Venus in Furs

I have been diagnosed with an eating disorder… I find this to be ridiculous. Some days, I am not hungry so I don’t eat, other days, I am hungry so I eat. Sometimes, I get on work out kick and then without rhyme or reason quit. Living under these conditions have made me look and feel miserable though, I don’t feel this is an eating disorder per say, rather, it is attributable to a loss of interest in fitness and indifference towards my eating habits.

I will admit that I wish I had more of a handle on nutrition and fitness for I know absolutely nothing about it.

I am so lost. I cannot even make the most basic of decisions. I don’t even know what to say anymore…

So I won’t.

My brother is terminal, he has six tumors in his brain, one of which is located on his spinal cord. They are inoperable and has been given three to six months to live, at best.

I could not protect him as a child, I have been unable to stop his downward spiral into drug addiction or rescue him from his demons and the hell on earth he calls home. Now he is dying. Once again, I am powerless to stop the hand of God.

I am seriously considering law school… My main focus, at the moment, is deciding whether or not to take an LSAT prep class, and which course would be best. There are several out there, including, Kaplan, Test Masters, Princeton Review and Power Score. All cost about the same, around $1200 for a 10 week course. I have googled the reviews for each and have found a mixed bag of opinions but nothing definitive.

If anyone has any suggestions or advice on this matter, I would greatly appreciate it.

Oh dear, don’t you know
That a long time ago
There were two little babies
Their names I don’t know
They were strollin’ away
On a bright summer day
Got lost in the woods
I’ve heard people say

And when it was night
So sad, was their plight
The sun had gone down
And the moon gave no light
They sobbed and they sighed
They bitterly cried
The poor little babes
They laid down and died

And when they were dead
The robins so red
Brought Strawberry leaves
And over them spread
All the day long
They sang them this song
Poor babes in the woods
Poor babes in the woods

My great-grandmother used to sing me this lullaby when I was a baby girl and she said that her grandmothers also sang it to her. It is an old folk song from Norfolk, England and is about 500 years old, as far as I know. When she sang it to me I would sit in her lap and hold her face and cry and then beg her to sing it again when she had finished.

I miss my great-grandmother dreadfully.

The worship of of Christ suits men who seek to dominate others. It is not the belief of the humble, (who among you are humble?) but of despots and tyrants. When a ruler claims they have been divinely appointed by God, then all those who follow that religion must treat the ruler as if they are revering the God himself. That is why they go down in obedience before him in an act of submission, either by bending the knee or prostrating themselves. They even clasp their hands together, as if in prayer, when speaking to him.

This is a contradiction of all that the God is meant to stand for, yet history has witnessed how, among rulers of men, it is the truly ruthless and the ambitious who adopted the Christian faith, then used it to suppress their fellow man. But then, history - as is well known - is written by the victors, if it is written at all.

Naturally, this will offend many Christians, some of whom are genuine and selfless but they are blind to the fact that even in the church, they bow their heads in obedience to the Pope, Priest, Preacher, Reverend or Vicar, whatever their quality.

So, this is the ultimate power of Christianity: it is a belief suited to despots who would curb people’s independence.

Note: I am referring to the beginnings of Christianity in Western Europe, specifically, with the reign of the conqueror, William the Bastard, I mean William of Normandy. And so on and so forth…

Where does the soul go upon death? Where does a dream go once it has been dreamt? Where does love go when it disappears?

It is difficult to conceive of such things as they are not tangible, yet, our deepest experiences are not physical.

I burn to feel something, anything, other than loneliness. Alas, my sorrow will go unnoticed as there is no one, no one.

I want a place I can call home. I want to study ancient history and archaeology. I want my family to really be a family again. I want someone to love who will love me back.

Why are all of these things so far out of reach?

Oh you are *such a goof!* We don’t want to read about just one part of you, no matter how sweet or slippery or bouncy or curvy or warm whichever part might be. Because past maybe 10th grade we’re interested even in people we lust passionately for *as whole people!*

You? You’re in a bad spot, and within reason have every reason to be depressed, right? And you’ve just… *almost promised* to start blogging about clawing your way out of there, out of your town, out of your funk, out of your situation, and into a place where you can get your PhD, launch your career, meet non-loser men that you can treat the way you want and who’ll treat you as you wish to be treated…

And you think this is when we want you to *quit?*

I don’t think so.

—

The timestamp on this post says Nov. 7th. So that just marks day one. Today is Nov. 16th (sorry I haven’t visited sooner, I’ve been a bit ill and very distracted) and since 10 days is long enough to *simply* feel sorry for yourself, so I’m giving you one more day. But tomorrow? Saturday? Nov. 17th?

Forgive me if I’m presuming but tomorrow I want a post from you naming one thing, *one* thing, that you’ve done to start living your dream again.

Are you willing to accept or decline? We can negotiate different terms but you’ve got to choose motion.

There’s nothing right or wrong if you accept or decline or even just disregard this altogether. And it really is your life and your choice to stop blogging. (Certainly to stop blogging *here* though you could always start another, non-sexual blog about your pursuit and build connections in that community… in fact maybe you should! If so *please* email me your new URL.) But please don’t think that’s what we, the world, wants from you.

At any rate, unless you decline my invitation…

Tomorrow: 1st new post?

Take care

figleaf

This blog has come to an end; I simply have nothing left to say. I am off to pursue my PhD in Classical Archaeology, somehow, someway. So, I leave you with the immortal words of Petrarch,

“What else, then, is all history, but the praise of Rome?”

I will leave this up for a week or so with my contact information, in case anyone feels the need to correspond with me.

Email me at sintruli@gmail.com

Farewell…

UPDATE

Actually, I have a zillion things to say but the readers of this blog want to read about sex not about how incredibly sad I am. I have nowhere to turn and no one to turn to and now, I can’t even write about it anymore. The depth of my depression is unfathomable.

I love the look on his face.

Ah yes, I remember Devil’s Night fondly, roaming the streets with my fellow partners in crime, as the sun went down. We each had a backpack filled to the brim with all of the necessary supplies needed to carry out our mission. The mission? To cause chaos and mayhem throughout the neighborhood.

We did not choose our targets randomly, heavens no! Our prey were specifically chosen because, at one point or another throughout the year, they had committed some vague act of cruelty, spread vicious rumors, tattle-taled, humiliated one of us, or simply because we didn’t like them. Our victims ranged from the principal and teachers of our school, to home owners and parents in the neighborhood, and to fellow school mates and neighborhood kids; it did not matter. If any single one of them had caused one of us to be aggrieved that year, they were hit.

Our supplies included, toilet paper, soap, eggs, animal dung, cherry bombs, and the like. We would dress in black from head to toe, meet at a secret, pre-determined, central location (Sassafras Trails behind Sts. Simon and Jude Catholic Church) and plot our night’s course. We then proceeded to run from tree to tree, and car to car, desperately trying to stay concealed until we reached our destination. We would then lay waste to said house, letting loose our array of projectiles with deadly accuracy. Then we would run like hell, laughing hysterically, regroup, and move on to the next selected location. What fun we had!

Ah, to be young again. On second thought, I’m mischievous, there is nothing stopping me from carrying out petty acts of vandalism on idiots that have pissed me off this past year. I always was one for adventure. Let’s do it! Who’s with me?

Possible personal ad.

Tall, strong, attractive, clever, affectionate adventurer wanted. Must have an innate desire to sneak into the Coliseum in the middle of the night for a monumental gladiatorial fight to the death. Must own a light saber and video camera to capture said historic event.

Thoughts?

Used, abused, and discarded, the only truths I can count on, the only constants in my life. Why do I fight it? Why do I keep fighting and clawing and scratching to keep my head above water? It is all for naught and I have grown tired, so very tired. After 37 years I should realize that things will never change, that my life is just a series of tragedies. Tis lovely, the view from here.

I don’t believe that people ‘deserve’ anything, least of all me. I have always thought that if I wanted something I should work hard for it and get it myself. There is no one to thank, no one to owe, as I am a creature of my own making. The gratification that comes with accomplishment is it’s own reward. Of course, this is my belief, I don’t expect anyone else to follow my moral compass but then again, I look down on those who do not. Shocked? You shouldn’t be.

I have never asked for much as I do not believe that anyone can give me what I need. And why should they? We are all individuals with busy lives and have our own chaos to deal with, why burden someone? In the scheme of things, no one cares. We each go about our days focused on one thing or another and when someone else’s albatross is thrown into the fray it compounds and fractures us, moreover, it plants the seeds of resentment. One can only give so much.

People, that I have encountered, are all the same, each may put their own twist on their villainousness ways but in the end, they’re all still villains. None have ever truly been my friend, whether they are email buddies are personal acquaintances. They are only interested for so long, they try their little games with me and when they don’t work or when they grow tired of me, they dismiss me. Paragons of excellence, yes?

