Saturday, December 31, 2016

TORCHWOOD FANFICTION – Ianto and the New Year’s Eve Snowstorm

I once kneeled in shaking thrill
I chase the memory of it still, of every chill
Chided by that silence of a hush sublime
Blind to the purpose of the brute divine
But you were mine
Staring in the blackness at some distant star
The thrill of knowing how alone we are, unknown we are
To the wild and to the both of us
I confessed the longing I was dreaming of

Some better love, but there's no better love
Beckons above me and there's no better love
That ever has loved me, there's no better love
Darling, feel better love
Feel better love

I was lucky to make it back to my flat.  Between revelers and the 35cm of snow that had already fallen, streets were blocked and buses were running an hour behind schedule.  I caught Mrs. Fletcher before she closed up to get a few provisions, thinking I wouldn’t get out for at least a day.  “It’s a right mess, eh Mr. Jones?” she was an always cheery middle-aged lady.  “And they said we’re supposed to get at least another 40 cm more !”  She finished bagging my juice, eggs, shredded cheese, bacon, steak cutlets, and pinto beans and said, “A handsome man like you!  Have some cutie to kiss at the stroke of midnight?”
“Leave him alone, Mother.  Stop being so nosy!” joking nagged her husband as he came in from the back room.  “You’re always trying to couple people.”
“It’s okay, really,” I said trying to at least grin.  “I’ve been working hard since Christmas.  I’m looking forward to some peace and rest for a day or two.”
Mr. Fletcher nodded then thought for a moment before stopping me from turning around.  “Mr. Jones?”  He motioned me back to the counter.  “Hold on a moment.  I think I have something to take the chill off ya.”  He got a ladder and climbed up to a top shelf then came down with a dark green cylinder.  “This ought to make for a nice toast.  Before I married this wonderful woman, I lean on it a time or two.”  He put the Glenlivet in a decorative bag with “Happy New Year!” on the outside and handed it to me.  “You’re a good customer and, If I know people, and I do, you’re a good man.  I’m certain someone right will come along for ya very soon.”  He smiled at me kindly, trying to loan me some of his confidence.  “Enjoy your holiday, even if it is alone.”  He almost made my current misery seem heroic.

Thursday, November 24, 2016

Fucking in the Rain by Candlelight

Normally, if I give my husband a good, mind-bending blowjob before telling him difficult news, it eases things and I’m likely to get my way – you know, a spoon full of sugar and all that.  However, I didn’t get a chance this time.  Here I was lying, rather lusciously I might add, in a king size bed, Egyptian cotton sheets carefully framing my tight Bruce Lee fit body, as inviting as any £6000 an hour courtesan could.  But instead of coming into the bedroom of our London townhouse, eyes popping from hunger (we had just been apart for three straight months while I was finishing rabbinical school in America) and mouth-watering (fresh pretzels, his favorite food, steaming on the nightstand next to the bed), he entered in with eyes red from anger and a mouth twisted in disappointment.  He dropped the half-completed application for a doctorate program at my feet so hard, I thought they’d sheared off my toes.  “I’ll be at my club,” he declared before storming out. 

Monday, November 21, 2016

Prayers


Desmond “Deetz” Mac Innes was starting his morning prayers and wondered if Hashem, one of the many names Jews used to describe the supreme being, would mind that he was naked while engaging in such a revertant activity.  I suppose it’s nothing She or He hasn’t seen before, Deetz said to himself.  In his rather bare private room in Churton Place, the London townhouse he shared with his husband and several members of their MI-6 special sections spy crew, Deetz lost himself in many activities – from yoga to Tai Chi, Zen Buddhist meditation to Druidic cleansing rituals, and from reading Spinoza to contemplating the words of Hillel.  After clipping to his tightly curled dark brown hair the beige yarmulke knitted by his younger sister for his 29th birthday, he had to first rub the front of his scalp where Angus had pulled just a little too hard while fucking him last night – sometimes newbies just lose control of the situation and things get out of hand.   Deetz would talk to him about it later.  For now, the drafty air foretelling of an early winter snow storm made him reconsider nudity and he grabbed the pair of pants and tee shirt lazily draped over an old stuffed chair that would have been less out of place in someone’s 15th Century castle.

