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AC Benus

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AC Benus last won the day on June 14 2017

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16,868 Almost Divine

About AC Benus

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    San Francisco
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    Love, cooking, history, classical writings, Queer politics, chatting with friends, finding more in common with everyone than I thought possible, architecture, design, dogs, Airedales

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  1. Chapter 14: Chocolate Covered Coins

    Here's a real life Mojo moment if there ever was one. David Bowie as 'special guest' on Bing Crosby's 1977 Christmas TV show.... One of those, o-m-g what were they thinking moments
  2. Mojo

    Oh, darn! Is it too late to rename this thread...? hehe
  3. Mojo

    Thanks to @mollyhousemouse, the movie It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World comes to mind sometimes when thinking about this project. So in the interest of presenting (even more) evidence that it really is a Mojo, Mojo, Mojo, Mojo World out there, here are two recent news items. They come from a regular column over at Reader’s Digest they call That’s Outrageous; The Price of Stupidity. You can check out the link and find more Here are gems from the May, 2018, edition. – A man was arrested after Florida police mistook the glaze of his Krispy Kreme donut for crystal meth. His sweet revenge: a $37,000 settlement. - A woman won $25,000 after entering a sweepstakes at an Illinois gambling parlor. Good for her, except that she happens to be a prominent anti-gambling crusader, having gone after casinos, a VFW raffle, and even the parent company of the gambling parlor where she won. Still, she insists she’s not a hypocrite: Her winnings are a result of her crusade. “It’s God showing his grace on me.” _
  4. Chapter 16: Kohl’s Lament

    This is great feedback, Parker. I thank you. Kohl is very emotional now and wavering between despair and memories. If you could take him aside, I bet you'd be able to get through to him, but right now, he's taken himself away from the world. We'll see what comes of his latest desire to walk amongst the tourists. Thanks for reading and commenting. I really appreciate hearing your thoughts, and more importantly, your experiences.
  5. Chapter 16: Kohl’s Lament

    Yes, Kohl is a bit oblivious to what has happened, and lashes out in his mind to shift blame onto his ex and bf. I think a lot of people do that; it's perhaps the most comfortable thing to do psychologically. We'll see if he gets 'awoke' (or awoken by others ) before it's too late. Thanks for the comments, as always I appreciate them, droughtquake
  6. Chapter 16: Kohl’s Lament

    hehe, I knew what you meant. I'm always glad to see you've read, and I'm always happy to see your comments. Thanks, Tim.
  7. Chapter 16: Kohl’s Lament

    He's messed up for sure. We'll see if anyone is around to keep him from his own worst angel.
  8. Chapter 16: Kohl’s Lament

    No, he'll approach the next chapter when he can, and he knows it's a good one Cheer up, it's only 6 days now till next Wednesday. (yes, I'm cruel...I know it)
  9. Chapter 16: Kohl’s Lament

    ...oh a comment like this make me want to post the next chapter today... hehe
  10. :o :rolleyes: :o"...I wondered what possible use is a Gay man who can’t get it up..." :o:rolleyes::o



    1. Mikiesboy


      hmmmm .... OH i know ...

