...and still we do it.

*"When we press the thorn to our breast, we know ...we know...and still we do it."

Interesting Reading:

http://www.simplyantiaging.com/36/why-celebrities-smoke-or-the-sunset-boulevard-syndrome/

http://www.medicinenet.com/smoking_effects_pictures_slideshow/article.htm

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

Gerry Photo Courtesy of Just Jared


*The moment I saw this photograph, this line from THE THORN BIRDS started going round and round in my head.  


My late husband  was just like Gerry.  He would stop, cold turkey, for years at a time and then start up again.   He went from being a healthy 6 footer one minute,  to a shadow of his former self the next....nine months from diagnosis to extinction.

Not all the pleasure of smoking was worth the pain he went through.

Is Gerard Butler's Sex Life Really Terrible?

This is the question that is making the rounds of the gossip sites that thrive on celebrity, after a paparazzi jokingly asked Butler this question as he was getting into a car to depart a charity function the other night.  The actor replied in his typical, playful fashion that it was "terrible."

The lovely enigma.

The one problem with quoting Butler lies in the fact that he often answers these types of questions in an ironic fashion and too many people cannot tell when he is being ironic or not and take him at his word.  As usual, it gets repeated by 50 different websites and joins the other 5,000 "not necessarily true," bits of information chronicled on this actor and becomes part of his "unofficial biography" that people spout as gospel when talking about him.

Of  course this statement runs contrary to Butler's reputation as a man who will hit on or sleep with any good looking female that crosses his path and which propensity has even earned him his own little jingle courtesy of TMZ, which coined the term being "Butlered" to indicate a woman has been inducted into a certain club or group of females.

The problem with all this is that no one is really sure what "being Butlered" really means or whether it is a club that any one really wants to belong to, and therein lies the two edged sword for Gerard Butler and may put a crimp in his love life or the persona he has earned and/or created and one the press has nurtured.

There  are many things that can be said about Gerry, but most that have observed him would agree that  he is a theatrical person.  He never does anything small...his gestures are large and his effusiveness and approach to living are equally capable of attracting attention the minute he walks into a room.   It doesn't help that those qualities are contained and wrapped in a nice looking package and augmented by a loud, boyish playfulness and mischief, spiced with a certain self deprecating irony, that can sometimes be irresistible  to those who lack some of these qualities and at the same time, quite open to misinterpretation by those not familiar with the dichotomy he represents.

This is borne out by the equal amount of people who think he is either a boastful simpleton or a very complicated person.   Or even by the division of whether he really does have a long list of willing bed partners or it is, in fact, all an act and he is really incapable of having any kind of relationship with a female because he is either only capable of "loving himself" or a closeted gay.  The gay myth is further perpetuated by the fact that he is such a player and has had few visible stable relationships...ie...therefore he must be gay.

While I won't opine on the subject because it would all simply BE speculation, it is difficult not to comment on the fact that while he may love having the reputation of being  a ladies man and may merit it simply on the premise that he "loves" the ladies and naturally gravitates to them when entering any situation,  there are very few women with any kind of self esteem/love of self that would want to belong to a club where it is implied that one has been charmed, bedded, and become a member in good standing of a club that simply equals being "one more notch" in a player's belt.

While many women would be flattered to attract the attention of a man like Gerry and would love being in his orbit or have him be a part of theirs,  for all the qualities that make him attractive, there are few, with any brains,  who want to be known as one who simply served as a vessel for an over hyped sex drive for the night and most likely the reason we never really hear from any of his real conquests.

On the other hand, does "being Butlerd" simply mean one has been the object of his attention with little more to it than that (and that he keeps his real affections "sub rosa")?   Or does it really matter if this is all it is, when, according to the gossips, the real perception will be that you somehow "hooked up" with him after falling victim to his charm?

Sole or soul surfer?

Like everything in life this kind of thing carries an automatic Catch 22, where perception and reality are interchangeable and truth has little to do with either.

Again, what girl would want to be the subject of that kind of speculation?  And could that kind of publicity really be the cause of a "sex" life that wasn't all that it appeared to be?  Or could it be that the quality of that sex life was lacking simply because, past the one night stand, there was too little interest from either party to further it into something a little more interesting?

Butlered?  Is it only a cute little gimmick cooked up for entertainment purposes by TMZ  based on Butler's attraction for the ladies who show up in droves whenever he is around.  Or could it be that, though he perpetuates the myth by his actions, it becomes a case of where the perception works against him, instead of making him more desirable to the ones that would be worth a second look?

