Lured

Flesh wires carry bad decisions across end plates driving forward actions leading to the unexpected start of everything grand and disturbed. You cornered me like a confused lamb thinking a wolf its mother, and I did pounce. Honey thing you were - sweet and pure reacting like a timid deer making my murderous desires swell. But you ...That smile! Shaped by the distorted denizen in your mind - it spirals and hypnotizes. Flashes of solar radiation off your tricky pointed teeth prevented me from seeing you when you ... Here I thought I was the dagger piercing your side, drinking your essence, killing you; but you revealed yourself to be that dark creature destined to suck the marrow from my bones. This is all so wonderfully disturbed.

Toro Bravos

The scene starts in the Spanish desert. Our heroine lay intoxicated under the shadow of a bull that is not a bull. Earlier she did meet a man - a vagabond on the desert trails to small obscure towns hidden in the red dust and thirsty scrub. Seeking company in the lonely, she found her mind wiled by his wily ways, and mulled into thinking perhaps this dust covered one was more than appearances let seem. IN the heat of a starlit night under the influence of droughts of fire, things revealed themselves to be as they are and come morning strangers parted, their roles instead filled by amorous curious souls. So how did our heroine end up in her precarious state? Gods sometimes walk the earth as men; sometimes hide amongst the mortals; sometimes lust for earthly form; and sometimes are surprised by what is thrown in their path by the fates, a power greater than their own. So our heroine's precarious state is not real, just symbolic of the situation she found herself placed - under the affection eye of a god hidden in the flesh of a man.

Revision of an Invocation

How dare you call me from the shadows! Do you know what I am? That ancient thing that dwells in the primordial heat. Will you worship me? This dark power? Can you freely owe allegiance to something so dank and deadly, earthy and demented. I am mad! My poor mortal, I am mad. And you are delicious … Oh how you persist! Will you then let me feed from your soul? Millennia in forgotten hollows, I thirsted for blood, for bone, for screams. Fed by only dust instead, my hunger inflamed. In this prison I didst reminisce of past sacrifices to my name and the doom of civilizations fallen to my hunger. And thus I need … You …Your blood, your desires, your life. Do you think I could ever cherish your mortal soul enough not to take it from you? Do you think I possess such self control? Free me and I will destroy you but not before such pleasures … You will blissfully die and I will dwindle again until I exist no more, as it was foretold so very long ago. My time has past, but you shall help me remember, if only for an ember’s moment.

The Pavement, the Dunes, the Sea and the Stars

You know, I try writing erotic smutty fiction and what comes out is erotically charged urban fantasy. I like it though. I will try again but in the meanwhile, enjoy:

In the early hours the pavement is cool and I trek across it with bare feet. In the dream I had that night, the stars were eyes peering, sometimes leering, at me. Pretty jeweled eyes that knew all my secrets and would wink to let me know they have no mouths to share what they saw. I went out under this strange sky and on the dunes I came across something. The heavenly bodies in this dark morning sky are mere ordinary stars - gaseous bodies millions of light years away. The only eyes peering are the luminescent orbs of cats spying, too proud to report the movements of creatures they deem beneath them. I trek past rows of tired, shuttered homes, whose denizens sleep unawares of the magic of this early morning world I creep across. I head downhill toward the dunes.

In the early morning hours, the sand is cool and I trek across it with bare feet. In the dream I had last night the stars bore witness to the night I found you, the night you cast your lure and caught me. You were wrapped in loveliness and painted in beauty, sprawled across the sands when I came upon you unexpectantly. The wind blew the scent of divine and I breathed it in knowing you cast a spell and that I was yours. I had no idea what you were, who you were, and why exactly you needed to catch me. But as that spell worked its magic, those desires were erased from me - made me stupid and mad. Right here in these dunes, you caught me. And even when the spell ran out, I stayed your catch.

Tonight the dunes are empty and blue under the moon glow. Nothing lovely solemnly saunters across its sensual curves and mounds. Nothing divine saturates the air, merely the smell of brine with its promise of a grey and empty sea. In the distance is heard the crash of waves hitting the shore. All it silent everywhere else and I wonder will this be the morning.

In the early hours the sea is warm and I wade in it with bare feet. In the dream I had last night, the eye stars saw you catch me with your intoxicating allure and draw me into the sea. Under those dark grey waters we glowed with an ethereal light. I could see the waves toss your dark locs of hair around as if luscious sea weeds grew from your head. The darkness made your eyes shiny orbs of ebony and your skin a smooth blue that begged for my hands to touch. When your soft lips kissed mines I tasted the salt of the sea and the sweet sugar of your spell. Your hands were gentle, like velvet gracing my skin, arousing my spirit. As the currents caressed me, so to did you. Helpless did I lay there in those warm waters of the the sea, somehow not drowning in it, but somehow drowning in you - some terrifying creature from a place far away and a time long ago.

On this morning I wade in the surf and I weep tears of tired frustration. My clothes are drenched to my skin and I shiver in the cool morning air. The memory of your hotness distracts my mind and the promise you whispered into my ear as you disappeared in the glow of the rising sun drives me onward. The pleasure you gave with your dark ancient eyes and incredible softness haunts me. I wake from my bed in the early morning, lured from the mundaness of my life to the dunes hoping the tides have brought you this way again so I may again catch your lure and in turn catch you. I cannot bear these painful dreams of pleasure. When the sun rises this morning I swim out to meet it with longing in my heart and a hope that this was what you meant all along. In the sky above, eyes blink and stars fade into the morning blue sky.

