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Silverfoxesclub-digest In this issue:
-Humor
---------------------------------------------------------------------- Sean and Jason were in a bar, and they went into the toilet to take a leak. While standing at the urinal Sean confessed, "I wish I had a dick like my cousin James. He needs four fingers to hold his." Jason looked over and pointed out, "But you're holding yours with four fingers."
"I know," said Sean, "but I'm peeing on three of them."
A man seeing flashing red and blue lights in his rear view mirror pulls to
the side of the road. A minute or so after coming to a stop, a police
officer
approaches the car.The man says, "What's the problem officer?"Officer: You
were going 75 miles an hour in a 55 mile an hour zone. I'm afraid I'm going
to have to ticket you.Man: No sir, I was going a little over 60.Wife: Oh,
Harry. You were going at least 80! [The man gives wife dirty look.]Officer:
I'm also going to give you a ticket for your broken tail light.Man: Broken
tail light? I didn't know about a broken tail light!Wife: Oh Harry, you've
known about that tail light for weeks! [The man gives his wife another a
dirty look.]Officer: I'm also going to give you a citation for not wearing
your seat belt.Man: Oh, I just took it off when you were walking up to the
car. Wife: Oh, Harry, you never wear your seat belt!The Man turns to his
wife
and yells, "For cryin' out loud, can't you just shut up?!"The officer turns
to the woman and asks, "Ma'am, Does your husband talk to you this way all
the
time?"Wife says, "No officer, Only when he's drunk." Here in the uk we are hearing of Robert Wagner (Hart to Hart) being bi-sexual and of course there was Earl Mountbatten of Burma and Montgomery of Alamein. Not forgetting Lord Baden-Powell who wrote "Scouting for Boys", did he realise the pun?
Hugs Australians too are indebted to the Gurkhas for their courage and help during WWII. I believe that they served in most theartes of war in South East Asia.
Frank I love stories from times past which sound as though they had been written for publication today. They bring me close to the past in a way which makes the past the present in my mind, proving that what has gone before still goes on. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. The only thing setting me apart from the past is a tenuous veil of time, which stories like the below sweep aside to reveal my oneness with the eternality of being gay. I was there before yesterday; I am here now today; I will endure beyond tomorrow. In this, I am a clone. I am in touch with Petronius through his work, and thus, I am in touch with myself. Some say the worst a man may be called is gay; I say it is the best. Long live the Gay Gene! Gaius Petronius (died 66 A.D.), the author of the Satyricon, was the emperor Nero's advisor in matters of luxury and extravagance (his unofficial title was "arbiter elegantiae"). As befitted his office, he slept days and partied nights. He was a lover of style, manners, and literature, and his personality was characterized by freedom, a lack of self-consciousness, a loose tongue, and an attitude. A rival's jealousy turned Nero against Petronius, and he was forced to commit suicide. However, before his death, he lampooned Nero in his will and sent the emperor a copy. The Satyricon is a novel which describes the mores of Roman society in the reign of Nero. Encolpius, "the gay, unprincipled profligate, but never altogether worthless, narrator of the story" (as Oscar Wilde calls him) is travelling with his two companions, Ascyltos ("his comrade and rival, as immoral and good for nothing as the other, but without his redeeming touch of gentle-manliness") and Giton ("the minion, changeable and capricious, with his pretty face and wheedling ways"). They encounter Eumolpas, an old libidinous poet, who regales them with his amorous adventures, given here in the lively translation attributed to Oscar Wilde.
