'Time cools, time clarifies; no mood can be maintained quite unaltered through the course of hours.' Mark Twain.

Nocturnal Butterflies

Published on Sunday, December 31st, 2006

nocturnal butterfly

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…

The signs and signatures of demons

Published on Sunday, September 17th, 2006

I’ve been waiting for you.
Two things are certain about violators such as yourself. The first is that they return to the scene of their crime. The second is that they take something, a momento of the act. You are an amatuer and not so unusual in this regard.

The geometry of cyberspace maintains the integrity of the circle and familiarity minimized risk in your eyes but that very history makes you vulnerable. In sum, my dear, your mental map is as visible as your clumsy trail of destruction.

“Every contact leaves a trace”
Did you smile as you read that? But Locard was right and this principle became the foundation of all forensic sciences - physical and psychological. Your shadows are fingerprints.

There are emotional traces in your own system. Do you still have that rush of adrenalin? That slick power coursing through your veins, exciting the potentials of your neurons till they fire your feelings with venom. It’s your mind that interprets this physiological state and excitement is the flipside of fear. You don’t consciously choose, just as you don’t consciously fall asleep each night. It just happens with ease; you sink into darkness, into the blackness of unconsciousness. Here you are most vulnerable. Your locus of control is diminished and then denied.

Each night I shall drag my fingers through your blankness, restitution adds a fillip to love and hate.

We are connected - you and I.

I now possess something that belongs to you.


Published on Wednesday, September 6th, 2006

sublime twist

Dearly beloved,

Heavenly bodies are at their most voluptuous and the dark hours quite beautiful cast as they are in the cool glow of serenity. Some fear these mystical phases and while lunacy truly abounds, our critical gaze should rest on the sheep in wolves clothing.

Lupus est homo homini

Man is a wolf to man.

All mythologies tell us that to destroy our demons, we need pierce their heart. Come weave some magic with me in devotion to Erotic Pseudocide.


Published on Sunday, July 23rd, 2006

“In the pressure of the dance some of the shells had broken and lay on the dance floor.”

Anais Nin - Delta of Venus.

Be gentle.

If your curiosity has brought you here ahead of my invitation I ask that you silently, sensitively observe only.

Today I have enjoyed the flitting companionship of a comma butterly. Finally I caught her, allowing my eyes to rest on her fragile, furry beauty, before releasing her in the garden. This place will find its wings soon and we’ll share secrets as we flit from flower to flower.

Summer Solstice

Published on Wednesday, June 21st, 2006

To all my beautiful friends, lovers I’ve not seen for far too long and my dear readers,

I wish you an enchanting solstice. May your day be deliciously dangerous and wickedly wanton. Eat, drink, fuck and be merry and remember to howl at the waning moon. Raise a glass to me and I’ll dedicate my next act of mischief to you.

Blessed Be.

100 things about me

Published on Tuesday, June 6th, 2006

100 things

I absolutely love reading the ubiquitous 100 things and felt it time to complete my own. This photo is of sunset here on the farm and is taken from my favourite place….

