License to Thrill

(What follows is a reprint of a previous writing of mine that appeared in The Gorean Voice, which I co-created and served as editor for a few years or on my previous blog - The Bear Bitch Project. The webzine is long defunct, and the archives of the site are sadly incomplete, but it pleases me to present my thoughts then, to my audience here. As always, if you have a question or comment, use the e-mail link in my profile down there somewhere.)




Little Jimmy is excited and happy today. Today is his 16th birthday and he is being taken by his mother to the Drivers License Facility in his town. He has a car, a broken-down old Ford given to him by his father that he has worked on since he was 14. Today, all clean and polished, it sits in
the driveway, awaiting the return of its young owner, who is proud to bursting of his new ability to drive. He will be responsible with it; keeping it clean, lubricated, and well-cared for, so that it will serve well him when he needs it to.

Little Jimmy is excited and happy today. Today he takes his driver's test and will get his driver's license.

Scott and Madeline are excited and happy today. Today is the day they will prepare for their upcoming wedding. Scott and Madeline have been living together for the last three years, exchanging good and bad times, along with a large quantity of bodily fluids. They have come to know, depend and love one another. They will be responsible to one another, they will care for one another when ill, hurt and in pain. They do this, so that their love will serve them well when they need it to.

Scott and Madeline are excited and happy today. Today they take their blood test and will get their marriage license.

Dan is excited and happy today. Today is the day he will go to his favorite gun shop and purchase the new Glock pistol that he has wanted for the last three months. The owner of the gun shop, despite the restrictions against it, has let him fire a few rounds through it, even though he did not have the correct identification to do so. Dan then applied for and received his Firearm Owners Identification card today. He will keep his pistol clean and well-oiled. Dan will do this so that the pistol will serve him well when he needs it to.

Dan is excited and happy today. Today he has a license to own a firearm.

Orville is excited and happy. Last night, he found a new IRC channel on the Internet, something about a tavern and "Gor". He is not quite sure as yet what it is all about. Someone there with a funny squiggle in front of their name suggested he go read a web page, but when he went
there it seemed to be an awful lot to read, so he ignored it. Hell, it is only IRC, it can't be *that* hard. Confident that he can role-play with the best of them, he 'enters' the channel and keys his popup letting others read a description of him in terms that would make Conan feel inadequate. It takes a full minute for him to type the description of all the weapons that he sets sheds next to the chair he pulls up to the bar. He puts his Reeboks up on the bar and loudly asks if any free slave girl without a collar could please serve him paga, if it is not too much trouble, please.

Orville is excited and happy today. Today, he feels he is truly a Gorean Warrior.

Doris is excited and happy. Last night she stumbled into a channel on IRC, something about "Gorean training", where all the girls were slaves and the men were doms. She was told to immediately change to a lower case nick and to kneel. She was thrilled and did so. Soon, she was chatting with the owner and his 'first girl/trainer'. They told her she was now 'in training' and would wear a collar with the initials of the channel and a little "t" after the {}. This 'first girl' explained in whispers that there was much to learn, and that they would have to get to it sometime soon, but that she should have fun and 'serve the masters' for now. Doris was not sure what this meant, but was willing to try. Doris was thrilled to be promoted fom 'trainee' to 'full kajira red silk' last night due to her helping the channel owner slay someone in another channel with his soul-sucking sword. She was happy to help, going in and causing a ruckus in that other channel.
Besides, she hadn't played Dungeons and Dragons since she was 14 and the owner was kind of cute with his pointed ears, like Mr. Spock. She was eager to learn more, but was not too worried, for the 'firstgirl/trainer' had told her that if she messed up really bad, she could always log on
with another name, claim to be her own daughter and tell everyone that "mommy" had died and therefore would not be coming back. The 'firstgirl/trainer' assured her that this would work every time and that she could then come back to "gor" with another name and again be 'slave'. Doris
wanted, in her heart, to be just that.

Doris is excited and happy today, for today Doris feels she is truly kajira.

