U N L O A D E D

Previously on U N L O A D E D:

The magic of boobs.

A online community specializing in the subject.

The chance to make a lovely woman's dreams come true.

Yes, I've been a little late with posting my update. But your lovable blogger has been a busy boy and, perhaps, a bit of a naughty one as well. Through the mischief, there is but one thing that keeps me going and it's NOT knockers.....it's you. Yes that's right, you the readers who I aim to provoke and please. Ah, the madness I'll subject myself to for your satisfaction.

And we continue our tale.....

Infiltration

On my computer screen was a gateway. A new and strange place. This was not simply a website but a vast enterprise that only the magic of the internet could bring. Against my better judgment, I dove in and began the registration process not knowing what was in store except lots of boobs. But how will I be helping? How costly would it be? Was I in over my head?

The monthly fee was a meager $9 dollars per month. A man of modest means, this was well within my budget. I clicked OK and I was in. Within minuets the messages began pouring in from women seeking the gift; the gift of boob. I was overwhelmed, somewhat frightened, intrigued, passively aroused and feeling damn dirty. Was I taking advantage of some form of personal insecurity, or were they fixing on taking advantage of me?

The Process

The inner workings of the website are simple but effective. Women place their profiles and pictures up and if you want to chat or post a message you can, at the expense of a credit. Message credits aren't infinite, they are given to you (5 in total) at the beginning of each month. Of course you can purchase more in allotments of anywhere from 10 to 50 for a fee. These message credits aren't just for saying, "hello" or "hey baby," they also plunk 1 dollar into the woman's donation coffers. So, the more chit chat, the more money rolls in.  It's actually $1 to them per message so 10 messages to a young lady is $10 toward the boob job. There's even a meter to keep track of how much you've donated to each woman and how close they are to reaching their goal.

Of course messaging isn't the only way to show generosity. You can make direct donations in any amount you desire. You can also purchase a block of virtual gift certificates and store them in what's called a "boob bank." So you can get 10 gift certificates at $2 each and donate them to the women you made friends with.  Becoming friends with the women gains you access to her portfolio of pictures, if she has any.  This is where the real fun (or horror depending on your point of view) starts.

AXXXCESS

While the women in this community aren't obligated in any way, shape or form to reveal things they're uncomfortable with, many are in great comfort showing all. This is where a woman seeking the gift of boob can really get the money rolling in. Becoming friends with certain women on this site can get you access to racy photos that range from sexy teasing to hardcore. For the right donation you can even gets sets of erotic photos that can be shot to your liking. And if you're feeling very generous, some women will even share videos that they've made. And yes, those too range from erotic to XXX hardcore. How hardcore? Let's just say that some are willing to show you if they spit or swallow after...well...you know.

I hear some of you now:

SLUTS!!

WHORES!!!

TRAMPS!!!!

SKANKS!!!

NO RICARDO!!!! NO!!!!!! DON'T GIVE THEM THE MONEY, IT'S A TRAP!!!! THEY DON'T REALLY LOVE YOU.

Are they really all of the above and when did I say that I was on the site looking for love? This was but a small cross section of the type of women you'll find here. And personally, if she's a consenting adult, then she's free to do what she likes for the gift of boob whether we agree or disagree. This is, after all, what makes this place so interesting. So...what of the other women on this site? Are they all free and loose? What other types of women would utilize such a site and are they selling their souls in doing it?

We're about to meet some of the other women that are seeking the gift of boob and I'll give you a little background on their stories. The results may shock or surprise you and it will all be revealed here, on this blog, for your reading pleasure and consumption.....

But not tonight.

Tonight I will ease back on my couch and contemplate the things that I have done. Tonight I'll look inwards at my mind and soul and outwards to the gift..........the gift of boob.


Coming up next......

More on giving the gift of boob.

With Valentines day just around the corner, I suppose it was only a matter of time before some in my local synagogue decided to take it upon themselves to find me a "nice Jewish girl" or at least try to. I suppose there are some benefits to this like not being served pork chops when it's time to meet her parents for a nice dinner or not being cajoled into celebrating Christmas and belting out Silent Night while pounding down eggnog. Then again, this is America where plenty of Jews will eat pork chops for dinner and sing Silent Night around Christmas time because.....it's a free country.

