Birdboy

Some of my tales are cute puppy dogs. Warm, friendly, easy to love. I can always tell which ones they are. I get rep points, friendly comments, the occasional PM. This tale is a warthog. It's not a pretty tale. It won't give anyone the warm fuzzies. It's much harder to love. But I would say that its the stonier tales that need to be told more. Because although they are harder to read, they are all the more important because no one else talks about these subjects. And I would say that warthogs deserve love too, perhaps even more so because it takes more effort to do so and it is a rarer individual that does.

I'm an ee cummings fan too. I'm surprised no one's posted this one yet, from his 100 Selected Poems. she being brand new she being Brand -new;and you know consequently a little stiff I was careful of her and (having thoroughly oiled the universal joint tested my gas felt of her radiator made sure her springs were O. K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her up,slipped the clutch (and then somehow got into reverse she kicked what the hell) next minute i was back in neutral tried and again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my lev-er Right- oh and her gears being in A 1 shape passed from low through second-in-to-high like greasedlightning) just as we turned the corner of Divinity avenue i touched the accelerator and give her the juice,good (it was the first ride and believe I we was happy to see how nice and acted right up to the last minute coming back down by the Public Gardens I slammed on the internalexpanding & externalcontracting breaks Bothatonce and brought allofher tremB -ling to a:dead. stand- ;Still)

I know this lady in the big city Her hair, lustrous. Her face, so pretty. She is bright, and oh so witty. I know she awaits the day we met No references needed. She did vet And found me in good stead, I'll bet. But she's different. For me risks are fraught To go and see her, I really ought Else she will think all was for naught. For sure, I enjoy her company from afar We write. We joke. Our laughter does soar She suggests we should meet at her favorite bar. But truth to say. She doesn't arouse My passion, though her pics I browse And read her reviews until I drowse. What comfort to her can I say. For magical words, I wish, I pray. For I wish I didn't feel this way. I know that I will disappoint This lady, with wit ever on point But my presence I can't anoint. I know her feelings I'll hurt To her I'm no regular Tom, Dick or Burt But my true feelings I just cannot blurt. She wants my time to spend But she's an acquaintance. She's not a friend. I know there's no relationship to tend. Truth? I need no advice. Because I already know it. Clean. Concise. For in this world, all has a price. She wants me near, for just a taste But I wish my words could be erased Too much of her time I've come to waste. Friends, what more is there to say. For I wish I didn't feel this way But it's now time to slip away.

Why thank you April, that's very flattering. I seem to make a few people cry with my writing, but I'm glad you enjoyed it all the same.

Thanks, everyone. It's been a while. It feels good to be back.

If you could see my face right now, you'd see a faraway look in my eyes. You would see a thoughtful grin on my face. For you see, there is a certain woman who is very much on my mind. We made the most exquisite music together, she and I. She and I sang a two part harmony. But our music was not so much an aria of moans and gasps, but instead a symphony of smiles, of witty repartee. Our minds met, and not just our bodies. Our chemistry went runaway, out of control. It was a rare thing, in this little world of ours. I would dearly love to be with her again. I want to see her eyes twinkle again at me. I want to have that amused smile of hers beam back at me. I know that given the slightest opportunity, she would very quickly become a habit. It would be easy, I think, to see her again and again beyond times of counting. I would move heaven and earth to be beside her again. But more importantly, I would have to move myself. For she lives in a city far from me. I would have to fly far and long to be with her again. Oh, it's not impossible. I think it will happen from time to time. But I don't think it will happen as often as we both would like. And that's a terrible shame. I know I won't be spending much time with her. I just live too far away. And I know that the lifeblood of our acquaintance must be the shared moments we would have, the sincere and honest exchanges, the moments of passion. Those paid moments of which I speak, which will become too few and far between. I wish I could just pick up the phone and just say hello. I wish I could write a long email. Tell her how I'm doing. Ask how she is. But it's just not done. We're not friends. Not really, anyway. She's busy. And I don't want to join the ranks of her needy client list, to be managed at arm's length. And somehow, I suspect that my email would sink without a trace, met with silence. I know she'll see others. This what she does, after all. And she does it well. It's what she's best at, spinning her seductive web, flashing that brilliant smile. And as a good and conscientious hobbyist, I see others in the name of variety. And in time, that magic we shared will change. It will become faded, washed away in a sea of faces. We swim against the tides. We paddle futilely against the enormous swell of everyday life. The mundane, tugging at our attention, eroding those special moments that are making me smile. For she has her life, and I have mine. But still, I remember that final kiss before we parted ways. Our bodies merged as a single liquid entity at our lips, more intimate than anything else we did that day. I close my eyes and touch my lips with my fingertips and I imagine that she was once again before me. As real to me as if she were right there, even though that kiss was many days and many miles ago. And perhaps for that reason, what we had will yet endure. I'll be with her again. And we'll kiss anew. And we'll start our magic all over again.

