Wednesday, December 16, 2009


Over the past several weeks I have been following a discussion by a number of blogger on the topic of objectification.

I know I run the risk of covering ground that has previously been discussed to death, but I do feel the need to have my say, from my particular point of view.

First off I must be clear that I was in a very long-term D/s relationship and had a submissive, but that is no longer the case, so what I have to say is predicated on that relationship and, on my knowledge of the BDSM community both online and live,   formal seminars and hands-on workshops, together with extensive reading, and research.

I will attempt to encapsulate the main points of both schools of thought.

The arguments that I have been following are thus:

The first one is of the willing embracing of one’s inner object or role.  Once the inner object is embraced, there is a releasing of their personality to acquire a new one, usually one that is an object, a cunt, a sex object, or as one of the proponents of this argument suggest, their “inner dolly.”

The participants of this kink  claim they feel liberated and freed when they don this persona, but in blogs I have read expounding the virtues of this kink, it seems the writers wish to be in this persona for an extended period of time and as often as possible.

The other school of thought that engaged in this debate riled against objectification of the individual, asserting that it was detrimental to the individual psyche and destructive. They argue that to objectify a person is demeaning, dehumanizing, and fundamentally wrong.

As you strip the person of power, and identity, the impact of this can be devastating to the person’s emotional and psychological well being.

Both schools of thought are right and wrong.

Among the various forms of objectification, are those people whose kink is to be an inanimate object (i.e., tables or lamps or a foot stool).

This form of objectification is a form of meditation for those people, the willing loss of self, a quieting of the mind, very similar to people who find flogging meditative, or find bondage meditative; however, like any type of meditation, it is for a specific duration of time.

Now as for the objectification of turning a person into a object (i.e., body parts or unthinking dolls, a cunt, or fuck hole), this type of fetish is arousing and often involves the eroticization of a body part, heightening the enjoyment.  It does, however only tap into a facet of that person!!

The first form of objectification - that of the willing loss of self can be liberating, freeing, and a means to embrace one’s quiet core, as in meditation. but it is only within the limited context of the scene, and, like meditation, has a beginning middle and end.

If one attempts to extend this form of objectification beyond the preset parameters of the scene, then for both participants in the  D/s relationship, it can be dangerous. For the person who strives to always remain the object is doomed to fail, and in the process to wreck damage upon the D./s relationship. One cannot be a object all the time; no matter how hard one strives, one will always remain more than an object.  For the submissive there is only failure after failure in their attempt to remain the object that their Dom wishes them to be.

For the Dominant, there is disappointment after disappointment because they are asking the impossible. Eventually the strain will seriously impact the relationship, if not end it.

The other interpretation of objectification is self-evident; people are more than just body parts, more than just a certain role.  Whether the Dominant wants to admit it or not, a submissive is more than just a body part or an action or a thought. A submissive is more than a submissive, they are people with various roles and skills and abilities.

To see anyone as one-dimensional, as an object or as a certain role ONLY is wrong and misleading. To do so is to deny the realities of the world you live in.

To continually do so the dominant is doomed to disappointment, and to persist after disappointment and evidence that implies otherwise, the dominant is either learning disabled or just an idiot, who refuses to deal with reality.

To eroticize a body part or a role or a facet of the submissive’s  personality is wonderful and can heighten the mutual experience , but  that eroticized  facet already exists within the personality. and there has to be mutual synergy developed between the Dominant and submissive. The relationship must be mutually gratifying, or else the relationship is doomed to end, if one of the parties’ needs and desires are not being met.

That eroticized aspect of the personality is only an aspect, a facet of an integrated personality.  To bring it out and have it as a focus is fine, but you have to realize that it is only a facet of a whole, and as such will be reintegrated into the whole when the play is over.

Just like a Dom who taps into his stern ‘yes sir’ side, he can only maintain this persona for the duration of the scene. It would be impossible for him or her to continue this persona into and throughout his life.   One cannot expect the people with whom he or she works to call them sir or master, nor can he or she expect the gas attendant to kneel and address them according to strict protocol!

Reality bites into the persona and eventually crumbles it.

We are only capable of suppressing our personalities for a limited time; the demands of reality, time and space and the flow of experiences eventually solicits from us other actions, other aspects of our multi-faceted personalities. and it is through this interplay with experience that we become complex multifaceted individuals, rather than one dimensional cartoon characters.

For the person who wants to be the doll, or a fuck hole, it is freeing because for a brief moment, there is the liberation from cares, worries, history, thinking, decision making, freedom from all of that; the freedom for a few moments to transcend their reality, a freedom to escape into the placid center of themselves. As a form of meditation it can be liberating, because all the stresses of that person’s life are submerged and for a brief moment the individual is free from the rest of themselves. The interval, however, is of short duration, for that scene, that moment; not indefinitely, which form of objectification is only “common” on the Internet!

In reality there are just far too many demands on a person to remain “in character”, or to be just an object.  The pressures of dealing with reality will soon force the person out of their one dimensional persona.

No matter how hard they try, reality will force them out of that role. It is impossible to interact with all you come in contact with as say just a doll, the pressure to function in a multidimensional world will force the one dimensional character to assume other facets of their real self.  So the sexual objectification can only be temporary, and specific to a scene. When one attempts to carry it further, it will soon collapse, as it does in the world, that is why stereotypes and objectification eventually breaks down.

Now the reason all the Dominants just love this type of objectification, is that it is easy, there is a minimum of work involve, there is no mastering involved; the relationship is only one dimensional  shallow and empty of any meaningful interaction..

When you have stripped a person into an object (i.e. a doll), you don't have to take the person into consideration, you don’t have to fear that they will evaluate or make judgments and they won’t think so they won’t question . they won’t challenge, and they won’t defy the Dominant’s power.  There is a surrender that, for the Dominant, is nice and safe.

If a Dominant is uncertain of his powers or abilities an objectified doll is safe to deal with.

The Dominant only has to relate on one level , there is no thinking or evaluating or assessing to be done, the interaction is flat and one dimensional. so there is nothing.  It is safe and comfortable, requires no creativity or insight, only compliance.  It also lacks skill, or imagination, or true power to interact in a shallow one-dimensional relationship on a long-term basis.

To reiterate, this form of relationship can only be successful in a scene. In fact in a scene, it can be very powerful and exceedingly erotic and fulfilling, but like all scenes they must and do come to an end, to do otherwise, to attempt to turn it into a 24/7 relationship is to doomed it to failure.   Too many factors would interfere with the interaction and the illusion would crumble very quickly, when exposed to the light of day.

Although I know a lot of those in Cyber Land dream of such things, it cannot be done!! The demands of the world will erode it to oblivion in a short time..

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

The Cruelest Stroke

I stand on the
edge of the abyss
and reached into its
darkness, searching
for your submission.

I know that you have fallen
you have tumbled into
the void and into
the prison of your flesh

you have locked away
your bondage, you have
imprisoned your desire.

the scars were too much
to bare, the hurt was
and from my hand
the cruelest blow of all,
the wound that burnt you to the core
that turned your submission
to ash was no blow at all

the hurt that drove you
from the world, that
collapsed your spirit
was no hurt at all.

now I stand on the edge
of the abyss and the
darkness drinks from
my eyes.

I watched as you collapsed
to your knees,
my heart sank into the pit,

and the cruelest stroke
was no stroke at all

and now that you are hidden
now that the darkness
has swaddled you,
I step to the edge of the abyss
and prepare to leap.

now that you’re in your
shell, removed from the
loving ache, the darkness
whispers to your wounds.

but I stand on
the edgy of the abyss
and prepare to leap

the darkness has
swallowed you
the darkness has eaten
every morsel

and in my despair
I reach into the abyss
beyond hope I travel
beyond what I am

you have hidden your
submission, camouflaged as pride
brutally stuffed it
into the dark
you have strangled your
desire with a twisted ligature
of despair
you have starved your need
you have suppressed
your appetite,
and throttled
who you are.

you have climbed into your
fortress of flesh
you have leapt into
your private abyss

and I , I in despair
stand on the brink
and try to reach
into your abyss
I stand on the brink
and slowly sink into
my own darkness
into the grief
of the abyss

and realise that
and the cruelest stroke
was no stroke at all.

