Honey to the Bees
Paul'S PlacE ❗ ⭕❗⭕ ❗⭕
These stories and irreverent points of view usually make sense... to me.
I hope you.ll share my smile.
(©April 2018-22 January Paul)
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FirecrackerS and FrogS... and What the FUCK Did YOU JusT Say... 😮❗
Posted:Sep 16, 2021 4:34 pm
Last Updated:Oct 19, 2021 9:33 am
For years, I've seen the end of MY summers marked with NOTHING worthy — except a cluster of ramped-up traffic. Decades, eons ago, I'd look forward to the start of school. You know, reuniting with friends and, of course, that cringe-worthy English assignment — 'What I Did On My Summer Vacation'.

And so that's what I thought about, as I was stuck in wall-to-wall gridlock, on 'Highway 13' driving in from Laval. (*why would you live in Laval unless you couldn't afford to live in Montreal. Yeah, there's the wildlife. I'll have to elaborate at another time.*)

Anyway... in grade two, our nubile teacher, Miss Drummond, was progressive and passionate , and she asked us to step outside the box. "Come on, class. I want to see creative stories and some 'new' vocabulary."

We all looked at each other, rolled our eyes and groaned. But (*you know me*), I did my best to follow her guidelines and came up with this 'take'. I mean, it was a while ago, but this is pretty close to what I think I wrote


On the first day of the vacation, mom gave my brother and me a brush-cut. My head felt so light and free.

The next day, we all headed up north to my parent's cottage by the river. That's where we spent nine weeks doing things like swimming, chopping trees, and chasing frogs with firecrackers. We had a lot of fun.

I also met a new friend who taught me how to swear.

On the last day of my vacation, mom took us to fucking 'Walmart' to buy a pair of pants and shoes.

And here I am, sitting in a classroom, writing about what I did all summer. Do you want details? Come see me, and I'll share more stuff with you.


Sure enough, Miss Drummond called me over after class. I presumed it was to learn more about those frogs. Funny thing, Miss Drummond was MORE concerned with my vocabulary. My thoughts were; 'Well, why did you ask me to use NEW words if YOU don't like them?'

I recall other summertime images seared into my head — years later. I remember languid evenings as my girlfriend, and I lay there. We were bathed in sweat while a warm breeze tickled our skin — and we watched, as the morning sun first kissed the night.

There's some 'stuff' I'm skipping (*you can imagine*), but I wonder how Miss Drummond would have graded THAT fucking prose. I'm guessing she might have had a few of THOSE salacious recollections herself.

A couple of years later, I paused and tried hard to imagine my Grade Two teacher, Miss Drummond, having sex. (*She was on maternity leave, or so they said*). But, how else would she have had her ? I'm stuck on the visual. I wonder if she liked doggy. 🤔


Do you think your teachers ever had sex in a car?

FirecrackerS and FrogS and What the FUCK Did YOU JusT Say
The DarE... SomE CoupleS PlaY... Is IT worth IT 😮❗
Posted:Sep 15, 2021 5:40 pm
Last Updated:Oct 2, 2021 7:18 pm
I would have whispered to her, as she blazed her eyes through me.

I want to drink that scornful smirk right off your face. True, those fucking cute dimples drop anchor — when you grit your teeth. I always watch your eyes widen when I say a bunch of shit that I know trips you up.

No worries, babe; I'm just fucking around. Smile into my mouth and let me taste you. Just close your lids and let's share the shiver. Tell me how much I fucking infuriate you... later.

I dare you.
Tell me to fuck off!


Some 'fire and ice' couples have a moment.

The DarE SomE CoupleS PlaY Is IT worth IT
IvE PaiD for IT... YouVe PaiD for IT — We ALL HavE 😎❗
Posted:Sep 7, 2021 8:28 am
Last Updated:Oct 31, 2021 4:25 pm
The lobby of 'The Plaza' bustled quietly; it always did. She stood poised and clutched a petite scarlet purse. Her slim figure — draped in an elegant black dress — forged a stunning contrast against the cream-coloured theme of those boundless renaissance walls.

