Paul'S PlacE ❗ ⭕❗⭕ ❗⭕
 
Welcome...
These aggregation of stories,
lampoons and irreverent points of view...
occasionally make sense.
I hope you can share my smile.


Invite heR to that emptY chaiR. risK the blisS.
(* ©April 2018-21 October Paul P. )
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My Private Mail Box 📌
Publié :12/7/2018 9h41
Dernière mise à jour :19/10/2021 15h44
524587 vues
My Private Mail Box Do you have something to share? Send me a private message.
1 commentaire , 86 En cours
Sarah... The FiremeN... and ThingS thaT ChangE witH TimE... 😮❗
Publié :19/10/2021 9h35
Dernière mise à jour :26/10/2021 3h13
3855 vues
I was lucid. Sarah, was a bit tipsy as she lurched out of my car. She grinned and blew me a kiss, then turned around and gave me a 'wiggle' with her tight LEVIS bum. Her house was over on the corner. And that's where she strode, framed like a blue fairy — into the haze of that moonlight glare.

She almost stumbled at her gate then gingerly followed the brown brick path to the backyard. I sat there and watched, you know, to make sure she was safe and all. Then — clamping onto the railing — she slowly climbed those crooked green steps of the veranda. Finally, she'd reached that rickety screen door.

The EXPLOSION blew her right off the porch and flung her tumbling — fortunately — onto the tall green grass of her lawn. She narrowly missed smashing her head on that big old maple tree. My ears were ringing like roaring trains as I ran to her. After the smoke had cleared — and the firemen and paramedics had left — those who were lingering had concluded; it must have been a random gas leak. But I knew a secret and the shocking truth — and it's a story that no one would believe.

It all began last...

"Pardon me."

I was startled by a loud voice and looked up from my laptop.

The man standing in front of me — that guy in the 'Coldplay' t-shirt — had interrupted my finger-clicking thoughts and asked me a question. Did I know if there was an electronics store nearby? Which was a dumb query because THERE it was — in the strip mall, a massive sign within sight of that coffee shop where I sat.

I looked at him... and pointed out the window.

Now, back to my tale.

Damn... I forgot what the fuck... I was about to say. I HATE when that happens, don't you? I must be getting old, but I'm in denial. It'll come to me. 😶

..........

If you remember your passwords, you'll have everything! 😊
18 commentaires
What IF YouR Tiniest DreamS... Became a RealitY... 😊
Publié :9/10/2021 19h21
Dernière mise à jour :25/10/2021 1h06
8817 vues
I see her often — she's my youngest daughter. I hugged her a couple of weeks ago and asked her what was new. She smiled and said to me, "Pa, there's this show next Saturday, at the club," she works there part-time. "Mario, the drummer, asked me to join them for a few songs in their set. We practised — it worked."

But then, she tripped me up. My eyes widened.

"Mario wanted to know if YOU felt like playing drums for a couple of songs. 'Creep' and another by the Chilli Peppers — 'Under The Bridge'.

"Are you kidding?" I said yes — in a split second.

It was past eleven, and that small club was packed and buzzing. The band got up on stage and powered through their set, then Mario introduced my daughter... and welcomed me up to the kit.

In my time, I've played for crowds of thousands, but to say I was a bit nervous — in front of THAT low ceiling — would have been an understatement. My daughter has a powerful voice and has recorded with numerous groups. I wasn't worried about her — I was hoping that I wouldn't fuck up.

BOTH songs kicked so much fricken ass. So pure, with crystal clarity and a perfect mix. Such a smooth beat for a drummer to trip off and a great vibe to get blown away on. But...

The thing was, I was backing up MY daughter — the spotlights were on her; I was smashing out the beat. A couple of hundred people cheered wildly, and her fans and friends screamed. I had a lump choking my throat and had a hard time focusing on anything but hitting my marks. The sound was heart-thumping through-the-soul epic, and my ears were fricken numb and ringing as I walked off the stage.

It was a buzz of a lifetime. DAMN, did it kick ass! Those two songs are legendary and I was so proud of her; but I'm thrilled that I didn't drop my sticks. I guess you had to be there. Life is short.

