A "lost" chapter

 I cut this out of "The Roswell Discrepancy" but I think it is still kinda cute:

I was helping him put on his dinner jacket.  “Are you sure you don’t wanna come with us, Deetz?” Angus Reese asked.

Standing behind him, just to his right, my hands lightly dropping the dinner jacket over his broad shoulders, just like my father, the valet to Angus’s dad, had showed me; one of the few things I tolerated my father teaching me about his vaulted profession – how to dress a man; undressing was something I already had down pat.  “No, those society functions are not my cup of tea,” I said while brushing imaginary lint off his arms and back – an excuse to touch him just a little longer.   “Those were always your friends.”  I put the brush down, looking for some other way to maintain the ruse that I was helping him dress, like what was going here was a throwback, a reflection of our old times playing at valet and Earl – as preparation for some future posting – like when Alfred prepared Batman to play Bruce Wayne.  Only Angus was only four years my senior and I was much more interested in him as a lover than my employer.

“Still, you would know some of the people there,” Angus said.  True – we grew up together on Morganwg just outside of Cardiff, the ancestral estate of the Glamorgan clan.  The males of my family were servants of some close capacity to the Earls of that land since the Boxer Rebellion, when Tison Reese and Jakob Mac Innes secured trade with China to fill the family’s coffers and Hong Kong to add another jewel to the Crown.  Because we were close in age, Angus and I were allowed to play until early adolescence when it was time for us to be groomed for our respective roles.  He went to Eton and I would have trained at one of the top butler schools then him at college had this not been the 21st Century and the dedication to service hadn’t degenerated into an overly romanticized component of a BBC television series.   

“Your hair tie is off-center,” I said to change the subject.  “If you’re going to have long hair, at least tie it properly,” I teased.  It was just another excuse to touch him.  He had taken to wearing it long and binding it like someone out of a Jane Austen novel – said it made him look dashing and dangerous, all at the same time.  I dislodged the shiny black ribbon, and his thick auburn strains fell effortlessly just past his shoulders.  I gathered a batch of it in my hand, for just a moment, combing it through my fingertips to release the echo of sandalwood conditioner lingering therein.  I had to brace myself, maintain the needed self-control to keep from rubbing the soft, silkiness against my cheek.

“You have a point,” he said, startling me out of my moment of fancy, “the ladies do like it when it’s tied up and when I take it down.”  He smiled at his reflection.  He had every reason to be slightly vain for he had grown from a cherub-face, cute kid into a hard-bodied, handsome statue – from an awkward teen living in his daddy’s shadow to a well-known playboy, minted in his own right.  He was, in every way, the leading man, with 5:30 pm shadow that looked like it came straight out of a casting call for Miami Vice.  One would have to see behind the lush lashes that draped casually over his eyes to glimpse the sweet, kind human underneath.  My clairsentience abilities told me that despite the long list of models, movie stars, heiresses, and titled whores decorating his arm in the tabloid photos, there was a longing for someone to bring out the emerald hue of his eyes.  “Still, I’d have more fun if you were there,” he said, pleading again.

“I’m sorry mate,” I replied, quickly retying his ponytail then turning him around to straighten his bow tie.  “This skinny body of mine looks silly in one of your monkey suits.”  I became frustrated and wondered (hoped?) he’d screwed this stuff up on purpose just to tease me.  We hadn’t seen each other in many years however my reputation for rather leisurely, unspeakable sexual exploits had to have reached him.  The world of the ridiculously rich and its hangers on was a small one and I had run into many of his Eton buddies while I lived in Thailand studying Mu Tay and they tasted the Lady Bois I’d just tossed off.  “Anyway, I’ve got a new biography of the Baal Shem Tov I want to finish tonight.”

“Argh!  More philosophy?”

“16th century Jewish mysticism actually.” I smiled at him noticing that he was smiling back and not mocking me; Angus was one of the few people who knew and respected my desire to join the rabbinate.  For just a moment, his eyes sparkled with encouragement and his lips, parted ever so slightly, made me wonder how his moustache would feel against my shaven face.