Monday, December 7, 2009


as the tongues of darkness lick at me
i struggle
with the sticky tendrils
of this worlds web,

and you in shadows still,
fearing your imaginings,
erecting false walls and secret doors, in the land of promise

and still you tremble at the patterns, but still walk
the labyrinth while you deny the paces of your feet,
but i, clearly see your feet,
and i shake my head,
to dislodge the shadows
and your false light

allowing you false comfort, of my false belief,
and you deny yourself to me,.daughter of the god of the sea
yet speak your name daily to those in the other world
and i grow sad knowing the tragedy of this promised land

and i grow resigned to the grief
all of my making,
so i travel the tides, ride the aqua surge,
weep my loss,
weep your fear of self, weep your dread of future past.

and you tremble then fall deep
and travel the distance of stars
from me!

and i stand in the cold, waiting for faith to return,
knowing home means death

waiting for faith to renew
knowing but unable to penetrate the
vastness of your absent flesh.

and the darkness you dance in,
desperate and despairing ,
your longing, never given voice to flesh,
yet a specter posses more of you.

time flows and drains me
as i slumber through
your changes,
and i long for the loss
of knowledge,
i long for the loss of history,
and know that tides are immune from the
diseases of man,
are free of the agony of history,

and the tug of the moon, embraces only the sea, and the silver of the moon
is blind to fish in the sea and ghosts of the land,
deaf to the
terror of the flesh.

and this night drags on, 300 years
and i question the comfort of your eyes,
and the brightness of your skin.

Oisin  reaches and niamh is gone, and you are there,
and my eyes tumble into the the rage of legend and

and my eyes grow cold, and brim with sorrow
and  the despair of secrets.
i dismount
and my feet touch the earth, my world unravels
and i weep knowing that all has past, all is gone,
and Oisin's days near there end.

Friday, November 20, 2009

The Crazy Box

i have slowly tried to
crawl out of the crazy box
despite you with your tawdry deception
that you stretched into the folds of a year,
into the dark creases
of today and always,
it is constant, it permeated the air,
your day, your thoughts,
it muffles my eyes,
and all day the clatter of your fingers speak,
but not to me.

every morsel of your self, every taste, very sip,
willingly offered,
while i double over famished, and gasp for a cool
draft of your time.
unbeknownst to i, chunks of thought
mouthfuls of ardor
ferreted from me, offered in
secrecy and silence while i ,
i'm folded neatly into the crazy box.

constant whimsy becomes you,
as you grow blind to what is near
your eyes, lost in their winter
dismissing the details, and confusing the colors
and safely tuck me away
and stuff the unsightly frayed ends
into the the crazy box, then with hands filled with
justification snap the
lid shut.

yet if i was the one,
if i was the magician,
a master of illusions
appearing and disappearing in electric puffs of smoke
and with my magic spun fables, and
hypnotized your eyes,
would you be the inhabitant
of the lovely crazy box?
would you pierce the sorcery,
and expose the sleight of hand?

would you call me witch?
would you grow skeptical,
and embrace the thick velvet
smoke of doubt?
would you find fault in my simple magic?

if i was a wizard,
and used my powers to beguile,
if i was a hypnotist and used my eyes
to lead you astray,

how would you taste my fall from grace?

but because of you, because of your powers
i will not call the inquisition,
nor strip away your elaborate incantations and spells
because i am in the crazy box
where you placed me.

for a brief moment there is a trading of places,
but it is only i, that
trades eyes,
but you, you hold tight to your spells,
and all i ever hear are your mumbled
incantations weaving your demonology around me,
and binding me in the the crazy box.

and i am in the crazy box, locked and secured
where your powers have banished me,

but, i know, i know

i know the world beyond the magic
beneath the illusions

and i grieve
because you will never see the shoddy frayed ends of
your tawdry magic.
for i am locked forever
in this lovely crazy box
and you will never set me free,

Tuesday, November 10, 2009


always when i'm
in the forest of your
i'm never lost, only
traveling the deep green
to the horizon
of your sight.

and always, when the ocean
of your body, takes me,
I flout out on the
lulling waves of your
tide, that soothes and returns me
refreshed and new,

when the air and sky of
your hands enfold me
and drew me from earth,
to flight, my heart flutters,
in the worm thermals
of your palm and fingers.
that lift me higher into
the thin air, and embraces
me, holding me aloft
in your passions.

I am a voyager, and you
are the vastness of the
new world,
and the forests, and earth
and sky and seas
that you are
sustains me,
and I travel towards the
endless horizon that
is you.

and I in my wondering
am nourished by the worm
bread of your flesh,
and quenched by the
close beating of your
you are my sustenance,
the soft red earth of your body
with the nourishing
flowing of your
streams, and rivers, and tributaries,
running longingly to your sea.
your waters holding me,
pulling me throw the
thousand voyages of your
body and eyes.,
and yet,
you remain, virgin wilderness,
largely unexplored, uncharted,
and your horizons,
and starry sky
will sustain me

and I will spend my days
traveling the rivers and sea,
and air, of your being,
until my hands, and eyes,
and body
have mapped and charted
every forest, every stream every
river and tide, of the shrouded
wilderness of your body,
to the endless horizon
of your being….
till the end of my days.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

I Cannot Have You

I cannot have you through the silt of
history, your soft skin drifting with the tug of tides,

and the sky folds black and in the creased darkness
my longing hands find only warm empty air; they flutter and glide in
the silence of the night, till they tumble into there
private history,

touching phantoms that breathe and leak a bitter
brine sea. and you no longer traveling the line between history
and the sea.

my longing grows thin and transparent
as the air throbs with your absence

and the ghost of my eyes tear the fabric of night
and places you there. my hands swim the darkness
waiting for the memory of skin, waiting for the revolving of
the wheel.

to bring it back around, so that my empty hands
can hold your warmth and the history that your
body whispers,

But I cannot have you.


In the syrup of the sun
My eyes warm and stinging
Grow tired of the excursions
The smooth fugue of other voices
Slick trout in an anxious stream
The surface tension only broken
When my eyes drift with the
Current and capture the white of
Crested waves.

In the sticky sun, currents of
Water and shadows, I search
Myself, eyes rolled inward
Into the gray creases and white
Explosions that flow and jump
Under the surface tension
Of aging wrinkled skin

My eyes fall down into
The dust that drifts from
Air, a soft folding desert
Edges and ends smoothed over
blanketed and streaked out,
I forget the twisting of
Clocks and little hands
That grasp and claw gently
Tearing bits of me pulling at the
Dust and letters that capture my name.

The bareness of snow drifts
Undulate into the twirl of
Worlds, and I monochromatic
Reminds me that eyes and
Sight clash, and which is to be
The lure and which to be the snare,
As I unravel in the blister of

Through my new squint into
The shine and bright the
squeeze and sting is tolerated
With the new warmth and heated

I still skim along the tension surface
Of the cloying air moving from and to
With no voice to tremble the blue
The steps down the flow that cascades
And falls, barriers from the spawn

The curves and roles green and
Brown, dappled in the drip of
Light, the slake of shadows traps
The eye, and I linger in the current
Treading air and stream as my eyes
Surround the white bubble and froth
That captures, and I wonder the snaps of
Pupils and shut of lids.

The salmon leap, thrash then splash
And spasm in there desperate drive
Breaking water and clime the rushing
Changing stability
Leap after leap to the sluggish
Calm to empty then fade from
Gold to pail and the blinking out.

And I return to spawn the light
To dark to fill the row
And I turn surrounded by the
Flow the ripples and foam slips
By, the current pulls grasps
Loosening my hold on the pebbled

The swim and tumble in
Floundering and frantic till
the ticking down and the paling
of eyes and the sticky light
oozes finally out, the rough tumbles
down and I still gaze with shattered
eyes into the swaddling dark
of the least explored, those damp
caves filled with the echoing drip
of desperate stalactites slowly growing

This is the time of water, a day
Of erosion peeling the slicing
Edge, dulling the sharp, piercing
To a dull blunt blade,
And I pendulum down through the
Dark secrets of my self falling beyond
The rivers and lakes running away
Leaking out till my eyes grow
Dry and pail, knowing that I cannot have you


My hands long for the warmth of touch.
They hunger for more than sleep in the comfort
Of cloth.

