Archive for the tennessee Category

Songs She Never Sang…

Posted in erotic, FLICKR, memoir, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, Sexy, tennessee, women with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 30, 2013 by cliffmichaels

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Let’s call her Sally (I do remember her real name, however…) She transferred to Tennessee from Northwestern. She was a petite brunette, originally from Jersey. She said she had been a nightclub singer in Chicago. We met, if my memory has not failed, when she wandered into the shabby headquarters of the Gene McCarthy campaign  in the old Farragut Hotel on Gay Street in downtown Knoxville.

Sally’s mother was Baptist, her father Catholic; she was an intelligent neurotic. I found that alluring. In those days there was nothing I liked more than a half crazy, sexy girl to light me up. With her I burned at about 500 watts.

Terry was carrying a torch for a guy named Bill back in Chicago. She talked about him a lot in a melancholy way. I listened patiently, doing my supportive guy thing. She had large, beautiful brown eyes and they grew moist when she talked about him and her voice filled with slow sadness. He was the Love of her Live, she said. She would always love him, she said.

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What was I to her?

Whatever I was, it only lasted about three months. The sex was OK, although I suspected then, and am more certain of it today, that she was non-orgasmic. I did my good guy, supportive, gonna make you come thing and did my heroic best to bring it off. I still remember the massive ache in my jaw and tongue as I spent what seemed like a week going down on her one day. One night, both of us half-blind drunk, we ended up in a dilapidated motel screwing in a small, shabby bed in a  shabbier room. Half way through our awkward carnal dance she spilled a large glass of iced bourbon on my naked back. The sudden burst if ice cold liquid half sobered me up and put me out of the mood. I later wrote a fairly awful poem about that night.

The trouble with my good guy supportive shtick was it never lasted all that long. Sooner or later my resentment at having to be forgiving, understanding and supportive gave way to resentment and anger. So it was with Terry. One night, near the end, we were sitting in my car in her grandmother’s driveway when all my anger boiled over. I had been drinking Tequila. At one point I think I told her that if she tried to leave the car I would kill her. I said it calmly. I like to think I didn’t really mean it. The truth is I just might have…

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Not long afterwards, I told her as we drove away from a university dorm – she’d been staying with a friend -I was going to screw her hard, then dump her. Of course that was a product of my still simmering anger. Amazingly my cruelty turned her on. True to my word, after fucking her as selfishly as I could manage I drove back to the dorm and told her to get out, that  we were through.

Somehow, and I can’t quite remember how, later that day we bumped into each in a university parking lot (was she looking for her car?) A drenching, cold rain forced her into my Triumph TR-3.  She was in tears and professed strong feelings for me. We sat huddled in my car. She insisted on going down on me. Her obvious enthusiasm pleased me. Maybe, I hoped, I could replace Bill. I  wanted her back and told her so.

That was a mistake. Of course you can guess the rest: she dumped me a few days later. I realized much later she was masochistic. My abandonment of  my good guy persona, my sudden burst of cruel dominance, turned her on. When she groveled for me and stuffed my cock in her mouth, that  good guy came back, wanting again to take care of her. When that happened the bubble burst and she was on her way.

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One night, perhaps relatively early in our misguided affair, she looked at me and sweetly declared, “tonight I almost love you.” How that pierced my famished heart. I wanted so badly to erase that almost. I wanted to replace Bill. I couldn’t. His place in her melancholy heart and dreams remained secure.

She went back to Chicago at the first of the year. We wrote for a time. Ine of her first letters she gleefully narrated, in her elegant handwriting on pink note paper, the story for me of how she finally manageed to orgasm on her new boyfriend’s more  patient and talented tongue.

One last thing. Sally never sang for me – not once. Even today I like to imagine her voice was softly intimate, a little husky and could just melt your good guy heart…

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Photo by Orchidee, click each photo for details and license

FEMALE SINGERS BEAUTIFUL BRUNETTES

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UNBELIEVABLE SECRET COULD CHANGE YOUR LIFE FOREVER!! (and other, less exciting stuff) 

Posted in erotic, fashion, fetish, FLICKR, lingerie, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, pinup, sexual, Sexy, tennessee, women with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 23, 2013 by cliffmichaels

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SEX BLOGGER SHARES SHAMEFUL SECRET!

There are plumbers, nurses, engineers, gardeners, and cabbies; all of them, and thousands more, pursue honorable vocations. While their skill and efficiency may vary, at the end of the day each may say she earned an honest dollar for her honest labors.

