well..........MIGHT follow.........

Reminder:

[ITCHY MEMORIES are all based on REAL events and people. These short tales are specifically presented on the MINGLE2 COMMUNITY forum. They include:
MEXICO, TOPPED, STIFFED, BOOMERANGED, DUPED, LYNCHED, WRONG-FOOTED, PRETRAYED, WORDZERKED, DE-RAILED, HOARDED, OVERSTAYED, TWINNED.]
...so far..

She had heard of these family crises where a favourite uncle turned out to have been a ‘sleeper’ for twenty years, in the pay of one of their country's least favourite competitors. No one would ever have had a chance of suspecting it.

Either Ben must have a vital reason for revealing his secret to her, or he was up to something. In any event her trust in him had evaporated. She pressed him to give her time to think about what he had told her: but she was stalling. She needed to work out how, (if at all), to handle the whole situation. She had managed a little research on transvestism, gender dysphoria, and so on, but things were not much clearer to her.

Until…...she remembered. An eruption of overwhelming emotion. It had occurred during what Ben had sometimes referred to as “the thing of 99% impact in our lives, and 1% importance”: namely, the sexual encounter!

She had put it all down to a quite unexplainable, (but indelibly memorable), event. She had been seized and then convulsed, with an explosion of passion - almost a rage - to consume her man entirely: a hunger to devour her lover; to incarcerate him within her very self. In effect, she had wanted to put an end to him as a person; to swallow him whole, to nurture and sustain him within her. He would be part of her being. Nothing of himself would apparently remain.

At first, flushing from the shock of this memory then finally calming herself, she began to reason that if she, Ursula, could have undergone this magnitude of turbulent, (she could even say volcanic), emotion, would being ‘a mere male’, disqualify Ben from experiencing a comparable intensity of desire? If he wished to be totally possessed by her to the point of actually BECOMING her, then although impossible in terms of reality, wasn’t this proof of the enormity of his passion for her? The difference would be that while hers was confined to ‘that precious moment’, Ben wanted to live his out, perhaps for good. His passion for his mistress would be no brief flame, but a lifelong dedication.

Ursula for her part, most emphatically did not want to ‘become’ anyone else: and yet could it be that she wanted HIM to become HER! Was this not the mirror-image of what he had expressed? Yes; he, to be possessed; she, to possess. She could ensnare him, draw him back into her womb. He would be no more and no less than her infant. He could do no other than obey her, and she could not help but adore and nurture him. Mutual possession; one owning, one belonging. How could any two people be closer to what they most desired?

With great trepidation however, she put to him the pivotal question: his answer would decide whether it would even be conceivable for her to go through with everything. “Does this mean that you would want a “sex-change”?

He astonished her with his reply: “Absolutely not. I need to emulate everything about you that I possibly can, but remain myself as I basically am. Then I am truly your captive. I live AS THOUGH I am you, (and therefore as though I am female), while we both know that it isn’t so. For me, this is the ultimate proof of ownership. Whatever desirable qualities and thoughts I have as a man, would not be lost to you. My being as near a replica of you as humanly possible would be the closest we could get to actually merging as one whole.

(part 5 follows)


These short tales are all based on REAL events and people, and are specifically presented on the MINGLE2 COMMUNITY forum. They include:
MEXICO, TOPPED, STIFFED, BOOMERANGED, DUPED, LYNCHED, WRONG-FOOTED, PRETRAYED, WORDZERKED, DE-RAILED, HOARDED, OVERSTAYED, TWINNED.]
...so far…

Reminder:

[ITCHY MEMORIES are all based on REAL events and people. These short tales are specifically presented on the MINGLE2 COMMUNITY forum. They include:
MEXICO, TOPPED, STIFFED, BOOMERANGED, DUPED, LYNCHED, WRONG-FOOTED, PRETRAYED, WORDZERKED, DE-RAILED, HOARDED, OVERSTAYED, TWINNED.]
...so far...

Got it.

Thank you.

kpl

I do have one question though.
If my filters specify 'women 40-65', how do those aged 20 get through?

Ideas?

Thank you for your help on this -
and thanks to the two people above[you] for their comments.

The long and the short of it is, I BLOCK !

kpl

If I may......

Deleting say, 6 people takes 2 seconds: reporting/blocking 1 person takes at least ten times as long.

My key question is: "does simply deleting them (as opposed to reporting/blocking them) prevent those particular ones from re-appearing?"

I seem unable to get an answer to this. Do you have any ideas as to how I might get one?!

Thanks for your assistance.

kpl

I've been messaging Mingle2 Support, to ask them a specific question relating to the large numbers of women in their early twenties who appear on my site, and 'advertise their wares'.

