An Interactive Love Letter

November 4, 2009 – 8:13 am

So, I have some big news!  Keiko and I are very likely going to be getting back together!  We’re very excited about this–the problem right now is:

She’s in Japan.  Poor Guapo, Poor Keiko.

I had the urge to write a love letter to her and it occurred to me that it might be fun to put it on the blog.  I further thought that I might involve her–and any others of the readers if they choose to participate.  (Sorry guys, but this project is for the ladies, however, if they participate, you’ll get to benefit from some very sexy pictures!)  Here’s how to prepare for the story:

  • Dress yourself in blue jeans, a sexy bra, a button-down shirt and bare feet.
  • Put a camera under your pillow.
  • Print this out or otherwise arrange it so that you can read this while lying in bed.
  • As you read the story below, the inset text (like “She’s in Japan.  Poor Guapo, Poor Keiko.” above.) are instructions for you to follow.

Dreaming of Keiko:

It’s the middle of the night.  The middle… after a very long day of working.  You fell asleep with your clothes on and–though I did get my clothes off before climbing in next to you, I immediately fell asleep by your side.

I’ve just woken up and the scene is this:  You are in front of me, lying the right side of your body and curled up slightly into an almost fetal position.  I am behind you with my right arm reaching through the tunnel made by your shoulder, your pillow and your very beautiful neck.  My elbow is bent.  I can feel the gentle push of your breast pressing into my inner forearm and my hand is palming your belly.

As my eyes open, I realize that we were lying in my favorite position:  I love having you wrapped up in my arms with our bodies nicely mated at the hips, bent knees, and even the ankles–the entire length of our bodies deliciously pressed up against each other.  Mmmm…  (It’s a bit cliche, but this position always makes me feel blissfully content–like there is nowhere I would rather be!)

YOUR left arm will be pretending to be MY left arm throughout the next section.

You’ve fallen asleep even though my breath was rolling over all of those delicious nerves at the place where your neck becomes your shoulder.  They are so delicious that I can’t keep myself from taking a little bite–my left hand is resting on the gentle curve of your hip and all five fingers of my right hand pull on the flesh of your belly in a coordinated movement with my teeth.

You wake up instantly, but don’t move–wanting me to wonder.  My tongue taps those sensitive little nerves while you lie there hoping that I’ll change that pesky little verb from “lie” to “lay.”  I will.  (Just be Patient.  Sexy.  Tasty.  Pie!)

My left hand slides up your hips over the denim and under your shirt tail.  My fingers are lightly tracing the waistline of your jeans.  I love the sensation of the downward pressure of the cloth into my smooth fingernails being mixed with the skin-to-skin contact of my fingertips with your soft belly!  My fingers continue their journey up to your navel and circle there a few times before moving back toward my side of your body.  Now I’m touching one of your most sensitive areas.  You try not to betray the fact that you’re awake when my fingers are circling just above your hips and just below your ribcage.  I stay here for some time because I truly enjoy your small spasmic reactions–and the skin is SO IMPOSSIBLY SOFT here!  I move up to where the skin stretches over your ribs, then I move back down in slow circular motions until I’m again sliding my fingernails under the waistband of your jeans.  I could stay here for days…

But I won’t.

My fingers eventually (on one of their downward treks) don’t press under the waistband.  One of those times, they continue down and onto your hips.  (I really like your hips!)  I’m still making small circular motions and my thumb occasionally hooks under one of my favorite bones in your body.  The thumb locks onto that bone on the top of your hip and the fingers take in a measure of flesh–pulling against the thumb.  You can feel your upper flesh being moved in the back and you can feel the skin stretching across the most exciting parts of your front!

Now my hand leaves your body and leaps up to your face.  It lands gently, but heavily on your cheek–covering your ear and one eye.  It moves

To be continued.  I’ve got a chance to talk with Keiko for real, so I’m going to edit and finish this later.   I know that I’ve been away for a while, so I REALLY want to get something up this morning.  Thanks for being patient with me…  :)

By el Guapo | Posted in Sex and BDSM | Comments (1)

el Guapo’s 5 Pivotal Moments

September 17, 2009 – 6:50 am

Update:  Some of you have read this before.  I’ll be reposting some of my favorite essays from the old blog–and this is one of them.  It’s been a year since I first posted this one, and (as far as I know) only one person has taken me up on the challenge.  So maybe you can disregard the parts about how I want to study the propagation of memes.  :)   I think this one may be too personal a topic for the kind of writing that many people want to do on their public blogs–at least that’s the reason some people have suggested as why they weren’t writing it immediately.  The one person who did the meme (Thank you!) is Ms. Kitty Fantastico.  This is a link to her version.  If you do decide to write this meme, please let me know.  If you don’t have a blog, I’ll be happy to post them here for you as a guest writer.