Drive fast, carry a double-kick in your 'overnight', and fuck the rest. 😎❗

..........

Do you prefer big venues or small clubs?

What IF YouR Tiniest DreamS Became a RealitY
49 commentaires
Some Lessons Are Never Learned... OtherS Take ForeveR To FuckinG MasteR...😮❗
Publié :30/9/2021 7h38
Dernière mise à jour :12/10/2021 18h28
6957 vues
I like irrational speed; I always have. Yet — supposedly — I'm somewhat educated if you consider University schooling worth anything. But I can't get my head around driving slow. In the last month, I've paid a MAMMOTH price for my arrogance. I thought I was above the law.

The first time I ever felt neck warping acceleration was when I was twenty and drove my friend's Porsche. I hit two hundred miles per hour. We blistered down that brilliantly lit highway in a fantastic blur. The sound of whistling wind, the wild vibration — the feeling of imminent danger — tickled my nerves and quenched my brain with endorphins that I couldn't explain. But I grinned.

With cars I've owned, the best I could do is about a hundred and twenty miles per hour; 'limiters' prevented anything more. But it was enough to give me a rush. Many decades have passed, and I thought I'd mellowed — become more responsible — until last month.

I don't know what's tripped me up.

Luck had created a false sense of security. I felt as if I was untouchable. When I saw the red, white and blue flashing lights in my rear-view... my heart sank. For fuck's sake! What a bitch. Nothing to say; no excuses, lesson learned, right? Act your age — fucktard!

Nope... not me.

One week later, different highway, same result. For fuck's sake — NO! But bad luck and stupidity cluster in threes. Sure enough, six days more, and I'm dishing out my driver's license AGAIN. I tried to look sad and remorseful — it's the ONLY thing I could think of.

I guess what I'm saying is, I don't know why they don't have TWO sets of rules.

One set for those who know and love to drive fast — and are capable — and another bunch of rules for everyone else.

Damn, I keep making the same mistakes over and over again. I'm not looking for sympathy, or advice or anything. I love momentum, and I've realized I'm not cut out for this country and its tepid traffic regulations.

Now Germany; they have the right idea. That nation has exclusive lanes — on their autobahns — with NO speed limit.

I'm a bit distraught... and thinking about starting a 'G.o F.und M.e' campaign; 'Driving School Instructor, hoping to make a difference.' 😶

..........

You can't discuss anything with a female cop; they're stone cold.
25 commentaires
FirecrackerS and FrogS... and What the FUCK Did YOU JusT Say... 😮❗
Publié :16/9/2021 16h34
Dernière mise à jour :19/10/2021 9h33
10070 vues
For years, I've seen the end of MY summers marked with NOTHING worthy — except a cluster of ramped-up traffic. Decades, eons ago, I'd look forward to the start of school. You know, reuniting with friends and, of course, that cringe-worthy English assignment — 'What I Did On My Summer Vacation'.

And so that's what I thought about, as I was stuck in wall-to-wall gridlock, on 'Highway 13' driving in from Laval. (*why would you live in Laval unless you couldn't afford to live in Montreal. Yeah, there's the wildlife. I'll have to elaborate at another time.*)

Anyway... in grade two, our nubile teacher, Miss Drummond, was progressive and passionate , and she asked us to step outside the box. "Come on, class. I want to see creative stories and some 'new' vocabulary."

We all looked at each other, rolled our eyes and groaned. But (*you know me*), I did my best to follow her guidelines and came up with this 'take'. I mean, it was a while ago, but this is pretty close to what I think I wrote

................

On the first day of the vacation, mom gave my brother and me a brush-cut. My head felt so light and free.

The next day, we all headed up north to my parent's cottage by the river. That's where we spent nine weeks doing things like swimming, chopping trees, and chasing frogs with firecrackers. We had a lot of fun.

I also met a new friend who taught me how to swear.

On the last day of my vacation, mom took us to fucking 'Walmart' to buy a pair of pants and shoes.