“By the way, mate,” he added, “you’re not scrawny.  You’ve got that Bruce Lee thing going.  You know, lean and tight all around.”

If only he knew.  I looked down to hide my blush – somehow around him I was just that young boy again, hanging on to a torch that got heavier with each passing season.  “Right.  You’d better get off or Linus will be asleep at the wheel.”

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing his trench coat.  I started walking toward the door before he did but his hand on my shoulder stopped me.  Angus asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to come.  I feel sorta bad just leaving you here.  I mean, we haven’t seen one another is a while.  We should hang out together.”

I shook my head.  “You haven’t been home in a while.  I’ll be here for another week.  We’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”  I didn’t give him a chance to say anything more as I exited the room hastily.  I quickly made my way through a set of hidden back steps often used by servants to exit quietly from the master suits.  It was rumored that many of the Glamorgan earls and their valets were lovers.  Considering the lusty thoughts in my mind, such an escape route seemed appropriate.  When I got to my old room near the attic, I was ready to bust a nut and was dying for some sort of release.

I dropped my pants and left them atop of my shoes and got into the bed.  I grabbed at the lube on the nightstand at my left and squirted a glob on my hand, I imagined its warm creaminess was his fingers.  Which fantasy was I going to use this time?  Sometimes Angus would be fucking me, sometimes it was he fucking one of the mindless belles that kept throwing themselves at him.  “I didn’t want his money but forever would be nice,” I thought aloud as I ran my right hand slowly up and down my cock.  This was the third time since I’d been back that I found myself doing this and each time it less and less fulfilling.  My dick was hard but frankly unconvinced.  I thought of giving up when there was a knock and my door opened with Angus’s head peeped around.

“Oi!  Sorry Mate!” He said as his eyes lingered just a moment longer than proper.  “I thought you were reading.”

Embarrassed, I quickly got under the covers and tried wiping the goop on the sheet.  Faking a nonchalant stance, I responded, “No problem.  Was Linus already asleep down for the count?”  I sat up as if I was a child who’d just been tucked in and was waiting for his bedtime story.  “No need to hide.  I’m decent now.”

He came around the door and slowly entered the room, I noted an odd pallor on Angus’s face.  He definitely knew what I was doing and had to realize that it came quite close to our previous conversation; he was no fool.  So, did that red on his cheek mean he was just embarrassed or did he like what he saw?   

Sadie Cherry-Hirsch RIP

My friend and biographer Staci had to put her dog down today.  She's really feeling it right now.  Please send your prayers.  Here is what she wrote on FB.

Our dog joined the "backyard in the sky" where it's always 70 degrees F, the water bowl is always full, and the squirrels are slow. I was going to do this whole multi-media presentation but I just don't have it right now. She was a good dog and I'm going to miss her.

We #Jews have a prayer for everything. Here is the one for the passing of a pet:

Hashem, Your faithfulness reaches to heaven; Your steadfastness to the sky; Your beneficence is like the high mountains; Your justice like the great deep; humanity and beast. You deliver, Hashem. (Psalm 36:6-7)

Source of Life, we praise you each day for the compassion that encompasses the earth and all its creatures. We give you thanks for the gift of life that we shared with Sadie.

In the Torah we are reminded that at the beginning of the sixth day, “G-d said, ‘Let the earth bring forth every kind of living creature: cattle, creeping things, and wild beasts of every kind.’ And it was so. G-d made wild beasts of every kind, and cattle of every kind, and all kinds of creeping things of the earth. And G-d saw that this was good” (Genesis 1: 24-25).

Baruch ata Hashem, bore et ha-kol. Blessed are You Hashem, Creator of all.

For what our pet has done for us, let us thank the Source of all life. And let the remembrance of Sadie be a source of help to others of G-d’s creatures. In lieu of flowers please send a donation to #MichiganHumaneSociety in her name.

Baruch ata Hashem, Elohenu melekh ha-olam, ha-merahem ‘al b’riotav. Blessed are You, Hashem our G-d, Ruler of the Universe, who has mercy upon Your creatures. And let us say: Amen.

