Archive for the Vagina Category

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

 

THFWS & TTM: The Twins

Posted in A Womens Flower, Bardo Thordol, Bereavement, Bigotry, Civil Liberties, Collaboration, Crossing the Abyss, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dominance and Submission, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Escape Velocity, Explicit Sexual Language, First Amendment Rights, Gravatar, Greatest Sorrow, GROUP MARRIAGE, Interspecies Erotica, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Knowledge, Liason Between Parties, Line Marriage, Long Form, LONGREAD, longreads, Love, Mature Theme, Metaphysical Action/Adventure, Much Too Good For Children, Novel, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, Share The Love, Sorcery, The Ascent of Man, The Church of Reason, The Great Eurasian Leap Forward, The Home For Wayward Souls, The Knowledge of Good and Evil, The Liberation Through Hearing, The Rain Dance, The Talking Monkeys, the willing suspension of disbelief, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Tsukimono-suji, Upper Paleolithic Revolution, Uroboros, Vagina, Vision Quest, Water, Witchcraft, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 6, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

The Twins

When Darcy’s water broke, everyone but Darcy, Mark, Anastasia, and the midwife got out of the pool, preferring to lend their support and encouragement from the sidelines.

Episiotomies are the most frequently performed unnecessary operation in the United States (depending upon your opinion on circumcision), followed closely by cesarean section because doctors are simply not willing to take the time necessary to properly prepare a woman to birth children in the way that they have done since the beginning of time.

And because time is money, greed is the prime motivator in those decisions followed closely by laziness, a lack of imagination and an unwillingness to embrace a multi-disciplined, holistic mode of therapy.

It is never easy to deliver twins, and they are considered a “high-risk” case at best, but if there are no other complications, midwives will better prepare a woman to deliver just by virtue of the way in which they facilitate the effacement and dilation of the labia, and vulva, thereby rendering a tear-free delivery…in most cases, which was why the Neonatologist was also present…for all the other complications that could possibly arrive.

Cutting to pre-empt tearing is like amputating a limb to prevent a future break that may never occur. The simple fact that the suturing done to stitch the episiotomy frequently results in painful postpartum sex, sometimes for years seems to escape most doctors, who never feel a thing.

Anastasia had met Kat(rima) while they were studying together in nursing school. They became fast friends during some very fast times, but eventually Kat dropped out to study acupuncture and become a midwife. She had also delivered both of Anastasia’s children under water.

Darcy had watched her youngest sister being born at home on the kitchen table because her mother could not afford health care insurance. She had come from a family of commercial fishermen in tidewater Virginia and most of her early life had been spent learning how to “make do” on next to nothing just to survive.

To suddenly be the primary focus for any needs she or her children could ever want for with money no object was to feel gratefully empowered in ways she had never before known.

It takes a very special kind of woman to pull and stretch the surrounding flesh of the vagina sufficiently to accommodate the delivery of a child. If you have ever been privileged to witness a birth with the assistance of a midwife and compare it to any hospital delivery you’ve ever seen you quickly realize  how nurturing and baby-friendly the former is compared to the industrial atmosphere of a hospital delivery.

Many women may tend to feel uncomfortable touching another woman in such an intimate manner as is done by the midwife, but compared to almost all males, they are generally more nurturant and intimate with each other, perhaps by nature, or perhaps because our culture does not embrace homophobia as tenaciously among females as by the generally fearful, self-conscious, strutting, posturing roosters that the males of our species are so often want to make of themselves, especially in their early youth.

Regardless, some women are also programmed for nurturance from a very early age and Kat was one of them. She loved women as much as she did men and she fearlessly and self-consciously embraced an inborn commitment to caring for anyone who deserved her attentions.

And in all fairness, if an OB/GYN doctor were to perform the same procedures in a hospital setting, they would probably be up on charges before they left the parking lot.

Discretion is the lesbian consigliere of Valor.

Meanwhile, most of the Ancient Ones had arrived. The spirits of Lukumi, Los Guerreros, Roti, The Dark Mother (Kali’s almost accidental namesake), Ganesh, and seemingly countless others either sat perched upon the peak of the roof, on the branches of the surrounding trees, or were joining Darcy, Mark, Anastasia and Kat, the midwife in the water, which is one of the most amazing and provocative ways to experience their presence.

Water that contains the usual minerals and electrolytes found in either municipal systems or well water is an excellent conductor of electro-magnetic energy, especially if it contains amniotic fluids, and a number of  the Ancient Ones liked to playfully caress, poke and prod those who can allow themselves to be open to the sensations they impart as they flash back and forth across the pool like dolphins preparing to tail-walk over the water.

As the contractions came closer and closer together and her dilation increased, the cauldrons began to boil and steam and it was at just about that same time when Boop-Oopa-Doop (aka “Betty”) flew in and landed in a Key Lime tree next to the fires beneath the cauldrons.

“What’s up, Toots?” she asked of no one in particular.