I am reminded of this as I am feeling quite wretched today. Once again, I have been discarded like so much trash. Why is this time any different from all of the other times? It isn’t. I knew better, yet, I engaged in my most recent jaunt into stupidity with absolute fervor.

Julius Caesar said, “Experience is the teacher of all things.” I must be a horrible student.

According to my new stat counter, I have readers from around the world yet, none have made their presence known. Please, by all means, say hello as I would love to hear from you. You can either leave a comment or, if you are like me, would rather remain private, send me an email which can be found under the ‘Contact Me’ tab located at the top of the page. Thoughts, good or bad, are welcome.

I continued to struggle against the strips of cloth he had used to bind me to a high-backed chair. He’d torn them from my dress, which lay in a discarded heap on the floor nearby. As I sat there, naked, I glared at him, he was sitting directly opposite of me, watching me with a glare of his own and rubbing his wrist where I had managed to bite him. That was before he’d wedged a thick knot of more cloth into my mouth and tied it in place with yet another strip. So, I was confined to the chair, my neck and ankles strapped down, my arms tied behind the chair.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he said slowly.

Despite my bravado, I knew that I was helpless against whatever he ultimately wanted to do to me, and his intentions seemed pretty clear as he studied me, with a wolfish grin.

“We need to establish some ground rules, guidelines that will keep you from getting into trouble, which you most definitely are in right now.”

I ‘hmmphed’ through my gag and rolled my eyes.

“Deride them if you want, but at your own peril, for I will grow tired of this foolish resistance if it keeps up for much longer.”

I lowered my eyes for the briefest of moments at his not-so-veiled threats that he seemed perfectly capable of following through with. My heart was beating out of control.

“You have a choice, just this once, you can either recognize the value in making me happy, or I will extract my enjoyment from you the hard way, the choice is yours. Regardless, I will get my satisfaction from you. It was promised to me from the start of this little venture, and I will have you.”

Then he leaned forward, his face dangerously close to mine. I swallowed hard as I tried turn away from my captor’s vicious gaze. His eyes told me he was not lying.

A sudden realization washed over me; I want this, I have always wanted this. My lips curled into a demonic snarl and my eyes became heavy with lust. If I am going down, I am taking him with me.

To be continued…

Figleaf had this to say, “You want someone who can *top* you, not dominate you. You want someone who can chain lightning — you being the lightning — not tame it.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Today is the 700th anniversary of the mass arrest of Knights Templars throughout France. On October 13th, 1307, King Philip the Fair of France, deep in debt, gave secret orders to ecclesiastical inquisitors to arrest all the Knights Templars on the same day. They were accused of denying Christ, of worshiping an idol and other acts of abuse performed in the most impenetrable secrecy surrounding their practices. Seven years later, following massive trials, masters of the order were publicly burned in Paris. The pope disbanded the order and warned that anyone thinking of joining would be excommunicated and charged as a heretic.

Imagine Napoleon of 1812, standing in the smoking wreck of Moscow with winter closing in and the Grande Armée deserting him left, right and center. He had come so incredibly far, slowly and arduously and suffering terrible losses on the way, but eventually he had done it: the Russians had been decisively crushed at Borodino, and now their capital lay open and defenseless as he walked in, the man who had bested every state in continental Europe. But his armies had lost a lot of their strength and all of their impetus, and Napoleon rapidly ran out of options: going any further was unthinkable, and could lead only to disaster, starvation, death and ignominious defeat. Staying, likewise, was impossible, and would mean the same. The only course was retreat, scurrying desperate retreat; all the hard-won territory was given up, all the artillery dumped, everything - rifles, uniforms, any semblance of dignity - abandoned as Napoleon and the last shreds of his army turned tail and ran back to the West. Of around half a million who set out against Russia, not ten thousand returned to France.

I have an incredible gift - the ability to view historical events with the utmost clarity, as if I am really there, while it is happening. I see the burning of Moscow and swoop down from the sky. I land directly in front of Napoleon, I look into his eyes, they are taking everything in, learning. He is already formulating, in his mind, his next conquest. Death and destruction are a by-product of his grand plans, not the intent. He is able to dismiss it with a wave of his hand and think no more on it. His unyielding sense of supremacy, driven by an ego rivaled by few in the history of man, defines him.

The following is the result of a meditation exercise of which I have no idea the significance.

I stood before Hasham el-Tarif, which is located in northeastern Sinai. How I knew this is a mystery. A man was with me, who he was I do not know. We began walking toward the mountain with the shared intention of climbing it though, I do not know for what purpose. The ascent was not as difficult as I thought it would be. All one had to do was choose a path ahead of time, sort of like anticipating an opponents moves in a chess game and acting accordingly.

When we arrived at the top, I was in awe; the view was spectacular. As I was about to sit down and enjoy the landscape laid out before me, the man who accompanied me seemed to have lost his mind. He was screaming and shouting obscenities, then he did the most ridiculous thing, he pissed in an ancient spring. I rebuked him for his folly and demanded that he recognize this mountain for what it was, a holy place. How I knew this is a mystery. He dismissed me and walked off.

I was concerned that he would cause more trouble so I followed him. We came upon some very large stones set in peculiar rectangular patterns. He began to kick the stones around and underneath appeared skeletons. It was evident that what we were looking at were graves. I told him that we shouldn’t disturb the graves and to put the stones back. But he had other ideas, he started scattering the stones and the bones all over the place. I was horrified, I begged him to stop but he just laughed at me.

He ran over to a large cleft that overlooks a natural amphitheater and started screaming obscenities. I was so angry with him. Not only was he acting like an idiot but I was afraid he would attract unwanted attention. I walked over to where he stood and was about to yell at him when an old man in old tattered robes with a very long scraggly beard appeared out of no where, he grabbed me and threw me down the mountain. During the fall, I only suffered minor scrapes and bruises. For some reason, I kept trying to climb back up and every time I reached the summit, he kicked me back down. On my last try, I begged him to let me come back up. I told him I was sorry for allowing the man to desecrate the holy ground and that it was my fault he did so because I did not tell him otherwise. I swore I would watch over him and not let him destroy or defame anything from here on out. Finally, the old man let me come back up and made me swear again my promise.

Later that evening, the man I was with walked off and lay down in the distance. I was thankful for the opportunity to be alone, I wanted to gather my thoughts and ponder the significance of the place. The sun was setting and it was becoming quite chilly so I gathered some wood and lit a fire. Soon after, a man walked up to me, out of nowhere, and asked to share my fire. I welcomed him, for I did not feel threatened in any way. We settled down to a nice chat and watched the spectacular sunset over the Sinai desert. We cooked some food and drank some and talked some more, soon we were laughing and having such a good time that I didn’t notice the sun was about to come up. Then, with all seriousness, he looked into my eyes and held me close and said, “It’s ok, everything is going to be alright, don’t worry anymore, enjoy the life you have been given for it is far too short for you to be so sad. I love you, I love more than you will ever know.” And with that he left.

I opened my eyes, my face was tear-streaked and I was strangely peaceful.

From the many emails I have received regarding my pussy spanking fetish, I feel it is necessary to expound upon one of my rather unique forms of masturbation and desire to have it done to me. Let me be clear, I do not wish to be beaten, punched, kicked, or otherwise injured in the course of said spanking. After all, what good would my pussy be after taking such punishment. Just imagine the leathery, calloused texture and disfigurement my beautiful pussy would take on after enduring such needless, mindless torture. No thanks. Why ruin a work of art with savagery?

I am the kind of woman who would enjoy sensual torture, the kind that just takes you to the edge of oblivion. It is the erotic teasing and sweet torment I imagine I would enjoy rather than a vicious assault, intent upon destroying my treasure of all treasures.

Of course, this is only my opinion, in my particular case. I am sure there are women out there who enjoy such brutality and actively seek it out. Let it be known, I am not one of them, in fact, I have no desire to endure any type of barbarity.

My bent leans toward the eroticism and sensuality of sex, in all it’s forms, whether it be BDSM or Vanilla. Why do I have to claim one label or the other? My flag-waving days are over. Missionary and the two-minute miracle are not my idea of fantastic sex and neither is strapping me to a pole and blasting me with cold water out of a fire-hose. There is a happy medium, somewhere, and I intend to find it, with the occasional day-trips into the unknown. I am very open-minded, believe it or not.

There you have it.

Who needs an apparatus? Deity will be proud to know that he has ‘facilitated in my corruption’ but I owe this particular photo to Willyshire, a right pervy Englishman. This is exactly the kind of restrained pose I have been fantasizing about. Nice, isn’t it. I would love to be in this position, minus the hood. Alternatively, what fun I would have with a bound and restrained woman under my control, there for my taking. Just looking at this photo makes my mouth water.

So, who will help me on my noble quest to reach infinite perversion?