However, it's more than likely that this is not the type of women the matchmakers at my synagogue have in mind. No, they will only select a girl steeped in the traditions of Judaism and can quote the Torah as if she wrote it herself. From there I will be expected to marry her and produce numerous offspring to carry on the traditions of Judaism by sending them to Hebrew school and such. Tradition must be preserved!

Now ladies and gentleman, there is nothing wrong with this if that's your thing. But this is Ricardo we are talking about here and my mission (missionary?) statement has always been the same. I have said it here and I will say it again for all of you:

The Ricardo welcomes beautiful women of all races, creeds and colors.

That has been my way, it has always been my way and will continue to be my way. I've never been of the thought process that we should all just stick with our own. It's boring and I would have deprived myself of many a steamy moment with women of numerous races and backgrounds. The differences are the spice of life. They teach me something new, exciting. It's an adventure and makes me feel more worldly.

I WANT to run my hands up and down the endless legs of a tall blond in Reykjavik!

I MUST HAVE the sweet decadence and soft skin of a Tokyo starlet!

I WANT to sample (further) the well toned body of a woman in Sydney or anywhere in Australia! And I'm not just referring to the wonderful pictures I see of my muse, Nurse Myra!!!

I WANT to burn red hot and see the pink of a babe in Red Square!!

I WANT to explore and shag a buxom beauty in Great Britain!

I WANT to love the taste of curry in the morning with a rose in India!!!

Argentina, South Africa, Canada...wherever!!! There's a lot I have to do before I check out. And since I can fucking breathe again post Advair, I'm more than ready. And most importantly, I DON'T WANT TO SETTLE DOWN!!!

(looks at all of you to make sure you've gotten my point before continuing)

And now back to my story.

The Matchmaker

A service at my synagogue had ended, I was on my way out the door when an older man stopped me. In this case, I encountered a male Yenta, if there is such a thing. Also, that is what others have designated him as so this is how he will be referred to for the sake of our tale.

Male Yenta: Good Shabbos. I think we need to find you someone. You single?

Me: I am, yes.

Male Yenta: You far from here?

Me: Nope. 10 minutes maybe.

Male Yenta: Good! I think we can find someone for you. Shall we?

He gestures toward the hall where refreshments and snacks are served. It's also used for parties and gatherings.

Male Yenta: Figure....she's gotta be living on her own. Good job. Not too needy emotionally or with the money. Around 5 foot 7 for you. Not too short, you're kind of tall.

Me: I......

Before I can say anything he has lead me to the Head Yenta. This woman is known throughout the synagogue for making many a match for the single folk.

Male Yenta: (to Head Yenta) So what do you think? This young man here. Can we find someone for him?

Head Yenta: Oh, I think so.

Male Yenta: No one too short. She's got to be on the taller side and with a job. We don't need her breaking his bank.

Me: There's not much of a bank to break.

Laughter among all of us as in the back of my mind I think...."um....what is this shit?"

Head Yenta: I prefer to go the emotional route to see if there's a connection. I'm sure there are some you will like. I love doing this and I have a great track record.

Male Yenta: Yeah but some things, you know.....

Head Yenta: No I understand. I'm going to look.

Male Yenta: He needs a nice girl.

Head Yenta: He does. He does.

And suddenly, they vanished into the crowd. As if they were never talking to me. Or were they going to work in finding me the right girl?

Dumbfounded, I went over to my rabbi for guidance.

Me: Listen, can I talk to you for a second.

Rabbi: Yeah sure.

Me: The yentas are after me. They want to set me up with someone.

Rabbi: Who!?! What's her name?!?!?

Me: That's the thing, I don't know yet. But you know a lot more than I do about what's really going on here and I don't want to be slammed with damaged goods.

Rabbi: Before you say anything, no matter who she is, talk to me first. Don't give them an answer until you talk to me.

Me: Thanks, that's what I needed.

Rabbi: Ricardo, I like you and I don't want to see anything happen to you.

A voice of reason! As of now, I remain safe.

