Archive for the Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction Category

Once in a Blue Agave Moon: The Knowledge of Good and Evil

Posted in Drug Experience, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Novel, Once in a Blue Agave Moon on July 28, 2017 by dreamlanddancing

 

Chiana had been listening intently to what Jed had been saying, trying to keep an open mind. She gave Elliott the occasional knowing look, and both of them tried not to break Jed’s train of thought.

Amy, Rebecca, and Leigh-Ann had already excused themselves to go outside to unpack, walk the dog, or wash down the bikes, although it was more of a ruse to allow Jed, Chiana, and Elliott to speak without interruption than anything else.

Once he was finished, she cradled Jed’s open palm that held the blue capsules as she also extended her other hand to grasp Elliott’s. As she spoke, she continually shifted her gaze from Jed to Elliott.

Chiana: “You need to know that I have a basic aversion to psychedelic drugs. I don’t want to see anything that isn’t there. That isn’t enjoyable, in fact, it terrifies me. I am too afraid of flipping out and not being able to handle it.”

“Elliott, as you know is quite at home in that sort of setting, although to the best of my knowledge, it has been a very long time since he has used any really strong psychotropic drugs. I now that you guys used to trip together from time to time back when you were close. I won’t attempt to speak for him on this, but my real question is Why? What is there to be gained from hallucinations?

Jed took a deep breath before he replied. “If we were talking about your garden variety LSD or even Psilocybin, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. As much as I have enjoyed using them, they are not even in the same league as The Knowledge”.

“Merlin, the chemist who invented it, was working for Merrick Pharmaceuticals on a next-generation anti-depressant. He suddenly realized that an analog isomer of one of the bi-products of the drug had some very interesting and unexpected properties which had the potential to re-write the table of contents in the brain in a way that meant that you not only would never forget anything you ever learned, but it encouraged the development of corollary associative neuron pathways that made connections between stored engrams which may not have seemed related in a way that could be useful in discovering answers that you already knew, but did not know that you knew.”

“What followed after that involved tweaking a few more side chain molecules and other changes in the chemical structure that even Merle did not initially anticipate, although continued use of the drug expanded his own comprehension and cognitive powers to an extent that lead him even further along.”

“He also soon realized that it could impart telepathic abilities that were even more enhanced when both parties were under the influence of the drug at the same time, although it was also quite successful in reading the minds of anyone you encountered.”

“But the real breakthroughs came when they gave it to Frederick, a Chimp/Bonobo hybrid who was technically a test animal and the property of Merrick. He was already capable of communicating in American Sign Language, but he began to exhibit cognitive abilities normally only attributed to humans.”

“When they gave it to him, it enabled them to bridge the gap between Reason and Instinct by virtue of what he could teach them…I don’t want to get too lost in describing something that will be instantly clear, once you take it…if you do choose to do so.”

“But it also allowed them to communicate with beings that exist in other dimensions, or parallel universes, if you like. These are beings that are here…everywhere, right now, that we can’t see because of gaps in our perception that become exceedingly clear, once you’ve had the experience.”

“Unlike most drugs, where the ‘thrill factor’ is the sole motivation, this is the most definitive, concrete way I know of to expand your consciousness, your perception, and your understanding of everything you see, everywhere you look. Suddenly, it all makes sense; and you can figure it out for yourself.”

“I won’t try to tell you that it isn’t exciting, or that you won’t want to do it again and again, at least for a while, because it is, in my experience the most exciting thing I have ever done.”

“It is as if everything you see or think about becomes connected, not only in a spiritual way, but physically, even scientifically, if you will.”

“It’s as if you can suddenly perceive the connections and reasons or causes of seemingly random phenomena.”

“Most people refer to something they call ‘insight’ regarding themselves, and their relationships with other people. It’s like being able to observe yourself from outside yourself.”

“Also, the effects tend to be cumulative in such a way that you not only require less and less of the drug to achieve threshold dosing, but eventually, the effects last longer each time.

“At this point, for instance, neither Merlin, nor Ash or Kali, as well as several members of their congregation take it except for very special occasions, like the initiation of a new member.”

“We have all taken it twice before together, and I can tell you we are all changed in a very positive and enriching way that goes so far beyond my abilities to describe it that I could never do it justice.”

“I don’t know anyone else in this world that I…well, that we would rather share this with than you two. This isn’t just some drug…it is a sacrament that transcends religion or any beliefs you may hold about the nature of the universe and our place within it.”

“They call it ‘The Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil’ because Ash, the spiritual  of The Home of Wayward Souls compares it to whatever Adam and Eve experienced when they got ejected from the Garden of Eden, but that’s another story in itself.”

“Chiana, I don’t know if you are at all religious, but I do know that Elliott certainly wasn’t when we were last in contact, and I have no desire to join some church and drink the Kool-Aid (or vice-versa), but this will give you a glimpse of something so real, tangible, and finite, as well as something that transcends anything I can put into words that I could not pretend to be your friend and withhold it from either of you.”

“This is truly the most valuable thing I have ever possessed, even though I can get as much as I want of it anytime I want, as long as I am willing to go back down there to get more.”

Chiana did not speak for what seemed the longest of times. She kept looking back and forth between Elliott and Jed. One look at Elliott’s face and she knew his answer. She also knew that is was very easy to keep looking at Jed, even though it had nothing to do with trying to make a decision about whether or not to take the drug…or did it?

There are many times in any, even the best of relationships when a certain paucity of the absolute, unvarnished truth may seem necessary, and we may spend a lifetime trying to rationalize and justify it, even to the point of claiming that kindness, or love somehow motivates our actions.

Many people find it possible to avoid having to address those “necessary” falsehoods via any number of interlocking patterns of denial and obfuscations for an entire lifetime.

But in a lifelong relationship, it can also result in displaced anger, aggression, divorce, murder…maybe even cancer.

Chiana and Elliott loved each other deeply and truly, but not entirely, absolutely honestly…how many couples can claim otherwise?

Chiana knew Elliott had aways encouraged her to be honest and straightforward, without regard for his feelings, and that he believed that even painful realizations should be embraced fearlessly.