My friend, Severine has been introducing me to canes via the internet. Take a look at this. Obviously, this led me to searching for all sorts of deliciously wicked instruments and I have found several that I find intriguing. What in the world are these? I simply must have them. And, my naughty schoolgirl fantasies have taken on a life of their own upon looking at these bad boys.

‘Thank you sir, may I have another.’

Also, I want something that restrains the wrists, ankles and thighs while totally exposing the pussy for a good spanking. What instruments are used for pussy spanking? Have I mentioned my pussy spanking fetish? Yes, I have one. I frequently get myself off using this rather unconventional method. But I digress. This contraption should be waist high and long enough to just barely support the torso. In my mind, my bent knees would be drawn up to the sides of my chest, my wrists would be shackled to my ankles resulting in the restraints being chained to the sides of the table. This would leave me totally and completely exposed. Enabling some man to shove his cock in my mouth and to spank my pussy at the same time. Alternatively, he may wish to flip me over and scorch my bottom or fuck me senseless. I must have an apparatus of this nature. Where shall I find one?

There are many and more devilish items that I have peaked my curiosity but I will save that for another post.

My perversity knows no bounds.

Courtesy of Severine

My friend, The Bad Man, is currently on a quest - the most noble quest of all - he’s searching for a wife! Better yet, he’s looking for a D/s marriage.

To leak a few details, he is a 32-year-old lawyer from New York City. On my part, I want to assure you that The Bad Man (who, contrary to his nom-de-plume, is a very nice guy) is very attractive physically (yes, I’ve seen a picture) - tall, dark-haired, and handsome.

If you are a single submissive woman looking to settle and start a family with a hot dominant (think “The Secretary”), please stop over at his blog to check out his personal ad - a very personal post that tells you more about him and his search.

Oh, and if you absolutely can’t wait to meet him (I know you can’t), his Yahoo IM id is badmanbadplace. Oh, and I fully expect to be invited to the wedding!

I have given this place almost a year. I tried, I really did, but I just don’t like it here, as a matter of fact, I loathe it. I have to get out, with a quickness. Where to go? Hmm… I have four cities in mind, specifically, New York City, San Diego, Dallas/Fort Worth, and Las Vegas, but it is proving difficult to find employment out-of-state. Any suggestions?

This time, it isn’t just about a job, it is about finding the right place for me. I want to go back to school and try again for that PhD in archaeology. I want live in a diverse, cultural city with a vibrant day and nightlife. I want to meet people. I want friends. Can you believe I haven’t made any friends here? This place is so pretentious. I want to meet men, the kind of men I have been searching for. What kind that is I have no idea. Who, what and where they are is a mystery. Any suggestions?

I must reiterate that I am not submissive nor am I dominant. I don’t think that I am anything. I am just Venus. Out of control Venus with no rhyme or reason to anything I do, conversely, I am Venus locked in an Iron Maiden, desperate to escape. Any suggestions?

In order to live a life worth meaning, one must surely experience pain and suffering. Loneliness, depression, heartache, fear of failure, emptiness and the disconnectedness all tortured souls feel, know that these are a constant in life, not just a phase. The rituals and methodologies we practice, ones that enable us to get through life with some semblance of normalcy, are systemic, not symbolic and allegorical. We, by default, are able to appreciate the beauty of those tiny sparks of God, no matter how brief, and have the unique ability to illuminate it and revel in it’s stunning display of wonderment.

I sneak through life, avoiding as many traps as I can. I try to be small, flat and non-descript, I do my best not to draw attention to myself for I am fearful. Fearful of the many things that can and will go wrong and knowing full well that these traps I am trying to side-step are of my own making and the misery I feel is perpetuated by me, and only me. I have busied myself with the enormous task of avoiding life, and in doing so, have managed to throw it away, but there is hope, there is always hope. If I didn’t have hope I would already be dead.

It revealed itself last night in the arms of another; in the tender moments of whispered words and the power of arousal born of naked bodies in the dark. This man will never know the significance of his gift to me and it may possibly never even enter his mind to consider it, but I do and I have. I can still feel his fingers tracing my every curve and settling in some secret spot I have only fantasized about. I can still feel his lips on mine, tasting me; I can still hear his voice murmuring in my ear; I can still feel him deep inside me; I can still feel his body wrapped around me as we drifted off to sleep.

He made me feel beautiful and wanted. He made me feel feminine and desirable. He made me forget the suffering I endure, and, if only for a moment, I was not alone.

I am a poor communicator and I apologize, to you, the reader, for my short-comings. It has been a long-time but today I was reminded of just how deficient I am in articulating my sentiments. My grasp of the English language is limited, my writing skills leave much to be desired, and most importantly, I lack the ability to bridge the gap between who I am on the inside with who I am on the outside. My thoughts do not transfer well to the written word which causes confusion amongst those who read my posts, emails or comments.

This phenomenon has also interfered in my personal life; shocking isn’t it?

The point of this post is that someone, in particular, gave me pause to wonder what he thinks of me, of what other people think of me, exactly. Do I come across as a sanctimonious snob or a raging bitch? I fear that I do, after today’s enlightening email exchange. I have already apologized but what does that mean, exactly, it means little. Apologies pass the lips with ease and are even easier behind a keyboard therefore, my atonement takes it’s shape in this post. What more can I do? I ask forgiveness from all of you who have been “insert negative connotations here” by me in the past. In light of this, right here and now, for all intents and purposes, I will demystify Venus.

I am a snuggle bunny.

There, I admitted it. The last vestige of my pride has been thrown out the window by two simple, meaningless, empty words. Have I no shame?

He is the boss and he drips with class. He is the GQ man at work in an expensive suit and tie. His subtle hint of cologne makes me want to nuzzle his neck because I just cant get enough. He is quiet, confident, intelligent and has a strong work-ethic. He doesn’t fraternize and rarely comes out of his office but when he does, it’s for good reason. When he speaks, everyone listens. He is demanding but of none more so than himself. He exudes such power and authority I am amazed I don’t fall into a heap at his feet. He is shrouded in mystery and oozes sensuality and violence. When his gaze settles on me I start to glow, down there, and it spreads to the furthest reaches of my body. I know he is coming for me without having to turn around because, as if by magic, ‘The Imperial March’ begins to play in my head, striking chords in my soul that even I, on my own, cannot reach.

I ignore him unless directly approached, for I am plagued with fear. When he has purposely called me into his office for this or that, I look him straight in the eyes. (My gaze is just as intense) He doesn’t say anything for a moment but he gets this look on his face, is it a smirk? I don’t like it. Not one bit. I was taught to always look someone in the eyes when spoken to, it’s an affront not to. Also, I will never let a man such as this think he is intimidating me. This is an impossibility. I answer in the least amount of words possible and choose my words carefully so as not to appear attracted, flirtatious or scared. But my body betrays me, my pussy drools and contracts uncontrollably, my clit feels like it is an a vice, my neck and chest becomes flushed with pink, my nipples harden, and I begin to salivate. My body ebbs and flows in such a violent symphony that I fear what will happen next if I don’t get in control of myself, immediately. So, I recite, in my mind, the Preamble to the Constitution of the United States of America.

Once our business is finished, I walk out and continue once again to ignore him, despite the torture.

I do not hold any man in high regard if he is intimidated by me.

I listen intently and stare, for a while they think they are seducing me. On the contrary, I am actually quite amused that they believe their bullshit is working. Until they realize that I am still staring, silently, unmoved and stone-faced. Then they get nervous and twitch, I like to make them twitch. They start babbling incoherently, unsure of what to do or say or where to look. They fidget and squirm under my intense gaze, until finally, they leave. It is amazing, the power one has in being silent and still.

Long ago, I mastered the art of scaring little boys away, it has become second nature to me. The question now is, will I ever learn the art of seduction?

Not so very long ago…

I have never owned lingerie, I have always thought it to be cheap and demeaning though, there are deeper reasons which, I will not get into here. But I have a different outlook these days. I decided to venture into one of those shops that in the past I have always considered taboo and slutty. I parked in the back so as to force myself to walk all the way in. I sat in my car, thinking of a million reasons not to go in. Questions, such as, what the hell am I doing here? I haven’t had sex in years why do I feel the need to buy lingerie? What will this accomplish? Who am I out to impress? No one will see it anyway. I had only one answer, me, it’s all about me.

I forced myself to walk lazily, every second torturous, trying to look casual. I entered the establishment and it was everything I thought it would be, tasteless, trashy, and gaudy. Everything in the store was geared towards men, of course, the items were ridiculous. I refused to touch anything, fearing it might taint me somehow. No woman in her right mind would wear anything so trashy. I left immediately. My instincts are ALWAYS right.

I decided to go to the mall which is just two blocks from my home. I felt the need to spend, and spend was what I did. It was there that I found what I was looking for. Thigh highs with a sheer black band across the top and matching bra and panties. I sped home with such furor that I surely must have burned the rubber off of my tires. In the privacy of my bedroom I undressed and slowly put on each piece, one by one. I admired myself in the mirror, I couldn’t believe it was me in the reflection. I wanted to fuck myself.