Each time, I receive a 'no reply' automated message advising me to adjust my message-filtering specifications. When I then try to send them another message (including a 'snip' of my filtering page showing that I don't want to hear from anyone below 40), either it is rejected, or I get yet another automated no-reply message.......and the 20-odd year-old lot keep pouring in.

My message (including the 'snip' of the page in question which I know is of use when they are checking comments), reads as follows:

"This (followed by the'snip')
is my 'filters' page, as it normally is.

All those I delete, are in their early 20's.
If I want to check back, I find that DELETED visitors have had their profiles de-activated.
Does this mean that my simply DELETING them (as opposed to BLOCKING them, which takes time), is the best/only way to do this?

keithpl2"

Can a Mingle2 monitor kindly advise me as to how to deal with this please?

kpl

Reminder:

[ITCHY MEMORIES are all based on REAL events and people. These short tales are specifically presented on the MINGLE2 COMMUNITY forum. They include:
MEXICO, TOPPED, STIFFED, BOOMERANGED, DUPED, LYNCHED, WRONG-FOOTED, PRETRAYED, WORDZERKED, DE-RAILED, HOARDED, OVERSTAYED, TWINNED.]
...so far...

CAPS mainly used to replace UNDERLINING and sometimes ITALICS
_________________________________________________________________________________

If she had been looking for one, the only clue Ursula could ever have found, to anything even faintly relating to what now confronted her, was the interest Ben showed in her appearance and her reactions. As their friendship had become more intimate, this did not wane as she would have expected. He would often ask her how she had ‘felt about such-and-such’, and, unlike other men, had put out a special effort to try to understand her interpretation of events rather than popping them into the “oh well, you-know-women!” file. Also he neither instantly dropped his eyes to women’s breasts when introduced to them, nor craned his neck to spy on what lay beyond their ever-beckoning thighs.

While acknowledging certain irreconcilable differences between women and men, Ben considered the female perspective to be the healthier on the whole. In Ursula’s view, this marked him as more of a REAL man than the average swaggerer. Yet nothing in his conduct during those years offered her any hint of his possessing this fantastic notion: ‘to become her’.

“Do you mean….stop being you?”
“Yes: and no.”
“YES AND NO?! That’s all I need.”

Ursula was the least likely person to become hysterical; but this tragicomic broadside from the man she loved, had thrown her wholly off balance. In the days following his shattering announcement, she tried to learn how he could have arrived at such a state of mind. She loved him with all her heart of course, but surely being with him and their sharing a life together, would be sufficient. The idea of BECOMING him, was, even at this delicate moment, just about laughable. More, it was broaching the domain of ‘science-fiction’ or certainly a world of utter fantasy.

He had contended that his love for her was so intense that he wanted to bury himself in her to the extent of losing sight of himself altogether. He wished to be possessed - in a way, anihilated - by her. Was he suicidal? Was this merely a macabre joke he was playing; a game, a ploy of some kind? But if so, to what end?

Something must have happened to him; possibly before they had met. An accident. A death. A horribly protracted illness in his family. Or on the other hand, was it merely, (MERELY?!!!), that he wanted a sex-change? Or, (perhaps less drastic), could he be a ‘closet homosexual’?

She had known one or two ‘queers’, (as they often jocosely referred to themselves), a couple of years earlier on, and she was struck by their comparatively greater appreciation of the female view of things. (“But,” as one had put to her, “while I’m just as decent an individual as anyone else, I can become very vengeful when running with the pack”.)

Ursula now began to wonder if she was actually in danger.
____________________________________
(part 4 follows)

!!!
k

And so it really seems
this might have been
a lovely world
if all or any
of the gods invented
had been real
and all or any
of the bombs created
merely boyhood dreams.

CAPS mainly used to replace UNDERLINING and sometimes ITALICS
_________________________________________________________________________________

If ever challenged to guess what it was, (when you’d been told that Marjorie was “very special and unusual”), the last thing you could ever have considered, would be “A MAN”! Anyone acquainted with the sisters who might fancy the possibility of a lesbian union, would assume Ursula, (being the marginally less ‘feminine’ of the two), to be the ‘butch’ element.

Felicity had noted much earlier on, that they dressed in an almost twin-like way. Marjorie had said that they largely made their clothes themselves, which was why they were often wearing dresses of the same material; but while Ursula’s tended to be somewhat formal and severe, those of Marjorie, (who was slightly the taller of the two), leaned towards the frivolous and flouncy.

“AM though,” Marjorie resumed, “is the right word.”

“Am?!” David echoed in mock-astonishment.

Ursula laughed. It was all going to be worth it, as she had hoped. Their friends were taking it extremely well, and clearly couldn’t wait to hear more.

