbled for her chest with one hand while rubbing with his other on her cunt.

Grabbing hold of her shirt she tossed it over her head revealing a slight tan line across both breasts and a flush of pink on her chest.  Catching hold of his neck as he took in one tit into his mouth and sucked, she arched toward him.  Things started making sense again for him as the blade of had hand ran between her thighs and feeling her internal warmth.  Moving to the second breast, he circled her nipple with his tongue.  His thumb pushed aside the clasp and onto her neatly trimmed muff.  Taking her breast into he mouth and inhaling it entirely, whilst skinning the wild beast of its shorts.

Parting her leg's sweet treasure his thumb slides in her wetness.  Tongue caresses her.  Arms press his head down, her legs wrap as if to hold him in place.  Her hands run through his hair, clenching mats of it in her hands.  

Breaking her embrace with a shrug, he unclasps the leather prison from his waist.  Understanding his desire she spread herself wide, legs locking back behind his buttocks.  Taking hold of his thick rod she guides it into her, desire takes hold of everything.  His heavily scarred penis seems almost ribbed, for her pleasure … he slides into her, she shudders.  His legs are soft as fur on her legs … he thrusts into her strong and sure.  She grabs hold of his head and feels two little horns… the thrusts move in circles.  A fluttering of soft fur flits from his bum… her eyes begin to roll back in her skull.  She feels, as if within her he is touching everywhere important all at once… he leans forth as her orgasm takes her again and again, the kiss that sates him.  Her energy flows into him, she rocks back and forth, lolling in ecstasy.  

He withdraws, burning liquid splashes upon her chest and soaks on to the book of registry.  Never again inside, like he with Sheila.

—

High school was a distant memory, nearly three years ago Sheila had been with him since grade nine and the had been having sex since grade ten.  Well it had been sex at first, but after the first few times, they had slipped into making love.  

Sheila was a picture of beauty, short to his  five and ten, she was five foot five. Her hair which never seemed to lack body was the deepest chestnut browns and the softest hair he could ever imagine.  Her nose was a small sharp button, and her generous smile always melted his heart.  Her teeth were not perfect, the bottom two were crooked and there was the cutest space between her front teeth.  Her chin, which he would kiss before he left each day before work, was perfect for him.  Her breasts, which had attracted him to her in grade nine, the largest of any of the girls two years her senior, were round and perky and large dark nipples, no longer held his attention and not since their early love making sessions.  Her hips were wide and people said that she would bear him many sons through those hips and he felt that they were the second most attractive part of her body.  It was her eyes that always held him firm, when love making, her pupil expanded to cover her deep brown iris; when he discovered this, her breasts disappeared from his mind.

The baby blue tuxedo and five inch platform shoes had hung in the closet beside her wedding dress, the latter a keepsake from the happiest day of his life two years ago and the former from the last time they went out to the disco-tech, the night she told him she was pregnant, six months ago.

The big day was today, she had gone into labour after their second session of love making that day.  His adopted father told him that two words would cut our sex life in half, "I do," but contrary to everyone else's experience they seemed to increase in this activity, often more than once a night.  When she got off the pill so that they could conceive, they made love even more.  Again people, friends and strangers told him once she is pregnant the sex would dry up; apparently no one told Sheila that.

She was his first love, but she had been with one or two others and she insisted no one compared to him.  He had been attracted to other women, but because of his embarrassing condition, he never would.  

The hour of the delivery of his first born came and he had insisted that he would  accompany his only love thought the entire ordeal over all the support staff's objections, he was not the first father to witness the birth of his child, but it was still rare for 1975.  The first few hours passed with no trouble; the nurses could not believe that this was our first and not our fourth.  Things were smooth running.  At the third hour the first complication occurred, my wife bleeding uncontrollably, I was pushed from the birthing room.  Her howls would haunt me to the end of days.

—

Her name was Sophie and there was not much to this girl except that her neatly trimmed little pussy had George's balls in chains.  Sweat had plastered her long dark blonde hair to her face.  The standard post coital chat had told him plenty of information about this new potential lover, his first woman in over thirty years.  She was studying for her psycology exam that would complete her Fine Arts degree.  No boyfriend, not many friends, most of those had graduated earlier as she had to take time off to earn money to get through school, her parents had disappeared just a couple years ago and the insurance company would not pay the their life insurance policy unless there was a body.  After school she had a housekeeping job lined up in the city it paid less than this job, but at least it was not here in the boonies, made worse by being able to see it every day from a far.  