Ruby lipstick defined a suggestive pout. But men would have been drawn to her smokey eyes; they blazed an enticing beacon through the ambient light of that lavish room.

She waited — patiently.

A gentleman at the far end of the lobby had noticed her invitation. He walked towards her, and with the stealth of a sly Cheshire, whispered. Moist lips parted to answer his question — just as I approached.

Lynn's eyes caught mine and widened. She turned, waved her supple wrist, and spoke to the well-dressed man who had leaned into her ear.

"This is my boyfriend, Paul..."

Before Lynn could utter another word, that gentleman apologized profusely, scurried across the lobby, out the doors — and into the crowded shadows of Fifth Avenue.

I looked at Lynn, then towards the man who had run away. "What the fuck was THAT all about?"

"He thought I was a and wanted to hire me," Lynn fluttered her lashes and grinned.

"How much did he offer you?"

"I don't know. You showed up."

"Well, maybe I should race after him and find out," I laughed.

We were in New York for the weekend — a lifetime ago — and that's how our evening began. Lynn DID look like a million bucks, and for the rest of the night, we joked about what a rendezvous with her should cost. We never figured on a fee; the numbers Lynn threw at me were bold.

Then again, when I added up the airfare, cab, hotel, drinks, meals and tips — and that carriage ride through Central Park — I wasn't far off her price.

I've never paid to have sex. But if I stand back and look at things differently — I realize I've been paying for puss... I mean carnal pleasures ALL my life.

Oh, and that weekend with Lynn was worth every penny.


In 1907, with a modest 50$ per week, a pro would make $85k a year — in today's dollars.
Blogging For Bucks... The Condom Conundrum... and FrankeeZee... 😎❗
Posted:Aug 27, 2021 10:05 am
Last Updated:Oct 12, 2021 5:38 am
There's been an insane heatwave suffocating most of North America for the last month, have you noticed? I've taken, to enjoy walks in my favourite lakeside park — BEFORE, that red-lava scullion rises in the east. Yesterday, I invited FrankeeZee (*my buddy from another sex site *) to join me; he happily obliged.

A cool breeze had begun to brush the waves when we took a break from our jaunt and sat down on a bench. I shut my eyes and inhaled deep breaths of refreshing air as it caressed and soothed my soul. FrankeeZee clumsily plunked himself down, bumped my elbow, then yanked the laptop out of his knapsack — and began to type.

"Oh, for fuck's sake Frankee, give it a rest. Can't you enjoy the moment without writing your stupid blog?"

"Paul, I have an obligation to my SPONSOR, " he replied, smiling.

"Your blog is sponsored? Who would do THAT and why?"

"Paul, I told you about the purge we had last month or were you paying attention?" Frankee rolled his eyes at me and continued.

"Our website unveiled a more user-friendly version of our blog pages. Half the bloggers fucked off, but the rest of us found sponsors. We had to, or we wouldn't exist.

I looked at FrankeeZee and blinked, "OK, so who sponsors you?"

"I found a major beer conglomerate looking for a top blogger, and we worked out a deal. Ever heard of Bud Light?"

My eyes widened. "Bud Light is your sponsor?"

"No, for fuck's sake. 'Banja Luka Brewery' in Bosnia — is Bud's number one competitor — and THEY hooked up with me. What do you think about THAT?"

I didn't know what to say; I was momentarily speechless.

FrankeeZee's fingers clicked the tiny keys as he raised his head and squinted at me. "Ya know Paul; it's too bad you're such a shitty blogger and a pussy."

"Really, and why is that?"

I heard 'Trojan' is looking to support a Top-Ten blogger. But I don't see your name on that 'list' , and you don't use condoms, do you? You don't even fuck anymore, right?"

I glared at Frankee. Friends, what are they good for, if not for their brutal honesty?

Hmmm... I thought for a second. What IF the Bobs — over at A F F headquarters — wanted to turn 'Blog Land' into a moneymaker? What IF they obliged ALL bloggers to pay for the privilege of blogging?

I've used Trojan rubbers; I'll give them a call. Ya never know — just saying.

The sun's crimson rays peeked above the distant horizon. I slipped on my sunglasses and realized — its beauty was ephemeral — we'd all soon start to burn. FrankeeZee nudged my arm.

