This is somewhat soft, but I think fun.
Enjoy,
CB
*********************************************************************************
Stroking the Male
Copyright 2015
by Chris Bellows
March 2005
Susan Partland begins the day’s drudgery in the bedroom of her young sister, Melanie. She strips the bed, tossing the sheets into the hall, dusts, vacuums... her otherwise acuminous mind turning to a blank slate.
A promising career in micro biology ended with the tragic auto death of her parents... an icy road, a curve too sharp. Graduate studies curtailed, Susan is now guardian, governess and unfortunately housemaid for her younger siblings, sister Melanie and brother Randy... both in school and only with each other... no other relatives to relieve Susan of the stress and responsibility forced to be borne by young shoulders.
Life insurance proceeds have mitigated financial concerns. Sizable trust funds assure a degree of financial security. And some day, Susan will resume her academic pursuits and hopefully a challenging career will follow.
But such thoughts only serve to frustrate, Melanie and Randy years away from caring for themselves. And Randy! The restlessness of puberty has begun. Moodiness... devilish pranks... bickering with Melanie... defiance of Susan’s command... all add to the many burdens.
Melanie’s room made presentable, Susan moves to Randy’s room. It is the mess she expects, Randy consistently forgetting that Friday is house cleaning day and that every Thursday evening of study is to end with tidying up... some effort to make Susan’s tasks easier.
It is not to be.
Susan picks up dirty clothing, tossing into the hall with the weeks laundering then begins stripping the bed, noting the stained, encrusted sheets, her training in biology bringing recognition, brother Randy engaging furtively in self pleasure.
Alas, what is this? A glossy magazine slips from under the mattress. Pornography!
Susan smiles to herself, aware of the eidetic needs of the male mind when it comes to sexual stimulus. Yet, when she politely begins to return the photographic filth to its not so secretive nest, her maternal shrug turns to concern.
The nakedness does not shock... but the nature of it does. The depictions are of women yes... but dressed... and most authoritatively. It is the male who is naked... scene after scene of capitulation! Bondage!
Susan need not read the brief narrations. Enough!
A hand, quivering in both anger and shock, slips the evidence of brother Randy’s penchant beneath the mattress. Dusting and vacuuming now become cathartic, distracting from the timeless question Susan frequently asks of herself... what would Mom do?
*****************************************************************************
The house made spotless, there are no further chores to divert Susan’s thoughts from the appall of brother Randy’s newly found habit... hopefully newly found. Yes, a corollary question to... ‘what’s this all about?’.. is... ‘how long have you been looking at this smut?’
Should she confront Randy with the inadvertently found evidence of his sexual prompts?
With her education in biology came many courses in psychology... aberrant psychology included. To confront Randy would be most humiliating for him... older sister, now maternal figure, scraping the veneer of rectitude by brandishing the filth before him... indeed demanding answers to her questions.
But what of Melanie? Too young to be exposed to such licentiousness, Susan would need to carefully choose the proper time and place for discussion deemed parental... and discreet. And indeed, can she assume the role. Ten years her brother’s senior... can she successfully assume the role of stern admonishing parent?
Then Susan’s racing mind returns to the conception of the chagrin a young Randy would endure with the envisioned confrontation. Deep within is it something he craves? Would a rebuking lecture further stoke the fire of quirkiness rather than quench it?
Susan concludes help is needed... more input. And the need is to be confidential.
She makes tea, her charges not expected home from school for hours. She can calm herself, think. And she has of late found relaxation on the internet... a sea of information always available for navigation.
She fires the computer, Googles some key words... ‘female domination of the male’. Not as solitudinous an undertaking as she has imagined. She reads... informative articles... avoiding the prevalent smut, so readily available. In so doing she begins to speculate on Randy’s time on line... much alleged academic research... yet mediocre grades resulting.
The hot tea, the acquired knowledge, mollifies Susan’s disquiet. Perhaps Randy’s proclivity can serve to suppress the otherwise annoying comportment of pubescence.
To Craig’s List... services... therapeutic... the many massage offerings titillate and amuse. She tries some key word searches. ‘Masturbation’ brings a litany of listings. But one is found to be relevant.
‘Mature woman of authority offering therapy for male masturbation addiction’.
