What am I afraid of(audio) 

I’m afraid
that today will be the day that I don’t cry
That
Today will be the day I don’t reach out
That
Today will be the day where I feel isolated
That
Today will be the day I can’t see tomorrow
That
Today will be the day that it won’t hurt to think about
That
Today
will be
the day

Valentine’s day 24-Sara

Movement hints through the gauzy curtains. Sometimes the fans swirl and I can see Pel moving in the back yard. The silver in his hair glinting in the afternoon light. My back is starting to ache and my thighs are starting to burn. Not unpleasant really but right on the edge of being too much. I close my eyes and give over to the pain. The quiet isolation and the sure knowledge that Pel will be back and he will have ideas and desires. It’s been a tough day for my Pel. He doesn’t adapt as well as he wants people to think. He just has multiple contingencies and so it seems like improvisation. The burn works its way to my back and I can feel the hint of a possible cramp wanting to form.

The patio door opens. The sound of flesh padding on tile, along with the steady beat of dress shoes, heralds the return of my pet and my Pel. I open my eyes to see the blue eyes of Tara looking into mine. She rubs her side against me then licks my left nipple sending shivers deep. She prances away, deep in her pet persona. She is a wanton thing when she is this far into subspace but Pel still holds her leash.

Pel’s voice, soft like sweet honey, rolls out, “Go play Tara.”

Tara perks up and heads to her toy chest. Her mouth closes over the large latch and pushes the lid open. She stands over the chest selecting her toy while the fox tail waves seductively and soft patters mark the path of her arousal. She comes up with a ball gag that has drool holes in it. It is pink with a soft black leather strap and silver colored buckle. Proud as a show pony she takes her selection back to Pel.

Pel let’s the ball gag drop into his hand. He reaches into Tara’s panting mouth and runs his fingers around her gums and cheeks. Pushing his fingers into her warm wet mouth.

“Open your mouth, Tara,” Pel purrs.

Tara goes still and holds her mouth open to receive her gift. Pel settles the ball against her tongue and pulls the strap tight, running the leather softly against the buckle. Tight but loose enough to cut it off.

I watch as he reaches between Tara’s legs. Rubbing his hand against the source of her honey. She stretches back into his touch. It feels like he’s there for minutes but it must only be seconds. He pats her with his other hand and say, “Off you go.”

Tara trots off into the living room and it sounds like she is climbing into her pen.

Pel turns to me, his hand slick with the juices of our pet.

“Open your mouth.” His soft command shivering through me.

Calves, ass, back burning from holding first position so long I, nevertheless, comply opening my mouth.

Pel runs his slick hand over my tongue. The musk and spice of our Tara bursting on my tastebuds.

“Clean my hand,” Pels voice rolls out from his position above me. So close I can feel the remnant heat from his sun kissed pants.

I press my lips down, hold his fingers and his hand in my mouth, fighting for breath through my nose. I run my tongue against his fingers, between, seeking every last drop of Tara. Each finger pressed, tasting him and her. Feeling the jumping veins of his heart beat. When last drops yield to swallow, I find myself almost unconscious from lack of oxygen.

Pel watches the rising panic in my eyes. Waiting for me to make him stop. No. I’d rather pass out than fail. But I’m rigid with panic now.

Pel pops his hand out of my mouth and runs it down my back. Coating me in quickly drying saliva.

“Now that you know the taste, clean up the rest of Tara’s mess. Be sure to lick it all up,” Pel orders. He crosses to the bed and sits on the firm edge.

Finally allowed to move, I crawl slowly, rolling each muscle so as to stretch. I find myself unsteady. My arms shaking from what Pel almost did. A few more seconds and I would have been unconscious. I inhale great lung full of air and crawl to the first puddle.

Seeing with soft eyes and open heart

If it were a year ago, I would be without reservation. I would be full ahead, all in, how to get from here to there hardcore planning and presentation. It is the unfortunate case that the me of a year ago is gone. He had a bit more faith, a bit more naivete(if that term can be applied to someone as old hat as I).
Truthfully, I miss him. He would have stormed the gates of heaven for the hint of what now may be.

That’s not to say that I’m not overwhelmingly intrigued and even hopeful. Just that now, I’m cautious. People have burned me on hoping before. And while I don’t think that will happen here, it may not work out. That would be disappointing but little would change, I think.

I’m cautiously optimistic. I think we have a good shot. But slowly and coming into each other’s lives, not the headlong rush that has been so destructive in the past. In a way, I’m just talking myself into slow. Because the gods know, I’m much more comfortable with jumping.

This as a possibility I would never have guessed. Amazing. The world is still a beautiful surprise.