"Hey Paul, how do spell purgatory?"


A view from the pier as the sun fired up.

Blogging For Bucks The Condom Conundrum and FrankeeZee
Can Bouzouki MelodieS and GallonS of WhinE... SavE A DatE... 🤔❗
Posted:Aug 17, 2021 9:57 am
Last Updated:Oct 4, 2021 4:49 pm
Her brilliant smile and those twinkling eyes had been the alluring snare. I have no CLUE what she saw in me. But there we were, anchored at a vibrant Greek bistro over on Montreal's Fairmount Street.

Thin beams of porcelain light framed every table. We sat cloaked in warm shadows, over at the back of that cheerful room. Bouzouki music weaved lively rhythms and bounced off pastel murals as our black-tied waiter ambled over and raised his pen to his pad. SHE, paused her incoherent rant, and with slurred consideration — announced her order.

"I'll take the 'Seafood Pikilia' and a tiny 'Greek Salad' with a small bowl of tzatziki, on the side. Oh, and I'll have another bottle of white wine. But don't serve the meal just yet."

Then, she turned to me and flashed those luminous teeth; I grinned.

"You want some too?
Ok — TWO bottles of white wine," she concluded.

And THAT'S how our first date had evolved. I excused myself and headed towards the bathroom but veered into the kitchen. (*listen, I'm not a total asshole, but I'd had enough.*) I waved to the cooks, laid a couple of twenties on the stainless steel counter, and walked out the back door.

Slipping through that dark alley, I turned towards the street and reached into my blazer for my phone. For fuck's sake! In my haste, I'd left THAT precious hardware on the leather bench seat — back at the restaurant.

I stopped in my tracks and turned around.

She DID have dazzling incisors and those gleaming eyeballs. But there was more whine coming; a lot more. *Ugh* Second chances rarely work — or do they?

(*addendum : so what do you want me to say? that things worked out; they didn't.
it was a peaceful failure. *)


The Greeks invented the orgy but the Romans added women.
An OPEN InvitatioN... To The BloggerS FarewelL PartY... 😎❗
Posted:Aug 3, 2021 6:07 am
Last Updated:Oct 12, 2021 5:41 am
With the imminent release of the 'NEW Blogger Community' — here on 'A F F' — and the subsequent PROMISE from a multitude of bloggers that THEY will be leaving this site, it's only fair that we throw them a 'going away party', right?

I was on 'Zoom' the other day with the 'Bobs' (*CIO and CEO of A F F*) when the controversial topic of the modifications to the blog pages came up. Bob spit-balled an idea.

"Paul, how's about we throw a bash for all those bloggers who'll be fucking off?" (*although, I think he meant to say — retiring.*)

The other Bob suggested the use of the 'A F F' facilities. They agreed this Friday would be a perfect time, what with the 'NEW' rollout occurring over the weekend. It'll be a BYOB event with a BBQ served over on the back lawn, and a vegan option offered as well.

And with so many empty offices available — due to the recent layoffs — a sleepover is feasible for those who've had a 'few'.

For everyone who can't make it to California, there'll be a live 'Zoom' feed, so ANYONE who logs in — will be able to join the fun. Further details will probably be posted on the A F F Main Page. I'd like to go, but they've gotta open up the fricken Canada - USA border.

There's only one question that remains to be answered; Bob wanted to know the number of parting gifts he should prepare.

"Paul, how many bloggers are going to fuck off and leave Blog Land and how many of THOSE — who say they will — are full of shit?"

I believe what he meant to say was, "Do you think any bloggers will ever leave these pages and find lives elsewhere as enriching and fulfilling as the erotic experience offered here?"

I'm guessing THAT'S what he implied.

I heard a clatter of bottles and watched as Bob stumbled across the room. The other Bob put his glass down, lay his head on the conference room table and fell asleep. I was left watching him snore while I listened to the sound of Bob — throwing up in the bathroom.


Bring your own sleeping bag, of course.

