Archive for the Imp Of The Perverse Category

Once in a Blue Agave Moon: All Things Return to the One, chapter thirteen

Posted in Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Imp Of The Perverse, Much Too Good For Children, Once in a Blue Agave Moon, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone on March 31, 2017 by dreamlanddancing

 

Part Three

 

Jed was playing with Rebecca’s dog when Leigh-Anne called to him to come over to meet Chiana.

Mordecai was a mixture of Staffordshire Terrier, Blue Tick Hound, Mastiff, and American Pit Bull. He was at a stable weight of seventy six  pounds, and looked like he had been sculpted from sandstone.

Hanging by his jaws to a very thick piece of hawser, Jed hoisted Mordecai while he performed a series of perfect bicep curls, one after another as the dog growled ferociously and shook his  entire body like a fish being hoisted from the water.

Jed then began to slowly spin on a fixed axis as he steadily increased the speed of his spin as Mordecai, still orbiting around Jed held on even more stubbornly until the dog’s legs left the ground, thrown by centrifugal force upwards until he was parallel to the ground.

Hearing his name, he quickly slowed down to hear what  Leigh-Anne had to say, as both of them were already taking bold strides forward in Leigh-Anne’s direction as soon as the dog’s feet touched the ground.

Not waiting to have Leigh-Anne introduce them, Jed make a distinct point of being the first one to extend his hand to Chiana as his said: ‘Hello Chiana, my name is Jed. It is indeed a pleasure to finally meet you. Leigh-Anne says that you two knew each other, from years ago years after…well, let’s just say when people used to say…”back in the day”… and well, just  let it go at that….?”

His voice trailed off as he found himself staring into Chiana’s dark eyes while the faintest hint of a glint, or near a glimmer of a gleem began between them as it flashed on both of their faces, and it progressed from smile to grin that just ever so slightly relaxed as they both recognized what was passing between them, acknowledged its existence, and then lovingly pulled back, just to acknowledge their honorable intentions, and let it go.

They both pulled back as they shifted their weight sightly behind themselves until almost all of their entire weight rested on their right foot, resting on the ball, as if to feign some degree of suspicion, each turning their heads to an almost unnoticeable shift of the angle of their faces, like a dog watching television, puzzled.

And speaking  of dogs, it was about at that point when Mordecai jumped between them, but if they hadn’t known better, Jed and Chiana would have both sworn that it was in defense of Chiana, not Jed.

He even turned his back on Jed, as he very politely sat down and offered his paw to Chiana, tail wagging enthusiastically.

 

Chazz Vincent

03/30/2017

 

This Thing We Do with Words, a slight return, pt. II

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Biggest Sex Organ, Collaboration, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Explicit Sexual Language, First Amendment Rights, gratitutde, His Penis Her Vagina, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Liason, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Sex, Suki, The Id, the willing suspension of disbelief, This Thing we do with Words, Vagina with tags , , , , , , , , on April 24, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

This Thing We Do with Words, a slight return, pt. II

My Muses

One of the things we do with words is to inspire. Writers do not live in a vacuum, but no matter what we do within our own lives, nothing beats a different perspective from outside of ourselves to introduce new ideas, questions and influences.

Those people are my muses, my wells of inspiration from which I drink, be it the refreshingly cold, clear water of underground springs fed by mountain streams from far away or warm, mysterious draughts from jungle pools or even hot, flavored waters, exuding enticing perfumes of unknown origins.

Some provide an occasional cautious sip, while others compel me to slake my thirst until it is sated. Some help me clear my mind while others intoxicate me in inexplicable ways like a vampire on a blood-feast, but I have been blessed to be influenced by several for whom I am most grateful.

This post was initially inspired by a discussion of pet words for the genitalia of either sex as well as the associated body parts or functions one might be inclined to use in erotic writings, to which we would aspire to attain the level of Literotica.

Jayne of DiaryIncarnate at WordPress prompted a renewal of the discussion when she recently made reference to what she referred to as a “Dickipedia”. I am a regular visitor to her website and I am quite fond of her poetry, but both her prose and verse frequently give me “paws” to think and reflect upon her eternally questioning mind.

Although we have never met in person, she has a real talent for bringing out both the rogue and the gentleman in me, and I sense that I am not alone in that assessment of her effect on men.