I'm usually very punctual for my forays into the hobby. I like to arrive on the dot, not a minute too late or too early. But for a very few ladies I've known, that doesn't apply. We've come to know each other well, we've become friends. We've become truly comfortable with each other. And our time together is much less about getting there and leaving on the dot. With these ladies, it's more about truly enjoying each other's company and the quality of the time that we have together. Recently I visited a lady who just told me to just drop by. I came a few minutes early, we chatted as I watched her get ready. It reminded me of a tale I once wrote a long time ago. I enjoyed rereading it recently. Perhaps you will too. bb .......................................................................................... (originally posted 7-6-2007) She was expecting me, and had left her back door unlocked. I turned the doorknob and let myself in. I closed and locked the door behind me, and felt the tenseness start to settle from my shoulders. Finally, after a long, hard day, I've arrived at her place. I take off my shoes and hang up my jacket, and loosen my shirt. I can hear her in the next room. I walk softly over the thick carpet into her home. I see her, putting on her makeup. My relaxation is almost complete, now. A smile starts to creep at the corners at my mouth. It might be the first one today. "Hi there." She turns to me, and gives me a quick hug. "Hi, Birdie." And there it is, that glorious smile I've come to know so well. She's almost ready, she's almost dressed. Or rather, she's as dressed as she's going to be this evening, in a short little black seethrough babydoll, patterned stockings, and a garter. Tight little pigtails. My goodness, she's outdone herself. I used to wonder why she was never quite ready when I got here. Why I had to wait while she put on her makeup or get dressed. But I've come to realize that there was never any need to get uptight. I've come to enjoy these last few minutes. The slow buildup of anticipation. Watching her get ready was a little like the slow and majestic unfolding of a butterfly out of a chrysalis. The waiting was like the start of so many dates that I had known. Real dates, with real girlfriends. And the truth is, there was never any rush. We had the evening to ourselves. She brushed on her eyeliner. Layered, deep, dark. She was transforming. She was becoming almost unrecognizable as the pretty, sweet girl-next-door that I knew from between my late-night visits. She was becoming the bad girl of my fantasies instead, and she knew it. And I liked it. No, I more than liked it. I relished it, she didn't do this very often. I turned, and set down the wine that I'd brought. I hunted up a pair of wine glasses and a corkscrew. I returned to see her put on her mascara, craning toward the mirror. Her lashes became full and rich and alluring, framing those incredible eyes. First one, then the other. I asked how her day was. I watched those powdered high cheekbones move, and she might as well have been reciting a phonebook, she had me in her thrall. I broke the spell with a shake of my head. I'd better pay at least a little attention to the conversation. I talked about my day, the traffic, the music that I'd been listening to lately. I realized I was staring again. I chuckled quietly to myself, and changed the subject. I fiddled with the wine and corkscrew for a moment, prying loose the cork. I sniffed the cork for a moment. A good vintage. She reached among several tubes of lipstick on her shelf and chose a deep blood red. I stared, transfixed, as she slowly rolled the incarnadine hue over her pursed, bee-stung lips. My imagination ran wild for just a second, and I felt a stirring below. No, that fantasy would become flesh, in not too long. Patience, my little friend. Ever the playful tease, she quickly deduced my situation and gave the front of my pants a little tweak as she brushed past me to the next room. A final brushing away of an errant strand of hair with her fingers, and a quick puff of perfume. She turned toward me and looked just radiant. The grin on my face was threatening to become permanent. I reached out for her and gave her a small hug. "Wine?" We walked into the bedroom. It was the end of the beginning, and the beginning of the end of waiting. She's made a special effort to look good for me tonight. I can't wait to see what she else has in store for me this evening.