More than the labor of creation, they long to discover
The vast unknown territory of your body.

My hands long to see more than chores and scraping labor
They hunger for the spices of cloves and nutmeg , they dream
Of breathing in the dust of the vanilla of your desire.

My hands long to taste more than prayers and books,
They want to run there lips and tongue down the lines and
Curves of your rolling tenderness and to sup the liquid of your lust

My hands long to taste more than necessity and commitment
They ache and throb for the cool gulp of your hips and the warm
Sting of your thighs

My hands need to consume more than days and distances,
They yearn for the sea of your body to drown themselves in the depth
Of your endless embrace.

My hands long for more than the earth and loam of this world
They dream of he ghosts of thunder that slumbers in your breasts,
They long for the fires that burn and the coals that smolder
In the palms of your hands, but in there longing they know they cannot have you.


what is this a sea without shore? no whispering rocks
or lamenting sand to roll and slide along the lip and tongue of water

no legs to open in welcome to find solace in the
wet heat of ocean tides; the sea surges in your hands
fingers knobby thin and bony,

and of strength and compassion that hold the
passion of planets and the light of million spiral stars

in the tips of your hands and you spill your change
into me and my lips blush with the dew of your desire

your hands the breezes that move my sea to rise and
surge and rise again to to drew new hips and lines.

the fruit of wine and eyes dark as desire and as
consuming as the silver phases of the moon.

drawing the sea to its suckling breath, to feed and travel the
the crests of waves and foam and sea and shoreline
the unifying of earth and water.

hips grinding lust and creation as the streak of white caps
glint there passing in the convulsive sea. rubbing stone to nothing
in your slow passing.

and your hands surround me and drew me to your mouth
and in the crucible of the sea your hands hold me until
the final emotion and the sea takes us.

and rubs us to nothing in the lustful grinding of the sea.
and when the tide rolls out, in the salt air the tang
whispers that i cannot have you.

Friday, October 9, 2009

October Country

on the cusp of possibility,
when the rage surges, and only my brittle bones poke through
and i fall limp in your guile, not knowing the face behind the silents

and with that denial i tumble into a painless sleep!!

and through the murk of history
through the shade of the past
from you the same patters,
the same secrets,the same silents.
from me the same dance, the same steps,

and my eyes grasp the smoke and shimmer,
my eyes embrace your mirage, your fear of me seeing,
the fear of me touching
digging into the silt of sorrow and despair,

and peeling away the scabs of time till the
simple ooze speaks the tongue of epiphany.

yet sound brings no light, i am still forbidden to see you.
only your shadows that lurk in the tight constraint of skin.

I gently roll the moment and waves of time, and open
to sallow the tight ball of salt,
the bitter taste that has stung the flesh with fire and putrid breathing.

and this purgatory of October
cuffs my motion through this Halloween country,
and the chill and upheaval lick and gnaws my knuckled fists.

as the bubble of history swells then bursts

and i freeze rooted in the fall of red and orange leaves,
rooted in the earthy aroma of decomposing leaves,
and the sharp tang of drowsy sleep that the earth lingers in

and i find myself with the scent of apples, and pumpkins
and my injured heart hammers with unwanted haunting,
unwanted epiphanies,
and my chest caves as it spasmodically gasps in this air.

and the tremble and vertigo floods the blood,
and again, i taste the salt, the bitter tang of my harvest, and i long for a never returning spring, a warmth sweet and filling
as the sea that i long for on this changeable October morning.

and i sigh, knowing that this salt, this sting of old new wounds, will subside, and slip below the surface.

yet the red and angry scars
remain, tattoos that no rub of time will erase.

and i will master the agonies, i will swallow the sorrow, and move from your time.

diminished, diminished by silents, diminished be illusion, of chunks of flesh lost diminished yet strengthened.
lessons masted, or at least tested.

but October mornings like this
the scent of change carries me beyond myself within my self.
and i taste the salt and breath in the earthy aroma of decay,
and impending slumber.

and i long for the salve for my slow healing wounds,
that a scant moment ago i thought
healed, and vanished

yet this October, this smell of Halloween has touched the hidden ache
that i am doomed to carry
and opened me wide to what i am, and to what i was , and will be.
that there is no change, only fear in your eyes and a unhappiness that taints your skin.

and the dark clouds of impending storms hold my eyes, as body trembles, fearing the fury and rage of the storms that i know will come.

but a deep calm pulls me inward and i know and understand that storms are only storms.

and i can and will endure them, that they in themselves cannot overwhelm me. and alone i will embrace them for what they are, and alone will emerge from this haunted time, this time of ghosts and demons
this time of monsters and ghouls, knowing that they are only costumes specters insubstantial, only costumes meant to scare and frighten.

I will pass through the vial of this Halloween and see the ghosts and monsters for what they are,
and i will travel this haunted land, this season of change i will endure the upheaval and storms of this October.

and in the rub of time reach the equinox and find a moment of renewal

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Sea Creature

you slipped from the sea, glisining in the aqua embrace of air and moon, and stalked the bruised shoreline.
I in despair, haunted the void between shore and sea, and the emptiness between earth and sky

in the piercing night I longed for your flesh as I whispered your secret name, and in the spray of broken waves the hands of the sea, touched my longing eyes, and then I called the sea and gathered the waves, and from the depths you tumbled from the sea, abandoning your fin-folk,and I captured your skin, and held it entwined in my hands,

and against all the tides and lunar ropes, against the cruelty of sky, and silent undertow, you fell into my hands and twisted your skin into my breath and curve of my mouth, and you in your lust trembled your surrendered to me.

You in your need consumed me, the tendrils of your flesh wove me into your tide and desire, then from the sea you grew and on the painful shards of shore you suffered the sting of submission and surrender.

You bled into me the gift of your pelt.

I in my doubt, lost in the terror of history, a victim of a tempestuous sea, a voyager, longed for the skin of a creature, a sea creature as elusive as the crest of a wave.

You surrendered your skin, the gift of your being and curled at my feet.

The fury and rage of the sea, the strength of tides were unable to bend you, yet
with liquid eyes and firm hands you draped your skin into my arms.
And then clung to me so storm and upheaval could not drive you to
reclaim your pelt.

my creature of the sea.


it has been too long ,
since I have splashed into the salt brine of you,
the silver lunar ropes of your heart netted my floundering empty breath, casting me upon the sharp curves of your intent.

it has been too long since the full eclipse, and those dark ropes of flesh that bound you to the beating welcome of my aching surge. it has been too long since the rains filled and swelled the heaving seas and tugging moon, and ripened the surge of your flowing bones, and filled my hands with the light of your coral lips.

Shoreline and surf, stones and foam have pulled me and tangled me in the sharp tang of shoreline and dark breath of undertow till your liquid heart has drowned me in the sea of you.

and the tides and tendrils of your beating rain breathed salt and brine and life back into me so long lost to the cycles of the moon and sea.

the waves have not swallowed you, the brine has not devoured you or the white foam of your flesh, and the inmeasurable thrust and pull of my lunar embrace has only moved you deeper into my sea,

the salt of your desire enfolds me and your flesh opens as the tides of my eyes crash and pull the warmth and bones of my desire.

the froth of your arms wash over me, encrusting hair and skin filling my mouth with the rich tang of your leaking body.

the tides of your hips pull and sway, swell and withdraw as the allure of lunar silver touches the cresting waves of your tide, and I plunge into the roll and heave and stroke through the undulating swell of your breasts

I possess your pelt, my creature of the sea.


Night and the wishing touch of my hands trace the sea of your body, and beneath I feel the beat and pause of your heart. Each beat rising from the fathoms to the surface and then gone, then followed by another in an unbroken line but in this swaddling sheet of dark, the pool that we are winds through time and each beat speaks softly your secret sea creature name.

Captive in the net of flesh, in this circle of dark you ride the warmth of my hands and mouth, you braid the sound of me with the tendrils of time and our inevitable ending.

Your mouth and its tender knowledge carries me above the beating of your sea for a brief moment and holds me tethered with silver strands of your flesh and passion.