George, the entire time he was listening and giving very little back, was thinking what she could have that he wanted so badly.  They were dressed again at this point, but his hard on had not subsided dispite having cum harder than he could remember in a long while.  

The silence had stretched unnoticed for a few minutes.  George scrambled to recall the last words that she said.  He recalled that she had asked if he was heading to the city in the morning and that she was to catch the bus here in the wee hours of the morning.  As if unused to talking he croaked, "Y-yes, I am heading to the city in the morning," and as if it were not just tacked on to the end, "You want a ride?"

The motel owners were early risers, but the bus would be arriving before they got up, so they had paid her in full, including this nights work, in advance.  Her course was through correspondence, but she had to show up in person for the final exam.  She had followed him back to his room as she prattled on.  He recalled that young women sometimes needed to be close after sex, to be seen with them, or perhaps she just needed some interesting conversation after three months spent in the boonies in the off season.

He turned to confront her about which it was and to say that he was in no mood when she broke his train of thought.  "Wow, you are still hard!  I would have thought it would have gone away by now.  Does it hurt?"

Realizing that she was indeed correct, his erection struggling to get to attention was trapped painfully against his leg by his leathers, his bulging glans in sharp contrast his long meaty shaft.  Only by her drawing attention to it did he now feel the discomfort.

She kneeled before him on the threadbare throw rug that covered part of the designing accident hat was the decor of this room she looked for a way to remove the leather trousers, finding none began to pull them down.  Sophie seemed intrigued by George's thick course hair that obscured most of his genitil region.  So engrossed in her work she was caught by surprise as George's generous love stick was freed and sprang to attention, striking her satisfyingly on her chin on the way up.

Extending her tongue to a point she touched the tip of his erection right at the end of his urethra, left hand attempting to encircle his shaft, and failing, stroked roughly, while right reached into the thick mat of hair to grasp and clench his tight balls.  A groan escaped his lips as she worked her tongue around his penis head, working it into the spiral of scar tissue to its tip.  Her left hand ran up and down his long ribbed love stick, thumb pressing the ventral side, her thumbnail stratching as she pumped.  She worked his balls with the practised ease of a milkmaid on her new charge; her pinky nail slipping back to scratch his puckered virgin anus.

His penis began to move on its own accord.  George pulled her from her knees to lie face down on the bed, cover ruffled from his interrupted sleep not an hour ago.  With a fluid motion, lacking any grace, he pulled then pushed her cutoffs down her mid thighs, progress hindered by the wet denim.  He thrust into her with assuredness.  With relief in his eyes he thrust into her like a piston of a train locomotive, long steady with increasing rate.  

Sophie was not sure what she saw or felt but before he threw her on the bed, she thought his penis was starting to come apart?  But the instant he penetrated her all consious thought was pushed from her mind.  How could he hit every spot at the same time.  She was climaxing the moment he entered her and for at least a minute after she felt the hot sting of semen splatter against her head, shirt and felt the warm liquid melt into the lower back, soothing all the pains of a long workday.  

Sheila had called it a Medusa Foreskin, because the way that it wiggled and snaked when he was aroused.  Inside of her, she claimed, she could not think correctly; the sensation so overwhelming.  It was not until he drew the sensation out of her with a kiss that she calmed down.  Until that kiss she was brutally strong, scoring his flesh with her nails and drawing blood as she tried to dismember him.  The kiss drew it from her and healed him of all but the most superficial wounds.  Looking down at the bed that Sophie had just torn apart, he kissed her, drawing it from her.

—

The last of the rain was spitting from clouds only now starting to disperse, the thunderstorm advancing further into the hills when the bus pulled into the motel Parkinglot.  No one was around, but the fading rear lights of a motorcycle turning the last bend at the bottom of the hill.  The driver stepped down from the cab and crossed the muddy lot to the registry building where a lonely light lit the room.  No one was there, but it looked like some sort of murder had taken place there.  The door was wide open and swinging in the wind, water stood an inch deep, blood pooled beyond it and splattered on the wall.  In his shock the newspaper under his arm fluttered down, front page open into the water.  The pages quickly soaked the water and the mixing blood, the headline quickly wetted into mush, Bizarre Tripple Suicide in Hicktown.