About a year ago, Anastasia, the charming and provocative astraltravler of WordPress and I collaborated on a piece called His Penis, Her Vagina, to address the plethora of synonyms for the two major taxons regarding the plumbing of the sexes, but we quickly realized that many terms, like Meat-Whistle, One-eyed Trouser Snake, Cooter, or Poontang (sometimes hyphenated), are at best considerably more hilarious than erotic, and at worst just plain disgusting. Some were both.

Later collaborations between Anastasia, with my wife (Yen4)Suki and myself have proven much more worthwhile and productive, although we have been a bit pensive about writing about the results…and I don’t know why, because none of us are what one would call shy.

Suki and I had collaborated on a piece that was essentially her story over six months ago, that to date remains unpublished. All I did was help her organize and word the story, as she related her experiences to me, but it is a great piece in more ways than one, especially because it needed so little embellishment or enhancement.

As erotic adventures go, I would wish that all women could experience such a milestone adventure on a milestone birthday.

Her thirtieth was almost as good, but I was there to witness, encourage and participate with her on that occasion.

That’s just the way we roll. I hope she shares it soon.

I must be the luckiest man in the world to be so inspired by these three muses.

One is mine, but she is too precious and free-spirited to hoard or keep to myself. Another is shared and comes and goes like a tropical breeze, the muse of my muse. Only the third is a woman of mystery whom I cannot distinguish from Oasis or Mirage; who comes to me on tiptoes as silent as an assassin to whisper enticing provocations into my ear like a long-lost lover from another lifetime.

Although the initial impetus of this post centered around erotica, it quickly developed a life of its own and ran off the rails onto the much larger tracks leading to the subject of creative expression and inspiration in general.

For that reason, I have decided to publish it in installments.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

04/20/2014

 

Tell Me Something about Yourself…

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, A Womens Flower, Collaboration, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Fun, His Penis Her Vagina, Humor, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Just For Fun, Liason Between Parties, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Sex, This Thing we do with Words, Vagina with tags , , , , on April 4, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

Tell Me Something about Yourself…

I want to compile a survey of what words each of us consider our term of choice for our own (semi)private parts.

Some time back, I collaborated on a post called “His Penis, Her Vagina” to explore how difficult it is to write “Literotica” without excessive repetition.

Part two of the survey would be to compile a list of your favorite word(s) to describe the naughty parts of the opposite sex.

If more than two people respond, I will post the results.

If you wish to be identified as to your choices, I will post that also.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

 

I Stare into the Fire

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Appreciation, Bardo Thordol, Celebration, Crossing the Abyss, Dancing in Dreamland, Erotic Poetry, Escape Velocity, First Amendment Rights, gratitutde, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Just For Fun, Keep Coming Back, Knowledge, Love, Poetry, The Id, The Rain Dance, the willing suspension of disbelief, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Vision Quest, What You Have Conjured Up, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 6, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

Late January

In a place where

Winter is Perpetual spring

a tender shoulder

 makes my

mouth

wet

As I stare into the fire.

It is enough to be here now.

Apologia

Posted in Acknowledgement, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Drug Experience, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Erotic Poetry, Explicit Sexual Language, Fornicating, Fun, gratitutde, Imp Of The Perverse, Keep Coming Back, Liason Between Parties, longreads, Love, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Poetry, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, The Id, Thorn Tree in the Garden with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 25, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

Apologia

Even if you aren’t reading this,

this moment,

…these words

this testament

is for all of you,

as well as for each of you…

the heroines

of all my never-ending

torch songs.

Perhaps I wasn’t your best friend after all,

but not for nothing…

you can’t say I didn’t try.

I’m a weaver of dreams,

a conjuror of spells,

but I fear that

the realities

I brought you

did not live up

to the Great Expectations

I inspired

until I had thoroughly

disappointed

the Dickens out of you.

“I’m sorry”

I say

“Is there nothing I can do?”

I ask

as you sadly shake your head (“no”).

(Also not for nothing)

as a small part of me dies

inside.

This is what I do

time and again.

‘til you’d think

I would grow weary of it,

but no, I just grow so very,

very…very weary

of letting you down again.

I didn’t want to be that guy…

after all…

I was the guy who taught you

Grand Theft Auto

(and not the video game…)

The guy who took you

camping, or

fishing, or

smuggling,

or diving

or hunting

or running guns

or forbidden contraband

across state lines,

screwing

like cats in heat

at turnpike rest stops,

driving too many hours

with too little sleep

were it not for

“better living through chemistry”

.