Almost in unison, they waved and replied “Boop-Oopa-Doop!” She was widely known throughout the multi-verse, and generally well-liked by all.

As a fellow embezzler of time and space, She was quite adept in arriving precisely when what appeared to be a portent of something spectacular was just about to happen.

The visions that appeared in the cauldrons were similar to those that had foretold of Darcy’s ordained place within the primary group.

It was the image of Darcy surrounded by thousands of primates doing the Bandaloop Dance at sunset. This time, there was a melody that could be heard by everyone, yet recognized by no one, except the primates outside the Sanctuary, and perhaps Darcy, who also began to hum along with it.

The ArchAngels, who were watching and listening to the images and sounds projected and amplified from the cameras quickly incorporated it into their song cycle while the saxophones began to answer and the rest of the band reinforced the melody with harmonizations and counterpoint of their own.

In the area beneath the screens, the Primates had assembled to perform the Bandaloop Dance in unison with the video feed from the cauldrons. They never seemed to need any coaching; it was as if it was something native to their instincts.

As the singing and dancing reached a crescendo, Darcy delivered the first of the twins, a vigorously healthy screaming female, followed in due time by an equally beautiful and perfect male.

There was no video coverage of the delivery, but everyone who witnessed it poolside fell into silence as they each recognized the uniqueness of the twins.

“Unique” is one of the most frequently misused words of the last fifty years, but in this case it was no hyperbole, because in the entire history of the earth, there have never been two children born who possessed the appearance of these two children.

The female was thankfully much less hirsute than the male and absolutely gorgeous to behold, but there was a decidedly simian appearance to her which was not so much apparent until one saw the two of them together, because the male was undoubtedly the offspring of Frederick, who was himself the only one of his kind.

Aside from a slightly exaggerated supra-orbital ridge, somewhat longer than average arm length compared to their overall length and a little more space between the bottom of the nose and the top of the upper lip they looked very much like any other human infant, except for the feet, which were structurally identical to those of the Chimpanzee. This meant that both of the twins had four opposable thumbs each.

This would prove to be the beta upgrade to human feet for these children, who quickly learned to use them like a second pair of hands whenever their shoes were off, which never happened in public, lest  it give away the identity of their father.

But perhaps most importantly, their spines and pelvis, as well as the alignment of their hips were consistent with bi-pedal ambulation. Also, their foramen magnums were located more anteriorly at the bases of the skulls, consistent with a vertical stance directly above the spine.

Given the genetic diversity of the human animal, their appearance was surprisingly human.

The eventual legal decision as to whether or not they be considered Hominid would be prolonged as much as possible for their protection, but eventually, after they are given the opportunity to establish the authenticity of their genetic structure, as young adults it would become their time to be recognized as who they really were.

Since they were not born in a hospital, although their footprints were recorded and notarized by their attorneys, no publicly accessible documents would be filed unless absolutely necessary.

Because the dearth of research, evidence and testimony of Frederick was so well documented, he alone would best serve as the face, the voice, the words and the ideas of a truly self-aware, sentient being demanding his rights to recognition of his ascension to a higher level than was previously judged as at least adequate by the gatekeepers of the most exclusive country club in the animal kingdom called Humanity.

Once his case was won in court, the twins would have their day of recognition and autonomy without outside interference.

It was uncanny however in the way in which their facial expressions were the visage of Frederick’s. Not something one could quite put their finger on to tell of the identify of the father unless you knew Frederick well enough to recognize the similarities.

Although their skin was quite pale, their hair was jet black, but finer than that of the other great apes. Their features looked beautifully exotic…perhaps slightly Asian, or even African or some allele of the North American aboriginals; refined, yet primal, with very large, dark brown eyes. They were strangely beautiful, and once you began to look at them, it was almost impossible to avert your eyes from their soulful faces.

To a casual observer they appeared to be beautiful normal humans in nearly all aspects, but given the transcendent understanding between the members of the group, it was immediately common knowledge as to the paternity of both of them, though no one spoke directly of it that night, because they already knew that everyone else knew.

The remarkable similarity of the genes and chromosomes between Chimpanzees, Gorillas, and Orangutans with human genetic DNA had enabled a union of Frederick’s sperm and two of Darcy’s eggs, despite a long-successful tubal ligation.

Vigorously demanding their evolutionary participation in the replication of their currently unique species, they out swam all the other combined seeds deposited into Darcy’s love canal that evening, just as two eggs had also almost inexplicably made a quantum leap past what was believed to be an impenetrable barrier.

There have been legends and rumors of unions with either male or female human participants and simians throughout the last fifty years or more, but no surviving evidence and great hatred, disgust and violent hostility are often expressed at even the mention of such offspring.

A doctor in Malaysia for instance who allegedly intended to artificially inseminate two female orangutans with human sperm more than forty years ago was murdered, and his laboratory and domestic facilities burned to the ground along with the two female orangutans.

A mere rumor possibly fabricated by poachers that Diane Fossi was copulating with the gorillas whom she was studying likewise may have prompted her murder.