1. My favourite place to be is reclining on my swing, in the garden. I sleep peacefully here.
2. I sleep nude unless it’s very cold or I feel vulnerable.
3. I love sleeping and don’t appreciate being woken. If you must wake me, do so gently.
4. My temperament is essentially calm but in the mornings I am mercurial
5. I’m the first person to start and the last to finish dancing.
6. I prefer limes over lemons
7. I’m nocturnal
8. If I love you, I’ll tell you so
9. Superficiality in relationships saddens me
10. I have watched someone I love die
11. I detest being cold
12. I’m evil when hungry, crotchety when tired.
13. I wear Coco by Chanel blended with the scent of my own arousal
14. I have an exceptionally acute sense of smell
15. I’m painfully clairsentient
16. I have a deep respect for eccentricity but don’t suffer fools gladly.
17. I adore hotels, most especially stupidly expensive Country House Hotels.
18. I should have been a courtesan.
19. I eat out a lot
20. I’m a carnivore
21. I don’t like carbonated drinks (except Champagne) or the taste of most alcohol
22. Wine snobs amuse me before they piss me off.
23. Whisky makes me belligerent. But I really like it.
24. I never wear a wristwatch
25. I have a weird relationship with time. My friends have speculated that I may be a time lord.
26. If that were true, I’d travel back to 1886 and invest in Coca Cola, with the arrangement that the annual dividend be reinvested.
27. I consider the stock market to be the most intriguing entity. I keep a shamanic eye half cocked in that direction.
28. Market or otherwise, at grassroots it’s still gambling and I don’t believe you should sink any money into it that you wouldn’t lay on a roulette table
29. I used to be a croupier. Casinos are only glamorous in a literally bewitching sense. I have memories of sore feet and a brain overloaded with numbers late at night. For all the picture bets, there’s still maths to do.
30. I hate maths.
31. I love driving
32. In urban areas I pride myself on being a courteous driver but on an open road I’m a speed demon
33. Needless to say, I don’t possess a clean licence
34. Women drivers royally piss me off. Standard exclamations of irritation apply: ‘It’s the pedal on the right,’ ‘you could get a bus through there,’ ‘what are you waiting for…?’
35. And what’s with all the cuddly toys and shit hanging from the rear view mirror? I just don’t understand at all. Perhaps if you chucked that stuff away you’d actually be able to see where you’re going…..
36. My car radio is tuned to Kerrang and Classic FM. I move between them depending on my mood
37. I was a teenage rock chick. I still adore the throb of electric guitar, and like to be close enough to the creature playing it so as to feel the resonance in my womb. It’s the most glorious, primal wet feeling imaginable.
38. Nothing beats dancing to live music
39. The sexiest visual bar none is a barefoot woman playing the cello. It gets to me. Every. Fucking. Time.
40. The greatest composer of all time is Rachmaninoff. I especially adore hearing his works played by Evgeny Kissen.
41. My favourite contemporary composers are Karl Jenkins and Ludovico Einaudi
42. I love pianists for their strong fingers. Enough said.
43. Hands are very important to me. It’s one of the first things I notice about a person.
44. Musicians have beautiful hands. Yes my darling, I am thinking of you.
45. My favourite piece of music is ‘Your Love for me is Forbidden’ by Hossam Ramzy. It’s exquisite beyond compare and I want it played at my funeral
46. I have a dark sense of humour
47. I loathe, hate and detest everything about fish
48. I’m a lip balm junkie
49. I’m easily moved to tears, both happy and sad
50. Years ago following financial catastrophe, I resolved never to get into debt again. I cut up my credit cards and now live by the maxim ‘spend less than you earn’.
51. I own all my belongings and have nothing on the knock. If I can’t afford something, I don’t have it
52. But then, I hate shopping. Yes you read that right; I’m female and I hate shopping
53.Except for books. You have to drag me out of (good) bookshops. I’m an utter bookslut
54. I really appreciate receiving books as gifts, and especially love personal messages written in your hand, no matter how illegible
55. I love being read to. I like to close my eyes and snuggle in close. If you read to me and stroke my head, there’s an even chance I’ll fall in love with you
56. Sometimes I bite but I rarely draw blood
57. I have never used my safeword
58. My mobile is always on silent
59. I am incapable of returning library books on time
60. I lose my keys and/or glasses at least once a day
61. I probably swear too much. Fuck in various combinations is my expletive of choice
62. ‘Fuck it’ is my mantra for life. I find it keeps things in perspective
63. If you watch reality shows/soaps/other emotionally retarded TV of any description don’t tell me so. I will think a lot less of you
64. I can’t engage with televised sport with the exception of female gymnastics and football penalties. I think it’s something to do with the tension.
65. I need heavy bedclothes and one plump pillow to sleep well.
66. And my faux furs. I have a small collection
67. I always write with Parker pens and favour real ink
68. I get violently seasick and consider acupressure armbands a gift from God
69. I’m a sucker for accents
70. Tragically I’m not gifted with languages but am stupidly impressed by people who are
71. I see the good in people
72. I genuinely believe Stephen Fry is a higher being
73. I have a romantic soul, think decadent over cute
74. I’m a contrarian and an idler, and proud of it
75. I’m a water baby
76. I go commando
77. but I love lingerie and most especially corsets. I can self lace
78. In between assignations, I don’t shave my pubic hair
79. I sleep on my stomach
80. I love marmite
81. My breasts surprise me. I was pretty much flat chested until a couple of years ago and that mentality means running up stairs still startles me.
82. I’m a natural 34D/DD so I have a fantastic cleavage
83.I haven’t been to a hairdresser for 20 years
84. I haven’t taken the pill for 10 years
85. I enjoy menstruating
86. I don’t remember losing my virginity. A tale for another time I think.
87. I love churches when no one else is in them
88. Walking around graveyards during a storm is exquisite
89. I usually wear my nails short so I can feel with the pads of my fingertips.
90. I LOVE Indian food.
91. The smell of bacon, bread or onions cooking makes me salivate
92. I hate crowds.
93. I talk to strangers
94. I’d rather not talk on the phone. I need to see, to smell, to touch you.
95. If I don’t trust you, I can’t sleep in your company
96. Fire captivates me.
97. I must have my own room. My boudoir if you will. I refuse to compromise on this point
98. I wear a moonstone pendant
99. I follow my instincts
100. Hey, it’s the 6/6/06. AVE SATANAS!