Bi Flag

 Ever wondered where it came from?

Exactly how I feel

 

What does it mean when streets have no name?

Where loneliness can lead

Hannah Arendt enjoyed her solitude, but she believed that loneliness could make people susceptible to totalitarianism

NOW THAT I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION!

This has to be the best article I've ever read on the trend towards Fascism across the Western World.  And it wasn't written by some political hack, a "social scientist" who's is the interviewer's cousin's brother, or your crazy uncle Fred.  It was written by a philosopher and gosh darn it, it's worth the read.  Soothe your amygdala with some chamomile tea and dust off your prefrontal cortex and thalamus so you can take this in:

"Loneliness arises when thought is divorced from reality when the common world has been replaced by the tyranny of coercive logical demands.

We think from experience, and when we no longer have new experiences in the world to think from, we lose the standards of thought that guide us in thinking about the world. And when one submits to the self-compulsion of ideological thinking, one surrenders one’s inner freedom to think. It is this submission to the force of logical deduction that ‘prepares each individual in his lonely isolation against all others’ for tyranny. Free movement in thinking is replaced by the propulsive, singular current of ideological thought."

CLICK HERE FOR MORE *mic drop*

From the Desk of Rabbi Desmond Mac Innes-Reese, First Viscount of Glamorgan

 

 Faith and Science are Not Enemies – a d’rash on Bere’shit 

(for AI audio, with hot pictures, see below).

 

Have you ever looked at the Cosmic Calendar?  The Cosmic Calendar is a method to visualize the chronology of the universe, scaling its current age of 13.8 billion years to a single year in order to help intuit it for pedagogical purposes in science education or popular science. In this visualization, the Big Bang took place at the beginning of January 1 at midnight, and the current moment maps onto the end of December 31 just before midnight. At this scale, there are 437.5 years per second, 1.575 million years per hour, and 37.8 million years per day. The concept was popularized by Carl Sagan in his book The Dragons of Eden (1977) and on his television series Cosmos - who says Wikipedia is useless! In other words, the Cosmic Calendar is a visual reminder that we are but a blip in time, and that we weren’t the creation, we were just a part of it.  

And after reading Bere’shit this morning, I am struck by how similar the Biblical story of creation is to the outline by our scientists. Genesis first through the fourth day correspond perfectly with Sagon’s September through early December of Year One. As for the time element, remember there was no way to “tell time” (time as a reference point – the average person’s conception of it) until Day Four when other animals were created and no one noting the “passage of time” until Day Six when humans were created. So who knows what a “day” or “year” meant back then – potato/potato – and if we follow time by the Earth’s fundamental elements, 13.8 billion years sounds about right to me.    

What’s the real difference between the two versions?  Bere’shit sounds better. Think about it . . . Neil deGrasse Tyson wasn’t alive yet, so how else were the rabbis going to make it interesting, eh? By putting it in a story with divine beings, magic forces, and strange creatures -instead atoms colliding, nuclear fusion, and chance occurrences the story becomes a fascinating tale easily passed down, particularly to children as part of religious education.

Here’s another point of confusion. On the sixth day (Genesis 1:29-30),

“כָל־הָאָ֔רֶץ וְאֶת־כָּל־הָעֵ֛ץ אֲשֶׁר־בּ֥וֹ פְרִי־עֵ֖ץ זֹרֵ֣עַ זָ֑רַע לָכֶ֥ם יִֽהְיֶ֖ה לְאָכְלָֽה׃ 

G-d said, “See, I give you every seed-bearing plant that is upon all the earth, and every tree that has seed-bearing fruit; they shall be yours for food. 

וּֽלְכָל־חַיַּ֣ת הָ֠אָרֶץ וּלְכָל־ע֨וֹף הַשָּׁמַ֜יִם וּלְכֹ֣ל ׀ רוֹמֵ֣שׂ עַל־הָאָ֗רֶץ אֲשֶׁר־בּוֹ֙ נֶ֣פֶשׁ חַיָּ֔ה אֶת־כָּל־יֶ֥רֶק עֵ֖שֶׂב לְאָכְלָ֑ה וַֽיְהִי־כֵֽן׃ 

And to all the animals on land, to all the birds of the sky, and to everything that creeps on earth, in which there is the breath of life, [I give] all the green plants for food.” And it was so.