Of Course, There's always Room for the Right One

My dear readers, there is always room for the right Jewish girl as well. My outburst earlier was to illustrate that the right one can also come in many flavors. Could there be a taut Israeli sabra who's sweeter than apples and honey in my future? Perhaps. It's all the luck of the draw and where life takes me. Will this search bare any fruit? Doubtful. Still the push to pair me off with a nice Jewish girl will continue. I am now in the cross hairs and there is little I can do about it. Even my blogging friend and performance artist Maya Escobar (also Jewish) is determined to set me up with her lovely friend who is.......Jewish. When I asked why the best answer she could give is because this is what she wants for me. It has to be done. There is no rational thought to it but there is a raw insistence that is almost instinctual.

While I despise (LOATHE) musicals, I can't help but think of this number from Fiddler on the Roof. I imagine somewhere in the predominantly Jewish neighborhoods in my state that there are women at least mimicking the essence of this nonsense. Quite frankly, I'm frightened by it all.





Coming up next......

Final thoughts as this season of U N L O A D E D comes to a close.

We've walked the tightrope, shelved our sensitivity, traded in our articulation for aggression....

To be a "man" is to be the idea of a stone warrior who is, in reality, only half a man without the weapons to fight.

Yet fight we do both as "men" and with our significant others if we have them. We love a dog fight. We compete in sports or work, we get cocky if we win and it feeds our very fragile egos. It's an odd for of self nurturing that is not really nurturing but self masturbatory and petty.

Machismo

Within the Latin culture there is great pride taken in a man being a "man." Having been raised by my grandparents you would think that the old world ways would have transferred over to me and, in a way, maybe a bit of it did. But my late Grandfather was not a practitioner of machismo. He was sensitive but silent. The victim of circumstance due to the era he grew up in. He didn't fight or look for one but when it came time to fight back he would. There was an issue with this as you didn't know where the limits of his patience stood. The more he wanted to say something the harder he was to read. He would retreat deep within himself and you could see he wanted to say something but couldn't. Then when he did it he was so raw and angry that he would have to backtrack later and recant many of the things he said. He would do it in a way that he'd never admit to being wrong or even apologize, it was uncanny. He was a wonderful man but I wonder how much greater he would would be if he felt comfortable with self expression. I think he could be superhuman if he mastered this. But for a sensitive man in the old world, this was how to be macho. Appear strong, silent, stoic for as long as you could in spite of yourself.

But Machismo isn't something specific to Latin men, it's something that resides in ALL men and "men." We want to be strong and appealing to women but also don't want to get hurt. We want to be able to kill a grizzly bear with our bare hands and swim the English channel later in the day. We don't want the aid of a doctor when hurt. We want to be able to match the grit of a cowboy in a spaghetti western. We never want to cry or have to get into emotionally messy situations.

But most importantly, we don't want to be reminded of our own weaknesses and limitations.

So being macho is the perfect shield for us. We earn the respect of our fellow men and "men" and we can keep our love interests at arms length so they can't do too much damage. Commitment? That's a compromise to a man's machismo and independence. It says to many a man and "men" that they can't do it alone and they aren't invincible. It also says that the spaghetti western adventure is over.

Possibility

Men and "men" are fascinated by possibility, the "what if." The conquest and legacy. To commit means that the definition of conquering will change or simply go away. Men take pride in winning over women or building something on their own. We like to point at something and say, "Yes, I did that." Of course, not all men are are like this. There are many men that do want to commit and have a family and make that their legacy. But for some of us, the question will always linger on our mind,"Is this as good as it gets?"

We simply don't know the answer and to deprive ourself of opportunity in exchange for what's in front of us, as wonderful as she may be.....it still may not be enough according to our expectations. Are they too high? Too low? That is something we must judge for ourselves as each of our cases are unique.

So if you ladies are wondering why he's taking so long to make up his mind then what I'm saying here could be the reason. It's not immaturity, it's possibility. And the more you try to pin him down the more he'll struggle to escape. Frustrating, but the nature of the beast.

Opening Up

This is where a "man" becomes a man and this is one of the hardest things for us to do. Perhaps it's the testosterone but opening up is awful. I dread it, loathe it with all my being. Yet I do it. I owe it to my background in the arts. I was forced to do it as that was the only way to create an honest artistic work or performance. I had to get comfortable with being emotionally uncomfortable. And while it has become somewhat easier, it's not a picnic.