Shaved and smooth with nowhere to go

Published on Friday, March 3rd, 2006

shaved and smooth

My Lictor has cancelled, hysterically because he’s snowed in. In a voice thick with disappointment, he left three despondent voicemail messages within a 10 minute period by the end of which I was laughing. I’m sure that wasn’t his intention but his desperate apologies carried me from disheartened through cheery to my current state of almost casual indifference.

It’s a strange feeling, sexually speaking, to have keyed yourself up for an intense encounter and to then sense it softly collapse without resolution. There’s an ambivalence about simply dry storing the emotions, most especially when my body is so, so ready for the experience. I could arrange an alternative encounter but I don’t switch wires so easily; the sport fuck slutstyle is not for me.

So what to do?
I recognise this curious feeling from my brief forays into online relationships and let’s face it, my relationship with my Lictor is to all intents and purposes just that right now. Cool as I am about the cancelation, I’m finding the whole ’stop/start’ nature of this tenuous coupling problematic. This is that bloody awful place where fantasy meets reality, where infinite sexual possibilities promise so much but somehow, somewhere in the manifestation of, a rhythm misses the beat and desire sags heavily, worn down by disappointment.

A couple of weeks ago my friend and I visited our local Ann Summers (non Uk readers - think trinketised sexuality lite boutique of sorts, good for hen nights and joke presents), essentially because there is a real cutie working there, you just know there’s nothing actually worth buying. Anyway, the blonde beauty that has so charmed us sidles up to my companion and asks in a voice closer to cultivated cheek than sincerity if ‘there is anything I can do for you?’ He pauses, flashes his eyes at me and thinks better of vocalising his first thought. Thank God, I’m too cold to get kicked out of another shop. Hot on the heels of his unspoken perversity, comes an actual and genuine question:

“Why am I sexually attracted to woman whose personalities I can’t stand but want to be with gentle ladies who fail to inspire my cock?”

The blonde giggles, flicks her curls: “What kind of girls inspire your …er… inspire you?”

“Bitches. Specifically cruel bitches.”

She laughs again, hard enough for her locks to bounce into her eyes. Brushing them back, I notice she’s blushing but her reply betrays no hint of embarrassment.

“Oh, now I know exactly what you mean. I believe it’s a common problem.”

Is it I wonder?
Are many of us deeply, passionately aroused to the point of high fever by sexual personality traits that leave us cold in the real world?

Is this the inherent appeal of topping and bottoming over full on D/s?

I have this mismatch of desire. In my mind, the 24/7 is a recurring scenario but I actually doubt I would last for one minute. There are many reasons why this is so ranging from the pure control I exert over my fantasies down to the hopelessly romantic and naive belief that I haven’t met the right man. Please, if ever there was a more absurd get out clause for shafting your life, that is one of them.