I suppose I am commenting on this because I am curious how it would feel to be the object of attention for the night from a man (any man) you really fancied and then have him move on like you were nothing more than a night's entertainment, unless that is what you fancied too!  Does being forearmed with that knowledge help?  Free will plays into it too and if, as a liberated female this is okay with you and the same thing you craved, then why not?  At least it's honest and honesty is a good thing.

I've never been that to a man, so I don't honestly know.   I have never felt "used" nor victim nor had any desire to exploit someone for the same reason.  I never see myself as anyone's victim.  It's just not me.

This brings to mind an incident the other night.  I heard some girls talking about the men they were with in a restaurant bathroom at a trendy Hollywood steak house a few nights ago that made my toes curl.  These were model types (at least one of them was) and they were talking about some high visibility athletes they dated.  It wasn't pretty guys.

These girls didn't sound like victims to me.  Is this turnabout fair play or did I just find them disgusting because of the language they were using to refer to the guys.  They were just pieces of meat and dollar signs to these girls.  There was not a note of admiration or affection to be found between them.  Is this what celebs of any stripe have to contend with today?  It made me wonder.  

It reminded me that I was once the object of affection of a very high profile athlete years ago, but the thought of exploiting him for his fame would be the furthest thing from my mind.  Besides, he was married at the time and that was a place I wouldn't even go, as flattered as I was by his attentions.

He's still around and placed up high in management in the world he inhabits.  I wonder if he'd remember me if he saw me again today?

According to some of Gerard Butler's  fans, NO women in her right mind would turn him down, right?  That thinking always makes me laugh.  I've turned down a man I fancied for exactly that reason.  I need to be more than that and men instinctively know it.  Only the fearless near tread that ground. I don't need commitment.  I want to hold a man by his need of me, not by any man made bonds.  He comes back because he simply "has to."  Lucky for me, the ones that mattered did just that .  Even the player.  Especially the player. In the five years we were lovers,  I can honestly say he never cheated on me. Hopefully he was too exhausted and too in love (like me) to do it.  That he still stayed in touch for so many years after I was married (so was he) was a testament to how deep our feelings went and how much we liked each other.

Last year I met a man who was a motivator and also did astrology readings for fun and profit.  He was very flirty and lavishing with his praises, saying he could read me.   Then he got more serious and said to me..."I am so tempted, but I already know you would hurt me.  You are too much for me and only a fool would go there knowing it."  And he still asked me out.

I didn't need him to stroke my vanity.   He was lovely, but you know what you like and he wasn't it....though his honesty was terribly attractive.  If I think I will hurt someone, I won't go there.  Again, I didn't.

Men are not stupid, except when it comes to being led around by their anatomy, as evidenced by too many in the news today.!   They may be players and love too many women to settle for just one and I applaud the ones that recognize it and stay single because of it.

But most humans gravitate towards the comfort of one partner at a time and recognize the ones that can fill them up in more ways then one and keep them coming back because there is an art to love and to sex and you have to really like it and not just pretend to.   And they have to know that you don't have a false sense of self worth, but that you really like yourself because you will be true to who you are and know that giving up who you are for someone or expecting them to do the same for you, is a recipe for disaster because you are giving up the very thing they like about you and you like about them in the first place.

One does not become the missing half of the other person (like a lot of romance novelists like to say and too many people believe), but one remains the enhancing whole person (good and bad) that brings a different kind of excitement to the other person's life.  That is where the "opposites" attract thing comes from in the first place.  My first serious bit of writing years ago was centered around that whole premise.

I always love to say that women have never met a man they didn't want to change...and there is so much truth to that.  Men do the same thing, but perhaps not to the same degree.

My niece is going away to college and my daughter wanted to give her the book "Why Men Love Bitches."   I haven't read it, but after she told me the gist of it,  I told her I thought the only thing wrong with that book was the title.  It implies that because you are a smart woman and refuse to be anyone's doormat, that you have to automatically be "a bitch.   That's fine if you like to be equated with a "dog."

On the contrary,  you simply have to be happy to be female and all the things that the word should imply...someone smart and joyous, with a career or not, but capable of  intelligently rearing a child into adulthood (if that is a choice you make), and even nurturing the child in the grown up man that you choose as a partner and helping him to grow in other ways, instead of trying to destroy that part of him that attracted you in the first place.  A person that can't be himself or herself, is an unhappy person.