The darkness lightens from the creeping promise of the turning to light, and the darkness is slowly pulled from the world,

and the eternal beat of your sea unforls this thin silver night snared in the net of my arms, and i know that the slow unwinding to the eventual silvering and sunrise will pull the night and us into its shining finality.


You gave to me your hand stretched across the vast seas and a twist of rope binds you and tethers you in the streaming flow of tides in the winding and unwinding of the spool of our lives.

You gave to me your body that is born of salt and brine, of foam, and wind, that sails this tumultuous sea through typhoons and calm, through rage of waves and through tow and undertow of flesh and blood, and the eyes of days that pierce the body, and through the leagues of our time, you held me safe.

and in the curling waters of night your tendrils of warmth swaddle me in the rock and sway of the tender slide of your grasping holding hands.

You gave to me your eyes and heat and motion and the wrap of hidden promise that unfolded arms and legs, pulling me, swallowing the distance between flesh and flesh and we seep into the other armed and knotted, fingers to hips, arms to legs, and the billow of your escaping smoke clings to my want and seeps into my pores, and i will posses you,

Until I grow ethereal and unhinge from this shackle of bone and breath and I ride the waves and wind of your endless green sea till the final curl of dark enfolds and embraces us into the swallowing night,

my tender creature of the sea.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

You Will Come Driving

you will come driving
skeletal and stark, sockets
empty of eyes but full
of blaze and vision, and you
will rattle your bones bereft
of flesh, draped in
tatters and shatter

you will come driving
blurring the road and swallowing
my refuge and fodder. your ravenous
speed compressing my time
to moments without breath to gasp
the words I desperately need to shout,
but your driving frenzy will blow
away any sound of disclosure I utter.

you will come driving,
laughing the sharp edges of your
murk and zeal, you in your rush
for the finish, will rattle
my sanctum, and torment my fall,
with your handfuls of nothing
and mouthful of dark..

you will come driving
from the tumult to the halt,
from the flaccid to the fleeting,
your hingeless jaw laughing,
your fiery breath strumming
the air and bubbling the clouds
into a gulping dirge.

you will come driving
speeding, but leisurely stretching
your time to the limit, with
sulfur and sandalwood
and allure and aversion
you will laugh your demoniacal
laugh we use to share, and the
emptiness that were your
eyes, will sparkle at me
with glee, as I get in too
ride with you
when you come driving.


Tuesday, August 25, 2009

I Will Turn To Stone.

i know that the brown loam finds you, and names you in the rise of sun as the blue
thunders time along your sweet breasts.

and moments like solitudes return to your eyes as you capture the sun and open your mouth to release the slim yellow rays of light.

and along the heaving earth between stars and darkness i will turn to stone in your presence, and tumble from your lips smooth and round.

and my love the winds are tongues and find your body as you rise from the heat of the day and your shimmering mouth utters the mysteries of beginning, of world, and of light.

my mouth opens for your moist loins and rocking heaving hips, as your red mouth swallows the beginning seeds, and the days of your thighs bind the passing light to the soft shadows of my spent desire.

and i lie with you embraced by earth and clay, and in you i find the motion and paths of stars as my mouth codifies your yielding breast.

and you turn me to stone with the touch of your look, and i tumble from light through the darkness to the light of your grave, and the weeping that you became grows me stiff and again i find the renewal of your loins,

and i travel the silence of space till my empty mouth gathers you in, and finds each grain of you, and then i will turn to stone and fall from you.

my hands travel the curved water of your hips, and the undulating
roll and dip of bone and pelvis.

your mouth gasps and the earth of your torso arches into the path of my fingers,
my hand drifts to your soft intimate crease now dewing with dark wishes,
as my fingers swim and stroke each fold and lip.

your rasping breath heats me to combustion, as your hands find the hidden me throbbing in welcome,

and as my fingers entwine the flames i am consumed as your breath scorches the tender skin of my shoulder, blistering it as you surround and devour me in one gulp.

you hold me enthralled, singeing skin until the heat of your pyre is quenched and only cinders remain, and from the ashes, your mouth lifts me and turns me to stone, to again travel the liquid of you.


the eyes of your hands trace the voyages of my body and i long for the earth and air that encompass you.

your fire and water holds me to you and i dip my hands into your intimate fathoms
as your wish of seeds swim the flames of air

the aroma of ozone lingers as your sky is crinkled by lighting.

the air swells and bruises as you fall beyond the rim of the world and i struggle to embrace the elements that have fused together in you, when i do i turn to stone and tumble through the silents of your mouth.


your hands reached in and broke the skin, your fingers mouthless swallowed my beating heart and all i knew of the moment was a gasping sigh,

but you knew, and in the cup of your hands cradled the frailty of my beating inside,

the beating continued in a stretched string of again and again, and then the wistful ache of what might have been,

between your fingers the tremble and flutter of something hidden in the flesh: that spark beyond the emptiness between lust and breath, then the final sound of trembling beating wings that fills us, then falls into our crypt of silence, as i turn to stone and fall from your mouth.


my love, the dark road of your passing and the spring roots of your hands find the loam of the world, and in the distant rim of the sun your eyes listen to the light,

and your tired hands travel the mystery of my dark roads, and the shadows that reach into the silence of your mouth, finding sorrow after sorrow,

but in the turning of the earth, and the snap of your opening body finds the forest of my wilderness and the dark roads wind into the bowing shadows filled with the dry rustle of leaves.

and in the darkness the angels fell, prisoners of rocks and gravity, weeping the air and lost flight.

and still the road contorts and embraces the wilderness and gulps swift streams as the glint of water shines on the passing of the fallen trudging their fate,

eyes praying the words of air and flight, but only stones listen and the dark road travels on embracing the drop of sky,

and rolls into the distant curve of forever as the earth murmurs its seed of renewal
and the push of spring for a moment heaves the road aside, and bursts its beginning green through the stiff clay and clinging shadows, and again like your spring, i turn to stone and fall from your mouth.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

The Lost Green of My Eyes

you came swimming up
out of my weeds, up through
the lost green of my eyes.
you came swimming through the reeds
naked and glistening,
your desire sleek and fresh,
red hair frothing

I stood enthralled
as you combed and braided
your hair,
as your breasts and thighs
sang to me, as your eyes carved
me out of the air.

I hung crucified in the moment
by your presence,
by the silver shimmer of air
and the tremble of water.
I stood pinned and mounted,
that moment frozen in me.

I longed and ached
and trembled ,
I stood enthralled, entangled.
I sank beneath the
shivering silver water,
past the weeds and frothy
squalls of hair
past ripe breasts and
stiff nipples,
past white smooth legs,
past the golden flecks of
your desire,
past the tangle of days in
the cascading liquid of
our lives

still that moment remains
in the amber of my memory
you swimming up
through the lily pads
up through the reeds to find
the green of my eyes.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

You Still Haunt Me

you still haunt me, on summer nights like this, when the tender evening is endless and stretches out with promise, swollen, ripe and full.

i see your eyes blazing, but beneath the sparks, nothing only burnt red, that molten red for a moment then the void of purgatory, just burnt slag metal.

the humid park heavy with lilacs and promise still holds you for me,

,you are doomed to linger in the twilight, neither gone or present for as long as i walk, until i rest you will have no rest.

you carried no answers, you didn't even ask,
nights like this my eyes stinging, my body wan and thin and aching from twists and turns and losses,

but the heat and nether light draws you from me. i feel you pull out of my lungs,
and i fight for breath and breathe you in.

how like you to be smoke and twilight and sorrow.

how you would laugh at me, knowing that my flesh understood the thick stagnant absence of you.

for these short agonizing years, truncated by jail, and jobs and amnesia and just plain exclusion, but

the braids of our lives didn't blend and stitch to make a fabric.
we were only smoke and liquid,

after the sunrise we were only ache and sour knowledge, and the throb of knowing that we have lost something.

none of my words captured the twists and braid of our moments,
only now, i conjure you, doom you to appear and reappear again and again, as i ache the same wounds, as i bleed the old scars,

and still you only look at me with those Byronic eyes, dark and smoldering, that somehow in your haze and confusion, won you warm bodies that would swim the darkness for you.

they were nothing, only moments, flakes of your life, divergences from the ache,
the throb that never left.

that was all you had, eyes and ache, and sour knowing that you were empty, and only waiting .

you spent our summer in the lilac park, smoldering, smoking trying to build to a flame, longing to flair and scorch the night.

summers and endless twilight carried us apart, we never were together, you were lost from the first moment, you and i both knew,

we knew it was a matter of where and when, i held on through most of it, but time, or the world or fate moved us on, both understanding that we knew,

and my vision was able to see beyond the flash,

and on nights like this, that are endless and stretch out beyond the curve of possibility, when the stars shower the night,

i conjure you, doom you to repeat again and again, these hot humid nights we spent lost between twilight and sunrise, and i still try to find the answers in those burning Byronic eyes,

in despair i ask the same questions, longing beyond flesh and breath to understand, but only find the shine of the moon in your mouth and the silence hiding behind the soft drone of crickets,

and in the roll of time and my life, the sorrow lingers, and i have condemned you to have no rest until i find my peace.

