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If you are having a persistent blood pressure reading of 140 systolic and 90 diastolic, you are experiencing hypertension. There are varied reasons why a person gets hypertensive. Overeating resulting in obesity is a very common cause. Factors like heredity and racial background also predispose a person to hypertension. People whose parents have a known history of hypertension are more likely to suffer high blood pressure themselves. Black people have a higher tendency to become hypertensive compared with white people. Stress whether physical, social or that related to business is also a known factor in high blood pressure. People living in the city are more prone to develop hypertension compared to those living in rural areas. Smokers may also amplify their vulnerability to hypertension. A smoker may temporarily increase his systolic blood pressure to five to ten times higher every time he smokes a single cigarette.
Usually high blood pressure symptoms do not show manifestations prior to the age of thirty-five even if a person is practicing unhealthy habits that predispose him to hypertension. However, if you are keen about your health and take warning from others' experience, you will be able to correct any bad habits and prevent any major health emergency in the future.
Kidney disease that stems from infections such as scarlet fever, tonsillitis and typhoid fever may cause high blood pressure. The increased pressure in this case is a natural mechanism that compensates to maintain a normal filtration rate through the hardened walls of the small arteries in the kidneys. The slow progressive type of kidney disease is more often accompanied by arterial hardening, heart enlargement and hypertension.
High blood pressure symptoms may vary greatly. Sometimes the only apparent indications in a man whose systolic pressure maybe 200 or more are his robust health, flushed or ruddy complexion and overweight. Even though the blood pressure is high, yet it doesn't cause any discomfort. In other cases, a person who has a high blood pressure reading may experience a feeling of dizziness, throbbing or aching of the head and ringing in the ears.
There are a lot of preventive measures that can be done for high blood pressure before the hardening of arteries starts. Lifestyle modifications are important in order to achieve a more favorable and healthy blood pressure.
Since obesity predisposes a person to high blood pressure, changing to a healthier diet will be beneficial for obese individuals. Controlling the appetite and maintaining a normal or slightly below normal weight are important in order to keep the blood pressure down. A hypertensive person should abstain from excessive protein foods, rich pastries, sweets, desserts and beverages with caffeine. There should be very little salt in his diet as well.
Smoking and alcohol are two factors that can also aggravate hypertension. An increase in alcohol intake amplifies a person's predisposition to high blood pressure. Quitting smoking and alcohol altogether will prove beneficial to a person with hypertension.
Engaging in a regular exercise program such as walking, jogging and swimming has been found to be helpful in lowering blood pressure. Although exercise aids in lowering hypertension, starting a new exercise regimen should be in consultation with and approved by your physician.
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The following is from the beginning of a short story by the same title. Read “Author Bio” to learn more.
****
I was recently doing a search in Google to find a website that would confirm my suspicions about a Tele-huckster—a pet peeve of mine to which I am hopelessly addicted. One thing led to another and, yada yada yada, before I knew it, my flat screen monitor began flashing a string of sexually explicit pictures in brilliant pulsating color. It was an X-rated pop-up extravaganza; one I was unable to keep up with. I clicked frantically trying to close one close-up invasion after another. The bombardment continued on until it ran its course, eventually reaching some kind of worldwide web adult abyss that even the internet could not crawl below.
As I cleaned up the dirty debris I so innocently spilled—well maybe not that innocently—I was struck by my good fortune. Thankfully, the internet came along decades after my early teen years. Had this stuff been around in the Sixties, I might still be squirreled away in my attic room to this day, trimming the hair on my palms while mumbling incoherently to my seeing-eye dog.
On the other hand, learning the whereabouts, general appearance and overall purpose of female parts would have been a heck of a lot easier, not to mention more timely. Instead, my sex education was really the collective result of a hit or miss operation. At the time it was torture, but I don’t know, there was something funny about it too. And it all started at my local summer recreation center, Carteret Park ...
****
“What did Roy Rogers say to Dale Evans in the bedroom when the lights went out?” Mud Finnegan asked a rapt group of adolescent boys sitting around a long wooden table at our local summer hangout, Carteret Park. He was about twelve years old, a year older than I and several years older than most of the kids sitting on the benches—that was age-wise but he seemed a generation older than all us in every other way.