Hashem directs us to eat all the vegetation we want and gives the same directions to the animals in a previous verse. 

We all know many animals species, no matter where they are on the spectrum of earthly creatures, that eat meat, oftentimes each other. Is Hashem implying a certain equity across as well as amongst species, i.e., we eat what they eat? We have free will so our bad habits make sense – thus we are greedy carnivores. 

But why aren’t all animals vegetarian? 

If it was declared in the beginning why isn’t vegetarianism Jewish law number 613? And where’s the enforcement? Where is the wrath should you that should come after you eat that Whopper with Cheese? 

At least at Sinai, you got some decent smiting.

And I have other concerns. On Day 7+ (Genesis 2:3-7), after already declaring mission accomplished and still full of divine pomposity, Hashem must have realized that something was amiss when the shrubs wouldn’t grow and the animals collapsed due to severe dehydration.  Hashem had forgotten to create rain and the Great Lakes. And initially, YHVH said man and woman were in charge of everything else (Genesis 1:28):

וַיְבָ֣רֶךְ אֹתָם֮ אֱלֹהִים֒ וַיֹּ֨אמֶר לָהֶ֜ם אֱלֹהִ֗ים פְּר֥וּ וּרְב֛וּ וּמִלְא֥וּ אֶת־הָאָ֖רֶץ וְכִבְשֻׁ֑הָ וּרְד֞וּ בִּדְגַ֤ת הַיָּם֙ וּבְע֣וֹף הַשָּׁמַ֔יִם וּבְכָל־חַיָּ֖ה הָֽרֹמֶ֥שֶׂת עַל־הָאָֽרֶץ׃ 

G-d blessed them and G-d said to them, “Be fertile and increase, fill the earth and master it; and rule the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, and all the living things that creep on earth.” 

But Adoni forgot to offer any specific instructions on what that meant. And when G-d realized the need for a project manager (Genesis 2:7-9):

וַיִּיצֶר֩ יְהוָ֨ה אֱלֹהִ֜ים אֶת־הָֽאָדָ֗ם עָפָר֙ מִן־הָ֣אֲדָמָ֔ה וַיִּפַּ֥ח בְּאַפָּ֖יו נִשְׁמַ֣ת חַיִּ֑ים וַֽיְהִ֥י הָֽאָדָ֖ם לְנֶ֥פֶשׁ חַיָּֽה׃ 

the LORD G-d formed man from the dust of the earth. He blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living being. 

וַיִּטַּ֞ע יְהוָ֧ה אֱלֹהִ֛ים גַּן־בְעֵ֖דֶן מִקֶּ֑דֶם וַיָּ֣שֶׂם שָׁ֔ם אֶת־הָֽאָדָ֖ם אֲשֶׁ֥ר יָצָֽר׃ 

The LORD G-d planted a garden in Eden, in the east, and placed there the man whom He had formed. 

וַיַּצְמַ֞ח יְהוָ֤ה אֱלֹהִים֙ מִן־הָ֣אֲדָמָ֔ה כָּל־עֵ֛ץ נֶחְמָ֥ד לְמַרְאֶ֖ה וְט֣וֹב לְמַאֲכָ֑ל וְעֵ֤ץ הַֽחַיִּים֙ בְּת֣וֹךְ הַגָּ֔ן וְעֵ֕ץ הַדַּ֖עַת ט֥וֹב וָרָֽע׃ 

And from the ground the LORD G-d caused to grow every tree that was pleasing to the sight and good for food, with the tree of life in the middle of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and bad.

“Holy Project Failure, Batman!” Make you wonder if Hashem had other oversights? For example, what’s with the second male. Did Eve kick him out or did he leave her?  Or did G-d fire the original man for laziness and environmental malfeasance?  The second half of this story is equally as confusing. I mean if YHVH knew Adam and Eve would be up to mischief, why didn’t he keep a better eye on them? Considering that they couldn’t be more than a few days old, shouldn’t someone call child protective services and make a neglect complaint?  