You were the first to jump right in with me

scoring,

or eating

or snorting

or smoking

or shooting

or vaporizing

whatever magic

helped raise the ante

back when it was still fun

to live dangerously and without fear…

walking past chalklines

to do the Devil’s bidding

like it was a game of (hip-) hop-scotch

when copping a feel

or stolen kisses

still took

our breath away.

I was the guy

your parents

warned you about

even after they found me

charming, witty

and bright,

because they didn’t know

I was that other guy…

Of course that was

a big part

of the appeal….

I was the Serpent in the Garden

and you were my

Primordial Eve.

You became my

co-conspirator.

You followed me to

sleazy clubs

in basements

underground

or

practice houses

in bad neighborhoods,

a haunted house

way out in the country

next to a cemetery

where

no one else would live

or warehouse districts

or

wherever I could find a place

to play guitar

so loud you thought your

eyeballs would bleed

and your ears would ring for weeks

afterward,

where we would hold out

like outlaws

day and night.

You went with me

to pistol ranges,

rifle ranges,

and dojos,

living in houses

filled with

guns and ammo

(not the magazine….),

the walls of entire rooms

lined with amplifiers to the ceiling,

guarded by dangerous-looking dogs

who loved you

almost as much as me

and

would have killed for you

just as you would have for me

or I for you

even when it seemed like that moment

was just around the next turn in the story

and there was a knife and a gun

in every drawer

and under each pillow.

We slept in tents,

on floors

in cars and trucks,

or high-rise apartments

overlooking the bay

that we could never afford

were it not for the

generous benefactors

we chose to entertain.

We watched porn together.

We made porn together

and everything we did

was either Art or Music.

We painted everything in sight.

We sketched and photographed

each other

while we played and sang

with such conviction

I don’t know how

our hearts didn’t burst.

We learned to dance

the Apocalypso

on the razor’s edge

‘til dawn

and got up and did it

all over again.

We drove way too fast

through downtown traffic

any time of day

whichever way we were going,

or late at night

along the beach

or up on the Interstate,

illuminated by

flamingo-pink

sodium vapor lights;

stopping on the causeways

overlooking Biscayne Bay

just long enough

to remind each other of who we were

and just where we were

just then.

When every moment alive together

was a miracle.

We fucked on the perimeter road

around MIA

with the planes

maybe a hundred feet

above our heads,

engines screaming

and one eye

looking out for cops

with nothing better to do

than to wish

they could have been us.

No matter where we went

or what we did

it seemed like

I could talk my way

into or out of

anywhere or anything

and charm the birds

from out of the trees,

particularly

if it meant staying out of jail

…or worse

(and most especially if I thought

it might impress you.)

But most of all,

I let every one of you down

in one way or another.

…so many memories

of that defining moment

when you knew it was over,

leaving me to figure it all out later….

I played grasshopper to your ant

well into our winter of discontent.

It didn’t turn out

happily ever after…

it never has

and probably never will,

for me or you….

Maybe it never does.

I just hope you can look back

and remember

those few golden moments we shared

with the same fondness,

with the same lack of reservations

we shared back then

before we gave a thought

to how it all might end,

because it was the beginnings

and everything

in between

that made it all worthwhile

for me…

and each ending too beautifully

poignantly sad

to just be forgotten

back when I was just me

and you were just you

before we ever thought about tomorrow….

If I had the chance

to do it all over again

I’d do it all over you.

It just took me too long to realize

that just not being

a bad person

didn’t

necessarily

make me

a very good person.

(…but not for nothing)

You can’t say I didn’t try.

Quite a few did some of it with me.

A few did most of it with me.

Who can say they did all of it,

and gave their all

with all of me?

(You know who you are,

n’est-ce pas?)

Just you…

Because before there was you and me,

Darlin’

each one of the others

saw something special

to show me about myself

that took me higher,

‘tho some cut me low

before they were thru.

But I cannot deny

each one didn’t teach me

a thing or two

I hadn’t yet learned

so that maybe

it wouldn’t happen

the same way

to me and you.

So here we are now

just you and just me

and those wantonly

willing hostages

whomever

we take

as we continue

together

until

The End.