Mud looked around, working the table like a seasoned Catskill comedian. No one dared answered his question because it really wasn’t a question at all. It was an obvious lead-in to the punch line of another classic dirty joke; besides, no one had a clue as to the possible answer—no one that is except Moon Muller.
“I know!” Moon yelped in a lame attempt to impress the guys, as if he was really in the know.
“Shut up! You don’t know crap!” Fitzy snapped back, warning that one of his patented headlocks might be coming Moon’s way if he didn’t keep his big trap shut.
“Do too!” Moon fired back in a surprising show of bravado.
“Are you two f’in jerk-offs through?” Mud, as only Mud could do, used the “F” word with a certain artistic flair. He painted masterpieces with four letter words no differently than Monet did with colors from a pallet. Having regained the attention of his fickle audience, he continued to close the deal.
“Do you f'in dick heads wanna hear the f’in joke or doncha?” His eyes got wide and kind of crazy looking, one eyebrow climbing higher than the other. Of course, we wanted to hear. Everyone settled down. He waited a moment, knowing timing was everything; then, delivered the goods.
“I’ll turn on my flashlight if you turn on your headlights.”
A flash of universal vacant thought swept across the sea of open jawed faces, like the eerie stillness before a tornado strikes, as our feeble brains scrambled to “get it”. Then, as if prompted by an audience monitor, an explosion of rip-roaring, doubled-over laughter swept around the table. Ah … Mud sure could bring it home. Making it all the more incredulous was that most of us struggled to understand the punch-line. But we knew enough to laugh because that always bought us time to figure it out.
Mud proudly acknowledged his success with a wide grin, while he waited for us to wipe the tears from our eyes, boogers from our noses and drool from our chins. He was on top of his game. Being the veteran performer he was, he launched into an encore with another doozey about some lost traveler asking some guy who is with a woman how far is “The Old Log Inn”; you can guess the answer. Another eruption of roaring, clueless laughter followed. Another tidbit of carnal information revealed.
That was my introductory class to sex education in the Sixties. We weren’t taught concepts like “private parts”, and never heard of or cared much for formal words like “penis” or “breast” or “vagina”. Our language was narrow and practical; “logs” or “rods” and “headlights” or “cams” were all we knew or needed know to communicate with each other. Regarding “vagina”, only a few guys with older sisters had even the slightest notion of what that might be; most of us were under the delusion that girls had simply broken their logs off at birth; possibly by accident or through carelessness.
So all we had were Mud’s dirty jokes, and embellished stories of older sisters spied on or caught in some state of undress. It was all a forewarning of things to come. I mean we understood the direct symbolism of certain words to body parts and innately found the sophomoric humor in using such imagery in the context of a joke. But underneath it all we started to sense that there was more to this than met the eye, something sinister.
As we’d soon come to discover, there sure was!
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The Stone-Builders [By their Weapons]
[Big-chest was a reluctant hero, for the most part, that is, in killing the Stone-Builders; yet when he could, he did so of course, --but I say reluctant I suppose with reluctance; for it was not unlike everyone at this time to be disinclined to kill them, they seemed to be in the vein of the gods, un-killable: yet he killed them and fought them, more so than anyone else—less out of conviction than out of desire to avoid dishonor and social embarrassment for himself.]
Said I [I, being: Short-legs], I had seen one time Big-chest walk into a campsite of theirs, the Stone-Builders that is, —I tried to tell this story to my brother, Stern-toes, once, but I never could explain it right, but I think he got the jest of it, if not the seriousness, we did both laugh at the Stone-Builders for hours on end, afterwards. As I was about to say, myself and Little-eyes witnessed this whole happening from a distance of course. The Stone-Builders were full of what they called: ‘wone, or wine,’ something along that order, some sounds take me back a bit, they had new sounds all the time, yes O yes, inventing new sounds like the growing of leafs on a tree, coming into our brains like new winds, dragging it into a mode of thinking more everyday, instead of being fond of the birds, and just living: eating, sleeping and dying—these words we never heard of before were floating everywhere in the air, ever since that is, the arrival of the Stone-Builders on the scene: before this, before Eve walked out of that Garden, things were dangerous, but much more quiet.