—

Alcohol has long given men courage to do things that sober men would fear to do.  Buddy, Hank and Noland drank well into the night, long after saner men called it a night and in this hick town, that was saying a lot.  People in hick towns have nothing to do besides drink and fuck and drinking usually is more availible.  

Hank had led them into his garage where the car stood, almost brand new.  George stood looking at the scene from the shadows.  Three drunk men looking  for a fight, better that he stay put.  Hank passed out the spray paint cans and quickly the car recieved a knew coat of paint.  Words appeared across the lime green exterior paint, "FAGS" and "KWEARS", finishing grade school was not common in these parts, and "GAYS".  Crowbars were summoned up and the body was assaulted badly marring their previous work.  Finally, each tried to one up the other with the grossest acts they could imagine.  Noland pissed in the gas tank, Hank dropped his drawers and shat in the windowwasher fluid, and Buddy threw up in the backseat and passed out, face deep in sick.

Hank stepped out of his squat to find Noland asleep, dick in hand asleep against the car.  "Never could hold your liquor, ya dumb bastard!  Erk!?," Hank uttered in surprise as George put a knife to his throat.

Always ready for any situation mineral oil applied liberally to his cock, George shoved his pink pig sticker into the just used shit hole and pushed Hank over lifting one leg to keep him unbalanced and holding the side of his head in the mess he just caused.  Virgin homophobe ass is always the best ass.  Tears streaming down his face left tracks in the dirt and sweat, trailing into his mouth.  As George pushed himself into a crescendo, Hank began to learn the awful truth about rape, with each thrust, one deeper than the one before, each one less and less painful, his body betrayed him and he started to feel pleasure. 

Face still smeared with his own excrement he lifted his head to shout out.  George used to this grabbed a fistfull of hair and pulled back whilst reaching around to grab his hardening cock.  With each thrust George stroked his victim until the spoiled car's headlight was splashed with a load of fresh Hank. Leaning down his tongue snaked out into the cleaner side of Hank's sweaty mouth.  Drawing the energy out of Hank with his kiss, George's lips grazed his honey's sweaty cheak, his essence was drawn out of him with the taste of salt and the texture of course stubble.

Releasing Hanks head, allowing him to sink to the ground, sliding off George's cam shaft and the mixture of cum, blood and santorum. Hank began to whimper quietly, while The man who mastered him moved to his next victim.  

It took a little less than twenty minutes to do the same to the other men.  The kiss has always been a funny thing to him.  With Sheila, it had restored her, left her well rested and full of energy.  With gay men, it left them passive as a cat sitting in a window in the winter time.  Men that he had raped it had left them dispondent and quiet or angry and violently suicidal.  Usually the former and only a few times the latter.  Which is why George wanted to finish up quickly, just incase.  

Speeding down the highway just past three in the morning speeding nearly ten miles out of town he pasted two preppy yuppie hitchhikers legging as if their life depended upon it.  

—

Perhaps it was time he settled down again.  

Cat jumped on to his lap. 

Sophie seemed to attract strays, first George, then Cat.  They got an apartment together and George got a job chopping bikes at a local garage and Sophie was cleaning houses together they made just enough money to make rent in this expensive and trendy city of Laorta.  She was overdue to come home now, by about two hours.  

He had been worried that she might run when he first revealed his furry flanks, short tail and small stud horns.  "You're a Satyr," she proclaimed with a sense of pride and deep seated thrill, "Bacchus's love machines from Greek Myth!" and then, "You're so gorgeous!"

After that the worst he had to endure was her pet names, "Little Faun" and the like.  But the sex was regular and intense; he had found what he had needed in these years since Sheila's death.  But where was she?

He tired her phone again, nothing.  She was either beyond a cell tower or her phone was off.  He should have insisted on taking her to this new job in the neighbourhood clear across town.  

Where was she?

