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

Chapter Thirteen, Part Three

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

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

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 his body 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 Chianna as his said: ‘Hello Chianna, 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 gleam 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 Jed and Leigh-Anne would have both sworn that it was in defense of Chianna, not Jed.

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

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

copyright  ©  March 13th, 2021  

Fish swim with the tides, in and out of the lagoon as it empties itself, receives from, and flows back into the sea.

*ALL REFERENCES TO ANY PERSONS CONFIRMED STILL LIVING IS PURELY CO-INCIDENTAL…AND THE DEAD ARE TOO BUSY LAUGHING AT US TO CARE.

 

 

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

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…

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

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 Revisited

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.

My heroines, my heroin…

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 the realities I brought you 

did not live up to the Great Expectations I inspired

until I 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”).

as a small part of me dies inside.

This is what I do time and again.

‘til you’d think I’d grow weary of it,

but no, I just grow so 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

(not the video game…)

The guy who took you

camping, or fishing, or diving or hunting

smuggling guns or contraband and stolen

works of art over 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, wherever

whatever magic helped raise the ante

back when it was still fun

to live dangerously and without fear…

walking past chalk lines to do the Devil’s bidding

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

Whether copping a feel or a few 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 also that other guy…

 wasn’t that a 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 into

sleazy clubs in basements underground;

in practice houses, and lived in industrial 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 found a place,

playing guitar so loud you thought your eyeballs would bleed

and your ears would ring for weeks on end,

where we would hold out like outlaws day and night.

You went with me to rifle and pistol 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 dogs who loved you

almost as much as me

and would have killed for you as you would for me

or I for you,

when it seemed like that moment

was just around the next turn in the story.

There was a knife and a gun in every drawer

and under each pillow each night.

We slept in tents, on floors, in cars and trucks,

or high-rise apartments overlooking the bay

that we could never afford,

if not for the generous benefactors

we chose to entertain.

We watched porn together. We made porn together,

Hell, we were porn together

and everything we ever 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 with the lights out

or up on the Interstate, illuminated by

flamingo-pink sodium vapor lights;

stopping on the causeways over 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,

(Em-Eye-Eh)

with the planes maybe a hundred feet

over 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 anything or anywhere

and charm the birds from right out of the trees,

particularly if it meant staying out of jail…or worse

(but most especially if I thought it might impress you.)

But most of all, I let every one of you down

one way or another.

…so many memories of that defining moment

when you knew it was over,

leaving me to figure it 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 for you….

Maybe it never does.

Maybe it’s not supposed to…

I just hope you can look back and remember

those few golden moments we shared, 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 not being a bad person

didn’t make me a good person.

(…but not for nothing)

You can’t say I didn’t try.

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 of them 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.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

copyright  ©  a March 9th, 2021  

Fish swim with the tides, into and out of the lagoon as it empties itself, receives from, and flows back into the sea.

*ALL REFERENCES TO ANY PERSONS CONFIRMED STILL LIVING IS PURELY CO-INCIDENTAL…AND THE DEAD ARE TOO BUSY LAUGHING AT US TO CARE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THFWS&TTM’s: After the Reception

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

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.”

We All Bring Something Different to the Table: THFWS&TTM’s

We All Bring Something Different to the Table

 

So consider for a moment what is represented by this primary union of individuals within the Home for Wayward Souls.

Ash is in his early thirties. He is handsome and physically fit. He represents a fusion of theologian and showman, an entertainer who desires to bring higher consciousness and spiritual union to an audience. He is as drawn to providing exposure to a diverse range of ideas and influences as he is to eschewing dogma and doctrine.

His wife Kali is a little older and in her early forties although she looks much younger. She is the Earth Mother; the high priestess of Sacred Sex and cunning practitioner of the knowledge and wisdom of Wicca. She is soft and feminine and her body is a lavishly lurid testament to the sexual superiority of women and the power of the Moon.

Merle is the preternaturally tall lanky, and enormous embodiment of all things masculine although he also possesses an occult fascination with women’s apparel, especially their undergarments. He is a shaman, a chemist, a botanist and archetypical prototype of the aboriginal peoples of what is now called America. He is predominantly Apache although he admits to a white Spanish ancestor far back in his lineage. He is the magician and medicine man of the family; the sorcerer and brujo of the chemistry of the body and mind. He is also in his early thirties and the third leg of the triad of Ash, Kali, and himself.