Not so with headline writers. They, like lawyers, car salesmen and politicians, lie in the worst possible way: by telling a bent, twisted and   black and white version of the truth.sabrina2

Because newspapers and magazines desperately wanted you to buy their rag, the front page – or cover – screamed a bevy of large type come ons: The Shocking Truth About…. Will the World End Next Week… Goat Born with Three Heads… If you fell for the lure of one of the headlines you usually found out, when your read the article, the truth was much less shocking than the cover’s implied promise.

Today, as newspapers and magazines fade from the scene, digital media has taken up the art of writing alluring headlines. If old media angled for sales, Internet outlets crave hits. They don’t really care if you read the piece you click through to; your click is enough.

I admit, given my modest audience, I’ve been tempted to attempt to imitate my Internet betters. I normally try to find a song, book or film title or quote, or a play on words to head a post. These headers are usually honest in an plain spoken  kind of way; they do not promise more than their subsequent text delivers. But with each post I edge closer to hyping the content: The Most Depraved Women in the World! – Shocking Tales of Sexual Depravity! – Depraved Political Tricks! Monster Ants Attack!

But – if I do fall prey to the unprincipled practice of pure postal prevarication – I promise, at least, to do my best to feel ashamed.

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HILLBILLY COEDS PLAN CAMPUS ORGY!

There was a fairly bad English play once titled, “No Sex Please, We’re British.” While wildly popular in Britain in the seventies despite near universal critical scorn, the play managed a mere sixteen performances when it crossed the Atlantic.

I wouldn’t be surprised if someone writes a sequel entitled No Sex Please, We’re Tennesseans. The University of Tennessee’s student run Sex Week scheduled for early April has drawn the ire of several of our esteemed legislators. They were shocked – shocked – by the thought students might be interested in sex on campus and might actually want to enhance their sexual knowledge. The lawmakers demanded the University withdraw all funding for the one week program.

The university, citing the long cherished principle of academic freedom, stood firm…

You didn’t believe that, did you?

Of course the university mostly bailed and withdrew all university funding for the program but did allow a modest amount of student funds to remain available to fund the (greatly reduced) bacchanalian sex romp.

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The outraged legislators are, of course, not mollified. They point out student fees are not voluntary and, therefore, money extracted from God fearing, pure minded Christian students will go to fund depravity.

The Vegas line is one in twenty-seven  Sex Week will actually happen in Knoxville next month. Personally, I wouldn’t take those odds. This is Tennessee, after all.

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THE SHOCKING SECRET DEMOCRATS DON’T WANT YOU TO KNOW!

Politicians are a craven lot. Large majorities of the populace support universal background checks and restrictions on large gun magazines. The outlook for any gun control legislation passing, however, remains poor. The proposed assault rifle prohibition died prematurely without coming up for a vote at the hands of Harry Reid last week, done in by the defection of  red state Democratic senators.

The NRA has managed to rouse its horde of single issue votes once again. “Safe district” Republicans would never support gun control (and would probably vote to legalize private ownership of bazookas and tanks). Democrats remain deeply traumatized by the party’s 1994 Congressional wipeout that followed their vote to ban assault rifles. Democrats in the house and Senate pray they won’t have to vote at all. Voting against would enflame the party’s base but voting for would likely mean facing a NRA firing squad. Public support for gun control, while temporarily strong, will wain as time passes. On the other hand, the NRA never forgets.

Once the public glare of Sandy Hook fades away, Democratic politicians will slither away in the gathering darkness, giving thanks they can  make soothing noises but nothing more – at least until the next gun massacre hits the news.

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photos by Alan Antiporda, subject to this creative commons license. Click images for details.

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Law & Sausage

Posted in erotic, FLICKR, memoir, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, politics, religion, Sexy, tennessee, women with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 8, 2012 by cliffmichaels

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Thousands Hundreds Dozens Two of my ardent fans have written in concern, fearing my absence from Visions for the past two weeks  may mean I am unwell. I can happily report those concerns are unfounded. While not perhaps fit as a fiddle, I remain as zestful as a Zampogna.

A major media outlet, Mother Jones, has named the Tennessee legislature the worst in the nation. That’s quite an accomplishment, given we were competing with Oklahoma, Mississippi, and South Carolina. I feel so proud…!