And here I am, sitting in a classroom, writing about what I did all summer. Do you want details? Come see me, and I'll share more stuff with you.

................


Sure enough, Miss Drummond called me over after class. I presumed it was to learn more about those frogs. Funny thing, Miss Drummond was MORE concerned with my vocabulary. My thoughts were; 'Well, why did you ask me to use NEW words if YOU don't like them?'

I recall other summertime images seared into my head — years later. I remember languid evenings as my girlfriend, and I lay there. We were bathed in sweat while a warm breeze tickled our skin — and we watched, as the morning sun first kissed the night.

There's some 'stuff' I'm skipping (*you can imagine*), but I wonder how Miss Drummond would have graded THAT fucking prose. I'm guessing she might have had a few of THOSE salacious recollections herself.

A couple of years later, I paused and tried hard to imagine my Grade Two teacher, Miss Drummond, having sex. (*She was on maternity leave, or so they said*). But, how else would she have had her kid? I'm stuck on the visual. I wonder if she liked doggy. 🤔

................

Do you think your teachers ever had sex in a car?

FirecrackerS and FrogS and What the FUCK Did YOU JusT Say
23 commentaires
The DarE... SomE CoupleS PlaY... Is IT worth IT 😮❗
Publié :15/9/2021 17h40
Dernière mise à jour :2/10/2021 19h18
9792 vues
I would have whispered to her, as she blazed her eyes through me.

I want to drink that scornful smirk right off your face. True, those fucking cute dimples drop anchor — when you grit your teeth. I always watch your eyes widen when I say a bunch of shit that I know trips you up.

No worries, babe; I'm just fucking around. Smile into my mouth and let me taste you. Just close your lids and let's share the shiver. Tell me how much I fucking infuriate you... later.

I dare you.
Tell me to fuck off!

................

Some 'fire and ice' couples have a moment.

The DarE SomE CoupleS PlaY Is IT worth IT
18 commentaires
IvE PaiD for IT... YouVe PaiD for IT — We ALL HavE 😎❗
Publié :7/9/2021 8h28
Dernière mise à jour :12/10/2021 5h27
11873 vues
The lobby of 'The Plaza' bustled quietly; it always did. She stood poised and clutched a petite scarlet purse. Her slim figure — draped in an elegant black dress — forged a stunning contrast against the cream-coloured theme of those boundless renaissance walls.

Ruby lipstick defined a suggestive pout. But men would have been drawn to her smokey eyes; they blazed an enticing beacon through the ambient light of that lavish room.

She waited — patiently.

A gentleman at the far end of the lobby had noticed her invitation. He walked towards her, and with the stealth of a sly Cheshire, whispered. Moist lips parted to answer his question — just as I approached.

Lynn's eyes caught mine and widened. She turned, waved her supple wrist, and spoke to the well-dressed man who had leaned into her ear.

"This is my boyfriend, Paul..."

Before Lynn could utter another word, that gentleman apologized profusely, scurried across the lobby, out the doors — and into the crowded shadows of Fifth Avenue.

I looked at Lynn, then towards the man who had run away. "What the fuck was THAT all about?"

"He thought I was a prostitute and wanted to hire me," Lynn fluttered her lashes and grinned.

"How much did he offer you?"

"I don't know. You showed up."

"Well, maybe I should race after him and find out," I laughed.

We were in New York for the weekend — a lifetime ago — and that's how our evening began. Lynn DID look like a million bucks, and for the rest of the night, we joked about what a rendezvous with her should cost. We never figured on a fee; the numbers Lynn threw at me were bold.

Then again, when I added up the airfare, cab, hotel, drinks, meals and tips — and that carriage ride through Central Park — I wasn't far off her price.

I've never paid to have sex. But if I stand back and look at things differently — I realize I've been paying for puss... I mean carnal pleasures ALL my life.

Oh, and that weekend with Lynn was worth every penny.

................