Feeding off this sexual energy, I slipped into a little black dress and went out for a drink. I was riding high, feeling sensual, erotic and lusty. Sitting there, at the bar, I could feel sex oozing out of me and I wanted it to saturate everyone. I wanted every man to desire me above all else, I wanted to see the torture in their eyes and I wanted every woman to be envious of me. Sometimes, I amaze myself at my candidness, usually, I could care less what other people think but today, today I wanted to be a seductive temptress.

As I was sipping a martini, a man sat down next to me. He ruined everything by opening his mouth and hitting on me. Never, ever, ever, hit on me. He said something like, “You have such deep blue eyes, I could see forever in them.” Fucking twit. Did he really think I was going to buy that bullshit. Don’t insult my intelligence by spewing off some lame ass line like that. It won’t work, ever. Without a word, I left.

At home, I gazed at my reflection one last time before removing the lingerie I had just purchased less than two hours ago. I spoke aloud and said, “I should have known better.” Most likely, I will never wear them again.

Nobody fucking gets me, nobody.

Access requires security clearance.

(more…)

My new friend, Bad Man, has drawn some remarkable conclusions about me. I say remarkable because no one else has been able to figure this out or they just haven’t said anything to me. Two sentences, just two sentences speak volumes about me. Does this make me trite?

In regards to my inability to meet men, date, fuck and have relationships, he says this,

“It’s holding the world at arms length and looking down your nose at most men, I would think.”

He also states that it is because I am looking for,

“Julius Caesar, in his perfection.”

I make no apologies, for I am Venus and will accept nothing less.

I hung from the chains, helpless against the madness. He was coming closer, he was coming for me. As he slowly walked towards me I thought him handsome, despite the ugliness of his cruelty. I shook the thought from my head; I must be losing my mind.

He stood above me and bent down, his face hovering over mine. I was trembling uncontrollably now. He gazed deep into my eyes, I could not look away. I could feel his hot breath on my mouth, I licked my lips in anticipation. Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and held my head, my skin paled, my breath quickened. He stared at me a long while before he suddenly twisted my hair in his hands and pulled down sharply, my back arched involuntarily. I felt a searing bolt of lightning as his other hand drove a modified violet wand into my sex. The torture spread to every part of my body, it was excruciating. I couldn’t breathe, I was screaming in agony. Then he breathed life into me as he brought his lips to mine, he kissed me deeply, passionately, it was savage and bestial. It was a kiss born of lust and desire. The pain made me forget everything but him.

Without comprehending why, I found myself kissing him back, just as passionately, just as savagely. Desperately, I wanted him to stop, desperately, I didn’t. The pain was altering my perception of everything.

The pain was overwhelming as he crushed his body into mine. I could hear his moans of suffering as he placed the opposite end of the wand to his cock. I ached to hold him. It was then I lost consciousness.

I stare in wide-eyed amazement. I eagerly await his words but I am an impatient and demanding creature. This he knows, all too well. He teases me with half-truths and punishes me with silence. It is never enough. What will be enough? Will I ever be satisfied?

I always say, “I know I need something though, I do not know what it is that I need.” I have an idea. At first, it is a tingling sensation in the pit of my stomach. Then it transforms into a deep, gnawing hunger, the kind that will never be satiated.

I am innocent of many things yet, wise in others. Knowledge is a wonderful gift but once I learn something I am already moving on to the next thing. I become bored frequently and easily. I lack direction. It is that which I do not know that has set my soul aflame.

Am I destined to remain in a state of flux, forever?

How is it that one human being can hurt another so deeply as to not feel the effects. Here I am, here for you to destroy. Here I am for your indifference. Does it make you feel better? Does the pain you inflict upon my soul alleviate your misery?

My trust was used, abused and discarded. My friendship mislaid. Won’t I ever learn…

UPDATE

Look at me and my dramatics. Good God, I need to get a hold of myself. Although, my feelings are valid, the suffering I endure is mine and mine alone. I cannot make someone else feel my pain, understand my hurt or care. I allowed another to cause me to be aggrieved, and to let it fester, long after this person had departed. So, in the scheme of things, it is not him I am angry with, it is me.

Venus needs a spanking.

I don’t have much experience with men, in any aspect, and when I meet a man and become friends with him or not, it leaves a long-lasting and deep impression on me. My ex-roommate meant more to me than he realizes or cares and when he cast me aside, I was totally destroyed. I still can’t believe how much he affected me. I trusted this man, I repeat, I trusted this man. I don’t trust anyone, never have and for me to reach out to him was one of the most difficult things I have ever done in my life. I reached out and my hand came back empty. I can’t tell you how isolated and insignificant I felt; he didn’t care and doesn’t now. So, I let it go. I am not sad about it anymore, I am pissed, I am mad as a hatter.

Maybe one day, I will find someone who truly is interested in who I am, in what makes me, me. Someone I can love that will love me back. And I am not talking about sex and mushiness, that comes and goes. I am talking about real friendship. Someone that digs me, for me. None of this superficial, over 40, gotta screw every 20-something I can find bullshit. It’s sad, actually, it’s ridiculous; I wish I had a video camera for every time I see some 40 year old guy hit on a young chic so I can replay it for them. But I digress.

I just want to be with somebody that likes me and wants to hang with me in the local dive bar and in the bizarre corners of the world I dream of. Someone, who makes me feel safe. Someone that I can go to a black tie affair with and then afterwards, in the parking lot, have an impromptu karate fight. Someone who KNOWS what “Tickle Time” is. Someone that wants to build a tree fort and hook up cable in order to critique the porn we will be watching. Someone who I can discuss history, politics and religion with; a real intelligent conversation. Someone who wants to play in the dirt with me at an archaeological dig or just because it’s mud and hell, everybody likes playing in the mud, right? Right?

Goodbye ex-roommate, may the six feet tall, psychotic, drug-addicted, 20-something year old stripper, with suicidal tendencies make all of your dreams come true. I know I am being sarcastic and angry, and that I should really tell him how I feel instead of pouring my heart out in a blog that he will never read but that would be impossible for me and he doesn’t care anyway. Besides, sarcasm is my sword and anger is the armor I wear.

Today is my birthday; I start off this glorious day with another bout of self-reflection; as I am often wont to do. The point of self-reflection is, at the forefront, to analyze and illuminate the truth; it is the path to enlightenment, however painful it might be. We seek structure and harmony in ourselves and in our lives, and so when we are faced with discord, we sail down the river of denial.

We fool ourselves into believing that everything is fine, that we are fine, for a multitude of reasons. Pride being one of them, but sometimes, it is because we are afraid. We are afraid to face the music, afraid to face who we really are, afraid to admit that we aren’t really who we think we are, of who we wanted to be. Afraid that life isn’t what we imagine it to be, that it isn’t what we wanted.

The truth is not as concrete and comprehensive as you may think it is; vanity distorts our perception of the truth, and in it we find an excuse. We manipulate our own reality through deception, first to ourselves then outwardly to others. We smile and nod to people we hate. We slave away at a job without meaning believing that it is the only way to afford a lifestyle, to buy things that we think will make us happy. We pay tithes hoping it will absolve our sins, and at the same time, prove to the rest of the congregation that we are pious and generous, when in fact we are not. We whisper tender words laced with venom to coerce a hesitant lover. We do everything in our power to avoid reality by creating an illusion of ourselves, of others, of life, and we are hungry for the delusion. Reality, is what we make reality to be.

I will spend my birthday alone as there is no one to share it with. That is my reality and I have built it brick by brick over 37 years; it has become a monstrosity and only I am to blame. Reality, for me, is the banality of life, lacking passion and hope. My inherent character flaws plays out in my physical appearance and attitude which, precludes me from relationships. I feel guilty for dreaming of something more, of something else. I realize that I have placed these roadblocks on my personal road to redemption, and that it is only through self-reflection that I can see the forest for the trees, but in the end, this belief may be nothing more than my intrinsic need to believe that I can change.

Deity of Transform Her, an extraordinary man that I admire and respect, believes that I am submissive; could he be right? I often wonder if I were in such a position, would I become derailed with fear and fight like a caged animal, or would I welcome it. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know how to be submissive. Is this the beauty of it? Maybe this is answer I have been searching for; a man worthy enough to take me and fashion me into the goddess he sees within me; the goddess I know that is inside of me. Maybe by giving up the iron-clad grip I have on myself over to a man that I trust will allow me the freedom to be the woman I truly am; something I have denied myself, for far too long. I am my own worst enemy.

Where do I find such a man?

While wallowing in the cesspit that is my soul, I came up with the idea of learning Jeet Kune Do, I figured it would help me take my mind off of the utter failure I have become. I suddenly came to the conclusion that one of my fantasies could soon be a reality; my ninja fantasy. Oh yes, Venus-san will soon be able to dazzle you with her ninjistics.

