Myths and Metawhores

The devil comes at night. He leaves his marks on the inside. I am captivated by his mind, fascinated by each beautiful nuance and sharp twist. His words are vessels, lush sensuality cloaking the sweetest of violations. He doesn’t deny the heart, he knows there is always the loved and the lover.

My heart is a double agent, my mind an interrogator. As darkness falls distracting the intellect is easy, and cold mind falls prey to the troubadour. Naked truth is on grazed knees, as I long to be.

Your words are always and never enough. Like molten wax they sear into my sexual psyche, and echo around the thin walls of my everyday life until I am drowning in your dark ocean. Such bittersweet Mastery ensures I am always slick with wanton lust, liquid and inviting.

Penetrate my mind.

The empty mind is the devil’s workshop.

Enter me.
Empty my mind.
Dig deeper with hands and words.
Release the language of pictures, enhance my art of dreaming.
Then carve that out too.
Make my body your private realm.
Breathe beauty back into me.

sexual samadhi

We are all matryoshka dolls, and this psycho-sexual striptease is for him.

Peel away the skin of my sentimentality and I’ll weep as you blow on the embers of feeling. Tears alone cannot extinguish this fire. I demand intoxication, anything less demeans my passion. Your desires are my liberation, my desires are for your Mastery. Though breathless and dizzy with this erotic fever, I am sentient enough to know you draw back with a smile. You enjoy driving me crazy.

With him the wait is exquisite and will never be too long.

Your poetry is for the small hours when weak faith is upheld by decadent melancholy. When I am most tormented, your sexual telepathy is keenest and only in dreams do you flesh out transgressions. Yet I am shining with devotion to my art.

Costuming woes. This metal lingerie is not the work of a craftsman, the edges are unfinished and razor sharp in places. A jagged jump ring slices deep, the pain is sharp but subsides quickly. A bead of blood swells, a living ruby jewel that I bring to my lips.

The taste in my mouth is mute, drenched with story.

‘Epona is the Patroness of all journeys, physical, mental, emotional and spiritual.’

OBOD: The Order of Bardes, Ovates and Druids.

Life conspires with art, imitates my dreams.

Today I went into the city to buy dancing shoes. My mind was set on black leather, which in terms of costuming care and practicality is sensible and enduring. But it was not to be for the only shoes that met my needs were red, blood red suede. In the story, the shoes that replace the handmade skins are perfect, but the ones I purchased today are not. One is pristine, a scarlet jewel but her sister is faded. My suspicion is that it has sat in the sun, an enticing window decoration amid the tulle and tutus. With a smile I see another advantage to shunning the sunshine hours.

I have long held an affection for flaws. As a child I remember choosing a one eyed toy from the selection of perfection lest no one else would love it as I could. My sense of romance asserts itself in strange ways, and after nailing a generous discount, I took these beautiful shoes off the shelf and into my life.

You see, after a break of three years I am starting to dance again. Here they be dragons but I’m damned if I wait for rescue or reprieve. My body is mended now and the wisdom accrued during time away allows me to let my former companions have their deadly race. It’s time to get back on the horse as they say, but for me the way, the beauty and the beast is elusive and wild. The pathos and sensuality of duende does not reside in the studio, or the shoes but in raw moments where heart and soul are complicit.

***

Thankyou Kochanie for evoking Epona and Ice Princess for caressing her thoughts into a dedicated post.

In the depth of winter I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer. - Camus

The butterfly is a potent image and metaphor for submissive women, capturing beautifully the transformation and promise of D/s passions. Butterflies are adorable, pretty and enchanting. Who doesn’t love butterflies?

Little flying creatures used to unnerve me; extracted from Redolence - The Aroma of Desire:

The last two days have been very warm and wasps have roused from their slumber. As I write this in my garden, my thoughts are momentarily swayed by the cutting antiseptic citrus odour of the citronella oil I’m burning to keep these vicious little beasts at bay.

As an aside, the way to deal with these creatures is to not run from or necessarily ignore them but to approach them in the spirit of ‘wasp tai chi’. Very, very slowly raise an open hand and move it towards them and away from you. They seem to interpret this as a wall of sorts and will fly away following the direction you describe. This controlled action is how I overcame my fear of wasps.

I also used to fear moths, until I discovered that they were only butterflies whose wings never saw the sun. As a creature of the night I identified with these dusky beauties. Their mystery inspired reverence and gently, I began to sense their visits were fragile blessings.