Saturday, October 29, 2016

Friday, October 28, 2016

Angus found me a date at a cocktail party Part 2

The Portobello was a charming Notting Hill hotel with charming interiors and an accurate Victorian style.  Many of the ‘rich and famous’ spent time there thus the staff know to turn a blind eye to the comings and goings of their guests, as well who their guests come and go with.  Plus, since some winning Univision band stayed there, all the rooms now had sound reduction equipment.  I could make this woman squeal at the top of her lungs and even the pigeons on the window sill wouldn’t hear her.

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Angus finds me a date at a cocktail party - Part 1


“Doesn’t it bother you when he does that?” Whitfield discreetly whispered under the chatter of the surrounding cocktail party guests.
“Does what?” I asked, already knowing to what he was referring.
“Flirts with women like that!” answered my former physics professor turned friend and returning crew member for our most recent MI-6 assignment.  “It’s rather salacious, don’t you think Deetz?  I mean the whole Crown knows you and Angus are married some four years now.  Won’t this give the appearance that there is ‘trouble in paradise’?”
Tad Whitfield, albeit older and certainly smarter than I when it came to science and engineering, was a complete idiot when it came to relationships – in part due to a descriptive diagnosis of Asperger’s – but I relished his concern.  “For Angus, flirting is like Olympic fencing.  And unlike an Errol Flynn movie, nothing real untoward is going to happen.”  I put my glass of water and lemon on a nearby coffee table, only to straighten and to look down at Whitfield’s scrunched up nose. 

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Why Donald Trump Exists and liberals can't stop him

Image result for ugly american
What if the current sentiment that is fueling the Trump campaign and supported the Tea Party and other hyper-conservative movements in America (as well as their counterparts on the left) is the result of the unresolved trauma of 9-11 and the 2008 recession (differentiating it from other recessions where you didn’t see your two neighbors across the street simultaneously lose their jobs and their homes)?  If we see the American public as individuals who were abused as children, we can understand why now many of them dream of a prince charming who will magically save them instead of looking at the reality around them that is saying “the trauma is over and we survived, albeit with some serious bumps and bruises, which in time and with a little innovation, can heal”.  Instead, we’re like the older teen who runs away from home to live with the 27-year-old “bad boy” who promises us the world, only to get us hooked on drugs (pre-Trump) and pulls us into a cycle of domestic violence (post-Trump). 

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Lessons from Kohelet - A Sukkot shiur by Rabbi Sacks



On 26th September 2016, Rabbi Sacks delivered a shiur (Shiur (/'ʃiː.ər/, Hebrew: שיעור‎‎ [ʃiˈʔuʁ], pl. shiurim, שיעורים [ʃiʔuˈʁim]) is a lesson on any Torah topic, such as Gemara, Mishnah, halakha, Tanakh, etc. - Wikipedia) to officially launch the Koren Sacks Sukkot Mahzor (The Gross Family Edition). The video was recorded in Hampstead Garden Suburb Synagogue in London and the event was jointly sponsored by the United Synagogue and Koren Publishers Jerusalem. The sources used have been incorporated into the video.

Friday, October 21, 2016

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Musing #8

   
 Since losing his left hand during our first MI-6 adventure, Angus has had a conflictual relationship with his prosthesis that impacts everything in his life, from our sexual relationship to his work in the House of Lords.  This makes sense when you are raised in a world where perfection is accepted as standard and damage of any kind is, as best, minimized or, at worst, ignored – bad things simply don’t happen to the titled.  It isn’t as if anyone, either family or society, said this to him or he grew up with rejection from school mates due to a deformity.  And the prosthesis is so technically advanced, initially you wouldn’t realize it wasn’t his flesh and muscle unless you touched it or he tried to put on a button.  But the zeitgeist of perfection that secures the lies of white male superiority are hard to sustain when your husband has to help you tie your shoes.  Paralympic celebrations and cheery physio-therapy adverts be damned - somedays it’s just easier to succumb to depression’s entreaties.

Sunday, October 9, 2016

Love Comes at the Strangest Moments, Pt 2


    Ciara returned from walking Velvel to find Angus sitting at the Churton Place, the London townhouse, kitchen counter slumped over a cold cup of bad tea dressed in mixed matched workout clothes.  “Slept with my brother again, eh?”  Velvel rounded Angus’s ankles, sniffed the man’s ass, nodded it’s head and pranced off to his crate.