I’ve always wondered how a meme gets created and I’ve been thinking a lot about them since I was tagged by Coy Pink last year.  I’ve decided to try to create a meme and to ask my blog friends to help me disseminate it. Here goes:

Instructions:

This meme should include the following components:

  • These instructions.
  • Your List.
  • A tagging of five other writers. (Very Optional.)

List (in reverse order of significance) the 5 most pivotal moments of your life. These should be HUGE, life-changing experiences. Try to be objective and to evaluate both good and bad moments equally as to importance. After each, briefly explain the change that that moment affected in your life. (I say “briefly” because each of these items–if it is worthy of this list–necessitates a post of its own.)

I gently request that people engaging in this meme include the tag “guapos5moments” on your post so that anyone interested can use a search engine to: Read the 5 Pivotal Moments of other people; and Follow the propagation of the meme. Anyone interested would be welcome to include a link to my (Guapo’s) 5 Pivotal Moments here.

Guapo’s 5 Pivotal Moments:

5. Choosing an instrument before joining my fifth-grade band. It was such a simple day. I tried a trumpet, a clarinet, a saxophone, a drum. I don’t remember having any particular proficiency on any of them. I don’t remember having a preference, but somehow I ended up with the drum. Any other choice would inexorably have led me toward teaching math today instead of music. I’d have had a different wife, a different outlook on life, and I might never have written this blog.

4. Hearing a high school teacher say, “There is no such thing as an Agnostic, you MUST choose to be either a Believer or an Atheist.” He was a jerk. And I don’t personally have anything against those who choose the term Agnosticism, but (for me) his statement had a lot of truth to it. At the beginning of that hour, I would have used the term Agnostic to describe myself, but I made my leap of faith in the moments following his challenge.

3. Looking at a mailing from Army in my senior year of High School. My first thought was that this would solve my financial problems about attending college-it was too bad that I couldn’t join. Then it hit me…I could join: that was why they had sent ME this flier. I made my first adult decision in that moment.

2. “YOU DON’T BELIEVE IN MY GOD? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY MOTHER-FUCKING ARMY!” It was six or eight months after Moment 3, and I was standing alone in front of my entire platoon in Basic Training. The brim of the Drill Sergeant’s hat was tapping my forehead as he screamed in my face. I had been unable to join either of the two formations behind me as I was neither Catholic nor Protestant. One of my fellow soldiers had just broken under the same forehead-tapping that I was experiencing now. (His very effective non-verbal response was to beat feet into one of the groups–although I was standing “at attention” so I didn’t see which one.) I was scared shitless! There’s a longer story here (which I’ll certainly post some day), but the result of the scene was that I ended up cleaning the latrines while everyone else kicked back in church for a couple of relaxing hours. (I expended my annual quota of expletives in those hours-I think I might still be a bit upside-down on that quota.) It wasn’t until much later that I realized that the significance of this particular moment wasn’t the fact that I was an Atheist, or that I had successfully stood up to a frightening bully. In hindsight, what is interesting to me is that I didn’t make ANY choice in that moment. I knew what was Right and, regardless of the consequences, there was no decision to be made. I am proud of this moment more than any other in my life.

1. Standing in an emergency room and being told that my wife has a brain tumor. I didn’t yet know that it was terminal, but I felt as if my feet had been swept out from under me. She was unconscious, but I knew (in that one painful moment) that our lives were permanently changed and that NOTHING else mattered until this new factor was addressed. A few hours before, we had been a normal couple: completing graduate school; actively planning a baby; thinking of growing old together… She was simply sleeping because she had had the first headache of her young life. Even her eventual death (almost 10 years later) didn’t hit me as hard as one brief sentence. In a random emergency room. From a random Doctor. His eyes cast not-so-randomly down: “It looks like Thistle has a brain tumor.” Even now (12 years later), I have tears on my cheek as I remember that very simple sentence. I miss her desperately.

(I’m adding this next section much later than the writing of my #1 above. I am aware that the transition isn’t smooth for those of you who didn’t take an hour away–like I did–after the cancer story. Sorry about that.)