Friday, August 7, 2009


i hunger for you, and the scent of your flesh draws me, and
i hunt the endless darkness for your limbs and breasts,

the glowing ember of the breath of your eyes steal the night, and
i thirst for your heaving moan, and long to taste the sharp mystery of hips and to hear the sweet smooth hymn of your thighs,

the bread of your body nourishes me, fills the dark craving of my appetite
the silence that my devouring mouth brings to your body, aches to the marrow of your creation,

and my need discovers you in the spent lines in the sepia of history and clinging to the ash of my memory.

i hunt the moments for you, tearing and rending the air of when you have been,
and in my despair i gnaw and gnaw on the yellow fluted bones of others,
and find only the sting of salt and a deeper craving for your flesh,

for your mouth, for your moist breath, for the whispered promise of your hips, to sink my teeth into the deep musk of your longing.

i hunger the night through till all is gulp down and devoured,
and my mouth still craves the wet taste of you. i starve on the air and sea, and thirst in the silver light of passing.

i hunger for the hard sweetness of your breasts, and to swallow the burning sting of your white sharp hips.

i hunt the night for a scent of you, i breathe deep pulling in the abrasive darkness, tasting its bitter bite.

and i hunger.

Friday, July 31, 2009

The Salt of You

i tried to touch the green of your eyes and find the tender center that is the sea,
the tides and moon that bind you in silver streaks, and holds the light streaming from your palms, find me,

then you grasp me with the moist mystery of your sea, and surround me in the dark amongst the tides and waves of your changing body.

somehow the shore that i became was jagged and desolate and my longing shattered
your waves, as the broiling clouds spoke the salt of your name.

a rage of light and motion defied the limits of your liquid presents, and the patterned stars lashed the rage of shoreline and sea, as

somehow you found me in the salt heart till i became the shoreline,
that held the crash of waves and the great deep heave of sea.

lost on the edge of the sea, waves weeping the stretch of rocks, that brakes each caress
that rips at flesh,

and i wrapped in salt and wind, finger the bleeding wounds, dipping my finger in and tasting the tang of renewal.

and your vision that swallows the sea, and your mouth that surrounds the stars, that in time and warmth liquefies them,

and the tides move through you, stitching your torn heart, and the silver of the moon reaches down and slowly gently touches your eyelids and your sea calms.

tide and current curl back into you and settles finding renewal in the warmth of your stitched heart.

until in loving convulsions the sea is pushed out, and the world blooms with the unfolding of shoreline and sea, with tide and light, wind and earth, all unfolding in
the tiniest crests of waves

and i, i swallow the brine, and wander the bolder strewn shoreline, longing for the silver running of your tides.


and my mouth measures your being, slides along the burnt parts of you.

and i taste smoke and soot, blood and lust, sea and brine.

and in your taste you embrace the contours of my mouth, and find the loneliness of my hunger.

and you surrender, cascading your dark hair down the contours of your pale back.

and you tried in your way to quench me, and my mouth drank in your sharp breasts and the shoals of your hips.

and in the emptiness of my mouth you abandoned your body and my tongue tasted the sea, and the brine,

and still my mouth burns with the sting of the salt of you.


in the wilderness of your eyes, i became lost in those dark orbs, a voyager breathing the silver wind of the moon, as the fingers of your desire pulled me from my course,

and the pungent aroma of the sea filled you and my eyes counted the absences between the stars and the winds of my desire.

tides and currents and pelting storms of brine spiced my heart, and stitches the long wound of my silent passing, head down tasting bread of the passing sea.

and your aroma of seaweed and foam, fills my mouth and i am nourished by your heat and the precious spices that your body gives up.

and no one knows that sea and storm whisper and embrace, and there mouths meet and in there hunger devour there passion till thy bleed the birth of sun and sky.


you and i love, entwined in waves, still the salt sea tangs my mouth as your watery arms create the circle of your tide, and the foam that you are encompasses the longing of waves, as your tears are the sorrow of blue sky,

and the curve of earth and sea bind together in rage and passion, and the salt that spices hand and mouth, that drifts in the lunar tug of your desire, becomes the tides,

and each wave each gale strums the longing of sea and earth, and the deep brine that becomes the blue,

together bound by salt and tide, we undulate and the stars streak the night and the silver draws from us the dark as the tang of sea

unravels the binding of us of sea and salt, of tide and sky,

and the tug of the moon draws her seed from the sea

and the eternal cycle of sea and seed completes itself in the binding of us.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Time and Change.

time a dry sea that washes through the fiber if every breath, of every heart beat, of every soul. we all sail, or voyage, or swim in this cold all encompassing sea.

time, the eventual ticking down in measured rhythm, constant, monotonous till for each and everyone of us the ticking stops and we are each devoured, drowned by the ultimate silents, the everlasting sleep of oblivion at the silted bottom of the salt sea of time.

we are time. bundled around us and strapped tightly to bone and muscle, sinew and breath. we are a stitched together bundle of moments, fluid and seamless, moments and experiences, feelings and hopes, dreams and possibility, grief and laughter, woven into each of us,we are a pattern so intricate so original that each is distinct from the other. no two are the same. so unique, it is impossible to reproduce a copy, the copy may on the thin shallow surface seem similar, but sink beneath this mirror and one will discover that the differences are vast.

we cannot be duplicated, time and space and thought and emotion defies the futile attempts of us frail limited mortals to transcends our essence, our bundle of body and blood, skin and emotion and thought cannot be reproduced.

each of us are a pattern unto ourselves.

unique and limited. we are victims of our time.

we are adrift in the salt sea of time, at the mercy of wind and sun and storm, at the mercy of tide and currents. this tumultuous sea pulls and pushes, tosses and throws us with its capricious whim. but all to one end, the same end we all in time embrace, we all succumb to the drift of time, and eventually we are sucked under never to emerge.

the salt sea takes us without foresight, without fore knowledge.

on rare moments a rogue wave will carry us to its great crest, and for the briefest of fleeting moments we catch a glimpse of the sun beating down upon the infinity of undulating waves on an endless sea. and then for one breath of a moment there is understanding and insight, but it evaporates as quickly and unexpectedly as it came.

time has a conjoined twin, change. as time moves through us and we move through time, change weaves its fabric into the very root of our essence. change and time are one, one does not, can not exist without the other.

life is so fleeting, so fragile, and in constant flux!

the universe, stars, planets and constellations are in constant motion, and constant change. on a cellular lever every particle that makes up our physical body are in constant motion, and constant flux.

this dry sea of time, we are unable to grasp. we in our arrogance attempt to capture and tangle it in our trembling finger, but time billows away as if it were thick dark smoke, or a mist so thick it clings to us but defies our desperate clutching and clawing hands

in this sea we are unable to find a mooring, a safe haven, a port to rest in this inhospitable expanse of dry sea.

at best we can cling to a belief, and illusion, but even the strongest held Faith cannot hold back the tides of change. it is inevitable, the the callus sea of time will alter, bend, erode, twist, contort, and even destroy what we believe to be solid, to be unchanging, to be for ever.

what ever our mooring, whatever we cling to, whatever we believe, will inevitably be altered by the constant rub and crash of the tides and waves of time.

the tide of my sea has captured me in the wake of its silver gale, a storm that has tattered sails, broken ruder, and has tossed this voyager on a tumultuous sea.