    Angus gave the dog a frown to avoid eye contact with Ciara.  “What of it?” he snapped.

    “Well,” she retorted, taking the mug from his hands and dumping the contents in the nearby sink, “I hope at least my brother’s skills deserve a better morning after welcome than whatever you just put in that cup!”  She shook her head teasingly and retrieved an infuser and some herbs from a sealed container from the overhead cabinet.  She put the kettle on and turned around toward him to affectionately rest her hand on his shoulder.  But before her fingers got close to the top of his brown tee shirt, Angus nearly leaped out of his skin.

    “Aw!” He looked at her like someone afraid of being tickled.

    Initially, she looked at his withdrawn stance – as if he was a man with no skin – with incredulousness.  Then, although she didn’t have the extrasensory skills with humans like Deetz did, she had enough understanding of Angus to realize what had happened.  She squinted at him then said, “He touched you, touched you in a way you don’t know what to do with.  I’m right, aren’t I?”

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Look What You've Done to Me



My girl in Detroit rights sweet Torchwood fanfiction.  You can catch her stuff at A03 under the name "HippyChick1964".  Enjoy!

Chapter 1
Hope they never end this song
This could take us all night long
I looked at the moon and I felt blue
Then I looked again and I saw you
-          “Look What You’ve Done to Me” as sung by Boz Scaggs

“That’s what I love about Torchwood,” Ianto said sarcastically nodding his head, as he and the others dutifully followed Jack’s instructions to conduct the “retcon” clean-up of Gwen’s wedding reception.  “By day, chasing the scum of the universe.  Come the night, you’re the wedding fairy.”  While Owen swept up the last alien remnants and Toshiko prepared then place party favors before each guest – Jack’s idea of leaving them thinking that they’d passed out due to too much champagne – Ianto took care of the caterers and their crew.  Although it was a wedding, a typically festive occasion or, at least with some booze, a tolerable one, but Ianto Jones was irritated.
No, actually he was jealous.  Ianto’s eyes didn’t miss the way Jack looked at Gwen while they danced together.  Ianto’s ears, as he had very good hearing, heard how Jack convinced Gwen that she was making the best choice, to the sadness of both of them.  And Ianto’s heart did not miss Jack’s reluctance to let go of Gwen when Ianto got enough guts to cut in.  Knowing that you were someone’s second choice, after pizza, was painful, even if he wasn’t in love.

Monday, October 3, 2016

Angus was right, of course - as usual.  “I’ve never seen such sadness and longing in someone’s face as I did you while you masturbated into that screen.”  He sighed deeply then sucked in cleansing air. Letting it out slowly, he continued, “Mate.  All you had to do was ask, tell me and I will be here, come like I have now.  I will always come, we can always be here for one another.  But, I need you to ask, tell me. I don’t have powers like you.  I can’t read your mind.  I need you to give me your thoughts.  I won’t assume them again.”  Have you ever noticed how the truth hurts more when it comes from someone you know loves you?
Okay, here’s the background.  I am a seminary student at a school in Wyncote, Pennsylvania, about 10 miles north of central Philadelphia, U.S.A.  Why is a Welsh Jew studying in America instead of Europe?  It is a long story, having to do with my sister Ciara’s connection to the leader of this small but powerful progressive Jewish denomination – one that stems from the idea that evolved from its spiritual leader, Rabbi Mordechai Kaplan, that “the past has a vote, not a veto”.  Although Reconstructionists have roots in the States, its welcoming, egalitarian theological approach that believes "[i]nnovation need not entail the destruction of tradition; on the contrary, change is an important part of keeping a tradition alive, as it has been throughout Jewish history.  As the world changes faster, Judaism must be reconstructed ever more quickly if its wisdom is to continue to guide us."*  It spoke to me as I tried to return to faith, feeling blessed that I had found the love of my life – the 12th Earl of Glamorgan, Angus Reese.

Saturday, October 1, 2016

Musing #45 – What is Angus thinking?