She also knew that there were times when Elliott volunteered more information than she cared to know, and she was quick to tell him so, although she sometimes wondered if that had been such a good idea.

Chiana, Elliott, and Jed all knew what was developing, and China knew that The Knowledge would soon make it impossible to ignore. She was fascinated by the concept of taking the drug, based on what Jed was saying, and also knew that it might just make it possible to embrace all of it with honesty and love.

There are no guarantees of anything in this world, but this was beginning to look like a very attractive possibility.

Chiana then surprised them all, (including herself) when she suddenly blurted out “How does it affect your sex life?”

For what seemed the longest time, no one spoke. Finally Jed broke into a grin so wide that were he a cat, the entire canary could have been hidden in his mouth.

“Speaking strictly for myself, and as a man I would say ‘Wonderfully’, …the same as it has everything else I have described so far.”

“But if you want to know how it affects women, I would suggest you ask The Three Winds. I am sure they would be more than happy to tell you, but I am also sure they will tell you to take it and find out for yourself…with them.”

 

This is what happens when you put something out into the internet…

Posted in Dancing in Dreamland, EMS War Stories, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Just Plain Weird, N o Escape on June 4, 2017 by dreamlanddancing

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This image seems to have taken on a life of its own.

I was looking for internet images, and found this in a website about battleships….(IDK & IHNFIH)…  Battleships – my 50 english places    studylib.net260 

I also found numerous images that I had used while writing The Home for Wayward Souls and The Talking Monkeys under the Dreamlanddancing image search, as well as a Russian Author at WordPress who uses Dancing in Dreamland as her blog title, but it is written in Croatian, and in no way resembles my site. (Hooray for Google Translate, btw,)

(Before I started my WordPress site, I briefly used the pen-name Jesse Jones.)

My youngest son and I assembled the above cover using photoshop, but to my knowledge, it was never posted anywhere on the internet in this form.

I only used it to print a few writing samples, and then later revised it with my current name, and recently had a devil of a time locating the original image, which had been stored on another computer, and assembled on yet another computer that is now KIA.

Weird, n’est-ce pas?

Chazz Vincent (aka: the ghost of Jesse Jones)

 

Quantum Theory and Infinite Improbability

Posted in Civil Liberties, Crazy Zen Wisdom, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Once Upon a Blue Agave Moon, Uncategorized on February 1, 2016 by dreamlanddancing

 

It has been far too long since I visited these pages…maybe you noticed, maybe you didn’t.
I’m no stranger to the Rabbit Hole…in fact, for me it is more like the Tunnel of Love, considering how much I crave to continue so far into unfamiliar territory that I completely lose track of how to return home.
I remember when I first read Lewis Carroll’s stories. As a child, the idea terrified me…to never be able to find one’s way back, but eventually it became a fixation.
I complete the Rabbit Hole…the Rabbit Hole completes me.
The Rabbit Hole is supposed to trap fools like me with nowhere else better to go.
Who knew Rabbit Holes could turn into Worm Holes?
So if you were one of the ones who noticed my extended hiatus from this site, all I can say is that it was secondary to what I call BBD 101 (Basic Buddhist Doctrine: [the survey course]):
⦁ If you are Hungry, eat.
⦁ If you are Thirsty, drink.
⦁ If you are tired, rest.
⦁ Even Cause and Effect are coincidental.
⦁ If you do not think that your own mind can produce The Poison Thought that can completely unravel your present concept of sanity, then you are not exploring it to your fullest potential.
⦁ Do not fear The Madness; that kind of fearful thinking will just make you crazy.
(OK. OK. OK…I added the last three, based on a series of possibly incorrect interpretations of Quantum Theory, and several long-standing preoccupations.)
So if you find yourself thinking that…“I’m not sure we’re Quantum Physics kind of people around here”…or: “As a recovering Lutheran, I’m not sure that this is going to be any kind of help or consolation”, all I can say is that first of all, we all are, even if we don’t know it, and yes, it won’t be….
I am currently formulating a series of internal dialogues focused upon doing things that either negate or sufficiently distract myself from anything I’d rather not be doing, but nevertheless find myself mired for no real good reason save my desire to live indoors and not eat out of dumpsters.
My plan is not retirement, but more of a lateral move that would allow me to freelance in order to provide sufficient funds to be able to live in the manner I would prefer.
To do that, one has to separate what is necessary from what is not; what is preferred to what would ideally be eschewed; to decide what I really want beyond what I need.
My “Cabin in the Woods” is lavishly opulent compared to Thoreau’s overgrown tool shed On Walden Pond, but all things taken on balance, I probably lack either his dedication, strength of character, or principles, although I have always vowed to escape the “lives of quiet desperation” led by most of my associates.
As always, it is the journey, not the destination that matters most; after all, none of us are going to get out of this alive…so if the pursuit of happiness becomes oppressive, obsessive, or overwhelming, then the chances are you are either on the wrong path, using the wrong methods, or pursuing something other than happiness.
And so it goes that upon reading a post regarding taking action within one’s life, after re-blogging it, I set upon a goal of re-establishing a personal relationship with my first and best muse, which is Music.
She has inspired me, buoyed my spirits, provoked me to thought and action, and protected me like armor against the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” and given me the courage to carry on.
She can be a cool and gentle confidante, a passionately consuming lover, or a cruel mistress, but no matter how far I go or how long I turn my back on her, she gives me what no one else can.
Just one note can captivate my attention no matter how hard I try to pretend not to be distracted. Two notes can transport me beyond this physical plane. The right series of notes, properly phrased and resolved into an unexpected chord or change of key can do things that no drug has ever accomplished for me.
(And believe me, I’ve tried….)
Moreover, the right song, the right lyrics, the right harmonies with the right instruments, and the right singer at just the right time can be as good as the best sex with a long-lost lover that you just met again once in a life time, especially if I am one of the performing musicians in this orgy of sound.
Of late I have found it comforting to surround myself with a circle of protection within a set of earbuds powered by an old i-phone. I currently have almost three days of continuous music of my choice. No matter whether I am at work, in the grocery store, or driving, she is on my shoulder, and in my ears, brain, and soul.
The rabbit hole was Zen. The worm hole was Quantum Theory. Music painted a picture for my ears that showed me my one true face, then took me by the hand to lead me back to my original home.
Zen posed questions with no answers. Quantum Theory teaches us that to even observe the outcome of any possible number of possible phenomena may alter their results; that in a multiverse, all manner of possible outcomes may be occurring at the same time in parallel dimensions.
Somehow, both the paradigms of Zen and Quantum Theory fold back upon each other reinforcing both sentient and logical belief systems while Music alone nurtures my emotional needs in ways that even enhance my ability to love and be loved.
Eventually, anything can happen….
Atoms are as empty and void as deep space, and Dark Matter balances an equation that was nonetheless by necessity unbalanced during the first nanoseconds of the Big Bang; otherwise the whole event would have been an infinitesimally short hiccup of existence cancelled by itself.
No one even knows if in fact just that sort of hiccup may have happened many, many times until the necessary imbalance occurred between matter and dark matter that allowed our universe to unfold and expand.
And it would also seem, that indeed we are each at the center of the universe, no matter where we are or where we go.
Our entire existence was an outcome of infinite improbability, but we had all the time that did not exist before that moment for it to occur, so it was inevitable….
Eventually, in about four trillion years (our time), we will again cease to exist, but there will be no sorrow over it, with no one left to mourn our passing.