In 1907, with a modest 50$ per week, a pro would make $85k a year — in today's dollars.
29 commentaires
Blogging For Bucks... The Condom Conundrum... and FrankeeZee... 😎❗
Publié :27/8/2021 10h05
Dernière mise à jour :12/10/2021 5h38
14724 vues
There's been an insane heatwave suffocating most of North America for the last month, have you noticed? I've taken, to enjoy walks in my favourite lakeside park — BEFORE, that red-lava scullion rises in the east. Yesterday, I invited FrankeeZee (*my buddy from another sex site *) to join me; he happily obliged.

A cool breeze had begun to brush the waves when we took a break from our jaunt and sat down on a bench. I shut my eyes and inhaled deep breaths of refreshing air as it caressed and soothed my soul. FrankeeZee clumsily plunked himself down, bumped my elbow, then yanked the laptop out of his knapsack — and began to type.

"Oh, for fuck's sake Frankee, give it a rest. Can't you enjoy the moment without writing your stupid blog?"

"Paul, I have an obligation to my SPONSOR, " he replied, smiling.

"Your blog is sponsored? Who would do THAT and why?"

"Paul, I told you about the purge we had last month or were you paying attention?" Frankee rolled his eyes at me and continued.

"Our website unveiled a more user-friendly version of our blog pages. Half the bloggers fucked off, but the rest of us found sponsors. We had to, or we wouldn't exist.

I looked at FrankeeZee and blinked, "OK, so who sponsors you?"

"I found a major beer conglomerate looking for a top blogger, and we worked out a deal. Ever heard of Bud Light?"

My eyes widened. "Bud Light is your sponsor?"

"No, for fuck's sake. 'Banja Luka Brewery' in Bosnia — is Bud's number one competitor — and THEY hooked up with me. What do you think about THAT?"

I didn't know what to say; I was momentarily speechless.

FrankeeZee's fingers clicked the tiny keys as he raised his head and squinted at me. "Ya know Paul; it's too bad you're such a shitty blogger and a pussy."

"Really, and why is that?"

I heard 'Trojan' is looking to support a Top-Ten blogger. But I don't see your name on that 'list' , and you don't use condoms, do you? You don't even fuck anymore, right?"

I glared at Frankee. Friends, what are they good for, if not for their brutal honesty?

Hmmm... I thought for a second. What IF the Bobs — over at A F F headquarters — wanted to turn 'Blog Land' into a moneymaker? What IF they obliged ALL bloggers to pay for the privilege of blogging?

I've used Trojan rubbers; I'll give them a call. Ya never know — just saying.

The sun's crimson rays peeked above the distant horizon. I slipped on my sunglasses and realized — its beauty was ephemeral — we'd all soon start to burn. FrankeeZee nudged my arm.

"Hey Paul, how do spell purgatory?"

................

A view from the pier as the sun fired up.

Blogging For Bucks The Condom Conundrum and FrankeeZee
34 commentaires
Can Bouzouki MelodieS and GallonS of WhinE... SavE A DatE... 🤔❗
Publié :17/8/2021 9h57
Dernière mise à jour :4/10/2021 16h49
16586 vues
Her brilliant smile and those twinkling eyes had been the alluring snare. I have no CLUE what she saw in me. But there we were, anchored at a vibrant Greek bistro over on Montreal's Fairmount Street.

Thin beams of porcelain light framed every table. We sat cloaked in warm shadows, over at the back of that cheerful room. Bouzouki music weaved lively rhythms and bounced off pastel murals as our black-tied waiter ambled over and raised his pen to his pad. SHE, paused her incoherent rant, and with slurred consideration — announced her order.

"I'll take the 'Seafood Pikilia' and a tiny 'Greek Salad' with a small bowl of tzatziki, on the side. Oh, and I'll have another bottle of white wine. But don't serve the meal just yet."

Then, she turned to me and flashed those luminous teeth; I grinned.

"You want some too?
Ok — TWO bottles of white wine," she concluded.

And THAT'S how our first date had evolved. I excused myself and headed towards the bathroom but veered into the kitchen. (*listen, I'm not a total asshole, but I'd had enough.*) I waved to the cooks, laid a couple of twenties on the stainless steel counter, and walked out the back door.