Susan excogitates. Washing weekly Randy’s stained sheets, she has assumed that for her brother the prevalent rite of passage for young males has been a sporadic past time. Could it instead be an addiction? Could the encrusted sheets be the results of many nightly eruptions... that this morning’s evidence is only the tip of an iceberg? The Google search brought a barrage of material... and Randy spends much time before the computer.
Craig’s List offers the anonymity she desires... for now. Susan types a reply, vaguely describing herself, her family situation, and her concern over brother Randy’s ‘habit’. A ‘Dear Abby’ letter, more prurient and explicit than those published. In cutting and pasting the Craig’s list reply address, she presses send, sits back and a draws a long sip of soothing orange tea. There is solace in being able to share an additional burden... one unexpected... and one in which she has such limited experience.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Ownership - Part I published
The March 21 posting will be the last from Part I. The the complete story may be purchased on Lulu. Parts II & III will follow.
http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/ownership-part-i-the-clinic/ebook/product-22092894.html
Next week, I will hopefully have a short story for the blog.
Enjoy
CB
Ownership - Part I - The Clinic - Infibulation
Infibulation
Kelly again curls up after a long afternoon of exercising her dominion. She has spent many of the interludes between sessions of feeding and bathing Chestnuts engaged in the privileges of wealth. With her prospective ownership, new quarters will be required. A one bedroom apartment will not suffice. Thus she has shopped, initially seeking ideas... location....size... apartment... condominium... house... yard. Keeping a boy has logistical imperatives. Especially keeping one naked and in bondage.
She decides upon a house. Many rooms. A secluded or enclosed yard where Chestnuts can be exercised. In envisioning a dog run within a well fenced back yard she smiles. Explaining her needs to real estate agents has required a degree of subterfuge. But having a large pet seems to suffice... and in a manner of speaking... she does.
With Chardonnay in hand, she returns to the Guidebook. Days ago heightened concupiscence truncated her reading when there came a dire need for her vibrator. The desk nurse mentioned infibulation, a term not fully comprehended. But in flipping to the appropriate segment, explicit close up photos of a male appendage quickly explain the procedure better than words.
So graphic, on a left page is the tip of an uncircumised penis... flaccid, the foreskin abundant. On the right page, infibulation summarily illustrated. The photos are before and after... and the after snapshot stirs wondrous thoughts of feminine dominion.
In the ‘after’ photo, the foreskin has been pierced... at the four o’clock and eight o’clock locations... and slipped through the openings is a simple length of wire... ‘U’ shaped... simple but so detrimental to the male. Yes, the ends are secured. A tiny padlock dangles below. And with Kelly’s knowledge of the male anatomy, she quickly understands that the thin strand restricts the foreskin. In precluding retraction, the penis will not... cannot... stiffen. Erection... or rather attempts to erect... will be painfully forestalled.
Ah. The Clinic... so thorough!... and so thoughtful!
Kelly sips. Kelly reads. An ancient practice is infibulation... forcing chastity on the Greek athletes of antiquity... keeping Roman slaves randy and eager to serve their female owners.
And done with openings no larger than a pin prick!
Kelly thinks how much Chestnuts revels in being freed of his diaper... freed to stiffen and show himself to her. Yes, over her many visits it has become a privilege for him to become erect.
But should not such a privilege be granted solely under the auspices of a governing woman?
The vibrator awaits, spare batteries always at the ready.
Kelly again curls up after a long afternoon of exercising her dominion. She has spent many of the interludes between sessions of feeding and bathing Chestnuts engaged in the privileges of wealth. With her prospective ownership, new quarters will be required. A one bedroom apartment will not suffice. Thus she has shopped, initially seeking ideas... location....size... apartment... condominium... house... yard. Keeping a boy has logistical imperatives. Especially keeping one naked and in bondage.
She decides upon a house. Many rooms. A secluded or enclosed yard where Chestnuts can be exercised. In envisioning a dog run within a well fenced back yard she smiles. Explaining her needs to real estate agents has required a degree of subterfuge. But having a large pet seems to suffice... and in a manner of speaking... she does.
With Chardonnay in hand, she returns to the Guidebook. Days ago heightened concupiscence truncated her reading when there came a dire need for her vibrator. The desk nurse mentioned infibulation, a term not fully comprehended. But in flipping to the appropriate segment, explicit close up photos of a male appendage quickly explain the procedure better than words.