I’ve reached a point where it’s crystal clear to me that I don’t want to be the sub wife I have long experienced in fantasy. Perhaps I’m more of a switch than I’ve ever realised, pitched somewhere between slutling and little bitch. Not quite fully fledged in both, more successfully navigating the middle ground. It’s a rather disturbing realisation, primarily because my sexual wiring is without doubt submissive. My inner slut is submissive, yet once out of the safe delight of pure imagination, the real world is less than engaging.

Perhaps it’s less that I’ve not met the right man but have not had enough of the right experiences. The jury is out on this folks. My sexuality is most definitely in evolution, naturally defering to the love I already have in my life. Feelings and needs do change, most especially when we are in open dialogue with ourselves and with others. I know not everybody cares for erotic introspection but to do otherwise smacks of self betrayal. The best way to share a blissful encounter with someone else is to communicate explicitly about pleasure, to negotiate our boundaries so as to maintain mutual well being. We must extend that same care and courtesy to ourselves and face full on the changes such good practice brings. Lust is a profound change of consciousness, and one we can cultivate like good gardeners and it’s an organic metaphor well deserved. We’re all familar with the secret garden, that forbidden, wild, rambling place of freedom and sexual discovery but over time we come to know it so well the mystery is diffused. Hence digging deeper in our emotional dirt, through the smutlands and back to our sexual playgrounds to party with good friends.

Today I miss my partner in grime but don’t feel restricted in my avenues of pleasure. Masturbation is a wonderful thing and a place untainted by personality. But I do wonder about that lonely hotel room, vacant and silent when it could have been boiling in an atmosphere of passion. Is there a place for lonely hotel rooms? Could it be the same dimension that broken dates (such as mine), self consuming Haloscan comments (how much does that piss you off?) and unspoken sexual fantasies go? A repository of what could have been?

But in the trade and transition of all that could and should and maybe, I take heart because I have another passion that has been sorely neglected of late. Reading. I can’t remember the last time I curled into my furs and read for indulgent hour upon hour. Tonight I will and it’s a world of words, of fantasy and imagination that bolsters the unhappy tone of the ‘could have been’ repository. Good fiction creates a cocoon which reminds me that not every impulse need be made real. Some stories are better left unsaid and unlived.


Published on Sunday, January 8th, 2006


“What are you up to my darling? Not perchance at a loose end this evening?”

It’s bone cold here, so cold that nothing really seems to warm me deeply enough for long enough. The invitation is extended by my lovely young man but I doubt he could stimulate sufficient passion to gift me with an outrageous orgasm and I suspect only that could warm my core. I decline gently and elect instead to connect with that great feminine ally - water.

Pure, potent and sacred, we all instinctively know of the healing and rejeuvenating properties of water. As the hot waters fill my bath, I move slowly around the room pausing before each sconce to light the tall, white candles that stand proud. The room flicks into a life of shadows and I smile at how beautiful my curvaceous body looks in silhouette. I muse on the possibility that this may be the only time reflections in black and white are so forgiving.

I sit on the baths edge, my soft robe slipping open as I reach for my precious oils. I allow 7 drops of rose maroc to spill from the cold blue bottle, and with lazy fingertips I blend their essence with the steaming water. My hand tells me the temperature is as much as I can bear, but any cooler and the desired full body warming will be defeated. Shedding the flimsy robe, I yield to the hot comfort of the water. The immersion is sublimely welcome and I sink back, grateful that my petite frame allows the waters to cover me completely. Losing myself in the soothing, primal power, I recall a time when I bathed in the ice cold freezing flow of a brook in North Wales. Naked and euphoric, I waved at the stunned hillwalkers who perhaps rubbed their eyes believing they had instead viewed a wood nymph. Despite the heat, the memory sends a chill through me and I shudder.

Opening my eyes, I derive a sweet satisfaction with my body in repose. This is a time for sensuality, for soft self caresses and nurturing. If we could defy the laws of time and space, and somehow I find myself opening my eyes in an unfamiliar bathroom, your room, what would you do with this water spirit? How would you ensure the heat in my flesh endures once I leave the sanctity of the water?

