The Femme Fatale

Angelina Jolie
Dan Winters

In guy world there is the Ginger or Maryann question. Which would you choose from Gilligan's Island, Ginger or Maryann? If you don't know these characters, Maryanne is the wholesome and pretty farm girl. Ginger is the femme fatale. The modern version of this question, Angelina Jolie or Jennifer Aniston?

Femme fatales are one of my weaknesses. I don't know if it is the drama, the crazy passion, the dark sultry looks, or all of these combined. What makes me, and many other men, desire these dangerous relationships? They rarely end happy. Most of the time they end with things broken, cars keyed, and reputations hurt.

My first college girlfriend was a femme fatale. That was a very short and passionate relationship with too much drama, but the time together sizzled. I haven't had one since.

I think the male version of femme fatales are the bad boys. In high school, so many of the girls I wanted to date liked the bad boys. What makes us desire femme fatales and bad boys? The danger and passion is definitely a draw. Maybe we hope we can experience living on the edge through them.

Here is a song from a diva femme fatale that I am attracted too.




v

Four Inches into Space

Being Small

Technically, space begins at 100 km (about 62 miles) above the earth's surface. There are other measurements that define barriers as well. Two thousand pounds is a ton. The distance from the earth to the sun is an astronomical unit (1 au = 93 million miles). For human males, I think the height barrier measurement for being tall is six feet.

Last month I was walking out of my class and Mollee and Andrea were chatting in the parking lot. As I got my car keys out, Mollee asked, "Karl, how tall are you?" I replied with my standard 6'4"-unless-I-am-wearing-heels answer. Mollee's only response was, "Damn. You are tall." I hadn't heard that one before.

When you are over 6', you are tall. It is curious how people have to tell me the obvious. It seems a bit absurd. They don't tell me, "Karl, you are white!" That is just about as obvious as my being four inches into space.

I do not complain about being tall. It is just how it is. I can reach objects on the top shelf and see the dust on top of the refrigerator. I've learned to either bend with my knees or squat when I have to do low-down work. My back is healthy and I need to keep it that way.

While I try to respect the people I meet, I do look down on them... literally, not figuratively. I have no choice. Sadly, most tall people compensate by slouching, which looks bad and is very harmful to our backs. After someone once told me to stand tall and be proud, I thought about how silly it is to slouch. There is no reason. I am tall, you are shorter. It doesn't mean anything except the obvious physical differences.

On rare occasions I meet people taller than me. It is odd to look up and see someone. On a few very rare occasions (only twice that I can think of) I've met women taller than me. One was my date to prom. It was awkward at first dancing with someone a half inch taller than me. It felt good. We both commented on how it was to be with someone similar. Nothing became of that relationship, but our prom pics are still unique for both of us. Here is an interesting article at the blog, The Other Tall Girl. It is good to read it from the woman's perspective.

Interestingly, all my girlfriends have been under 5'1". It is not that I seek out women that are over a foot shorter than me, but it is what I am unconsciously drawn to and that seem drawn to me.

A few years ago, my hair stylist told me my hair was thinning up top. I was getting "too tall for my hair." She said, "Don't worry, you are tall. No one will see it." I had to remind her that when I was sitting in her barber's chair, she could see it. So, when sitting, tall does not mean much

Another interesting place where tall does not matter much is in bed. Since both of our heads are on the pillows, we are the same height. So when sleeping, I am not tall. Sex though is another story. Being tall opens certain possibilities and rules out others. I've learned what works.

It is funny, there aren't too many tall jokes other than comments about the weather up there. I've heard short jokes though and wonder why short people get teased for that. Being tall does not make me a better person than others. Tall people get teased about having big feet. I have size 13 shoes. My dad, who is two inches taller than me and wears 15s, was nicknamed "acre foot" by his coworkers. I have to admit, that one is funny. I am sometimes called the "gentle giant." When I hear that I think about the song Behind Blue Eyes by The Who and wonder if those who call me that truly know me.

Speaking of "Gentle Giant" and other tall names and stereotypes, here are a few more.

