Love Over Lotions

Image: Author with his Wife, Moving into Natural life

It’s true, thanks to the colorist, the first touch of winter’s grey has been disguised, and it’s true, too, lines are forming about the corners of her eyes, but she is a woman more beautiful than any words of love can describe.
A body no longer adorned or shaped by Givenchy. Her breasts, once firm, no longer point immodestly. Once maintained by discipline and challenging physical workouts, the curves and contours of her body are now content with long walks between the morning bath and the darkness.

In the bedroom she remains wholly who she is; a woman having done…


There’s not much to know. I’ve been fortunate. Now I write.

Image: Author

My life began beneath a shrub on a roundabout in Gants Hill, Essex, U.K. (No, I’m not Moses!) I was found by a young couple leaving the Odeon cinema having spent their evening watching a Spencer Tracy movie, Edward, My Son.

With no parents claiming me, I was put up for adoption, and subsequently placed at a Dr. Barnardo’s Red House Orphanage, Ripon, in the west riding of Yorkshire. I was two years old.

At 5 years old, I had not yet been adopted. (Go figure, right?) Barnardo’s mandate at that time was to care for orphaned children aged 2–5…


In short, my writing experience

Image: Author 2002

Writing, for me, is not the culmination of a boy’s lifelong dream. My first attempt at writing a book began in 2002 and took five years to write. That is persistence. It was rejected by everyone who got to read it. The publisher doesn’t exist that hasn’t denied this work. Today, I can boast, not one of those publishers regrets their decision.

That book remains the most incredible book I ever wrote. It is the greatest because it was my first genuine attempt to write a beginning, middle, and end. …


Dating knickerless women.

Photo by Dainis Graveris on Unsplash

Did you ever ask yourself why arthritis attacks the joints you care most about? I ask this sitting here with a double whisky chaser contemplating my future — having today been fired from my part-time job for a trivial matter — stationary theft and tea money fraud — and considering starting up a business on my own. I’m old, needing spectacles to read, losing my hair, and cultivating ways to farther extend my belly. My hobbies are playing air guitar — Money For Nothing — and Butt-Kissing — which I’ve perfected since age twelve. I’m a man of little dreams…


Sharing my experience of writing

Photo by Amin Moshrefi on Unsplash

I believed, like any beginning novice writer, I would be a writer apart from other writers. Therefore, I could not embrace other writers because I believed, falsely, that I held some secret. In the end, of course, that secret was nothing more than my ego at work.

There is a chasm of difference between believing oneself a writer and knowing how to write. …


I lost Daniel and his mother, both casualties of the Estonia Ferry Disaster, September 28, 1994.

Daniel was fourteen years old. He was an adult. He was my son. No boy was ever born who loved the sea more than Daniel; he wasn’t born for any other reason than to wade into the water, and should have been born here, on the rocks of the Mendocino shoreline, and not within the crumbling asbestos walls of a maternity hospital in Oban, Scotland.

He arrived in the world weighing 8lbs and 14oz.

Until he was five years of age, Daniel wasn’t a child you could love more than any other child, but after his fifth birthday, that…


Heads or Tails?

Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash

That summer in Tobermory, I fished and crabbed behind the harbor wall or from the pier, and sometimes I took a rowboat out into the harbor. But mostly, I headed to the lighthouse. That summer was a typical affair if I don’t count the arrival of Lim-Tom, moving to the island from Sterling. Lim-Tom was Korean. It was my introduction to people who didn’t act, think, and look like me, white, dumb, and Scottish. There were, that I can recall, no intellectuals living on the island. Well, there was a young Jack Rafferty who always did well in exams. He…


Throwing in the towel

Source

Is America going through its worst moral crisis? If it is, it is a crisis that has a connection to every other dilemma the country faces — that of the rising crime rate, increasing drug usage, and the trend towards sexual irresponsibility. On Medium, I receive, on a good day, 20 views and 12 reads. I authored a story called ‘My First Threesome Experience.’ It received over 8000 views and still 12 reads! When opened, the story is about golf! What did readers want to read? I wonder. Sure, I could expect, as an author, that click bating brings what…


A Sausalito siren.

Photo by Stas Svechnikov on Unsplash

There is an energetic beauty to her face, set off by that perfection of cheekbones and fair hair, of which a few strands are escaping, causing her to sweep them from the corners of her mouth. I saw her; it was an evening in Sausalito, spied through a mesh of yacht masts. I could not help but notice the poetry of her movement, the dance of shoulder blades, and the unintentional wiggling of her lower posterior.

But it is her modesty, a trait which makes a man leap up to observe the serenity of her passing. A woman at ease…


I know, I am one.

Photo by Andrew Coop on Unsplash

People are sensitive about extra-marital affairs, but not me. I’m able to relate to women in a manner other men envy. This first showed itself when a teenager, seduced by a mature woman. She took great care in showing me how to please a woman. Today I live for the impetuous softness of touch, the tears of summer nights, the shudders of forbidden excitement. I’m an adorer of female breasts. It’s not a crime.

I think of myself as more a nurse than seducer; injecting charm and mystery into the veins of women who live without desire and adoration and…

Harry Hogg

I was born in London, adopted, lived my youth on an island off the west coast of Scotland. I now live in California. I write to travel.

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