An OPEN InvitatioN To The BloggerS FarewelL PartY
Why Waste Your Time... HereS a Shortcut to Happy Endings... 😊 ❗
Posted:Jul 6, 2021 12:44 pm
Last Updated:Aug 18, 2021 11:52 pm
*It's hot and it's summer. That 'bug bubble' has burst, and we're all enjoying that shift back to normal. Who's got the time to read a fricken blog — let alone WRITE one? Here's a sample of a shortcut that will save YOU some time and allow your impatient READERS to skip to that elusive 'happy ending'.
Your welcome.*

You know Lynn; she's crazy and wild and a fraction bi-polar. I knew her too well, the way you'd recognize someone by their concealed habits. Lynn enjoyed holding her cup of tea while extending a pinky, just a bit off to the side. It was always entertaining and a challenge to read her mood as I watched that little digit assume an angle. I wasn't shocked or even surprised when Lynn looked up — put her cup down — and asked me her question.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit? Vestibulum auctor porta commodo. Fusce aliquam eros tortor. Donec messed up metus quis cursus scelerisque. Suspendisse vel orci mattis diam elementum fringilla. Proin tempor malesuada diam messed up more eu semper.

Sed vitae purus et leo lobortis ornare semper sed lorem. Cras sed libero sed sem hendrerit fringilla convallis et lacus. Maecenas est messed up most lacus, faucibus ac ultricies porta, tempor eget dui.

The sirens were silenced. I couldn't believe Lynn had convinced those policemen to walk back to their patrol cars and drive away. And I couldn't help but smile as I teased Lynn — waving her panties and those handcuffs in the air. Was there another way to look at it? lol 😂


I guess we'll never know what really happened. But seriously — who cares? Go enjoy the weather.
Sweaty Sticky Ball Slapping Sex... And Other Summer Pastimes... 😎❗
Posted:Jun 29, 2021 11:13 am
Last Updated:Aug 18, 2021 11:54 pm
Sweaty, sticky, balls-slapping sex, cleaning a bathroom tub, and beach volleyball are three things that don't interest me in the least when the 'humidex' nudges over a hundred degrees. I came to THAT conclusion many years ago. Late last night, I was reminded again of how I'd arrived at my opinion.

I don't have air conditioning in my home; with the fresh breezes that flow and blow through the rooms of my abode, I never bothered. And, I have a fan strategically placed to provide me with all the witching hour wind I need for sleep. Those whirling propellers serve me well — except when they don't.

A power failure brought my spinning blades to a silent standstill.

Electricity — in my part of the world — is driven by cheap and reliable hydro that NEVER goes down; OK, occasionally. Now tell me; how can anyone survive THIS — smouldering, sweltering, smelter (*try saying that fast, five times*) — without power? I needed a plan to cool off.

So there I stood — naked, in front of my huge living room window (*it was dark, and no one could see me *) — and gulped in the faint wisps of lava air that fluttered in. My silly neighbour, the one who walks her Shih Tzu at midnight, paused next to that moonlit maple tree on my lawn. I would have noticed sooner, but my eyes were shut. I held them that way until her barked and... *uhh*... startled me. Facetiously, I waved — surprisingly, 'Shih Tzu lady' waved back. For fuck's sake!

I stepped away from my window and gave up.

'Plan B' found me driving around in my frozen car, where the AC worked fine, and the music was loud, and I could breathe. Life was great again. While I waited for the power to come back, I wondered, what did people do before electricity?

In winter, I can see myself — going 'old school' and — throwing a log in the fire to warm up, but in this inhuman inferno? I'm moving an air mattress to my deck 'next time' — if there is one. Perhaps it's just me, but I can't take the heat. I'd probably wither and perish if I lived in Florida or Arizona.

Oh yeah, and herding cattle; that's another thing I wouldn't do.

Am I alone on this one?


Sex on a beach — sure. And the drink is fine too.
What.S The Point Of Being A Man... If You Can.T Do This...🤔❗
Posted:Jun 22, 2021 10:07 am
Last Updated:Aug 19, 2021 10:29 am
Technology and fancy gadgets have tickled my impressions many times over the decades. But there are glitches in some of those 'new things' out there. The other night SHE popped out, in one of those 'new things' —and froze everything.