• Tall people are natural leaders. Untrue. I am not a great leader. I can lead when needed, but I am not better at it because I am tall. I've been lead by short people and followed them because I believe in them. It is the charisma and intellect, not the vertical measurements.
• Tall guys are good at basketball and football. There is a reason I threw shot put and discus and did not play basketball or football. I am lousy at those team sports.
• Tall people are physically awkward. Sort of true. I think we are no more clumsy or awkward than anyone else, especially growing up. The awkward part though is having to fit into small chairs, hit our heads on things, and deal with a world that is not designed for our height. I would not be surprised if short people have the same issues, just in the opposite direction. Where I can not set my car seat back far enough, they can't get it forward enough.
• Tall men, or those with big feet, are generously endowed. I like that one and will neither confirm nor deny it.
  

I used to be a math and science teacher. I now teach science and federal compliance stuff at my job. Whenever I am debuting a new course, I always wear my black cowboy boots (my version of high heels) for good luck and also because they are my most comfortable shoes. Once, a coworker noticed this trend and asked me about it. I told him I did that to feel taller and to have more of a presence in the room. He did not know I was joking and stammered out, "But Karl, you are already tall." I had to laugh at that one.

As a photographer, I've noticed many of my photos are taken at my eye level. If the subject is a person, you will see what I see. At the conference I attended last month, I showed two photos of Candace where I am above her. Some of the viewers took a feminist reading of my message of male dominance over the subject. I am not consciously trying to show a dominance in these photos, just sharing what I see. Too be honest, the subjects or models in my photos often have just as much power as I do in the moment. I wonder if shorter photographers are told their work shows a submissiveness message because they are looking up?

At times, I would rather be shorter. Clothes would be easier to find. My knees would be comfortable when sitting in chairs. I would have more choices in the cars I could drive. I wouldn't bump my head on the overhead luggage bins every fucking time I stand up in an airplane. While these are huge inconveniences, I am not about to have six inches cut out of my legs to fit better.

So, what is the point of all this tall talk. Not much. I just saw Avatar, and after seeing the tall blue main characters, I got to thinking about height. To paraphrase a saying from an old post of mine, "It is okay to be recognized as tall or short by those who notice it, just please don't stare."

What is too far and or too soon? Part 1

Learn Me

Photo by Igor Amelkovich

I recently saw a series of photos showing erotic, sensual romantic love, passionate erotic sex, aggressive controlling sex, and violent domestic abuse with possible rape. Many agreed the content in the last photo illustrated the horrors of domestic violence.

In another venue, I saw someone joking about Michael Jackson's death. That person was chastised by the audience members shouting, "Too soon!"

At what point does culture decide that something is appropriate or has stepped over the line? In the same way, how does culture decide that enough time has passed that we can look at an event more objectively and maybe even with humor?

In a recent photography class, we had an assignment to photograph veterans. During the critique, we all gushed over how stoic, anguished, powerful, heroic, and great each photo was. Some of the subjects were in current service, others older and retired. There were men and women of different races and ages. We all gushed.

At one point the instructor, a Vietnam War veteran, asked, "Is it because of the subject matter that we can not criticize the photos?" He had a point. Were we afraid to criticize the quality of the image, the subject, the composition, and other aspects because we may fear it would reflect our inner beliefs about veterans? Are veterans so revered that we must soften our attitudes out of deference to their sacrifice and service?

Their was an episode of Seinfeld where Jerry and his girlfriend could never find time alone. The only time they could was while at a movie. They made out during Schindler's List. The girlfriend's family found out and were disgusted by the lack of respect for the movie. For a show about nothing, they brought up an interesting point about freedom of thought and speech. Can the holocaust, September 11th, or any other tragedy be joked about? If yes, when, how, why, and by whom?

Now, let us talk about sex. What is too far? We know the old statement about porn, "I know it when I see it." Some see erotica and art, others see porn. I may be a freak, but I've seen erotica that was not art and porn that was.