“No Matter…No Matter.”
Even absolute nothingness is a very unstable state however, so eventually, something will inevitably come out of it.
(Quantum Theory tells me so.)
“First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is…”
Oh, and BTW: I am currently balls-deep in research for a new novel entitled: “Once Upon a Blue Agave Moon.” As usual, you will see it here first, chapter by chapter as the narrative unfolds.
(And still for free, just like “Dancing in Dreamland”, or “The Home for Wayward Souls and The Talking Monkeys”, due to my inertia regarding electronic publishing.)
It is a story of what I call “Self Determinism”. It will undoubtedly have some sexy parts, but who knows?
In the spirit of “Enhanced and Fortified Non-Fiction” there will be some resemblances to events or activities that may or may not have in fact been either witnessed or participated in or by the author, in the spirit of authentic participatory journalism, but balanced by local, state, and federal statutes, jurisprudence, jurisdictions, and a deep and abiding desire to avoid incarceration while still providing vicarious involvement devoid of risk to the readers as “Entertainment as well as intellectual and philosophical education for and by consenting adults…” (or some such crap).
(Great…Just when most of the statutes of limitations regarding many of the events and activities described in “Dancing in Dreamland” were about to run out….)
I’ve been a bit obsessed most of my life with pushing the envelope regarding Art, Music, Philosophy, Spirituality, Sexuality and Human Behavioral Norms, as well as Civil Rights and Liberties; somewhere between an Anarchist and a Libertarian, I dance on The Razor’s Edge, Between Nothingness and Eternity.
This next novel will be no exception.
Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent
PS: I am deeply indebted to Dr. Lawrence Krauss, Douglas Adams, Lewis Carroll and Henry David Thoreau for the wisdom and inspiration they have provided me. I highly recommend reading all of them.

Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent

01/31/2016

 

 

 

He calls me Goddess, I call him My Pet Pt. II: The Rule of Opposites

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Cuckoldry, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Dominance and Submission, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Erotica, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone on July 25, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

(After many editorial revisions, my muses are finally satisfied with the end result. I very much wanted both of them to be in agreement with the final story, as it was largely their brainchild. I find it fascinating to have had the opportunity to be privy to their collective creative processes, although I am not sure they are completely aligned with the mindset of most women…lucky me.)

The Rule of Opposites

Randy sat watching his computer screen, mesmerized by what he saw on the OoVoo transmission he was receiving from his wife’s computer at the motel where she was meeting her bull.

This was a regular feature of their relationship for the last year now.

After more than two years of doldrums and apathy, their marriage had turned a new corner that was leaving them both vibrant, alive and almost breathless with anticipation of what each new day might bring.

He had to sit up very straight because the leather corset he was wearing squeezed his midsection so hard he could barely breathe, but he loved the way it made his waist look as well as the obvious approval that Sonja showed when she gave it to him.

Already he was beginning to get a slight glimpse of the world of pain and discomfort that women embrace on a daily basis without even thinking.. just trying to type with artificial nails was something most men take for granted.

Randy was the last person you would ever guess to be a submissive sissy cuckold in private life.

He was completely masculine to look at him dressed as a man, and he couldn’t “pass” at a school for the blind, but wearing women’s clothes got him so very hot.

As much as he loved women, he also loved cock, and cross-dressing. Although he had considered himself to be bi-sexual he had never been in love with any man, nor did he desire to ever kiss one on the mouth. He was strictly a “bottom” and loved to swallow cum, but kissing was too personal and intimate.

Swinging had led him to discover how to embrace his jealousy and insecurities. Randy realized that Sonja was more than enough woman for any man and he felt privileged to be her husband. As long as her desires for strictly sexual indulgences with other men allowed him to explore his own curiosities of them as well, he was more than happy to encourage her.

After he recognized the difficulty she had in exploring her powers over men, he also became aware of his fantasies of playing the role of cuckold. She had been very encouraging of his desires for cross-dressing. No one else in his life had ever been privy to that secret side of his psyche.

And so it was that he was led, step by step to his role as a sissy cuckold. He had never felt so liberated in his life. He gladly abandoned his desires for other women in order to be able to experience unconditional support from the love of his life to experience his wildest fantasies fulfilled at the direction of a wife too hot to be limited to one man.

Tonight was going to be a rare treat. Randy’s wife Sonja had recently added a new, very special bull to her regular stable of three. Her ad had stated she required bisexual men with big cocks, preferably circumcised, who were willing and able to satisfy her insatiable desires, which included getting to watch them fuck and humiliate her husband at her command.

Sonja was an Alpha-Bitch to be sure…she called the shots and that was all there was to it. She was a lioness, proud and powerful. She was used to having her way with all the men in her life.