Orville and Doris are both excited and happy. Tonight they found one another, and hit it off well. Orville begged her to 'wear his collar' in whispers, and she thought that although he did not have pointy ears, he was cute, too. All big rippling muscles. So she said: "Okay, but you can't
collar any more girls." Orville quickly agreed and told Doris he loved her and always would. Doris told Orville she loved him and always would. They prepared to make their life together, on IRC, each in their own little world. Soon, they would hurt one another, and they would lie to one
another, and they would speak ill of each other to those who would listen. Soon, Orville would accuse Doris of 'destroying his honor' when he catches her netsexing the owner of the training channel. He will be slain be the pointy-eared one, his soul sucked into oblivion forever, or at least until he can get nickop to give him a new nickname.

But tonight, Orville and Doris are happy. For they are both sure that he is a "Gorean Warrior" and she is a "kajira" and that they will always be together in love and in Gor. 

One needs a license to drive a car, so as not to cause harm to others.

One needs a license to get married, so as not to cause harm to unborn.

One needs a license to own a gun, so as not to harm others.

One needs no license to pretend to be what one is not. No matter what the danger to others


I wish you well.

For my Mother

Every Christmas eve; for you, Mom.

On Monday, October 27th, 1997 at 6 pm, I held my mother's hand as she died.

     I inherited much from my mother. From her, I got my love of books. It is true that both of my parents thought reading was important. My father bought me a tiny desk, the first piece of furniture I can remember as "mine" outside of my crib, and they would carry it into the living room a few times a week to go over letters and their sounds. I came to look forward to this, and by kindergarten I was reading at a third grade level. My parents taught me to read, but it was my mother that gave me the love of the written word. She would seldom be without a book, and in my later years, I found myself emulating this. She often told me I could do whatever I wanted, that the world was open to me, all that was needed was to work hard and to go to school. I took her at her word. The world was mine. For a time.

On Monday, October 27th, 1997 at 6 pm, I held my mother's hand as she died.

     From my mother I inherited my sense of humor. My father is serious man, not too prone to laughter for laughter's sake. My mother was just the opposite. She would make wicked comments about the things we saw on TV, while I played in the laundry basket at the foot of her ironing board. She bought me, one year, record albums by George Carlin and Richard Pryor. Some may have thought I was perhaps too young to hear the "salty" talk that was contained in those grooves, but she sat with me, laughing. She was not ashamed of the words, nor the hypocrisy they pointed out, and she wished to expose me to the things she loved. She caused me to be the person I am today.

On Monday, October 27th, 1997 at 6pm, I watched my father break down.

     He is not a weak man. He simply confronts the issue that now he must live the rest of his life without the mate whom he chose to be with. His own health is failing, and I fear for him. I spend time with him now, trying to assure him that his life will again be full.

On Monday, October 27th, 1997 at 6pm, I held my mother's hand as she died.

     I want to die in a field of tall grasses. With the wind in my hair. The sunset in my eyes, as the moon rises. 

In my right hand, I want steel and gold, in my left, I want grass and earth.

On Monday, October 27th, 1997 at 6pm, I held my mother's hand as she died.

     There are many ways, I think, for one to be a warrior...

Bear-

Read: Bear has NETSEX!!

(What follows is a reprint of previous writing of mine, some of it more than a decade old, that appeared in various places including "The Bear Bitch Project" and The Gorean Voice, which I co-created and served as editor for a few years. The webzine is long defunct, and the archives of the site are sadly incomplete, but it pleases me to present my thoughts then, to my audience here. As always, if you have a question or comment for me, use the e-mail link in my profile down there somewhere.)


Welcome! 

Yes, It's true!

After years and years I finally broke down and had *hot*, *sticky* netsex with someone on Yahoo. In the pursuit of total honesty in all of my Gorean dealings in this venue, I present you the log so you too can read about it *just as it happened*!

You might want to chase the kids out of the room.

There I was, perusing web sites when my Yahoo messenger pops up with this little gem...