Suki is forty; the child-bride of Charles. She is the unlikely combination of a powerful Eastern-European warlock and a Japanese Tsukimono-suji (white witch). Once a lean and athletic hard-body, a seemingly endless series of health problems, childbearing and the complacency of a decade and a half of marriage left her overweight and out of shape as her libido took a nosedive.

Because of their parents’ association with each other, she had known Charles all her life and had a life-long crush on him despite the fact that he treated her more like a baby sister until years later when they met at a family reunion.

They both had been “swingers” both before and after they fell in love as adults until she seemed to lose all interest in sex.

Charles’ infatuation with Jennifer had reawaked her from her long winter’s hibernation as she exercised  and dieted her way back to fitness before she met Gerard, who reawakened her sexuality and vitality as well as opening her eyes to the benefits of Polyamory, despite his monolithic desire to possess her completely.

Charles was the worldly designated elder of their family of eight. He had a rapacious desire for all manner of knowledge with an uncanny ability to “connect the dots” of seemingly unrelated semantic memory  and vast personal experiences.

He had either received training or worked at one point or another in so many different and seemingly unrelated occupations that it was difficult to imagine how he had managed to acquire so much experience in his sixty-plus years, especially because few people would have guessed him to be over fifty. He looked distinguished and mature despite his compulsively iconoclastic and mischievous behaviors.

He was Ash’s right hand man and jack of all trades who not only helped engineer and bring to fruition many of Ash’s wildest schemes, but frequently came up with a great deal of creative inspiration of his own. He was a catalyst for almost everything that took place within the Home for Wayward Souls.

He often described himself as a “pervert’s pervert” and “something of an acquired taste like Scotch whiskey, Cuban cigars and anal sex” which was a marked contrast to Suki’s almost instantly likeable, outgoing and social nature.

For the last eight years he had worked as a telemarketer. It was supposed to just be a summer job until something better came along. Because of his involvement with The Home for Wayward Souls, he really didn’t care if something did…for the first time in many years, what he did for a living…for money…was not the most important work in his life, no matter how good he got at doing it.

Darcy was a thoroughly Southern thirty-something gal who had been around the block a few times, the sadder-but wiser woman who had risen above her working-class background of alcoholism, and the seemingly endless line of men who would limit and betray her until she got straight and became first a veterinary technician, then went on to college to become an animal behaviorist. She was still working on her master’s degree when she met and fell in love with Mark while working at the Habitat.

She was tall, blonde, thin and pretty. Even pregnant. Being almost six feet tall herself, she was very much attracted to Merle, who was the only man she had ever been with who towered over her. She became infatuated with his enormous uncircumcised cock and the way it made her feel like he was going to split her apart as she encouraged him to violate her savagely. Her advanced state of pregnancy lately had required considerable discretion on Merle’s part as well as hers.

And just to round out their perspective as well as teach them how to communicate without words we have Frederick, a Chimpanzee/Bonobo hybrid who insisted on being called a Bonanzee. His DNA structure had somehow crossed the abyss of non-human primates and closely resembled the first known hominids that later became Man.

Even before he was given The Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, he was the most sentient of primates other than man, and to all knowledge, the only one of his kind.

He taught them of the chimpanzee legend of the Origin of Man and how they had made the Great Eurasian Leap Forward during the Upper Paleolithic Revolution by way of interbreeding with aliens who came to Earth to give them something that resembled The Knowledge, thereby imparting sentience to “The Talking Monkeys”.

This group of eight had been a self-sustaining family of sorts for months now, long before their group marriage would have seemed to close the circle. As much as all of them had engaged in various polyamorous adventures on their own before they became The Eight, including a great deal of casual swinging, they had become a close-knit but closed society that had not been breached for nearly a year.

Once again, we see how rules are made to be bent, if not broken. For every absolute, there is an exception out there waiting to make itself known and with which there will come a day of reckoning.