Thanks, Cato. I was starting to think I'd lost my touch, along with my readers. ;)

Once upon a very long time ago, I knew this little redheaded girl. She had long curly red hair and creamy skin. A smattering of freckles across her button nose. Her blue eyes bristled with intelligence behind sober spectacles. She was bright, she was funny. She could dress up girly girl but I knew better. She was a tomboy of the first class, and she could out shoot me, out fish me, spin a lug wrench faster than me. We played the same video games, we liked the same movies, we read the same books. We had a lot in common. I would write about her, gentle words I could never say in person to her. She would laugh with a snort if I tried, make fun of me. But somehow she always knew what and when I wrote without my even mentioning it. I liked Red a lot. And she liked me back. But we drifted apart, and I don't know why. We went from being good friends, to just friends, to acquaintances. And one day long ago, I realized it had been a very long time since I'd heard from her. If there has been one thing that this hobby has taught me since, it's that life is full of the moments that memories are made of. And that I should savor them, keep them close to my heart. Be glad I had these moments, and not pine that they have passed by. But I still can't help but think of Red sometimes and wonder what might have been. Wonder where she is. Wonder what she's up to now. .................................................................................................... Years passed. I grew older, if not actually up. And I got on just fine, thank you. That is, I thought I was just fine, until the door swung open one fateful day. Before me stood a little redheaded girl. She had long curly red hair and creamy skin. A smattering of freckles across her button nose. Her blue eyes bristled with intelligence behind sober spectacles. I felt a moment of deja vu, as if I had been teleported back years earlier. I blinked and the feeling that I was there with Red again passed, leaving this stranger standing before me, puzzled by the frozen smile on my face. She did resemble her a little. But as they say, the proof of the pudding is in the tasting. I reached for her, looked into her clear cornflower blue eyes. Our lips touched and our mouths opened slowly, our tongues tripping the light fantastic. I was lost from the first kiss. The years fell away and we started to strip where we stood, frantically pulling at our clothing between kisses. I half kissed, half dragged her to the nearby bed and I pushed her onto it, falling together with her. A momentary pause for the necessary, and we were madly thrusting together, ragged breaths and sighs. Deep groans from me, higher pitched squeals from her. Her hair was flouncing wildly, her face contorted into anguish of the most enjoyable time. She must have seen the same on my face. In a few minutes, it was over. I opened my eyes to see her smiling back at me, dewy perspiration on her brow. I finally spoke. "I'm Birdboy. It's nice to meet you." We laughed at the sudden formality, and that was what truly broke the ice for us. I came back, to my new redheaded friend, a few times over the next few months. We came to get to know each other after a fashion. And I saw that after the surface, the superficial, had been forgotten and she no longer reminded me of Red, she showed flashes of my long lost friend. They had the same quick temper, blowing hot and passing as quickly as a summer storm. They had the same lust and passion for life. They even had a few of the same interests. She came to remind me more and more of Red until I realized it was Carine I now thought of, not Red. The foolish and superficial out there think that this hobby is just about sex. Sure, that is there. And there is companionship, a momentary respite from a lonely existence. But sometimes there's more. Sometimes what you get are not just services, not just anonymous arms holding you briefly. Sometimes what those dollars buy you is a chance to again be that young man I once was, full of hope and innocence. A chance to relive the past, only better. And sometimes, just sometimes, those dreams and fantasies can come true the second time around.

Gee, that was easy. :) Thanks yet again, mod!

Honestly. There is just no making some people happy! ;) Thanks yet again for all your hard work, mod. Perhaps this is out of your sphere of influence, but is there any way that you might be able to make the Escorts-Canada site mobile-friendly also? It would make life so much easier when I'm on the move.....