Slipping through that dark alley, I turned towards the street and reached into my blazer for my phone. For fuck's sake! In my haste, I'd left THAT precious hardware on the leather bench seat — back at the restaurant.

I stopped in my tracks and turned around.

She DID have dazzling incisors and those gleaming eyeballs. But there was more whine coming; a lot more. *Ugh* Second chances rarely work — or do they?

(*addendum : so what do you want me to say? that things worked out; they didn't.
it was a peaceful failure. *)

................

The Greeks invented the orgy but the Romans added women.
48 commentaires
An OPEN InvitatioN... To The BloggerS FarewelL PartY... 😎❗
Publié :3/8/2021 6h07
Dernière mise à jour :12/10/2021 5h41
20762 vues
With the imminent release of the 'NEW Blogger Community' — here on 'A F F' — and the subsequent PROMISE from a multitude of bloggers that THEY will be leaving this site, it's only fair that we throw them a 'going away party', right?

I was on 'Zoom' the other day with the 'Bobs' (*CIO and CEO of A F F*) when the controversial topic of the modifications to the blog pages came up. Bob spit-balled an idea.

"Paul, how's about we throw a bash for all those bloggers who'll be fucking off?" (*although, I think he meant to say — retiring.*)

The other Bob suggested the use of the 'A F F' facilities. They agreed this Friday would be a perfect time, what with the 'NEW' rollout occurring over the weekend. It'll be a BYOB event with a BBQ served over on the back lawn, and a vegan option offered as well.

And with so many empty offices available — due to the recent layoffs — a sleepover is feasible for those who've had a 'few'.

For everyone who can't make it to California, there'll be a live 'Zoom' feed, so ANYONE who logs in — will be able to join the fun. Further details will probably be posted on the A F F Main Page. I'd like to go, but they've gotta open up the fricken Canada - USA border.

There's only one question that remains to be answered; Bob wanted to know the number of parting gifts he should prepare.

"Paul, how many bloggers are going to fuck off and leave Blog Land and how many of THOSE — who say they will — are full of shit?"

I believe what he meant to say was, "Do you think any bloggers will ever leave these pages and find lives elsewhere as enriching and fulfilling as the erotic experience offered here?"

I'm guessing THAT'S what he implied.

I heard a clatter of bottles and watched as Bob stumbled across the room. The other Bob put his glass down, lay his head on the conference room table and fell asleep. I was left watching him snore while I listened to the sound of Bob — throwing up in the bathroom.

................

Bring your own sleeping bag, of course.

An OPEN InvitatioN To The BloggerS FarewelL PartY
51 commentaires
Why Waste Your Time... HereS a Shortcut to Happy Endings... 😊 ❗
Publié :6/7/2021 12h44
Dernière mise à jour :18/8/2021 23h52
18628 vues
*It's hot and it's summer. That 'bug bubble' has burst, and we're all enjoying that shift back to normal. Who's got the time to read a fricken blog — let alone WRITE one? Here's a sample of a shortcut that will save YOU some time and allow your impatient READERS to skip to that elusive 'happy ending'.
Your welcome.*


You know Lynn; she's crazy and wild and a fraction bi-polar. I knew her too well, the way you'd recognize someone by their concealed habits. Lynn enjoyed holding her cup of tea while extending a pinky, just a bit off to the side. It was always entertaining and a challenge to read her mood as I watched that little digit assume an angle. I wasn't shocked or even surprised when Lynn looked up — put her cup down — and asked me her question.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit? Vestibulum auctor porta commodo. Fusce aliquam eros tortor. Donec messed up metus quis cursus scelerisque. Suspendisse vel orci mattis diam elementum fringilla. Proin tempor malesuada diam messed up more eu semper.

Sed vitae purus et leo lobortis ornare semper sed lorem. Cras sed libero sed sem hendrerit fringilla convallis et lacus. Maecenas est messed up most lacus, faucibus ac ultricies porta, tempor eget dui.

The sirens were silenced. I couldn't believe Lynn had convinced those policemen to walk back to their patrol cars and drive away. And I couldn't help but smile as I teased Lynn — waving her panties and those handcuffs in the air. Was there another way to look at it? lol 😂

.......................