So graphic, on a left page is the tip of an uncircumised penis... flaccid, the foreskin abundant. On the right page, infibulation summarily illustrated. The photos are before and after... and the after snapshot stirs wondrous thoughts of feminine dominion.
In the ‘after’ photo, the foreskin has been pierced... at the four o’clock and eight o’clock locations... and slipped through the openings is a simple length of wire... ‘U’ shaped... simple but so detrimental to the male. Yes, the ends are secured. A tiny padlock dangles below. And with Kelly’s knowledge of the male anatomy, she quickly understands that the thin strand restricts the foreskin. In precluding retraction, the penis will not... cannot... stiffen. Erection... or rather attempts to erect... will be painfully forestalled.
Ah. The Clinic... so thorough!... and so thoughtful!
Kelly sips. Kelly reads. An ancient practice is infibulation... forcing chastity on the Greek athletes of antiquity... keeping Roman slaves randy and eager to serve their female owners.
And done with openings no larger than a pin prick!
Kelly thinks how much Chestnuts revels in being freed of his diaper... freed to stiffen and show himself to her. Yes, over her many visits it has become a privilege for him to become erect.
But should not such a privilege be granted solely under the auspices of a governing woman?
The vibrator awaits, spare batteries always at the ready.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Ownership - Part I - The Clinic - Devotion and Obedience
Devotion and Obedience
Having fed and bathed her toy, Kelly decides to alter her protocol, returning Chestnuts to his diaper, canvas covering pulled tightly and locked. Normally she exercises his tongue while he is gloriously erect. On this visit it shall not be. No longer will both male sex organs be free to flutter about in the room air.
“It’s too tight,” Chestnuts brazenly breaking the rule of silence as Kelly rights the table and returns his ankles to the Segufix cuffs.
“Sush,” Kelly admonishes, grasping the ever growing tongue. “You are never to speak without permission,” tugging with fervor to indeed bring silence.
Up, down, right, left... energetic twists bring groans and gasps for air. Still, when Kelly lifts, she finds the tip of the altered length can nearly touch the bridge of his nose. She fantasizes in having her boy lick his eyebrows, an impossibly bestial task, but thoughts of which bring moisture.
Satisfied, the wet pink tiring with the feeding and many, many minutes of her handiwork, Kelly introduces a new dimension to her control and governance.
“Chestnuts, as you know you are to be completely obedient to me. I decide when you are to be freed, when to be cleansed, what you are to eat and when. Everything comes from me. With that comes obedience... and devotion,” Kelly lectures as she double checks the many restraints.
All is well, she notes... ankles and wrists bound, hooded head in restrictive bondage as well.
“Some further training for you,” Kelly begins, gently placing her hand over the opening for mouth and nose. “I want to control your breathing. I am going to cover your mouth and pinch closed your nose. Then I will count to ten... slowly... and then you may take your next breath. You shall not again breathe until I decide. Struggle, in any manner move against your straps, and I will begin the count again. You are to remain completely motionless and accept my governance.”
With her proclamation Kelly feels twinges... within. She is in need she realizes... of her vibrator. She wishes Chestnuts was broken, though the process has been most entertaining. She delights in imagining that tongue... an organ trained... altered... molded for her desire... her pleasure... working in earnest rather then wastefully waggling in the room air. With her thoughts her hand covers, her thumb and index finger indeed pinching closed the nostrils. Breathing curtailed, she begins.
“One... two... three...”
Kelly counts with deliberation, feeling for motion... for disobedience to her controlling hand. She senses tremors.... but such are hers... her loins quivering with ultimate power.
“Four... five... six...”
Wickedly, she slows. Such caprice! But so it will be. Her toy will comply, he has no choice. Though he must breathe, he will next do so at her whim.
“Seven... eight...”
Kelly senses a spasm, arms fighting the straps. The count stops. She graciously removes her hand to permit a paroxysmal gasp for air.
“Bad boy. Bad Chestnuts. You’ll need to try again...”
Though oxygen not fully restored, the hand returns. It covers, fingers pinching. As her count begins again, Chestnuts begins to understand his owner’s earnestness... and Kelly’s vagina gushes.