  11. Chapter 16: Kohl’s Lament

    . Chapter 16: Kohl’s Lament I awoke beneath a curtain of sweat, groaning and painfully rolling onto my back. It seemed not even troubled naps were going to be allotted to me, because the midday laughter and sunlight of Venice Beach inveigled cunningly between the closed slats of the closed window. They could all go to hell, as far as I was concerned, and join me in my waking, dreamless sleep of the damned. Rubbing sore eyes, I became conscious exactly how much I hated that soiled spot on the ceiling of this cheap motel room. I hated that I’ve had to look at it for three days now, ever since the afternoon my slime-bag ex walked Gordon out of my life. Frustrated, I heaved over with a sigh and sat on the edge of the rumpled sheets. They hadn’t been changed since I got here, but the little bit of moving air licking the moisture on my back felt somewhat refreshing. I’d been forced to relocate – to this beachside dive – because, as someone once told me, the Gay Grapevine is even faster than Donny J. Dump’s Tweets – and mostly just as destructive. Word spread instantly to Neil Campbell that I was ‘available,’ which made me flee West Hollywood and his throtty clutches. I stood and stretched, rotating and cracking my back in a few places. Then I fingered my not-so-tidy-whities; they have been the only thing I’ve worn since I locked myself in this cell. A few minutes later, the toilet seat went up and I coaxed my useless Judas out into the air. Normally, peeing feels good in its way, but now it only made me think of the lengths I’d gone through to wake him up. On my exiled flight that afternoon, I scored a few street pills of the blue and yellow varieties – the kind old men look for from their hustler dates. I’d also picked up a pack of ‘sure fire’ herbal supplements at the corner market. After checking in, I had gone to the store briefly to stock up. I needed jarred pickles and energy drinks for my purges. None of those treatments had worked, either alone or in combination, and the only rewards I got for my attempted ‘cure’ were a thready pulse, blinking white spots before my eyes, and blinding headaches. It all left me stewing in my anger and not wanting to leave this room. So, I’d just drunk my pickle juice and nursed the last of my Red Bull, hoping against hope…that…. I started to cry thinking about it. I simply hoped my boy would send me a text saying it was all some misunderstanding, that he didn’t really run out on me just because I can’t get it up. I flushed and willed the tears to stop by beating my chest, as sick as it was. These teardrops had been no use, just like my three days of fasting and torment. No amount of prescription pharmaceuticals or caffeine; playing, coaxing or fantasy; or streaming porn on my phone had made a bit of difference. Except to drive me closer to utter despair. Moving as if in a trance, I gradually found myself standing by the closets, in an area with a vanity, sink and mirror. I dared to turn on the light. What I saw shocked me. Tired and thin, I kicked my hands out on the plastic ‘marble’ to lean in closer. When did I get those puffy crescents under my eyes; when had my fair hair become such a tangled mess; when did it get cowlicked sticking up on one side? “Kacke!” I called out. “Land or sea – I don’t give a fuck which – why don’t you open up and swallow me whole? Especially you, Ocean. You who do not even spare the innocent, and I am not of the acquitted – I am not among the blameless. But, bah—” I whipped out the offending member and addressed it in the mirror. “And you, limp noodle, are you really of the vibrant earth? Part of the soil, alive with sprouting life, rich ground for all things verdant and self-generating? No, inert as clay, you have betrayed me too, and lost me my boy. “But you should belong to the swelling tides as well, you who course with the strength, the same salinity as the world’s vast oceans; you who provide stars as abundant and life-bearing as the cosmos – but not if you are weak. Not if you simply hang between a man’s legs like a useless ornament.” And yet this sad state had not always been my lot. Certainly not the night I fucked Assauer in the shadow of Hercules’ club, the fountain in Brunswick where we first let down our defenses. No, then it had been my prowess, my dick itself that had advanced me and Assauer from mere fuck buddies to partners in crime, boyfriends – and yes, lovers too – feeling and sharing in full communion. Such a thought of deep connection caused my mind to drift back to a pivotal night in our relationship. “You got what, where…?” I asked in disbelief. “A liaison position at Ramstein.” “The U.S. Air Base…?” “Yes. And you’re coming with me.” It had been six months since me and Assauer graduated from the Technical University of Braunschweig – just barely – and become underemployed and way-underpaid civil servants of a kind. We had two years to endure before we could take our final exam for full certification. Assauer was restless, but still, restless enough to move halfway across the country…? “What will I do? Peel potatoes for those Yankee French fries?!” “No, Dumbo. Look.” He held out his phone, and on it was the website for the Ramstein-Miesenbach School System. They were recruiting part-time teacher apprentices to be on standby as substitute teachers. I glared at him, pretending to be incensed, hoping I didn’t actually show how sad I was to be the one reduced to needing to take such a job. “What’s the difference? They’ll only give the minimum ten hours of work a week, plus eight