I traveled to Nashville this week to attend a two day continuing legal education seminar. There is nothing quite as soul deadening as being stuck in a cavernous conference room for eight hours a day with hundreds of other lawyers and listening to droning lectures on such fascinating subjects as bankruptcy, insurance and estate law. Thank God they have legal liquor in Davidson county. I’ve been attending this same seminar for about thirty-five years and have watched the presenters age from semi-youth to late middle age before my eyes.

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Listening a recitation of the new laws the legislature has churned out over the past year was disheartening. There was a decidedly conservative bent in much of the legislation. Individual rights have been weakened and corporate and business interests strengthened. Since they won legislative majorities in both houses, Republicans have been busy imposing their radical agenda on the state.

We (liberals) are of course pleased Obama and Senate Democrats won. On the state level, however, Republicans maintained their death grip on too many state legislatures and state houses. The result will be more idiot laws (like mandatory vaginal ultrasound for women seeking an abortion). The flood of really sour sausage will continue unabated for at least another four years.

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For photo credit, click on image – all photos subject to this creative 0ommons license

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In the Land of the Blind…

Posted in FLICKR, memoir, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, tennessee with tags , , , , , , , on September 8, 2012 by cliffmichaels

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When I was five or six my parents figured out I couldn’t see very well. Trips to local doctors and a national  expert in New York ensued and I spent the next several years wearing varied combinations of eye patches, glasses and monocles. These measures, together with weeks and weeks and weeks of “eye exercises” – after surgery on my left eye – were all designed to give me stereoscopic vision.  All of this was in vain. Later discoveries and studies showed after age three or so it’s too late for surgery, etc., to work.

Kids are cruel. As a first grader wandering around with a eye patch or monocle latched to my glasses (or both) I was, to put it mildly, the butt of my fellow student’s taunts and insults and mocking laughter. To this day if a gaggle of kids pass me on the street and I hear laughter I start sweating and revert to my seven year old self.

My monocle naturally wasn’t cool, no gold chain or anything. It was black and had some kind of cumbersome mechanism to fix it to the left lens of my glasses. I hated it.  There was once some photos made of me with my monocle. I pray they are all lost or destroyed. I look so pitiful in the photos.

Of course in the past monocles, along with rakish mustaches and top hats, were cool, particularly in the 1920’s and before. Monocles, as a fashion statement, fell from from fashion  decades ago along with pocket watches,  top hats and fancy canes.

Thankfully, by fourth grade I was no longer burdened with eye patches or monocles, just regular glasses. Now, after cataract surgery, I only need glasses to read.

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For photo credit click on image. Remixed images and originals subject to this creative commons license

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Flagrante Delicto!

Posted in erotic, FLICKR, memoir, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, sexual, Sexy, tennessee, Uncategorized, women with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 3, 2012 by cliffmichaels

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I didn’t decide to go to law school until I was a senior in college. Up till then my career plans were as vague as a foggy mountain winter dawn. I realized I had to do something, you know, to make an actual living. I didn’t know much of practical use at 21, but I had a pretty strong hunch a liberal arts degree wasn’t going to get me a good job, especially in the weak economy of 1970.

By the end of the summer of that year I did have a wife –  a wife who worked and, even better yet, a wife who was willing to continue working if I decided to forgo regular, full-time employment to continue going to school. This good fortune, however, was counter balanced by the shocking unwillingness of my parents to continue supporting me in the modest circumstances to which I had become accustomed. Something about good money after bad, they claimed.

I had a part time job, too. I worked a three hour late night shift at United Parcel Service. Virtually the entire nightshift crew was college students. The work wasn’t horribly hard and, for that time, it paid a decent wage. It also helped that in those bygone days tuition at the University of Tennessee was quite modest for instate students and I would not be forced into debt as students are today.

So, with a working wife, a part time job, no real debts, and not needing much ready cash to continue my education, I decided to try law school in the spring. I wasn’t worried about getting in; 1971 was well before everyone, all his siblings, most of his first cousins, (and many of his second) was besieging every law school in America and clamoring for admission. I aced the LSAT, then wasted a month or so before school started.

The first quarter I took the curriculum seriously. I studied hard, spending hours and hours in the law library (we had something called books back then). Despite working part time late at night and having early morning classes, at the end of those first three months I had one of the highest GPA’s in the class. I felt so proud of myself! Wow, I thought, I must be really good at this stuff!