The added protocol is not without purpose. Besides bringing the once belligerent psyche to complete capitulation to a woman’s power, exceptional cunnilingus will require intervals of breath control. Kelly wants exceptional oral satiation... and Kelly shall have it.
“One... two... three...”
Within weeks, she will be counting to twenty and beyond... and Chestnuts will meekly lie... so desirous of the next breath... but so eager to please with his utter docility.
Having fed and bathed her toy, Kelly decides to alter her protocol, returning Chestnuts to his diaper, canvas covering pulled tightly and locked. Normally she exercises his tongue while he is gloriously erect. On this visit it shall not be. No longer will both male sex organs be free to flutter about in the room air.
“It’s too tight,” Chestnuts brazenly breaking the rule of silence as Kelly rights the table and returns his ankles to the Segufix cuffs.
“Sush,” Kelly admonishes, grasping the ever growing tongue. “You are never to speak without permission,” tugging with fervor to indeed bring silence.
Up, down, right, left... energetic twists bring groans and gasps for air. Still, when Kelly lifts, she finds the tip of the altered length can nearly touch the bridge of his nose. She fantasizes in having her boy lick his eyebrows, an impossibly bestial task, but thoughts of which bring moisture.
Satisfied, the wet pink tiring with the feeding and many, many minutes of her handiwork, Kelly introduces a new dimension to her control and governance.
“Chestnuts, as you know you are to be completely obedient to me. I decide when you are to be freed, when to be cleansed, what you are to eat and when. Everything comes from me. With that comes obedience... and devotion,” Kelly lectures as she double checks the many restraints.
All is well, she notes... ankles and wrists bound, hooded head in restrictive bondage as well.
“Some further training for you,” Kelly begins, gently placing her hand over the opening for mouth and nose. “I want to control your breathing. I am going to cover your mouth and pinch closed your nose. Then I will count to ten... slowly... and then you may take your next breath. You shall not again breathe until I decide. Struggle, in any manner move against your straps, and I will begin the count again. You are to remain completely motionless and accept my governance.”
With her proclamation Kelly feels twinges... within. She is in need she realizes... of her vibrator. She wishes Chestnuts was broken, though the process has been most entertaining. She delights in imagining that tongue... an organ trained... altered... molded for her desire... her pleasure... working in earnest rather then wastefully waggling in the room air. With her thoughts her hand covers, her thumb and index finger indeed pinching closed the nostrils. Breathing curtailed, she begins.
“One... two... three...”
Kelly counts with deliberation, feeling for motion... for disobedience to her controlling hand. She senses tremors.... but such are hers... her loins quivering with ultimate power.
“Four... five... six...”
Wickedly, she slows. Such caprice! But so it will be. Her toy will comply, he has no choice. Though he must breathe, he will next do so at her whim.
“Seven... eight...”
Kelly senses a spasm, arms fighting the straps. The count stops. She graciously removes her hand to permit a paroxysmal gasp for air.
“Bad boy. Bad Chestnuts. You’ll need to try again...”
Though oxygen not fully restored, the hand returns. It covers, fingers pinching. As her count begins again, Chestnuts begins to understand his owner’s earnestness... and Kelly’s vagina gushes.
The added protocol is not without purpose. Besides bringing the once belligerent psyche to complete capitulation to a woman’s power, exceptional cunnilingus will require intervals of breath control. Kelly wants exceptional oral satiation... and Kelly shall have it.
“One... two... three...”
Within weeks, she will be counting to twenty and beyond... and Chestnuts will meekly lie... so desirous of the next breath... but so eager to please with his utter docility.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Ownership - Part I - The Clinic - The Strict Protocol Continues
The Strict Protocol Continues
Kelly finds herself marking a calendar, the timing of her visits most consequential. Never more often then every third day, the lengthy interval assuring that her charge Chestnuts is eager for cleansing and bathing. On occasion the suffering is extended... four days... and on one occasion a fifth day when she found herself traveling over a holiday weekend.
Imbued with unsurpassed power, she finds herself becoming giddy by the morning of the appointed day, a young girl desiring to cuddle her puppy.
Chestnuts is equally excited by her visits of course, his psyche anointing ‘Miss Kelly’ with plenipotentiary governance. She is everything... the source of all he needs. But of course not of all he wants. Denial... always denial of that which a virile young male most wants... most desires.
