(1)In all forms of mystical endeavour a one-pointed mind is essential. A one-pointed mind
means a focused mind.

(2) It is also necessary to find a sacred or blessed site on which to ground yourself.
You can have a spot cleansed by yourself,
and sanctified by the Lord of Hosts. The
site, the locus is important and getting grounded in this place is even more essential.
You must be grounded when you begin
your sitting.

Jesus said: “Among those born of women, from
Adam until John the Baptist, there is no one superior to John the Baptist that his eyes should not be lowered (before him).Yet I have said, whichever one of you comes to be a child will be acquainted with the kingdom and will become superior to John.”

In all the activities of man, no one is more focused than a child at play. His concentration is not dualistic or divided. So we work towards the focus of a child at play.

This is what we want when we begin a mystical endeavour.


(C)2019 BY W.G. MILNE



All the great questions end up with a journey to yourself.

    There is no beginning nor is there an ending… but there is an infinite place where you are, a timeless place where the eternal speaks deep within you.

     The final frontier is your Mind,
and you don’t have to take a step to explore it.

     Learn your sitting and you can travel distances in the galaxy within.

     The difficulty is not grasping complexity. It takes genius to grasp simplicity.

     All the journeys are within in you, all your lovers, all you love is birthing here in the present dawn of each new day.

    The second coming of Christ is at hand. He is already here within you.

    The dawn of Maitreya, the new Buddha rises within. Deeper than oceans, more vast than space is the unexplored Country of your own soul.

    I am waiting here to greet you. When you see me, you will Know yourself.

(C)2019 by W.G. Milne



People have asked me about the realization experience, the enlightenment experience, foundation experience.

Many of you have read zen. The satori experience is essentially the same – as what I’m writing about. Kensho, satori, living in a state of samhadi. All the worlds great religions have the same path in different ways – hidden in some cases, revealed in other instances.

 And people, monks etc. will argue incessantly about the differences. I don’t care much about the differences of the separate paths. I no longer have much time for intellectualizations.

Why is this experience essential? It brings certainty into your life. You no longer wonder about whether you must go left or must go right,
or must go or do anything at all.

        You are free to go your own way without guilt or doubt or second-guessing.

         You are aware that you know all there is to know, yet in a different sense you know 
nothing at all.

         You don’t need to know all the names of God or argue about such things. In the most fundamental way, you have walked with God,
and wandered with Him in His miraculous creation.

         Ego no longer plagues you. You might be aware that you were the best at all possible endeavours… but nowhere and at no time were you ever better or more pure than  THIS!