THFWS&TTM’s: After the Reception

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Celebration, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Drug Experience, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Escape Velocity, GROUP MARRIAGE, Imp Of The Perverse, Knowledge, Liason Between Parties, Line Marriage, Long Form, longreads, Love, Mature Theme, Metaphysical Action/Adventure, Much To Good For Children, Much Too Good For Children, Novel, Novel, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Philosophical Sexuality, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sentience, Sexual Action/Adventure, The Home For Wayward Souls, The Id, The Knowledge of Good and Evil, The Talking Monkeys, The Wisdom, Tsukimono-suji with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 11, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

After the Reception
The rest of the wedding reception was not unlike watching a bullfight with Anastasia as the matador, and Stanley Linderman the bull.
She nuzzled his chest, and he thanked her for the dance, then tried to wander off so as not to seem too anxious, but she was unrelenting and he was grateful for that.
She ran off to get them each a glass of punch, which he initially refused on the grounds that he was “on duty” as Frederick’s “Chaperone” which was a very diplomatic term, but Anastasia surprised him by insisting that his was the non-alcoholic version that resided next to the real punch.
She explained that there were so many non-alcohol drinkers among the Home for Wayward Souls that everyone’s preferences had already been anticipated, including Stan’s.
He first smelled it, then gingerly tasted it before Anastasia finally said “Do I need to send it out for laboratory analysis?” before he shyly drank from it, although he did not finish it.
“I hope you won’t judge me for indulging, but I do like a nice Tanqueray Collins on really special occasions like this. It’s not that I need to drink anything, but it does help me relax and let my hair down when I want to have a good time…of course, I have to admit that although I don’t feel like I want this evening to end…well, it would be nice if it didn’t have to end here…I guess what I’m asking is do you have any plans after you escort your charge back to his dormitory?”
“You don’t beat around the bush much do you?” Stan asked.
“There’s no bush to beat around here honey…but if I have my way, you’ll find that out soon enough for yourself…” she quipped.
With that, Stan blushed furiously as she giggled.
“I’m sorry…I can get a bit forward sometimes…I don’t mean to sound crude or cheap…I just like to avoid the verbal counterpoint that usually gets too predictable…just to keep things interesting…I hope I’m not being too forward….”
There is a thin line between being too aggressive when men like Stan. Fortunately, she had a pretty good idea of the demarcation between just plain slutty and too provocative to ignore.
Stan did not yet know that her husband was also a classified non-entity but he did know that as long as he kept his proper decorum while on the job, she was not likely to take no for an answer, and he was not likely to give any negative responses any time soon.
If you have ever watched someone try to bear-bait a member of the Grenadier Guards or Queen’s Guards at Buckingham Palace, you can get an idea of the banter between Anastasia and Stanley. She is at once both coy and demure as well as enticing and provocative while he tries to pretend to remain unaffected….and he likes it.
Suddenly, Frederick showed up with two pieces of cake for Anastasia and Stan. He acts reluctant at first, but she coaxes Stan by trying to feed it to him, and he is no match for her considerable charms, and takes a few bites from her fork.
What neither of them knows is that Frederick has opened two capsules of The Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil over both their pieces of cake.
Anastasia is no stranger to the sacrament, but Stan has never even smoked marijuana before. Shortly after meeting Charles and Suki, she had willingly tried it, and found the experience to be exhilarating and life-changing and has never passed up an opportunity since.
There is no question that it was inappropriate for Frederick to “dose” the pair the way he did, but he already knew Anastasia enjoyed the experience and would not have said no, and as much as Frederick was fond of Stanley, he felt an obligation to free his mind from the chains that bound him in favor of helping liberate his spirit and his mind.
In the case of LSD, Peyote, Psilocybin, Mescaline, Changa, Yopo, or any other number of psychedelic or hallucinogenic drugs this would have been a clear-cut recipe for disaster. The onset of all of those drugs is disturbing, disorienting and generally dysphoric for at least the first twenty to forty minutes before the actual experience begins.
Sometimes there is vomiting. You may feel slightly sick, anxious and confused or even slightly febrile. Your hands may tremble. The onset of most mind-altering experiences is almost never pleasant, even for the zealots that consume them in anticipation of where it will lead.
Such was not the case with the Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. From one minute to the next, there is no real interruption of your consciousness…just insight…the likes of which you have never before even considered.
You may suddenly realize that you can now access every experience, every memory you have ever had. Yet everything about your new consciousness seems very normal. No scary monsters, no Gothic foreshadowing, no paranoia. No overload.
You just suddenly realize the way, the methods, and the techniques to achieve whatever you desire. You understand the difference between covetousness and real desire. The difference between what is important and what is not important. The difference between what is true and what is false.