Well, I guess that explains Cain and Abel.

Then there is the social justice angle to all of this. I could understand how even the divine can be overwhelmed. I mean, let’s face it, Hashem only had 7 days to get it all done. Have you ever had to make such a deadline? Someone had his foot on G-d proverbial neck and was pressing hard. G-d could have had three other galaxies to take care of on $10/hour job. Oy! 

Does this mean that Hashem was abused by “the Man” too?

Or did G-d “forget” these things on purpose? For if he’d made the world perfect, there would there be no room for t'shuva (repentance) and no opportunities to secure our bonds with nature, self and the rest of Beit Yisroel (the House of Israel). The world is perfect in its imperfections and all are in their place. And if Adoni knew all along that this world would be bequeathed to us, YHVH also knew we didn’t like being idle and would need something for which to define ourselves. So Hashem made us the COOs, chief operations officers of Planet Earth and in charge for now until . . . until . . . 

 

Original Sin: Religiosity, Same Sex Desire & Institutionalized Homophobia

How a Dom feels about his Sub

Oh my! Now this is something Angus would say. It is the sweetest!

New video!

📘    🌈    💕💕    (●'◡'●)(●'◡'●)    ✡✡✡✡    

Angus said something like this about me once at a cocktail party . . .

FINAL CHAPTER: Torchwood: Split Decision

CLICK HERE for the last chapter of Split Decision, the fanfic my biographer created.  Check it out.  You won't be disappointed!  Also, if you want to listen to music from the story, CLICK HERE 2

Meanwhile, you will excuse A.G. from the "scene" for a while.  This creative genius must complete the second in the series featuring my family.  I mean, what happens after happy ever after???

TORCHWOOD FANFICTION HERE!

CLICK HERE: My biographer's fourth chapter in this wonderful fanfiction centred on Ianto Jones and Jack Harkness from the Doctor Who adult spin-off, Torchwood.  Please enjoy!!!

Link to Chapter 3 of Torchwood: Split Decision

 CLICK HERE to continue the journey in the world of my biographer's Torchwood fanfiction.

New #TORCHWOOD fan fiction from my biographer

TORCHWOOD: Split Decision 

Chapter One:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850927/chapters/60117322

Chapter Two:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850927/chapters/60165607

What’s Behind the COVID-19 Racial Disparity?

What’s Behind the COVID-19 Racial Disparity?

"Min Hameitzar" by Deborah Sacks Mintz with the Hadar Ensemble

3rd Installment of COVID-19 and the Submissive

COVID-19 & THE SUBMISSIVE - Musing # 1348: Family Quarantine – Day 1 minus 2

Chapter 2 – Deetz, Angus, and Toni

I undressed him like a King, slowly, ensuring each item was precisely folded or hung as if each item were also human.  I am the son of the 11th Earl’s valet.  I learned servitude from my father as he was part of a dynasty – a Mac Innes male had worked for an Earl of Glamorgan since the 1800s.  Da wasn’t bi like me but he greatly admired his earl.  I love my earl too, but I do it on my knees atop of a ketubah, a marriage contract.  I’ve spent much time wondering what my queerphobic father, dead now almost six years, would think of how I was fulfilling my duty.

2ND INSTALLMENT OF COVID-19 & THE SUBMISSIVE

COVID-19 & THE SUBMISSIVE - Musing # 1348: Family Quarantine – Day 1 minus 2

Chapter 1 – Deetz and Angus

Some background, eh?  My name is Desmond Mac Innes-Reese.  Most folks call me Deetz.  I’m married to the 12th Earl of Glamorgan, Angus Mac Innes-Reese, a descendent of Welsh royalty and one of the richest men in the world (yeah, just like the fairy tales).  My sister Ciara says I look like Bruce Lee’s brother from another mother.  Angus looks like he just left the cover of some corner store bodice ripper, kilt and all.  We’ve been married for nearly six years and things are changing. 

