At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Monday, July 21, 2008

EVERYTHING IS A FETISH

Over dinner on Saturday, one of the people at the table hazarded that I could turn anything into a fetish. Or at least a lurid description. She has read my blog, and judges it not entirely suitable for small children and sensitive yeshiva bocherim. Which, given what I've been writing about for the past several months, is actually fairly correct.

A person whom I shall call the Cherry-Vodka Zionist then stated that every time he's cruised in, the blog seemed devoted to panties and pipe-tobacco.


So, for both of them, and for you, a fetishizing of a spectrum. I hope that you can find yourself in at least one thing here, and I want you to tell me all about it. Please go ahead - wax lyrical.
I quiver with antici.... pation.


OLD LADY

Her crepe-like skin was soft, and felt like washed silk; her eyes sparkled with a love of life. Insistently, her delicate-boned hands stroked the satin coverlet with a gentleness that belied their strength...... closer, closer.......


FAT MIDDLE-AGED PERSIAN HOMOSEXUAL


The roll of tanned stomach suggestively flowed over his taut waistband like a smooth golden pillow, tempting the fingers with an expanse of shiny black hair, like grass upon a hill-side. He shifted slowly and gracefully on the divan, and his eyes within their heavy lids sparkled with good-natured malice.


PENGUIN


Roger admired the elegant profile of the bird, the downy stomach feathers, and the intelligent eyes of his newly acquired love-beast, and he yearned to stroke the narrow shoulders, pet the inviting curve of the lower abdomen.....


ANTIQUE CHERRY-WOOD CABINET


An expanse of cool and velvet wood, smoothed by the fond touch of generations, with a rich patina that called to mind the warm summer evenings long ago, when Adelbrecht would move silently through the darkened house, and rub his naked body over the heirloom furniture......


STAINED TABLE CLOTH


Afterwards, when the guests had all gone, Mohammed lowered his nose to the damask, and inhaled deeply of the wine-stains that suggestively blotched and spattered the fine fabric. A hint of rose, a berry-like sweetness, the warm nose-feel of tannins. His hands felt under the edge of the cloth, and, as if with a mind of their own, lifted it higher and higher. His eyes closed, and he imagined the cool bases of the now empty goblets pressed upon his own skin. Quivering, he slid to the floor, his knees having entirely failed him at this point.


CELADON PLATE


In the evening Baruch would retire to the crepusculed sun room, to sit in darkness and run his finger tips over the rims of his porcelain collection, listening to the delicate pinging of glazes crackling further, as if the clay still remembered it's cooling from the kiln. The faintest glimmer of light reflected from a celadon treasure, a ghost-like glistening at the edge of vison. Ah, the moon-dust Ming plate! He truly loved the almost mentholated physicality that he felt whenever his breath misted over the semi-translucent surface. As he felt a trembling begin he gently put the beloved antique back down, scared that his quivering would sully the pale powder-velvet longuan iron oxide, or perhaps cause it to shatter into ten-thousand tempting fragments.



I shall stop here. It is for your well-being, as I fear that you cannot control yourself much longer. These descriptions probably excited you, and it is possible that you need a cold shower now. A nice long cold shower, the crystal clear water running in smooth hard rivulets over your skin, which tightens, perceptibly, as you let the comforting coolness seep into your bones and send thrills down your spine. The stroking streams of water flow between the pale digits of your hands and feet, seeming almost flesh themselves from the journey across your arms and legs, you can feel the droplets pearled upon your shoulders, the moistness in the back of the knees, the intense wetness of that cold, cold embrace.........

Labels:

38 Comments:

  • At 3:52 PM, Blogger Spiros said…

    CUIDADO, LOS WOMBATS! Although I can't really think of any way to fetishize what appear to be grossly oversized, antipodean woodchucks, or maybe I should say, not-so-nice marmots. With zesty, if peculiar, sexual proclivities.

     
  • At 4:32 PM, Blogger Thomas said…

    All I know is at this very moment, i am lusting for eitner a penguin or a sultry cherry wood cabinet. Bravo Back!

     
  • At 4:46 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Yuck. I nearly threw up. What a horrid thing you are, with your disgusting snesuality.

    Nasty beast.

     
  • At 4:59 PM, Blogger e-kvetcher said…

    "I quiver with antici.... pation."

    So come up to the lab,
    And see what's on the slab?

