I’ve spent the last two days just surfing - looking for food to chew upon and spit out. My sex life has come to a screeching halt (2 days, thus far)while I digest certain changes that have been made to certain relationships.

I happened upon this Blog and I think you might enjoy reading it. The woman behind the journal seems intelligent (which is a nice find), isn’t bad to look at, and writes well enough that I don’t feel compelled to close my browser.

Amazing the line I walk between love and hate. One moment, I am perfectly capable of balance. Neither love nor hate, Neither staying nor going. And another, I am here - seething and viciously, callously even, planning my attack.

I’ll control it. This time.

It still places that distance between us. Because it makes me go cold.

I am eager for that time, because right now I am capable of…many things.

Black, hollow, cold.

I close my eyes and the music echos through the halls of the Myerson. The chair next to me is empty, as is the box. The eyes of the audience are focused solely upon the orchestra that plays. The music is hauntingly beautiful.

I smell her perfume before she even speaks and I rise from my chair. She smiles and takes my offered hand and sits beside me. My eyes are focused on the cello player’s hands as the bow weaves fluidly across the strings. She leans in and kisses the skin above my open collar. Her hand runs lightly over the back of my hair. I am silent, enjoying the music. My eyes fall shut again. I can feel her gaze on me, the light caress of her fingertips.

So easily manipulated.

She moves and open my eyes, her own are crinkled at the corners with a hidden smile. She places her index finger to her lips and sinks to her knees. Her fingers run over my legs and I guess her intention. My lips curl slightly at her daring. She reaches for my belt and slides the leather from the buckle.

I can feel the blood rush to my cock as she rubs her cheek against the bulge and my teeth grind together. My hand finds her hair and I lightly give a tug upon her scalp. She ignores the silent order and nips playfully at the inside of my thigh. My hand tightens further and she unzips my pants with little rush. Her face is flushed, I can tell that this excites her.

My eyes glance up at the audience on either side and below us and find them all still enthralled with the music. I look back down at the feel of her nails tracing the outline of my hardening cock. My brows raise slightly and her flush increases, her tongue darts out to moisten her lips. I tug once again on her hair. I can feel the fabric of my boxers straining under the pressure.

Her hand reaches in the fold of my boxers and I finally feel the cool touch of her skin. A hiss escapes me. She recognizes the noise and smiles again, her eyes lowering from mine just before she parts her mouth and runs just the tip along her bottom lip. My grip tightens slightly, but I allow her to lead at the moment. Her tongue traces just below the head of my cock and then follows the vein down its length.

I let out a soft growl and my head falls back, my eyes gazing sightlessly up towards the ceiling. Her breath, dewy and warm, falls over my distended flesh and I feel the slight brushings of her lips. Her mouth opens and I feel the head swallowed into that warm, wet hole. I am in hell and heaven at that one moment. My hand tightens again and I push my hips up into her mouth, forcing more of it.
Obey.

- Currently Playing -
Love Remembered, by Wojciech Kilar

I love Classical Music. This particular selection is calming, soothing, dark, melodic. I listen to this and I have peace.

——–Another restless day spent prowling in front of my computer screen in the failed effort to do some work. Now, having accomplished the items I needed to touch upon, I am now free to write in the vain hope to nuture some calm. Be aware that the below contains strong graphic content.——–

My hands were clasped together, my fingers intertwined with strands of evenly spaced hematite beads. Their glossy and gray surface easily reflected the soft candlelight in the cathedral. A simple crucifix dangled from the chain about 2 inches from the point at which the beaded strands joined. My gaze was averted from the sight of it. I did not touch it for surely the symbol of my holy father would burn itself into my palm.

My thumb grazed lovingly over a larger bead made from onyx. My prayers, said with each bead of my rosary, filled the silent air of the hall. My voice served as the only noise that resounded. It was undeservingly beautiful, even to my ears, and for a moment it seemed as if God himself was trying to carry me through these dark thoughts. Even as I prayed with the rosary beads sliding across my fingertips, I could only concentrate on failing images of life around me. I spoke in Latin, a vain effort to focus my mind on my prayer and yet it had done nothing to halt or lessen the burdens on my mind. The strain of living was becoming too great.

‘Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum…’ I started again, for the third time. My hands trembled where they clasped the beads, my grip tightening dangerously upon the fragile, beaded strands. My bowed my head deeper, gray streaked hair falling across my forehead, and began for a forth time. ‘Pater noster, que es in caelis…’ I broke again.

‘Thy kingdom come, thy will be done…’ A voice spoke from the back of the hall, and was punctuated by the soft sound as the heavy doors closed.

My hands shook even more violently, and the beads dug tightly into my skin before they suddenly went lax. I glanced down, unwinding the broken strands from my fingers and, making the sign of the cross, I rose. I tucked them away with a sense of foreboding, as if they had predicated a greater fall from grace. I turned to face the intruder and stopped.

‘Hello, Father.’ She stood there, a hesitant smile upon her mouth. ‘I am sorry if I interrupted you - you seemed - to be struggling.’ Her words were broken, reluctant. ‘The doors were not locked, I had hoped you still remained awake.’ I stared at her for a long moment and then smiled.