Well, Big-chest, noticed one evening—not being too far in the thick of the foliage by their campsite [the Stone-Builders site]—they had killed a man-eater [lion]; there were four of them, called ‘soldiers,’ at the campfire-site, a resting place to them: just laughing, and drinking, and being playful like a group of little cubs: lion cubs—wild and whimpering [whiny] lion-cubs, that is exactly what they were like. I could see Big-chest laughing to himself—inside that big muscular oversized chest: as he watched them wrestle around with one another, actually they did get a little over physical with one another, like the wild boars whom would chase after one of us, wanting to eat us for a feast, and then they’d settle down again. It was a cold winter’s night that day, so there was a real chill in the air, and not all that much leafy undergrowth for us to hide or for that matter to slap the chill away: nor for that matter Big-chest: although he had a coat of hair all over him to keep him warm anyways—showed a bit of chill in his face also. Although—I was grateful for the few large trees with the plant-life tucked around me, it absorbed some of the wind—the brisk, cold winds seeping by us, around us, and almost through us: the shrubbery covered us, as we remained in the distant woods, with a pile of leaves up to our knees: leaves for warmth and camouflage, --camouflage being a plan incase we figured we’d have to duck, hide ourselves-quickly should they get the best of Big-chest, but we doubted that: Big-chest was just the opposite of us----mean,--plus
as always, Big-chest was confident of his abilities, he stood in the woods, no shadow—not sure what he did with it, but he was cleaver; just a big blob of muscle, hair and sharp eyes, small squinty eyes pinned on the four Stone-Builders, at the camp site, and their man-eater, that was going to be his dinner. He was actually blocking our vision a bit, but I think he did that because he wanted to show his audience—which was us—who was the braver. I actually had some kind of a feeling for those men who were about the meet Big-chest, a gloomy feeling at best, and a thankful feeling: thankful, it was not us in their place; yet both I and Little-eyes, both surely held feelings of revenge for the Stone-Builders, and this was kind of a good time for the revenge to seep out, but I don’t care for revenge for the most part, not really, it takes too much energy, saps you—in review, all was quite mysterious to me.
Then unsuspected, he walked into the camp, tall as a mountain, hairy as a leafy think forest, long, a very long mouth from ear to ear, his teeth showed—he walked reminiscent of the king of the Stone-Builders [I think he was mimicking him—he like to do such things], he must have seen him walk, for he was arched just like their king, head back, eyes slanting down as if they were subordinates; --among the four he crept up, not a word, not a sound, the dark-dragging behind him, the sky had very little light given by the stars, but it followed him overhead none the less, a cloud covered the moon—as if he and Big-chest were pals; now he had seen their weapons by the fire, where the dead lion lay, if anything, Big-chest was shifty: sly, observant: he was swaying his body akin to the huge trees in a storm, not sure exactly why, but I think it got his blood moving and his limbs more flexible for swinging when he used them for clubs—and it made for a good showing: his hands were as big as large branches of a tree: and as hard. Closer and closer he came to the fire, no one noticed him yet, can’t figure it out, no one, no one at all, --could they not hear him a little, just a tiny bit, I asked myself, for both myself and Little-eyes could hear his foot steps even in the woods, at twice their distance, I was about to learn we had better hearing than these new creatures. But then this new breed of course, can not have all the advantages, thank goodness, thus, our senses were better, we were tuned higher one might say, and they were tuned with more and a higher intelligence than we.
His fingers now, almost touching the ground—I could see—he, he had long thick arms, and fingers, and perturbing muscles, he was impressive to look at, huge to digest with your eyes, and frightening if you did not see him on a daily bases, and dangerous to be around, at any time. Then all of a sudden two of the four turned their necks to see what was in back of them; not sure if they heard him, sensed him, or just did out of an automatic military checking ritual,--whereupon, they almost went into shock: two stood up, all four were some fifteen feet from their weapons. The two who were squatting, the closest to the fire, were in a panic, the other two were a little farther away, standing now, unsure, thinking. I think one was releasing himself; he made a puddle and was trying to cover it up by kicking dirt, how modest. I figured why waste your time, this was precious time, run, run, run: that is what I’d do, but I really was hoping they’d not run, I must have an evil side in me also, just like them; you know, they got this pride thing, and I was hoping they would stay with this pride and arrogance, and then as I stopped thinking for a moment, Big-chest knock it out of them, if that is, they had any pride left. I think I was starting to get like them, that being: aggressive thoughts.
