A sailor and his date enjoying a day in Central Park while he is on shore leave, 1943.
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8-years ago, CHP Officer Kevin Briggs talked this young man out of jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge.
That young man’s name is Kevin Berthia.
Today he is 30 years old and married with 2 children.
This week he presented Officer Briggs with an award on behalf of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.
The story of how Officer Briggs talked Kevin down is remarkable.
As you can see in the picture, Kevin is literally one step away from jumping to his death. But for more than hour, the officer listened to Kevin pour his heart out about his troubles and told him, “I know you think things are bad, but they can get better.”
Kevin says, “Officer Briggs never made me feel guilty for the situation I was in. He made feel like, I understand why you are here, but there are alternatives”
Kevin is just one of countless lives Briggs has saved over his 23 year career.
Briggs, who was promoted to Sergeant five years ago, is humble about what he does. He says, ”they make the decision, when they step back over that rail it takes a tremendous amount of courage”
I salute Sergeant Briggs!
Photo: The San Francisco Chronicle, John Storey
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Sex is not a goddamn performance.
Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.
It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.
Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.
It’s not about being “good in bed.”
It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.
Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.
I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.
It’s originality.
It’s passion.
It’s joy.
Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what.
You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.
Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.
This isn’t a test.
I should be a bartender.
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