And that brings me back to Gerry's sex life.  Is it really terrible?

Was it irony in play in the offhand comment or is there some candid truth to his answer?  Is the criteria that constitutes the healthiness of his sex life determined by the quality or quantity of his partners?

If the gossips are to believed, it is the latter.  Could it be that despite what he appears to be or says, he longs for the former?   Or is that just wishful, female thinking again?

Or could it be he just loves the attention and the speculation that makes him mysterious enigma?  After all, Hollywood and the movies is all about smoke and mirrors.  Is this a case of "where there is smoke there is fire" or a case where the smoke obscures the fire?

For a fellow that shares so much of himself in candid interviews and the reason so many of his fans feel close to him, it is the reason he is just what he seems one minute and then the next minute, not what he seems at all.

For those of us following his career, for whatever reason, he remains in turn, funny, endearing, theatrical, ironic, sarcastic, a lover of women, a lover of his male buddies, a little top that just keeps on turning and turning, a curious of everything and everyone person, an addictive and addicted, successful, hardworking little boy in a grown body and, most of the time, a very sexy, sometimes clutzy, but mostly attractive person with some still untapped talent that keeps people guessing as to whether he is, in fact, what he appears to be or something altogether different...and perhaps part of the reason so many keep watching.

Now whether all those things are enough to fill him up and make him happy is another question only he can answer.  For his sake, I hope the answer is yes.  Or do I?

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate


*Reading this over, my pompous ability to ramble on and be enamored with my own opinion never ceases to amaze me sometimes.  Perhaps I have that in common with Gerry and the reason I relate.  My friends tell me I am a good listener, but you wouldn't know it by my lack of brevity.


What an ass I am...and still I ramble on.  Oh well, I did warn you.  "Songs out of tune...etc..." doesn't just apply to this muse. 

Gerry Butler Nominated for Scottish Fashion Award?

N

Sexy looking devil?

Although Gerard Butler has been looking very well attired and groomed in several recent photos, it always tickles my funny bone to learn that my favorite sartorially challenged Scot is competing for this award.  A man of extremes in many ways, he looks stunningly handsome one minute and "little boy playing in the mud" the next.

I am not complaining, mind you....it is one of the refreshing things about him, that male normalcy that he is living his life as much on his own terms as being a Hollywood star/actor allows him.

I do have to confess to liking his hair the longer lengths instead of the short, Napoleon like crop of the past, and Gerry is one man who actually looks good with facial hair.  It softens him (not in an unmasculine way) and makes him.....(I always search for the right word here...it is a feeling more than just a look) "more accessible," more "in touch" with the historical,  more "European,"  just more "him."   Perhaps it just gives his face more character?

Surfer bum in Hawaii

He looks well clean shaven, but I've gotten so used to him with the facial hair that it's like he is a comfortable pair of soft, buttery leather shoes or a very soft tee you always want to wear...and he always looks more good humored with the scruff or even with the fuller beard.

A lot of people wouldn't agree with me, but I don't look back at yesterday's Gerry as being better looking.  Age has added some character to his face and I see him as more him now...someone who is more able to laugh at life  and himself then before.

Where so many of his early photos were posed shots intended to make him sexy and alluring to sell to the public,  he is now more naturally sexy, despite the lines and more weathered skin, especially when he is not posing and when there is a smile in his eyes as well as his mouth and his sense of humor is peeking through.

Gerry with Leo DiCaprio

Now, after having said that, I must admit that Gerry looks wonderful in a well fitting suit and he is a little more conscious of what looks good on him lately.  He is also coming across as more relaxed in a suit as a second skin than before.

He is very fit and looks healthy these days, a nice glow to his eyes and skin.  He has gone lighter with the hair, perhaps for the "sun kissed" look of the outdoorsman roles of a soccer player and the upcoming role as a surfer, but also perhaps because it is easier maintenance with the large amount of white in his hair these days.

Diamond in the rough.

Either way, I suppose it is a testament to his popularity with the ladies that he is nominated for this award each year.  But,  if I had a choice between the polished and the diamond in the rough Gerry, well,  I'll take the comfortable one with the real smile on his face over the "for public consumption Gerry, every single time.

Good luck with the award, man, but if it doesn't happen, it is one award it's okay to go without.  It's not really you, unless fashion icon means that "hobo chic" (as some have called your style at times)....is very in and a sure sign of a "real" icon, fashionable or not!   After all, how many men can get away with wearing a leather diaper and manage not to look totally absurd?