i scramble to make some seance of this maelstrom that is casting me about. i cling to some tattered remnants of who i am, and where i have been, and where this storm will take me.

i am a voyager, and on this voyage i have grown gray, and have diminished in strength and vigor, the ravages of this sea as weathered my face, aged my soul, scared and mutated my spirit, yet thow my sails are in ribbons and ruder is splintered, i master my despair, repress my fear and anxiety, and voyage on.

time and change has captured this voyager, and now, weakened, tired, and old, i surrender to time and her sister change, and to the will of this unforgiving sea.

i will travel where i am taken, embrace where this undulating sea takes me, and take joy where i can, find Solis if possible, and seek the warmth of a kindred spirit if i am so lucky.

but change has taken hold, and all i have the strength to do is to ride out the remained of this silver storm,

and hope that for the brief remainder of this voyage i am able to find some joy to sooth this tattered scared soul.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009


i am not resigned to the contorted fingers of a throttling history squeezing my heart till it busts with distrust and grief and black cloying despair. in one nova of a moment , the loss of self, and the shattering of a universe.

the touch of the cold claws of time and the unforgiving world that rakes me that scar and rend this frail feeble flesh , nor the cold fangs of disillusionment that have sunk deep into the tender pulsing flesh of my neck, as acidic tears of betrayal burn there course down my cheeks.

the ebony claws that tattered a gossamer will from my body and in the torment of time shredded it till the bitter winds of hopelessness dispersed each reminisce into the pit of my anger.

i am not resigned to your fortress of flesh , to the turning of stone of your smooth shoulders, or the deadening of your small firm breasts.
nor the stemming of the flow of the warm stream of your loins.

for as long as there is a tug of a silver moon there will be the push and pull of tides. for as long as there is the caress of waves and foam, and the tang of salt in the embrace of the sea, i will not be resigned to the bitter taste of brine.

i am not resigned to the cold distance of your silver lunar desire ,that forlorn distance between light and dark and longing and despair.

i am not resigned to the finality of a heart of a fist of pain and loneliness. to this crusting over, the calcifying, the slipping into hibernation in a winter without end, of endless blizzards and bone cracking frost that coats and snaps, and lays barren a once fertile land.

i am not resigned to the opening of barren ground and interning the looks and touches that once lingered on my face and traveled gently the curve of your neck.

nor the internment in the rings of fires of purgatory, the lingering torment of the soulless and deathless, who have lost trust, and belief, and who have fallen into the darkness of the eternal pause neither alive nor dead.

nor am i resigned to the curling of fingers into a hand that knots into a fist that has lost the ability to unwind, and tenderly travel the infinite distance between my eyes and your heart.

the darkness that has cloaked this possibility of thaw, denied the spring of my body to unfurl its new green shoots to struggle up through the frozen crust of smothering snow to gasp in frail tendrils of warming sun. that deep in its warmth holds the seed of promise that longs to surrender to the gentle green of my push.

i am not resigned to the shattering of frail alabaster, the braking of porcelain into shards and chips that defies infinite touches and deep struggling urges.
nor the spilling of light into murky pools that gobble and suck each golden ray of effort to penetrate the consuming darkness of there depth.

nor the loss that has diminished me that has leaked into the swallowing beyond , the washing out of color to the dull gray of storm clouds hazing in the flat circle of my vision.

i am not resigned.

Thursday, May 21, 2009


this past Saturday, i attended a class on flogging. four hours of nothing but flogging with instruction from a master who has been flogging for more than 25 years.

for the first time in a very long time i felt at peace with my self. It felt so right wielding the flogger. for the first time in a long long time i felt my deep seated feelings of dominance, and sadism bubble up to the surface, and I felt cleansed and refreshed giving expression to those feelings.

the instruction was illuminating and invigorating. in 4 hours i improved and learned so much, but more importantly i was completely enthralled again with flogging, i rediscovered my love of the activity. there is something so intimate, something so spiritual about flogging, its not just pounding on someone with strips of suede or leather. its a means of intimately connecting on the most fundamental of level with another person.

flogging for me is more than the mare swinging a stick with leather attached to it, making contact with some anonymous back.

The activity of flogging its not just inflicting pain upon another person. In its purist essence it is a tool of enlightenment, its a means of guiding the person being flogged inward into them selves, opening them up to themselves, to their most basic of experiences, and then taking them beyond, to somewhere where there is no time, no space, no world, only the path created with each lash of the flogger, leading them on their spiritual voyage of discovery. it is enabling them to release the moment and to travel deep into them selves and discovery of who they are, and releasing them from the material world to explore that place within them selves, and their relationship with the one that wields the whip.

for me, not only is flogging a spiritual act, it is also a deeply sexual act. Flogging for me is also about the arousal, the physical arousal, that grows from need and blooms into overwhelming lust and desire, the need to posses, the need to totally swallow that person, to consume them in the flames of my want.

but also there is the tenderness of connections, it is the all-consuming symbiotic relationship that envelops the flogger and the one receiving the beating.

as i continual to beat, and inflict pain on this willing open submissive, the flogging becomes a binding together of the two of us. each stroke of the floggers stitches us together tighter and tighter as the two of us voyage inward together to find our dharma.

fore me flogging is so much more that just beating some stranger with a bit of leather, it is a soul cleansing, spiritual bonding of two bodies fused for a brief moment of time, that together rise above the mundane, a transcending beyond the gray everyday drudgery that we spend so much of our lives trying to escape, a fleeting grasp of a moment of illumination and enlightenment.

for me there has to be a connection. first a connection to the flogger, each has a different feel, a different character, and a different purpose. then there has to be a connection of the moment, the time must be right, the moment needs to flow into me, and i need to flow into the moment, only then when there is reciprocal energy am i moved to flog. as i said its not just simple act of beating some one, nor is it a game I am playing, for me it is deeper than the act itself, it is one of the most deeply personal and intimate acts that two people can participate in.

Finally i need to be connected to the person that i am flogging. i need to feel their energy, their arousal, and their willingness, most of all their trusting submission. without that, for me there is no flogging. there is no connection, no intimacy.

i need to feel connected, need to feel that flow of energy between me and the person that i have bound and hold captive.

i need that person, o how i long for that one person to bare their back, to reach out there wrists for me to cuff, to bend over the bench and expos their sweet white ass.

o how i long to run my hand along the ass and back of that submissive, and then to slap them across the ass cheeks then their back, until there skin turns light pink and i can see that the flesh is beginning to tenderize, and warm up to a inviting glow.

then to start off flogging slowly, alternating lightly, as suede falls lick and kiss tender skin. Then, when heated and glowing to a soft rosy sheen, slowly run my hands across ass cheeks and steaming back, then to a wet cunt. as my fingers penetrate i can hear a grunt and feel the muscles of your cunt closing on my fingers as if your cunt was sucking on them.

then move to a heaver, stingier leather flogger, and start increasing the frequency and weight of the strikes, knowing that in a day or two deep bruising will well up on that ass and back, but the harder i flog the more aroused i become. with my cock rock hard, i pause again to run my hands along back and ass and to penetrate that sopping wet cunt, so slick with drool, that thin rivulets run down the inside thigh.

pulling out my cock i quickly drive it into the exposed cunt. There is a gasp and grown then frantic pushing back longing for me to fuck fast and as hard as possible, i oblige but only for a moment then withdrew, to continue with the flogging.

i use my bare hands to feel the heat, and to slap hard enough to leave handprints on each cheek. i flog even harder until the ass and back are aflame, and then start flogging tits and cunt.

a mone and squirm raising an flaming cunt to each blow of the flogger, then on the precipice, i enter and pound until i almost come, but stop to ensure that you come first and squirt. so with finger up your ass, and vibrator on your cunt, you thrash then shout as you reach orgasm, and i keep finger fucking your ass until you squirt a stream of clear liquid from your throbbing cunt.

as you lay spent, i ram my cock into your mouth for you to finish me off.

o i long to have that one person to flog, to bind and abuse.

o i long for that one submissive that can create the right conditions, that one submissive that i can dominate, have her on her knees, groveling before her master.

that one bitch submissive who knows that the only purpose she has is to please me.

who knows that i will be harsh and demanding. that she will spend her time on her knee with my cock in her mouth serving me.

that she will knee and kiss my feet, and be a slave to my needs and desire.

o how i long, and ache .

how i long and ache,

and wait……….

and wait ………..

and wait……….