If they got too disobedient, she simply dumped them…just like that. She only allowed Randy into her heart, and even he was more like a pet than a husband, but she loved him dearly and wanted to worship him, but he was weak and passive when it came to her and she knew it. Also, he was now a little too old to really give her the pleasure she required.

Although he experienced powerful and satisfying orgasms, he rarely ejaculated more than a cc or two. Sonja loved to feel the flood of semen either down her throat, squirting inside he pussy or flooding her ass and she missed the sensation despite the fact that she never expressed her disappointment to Randy.

She started to feel guilty that she only allowed men into their circle, but Randy, seemed to be fine with it. She almost wished he hadn’t…that he would stand up for himself and be a real man, but he finally felt vindicated from having to compensate for all his perceived inadequacies or for letting Sonja down.

He no longer had to pretend to be anything other than exactly what he always knew himself to be. Sonja had a new vibrance to her demeanor and seemed like she couldn’t stop smiling because she had a secret that she shared only with the true love of her life.

Then she met Jake. He was hetero-only. No exceptions, and he didn’t take orders from anyone…not even Sonja.

He was best friends with one of her favorite bulls, Dustin, and it was he who had suggested they meet.

All of Sonja’s bulls were circumcised. She considered it to be a prerequisite to even do an interview. When she had lunch with Jake for his interview, he insisted he pay for both their meals. She was so charmed by his appearance and personality that she forgot to ask if he was cut, but an hour later at the motel (for which he also insisted that he pay) she realized her error.

For the briefest of moments, she thought about apologizing for her mistake and leaving, but once he was fully erect, she decided to give him a chance…just this once. After all, Randy was at work and did not even know she was interviewing that day.

He had encouraged her to have an occasional “fling” with whomever she pleased, sometimes not even telling him for weeks…just like an affair. It made him crazy with jealousy, which she had quickly learned just enhanced his devotion to her.

Randy adored the foreskin of uncut cocks, but that was not even a question for Sonja, and she did not intend to seem to vacillate on this issue…but she told herself, it was probably just going to be this one time only.

What fascinated Sonja was how otherwise perfect Jake’s tool was.

She advertised for “long, thick and meaty” and Randy’s penis was as thick as her wrist when erect. (Several of her interviewees who were even thicker had left her sore for days afterward.)

Randy loved the way her cunt would come back wet, swollen and distended, but what Sonja desired most was length.

As girthy as Randy was, he was only a little short of seven inches, and her best previous lovers were usually longer. Randy was a skilled and sensitive lover, but sometimes she longed for the extra length.

She even bought him a three-inch penis extender sleeve, which she sometimes told him to wear, but he was not especially tall and did not seem to be able to get exactly the right angle she preferred to hit that little pocket at the end of her pussy way past her g-spot above her uterus.

Jake was just slightly thinner than Randy, but about eleven inches long…soft. He did not get too much longer when he got hard, which took about two minutes as they stood there talking as he continued to undress both of them.

As his already large penis continued to get more erect, she watched the foreskin slide back until it almost completely disappeared, although it left a rather prominent ridge about a half-inch ridge behind his very pronounced corona. She decided she might have to rethink her original ideas, at least as far as Jake was concerned.

She decided to show off by demonstrating why Randy had nicknamed her “the sword swallower” by completely deep throating him without so much as a single gag.

She learned early on in her life that she had no gag reflex and loved the sensation of being throat-fucked just a little more than her enjoyment of seeing the amazement it invoked in all those privileged enough to witness or experience her remarkable talents.

Jake was also quite impressed.

Sonja had kept her affair with Jake a secret for over two months despite the fact that she couldn’t wait to tell her husband. The suspense was incredible and when Randy finally did learn of her newest discovery he was overcome with excitement, although he was also disappointed when he learned he was completely straight, but even that excited him just a little more….it was something that would be out of his reach, invoking the longing for something he could not have.

Jake was tall…over six-feet two inches, lanky and very strong, and ten years younger than Sonja. He loved to be the object of a cougar’s grateful obsessions, and in fact, preferred older women. They seemed to have a worldly and slightly used quality that he found attractive. The effects of gravity, time and even childbirth were very attractive to him.

He was also the handsomest man Sonja had ever had the pleasure to fuck. Randy was decidedly very “easy on the eyes”, but Jake could have been a model if only he had been a lot shallower and less bright. Besides he had inherited money and was very good with it, so he had no need to whore himself out just for his looks.

That first encounter had left her trembling, wet, and breathless. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so expertly fucked.

Although Randy had suspected there was something brewing just by the condition of her vagina on the days she had been with Jake before he got home from work, he trusted her to tell him all the dirtiest details of her naughty adventures in due time.

And when he cleaned her pussy as he dutifully did every night, she was still so full of cum that he knew something new was afoot. Even hours after their encounter it just flowed from her pussy like a flood as she straddled his face, and her panties were always soaked. It was also thicker and saltier than he had tasted before.

And there was no mistaking the taste of a recently well-fucked cunt and Randy was learning to be quite the connoisseur.

As so, Sonja’s first crush since she had married Randy began.

As Randy sat in full drag, he was wearing make-up and a wig in front of his computer with a very large butt plug up his ass that Sonja had just bought for him and she insisted on shoving it into Randy before she left.

He was forbidden to take it out until she returned from the impending fuck-fest. He was also forbidden to cum, and had no desire to violate her command…he loved the edgy tension it created, and the longer he was cuckolded, the more he craved release.

Sometimes because of his cuckolding, he would just ooze a few cc’s of semen (which was more than he usually produced in a normal ejaculation without prostate stimulation) and when Sonja had forcefully jammed the new even larger butt-plug up into his grateful asshole, a small stream of cum flowed from his cock, which Sonja immediately made him lick from her feet.

Randy was as exhilarated by Sonja’s infatuation with Jake as she was, but she seemed more conflicted about the luxury of allowing herself to acknowledge it.

What Randy saw was a woman revitalized and renewed; a woman who still needed validation and recognition from someone outside her marriage. She loved Randy dearly and was devoted and loyal within the considerably wide boundaries that they had already set.