A butterfly alights and people coo over her pretty ornamentation. Her dark sister breathes in the shadows and waits. You have to feel fascination to seek her out, her allure is less obvious and yet she’s as fragile, maybe more so for the weight of assumption she must bear.

Sometimes I am overcome by a deep sadness that I am not a butterfly, it must be exquisite to be truly beautiful. My charm lies in the small hours. I am noctilucent - I shine by night, and cherish that for the enigmas it suggests and conceals. Leave the overt behind, come into my world. Strike a match, arch a protective hand around the flame lest in my captivation the fire consumes me.

Know the cocoon for what it is. Within these soft walls my metamorphosis is almost complete. I stir and graze fingertips along the protective enclosure. Soon my darlings, soon…

Steeped in eroticism and the soul’s longing for home, The Argentine Tango has been a powerful expression for all those who are looking for a sense of belonging. Belonging to someone, somewhere, something…

- The history of The Argentine Tango, from the BBC site linked below.

Why do I dance?
Why do you want to live?

I wanted Mark Ramprakash and Karen Hardy to win Strictly Come Dancing and they have. Strictly is my Saturday evening addiction and now it’s over for another year I am revisiting moments. Please follow this link, it’s the divine couple perfoming The Argentine Tango.

Remember, 12 weeks ago, this man had never danced in his life. Obsession and passion decipher mysteries as intangible as aroma, dusky kisses and promises reminding us of the fragility of life. I long for beauty and she visits in moments such as these, the music of her voice a tribute to raw craving. The tension in this dance is palpable, seizing and riding your need yet never gratifying it. Dance is about hunger.

You don’t dance, you are danced.
Maybe for that moment, you understand.
You belong to someone.

Merry Christmas my darlings.
May your needs remain barely within your touch, eternally tempting and seducing you.

Someone once told me I had lost my way, not my soul. Sometimes I wonder if that is the other way round. Despite bruising, I am at heart, brilliant with innocence, but too pale. I crave colour, deep blood berry red hues seduce me.

I am famished, my furtive dreams rob, and charm me. It is the essence I desire and this generates passion, excess.

We love whom we serve. We feed on what nourishes us, even if the devil’s banquet is sweet with venom.

Nothing feels like coming home. Isn’t that something that just makes you feel warm and content, no matter what has happened in the world outside. Home is welcoming and a place you naturally rest at ease. Now, with me, this sense is heightened by simple indulgence. When you come home, and the house is silent I suggest you walk softly to the bathroom, push the door open quietly for here your waterbaby lies and dreams.

Drenched with lust and tender with the anticipation of your return, I sense you before I hear you. You approach, smiling. Your woman, naked, ripe, restless for you. It’s a threshold that justifies your lust. I need you to consume, envelop, devour me.

Knowing this, you gamble with my devotion to you, demanding a dominion drawn in blood bonds. I can choose to continually isolate myself, and indulge in the illusion of separation or I can unfold into your Mastery.

Warm, wet flesh recreates innocence, invites violation. Taking full possession of my will you wrap strong arms around me, and lift me from the water.

I’m lying on my bed, cuddling into the cool, rough texture of fresh Egyptian cotton linen. I love my bed, my beautiful bed, and I’m simply lying here, gazing out of the window at the azure, blue sky. I know it’s cold outside, but in here it’s warm, and everything is quiet and peaceful.

Close by the window stands a magnificent old tree, and the breeze is gently blowing through its branches, and though I can’t hear it, I can imagine the rustling of leaves. I cast my eyes higher and see a flock of birds. I am momentarily sad as I realize they are preparing to leave for warming climes. Who can blame them, I am tempted. Instead I watch them with a detached ease, as they glide and swoop, twist and turn as one. Behind them I notice fluffy white clouds, that glide by so peacefully.

My attention drifts back to the tree and I watch as the leaves gently move with the wind. One leaf dances free and loose, and begins a graceful fall…down and down…slowly, softly floating. And although I can’t see this, I know it will come to a composed rest on the soft grass. I settle deeper and deeper into my pillows, feeling more comfortable and serene. The clouds drift, the leaves continue to fall, and I allow myself to relax deeply into the moment.

My eyelids feel heavy and I don’t resist the urge to let my head come to rest on my arms. Gently, I close my eyes, and let myself go.