It doesn’t really occur to you that much of anything has changed at all. You just feel more focused and aligned. You recognize the conflicts in your life for what they are and then just as quickly realize what you must do to resolve them, a little bit at a time, as each segment presents itself to you.
No overwhelming tsunami of realization or epiphany. It’s more like swallowing an entire elephant…only one mouthful at a time.
You may be suddenly surprised by the ease with which you anticipate long or complex series’ of events, step by step, or your ability to accelerate your own processes temporarily so as to achieve the effect of slowing down all the actions around you.
No dizziness, no blurred vision or speech, no limbic system depression or anything else to cause you to hesitate to drive a vehicle or vessel, operate machinery. For some, it takes hours or even days to recognize the effects that The Knowledge has on them.
Although The Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil was an analogue isomer that was a naturally occurring bi-product of one of PharmaCorp’s most recent explorations into a “fourth-generation of anti-depressants, The Knowledge bore almost no resemblance to MAO’s, Tricyclic, or even SSRI’s and SNRI’s.
MDMA (3,4-methylenedioxy-N-methyl amphetamine) is an empathogenic drug that was made categorically illegal in 1985, when the DEA placed it in the Schedule I category, meaning it is considered to have no accepted legitimate legal medical uses. It is commonly known as Ecstasy, X, XTC, or Molly (the form least likely to contain adulterants).
Prior to its demonization, clinical research indicated great promise in the treatment of mild psychiatric disorders and even severe presentations of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Other studies involving learning and perception were similarly encouraging.
Although many people were led to believe it to be dangerous because of its classification within the amphetamine and phenethylamine classes of drugs, it has become self-evident that no major world power would desire its population to be comprised of educated, sophisticated, fully rational, well-adjusted, self-actualized high-functioning adults.
Uninformed, fearful neurotics make the best consumers as they are much more easily led, lied to, and generally bamboozled by commerce, employers and politicians alike.
The first thing Merle did when he began his research for PharmaCorp was to re-arrange the MDMA molecule just subtly enough to shed the amphetamine and phenethylamine classifications.
Had Merle been some street-level chemist trying to dodge the DEA’s bullets, it might have gotten labeled as a designer drug, or copycat, but because of the veil of scientific research (as well as PharmaCorp’s ubiquitous political and economic clout) it managed to fly below the radar of government scrutiny.
Merle had a preternatural ability to visualize molecular structure as well as its anticipated effects. Once Merle discovered the even more dramatic and wide-ranging effects of the bi-product, he additionally “tweaked” The Knowledge to produce over five kilograms of pure product that required less than fifty micrograms to produce desired effects in humans and half that to achieve the level of sentience that Frederick had achieved through repeated doses and treatments.
Initial testing of selected primates that Frederick believed to be trustworthy, intelligent and deserving by virtue of their temperament were very promising, although he clearly was head and shoulders above all the rest, which was speculated to be a result of his genetics by virtue of his hybridization.
Although LSD is notorious for causing drastic visual distortions and outright hallucinations, Psilocybin for instance is much more subtle. You may notice a glow or sheen on certain objects that you never before noticed, or there may be a noticeable fluidity of background versus foreground images which may meld to produce two entirely different visual fields, much like several of Salvatore Dali’s paintings, such as the Bowl of Fruit and Saddleback Hound on the Beach for instance.
Sometimes objects may seem to step out of their backgrounds entirely. Candle flame meditation may also produce similar results, whereas sensory deprivation experiments more closely resemble LSD.
The Knowledge works very subtly and although the degree of visual effects is largely a product of the imagination of the subject, the simultaneity of experiences by several subjects, especially those in separate locations raises the supposition of hallucinations first to possible mass hysteria, and finally plausible alternative realities once enough randomized testing is done to give it the appearance of scientific method.
Kali and Suki, (both witches) needed less convincing in terms of scientific method than Darcy, who had come from an almost entirely clinical background ever since she left her tidewater birthplace. Ash’s agnosticism tended to incline him to more skeptical postulation. Merle and Charles confidently straddled both issues, since they had a family history of mysticism despite their extensive scientific pursuits.
Because Stanley was a realist, an agnostic and a quintessentially pragmatic man, he had learned to keep his whimsical and speculative longing for something more buried deep from view.
His colleagues for instance, knew nothing of his love of Mozart, Debussy, Charles Mingus, or Stanley Jordan, or that he grew up viewing prints by M.C. Escher, Aubrey Beardsley, Salvatore Dali and other graphic artists that his mother admired. His father was an omnivorous reader of everything from Robert Heinlein to Aldous Huxley, J.R.R.Tolkien, and William S. Burroughs, from Carlos Castaneda, to Hunter S. Thompson and Tom Robbins…and more.
