A Very Post-Modern Tweak

Strange Dream #22

A Noon Sun sets over Jamaica Plains as the F-Train rocks
its way to The Village.

I sit quietly with a large seductive bag between my knees
and survey the Burroughsian landscape.

Then I look up and check my companions:

To my left is the slave boy from The Satyricon and to my right
is Marnie from the Birds.

The woman across from me shoots a bright Diana Ross sort of smile.

The E-Train screams to a halt and I quickly sing my farewells.

RG 2015-2016





Warning: this post contains sadomasochistic erotica and may be triggering to people with a history of trauma. (Although I don’t consider it especially erotic)

Night Clubbing
Night Clubbing

Felicity and Roger danced at the fashionable Club Uranus in the fashionable
Warehouse District of fashionable San Francisco.

They had disguised themselves as nothing and they were dismayed when
everyone noticed.

Friends who hadn’t spoken to them in years remarked they should be
nothing more often.

“You look so relaxed!” shrieked the man that Roger was whipping.

Felicity dragged Roger to the dance floor.

“Felicity.” whispered Roger.

“What!” She was desperate for fun.

“I don’t like being nothing.”

“You’re nothing and there’s nothing I can do about it! Enjoy yourself!”

Roger put on a pout: “But I can’t!”

“Then you’re a baby.”

Roger jumped and clapped, “I knew you’d think of something!”

He removed his clothes and curled up on the dance floor.

“Oh look!” cried a little man in a flannel nighty, “Another baby!”

He crawled to Felicity and yanked on her dress: “Can I play, can I play!?”

Felicity was disgusted.

She gave the little man a withering look.

“Get up this instant or Mommy will kill your surprise!”

The little man gazed up at Felicity with wide eyes and said: “I’m a good boy Mommy.
Let me have the surprise!”

“Very well,” she smiled

Felicity removed one of her stiletto heels and beat the little man on the head.

“No Mommy! No!”

“Bad! Bad! Boy!”

The little man soon fainted and her fun was over.

Roger grabbed her by the waist when Felicity returned. “I love it when you play bad
Mommy.” He said.

“I hope I didn’t kill him.” She giggled.

Roger examined the people who applauded as the little man moaned and bled.

“I bet they don’t.”

Rob Goldstein (c) 1992




GOSEx (2)

GOSEx (2)



Bright Eyes: You have a beautiful name, Felicity.

Felicity: Thank you. I was named after my Mother’s favorite pastime.

Bright Eyes: (coughs) How old are you?

Felicity: Thirty-something.

Bright Eyes: I’m 21. My birthday was yesterday.

Felicity: Happy Birthday. Do you want a present?

Bright Eyes: Sure. Do you got a picture? Or how ’bout that thing you’re named for?

Felicity: I’ll have to wrap it.

Bright Eyes: You’re so sweet! What do you look like?

Felicity: Black hair in a long faux hawk. I’m 5’8, I weigh 115 pounds and my measurements are 32,22,33. And you?

Bright Eyes: I’m 6 feet tall, 200 pounds, I can bench 300 x six reps, and I got black hair in a box cut…And I like to have fun. Did you wrap that gift?

Felicity: What’s a box cut?

Bright Eyes: A high top fade.

Felicity: What’s a high top fade?

Bright Eyes: It’s a kind of cut where hair grows high on top of your head and low on the sides?

Felicity: Like Vanilla Ice?

Bright Eyes: Sorta, but not that old. So I like to hug and kiss my woman and get close…Is that ok?

Felicity: What else?

Bright Eyes: I like to wine ‘n dine ’em.

Felicity: And…

Bright Eyes: If the night is right I get romantic.

Felicity: And…

Bright Eyes: Top the night off with 12 hours of pure sweet love! –Yeeeeehaaaw! I think I got myself off.

Felicity: I’m not even close. R U still there?

Bright Eyes: Hard to type. You were great baby. Gotta run.

Felicity: What about me?

Bright Eyes: Laters…

RG 2015


GOSEx (1)

GOSEx (1)


Bright Eyes: I want to know how you watched your parents. Very fascinated!

Felicity: My father was a mustard salesman.

Bright Eyes: What do you mean, mustard salesman?

Felicity: I mean he sold his goods door to door. Shall I go on?

Bright Eyes: Yes!

Felicity: I was making some lunch and went to the green house to get a jar of mustard and the door to my parent’s room was open.

Bright Eyes: Yes…Wait! Green house?

Felicity: What are you doing?

Bright Eyes: Nothing yet…What are you doing?

Felicity: If you’re yanking yourself I’m not telling any more.

Bright Eyes: Ever go phone?

Felicity: My husband is home.

Bright Eyes: OK — So what happened?

Felicity: My Dad was in his mid-thirties…He was a fireman.

Bright Eyes: I thought he sold mustard!.

Felicity: Mustard was a hobby!

Bright Eyes: When you saw them, what did you do?

Felicity: My Mother, she was moaning…

Bright Eyes: And…?

Felicity: Suddenly my Dad stopped–

Bright Eyes: Then?

Felicity: He stuck his head under the sheets.

Bright Eyes: They were under the sheets?

Felicity: My dad believed in manners.

Bright Eyes: How old were you?

Felicity: Four.

Bright Eyes: Wow! And you remember all this?

Felicity: It’s one of the few memories I have of my beloved parents.  They died a few days later.

Bright Eyes: Were they in a wreck or something?

Felicity: They died separately.

Bright Eyes: Separate wrecks?

Felicity: Yes. As separate wrecks.

RG 2015