Postscript: 3-14-11 

CASE IN POINT?

Rating the Outfit

Bike helmet = Good!
Blue Jacket = Good!
Appropriate Shoes = Good!
Green Eyes =  More than good!
Ugly red pants =  He wanted to make sure the cars saw him coming a mile away?

GB looking fine (despite the pants) and staying fit!

Ye gotta love this man!

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate


*Biking  photo courtesy of Just Jared.

Prepping for Mavericks?

As I knew he would be, once his filming was finished for Playing the Field,  Gerard Butler was back in Hawaii to continue surfing lessons for his upcoming role in Mavericks.  Looking as trim as he was in Timeline, the Scot is hard at work and probably having fun as well.














Love the look he gave the photographer here.  Let's use some of that smolder in your movies G!


There were also photos of him with his Playing the Field co-star Jessica Biel, riding the Harley on the Malibu coast this weekend.  They look good together, but as one source said, Gerry's "got a large personality" and I do think most people like being around someone with a "lust for life."  Their reps say they are just friends.

Whatever the case, I wish them luck, both privately and professionally.  These are two nice people and I hope Playing the Field reflects the fun and enthusiasm that all the photos coming out of the shoot displayed.

I was happy to see Biel cast in the role of the wife because I felt these two might have some onscreen chemistry and I am still hoping I was right.

Is that chemistry there offscreen?   Only time will tell, but either way, good friendships are nice too, so we'll see.

I am sure the cynics will have them together only to promote their movie or some other stupid reason, and that is always a possibility, but I have a feeling these are two people tired of playing the game and maybe just enjoying each other's company.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

Photos courtesy of JJ, TMZ and Gals.

Looking Trim, Toned and Happy...

Good buddy and some outside help.

... despite life's small inconveniences.


Filming finished, some free time, the green outdoors and a good buddy to share it with?  Life is good for Gerard Butler.

Can you say Road Trip?

Trim and Toned

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

The Outlandisher: Chap.19 - Making it in New York

Sant Ambroeus

NEW YORK CITY

Jonathan Frank Neil McRandall, Captain of his Majesty's Eighth Dragoons looked like anything but an 18th Century English soldier as he walked down Madison Avenue sporting a sleek, navy Armani blazer, white polo shirt,  second skin light blue denim jeans,  his feet shod in a pair of buttery leather Prada loafers.  His thick, dark hair was shiny and stylishly cut and he carried a dark leather man purse and a Bergdorf Goodman shopping bag.  Pulling off the Oliver Peoples aviators, his brown eyes sparkled as he peeked inside the inviting window of Sant Ambroeus Milanese Pasticceria (and Wine Bar).   Ravenous and liking what he saw, he pushed in the door and settled at one of the small tables near the window.

After browsing through the menu, he ordered a full bodied barolo to accompany the homemade lasagna with sausage and leeks. Looking around,  he decided he would finish up his meal with a frothy cappuccino (his favorite) and a small chunk of aged Parmesan cheese to go with the almond tort he had spied in the glass case.

Settling back to wait for the arrival of his order, he pulled out a small package and unwrapped the book he had purchased titled "Making it in New York!"  He smiled to himself, thinking he wasn't doing so badly thus far, thanks to the funds he had "borrowed" from the good looking, but uncooperative, Gerremy McButler.

Luckily for him, he had been a quick study after being transported to 21st century Manhattan and, thanks to some advice from one of McButler's friends, he had been able to double the money, first by betting on a horse named King Geordie through the bookie that lived in the same apartment building, and then by taking half of his winnings and putting them in oil stocks on the advice of a broker he'd met in a bar.

He'd been surprised how easy it was to make friends.  The stockbroker had been especially easy.  An older man, who had taken a shine to him, Michael Struan had turned out to have a taste for something McRandall was only too happy to provide him with...a little pain with his sex.   The ecstatic Michael had been very helpful in showing him around, taken him shopping  and helped him get credit at a few establishments by vouching for him,  in return for his small investment  and his ability to pleasure the old gent.  He kept several changes of clothing at Michael's luxury Upper East Side apartment and Michael was all too happy to shower him with expensive gifts in exchange for his discreet, but very forceful manner in the bedroom.

Now all he had to do was learn a little more about this bustling city he found himself in and with a few more friends like Michael, he just might have it made.