The subject of interspecies erotica is likely to invoke images of Tijuana donkey-shows, women from Amsterdam copulating with huge canines or sheepherders and hillbillies in general. Once the sniggering and fascination over the perceived degradation of the human subjects stops (shortly after the titillation factor wears off), the tendency is to get hautily self-righteous and violent.

As disgusted and revolted as so many claim to be, few can or will avert their eyes once they should witness it.

The book of Leviticus states that if a man shall lay with an animal, that they both shall be killed. It seems unfathomable that the ancient Hebrews believed that somehow the animal was complicit in the commission of the act, but then again, the book of Leviticus is harsh, which may explain why it is such a favorite of Pentecostals and other similarly bloodthirsty and judgmental fundamentalist Christians.

If you stop and think about it, the only true fundamentalist Christians would be the Messianic Jews who were the descendants of either the authors or scribes of the early new testament and the Dead Sea scrolls.

Ironically, it should be noted that some of the most dangerous fundamentalists would be the modern-day ultra right-wing sex-and-pleasure-hating American fundamentalist Christians, who generally want no part whatsoever of Judaism (including the Old Testament) unless it justify self-serving, vindictive, self-righteous wrath, punishment and judgmental retribution. (Muslim Jihadists notwithstanding…keeping in mind that it was the authors of the Crusades who have also sown those seeds.)

The twins were the first scientifically verifiable prototype of this union, and no one intended to make the results known to the general public for the sake of the safety of all parties concerned.

As you may recall, during The Great Eurasian Leap Forward, after Man first diverged from his primal ancestors, the offspring showed a remarkable increase in each successive generation in intellectual capacity due to the doubling of the SRGAP2  gene despite an eventually lowered total brain mass compared to the earlier, larger Neanderthal . Similarly, these children would later prove to be far more advanced than any primate…even Frederick, had ever been.

In the light of the previous events of the day, everyone in attendance was openly grateful for the revelation of the paternity of the children.

No one had suspected, least of all Darcy that it was even within the range of possibility that she was capable of conception in the first place, let alone by way of the world’s one and only Bonanzee.

Everyone in attendance openly displayed tears of joy as Anastasia and Mark helped hold the twins to Darcy’s breasts. She was absolutely radiant, looking for all the world like the proudest mother of all time…the way every mother should.

It was about this time that the visions from  the cauldrons began to change. A face began to appear that looked as if it was painted in smoke. Although initially vague and indistinct, it eventually took on the appearance of Frederick’s face.

Although the synchronization between the lips and the voice that everyone heard was delayed, nonetheless everyone who witnessed it clearly perceived the sound of Frederick’s voice in their heads as clearly as if he was personally whispering the words directly into their ears.

It was later confirmed that whether or not they had taken The Knowledge everyone who heard them verified the words that Frederick imparted to them.

First he repeated his last words spoken to the world at the time of his death. The recordings that were made of the camera feeds showed the video, but no audio was recorded. Fortunately, for posterity he also signed his message as he had before.

To it, he added a final remark. “For those who wished me harm, you have not seen the last of me. I was not born to be so easily dispatched. For those of you who knew and loved me, you too have not seen the last of me, because there is so much more to unfold as our work progresses.”

“Just as Man received a hand-up fifty-thousand years ago, it is now time for Man to lend his hand to his simian cousins to allow the natural evolutionary process to begin again. Who amongst you would deny us that opportunity?”

“Since the time when Man first traded Instinct and Intuition for Reason, he has suffered for it on so many levels that the members of our inner circle have now only really begun to realize.”

“The ancestors of Man can provide him your connection to our mutual primal past, including telepathy…if you can just learn to stop talking and relying on words to express yourselves. You have as much to gain as we do in the symbiosis of our union.”

“Our children will become the beta-version of Mankind. It is time to embrace our next evolutionary quantum leap.”

“Keep me in your hearts so that my spirit may abide there with you all as you raise our children together.”

This was clearly an event that had shocked and surprised a group who had become accustomed to the bizarre and unbelievable in a world where the impossible had become commonplace.

Most religiously oriented persons of any faith would have considered the entire event an abomination, or the work of the Devil, were they to learn of it, but in the hearts and minds of the inner circle of The Home for Wayward Souls, it was a well-received serendipity.

And so it was, that this group who did not believe in a disapproving, punitive, vindictive and jealous God the Creator (either Aravat or Eloah, Elah or Eolith in Hebrew) nonetheless learned to embrace a union with what has been referred to as the Guf, or Treasury of Souls without conflict or contradiction, and who believed in the persistence of the Soul

And it was good…very, VERY GOOD…like, well…(you know the rest)…..