Anastasia had described herself as “…bent, but not broken” as she had also described Suki, her new lover. Even before they met, they both sensed a chemistry between them that is not often seen in ostensibly heterosexual women that most definitely preferred men but were not afraid to acknowledge what seemed to come so naturally to them.

Perhaps not surprisingly, they quickly added Charles to the mix, although he jokingly remarked how he was simply there “to lend an air of respectability to this otherwise unsavory and disreputable group.”

Anastasia was a retired (disabled) ob/gyn nurse who was trying to break into free-lance journalism. Fortunately, her husband supported her efforts, lest she starve, as assignments were few and far between…especially ones that actually paid spendable currency of the realm.

She started doing “research” regarding the Kink/Fet community for a bi-line she was trying to sell to a magazine publisher because somewhere she had read that one should write about what you know, and what she didn’t already know she was curious and anxious to learn.

As they all lived in Florida and were close enough to represent less than a day’s drive, a “friend of a friend” had told her about Charles, Suki, and their activities and shenanigans and thought it might be a good way to “get inside” their community.

Her paternal grandfather was Sicilian and her grandmother was Lakota Oglala and Brule Sioux. She described her mother’s family as “a bowl of mixed nuts” from all over Europe and South America.

She had lived with her Sioux grandmother since she was twelve years old after her parents divorced and learned the ways of the medicine woman while in her care and considered her ethnicity to be Indian, but did not like to discuss her childhood except for her memories of her Grandmother.

She disliked ethnic labels and stereotypes in general and about Sicilians and Indians in particular, and for years was likewise very closed about sharing her knowledge and practice of Wicca, preferring to be an anonymous solitary practicing witch.

She had a lion’s mane of thick dark hair that she often dyed with henna because she liked the way it brought out the red highlights.

She had the deepest, darkest, most soulful eyes Charles had ever seen. They were kind, loving, sad, and mischievous almost all at once. You could lose yourself in them if you weren’t careful, and she frequently encouraged many to revel in reckless abandon, like the imp of the perverse she embraced.

She was ever-so slightly full of figure, the most mature of them, soft of heart and immense of soul, so much like Kali, that it wasn’t long before she had charmed the Dark Mother too . She was a woman’s woman in every sense no matter how much she liked “the boys” as well.

To watch her care for Darcy either as a nurse or as a mother to a mother-to-be was to give witness to something at once both beautiful and primordial enough to make you smile just to cover the lump in your throat (and if that’s not enough to bring a tear to your eye, I’d say you’ve got spit for blood).

Anastasia was the lioness of the pride, and Darcy was the cheetah with cub. To see them together you’d be convinced they had been cats together before in a previous life. It had been agreed she would serve as mid-wife when the time came.

Charles described Suki and Anastasia discovering each other as being “…like suddenly finding a ripe peach in your refrigerator that you never even knew you had when you were really hungry and would have settled for half a microwaved burrito if one had been there..”

The women encouraged and energized each other in a way that inspired and provoked Charles in ways he had not experienced in many years.

For the three of them, this was heaven. Since weekends were best for the three of them, it had become accepted that Anastasia was their mutual “plus one” for any activities at The Home for Wayward Souls, and she was instantly accepted by virtue of Charles and Suki’s endorsement with the understanding that at least for now, she was their guest.

When she would come to visit she would move in for no more than three days at a time. She said she had good reasons for her seventy-two hour honeymoon curfew, but never got around to really explaining them.

They were generally too busy until they were too exhausted to get around to such discussions, and by the time they were ready, she was already “gone like a cool breeze….”

“Leave them gasping for breath and begging for more before they even know where you came from or where you went…a little mystery is good for the both of them…they have security and familiarity, and I have spontaneity  and the enigma of all the women behind the all the veils.”

“I am the other woman that both of them seek because I know of what they dream and know that they will love me when I give them my very self, spun from the stuff of which their dreams are made.”

Anastasia was not boasting. If all went well, she would be back for good one day, and then they could discuss her former reasons at length. Once she had gotten “inside” she no longer wanted to go anywhere else.

And it was good…like the way God said at the end of each day when he said:  “… And it was good…” …it was very, very good.