Everybody was Kung Fu fighting, is playing in the background. Wo ho ho hooooo! Sing it with me. Opening scene, I am trapped in the belly of a violent volcano staring down forty ambidextrous succubi with enchanted, flaming swords in their hands. My only means of escape blocked. With my amazing cat-like reflexes, I leap into a forward somersault three-quarter facelock jawbreaker and take out my first opponent. I grab the demon sword and throw it with mighty ninja speed, it ricochets off ze walls of ze volcano, taking out any rogue succubi who try to evade all that is my ninja-ness. I take down their leader with a Vulcan nerve pinch and vault myself over the remaining horde. My hands and feet are a blur as I chop and I block and I blow the house down. All the while, making funny Asians sounds as I wipe out the lusty devils. I stop at a key moment just before I make my escape, pose dramatically and belt out a rebel yell.

I am a million miles of fun, if there is one man out there that gets me and wants to play with me, I will marry you; right now. I can’t imagine a man like me, the two of us together? Its like giving crazy to Angelina Jolie. Let’s start with thing one and thing two. Hu! Ha! And yes, I do impressions, of every ethnicity on a daily basis. You should hear my Russian accent, it’s sexy.

Oh look, I bounced back.

My heart is heavy. Loneliness is crushing me; I cannot bear its weight. Remembrances of what could have been, what should have been, are half torn and hover about my soul like black, wavy ribbons, suspended in mid-air by stagnation, bitterness and regret. Is this what my shadow looks like?

He has come for me, arms stretched out, ready to envelope me in his black shroud. I can almost hear him say, “You belong to me.” He is the only lover I have ever known.

I’m slipping away. I have to do something. I need structure and discipline. I need focus, therefore, I have decided to learn Arabic. I have a proclivity for learning languages and other strange things. I need something to take my mind off…

All that is me…

I had the strangest dream.

I lay alone in a secluded grove, it was the time of the Lughnasadh fires. Curious signs were painted onto my pale, naked body. My body, young and tender again. My hair, long and flowing, fell in golden waves beneath me. I could feel its warmth and silkiness.

It was then he appeared in the mist, tall and powerful. He circled me, his every move made with purpose. Then he laid upon me and took me into his arms. It seemed to me that time had stopped as my body melted into his. The sweetness of his breath was almost a drug, seducing me into submission. His kiss was like fire and ice on my lips. When he bore his body into mine there was a searing pain, as if he had taken my virginity. I felt the thrill of exquisite pain and pleasure at his every touch. We were driven by a force I cannot understand. It was as if all of my life had never been.

Why did it seem that there were shadows atop his head? Horns, antlers? Who was this man in my arms, inside of me, and what had time been between us?

As passion faded, I wanted to begin anew, instead he rose and beckoned me to follow him but I was frozen, unable to move or speak. I wanted to go with him, forever but it was as if a lightning bolt had struck through me pinning me against the earth, forbidding me. Time seemed to twist upon itself and the air crackled with electricity. He spoke and said, “Now you remember me. Soon, I will come back for you.”

Shall we begin?

Rape. I have this incredible urge to be raped. I want an unknown assailant to silently stalk and attack me. He must be a big, strong, powerful man. I want him to throw me to the ground and hover over me, cover my mouth with one large hand and with the other rip off my panties under my skirt. I want to feel a switchblade to my throat, piercing me ever so slightly. I want to feel a strong hand painfully sink into my thigh, forcibly spreading my legs apart. I want him to violate me with his huge, hard cock. I want him to split me in two. I want to hear him moan, I want to feel his sweat, I want it to drip down onto my face, into my mouth. I want my body to betray me as he fucks me like a whore. I want him to feel my wetness start to spread. I want him to laugh at the treason, flip me over and viciously assault my virgin ass.

Jesus Christ! Sometimes, I amaze myself.

UPDATE

Ouch, this is poorly worded and poorly written; I apologize. It doesn’t do my fantasy justice. I will have to rewrite this, for your reading pleasure and for my OCD.

UPDATE DEUX

On second thought, no I won’t. I have resolved to leave it as it is. Raw.

If we understand the history of the Roman Catholic Church, what should we expect Pope Benedict to say about the role of Catholicism today? We shouldn’t be surprised or shocked that he:

“reasserted the universal primacy of the Roman Catholic Church, approving a document that says Orthodox churches were defective and that other Christian denominations were not true churches.” AP

In case you didn’t know, the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith is just a new name for The Holy Office of the Inquisition which, officially dates back to the 16th century but has its origins in the Roman Republic. Do they really think that by changing the name they can erase it’s scandalous, abominable history? Pope Benedict, aka, Joseph Ratzinger just happened to be the Prefect for that office for about 15 years until Pope John Paul’s death. The purpose of the office is to promote and safeguard the doctrine on the faith and morals throughout the Catholic world, key word: Catholic, not everyone else. This Pope, in his omniscience, has declared that the Catholic Church, from this day forward, will no longer recognize Orthodox and Protestant denominations because they don’t recognize it. Love to break it to you Benny, no one cares.

Some people claim that it’s not what we believe, it’s how we believe. I find this to be a false statement. What about Morman’s and Jehovah’s Witnesses? Certainly, they are an offshoot of Christianity but their beliefs are vastly different from mainstream Christians. What about the snake-handling churches in Appalachia? Or the Branch Davidians? This may give rise to the argument that this is precisely the reason why we need a central authority on church doctrine; to prevent such corruption. I may be apt to agree in these extreme cases. I do believe there needs to be a set of controls operating for the sole purpose of rooting out renegades. But where will that lead, where will it stop? Where do we draw the line? Personally, I think common sense is the best regulator there is.

In my youth, the Pope’s proclamation would have infuriated me, no longer. As I age, I realize that none of this matters, what is really important is my personal relationship with Jesus. And, lest we forget, Jesus was a Jew, not a Catholic, not a Protestant, not a Christian. I repeat, Jesus was a Jew. He celebrated all of the Jewish holidays and festivals. He was a rabbi and taught in the synagogue. He taught in the traditional way of the Torah. He didn’t preach Christianity for there was no such thing. He was an advocate for social and religious change. He was a revolutionary. In the old days, making such a statement was considered heresy by the Catholic Church, I would have been found guilty, after much torture, and then been burned at the stake, naked, naturally. Ahh, the good ol’ days.

My family is Episcopal, (high Anglo-Catholic) a branch of the Anglican Church (Church of England) in America, but I have never been to church, I have not been baptized, I have never experienced a communal gathering in praise of the Lord. Reason being, my parents were hippies, hence my initials LSD, and refused to let society corrupt me. Oh, how naive they were. This is of no consequence, for the rest of my family is staunchly Protestant, it permeates the very fabric of my being. I did not need to attend church to be influenced as such, it was promulgated by my family, isn’t that the way it should be, isn’t that the way it started 2000 years ago. That seed of belief was planted and nurtured for many years until I started searching for God on my own which, continues to this very day. When will I realize he is within me?

The Bible, as we know it today, does not provide everything I need, there are over 5000 New Testament texts out there just waiting to be read, I own many and have access to an innumerable number online. No church can provide what I need either. Bible thumping and bleating out recitations is not going to sway my beliefs one way or the other. Certainly, no church leader, regardless of denomination is going to bully me from the pulpit into blindly following what they think is right for me. I have my faith, and that’s all I need. Gotta love Luther. As I have said before, I am becoming more and more gnostic everyday. I make no apologies.

Four years. It has been four years. Four years since I have had sex and I hadn’t even realized it until I was looking at a calendar. I do this everyday though, not for the reason you might imagine for I am an unconventional woman. My obsession with dates is quirky, I admit, but it keeps me sharp.

The date on my desk calendar sent me back in time to 1187. I watched as Saladin’s forces annihilated the Crusader army, led by the incompetent fool Guy of Lusignan, King of Jerusalem. I have this uncanny ability to view historical events with remarkable clarity, as if I am really there. I believe it is akin to lucid dreaming.

It was hot, like a blast furnace. Smoke from Saladin’s fires made it almost impossible to see but carnage demands attention, it will accept nothing less. Swords were clashing, ringing in my ears. Men were screaming, hacking at one another, blood spilling on the desert floor. I looked at a man lying motionless, his neck cleaved open. He looked familiar, handsome, despite the near decapitation. Who was this man? Why was he here? Where did he come from? Was he scared or was he a brave soul? Did he have a lover? Who was this man? It was then I realized, he looked my ex-boyfriend, the only one I have ever had.

A new date came to mind. It was the last time I had sex, four years ago. I remember that day very well. It had been over a year since we had had sex and I was determined to have it that day. He had other ideas. He complained, he argued, he became irate and the fight was on. I threw myself on the floor, my ass high in the air in front of him, I hiked my skirt up over my hips and pulled my panties down. “Whore” he said, as he got up from his chair and attempted to pull my skirt back down. I was seething. I reached behind me and grabbed his tie and pulled it down close to my face. “Fuck me” I whispered through clenched teeth.