(C)2019 by W.G. Milne




I’m out of hooch and I haven’t had food for a
couple of days… I have to go see Artie – so I head over
early, at 10:00AM an unearthly hour
in our little town.
I open the twisted oval door to the bar,
and when I step inside and close it – darkness!
And not a peep except a curious snuffling sound that
sounds like a blunt-nose puppy ( a boxer or a lab) is
looking for a place to sleep…a bit of a wheeze..
and, what’s that? A hic-cup? And a snort…
And a terrified, mewling sound… so it’s not
a wolverine – wolverines don’t make mewling sounds…
even expressing affection, wolverines tend to snarl…
Then I heard a heavy thump. Did someone deliver
a proper front kick at the bar? By proper I mean heel first….
Not a puppy then…
Matilda has a big great Dane – dumb as a post. It sounds
kind of like him – bewildered, confused
and begging for something he never quite understands
he wants.
I reach out… and feel,,, what feels like a horse’s
tail hanging all the way down to my knees… hanging
over the edge of the bar…. this is too weird. And
nasty. The tail isn’t entirely dry.
A horse! What would a horse be doing
in Artie’s bar? I’ve seen many a horse’s ass here,
but never a horse…then again, at the moment I can’t see.
I search for more of those yellow candles…
I find a wooden ‘safety’ match snap it on my
thumbnail. There’s a flash of light… For a split-second
I see it…there’s either a large dog or a small
horse kneeling on Artie’s bar…
And the noises it’s making. Rather like
someone goosed a moose, or moosed a goose,
or… or what? I don’t know what… My imagination
is vast (or so I’ve been told, and I’m not at all sure
it’s a compliment).
But this is unimaginable!
The eyes looked strangely human.
But animals’ eyes often look this way, I’m sure
you’ve noticed.
However these eyes seem to be
bulging, as if the creature has been caught
in a surprising situation – a distressing situation.
I’ve got to find another match.
I don’t want to touch that hair again,
hanging down over the edge of the bar… it’s
just too creepy. Did I detect a stickiness to it…?
Oh, God! No!
You don’t want to be placing your
hands on just any sticky fluid! Imagine
crawling along the floor of a bus station bathroom…
well, that’s not the place to put your hand in
something wet… nosiree!
I once saw a pale white palm reach
into my stall in a pay-as-you-go toilet stall
in a bus station bathroom in the City…downstairs, of course,
it had to be downstairs!
Oh, sticky hair! No! Maybe I’d better
leave. Better find some alcohol first to wash
my hands.
“OOOOMmmPH!” it made a sound.
It wasn’t a deep-voiced male sound.
Tho the sound had plenty of gusto in it…
this is not a small creature. This is a large
dumb brute… in the midst of consternation…
Distress? Aw, now I can’t leave!
And my insulated green rubber boot just got stuck…
on something… sticky… on the floor.
OOooo… I almost throw up. And that
won’t help the general stickiness situation!
I find another match. I flick my thumb… I see
his eyes. It’s not a horse’s head! It’s a dog’s…
head mask… A mask? Oh, too weird! Too
sticky, and stinky too… I’m gone!
I work my way along the wall… one, two,
three moose heads… I’m out of here! I snatch
open the door… A glimmer from outside helps a bit.
No question. A large dumb brute is kneeling on the
bar, with a big hairy tail… making Great Dane sounds
if you stuff the dogs nose under a pillow…
I step out onto the Main Lane and let
the door close behind me. I light a cigar and
stare up at the gorgeous imperious stars…
the peaceful stars, the clean stars. The air is cold and sharp.
I like it out here.
The arctic air does not feel depraved.
The air of the arctic feels pristine. Not like the ugly
scene, the monstrous situation all-too- present
in Artie’s Elegant Bar and Grill.

I wire a rag to a pole of driftwood. I pour
some naphtha gas on the rag. I reach into my
bunker and pick up the Bic lighter. I light
the rag and push the pole into the mud at the
edge of the Mane Lane, just outside of Artie’s Bar.
I keep the door propped open.
Now I can see inside. Yes, it’s a beast
with a dog’s head… no wait, is that a horn emerging
from the forehead of the dog? No!
Yes! It is. And some kind of a cone
is rising atop the dog-head mask… The dog has
a pig nose and a dunce’s hat. A dunce’s hat?
It’s got to be Artie! You think Artie, you think
dunce’s cap!
IT IS! IT IS ARTIE! In the pointy hat of a fool!
As I say, it’s not that big a mental stretch… to think of
Artie in such headgear… although, the forehead-dildo
is a bit of a surprise, I must say.
And something’s written on the fool’s hat.
I enter the bar and light one of the
oil lamps. Good God! What have they done to
our poor bartender? I’m concerned…
I’ve got to get a camera!
I walk back in with my flash camera.
I can see what looks like Bruno the Great Dane,
only with big wide eyes, shake his head, “NO!”
Artie’s saying in mime.
I flash the shot from one angle. Then
I flash two more of his pig-face. Ha! Ha! That
pig’s nose looks cute on Artie! And what are
those words written on the dunce’s hat?
PIG… Yes, right above his ear. PERVERT!
higher up and. “FOOL!” And right above the dildo
emerging from between his eyes…!”
I snap another shot to the sound of
Artie grunting in denial!

Enough’s enough. I peel off the duct
tape strapping the hat onto Artie’s black hair…
I pull off the head-dildo. It comes off with a suction
sound – a pop! Has someone glued that to his
I cut the cloth of the dog mask
away. And there’s Artie! Wide-eyed and
ridiculous in all his glory!
His trying to say something, but
he can’t. There’s a bright red ball in his
mouth, strapped there. I pop this out.
Artie gasps. “Untie me!” he wails.
I’ve got cramps!”he grunts.
Then I see it, his wrists and legs
are tied to the bar… his legs are tied open
at the ankles…. and on no, the horse’s tail
is attached to a broom stick. The broom stick
appears to penetrate up Artie’s ass!
I cut the ropes loose…. I give a tug
on the horse’s tail at the end of the broomstick,
“Do you want this out?” I ask Artie,
trying not to laugh… “Or are you enjoying it?”
“Argrolff!” Artie shout’s back at me
from over his shoulders… His arms and legs
are quivering… I pick him up and lay
him on his side on the polished bar. I try
not to notice, but certain body parts have
been shaved, clean as a baby’s bottom!
Time for me to leave. I want to digest this
monstrous scene in peace and tranquillity.
I wish to think of other things. Like salmon fishing
in Yemen.