Namaste

A Funny Thing happened to me on the way to my Blog

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Adventures of Captain Mike, Blogging, Collaboration, Cumming Back, 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, Explicit Sexual Language, Fornicated, Fornicating, Fun, Goddess, Humor, Imp Of The Perverse, Interspecies Erotica, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Liason Between Parties, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sexual Action/Adventure, Share The Love, Sorcery, Suki, The Id, The Rain Dance, Theater of the Mind, Tsukimono-suji, Vagina, What You Have Conjured Up, Witchcraft with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 4, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

A Funny Thing happened to me on the way to my Blog
I recently read a comment by one of our fellow bloggers that acknowledged the conflict we often face between our imagined obligations to feed this wood-chipper of words and ideas more material against the demands of our everyday lives.
Ah Duality! All is one, even when we don’t possess the eyes to recognize it.
Without all the stuff that keeps us too busy to write, we would have nothing to inspire us. So for that reason I have tried of late to make better choices about what stuff I allow to make me too busy to write. I’m at least twenty years behind schedule to attempt to do any justice to my life so far.
Too often, we act like teenagers who treat every incursion into the never-ending video gaming, texting reality show of their lives as if it was an interruption of our entitled play time.
Then again, it all depends on why you write….
I had just settled in to try to keep up with the story of my latest novel that is unfolding in my head faster than I can chronicle it when there was a knock at my door….
Unfortunately, it was not Ed McMahon…of course it wasn’t…he’s been dead for some time now. If it had been, that would mean that either I was also dead, or that I was dreaming. ..
Once, during a dream I smoked a joint with Sam Kinison shortly after he died. I suddenly realized the dilemma, and asked him how he was. He said he was fine, considering he had just gotten married again….
Instead it was Captain Mike and he was either trying to tell me about Wahoo hitting Ballyhoo in one hundred and sixty feet of water, or giant bull dolphins (Mahi, not Flipper) hanging out under the weed line six miles off shore.
Sometimes when he mixes the rum and the methadone it becomes very difficult to interpret his rants.
The really exciting/scary part is that in either case, he wants me to go with him. It is exciting because he has a very large fishing boat that he sometimes uses to make a considerable sum of money, which allows him to pay his chosen “first mate” more money than I make in a week to go fishing on my day off. I love to fish.
It is scary because in the twenty-five years I have known him, he has shown absolutely no regard for his own personal safety. He is Captain Ahab, The Ancient Mariner, The Old Man and the Sea, and Captains Bly and Queeg trapped in the body and brain of Gary Busey.
I have known him since he was an EMT-driver for the municipal emergency medical rescue service for which I worked many years ago as a paramedic.
He has the constitution of a cockroach and there are more than a few of us who believe it may be impossible to kill him. He frequently puts himself in predicaments that normal humans would never survive. That is where our friendship started…getting him out of trouble and managing to keep us both alive.
I could fill a whole book of short stories about his predilection for chaos. Maybe someday I will.
I also know that on more than one occasion, upon having participated in one of his hare-brained schemes surviving by margins as thin as half a coat of paint the sheer exhilaration of the experience often provoked me with an almost uncontrollable desire to summons the superhuman strength it would take to strangle the last breath from his body.
It has not been an easy friendship, and now shows no signs of getting any easier.
And yet somewhere, out of his considerable body of quirks, addictions, and proclivities for self-destructive urges there lurks a sort of creature that has never been seen in the light of day that hides inside his brain to prompt him to follow his preternatural ability to find and capture fish of every type and size. Shellfish, crab, and every sort of scaly, finny denizen of the great blue alike are the objects of his desire, and none are immune.
Women love him, fish fear him.
For him, the wind is never too high, or the water too rough. On one occasion, he piloted his craft back to dock with no wheelhouse or bridge left, sitting on a milk crate with the wheel trapped between his knees.
When the wheels of insanity are spinning inside his head he has talked me into participating in far too many adventures that involved multiple felonies and serious risk to life and limb.
We were at our best when we were taking huge risks to rescue patients without much serious regard for our own safety. The county for which we worked eventually made us sign a “hold harmless” form in case we got killed or injured doing any number of things such as going into the water before back-up arrived.
I always believed that when I was doing the right thing, or fighting the good fight, that I was somehow “protected”…maybe even invincible. But the rest of the time we were just a couple of red-ass fools who should have known better, but didn’t act like it.
Mike drove us down Blimp Road one night when we inducted yet another woman into the “Code Three Club” (think of the “Mile High Club” except in an ambulance with lights and sirens). She was a videographer tasked with following an EMS unit for twenty-four hours for a documentary she was going to make.
(I later married that last inductee….)
There are times when I miss those days, but today was not one of them.