Hastily, he unzipped his pants, tore my grip from his tie and pushed my face down into the carpet. It was the first and only time I have been fucked in this position, and I loved it. It was fast, furious and over in less than a minute. We dressed without speaking. There was something in the air, it was uncomfortable, an uneasiness that bespoke of regret.

In the aftermath, he went to church, an old, Gothic Catholic church in Detroit, that has been there for over two centuries. I find it odd that he chose that one instead of the Catholic church he belongs to. He must not have wanted to be recognized. Apparently, he was so overcome with something that he felt confession was his only recourse. I find Catholics to be bizarre but I digress. Upon his return, he called to tell me that he would never have sex with me again and he never did. He also cautioned me to never speak of what took place between us and I never did. He was somber and serious. I was detached. I let it go, an act of contrition.

Most days, I love looking at my calendar and traveling back in time but not today. It is with much bitterness that I reflect upon that day and all of the days that have passed since then. I do not lament the fact that I am not with him. It is not him I am angry with, it is me. I let this happen. I let myself go. I am to blame. Me and no one else.

Forlorn, it is all that I am and all I am ever going to be.

It slithered,
Base and familiar.
Father of Lies,
Slipping forth his forked tongue.
Hanging in the balance awaiting his pleasure,
Author of Desire.
Suspicion, confusion, anticipation, fear,
Tools of Sin.
A cacophony of war drums thunder the rhythm of the night,
Pacing the ascent, measuring the motion.
Truth is lost in wanton abandon,
As the Rubicon is crossed.
The Master coos with a serpentine hiss.
The slave is rewarded with sanguine, languid waves.
Dominion.

On this date in 306 A.D., Constantine I was proclaimed the first Christian Roman emperor by his troops. Other individuals who have influenced history are; Pericles, Aristotle, Julius Caesar, Jesus Christ, Charlemagne, Leonardo da Vinci, Isaac Newton, Martin Luther, Mohammed, Christopher Columbus, Thomas Jefferson, and Hitler, to name just a few. Did they really change the course of events of history or did they merely serve as a catalyst? At one end of the spectrum is the view of the historian Thomas Carlyle: “Universal history, the history of what man has accomplished in this world, is at bottom the History of the Great Men who have worked here.” At the opposite end of the spectrum is the view of the Prussian statesman Otto von Bismarck, who unlike Carlyle had many years of hands on experience as a politician: “The stateman’s task is to hear God’s footsteps marching through history, and to try to catch on to His coattails as He marches past.”

Granted, Constantine’s reign was a turning point for the Christian Church but it was already an institution. He may have nudged the course of it but he certainly didn’t invent it. To me, these individuals are wild cards played in the course of history. This debate will forever cause much contention among scholars as it remains an open question as to how far-ranging and long-lasting the effects of a few individuals on history really are.

I felt his arm wrap around me, pulling me in closer to his warm body. His shape large, strong, powerful and protective. I lazily grind my backside against his lower abdomen and arch my back anticipating the firmness of his grasp on my hips, his hot breath on my neck. It didn’t come. I awoke confused, unsure of where I was; my mind clouded. With the sudden realization that my lover was nothing more than a ghost in a dream, I wearily lay my head back down, remembering my fate. Loneliness, the fate I have chosen for myself.

The analyst that I am; I looked at this problem from every possible stand point. Where did I go wrong? How did I get here? What was the catalyst that sent me into this dismal existence in exile? Or was it a long suffering demise? Maybe it’s just me, my personality, my character traits/flaws. Maybe there isn’t any thing to blame, in particular, just myself. Taking a step away for a moment, I attempt to view me from someone else’s perspective. Who am I? What makes me, me?

Let’s see… I love ancient mysteries and try to solve them. I want to travel the world, not as a tourist, God forbid, but as a seeker, a seeker of knowledge, a seeker of the past, a seeker of forgotten souls, forgotten times, and forgotten places. I have no desire to go to L.A. or Chicago, or similar places of mundane nature. Curiously, I want to walk the entire length of the vast network of Roman roads. I want to explore the underground labyrinth of caves underneath Cappodocia. I want to hunt for the Lost Ark and the Holy Grail. I have a vast array of maps, old and new. I stare at them imagining where I will go. I daydream of traveling with Marco Polo and going on adventures with Julius Caesar, Hannibal and Saladin. I envision sailing down the Nile with Cleopatra, learning all of her secrets. I am really strange.

I want to buy a large tract of land and build a castle on it, complete with a great hall. It will also have an authentic Roman bath and a dungeon on the premises so as to partake of all the debauchery my mind can muster. I want to build a Viking long ship and use it as a bed. I want to bounce up and down on it and shout things like, land ho! and swab the deck you yellow-bellied scallywag! and Harr… I want to learn the art of flint knapping and sword-smithing. My swords will not just hang in my castle. Every man that attempts to bed me will have to face me in a sword fight. I will slap him across the face with my glove and say, in my best southern Georgia accent, “I challenge you to a duel.” I want to learn the way of the ninja for the sole purpose of stealing the secrets of the Vatican. Bastards, they have/hide everything. While I am there, I will also pilfer a cardinal’s robes because, you know, Halloween is coming up and it’s just so damned difficult to obtain good quality costumes these days.

I am well-read, I have multitudes of books, my collection consists largely of reference books, almanacs, history books, geology and geography books, language books, religious books, political science books, and science books. The only works of fiction I own are authored by ancient writers, Shakespeare, R.A. Salvatore, and Terry Goodkind; believe it or not.

I am also well-spoken and articulate. I am as smooth as silk at black tie affairs and political galas. I can talk about any topic with anyone. I may not know everything about a given subject but I have a cursory understanding of a great many things. If I am ignorant of the subject matter, I make it a point to become well-versed in it. I am forever asking questions. I hate not knowing things.

I am also fascinated with biological anthropology and the study of human history. I can tell your ethnicity just by looking at you and show you your evolutionary idiosyncrasies by pointing to places on your face and body. For example, how do you fold your hands, is it left thumb on top or right thumb on top? Or, why you have a heavy brow ridge or why you have green eyes, red hair and freckles, and how and when you got it. I can also tell you much about your relatively recent family history simply by your ethnicity, religious affiliation and last name without ever having met you before.

Other things:

My sexual tastes lie in obscurity and are on the verge of appalling. I am slothful, I love lazing around in bed on the weekend. I bore easily. My attention span is that of a gnat. It is hard to keep me interested. I am so unfocused, what a shame. I have a temper that shines with all of the brilliance and brevity of a solar flare. But I am also very tender-hearted and lovable, damn it! I say it therefore, it must be true. I am a huge college football fan, I cannot stress this enough. The University of Michigan, my alma mater, is the winningest football team in history, Go Blue! I like video games and board games and play them every chance I get. Dorks Unite! I am extremely determined and strong-willed, to the point of inflexibility. I keep my innermost thoughts to myself, I do not share them with anyone. It may seem to others that I am closed off, detached, and uncaring. Why I don’t pursue all of the things I dream of is simple, responsibility and doing the right thing. As I have said before, it is like a pox upon my skin that… just… won’t… go… away.

Hmm… Now that I reflect upon these things, it is no wonder I am single. I have the flight of fancy of a 15 year old boy, the stubborness of a mule, the oddball curiosity of a pencil-necked geek, and a companionless over-active sex drive. This is how I see myself. Do others see me like this? Do they see a reserved, isolated, indifferent woman with a bad attitude or do they see a passionate, eccentric woman with a plethora of interests?

I am a woman adrift.

UPDATE

I would be remiss if I did not mention my incredibly bad habits. I have a penchant for self-destruction. I smoke like a fiend. Not even Zyban could alter my behavior. I don’t take care of myself. I will get on a work-out kick and health food craze for six months and then without rhyme or reason, quit. Just when I am feeling good about myself. I have a tendency to fall into depression with relative ease and frequency. My depression comes in many forms. It appears as sadness, sadness beyond measure. It can take the shape of bitterness and hatefulness, laden with poison. It casts itself as chaos, where I am over-whelmed, unable to move. I let it happen, it’s convenient and comfortable. Better the monster you know than the monster you don’t, yes?

Other dispositions include, but are not limited to, impatience, intolerance, apathy, negligence and deviance. I cry in museums. I find satisfaction in the demise of others. I want something, what that is I do not know. At times, I am of the mindset that no one will ever understand me and that my genius is severely underrated and at others, I feel like a blithering idiot that deserves nothing less than to be disregarded.

Christ, I’m such a megalomaniac.