I feel you near me.
I sense you’re reaching forward and I smile as your warm hand connects with me, tenderly smoothing away the errant hairs that fall about my face, as you caress me in waves…and we are breathing in time, our bodies harmonising with each touch. The warmth of your fingers flows down my neck, relaxing tense shoulders, snaking along my spine…down and down…flowing and relaxing me, and it takes me a few moments to realize that your massage has lengthened to reverently cherish the parts of me that hurt, that ache. What is it about your touch that so easily moves me to tears?

Yet it satisfies and pleases me that you have such command over my flesh. It’s easy to be with you, to be yours completely, and this thought takes me deeper still into pure acceptance…and love.

You took the life I had and gave me another one…and my taste and need for this is great. We must follow our nature, and we are similar creatures, you and I.

The way you lavish attention on me is a gift.
You know me.
You made made me all I am,
you have a lust for pleasure that matches my own.
We need it,
and of course, you want more.
You always want more.

Then I discern how your beautiful rhythm has created a lush, wet heat…
my thighs gently part,
my hips rise.

I lick my lips.
I have so much to say to you, but is it even possible to describe this feeling?

“Hush, now” you whisper.

But I have been so lonely for you.
It’s been a long, long time.

Are you there God?
It’s me, Magdelena.

Thank you for calling God’s answering service. Prayers may be recorded for training and legal purposes. We are currenty experiencing a high demand on our service but please hold and an angel will answer as soon as they become available. Your prayer is in a queue……

***

For all it’s religious connotations, it has always amused me that the term ‘faithful’ is usually applied to lovers and/or spouses. I suppose on a gradation of intimacy, our partner is or should be our most trusted friend, our confidante, our strong shoulder of support and warm embrace. We expect a tremendous amount from those around us and sometimes, frankly our expectations are unrealistic. I think by extension we expect too much from our conceptions of the sacred. Faith becomes a passive gesture, a given, not something we work on, are challenged by, struggle with and finally surrender to.

There’s a peculiar misconception surrounding surrender, in both its spiritual and sexual contexts (although I think this division arbitrary; in my mind they are sacred, one and the same). Surrender is viewed as a passive, last ditch, feeble collapse to the will and whim of another. It’s not this at all, in truth it’s a very active, questioning and demanding journey characterised as much by dark nights as ecstatic highs, but mostly it occupies a finely balanced middle ground.

Faith is a rare and beautiful thing.
I have faith.
I know there is more, and beyond this I see how faith aligns us to qualities that expand and elevate the human experience.

Recent events have given me cause for self reflection. I think this natural for having invested so much time in this space and these writings, sensing their loss brought issues into sharp focus. I reached the point where I was prepared to let it all go, by this I mean in my heart I stopped fighting and stopped hurting. Yes, I was melancholic for a time but that dark energy has a gentle depth and within those inky folds I reconnected to humility, kindness and compassion.

I think it is literally virtually impossible to spend hours online and come away feeling good. In a very real sense computers strangle the life from us, and to quote Dr. Ali

“Computers will become a noose around the neck of human kind - literally”.

Allow me to quote from his ‘Ultimate Back Book’:

The damage it causes to the neck and the complications that arise out of that are unbelievable…..Staring at a screen in a fixed position contradicts the very principle of the existance of the neck. Nature has given the neck the extraordinary function to move in all directions and that is why it is structured differently from the rest of the body. The neck is meant to move and not be fixed.”

People are meant to move and not be fixed but I think every one of us can observe how cold, closed down and quite simply inept our people are becoming due to their reliance on technology. It isn’t flexible enough and its remote nature means we never see/hear/feel the consequences of our actions. Put your hand up if you’ve had a bad experience with a call centre or online customer care division this week. It’s become a fact of modern life and more than I hate the cost cutting principles it’s based upon, I am seriously vexed by the piss poor excuses these drones offer. ‘I’m only doing my job’ is an appauling defence not the least because of the rank incompetancy displayed. Tick box mentality meets the cold heart of technology: welcome to hell.

Dr. Ali is something of an advocate of doing the opposite. I met him once and asked what belly dancers should do for the low back ache that can accompany early or vigourous training. He advised massaging the pelvis. It’s a principle he carries into many healing areas and so I thought it interesting to apply this to neck problems. On the other side, the soft side we have the throat. An area of acute vulnerabilty and tenderness, the place where our lifeblood pulses.