There's so much on the line here. The man you thought you were is now exposed, a sitting duck, ready to be blown to bits by rejection or indifference. Still, if you find the right woman, you have to show your intelligence, your understanding, your real sensitivity at your core and your dominance at the periphery. All the stars must be aligned but we men can do it. However, this will bring about another problem to the suspicious woman and it's something that will push us back to being "men" quicker than a hiccup....

I will reveal that for you here and much more.......

(siting back in my chair and looking at the clock)

But not tonight......tonight I'm going to bed and thinking about the Playboy bunnies and the Playboy mansion. I will have a "man's" dream and harbor no regrets at my digressions.

Coming up next.....The final installment of why men are "men.

There are weeks at work where the sooner they end, the better. Last week was no exception. The autumn chill had really started to make itself felt that night. I was just getting out of work and wanted to go straight home but that wasn't going to happen. I noticed that the low fuel light had gone off. Yet another little blow to an overall shitty day. The good news is that there was a gas station nearby and given that it was 9 at night, I wouldn't have to wait in line. It would be quick and painless, something that is seemingly impossible to do in Stamford, CT.

Stamford is a small city with few buildings over 20 stories, yet it has all the congestion and bustle of midtown Manhattan. An odd juxtaposition but something I've learned to deal with.

Actually cope is a better word, but aren't we all?

EMPTY

The tank, the gas station and the feeling in my gut. I would get my gas, go home and sleep off the dull pain in my body and the numbness in my head. I figured I give a call to my Uncle A but got and abrupt "Let me call you back." I'd have to settle for the sound of the gas pump instead of conversation. I watched the numbers tick by, tallying up the the total that would be docked from my debit card when another car pulled up.

Still entranced by the flickering numbers that never seemed to stop going up, the other car's door opened.

The sound of heels on the pavement.

A nasty gust of wind.

The corner of my eye catching long brunette hair flowing and longer legs carrying a perfect body and beautiful face to the stations shop.

A glance over at me and I look away as not to be too obvious.

I like what I see.

Don't you like me?

Our leggy brunette returned to her car and began pumping her own gas. She was using the pump on the opposite side of mine. We were close but I lost my view. These devices are big, obstructive monstrosities. Amidst the sound of gas flowing through rubber tubes into our tanks I heard an unusual and most welcomed utterance.

"Don't you like me?"

What did she just say? Was that directed at me?

"Don't you like me?"

From what I see, yes! But was she speaking to a gas pump that didn't want to work? Or was it someone in her car? A boyfriend? A child? I can't tell because I CAN'T FUCKING SEE!

"Oh come on, don't you like me?"

CLUNK!

That's the sound the pump maid as my tank reached full. The receipt printed out and it was the perfect chance for me to grab it, toss it in the trash and sneak another look at our beauty.

Then our eyes would lock, she'd ask me that question again and I give a smile and say yes.

We'd kiss right there and we'd fuck with reckless abandon on the hood of her car not giving a shit who saw us!

We'd become an item and whenever we walked into a place we'd be the hottest damn couple there. I'd get used to the fact that other men would always be staring at her with lust instead of feeling a twinge of annoyance at their passive agressive advances. I'd do the same, how could I blame them? I'm the stud, they are not. Look and learn you bastards!! She's all mine!

And she's digs me for me and wouldn't care about the fact I wasn't the richest guy around or living in a small apartment as opposed to a penthouse.

The sight of her nude body would always instantly ignite the most intense fire I have ever felt. It would be a super nova! The sparks would never fade and other women would throw themselves at me because I'd be a hotter ticket than I already am. Yeah, that's the fucking ticket baby!!!!

(clears throat)

All I have to do is say yes to her question and it will all fall into place!

And then......I'd catch her cheating with another guy.

BITCH!

She's so full of herself that she's made it a habit of toying with men! I was just the latest victim. The path of broken hearts before me likely stretches to infinity and the path before me likely disappears into the horizon. Once conquered she'd be onto her next target. I would be left bewildered, confused and angry.

How can this be? How could I have been played for such a fool by this sociopath with perfect tits?

NO! I will not let this woman spray me down with gas and take a match to me! I will NOT answer her question and I will leave unscathed to fight another day!!!