hastizie11: hi.... anyone there? 
Bear0far: Yes?
hastizie11: ooh your there hi... 
Bear0far: waits
hastizie11: a/s/l (qge sex location)? 
Bear0far: Nope. Did you want something?
hastizie11: im 27/f/USA. was lookin at your profile. thought you might like to chat. 
hastizie11: so what have you geen up to bear0far? 
Bear0far: Dunno bot, what about you? ;0)
hastizie11: : 
Bear0far: 1
hastizie11: cool. i was just hangin out watching tv. i was getting kinda horny (*blushes) 
Bear0far: 2
hastizie11: feel like a little cybber fun with me ? please please... 
Bear0far: Your mother was a hamster.
hastizie11: i think iill just take that as a yes... being as that im starting to get real horny here.. lol ok? 
Bear0far: waits
hastizie11: alright how bout i get down on my knees in front of you and help you out of your pants? 
hastizie11: tell me what you want me to do with you 
while i slip out off my panties 
Bear0far: I want you to do my taxes.
hastizie11: oh yeah babe.. dont stop. while i slide my hannd down between my legs and part my moist lips 
Bear0far: And then you can wax my car.
hastizie11: oh it feels so good. Im holding your pulsing @#%$ in my hand,, my shiny red fingernails dig gently into your balls, while my full, soft lips engulf the mass of your meat 
Bear0far: After that, perhaps you can find a new left-handed pitcher for the Cubs, they really need one.
hastizie11: open my website so you can look at me while im sucking you. use the link in my prrofile! 
Bear0far: You know, my grass needs mowing as well.
hastizie11: what do you think of myy pics? 
Bear0far: I have pics of your hamster mother, you know.
hastizie11: i have some pics on my homepage the link is in my profile, still working on ot ... 
Bear0far: Listen, do you know how to clean out a septic tank? 
hastizie11: @#%$ the phone. dont stop strroking it. hold on... 
Bear0far: To the septic tank? It is rather large.
Bear0far: whistles merrily while he waits
hastizie11: sorry, I have to take this call, probly take bout five minutes. If you want, come to my page and lets finish this. I have my cam on there cyberfungirls dotcom look for me on there 
Bear0far: Does this mean I do not get my septic tank cleaned?
Bear0far: Wait! Don't go! Ooooo, my poor septic tank, it's so *full* and *swollen*....

*sob*.

Another *wasted* internet romance.

Let this be a warning to all of *you*.

;0)

Bear-

Recipe for kajira

(What follows is a reprint of previous writing of mine, some of it more than a decade old, that appeared in various places including "The Bear Bitch Project" and The Gorean Voice, which I co-created and served as editor for a few years. The webzine is long defunct, and the archives of the site are sadly incomplete, but it pleases me to present my thoughts then, to my audience here. As always, if you have a question or comment for me, use the e-mail link in my profile down there somewhere.)


"This girl has always been annoyed how the books will talk of with the right diet and excersize a girl is transformed into beautiful slave..."

Okay girls, for all of you worried about diets and Gorean slavery, here it is.

Here is a recipe that you can whip up yourselves, using ingredients that I'll bet you have laying around the house right now. The end result is one you and your owner will be most happy with, I assure you.

Now, run to the kitchen! Shoo!

Everyone ready?

Here goes:

Mix equal parts intelligence, creativity, and the serious, thoughtful reading of the **entire set** of Gorean novels. Let that simmer for a few years. In the meantime in a large dish fold a heaping portion of self-control into your ego (to take out the bitterness) and add to that a dash of honest self-examination. Very carfully measure out the realities of your life including children, family and other responsibilities and add it to the mix. Cover and let that marinate a while.

While that is marinating, prepare your strength. This step cannot be overstressed, since it is the most important trait a Gorean slave can have. Examine your strength it for all the parts that should be there, including durability, tenacity, consistency and purity. If there is the smallest doubt in you about any of these ingredients, put it all away and try again in a few years when there might be a better crop.

Now.

If the marinade has not congealed in the harsh reality of what a Gorean slave is, and your strength has measured up to what can be expected of a Gorean slave, then here is the final step.

Slather the mixure liberally all over your psyche. Let it soak in while you again take time to reflect on the seriousness of what it is you are choosing to do -- and how it will affect not only you but those you love. Consider carefully not only what you might gain, but what your decision might cost yourself and others.

Bake and serve.

Enjoy this recipe, girls, and I hope it proves food for thought.

Bear-

You want to be a Cowboy?

(What follows is a reprint of previous writing of mine, some of it more than a decade old, that appeared in various places including "The Bear Bitch Project" and The Gorean Voice, which I co-created and served as editor for a few years. The webzine is long defunct, and the archives of the site are sadly incomplete, but it pleases me to present my thoughts then, to my audience here. As always, if you have a question or comment for me, use the e-mail link in my profile down there somewhere.)