Her Favorite
Photo by Igor Amelkovich

In a relationship, what is defined as right for the couple may be defined as "too much" or "too far" by culture. Which is right? At what point is bondage abusive? What if I put a blindfold on my lover and then kissed, massaged, tickled, and pleasured her with my mouth? What if I did that same thing but she was blind folded and softly tied up with silk bows? What if I pinned her arms under my hands? What if they were leather straps? What if I was pinching? What if she wanted and desired this? At what point does the transfer of power in a relationship, sexual or not, constitute abuse? Let us ask the same questions if the roles were reversed and I was the submissive one? Is it OK if the submissive is male?

Kinbaku
Photo by L0chai

This then brings up the question, why does the submissive partner want to be treated like this? What is his/her history? If their was prior abuse, does that make it absolutely wrong to act on it? If there was no abuse, just curiosity and desire, does that make it right?

Let us look at the roles of the stripper and the client. Men going to a strip club are seen as "dogs" at the worst and "shallow" at the least. Bachelor parties with strippers are looked down upon, but are understood as a "traditional objectification of women" right of passage. Married guys going once, or continually to strip clubs are leches and unfaithful.

How about the reverse? What are the perceptions of women seeing male strippers? How about the bachelorette party? Married women going to see the Chippendale dancers? Some say it is wrong and disgusting. Others celebrate that women can finally celebrate their sexuality and desires. It brings equality to the misogynistic history of the men going to see strippers. At that point though, isn't it misanthropic?

Restrained
Photo by D Photos

I am a libertarian on most of these issues. What floats your equally accepted and desired boats is your business. That is true for most things, but I have to take issue when we delve into the reasons we desire such things. At that point, when is it OK to go too far or when is it too soon or soon enough to go into taboo areas?

Up Time
Photo by Dee Selaris

I've posted a gamut of photos here, one mine, most not. Some may seem tame and some may be defined as violent or abusive. At which point did they cross the line? I know I have my own definitions for that line, but how do we as a society decide where to put that line?

That Time
Photo by Karl

The Sadist and the Masochist

Being Small
Photo by SB

The masochist was begging, "Please, PLEASE, hurt me. Beat me. Hit me. Degrade me. Use me. I need the pain to feel fulfillment! PLEEEASSSE. I only feel pleasure from your hurting me."

The sadist looked smugly and dismissively down on the masochist and simply replied, "No."

I never really understood the mind sets of these two sides of relationships until I heard that joke. I wonder in myself if I desire the pain and the desire to inflict it. Do we all have unconscious or even conscious needs and desires to feel and give pain? Many may feel they don't, but I wonder.

A few years ago I was very mad for months at a person close to me who had hurt me. I kept waiting and waiting for her to mention something about it and I had a response to it that would be devastating. I rehearsed it in my mind and crafted each word with the greatest delicacy and determination so it would not only hurt, but do both blunt and acute damage. One day, almost a year later, she asked why I no longer did a certain thing. At that moment I let go with my stored response. Her reaction was as pained as I had desired. The rush from the moment of it flowed through me filling me with righteous delight in the moment. She cried and went silent. I suddenly felt vindicated, but also an abuser. As time passed that moment, I've felt no pride in what I did. Our relationship was permanently hurt by it.

My family has a deep and dark history of sarcasm, judgment, and belittling. We are the masters of the passive-aggressive insult and attack. Any one statement is not a major issue, but the toll of absorbing (and giving) them is tearing the family apart. Last night I was chatting online with my 18 year old niece who was staying with my parents for a week. She was upset by the vitriolic dislike they have toward each other and the rest of the family. I hope she realizes now how much poison is in the family and finds a way to protect herself from becoming the werewolves we are after suffering the numerous bites of a lifetime.

Need a New Battery

Abandoned
Photo by SB

Today, I worked out for the first time since December. I challenged and conquered the Stair Master at the gym. The battle lasted 20 minutes and was epic with its changes in speeds and paces. Thankfully, I watched TV during the duel, which helped take my mind off of how much strength and stamina I had lost in the past four months. After that monumental achievement, I lifted weights for a bit and then hit the shower. Once there I made a sad discovery... as I wrapped the towel around my waste, I noticed I did not have as much slack in the tuck at the top as it did last year. Sigh.