In mystical terms it is the fifth chakra and stored within this wheel is the energy of Will, quite literally willpower. The Sacrament of Confession is allied with this chakra and when plotted on the Tree of Life, it is aligned with the Sefirot of Gevurah and Hesed representing the qualities of judgement and mercy. Please don’t labour over these mystical aspects because the interesting thing is that the fifth chakra is the bridge between the fourth and sixth chakras, namely the heart and the mind. Too often these two are seperate and isolated yet they are united by the power of will.

The question is, where do we invest our will power?
When we are not strong enough to think wisely and act with love, our will is susceptible to hijacking and we will invest it foolishly. There are so many addictions yet perhaps one of the most intriguing is the contemporary addiction to cyberlife. It seduces us, sucks us in and before we know it hours have slipped by. It’s quite a terrifying thought but dare you even admit how much time you spend online? I’m not pointing fingers, I’m really not the smart arse in the room because I’m writing this with a neck problem. But the antidote is in the venom and pain is true and our finest teacher. For me the lesson is to spend less time sitting before the screen and spend more time moving, living and loving.

I’m not by any means suggesting that the community we have created and spend time in is in any way wrong, not at all. I am simply saying that we should treat time as the precious commodity it is and time spent online should be judicious. We should spend it wisely in the company of friends and use it for the good.

In a beautiful demonstration of this I have to say thank you to my Yakuza bitch. This site is here, hale and hearty because two blog angels heard my prayers and came to my rescue. Nina and Jeff devoted the morning on the eve of their Honeymoon to helping me. Yes, you read that right. When they could be forgiven for wanting to attend to the necessaries of packing and preparing, they devoted their time to me and to making sure all was well before they left. Kindness like that makes me catch my breath, it’s so rare. Thank you nina and Jeff for taking such good care of my baby metawhore. She’s as cute as a button now.

Warm hugs and thanks to

Vanessa for her help and sensual inspiration. Vanessa, your podcasts are orgasmically electric. Is there anything more exquisite than hearing a woman come?

Thanks also to Kochanie who held my hand and offered soothing words.
To Beau for braving the darkness to carry me out, and to all of you for your comments and mail, for your love and tender thoughts when I was decidedly down. You held my faith for me and for that I am grateful.

I’d like to especially thank N who may blush at seeing herself mentioned here but whose mail was exquisite. She reminded me that Muslims are currently celebrating Ramadan and that this is a time to connect with Divinity. It’s a time of cleansing, of purification and of connecting to the sacred self. The energy in her mail was magnificent and it inspired a soft devotion in me, a turn back to contemplation, to silence and simply being.

After reading her mail, I turned off the computer and made to leave. As I walked passed the mirror my eyes were drawn to the beads of a broken rosary looped across the top. It was a gift from the daughter of a former lover and it means a lot to me. I don’t actually know how one prays with a rosary but I’d like to.

I think whatever your faith, knowing that someone cares enough to pray for you is a blessing and a gift and unlike calls to carelines, they truly are answered. Not always in the way we expect but music, laughter and love are the backbone of the universe and God is nothing if not a cosmic joker.

Have you ever thought to yourself,

‘I wonder why people do the things they do?’

Sometimes we simply cannot fathom the reasons behind anothers actions, yet at other times, as mysterious as they may seem, there are signs if you look and listen carefully.

Most people who come to this site are respectful. They read, a few comment, and others elect to write to me privately. I’ve come to know you well, and ultimately because of this, the bond between us is close and strong.

My writing is a gift, given freely and I know it has been appreciated. For some, it has taken them deeper and for these sweet souls I have engaged in lengthy, off-the-page correspondence and where appropriate, counselling. Knowing this, people trust me.

Very occasionally a line is crossed.

Have you ever felt violated?
Would you be surprised if I told you that is how I feel now.

Some of you are aware this site was hacked again a few days ago and this is just the tip of the iceberg. First off, I have a script kiddie holed up like a truculent teenager and they have been abusing the place. For example, if you visit technorati you’ll see that my feed is currently hijacked by a business site. Take a look. Hardly elegant eh?

To cut short my long story I’m going to desist and extricate myself. Many hackers have a change of heart when they realise it is just not worth it; this is especially true here.

The virtual world holds many dangers, not the least the confusion as to what the legs are for. Too much sitting before the big glass tit, one-touch yet ironically no touching leads to a degeneration of the heart in all senses. People become hits, stats, consumers but not a real person, not someone with feelings and a world behind the words. Having created a generation without discipline and respect for boundaries, are we to add the loss of love to that sad list?

Passion is tangible.
Peace is priceless beyond measure.