“I’ll let you take care of the rest of
your outfit.” I say to Artie; “I’m not sure what
you want where, what costume parts are annoying
and which parts you are enjoying!
I’d hate to interfere!
I say this just as he’s reaching behind
him with both hands, attempting to remove
the duct tape from his shaved ass..
“UCK OORF!” he shouts loudly… but once
again his voice is muffled because now
he’s lying face down on the bar, squirming
like a caterpillar ((with dreams of distant

He looks confused, bewildered… not
sure how to extract himself from his present
His voice is shaken, muffled. I wonder
just how far the broom handle penetrates up his
ass. I’d like to know, but it’s not the sort
of question it’s polite to ask.

Write a comment…



North West Territories,,, only sixteen left in town

The town was so completely destroyed by Friendly Fire no one can remember the name of the town, or exactly where the town was…..We know it  was east of the Mackenzie Rover – but the River moves around a lot and can sweep away sandbars overnight.  The JUICY ROOST HOTEL is only a fond memory in the minds of those of us who still have memories.

A Canadian pilot bombed us returning from the “dance” at Normal Wells the night before. Perhaps he saw something move fast out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps he hated Judge Wilcox like the rest of us —(My evil Uncle Elmer Wilcox was the judge… And everybody knows he was a monster.  But… Henry, no, honest! Henry was the fun guy… as his demise would point out to you. He walked off into the muskeg, perhaps seeing attractive buttocks in a cloud of flies, why knows? He

disappeared with a hard-on and a Walkman… and the thoughts in his head are only speculation)  This is ART in the Mackenzie River drainage basin….

        When you can see the hand in front of your face, despite the ravaging

humming, chittering (and are they laughing?) flies…. when and if you can see your

hand you may have an instant to witness a VanGogh… if you can hold the page

still of the reference book from the decimated Wait-A-Bit Library. If you can

hold the book still for a calm instant, and not scratch any intimate parts… maybe

then you can see the beauty that much of the rest of the world knows…but don`t count on it… better to look at Art thru the uncompromising light of a Coleman Lamp…like light in a surgical matinee… then maybe you see the colours… (if your drug-addicted mad slattern isn`t howling at your with barely noticeable articulation and you can put the reference book on your kitchen table for a moment of rest, then you have a chance… if your door is solid and nailed shut and you can forget the 100 pound weasels just down the shore… the wolverines reputed to have inherited Human  sex glands, intelligence and perversions, changed by some genetic experiment made during the time of the DEW line. THEN maybe you can

look at a Van Gogh painting, but don`t count on it….

EDIT 2X????C((((((Most of this is legend.. some of it is merely rumour, tho quite recent rumour….tapes exists – the words of several horrified and astounded victims)

Officially, none of us believe them… But we know the truth when we       hear it… ((some drunks have gone missing))))))))))Perhaps the pilot saw something move  fast out if the corner of his eye; perhaps he hated the architecture of the Town Hall or the A&P, Perhaps he hated Judge Wilcox , too…. he definitely had that perfect hand to eye co-ordination some of are lucky enough to have, no matter how drunk we might happen to be…One thing ya gotta say about the kid, no matter what psychotic thoughts were passing thru his brain, he was a hell of a shot… His aim was pretty terrific

            There was also the rumour that he fired at Artie`s Bar because he`dheard that Artie was screwing one of the Arctic Dixie Chicks… the flyboy`s favourite….young men can be hot-headed at some times…. I heard the first building that went up was THE  BUILDING RIGHT BEHINDArtie`s HOLE IN THE GROUND BAR…where Artie did indeed nail TRIXIE more times than I can count.

         She was the hottest of the Arctic Dixie chicks…. and she danced

extremely suggestively with a body to launch 1000 jets… great rolling buttocks, short skirts knee high leather boots with chrome stiletto heels….. a bit of whimsy which… always endeared herto me and to Psycho Fly-boy, which is now his handle… and will be`til he becomes legend in Hank’s one page newspaper… put out at unpredictable times. So twelve minutes later, I attended at what presently is our city hall, jail,,,  It`s that board and baton ersatz brick-faced structure that  rises up out of the roof of Artie`s bar.