The full site works on my Android phone now. Thanks so much, mod! Additional Comments: I see that the right side banner ads are no longer animated, so the slowness is gone. Thanks again, mod!

Yes, it is better. I tried it on an iPod Touch and you apparently get the full version now, including the right side animated ads. Yes, the page did seem a little slow. But I thought it was a big improvement over the plain text only mobile site. There's no change on an Android phone, so I'll likely wait till I'm on a full-fledged computer before I view this site. Thanks again.

Posted via Mobile Device Additional Comments: Thanks for the efforts mod, I really do appreciate it. Are you going to make the change for Android phones/tablets as well? Posted via Mobile Device

Thanks for the suggestions, everyone. I'm aware of Tapatalk but I also know it doesn't offer all the features of the full site. No, all I want is to be able to use the option as listed to view the full version. Perhaps this is a bug of the software? Perhaps this is an artifact of not having a full Flash implementation on my mobile device? I wish I knew.

The title says it all. I can't get it to work on either an iPhone or an Android phone. Whenever I select the option to view the full version of the site in my browser it seems to reload the page, then just displays the mobile version of the site. Suggestions, pretty please, anyone?

Once, a long time ago, I used to be the kind of pooner for whom quantity had a quality all its own. I flitted from lady to lady like a butterfly to all the flowers... a rather apt simile. I wanted to sample every flavor in the candy store, say that I could speak with first-hand knowledge of every reputable working lady in my small city. And you know what? It was an empty goal. It was unsatisfying. It was mechanical. It was collecting notch after notch on my bedpost (another unfortunate metaphor) without any joy or satisfaction. To make a long story short, I now poon much less than I once did. But now I try to make every time count. I want every time to be special. So I became a very different kind of hobbyist. I pore over the reviews and posts of prospective ladies and try and gauge compatibility on more than an physical level first. It's almost like real-life dating. I do this because all that previous experience taught me that even great sex with a complete stranger was empty. What gives my current outings much more meaning is when there was that connection. The authentic friendship (albeit with boundaries) that grows organically from repeating with the same lady time after time. Yes, perhaps this means that I've fallen more than was wise. Perhaps it's even been many times. This certainly sounds like it contradicts my 'Advice', doesn't it? But what has made the difference for me is that I can sense now when danger lurks. Not because I care, because that happens rather frequently. But rather when I care too much and want to overflow those boundaries. It's time for me to back off then, mourn the loss. Then move on. Sure, when this happens I could go back to the kind of pooner I was. But if I did, I would lose out on the kinds of experiences I treasure and value. And it's worth the risk.

There was a comment that a lady made elsewhere, on reading my post. It was that you can love someone (in the context of a session) without *being* in love with that person. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I have been truly loved at times in this hobby. I knew it. I felt it. But I knew that love evaporated the moment I walked out that door. I knew she wasn't in love with me. There is a popular belief that the Inuit have many more words for snow than English has, to capture all the nuances of the many forms that mere frozen water can have. And like the Inuit, I think that this business could use more ways to describe love, in its many forms.