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Angus looked for a late-night solace in the Morganwg estate’s kitchen.  A commoner would find looking for a snack there was like trying to find a healthy fixing in a mall food court.  But Angus grew up in Morganwg, knew the redesigned 19th Century cupboards and cold storage places like an archeologist in Giza.  And he was looking for something familiar, cozy, and comfortable because he was about to do something new, strange, and frightening.  He was about to marry his BFF - a man from his childhood - and Angus Reese, the 12th Earl of Glamorgan was not gay.
Ciara Mac Innes – the sister of his betrothed - was the familiar with the kitchen as well, as she was a ward to the Earl’s great aunt, Lady Nora.  Finding Ciara busily moving about in the kitchen offered Angus the familiar part – she was always there or at her cottage, Redrow, not far from the estate, just past the Druidic gardens where he and her brother played as children and talked into the late night as young teens.  “What has you up this late?” she asked, not startled by his presence.  “I was about to put the kettle on.” 

Understanding Antisemitism


So I end where I began. The hate that begins with Jews never ends with Jews. Antisemitism is only secondarily about Jews. Primarily it is about the failure of groups to accept responsibility for their own failures, and to build their own future by their own endeavours. No society that has fostered antisemitism has ever sustained liberty or human rights or religious freedom. Every society driven by hate begins by seeking to destroy its enemies, but ends by destroying itself.
-Rabbi Johnathan Sacks

I spent a year in Israel, wanting to fulfill my progressive fantasy of peaceful co-existence with the Arab community.  An assault on me while I worked in a peace collaborative changed my mind.  A swastika painted on the wall of my home then on the door of my husband's office at the House of Lords eliminated whatever liberal views I once had. 

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Reclaiming Faith Part 1

Musing #414

Ever walked into a house of worship and wonder when the lightening is going to strike you dead?  Did you ever try to find a spot in the pews where no one will recognize the sins dripping from all over your body?  Have you ever been certain the guy or gal on the pulpit was talking about something evil you did yesterday, like they were calling you out?  Is returning to a faith tradition supposed to be this painful?  And is G-d angrier that you left or that it took so long for you to come back?

Sunday, September 25, 2016

Musing #66789 - Remembrances, Pt One


Chapter 1

The autumn rain dripped cold but quietly around the Reese family’s private cemetery.  From the kitchen window of the family side of the Morganwg estate, Ciara Mac Innes-McBatton watched a lone figure sitting on a bench by a recently installed headstone.  Typically, the Jewish family waited until the dedication ceremony before uncovering the headstone but this was not the typical Jewish family. 
She was grinding herbs for a special tea she had been making throughout the year of mourning.  Ostensibly it was to help the mourner better manage the inevitable sadness that accompanies loss.  But, this activity was more for her benefit, giving her something to do, some way to cope with what was a loss for her as well.  She was stuck at Kubler-Ross’s anger stage of death and loss – the pulverizing of the herbs in her mortar and pestle.  But anger was not an emotion the elderly animal whisperer and druidic priestess was used to as it was not normally part of her nature.  And as she considered the figure in the distance, she finally accepted that her anger was simply a reflection of her helplessness.  There was nothing she could do for the figure now slumped over, likely crying.  She knew he was dying.  The rest of the family did not, particularly the younger ones – he had insisted that she say nothing and there weren’t any external signs.  He didn’t want the kids to worry and she knew his sadness would kill him long before the cancer did.

“Mum?”  Brianna, Ciara’s oldest daughter, came in the kitchen and her presence shouldn’t have startled her but it did.

“Sorry?”

“Mum,” the concerned daughter said as she rested her hands on her mother’s slumped shoulders, “shouldn’t we convince him to come inside?  The groundskeepers need to put up the tent before the grass turns to mud.”

Saturday, September 24, 2016

Love comes at the strangest moments



Family lore would have it that Angus told Deetz he loved him while the two were stranded in a frozen Russian forest after a nearly failed rescue – holding Deetz in his arms, praying that Deetz wouldn’t bleed to death due to his gunshot wounds, and promising to marry him if he lived. Real sweet stuff and a PG-rated story to tell the kids, nieces and nephews. But, it wasn’t true. Angus first told Deetz he loved him while getting a blow job in an alley patio of a gay bar.