Of course, once I realized law courses weren’t all that hard (no math, after all), my dedication to study soon atrophied, as did my GPA. I didn’t care. I knew I was still good at this stuff. I mean, when was the last time you asked your lawyer, doctor, accountant, or plumber what her GPA was in school?

Looking back, my legal career now seems as if it was inevitable – like Custer’s Last Stand, the sinking of the Titanic or the explosion of the Hindenburg (only without all the press attention). Now, after thirty-eight years fiddling third violin in the back row of the frequently dischordant legal orchestra, I am now  resigned to never becoming the soloist out front.

But, by God, I’m still good at it…

I’ve only recently realized I was, at birth, fated to practice law – it was inevitable! The signs were all there. And those signs continued to appear over the next twenty-one year! If I had only paid attention to them I’d be a high income plumber today!

First, I was late to my own birth. I hung around in that cozy uterus for as long as I could. Now I don’t know a lawyer who isn’t late, at least to court. When I was in my early days of practice, there was a Knoxville lawyer I admired, Joe Levitt, who was known, particularly by judges he practiced before, as the late Mr. Levitt. He had a habit of arriving to the courtroom an hour or two after his case was called, wearing a brown rumpled suit and carrying his battered brief case in one hand and a half eaten sandwich in the other.  Sadly, now that appellation is literally true. Of course, if I had been really late for my grand entry to this world, say weeks instead of days, I’d be a judge by now.

After I was born I whined and complained to both my parents. Not understanding the justice of my demands, they seemed callous judges. I thereafter learned to talk and by two I could say habeas corpus, caveat emptor, ipso facto, and coitus interruptus. It was only years into my law practice, however, I learned, and truly understood, the phrase vigilantibus non dormientibus aequitas subvenit. 

 In another obvious sign, when I was about ten or so I developed an absolute aversion to any kind of physical labor. That year my Pater familias wanted me to cut the grassIn the summmer heat! This was long before we had either a self-propelled or ride on mower. We had a stubborn push mower and a large, moderately hilly yard. It took almost an hour to do the entire job; when I was done I felt like Lawrence of Arabia deep in Wadi Rum, but not as well dressed.

I honed my verbal skills to convince Dad to excuse me from my agrostological chore. It was easy. He was an engineer and knew only three things: water flows downhill, you can’t push a rope, and you get paid twice a month. Of course, I was aided in my brief by the the mere existence of my youngest brother Pat, now old enough to assume my duties. I assured him cutting the grass would be a promotion for him, several steps up from emptying the trash. But he balked. Luckily for me, his only skill at argument to counter my suggestion to Dad he replace me was his ability to stomp his foot, shake his head and moan, “Jeez, Dad, its not fair”, a modus operandi our parents had long before learned to ignore.

Perhaps the surest sign of my future vocation came in 1962, when I was fourteen. The summer before beginning high school,  I engaged in my first serious debate. The venue was our neighbors’ front yard one late summer afternoon; my adversary was Donna, their pretty fourteen year old red headed daughter. Our audience was a handful of other neighborhood children. The subject of our debate, chosen by me, was female genital anatomy.  Although I had no sisters, after having avidly studied my parents’ 1945 plain black jacketed marriage manual and its copious, if sadly schematic, black and white anatomical drawings, I felt fully prepared and confidently argued to this girl she was clearly wrong about what lay between her own two legs. My arguments were cogent, logical, and, if I do say so myself, elegant in both composition and presentation – yet shockingly proved futile. Declaring me guilty of argumentum ad ignoratiam, she remained unyielding in the face of my attempts to seduce her with my tongue to the truth.  Still, anyone who watched our great debate would have surely concluded by the last light of the day I was destined to excel at the law.

My only regret other than my inability to convince Donna of the theoretical soundness of my position was my failure to demand she allow me to fully discover her demonstrable proof she claimed supported her position before starting the debate (it was nearly another fours years before similar discovery came to hand for close and frequent study and my juvenile erratum were at last revealed to me).