Play your games somewhere else you fucking harlot!!!

Driving Off

As I drove off, I finally got a better look at her. Still as beautiful as when I saw her moments before. There was no one with her, no one was in the car, it was just her. She looked at me as if she were still waiting for my answer. I smiled and drove off.

Sometimes it's good to leave them guessing. Even if I'm left second guessing myself.

Coming up next on U N L O A D E D........

The boss who never was. Do you have that special someone at work who wants to be your boss but isn't and is basically in the same position as you? We'll take a look this cubicle dwelling subspecies.

And coming up later.....

Behold the Blackberry or is it the Crackberry? Is it helping my life or slowly destroying it?

Also to come.....

Dealing with defeat. I don't like to lose, not a bit. A look at how I'm dealing with it and a chance to share your thoughts on how you cope.

The stag party aka the bachelor party. The final passage for a young man who is about to get hitched and "settle down." Presumably this is his last night of "freedom" and "hanging out with the boys. " From there the groom to be will settle down, be domesticated, knock up his wife, have some kids and become a responsible father. Gone are the days having fun and cutting loose. The man becomes the groom and the groom becomes a husband and the husband becomes an emasculated chump. The fun is gone, the life is beaten out from him and he works along with his wife to support and raise his family.

Does this sound grim to you? It should. I wrote it that way because this is the mentality that is behind stag parties and it's very effective. Sure the men love the women they are about to marry but this hanging out, this fun stuff....it's all coming to an end and NOW! Amidst the cheers, drinks and catcalls as the strippers dance and the porn plays out, the sense of symbolic death is palpable at a stag. I find it extremely depressing. Why is it seen this way and why do these events men usually enjoy feel pathetic and empty?

The Chilling Effect

I have long outgrown the need to go to strip clubs but still enjoy some good porn now and then and may turn to it to snap me out of this prescription drug funk. However, these activities ARE NOT what the usual "hanging out with the fellas" entails. The good times involved sitting around, having some drinks, arguing about sports and talking about life. Yet for some reason, as if by instinct, all that goes out the window with bachelor parties. Suddenly we MUST go to the strip clubs and we MUST act like idiots. The second part I don't mind as much because being an idiot, at times, is part of cutting loose. It's the degree of idiocy that one must watch or they may be without friends before long.

Bachelor parties are not just about strip clubs, there are lame raffles to siphon money out of you to finance an overpriced wedding. Never ending card games of Texas Hold 'em because poker games are "in" these days. Cigar smoking from men that never smoke them. (although I do enjoy a good one once in a blue moon) Outrageous ticket fees to even get you into the party and....more lame raffles to siphon money out of you to pay for an overpriced wedding. I have never seen so many of my friends instantly transformed into lonely old men than at bachelor parties. No one talks to each other, people just scream at one another. No one really has fun but they tell themselves to because hey...it's a bachelor party and they force themselves to get drunk. Painful and awkward speeches are made to the groom to be but none of it has substance. The interaction is muted and in the guise of boisterousness.

By this time the future groom has cut himself off from his single counterparts. He can no longer identify with them or he is afraid he'll be made to feel like he's making the wrong move. Conversation becomes limited to canned questions like "how are things?" The friend you knew for years is fading away before your very eyes. He now seems more intent to speak to the other men in the room who are married because they have been there and are more responsible. We must keep up appearances after all. Single friends are now people who have something "wrong" with them. They are poor lost souls who must "grow up" and "get serious about life" yet these will be the same men who (a year or so into the marriage) look to you in awe when you talk about your night out and the new woman you've met.

I have yet to wrap my mind around this "grass is greener on the other" side thing. Was I not once the social reject for not having it together?

I Hate Bachelor Parties

If only it were like the Tom Hanks screwball comedy classic. Then again, maybe not.

Sure I love to look at beautiful nude women swinging from a pole. Sure I love drinking massive amounts of alcohol. Sure I love NOT spending money on raffles. Sure I'm happy for my friend that he's found the woman of his dreams. But energy that pulses through a stag party makes it all seem lonely and childish and pathetic even though 2 people are coming together.