more of lectures.” “The same as here, right? Think about it. There we’ll have a chance to stand out more.” He had a point. Since the university was in this town, apprentice teachers in Brunswick were cheaper by the kilo than even the famous braunschweiger. “Come on, Kohl. Think of the adventures. Me, on base, sneaking you in, so we can have fun hunting down corn-fed Midwestern guys—” “Sex?” “Well, of course that, but I also meant fun as in doing a little harmless sob-story ripping off. And who knows, we might get a few good contacts in America this way too.” I hated being poor. “We can try it.” Truth was, I felt I owed it to my boyfriend. In our second year of university, I got restless and forced a reluctant Assauer to open up our relationship. At first – and maybe for a solid year – we’d worked together to get freshmen out of their pants and into our bed together, but then one day, a sexy boy on the tram caught my eye and I went back to his flat to fuck him without my boyfriend. Unfortunately, news got around, and Assauer sought revenge in a cruel and unusual way. Yes, he found a freshman girl to seduce and later told me all about the sordid details. It made me crazy with jealousy – caused a huge scene – ending with Assauer saying, one, it was my fault because I never let him have my ass, and two, he was Bi and had no problems being faithful to me but if I was seeking dick elsewhere he was going to find and…. I can’t even repeat what he said, it was so gross. And so our relationship became completely open. But we were upfront; I’d tell him which guy I was going after, and he’d name which bimbo-tart-chick he was using. “Are you sure, Kohl?” Assauer asked me about moving to Ramstein. “Yes. You’re special to me – plus, I owe you. You know that, and I think we make a pretty great team.” Over the last two years, possibly because of me, my boyfriend had toughened and learned how to hide his cards well, but now his old smile returned as he hugged me. However, I couldn’t help wonder if he loved me more than I did him…. Months later, Assauer rolled into the flat one night with a drunk ‘troop,’ and we fucked the hell out of him. As the contented man lay in our arms sleeping that night, we talked. “What’s the matter, Kohl?” “I’m fine.” “Something’s on your mind. The school’s okay?” “Which one?” Not only was I on call for the district’s ‘sick list’ to go to any school, subject or grade as needed, but I’d been making ends meet by teaching nights at a cram school. Assauer was not amused. “I don’t know. You tell me, Idiot.” But…how could I tell him about Rolf…? How could I tell my boyfriend that I was developing feelings for one of my regular cram students? A teenage one at that…. I lay myself down in the tub, briefs still on, and turned on the water. I didn’t know, maybe I intended to drown myself in this landlocked disgrace of a Venice Beach motel room; maybe I intended to mitigate my own stink; or maybe I just wanted to feel something other than hurt and powerless anger. The cold crawled like insect legs of ice all around my skin as the tub filled. As bad as I was in Germany, I never betrayed my ex like he’d done to me in L.A., and my dalliance with guys was to be expected. On the other hand, his character was disgusting! Whoring himself out like that on the air base, taking all-cummers, being handmaiden to their back-of-barracks lust. He might have worn a skirt there for all I knew. As for ‘his other side,’ the dark one, Assauer’s tolerance of slit had a severely feminizing influence on his otherwise manly soul. Gott im Himmel! I pitied his weakness, because it put him in the compromised position of straight guys. They’re all eventually enfeebled and driven mad by a sad subservience to hoo-ha juice. The hets themselves can’t help it – poor bastards – they are born ‘that way’ somehow or other, and no amount of shaming and praying they were otherwise can help them overcome it, but for a strong Gay man like Assauer to be effeminized by dependence upon it, like he contracted an infectious virus through vaginal sex, made me quiver in revulsion and fury. I slid my head below water and left it there. Through open eyes, I saw my ex on that horrible night we had to flee our homeland. For all his faults, he stuck with me when no one else would. I rose from the water confused. Had my anger drawn forth more tears…? But still, he stole my Gordon; how could I not hate my ex for that? Shutting off the water, I lay back and realized I hadn’t taken off my shorts. Oh well, but if my boy saw this, he’d bust his sweet gut laughing at me. Yes, sweet Gordon. How I remember that day too. The one where the boy literally led me on, even though I had sworn off jail-bait temptations…. “How was your day there? Mine was okay, I guess.” “The kids are better behaved than I expected.” “Well,” Assauer told me as we ate our dinner, still in our substitute shirts and ties, “Aptos is a pretty rich town.” “It’s sure out of the way.” My ex nodded as he spooned mashed potatoes. We’d been traveling around the States for about ten months, picking up teaching certificates in various places and subbing. Mostly, we’d kept ourselves low and out of trouble. “There seems to be a lot of healthy, young athletes at this new school—” I was already thinking of one in particular…. “Must be the sea air,” he joked, but maybe there was something to that. We’d been here a week or two, and slowly acclimating to the cycle of warm, sunshiny days being followed by foggy, bracing evenings and nights. It put a spring in the step and a smile on the face— “What are you