If curiosity killed the cat, luckily Angus had nine lives. He had never been to a gay bar and after a bottle of wine with dinner at an Indian restaurant, he cajoled Deetz to expand his experiences. They had to ride around for some time as it had been some time since Deetz had cruised the London scene. They finally found a spot – Buddies – with a compliment of leather boys smoking in front to describe the Feng Shui one would find inside. “Lush!” Angus exclaimed while Deetz rolled his eyes.

Angus's Thoughts


Musing #34 – What is Angus thinking?

Angus Reese was a bit drunk and really high but that didn’t explain the sudden curiosity about how boys have sex. Sure, he’d seen a few pornos and, as any good liberal should, attended his fair share of gay pride parades, usually with lesbian friends. He liked pussy and a fair set of tits bouncing from just above the opening of a silk blouse rocked his johnny something fierce. But as some distant intellectual exercise, Angus wondered just exactly how blokes, well, did it. The whole “similar body parts” piece just eluded him – was it weird to feel hair against your upper lip (Did it tickle, like some of his girlfriends said)? Did guys give better blow jobs (A guy’s gotta know what a guy wants, right)? Do guys feel the same kind of spark straight guys do when they find the one (or do they just fuck around like most straight guys wish they could)? The latter question puzzled him the most for, despite wooing and bedding any number of women, at some point, Angus always felt empty, as if the conquest was the only thrill. He was beginning to think that despite really wanting children that eventually he would just adopt some Congolese orphan and raise him or her as a single dad. Having to talk to some slapper who was always hounding him for money or affection did not seem like a positive lifestyle choice.

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Musing #284 - I was sitting in a bar in Bangkok . . .

I was sitting in a bar in Bangkok, “The Sloppy Second” – a name that sounded much better in Thai – listening to “Titiko” offer me sage advice in drunken slurs.

“Deetz, make a list of 10 things you need in a girl and when you find one who has 7 of them, marry her.”

Titiko likely assumed she had at least 5 of those qualities, including a full-size, still fully functional penis and nicely designed tits. Not that I have anything against “kathoey”, or shemales, as the uneducated would refer to them, but this one was wearing a bit thin – alcoholism looks bad on everyone. I was desperately trying to pawn her off on my new dojo mate, Kenneth, who was salivating so bad I couldn’t tell if the front of his shirt was wet from sweat or drool. Before she said that, I would have gladly loaned him the money an hour ago to take her in the back for a “Lucky 30”, so I could drink my tea in peace but her musing caught me off guard.

Musing #284 - I was sitting in a bar in Bangkok . . .

I was sitting in a bar in Bangkok, “The Sloppy Second” – a name that sounded much better in Thai – listening to “Titiko” offer me sage advice in drunken slurs.

“Deetz, make a list of 10 things you need in a girl and when you find one who has 7 of them, marry her.”

Titiko likely assumed she had at least 5 of those qualities, including a full-size, still fully functional penis and nicely designed tits. Not that I have anything against “kathoey”, or shemales, as the uneducated would refer to them, but this one was wearing a bit thin – alcoholism looks bad on everyone. I was desperately trying to pawn her off on my new dojo mate, Kenneth, who was salivating so bad I couldn’t tell if the front of his shirt was wet from sweat or drool. Before she said that, I would have gladly loaned him the money an hour ago to take her in the back for a “Lucky 30”, so I could drink my tea in peace but her musing caught me off guard.

Monday, September 19, 2016

Musing # 3
The morning was so young and still that I could hear each snowflake float onto the cabin deck. The cold, crisp air hung heavily over everything like the blanket that covered the bed. I took in a quiet inhale, pulling toward me the spent vanilla candle’s lingering scent. I wanted the moment to stay just a little longer, the feel of the thick Egyptian beige cotton sheets and matching quilted blanket held my bliss close to my chest. And I kept still, very, very still for I feared if I opened even one eye the bubble would pop and I’d have to accept that it was all just a nice, a very nice dream.

Most of my best moments were dreams from someone else’s life – a happy endings satisfied only through movies from the Golden Age of Hollywood or a romance novel. Yet if I kept real quiet, maybe that heat coming from next to me that smells like the sandalwood and my sweat was a real person. And maybe that real person, who is groaning and possessively tugging just above my hip, wants to suck on my bottom lip until, until, . . . . And let’s say, let’s just say that real person was my childhood crush who also happens to be the 12th Earl of Glamorgan and looks like someone straight off of a cover of a collection of gay erotica.

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