31 July 2009

Not the sexy

In the depths of night, we count the lives our actions have cost, but we are not given to know the number we have saved. -Anonymous

It's easy to count the cost of the lives you've taken, the hearts you've wounded. They are clearly visible, obvious in the harsh light of self-reflection. The remembered tears in a lover's eyes when you hurt them, the cold cast of the dead man's skin whom you couldn't save. It's terribly easy, in the deepest darkness of night, to count the cost of the lives you've taken and the hearts you've wounded. Your nightmares show you clearly the accusing eyes of the dead, the weeping voices of people you've harmed- whether witting or unwitting. Your memories in the dark of night offer you a litany of faces, of names, and endless stream of, "I should have's".

But it is not given to use to know the lives we've saved, the hearts we've mended all unwitting. No one knows, in the dark of night, how many lives they've turned around with a kind word, or how many hearts they've mended with courtesy and respect. No one knows the number of lives they've saved by giving the keys to a friend when drinking, or being the friend who's stayed sober. We don't know the lives we've saved by sitting and listening to someone who's hurting, or stopping to help someone on the side of the road.
We don't know whose lives we've changed by being courteous and treating people kindly... and perhaps teaching them, all unwitting, how they deserve to be treated. We don't know whose wounds we've healed simply by being an unjudgemental ear.

The soldier knows only those lives he's taken, and it is they which haunt him in the hours before dawn. He knows the deaths which follow him, knows the accusing eyes of the comrades he couldn't save. But it is not shown to him the lives he saved, the attacks his presence thwarted, or the laughs of the children who will grow up because of him.

It is given to us the burden to count our dead, that we might be more gentle in our lives- but only the Gods can count those we've saved.

Goodbye, ashke

I said goodbye to Wolf yesterday.
Not zhai'helleva, not 'see you later'. Goodbye.

I don't say goodbye much. I say, "tschus," which is one of several German words for "see you later," (The primary version, "auf wiedersehen," literally translates as, "to be seen later"). I don't say goodbye. It's too final, too strong.

I don't let go well. Not even of those I should. I never have.
Wolf has been in my life for 7 years, he was my first real lover- the first person to teach me that sex could not only not hurt (thank you, Jewel!), but that it could feel really good. Before Wolf, I knew that only in the abstract.
He is the one who, by betraying me, taught me how strong that I am.

But he crossed the last line yesterday, threatening harm to someone who is mine. Yes, I'm aware that he views this person as his, but you do not protect someone by threatening them with harm.
Hurt me, break me, betray me, and I will smile through my tears and offer you forgiveness.
Harm someone who is mine to protect, and I will hunt you to the ends of the earth.

There can be no love, no honor, no respect left between us after this. It is not in me to hate someone I once loved, but this childish, dishonorable behaviour has broken the last remaining thread of love in my heart for him.

I feel bruised inside, soft and sad and afraid, because I do not want to walk away from someone I spent so much of my time and energy loving. I don't want to give up, to abandon a love that was once the most important thing in my life- a love I based more decisions around than I'll admit even here, a love I believed would last forever. I don't want to admit that we failed even as friends.
But I cannot sustain a friendship with someone who can't be civil to me, someone who threatens his own brother out of anger at me, someone who has betrayed me at every turn and now seeks to betray his own brother.

So goodbye, ashke. I will miss you, but I'm remembering what I had forgotten- my life is better without you in it.

30 July 2009

Bruises HNT

I did this to myself trying to lift Rigger's motorized wheelchair into my car.
Note to self: 105lbs does not easily lift 350lbs.

28 July 2009


I am tired tonight, the weight on my shoulders pressing me down and to the floor.
I find myself, inside the safety of my own mind, curled tight in the corner and rocking. It's been a strange day, a strange week, a strange year, and I am paying the toll tonight, paying for a ten-year-old love I didn't believe in.
His words echo in my ears, "When you left, I just gave up."
My mind screams that it wasn't my responsibility to be his motivation, it wasn't my job to be his impetus to grow up... but my raw and vulnerable heart, scraped bloody by too many responsibilities, accepts this one, too, as my due.
As what I deserve.
And I'm left curled in the corner, hiding from the angry words in my own head, which have taken on his voice and the pain in it.