America isn’t ready for a Jewish president because Jews aren’t ready to disavow their Whiteness

America isn’t ready for a Jewish president because Jews aren’t ready to disavow their Whiteness

ישי ריבו - אדון עולם | Ishay Ribo - Adon Olam

COVID-19 & THE SUBMISSIVE (Day 17)

COVID-19 & THE SUBMISSIVE -
Musing # 1348: Family Quarantine - Day 17

INTRODUCTION

“I’m not sure this is what they meant by concept social distancing, Angus,” I managed to say.

Quick Ad - What do you think?

Not as Nice As My Oak Tree

CLICK HERE: 

 When the tattoo is more than just ink.  

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.

Higher Society - Pt.4

HIGHER SOCIETY – Part 4

a fanfiction based on the George Cukor’s The Philadelphia Story (1940) and the musical High Society (1956), both of which were based on the Broadway play, The Philadelphia Story (1939) by Philip Barry. I don’t own the story, but I own the characters in this adaptation.

Chapter Ten

Mmm yeah! (Woo, woo)

Women think I'm tasty, but they're always tryin' to waste me

Make me burn the candle right down

But, baby, baby, don't need no jewels in my crown

-“Tumbling Dice”, Rolling Stones

Present time

The pool itself was only Olympic size while the entertainment portion of the patio's layout was what one would anticipate at a seaside hotel. There was a full-outdoor kitchen on the west side and a full bar with a temperature-controlled snack station on the east. Toni hung her clothes in one of the five cabanas, also largess with its individual bathroom with forest themed walk-in shower. A decanter of scotch, bucket of ice, and two glasses were on a side table between two white reclining lawn chairs. When she came out, towel across her shoulders, Toni said, “Geeze, this is beautiful!”

Angus scanned her like a drunk john at a strip club. 

“Yes. It sure is.” He put a store-bought pretzel in his mouth and immediately regretted it.  

“Compliments will get you nowhere, Earl Glamorgan!  But thank you anyway,” she replied. 

The surrounding garden foliage caught her attention. Toni walked up to a flowering bush to sniff the pedals. “Attar of Roses, Sweet bay, Cotton lavender,” she said as she pointed to the well-curated collection of foliage. “Your grandmother’s work I suppose? She has excellent taste.” Toni ran her hands across the petals and leaves. “My mother owned a greenhouse and flower shop. I worked there every summer until I left for college.”

Higher Society - Pt3

HIGHER SOCIETY – Part 3

a fanfiction based on the George Cukor’s The Philadelphia Story (1940) and the musical High Society (1956), both of which were based on the Broadway play, The Philadelphia Story (1939) by Philip Barry. I don’t own the story, but I own the characters in this adaptation.

Chapter Nine

There's a girl across the bar
I get the message she's sendin'
Mmm she ain't lookin' to married
And me well honey I'm pretending
Last night I dreamed I held you in my arms
The music was never-ending
We danced as the evening sky faded to black
One step up and two steps back

- “One Step Up”, Bruce Springsteen

Present time . . .

Angus stood in front of the full-length mirror while his valet, Roman, helped him dress. The older man, nondescript as all good English servants should be, had been with Angus since his split from Deetz.  He knew what I liked without me saying. He could hear the start of the party and from the window of his spacious bedroom, he could see the royal motorcade winding toward Morganwg. 

Tonight was a big deal so why did he feel like shit? “Roman, I said I wanted the red tie, not the maroon!” he barked at the man. 

Immediately, Angus felt bad.  I’m not like that, I’m not that kind of earl, Angus thought. “I must apologize, Roman. It’s not you and this tie is fine.”

“I’m sorry Your grace is of ill-mood.” Roman finished and bowed before leaving without any acknowledgement of the apology.

Toni took advantage of the servant’s exit to gain entry. 

“I hope this isn’t a bad time, er… or place.”

“For?”

“I was hoping to ask you some questions on background – nothing we’ll publish, just to give me an idea of who you are, how you think.”

Angus waved her in. He finished the Glenlivet in his glass and pour another double shot. 