And it pleases Kelly to deny him.
Instead there is tongue work. Chestnuts’ long wet appendage, surgically freed of the restricting frenulum, now thrusts forth with vigor in scooping the bland sustenance from an offered spoon. Miss Kelly is known to playfully dab the tip of the nose and, in encouraging with girlish giggles, has the prodigious length of pink curl upwards to swath, not only eagerly finding nourishment but pleasing with the display... the oral nimbleness of a barnyard animal.
Kelly is also given to firmly grasp the tongue, ending each visit with many minutes of tugging, twisting and turning, imbuing continuing length, assuring strength and stamina.
Chestnuts is rewarded for his cooperation... more vaginal froth... Miss Kelly’s quim brimming with evidence of her delight... her ownership well implanted.
Still, yet there remains evidence of male aggression... almost every visit ending with a plea for manual release, Chestnuts’ penis standing most robustly after many weeks of chastity. Yes, the meek words come as Miss Kelly approaches with ice, the unwavering tumescence to succumb to a woman’s desire to return her boy to diapers.
‘Won’t you please stroke me first, Miss Kelly?’
The quest is ignored of course. But as the visits progress, ending such pleasant interludes of feminine power with notions of a soothing hand offering such crass male satiation disturbs.
In exiting the Clinic on one Saturday afternoon, Chestnuts well restrained and returned to his diaper, Kelly engaged the desk nurse in small talk, broaching the subject of ‘hand jobs for the helpless’, as Kelly humorously considers the constant quest.
“You should review the Guidebook,” the nurse suggests. “The Recalcitrance and Discipline chapter has some ideas. And I note on the chart that your boy is uncircumcised. Be sure to read the segment on infibulation as well.”
Kelly thanks the nurse, realizing she did not before delve that far into the Guidebook.
So it’s a Saturday night. Arriving home, a bottle of Chardonnay awaits. After a hot shower, Kelly calms herself after a long afternoon of feminine governance and concupiscence. The Guidebook awaits. She sits, sips and flips open.
Recalcitrance and Discipline, the final segment. Turning the pages she is surprised to find a chapter on masturbating the male, a shocking subject matter for an institution dedicated to male chastity.
‘During times of release... for cleansing or simple amusement... the chaste male will find himself erect and powerless to refrain from beseeching for sexual release. Think of the process as a young male dog in heat, assaulting Master’s leg with his privates in a most inappropriate manner. This annoyance can be curtailed very simply by indeed condescending and offering manual release... but in a very controlling and ultimately disciplining manner.
‘Clients will find each training room equipped with a slim glass tube and a supply of rock salt. It is a simple matter to introduce a few grams of salt into the tube, slip into the urethra of the erect male, and deposit sodium chloride well into the penis shaft by pressing a complementary rod as the tube is withdrawn. As the salt melts, aggravating the most sensitive of male flesh, the beseeched hand should stroke. There will follow a rather convincing combination of pleasure as denied penile skin is stroked and pain as the salt melts to irritate the urethra. Within minutes the pain pleasure will overwhelm. Subsequent ejaculation will slide the introduced salt further down the urethra, enhancing the pain as the release of ejaculate presses, and ultimately transforming what is normally the pinnacle of male ecstasy into an agonizing encounter with the determination of the female hand.’
In thought, Kelly pauses and sips... with a smile. Transforming male pleasure into pain! How devious... yet ingenious! Chestnuts will become quite reluctant to request manual release after such a daunting hand job. One can only imagine the distress in introducing salt, ironically so harmless, into the vaunted male organ.
The Guidebook is pushed aside. Delirious thoughts of disciplining her charge in such an ignominious manner brings the need for her vibrator.
Kelly finds herself marking a calendar, the timing of her visits most consequential. Never more often then every third day, the lengthy interval assuring that her charge Chestnuts is eager for cleansing and bathing. On occasion the suffering is extended... four days... and on one occasion a fifth day when she found herself traveling over a holiday weekend.
Imbued with unsurpassed power, she finds herself becoming giddy by the morning of the appointed day, a young girl desiring to cuddle her puppy.
Chestnuts is equally excited by her visits of course, his psyche anointing ‘Miss Kelly’ with plenipotentiary governance. She is everything... the source of all he needs. But of course not of all he wants. Denial... always denial of that which a virile young male most wants... most desires.