It had been Randy who had initiated the new adventures that they had been pursuing and although she had initially indulged him in this as a pursuit of his fantasies he was excited to see the fruition of what he had hoped for all along, that she should experience her current situation guiltlessly and enthusiastically.

This would be the first time he would get the privilege of even seeing Jake and he could hardly wait. He was dying to know what was the source of her new-found infatuation…the first he had ever witnessed since they had met, so many years before.

Suddenly, Jake burst into the room. He walked up to her and picked her up as he kissed her deeply and passionately. Randy was slightly shocked to witness her passionate reciprocation. Usually it was never more than a quick tongue-kiss, but he liked what he saw almost as much as she obviously did.

He loved and trusted her enough to allow her this. He always seemed to enjoy her pleasures even more than she would allow herself to admit, but this was something new and he sensed her excitement and passion.

Jake had forbidden her to even allow Randy to watch them on camera until today, and Randy was as aflutter as a sixteen-year old schoolgirl as he witnessed the event.

Sonja then very deferentially unzipped Jake’s pants and pulled out his enormous cock before he could get hard just so Randy could see that he was in fact uncut, with a full coverage of his very large head.

She then announced that he should go into the bathroom and wash up, as she had no intention of knowing what his smegma tasted or smelled like as she winked to the camera.

Jake came back naked shortly afterward and announced (also obviously for Randy’s benefit) that he had pissed, but that she would have to skin it back and taste him just as he was…several hours since his last shower.

With that he pushed her to down to her knees and forced his still-flaccid member into her mouth. Randy could not believe what he was seeing. As he watched her greedily take his cock into her mouth he thought just how uncharacteristically submissive she now was…how she seemed to welcome this domination of his femdom wife.

He felt more jealous of Jake’s beautiful glistening tool than of her change of character. It was definitely longer than anything he had witnessed her to experience, and only once before, when he was in his twenties had he seen such a long cock in person.

That was long before he had even allowed himself to acknowledge his homosexual desires, which he had rationalized as being the result of drugs, despite the fact that he kept coming back for more.

It was with a friend he had known for several years who was a coke dealer for the Medellin Cartel in Miami…he tried to tell himself it was for the coke that he kept returning, and he never acknowledged any of the occurrences and neither did Miguel. Both were professed heterosexuals, but it was always Miguel who initiated Randy’s willing surrender.

It was then that Randy realized, but never acknowledged to himself, that he was a submissive bottom. Miguel however, was much thicker than even Randy, who could barely walk for days afterwards. And yet he kept returning any chance he could, and Miguel became bolder and more aggressive each time they met.

Neither of the men ever acknowledged their sexual explorations with each other either before or after they happened. It was as if it had never occurred.

Today would seem to last forever. This was the first Saturday that they had gotten together, and he sensed that Jake was intent on putting both Randy and Sonja in their respective places as far as Jake’s position of power over both of them.

Randy counted five successively longer orgasms from Jake, but he lost track of how many times Sonja came. It was obvious that she was completely at his mercy and she clearly loved every cum-drenched minute of it.

It was also the first time he had ever seen her receive anal, other than a few somewhat awkward attempts he and Sonja had tried over the years. She clearly did not enjoy receiving as much as Randy did and whenever he pressed her for it she immediately would peg him until he begged her to stop, only to continue until she was satisfied that her dominance was once again clearly established.

It wasn’t until then that he felt a twinge of jealousy within himself, but he gratefully accepted how it made him feel…gratefully alive and more in love than ever.

There was nothing he would not accept about Sonja. The more she pushed him, the more he embraced it.

She did not return until after dawn. She was clearly apprehensive about Randy’s reaction, but she bore a look of radiance he could not begrudge her. After all, it only made him more grateful to witness her unbridled joy and ecstasy, and she clearly felt even more in love with her new sissy submissive cuckold husband.

Although she was too swollen and exhausted to make love to Randy, she gladly agreed to straddle his face long enough to greedily lick, suck and swallow the seemingly endless flood of cum from her now flaccid, ruined cunt.

He tried to be gentle. He knew she was only doing this for his benefit, at least for now, until she had about ten hours of sleep. Before she showered, she reeked of semen, even her hair…it seemed to ooze from her pores,

And Randy loved every drop of it, as well as the smell of sex that permeated her being everywhere as much as the grateful look of satisfaction that she tried so hard to disguise.

No matter what she did from this point on, things would only get better for them.

He Calls Me Goddess I, Call Him My Pet

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Cuckoldry, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Dominance and Submission, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Erotica, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Sexual Action/Adventure on July 19, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

Our dear friend Anastasia (astraltraltravler.WordPress.com) and my wife Suki (Yen4Suki.WordPress.com) dreamed up quite an amazing story upon which we decided to collaborate.

I was beginning to think I had become jaded, and that almost nothing surprised me any more, but I was wrong. Leave it to two women to push the envelope one step beyond….

This is the first installment of a four-part story.

So without further ado, I give you all something new to chew on.

He Calls Me Goddess I, Call Him My Pet

My name is Sonja. My husband confessed to me that he was bisexual long before we were married, but it wasn’t until a couple of years ago that he revealed how much he liked cross-dressing. Both were incredible turn-ons for me and I eagerly indulged him with lots of M-F-M threesomes whenever we had the chance.

I am an Alpha-Bitch by nature. It was about a year ago when he first told me he wanted to be a cuckold “subby-hubby”. It took him a while to convince me that was what he really wanted, but once he did, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The men who swept me off my feet (and onto my back or knees) tended to use me like some kind of fuck-toy and would inevitably cheat on me, which just increased my insecurities.

Until Randy came along. He was older and wiser. To this day swears he fell in love with me at first sight.

Randy is an Alpha Male to the outside world, but he told me that from his earliest memories he felt plagued with homosexual fantasies even before he knew what one was, or how the world would judge and demean him for it.

As much as I wanted for him to be my everything, I see now how much more pressure that put on him. He already sensed that he was not the biggest cock or even the best lay I’d ever had, despite the fact that when he would ask me, I would try to change the subject, or try to placate his insecurities, which only convinced him even more that it was the case.