In any case, Big-chest took his right hand swung it backwards to build up momentum, and with the force of a giant tree, hit the head of one of the squatters as he was about to stand up, it sounded faintly similar to thunder, and I could hear it snap, and rip, similar to a timber falling after lightening strikes it, strikes a tree out of its roots, its stretching roots out of the ground. He fell on his chest, then pushing himself, flopped over and onto his shoulder as if it had nothing holding his head in place, like a dead fish flopping, jumping in a creek—he lost his inner breath. The other one tried to get to his weapon, but Big-chest, akin to lightening, jumped with one leap over to him, picked him up by one leg, his penis showing, as Big-chest looked strangely at it, as if to laugh at a small ugly worm, for they all liked covering them up for some odd reason, and Big-chest now must have figured out, he knew why. And we both in the bushes started to giggle, snicker, laughing at the sight—I wanted to say laugh again—but we had to hold our laughing inside our stomachs for a while, so as not to spoil his feat. Then after our expressions of amusement, a stern grin appeared on Big-chest’s face—I think he heard us—in any case, he tossed him into the fire when he got bored looking at him, after twisting him about for a few seconds, breaking his leg in several places I imagine, for I kept hearing crunches, as if bones were cracking, and then there was his screams.
Then one of the two standing routed himself through the woods yelling something on the order of: “Hhhhh eel pppp...!” Not sure what that meant. The last one, I call him the brave one, or definitely I could call him the stupid one, or should I say foolish one, none-the-less, he pulled out a sharp object, about the length of his hand, and stood in front of Big-chest as if he was going to fight him. At this point I said, and Little-eyes thought: this was the end for him; he [the soldier] looked like a banana compared to Big-chest. I asked myself, ‘Is he crazy? Run, and run while you can,’ and I was on Big-chest’s side now, more than ever, but it didn’t sound like it for that split-moment, but I felt it was a little unfair, size and all. But the man, whom I am calling a brave-soldier, stood his ground, and actually looked at Big-chest in the eyes. My-gosh, the man must have been half his size, about 175 pounds, quick on his feet though, for he was dancing around Big-chest, trying to stab him, and poke him. He looked more like a bee trying to sting someone, but that just irritated him more. Big-chest had taken arrows out of himself one-hundred times before, I bet; arrows deeper than that knife would have ever penetrate, if the person had gotten a chance to lunge it into Big-chest, and he didn’t get that chance: and it never hurt him much: those pokes. These little wounds were nothing, --but should he leap and get a good stab possible in the upper chest of Big-chest, or eye, then I’d worry.
To make a long story short: Big-chest just looked dumfounded at the figure in front of him dancing in a circle, and didn’t move very much, except around; I’ve seen Little-eyes close his eye-lids now, he knew, he knew what was about to happen, and with his waving quick long arms, Big-chest picked up the seven foot lionesses, and put it over his shoulder, the crazy Stone-Builder charged at him, and Big-chest with a quick sweep, with a turn, knocked the man flat on his back, onto the ground, he had hit him with the man-eater, as he balanced it over his shoulder. Then, somewhat, disparate, or so it seemed, reminiscent of a dying fish jumping about trying to get back into the water—he: Big-chest—kicked him in the mid-section of his belly, sweeping him into the fire like trash, now almost a dead fish. The Soldier could not move, he surely had a broken spine I thought, had he not, he would had gotten up and run fast out of the fire, and he didn’t: or couldn’t, for Big-chest couldn’t run with the man-eater on his shoulder so it was a good time to escape, if he could. But he didn’t, or couldn’t, nor do I think he intended to. But again, the man tried to move out of the fire with no suitable means other than his arms which were now on fire, for surely his ribs and legs were broken. Big-chest simply turned away from him as if he was insignificant, as I did myself. The defeat was predictable, and most unnecessary. I got thinking: what kind of creature fights when they cannot compete. It has always been the law of the land—to run, unless cornered: hence, when you can’t battle, don’t. It wasn’t necessary to die like that. I was learning about pride and arrogance quickly from these new creatures though; all in time and observation I told myself, and I’d be well informed on their unusual habits.