And it pleases Kelly to deny him.
Instead there is tongue work. Chestnuts’ long wet appendage, surgically freed of the restricting frenulum, now thrusts forth with vigor in scooping the bland sustenance from an offered spoon. Miss Kelly is known to playfully dab the tip of the nose and, in encouraging with girlish giggles, has the prodigious length of pink curl upwards to swath, not only eagerly finding nourishment but pleasing with the display... the oral nimbleness of a barnyard animal.
Kelly is also given to firmly grasp the tongue, ending each visit with many minutes of tugging, twisting and turning, imbuing continuing length, assuring strength and stamina.
Chestnuts is rewarded for his cooperation... more vaginal froth... Miss Kelly’s quim brimming with evidence of her delight... her ownership well implanted.
Still, yet there remains evidence of male aggression... almost every visit ending with a plea for manual release, Chestnuts’ penis standing most robustly after many weeks of chastity. Yes, the meek words come as Miss Kelly approaches with ice, the unwavering tumescence to succumb to a woman’s desire to return her boy to diapers.
‘Won’t you please stroke me first, Miss Kelly?’
The quest is ignored of course. But as the visits progress, ending such pleasant interludes of feminine power with notions of a soothing hand offering such crass male satiation disturbs.
In exiting the Clinic on one Saturday afternoon, Chestnuts well restrained and returned to his diaper, Kelly engaged the desk nurse in small talk, broaching the subject of ‘hand jobs for the helpless’, as Kelly humorously considers the constant quest.
“You should review the Guidebook,” the nurse suggests. “The Recalcitrance and Discipline chapter has some ideas. And I note on the chart that your boy is uncircumcised. Be sure to read the segment on infibulation as well.”
Kelly thanks the nurse, realizing she did not before delve that far into the Guidebook.
So it’s a Saturday night. Arriving home, a bottle of Chardonnay awaits. After a hot shower, Kelly calms herself after a long afternoon of feminine governance and concupiscence. The Guidebook awaits. She sits, sips and flips open.
Recalcitrance and Discipline, the final segment. Turning the pages she is surprised to find a chapter on masturbating the male, a shocking subject matter for an institution dedicated to male chastity.
‘During times of release... for cleansing or simple amusement... the chaste male will find himself erect and powerless to refrain from beseeching for sexual release. Think of the process as a young male dog in heat, assaulting Master’s leg with his privates in a most inappropriate manner. This annoyance can be curtailed very simply by indeed condescending and offering manual release... but in a very controlling and ultimately disciplining manner.
‘Clients will find each training room equipped with a slim glass tube and a supply of rock salt. It is a simple matter to introduce a few grams of salt into the tube, slip into the urethra of the erect male, and deposit sodium chloride well into the penis shaft by pressing a complementary rod as the tube is withdrawn. As the salt melts, aggravating the most sensitive of male flesh, the beseeched hand should stroke. There will follow a rather convincing combination of pleasure as denied penile skin is stroked and pain as the salt melts to irritate the urethra. Within minutes the pain pleasure will overwhelm. Subsequent ejaculation will slide the introduced salt further down the urethra, enhancing the pain as the release of ejaculate presses, and ultimately transforming what is normally the pinnacle of male ecstasy into an agonizing encounter with the determination of the female hand.’
In thought, Kelly pauses and sips... with a smile. Transforming male pleasure into pain! How devious... yet ingenious! Chestnuts will become quite reluctant to request manual release after such a daunting hand job. One can only imagine the distress in introducing salt, ironically so harmless, into the vaunted male organ.
The Guidebook is pushed aside. Delirious thoughts of disciplining her charge in such an ignominious manner brings the need for her vibrator.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Insurance
In the event this blog no longer passes muster with the Google censors, I have begun a Tumblr blog as an insurance policy.
It will take time for me to learn the 'ins and outs' of posting there. Not sure the sequencing will be as apparent as on this blog, but I'm learning.
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/chrisbellows
Need feedback. So let me know if the blog can be located and visited.
CB
It will take time for me to learn the 'ins and outs' of posting there. Not sure the sequencing will be as apparent as on this blog, but I'm learning.
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/chrisbellows
Need feedback. So let me know if the blog can be located and visited.
CB
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