‘Thank you, Maria.’ I struggled to remember her name. ‘I don’t seem to be able to concentrate.’ I felt the blood pulse thickly in my veins, my voice deepened a bit as I spoke, ‘What…,’ I coughed slightly, ‘What can I help you with, my child?’

Her gaze met mine and then she glanced down coyly to her shoes - red heels. See seemed to be ready to go out this evening. I watched as she toed the carpet and her voice was so soft, I had to lean closer to hear her words. ‘I need confession, Father.’

I closed my eyes briefly and sent a silent prayer for aid in getting through this. I could smell her perfume, it warmed me as a drug might. I nodded my head and walked with her through the pews to the confessionals. I opened the door, and gestured inside before moving to another door and sitting down. I hurriedly spoke a prayer and opened the divider between her compartment and my own.

She spoke before I could. ‘Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been 1 day since my last confession.’ She paused and I watch through the screen as she swallowed hard. I could not understand her nervousness. ‘I have had impure thoughts about a man, Father, and these have left my body warm - hot even. I can’t sleep at night, I think of nothing but him, his hands upon me, fucking me, touching me. I would do anything for him.’

I felt my flesh respond to her words. My cock, which normally obeyed my will, stirred under the robes I wore. I struggled to find speech again. ‘Have you acted upon your thoughts?’

She shook her head then. ‘No father, He does not know. He would scorn me.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Sometimes, I can’t help but give in to my skin - It crawls for him to touch it. Nothing helps. Prayer - It doesn’t help.’ Her voice trailed off.

It is like a secret that you don’t want to speak - yet the art and artist deserve to be shared. She is talented and her work, moody and passionate.

deviantART: rupa

Comments are now enabled. I pray my patience can hold out to tolerate the spam along with the good.

My fingers glide over the dark wood grain arm of my chair. My eyes have long since adjusted to the darkness of the room. My pupils are dilated until nearly nothing remains of color, just a cold, glossy black. My senses are able to hear every sound with acute clarity; the whispers of the wind remain as the only disturbance in the room.

My eyes are fixed on the open door, left ajar as a silent warning to you before you enter. There would not be an escape for you once it closed. I sit unmoving, my body giving no indication of my mood other than the rhythmic ticking muscle in my jaw. My nostrils flare slightly and my gaze shifts to the window as your car pulls into the driveway. My fingers pause upon the arm and my attention is diverted to the silhouette that moves in the car. I can just make out your features, illuminated by the glow of the porch entry light.

Your movements are unhurried, and slowly you slide from the car, clutching your purse and a small plastic bag from the grocery store. There is a punctuation of noise in your arrival that echoes through the house - the slam of the car door and the customary search for the right key to the front door. You have not noticed its unspoken invitation. Even the porch light cannot puncture the pitch dark inside the house.

I watch as your head lifts just before you leave my sight and a twisted smirk finds my mouth as your own lips part in concern. Your eyes dart into the large front window, searching the darkness. I move just a fraction so that you can see that a predator is home. Your gaze zeros in on me and I stare back at you, silently communicating the mood in which you find me.

You hesitate. My lips press into a thin line as I watch the options race across your face. The rise and fall of your chest is jagged, uneven with your breaths. I wait silently, each moment ticking by only increases my anger and the inevitability of you breaking. The thin plastic of your grocery bag stirs as your grip tightens on the handles and you take the step forward and leave my sight. My eyes fall back to the hallway just as you emerge from the door. A soft click sounds as the door closes.

I stare at you. My blood is racing hotly in my veins. I am waiting for your movement.

‘Hello.’ Your voice is soft, yet still incredibly loud to my ears, so adjusted they have become to near silence. I do not respond. You walk into the kitchen, disappearing from my view once against and I hear the nervous rattle of the bag as you put away the various items. The soft click of your shoes on the entry tile comes once again and I find you with my gaze.

‘Would you like me to turn on a light?’ You ask, still standing in the entry.

I do not answer. Instead, my hand shifts to the table at my right and a flash of light bursts from my hands as the match ignites. I light a small candle, my eyes leaving you only briefly to ignite the wick.

‘Come here.’ I speak finally, in a low tone that demands obedience.

‘I’m not certain I want to.’ Your answer sounds quietly. You slip your foot out of your right shoe to delay the moment.

‘Leave them on.’

Your eyes dart to me and your shoe is on once again. I reach inside my jacket and pull out a small box of needles. They are placed upon the table beside the candle and my eyes find you once again.

‘Come here.’ I repeat, my voice dropping in tone and softness.

Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips and you place a smile on your face. It is pained. You already know at least one of my plans. You take a step forward, meeting the carpeted floor of the living room.

‘Is it something I have done?’ You ask, taking another cautious step.

‘It is time to pay for your sins.’ I answer still watching every slight inflection on your face.

‘Sins?’ You pause and stare at me as your teeth tug at the fullness of your bottom lip. ‘ I go to church every week, Dae.’

‘Yet you are not absolved.’

‘I said my prayers, my rosary.’ You take another step closer.

‘Not to me.’

Your brow furrows and your throat swallows quietly as you digest that statement. ‘You are not my God, Dae.’

‘Aren’t I?’ My answer is a feral whisper of noise.

***To be continued.