No matter how much they brought to their table, there was plenty of room, with a place always set for Isaiah, lest no wayward traveler go hungry or without shelter during this their time of feasting upon all manner of things.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not Exactly Your Grandparents’ Honeymoon: THFWS&TTM’S

 

When people dream of fantasy honeymoons they may envision Hawaii, or perhaps Rio, maybe Cancun, or the French Riviera, Thailand, Greece, Italy, or even a world cruise when in fact they are lucky if they can afford the Poconos, Orlando, Laughlin, Nevada, or Wildwood, New Jersey. Ten days to a month does not sound like enough time to celebrate the union of two people so in love with each other that they would pledge to spend their collective lifetimes together.

Ash and Kali could have easily afforded to send Mark and Darcy anywhere for as long as they wanted, but this marriage was more than just two people in love. Besides the fact that neither of them really wanted to leave the Habitat right now for any significant length of time, or the fact that they had also wedded six others, and the truth was that no matter where they went, the Ancient Ones would be with them.

If you find yourself wondering why these communions with spirits from the other side of the abyss represent such a quest, the chances are that you yourself have never had the experience.

If you ask an affeciando of cannabis why they partake, their answers will sound vague, nebulous, and unconvincing because you are asking them to describe something outside their usual experiences…something that exists outside the realm of conventional logic and nominal values. My personal favorite is “It just makes everything better…”

Not all experience exists within the finite, the real, the rational, or the logical. It is in fact, that which transcends those boundaries that has the greatest appeal to those who seek something more.

Objectivity for its own sake denies the existence of the subjective values and experiences that enrich our lives in ways that do not require objectification.

What is real on a personal level is as real as anyone needs for their own benefit, and the only way to know those experiences is to experience them for yourself.

It’s like asking yourself what is Love, or what good is Love?

If you have had the experience, no explanation is necessary…if you have not, none will suffice.

There is no end of people who insist that if they can’t measure it, it therefore does not exist. If you try to measure an EKG or an EEG with a barometer or a volt-ohm meter and get no readings it does not mean that those impulses do not exist. You would probably get better results trying to measure their brain activity with a tire pressure gauge.

Even in polyamorous relationships there are usually primary bonds between individual couples that take precedence over their relationships with the rest of the group. Those other relationships balance and enhance the primary one in either group or line marriage.

The intimacy and privacy of simple monogamy is often more of a myth than a reality once the walls and barriers to communications start to build up. Because of the establishment of secondary lines of communication the likelihood of the tyranny of one partner over another is lessened.

In simple monogamy, it is not uncommon for one member to attempt to “put one over” on the other, and act like this is normal or reasonable and get away with it. Anger, silence or simple non-cooperation is less effective as a tool of manipulation when there are other witnesses.

In a setting like group marriage, it sometimes seems like every day is group therapy. Forbidden topics do not exist. Discussions are essentially never closed forever. Bullies do not fare well in group discussions and unreasonable demands or points of view are more likely to be challenged.

This may be the reason that divorce is almost unheard of in group marriage and infidelity is rare, although admittedly, group marriage is also frequently not recorded in the first place, but among those that have been they would appear to be more stable than simple monogamy.

As the members of the group finally got away to the Rectory, the Ancient ones followed en masse as it looked like a bizarre paranormal parade to those with the right eyes.

Darcy had decided and Merle concurred that it would be best for her to stop taking the Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil while she was pregnant, although she found that when she was with the group she experienced many of the same visions and insights as if she had taken it.

Merle conceded that it did not only appear that the effects were cumulative, but also persistent in terms of heightened sentience and improved access to all previous experiences. It was as if they received refreshment and reinforcement of the synapses and neuroconduction pathways for the table of contents of their random access memories.

Everyone else was fully charged and buzzed and even Darcy could see the luminance of her persona as a visible aura that undulated like the Aurora Borealis.

Tonight, all attentions were focused on both her and Mark who were clearly the stars of the show.

The primary unions of Ash, Kali and Merle as well as Charles and Suki seemed to buoy Mark and Darcy in a soft parade of pleasure and sensuality.

More traditional conventions and conceits of privacy were not necessary in such a setting because there was no shortage of intimacy.

Whatever garments they were still wearing were quickly shed as Suki took the lead in stripping everyone else in a most provocative and playful manner so typical of her boldly engaging ways.

