Feminists claim we are living in an oppressive patriarchy but I know that's not true because I have lived and worked in countries that actually have such a thing. It's horrible and under no circumstances would I dare go out in public in other than the most modest attire. I recall in Afghanistan a female naval officer, an IA assigned to Camp Shaheen, Mazar-e-Sharif, newly arrived, went for a run wearing a tee shirt and jogging shorts along with two companions. She was shot and killed by an Afghan army soldier, one of our dear allies. Dressed that way she was was an offense to Allah or something. That is your patriarchy.
And, you know what, feministas? American men are like LTjg Francis Toner, God bless him, who won the Silver Star posthumously. Look him up! No woman could ask for a better man, a man, dammit.To the left is his Silver Star citation. It is inaccurate in that it states the killer was an insurgent. He was not. He was an Afghan National Army soldier who shot LTjg Florence Choe in the back after she and her Navy companions had passed by him. No wonder we called that God-damned place Asscrackistan. Those....
Let it go, Wanda, let it go.
No.
Ah, phooey. I should write about sex or politics or some stupid crap like that.
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A while ago some dumb broads called me hyper-masculine and I was all like as if I'm sure. But now I've been referred to as "ultra-masculine." Okay, fine. Whatever. If you say so. But do please allow me to say in my defense that the other day I went for a walk and passing by two robust young ranch hands said hello and they nodded greetings. After I had walked on, I heard one say to the other, "I would fuck her shadow on a gravel driveway," and the other guy said, "I would do that in the rain." They were college guys working weekends, maybe 19 or 20, healthy, fit and, um, gorgeous. Very, very yummy. They didn't think I was ultra-masculine. No siree bob. Maybe I'll contrive to walk by them again, maybe even Mae West them. Heh. Gotta try to kick start this widow's fire thing somehow.
Okay, I won't do that. When it comes down to it, I don't want to. It's kind of fun to think about, though. Fun....
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I discovered I could orgasm just by using my imagination -- no touching! -- when I was a teen. I can't remember what triggered it, so to speak, but it was about the time I discovered boys, as in boys! And they discovered me -- not just boys but males of all ages. They all began directing their male gaze upon me. Heady stuff, almost overwhelmingly so for my undeveloped brain and naive personality.
Anyway, some high school dreamboat I had a crush on would be talking to me, maybe while I was leaning up against my hall locker, he looming over me with his arm resting against the locker door and I would be gazing into his eyes, not really listening to what he was saying but enraptured by the sound of his voice, and suddenly everything would go out of focus and I would feel dizzy and then Boom! Orgasm.
It must have shown in my face or something because the guy would ask if I was okay and I'd drift back to reality and say yes, sorry, and he'd walk away and his pal would ask what happened and he'd say he thought I was trying to hold in a fart.
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All this chatter is a way to distract and amuse myself, so that I don't start thinking too much and sink into melancholia, then depression. It's been a tough year. And it ain't getting any better.