27 July 2009

Once... and again...

It's morning. My mind knows it, waking quickly despite my exhsuated body's protests. Lucivar and I didn't get home until nearly 2am, and I'd lay heavy wagers that I didn't get more than an hour of sleep at a time.
And yet my mind is awake, as always, instantly buzzing with the knowledge of Lucivar's warm weight pressed against me. I can't resist pressing my face to his skin and inhaling his scent- it really is an aphrodisiac, because instantly, my body and mind agree on one thing and one thing only.

We want him.

Oh, I always want him, this is nothing new. But right now as he's curled in sleep, eyelids a thin shield against the world outside of his dreams, his eye makeup smudged into something between sluttiness and vulnerability, his cupid's box mouth loose and pink, the wanting is an instant, fierce ache.
It's only been since yesterday afternoon that I fucked him, and I slept curled against him through the fitful night, but it already seems too long. And when he turns, stretching a little, eyes opening through smudged eyeliner, I am transfixed. He wriggles a little, adorable ass mocking, inviting, while the smooth length of his back beckons me, a call it takes little deliberation to answer and then I'm atop him. Straddling his smooth ass, one arm around his chest and throat and he responds instantly, my adorable little slut, bucking his ass against my groin. I know what he wants, it's the same thing that I want. That I always want.
But my strapon is in the car, still in my toybag from the night before, and I mutter a soft, heartfelt curse. His chuckle is low and deep, one of the most masculine things about him, as he reminds me that there are glass dildos on the nightstand.
I'm in motion before he finishes, the bumpy glass heavy in my hand, quickly lubed, and his pretty little ass quickly filled. It's not my cock, not my body moving inside of his, but his low hiss of pleasure as it enters him is enough.

It takes bare seconds to find the rhythm of this one, of my wrist and hand pressing it deep into his ass as I lie beside him, my lips on his shoulder, my teeth in his back, my free hand clutched in his. Rocking it, inside and out, finding that spot by trial and error and staying when I hear him moan and whimper, rocking against me in desperation.
My slutty little girlfriend is beautiful like this, and I tell him that. I'm such a lucky boi to have a girlfriend who's such a little slut, who'll take my cock so eagerly, any time I want. And maybe that's what I'll keep him around for... he doesn't need a job, a house, a life... I'll just take him home with me and keep him tied up and gagged and fuck him whenever I choose.
His whimpers are almost words now.... "please, please, please..." and it's making me wetter and wetter while I fuck him. His moans are lower now, that almost-bass sound that I love because it means he's about to cum. I speed up inside of him, nearly shoving the glass cock into him in response to his whimpered, "please please harder please!" and he explodes against me, his body bucking and shaking against mine, little sounds of ecstasy and agony drawn from his throat and I slow my rhythm and deepen it, hitting that spot hard with every thrust, prolonging the pleasure for him until he collapses into the bed, into me. Only then do I slow the cock inside him, simply rocking it gently while he thanks me with blurred eyes.
Beautiful boi, my adorable girlfriend.