I guess we'll never know what really happened. But seriously — who cares? Go enjoy the weather.
25 commentaires
Sweaty Sticky Ball Slapping Sex... And Other Summer Pastimes... 😎❗
Publié :29/6/2021 11h13
Dernière mise à jour :18/8/2021 23h54
21095 vues
Sweaty, sticky, balls-slapping sex, cleaning a bathroom tub, and beach volleyball are three things that don't interest me in the least when the 'humidex' nudges over a hundred degrees. I came to THAT conclusion many years ago. Late last night, I was reminded again of how I'd arrived at my opinion.

I don't have air conditioning in my home; with the fresh breezes that flow and blow through the rooms of my abode, I never bothered. And, I have a fan strategically placed to provide me with all the witching hour wind I need for sleep. Those whirling propellers serve me well — except when they don't.

A power failure brought my spinning blades to a silent standstill.

Electricity — in my part of the world — is driven by cheap and reliable hydro that NEVER goes down; OK, occasionally. Now tell me; how can anyone survive THIS — smouldering, sweltering, smelter (*try saying that fast, five times*) — without power? I needed a plan to cool off.

So there I stood — naked, in front of my huge living room window (*it was dark, and no one could see me *) — and gulped in the faint wisps of lava air that fluttered in. My silly neighbour, the one who walks her Shih Tzu at midnight, paused next to that moonlit maple tree on my lawn. I would have noticed sooner, but my eyes were shut. I held them that way until her dog barked and... *uhh*... startled me. Facetiously, I waved — surprisingly, 'Shih Tzu lady' waved back. For fuck's sake!

I stepped away from my window and gave up.

'Plan B' found me driving around in my frozen car, where the AC worked fine, and the music was loud, and I could breathe. Life was great again. While I waited for the power to come back, I wondered, what did people do before electricity?

In winter, I can see myself — going 'old school' and — throwing a log in the fire to warm up, but in this inhuman inferno? I'm moving an air mattress to my deck 'next time' — if there is one. Perhaps it's just me, but I can't take the heat. I'd probably wither and perish if I lived in Florida or Arizona.

Oh yeah, and herding cattle; that's another thing I wouldn't do.

Am I alone on this one?

.......................


Sex on a beach — sure. And the drink is fine too.
44 commentaires
What.S The Point Of Being A Man... If You Can.T Do This...🤔❗
Publié :22/6/2021 10h07
Dernière mise à jour :19/8/2021 10h29
24605 vues
Technology and fancy gadgets have tickled my impressions many times over the decades. But there are glitches in some of those 'new things' out there. The other night SHE popped out, in one of those 'new things' —and froze everything.

Her stylish burgundy car had gridlocked EVERYONE in that parking lot. I was 'jammed,' so I walked to the scene to survey the situation.

The lady with the lifeless car (*and the long legs and tight black skirt*) sat there, her door ajar. I watched as she bent her knees and — with the polish of a Hollywood star — slid out of her leather seat, then planted her stilettos into the white shimmer of those overhead street lights. She slammed her door, hung up her phone, and casually — looked around at ALL of us.

I should have added; I was one person, in a small HERD of men — ready to help. One of us asked her a useful question, "What seems to be the trouble?"

"It's an electric car. It just died. It's completely 'fricken' dead."

We nodded as if we knew what the fuck she was talking about. The mechanic in our group suggested to her that she open the hood and put on the emergency flashers; he'd take a look. It was useless. Nothing worked or even opened, and I mean absolutely NOTHING.

As I turned to walk back to my car, another gallant man moved closer. He blemished the personal space of that ruby-lipped lady and offered HIS professional advice. She waved her arms in the air and smiled.

I started my engine and headed for an escape through a little-known back alley. I also concluded — I'm not ready for an electric vehicle until they get all the bugs out. Flashing lights from a tow truck momentarily blinded me as I paused to let it by. And that herd of men? They lingered; to supervise, I presumed.

.......................


Do they still make them like they used to?
45 commentaires

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