You’re It:

New World: I have a LOT in common with this wonderful writer. She’s a young (and beautiful) world-traveler who writes about living overseas.  Her blog isn’t working just now, but I’m going to keep the link here for a couple of reasons:  Her blog was one of the best I’ve ever read; and She’s told me that she’s planning to start it up again!

Rapunzel: She’s been a friend for a long time now.  I hope to meet all of my commentors in person someday–although probably not with the same “fanfare.” :)   I’ll be reposting the story of my weekend with Rapunzel one of these days.  Now THAT was one hot weekend!

The Miner: I’m not sure what name he’s going to use here, but he is my oldest friend around these parts–and he has a very interesting blog. He’s one of two (or maybe three) readers who actually knew Thistle.

Coy Pink: The sexy, kinky, sub woman who got me thinking about this meme in the first place. I still owe her and her (I have to admit, equally-sexy) hubby a “date” plan for winning a commentor contest on my previous blog. I’m still thinking on it.

Vixen:  She doesn’t have a blog and she told me that she won’t write anything else for me until I post the ones that she’s already written.  :)   (I’m working on it.)

Ingenue:  She also doesn’t have her own blog (yet), but I’d be willing to bet that she’ll be the first one to take up the challenge.

Edit (Later the same day):  And I would have won that bet.  Before the day was even finished, she submitted her meme as a comment below.  (I didn’t even know you COULD submit a comment that long!)  Anyway, I decided to give her her own page–and I’ll do the same for anyone else who completes their homework.  Just a warning:  She IS a Christian, so don’t get nervous when she starts talking about God…  :)

All other commentors are, of course, welcome to join in on the fun.

Bonus Link. Video Memes.  Check out the Office Space trailer–recut as a Horror movie!

By el Guapo | Posted in 80ish Years | Tagged , , , , , , | Comments (11)

Personalized Icons for Commentors

September 12, 2009 – 10:28 pm

Ever wonder how the cool kids get an icon next to their name in the comments list?  (That’s right, I’m one of the cool kids–er… people.)

It’s amazingly easy–and free!  First, go to gravatar.com (Globally Recognized AVATARS.)

Edit (September 16th):  Note that your Gravatar won’t work on this page unless it’s rated G.  I’m not sure how to change my site so that it will be recognized as PG-, R-, and X-friendly, but for now, you  need to rate your Gravatar at the G-rating.  Also, note that this gravatar will show up EVERYWHERE that you use the email address you register at Gravatar.  You might want to create a specific email address (and Gravatar?) that you only use on Adult sites.  This site hasn’t been TOO adult yet, but that part’s coming soon.  If you do set up an adult-specific email address, you can set it up to forward to your normal email address so that you won’t have to check both.  Most email programs (gmail for instance) can also be set up to allow you to respond from other addresses.  (For instance, I use my every day gmail account to reply to messages you send to my guapo@80ish.com address.  Your reply will simply look like it came from 80ish.com.  Write me if you need any help setting this up.)

Actually, I was going to explain the concept and procedure step by step, but their website does a much better job with a video about the process.

Guapo iconIf you don’t want to use a personal photo–or if you want to make your own–here is my gravatar (at a good size for editing)

Simple steps for changing GUAPO’s avatar (which is in draft form) into YOUR avatar:

  1. Right click on the image and select “save image as.”  Put it somewhere on your computer.
  2. Go to where you saved it and right click on the file.  Select “open with” then choose the “Paint” program.
  3. Choose “Save As” from the “file” menu–in the upper left corner of the Paint Screen.  Put your own file name on the one you’re saving.
  4. I would select, then use, the “Zoom” (Magnifying Glass) tool first.
  5. Have fun with editing it into your own personal icon (avatar).
  6. After free registration, follow the instructions on gravatar.com and select this new file to be your icon.
  7. When the cropping step arrives, select the entire icon by dragging the crop area to the upper left corner, then dragging its lower right corner to the lower right corner of your icon.
  8. That’s it.  When you leave a comment (using the email you selected at gravatar.com) your avatar/icon will show up next to your name.

Bonus Link. This MIGHT be the lamest Bonus Link I’ve ever posted.  BUT maybe I meant it ironically–I probably did.

By el Guapo | Posted in DIY | Tagged , , | Comments (18)

Plastic Surgery.