     
  • At 5:03 PM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    Dear Nasty beast

    For you: "Miss Nasty Beast lovingly stroked her clean clean body, as clean as her pristine mind. Smooth, un-ravaged, virginal, the reward of many years of masochistic self-abuse and painfilled pondering. She was in the habit of punishing herself nightly by inducing dreams of self-chastisement, followed by cold showers, in order to prevent her dessicated love-tissues from bursting juicily to uncontrollable life in unguarded moments, such as slumber. Her sleep, fitfull and unquiet, was subsequently much disturbed by sudden violent regurgitative spasms. She enjoyed those moments intensely, as they proved to her that her yearning for a complete absence of sensuality was rewarded. No thoughts of desire could invade a head filled with the burning reek of stomach acid on the tonsils, no hot passion would stir a stomach still cramping from guilty nausea. She smiled to herself, satisfied, and placed her hands again primply above the rough woolen covers. This would be a good night, better than usual. The mattress felt properly hard and unyielding, too, despite the dampness of her night sweats. With a keen happiness she listened to the drone of the mosquitoes, those little messengers of righteously unsatisfying sleep, whose attentions were fortuitous icing on the cake of her puritan flesh-loathing."

    If you are not a miss but a mister, you should change the term of address. Otherwise, this text-gift remains pretty much the same.

     
  • At 5:03 PM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    Tayere e-kvetcher,

    In just seven days I can make you ... a wombat?!?!

     
  • At 11:45 AM, Blogger Tzipporah said…

    OMG LOL

     
  • At 1:51 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    A wombat that looks like Meatloaf? Now there's a mental picture I did not want. Nor do I wish to mentally see a wombat wearing sadomasochist gear or straps.

    Do not make me a wombat. Make me an octopus. I've always imagined having tentacles.


    Lev

     
  • At 3:22 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    What you write is nausaeting, you obvious catholic. Thank GOD we don't talk to people like you. You have depraved mediteraneum sensibilities, and will not shy away from little boys and other sicknening things.
    !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

     
  • At 3:41 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Sounds like Anonymous above got up on the wrong side of a priest.


    ---Grant Patel

     
  • At 4:37 PM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    little boys and other sicknening things

    Yes, little boys are sickening. They usually smell of pee. And tend to kick so.

    Ick. Poo. We prefer otters.

     
  • At 5:08 PM, Blogger Spiros said…

    El Uombat es uno quadrupido...

     
  • At 10:39 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Wombat fetish!

     
  • At 10:50 AM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    Wombat Fetish? Say, that's a brilliant idea! The wombat is undoubtedly a charming animal, with many fine attributes. Not nearly enough has been written about the noble marsupial, with it's soft fur and zest for rough sex. My dear Anonymous, if you wish, please devote a long comment to your fondness for these fetching oversized antipodean woodchucks. Keep it clean.

    And please do not involve penguins in your essay. We do not wish to picture misceginisto-bestiality. It would frighten (or dismay) the yeshiva-bocherim and the little high-school girls who visit this blog.

    Thank you.

     
  • At 11:46 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    In case anyone had any doubt, I am not a schoolgirl or a yeshiva bocher. About the others here, I am not so very sure.


    ---Grant Patel

     
  • At 12:30 PM, Anonymous Graham said…

    I am amazed at H.B.'s abilities & challenge him to do the fetish stuff for.....

    Beatrix der Nederlanden


    :-O

    Graham

     
  • At 1:22 PM, Blogger Spiros said…

    Speaking as somebody who is Catholic, with pronounced "mediteraneum (which I am guessing is supposed to read Mediterranean) sensibilities", I find Anonymous' comment above to be rather droll, not to mention somewhat profligate of exclamation marks. I am also a bit at a loss for what would make Anonymous deduce BOTH's Catholicism, unless Anon is using the word in its lower case meaning; certainly, a blog which features repeated references to curries, Talmud, Malayo-Polynesian languages, Manga, medieval Dutch poetry, pipe tobacco, and transvestites, not to mention wombats (CUIDADO LOS UOMBATS!), could be fairly characterized as being catholic, but I seriously doubt that A meant the accusation in that sense. Just between you, me, and whoever wants to know, A comes off as being a bit of a tool.

     
  • At 11:55 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    If Graham gets leave to write about Beatrice, logically then Spiros should write about his wombat between the sheets. No point in hiding it, Spiros, it is clear that you have a pet. For whom you are of two minds.