So you've fallen hard for a lady in the business. I know where you are, brother. I really do. I've been there too. You're in good company. This has happened to many of us in the hobby, and as much as we like to kid ourselves otherwise, it happens to the ladies too. It's hard to know which is the more powerful desire, the need for sex or the need for love. And it's hard in this hobby sometimes because one feels so much like the other. Falling hard is sneaky because it tends to happen when we lack something in our lives, but it can catch us unaware at the best of times. I'm not likely to tell you something you don't already know or haven't thought about. But since you asked, here are my thoughts in the matter. The ladies work hard to give us what we want. And we work hard to find the ones who are good at giving us what we're looking for. And it is the really good ones that pose the greatest risk, because they give so much of themselves to make you happy. Perhaps she might even have liked you a little more than the next guy. But your time runs out, you leave starry-eyed and wobbly-legged, you leave daydreaming about her. And she might be already on to her next client, who she's already trying to make as happy as you. The good ones do. And that is why you chose her in the first place..... hmmm? I used to think that it was all an act. But I came to realize that that was really selling the ladies short. Because for the good ones, it isn't an act. They really do love what they do and they do enjoy your company. But there must be boundaries to that caring. There just has to be. Otherwise, she wouldn't be able to be good at what she does for the next guy. She has to let it go. And that is what we have to do as well. And at the end of the day, most of us hardly know the lady who's given us so much pleasure. She could be anyone behind those eyes. Anyone. Good, bad, evil, divine. Think about that for a moment. You don't know her, you don't know her baggage. And she will have some, brother, as I know you will have your own. She likely doesn't know you at all either. She would be right to be wary. I'm not saying that it might not work out for the two of you. But the chances are so slim, and the impediments in your way are so large, that lasting happiness is so unlikely. It's truly a shot in the dark, as remote as a lottery win. You asked me for my advice, brother. And mine to you is to have some variety. Keep reading the ads and reviews. Find other ladies who everyone's raving over. Go see them, give them a shot at knocking your socks off. And undoubtedly some of them will. And doing that will give you perspective in this terrible and wonderful hobby of ours. For it's most healthy for you to love the experiences, but not the ladies. I can speak from experience that I know how hard it is to follow this advice, but look in your heart and see if it doesn't ring straight and true. Good luck, brother.

(originally posted 22 Feb 2008 ) Once, long ago, I asked an artist friend about the meaning in some of her abstract art. Bless her art teacher's heart, for she was used to these questions. She grinned, and said that she could only put in half of the full meaning in her art. The rest was brought by the viewer, who viewed it through their own perception and biases, and gave it their own half of the meaning. So it is with this hobby. Our experiences are filtered through our own perceptions, experiences, and circumstances. And chemistry between the two individuals counts for so much. .............................................................................. The world knows me as Birdboy. Purveyor of sweet tales, seeker of sensual experiences. If my smiling face were to show up at your door, we would revel in the simple feel of skin on skin, long lingering kisses, and soft words whispered in your ear, for you and you alone. But one lady knows me in a very different way. I give her a warm hug when I get to her place and listen intently as I ask her how she's been, but that's where the similarity stops. I don't know why, but when I'm with her I'm a bird of a different feather. She brings out the dark side in me, and has from the very beginning. She makes me want to be dirty. When I'm with her, I'm rough. I'm aggressive. I'm rude and crude. I do things to her that I've never imagined wanting to do before to anyone. And I love it, and she loves it from me, her sweet smile beaming up at me as I'm pulling her hair, and more.. She isn't like this with everyone, and I'm like this with no one else. And I don't know where this bird comes from, or where he flys to after I leave her home. But she has awakened a side of me that I never realized I had. ........................................................... The world knows her as Auntie Agony, or Mistress Ilsa. She's the domme's domme. She relishes her role, her every word an exercise in power and control. I've seen her fix that cold gaze, heard the crack of the whip, peeked nervously into her dungeon. She lives for the life, as she lives the life 24/7. But I've never been a client of hers, at least for these services. To me, she'll always just be Marie. And whenever I come by, she melts into my arms, as I give her a long soulful kiss. I stroke her hair and tell her how beautiful she is. And I see the softness in her eyes as we walk side-by-side into her bedroom. I don't want to control her, and she doesn't want to control me. We are equals, and we are friends. We have something special between us, light and delicate as a fresh souffle. And like that souffle, I hold my breath when I'm around. I don't say anything about it for fear of breaking the spell, making that delicate confection fall. But it's magical. ............................................................................................. A much wiser person than me said that something could not brought out from us that didn't already exist there. And he was right. I have a tiny splinter of the crude thug in me, and my domme lady friend has a part of her that wants to feel gently loved and pampered. None of us is one-dimensional. We are all complex, and more than the sum of our parts. And we are all on a long journey of self-discovery, as we travel along this winding road that is life.

I believe I'd forgotten Abby Sciuto from NCIS, as played by Pauley Perrette. Why choose her? Oh, because she punches sooo many buttons. ;)

I'm amazed that it took as long as shymale's post to mention Lara Croft. I'm also amazed that I've never requested a Lara Croft outfit, perhaps that's something to think about in the future. She's been represented by several ladies through the years, and they're all great but Angelina Jolie's rendition is what has stuck in my mind. Just one more pic that I'm sure all you fellow geeks out there will get a laugh out of.