I had cranked up the word processor to get rid of some nervous energy I was feeling in anticipation of a visit from a fellow blogger whom I was most anxious to meet. I had no idea what she looked like, but she has the spirit of an angel.
She is still a neophyte; quite full of passion and idealism. She is probably the most unabashedly avid/rabid fan I will ever have the good fortune to encounter, and she has a certain way with words that inspires me at times.
She lived a few hours away, but was surprisingly enthusiastic about taking the drive.
Of course, she is married…I have been lead to believe it is a very open relationship, but as a gentleman I am also inclined to believe it would no doubt be best to keep her identity “on the down low” at least until she chooses to break radio silence of her own volition.
I know of but a few things that exceed Mike’s rapacious appetite to kill fish or risk his life, those being Drugs, alcohol, and intimate contact with the opposite sex.
Suki was as anxious as I to meet the mystery blogger and was in no mood to put up with Captain Mike’s nonsense. He adored Suki and tended to be a bit of a lecherous pest around her no matter how hard he tried to mind his manners.
When he is drunk he reminds me of one of those poodles you just can’t shake off your leg when you go visit your aunt.
We were unsure what to do with Mike. I wasn’t even sure we had enough booze in the house to wait for him to pass out, and I had no intention today of all days to go out to sea in a boat.
This does not happen often, so make careful note of the above statement.
As luck would have it, suddenly Peppermint Patty had come knocking on our door to ask to borrow a pack of cigarettes.
There is a term in the Florida Keys called “Conch Borrowing;” there are a number of interesting aspects to it, but one of the most important is that it does not generally involve the obligation to give the borrowed item back which is just as well because once she borrows a pack, she does not generally come back until enough time has lapsed that she can pretend to have forgotten about the first pack.
As medically non-compliant schizophrenics go, she can be fairly interesting company, depending on how bored you really are…especially if you are interested in seeing any of the adult films in which she starred over twenty years ago….In just the right light, you can almost see the resemblance…and the tattoos are in fact, identical…and she loves to spread her talents amongst her fans.
Captain Mike, for all his flaws and scars has one characteristic that has made him a pussy-magnet, even now. He has the most disarmingly bright ice-blue eyes I have ever seen, and few women are immune to his “School-Boy Heart” charm and his skinny body-language that is half Jimmy Stewart, half Michael Fredericks.
Patty’s eyes met Mike’s. With the morning light behind her as she stood in the doorway of our trailer, you could see right through her dress and it was obvious that she was not wearing anything under it.
Little details like that never went unnoticed by Captain Mike (…and he had plenty of cigarettes).
Patty then asked Suki if she had ever seen her do DP before as she shifted her gaze back and forth between Mike and myself until Suki reminded her that she had (it was a lie, but Patty was much too crazy to realize it).
With that, I gave Mike a bottle of Bacardi Select Rum and suggested they take the party over to Patty’s trailer where they could see the ocean from her bedroom window.
Even Patty knew that was a lie, but she just winked at me and smiled. (She had once told me that if I held my ear to her snatch that I could hear the ocean, but I never tried to find out if it was really true.)
As they strolled arm in arm back to Peppermint Patty’s trailer, I could hear Captain Mike telling her how Jimmy Buffet had written the song “Jamaica Mistaka” about him and how he had once flown a small private plane between two pilings on the Seven-Mile bridge, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before she would be showing Mike the first anal video she ever shot with Ron Jeremy.
We were still laughing about it when my friend the lady blogger drove up. She and Suki had talked several times before on the phone, and it was heartwarming to see just how well two ladies who had never met before could strike up a friendship.
I later learned that they had been “pen-pals” for over a month and I really think Suki was as enthusiastic about meeting Ms. A. as I was.
Suki had already plugged in the vaporizer and now promised to show our new friend her collection of Japanese Pillow-books while I called a nearby restaurant to order Tai take-out.
But the real reason I didn’t get any writing done that day was because of what I discovered when I returned with the food….
As much of a confirmed pervert and connoisseur of (nearly) all things carnal as I am, there is a strong streak of Southern Gentleman that runs deeply through my character that prevents me from going into the details of what ensued that afternoon, that evening and for most of Saturday morning…
Nah! I’m just bullshitting you…They just made me promise to let them tell you about it in their own blogs in the next few days, and I am, if nothing else, a man of my word….
…And that, dear friends is the reason I did not have my homework ready for Monday morning…no, the dog did not eat it…no schedule conflicts with graduation ceremonies or final exams. No car trouble. No issues with the Police. I did not have technical problems with my computer, nor did I suffer from some mysterious malady.
And if anyone else has any excuses for why they have not been writing, I hope your reasons were at least as good…and if you have, please honey! I want to hear all the details.
PS: Look for the rest of the story to appear soon in two blogs I hope you have the good fortune to read in the near future.