Laughable progress

The simple fact is that I’m in as good of a place as I’ve been in a long while and still so distant from what I want. This year has been one long fall. A relationship I thought was strong faltered and burned. And proved that I had no idea what was happening. One seemed to promise something then kept pulling back like a retreating army. All gained ground evaporated and just the faint wisps of what was remains. One burned in darkness, blazed in transformative light then faded from vision only to emerge transformed and out of reach. One started like rapid firing synapse only to lapse into the occasional spark. One consumed with baleful malevolence until, at last, the final line was crossed and it settles into unquiet quiescence. One spoke like murmur until, when the time came, a quiet shake of the head and no. That seems like a great many to me but maybe not for others. And maybe I do couch my happiness too often in my romantic hopes. But I’ve given up on hoping. It hurts too much. To think, maybe and work towards it, only to have it ripped away by things I can’t change or effect. Left with little but blood and pain and memory
I know, this shits depressing but it can be useful to take stock. 

Realization catalyst

Life is a interesting place. In the last week I’ve been forced to confront some things. Basically, I have never considered myself to be attractive. If someone is with me I assume it is because of my personality or my art or my dominance. I assume that my physicality enters into it lightly. I’m tall. I’m dark. Two out of three right?

But then someone called me fucking beautiful. Those were her words. I didn’t trust them. I don’t trust compliments, mostly. So I asked someone who would know. A good friend who used to be more than that. I asked her and she said yeah, I can say that you are fucking beautiful and she got into specifics. Keeping in mind I told her it was in reference to me physically not emotionally, intellectually, or artistically. She got specific and I went… Oh.

Huh. I don’t think of myself in those terms. I’ve felt a lot of rejection based on the physical. And I internalized it. So I never concentrated on it. I’ve worked on my emotions and my art and expanded my experience.

And I’ve been told I have a good voice and I thought that’s just how my recorded voice sounds. But I asked people who know me in person and apparently, soothing and darkly heavy was the conclusion. So now I have to, if I trust these opinions, and I do. I have to incorporate that truth into my self image. And it’s honestly a bit freeing.

Now, I’m not perfect so it’s not like knowing there are very attractive people who find me attractive is going to go to my head but it’s nice to know.

A lifetime of thinking one way gets blown out of the water in one short week. Life, it’s a funny old thing.

Need is not a dirty word

 

When I say I need you, I don’t mean I need you to pick up my clothes. I don’t mean I need you to take care of me. I don’t mean I need you to make me dinner.

When I say I need you, I mean your presence in my life makes the sun shine a bit brighter. I mean your presence in my life makes my days pass easier and not quicker. I mean your presence in my life drives my passion and forces my creativity to new avenues and choices.

My need is a thing of desire and joy and change. I need because wanting is lukewarm and nothing in the context of love should be anything but the fire burning.

I need comfort and safety but I need it not as a person or place to retreat to but to strike out from. To experience the vastness of life and still know that together we are safe because with each other there is a place to be without that shifting chaos.

I need you to feed me oxygen and fire in equal measure as I feed you earth and water. Or let us not be bound by needs but feed each other golden apples plucked from an immortal tree and know that as one desires the other will provide.

I need you to disagree with me and fight me because I believe I’m right but I’m often wrong and I trust you to give me the truth. But I won’t believe it. And we’ll make up and a few months later, I’ll say “You were right.”

I need you to be vulnerable with me and let me heal the hurts that I can and hold you together while you heal the ones I can’t reach. I need you to know my insecurities and know that despite them I am strong and will not fail you when it counts.

Need is not a dirty word. It is passion coupled to desire. Put want back where it belongs. I want a salad. I want to drive. I want to have a comfortable chair.

I don’t need those things. I need you.

Compulsion

I feel my stagnation, a hell of creation, founded on my dreams that crumbled away while seeking damnation

I’m a false poet, or do I mean prophet, lost on the way to all that was get,

I founded my life on violence and sex then foundered on the shoals of a love that Pierced me, broke me apart and reworked me, she traveled through space and time and unearthed me

I was buried in the dirt of my own ambitions, trapped by admonitions, saying make money is the way to be happy even if it comes at the expense of your soul, these fleeting lives all have a price and a cost and I have paid for it all in bloody coins

But pulled from the ground I was raw and without skin, so used to trapping my heart in stone that to feel her hands was blood on the blade pressed against lips, and last dribble of false desire fell away and it was this pain, this agony that I needed and yearned for but trapped in the earth there was no way to feel the wind and the rain

She comes a storm and I break beneath her until her name whispers through my heart and I see the truth behind the veil and I know, and I reach that tremulous control and hold her storm in cupped hands, so easy to break her now, but instead I breathe power into her swirling winds and a maelstrom breaks to freedom and waits like outstretched hands to be joined and like that

The storm ends

And I am left broken in mud, covered in blood and bone come pattered back to too still earth, no longer stood astride like giants, just broken and soft and dreaming, dowsing, seeking, looking for a hand to see and know and wake