        I knocked and knocked and then craned my neck and looked thruthe twelve-paned, wooden framed window… which isthe biggest picture winda on the Main Lane… I saw the mayor passed out in what was my nagahyde Lazy-Boy armchair, which I donated to the Town of Wait-A-Bitone long winter night with Matilda…. Matilda being electedmayor after me, I thought it was only fair to create a traditionof a comfortable mayor chair. Of course, I was intoxicated at the time, or I would have remembered it was the only chair I had.

     Matilda was passed out unconscious after having performed her mayoralty duties the night before.I noticed she still had the soccer pads on her knees…so I knew she had been hard at work til dawn doing the municipal works.

            It was hard to begrudge her my chair at a tender time like that.

           Later Hank was reading this passage  about falling in love with Matilda`s Ass, and 4 inch chrome spiked heels.

          “Endeared her to you ! That`s rich.. I caught you licking and sucking those heels in her closet – sitting in the dark by yourself…”

           “That wasn’t me,” I say. Was the man a spy? I don`t like spies – they catch me… doing things….I hate to ask this, … I know Trixie`s dead”… but ”What happened to..?”.“WHAT HAPPENED TO HER BOOTS?!!!

You are one sick fuck, Santa…”

“Maybe so… but,,, ANSWER MY QUESTION, FOOL!” “Hey!”

      How did that happen?… Where did my gun com, from… in my hand and  pointed right between his eyes?”

      Hank pants…. Standing with the gun, “You`re not serious.


So he told me pretty quick….I don`t know where all these remembered moments come from… must be the flies….or Maybe it`s because I haven`t even seena woman`s ass in 13 months…. and some stupid fuck burned all my “Real Ass” magazines…He blew up  all my computer connectionsAnd by the time you get LEG ACTION  up here…….the copy is in tatters.

                                     *    *     *





“”Artie’s new mindset is convenient for the rest of us,”
Now we have a bar that’s always open, a bartender  who never leaves his bar!” 
         When asked if he believed the bartender’s
story to be true, Mayor Frank Wilcox said, 
“Who cares?”
      Then the mayor added, “Who knows? Up
here anything’s possible.”  
      Quoted from the WAIT-A-BIT! newspaper, ‘The Evil Screed,’ Issue 3, Page 1, as quoted in the Vancouver Sun.

     In the twilight morning,     Frank climbs up out of the bunker and through about 5 1/2 feet of deep snow, covered with freezing ice…Takes a sniff at the air,stretches, beats his chest and shouts, “SMELLS LIKE SPRING!”
     In reality,there’s a pathetic path through the mountains of
snow, deeply encased with ice.
       “You ever build a snow fort when you were young?
Remember packing snow then taking a hose or
twenty pails of water and covering the fort with
ice?  That way the fort was half-way safe to crawl
        Well, that’s what it was like outside the
round bunker door belonging to Hank and FRank
in the undiscovered  village of WAIT-A-BIT!

         Frank crawled up to a flat stump still
peeking out of the snow. The wind had cleared the
stump repeatedly… the more or less constant wind
from the West…But lower down, where the wind
didn’t often reach – the snow was deep.
        There was a ringing in Frank’s ears almost
constantly now. Same sort of ringing you get
if you fire off a large caliber gun in a small space…
or if you’d listened to your favourite hip hop band with
your head too close to the speakers…. or you and
your girlfriend were dancing by the speakers for two hours…
or had sex in front of the speakers and then fell asleep
       Well, if the two of you grow old together…
neither of you will be able to hear a damn thing
the other is saying.
        This is not a bad thing. Many people have 
spouses who cannot or will not stop
talking. So if you can’t hear too well,
it can be a blessing…
        But not always…

        “What if someone’s creeping up behind
you, wants to steal your poncho, or
your rifle… what then?” Hank asks from
down below, leaning out  the bunker hole.
         “Yeah, well then you want to be able to
hear… But that’s what the 6th sense is for –
to know when some fucker’s trying to kill
you,”Frank shouts back down.
          They both agreed. Hank pulled
his head back inside.
          “But this constant buzzing in my head –
can’t be a good thing…”

           Frank went outside in the first place
because he thought he heard a bird call,.
OK, he heard a crow… but they count too.
           For three months nothing had
made a sound outside…”Well, you can
hear the weasels laughing… but could be
that’s just in my head… I’m so used to the
         “Wonder what they’re laughing at?”
Frank’s thinking…
         There’s no answer to such questions.

