Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes Part 257

Greetings FOD's (Friends Of Dana) and all of you who have received turn downs on application to the Dana Fan Club. I feel your pain. So maybe a philosophic detour would be helpful. To wit: the idea that excellence is only achievable
through trauma or with attendant trauma is silly. What's that word that I am searching for in my mind? Oh, that's right — talent. The field of writing is particularly attracted to the idea that great writers must go through great stress
to produce great writing. Stupid.

If you do not have talent or if you can not appreciate or recognize talent in others; that does not leave you with a philosophy, or a point-of-view; you are simply not qualified to participate in the discussion.

It's not a bad thing to be limited. Dogs can't fly and earthworms can't sing opera; but the Earth keeps turning. Be happy with who you are, and be happy with who you are not. You are another example of Evolution's faltering
step. Do you know why Shakespeare stuck to plays and poems–never writing short stories? He knew I was coming along. He knew his limits.

But that is not really what I want to talk about today. What I want to talk about today is:

DANA'S COSTUMES

Recently, I had occasion to want to apply to a city program here in Boston. Part of the application process required that I send in four weeks pay stubs. So I had to get a job. I got hired by a local university bookstore to help during Rush.
Rush is that part of September where school starts again and suddenly in a three week period 14,000 students come into the bookstore to get books for their classes. Half of these students are women. Seven thousand women mostly between ages 18-25.

I worked in the textbook stacks helping these women find their books. I nearly had 100 heart attacks. To help them examine their class schedules you have to stand hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder, and heaving partly naked bosom to my manly
chest. And because I am short I nearly got my eye poked out by great erect nipples that you could use for golf tees. People think it must be fantastic to be short but it's no fun to get your eye poked at in crowded stacks aisles filled with
hormone filled women. Hey, I'm not asking for sympathy–just sayin' is all. Nearly fainted at least five times per day by women of perfect complexion, perfect teeth, perfect bodies, tan skin, not an ounce of fat, no stretch marks, happy
dispositions, and partly naked heaving bosoms (did that get mentioned) that gave me stabbing needle-like pains in the tops of my eyeballs. One accented, tall, Asian bombshell (and I mean BOMBSHELL) told me she was Russian. Russian? Ok honey, if
you say so. Jesus, no wonder the men in Minsk drink. Hair she could sit on and attitude.

It got me to thinking (obsessing) that I would love to take studio quality photos of many of these examples of female sexual perfection. A way to worship anatomy and femininity without improvement. It made me remember that sometimes in the
Kingdom I will have the same thought. I will see a woman of such staggering visual impression that my first thought is not a coupling thought but a photo thought. Years ago I met a man from Chicago named Jim in the lobby of the Mothership. He
had a condo in Brazil, a photo studio set up in his room in Bangkok, and was leasing a house in Cambodia. He was on the road eleven months of the year worshipping women. Sometimes studio quality pictures he had taken in Bangkok would then be converted
to paintings in Pattaya and he would have those paintings shipped to his condo in Brazil. Women who say men are not paying attention are not; well, they are the ones not paying attention. Anyway, Jim appreciated women and he appreciated beauty
and he followed up on it. I have thought of him often over the years.

Once I barfined a nice lady in the Carousel Bar at the Nana Entertainment Plaza in Bangkok. While I was waiting for her to change into street clothes one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen came over to pose and display herself in
front of me. She did not know that I was already waiting for one of her friends. Young, brown, tight, black hair, sculpted in marble body, perfect proportions, beautiful face, and of course that indefinable 'something' that separates
some women from other women. Staggering. And my thought was not a coupling thought but a photo thought. My god, I thought; what a pleasure and what a privilege it would be to be able to take professional studio quality photos of this goddess.

Well, once you start to consider a photo studio set-up so that you can take pictures of women eventually the subject of props and costumes comes up. Personally, I get dizzy at the sight of young naked legs going into the tops of cowboy boots.
Just me. Stick a finger in my butt and I'd fire like a howitzer. I once saw this costume idea done in Playboy magazine. Obviously, I never forgot it. So for me the ideal costume experience would be to hand a naked Thai lady a pair of cowboy
boots, a pair of six shooter guns in holsters, a pair of leather gauntlet fringed gloves, and a cowboy hat. Consider what she is not wearing. Oh my god, I am getting dizzy. So what I am talking about here are photo studio costumes. I'd like
to start making available (selling) Dana Costumes to farangs who want to augment the photo worshipping experience with props and clothes.

My favorite costume would be the cowboy-cowgirl costume. What would be your favorite costume idea or ideas: French maid, slutty waitress, something military, Catholic nun, teacher wearing glasses, tranny wearing a ballet tutu and a black
dildo? Send your ideas into this website attn: Dana Costumes and we will work out a catalogue of photo studio costumes you can order through Stickman. Stickman has already bought some extra used office furniture and hired someone to handle this
project. And, as always; no naked pics of yourself doing anything–they make the office dogs bark.

Who loves ya,
Dana

P.S. Pictures of Emma the tranny in cowgirl outfit available free to the first one hundred orders of the Dana Costumes catalogue. You knew that.