Tearfull Soul

As the the story goes,
The pain is only in my mind,
I see her as the one that got away,
Or the one that ran away.
Her cowardliness is plain to see,
She said she did not want to hurt me,
But it is clear that that's a lie.
Her claims that she is selfish,
A bad person to the core,
Are all the more false,
If she was telling me the truth.
for if she were selfish, 
She would have said,
Come and see me soon,
I want to test myself,
I want to fall in love with you,
Fifty fine dates.
She did not ask what I wanted,
Not once was this a part for her,
It was me that has the bad history,
Of giving up everything for love.
And give it up I would, 
Give up a town I hate,
Give up a job of distaste,
Move away from friends who drain,
Move into your embrace.
Last time it was more, for less,
This time would have been great.
But you made your choice,
I have to live with it,
Even if I do not want it.

But I ask myself if it were all a lie,
If she was just a girl on paper,
If she was just acting . . .?
If she lied and wanted me to push,
If she wanted me to take charge.
To push her into the dirt and fuck her.
But, for my part,
I always saw her as my equal,
As someone not to rush,
As a person worth a very long wait.
I trust you see that she is me,
Me is she.
We are only just learning to love ourselves,
Both an equal of this fact.

Perhaps, I older, know what she does not,
That this match was rarer than she might believe,
Years from now after years of mismatches,
She too will understand.

I wait

So it ends, the best relationship that I ever did not have.

There was the relationship with Sarah whom was only in my head, Benita, who was only in my head except that one time that I thought she really did love me.  There was More Passive Than Rain, who got me into this situation, being in Smallville alone and very nearly killing myself.  Since I only know two people who will read this for sure, let me address this to one of you, knowing the other will read it too.  

Dear Waif Girl,

You showed me the pleasure of blogging and for that I am forever in your debt, name a service I can preform and I will do it for you.  It was because I have been blogging for nearly a year that Magic Eyes contacted me.  Well stalked out my blog and read every entry and found someone that she thought she would like.  I started writing her and every time I wrote something I instantly regretted what I said after I wrote it.  Everything I wrote was true for me, but everything I wrote broke all the rules that society tells us that we need to do to put forth a good image.  She asked how living in Smallville was working for me and I responded that it was akin to the deepest darkest hell that could be imagined, and she wrote back agreeing with my words.  

She told me that I should write professionally and a I laughed at the suggestion, but listened and showed my poems to a friend, Gardener Guru, and she told me that I had a gift.  Perhaps this gift will help me out of any despair that comes from this break up.  Not a break up though.  We have only had two dates.  Two dates where everything I had learned to expect from a date was put on its head we did not touch except in the briefest of ways.  We never kissed.  If we had I know that I would not be writing this.

But I have to respect her decision, I don't have to agree with it though.  I know where she lives, but I will never go there again.  She deleted me from Facebook before I could read her letter.  She shared her inner thoughts with me and I applauded them.  I was willing to work within her boundaries.  I respect that she was trying to find out who she was on her own unattached.  I don't want to be attached to a puppet, a simulacrum of my personality.  I like strong women, I crave strength, because only a strong woman look at me and accept me for who I am.

When ever we talked I feared that we were too close.  I feared that she would talk and I would agree with her because it would make her want to be with me, but it was her fear that she would agree with me that drove her away.  Part of me has always been insecure about  being with her; she had a written profile and answered questions, her answers reflected her characters and her personality, but she was trying to change who she was so that person who d acted several people at the same time, who slept with people on the first date was not the person I dated.  She had stated that she saw nothing wrong with going out and fucking strangers, old boyfriends for a good time and she had stated that she had a few close friends for doing that, so I felt always on guard always stressed around her.  

But I was coming to deal with the old her and the new her and that they were two different people.  Every geeky thing I did was matched by her or exceeded by her.  Independently we had the same ideas, at the same time.  We come at things from the same angle and find the same solutions.  I know that if we had ever made love, that we could and would be able to talk about things the same way as before, unchanged.

She said that she wanted to be friends first and then something else, and seemed upset when I said friendship to work has to be based on more than one thing one typer of event if it is going to survive that event.  The even that we shared is over and I don't see how we can be friends; I have no contact with her.  I love her.  But I am not destroyed by her severing her relations with me.  

I wanted to tell her about how More Passive Than Rain, keeps phoning me.  How she keeps wanting me to be the asshole so she can feel good about her incorrect decision.  I won't, even though, I want her to move on, do I have to be nice and be the bad guy for her, so that she can feel good?  What do you say Magic Eyes?  What did your ex-boyfriend tell you that you severed all contact from me?  Waif Girl, I don't expect a response from you.