    Wombat. Wombat. Wombat.


    Lev

     
  • At 11:57 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Does she bite? Does she kick? Does she stain the sheets. This is what everyone is asking. And does she return your love-hate feelings. Describe in detail, be sensitive, and touch our hearts.

    Wombat. Wombat. Wombat.


    Lev

     
  • At 6:08 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Oh daddy. My nipples.

     
  • At 11:33 PM, Blogger Spiros said…

    I am sorry, but as I stated earlier, I can't really think of any way to fetishize what appear to be grossly oversized, antipodean woodchucks, or perhaps I should say, not-so-nice marmots, despite their undoubtedly outre sexual proclivities.
    I can, however, repeat myself, in token of which I will categorically state:
    CUIDADO LOS UOMBATS!!!

     
  • At 12:16 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Cuidado los ranas. Winners of the recent Euro championships.


    ---Grant Patel

     
  • At 1:11 PM, Anonymous graham said…

    I think that fauns are the key - instead of a bearded leering Greek waiter with the legs of a goat and a thingy the size of a prize banana - one must imagine a bearded leering Aussie - tube of Fosters or XXX in one hand and a big b**bed unshaved Sheila in the other - he with the torso and legs and thingy of of a randy wombat.
    Then incorporate this into the heraldry of the Dutch Royal family, market it & smoke it

    Graham

     
  • At 5:12 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Basterd pervarts!

     
  • At 1:35 AM, Blogger Spiros said…

    Then there is Colonel Batguano, in Dr. Strangelove, who might not have known much, but he did know when "preversions" were goinng forward.

     
  • At 10:47 PM, Anonymous mildly amphibious said…

    Lamas are bigger than frogs, for the most part.

     
  • At 10:49 PM, Anonymous amphibious said…

    "Why, Frog?"
    "S. Frog, Sir"
    "Shut up, Frog!"

     
  • At 10:33 AM, Anonymous unrepentantly amphibious said…

    Why Jesus?

     
  • At 11:30 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Heavens no, do not elaborate on a Jesus fetish! For the love of Mozart, do not do so!

    We have had quite enough of nuns with a foreskin thing, people imagining bleeding holes in their hands, or mad monks with whips and chains making themselves suffer like he is said to have. If we wish to read religious porn, the blessed mother church will give it to us.

    Instead, elaborate on frogs and bananas. I am all excited.

     
  • At 12:27 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Seriously, I doubt that nuns have foreskins, except in San Francisco.

    Plus whips and chains, excite me.


    ---Grant Patel

     
  • At 12:28 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    On second thought, lets not go to San Francisco. It is a rather silly place.


    ---Grant Patel

     
  • At 7:17 PM, Anonymous Peter Driessen said…

    The only fetish missing in San Francisco is the Jesus fetish. They will all go to hell and burn forever damm heathens sinners vile adulterors and terrorest supporters they need to find our dear lord and beg.

     
  • At 12:19 AM, Blogger Spiros said…

    Why Jesus?

     
  • At 9:32 AM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    This comment has been removed by the author.

     
  • At 9:43 AM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    My dear intolerant Mr. Driessen, as you can tell from Spiros' recent comment here (which mirrors many elsewhere), at least one member of our flock has a lust for Jesus in his heart, why it lights up his soul and brings his dessicated squidgy bits back to vibrant tingling life! Oh joy!

    And he votes Republican.
    The two of you should get together.
    Emmes.

     
  • At 9:46 AM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    And further, dear mister intolerant Driessen, if you will but give me your e-mail address, I will endeavor to bring the two of you together. If need be leading up to unholy matrimony. I'm sure that Jesus' lovin' Spiros and you will truly get along, as only echte soulmates can.

    Ain't that right, Spiros?
    You keep bringin up Jesus like a hairball (or last-nights tequila), mr. Driessen has a fetish for your regurgitant, sounds to me like he would be the fit porcelain god for that load.

    Joy, joy, joy, deep in your heart, deep in your heart.

     
  • At 7:15 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Wonbats, frogs, whips and chains. Plus Jesus. Freak.

     
  • At 10:37 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Loved the stuff about the naked guy rubbing himself all over the wooden furniture. I used to have an uncle like that. He would visit us every summer. Even after we found out what he was doing, my dad let him stay for several weeks every year. A really nice man. Despite his pre-occupation with smooth cool satiny surfaces. It's more common than you think.

     

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