          For example, one guy says:   “I might be projecting laughter onto them…giving them human characteristics
they don’t really have.”
         ” Yeah, sure…” Frank answers, not interested in
such horseshit interpretations.

     “But all these stories of men raped by weasels…
Over the past few years…Are those stories true?” Frank
now is wondering, “Or are they just something I made up in the bar, when it was late,just to shut some drunken asshole up? Maybe it was one, or the other, or both.
      The problem was, Frank couldn’t remember
if he made it up or not… Did it matter?  
       Maybe it did.

           Frank remembered the look
in Artie’s eyes when he climbed back up
the hill. When Artie first got to WAIT-A-BIT!
he believed in protecting the wildlife.
        He came back that first night
 with a look of surprise on his face. 
He was a changed man…Wide-eyed…
and trembling. And he had a
very different opinion about protecting the
wildlife then.

        “One thing I won’t ever forget…”
 Artie was talking in his brand new bar, when he
first arrived.
        ” Jesus, it hurts!” he said to me, clutching
his ass.
        “Hmmm. I had to at least pretend to be
interested… What, won’t you forget, Artie?”
Frank asks in a quiet  voice.
         Before he answered Artie had a huge
slug of Shine .        (Remember – one ounce of
                             shine is about equal to 3 shots of vodka) 

         “I won’t forget!” he said,  “The weasel had me.
I couldn’t move… my ass in the air and
my face in the snow… It was his hot
breath on the back of my neck. Every
time I tried to move,he bit me… the hot breath
on the back of my neck, I’ll never forget that!
         Frank read in his notes: “I smoked my pipe. I looked
across the room at Artie -wild-eyed with his pants
down and dancing from one leg to the other,
trying to apply Vaseline to his anus. 
          It was pretty clear Artie at least believed
something had happened.”
         “I’m the mayor, after all, and I suppose I’m
the police, also”. It’s my duty to investigate.”
         So I say to the man, “I thought animals were quick about having sex.. If a dog humps your leg…
It don’t take long…He knows he doesn’t have much time.”
       ” Same thing with wild animals – they know they don’t
have much time, either… before somethin’ bites em
in the arse or in what hangs below it,”Frank says 
       “This sex seemed to go on forever!”
Artie said.   
         “Artie’s got that same look on his
face right now.” Frank is thinking, “A mix of
horror, shock and surprise. He’s re-living
the initial experience.”

         Frank wants to change the subject.He
feels lazy. He really doesn’t want to think
about this.
        “First drink of the day..Taste’s
great!”” Frank nods at Artie.  
         They clink  tin cups together.

         But the amazed look on Artie’s
face never leaves him.
          “He had that weird look on his face – like
maybe he’s in shock.. like he had been standing,
couldn’t move – with a truck coming at night,
frozen  in the headlights.”
          “And at that last instant the truck is past! 
It can shake you up… especially if you’ve been half asleep
at the time, and the first sound you hear in the midst
of your pleasant dreams, is the blaring horn of an
eighteen wheeler. 
         (Frank has been considering the
situation for a long time.) 
          The shine is finding a place in him…

          Frank chuckles. He knows he shouldn’t say
this, but he can’t resist. After all, he has to investigate.

        Frank asks, “He had you down… face planted
in the snow and bare assed…. Why were your
          “I was taking a piss,” says Artie. “First
I had to drop my pants!”
           ” Oh boy, you have a few things to learn
about the Arctic!” Frank laughs, “When you take a
piss, your piss almost freezes before it hits the
ground.  No one takes their pants down up here before
taking a piss – not men or women! You might get
frostbite in a place you can’t  scratch.” 
          “You were afraid to move?” Frank asks.
          Artie nods his head, yes.
          “Well, this is kinda personal,” Frank says, trying not
to laugh.  “But I have to ask it…”
          “OK,” Artie says.

TURNS ON YOU?”  Frank asks.

            Artie had looked alarmed already. Now he looks 
            ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” Artie shouts.
            “Well, this is a sensitive point. But they
had you face down. You couldn’t move…
Weasels are usually pretty quick about 
the sex act… so… if it went on for a long time…
maybe…. did you ever stop to think…”
            “What!” Artie shouts.
            “Did you ever stop to think…  
 maybe more than one weasel raped you?
 Maybe every male weasel in the area took you from
behind…”  Frank smiles in an understanding fashion,
“That’s why it took so long?”