Thankfully, although his parents had wallowed in the kind of liberal arts education that has become so déclassé of late; they had avoided visible social protest or involvement in the kind of radical political groups that would have made him a pariah to any three-letter agency requiring a top security clearance.
The seeds of imagination, speculation, whimsy and humor were planted long ago and so very deeply as to be occult to even scrupulous examination. Most people do not realize that any candidate who gets labeled as “excessively acculturated” is likely to be rejected, since free-thinkers often do not respond simplistically or reflexively to orders in the sort of knee-jerk fashion that law-enforcement and military agencies demand. Even the most complex circumstances require blind obedience and clear-cut actions devoid of ambivalence or interpretation.
Most people on the other hand, wouldn’t know higher consciousness if it jumped naked out on an airplane at ten thousand feet wearing a parachute and landed on their faces…well, on second thought, maybe then…because if we can’t feel it in our fingers, face or toes…it may well go unnoticed by even the best of us…(people much better than me I should hope) no matter if you need “something more….” or not, most of us question how the need for it seems to be a question of…well, let’s say “What’s in it for me?” Right?
And the truth is, that as long as we seek to define answers in such terms, the answer would not matter, because you would be highly unlikely to understand the meaning…no offense to anybody in particular. We all have the right to limit and rationalize ourselves in our own terms…of course.
And we all do it as a matter of course; without thought…Exactly.
At least until you come face to face with The Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil…because for some reason, eventually even the most rational discourse comes to embrace The Eternally Questioning Mind…voraciously…with no compassion for sentimentality nor sanction for the untenable.
The bleached bones of the ultimate truth…dispassionately neutral to any paradigm, parallel universe or other intellectual concept within the means of anyone with the understanding that the “N+1” is always an option.
And yet as much as your mind leads you to believe you are in a place where there are no philosophical “Axes to be Ground” nonetheless, you hear them squealing in metallurgic orgasms while an old familiar voice reminds you that “Every Day is Judgment Day and Nothing is guaranteed”.
Now if at that precise moment a butterfly, a Buddha, or an aboriginal Eve, for instance were to appear to you in a way that completely distracts you sufficiently to remind you of something so obvious that you can’t explain why you never thought of it before, and that timeless moment washes over you like a wave leaving you feeling forever changed…even if you are counting money, it will come to you on tiptoes, like lovers and assassins alike…then you will know…Something…for Awhile until The Next Time….
Imagine feeling like that and thinking like that without being able to Feel the cause of it…just coming to it all quite naturally, and thankfully so far having come to this place you’ve never been before within your conscious mind all the while knowing that these are parts of serial dreams we have been going through since we were children that we only recognized just now.
The Feeling of Connection. The Great Peace? Someplace where there is not always more? “Nirvana?” Not necessarily, but whatever it is, you will recognize it when you see it…none of it is everything….and none of it is everything….
Now while all this was going on in Stan’s Mind, he suddenly became preoccupied with how clearly he believed he could smell Anastasia’s snatch…he was convinced of it, and it appealed to him tremendously because it smelled so good to him, and he only wondered for a minute why it was that he had never noticed how sensitive his nostrils were.
And he could smell everyone else as well, but he was most attracted to Anastasia’s pheromones…like a heat-seeking missile to the tailpipe of a red-hot jet engine.
And because Stanley Linderman didn’t feel either drunk or drugged he did not recognize this enhanced version of…Exactly…Everything…Sentience as yet unknown or felt. An inescapable collision with beatific consequences that offered no prohibitions so far….
Which was about the time he visualized where and how the three of them (including Frederick) were going to facilitate each of their parts to this screenplay that was forming in his head going from the time they dropped Frederick off until they consummated this opportunity to get to know each other better.
It wasn’t until he started to believe he knew what Anastasia was thinking that he paused for just a moment to savor how blissful this line of thinking was getting to be for him…right up to about the point where he was very VERY VERY certain that what he believed she was contemplating was not anything about which he was likely to ever fantasize…at least not until just now.
And when the only physical sensation you can identify is this wonderfully light uplifting, joyous feeling in your chest you don’t suspect any drugs that you might be inclined to fear if all of this didn’t seem to be the most natural thing in the world during the very best day of your life…so far.
As he admired her face as she spoke to him in a voice that angels would envy, he saw her as all women, according to her nature which seemed to change like a glowing ember in a fire. She was alternately impish young girl, femme fatale, mother of Mata Hari, wizened crone and wicked co-conspirator and others….
She knew very well what this was, so it was just going to have to be up to Stanley Linderman to figure out as much as he could, given that she would be subject to broadcasting her thoughts before very long, no matter how much she tried to hide it…unless…who knows?
It was about that time that he found himself visualizing Anastasia as a very large female feline.