Randy is a sensitive and skillful lover, but truth be told, there have been several men who could leave me breathless and panting in a way Randy never did. His size was only a little above the average…just not my average. I’m lucky like that, I guess.

I loved his mind, his unbridled devotion and loyalty, but the men who really made my toes curl and my eyes roll back were egotistical bastards, and although a few broke my heart, I can safely say I never really fell in love with any of them before Randy.

That just further reinforced my Alpha-Bitch tendencies.

When Randy first confessed his desire to be a sissy cuckold, it suddenly all made sense. For once in his life he had the chance to let go of all the overcompensating he felt that he had to do in his public life for fear of the derision and rejection he faced if only they knew of his deepest hidden desires.

Randy loves women, to be sure, but he clearly considers me to be the one great love of his life. And that is plenty for him. He believes that I am more than enough woman for any man, and feels proud that I love him enough to give all my heart to him, but he also understands that I give my mouth, my ass, and my cunt to several men of my choice.

I am also a cougar…it takes young men who have the stamina and endurance I require before I decide to fuck them more than once, and it also takes a special kind of man who knows his place and who appreciates an older woman.

Right now, I have a stable of three regular bulls who never cease to amaze me with how well-fucked they keep me and how much cum they provide my pet to eat out of my greedy snatch.

I never wear panties and love to flash men any chance I get, but I keep a pair in my purse to give him something to lick clean when I get home in case some of it gushes out of me before I get home.

Then he gets down to seriously cleaning me as I straddle his face and I push it all out into his greedy mouth.

He got me an ankle bracelet for our anniversary that has a queen of hearts on it. I am surprised by how many men know exactly what that means, and a few have approached me as soon as they noticed it.

I used to have a very tight pussy, and prided myself on it, but nothing gives my Randy more pleasure than knowing that when one of my bulls is finished having his way with me I will barely be able to even feel him inside me, although two of my biggest bulls prefer for him to fuck me first so that I am wet enough to even get them in, although it still takes plenty of lube.

Then they make him fluff them before they fuck him up the ass until his dick looks like it’s going to shrink back into his body and looks more like an oversized clit. I asked him why that is but he says he doesn’t know, and doesn’t care why…because it just feels so good.

Once he cums, he goes into the corner to watch. After they get rid of the “quick one” in him he knows that they will really take their time with me.

Sometimes he ejaculates, but if they fuck him long enough and hard enough (and believe me they can) he says he feels what he describes as an “internal orgasm” as if his ejaculations are more like a clitoral orgasm and the gut-wrenching spasms he feels are more like a g-spot orgasm, which I read somewhere is related to stimulation of the prostate.

That makes perfect sense to me. He said if he had his choice, he would be perfectly happy with just what he calls his “Hiroshima Orgasms”.

My Randy loves “edging” and the longer he goes without ejaculation the better he likes it. He says he loves staying in a perpetual state of anticipation which often makes him cum before he can get hard if I tell him to fuck me. It is not unusual for him to ooze pre-cum several times a day, and he often squirts a little as soon as something goes up his ass.

Sometimes he produces almost no semen at all, even though he cums very hard…unless he gets his prostate massaged first, in which case he seems to completely empty his balls in one load, which is pretty much all he is ever good for most nights anyway, except for that one night last summer when I had two of my bulls “spit-roast” him twice in one night.

Each one took turns on which end they stuck their huge cocks into him.

Hey…it was his birthday, and I wanted to give him a present he would remember. Besides, I also had one of my other bulls do me while he watched as they did him. It was a great night for both of us as we stared into each other’s eyes watching both of us getting fucked at the same time.

He couldn’t ejaculate for a week after that night, even though I tried my best to milk him so he I could watch him eat it.

I try to milk him whenever I feel like it, despite his desires to stay chaste as long as possible. It is not a matter of his choice…it is mine alone, according to my whims, and he loves whatever pleases me.

He says he lives to serve at my pleasure.

I much as I love the taste of cum, and although I have never missed a chance to swallow if it is a solitary blow-job before Randy comes home from work, if he is around I always “snowball” it back to him…what the fuck, it’s the least I can do to make him happy.

Got to keep my pet well-fed.

I never pegged a man before Randy asked me, but I was amazed at how much I now love to do it whenever I can. I have an enormous dildo with lots of very exaggerated ridges and veins all over it and my favorite harness puts the base of the dildo onto my clit and I could swear I know what it feels like to have a cock.

Sometimes he pretends to be too tired or sore and whines like a little bitch until get rough and throat-fuck him with one of my smaller, softer cocks I keep on a separate harness for just that purpose.

Then if he still resists (and I love when he does) I make him lay there while I change into my “big dick” rig and roll him over forcefully and fuck him until he begs me to stop (I can tell when he has one of his “gurly” orgasms), but of course I never do. I usually fuck him even harder and faster and pull his hair and call him a sissy cocksucker while I slap his ass until it is red.

When he is finally whimpering and sobbing I start to really feel sorry for him and I let him go…and I know exactly how he likes it. It was not easy to learn to be able to do that, but I am here to please him too.

And that is just the tip of the iceberg…or rather the edge of the volcano. Next time I’ll tell you about what happens when I make him jump in.

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes Life takes Precedence over the Words

Posted in Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Theater of the Mind, This Thing we do with Words on July 7, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

Sometimes Life takes Precedence over the Words

Although of late I have faced setbacks and disappointments sufficient to stifle my attempts at self-discovery by way of self-expression, an almost unsettling calm has passed over me in recognizing that for longer than I can remember I have suffered most by my own hands.

I am not so much of a blogger as I am a writer. My chief tormentor is also my principal muse…myself.

In my periods of mania I am most driven and inspired to do what I so love to do…to write. During those times I feel most alive and best able to “suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”, hang the costs and carry on in my desire to live life completely and fearlessly. The desire to “take arms against a sea of troubles” is kept at bay, at least as long as I can still create…to be the director of my own private Theater of the Mind.

My desires to prepare my second novel for publication wanes as I continue to search for new directions, a new voice, a different message.