           Artie is silent for a long time. He leaves
the bar and goes into the back…
           “Is that sobbing, I hear?” Frank
is wondering. No Artie’s back too
quick. Now he’s standing right beside me..
Oh, Christ! he’s got a gun!”
        Artie has the gun pointed at Frank’s
temple… His eyes look even bigger than before.
They’re bulging. His pants are off and his knees
are shaking…
          Frank nods his head
          “Yes?” Frank says.
           “NEVER Talk to me about  WEASELS again!”
           “Yes, sure!  Of course, Artie! Whatever
you say!”
           Artie goes into the back and puts the large revolver
down. He stumbles back up to the front of the bar.            He sits down. He has a another big drink.
 He downs half the cup in one gulp. 
          “That’s about the equivalent of 8 shots
of vodka ” Frank says..”It’s
one hell of an eye-opener!”
         Finally Artie speaks up, his voice
slurring a bit now: “Thanks so much for that
        ”  I could have lived the rest of my
life, without ever thinking…  that!”
          Frank doesn’t say a word. It’s a good time
to be quiet.

you planted in my head. I just relived the
entire experience!”Artie shouts.
           “I thought I heard you doing something
out back…”
           “Yes, I was on my hands and knees
again…trying to drink the snow…” Artie says,
“Just like that night!  Trying to remember
           “Wait a minute!” Frank jumps up off his
            “You were on your hands and knees?”
             “Yes, I just told you…”
             “On your hands and knees, taking
a piss bare-assed…in weasel country,in weasel territory?  Right down near theirLAIR?”Frank asks,
not believing what he was hearing.

            “Yeah sure,I told you” Artie says. “I had to take a piss! I was drunk…  all of a sudden, I got really thirsty. 
I put my face in the snow and started drinking it.
             They both sat in the dark bar, thinking
and drinking lots more of the hooch. Frank, the mayor,
doesn’t say a thing. He’s trying to digest these facts.

              “You see…” Frank is shaking his head,
starting to understand. “They probably thought you were a female in heat!”
               “_________________” says Artie.
               “They smelled your piss.. and by
the time they had scrambled half-way up the hill,
they were probably horny and
they didn’t care who you were!”
              “He ripped out the seat of my pants
 right away! In a second he was on me!”
              “Jesus…” Frank says. “That explains
it… That’s how it got started! Wow!”





Somehow, as the story goes,

the female residents mated with the

bull weasels know as “devil beasts”

or wolverines – and a half-humanoid,

half weasel  race began. But this

wasn’t the cause.


The cause was the military gene splicing.

GMO experiments began, at that

installation on the shores of the

of the Arctic Sea.


Now it must be remembered, an otter

is a weasel,and the otter is a very

clever beast with a tendency to be


I was paddling a canoe along the shore

of Poplar Lake at dusk. I came upon an otter

family sliding down a wet rock and

splashing into the lake. They were making

high pitched squealing noises almost as

if they were laughing.


I glided by so quietly in the semi-dark

across the calm lake, that the otters

scarcely noticed me. My presence did not

bother them. For once a human being

was being quiet. The otters don’t really have

a lot to be afraid of in the Martin River

area. Their attitude seemed to be

“live and let live” and this was my

inclination as well.


The wolverine is the king of

all weasels. He does not believe

in “live and let live” He has an inbred tendency

to attack the balls of 2000 pound Kodiak bears.

A wolverine will driver a huge bear away

from its food.

Mating with such a weasel is no joke,

And such actiovity ought to

be avoided at all costs – if the penetratee

has any choice at all in the matter.

The native women had no such choice,

so they should never be described as “weasel-whores”

or any such name-calling appellations.


It is said their eyes glowed yellow in the dark,

and their piss smelt worse than a skunk’s spray –

and they pissed all over the food of trappers and

ripped their sheets and blankets to shreds and shat

all over their pillows, and ejaculated inside the soft

down to make an odor so foul as to be scarcely

imaginable to city folk.


This evolution of beast-man

intimidated the native tribes to the south… For

not only did these big-brained

weasel minds know for certain when they were

being tracked, they had the lust of ten-peckered owls

and their snarling mawed minds were filled with a

deep desire to fuck all trackers-trappers’ brains loose.