Have a good evening and a nice life,
To my muse, the one that I write for.
I want to live for,
Not to die for
But to live actually live.
I want to make love to you with my mind,
Your mind is oh so pretty.

No secret messages this time.

I wait.

Polyamorous Pigmy Platapi

So I was looking at something on FaceBook that a friend had posted.  A friend from Belarus.  Never met her, but I am beginning to think I don't want to.  A lot of the problem is that she is from Belarus.  Isolated little country nestled between Poland, Russia, the Ukraine and Lithuania.  It is the last dictatorship in Europe, if you don't include Russia that is.  

Last year Belarus had an election and opposition parties were banned and opposition members were arrested and 80% of the populous voted for the dictator, proving that if you ban and arrest everyone but one person, 20% of people will not vote for you.  And there were protests and people were arrested and there was a bomb in the subway and people including my friend were being very careful about what they said and did not say on the Internet.  Then last year she found a way out and fled to France.

Good news right?  While she was in Belarus, she had these weird ideas, spurred on by state repression and state teachings and rural attitude and church teachings, that homosexuality is a sin and amoral.  I chalked it up to, lack of exposure.

My sister was racist and she wanted to be a Cop, great combination.  I don't know how she got that way, her parents did not teach racism, I know because I have the same parents, but she was.  Then she left the North, dreams of Cophood shattered and she went to school in the south, in Cartown.  Then she got a job and her boss was a Jamaican woman and suddenly after a year out of the north she was no longer racist.  Surprise, black people are just like white people, only they have more skin pigment.  Asians, Indians, Americans and the rest are all human, well maybe not Americans, they did reelect Bush after all.  So the best way to end racism is exposure in an everyday sense.

So I figure, a year outside of Belarus would expose her to new ideas, new people.  Their are black people in France.  Their are Muslim people in France.  There are black Muslim people in France.  Their are gay people in France, their are gay black people in France, there are probably gay black Muslims in France.  She goes to university in France, and I can't think of a better place to interact with gay people in France, than in a university.  But then I see her post something.  Her Belarusian president for life has just stated it is more moral to be a dictator than queer.  

And she and her friend are discussing it and how he is right.  And I am thinking I am not understanding what they are saying correctly.  Google translate and bing translate are not perfect and require some mental jumps and leaps so it is easy to misunderstand, especially when one persons words are untranslatable because a language that uses cyrillic letters is not going to get translated when they use the latin alphabet.  But what I was understanding from the conversation was that they still did not understand.  That gay people are just people.  Neither more or less moral than anyone else.  

But, that because a dictator says something, a person who has questionable morality, then it should be treated as suspect.  Hitler had Jewish people murdered, he had the Roma murdered, he murdered Russian soldiers (prisoners of war) and he had gay people murdered in concentration camps.  Should one not question therefore the morality of homophobia?  

I have been propositioned before.  A coworker wanted to give me a blowjob.  He also confided in me that there was only one man in the company that turned him on.  I of course never had a clue until he propositioned me on my last day there.   I declined the offer.  He had coffee and cigarette breath, but I bare him no animosity, I treated the offer like it was, a compliment and moved on.  I know some lovely gay couples, some I consider friends.  Single gay people too.  But seriously I know straight people, some lovely straight couples, some single straight people too.  I know bisexual people too, I am trying to date one, and a former girlfriend is bi too.  Bisexual people are people too.  

There are people who hate gay people, homophobic people, or as I call them gay people who hate themselves.  But this is not true for all people, some homophobic people have never met a gay person before and don't know that they are just people.  There are people who think that gay people are people, but that bisexual people are confused and they need to pick a side.  Pick a side?  They have picked a side, it is called both.  The people who say bisexual people need to pick a side, are homophobic too.  The third set of straight people are bi-minded they think people are people.  I am bi-minded, I am not Polyamorous, but I have no problem with that type of person, hell as long as anyone I feel is a significant other tells me I am okay with it.

I am not okay with people who hate people because they are different from them, genetically or sexually.

Fish in water

Have I written about depression before?  It is worth the rewrite if I have.  Last summer I very nearly commit suicide.  I was planning it and I knew where I would do it and I now that it would be a week or weeks before they found my body.  I would have built a noose from extension cords and tied it to the roof of the garage where I work.  It is a garage but no vehicles get parked there until Winter.  It is hot there and there is hardly any ventilation, they would not have discovered my body until body parts started falling off and local dogs started quarreling over my bones; no one goes there in the summer.

