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Upcoming Event
I hope to make an appearance at the Ottawa Romance Book Fair, when a date is officially announced for 2027. This is a one-day event held at the Conference Centre, so check back soon for updates.
I hope to make an appearance at the Ottawa Romance Book Fair, when a date is officially announced for 2027. This is a one-day event held at the Conference Centre, so check back soon for updates.
2026-03-31
I don't know what's inside your head. How can I possibly know the first thought that comes to mind when you read a title like this, the mangler. Are you thinking of wrestling? Maybe not. I know precisely who this post is about, and it's currently being hijacked by me to describe a man I once knew, who'd come by the nickname of The Mangler honestly, bestowed on him by his long-time buddies, for the well-endowed size of his fun-stick. Here I can easily insert any number of substitutes to describe that second most essential part of a man's body, only because the first most-essential part is his brain. Yes! The brain is essential, for without a free-thinking brain, is not every man just another swinging d*ck?
Allow me to continue. This individual appeared on the surface as nonchalant, calm, unassuming, until that is when you'd take the time to dialogue with his closest mates, those who knew him when he was wild and carefree, and before he had settled down, now with a wife and child. His identity shall be nameless, to protect his privacy. I knew him when I played on a competitive softball team. And no, I never did get the opportunity to sample his weapon, what had been affectionately referred to as the mangler. I can only imagine, though. After every game, played in mixed company, we'd all end up in the pub, drinking cold pints, lapping them up with great fervor, our bodies all dusted-up from the field, more so on a hot day in the summer. Much later, I'd invite some of my teammates back to the house where I lived, at the time, and we'd all congregate in my kitchen until the wee hours of the morning, scarfing back Chinese food or pizza. Despite there being plenty of flowing beer, it never degraded to the point of me getting naked with any of them. Why? Well, I had standards, and I never allowed myself to get intimate with my immediate softball mates, though I had no issue with other teams and their teammates. Ha! I have always applied the same philosophy when it comes to where I work, incidentally, to avoid emotional entanglements.
I told another friend about The Mangler's nickname and it just made him laugh. With a smile, he then proceeded to tell me about a high school buddy who was so well endowed as to be handicapped. I kid you not. When I say this, I mean to say that he couldn't entertain the idea of having a girlfriend his own age because they lacked the capacity to handle someone of such length and girth that the whole process was too painful for them. My friend gleefully pointed out, "He was very popular with the married ladies in town, specifically those who had had at least three children or more, and therefore their bodies had ample room to spare, down there." I couldn't write fiction like this, if I had tried, and it still makes me laugh to this day, that a young high school kid at the tender age of 17 was viewed with such lust, that he was coveted by every other married lady in town, and some towns nearby. I call this being able to capitalize on the gifts given to you.
I can't speak for the husbands, or how they had felt about this young man's arrangement with their wives, or even if they were aware of what was happening. I suspect not. I'm going to assume that they were none the wiser because if they had known, perhaps the young man would no longer be in possession of his nickname. Having lusted for men, my whole life, I've observed that men are territorial where their girlfriends and wives are concerned, one might say possessive even, willing to fight for them. Or, conversely, these husbands felt a sense of relief that a younger dude was stepping in to help relieve some of the pressure. No one really knows, you know? You can only work on assumptions when it comes to what's inside the head of someone else. Heck, even your own thoughts can't always be justified by your conscious mind, and most definitely your subconscious thoughts are like a boat that's no longer anchored to the dock.
This discussion on the male appendage leads me to question if human-animal chimeras are in fact the realm of fantasy or reality. Apparently they exist in this reality we call life. I call these fellas 'horsec*ck' men because of them being equipped with unusually long, thick and dangerous danglers between their legs, that few women or even men are capable of handling. And as my male friend had continued to highlight to me, whenever he and his classmates were all in the changeroom, following their physical education class, each taking a shower, it became a joke if their friend, known as 'horsec*ck' got undressed in front of them. He was ostracized for putting them all to shame. I doubt, however, that Horsec*ck, as I'm going to call this fella, for the sake of this post, was concerned one bit by their razzing of his momentous body part.