For this, I will not be attending one that I have been invited to. The last stag I went to was for my former best friend. It was actually a ploy to get money out of me before cutting me off. After making a speech to all about what a great friend I was, he kept his wedding day a secret and didn't invite me. All because I talked to an ex girlfriend he dated 10 years back and we hit it off 10 years later. Nothing ever became of us but because I had thoughts of it, he felt justified. He not only cut me off but saw to it that others cut me off too. It is this same man who is inviting me to this current stag. Thanks but no thanks. I know the gentleman getting married and he was a friend, but I feel that I will be cut off again once it's over. The money stays here gentleman! (points to wallet)

In the end, I don't think it's the future grooms last night of freedom. It's a change, a big one, and it needn't involve cutting people off once it's over.

Coming up next on U N L O A D E D......

Sentimental things. Why do we hold onto them? Do we need to? do they empower of hold us back?

She radiates a sunlight of her own. Her body is the portrait of perfection, accentuated by the way she dresses and moves in the summer heat. She turns heads as she passes by and amidst the flattery feels a sense of entitlement.

She's worked hard to look good and the payoff is one of life sweetest rewards. She has turned the tables, using her femininity NOT to just attract men....but to hunt them.

She stands confidently at the edge of a dance floor or patio of an outdoor bar, scanning the scene. This is a woman that knows what she wants and will get it with a firm, lustful glance and a smile. She is the summer huntress.

They are out, en masse, in every city where the night brings a life of it's own. For they are the very essence of the night life of which I write of.

Only in the summer is a woman's sensuality heightened to the point that one can smell and taste it in the air. Perhaps it's the display of flesh, perhaps it's a shift in mood. Indeed, there is talk of spring fever and how it's the time to fall in love or meet that special someone. But it is merely a warm up for the final, most exciting act; the summer.

Legs that go on forever, breasts that reveal themselves through thinner shirts, the firm glistening, bodies of women on the beach or going out for a jog.....minds as sharp as a blade......

Yes, their spell is a powerful one that we mortal men can try to resist but will ultimately fail on every count. Our knees weaken, our mouths fall open, we fumble for words, a visceral fire erupts. She will use her arms, hands, lips, the scent of her hair, and legs to caress, tantalize and subdue. Our defenses are useless. There is no one to help us, nor do we want it.

The summer huntress puts us in a trance, leads us to a night of excitement and breaks us to do her bidding. She knows of this power and uses it with surgical precision. Their lust and desire for a roll in the sack is equal to that of we men and in some cases, even more so. Once they have placed us in their sights, it is they who will chew us up and spit us out.

All so they can do it again when another summer night begins. We are gratified, expendable assets. A dish devoured and discarded the moment satisfaction has been achieved. We are left exhausted, enthralled and bemused by it all.

Such is the way of the huntress. We can only pray to be in her line of fire again before the fall comes.


Next on U N L O A D E D, a look at why we blog. How much time do we sacrifice? Does it help or hurt us? Why do we keep coming back?

With summer here and the temperature rising the mind seems to slide into a much different gear than the norm. Wants and needs become a bit more passionate and aggression becomes a bit more prominent resulting in either getting what you want or an unnecessary fight. While summer should be a time of relaxation and peaceful cohabitation the human drive seems to be amplified especially in terms of sex. Some of my best "stories" have happened during the summer and the energy between myself and the female counterpart in question has always been hotter then the most intense heat wave imaginable.

Words are substituted with glances and smiles. Assertiveness becomes a long deep gaze into the eyes. Acceptance is no longer a "yes" but simply grabbing and taking what you want and devouring. Inhibition is lost within moments as opposed to hours, days or weeks. It's primal, it's real, the hunt is on. What is it about the summer that causes this? Your guess is as good as mine, dear readers, for your fellow blogger has been hunted, preyed upon and loved every moment of it. Perhaps you have as well and loved it just as much as I have. Here's hoping that it happens again before the summer is over.

But summer lust need not involve things that are just canal as much as I love all things pertaining to the subject. Below is a list of other ""triggers" (along with some carnal) that seem to set me into a hunger in the summer time.

Summer Lust Triggers

A quality light coloured beer (not calories) served ice cold. But even a Carona with lime will suffice.