Toni walked around identifying various angles to reflect the surprisingly austere look of the room. 

The furnishings looked stolen from the last fantasy novel you read and seemed to be there because they had nowhere else to put it. However, despite the dubious placement, the owner was low to depart with any piece of family history. Even the hygiene products on the dresser had an old-timey flare too them. Toni took a few shots for background then put her camera away and sat on a nearby armchair far from the bed. She took out her legal pad. “I must say, your Grace, you look rather handsome tonight.”

Captain Jack goes legit!

I know.  I should be over it by now but Torchwood still has a hold over me and Captain Jack Harkness, a.k.a., John Barrowman is the reason.  Besides just being rather hunky, he can wear a suit well.  His new clothing line is quite smart.  Angus is using the online tools to get his new digs right now!  Check out the line at: 

https://www.dobell.co.uk/john-barrowman/

Higher Society-Part 2

HIGHER SOCIETY – Part 2

a fanfiction based on George Cukor’s The Philadelphia Story (1940) and the musical High Society (1956), both of which were based on the Broadway play, The Philadelphia Story (1939) by Philip Barry.  I don’t own the story, but I own the characters in this adaptation.

∞∞∞∞

Chapter Eight 

What really was important

Coming up close

Everything sounds like welcome home

Come home, and oh, by the way

·                “Coming Up Close”, as sung by Til Tuesday

http://www.ynyogaposes.com/yogalessons.html

Four and a half years ago…

Deetz rose at dawn, did a Tai Chi workout, and ate some oatmeal. Two days ago, Angus had ordered a truck and food from a broker in town.  It was delivered to the cottage - a four-passenger Ford F-250 loaded with nonperishable foodstuff from a prepper supply company called My Patriot Supply, and a box of miscellaneous tools.   A note was taped to the passenger side: I have to run into town for a couple of hours. Business. I should be back before 1 pm – Angus. Initially, Deetz wondered if Angus had changed his mind, chickened out. Even so, I can drive to Cousin Scarlett’s myself, he said as a self-distraction. Meanwhile, he concentrated on loading Sugar, focusing primarily on organizing the kitchen stuff and checking the satellite service. 

Ciara and family found him shortly afterwards on the caravan’s roof. “Wow, big brother! It’s brilliant! I didn’t know you were this handy.” 

Tom and she walked around the motorhome. Tom asked, “And you say we all could sleep comfortably? I believe it! This thing is huge.” 

The Story We Tell About Ourselves (Bo 5780) - Rabbi Sacks

The Story We Tell About Ourselves (Bo 5780) - Rabbi Sacks: Download the accompanying Family Edition here!   Sometimes others know us better than we know ourselves. In the year … Read more

Higher Society - an irreverent Angus and Deetz story

HIGHER SOCIETY

a fanfiction based on George Cukor’s The Philadelphia Story (1940) and the musical High Society (1956), both of which were based on the Broadway play, The Philadelphia Story (1939) by Philip Barry.  I don’t own the story, but I own the characters in this adaptation.

Here's a link to Spotify playlist of music matching the story: songs for the Higher Society

∞∞∞∞

Chapter One

It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday

And the manager gives me a smile

'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see

To forget about life for a while

And the piano, it sounds like a carnival

And the microphone smells like a beer

And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar

And say, "Man, what are you doin' here?"

-    “Piano Man”, as sung by Billy Joel

Present Day – New York, U.S.A.