“Yes,” Marjorie went on, (one could not possibly think of her as BEN!), “I could drop my voice a good octave and exhibit my knees, but we both know that you’re going to believe us without the need of a vaudeville show.

“Besides which,” Felicity sniped, “you’d probably make a rotten dancer.” One could tell that if there had been a chance of any ice between them, it was totally broken.
_____________________________

Apparently about a year and a half into their relationship as man and wife, Ben had become adamant that he needed to prove to Ursula how much he loved her. He had added to this already surprising statement, “though you might not believe me!”

Quite taken aback by this, Ursula said she felt sure they had both proved it more than amply to each other; so why change anything? To her slight irritation, he pursued the point. He explained that trying on her clothes was much more than just a cross-dressing session; a great deal more.

She remembered, while reacting incredulously to this double-slap, that while dressing, she had sometimes been slightly aware of one or two unfamiliar odours, but had forgotten about it.

“But Ben…..what do you mean; what are you talking about?”
“I mean, it’s no self-indulgent act, or idiosyncrasy, or, well, attention-getter. "It - it’s….”
“Tell me what’s going on Ben. For heaven’s sake tell me.”

A long silence from him as he stared at a spot on the carpet close to her feet. Nothing he next said, could have been more surprising, or even jolting. She was to be dumbfounded, transfixed by a combination of shock, bewilderment, and, yes, even hilarity.

“It’s……” he stumbled.
“It is. It is: YES?” She was urging him on, while hoping that what she now was thinking, simply was not true. Then it came.

“It is - loving you so much Ursula, that I, that I…..want to BE you. To BECOME you.”

(part 3 follows)
________________________________

[ITCHY MEMORIES are all based on REAL events and people. These short tales are specifically presented on the MINGLE2 COMMUNITY forum. They include:
MEXICO, TOPPED, STIFFED, BOOMERANGED, DUPED, LYNCHED, WRONG-FOOTED, PRETRAYED, WORDZERKED, DE-RAILED, HOARDED, OVERSTAYED, TWINNED.]
...so far...

just working at it now.....couple of days I think. Most of the time's spent on keeping the English good!

Felicity and David met Marjorie and Ursula when they were living in Kerala’s capital city, in southern India. Thiruvananthapuram is its name, (or, happily, Trivandrum, is often used!)

They got to know them well over a couple of years, in fact exceptionally well. They agreed later, that the two sisters - who, judging not by their facial features, but by their gestures, motions and posture might easily have been taken for twins - were probably the most remarkable people they had ever met.

They would visit the women’s ample colonial-style house on the outskirts of the city, once, occasionally twice a week, each couple taking it in turns to cook the evening meal. A board-game would follow, or some mutual enjoying of, say, Orff’s Carmina Burana: or perhaps they’d just loll about slipping elaneer. What was most striking about the two women was the bond between them. One had the impression that they needed nothing and nobody else in the world.

Felicity wondered why she and David had been singled out for the privilege of their company. The four had been getting together now for about six months, and it was almost looked upon as a weekly ritual. The only unevenness about it, (if one could call it that), was that the sisters knew a great deal more about them than the other way around. This however, was about to change.

One evening, Ursula broached the subject. “About us,” she announced. “We’ll confess to you that we’ve used you as guinea-pigs; but……...a BIG ‘but’......we absolutely had to trust you before doing this. There’s something about us that we’ve always had a yen to tell someone else, but couldn’t risk it being the wrong people under any circumstances. We believe you’ll enjoy our story, but even after all these months of knowing you, we could have got it wrong, you might be appalled, and then we may never see you again!”

A salacious rubbing of the hands from David, and an encouraging nod from Felicity.

“So first of all, have a look at this photo.” Felicity took the picture and shared it with David. It was a medium shot of the upper half of a man playing tennis and smoking a pipe at the same time. David chuckled. “That’s pretty rare. I mean doing it with a pipe.” “True,” Ursula said. “Well that was Ben.”

“Was?” David chipped in.

Marjorie leaned forward in her lounger. “Was. I was Ben.”

(part 2 follows)
___________________________

The Overseas Investors’ Association - yes, punctuated with a distinctive apostrophe - was comfortably established in Berne, Switzerland. A corpulent little fellow named Freddie Canefield was its creator and managing director.

Almost everyone in the company was North American, but a token Swiss could be located here and there on the premises. The boss had a Chinese girlfriend, Suen Liu, who took care of the filing. A giant Californian, (his passion, a certain species of shrubs), was his second in command.

The graph was going sedately up, and what with the intense concentration of salesmen doing their paperwork on the premises, all was tranquil. The one visible activity from the boss himself, seemed to be at the photocopier; and the only time there was ever any form of disturbance was when everyone, without exception, cheered.