Realistically, I don’t think I will make a good sub; I am too head strong and willful. I may fantasize about it but in all honesty, I don’t believe that I will very good at it. If a man has, by some miracle, actually convinced me to let him tie me up I will only struggle the entire time to get free. I don’t think he would appreciate my relentless squirming and the deep-throated threats I will surely hurl at him. If he hurts me, he will rue the day I ever got out of my trappings. For starters, I will find the nearest belt and whip him across the face with it. I can’t even imagine a man trying to spank me, as a punishment; I swear I would reach around, grab the cane and shove it up his ass. It is impossible for me to believe that I would actually do something he told me to do. Obey? Me? Ha! I would question, argue, etc. Though, this is the worst case scenario which, I fear the most.

I can become quite the unruly creature. I admit that, at times, my claws come out and I morph into a fire breathing dragon that lays waste to everyone and everything unfortunate enough to be in my path. This is not one of my finer qualities. I am ashamed of it actually. I do not think these character attributes are favorable for submission. Then again, I do not think that they are desirable for domination either. I just don’t think I am either. I don’t feel that I fit in anywhere.

I am tired of wondering about it. I just need a good fucking. I wish I owned toys.

As I have said before, I do not feel that I am dominant or submissive, on the whole. I believe that, at times, I am dominant and at others, I am submissive. I have no qualms about admitting this. I want to be devoured and I also want to be the devourer. I also feel that there is room for more. Yes, that elusive, ever transient thing we call love, but I digress. I must be a switch.

I can see myself in a submissive position, truly. Though, it would take a special man to be able to do that to me. There is a difference between being seduced, taken to a primal level where all I have is my need and being tortured by a bungling idiot. This is what scares me. Just the idea of being helpless at the hands of a man who has no desire to bring me pleasure, only pain and tears is terrifying. I will never allow that to happen. I don’t want to be in fear that I am going to die a horrible death or maimed. I want to be taken to a place in me that has been hidden, taken to my basic instinct where I feel nothing, I know nothing, I want nothing but him and what pleasure he can give me. My mind goes a million miles per second, is this even a possibility for me? I don’t know.

I would be remiss if I did not admit that my dominance is more evident in my everyday life than in my fantasies. I don’t think I could keep a man tied down for too long. I have an intrinsic need to be touched, always. Maybe for a few moments it would turn me on but then I would have to loose him. I want hands in my hair, on my breasts, on my face, my ass, touching me everywhere, unable to contain/restrain himself. I want him to adore me, praise me, only see and want me, to desire me above all else.

Someone once accused me of being inhibited, I balked at the mere insinuation of it, the gall of the man! Now, I understand, I am inhibited. In my mind, I am sex goddess but in reality, I am a shrew gathering dust. I write in this blog about anything and everything, things I would never share with another, ever. In particular, my sexual fantasies seem to be beyond the norm for some and hopelessly lame to others but this is irrelevant, the point is that through this medium I have found an outlet. I fear that this is as far as it will go.

It has been extremely difficult for me to bridge the gap between who I truly am on the inside and who I portray myself to be on the outside. This is one of the major obstacles in my life and to be honest, I have no idea how to overcome it. It is with great displeasure that I admit the possibility of finding freedom through another. It has become painfully obvious to me that I cannot do it myself. I do not find this to be a strong point in my character rather, it distresses me greatly. I do not know if someone else can make this possible but I see no other way.

If I were to ever meet a man that I trusted implicitly (key word: TRUST) I would give him my submission without reservation. I would surrender my mind, body and soul so that I may be set free. Through this liberation, I am of the mindset that anything and everything is possible. My inner vixen will be released to not only be feasted upon but to feast upon another. I do not see myself assuming one character role, instead, I see the real me, without pretense, the embodiment of a goddess, multi-faceted and labyrinthine.

Freedom, this is exactly what I need. Who will give it to me?

The premise is to use song lyrics to write a post about yourself or whatever you want… Hey, it filled up my Friday night.

(more…)

Set in 1191 AD, when the Third Crusade was tearing the Holy Land apart. Shrouded in secrecy and feared for their ruthlessness, the Assassins intend to stop the hostilities by suppressing both sides of the conflict. Players will assume the role of the main character, Altair, and will have the power to throw their immediate environment into chaos and truly experience the art of a master assassin. Launch date, November 09, 2007.

You can view more information here.

I quit playing video games last year. For some strange reason, I felt that I was too old to play any longer, that I should buckle down and be mature. Fuck that. I’m a gamer chic. Always have been, always will be.

I almost had an orgasm just watching the trailer.

Assassin’s Creed

“The Way I See It #266

“Once, when excavating the house of a medieval sailor on the coast of the Red Sea in Egypt, I found a still-preserved reed mat in front of a door. Under the doormat was a wooden key with the name of the owner painted on it. It was an extraordinary sense of connection with the last person to walk out of that building 700 years ago.

Fred Hiebert, archaeologist and National Geographic Fellow”

I don’t like Starbucks coffee, it’s too bitter but I noticed this quote on a cup and I asked the man who was drinking out of it if I may have it when he was finished. I must seem like a strange woman to people at times. This quote is exactly how I feel; a sense of connection. This is why I love the history of humanity. It is tangible yet, so full of mystery. Who were these people?

I was robbed, all of those years ago, when I was forced to quit my PhD program in Biological Anthropology, specifically, the Upper Paleolithic. No, not forced, I gave it up freely. Why? Responsibility. I had two children to take care of and I was selfish for wanting something for myself. My dream, it turned to dust in my hands and was blown away in the winds of remorse. My family brow beat me into Masters degree program in Political Science and I have worked for the government ever since. Yeeha… Now, my children are grown and attend university themselves. I am a loathsome creature for it is I that am now guilty of trying to micro manage their lives. History does repeat itself. I must correct this injustice not only for them but for myself as well.

Two people helped me see that this weekend, Daemon and Lou. It may not seem so to them but their words struck a chord in me that resonates far beyond what they intended. There are no words to adequately describe my gratitude but they have it just the same.

I know what I want, I have always known, it is just that I buried it so very long ago. Instead of trying to achieve my real goals I tackle things that I could care less about and consequently, never feel a sense of accomplishment. This phenomenon has spread to all areas of my life. I condemn myself, repeatedly.

Time for me to move on, I hate Scottsdale. I am a city girl and this is a one horse town, literally. I need to move to a city that has institutions of higher learning, a cultural center with a vibrant nightlife, a place I can call home and mean it. Of course, I will have to waitress my way through a PhD program but who cares. Status means little to me anymore. What matters to me is my quality of life which, has been rather poor for far too long.

So, where shall I go? Suggestions are welcome.

I have received more than a few emails regarding my emotional state in “The Mirror” and while I thought I was perfectly clear it is apparent that I was not. You see, I have this problem with believing that people think the same way I do yet, my expectations of others is relatively low, non-existent really. How I marry the two is a mystery to me. So, let me explain, once and for all, why I was crying in “The Mirror.”

I wasn’t crying audibly, I never do that, rather, tears were streaming down my face. If you do not know who Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina is (1525-1594) I suggest you Google or Wiki him. His compositions are genuine masterpieces that leave me in an indescribable state. I can only listen to such music while I am alone. I cannot and will not share it with others. It is far too personal. Some things are mine and mine alone.

The other, and more interesting to you blog readers, reason that I was crying can be attributed to Daemon of Sadistic Excess. There is no blog drama here, so sorry. I do not know him, I do not correspond with him, although I once sent an email of introduction. Beyond that, nothing. All I am to him is an anonymous blog reader. That being said, I regretfully inform you that I was not impassioned over him rather, I was and still am, extremely jealous and green with envy of him. There is also a part of me that is in awe of him. He is a man of action, I am not. He is a doer, I am not. The difference between people like him and people like me is that he accomplishes what he sets out to do without aforethought and I analyze endlessly before I do anything which, leads me to doing nothing at all. Understand? He wants it, he does it. I want it, I worry about it. I am forever in a frozen state of being. My resentment knows no bounds.

Finally, to be quite honest, I am lonely. No one ever notices me, ever. I have no one to touch me, to kiss me, no one to explore sexuality and life with, moreover, I have no one to talk to. I stood in front of the mirror, naked, touching myself, looking at myself, really looking, wishing someone else were there to do it. Wishing for someone, anyone. It was then I realized that all of my hopes and dreams are futile. I am alone and I always will be. Strangely, I derived much pleasure at lashing out at myself; something had to give. I have never thought myself to be a violent person but maybe I am. Maybe I suppress it. Maybe I suppress everything and that is the root of my problem.

There you have it. I trust that my explanation is satisfactory.

To say that I am a stressed individual is putting it mildly. I have serious difficulty relaxing, I have a killer case of insomnia and my mind travels a million miles per minute. A “concerned” friend suggested that I try listening to an audio file specifically geared toward relaxation and stress relief. She even emailed it to me but I was skeptical and did not look at it for a long while. One night, I bit the bullet and played the audio file. In the beginning, I thought, “No way, this isn’t going to work.” Then, I was immersed, I didn’t realize how far gone I was until it was over. I think I was hypnotized in a matter of moments. Seriously.