THFWS&TTM’s: The Reception

Posted in Celebration, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Fun, Imp Of The Perverse, Liason Between Parties, Long Form, longreads, Mature Theme, Metaphysical Action/Adventure, Much To Good For Children, Novel, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, The Home For Wayward Souls, The Rain Dance, The Talking Monkeys, Theater of the Mind with tags , , , , , , , , on August 23, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

The Reception: THFWS&TTM’s
Anastasia arrived late to the wedding, and was sitting in the last row, behind and slightly to the right of Stanley Linderman, and the only one to notice when he wiped the tear from his eye. He was trying so hard to disguise the evidence of his emotional response he did not even notice Anastasia pretending not to notice at all.
But she did, and it intrigued her more than she intended to let on, at least at first. She could spot an MIB in a crowd in seconds…hell she was married to one, and she knew what they liked…at least the “right” ones.
She had always been a free spirit and had insisted that she be able to pursue her occasional romantic interests as long as they did not interfere with her basic commitment to her marriage. She hated the term polyamory for reasons she never bothered to explain, but it appeared that her biggest issue was with the idea of loving anyone other than your spouse. She preferred to regard her outside sexual adventures as more recreational than amorous.
Her husband knew better than to try to dictate too many rules to a woman like Anastasia, but they had mutually agreed upon a few. One of which was that she was not allowed to “cast her nets” in the same waters in which her husband fished, and preferably no one at DOD at all.
That wasn’t always easy but as sure as “rules are rules”, someone will decide to bend them without breaking them, and Anastasia was famous for being “bent, but not broken” herself.
Because of this, she demanded the utmost discretion from all of her lovers, especially the ones that worked for “three-letter agencies”. Most of them required equal discretion on her part as well, and that helped minimize the “tacky factor” of the actions and communications of indiscrete lovers who did not have at least as much to lose as she did, and governed their actions accordingly.
Her husband’s career required frequent travel, often outside the country. They had been married for over twenty years and a lot of water had passed under the bridge in that time.
Stanley was charged with taking Frederick back to the Habitat, once the reception was over. Usually, Darcy and Mark went with him after the services were over, but they anticipated this might stress Frederick to travel with Stanley alone, so they did it several times prior to the wedding, just to get him acclimated to the experience.
Frederick seemed to like Stanley, and he sensed that Stanley liked him, which he did. They both could be intimidating and they both seemed to admire each other’s power and confidence, but ever since Frederick had started to communicate with Stanley by signing to him when no one else was paying attention, Stan’s fascination with Frederick’s apparent ability to read Stan’s mind had not only gotten Stan’s attention, but his respect as well.
It had become a sort of cat-and-mouse game they played. Frederick would sign to Stan, and Stan would pretend not to understand, and then Frederick would respond to whatever Stan was thinking as if he had signed back.
Frederick continued with smug amusement as Stan began to purposefully try to test Frederick’s abilities until one day last week when he signed “I know why you can’t sign back…it’s OK…our secret…for now….”
Stanley Linderman was not a man who was given to “hocus-pocus”, “mumbo-jumbo” or even most forms of organized religion. His understanding with Frederick went considerably outside his comfort zone and there was no one with whom he felt he could confide on the subject, but he continued this game with his simian charge because for one thing, it amused and intrigued him and for another, Frederick continued to push the envelope whenever he was given the opportunity.
Sebastian had told Stan to remain at the reception as long as it seemed appropriate so as to be able to continue to gather whatever intel could be gleaned from his association with the members of The Home for Wayward Souls, and Stan was becoming rather fond of the experiences he was having at the Sanctuary, despite the necessity of his feigned disdain for the assignment so as not to become suspect of having gone “native” and having Sebastian remove him from it.