As they stood together fondling and caressing each other, to the surprise of all in attendance the Ancient Ones started to do the Bandaloop Dance to the sounds of the ArchAngels emanating from the Sanctuary, who were still performing for those at the reception. In addition, all the members of the group could hear a distinct polyrhythmic accompaniment in their heads that seemed to lead the Ancient Ones in their dance.

With that, Merle, Ash Charles and Mark lifted up Darcy to place her on a large round sofa in the center of the room. The music, the rhythms and the Dance continued, as Kali and Suki began to light incense, set up a caldron for scrying, and light the fire in the fireplace.

Despite the prodigious swelling of her belly, Darcy still looked lithe and slender of limb. Her six feet of height seemed to exaggerate the effects of her pregnancy on her stomach and breasts.

There is something wonderful and marvelous about the hormones of pregnancy. Beyond the glow, and the ripe fullness of impending delivery of new life, the pendulous fullness of breasts, the swollen puffiness of the aureoles, the insistent protrusions of the nipples, the distension and enlargement of the vulva, labia and clitoris, or the round, taught swelling of the belly, there is a darkly compulsive sexual drive that seems to overtake women sometime in their third trimester.

Some who are not capable of embracing it with comfort will become secretive, angry and demanding. It is a lucky man indeed who is blessed by the company of a woman who, awash in the hormones of pregnancy and overcome with lust and passion riding wave after wave of newfound obsessions and heretofore unknown, almost boundless levels of carnal desire, trusts him enough to share them.

Some women lost in lust discover that their spouses are alarmed and intimidated by the sheer magnitude of their desire. Darcy was one of the lucky ones that wasn’t. Fortunately both Kali and Suki were also understanding and supportive as well, encouraging her to avail herself of their husbands as needed or Mark might not have survived Darcy’s appetite for semen.

 

Merle was the most frequent target of Darcy’s lust and Mark had been the first to encourage her to slake her seemingly insatiable desires with Merle, lest she drain Ash and Charles as completely as she seemed to do with Mark.

Merle was the prototype for all manner of sexual fantasy for almost any woman. His size, his stamina and general sexual prowess were legendary. For a man of such length and girth he was remarkably sensitive to Darcy’s lust while still maintaining discretion and moderation so as not to injure her.

As her pregnancy progressed she frequently indulged herself by having Merle finish in her mouth so as to swallow the enormous quantities of semen he produced when he ejaculated. She also liked to perform cunnilingus on Suki and Kali during or after they were being fucked. There seemed to be no end to her desire or imagination.

Tonight she would consummate and consume on a level heretofore unknown to even her, and all of it with the blessings and support of the other members of the group.

For anyone driven by the desire to seduce the mate of another, imagine the exhilaration of doing it with the full support and encouragement of all parties involved.

Those who follow the discipline of Tantric are familiar with the concept of Sacred Sex and tonight their passions were fueled by worshipful support aided by spirits from the other side of the abyss.

The energy and insight of experiencing a previously disembodied soul acting out within one’s body is nearly indescribable. It often starts with a sensation not unlike a hobo jumping into a moving boxcar, where the members of the group are the train. Followers of Santeria and the Church of Lukumi Babalu Aye have practiced this ritual for centuries, with roots going back to African religious rites.

These powerful spirits seek physical bodies to act out their desires, and those who provide their bodies reap enormous inspiration and escape from the experience. This is but one of many paths leading to sexual and spiritual bliss through unions with many disembodied wayward souls of tremendous power and wisdom.

Some would call them Gods. Some regard them as objects of worship. These members of the Home for Wayward Souls regarded them as welcome houseguests and guides for spiritual and sexual symbiosis.

Suddenly all eyes turned to the fire, which took on the appearance of a vision of Darcy doing the Bandaloop Dance with Mark and Frederick surrounded by literally hundreds of primates who followed her every movement in precision as if she was their queen, their goddess. Their numbers grew as the vision progressed until they were shoulder to shoulder all the way to the horizon.

Ash, Kali, and Merle had witnessed a similar more singular vision when they were instructed by Boop-Oopa-Doop (aka Betty) to seek additional members to complete their group.