Her stylish burgundy car had gridlocked EVERYONE in that parking lot. I was 'jammed,' so I walked to the scene to survey the situation.

The lady with the lifeless car (*and the long legs and tight black skirt*) sat there, her door ajar. I watched as she bent her knees and — with the polish of a Hollywood star — slid out of her leather seat, then planted her stilettos into the white shimmer of those overhead street lights. She slammed her door, hung up her phone, and casually — looked around at ALL of us.

I should have added; I was one person, in a small HERD of men — ready to help. One of us asked her a useful question, "What seems to be the trouble?"

"It's an electric car. It just died. It's completely 'fricken' dead."

We nodded as if we knew what the fuck she was talking about. The mechanic in our group suggested to her that she open the hood and put on the emergency flashers; he'd take a look. It was useless. Nothing worked or even opened, and I mean absolutely NOTHING.

As I turned to walk back to my car, another gallant man moved closer. He blemished the personal space of that ruby-lipped lady and offered HIS professional advice. She waved her arms in the air and smiled.

I started my engine and headed for an escape through a little-known back alley. I also concluded — I'm not ready for an electric vehicle until they get all the bugs out. Flashing lights from a tow truck momentarily blinded me as I paused to let it by. And that herd of men? They lingered; to supervise, I presumed.


Do they still make them like they used to?
Does She HAVE to... Think Like You... 🤔❗
Posted:Jun 15, 2021 11:40 am
Last Updated:Aug 5, 2021 6:31 am
Random thoughts drift easily into my head while I'm driving. Mine linger long enough for me to fasten the missing question mark and fix the punctuation. Occasionally I'll take the time to mould an answer and see if it fits.

There's this frequently advertised sanitizer that promises it will wipe out 99.9% of all bacteria and germs, including Covid. I'd like to know the NAME of the — 'point one percent' — microbe, that cleanser CAN'T kill.

I have a friend who possesses a total lack of common sense and often has me wondering. I didn't know you could suffer brain damage if your father drank — while your mother was pregnant.

A married couple in my circle fight all the time. Their love has so many stitches, I can't believe the surrounding scar tissue can survive another deep breath — yet it always does. And they're still together.

An acquaintance of mine has a new woman in his life, and I won't condone how he's manipulated her. He's proud of having grafted her with his verdicts and theories. After all — he claims — she's his girlfriend and should think like him. Really?

Thirteen traffic lights; that's what I face when I travel along the boulevard — on my way to the highway. In the more than thirty years having lived here, I've NEVER caught all the green lights. I'm almost convinced I should set another goal in life.

Random thoughts savour their freedom when they swamp our minds. I prodded mine to slip back where they live — in the far reaches of my brain — nestled somewhere between the clutter of yesterday's baseball scores and the weather report.

Now... if I could only catch that next green light!

They're not lost in thought, they've lost the remote.
If You Are Naked in a Forest... Will Anyone Notice... 😮❗
Posted:Jun 6, 2021 4:47 pm
Last Updated:Jun 15, 2021 2:57 pm
In lieu of comments — which are broken — text me your thoughts.
450 - 555 - 1927

If a blog is posted onto a website, where comments are FORBIDDEN, can we still call it a blog, or is it simply a cluster of words and pictures posted to a blank page?

If it were a mature timber growth, would it hold up to that 'lumberjack rule'? I mean, I think I'd notice if a tree were felled in my favourite plot of parkland, even if I NEVER heard it fall — wouldn't you?

I recall in grade one; that substitute teacher messing with us. She silenced our reticence by pressing her forefinger to her lips, then glared; we all complied. Our 'regular' teacher let us rattle on and on — but not that NEW one.

I'd rather have the freedom to voice my opinion instead of having to swallow my lip. I prefer the *victual option that defines a blog.

The current state of affairs on THIS website will exist for a while. There is no monetary incentive to fracture (into minutia) and repair faulty code, so this is our NEW reality.

It flattens out the purpose of this space. Or is it a way for a blogger to vent without worrying where the wind blows? I'll relax and realize — absolutely NOTHING is expected from me.

What else is there to do?