Last year was the second lowest point of my life.  Perhaps the lowest point.  But that is not saying much because I have chronic depression.  And it is not caused by an imbalance in my hormones, it is a side effect of AS.  There are two types of AS people, introverts and extroverts.  Extraverts are happy go lucky and when they are younger they get in a lot of fights and they always seem happy.  Introverts are depressed a lot.  They look within themselves and they notice things.  They notice they are not normal and there is no one like them.  They notice that they are alone and they start to notice where they are different and see that they can't do what other people are doing and this depresses them.

Chronic depression is really difficult to diagnose.  You are always depressed, you are never really happy.  Occasionally there are times you feel joy, but they are rare.  You begin to think that this is normal.  Everyone feels joy and unhappiness and so do you, but no one around you seems to be unhappy as long as you, nor do their happy days seem as short as yours.  But since this is how it has always been, you think nothing of it.  A fish lives his entire life not knowing what water is, until he discovers air.  Chronic depression is invisible until true happiness comes to them that have it.  

I was depressed from about age 7, maybe sooner until age 30.  Really depressed, chronically depressed.  I tried drugs, I tried cognitive therapy, I even tried a relationship; nothing.  What did work?  I broke thought the happiness barrier and looked around and I was happy, for the first time in living memory.  

What happened later, I was ground down again and I forgot what happiness is and but could still remember something of it.  That is worse than depression, it is something to kill over.  I am better now, I hope.  I hope I find a reason to live, I am working on one that does not involve people, but that is difficult.  Writing.

Free and quick, rhyming poem

Take a talk with you,
I tell a friend what's new.
Destiny is another word for what is,
And strangely there is nothing to that whizz.

Standing in your presence,
I have a feeling that sixth sense.
The joy of knowing you are near,
The feeling that only you can hear.

When you speak there is a quickening,
And in your absence a sickening.
I know that I have not around,
To feel the true love in the ground.

But in you I seek it,
And even to me this seems a load of shit.
To me though it feels just,
Almost within my reach all I can do is a must.

There is not hidden message,
There is nothing within this passage.
To say though that you are my muse,
Is simply true for everything I am do I use.

To write this passage has taken me,
And this I must say with glee.
Five to ten minutes have past,
Since I took up this poem to cast.

This you understand,
I write to you, emotions feel my gland.
If not love what within does stir,
Perhaps a quest to win her.

Does she write tonight,
Does her fancy take great flight?
With this double rhyme so tight,
I seek to wish you good night!

On Writing

According to what was said to have been the words of Mark Twain, who was Samuel Clemens, "Write what you know."  that is the trick you see, I can't make things up, so I have to write what I know.  But there is a twist, I can write what I know but change who it is.  I can change the setting and I can change the location; I can change everything about everything as long as I am still writing what I know.  When I try to be original, I get frustrated and I fail, I get tired and I stop, because it takes too much out of me; I am trying to invent things that I can't imagine.

Her long legs held my unwavering attention as they stepped one at a time from the car.  The slight tear in her hosiery, allowed her alabaster skin to show, exciting my heart to skip a beat.  As she bent over to extract herself from the it's interior, her long dark tresses obscured her features.  An unconscious brush from her hand tucked the errant hair neatly behind her ear as she turned to face me.  It was love at first sight.

Approaching My lady from the side, I first caught sight of her generous mahogany skin peaking from between the strapping of her cuisses.  My heart skipped a beat to see such unblemished skin and on her thigh, but such thoughts are unbecoming for a lowly soldier of his Queen.  As she leaned forward and dismounted, I lowered my yes and took a knee.  I quick glance revealed her without her helm, adjusting her sweat soaked tresses before she reviewed the soldiers.  My heart hammered within chest so that I feared that's she would hear and know my love for her.

His leg, covered with the skin tight Ultrex (tm) body armour seemed painted upon him.  The cords of his calf muscles flexed as he walked, for all the world naked except for the micrometer thin blue material he wore.  It clung tight to his buttocks as he stepped down from his Tralar (tm) hover disc, which rose reflexively as he stepped to earth to be caught with a practiced swing of his arm to double as his trademarked buckler.  Blond hair flopped across his brow which he reset with a well rehearsed nod of his head.  His eyes sought me out, aided with his glittering Blue (tm) eyes which sparkled from its own internal power source.  Finding me was easy and he smiled warmly; dressed in my own Ultrex (tm) second skin, my erection was plain to all.