11
Early winter
We had no way of knowing which winter would be good to us or bad for us, and winter this particular winter had come early, and therefore our food supply was exhausted, depleted that is, rather quickly. When Little-eyes and I returned back to the cave the following evening, we had told in our symbolic way: expressed at the Banana Cave that is, to the entire Horde how Big-chest had killed the Eve People. And you could hear the laughter for miles around. I tried to explain how Big-chest had seen or sensed their movements, their evil objective, and their killing intent: as he always seemed to be able to sense survival quite well; he had a special quality of seeing through a person to his evil side, as he could see through us, thus, he could see through the Stone-People as well. I explained how one of the men stayed to fight him, trying to outstare Big-chest, and got kicked into the fire, and died. They all shook their heads in wonderment, we were not the smartest of the inhabitants of earth, but that was sure dumb we all thought, no vocal language was needed for that understanding or response. I think Big-chest had taken his trophy to his cave in our area, and was having a formal meal at this time. We liked anyone who could out smart the Stone-People I suppose, they were smug and we were helpless to them most of the time; they had well groomed weapons, and we had simply rocks and some clubs, along with a few sharpened stones, as they now were being called, knifes, up to the appearance of the Stone-People, they were just tools. And so it felt good if anything, good to see the odds turn for once, and to be frank, they didn’t turn much, if ever in our favor after that episode. But our surprise would come in the morning: --yes, we would not be forgotten for once.
Morning
In the morning when several of us looked out of our cave entrances, in the center of the canyon below our cliff dwellings, as we often did to be sure we were safe from man or beast, in the open area in the valley below us, we saw half a lion torn open, lying in the center of our domain, for us, it was a treasure, a gift, a donation if anything, and all of us quickly ran to eat what meat Big-chest had left for us. Big-chest was not always so generous, or kind, but for some odd reason, he knew we were starving for some protean, and our bodies were starting to show our ribs. Aimless to say, this never happened again—not in such a quantity, but we all gave Big-chest a super big smile as we walked proudly out of our canyon-caves and ate the raw meat [for he appeared standing erect by a cave entrance observing the feast he provide]; yes, some of us even were tarring at the red meat, animal protein, liken to wolfs.
12
The Hermit by the Sea
It was a short period of time from when Big-chest appropriated the lion [took it from the Stone-Builders] and we all ate the meat, when I joined the Horde in the valley on a crisp morning—a morning that told me, the seasons were about to change, thus, leading into spring; I could see my breath: it was so brittle, so I knew winters end was near. There was great commotion in the valley below, as there often was when someone or something new came about to celebrate, I had noticed from my cliff dwelling a gathering of the Horde, looking down, I quickly dashed along the sides of the cliff until I reached the floor of the valley to see what it was, as did Little-eyes, as I had woke him, trying to explain a happening was taking place.
Thin-hips of the Horde [Sister to Moss]
When I reached the bottom and many of the folk were going to and fro, some with sad and hungry faces, very sad posture, I made my way through several folks now gathered around this one section of the cliff; old-Moss, the Hermit by the Sea, was laying dead, his sister, Thin-hips, was there pacing, walking back and forth, kind of chanting, humming something, sounds on top of sounds—death had waxed his face I noticed. Old Moss was the oldest folk I had ever known, ever heard of. He must have been 60 or 65 years old—I doubt Big-chest was that old. No one ever lived that long, no one that is but Moss, I suppose. You could tell by looking at him, half his death was caused by starvation, the other by his long walk back to the Valley of the Caves, the strenuous walk; a walk many took to come back when they felt their time was short on this ground, like some fish, we all seem to know our dying ground; he came from the far off place, called the Great Cliffs by the Sea. I had only seen him when I was a kid and then once or twice coming and going, within a twenty-year period. He lived in the sand hills far from the Horde as I was saying, to the extreme East, and not far from there to the south was the Great Sea and the cliffs he always told his sister about, much larger than ours, higher than ours he’d say. He add, this place was somewhere between the Sea, and the cliffs, and the strait, and this valley was a flat area, plateau, this is where he wondered off too often, or so he’d claim, upon his return. He knew my father quite well, Long-arms, and did visit him, it was always when I was gone it seemed. They appeared to get along quite well, as one might expect, two strange folks to say the least; not sure what they had in common, matter of fact, if anything, one was lazy—my father, the other, Moss, was quite active I heard.