Yes, Jonathan F. Neil McRandall had very quickly become accustomed to the fine things this century had to offer and he was determined to enjoy every minute of it while it lasted, with little thought to the life or most of the people he'd left behind.

 He knew that Gerremy McButler had found his way back to this century because he had found the mirror missing from the big empty loft in Harlem where he had originally stashed it.  However, in such a big city, he figured his chances of running into him were almost nil and was sure McButler would be more likely to want to forget their time together.  He felt perfectly safe from that quarter.

McRandall's Obesession

The only person he  thought of with a pang of regret was Jamie McFraser.   He had not been able to crack that nut, not even with the beatings he'd administered to the younger man....and not being able to have his way with him, made Jamie McFraser the one prize, above all, that he wanted.  Somehow, somewhere, he knew he would get another chance and that might mean finding a way to travel back and forth through time....which in turn meant he would need to find out how to access the mirror without running into its owner, Gerremy McButler.

Meanwhile, there were plenty of lovely men to be conquered...he just had to find the ones, like Struan, that were fond of his specialty.  Mind you, he was not above forcing matters with some who weren't so fond of pain if they were worth it, but he had to be careful.  Try as he might to conjure up some of the beauties he'd taken his pleasure from,  he couldn't remember their faces.  Like any obsession, his thoughts constantly returned to Jamie McFraser.

His dreamy reverie was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter.   The heavenly aroma of his entree turned his mind to other  physical pleasures.   Unfolding the crisp white napkin and setting it in his lap, he took a sip of his wine, then picking up his fork, opened up the book to Chapter One:  "So you think you want to live in New York?"



INVERNESS, SCOTLAND

The charming time traveler.

Claire "Sassyhack" McFraser sat in her kitchen pondering what to do about the fact she had now not seen hide nor hair of either her husband Jamie nor his friend Gerremy McButler for several weeks now.  She had thought to wait out Jamie's sudden bout of wonderlust, knowing he would eventually return to her.

Of course,  it had helped to be  distracted by her new visitor and fellow time traveler, the strange, but in his own way,very charming McButler.   He and his stories had been so fascinating that she hadn't had time to think about missing Jamie too much.  Now with both of them gone, God knew where, she was finding it hard to concentrate on anything much and that very thing was starting to affect her treating her patients.

Horse Chestnut

Why just today, while thinking of Jamie, she had inadvertently given a patient with a case of very bad piles a cayenne and habanero chile based salve she had mixed for an arthritic patient,  instead of the soothing butcher's broom, horse chestnut and aloe compound she had set aside for him.  It had been very disconcerting to hear the man's screams, as she had rushed to his cottage, correct medication in hand,  to rectify her mistake.   However she had been too late and the curses being uttered, between cries for her head, had kept her from knocking on the door.   She had hurried home and locked her own door, lest the man seek some retribution once he pulled his arse out of the water trough for the horses that she could now see him sitting in from her window.

To compound matters this morning she had had a visit from several soldiers seeking Jamie for questioning about the disappearance of a certain English Captain who had been dogging Jamie's steps for a while now.    Unable to give them any information as to her husband's whereabouts, they had asked her about a suspicious man matching the description of one Gerremy McButler, who had been seen in her company and also observed talking to the missing Captain McRandall shortly before he failed to report for duty.

Luckily for her, if not her patient, she had been in the midst of performing a circumcision on a very large man with a badly lacerated foreskin, when they burst in to question her and the squeamish, gagging soldiers had quickly departed after asking her to report to the fort tomorrow for further questioning.

Yarrow

After applying a poultice of agrimony, yarrow and rose bark to the man's member to stop the bleeding and promote healing, she had swathed it snuggly in bandages and allowed the unconscious man's three sons to carry him home with the advice to keep him drunk, lest he attempt to kill himself from the pain he was surely going to feel once he awakened.

She'd done her best for the sot and felt sorry for him,  but the angrier she got about Jamie being gone so long and putting her in the position where she might be in danger again, the more she thought she would like to perform a like surgery on him.

Sitting there, she suddenly remembered Gerremy McButler had mentioned that he was staying in an Inn with the name Red in it only he hadn't remembered exactly where it was.  It suddenly came to her that he was probably talking about the Red Bull Inn.

Could it be he had fallen ill again and was too sick to leave his room?

With that thought in mind, she went in search of her medical box and decided that she would pay him a visit to see if he needed some doctoring and.... and just maybe he might know where Jamie had gone off to, not to mention the whereabouts of one missing English dragoon.