The only animal on this Earth that needs horsec*ck is a horse, not a man, not even the tallest, biggest of men. A horse needs an appendage plenty large in order to fulfill his obligation of impregnating the mare; she who is restrained in one place, to ensure that she doesn't kick and cause damage to a prize stud. After all, she has no choice but to manage this horsec*ck because being tied up hardly seems fair.
Here we have it. Women are quick to trot out the compliment of 'stud' when their partner leaves them breathing heavy, lying back, with a contented sigh that tells a story of lust and satisfaction. I've never given birth to babies. I give birth to books instead, by choice. I'm aware, however, and this comes on good authority from friends who've had three children or more, that afterward the tightness isn't quite the same anymore, down there, and how they'll jokingly say to me that a car could be parked between their legs but this seems to me to be more apocryphal than truth. There's a procedure called perineorrhaphy, a surgical option to tighten and repair the area between the vagina and the perineum, following the damage to a woman's body after childbirth, to return her to a level of being able to enjoy more pleasure.
Medical science doesn't fail to impress, and this is as much a gift to the wife, as it is to the husband.
Then there's The Mangler and Horsec*ck, anomalies in the world of human males, the only two I've personally heard about, though I suspect there are many more out there, quietly going about their lives, ripping new ones to all those brave enough to take them on. And maybe too there are many other lucky married ladies out there who are happily prepared to enjoy these well-hung young bucks, who'd make an awesome stand-in, but just for a little while.
I've known one horse-woman in my life, and I toss out this term with intention: a horse-woman is one who has owned a horse, rides regularly, enters into show-jumping competitions and the like, and who sometimes feels more comfortable in the company of a horse, than she might in the company of a man. A gelded horse is one who's had his testicles removed, to ensure that he won't become too aggressive with other stallions in the barn. I don't necessarily agree with this surgery, any more than I can agree when cats and dogs are spayed and neutered, to make them more manageable for pet owners, and the public, especially if there are feral populations. However, I appreciate why a horse-breeder would want to ensure that their prize stallion isn't damaged, given that horses are very powerful animals. Know that some gelded horses may look like they've been gelded, yet horse-women will tell you that you can't always tell. Some of these gelded ponies haven't lost their studdy behavior one bit.
And as to the men of this world, the well-endowed ones, and who know it, I think it's safe to say that they've learned to adapt to their inner-animal, to use it to their advantage, for the ladies or guys. I only wonder if having something so unusually large makes it easier to please their partner or if they're lazy and just let their mangler do all the work. Who can say really?
Allow me to continue. This individual appeared on the surface as nonchalant, calm, unassuming, until that is when you'd take the time to dialogue with his closest mates, those who knew him when he was wild and carefree, and before he had settled down, now with a wife and child. His identity shall be nameless, to protect his privacy. I knew him when I played on a competitive softball team. And no, I never did get the opportunity to sample his weapon, what had been affectionately referred to as the mangler. I can only imagine, though. After every game, played in mixed company, we'd all end up in the pub, drinking cold pints, lapping them up with great fervor, our bodies all dusted-up from the field, more so on a hot day in the summer. Much later, I'd invite some of my teammates back to the house where I lived, at the time, and we'd all congregate in my kitchen until the wee hours of the morning, scarfing back Chinese food or pizza. Despite there being plenty of flowing beer, it never degraded to the point of me getting naked with any of them. Why? Well, I had standards, and I never allowed myself to get intimate with my immediate softball mates, though I had no issue with other teams and their teammates. Ha! I have always applied the same philosophy when it comes to where I work, incidentally, to avoid emotional entanglements.