They did so when a salesman had come back to the office with “A Century”. This meant that one of them had ‘made a sale’ of one hundred thousand dollars - or over. Every such event was energetically oohed and aahed for a few minutes, and then, with heads soundly down, all carried on as before.

The filing backlog was becoming unmanageable, so they took on an office assistant who had previously been working at one of the ‘internationals’, Philip by name; an enterprising youngster who made short work of the rather haphazard filing system. This had piled up partly owing to Sien Liu’s predilection for coming in rather late in the day - sometimes at around 3.p.m.

Philip, (henceforth to be known as Phil.....of course!), was soon regarded as an asset by the group, and he was officially promoted to Filing Manager. This pleased him, but being Sien Liu’s boss did not. He knew he had better not count on any assistance from her, even though one of the salesmen had advised him that ‘Freddie would be happy’ if Philip got her to work more, and also to arrive when everyone else did.

He made the effort, (embarrassed that she was both his boss’s lady, and had been around a lot longer than he), but it was no go. He reasoned, he reproved, he remonstrated: but Sien Liu was a river. To make your point, you had to leap in at precisely THE right spot while she was in full flow; otherwise you missed your chance.

Inspired by his popularity, Philip created a company magazine. Cutting, pasting, and photocopying everything - verses, article extracts, and all sorts of tidbits, (for so long as they more or less related to the business at hand), his weekly issue thrived, and was warmly acclaimed. He then became adventurous enough to concoct a cover for it.

For a while he had noticed something however, that made him uneasy: Freddie, (who smiled always at everyone), wasn’t smiling at Philip these days. This was confirmed in the week that followed; and Philip now knew it wasn’t his imagination. As to why this would be so, (the boss was still dispensing his customary smile to everyone else), he thought he should try to find out.

A couple of days later, he had totted things up. His conclusions forced him to make the decision to leave the company - perhaps quickly.

He quit. The problem either had to be Sien Liu’s much more open friendliness towards him of late, or, (although less likely), what he had left in the photocopier ready for printing, while on his coffee break. It was to be used as his cover.

But no; surely: I mean…..what’s so extraordinary about a quarter-inch thick, cross section of a cabbage?

Oh well, perhaps it was both.
_______________________________

p.s. from author: I have two identical photos of the area - one of, say, 20 years ago and one of today. (But I don't know how to drop 'em in.) kpl

What struck him most about working at a funeral home, was how very jolly the employees and management generally were. He witnessed more jokes cracked and pranks played, than at any school he could remember. In fact he would have still thought himself in a classroom when he saw the amount of surreptitious note-passing between members of staff. He came across a screwed up scrap of one just below his chair once. He unravelled it. It read; “Let’s spike her coffee!”

Yes, their cheeriness was truly catching. He had first arrived there strongly doubting that he would be able to stand very much of ‘working with death’; but when he’d been there for a couple of weeks, the ‘death factor’ seemed somewhat incidental. Any bodies he got glimpses of, were either smiling or at least pretty well off.

Although he was mostly doing paperwork, they had assured him that if all went well, he would, one day, be taking part in funeral services. He was a bit on the tall side for coffin-carrying, but he needn’t worry; there would be plenty of other action for him. So, yes, he would get to wear the top-hat eventually!

He’d had quite a few jobs before, but none with anything like such a bubbling ambience. He went to work everyday never knowing what amusing or even hilarious exchanges there would be between them, whatever their relative positions.

Mark Twain said, “the only way of dying of natural causes, is not to visit a doctor.” Well, our hero thought he would now try out his own wit, in keeping with the overall atmosphere in this friendly workplace. He typed it out at his desk to see how it would look.

“Be at peace, and then make a good impression on others, while enjoying perfect serenity and security. Get yourself buried!” He rubbed his hands: that should do it. Even better; he drew a tombstone, then printed the words out.

Now, what to do with it. He supposed he could stick it up somewhere for all to see. The question was, where? While he was considering his choices, he heard “lunch” being called out by one of his colleagues. Off he went.

He had almost forgotten about it by the time he got back to his typewriter; but when he did, it had gone. He searched all around, but no note. He heard someone calling his name. It was the boss who at that moment was waving a piece of paper in his direction, chuckling, and beckoning him over. Wow! This was going to be fun.

The boss was still laughing as he handed over an envelope. “Great stuff,” he said. “Really funny. You know, a fellow with your sort of talent will have absolutely no difficulty in finding a job. Terrific luck; and I really mean that.”

H’m. Maybe a doctor wouldn’t have found Mark Twain funny either.
_____________________________