NEW YORK CITY

Laying in bed, Gerremy McButler was thinking how much he'd enjoyed the day today.  Their adventures and narrow escape from the Cock and Ball and the leisurely dinner at the member's only men's club he had taken Jamie McFraser to afterwards, had been pleasurable.  He had fun watching the big Scot's reaction to almost everything, and he was aware of the fact that the man was one hell of a wing man, attracting the attention of women like mad.   He was used to being the main attraction, but he grudgingly let the younger McFraser share the limelight.

In contrast to his own joking way with the ladies, McFraser's shy politeness, lack of conceit and interest in learning from them, made for very different kind of evening than he was accustomed and he found himself  actually enjoying the interesting conversation with the three dancers that joined them, that wasn't necessarily focused on a seduction that would end up with the usual and, sometimes unsatisfying, ending.

One of the funnier things to watch was McFraser's confusion and incredulity about women.  Gerremy had observed that he was very polite to the strippers but perplexed and annoyed with some of the  more "normal" females he had seen.

It was true that "normal"  was a relative term when it came to women.  Aside from the obvious fans who welcomed his attention, he himself had always found it hard to gauge what kind of reception he would get when he approached them, a gleam in his eye.  That gleam could mean a variety of things...he was lonely, she was beautiful, he was horny (when wasn't he?),  he felt an overwhelming compunction for conversation, and a few impulses not even he could explain to himself.   He figured it was just a "moth to the flame" type thing with him,  that kept him going back after them, even at the cost of getting his wings singed, which had happened more than he wanted to admit.

Now, he could see the highlander was thoroughly confused and frustrated as to how one went about distinguishing who was a doxy, who was a "modern" woman, and who was a "decent" woman, as McFraser liked to put it.  In the last two places they'd been to and after seeing Elisa, he was completely baffled how one was to tell them apart.

Of course the vicious slap he had gotten for trying to put a dollar bill down a scantily clad girl's dress at the bodega where they had stopped to get milk,  caught him by surprise and his face had practically turned purple.   The linguistically gifted Scot had shyly translated the strange sounding patois she had thrown at him, saying he had only caught the "filthy cochon" part.  After all, the girls at the Club had been only too happy about this practice and this one didn't have much more on in the way of clothing.

Gerremy had had to explain to him that the money was not so they could buy "somethin' more decent to wear."

He could see he would have give the Highlander a crash course in the finer points of flirting with the female sex.   He had his own personal stable of  "chatting up" lines when he encountered someone interesting and he was going to have to pass on a few to the clueless Jamie.  His favorite,  "You look delicious tonight!" had always worked for him.

When they'd gotten back to his loft, he'd made some hot chocolate and, after elucidating a little more on 21st century females, the talk had turned to Scotland,  a love they both shared and understood, well into the early hours of the morning.

Now he found himself looking forward to another day of showing McFraser a little more of his world before they again set about the task of hunting down one slippery, crooked 18th century English dragoon, running around loose and, most likely,  causing mayhem in 21st century Manhattan.


Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. 



Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

The Outlandisher: Chap. 18 - Protecting Your Assets!

Skipping along the ground at a furious speed and hugging his side from laughing so much, Gerremy McButler giggled uncontrollably again.  Looking over at his partner in crime, who had a big grin on his face, he felt a sense of silly comaraderie with this tall, fiery haired Scot.

Their visit to the Cock and Ball had yielded very little in the way helping them track down a certain 18th Century English dragoon running amok in 21st Century Manhattan, but it had provided some very sweat producing, if humorous moments that he would never forget.  It had all started the moment they walked in the door only to be scrutinized in detail by every single eye in the room.

It was true they made a handsome pair, the Highlander with the instant scowl on his face the moment he realized that they were going to be a very popular attraction this evening, and he, himself, enjoying the excitement of the challenge and the constant mirth that ran like a little electrical current through him, making him want to laugh out loud.   Pulling himself together, he put his best poker face on and approached the bartender, a short, balding man wearing leather chaps with built in leather athletic supporter, a short leather vest and little else.

Being careful not to look at Jamie when the man momentarily turned his back on them to grab a bottle and in the process displayed a very white, bare ass with the words "bite" and "me" one tattooed on each cheek, he spoke up.

GMcB:  Hey mate.  How ye doin' this evening?  Any excitement going on around here tonight?