thinking about?” “Nothing. Just how the kids have lockers outside, that’s all.” He let the subject drop, and I vowed to forget all about the sexy young man I’d been seeing every day at his locker as I passed along. Usually the boy would be laughing with buddies – or sometimes standing, grinning and bearing the fawning awkwardness of a pair of infatuated girls – but no matter the situation, the tall kid with the longish curly hair and a devil-may-care cant to his full rosy lips, had a smile for me, had a lingering turn of his head as he traced my progress with his eyes. But today had been different, or more accurately, my so-called moral resolve, weaker. For, obviously knowing ‘the game’ better than that young man, I continued on past his position – three steps: one, two, three – and glanced over my shoulder, back at the lad. He nodded to me, licking his lower lip and letting a knowing smile shine. ‘Oh, fuck,’ I thought. ‘Not again.’ “Kohl?” “Yeah, Assauer. I’m okay, really. I think I’m going to like Aptos.” “Okay,” he said skeptically. “Just stick to the plan and don’t enjoy it too much.” I ate my minestrone in silence, letting the sweetness of the boy’s thought course through me. I tried, I really had. After that day with the glancing eye-contact, whenever I saw this kid, I headed the other direction. I avoided asking who he was, who his people were, what his interests were. As I say, I tried. But one day after several months of the schoolyear had gone by, I was alone in my classroom tidying up at the end of the day. The bell had already rung, and the final thing I needed to do was roll the overhead projector back to the storage room. When I turned around, there he was. “Mr. Kohl?” “Um – yes.” I couldn’t help smiling. “Gordon Sanchez. I’m a junior here.” He shifted the strap of his heavy gym bag and held out his hand. “Um—” I shook it, growing hot at his touch. “Need help with that?” Before I could say anything more, the sexy boy was wheeling the cart out of the room. I switched off the lights and followed. “This one?” he asked, stopping in front of the correct storage room with a wickedly delicious look on his face. “Yes. You know your way around, huh?” That was the first time I saw him blush. He stood aside as I unlocked the door and stepped in. Gordon Sanchez followed, pushing the projector in and closing the door behind him. A moment later, his bag landed on the floor with a mighty thud, and he was guiding me with his tongue in my mouth to stand against the wall. Eyes closed, his roving hands on my clothes felt like fire; I was instantly hard, as he was without a doubt an experienced and expert kisser. He released me and slid down to his knees, undoing my slacks and taking them floorward as he went. Just before he took me into his mouth, I fingered the front of his silken hair and made him look up at me. “You sure?” I asked. He held my eyes and went down on me, moaning his consent loudly enough that I felt it along every inch of my spine. Even as I gripped onto his head and began to enjoy it, I knew part of the thrill was the sheer danger of it all. I wound up back before the vanity, leaning on it, a towel around my waist. Perfect droplets of moisture dotted my skin, except on my cheek. There they had a different shape and flavor…. My sweet Gordon, I thought you loved me. But maybe you only loved my cock. Could that be? Could Assauer’s freakishly enlarged donkey dick be the thing that led you astray? I spoke to him, as if I could see him over my shoulder in the mirror. “Everybody looks at us and assumes the worst of me – figure me to be a cradle-robber – but they don’t know, can’t see through your beautiful looks how sultry your boy-heart really is.” I pounded my fist on the sink. “Oh, God!” I cried. “Like a cheap camp follower, my beloved boy sold out my love for a romp in the back of the barracks.” I sunk to my knees, these lyrics forming on my lips: “On my craggy outcrop, alone, the roar of vengeance is as loud as the whole sea upon a stone – laying me on her flinty shroud. Do I deserve such a cruel fate; is my ‘sin’ any worse than his, the one who escapes without harm; the lying one who steals from me; the scoundrel without compassion; the lover with no love in his heart; the ex with only malice in his? No, too cruel is the punishment to live with what I don’t deserve, to be forced to suffer endless rebukes from within my own heart while they go on free to enjoy the illicit bliss of their crime. So earth below, open and swallow; so sky above, part clouds and smite me. On this heartless cliff-face copestone, my voice cries for mercy aloud, but Death will not let me atone – for cruelty is much too proud.” That’s it. A concept had come into my head, making me stagger to the desk drawer. In another minute, I had Hojax’s pistol loaded and in my hand. I ripped up the blinds and stood blinking and paralyzed by the sun. Regarding the handgun slowly lifting to my temple, I wondered what possible use is a Gay man who can’t get it up. I cocked the piece, murmuring, “Take me, O ye gods. End my misery….” But slowly, the motion of people outside – walking, riding bicycles, cruising on skateboards over the roadway fronting the beach – made me angry. They were having too much fun. Too much goddamned ‘life’ ran through their veins. I demanded to know, “Why should I be the one to do it?!” I un-cocked the gun, digging in my bag for some clean clothes. And while I got dressed, the afternoon noise and animation just outside my window caused me to grow angrier and angrier. _
  12. Poems in different languages