From the mists of the cauldron arose a vision of what started as a swirling Yin and Yang symbol that transformed into two children, a male and a female.

With that, Darcy’s belly seemed to glow with an inner transparency until it looked as if you could see two developing babies within her womb.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Snowball Fight

The Snowball Fight

I love porn, but I don’t watch it very often anymore. I have almost never paid to watch it, and it has been years since I purchased any of it, yet it comes to me like a long-lost lover whom I am obligated to give witness without having sought her in the first place.
I am no expert on porn either. I used to know the names of most of the male and female leads who were distributed by Cal Vista during the seventies and eighties, but that’s about it. No addiction to porn
Imagine…there I am, minding my own business…more addicted to my own imagination than anything, when along comes “The Beautiful People”….
I used to know one of them. I met her a while after she tried to quit the business, or the business quit her…I’m not really sure which came first. She rolled right up to the door of my E.R. on a motorcycle she had designed and painted herself. Her back was covered in the most beautiful monochrome single-needle cholo style Tree of Life I had ever seen and she had driven to my hospital with one leg in a cast up to her hip and one crutch.
In the rain.
She was a bit disheartened when she realized I did not recognize her, but she only fucked for love or sport by the late eighties, and my ignorance made me an enigma to her.
The business had already changed at least once on her since she got her start, and she had the good sense to get out while she still had money in the bank and her house paid for. Fame is a fickle mistress and trends are like breezes on the beach.
Because I own a computer and possess a preternatural level of curiosity about Things Carnal I have noticed numerous subtle and unsubtle changes in the Industry and what it produces in terms of what and how and upon whom it chooses to focuses its lens.
I know it has been seen with more prevalence over the past several years, but I for one still feel a little uncomfortable watching the scenes where the actors and actresses spit onto either each other’s genitalia, or even into each other’s mouths.
I am not squeamish about “The Dark Kiss” (anilingus), nor do I shrink about swallowing, or even “Snowballing” (the reciprocated kiss), but even just the idea of being spat upon anywhere on my body set my comfort zone out of whack…until I thought up a script for a porno I would love to make with just the right players (no actors allowed; ‘ya gotta be a believer) just to enjoy the experience.
The film would be called “The Snowball Fight” because instead of simply passing the semen from mouth to mouth during a deep kiss, they would spit for at least several inches, or perhaps even several feet at the open mouth of the intended recipient. Of course, sometimes they will miss…but that’s just part of the fun.
But the object would be to conduct it like a Frisbee toss and catch, where the recipients sometimes make amazing efforts of skill and dedication resulting in saves that would make any major-league outfielder envious.
As a result, say for instance Lady A. blows Mister D. only to spit it across several feet to the open mouth of Lady S. before she transfers it into the mouth of say, Mister A who deposits it into the snatch of Lady S. (for safekeeping inside the goal-net).
Mister D. then goes down on Lady A. who has a great big surprise for him waiting inside her goal-net, courtesy of Mister A. whereupon Lady X. enters and gets on all fours so that Misters D. and A. can spit snowballs onto Lady X’s buttocks as Mister V. ravages her from behind, attempting to help push the spewed conglomerate of their combined viscous offerings back into the snatch of Lady X. while Lady S. lies on her back as she licks Lady X. impaled upon Mister V.’s viande.
Eventually, this could be shot along the lines of a Japanese bukkake film as Lady S., or even her designate, Lady A. could eventually receive the entire avalanche (“snowballs”) in a tsunami of viscous body fluids.
Oh, and BTW: No intention is made or implied as to the identity of any of the proposed players in the imaginary script.
If you prefer, you can go all Reservoir Dogs on it and call Lady A. Lady Red, and Lady S. could be Lady Yellow, and Mister A could be Mister Pink (he won’t like it any better than Steve Buscemi’s character did), Mister D. could be Mister White and Lady X. could be Lady Blue, and Mister V. would probably want to be Mister Black.
Upon reflection, it may be somewhat difficult to locate six really close intimate friends who are all into the same thing like this, unless they were all in a really silly mood, so as not to give it that edgy-nasty hard-core mood that was created in the films that I did see that contained elements of the above-proposed scenario. Maybe there are amateurs out there somewhere who are up to the task.
Or Maybe that’s just me.