Frederick had developed a great deal of affection for Anastasia ever since she had met Charles and Suki, and tonight he decided to play matchmaker between her and Stan, as he already was aware of her attraction for him.
After the perfunctory toasts and assorted rigmarole associated with almost all wedding receptions, the real festivities got into high gear. Frederick never missed an opportunity to dance, so after dancing with all the brides (Darcy, Kali, and Suki) he enthusiastically insisted that Anastasia join him on the floor when the DJ played the New York Dolls’ recording of “The Monkey Dance” at Darcy’s suggestion. She had introduced it to Frederick some time ago, and it was probably his single favorite tune.
Anastasia had a wickedly playful sense of humor and she and Frederick put on such a show that soon the entire crowd had surrounded the two of them as the cavorted to the song.
When they finished, everyone applauded the couple as Frederick bowed and then pulled Anastasia by the hand over to Stan whereupon he placed her hand in Stan’s, signing “Dance…you two should get to know each other.”
Although he blushed slightly, as usual, Stan shrugged his broad shoulders in feigned ignorance of Frederick’s meaning until Mark volunteered “He wants you two to dance.” and Darcy chimed in “He also wants you to be friends.”
Stan noticed the subtle difference between the translation and what had been signed and pretended not to notice the difference, although Darcy had already suspected that Stan knew more than he let on.
“Anastasia, meet Stan, Frederick’s bodyguard…Stan, meet Anastasia, one of the most interesting women you may ever meet.” Darcy winked at Anastasia as she gave her introduction.
“You can say that again…” Charles and Suki chimed in almost spontaneously, and Suki giggled like a schoolgirl as they did.
The DJ played “The Lady Lies” by Genesis. Both Stan and Anastasia seemed slightly unprepared for a slower dance, let alone a waltz, given all the upbeat craziness of the Monkey Dance that had preceded it, but she was not at all shy and was glad to get the opportunity to get up close and personal with him, and he was relieved that he didn’t have to compete with the show Frederick and Anastasia had just put on. They were a hard act to follow, and Stan wasn’t really that much of a dancer and he would not have had the courage to approach her on his own.
That was one of the things she liked about him. Much like her husband, Stan had already proven himself to be courageous under fire and had distinguished himself many times in his abilities to handle even the most menacing forms of confrontation in his (classified) professional career (whatever that was), but he was a little bit old-fashioned and shy with women.
Most women found that quality to be charming; no lack of personal confidence in general and yet none of the arrogance and swagger that most women find repulsive…Stan was actually quite the ladies’ man once things got started (usually by them), but his career and the secrecy that accompanied it usually doomed his romances fairly early on in the relationship.
That made him a perfect fit for Anastasia.
“I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be a tight fit,” she thought as she pulled herself a little closer to Stan as they danced. It had been her finding that many large, muscular men came up a bit short below the waist, and although she claimed to not be a “size-queen” her husband had occasionally joked about getting her a tattoo of a ruler on the inside of her left forearm, just because she seemed to be a magnet for well-endowed men.
Stan was well over six feet tall and Anastasia was about four-foot-fourteen, so when they danced together his belt line was almost up to her nipple line, and she could feel the growing prominence of his package as she coyly, but provocatively rubbed her body against his in a discreetly but very effective manner.
She sensed that a disturbance in her paradigm about sexual escapades was about to begin; that there was a foreboding of danger and excitement not usually found in her previous experiences that fascinated her, that made her heart race, her head spin, and nearly took her breath away, like driving past an accident possessed by the uncontrollable desire to look no matter how much you fear that what you may see could be something you may never be able to forget.
“Wherever this leads, I’m not sure, but it sure as hell is going to be very interesting,” she mused. “…and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

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