Good question. I have a few. Lena Headley and Summer Glau in a duo, reprising their characters from The Sarah Connor Chronicles would be high up there. And of course, the lovely Carrie Anne Moss (a Canadian!) in her Trinity role from the Matrix movies.

Myself, I'm deeply honored to even be nominated here. Much thanks to the people who voted for me!

I believe I've written about this before. ;) ......................................................................................... Pooner Diaries: Belief (originally posted 9-21-2008 ) There are certain things I believe in. I believe in things of beauty. I believe in the sun setting through cirrus clouds at the end of a long day, casting long shadows amongst flashes of red, orange, and pink. I believe in the fine blonde hairs on the small of my lady's back as she stretches, naked, in the afternoon sun. I enjoy the alien beauty of a perfect white orchid, perched on its long and spindly stem. I believe in the real and enduring. I believe in the camaraderie of my good friends, any of whom would give me the shirt off of their backs. I believe in the sweat on my brow after a hard day working outside, the good ache in my shoulders and back after finishing a job. I savor seeing the fruits of my labour stretch out before me, the concrete and steel coming together to form structures that will endure if not the ages, at least the test of time. I believe in the simple. I believe in plain, forthright speaking. In saying what I mean, meaning what I say and expecting the same from others. Well written and clear instructions. My old Triumph motorcycle. The one which I can and have fixed with a screwdriver, an adjustable wrench and a prayer to the gods of Lucas. The coolness and clean satisfying taste of a cold beer after a long hot hard day. But most of all, I believe in the few things that are all three. I believe in my much beloved old bike, a thing of beauty in chrome and black. I believe in my pretty girlfriend, her faith and affection as solid and enduring as any brick or stone. She has an inner beauty to match her outer beauty. She's smart, she's funny. She's a woman of plain speaking, of simple tastes. Of simple cotton clothes, of her brilliant easy smile and large grey eyes. The light makeup, the sensible shoes she wears as she climbs on the back of my bike for a ride through the countryside and a hearty picnic. I believe in the way we think as one, the way we complete each other's sentences. These are the values that I hold dear. The values which I hold self-evident. These are the compass directions with which I steer through life. And knowing that, is why my hobby puzzles me. For you see, this hobby seems to carry few of these values. I've seen incredible outer beauty and grace. But so many times it's been only skin deep, a thin veneer over inner unsightliness and turmoil. I remember that pretty face that was forever on the edge of breaking into a contemptuous sneer. Another face, large liquid brown eyes with long lashes, thinly covering the deep vacuousness of the space behind them. Still another, full lips with a pleasant smile, distracting me from the words spoken from a dark heart. This hobby is a fantasy. A full-on, technicolor fantasy. As luscious, appealing, and as satisfying as the plastic sushi in the window of my favorite restaurant. I've played the GFE game again and again. It is a fiction spun from her imagination and my wishful thinking, as temporary and transitory as the flash of pleasure at the end of our time. I've somehow grown used to the idea of shallow companionship by the hour, meant to be used up and forgotten. I remember the narrow and constrained 'friendships' that I have so often developed, and only realized in those one hour chunks of time. On the face of it, it seems so simple. Just a simple exchange of cash for services. But there is a proscribed etiquette, a secrecy born of the need for discretion. The off-bounds topics of conversation, often making anything but light conversation difficult. So simple.. yet so complicated. My hobby is a rickety construct in the shadows, a straw house of twigs and branches. A movie set, beautiful on the side you can see, rough and temporary on the side you don't. Insubstantial to a man used to rock, stone, and steel. Waiting for a strong breeze of reality to topple it to the ground. Wondering if it will knock over that which is dear to me. Still, I know why I do this. I know that it fills a need. A need that I'm not having satisfied elsewhere. And I mostly choose not to think about the contradictions between this hobby and the rest of my life. But this is what I choose to do, of my own free will. And I do believe that some day, perhaps soon, I will stop. I will move on from this life. At least that is what I choose to believe.