For Occasional Use Only as Directed…

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Appreciation, Celebration, Collaboration, Conjured Up Next, Cumming Back, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Erotic Poetry, Explicit Sexual Language, Fornicating, Fun, Goddess, His Penis Her Vagina, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Liason, Love, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Metaphysical Action/Adventure, Much To Good For Children, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Poetry, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, Sorcery, Spring, The Id, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Tsukimono-suji, Uroboros, Vagina, What You Have Conjured Up, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 5, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

An angel crash-landed

at Villa Dreamland’s

temporary encampment,

The Home for Wayward Souls.

Loosely clad in

terry shorts

and a satin

team jacket

with only a few of the bottom buttons

fastened,

allowing

the free-range puppies

to

wrestle and cavort

beneath its logo.

***

As I wrestled with the gatekeeper

to my realm of Velocity and Power,

she appeared

out of nowhere.

She noted we shared the same brand

and marks;

the co-conspiring

symbols

of

Speed and Mystery.

I was surprised

when I realized

it wasn’t a Raiders jacket

after all;

(as it turned out

she was a stretcher-bunny

long ago and had developed a taste

for icons and talismans that

captured my attentions….)

“What a coincidence…”

I foolishly assumed.

Part naughty tomboy,

part wood-nymph,

her long chestnut hair

was everywhere,

like a lions mane.

Her feline eyes

sparkled slightly with mischief

while she made suggestions

as to how to regain control

of my access

to time and space.

We conferred

on a few points,

concurred,

and then she

set upon the project

as if it was her own

(with my blessing

and assistance).

Clad only in a bathrobe,

my attempts to access

points below the dashboard

did not go unnoticed,

as she smiled slightly, then

sighed approvingly.

Ignition and liftoff

confirmed our success

as she began to close the case,

and I felt myself falling

yet again,

with no sign of impact

anytime soon.

***

This trailer park angel

is a newfound

neighbor,

but she quickly advised

she could not be taken for granted

and had a life of her own,

her precautionary statements

contrasting her jovial demeanor

She warned

“Take only as directed.”

“Use with caution.”

“For Occasional Use Only.”

“May be habit-forming.”

“May lead to respiratory arrest.”

(She already took my breath away once…)

***

“See ya in the post office, kiddo…”

she whispered in my ear.

(What?) I wondered?

“…the rogue’s gallery…

on the wall,

with the other gangsters….”

She winked playfully

and then I knew….

“You owe me one…”

she said.

“If you got the time later,

maybe you can

help me with a tune-up

I’d like to get done

before my kid gets home from school.”

“…Maybe tonight

you can even

introduce me to your wife…

tell her my name is Mata Hari

and we’ll call her Tokyo Rose…”

***

This woman of mystery,

this trailer-park tomboy angel

with slightly singed wings,

a lover of pearl necklaces,

with a need for speed

reminds me…

“In the Springtime

the rains come

and the grass

grows all by itself…”

Life returns.

Baraka Bashad.

This Theater of the Mind

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Confessions of a Mad Philosopher, Dancing in Dreamland, Dirty, Dominance and Submission, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Explicit Sexual Language, Fornicating, Fun, Humor, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Much To Good For Children, Much Too Good For Children, Philosophical Sexuality, Philosophical Sexuality, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Random Observations, Sacrilege, Satire, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, The Home For Wayward Souls, The Id, The Talking Monkeys, Theater of the Mind, Vagina, What You Have Conjured Up, Witchcraft, Zen with tags , , , , , , on December 30, 2013 by dreamlanddancing

WARNING: ADULT CONTENT

This Theater of the Mind

All the world’s is a stage…(that we’re going through)…and we are all players in this Theater of the Mind….

I was wondering the other day if people ever choose their religions by what sins they would be committing when they do commit them?

I suppose that if a man (or woman) can choose their own poison, they should also be allowed to choose their own punishment….

(Imagine, in my perfect world, a guy goes to confession… he says to the priest “Father, forgive me…I masturbated five times a day last week.”, What should I do as an act of contrition? whereupon the priest says…”Look…here’s One Hundred Dollars…go downtown and pick up a Catholic hooker named Rose Flannigan…you’ll recognize her right away…she’s a ginger with freckles and carrot-top red hair…and take her to dinner, and treat her really nicely before you fuck her…it will do you both a world of good…she needs the money and the validation, and you need to get out more.”)

I mean, virtually any life any of us chooses to live is essentially an acceptance of certain codified rules and laws that determine what a priori assumptions and conditions must be present to support one view of reality, and almost all of it seems to be someone else’s invention…like gown-ups playing children in adult clothes, only with less imagination.

Whether you are a Hell’s Angel or an investment banker, your mode of dress and behaviors are rather rigidly pre-determined if you desire safe passage through the realms of either.

This is what separates cannibal headhunters from family court attorneys, even though on the surface, many of their behaviors are remarkably similar, but ah! I digress….

What concerns me the most is why most Western religions hate sex so much, worship virginity, preach abstinence, and generally eschew Fun? Why are we so quick to condemn behaviors that naturally satisfy our most basic needs and desires?

What would our world be like if there was such a thing as an Episcopal temple prostitute? Why not “Whores of Mensa”?

Who says? Under what authority? Your God, or mine?

Similarly, Kink/Fet, LGBTG, and Polyamorous “Communities” all seem to need rules, guidelines, bi-laws, charters, sanctions, and their own newspapers and magazines, issuing statements, pronouncements and whitepapers to tell people the difference between right and wrong, or appropriate vs. inappropriate for that particular group’s members so that they know how to behave.

I italicized “Communities” because it is odd that although we do so much to separate “Us” from those “Not like Us” economically, racially, and culturally, there is not generally a “Gay Town” or “Swingers Corners”, or even concepts like “The Understated Elegance of Bondage Manors…(a very well-disciplined community)”.