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

This Darkness

this darkness wraps me in its ribbons of regret and cloying strangling tendrils of forgetfulness.
its arms and lips promise me the loss of a world, a loss of the ache of my misspent life, a reprieve from the trundle of my days.

beside me, smooth worm flesh, a warmth succulent and enrapturing.

you rhythm in sleep, breathing but not in peace, its not rest, just a dark continuation of the sting and scrape of your toil.
you grind teeth, legs and torso twitch and from you, groans of loss and defeat.

i watch as your jerking spasming body pantomimes your sorrows,and i mummified in my powerlessness am helpless to alleviate them, yet,
i lay crushed to powder under the weight of the guilt of you life.

i listen to each exhale and inhale, the inevitable tide of your desperation,
and in those weasing curls of air i hear the refrain whispered beneath your breath, beneath the dark,"if not for you"
and i ache.

and i ache, and i feel the pull of regret, of opportunity lost, of possibility
denied, and of the sting of despair, that the spool of time we each carry encoded deep in our being is unraveling, spooling away and
the end is quickly looming on the rim of tomorrow.

the clinging tendrils of your warmth entangle me, and i move closer to the curves
and hips that my hands have read and played and fondled and grabbed for years beyond count, from the fern green beginning, to now, this darkness, this promise of reprieve.

this night, this darkness that has grown deep inside, and spills out as i flutter deeper into the layers of sleep, and i still wonder, what if, what if,
and try to trace this tortuous path that has led us hear, to this place to this time.

unplanned for, unlooked for, unanticipated. being lost knowing where you are.
i have led you astray, led you into my labyrinth without a trail of string to trace your way back out.

no trail of bread crumbs, no sign posts, just twisted turns, and contorted paths,.

all leading no where, all without purpose, without thought.

knowing where we are , lost.
without hope of rescue, with out promise of redemption.
just the end glaring back from the darkness.

and you twitch, and grind, and i lay suspended in the dark aching,
sorrowing that i have led you to nowhere, led you to now, to this sleep,
that for you is not even a reprieve from the chore that your life has become.

i shake the darkness and the the dust of despair billows then melts into the swallowing dark.

in the silents i reach and with knowing hands, travel the flesh of your warmth,
hoping to capture a spark, a flame, a dieing ember, something to help me decode the darkness, but nothing happens.
you rhythm deeper into your own darkness,

and i ,

i withdrew and lay swaddled in your warmth, but i wonder if it will sustain me through this directionless slumber, through this darkness of my soul, through this meaningless purposeless labyrinth.

and i beyond hope and belief, hope and believe.

Monday, April 13, 2009

The Hunger

The hunger grabs me, holds me, strangles the hot breath from my throat. deep inside it grows and throbs and pulsates to an ache that encompasses sight and sound and taste. It splits my skin, roughly tearing it, rending it into jagged bloody strips, and i convulse and twist and jerk in my need to shake off the old flesh .

the hunger shakes off the facade of civilisation, shakes off the pretence of civility, shakes off my dark history, shakes off my timid life, and grow fangs and claws that will tare and rend..claws that ill tare and bloody tits and ass, claws that will rake red welts down your white pristine back.

The hunger splits me, and in the ache of emergence i renew myself. It takes my body, my will, my spirit, my awareness. it take sight and thought, and in its place there is an ache, a pain of wanting, large deep pools of swallowing red need. a river of want that will sweep me away in its clutches of ravenous hunger.

a desire, a longing, a need to be fulfilled. A need for release, a need for A body to take, a body to posses, a body to ravage, a body to bind, to own, to consume, a body to fuck and flog, and hurt and cut. a body to lose myself in, a body to transcend my body. a body that would bring me release, bring me an epiphany, bring me beyond flesh and blood and the world, to return me to my rightful place, a place of transcendence that only lust and sex and dominance can give.

The hunger is upon me.

I hunger for a mouth, for arms , for legs and a tongue, for a wet tight cunt. i hunger for a body. i hunger for tits. Small tasty tits, large succulent tits, firm new tits longing to be used and grabbed and fucked. For soft knowledgeable tits that long to be sucked and kissed and devoured. Round strong tits that long to be bounced, and twisted and pulled and whipped and covered in cum. for small firm perky tits that need to be fucked and slapped and bathed in warm cum.

I hunger for hips and legs, smooth and long and sharp and curved. Hips that hold and rock, hips that welcome, hips that will cradle me, for legs long and smooth and supple, and strong. Legs to grab me, legs to open and hold me, legs to snake around me and pin me till i am drained, and then still hold me in their vice grip till I grow again, legs that can speak my name, and open when i just look, legs that long for only me.

I hunger for a cunt. A cunt shaved smooth and warm and moist. a cunt pink and open and leaking cum. A cunt so hot I singe my fingers and cock. A cunt that is alive and will grab me and devour every hard inch of me, and suck every last drip of cum from me.

The hunger fills my balls and tightens my scrotum. They ache for release. They throb to be emptied . They are heavy with cum, laden with desire, full of a burning need.

and the hunger continues.

The hunger is turning me. I am craving flesh, skin, blood and cum. the stink of desire clings to me as i hunt for release, hunt for an end to the hunger.

My body throbs with want, the want to spew cum in a face, to shoot a string of pearls across large pail breasts, and tender succulent necks. to see my cum resting on pink lips and drizzle from outstretched panting tongues.

The hunger blinds me and turns my body feral. The hunger hunts the tense dark of my life for food, for release. Hunting for a tender body, delectable breasts, an excepting mouth and a cunt slick with wet desire.

The hunger moves me through my days and haunts my nights. Drives me into the cold and dark and loneliness of the deepest solitude. Drives me to find a release, a body humming with sparks and lighting bolts with flames of lust and unbridled need.

To find a woman who the hunger has a hold of.

The hunger bursts out of me. splitting my skin, and plunges me into instinct. I move from man to just need, to find another in life consuming need, to plunge into a animistic frenzy with.

A frenzy of rending, and tearing, and biting, a frenzy of clawing, and pinching and hair pulling, in a fury of fucking till the hunger abates.

Then When the hunger subsides, a body to wait, lay beside me till again the stink of desire and need fills the air, and the hunger splits our bodies, and the clawing snarling animals that we are fall into a sexual frenzy of feeding, till our hunger is satiated.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

The Watcher

the fading breath of winter still lingered on the dark march night. the corner of the parking lot was secluded and layered in dark overlapping shadows.

the few people coming and going to the ice rink were unable to see the dark car nestled alone in the layers of night.

my heart was racing, every sense was heightened and humming. this was a new one, which just added to heightening the intense arousal i was feeling. my cock strained stiff and throbbing in my jeans, i was able to even feel the clear pre come oozing from its tip,as i watched you lean back against the car door, lift one leg onto the seat, leaving the other on the floor.

you opened your long slender legs slowly revealing your smooth shaved cunt, something i had not seen in months. you knew this was a requirement and followed directions obediently.

you held open your red inflamed lip for me to inspect your dampening cunt and clit. again as instructed you switched on the sleek silver bullet, and as the soft electric humm filled the car, your eyes half hooded with lust, then closed completely as you focused on the worm lighting bolts of pleasure that was running through your body, and your hips gently swayed and rocked to the rhythm of the vibrator.

your breath became shorter, and shallow, as you fumbled out a breast, and grasped the red erect nipple between two pinching and pulling fingers. your fingers would circle then pinch then pull your nipple then you would repeat the process, becoming rougher and rougher as you became more aroused.

i sat and watched as you lost your self in the pleasure of your body, in the pleasure of being watched, in the pleasure of being controlled, in the all consuming pleasure of being helpless to resist my wishes.

i watched as your fell deeper, into the sensation, closer to your orgasm.
i watched as your hips rocked faster with more purpose, rocked uncontrollable, and your legs stretched wider as you hips swayed and rocked, as clear glissining arousal leaked from your inflamed cunt.

i reached over and coated my middle finger with your clear lubricant, knowing it was time that you were on the edge, i slid my finger into your ass. you gasped once then went stiff for an instance as you orgasm. i felt the twitching of your muscles and the spasming as you ground your ass onto my finger relishing every wave and spasm of your orgasm.

you sat for several minutes vibrator off, gently fucking my finger before much to your disappointment i pulled it out.

later before you left and i went to my game, you told me that it was the first time you had masturbated for someone, that you never thought that you would have felt so overwhelmed, so devoured by lust and raw need. and you added that it was the first time in your life that someone had inserted anything into your ass. shyly, demurely you admitted that the first moment felt odd, but then as your orgasm heightened you found it wonderful, and had tried to sink deeper onto my finger, that you liked it, liked it a lot.!!

after you had left and i was changing for my monday night game, i smiled to my self, in the knowledge that conditioning and linkage works.