The Great Sea
But he did bring back information to his sister, who shared it with us, and of course he’d tell other people also of his journeys, or try to describe them best he could, and we were all quite interested in his tales—it was entertainment: yes he was a man of tales, I guess in one way I admired him for that, it was almost like some of the occupations the Stone-Builders had, or called occupations, which were really doing things by order of their king and getting fed by someone else because of the king—strange. Thus, Moss was our entertainer, and Moss did get fed by most of the Horde’s residents for doing so, I think they’d call him in to their cave to hear him talk, or draw pictures, or act out his strange adventures. Half the time we never knew what he was saying, but then, so what and it was amusement. Everyone liked him, and so did I.
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Sperm Production
Male fertility is mostly a product of a man’s hormones. Sperm production, which is the most important part of male fertility, is initiated by the pituitary gland, which sends a hormone called FSH to the testicles. FSH, also known as the follicle-stimulating hormone, is the signal that induces the testicles to produce sperm.
After being manufactured, sperm cells travel to the seminal vesicle through a tube called the vas deferens. The seminal vesicle is where mature sperm is stored. Another gland, the prostate, produces seminal fluid, which is mixed with the sperm to allow it to travel to the urethra. The urethra, of course, is the tube which extends from a man’s bladder, passing through the prostate, and into the penis.
Erection
When a man is sexually excited, blood rushes to the penis and causes it to be harder and erect. Sperm is withdrawn from the seminal vesicle and mixed with seminal fluid – what we know as semen. During sexual intercourse, the prostate gland contracts, which forces semen out of the urethra into the tip of the penis; a process called ejaculation.
Fertilization
Once the sperm has been deposited into a woman’s vagina, the cells start to swim up to the uterus. When a woman is fertile, she produces cervical mucus that allows the sperm cells to survive the normally acidic environment in side the vagina. The mucus also separates the healthy sperm from the defective ones. From the uterus, the sperm swim to the fallopian tubes, where fertilization will be completed if the conditions are right.
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Word has been spreading about how milking the prostate gland can produce a number of health benefits for men. Studies conducted in Australia suggest that men in their twenties who had orgasms or ejaculations regularly are less prone to diseases like prostate cancer and inflammation. Hence, one would think that prostate milking, in addition to regular sexual activity, would probably be even better.
The prostate gland, located approximately two inches inside the rectum, is the organ that produces semen, the liquid with which sperm flows out during ejaculation. It is said that if semen is kept pent up because of a long period of sexual inactivity, among other possible reasons, toxins and other undesirable substances may accumulate and interfere with the body’s normal function. For this reason, some men approach prostate milking with a practical mindset; performing it mainly to keep the gland and the rest of the reproductive system in good working order.
However, milking the prostate gland can be one way to experience intense sexual feelings and sensations. In fact, many men report that they have almost violent orgasms because of it: the so-called prostate orgasms. To the uninitiated, the idea of having a finger or sex toy inserted into the anus may make them feel squeamish at first. But all they would need is a little information and a bit of practice in order to fully realize the extraordinary sexual impact of prostate milking.
The prostate gland swells when a man is sexually aroused, making it easier to find. Hence, before milking the prostate gland, a man may find it helpful to prepare devices that would turn him on: adult videos or magazines, or foreplay with his partner, if he prefers to have a companion with him during the activity.
The rectum and the area surrounding the prostate is very sensitive, so care needs to be taken to make sure that no harm is done. Long fingernails nails should be trimmed or any rough edges on sex toys smoothened out. A well-lubricated finger or prostate massager is inserted into the rectum and moved forward until the prostate is felt; a walnut-sized bump just behind the penis.
Depending on one’s taste and preference, the prostate may be stroked gently at first (sort of like making a “come-hither” motion with the finger) and then increasing pressure after a few strokes. One should make sure, though, to prevent overly vigorous strokes and painful pressure because this could injure the tissues around the prostate, or the prostate itself.
But if everything goes well, milking the prostate gland can bring on mind-blowing orgasms. Some men cannot find the words to express the intensity of the feeling; others say that it is the most supreme form of release. What’s more, after a while, a man may find that he is able to hold off an orgasm, magnify the intensity of his orgasms, and become erect in a shorter period of time after ejaculation.
Milking the prostate gland is an activity that can be performed solo or with a partner. And, if done properly, it can also help a man maintain or even improve his libido.