Of course, if I had actually convinced Donna what she saw in her hand mirror when she examined her nether regions was wrong, I would not only be a lawyer today, but a very, very, very rich one as well…

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Dear reader, should you think ill of my tales, or doubt their veracity, I urge you to recall this Latin phrase:

Dubia in meliorem partem interpretari debent

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For photo credits, click an image. All images, and my remixes, subject to this creative commons license

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Photos to Die For…

Posted in art, FLICKR, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, religion, tennessee with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 1, 2012 by cliffmichaels

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Back in the day (whatever that means) I was a relatively industrious photographer. I’d climb out of bed on Saturday or Sunday mornings – sometimes on both – before the sun rode over the Smokies and set out to some picturesque destination or other to click madly away with my trusty and beloved Nikon D50. From January of 2007 through the end of 2008 there were twelve months in each of which I posted more than 200 photos.  The high water mark was June of 2007 when I posted 386 shots on Flickr (an average of 12.87 a day).

Now I’m a slacker. Since January 1, 2009, there have been only seven months I’ve surpassed 200 posts and only one with three hundred plus (April of 2011). There have been 21 months since the start of 2009 when my posts have numbered less than a hundred; the low point was December of ’09 when I uploaded a grand total of three photographs (and average of .097 per day).

To make up for my lack of vigor, I cheat by posting old photos, many from the set of my most popular images on Flickr. Isn’t recycling a good thing? Sometimes I just re-edit an old shot from months or years ago. I’ve got well north of 12,000 shots on Flickr. Who’s gonna notice a photo I post today was originally posted back in ’06? I tell myself if I re-process an old image – do a tighter crop, convert it to black and white, or use use photoshop to recompose it – it counts as a brand new shot, one I didn’t have to rise at dawn or leave the house to capture!

When I do shoot new stuff it’s often been on Friday afternoons after I escape  my office. I rationalize shooting in the harsh afternoon sun by telling myself I’ll only shoot in shade or post process the harshness away. Yeah, whatever… These Friday forays usually only last a couple of hours. In the past I’d often be out hunting for that one great capture for five or six hours.

Here’s a set of photos I  took yesterday afternoon. For reasons I’d rather not explore, I enjoy photographing in cemeteries. Sadly, I enjoy shooting there more than people enjoy looking at my photos. I don’t care. Yesterday I had fun driving slowly around a large Maryville cemetery shooting fake gravestone flowers, well manicured lawns, religious, guano stained statuary and old, majestic trees.

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Cemeteries of the United StatesCemeteries and SensualityCemeteries and Girls Cemetery Animals

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Cold Dead Hands…

Posted in erotic, fetish, FLICKR, history, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, politics, religion, tennessee, women with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 22, 2012 by cliffmichaels

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Photo credit:  Bruce Osama, subject to this creative commons license

I don’t normally comment on the really big news of the week. Everyone else in the blogosphere does and I’m not egotistical enough to think I have anything original to write. Usually I stick to titty pics and pathetic attempts at humor.

But today I’ll descend into a mindless left wing rant. If you’re just here for the smut, scroll down to the bottom of the page…

Why is our country so obsessed with guns? More importantly, how does the NRA manage to block virtually any state or federal gun regulation? It is astonishing to me that the NRA can easily stop modest gun regulation supported by a majority of the country. Ever since the Tuesday night massacre of pro gun control democrats in 1994 no one has proposed any serious gun regulation in Congress (and the Obama  administration hasn’t either).

Here in Tennessee the pro-gun lobby is pushing for laws permitting the carrying of concealed weapons in church, at work, and at colleges (even if the school, or church, or workplace doesn’t want them allowed).  We already have a law legalizing concealed weapons in bars (what could possibly go wrong)!

I could, of course, cite the scads of statistics about gun violence in this nation.  I could cite stats on the way lower gun assaults in Europe and Japan. You, you right wing ignoramus, would retort with cases of gun totin’ grandmas saving the family and a screed on the sanctity of the second amendment.

Twelve dead, fifty-eight wounded. At a goddamn movie. Killed with legal guns legally purchased. Victims mowed down like sheep at slaughter. In a goddamn movie theater! In a state with relatively lax laws on carrying concealed weapons…

But woe to anyone crying out for gun regulation in the wake of the tragedy! Mayor Bloomberg of New York has outraged many conservatives by “using this tragedy to  his advance his radical anti-gun agenda!” My God! What a monster…

Anyone hoping that, at last, this gun massacre will spur the passage of common sense gun control is delusional. It hasn’t happened before despite uncountable violent gun deaths and it won’t happen now. And it most likely won’t happen the next time or the next time after that.

This is, after all, America where we praise the lord and pass the ammunition.

Photo credit: Mario Mercea, remixed by me, both images subject to this creative commons license

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Photo by BillyWarhol, remixed, both images  subject to this  creative commons license

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