Thursday, March 19, 2009


my warm tender rope slithers through my hands and twists and tugs to squirm away. it moves, slips, slithers and undulates dreaming of limbs and wrists to surround and hold. dreaming of flesh, warm tender limbs to swallow, to lick, to caress, to capture and devour.

Dreaming of hard nipples, engorged and flush with heat and lust, dreaming of drinking in the rhythmic rocking of hips that hunger for the tight grip of rope, and the drooling release of knots and bonds.

my rope grows taut in my hands, firm and full, it aches and pulses and throbs with need and urgency. A throbbing that needs to be devoured by stretched arms, open wet lips, and slippery creases of welcoming passion. My rope pulsates with lust, throbs and pounds longing for delicate alabaster skin, skin as soft and smooth as desire.

it dreams of fragile wrists , wisps of wrists, warm and surrendering. Wrists that pull and struggle and flex with defiance, then surrenders to the dripping passion of being bound and held. wrists with veins as blue as a sky that flow under the whispers of skin that beats and pulsates with hidden need.

it twists and coils arching its back, and throbs with its aching hunger. It snaps and slaps at tender heaving breasts and hips that whisper of the dark desires of coils of iron rope, and the twisted secrets of raw hemp. of legs spread and held open to the creeping and tender burn of tight running rope holding open the nether lips of desire.

My rope coiled in need, murmurs to my fingers, as it unravels and pulls tight around imaginary limbs. Capturing hips of ghosts, and in dreams capturing the thin mist of remembered Celtic flesh, green eyed and red-haired. My rope spins webs to capture the delicate sent of your nightly incubus and the stories of amnesiac skin.

it breaths its longing for long sleek arms, for firm smooth legs to bind, and full succulent breasts to cinch and caress with engorged nipples to irritate and rub rough. For long smooth necks, to cinch and strangle until heaven is infused into Irish eyes, and then released to gasp the flood of lust that gushes in final release.

my rope mouths its desire for flesh, mouths its longing to hold swollen bodies suspended in desire, for breasts to wrap and hold and pinch till nipples swell and engorge. The mouth of my rope opens for a warm torso to hold and wrap in a webbing of lust. To bind in passion and need.

it cries for the warmth that only aroused flesh can have, howls for the heat of flames and the dark need of the inferno that captures flesh and steals souls.

My rope sings of bound bodies in flight, imprisoned in a dream of knots. Of the flight of submission into the crisp October sky.

it growls its rage when holding wrists and ankles, as it contains the frantic strain of muscle and sinew, it hypnotizes with its tender warmth as it enslaves and imprisons.

My ropes in its blind lust hold its willing victim in a Mandela of braids and knots. Holds the aching slave suspended in clouds of passion, and streams of deep soul nourishing need.

the bite of my rope nips alabaster skin, and promises wind and sky and the liberation of captivity, promises endless air and the nurturing love of rope and captivity.

the rough hands of rope fondles breasts and thighs and slithers into your wet crease, brushes and irritates your erect nub, as
the slither of my rope holds you, lovingly and secure, as you reach beyond your crest, and you gush and squirting your final release.

my rope grips you and twists you in its binding hands, and holds you safe and free in my captivity.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

I Remember

a delicate sadness fell on me, as light and gentle as a single flake of downy snow, a sadness that chilled through me like this February night, as i stand on this porch, watching the fat slow snow flakes drift out of a dark and endless sky.

a sky as dark as my hidden desires, as black as my unspoken need i have to take your flesh to bite and tare and rend and to devour you.

i stand subdued in this storm, watching the sky and swirling snow for a sign, some portent that will make all clear to me. im waiting for the sky to open up, and a light to shine down amidst the singing of the holy host, and all will be revealed to me. i stand in this storm watching the black consuming sky and i wait, and wait and wait.

i am waiting for the call i know will come, and then i will be in the car slicing through snow and dark and time and space, to the subway to gather a part of my life, and return her to the safety of the home that i have made for her and her siblings.

the chill of the night rubs its palms of ice against my cheekbones then slides its fingers down my neck pulling from me a shiver. i raise my collar and try to pull as deep into my fortress of warmth as possible.

the cold of the storm balances the cold i feel , the cold of the loss of what i once had. once i possessed the heat that would sear the skin from ones hands. but the embers that i once juggled and handled at will have dimmed,and have grown cold and crumpled to ash.

that was a time of intensity of longing and desire. a time of a ravenous hunger that was insatiable, a hunger to the bone. a hunger for irish flesh, for celtic eyes, and hands that knew the language of my soul.

with the storm swirling about me, with downy flake landing and dissolving on my cheek i stair unseeing into the swirl and dark. and in that darkness time peels away and i fall back into the pools of my history and i willingly let myself sink into the the past. into a time when our bodies exploded again and again, and moments stretched into eternity and we were possessed and our bodies were held enthralled. a time when we drifted beyond the thin skin of this life, into the infinite.

and i remember the hunger for you.

the hunger for your delicate ankles to be spread and cinched to the posts of my bed. for your smooth legs to be held open and waiting for me. the hunger for your Ivory flesh and emerald eyes to fill me as i reach into you and take your body, and with my punishing hands and fingers that drew whimpers from your gasping mouth.

and i remember the thirst for you.

to liquefy your soul, to spill the essences of you into my hands and gaping mouth. to gulp you down, trap you in the bowl of my hands and squeeze your plump breasts,and to drew from you the wet flames from the sea of your hips.

i remember the yearning for you.

to capture your body with the ropes of my eyes and to bind you tight, wrapped in the web of my yearning. to peel your throbbing flesh from your submissive core, branding your body and stripping your flesh of its loneliness, and to stitch you whole with the cruelty of my mouth.

i remember the ache for you.

my palms and fingers throb and seek the heat and lust of your rocking hips and heaving breasts. my hands travel the ocean of your surrender and lose themselves in exquisite ache that my punishing hands give to you. my hands ache to redden and bruise the alabaster cheeks of your ass.

i remember the longing for you.

in the darkness of my despair i reach into the deep wells of your submission and capture the pain and longing of your need for the cruelty of my heart. i long to capture the torment of your flesh and to pull the treasured tears from your pleading eyes.

i remember the craving for you.

to punish your flesh and spirit with the whips and blades of my tainted love, to reduce the will of you to dripping begging need, and to drew from you the pools of flame from your loins, and to imprint my hand on each of your ass cheeks and watch with erect prick as you sway your burning ass looking for a deeper more soul satisfying spanking.

i remember the desire

i fall into the deepest pit of desire for you as the ropes i use to capture your limbs and hold you suspended in the air. and i bite and mouth and tongue the dripping parts of you till in your final release you scream and whine, clench and squirt your surrender to me .

i remember the starvation

i see in your eyes the starvation, i see your emaciated will starving for the pain for the loving hurt. starving for the bruises of love . i see in your eyes the starvation that drives you to me, the starvation for only my cruelty, the starvation for tears and ache that only my whips and floggers can satiate.

i remember the appetite.

in your darkest need, in your deepest despair i see the twisted hunger of your soul, i see your bottomless appetite. your appetite for loving abuse, for rough love that draws tears and blood, your endless appetite for rope and bondage, your appetite for my hurting hand, your endless need to be hurt, to swallow the pain, to weep the joy of your submission, and your appetite to be on your knees for me.

i remember, i remember.

i remember and im on the porch hypnotized by the swirling snow, by the darkness of the sky and the bleakness of my future. i am pulled from my trance by the buzz of my phone and i am back in the moment, empty and aching but in the moment.