Authentic Italian ice usually made in a small shop in a predominantly Italian neighborhood. Not the lousy store bought kind.

Maria Sharapova. (pictured just below in a very summery white on the tennis court) 'Nuff said.

Any Cold Stone Creamery I pass. I have to run in and order something.

Any attractive woman comfortable showing her long legs in the right summer outfit. Be it the right shorts or a skirt, I will spot them from a mile away and lust for them.

Laying about in the warmth and sun and simply doing nothing.

The right woman in a bikini.

A bikini car wash. Let's face it gentleman, when else will every possible view out of your car be as majestic?

Jumping into a pool.

A nice cool shower, but not too cold.

Snacking on grapes and strawberries or feeding them to the right someone.

Sweating, heaving, breasts. A bit much but I'm a man and hold no regrets over this statement.

Dancing all night with a lovely lady! Working up a sweat while the drink and song flow freely as well as our hands over our bodies. The slight taste of sweat as I kiss her neck and the friction of our bodies coming together. This, my friends, is what I call living.

Sitting back and watching the sunset alone or with the right woman next to me. Preferably with the latter.

Next up on U N L O A D E D.......

Examining the mind and body of the summer huntress.

We pick up from where I we left off, the call to my uncle known as L.

While his best friend P had put a gun to my head 10 years ago it was L that talked to him afterward and made P realize that he had done a very stupid thing. P apologized profusely to me and I forgave him. I don't hate the man, I really didn't nor do I now. Yet, when it comes to my family, I don't have that power to forgive that easily. Probably because the sincerity I saw out of P dwarfed anything I saw from anyone that was considered family. I had only know P for 48 hours and my fathers side of the family for all but a few weeks but my gut told me to worry them. All of them except for L.

He called me on a Sunday evening and we spoke for hours. It was good to hear his voice, we had a lot of catching up to. But once all the pleasantries were set aside we finally got down to the issue at hand; the deceased.

The Dead Father

He lived and died by the system. Not the system that you and I play by but the system of government subsidized living due to his time in the military. You see, technically speaking, he was a Vietnam War veteran but between the lines......he was never really a war veteran. He played in the military band that would perform at the funerals of soldiers that were killed during the war. My father was an exceptional flute player and knew his way around other instruments as well, but he was not a grunt. He never saw a day of combat but would look into your eyes and say he was in there for the Tet Offensive and the fall of Saigon . They were very authentic sounding stories and by most accounts they were genuine, they just weren't his. He had culled together bits and pieces of war time horrors that he heard from other soldiers who did see combat and made them his own. From there he was able to convince the powers that be that in hearing these stories, it caused him great stress. That stress, the fear of going to war, gave him P.T.S.D. (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and that entitled him to benefits.

Till his last days he lived off this. When money grew tight, he would volunteer for some experiment or research that a veteran's hospital would be doing. He even faked a heroine addiction and took methadone to get a little extra from the system. He lived at veteran's hospitals and even got his housing in Ozone Park, Queens taken care of via section 8 provisions. He avoided real work, tried to stay poor and reaped the social service benefits that followed.

To be fair, he wasn't playing with a full deck to begin with. He was an alcoholic, a big one, and he was reclusive and obsessive compulsive. It's because of this that I can give a little and not write him off as a total waste of a life. There was also his music, which I'll get to later.

Yes L and I retraced the trail of lies he had spun through the years and L shed light on some new topics as well. None of which were complimentary, all of which involved money. He had been stealing money from his mothers social security checks. The same mother A wanted me to visit. I told L of A's recommendation that I visit her. L asked, "what's the point?" She has no clue who I am since she has Alzheimer's and we only met once. I agreed.

I asked about the accidents that happened to my father, the fall in the subway and getting struck by a car. I asked what ever became of the settlement.

L: You know what? A told me about it and left me with no direction on how to find information. I found a lawyer but the lawyer doesn't know what became of it either.

Me: What?

L: If you want to work with me on finding it we can. But it's not going to be easy.

Me: What about the money from the fall in the subway? That was used to bury him, right?

L: Not all of it. I looked over some bank records that belonged to your father. There was lots of withdrawals, money missing here and there. I have no idea where it was going.

Me: Did he leave anything else behind?