We curl up together as he comes down, my groin cupping his bottom, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other brushing his hair gently away from his face. I can feel the dildo inside him, pressed against my mons and it feels so much as thought it belongs there that I can't resist rocking my hips, pressing the dildo a little deeper into him. He shifts, moans a little, and I smile, pressing my lips to his spine. My hips quickly find a rhythm, spooning my girlfriend, fucking him, my hand creeping up to his throat, into his hair, wrapped in his collar. He is quickly whimpering again, moaning, and I am whispering in his ear how lucky I am to have such a cute little girlfriend, so good and sweet and slutty for me. I'm asking him in a hoarse whisper if he likes my cock waking him up in the morning, chuckling low and evil at his frantic, "yes!", and telling him that most girlfriends don't like morning sex, most girls aren't this slutty, and he is whimpering and moaning, rocking back into my hips as they pound the glass relentlessly into him.
I can feel him start to shake again, and it startles me just a little before I laugh into his ear, nipping it with strong teeth even as I whisper, "You're going to come again for me, aren't you, you little whore!" and he's whimpering and moaning that he might, and it only makes me more determined to push him over the edge again. My hand is wrapped around his throat and I am whispering harshly that he's going to cum again for me and my hips are insisting as well and suddenly he's shaking and writhing against me, moaning, whimpering, harsh noises torn from his throat while I'm fucking him with this borrowed cock and he's cumming around me, spasming against me and my arms are tight against him and my heart is full of love for this beautiful, beautiful boi who is moaning and coming down slowly in my arms. I want to hold him like this here forever, his scent rubbed into my skin and his body pressed tight to mine.


I'm a little nervous, and very excited. it's been a long time since I've played, and longer since the one time I've played with this boy. Kaye is delectable as a boy, lovely as a girl, and the last time that I played with him was with Terry and Lucivar. That memory still brings dampness to my thighs, and now I'm here with his beautiful Mistress and we are preparing to hurt him.

I'm more hesitant than usual, taking my cue from her. Miss Gigi has become a good friend quickly, but new friendships can be fragile and I don't want to offend her by crossing boundaries with her boy. Besides, their relationship is beyond adorable, and the last thing that I want is to chance driving any kind of wedge between them...

but oh his naked vulnerability is too beautiful, and I have a bag full of toys beside me! Miss Gigi binds his arms, then shoves him onto the bed, gorgeous red hair swirling around a perfect heart-shaped face. She has no idea how beautiful she is every day, but particularly this moment, her eyes alight with love and cruelty and concern, all wrapped together. He is facedown, and we start on his already-red ass and thighs. We alternate caressing touches and cruel blows with our various toys. Her flogger, my Ikea toy. My fingertips, her nails. My rubber loop paddle, her lips, over and over and over. Unpredictable, intense, beautiful this partnership over the helpless body of a beautiful boy.

She remove the armbinder, flip him over. Pig-slapper to the nipples, alternating with gentle fingertips, her dragon-tail, my fingernails. His face contorts, body writhing in agony only a breath away from ecstasy. Harsh angry grunts escape his mouth and we mock him, lovingly. “Poor thing, we’re so mean to you!” I giggle, and Miss Gigi and I share a smile. I wonder if she knows that she’s breathtaking like this. We find a rhythm between us, not the ease of practice, but a half-wary consciousness of one another that eventually blends into comfort.

And then it’s clear that he’s peaking, reaching the limit of what he can take, and she halts us. It’s clear in every fiber of her being that her world is wrapped inside this beautiful boy spread in naked vulnerability beneath her, and as his eyes open it’s equally clear that this sentiment is shared. I feel like a voyeur, watching them communicate wordlessly. Her mind is still afraid of the way the she loves him, afraid of the myriad things that happen in any relationship, but it’s clear from her smile that her heart can read that adoration in his eyes. I simply lie beside them, content to bask in the reflected warmth of their love- my own loves are not present just now, but I am secure in them and content to enjoy the happiness of those I’ve so quickly come to care for.

We cuddle him between us, speaking silly words of praise, care, desire, and I can only sigh in contentment… and gratitude at having been offered the opportunity to share in this moment with them.

11 July 2009


So, I realized recently that I have neither a camera (loaned it to USB) nor any recent pictures of myself. Since I'm months behind in HNTs, and the Marines that I write to in Afghanistan and Iraq have been requesting pictures.... any local photographically-inclined followers want to take Some HNTs and some G-rated pics of me?

About Me

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I am just your ordinary average every day sane psycho supergoddess