Before long I was allowed to take the young man to the gymnasium; it was I that directed his studies, I that guided his conduct, and guarded against any possible debaucher of his person being admitted to the house. "It happened on one occasion that we were sleeping in the dining-hall---the establishment having closed early as it was a holiday, and our amusements having rendered us too lazy to retire to our sleeping-chambers. Somewhere about midnight I noticed that he was awake; so whispering soft and low, I murmured a timid prayer in these words, 'Lady Venus, if I may kiss this youth, so that he know it not, to-morrow I will present him with a pair of doves.' Hearing the price offered for the gratification, he set up a snore. So approaching him, where he lay still making pretence to be asleep, I stole two or three flying kisses. Satisfied with this beginning, I rose betimes next morning, and discharged my vow by bringing the eager young man a choice pair of doves. "The following night, the same opportunity occurring, I changed my petition, 'If I may pass a naughty hand over my young friend, and he not feel it, I will present him for his complaisance with a brace of the best fighting cocks ever seen.' At this promise he came nestling up to me of his own accord, and was actually afraid, I think, lest I might drop asleep again. I soon quieted his uneasiness on this point, and amply satisfied my longings, short of the supreme bliss, on every part of his beautiful body. Then, when daylight came, I made him happy with the gift I had promised him. "As soon as the third night left me free to try again, I rose as before, and creeping up to the rascal, who was lying awake expecting me, whispered at his ear, 'If only, ye Immortal Gods, I may win of this sleeping darling full and happy satisfaction of my love, for such bliss I will tomorrow present him with an Asturian stallion of the Macedonian strain, the best to be had for money, but always on the condition he shall not feel my violence. Never did the pretender sleep more sound. So first I handled his plump and snowy bosoms, then kissed him on the mouth, and finally concentrated all my ardours in one supreme delight. Next morning he sat still in his room, expecting my present as usual. Well! you know as well as I do, it is a much easier matter to buy doves and fighting cocks than an Asturian; besides which, I was afraid so valuable a present might rouse suspicion as to the real motives of my liberality. After walking about for an hour or so, I returned to the house, and gave him a kiss---and nothing else. He looked about inquiringly, then threw his arms round my neck, and 'Please, sir!' he said, 'where is my Asturian?' Although by this breach of faith I had closed against myself the door of access so carefully contrived, I returned once more to the attack. For, after allowing a few days to elapse, one night when similar circumstances had created just such another opportunity for us as before, I began, the moment I heard the father snoring, to beg and pray the young man to be friends with me again---that is to let me give him pleasure for pleasure, adding all the arguments my burning concupiscence could suggest. But he was positively angry and refused to say one word beyond, 'Go to sleep, or I will tell my father.' But there is never an obstacle so difficult audacity will not vanquish it. He was still repeating, 'I will wake my father,' when I slipped into his bed and took my pleasure of him in spite of his half-hearted resistance. However he found a certain pleasure in my naughty ways, for after a string of complaints about my having cheated and cajoled him and made him the laughing-stock of his friends, to whom he had boasted of his rich friend, he whispered, 'Still I won't be so unkind as you; if you like, do it again.' So forgetting all our differences, I was reconciled to the dear chap once more, and after utilizing his kind permission, I slipped off to sleep in his arms. But the rascal was not satisfied with only one repetition, all ripe for love as he was and just at the time of life for passive enjoyment. So he woke me up from my slumbers, and, 'Anything you'd like, eh?' said he. Nor was I, so far, indisposed to accept his offer. So working him the best ever I could, to the accompaniment of much panting and perspiration, I gave him what he wanted, and then dropped asleep again, worn out with pleasure. Less than an hour had passed before he started pinching me and asking, 'Eh! why are we not at work?' Hereupon, sick to death of being so often disturbed, I flew into a regular rage, and retorted his own words upon him; 'Go to sleep,' I cried, 'or I'll tell your father!' Sent to me by a friend in France: Samuel Barber's first major orchestral work began on a trip to Europe with Menotti. It was to be a piano concerto, and Barber laboured hard over it through that summer. Letters home bemoaned its sluggish progress. But it is fascinating to note from the Heyman biography that this summer spent with Menotti was Barber's most joyous and, frankly, amorous period in his life. Yet, productivity sank tremendously. Based not only on speculation but on Barber's subsequent patterns of behaviour, an inevitable conjecture would be that the composer's work was at its most passionate and productive during times of solitude, isolation, even despair. Barber treasured his times with Menotti more than any other, and yet he would force himself to seclusion when called upon by commissions and the like. This line of behaviour speaks a great deal about every composer's plight. Sidney Homer had warned of it; the "heart-breaking, almost appalling labour" of baring one's soul was the price of greatness.
An interesting and informative site: End of silverfoxesclub-digest V1 #258
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