September 8, 2009 – 8:46 pm

I keep hearing derogatory jokes about Joan Rivers and her plastic surgery.  I used to laugh at these jokes, but lately I’ve been feeling a bit sorry for her.  Not that she hasn’t earned the jokes.  And not that she can’t dish it out at least as well as she can take it.  But this has NOTHING to do with today’s post…

Last summer, while I was visiting my Parents, a friend from high school asked me a seemingly innocuous question:  “What do you think of plastic surgery?”  I responded with an opinion about the first and second things that came into my mind.  (Thinking of Breast augmentation…) “I don’t like it.”  (Thinking of reconstructive surgery after a trauma…) “Unless it’s needed, after a car wreck or something.”

The woman looked a bit perturbed, then went on to explain why SHE was considering some of this type of surgery.  Her body had stretched more than that of most women during pregnancy and the skin hadn’t returned to it’s normal size and elasticity after the birth of her enormous baby.  She said that her body was fit (I haven’t seen her naked, but I can verify that she has a great figure.), but no matter how much she exercises and eats well, this problem isn’t going to get solved.  She mentioned that she is self-conscious during sex and uncomfortable when looking in the mirror each morning.

I told her that I thought this made sense, but our conversation got interrupted and we didn’t get to say much more about it.  Since our conversation, I’ve been thinking about this topic and doing some research–and I have to say that I’ve had something of a change of heart.  By the limiting word “something,” I’m referring to women with small breasts who get augmentations–I’m not a fan.  I don’t say that these women shouldn’t have the option for enlargement, I’m just expressing my opinion–as a man who has always had an affinity for those cute (and sexy) small breasts.  This is one of the “before and after” pictures that I found during my research:

Plastic1

This girl went from a cute kind of beautiful to a trampy kind of creepy–she kind of looks like she swallowed a couple of softballs.  (Again, that’s her choice to make–and there are lots of guys who will encourage/enjoy that choice–but those lower photos don’t interest me.  I suspect that she may, however, find that in spite of my non-interest, she receives a net gain in attention from dudes.  And girls?–now that’s an interesting question…)

The page from which I borrowed that photo is HERE.  I was surprised to see that the minority of these before and after photos were of the very narrow type of augmentations that I don’t like.  Most of the photos were of women who had had children (nursing, I presume) and whose breasts had lost their original shape.  I was also surprised to see that this latter category of augmentation had results that were much more natural looking than our softball swallower above.

What can I say, this conversation has opened new ideas for me about elective plastic surgery.  I’m still not sure what my opinion would be if I were part of the decision-making process (say with a hypothetical wife-of-the-future), but I have absolutely learned not to be so flippant in my thoughts (and pronouncements) about plastic surgery in general.  If getting this surgery would improve my friend’s life in any way–and it seems that it would help her to enjoy her “mirror” time and to have sex without worry–then I encourage her to do it.  How many times (after childhood) do we get a chance for a do-over?

Some of the Doctors featured in that link are doing impressive work. I hope my friend is aggressive enough to find a good Doctor–and knowing her, she will be.

To my friend (who will receive a link to this page).  I was:  facetious and wrong.  Now:  I’m sincerely apologetic.

Update:  Since writing this blog a few days ago, I’ve written to her and gotten a response:  She wasn’t upset with my terse comment above and has a great attitude about the whole thing.  She’s not as conflicted about the decision as I originally thought.  Here’s how she put it:  “I have put so much thought into that decision that I’m confident I’m doing it for the right reasons.”

She also mentioned that she MIGHT be interested in doing a before and after of her own on this blog.  We’ll see.  I’ve never said “No.” to a reader who wanted to get naked on my blog–but, then, this is only Guapo’s second post.  ;)

Bonus Link I:  (Porn.)  For those who like women who were born with, or swallowed, much more than a softball.

Bonus Link II:  Then there is this page from the same site where I got the photo above.  Men having breast reduction surgery?  I had never heard anything about this…

By el Guapo | Posted in Life Lessons | Tagged , | Comments (17)

Lessons from Irony and Chaos.

July 20, 2009 – 4:55 pm

So I joined the Army at 18 years old.

After my physical, I reported to  the job-placement dude:

Buck Private Guapo: “I’m not terribly aggressive.  I’d like to work with computers or mathematics.”

Job-Placement Dude: “We don’t have any jobs like that, but your scores are good.  How about being a medic.”

Buck Private Guapo: “I don’t think I’d make a very good medic.  I passed out when they drew my blood for the physical a couple of hours ago.”

Job-Placement Dude (Rocking his head and speaking in a singsong voice):  “It’s got a twenty-five hundred dollar en-list-ment bo-nus…”

Buck Private Guapo: “I’ll get used to passing out.  Sign me up.”

From that point onward, I volunteered for EVERYTHING that involved needles.