Although fantasy and a sense of the absurd have been some of my favorite vehicles, they were nonetheless inspired by autobiographical experiences. Then again, as rich as my life has been in story-book (but hardly fair-tale) experiences, I am rarely at a loss to describe plots and scenarios that most people would gladly eschew, but which I nonetheless felt compelled to embrace regardless of cost, danger, or rationality that have been the backs-stories of the screenplay of my life.

Early on, when I was told to write about the things I knew, I found the advice to be both helpful and inspirational because already, even at a tragically young age, already my hand was holding the pen that would write the poison thought that would unravel my sanity.

I recently have come to believe however, that these events so rich in experience are merely the background for what I intend to do by taking an even bolder step to take even the darkest experiences into the light of day without having to actually jump into the volcano myself (for once).

This brings me full circle into my favorite genre of Enhanced and Fortified Non-Fiction.

It occurs to me that as a writer, to simply chronicle what has already happened by way of direct experience is only a small part of an even larger theater of Imagination. It takes research to create stories spawned from within my imagination and still embrace factual truth, even if it represents another reality that at least for now is not entirely my own.

We live in wondrous times that the collected knowledge of the world is available at our fingertips without even leaving the confines of one’s own home via the Internet…if only you know where to look. No one single library anywhere in the world could contain such a wide array of subjects and information.

Long ago I was forced to embrace the admonishment to Never Look Away regardless of fear, embarrassment or revulsion. You cannot flinch if you intend to prevail…in fact it is only by embracing conflict that it is put into its proper place.

In truth, most of the times, I found myself strangely fascinated.

These past several weeks I have wrestled with whether even I have the abilities to embrace these thoughts I entertain, or rather, whether to reveal the heights and depths of where my imagination will lead.

Who the fuck am I trying to kid? Life never takes precedence over the words, at least not for me. Life may postpone the writing of the words, but the experiences themselves seem to arise from my compulsion to live out a screenplay that was written before my parents were born.

I live for the words, and the words live through me. I was born to live this life with all its highs and lows and to live to tell the stories of it. What are empty words without experience? What is Joy without the experience of Sorrow? How can you really savor Victory without experiencing the taste of the bitter ashes of Defeat? You can only really appreciate Peace after you have suffered Conflict, but you don’t have to stick your hand into the fire to know that it is hot.

Enough is enough. Time to use those experiences to kindle my imagination beyond my own experiences. A writer should be able to give voice to those too busy to tell their own tales. I once was one of them.

I am just the messenger.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

07/07/2015

 

On Letting Go, Part II

Posted in A Womens Flower, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Letting Go, Love, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, NSFW, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone with tags , , on May 12, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

On Letting Go, Part II

(Love)

When they first acknowledged their mutual attraction, he had described his feelings for her in a poem entitled “Pandora’s Box”. Although he already feared they were crossing a point of no return, neither of them ever intended to upset the delicate balance of forces that were necessary for both of their families to remain intact.

They knew it would be difficult to maintain sufficient discretion to avoid being swept away by emotion and passion. They loved their spouses and children too much, despite the longings they felt that had been ignored at home for too long.

They each had told their respective spouses of their friendship, and initially neither of them had gotten particularly alarmed, partly because both couples had been swingers long before the romance had fizzled, but Elvis had definitely left the building a long time ago.

He had once told her, shortly before she volunteered, that he supposed he needed to find a woman as committed to her family as he was to his. He did not wish to replace his wife any more than she wanted to replace her husband.

Neither she nor her husband were completely on board with polyamory, and at that point, neither was his wife. It was acceptable to screw other people (especially if they were together when it happened), but to express feelings of affection, let alone love was most definitely not, although it was she who first spoke the words.

They believed that the tender affection that was developing between them would allow them to trust the mutual respect and deference that would be required of them to nurture each other in a way that they could take back to their families, so as to inspire and energize the romances that had been so significant in their absence at home for too long.

Seeing himself as reflected in her eyes was spell-binding. Her admiration and love for him transformed how he now saw himself, and he suspected it was doing the same for her.

They knew it would not be easy but they had the highest and best intentions for everyone in their lives…including each other, and they believed in each other in a way that had taught them to believe in themselves again. They also believed that, no matter what or where it all might end, that they would remain close friends forever.

It didn’t matter that it would be difficult. The Pearl of Great Price is believed to be daunting to acquire, but they trusted in their hearts that they could accomplish anything together, although in the process they had unwittingly stumbled into The Kingdom of Heaven.

And when it was over, he only wished to be able to let go of her without letting go of the love he felt, or the feelings he had experienced…welcome to Hell.

Forget Pandora’s Box…it now seemed as if it would have been easier to put the smoke back in the cigarette.

It had been a year since he had seen her last. She worked in an eye clinic that was in the same building as his doctor’s office. It was also the location of his son’s eye doctor. He knew she was there, but had avoided contact with her. It had been much too painful for both of them when they were forced to stop seeing each other, and they really never had the chance to even say goodbye.

Although they never had any issues with each other, their spouses had plenty, and it had been because of them that they were forced to end it. It had started as a workplace romance, and she had been terminated suddenly and without warning, partly due to her alcoholism, of which he had only the faintest inklings.

Six weeks later, despondent, drunk, and unemployed, she tried to take her own life, and went into rehab.

They had been the most unlikely-looking couple one could imagine. He was short-statured, muscular, but a bit overweight, as well as twenty-five years her senior. He had been a charming rascal in his youth, but those days were far behind him and he felt dead inside. The greatest love of his life had become estranged to him, after two decades of marriage.

The year they got married, she was fourteen years old.

By the time they met, he had come to believe that he doubted he could even be attracted to anyone who would want to fuck him.

Not that his wife wasn’t quite beautiful herself (and also much younger than he), but it had been over four years since she had expressed any desire to make love to him. She had even told their eldest son that “…It’s just over…there’s nothing left….”

He had first noticed this woman destined to become his work-spouse when they were moved into adjacent cubbies, but she was six feet tall, blonde, thin, much too young and beautiful and had a sweet personality that matched her perfect figure. Although they quickly began to engage in playful banter, he did not even dare to hope that it would become something so intimate so much more quickly than he could have ever thought possible.