I told another friend about The Mangler's nickname and it just made him laugh. With a smile, he then proceeded to tell me about a high school buddy who was so well endowed as to be handicapped. I kid you not. When I say this, I mean to say that he couldn't entertain the idea of having a girlfriend his own age because they lacked the capacity to handle someone of such length and girth that the whole process was too painful for them. My friend gleefully pointed out, "He was very popular with the married ladies in town, specifically those who had had at least three children or more, and therefore their bodies had ample room to spare, down there." I couldn't write fiction like this, if I had tried, and it still makes me laugh to this day, that a young high school kid at the tender age of 17 was viewed with such lust, that he was coveted by every other married lady in town, and some towns nearby. I call this being able to capitalize on the gifts given to you.
I can't speak for the husbands, or how they had felt about this young man's arrangement with their wives, or even if they were aware of what was happening. I suspect not. I'm going to assume that they were none the wiser because if they had known, perhaps the young man would no longer be in possession of his nickname. Having lusted for men, my whole life, I've observed that men are territorial where their girlfriends and wives are concerned, one might say possessive even, willing to fight for them. Or, conversely, these husbands felt a sense of relief that a younger dude was stepping in to help relieve some of the pressure. No one really knows, you know? You can only work on assumptions when it comes to what's inside the head of someone else. Heck, even your own thoughts can't always be justified by your conscious mind, and most definitely your subconscious thoughts are like a boat that's no longer anchored to the dock.
This discussion on the male appendage leads me to question if human-animal chimeras are in fact the realm of fantasy or reality. Apparently they exist in this reality we call life. I call these fellas 'horsec*ck' men because of them being equipped with unusually long, thick and dangerous danglers between their legs, that few women or even men are capable of handling. And as my male friend had continued to highlight to me, whenever he and his classmates were all in the changeroom, following their physical education class, each taking a shower, it became a joke if their friend, known as 'horsec*ck' got undressed in front of them. He was ostracized for putting them all to shame. I doubt, however, that Horsec*ck, as I'm going to call this fella, for the sake of this post, was concerned one bit by their razzing of his momentous body part.
The only animal on this Earth that needs horsec*ck is a horse, not a man, not even the tallest, biggest of men. A horse needs an appendage plenty large in order to fulfill his obligation of impregnating the mare; she who is restrained in one place, to ensure that she doesn't kick and cause damage to a prize stud. After all, she has no choice but to manage this horsec*ck because being tied up hardly seems fair.
Here we have it. Women are quick to trot out the compliment of 'stud' when their partner leaves them breathing heavy, lying back, with a contented sigh that tells a story of lust and satisfaction. I've never given birth to babies. I give birth to books instead, by choice. I'm aware, however, and this comes on good authority from friends who've had three children or more, that afterward the tightness isn't quite the same anymore, down there, and how they'll jokingly say to me that a car could be parked between their legs but this seems to me to be more apocryphal than truth. There's a procedure called perineorrhaphy, a surgical option to tighten and repair the area between the vagina and the perineum, following the damage to a woman's body after childbirth, to return her to a level of being able to enjoy more pleasure.
Medical science doesn't fail to impress, and this is as much a gift to the wife, as it is to the husband.
Then there's The Mangler and Horsec*ck, anomalies in the world of human males, the only two I've personally heard about, though I suspect there are many more out there, quietly going about their lives, ripping new ones to all those brave enough to take them on. And maybe too there are many other lucky married ladies out there who are happily prepared to enjoy these well-hung young bucks, who'd make an awesome stand-in, but just for a little while.
I've known one horse-woman in my life, and I toss out this term with intention: a horse-woman is one who has owned a horse, rides regularly, enters into show-jumping competitions and the like, and who sometimes feels more comfortable in the company of a horse, than she might in the company of a man. A gelded horse is one who's had his testicles removed, to ensure that he won't become too aggressive with other stallions in the barn. I don't necessarily agree with this surgery, any more than I can agree when cats and dogs are spayed and neutered, to make them more manageable for pet owners, and the public, especially if there are feral populations. However, I appreciate why a horse-breeder would want to ensure that their prize stallion isn't damaged, given that horses are very powerful animals. Know that some gelded horses may look like they've been gelded, yet horse-women will tell you that you can't always tell. Some of these gelded ponies haven't lost their studdy behavior one bit.
