HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL
by Vic AKA "Runner"



   A few weeks ago, with Diana's help (and I'd like to think
enthusiasm) I took it upon myself to try to revitalize and improve the Power 
Squeeze, Inc. program. My goal was to widen its perspective and make it more 
appealing to women, without which it obviously can't survive. And so I've 
stressed creating informal local clubs that would have social activities, 
fun and fair mixed-wrestling, self-defense for women, and, of course, the 
power squeeze component which would be set up by each club according to its 
own needs and resources.
   To get these "clubs" going, Diana set up for me an information-
gathering form in the Power Squeeze Advertising section at the Clubhouse. 
Here we could find out, most importantly, where individuals were located, 
their gender, etc. and from this, create lists that would pinpoint 
geographical areas where there were enough interested people to get a club 
started.
   Then, what began as a rather self-serving endeavor unexpectedly took on a 
more altruistic (if I can use that term without being struck down by 
lightning) quest. As I began to get more and more "applications" it occurred 
to me that there were human beings here with real hopes, fantasies, and a 
real need for the rough touch of femininity in the form of respectful, fun 
combat. And as I read some of their information I became increasingly aware 
that behind these messages were real people.
    Yet, how difficult it was going to be to do something like this when all 
I could see and all I could know was coming to me through the "eyes" and 
"ears" of an inanimate computer.  I was asking myself to reach out though an 
insensitive piece of machinery, and measure a human heart, read a human 
mind, and take a human hand.
    We talk to each other from such a distance, held at bay from real
intimacy by an electronic barrier, yet seemingly comfortable with the
separation. And we feel safe because we don't really have to touch one 
another or know one another.  We can't look into each other's eyes for truth 
nor listen to the inflection of a voice for understanding. Nor can we read 
each other's body language or know the other's motives or history, fears or 
demeanor. And yet we entrust our deepest intimacies to what Tennessee 
Williams termed, "the kindness of strangers."
    And so it is that on a daily basis I continue to learn from "strangers" 
what in my ripe years I should have known all along--that each of us has a 
hidden room inside the most recessed part of our soul where our most bizarre 
private thoughts, personal fetishes, and unspoken and unmet needs reside.
    To my amazement, I discovered that one of the most common items tucked 
away in the hidden rooms of a surprisingly large number of males is an 
inexplicable longing to be squeezed--either in a scissors or in a bear 
hug--by a stronger woman. And not just squeezed gently and with love, but 
with a force that could border on death itself.
And this "squeeze need" has a large erotic/sexual component to it--so large 
and so long-held that many men talk of having had this raving desire as far 
back as early childhood. Freud would have had a field day with this one, in 
spite of some intellectual prudes who would deny childhood feelings of 
sexuality.
    My theory (and feel free to dispute it with vigor) is that this need may 
have originated when our mothers gave us our first squeeze between her legs 
as she expelled us from the womb itself (it may also be the reason why many 
women have a need to squeeze their male partners--an instinct learned from 
the mother with that last desperate push).
    So here we stand--men longing passionately to be squeezed and
physically/sexually dominated by a stronger female, but few women making 
themselves available to fulfill that need as a mutually enjoyable 
experience.
    Ah, and Alas! What a cruel dilemma and human paradox that
long-suffering males have a better chance of (pardon the expression) getting 
laid than they do of getting competently squeezed.  What a world!
    So where does this leave Power Squeeze, Inc.?  Without strong, willing 
women, it becomes the very epitome of "a moot point". And yet, those 
information forms continue to pour in from hopeful men all over the world, 
though up to this point nary a qualified woman has been heard from.
    Meanwhile, life goes on, and hidden rooms and their contents of
moldering desires remain covered in the cobwebs of waning hopes.

    Vic AKA "Runner"