As if the smell were not bad enough, the vision of

some mad 200 pound weasel horny as 12 sled dogs

in the spring, that notion, that vision was far worse

than any smell could be.


After the military started their genetic modification

experiments – splicing human and wolverine DNA

together into one new strain… After these experiments

started, (ten years after) that’s when the

bizarre occurences started to happen up and down

the Mackenzie River.

It was a shock to us all.


The mind of the wolverine is devious. The mind

of man is sneaky and devious… vengeful and sadistic

with a twisted sense of humour The experiments

were successful, if you want to call this horrific

mixture a success.


The new wolverine grew in size. It was bigger

and faster and mean as a snake. It wanted to eat

practically everything that moved. Its lust increased

into a dangerous thing. Unfortunate incidents

began to occur.


As I say, before we’d take a shotgun with us to

the outhouse. Now what you wanted was a shotgun

and two armed guards to accompany you every

step of the way.


In those early days after the Incineration,

we were forced to eat anything that crawled, walked,

scuttled or slithered, there were very few women

with us in WAIT-A-BIT. So the wolverines

started raping the men.


Everybody with any brains started the long

trek towards the East. Some of the trekkers

went no farther than the encampments

and dwellings of the Cave Bear People – that

notorious tribe of trappers and magicians.

I know more than I’m ever going to admit

about their dark ceremonies.


East of the Cave Bear People, that’s

where the military had started their DNA

splicing experiments, The military had been

there about ten years, so I’m told.

It was just two years ago that Artie

got nailed from behind by a huge weasel

that wanted only one thing – Artie’s ass.

Artie has never been the same since.


But who has? Who has?

In WAIT-A-BIT! none of us are normal. )))

  • ******


              “I guess that explains the first
man-rape… But what about the next four or
five rapes… the ones reported after mine?”
Artie asks.
              “The only thing I can figure,”
Franks says, “They got a taste for human ass,
and they liked it. You were warm, you were
open and you were easy…Looks like you started
a trend.”
                “What a horrible thought,” Artie says.

                “So they jumped some other
human males,too, and raped them.They found those men were easy, too…’
                ” Female wolverines are not always  in heat…
But male humans are easily accessible & available all the time up here… There are  no women here… in the territories…”
                “Weasels probably thought you were a woman… or the weasels didn’t care…”Frank says. He is puzzling this out,  preparing a report in his head that he knows will never be written.
              “So the weasels got a taste
for human males…” Franks is thinking.”Just a theory!”
              ” But if we’re not careful.this might become a trait! Part of the psyche of the clever beast… in no time at all it’ll
be part of the weasel DNA!   We don’t want that!”

                 “It would be terrible for tourism,” 
                 They both laugh hard at that.

                “How many guys have the weasels
 surprised?” Frank asks.
                “Four admitted it, but  I suspect
they got Dexter, too. He doesn’t want to talk
about it.  Men don’t usually want to talk
about getting it up the ass. At least, up not here.
They might feel different about it at Church and Bloor.”
                “Dexter hasn’t said a word in ninety days.
He just keeps on staring off into the distance,
like he knows something no one else knows…
He’s got that faraway look in his eyes…” Artie
            “Staring off into the Great Beyond!”

            “I know the feeling well.”
           “Me too. I had an aunt with eyes like that.
           You looked into her eyes, you saw the Great Beyond!”

(C) 2008-2019 by W.G. Milne   All rights reserved






Principle                   PUBLIC HUMILIATION (or perceived public humiliation) is often a transporting factor.

Humiliation is also the arousing fetish in itself, ie: the source of arousal.

Usually  the need is to be be punished for the shame of experiencing sex , (a “disgusting urge” that the woman can only allow herself to feel because she’s being punished).

Spanking works well in this context. The heat felt in the buttocks during a good paddling

is the transporting factor that gives the woman permission to feel the shameful urge.

Male masocism works much the same way as female masocism. The need to utterly

give over one’s power is fulfilled. Also, spanking is a sexual fetish all by itself.

In the same way, many and maybe even most women have secret fantasies of being

raped and utterly overpowered and taken by a ravaging man. There’s a whole lot of guilt women

feel over rape fantasies. And a rape fantasy is not a secret a woman usually shares with her

mate. Of course, there are delightful exceptions.

More spanking is often required.