Bartender:   (looking them both over)  Depends on what kind of excitement you're looking for.

GMcB:  Well I suppose ye can start by gettin' my friend here a drink.  Whiskey?

Pointing to a whole section of Scotches, the bartender eyes Jamie.

Bartender:  What's  your pleasure, big fella?  A single malt?

JMcF:  (eying the selection, he names the first one his eyes focus on) The Lagavoolin will do.

Bartender:  Lagavulin?  10 or 16?

GMcB:  Give him the 16!

The bartender pulls out a glass and pours the amber liquid out in front of Jamie then turns to Gerremy.

Bartender:  How about you, green eyes?

GMcB:  Coke?

The bartender gives him a sly look.

Bartender:  Now sonny, you know I can't sell you that stuff here.  You'll have to find your own source.

GMcB:  (grinning)  No, I mean a real coke.  With ice please.

Looking at him to make sure he's serious.

Bartender:  You don't look to me like a teetotaler, but a Coke it is.

Pouring out the coke for Gerremy, he turns to Jamie, who had already put away the first glass.

Bartender:  Man, that's a record for a 16.  Another one, Red?

Jamie puts out his glass.

JMcF:   (nodding silently)   Fill it up this time, if ye don't mind.

Bartender:  (pouring out a healthy dose)  A double for the big man with the big thirst.

He turns back to Gerremy.

Bartender:  What other thirsts are you two looking to quench tonight?   You new in town?

GMcB:  That depends on what you got to offer.  Mind if we look around?

Bartender:  Help yourself.  There's something for everybody at the Cock and Ball.  You two a couple or you looking to hook up?

GMcB:  Depends on the scenery.

To Jamie's amazement, Gerremy lays down two crisp $100 bills.

GMcB:  Keep the change.  We'll look around.

Bartender:  The more serious stuff is downstairs.  We also have a special room for certain appetites upstairs.  If you want to venture that far out, knock twice and tell em Howie said you're okay?

GMcB:   (winking)  Gotcha!

Jamie, having downed the full glass, leans over and whispers to McButler.

JMcF:  What the devil did he mean by  "that far out?"

GMcB:  (shrugging)   I've got no fucking idea, highlander...but I suppose we'll find out soon enough.


Hearing the tinkling of a piano playing some serious music, curiosity draws them in that direction.  With a stupefied look on his face at seeing the serious, well dressed piano player, Gerremy blurts out....

GMcB:   Dr. Avatar?   What are you doing in a place like this?

With a look of equal surprise on his face, the good doctor replies.

Dr. Avatar:   Gerremy?   I seem to be running into you a lot lately.   (lowering his voice)  The owner of this place is a neighbor and he lets me play here some nights after work.  I like to play for pleasure, but it's nice having an audience once in a while, such as it is.

Dr. Avatar looks them both up and down.

Dr. Avatar:   I might ask you the same, especially in that silly get up?

Thinking furiously, Gerremy grins at the doctor.

GMcB: (weakly)  Some research for  a movie role?

Dr. Avatar: (smiling)   Oh.  Well if you don't tell anyone you saw me here, I won't tell anyone I saw you.   (holding out his hand for a handshake)  Deal?

Gerremy takes it.

GMcB:   Deal.   By the way, you haven't seen a slim  English  guy about your height, with thick, dark hair and eyes and long lashes around here, have you?

Shaking his head, the pleasant looking doctor,  with his own thick lashes,  discretely studies Jamie McFraser's face, before his gaze flickers back to Gerremy.

Dr. Avatar:   No, I haven't... (lowering his voice) But you should book an appointment to see about those crow's feet.   You need of a refresher.

GMcB:  (hastily looking at Jamie)  Sure, but let's keep that stuff between you and me, aye?

Dr. Avatar:  (resumes playing)  Got it.  Good luck with your research.

GMcB:  Thanks.  You sound great, by the way.

The doctor smiles at Gerremy as he walks away...then his gaze shifts benevolently to the tall redhead's muscular back.

Dr. Avatar:  (wistfully sings)  Dream...when you're feeling blue....




After checking out the room and keeping an eye out for any signs of the crazy English captain,  Gerremy and Jamie took the flight of stairs down...all the time very aware of the lusting eyes and even several wolf whistles aimed at them.

The rooms downstairs were mostly full of antique looking racks with leather straps and whips, several of which were in use by would be sado-masochists who looked like they were trying out new playground equipment.