Vaccinations?  I’ll go first.

You want to teach us how to draw blood?  Here’s my arm.

Time to learn how to install IV lines?  Oh shit.  I mean…I’ve got easy veins, stick me.

In our combat medic training, they showed us a film about medicine in Viet Nam.  It was actual footage of soldiers performing all the popular favorites:  sucking chest wounds, head traumas, and leg amputations.  MASH it wasn’t.  I never made it to the second half of that film.  I tried… I would MAKE myself look at it, until I felt the nausea building; the dizziness creeping up the back of my skull; and darkening of my peripheral vision (which I knew wouldn’t stay peripheral for long).  I had to walk out of the classroom.  We (they) watched that same film two or three times.

I’ve since learned that I have a condition called Vasovagal Syncope.  I was reading through that link and I was stunned by how well it described my experiences with blacking out over the years.  If I had known more about it at the time, I could have avoided a lot of embarrassment and discomfort over the years.  I haven’t had any episodes (other than at blood donations and tattoos) for more than 10 years now.

Fast forward to about 5 years after joining the Army…

I volunteered for Desert Storm without my unit because my scholarship had run out and I needed to pay for another year.  (It’s difficult to finish college in four years when you’re taking fun extra classes like fencing, geography, and various instrument lessons.)  I also had never been out of the country and was eager to experience another culture.  I made several friends in the Saudi Air Force and learned a LOT about both their culture and ours.

When I got to Kuwait, I reported to the job-placement dude.  (It might have been the same guy.  I have a shitty memory, but I’m pretty sure that they were both wearing green.)

Sergeant Guapo: “Afternoon, Sir.  I’m a medic.  Where should I go?”

Job-Placement Dude: “We don’t have any medical positions open right now.  How about you being a lifeguard for the R&R pool?  That’s pretty close to a medic.”

Sergeant Guapo: “I can’t swim.  I could probably get myself out of the pool if I fell in, but there’s NO way that I could pull someone else out.  I suppose that if someone else got them to the side, I could give them first aid…”

Job-Placement Dude: “You’ll learn.  Dismissed, Sergeant.”

The next day I was sitting on the lifeguard stand–watching swimmers.

All of my colleagues had been actual lifeguards before joining the Army.  They were happy to teach me, and since we were working 12-14 hour shifts (outdoors) in a desert that sometimes reached the 120’s, I took every chance I could find to get into the water and practice my new skills.

After about three months, the Army brought in the Red Cross and I got certified as a lifeguard.  At 23 years old, I had learned to swim at a pool in the center of the bone dry Saudi Arabian desert—while working as a lifeguard.  You’ve got to love life’s little ironies.

These two little anecdotes seem (on the part of the military) to be completely hare-brained, but a buddy of mine (from the Army) has made a brilliant observation:  If you’re actually IN the army (or any large bureaucracy for that matter) everything looks like total chaos.  No one seems to help anyone else, the leadership makes horribly stupid decisions, micromanagement abounds, orders get ignored or misinterpreted—NOTHING seems to work the way it was intended.

But…

If you look at the organization from the outside, it’s astounding what it is able to achieve.  For example, when the US was fighting Saddam Hussein (the first time), one of the Generals intentionally leaked to CNN that we were going to be attacking Iraqi positions around Kuwait from the Gulf.  The Army then began a HUGE logistical move to swing all manner of vehicles, supplies, personnel, etc. inland to attack the Iraqi positions from the desert.  There was hardly a battle at all, because the Iraqis had set all of their defenses toward the sea (We knew they watched CNN.) and they couldn’t turn them fast enough to counterattack the land offensive from behind.  J  That logistical move took more than a full day, was kept entirely secret, and involved 10’s of thousands of soldiers.  And I’d bet a hundred dollars that it seemed like a complete clusterfuck to every enlisted soldier that was involved.

There are two lessons that I get from these experiences:

1.  Life is an exercise in perspective.

2.  When life gives you lemons…

…squeeze out the juice and rub it in life’s eyes until he submits and gives you something you can EAT—like cherries, or pears.  Or how about a fucking PIE!

OK, maybe I AM terribly aggressive—and that fits in nicely with my dangerosity.

Bonus Link I (This one has nothing to do with this post, but someone (Charlie) commented on it when I had put it here along with a  placeholder post a few days ago.  I wanted to leave everyone’s comments, and it IS a good Bonus Link, so we’ll go ahead and use it.

By el Guapo | Posted in Life Lessons | Tagged , , , , | Comments (17)