After enjoying a healthy turkey sandwich for lunch (sans mayo and cheese, lots of veggies and mustard) and a banana, I went back to work. It felt good to have pushed my metabolism up. I had much more energy than normal to complete my work tasks. It was like getting a new battery for myself.

Now the ironic part (well, I am not sure if it is ironic, maybe just coincidental), the battery in my truck died. This evening I wanted to take my old truck for a spin and show its shiny new paint job to my auto body repair teacher. First I flooded the engine. Since it had sat for a month with out starting, the old battery was near dead. My trying to crank it over with a flooded engine was the coup de grace.

I had to push the 2.4 ton behomoth out of my single lane drive way and onto the street with my wife steering it so we could get our Subaru nosed up to it for a jump start. Ann is amazingly strong. I say this because this old beast has manual steering and we were moving slow. I prefer to call it "armstrong" steering instead of "manual" steering. After pushing it out into the narrow street, the truck stopped in the trough of the rain gutter at a 45 degree angle to the street. I tried pushing with all my might, but I could not roll it forward or back. Just as I was about to get pissed and do something stupid, like pull it with my Subaru, a short blond mom (in her thirties I would guess) came to my rescue. She was driving by in her mid 90's BMW filled with two little kids and stopped to ask if I needed help. Hell, I don't have too much pride so I accepted. Mom and I braced ourselved on the front bumper and pushed as my wife steered the beast in an arc. I was amazed at how strong these two women were. We were pushing the truck up twenty feet up the gradual hill that my street follows. At that point the truck was pointed downhill. Mom and I went to the back end and lightly nudged the truck and gravity took over and my wife parallel parked it.

The mom then turned to her two small boys and flexed her muscles and they cheered for her and clapped their little hands. I bet they will always remember the day their mom pushed a big truck out of the way.

Unfortunately, the jumpstart plan failed. I went and bought a new battery and installed it. After letting the flooded engine set, I tried starting it. It coughed to life, fighting to turn over in it's fuel-rich state. After running rough for few seconds the familiar manly throbbing V8 regained it's composure and was ready for duty.

My shop teacher was pleased with the paint job and my work. I was pleased with it too. I think I was even more pleased with my overall day of working out, working hard at work, pushing a behemoth truck (with some needed help) and getting the old girl (Yes. My truck is a she, but she has a male engine. In a future post I will write about my hermaphroditic truck) running again.

Tomorrow, I jog. I am guessing it will be more of a shuffle than jog, but it will feel good.

To The Party - The Long Taxy Ride - Part 2

In a dark taxi
Jolene sits so close to me
her leather rubs mine

Fingers in her hair
She looks up to me and smiles
gently pull her hair, smile

Her hand 'tween my legs
slow strokes with her fingernails
my eyes slowly close

My mind drifts away
Reality comes back fast
The taxi pulls over

ARRIVED

Here is a link to part 1

Sensual Bondage

I discovered a new photographer that amazes me, Igor Amelkovich. Here is a link to his site. These two photos are amazing. The lighting and shadow are relatively soft compared to the harshness of the image. My favorite is the top photo. I love the feel of her waiting patiently.

The difference between a "nice" man and a "pleasant" man

Interesting little article I found online (click here to read it at the original source).

"A 'nice' man only knows how to be agreeable. He doesn't know how to challenge women and he can't or won't set the lead. And he filters everything he says through the belief that women are fragile little flowers who need to handled with OH so much care lest they be broken. YUUCH. One more thing: women don't trust his communication because he just won't dare say anything that might offend them. Now a pleasant man is something quite different: pleasant is power, held in proper restraint and exercised with precision and elegance. A pleasant man will speak his mind, set the lead, but he also knows how to listen and show the proper degree of interest and respect. He may put himself first, but he also genuinely cares for and cares about his woman (or women). They are of great importance to him as long as they treat him right and work within the rules that he has made very clear. Most important: his world is his own. He never, NEVER makes the WOMAN his world, around which he orbits. He does allow her to come into his world and occasionally even be at the center WITH him." - Ross Jeffries - Ross Jeffries' Persuasion/Seduction Newsletters, September 20, 2006

It is easy to be the “nice” guy. I fall into that trap. How about you- what do you think?