(6) DISTRACTION is also a very useful tool in allowing sexual arousal to build

For example, Madelaine can only experience sexual desire, excitement and arousal,

when she pretends none of it is happening. She must distract herself by  reading                     a  magazine  and keeping her mind busy on another subject entirely, while she is  pleasured               orally and  with the use of a vibrator.

Her husband felt that such a menial task was beneath him. And he was part of the problem. He insisted that she should be able to orgasm just from his penetrating her. But

the fact of the matter is,  a woman who suffers from intense anxiety because of some interdiction

against sex (whether it be familial or religious or the result of some fearful abuse as a child), such a woman will not experience orgasm as a result of penetration alone, regardless of the size of the

organ penetrating her.

Orgasm will not occur without the aid of both psychological and physical tools.

In Madelaine’s case it was necessary to place the husband in another room with the door shut,

while an assistant pleasured his wife.

You must understand, I had no idea what measures were required to move this  lovely woman into a primal experience. The idea of the magazine came later, when I noticed

her gritting her teeth and shaking when anyone approached her, especially her husband.

 Principle     –      The use of distraction is sometimes                                     essential.

At first I tried an erotic book, but that didn’t work at all. Finally we settled on

an architectural digest, which she read with desperate concentration. I inserted a thin

unobtrusive vibrator between her labia and let the tip of the vibrator “accidentally’

graze her clitoris from time to time. Then I gently and quietly inserted the vibrator into

her, and had an assistant press his tongue against her clitoris with no movement at all.

After five minutes he started to lick her gently. And I turned the vibrations

up ever so slowly.

All this time she did not acknowledge the fact that there was a   man between her thighs, nor did she look at me. I was sitting pretty much out of her view, but that didn’t matter.

By the third session she had started to relax somewhat, and look forward to

the session.

The one light in the room was focused on the magazine. The bed was in relative darkness. When arousal started to break through to her, she started crying out with this

hot intense voice filled with aniety. She was certainly shocked and couldn’t really believe that

this was happening to her; and she cried out more and more, and louder and louder and started


Talk about a transporting experience! I was having more and more trouble maintaining my professional distance. The pressure built up more and more, and I made sure nothing changed; I knew the dam was going to burst. This woman had never once experiendced

orgasm in her entire life, and so when the moment finally came after incredible resistance on

her part, she shouted and clutched and throbbed and shouted at the top of her lungs.

Previously she had been a quiet, polite person, and very articulate, an English teacher.

The rhythmic pulsing shouts and howls from the deepest part of her lasted an incredibly long

time. She woke up a couple who were sound asleep on the third floor of this old brick and stone house, and we were in the basement.

She had passed through the barrier and had taken her first steps on the road back

to health.

Interestingly, she was able to give up her three pack a day smoking habit within the year.

I couldn’t let her husband go near her for ten days. But having heard the sounds of her

orgasm from the next room, he was suddenly more than willing to co-operate in any way whatsoever. In fact, our psychologist was willing to give him lessons in performing oral sex

all that week.

When he finally was able to visit his wife once more, he gave her two dozen roses,

and had learned something. A lot of coaching was still required to prevent the same tension

from arising between them again, and ruining everything. The husband had an unfortunate habit of acting in a parental fashion. This reminded Madelaine of her father. And Madelaine’s father had been a monster, who had terrified her as a child.

Madelaine had recurring dreams of the shadow of her father entering her bedroom in the middle of the night. And the shadow was holding a knife – an obvious phallic symbol. And maybe it wasn’t just a symbol of a phallus, maybe it really was a hard-on in his hand. After dreams like that as a little girl, it was difficult for her to relax around sex as a grown woman.

And the father had the nerve to be  moralistic about her sex, after performing in such a way himself. My God, the hypocrisy!

Guilt and terrifying dreams must be expunged. The tubes must be all blown out clean.

And your Roving Reporter has various means of blasting the psyche clean. Passion is a psychic

cleanser. And I’ve  found that bending a woman bare-assed over a pile of pillows, so that her bum is raised as an obvious and vulnerable target: this is a highly erotic thing to do. It’s erotic to her because she’s given over her power, and she’s utterly under your command .It’s best to force her to assume this position gradually.

Then, holding her down with a hand on the small of her back, I’ve always found that a slow and deliberate whipping of her bare buttocks with a riding crop is an excellent way to

ignite passion.

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