Nudist colonies are the notable exception. It might be nice to live in a gated community that was inhabited only by fellow perverts of a similar stripe, for instance, but then again….

There is a decided lack of diversity in each of the “Alternative Lifestyles” to the point that there is a great deal of bashing of transgender and bisexual individuals within the Gay/Lesbian communities, for instance.

Why learn to think outside one box only to crawl back into another one?

I enjoy the company of just about every type of pervert that exists, but it seems like I end up moving from one circle to another with very little overlap or congruency. Most people seem to need concentricity just to feel validated.

After a few years pursuing any style of living, you start to resemble others of a similar persuasion, whether it be hairstyles, humor, tattoos, scars, or attitude and demeanor, and after a while you can tell who is who even when we’re naked.

I prefer the adventure of experimentation. Why do I have to join your union or wear your flag just to get naked with you? Sometimes I like the top, other times, perhaps the bottom…I love the smell of leather in the evening…whether it’s in my hand, or against my skin…and although I prefer the feather to the actual live chicken, I try to keep my mind, and my options open….

I figure you ought to try anything at least three times, just to make sure you got it right before you make a judgment about it.

Are there any other Eclectic Omnivores out there? What about Sexually Deviant Scientists? Pervert Philosophers? Free-lance reporters for International Pornographic? Or even Dr. Satan’s All-Volunteer Human Meat-Puppet Show? (It’s hilarious!)

How about an Actor’s Guild for the Theater of the Mind? There’s one union to whom I might consider paying dues….

Feel free to ring me up.

THFWS & TTM’s: TaDa!

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Conjured Up Next, Crossing the Abyss, Cumming Back, Dirty, Drug Experience, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Human Stew, Imp Of The Perverse, Interspecies Erotica, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Liason, Long Form, Love, Metaphysical Action/Adventure, Much Too Good For Children, Novel, Novel, Philosophical Sexuality, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sacrilege, Sentience, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, The Ascent of Man, The Home For Wayward Souls, The Id, The Knowledge of Good and Evil, The Talking Monkeys, The Wisdom, Vagina, What You Have Conjured Up with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 6, 2013 by dreamlanddancing

WARNING! EXTREME SEXUAL CONTENT OF A VERY EXPLICIT AND UNCENSORED NATURE. ADULTS ONLY! REFERENCES TO DRUGS AND PAGAN SEXUAL PRACTICES. NOT FOR CHILDREN. DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT VIEWING THIS AT WORK (UNLESS YOU WORK IN THE SEX INDUSTRY). NOT INTENDED FOR ANYONE UNDER EIGHTEEN YEARS OF AGE, OR THE MENTALLY OR PHYSICALLY INFIRM, UNLESS YOUR DOCTOR HAS STATED THAT YOUR HEART IS HEALTHY ENOUGH FOR EXTREMELY ABBERANT SEX…THERE! I SAID IT…(AS IF THAT IS LIKELY TO STOP ANONE EXCEPT PRUDES AND THE GENERALLY FEARFUL)…

TaDa!

Given the preceding events, it is nonetheless at least interesting to ponder why a naked woman who is in the midst of getting publicly fucked by a sorcerer in front six other naked seekers of enlightenment, several of whom are also similarly engaged, would suddenly feel embarrassment, just because it was her panties that her charge was sniffing and fondling in the vision that had been conjured….

This was about as open-minded an audience as you will ever find anywhere, but there is a chasm wider than the Olduvai Gorge that separates human and all other animal forms of sexuality.

Keep in mind, all seven have taken a psychoactive drug so powerful that it has enabled them to have already experienced simultaneous visions and telepathic powers of communication…

(“How did Frederick get the panties in the first place…did Darcy give them to him…how else?”) Suki blurted (in her mind, which just happened to be in the transmit mode).

(“I’m sure there is a logical explanation…I hope…Is there one?”) questioned Charles.

(“I understand that it is only natural that Frederick is now of an age where his sexuality has come to the forefront…”) mused Ash.

(“I’m just glad it wasn’t one of mine.”) Merle breathed a sigh of relief.

(“What?!?!?) (Darcy had been heretofore unaware of Merle’s cross-dressing proclivities.)

(“Oh shit!) as Mark realized not only the incident where the panties were lost, but also how lucky they were that the lost undergarment had not been left in the company-owned Land Cruiser.

All in an instant.

Just as quickly, the entire group relived that afternoon with Mark and Darcy as they pieced together the details of how all this took place, right up to the point where Darcy recalled having replaced the original pair, which she now had unwittingly revealed to the rest of the group as well…including Mark, who had been previously unaware.

(“Well…they were dirty and old…OK…I was a little flattered in a rather perverse way…he obviously likes my…pheromones…that’s a vital factor in animal behaviors…I thought he would appreciate something…fresher…but with a replenished scent…”)

(“Lately, between the signing lessons and the unofficial telepathy exercises, we have become increasingly aware of Frederick’s crush on Darcy…it was inevitable. He’s reached that age, and he has no mate, like the other primates at the Habitat do…it’s strange and sad.”) Mark was quick to point out.

(“This is the point where all the previous Chimp experiments eventually hit a brick wall of sexual frustrations so severe that the subjects started attacking their trainers…we can’t afford to lose him that way…he’s the only one of his kind…he calls himself a Bonanzee, you know…) Darcy’s thoughts trailed off into silence.

As the group engaged themselves (as well as each other) in thought and speculation about how to get Frederick laid, it was impossible to ignore the fact that they were beginning to experience a sexual frenzy that some, less broad-minded, un-drugged individuals might find bizarre, given the juxtaposition of stimuli.

For some time now, Merle had been cautiously insistent in the pressure he applied to the stroking movements of his now rigid cock; a little further in and out each time, and with increasing tempo, moving little more than his hips in the process, as he grasped Darcy’s hips firmly.

By the point that he was able to finally squeeze first, the enormous corona, and then the thickened shaft where the foreskin slid back and piled up as it folded back upon itself, Darcy was beginning to experience an even further altered state that can only be described by such words as “Unghhh!…Mmmm!…Aaaaahhhhh! OOOOhhhh!, OOOOhhhh!, OOOhhhh!, (and my own personal favorite)…OOOOOOOOhhhhhhhh FFFFFFuck!!!

Darcy had never experienced childbirth, but previous descriptions by other more experienced women brought to mind the expression “Ring of Fire” as she felt the most exquisite, searing expansive sensation that felt like her throbbing Love Canal was being dredged to permit the Titanic clear passage.

Despite her tall stature, she was rather thin and quite petite. Although she had experienced the pleasures that only an oversized cock or dildo can induce on several previous occasions, her outer labia were small, although the inner folds tended to protrude past the outer margins, hinting at what she called her “Magic Hat” that seemed capable of swallowing up objects larger than itself. Tonight however, she felt as if Merle was trying to park a semi inside a phone booth, as the image of the Tardis leapt into her mind.

She was sopping wet by the time Merle began to thrust more forcefully and deeply as he plowed the furrow between her legs until there was no more room inside at all. As he pistoned his thick shaft in and out, small amounts of air forced themselves out of her pussy in a wet, audible squoosh with each stroke.

She was delirious and on the verge of hysteria as she heard a voice yelling (“That’s it!…Tear that pussy apart!…Knock the bottom out of that cunt!”) only to realize she was hearing the group, led by Mark, chanting inside their collective heads, as she was verbalizing the words like a pornographic cheerleader.

Rati had once again materialized in her outfit, sans panties, doing handsprings around the Square Circle and finishing by going through it to do a full split, covering Ash’s face under her sopping snatch.

Ash was on his back, and Kali was astride his hips, planted firmly on his gorgeous dong as Mark violated her ass in frenzied abandon as she joyously gyrated to meet the thrusts of both her lovers like some kind of synchronized clockworks of flesh.

Charles and Suki were almost indistinguishable from the gang of spirits that had materialized around them as they found themselves levitated, and slowly rotating and tumbling in air as every orifice and appendage was either filled or impaled upon every imaginable combination of couplings.

The walls of the living room had been transformed into a series of steps that resembled a Mayan temple on all sides, with the blackest, most star-filled sky above them, at least sixty feet above the floor. The steps were being used by an assembled multitude of beings, some recognizable, and others unfathomable, all chanting the same thing. From time to time, an enormous eyeball, or part of a face would obliterate the sky as if some giant was peering into one of those crystal snowscenes you see on tables during the holidays as the chanting continued. It was not one word, but it was one word, the same word, shouted in the language of each of the members of the audience, some of whom were also copulating with each other in the stands.

The Knowledge was translating every word perfectly to the Seven.

The word was FUCK!

Inside their collective heads, the roar of the crowd was deafening, although they could also clearly hear each other’s breathing and the squishing, squooshing and slapping sounds of sex. They were panting like dogs; grunting like elk in rut, drooling and slobbering, sometimes speaking in the unknown tongues of their audience. Sweat dripped profusely as if they were melting from the sheer heat of their sex, as the floor and walls disappeared and the earth opened up to swallow everything around them, as they plummeted toward what seemed to be the center of the earth.

As they came together, they had the sensation of being ejected from an erupting volcano of semen, sweat, and the saline gumbo of co-mingled fluids of copulation, as if being ejaculated from some monumental phallus, as they lost all consciousness.

They later attested to the fact that at that precise moment, they all believed they had experienced their individual and collective deaths en masse

And it was Good…like the way it says in Genesis, at the end of each day of the creation.

❣Emotional Queen👑

🎭दो चेहरें हैं,दो लहज़े हैं मेरे...और हर सवाल के दो जवाब "एक मैं जो लिखती हूँ दूजा तुम जो जानते हो"!! 👑Queen Of My Own Thought❣ #MyBlogMyFeeling

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