And as to the men of this world, the well-endowed ones, and who know it, I think it's safe to say that they've learned to adapt to their inner-animal, to use it to their advantage, for the ladies or guys. I only wonder if having something so unusually large makes it easier to please their partner or if they're lazy and just let their mangler do all the work. Who can say really?
2026-03-30
How many lives would you give to me
of your love
unrealized?
On your tongue
can you taste my words of profession,
how I love thee?
Beyond what I have seen,
my eyes are old
and tired and worn.
Even though I perish on your passion,
I know you are a fair heart
inside my love.
Growing with affection,
my self-loathing is quickly fading
with you beside me.
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
of your love
unrealized?
On your tongue
can you taste my words of profession,
how I love thee?
Beyond what I have seen,
my eyes are old
and tired and worn.
Even though I perish on your passion,
I know you are a fair heart
inside my love.
Growing with affection,
my self-loathing is quickly fading
with you beside me.
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
2026-03-26
Perfection is an illusion. Perfection is a subjective aim and a conclusion when viewed from the perspective of each individual. The aim of our intention, our ideal, will surely become altered, in the chase toward perfection.
I don't like it when the sands underneath my feet continually shift, daily, hourly, or even by the second. I know in my heart that to strive for perfection is analogous to setting yourself up for ultimate defeat, disappointment and fear, doled out at the hands of reality and maybe too a little self-loathing needs to be sprinkled in for allowing oneself yet again to fall into the trap of striving to achieve perfection.
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I don't like it when the sands underneath my feet continually shift, daily, hourly, or even by the second. I know in my heart that to strive for perfection is analogous to setting yourself up for ultimate defeat, disappointment and fear, doled out at the hands of reality and maybe too a little self-loathing needs to be sprinkled in for allowing oneself yet again to fall into the trap of striving to achieve perfection.
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2026-03-24
Ever give yourself a detox, to cleanse your body? It is officially Spring and to prepare for the months ahead, this is typically the time of year when some elect to self-administer a detox, to cleanse themselves of the build-up of toxins that have accumulated from the year prior. And when I use the word cleanse, I mean purging toxins out of your body. It all sounds on the surface to be a reasonable endeavor, and potentially one that might only represent the purchase of a single detox cleanse kit that runs for seven days, at the cost of $100 or more.
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2026-03-23
Men of countless flavors
in this so-called marketing dream,
I feel bombarded with choices
wading knee-deep, barely heard, nor even seen.
I can recount old wounds of rejection
swept away by a torrent of emotion.
Unfulfilled, I race downward
in ritual and commotion.
Fleeting in passing you walk.
Silent stealth in movement you stalk.
Two hearts need two paths to encounter,
are you my black panther?
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
in this so-called marketing dream,
I feel bombarded with choices
wading knee-deep, barely heard, nor even seen.
I can recount old wounds of rejection
swept away by a torrent of emotion.
Unfulfilled, I race downward
in ritual and commotion.
Fleeting in passing you walk.
Silent stealth in movement you stalk.
Two hearts need two paths to encounter,
are you my black panther?
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
2026-03-19
It took effort and planning to accomplish. Back in September 2025, which feels like a million years ago, I had shelled out plenty of coin to upgrade my computer set-up. My tech guy (bless his heart) arrived on-site to set up everything, to ensure that the migration of my entire writing and personal files (and there were many), were successfully transferred to my new computer, to include software applications. The entire process took 4.5 hours. While this may seem to be an inordinate amount of time, it actually went very quickly once I realized that each application, periphery device, connectivity, had to be properly tested, before I would sign off on it. Only one glitch needed to be resolved, when it was determined that my docking station wasn't the right one, so I had to race out the door to Canada Computers to make the purchase swap.
The end result was a successful installation.
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The end result was a successful installation.
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2026-03-17
The best writing advice I've ever received came from an editor who pointedly reminded me that to drink and blog is a big no-no. "Never drink and blog," he warned. "The next morning, if by chance, you happen to look over your post from the night before, you'll be shocked by what you've written."