There was a wall filled with all kinds of vises  and archaic looking torture instruments of different sizes.

There were several private rooms and Gerremy quietly opened one of them to peek in to find a very large, muscled fellow strapped onto a table with a short, skinny bald man standing on a stool over him and carefully tightening several of these vises to the more delicate parts of the big guy's anatomy.

Gerremy shuddered and quickly closed the door and nodded to Jamie to indicate no sign of McRandall.

After peeking in several doors with varying themes behind them and managing to remain unobserved by the busy occupants, a stoic looking Jamie lead the way to check out the "far out"  room at the top of the stairs.

Trying the door, they found that unlike the others, it was locked.  They could hear some moaning and sounds of laughter coming from the room.  Deciding they had to take a look to make sure McRandall was not here, Gerremy knocked softly on the door.  A moment later he could hear a bolt being pulled back and the door opened a crack.   A tall, thin, angular man with a goatee stuck his head out.

GMcB:  Hey mate, can we come in?  Howie said it would be okay.

He looked them both up and down and a gleeful smile spread over his features.

Man:  Oh, you bet.  We could use some new blood.

Frowning, Gerremy looked back at McFraser, who was peeking into the room over  his shoulder.
The door swung open to reveal about 6 or 7 men, crowded around a table, where a naked man with a very red back and buttocks and a gag over his mouth was being prodded with several extremely large instruments.

As they stood there, speechless, a very mean looking white supremacist type comes up to them.

Man:  These guys said Howie sent em up, Joe.

Joe:  Why not?  The more the merrier.  (pointing to Jamie)  You wannna be next?

The look on Jamie's face made Gerremy step into the breach.

GMcB:  My friend and I would just like to watch a little, if ye don't mind?

Joe:  Hey!   Do I know you?  You look awfully familiar.

GMcF: (nervous) Me?   Don't think so.  You don't look familiar at all.

Joe:  Suit yourself, but your friend here looks like he could take some pain and then some.  Look at those assets!

Reaching over,  and unfortunately for him, he grabbed a handful of Jamie McFraser's posterior assets only to find himself howling with pain, his testicles in a vise that made the mechanical ones seem like child's play.

Squeezing even tighter McFraser brought his other hand up and smashing the man in the face with his big fist, sent him reeling into the group around the table..

JMcF:  That enough pain fer ye, ye cretin?

Gerremy let out a loud whoop and clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Seconds later,  they found themselves being pummeled by several musclebound types, who despite their numbers, were no match for one enraged, hot blooded highlander and a six foot two Scottish actor who, having little choice in the matter and no stranger to brawling,  found himself hitting first and asking questions later.

Bruised, battered and their clothing torn, they had barely gotten out of there three steps ahead of the squad car's arrival, and fled on foot.  Glancing back over his shoulder, Gerremy had spied Dr. Avatar beating a quick retreat to his car just behind them.

GMcB:  (laughing)  Did ye see the look on the skinny guy's face when ye picked up his friend and hung him from one of the hooks on the wall?  He pissed his pants ye know?

JMcF:  (grinning)  I didna have the heart to hit him after that, although maybe he woulda liked it, ye think?

GMcB:   (laughing)  I think the coup de grace was ye goin' over and untying the bloke on the table an' pulling the soup ladle outta his arse before we left.

JMcF:   (laughing) The poor bastard missed all the fun and there was no one left standing tae cut him loose.

GMcB:  (more serious)  Well, no sign of McRandall there, but.... well, if he's somewhere tied down like that wi' a soup ladle up his arse,  maybe there is some justice after all?

JMcF:  The stripes on my back will tell ye that it's most likely he'll be given'  the pain, not takin' it.  No.  Our dragoon is more likely tae be doin' his mischief in private somewhere and I got a feeling we're going to have to smoke him out, if we're going tae find him.

GMcB:  (thoughtfully)  Uhm.   Thanks highlander.   You just gave me an idea.    I think I may know just exactly how to go about it!

JMcF:  Good!   Now I need tae get out o' these britches before before they strangled me tae death...and by the sound o' my wame,  I need some food.

GMcB:  Come on, lets get outta these rags.  I know just the place to grab a bite, kick back and enjoy some different scenery.

JMcF:  Who are we kicking now?

GMcB:  That's just a figure of speech, my friend.  Kick back as in relax... and the scenery, in this case, consists of some pretty, naked ladies!

JMcF:  (grinning)  Oh....

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. 



Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate