It’s happening again – I’ve got to let it out, I’m writing too much real fiction, The Wind Whisperer, and no sex, well, not that much in the story at least; people have been saying that I’ve should write more of the real stuff, fiction, essays, I enjoy that part of writing, for me it’s therapy, letting out the frustration, and that usually means sexual frustration, I want it now, I need it now, you, dear readers are going to give it to me, yes, I can feel it already, the heat, the rush, mmmm, I can feel you as if you were sitting here in my lap, well, you are, via computer technology, between my legs where you belong, and I open myself to you, my heart, my body all of me – I can feel your heat – yes, there, oh, you can be so good to me,
I’ve been pondering the seven deadly sins lately, and I keep coming back to lust, I’m finding it difficult to tackle wrath, and although I have a long fuse, it’s a big explosion; sex can be that way, the longer you wait for it, the better it is, if only that were true – I’m expecting an 150 megaton blast, you’d better watch out – that’s the physical wait, but I make up for some of it by writing these words for you, my bedfellow – you keep me warm at night and sometimes during the day, like right now on a Sunday evening while I’m waiting for dinner to cook, I can just smell it, not dinner, sex, I can feel it coming like dinner, and I’m hungry, so hungry for you, and I’m tired of the foreplay, foreplay is good, but I want the main course and you are my dinner tonight, can you smell the semen in my hair, that’s left over from my jacuzzi fantasy, I loved that, but today you get to join me, and in fact, I’m your fantasy today, what am I doing now – holding you while you keep me warm, mmm, your skin is so soft against mine, I assume I’m naked in your fantasy, or about to be, did my cloths come of easily, torn, shredded, wet – I like it wet – water, baby oil, corn oil (hehe), even, yes, you know about that already, but no blood, and no pain, but I suppose if that is your fantasy, you don’t have to tell me, don’t, I don’t want to know, let me have it, and I take you places, where you want to go, need to go, I’m doing it now, do you like it, I do, and I’m feeling it, yes, there, the usual place, the best place, how do I taste, you haven’t tried, do, I like to be tasted, I think I taste like commas tonight, I’ve been using them almost relentlessly, but no periods, it’s not that time of the month, I’m ripe and ready, salted, peppered and comma-ed, what are you waiting for?
Whoa … sorry … still out … of breath …. (gulp) …. just got off the treadmill … there, that’s … whoa … a little dizzy …. there, I’m OK now. I hate running on the treadmill, but it was cold and rainy out, and too much flooding around … wouldn’t want to swim home. I’m sure you saw the title of this one and thought I was going to talk about earning a living. I may eventually, but the title has a different significance, which will become apparent shortly.
I took a run to give the boys time to fill the jacuzzi. I’ve decided to indulge myself today; this is all about me and my pleasure. You may watch if you wish, but I’m sure there are several of you that will decide I’ve gone too far this time, so I won’t be offended if you give this a miss.
I normally prefer to shower after I run, but today I’m going to take a bath, a special bath that my boys – acolytes, chosen not for their musculature (except for Seth, a nice lusty farmhand), but rather for their staying power, and believe me, they are going to need it today. The girls are back there ready to lend them a hand if any of them falter in their task. No, they aren’t going to pleasure me today, not directly at least, but I will enjoy the fruits of their labours, their labours for me their goddess. I think they won’t be pleasuring anybody for some considerable time.
As I said, today is about my pleasure. I’m sure you all have a kinky fantasy that you’ve dreamt of, but never had the guts to try or even tell someone about. Today, you get mine. I’m going out of my comfort zone this time, and I’m going to break a few of my taboos – as you see, I’m already using periods, because I want to relax and savour this.
As some of you know, I’m into all things wet and slippery – in fact, I’ve been sitting in a pool of my own damp, anticipating this all day. I was starting to worry that I’d start getting a case of panty rash. Two hours of running means that I’m literally raining sweat. (The girls in the back are giggling at me, but I love it!) One of the advantages of indoor running is that I can wear whatever I wish, so just my white running bra, which is now more or less transparent. You can even see my pink nipples through it. Don’t worry, I’ll have to take it off soon, then you’ll get a better view. I’ve also worn my skimpiest running pants – they’re light blue, a miscalculation when I bought them. If I’m running in public, I need to wear something under them, or I give a free show to all and sundry when they get damp with sweat like they are now. As you will see if you look carefully (yes, do take a closer look), you can see my bush. (Oops, there goes another taboo!) Here, why don’t I just slip them off (my shoes came off as soon as I was off the treadmill). There, I’m all rosy red from my exertion. Be careful as I slip my bra off, or you’ll get showered with my sweat. Perhaps you’d like that, come a little closer then. I really am dripping, as I rub my chest – ah, don’t touch! This is my fantasy, not yours.
Let’s just go in and see if the jacuzzi is ready. Mmmm, don’t you just love it? The smell of sex, or more specifically, cum. (Oh no, another taboo gone!) Gee, the boys look all worn out. Girls, do take care of them. They won’t be needed the rest of the day.
Isn’t that a beautiful sight? A jacuzzi full of pearly white semen. Yes, a very special bath coming for me. (Don’t you just love the double entendre?) Haven’t you just dreamt of swimming in fresh cum?
I breathe deeply and step to the edge – ah, the aroma! I step down onto the ledge. Ooh, how warm it is. I have to be careful not to slip. I’ll sit on the edge first. Ah, warm on my calves. I splash – well, if you can call it that – some on my thighs. It’s so slick, like glycerin. I step into the centre, up to my waist. It feels so heavenly, not quite like jello, more like warm double thick cream. I think about all those little spermies, blindly swimming around trying to find the appropriate orifice. Some will find it, but I’m afraid they will be disappointed if they make it all the way in. Maybe I’ll give them a little help. First, I’ll lower myself in right up to my chin. It’s getting in my hair, but that’s OK. It’s like being in back in my mother’s womb. (Going all the way back to conception!)
Time to give them a little help. Ah … ohhhhhh … yes. It’s a pity I’m too tired to do anything more. I’m just going to relax for a few minutes …
… Mmm … this is nice, you should try it. Not now! You find your own jacuzzi! This is my time; it’s “me” time. There is one thing I haven’t done yet. Full immersion. Yes, I’m going to do it. I’ve gotten this far. Here I go …
Pfpfpfpfffffft! Oooh, that feels weird. I got some in my ears. I think I’m going to smell like cum for weeks, but that’s OK. It’s worth it. It doesn’t quite drip off like water – that’s not unexpected, but it feels … ooh. It’s still nice and warm. Hmm … tastes like, um, oysters, salty … maybe I’ll take a little on my tongue … yes, oysters … swallow them whole, right? Mmm. I love oysters.
Hey, I’ve got an idea. Turn the jets on. The switch is just behind you. Weeeeeee! That’ll confuse the buggers, not to mention what it’ll do to the pumps. Well, it’s due for a maintenance tomorrow. Look at it foam up! Fantastic.
I stand up and it dribbles off me like honey, it feels amazing as I rub my breasts. Have I told you I like it when you watch me? A massage sounds fantastic right now. Too bad I sent the staff home. Oh. You will? Well, OK, but don’t get any ideas, and you can’t get in with me. This is my bath.
Hey, that’s not my back! OK, it feels nice. Don’t they just fit perfectly into your hand. Careful, no pinching; I’m not into pain. Mmmm. You know, if you don’t mind getting it all up your arm, there is something else you can do for me. Yes, you guessed. Cumming in cum. What a novelty. OK, be gentle now. I’m very fragile after a run and it’s going to take a long time, I wouldn’t want to go numb, and I want you to milk me for all it’s worth. So roll up your sleeve and reach down. I know you can’t see anything. Feel free to rest your head on my shoulder. Oooh, there, that’s the spot … gentle, even more gentle, two fingers are enough for now, slowly. I’m afraid you won’t get the …. ooooh …. satisfaction of me screaming with delight. I’m quiet when I have sex, until I climax, and I’m told that’s a sound that can’t be described.
If you are careful … mmm … you may hear it se … ssss …. several …. t-t-t-t times. Sorry …. can’t t-t-t-t-t-talk anymore.
Thank God for Fridays, well, most of them; it seems most of my streams come on Fridays, usually in the evening, usually in reaction to news, good or bad, and there was some today – I’m not good at dealing with it – usually I flee in to my inner space, my inner erotic paradise, where dreams grow; it helps me escape, escape into that eternal musky, sultry summer evening, where there is always someone there to satisfy me, spiritually and physically – not a god or devil, just someone who knows my needs intimately, who makes me forget the cough I’ve been carrying for a few days, or the ache, the ache of longing – I long – and I’ve longed for a long time, but on Friday night, facing a weekend on my own or with my friends and not work, I think about him and about my dreams
erotic fantasies, sometimes, usually, it’s an obsession, but it helps me to survive, I’m not a sex addict, I’m addicted to dreams, dreams about sex maybe, dreams about him, about my suppressed existence, my past, my mistakes, yes mistakes, I’ve made them, but he’s nearby so it’s not all bad, and he visits my dreams, and I know I visit his, maybe I visit yours, I hope I do, and I hope it’s good for you, exciting and satisfying, do dream of me when you can – my dreams, well, I run a lot, escape dreams, he has them, too, I know, exploring places from my past, places as they never appeared in real life, places where I search for things, find things that I don’t expect, naked – funny, he says he’s always naked in his dreams, too, it’s a mystery;
I’m naked now, metaphorically, for you my reader as I bare my soul, I give you my tanned lean limbs, a runner’s tan, my milky white breasts – obviously, I never run topless – milky white like my soul, my hair bleaches in the summer, but it’s a dark red now (compliments of L’Oreal) otherwise it would probably be salt and pepper; my pure soul, which reaches out to envelope you, so you will love me – I crave affection – as most writers do, let me hold you with my words, so you can not but love me, my words, the intricacy in which I put them together to let them play, play with you, play with your dreams, in your dreams; I am there making your dreams, hopefully empowering you to make them come true; he says I inspire him, so shouldn’t you drink of the same nectar, the nectar of life, the nectar of dreams, the essence of love, and the kernal of art, I’m the most exalted carnal goddess, and sex is the most creative of drives, go forth and multiply, entertain me …
pleasant dreams my lovelies
I’ve been rabid the last couple of days, obsessed with sex even more than usual, sex in dreams, wet dreams, I dream a lot, even when I’m awake, just sitting here working, now writing, tap, tap, tap, on my keyboard, doing one thing while thinking about the other,
today it’s dreams, dreams and aspirations, but mostly dreams, I’ve been thinking about publishing, that’s an aspiration obviously, and although I’m an editor, I don’t really have the right connections in publishing, and I don’t have anything substantial to submit, a nice long serious short story or novel, Hahn has stalled, while I re-consider where it is going, I’ve got a general plan, but I started the next chapter and it just felt so stale, what to do with Alleyn’s cousin, and Hahn’s three other consorts, bringing them in, but I feel like Liz needs to get back to the real world, to get her back in touch with her real feelings, to become mortal again – I know how it is going to happen, but it seems so far away in the story, so much to write between now and then, and what I’ve written doesn’t connect with my dreams, the topic of this rant, and I feel that my best writing comes when it exists in my dreams (waking or sleeping) first, before I try to commit it to paper (or hard disk),
now that was a Freudian slip (that I’ve fixed), a hard dick, see, I’m still thinking of sex way too much, too much for my own sanity, and of him, always of him, I blame him, too, and myself for letting it happen this way, of course, I still love him, and without him I’d be writing nothing at all, not about Alleyn, not about Hora, not fantasy, not my fantasies, nothing, so I guess I have him to thank as well as blame – you may blame him for what I inflict on you, for what you dream, because that’s what I do to you, help you (make you?) dream, to help you fly, to let go of the ground to fly into that land of dreams where we become immortal
powerful, and every story has a happy ending, if we want it to, do you want a happy ending or an ending at all, just the promise of a future, like sex, not a one-nighter, the kind that you know you will have again with your lover, who is always the best, the best for you, that gives you the most complete satisfaction, who completes you, not incomplete like me, except that I need you, my reader, to give me the semblance of completion, that’s the next best thing, dear reader, love me, love my work, and we’ll get along just fine (doesn’t this sound so depressing and shallow?), but we keep going, keep dreaming – do you want to know what I’m dreaming now, he’s at my door, waiting for me to finish this, stepping behind me, hands on my shoulders, massaging my neck, he knows what I want and how to give it to me, kisses the top of my head … excuse me, but my muse wants to inspire me now, so I’ll just slip into something more comfortable, or maybe nothing at all, my rentboy is here, yes, my muse is a … okay, I’ve got to stop writing now, he’s (stop that!) … I’ve got to go …
You want it, don’t you – I do – “it” is all about seduction, have I got your attention yet, that’s what great writers do, they seduce you, seduce you with words, perhaps by seducing you with the same sexy syllables that remind you of the past, sex, sex and Becket, repetition, memories, ahh, those memories, those obsessions, that feeling, the feeling of anticipation, like foreplay, it’s a physical sensation with me when I write, and sometimes when I read a real page-turner, but writing is where it always seduces me, I can feel it, right there between my legs, I feel it now, you will, too, hopefully – think about it – yes, you do, that’s it, I’ve got you now – I want to be seduced, no, I want to be possessed by what I read, and want to seduce you, dear reader, no, it’s more than that, I want to possess, possess you with my words, my thoughts, you can’t leave me, you can’t look away, I’ve got you, and I’m looking at you with my large hazel eyes, and they have that glint, the leer of a woman possessed, a dominatrix, I’ve got that feeling, there, yes, between my legs, I’m even salivating now, that’s what I do when I write, I’m at my best then, and my weakest right after, yes, if you want to have me, find me AFTER I’ve just finished a session of writing, I’ll be up for it, but not during, the words are more important than you are, and you’ll probably get slapped, you must feel it now, it’s in the air, you might even be sweating a little, I like the smell of a light sweat, it’s so – visceral, so – alive, that’s what I hate about my job, trying to make other people’s words sexy without changing their style, without making them sound like me, they deserve their own words, if they aren’t sexy that’s their problem, and their readers, I’d rather concentrate on touching my own readers, yes, touching them, seducing, possessing and touching their lives – have I touched you – I want to, and I’m running out of time, do you remember time, do you remember the past, maybe the last time you were seduced, do, but I’m seducing you now, and next time you will remember me, because I want you to, because I possess you, and because I’ve touched you – there, yes, you know where, you’ve been thinking about it ever since I mentioned it, I’m almost there now, too, so get ready world, Anne’s on the loose and she wants it, she wants you
It’s that time again, I’ve been working too hard and have been struggling without internet this week, or partly without at least, and my computer guru was out of town, I HATE DIAL-UP, and it hates me, all the sites that I frequent are really heavy on the graphics and that makes them slow, slow, slow, the way I like my sex, oops, did I slip that in again, I told you I had it on the brain, anyway, this one isn’t going to be a case of verbal masturbation, I was disappointed with the feedback about my last stream of consciousness extravaganza, I think that most people didn’t know the music or people I was discussing and, well, it just didn’t do it for them, but it did it for me, this is almost like a drug, just pouring out whatever is in my head, not stopping, not allowing the thoughts to settle before sprinting on, for it’s a sprint, can’t look back, it’s a runner’s high, the best kind, like you are floating above the ground, you are too tired to go on, but you keep running, going faster, you’re tired, but you know that soon you’ll pass the threshold, the second wind, it’s almost like a freak orgasm, you don’t know until after you’ve had it, you are concentrating so hard and then suddenly you are wet, wet not like sweat and it feels good you pass your second wind/orgasm and you wonder why you even considered stopping, you pick up the pace and the world seems to rush by you’re focused in the zone you are running your best split your best time and you push on faster and faster you consider another mile another lap you feel strong invincible you push harder your mind races you forget that you are running or were ever tired that problem you had it’s gone solved you are so focused maybe you remember last night’s sex wonderful I always come back to that I always want to come back to that it’s what keeps me going going through the day through my run even when I have no internet no man no time I’m still focused but not on running only one more mile then I can shower because whatever raw thoughts come to my head explode into being in the shower with the water dripping soap dripping shampoo wet and squidgy slick slippery like sex I’m back there again I never left I never leave I never want to leave the water runs and runs and my stories coalesce my brain is still running even as my body relaxes I’m wet oh so wet in the shower and it’s a warm comfy feeling and I never want it to end the ideas keep coming like adrenalin until I have a whole chapter bursting in my head, but I don’t have time, no time to write, working too much, too hard, I have to reconcile myself to pretending that I’ve been writing and the ideas go south where it’s warm without me, and I turn the water off, it’s over, I’ve crashed down, I’m spent, no sex for me today
I thought I’d start a thread where I can jibber-jabber, blabber, anything I want to say at any time, I’m obsessed with sex, you know, especially at this time of day, before I go to bed, anytime really, but now mostly, ya know, it’s fun writing without periods, or caring about grammar (LET’S BAN PERIODS IN THIS THREAD) feel free to join me I don’t know where this is going either maybe we should ban all punctuation altogether maybeweshouldevengetridofspacestoo no that would be too hard to read but would anyone want to read this maybe we do need punctuation, but no periods, can’t stop the thought, can’t stop the war, can’t make the old younger, that’s Beckett, or a bastardized version at least, thank you Mr Bernstein, that’s Berio, who set the afore-mentioned Beckett, I like Berio, especially that piece, Sinfonia, it’s very sensual, sexual, everything comes back to love, to sex, to love and back again, cycle after cycle, a mixed bag, I’m obsessed with sex, I’ve said that before, so I say it again, more Beckett, I’m obsessed with sex, that’s why I like fantasy and erotica, you know, writing like this is like having sex, you go on and on, trying things a little differently back and forth waiting for the explosion, but not yet, you’ve got to keep going, the writing gets more urgent, intense, you repeat phrases you like again and again, over and over, but I’ve said that before, and I’m in a Beckett frame of mind no more punctuation it gets faster now moving faster faster moving like my Danish pancakes when I’m really hungry thank you Mr Berio Bernstein Boulez I like his performance better than Bernstein’s but we are talking about Beckett’s frame of mind no my mind not his but he’s in the frame of it along with Berio and fantasy I like fantasy I live in a fantasy world and am obsessed with sex didn’t I say that before so I say it again more Becket it’s really moving now rollercoaster ride that is not Beckett but he’s in the frame still and so is Berio almost typed a comma there can’t have them yet haven’t climaxed yet it’s coming soon almost now it’s all about Beckett yes and a lot like Joyce where did he come from they are both Irish aren’t they but Berio didn’t set any Joyce and besides his name doesn’t begin with B I’ve never said that before it’s not one of the rules Cage set Joyce Finegan’s Wake that’s a funeral party I like parties but not as much as sex and Beckett I’m still waiting for Godot he’s coming I’m not not yet at least soon have I said that before no say it again I’m obsessed with sex it’s time for what I’m talking to myself now there are two of me better for sex only if one of me is male maybe not maybe it’s time for Beckett instead I’ll send him to look for Godot he must know where he is he created him where was I so there is an audience more Beckett via Berio I love Beckett and Faulkner he’s not a B writer but he fits because he’s just as crazy as the rest of them like me crazy about sex words for sex sex in words sex in the production of words the sensual sound of sexy syllables sewn together like man and woman yes, that’s it, I can use commas again, it’s relaxing, easing, but still moving, still Berio with a little Beckett, hardly moving, Joyce and Cage have gone, Faulkner’s just a memory, like my Danish pancakes, like the tulips that grow in my garden, barely moving now, soft waves, hardly a ripple, I’m done with Beckett, only Berio remains and even he is going with my last words, thank you Mr Boulez
Berio – Sinfonia (third movement)