Christmas Blessings

Published on Friday, December 23rd, 2005

christmas blessings

May I wish each and every one of my dear readers a Merry Christmas.

Thankyou for your continued kind and insightful words, dirty and devious thoughts and gentle gestures of friendship. It means a lot to me.

The following words are really quite beautiful. Please don’t let the title ‘Lord’s Prayer’ put you off, for this is the closest to the original translation and meaning we have. It’s essence and spirit is genuinely inspirational.

The Lord’s Prayer in the Ancient Aramaic language.

A translation directly from the Aramaic into English (rather than from Aramaic to Greek to Latin to English).

O cosmic Birther of all radiance and vibration!
Soften the ground of our being
and carve out a space within us
where your Presence can abide.
Fill us with your creativity
so that we may be empowered
to bear the fruit of our mission.
Let each of our actions bear fruit
in accordance with our desire.
Endow us with the wisdom to produce
and share what each being needs
to grow and flourish.
Untie the tangled threads of destiny
that bind us,
as we release others from
the entanglement of past mistakes.
Do not let us be seduced by that which would
divert us from our true purpose
but illuminate the opportunities
of the present moment.
For you are the ground and the fruitful vision,
the birth power and the fulfilment,
as all is gathered
and made whole once again.

Feast of Love

Published on Sunday, December 11th, 2005


Today is my birthday and according to Western Mystery Tradition, is the Feast of Love. So as the sun moves northward, I reflect on the changes another year brings. I’m aware that birthdays are uncomfortable for many people as they age but I tend to see them as one more threshold. A point of reflection, a recognition that inner dignity only matures and a shuffling dedication to that truth, something that is not easy to acknowledge when you need to get close to a mirror to see yourself clearly and in so doing, you see the undeniable presence of age. The lines of expression that define and animate our features are easier to cherish in another, yet it is more challenging to view your own face as enriched with the textures of experience.

Meister Eckhart says –

“Time makes us old. Eternity keeps us young”.

The Japanese embrace an exquisite principle called ‘polishing the heart’, a spiritual task that is understood as the inner work of each individual. Such soft devotion to an eternal truth gifts the spirit with harmony, compassion and generosity, a living true beauty, embodied in the face and countenance. I believe it’s a nobility we would do well to acknowledge, for without such inner loveliness we are left with the fading of external beauty, the superficial prettiness of youth.

My heart sinks when I watch adverts promoting anti-aging products. I saw one recently featuring Andie McDowell, a woman I always felt emanated a certain poise and serenity, so seeing her whoring herself in this cheap fashion was very disappointing. I commented on this to my male friend who said:

“I’d go on tv wearing your bra and pants and sell it for 10 grand”

Fair enough but then he’s not a multi millionaire. She really doesn’t need to do this and it left me wondering where are the wise women? Am I the only one who is weary of the endless parade of vacuous youth?

It has become an unfortunate habit that we now mistake glamour for beauty. Glamour is a mask, an intentional illusion and as such fades with the flights of fancy. Glamour is fickle and commercially driven, vulgar, artificially dull and empty. Inviting our soul, the lushness and gratitude for our life into our features lends coherence and brings harmony to a disquiet world.

So as I become a year older, my resolve is to shrug imitations of beauty and to beautify my gaze instead.

I heard these words the other day –

“There is nothing as beautiful as the sadness of one who is blind in Grenada”

Spanish Proverb


sagittarius constellation

Combining Western and Eastern perspectives on Astrology is quite fascinating. In Western terms I am a Sagittarian, in Eastern I am Pig or Boar.

Extracted from The New Astrology by Suzanne White –

‘Still waters run deep

Pigs are very cultivated people. The Pig born in Sagittarius must sometimes wonder who this rash and fiery beast he got into bed at birth with really is. Dauntless and even power hungry, the Sagittarius/Pig runs a tight ship. But below decks there may be a party in full swing, the magnitude and eroticism of which would make Fellini faint from shock’.

A pretty accurate summation as it goes.
Erotic Fae, my fellow Sagittarius/Pig, does this ring any bells for you?