Not as tiring as trying to write something from scratch and with complete originality.  Poetry for me is easiest, it is my emotions and my thoughts that I simply have to describe.  Too easy actually, so I invent rules that I have to follow not rules about rhythm, but rules about which words I can use.  Perhaps one day I will write a book of poems each with a hidden line to a hidden poem that writes an additional hidden poem, but can I get them published?  Does it matter?  Will my lady love love me back and if my lady love loves me, will I return her love? Where does love come from?  Does it matter?


I will I guess write many different stories with or without my lady muse's help. 

This epiphany is brought to you by Waif girl, who showed me that I could blog, and to tarnishedtypist who read my blog and thought I should write and to a colleague who told me it is my duty to write after reading my poems.

Slow, long and deep

She stepped from my car, eyes darker than her face in the near absence of light, who's only source that might was the moon, full but obfuscated behind a cloud; despite this, they glittered.  After the comment from the last date, I almost expected a kiss, but I was elated even in its absence.  Her soft gentle curves are imprinted on my mind forever.  The way that she slid over, while we sat looking over the near sleeping town, signaled to me that it was okay to touch her.  I am not good with these signs, but since my hand was not removed from my arm, I think I can assume to have gotten that much correct.  I told her that the date was the highlight of my week, but I had lied, for it would have been closer to the highlight of the season, nearly my year.

I am exhausted, and falling asleep.  When we kiss, there shall be fireworks.  I enjoy her company greatly and I am starting to understand the underlying reason for going slow.

After editing … I believe there is more to say.  I do not like driving around a lot, but I see the appeal, it helps if there is a hot girl in the seat beside you.  We walked to a local park to look at the wildlife and to feed it.  I received my first through billionth mosquito bite of the year, mental note don't wear shorts in the woods, unless there is a breeze.  

We swapped stories about our lives and the horrors of small town life.  Took a tour of a small part of her hated town; the best part of a bad situation.  A school with a negative energy footprint.  A lookout spot to die for, or a make out spot of your dreams, provided that there are less people.  But we got the less people the second time around.  I was there until well after eleven at night.  

After which I drove around the town in the wrong direction looking for a gas station, got lost, and texted for a gas station.  She made me cookies p, they were mint chip.  I like to think that she made them for me, as my favourite ice cream is mint chip.  Sigh!

First try at fiction

The red light of sunset beat strongly down on this deserted promenade, the wall of the building smooth as it was when it was built centuries before, it's simple decoration of an inset recess casting deep shadows across its face.  The flinty smell of crushed sand pervaded the air, mixed with equal parts old spilt spices and a millennia of sweat from hard work and heat, cut with the strong musk of cat urine.  Running now he could not afford to be noticed being late for the dusk vigil and prayer, the cobbles of the street were individually felt through thin sandals, each worn smooth by the passage of so many feet like his own.  The street was bare of all litter, this close to the mall discarded refuse was considered obscene as it was free of people; the wind carrying a discarded leaf in the opposite direction as his own.   The wind gave one last tug on his light robes before giving up and dropping the leaf as he rounded the last corner.  
The masses of people that stood before him in near perfect quiet reading the words broadcasting from each supplicant in the Great Mall of the Immortal.  The susurration caused by millions of hands repeating the Immortal's word for all to see.


No planning. I think I need to plan it better. I find this exhausting.

Beer bottles and humanity

Bottleneck is the part of a bottle where the material is the thinnest.  All the material within the bottle is constricted as it flows out of the bottle controlling the amount of the material coming out.  In biology, bottleneck refers to a restriction in the DNA, or the loss of variability within a species.

Some of the great bottlenecks in biology include house cats.  House cats are thought to have arisen in Egypt, exclusively.  Near the upper Nile there exists a species of wild cat that looks like a house cat in size and shape.  When harvests of grain became large, cities develop.  The extra grain allows other people to specialize outside of farming and subsistence living.  As the harvests get larger more and more people can live not as farmers.  When this happens granaries must be built, places to store the excess grain from harvests.  However, large stores of grain attract pests and there is nothing that can be done about that.  If a granaries lost half of all their grain to pests, half the number of specialists can be maintained.  