Around the age of five or six years old, he wanted to be a cowboy. So he gathered his chaps, his cowboy hat and the rest of his little outfit, added his holster and cap guns and went off to tell his mother of his decision.

"That's fine," she said. "But did you know that the life of a cowboy is not like the stories that your father reads to you? In order to be a cowboy, you have to live and work outside during cattle drives, in the sun, snow and rain. There is nowhere to come inside for a glass of cool lemonade if you get thirsty. There is no heated home nearby to go back to if you get cold. You have to sleep on the ground and not in a bed. You have to eat what you can carry, and not your favorite cereal."

"And most of all," his mother explained to him. "You have to go away to be a cowboy. Your father and I won't get to see you."

The little boy thought and thought about this. He decided that he did not want to sleep on the ground, that he did not want to be outside all the time and that he did not want to give up his favorite cereal. It was obvious to him that it was too hard to be a cowboy in real life. It was obvious to him that cowboys were just stories from a book his father read to him.

It was just too hard to be a cowboy, he decided.

So he then decided that cowboys could not exist.

Around the age of eight or nine, he saw a program on television and decided that he wanted to be an astronaut. He gathered up the toy rocket and space helmet he had received for his birthday, and the little action figure in a full spacesuit that was his favorite toy, and went off to tell his friends in the neighborhood of his decision.

"That's fine," the older brother of one of them said. "But did you know that in order to be an astronaut, you have to go to school for fifteen to twenty years, study hard and get good grades? That in order to be an astronaut you have to train where the astronauts train, take all kinds of tests and shots, learn to be a team member and work really hard? And after all that, when there are a lot of people just like you there, you have to wait to be chosen to be an astronaut and go up in a rocket?"

"And most of all," the older boy explained to him, "You have to leave all those toys behind. An astronaut does not play with toys."

The little boy thought about this. He decided that he did not like school all that much, and that he would be an old man in fifteen to twenty years and besides, his grades (except for recess) were not that good. He decided that training did not sound like fun, it sounded like work and that he really did not like shots at all. It was just a show on TV, anyway.

It was too hard to be an astronaut, he decided.

So he then decided that astronauts could not exist.

She was in her thirties, a user of the Internet, and she decided that she wanted to be a good, serious and pleasing gorean slave girl to her dom. He was, after all, well-respected and deserved no less. She gathered up her silks, her make-up and her weight-loss diet books and went off to talk to some others about how to do so.

"That's fine," one of the men told her. "But did you know that being a gorean slave girl is not simply submitting to a mans will when you want to, but instead truly surrendering everything you have and are; your entire being to him, without stipulations, without reservation and without ever ceasing to do so? Did you know that being a gorean slave girl means you have to read all the source text, thousands of pages, probably many times in order to grasp what you can of the philosophy that underlies what these men believe? Did you know that being a gorean slave girl has nothing to do with BDSM, or the SCA, and that it is not a game, or a character you wear only in the bedroom.?"

"And most of all," the man explained to her, "once you present yourself as a gorean slave girl, you will be treated as one by the men who are Gorean. Your thoughts and opinions will be listened to only when it pleases them. Your tantrums, frustrations, and acting out will only earn you ostracization from the other girls who are slaves, and the disdain of the men whom you have lied to. No amount of machinations, with the slaves or the men, will succeed. In the end, you will face a simple choice: Be what you claim, or fail."

She thought about this. She decided that she was unsure if she could really and truly surrender to her "master", or if he was actually worthy of her should she ever deign to do so. She decided that all that reading was simply a waste of time, after all, what are web-sites for? She decided that no matter what this man said, she could certainly make her master incorporate her BDSM hobby and her SCA character into her gorean slavery - they were not all that much different from one another as far as she could tell. And she decided that it was obvious that this man was wrong in how he described slaves. Did not her master listen to her when she screamed at him? Did he not change his mind when she told him to and defer to her when she demanded he do so? Wasn't that what a master did?

Could it be that she was wrong? No! Impossible! How could anyone live like that, really??

She decided that it was too hard to be a gorean slave.

So she then decided that gorean slavery could not exist.

And in her own case, with her inability to even approach surrender in any form, she was completely correct.

In the world in which I live today

(First published 2000 at The Bear Bitch Project)


In the world in which I live today, I see that possibly 88 people have lost thier lives as the passenger plane they were flying in crashed headlong into the ocean off the coast of California. Such death, such a tragic loss to the families of the victims, is unimaginable.