Good advice.
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Good advice.
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2026-03-16
He loves me with his mouth and eyes.
How I adore him,
a body lithe of flesh,
I own him, on this day I eat him,
in darkened walls
around us sleeping,
our naked selves are
pressed against our arms and legs
covered in sex and staying,
a while later we start over,
the love making of tongues
discovering ourselves in emotion.
COYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
How I adore him,
a body lithe of flesh,
I own him, on this day I eat him,
in darkened walls
around us sleeping,
our naked selves are
pressed against our arms and legs
covered in sex and staying,
a while later we start over,
the love making of tongues
discovering ourselves in emotion.
COYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
2026-03-12
A liar is someone who obfuscates the truth with a different version of the truth that is in actuality a twisted version of their so-called truth in their lying mind. Or, perhaps I should start this post differently. A liar is often associated with a politician and as we very well know, politicians can behave like liars, cheats and thieves, when presented to the voting public. Politicians are masters at promising the moon to you with a fence around it, and when finally voted into office, they'll pivot faster than you can say, "on a dime."
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2026-03-10
The wheel keeps on turning and turning but the level of confusion hasn't waned. I enjoy the back and forth banter that is profuse on Threads. Well, the nature of Threads is to initiate threads of discussion. Initially, I was blasé on Threads, until I realized that commentary is highly active vs X, as an example, which is a place where I recently read on one person's post is best described as the smoking area of the social network realm. This is accurate, as much as it's funny. 😂Yet, and with Threads, the intent is to share meaningful content, for the most part. Sure. Sure. There are those who need to vent, and others who poke the bear in the cave, hoping for traction on their ridiculous bait posts. On the whole, however, the commentary on Threads is intended for the intellectual.
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2026-03-09
Death,
take hold of my body
because feeling has left it to nothing,
nor will love remain deep inside my heart.
Death,
rip it out of my flesh.
O dastardly pity
has fallen upon my love.
Death,
take the knife and stab me
and be done with self-loathing,
lest I let fall my guard and love him.
Death,
will hurt me yet again this time
if I fly toward merriment
to the end of bitter love.
take hold of my body
because feeling has left it to nothing,
nor will love remain deep inside my heart.
Death,
rip it out of my flesh.
O dastardly pity
has fallen upon my love.
Death,
take the knife and stab me
and be done with self-loathing,
lest I let fall my guard and love him.
Death,
will hurt me yet again this time
if I fly toward merriment
to the end of bitter love.
2026-03-05
Hard to believe that I'm still churning out ideas, that even any fresh ideas at all are swirling around in my pretty little head but that's just what it's all about, the sharing of ideas, good or bad. As to whether these are viable ideas and worth your precious time to read, I shall leave this judgement up to your good self.
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2026-03-03
Today being my birthday (against my wishes, mind you), I've decided to indulge in some shameless self-promotion, and this will be followed up later today with a delicious Bellini slushy (peaches, Prosecco and peach schnapps), to include some yummy nibbles, after which a bottle of Rose wine may find it way to my lips. It's important to celebrate yourself, as much as it is to continue writing your current Work-In-Progress, as well as your blog.
So here I go!
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So here I go!
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2026-03-02
He fills my belly,
then lays me blindly.
For a night to be his queen
I desire, he be my king.
And what I have will be his.
Between teeth and tongue,
I will be drawn
beyond the lowest line,
to offer my flesh,
Luscious,
in the details of scent.
I will wrap the comfort,
of his want around me,
and fall into him,
into dreams with full eyes
and swollen heart.
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
then lays me blindly.
For a night to be his queen
I desire, he be my king.
And what I have will be his.
Between teeth and tongue,
I will be drawn
beyond the lowest line,
to offer my flesh,
Luscious,
in the details of scent.
I will wrap the comfort,
of his want around me,
and fall into him,
into dreams with full eyes
and swollen heart.
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