L: A gave it all away or kept it. I told A that he could have at least set aside one of your fathers flutes.

Me: That would have been nice but I'm not interested. Why is A saying you're the one handling this when your not?

L: No one told me your father was dying until the very end, I moved out of New York to Florida. I had a rough time getting there, there was a snow storm. When I found him in his apartment, he with a nurse that took care of him. He was 60 pounds. He said that he would be fine and that they were just going to remove a tumor and he'd be OK. He also told me a few other things that he had hidden away.

What exactly were those things? Why wait so long to tell L that my father was dying? What was A up to? We had our suspicions and I will share them with you here.......

But not tonight.

This is it ladies and gents, the final battle. It all started with a mysterious email from a woman named Olenka who appeared to be seeking love but wanted my credit card info and from there I was pulled into the world of mail order brides. A cheesy enterprise, yes, but one that still pulls in millions from wealthy men around the world. And what type of wealthy man would pursue this?

I went trying to find that out. At first glance I can see how it would be tempting to many men but the time and money needed to follow this plan through is vast. Never the less, some will do it and with gusto!

Have a look at this. Trust me, it's worth the watch. And if you don't watch it, the rest of the post isn't going to make much sense!



Wow! Tell me ladies, which one stole your heart? I don't think these men are all inherently bad. In fact, there is one frustrated man that I can, in some ways, relate to but still would not go this far much less marry her. Tour groups like this go out to these countries all the time to meet at socials in hopes that they can connect with the woman of their dreams. Such a tour goes for a few grand a pop. Most of the time it does not include airfare but you get a hotel room and guide and sometimes one on one meetings with prospective ladies with the aid of a translator. You can go out for lunch or a stroll around town.

Ah, The Romance

I think while many of these men might like the idea of "ownership" over someone, others seem like they probably had their hearts stomped on one too many times and decided to take matters into their own hands. I mean, just look at the last guy in the video. I can see women eating him alive in all the wrong ways. For these types of men, such services insulate them in a way. For one, it gives more opportunity in their minds to find "the sure thing" which is out the window if you are at a local bar or something. It's a controlled environment where rejections sting doesn't hurt as much because the men are seemingly at a greater advantage. They don't have to pursue as much because it is the women that are desperately trying to escape their homeland. The men can just pick and choose, or so they think. I say think because the woman never have to reveal their true intentions either. They can just play along and reduce the man to putty in her hands. Did we see this in any of the video readers? I bet you did! And once the guy does get her home you could always wind up with this.



She wants to have a WHAT at the 1 minute mark in the video? Is Masha a performance artist, satirist, or a bona fide bride from Russia living in the UK?!?!? Perhaps we'll never know but there are other Masha's out there, planning, scheming, dreaming.

I Don't Need No Stinkin' Russian Mail Order Bride!

I had a chance to talk to the Russian woman at my synagogue again this week where I broached the topic once more. Remember, she suspected them of being KGB agents.

ME: I got an email from a Russian mail order bride named Olenka.

Her: No! No! No! No! No mail order bride for Ricardo. No good. You must not!

Me: I think they're a bit crazy to do this.

Her: They crazy and alcoholics! They lazy and no work! No! No! No! I have niece from Russia studying in Israel now. She go back to Russia soon. Perhaps I make match for her with you.

What have I done?

The Lonely Hearts Club

The reasons for both men and women taking the plunge into these ventures are about as varied as you can get. Sure there are the prostitute and pimp types but there are also those that are so lonely they will resort to anything to stop the hurt. We all want someone to cure us of our emptiness, "complete" us as the ridiculous line in Jerry McGuire went, and feel desired in ways that you can't get from family or owning a pet. This is a natural human need if used in the right context but we tend to distort it. I, for one, never believed that I needed to fall in love to be "complete" because no one "completes me" but me. I think that's goes for everyone else also.

We are bombarded with love songs and images that don't really profess love but codependency. We look for magic when we should be looking for common ground. We seek to bridge the gap between fantasy and reality and sometimes it works, other times it does not. One thing is for certain, as long as these human needs exist, there will always be Russian mail order brides.

I think I might have found mine if I were serious about it. A little bit girl next door, a little bit Black Widow and every bible thumping redneck's worst nightmare. LOL!!!