    Lyssa did me a great honor. She felt so moved by one of my early poems, she rendered it in German. The theme is spring, so it's perfect for this time of year. ------------------------------ The spring is beautiful As I watch her dress the Earth In emotions I had almost forgot Using colors stored in careful places Kept safe from the frost of the soul Safe in the warmth of knowing That no matter what, her day will come again. The spring is a beautiful reason Not that she has any cause to be Wars are still being fought People are still hating many things. And yet, she comes Offering her gift to the world No questions, no bills She comes for reasons unknown. With a million secret colors She paints a million emotions Far too many to write And so I'm left with nothing but… The spring is beautiful. ------------------------------ Der Frühling ist schön Ich sehe, wie er die Welt kleidet in fast vergessene Emotionen, mit Farben sorgsam bewahrt vor dem Winterfrost der Seelen. Er hielt sie geborgen in der Gewissheit, seiner sicheren Wiederkehr. Der Frühling ist der mächtige Ursprung, unabsichtlich atemberaubend, obwohl weiterhin Kriege geführt werden und Menschen einander hassen. Verlässlich kommt er wieder und beschenkt die Welt mit seinem Wunder. Es gibt keine Fragen, kein Kalkül und den Grund werden wir nie erfahren. Mit ungezählten scheuen Farben malt er unzählbare Gefühle zu viele, um sie alle nieder zu schreiben. So bleibt mir nur dies… Der Frühling ist schön. _
  13. No political replies, please. Just enjoy the 'beauty' of *gulps* nature... :)





  14. The golden ratio...




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