In comes that cat.  Possibly attracted to the granaries due to the concentration of food, the pests that fed on the grain, someone noticed this fact and began attracting more cats to their granary and losses of grain began to be reduced.  I imagine that there were still losses, but it was much less.  Less grain loss means more specialists.  Specialist make clothing, they make tools they improve roadways, all things the farmer used to do, so the farmer has more time now to farm and harvests rise again.  Civilization arises, all due to cats.  

Granaries are in every land, they all have the same problem.  I imagine that the gift of a pair of cats would be a gift that out weighed gold and the cat was spread slowly through the old world, a few cats gave rise to all house cats.  That is a bottleneck, the genetic variation of those few wild cats gave rise to all cats, but the wild population of cats in upper Egypt, has greater variation that all house cats, because they were not bottlenecked.

Dogs rose multiple times in multiple locations at multiple times in history.  They have more genetic variation than cats because of this fact.  As you can see when you compare the number of varieties of either species and the variation in colour, size and shape.  People have been selecting for specific traits for millennia, breeding brother to sister to strengthen desired traits.  And in humans that is considered crude, rude and obscene, but with dogs or cats no such problem.  However, with the desired traits, undesirable traits also arose. For example there are diseases that affect certain breeds of dogs more than others, yellow labs hips wear out after a decade.  These breeds have been bottlenecked by humans.  Dogs can still breed with other dogs and when breeds mix often the resulting dog is stronger than either parent.

Of course I have been skirting the most important bottleneck in human history, Humans.  I theorize, that humanity played on the shores of east Africa, eating fish and clams, urchins and tidal flat food.  Due to the Laurentian Glacial mass, the sea levels were much lower, down about 100m.  Not all the species were playing on the tidal flats.  Some were wanderers and most likely, after looking at human history, ostracized from human culture at the time and stayed away for fear, about ten thousand individuals.  How do we know this number?  About one hundred thousand years ago in Indonesia, a volcano erupted, mount Toba.  Volcanoes erupt all the time in Indonesia, but this eruption was very big; the caldera left after the eruption is over one hundred kilometers across.

The 2004 tsunami in the Indian Ocean, started in Indonesia as well.  It devastated the coasts of India, Indonesia, Thailand, and many other nations including East Africa.  East Africa, the tsunami was only a meter high, but it was still there.  The mount Toba eruption, would have caused a Tsunami, much larger than the one in 2004.  The wave would have been large enough to wipe the sea shore dwelling human off the map, leaving the disenchanted and ostracized, as the remains of the human species. 

The bottleneck is bigger than that though, most humans would have remained in Africa, inheriting the vacated sea shores and spreading gradually up and down the coast.  Only a few hundred of those left would have roamed their way out of Africa.  And we know this because every human not native in history to Africa, has 5% Neanderthal DNA.  And this was tracked down to about seven matings.  Everyone from Europe, Asia, Americas, and Australia and the islands, has 5% Neanderthal DNA. Not in Africa.  The people of the Philippines have 7% of another human subspecies and likely the other recent human subspecies found in Indonesia, probably added its DNA to the human mix.

Humans likely had familiar matings in the beginning but quickly stopped. Some cultures allow marriage between first cousins but the practice is rare and for good reasons, the European aristocracy discovered the problems; it concentrates bad genes as well as the good.  

The proof?  A study of mitochondrial DNA, passed to everyone from their mothers only showed that mutation rate of mitochondria and the variation of the DNA, that the divergence occurred about one hundred thousand years ago and from about ten thousand individuals.  The Toba eruption caused global environmental change that lasted thousands of years, ash enveloped the world.  Similar, albeit smaller, eruptions created tsunamis, based on the size and the place, it would have been huge, but there is no visual proof.  That is because the area affected is under the oceans.  Everyone forgets that in a world system, everything has an impact on everything else the ice age ended between 12,000bp and 6000bp and all evidence of human settlements from before this time, in their preferred habitat, on coasts on rivers would have been covered.

Bottlenecks affect our society and our entire species, the most genetically diverse people on this planet, are Africans and everyone else are from a handful of a handful of people.