She said her incongruous Hispanic surname came from her black Puerto-Rican father to whom she bore absolutely no resemblance. It also turned out that she had in fact not married the father of her two children, although they had lived as man and wife for over thirteen years.

Their mutual senses of humor were uncanny. Despite the fact that he was often self-absorbed, complicated and irreverently intellectual while she was completely straightforward and unselfconsciously goofy, they fed off of each other like George Burns and Gracie Allen.

Even he could not explain how well she seemed to get him, despite his frequently obscure references and viewpoint. Their antics and repartee buoyed the spirits of everyone around them in an environment that was both stressful and oppressive.

Surprisingly, despite her beauty she had become somewhat introverted and a bit of a wallflower before receiving his admiring provocations. Her husband seemed to play upon her insecurities with cruel criticism and too little acknowledgement or validation, perhaps because he feared her beauty.

A friend of his had once confided to him that he had always regarded her as plain, introverted and shy before either their romance, or the blooming of her blossom. Everyone in the building noticed the change in her countenance, and attributed it to some heretofore unrealized qualities and talents that he must have possessed, which completely changed how everyone regarded him and caused no small speculation about where his talents had lain (or laid depending on how you speculated or conjugated), which helped explain why their romance was so graciously accepted by their peers.

They had worked together in somewhat close proximity for over a year before even he had noticed her at all before, but he seemed to bring out the clown and the extrovert in her, and she loved him for it.

Without her around he could be more than a little aggressive, critical, intimidating, confrontational, negative, and depressed. He did not do much to filter anything that came into his mind or out of his mouth. He shocked many of his fellow employees and offended almost everyone at one time or another.

A friend once described him as an “acquired taste…like Scotch Whiskey, Cuban Cigars or anal sex” but somehow when they were together his “big balls” and her good-natured sweetness seemed to make everyone smile…despite the fact that their scandalous mutual admiration and affection could not be ignored.

Although he was by nature more discrete, she unselfconsciously wore her emotions on her sleeve. They had the same lunch and break schedules, and everywhere they went she hung onto him as if she never wanted to let go. She towered over him and it was impossible to ignore their mutual idolatry.

It was odd to see them walk together, like watching a giraffe being escorted by a gorilla. Although they made the most unlikely looking couple, once you got used to seeing them, it made perfect sense.

He was quite the gourmet chef, while she on the other hand, could screw up hamburger helper. Once, when she had neglected to bring something to eat from home, he offered to share his meal. She had only tried once to make something for both of them….

After that, by mutual agreement, every day, he prepared his elaborate meals for both of them which they ate together on the patio.

One day a passing co-worker saw the pasta Florentine they were eating and said “How sweet…just like the Lady and the Tramp” whereupon she jokingly replied in a stage whisper to her paramour (as well as anyone within earshot) “Did he just call me a tramp?”

“…not unless he also just called me a lady” he replied.Their humor never seemed to miss a beat.

To look at him, he was in fact the picture of The Little Tramp, and he even had a tendency to walk like Chaplin’s most famous character. He had long ago abandoned the concept of “dress for success” for a telemarketer’s job where the public never saw him.

He jokingly referred to his wardrobe as “a walking clothesline” alluding to the first stanza of the Rolling Stones’ song Jigsaw Puzzle.

Cargo shorts, some kind of rock and roll tour t-shirt, sneakers, and either a Dickies work-shirt or a Florida (not Hawaiian) collared shirt worn open and not tucked in over the t-shirt like a sport coat and either a baseball cap or a Viet Nam-era “boonie hat” were his standard apparel yet it still was not ample warning for his sometimes outrageously unconventional personality.

It was originally only supposed to be short-term employment until something better came along…it never did.

In “previous lifetimes” he had been a chemist, a teacher, a film-maker and videographer, an audio engineer, a professional guitarist and recording-studio entrepreneur, a television repairman and cable-TV installer, armed body-guard, firearms instructor and general “gun-bum” before becoming a critical-care certified paramedic until Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder made even that impossible.

He never stayed in any field of employment for more than six years until he became a medic, and his romances and previous marriages were equally short-lived before he met his “Goddess” who had given him three children, two of which were his own.

Oddly, shortly after he had become infatuated with this Lolita (who herself was thirty-something) his sales figures went back through the roof despite a severely depressed economy.

As sweet and good-natured as she was, she was also a bit of a simpleton and all she desired was to be Eliza to his Henry Higgins.

Her name was Virginia but to everyone else (including her mother and husband) she was Ginger, although she confided to him that she thought it sounded too much like a stripper’s name. Of course, he called her Virginia, but much later, whether he crossed Virginia Avenue to go to work, or used ginger in some dish he prepared, or even when he drank gin, he could not seem to get her out of his mind.

Despite the fact that he and his wife had reconciled and renewed their own romance, there were only two times when he did not think of her at least once a day…when his mother had died and later, when his brother died. He neither tried to remember nor to forget her…but he had come to believe that it was inevitable that he would be forced to confront his attachment to their now-forbidden romance.

There would be other times, other places, other lovers for both of them, but their time was over. Like cut flowers that would either die unappreciated or be harvested and brought indoors to be admired, we are all here for just a moment, blossom and die.

Everything in between is a choice.

The last time he saw her it was impossible not to hear the catch in his voice as he watched her try to discretely brush a tear from her eye. They both realized they would never forget each other, nor would they ever be the same and that they would probably quietly carry each other in their hearts until the day they died.

As he stood there, he felt a distinct tearing sensation . It was like something was being ripped from his chest.

As he walked away, it was as if he felt the breath being sucked from his lungs, but instead of panicking, he just leaned into the sweet pain of his realization that it was finally possible to let go of his attachment for her without forgetting what their love had given them.

Somehow in the scheme of things, that was enough, and much more than he could have hoped for when they had crashed into each other so long ago.

On the long drive home, he tried to think of how to tell his wife about his revelations regarding their encounter without re-opening old wounds.

Nothing came to him until days later when he decided to write this story.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent 05/08/2015

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