In the world in which I live today, I grieve for the victims and their families.

In the world in which I live today, I see that the Governor of my state has suspended all state executions for capitol offenses, calling the system that determines such things in my state: "so fraught with error (that it) has come so close to the ultimate nightmare." Such death, perhaps for some mistakenly carried out without the weight of truth behind it, is unimaginable.

In the world in which I today live, I grieve for the innocent.

In the world in which I live today, I see that a man who admits killing 10 women in my city since 1993, who then moved to New York to escape the scrutiny, recently moved back to my city - seeing himself as a "shark in a fresh pond" there. He was caught by the fine work of the Chicago Police Department, and admitted not only to the ten killings, but also to eleven rapes. Such sick, selfish actions, causing needless death and pain to the people, is unimaginable.

In the world in which I today live, I grieve for the unwary.

In the world in which I live today, I see that China has banned another spiritual meditation sect, along with the Falun Gong, dubbing it a "evil cult". Zhong Gong (an offshoot of a traditional health practice) adherents, now face the same persecution by a government suspicious and paranoid of its own people. These people now face arrest, persecution, and incarceration for their health and spiritual belief. Such needless persecution, and the pain and suffering caused by it, is unimaginable.

In the world in which I today live, I grieve for the faithful.

This weekend, away from home, a girl lay in my arms. She looked up at me and planted small kisses on my neck and chest. Distracted by her touch, I looked down and noted that she was crying. When I asked her why she was crying, she told me she wanted to thank me for the time I had spent online talking to her, guiding her, chastising her, teaching her, showing her that even in this society, a man can be a Gorean man and that a woman can come to fulfill her place in his life. She thanked me, for providing the impetus that she used to change her entire life. 

In the world in which I live today, I grieve for the victims, the innocent, the unwary, the faithful. There is so much needless hate, fear, pain, suffering and loss. We as a species have comitted nearly as many crimes against the nature we so profess to love as we have spent time trying to protect and improve upon it.

In the world in which I live today, I grieve for us all.

And somewhere out there today, there is a small girl working at a desk, whose hair is constantly in her face, who possesses a smile that lights up the room when she smiles, whose words I will carry with me in my heart until the day that I die.

In the world in which I live today, differences can be made. One person at a time.

I wish you well.

Bear-

She told me this...

(What follows is a reprint of previous writing of mine, some of it more than a decade old, that appeared in various places including "The Bear Bitch Project" and The Gorean Voice, which I co-created and served as editor for a few years. The webzine is long defunct, and the archives of the site are sadly incomplete, but it pleases me to present my thoughts then, to my audience here. As always, if you have a question or comment for me, use the e-mail link in my profile down there somewhere.)




Last night, she told me this.

She told me it was not fair.

She balled her hands into fists and tried to remain in control. Not without a small bit of interest, I watched her internal struggle. Her control won out, by less of a margin than she was obviously comfortable with.

She told me it was not fair.

She told me that she has come to understand, as well as she can at this point, the philosophy upon which we base our lives. She told me that she seeks to be a Gorean slave - to belong to a Gorean man - in her life. She told me that she has learned first hand that it was hard to try to live this way. She said that she could understood that idea of having to sacrifice, the cost involved in living Gorean or just belonging to one.

She told me it was not fair.

She told me that all this, all she has learned in the forums, channels and at the feet of Gorean men is a part of her now. In a wonderful way, it colors how she sees the world, her life, and relationships.

Last night, she told me this.

She said that she now understands what I meant when I told her that there are few Gorean men in this world. That she now understands just how precious a scant moments attention from one of them can be. That time spent with other kinds of men in trying to recreate the feeling of being with a Gorean man is wasted time. She is not interested in just BDSM. Those men are not what she has known. They are not what she seeks. They are, truly, are "of earth" as she has read in the books. 

She told me that she cannot forget what she has learned at the feet of Gorean men. That because of the truths about herself and life in general that she has learned there she now seeks a higher standard, she wants more than to be a girlfriend to some Dom. She seeks to be a Gorean slave.

And she nearly wept with frustration that there are too few Gorean men in existence, to make her one.

She told me it was not fair.

She told me this last night.

I agreed.

Bear-