Jack Spencer, reluctant up and coming celebrity reporter for TMI Online, dashed to a table at Nathan’s for a meeting with the tabloid’s editor-in-chief, Mars Lancroft, and Jack’s photographer/camera operator, LaTonya “Toni” Hoffman.  Jack was flustered and irritated he had to come in the first place.  He hated the whole celebrity gossip thing – was disgusted by computer-enhanced, second rate talents who complained about reporters hiding in the bushes all the while having assistants plant slander about their fellows in social media.  But he couldn’t avoid this assignment nor this job, at least for now.  Jack needed money to free himself of the constraints that came with living with the wrong body parts.   Female-to-male transitions weren’t cheap either, even with medical coverage.  Therapy, psychiatry, medications – Jack was in the hole with the constant costs.  His friends in the FTM trans support group said the hormones were “working” and he “passed” for a man as he developed a fairly full beard and moustache.  Jack accepted that there wasn’t much to be done by his Hobbit body frame.  Toni said he was cute, but he wanted more.  Jack wanted a functional cock.  Once things were right, he promised himself, all would be perfect.  Since he was a teen, Jack dreamed of being that man in a tailored, double-breasted Savile Row suit confidently walking to his office at the New York Times..   So, he shook off his disgust with a mental reminder.  “I’m playing for something more”, he whispered to himself as he put on his gratitude face and sat at the table.

“I was about to give up on you, Spencer!” bellowed Lancroft, who Jack’s mom used to say looked like B. T. Bauman’s at a 90s gay pride event.  “Now Toni, you'll take your camera stuff, of course. And Spencer well . . .  eh . . . you'll take your own special talents,” the latter oozing from the older man’s mouth like the remnants of explosive vomit.

Again, composing himself, Jack deescalated the initial tone of his question, “What’s the deal?”

“Lancroft wants us to cover the Reese wedding,” Toni replied.  She was a mashup between Lisa Bonet’s complexion with a Jewfroo and 1970s Pam Grier’s, smiled slightly at Jack as he sat down.  Although she had the well-deserved moniker of “Ice Princess”, anyone who was really paying attention would notice how her voice and gestures were just a little bit brighter when Jack was around. 

“In Wales?” Jack exclaimed.

“Ah don’t complain, Spencer!” waved off Lancroft as he inhaled a bit of cheesecake.  “After all, you’re Scots-Irish?  So, it’s all England, isn’t it?  What’s the difference?”

His mom was quite proud of their Westside Chicago, upper white trash heritage and taught him the same.  But this wasn’t the time to argue with a man so ignorant as to believe Donald Trump should have a statue and library next to the Lincoln Memorial.  “The family agreed?  Royal types are notoriously camera-shy.”

“It seems our leadership has convinced them of the error of their ways,” Toni responded. 

“Well if you can’t handle the scandal, don’t do the scandalous, I always say.” Lancroft showed that he could do two things at once – roll his eyes and gobble another slice of cheesecake.  “Is it our fault that some horny, titled 16-year old with a well-heeled and slightly older gentleman boyfriend got . . .  banged up, I think those English say?  Can I help it that granny’s a strumpet? Try explaining that pregnancy during Christmas dinner at Buckingham Palace?  And it’s not our fault said such information happened to arrive by snail mail to the office of this editor-n-chief.  I am simply helping our brethren out, giving the oft-maligned upper classes a chance to give the world their side of the story – show everyone that they are just like us.”  Altruism never smelled so bad.  “Listen, the bottom line is those folks want to keep things quiet and we need the money this story will bring in.  Ad sales are down with all this podcast shit.  Don’t make me order you two over there!”

Toni shrugged and gave Jack a what-else-can-we-do grin.  “When do we leave?” Jack asked.

Lancroft took out his phone and started tapping before his staff changed their minds.  “You fly out in 3 hours.  I’ll text you your tickets”.  After a few clicks, he added, “Your seats are already confirmed, and your equipment will be pre-boarded.  You just have to get yourselves to the airport.”

Jack picked up his phone to examine the e-ticket.  “You know Mars, your psychic powers always amaze me.  It’s like you can smell our acquiesce before we have even formulated an objection,” Jack replied.

Lancroft savoured his last piece of cake, letting it melt in his mouth before chewing.  His eyes closed and his face looked like an addict’s after the first hit of the morning.  When it was gone, Lancroft’s eyes locked with Jack.  Older man growled, “Don’t you know what it is the have a secret no one should hear?”  It wasn’t so much that Lancroft was transphobic.  He hated everyone just for existing.  But he offered quiet, casual torture with a splash of nosy to his underlings.  It was a shame the company’s human resource executive was sleeping with him.

“Yes,” said Jack, as he nearly tripped over his own bile.