Incidentally, this audio file was a past life regression, much to my chagrin, it was not geared towards relaxation though, I must admit, I had never felt so wonderful as I did that night. Strange, I don’t believe in such things but my mind went with it. I have concluded that it wasn’t a past life regression, instead, it was my vast knowledge of history that contributed to the vision.

It began with breathing exercises and visualization which, became more and more involved with each exercise. Soon enough, I was transported to what I thought was my home, scratch that, it was my home, I knew where everything was and I knew the history behind the various items. I was instructed to look at the calendar on the wall and the date was March 23, 1153. I gazed into a mirror and saw my reflection; I was a man. A very tall, strong, muscular man with broad shoulders, long blond hair and a long red beard. I was dressed in many layers of clothing which, were really heavy. I was a German man without a doubt. I knew it in an instant.

I was then asked to go to my place of business but it was not mine, per se, rather, my role was to inspect the equipment and to comment on what a good job everyone was doing. I was there to rally the masses, it would seem. I went to various buildings, picked up a sword or shield, nuzzled a war horse and slapped the backs of the men who were making this all possible.

Next, I was instructed to go to the happiest period of my life which, was in a great hall of sorts. Music was playing, food was in abundance, my entire family and many of my friends were in attendance. Laughter, loud, boisterous laughter, hearty laughter boomed off of the walls and vibrated my body. I was so happy. It was the most wonderful day of my life. I think it was a wedding. A small, blond child, two or three years of age, with big blue eyes was clutching my right leg as I walked, going for a ride. I knew instinctively that the child was not only my grandson but also my real life brother. I picked him up and loved him and told him I would take care of him.

Then, I was told to go to the most important day of my life and I was transported to a very large cathedral and I was surrounded by Italians. Italians? One Italian, in particular, seemed especially important to me. I was confused by this but also I knew that at that moment the world was forever changed. My life had changed. Everything was different now. Again, the calendar stated it was March 23, 1153.

I was then asked what the most traumatic experience of my life was. As if by magic, I was on the side of a treed hill, kneeling before a freshly dug grave covered in flowers. I was sobbing hysterically. I was sad beyond measure and wished for my death. Nothing else mattered.

Finally, I was told to enter a room, a lodge, as I did so I noticed everyone that was ever important in my life standing in many rows, silently looking at me. I was to ask if anyone had a message for me. Only one person spoke, my wife, and she said, ” Be strong.”

Then, it was over. I knew I had been hypnotized. Crazy.

I immediately Googled and Wikied March 23, 1153 and was astonished. I know the truth though, it was merely my mind conjuring up a vision of a historical figure that I have read about or studied in the past.

As Johnny Carson would say, “weird, wild stuff.”

I read other peoples blogs and find a few of them quite interesting, most however, are nothing but inane blather. I read these blogs to try and determine what their perversion is, where did they get it and how do they put it into practice. Most are very descriptive and give me more information than I could dream of; I thank those of you who write well and with purpose. Others, sadly, are filled with mindless drivel. They detail their dominance or submission as if they were writing a police report. They systematically outline their daily activities and rules that they must abide by or rules that they have given. Blah, blah, blah. Nothing could bore me more. They remind me of a herd of sheep and they are, regardless of whether they think they are the ringleader or the follower.

I don’t know what I want I just know that I need something… I am unable to adequately describe this feeling so I won’t try, moreover, I am unable to ascribe a category to my kink. I believe I read these blogs in hopes that I will discover what my own particular brand of perversion is. It is fruitless, I know, but the thrill is in the chase don’t you think? I do not have an intrinsic need to be submissive nor do I have a compulsion to dominate rather, I want both, no rules, no reports, with no marked delineation. There is a time and place for everything.

I want a strong man, as I am a strong woman. I cannot see myself in a submissive role, begging and crying, and when it gets to rough calling out a safe word. Where’s the thrill in that? I want someone to try and make me submissive. I want to fight, physically. I want someone that is equally as wicked as I am. Someone unafraid to hurt me and man enough to take what I give them. Give and take, back and forth, no real winner, no loser. It’s the dance and the devil is in the details. Some dominant bloggers want to take a woman and fashion them into their own personal plaything, doll, slave, or whatever. I don’t want that rather, I want a man that sees me for the demoness I truly am and revel in it, a man that wants to challenge me and to wrap himself up in me. To desire me above all else, knowing that I feel the same way. Each striving to assert their dominance and yet, secretly wanting to submit themselves to one another.

Do I make any sense?

Be careful when you fight the monsters, lest you become one.
Friedrich Nietzsche

Picture this, the Romans have laid waste to Carthage, killing every living, breathing thing, be it man, woman, or child. Nothing survived, nothing. The city walls, its buildings and its harbor utterly destroyed and the city burnt to the ground. Now imagine the Romans covering the city and surrounding area with salt to ensure that nothing would grow there again.

I… have a rotten soul.

Just a daydream I had today.

I’m watching them. He tears the clothes from her body leaving her breathless. Tossed aside, they lay crumpled on the floor, forgotten. She bows her head and tries to cover herself with her hands but it is in vain. He circles her, slowly, making the wait unbearable for her, for me. Shame and fear escape her lips as whimpering pleas for mercy. This only excites him further as he ponders what sins he will commit against her flesh. Without warning, he grabs her by the back of the head and forces her face first, into the pillows. She lets out a muffled scream as he locks her wrists into cuffs already secured to the headboard. He walks into the closet and returns with various implements, things I have never seen before, evil things. The instruments frighten me but I am also strangely aroused by them. He straddles her thighs and whispers in her ear, “Bitch.”

He began to strike her across her back with a flexible cane in a violent frenzy. I could see the welts already forming on her, red and raised. He was vicious. Never letting up, never losing momentum. His muscles working feverishly. She screamed in unintelligible agony. I could see the sweat beading on his forehead, dripping down his face. My mouth watered, I wanted to lick it off.

Suddenly, he stopped, threw the cane aside and stood up. He took off his suit and tie revealing a cock that would make any man jealous and every woman drool. He climbed back into the bed, wrapped his tie around her throat with one hand and pulled her ass up high in the air with the other. He pounded into her, without mercy. She wasn’t crying anymore, she was making guttural, animal noises.

My eyes became thick and heavy with lust. I needed, something. I dared not move for fear of being discovered. Then out of nowhere, someone slid up behind me, silently. I don’t know who he was or what he looked like, it doesn’t matter. Nameless and faceless, only there to pleasure me while I watched the debauchery only a few feet away. He ripped my dress off and bent me forward onto all fours. His hands were big and strong, he grabbed my hips and slammed into me. No warning, none needed.

Sounds of fucking can’t be hidden and my presence was soon discovered, I no longer cared. He stared at me as he fucked her and as someone else fucked me. In response, his assault on her rose to a new level of ferocity. His malevolence was obscene; my pussy was on fire. His eyes tore into me and his upper lip curled into an demonic snarl. Then the beast growled, “Come.”

I have today and all of next week off; what to do… Nothing. I am particularly bored this morning, one of my many demons I contend with on a daily basis. I have been tagged with a game of sorts which I will save for the next post. For now, I am surfing. I came across a website that claims to be able to determine your personality type. Bored, I took the test, the results pissed me off. So, I surfed for more of these tests and found them, I took those tests as well. The results were the same and are as follows:

Narcissistic-aggressive type

The female of this character type, in modern Western society, may lead a particularly turbulent life. And given her total confusion with regard to the instinctual demons that are propelling her through life like a speedboat out of control, one cannot help but be sympathetic toward her. She feels that she is destined to do great things, but somehow feels that she is not “normal”. She wants to work with others, but bitterly resents being asked to do anything for anyone.

She has pride in her beauty, but somehow feels that she is physically flawed. It is perplexing to others how this individual, often frankly attractive, has almost invariably a negative body image of herself, a flaw, whether it be an imperfect complexion, an imperfect nose, this feature or that. Somehow her narcissistic voice demands physical “perfection” of herself. And in response to the disparate feelings of ugliness on the one hand, and the need to be a ravishing beauty on the other, she places an enormous investment in efforts to enhance her physical appearance. There is an emphasis on fashionable, perfectly-matching clothes, with price being no object, on accessories of dress, on her hair style, on nail polish, cosmetics and perfumes, and the like.

With regard to her sexuality, in which there is so much pride invested, total confusion reigns. Being an aggressive type she instinctively scorns weakness, but all the while dreaming of a superman who will overpower her and possess her, she paradoxically seeks men whom she can dominate and subjugate. And in doing so, she almost invariably chooses among those who long for submission. And in dominating she wonders why she cannot submit to true love, why she cannot be tender, and why she is, despite all of her investment in sexuality, often sexually unresponsive. And it is in her unresponsiveness and i