*victual; pronounced; 'vittal' — meaning food and drink, especially as needed for sustenance.*
I accidentally stumbled upon this word and thought it was perfect.
If You Are Naked in a Forest Will Anyone Notice


Things a Woman in a White Chiffon Gown Shouldn.t Do... 😮❗
Posted:Jun 1, 2021 11:50 am
Last Updated:Aug 16, 2021 2:21 pm

Certain things in life just aren't done.

Eating a cherry popsicle in the blazing July sun while wearing a white chiffon gown would be one.

Smoking a cigarette in a car with a inside — unless you crack the window open would be another.

And passing out phony twenty dollar bills at the gas station could be a third.

They're all BAD ideas. Yesterday, I accidentally stumbled upon another one.

I was rummaging through my overcrowded closet, searching for 'eclectic' yet rarely worn items to pass onto the less privileged. I was also multi-tasking by cooking in the kitchen. That was a huge fucking mistake.

I never rev up my stove without supervising the proceedings yet — for some messed up reason — I'd quickly drifted into my bedroom for what I thought would be a minute. When I smelled smoke, I ran to my kitchen. What the FUCK? (*or replace with your favorite expression of shock.*)

The flames from the grease in the frying pan had reached the draft hood over my stove. I didn't panic until I couldn't find the lid to that fucking frying pan. It's then that I started to weigh other options. (*By the way, there aren't too many when you're dealing with a grease fire.*) Pouring that blaze down the sink seemed like my only alternative. (*I know, but I wasn't thinking clearly.*)

Before I could make it to the sink, the gloves with which I'd picked up the pan proved useless in preventing my hands from burning. Those towering flames had now singed my ceiling with black swirls. I placed the pan on the floor, reached into the cupboard for the first oversized lid I found and succeeded in starving that inferno. Unfortunately, there were consequences.

In all my years of cooking, I've NEVER had a fire. As proof of my stupidity, I now had a blackened ceiling and a charred floor, not to mention — my scorched ego. After all my experience and decades of prudence, I had finally learned my lesson the hard way.

Never clean your closet while frying.

I was selective and generous with what I gave away. Although let's face it, would a homeless person truly appreciate their first opportunity to wear a designer pair of 'Yves St. Laurent' pants? I don't think they'd be impressed, even if they noticed the label — but I'd hope so.

*Note to anyone paying attention; grease fires are a bitch!

Does the man make the suit or does the suit make the man?
How To Show Your Intentions... Without SCARING Them Off... 😮❗
Posted:May 25, 2021 10:46 am
Last Updated:Jun 26, 2021 4:00 pm
There are NO 'excellent' Samaritans, so the best I can do is 'good'. I'll help out a stranger when I can. The other night, paranoia and perceptions conspired to blow up any 'good' intentions I had.

Darkness had draped the landscape as we all drove down that wide boulevard with our blinding lights blazing. Except for the person in that car in front of me, they merrily rolled along — in their own dark shadow. I felt I should do something for the safety of all of us. At the next light, I had my opportunity.

I eased up to that blacked-out vehicle to find a middle-aged woman behind the wheel. I motioned her via sign language — two fingers pointing at my eyes then at the road ahead — and by turning my lights on and off. She looked at me, bewildered. I lowered my window to speak with her and suggested she do the same. Well, the reaction I got was completely unexpected.

Immediately, she turned her head, as if I didn't exist, raised all her windows and, as soon as the light had changed, ripped down that road into the distance. Do I look that terrifying? Did she ever suffer from a bad experience? Could she be SO oblivious?

A half dozen blocks up ahead, that speeding 'stealth' car had caught the attention of flashing, red, white and blue lights. As I slowly passed to rubber-neck, I watched her gesticulate with animated enthusiasm as she tried to explain why she was a twit.

And then it dawned on me. I tell my daughters, who are well into adulthood, to be wary of strangers; had that lady's parents once advised her likewise? I think a certain amount of mid-life skepticism is valid, but an equal helping of driver self-awareness is also essential.

When I got home, while brushing my teeth, I looked into the mirror. Damn, maybe I do look scary. Now what the fuck am I supposed to do about THAT? I spent the next couple of minutes practising my smile. 😊


I think I'll wear a shirt, next time I drive.

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