Megalith

Megalith

The smell of brine was in the air, wafting in off the ocean far below the cliff as the wind blew strongly. The megalith must have stood on those cliffs for how long (?); long enough for the land to recede back as the ocean ate away at the cliffs. In another year or two these stones would be at the bottom of the sea. His hand wrapped around my palm, warm and slightly moist from the damp air and perhaps from well hidden fear. His face was a mask of determination – full mouth set firm, eyes staring ahead softly reflecting the green moonlight. If we had given in to fear tonight and waited until next year, the megalith would be gone and then we would bear the subsequent despair. But if things went wrong tonight! I squeezed his hand and took a step forward towards the megalith. With heavy steps he followed after.

The megalith formed a rough circle of stones, covered in moss and eaten away by the salt in the air. They were blackened with time and one can only wonder what their finish must have once looked like. Engraved in the largest of the stones, barely visible were words in a forgotten tongue and a glyph of a man and a woman standing in the middle of the circle of stones with moonlight streaming upon them. I wondered how many people through the ages came here seeking what they sought now, performing the ritual and then leaving with heavy hearts and great expectations.

Slowly we emerged into the centre of the stones facing the large stone with the glyph. I let go of his hand and turned to face him. He reached out and stroked my face, slowly and lovingly, and then grabbed my arm and forced my wrist up. I grunted and forced my face away from his, nodding grimly. I felt a sharp pain and then it was over. Warm salty blood streamed from the wound on my wrist and fell on the weed littered earth. Together we walked to the large stone, one arm directing me, the other flicking the blood off the dagger he used. Before the stone he stuck the dagger into the ground, following the ritual to the letter. He then guided my wounded wrist to the stone and pressed it against it. It was cold at first but quickly grew fiercely warm to the touch, as if my blood gave it a pulsing life of its own. I began to grow faint, whether from loss of blood or from the energy of the stone, I could not tell.
I finally turned my head to face him. My eyes told him it was ready. The stone grew warm as if alive, as the words we had read and reread so many times over the past few months had told us. Now he must do it and quickly. He brought my wrist to his mouth and clamped his mouth down on the wound. He grimaced and I lost my balance, falling back against the ever warm stone. He didn’t let go, he continued to follow the ritual, pinning me further against the stone, despite my discomfort. I gasped for it was painful and horrifying - his face was slowly turning from that of disgust to that of pleasure. He was enjoying it, greedily feeding on my blood, making loud slurping sounds and sighs of enjoyment. I closed my eyes and fought away my own hysteria. The words we read had told us this would happen. This was a good sign; but what if he didn’t stop. He would drain me!

Soon he let go of my wrist, and wiped the blood from his mouth – my blood which had been blessed by the stone. I sighed relieved and managed to seek his hand and squeeze it. He gazed at me, his eyes seeming to glow, and kissed my wounded wrist so tenderly and lovingly. I trembled and quickly pulled it away and wrapped my palm around it. With my blood now nourishing his body, we both sat in the middle of the stones and waited. I was so faint and tired but refused to give in and allow myself to pass out. I wanted to complete this ritual as it was written, and I didn’t trust him. My stone blessed blood had brought about a quick change in him. He seemed more feral and if I were to lose consciousness he would drain the rest of the life out of me.

As we sat there, I collected my thoughts and settled my emotions. I would have never thought we would resort to going to the megalith and all the risks involved including the risk of being discovered accused for indulging in such pageantry. This was the only way though, we had exhausted all our other choices. He had always been fascinated with the stones. Sometimes I wondered if the reason why we failed so much was because he had wanted it this way all along. I quickly let those thoughts go as I looked at him. He did not take his eyes off of me the whole time. His lips were so red and his skin looked darker. It was his sudden lack of blinking that told me soon the next phase of the ritual would begin. Eerily he stared at me with eyes no longer human, no longer blinking; and I sat paralyzed with an ebbing fear in which no amount of logic, no matter how hard I tried to think about the benefits, could dissipate. I waited for the next phase to begin with terror in my heart.

The moonbeam hit us and took me by surprise by its intense brightness. It was like the glyph on the large stone in front of us, now stained with my blood. Tonight was the night when the moon reflected its light most intensely on this spot. I stared at him, with his unblinking eyes; the moonbeam had transfixed him. I stood up and hesitantly took a step back away from him. That was enough to break his enchantment. In a flash he was on me, tearing the cloth from my body. He groaned and grunted like a beast. I screamed. Never had I thought it would be like this. Soon I was bare and prone. He began, stripping himself of his cloths in a rushed hurry, tattering them in the process. I trembled like a rabbit caught in a snare. This was what I wanted, I reminded myself. When dealing with ancient magic one must deal with ancient feral customs. It was that thought which made me falter with the ritual, willing to forget about it all. I was not an ancient human. I was modern and this sort of thing we were doing wasn’t right. And I was on my feet in an instant, slipping out of the reach of his grasping hands and running for the edge of the circle of stones which made up the megalithic structure. I screamed in full terror realizing that this whole thing was a mistake and a most unforgivable sin. He bounded after me. He was still a man, but there was a wild energy in him, making him like a solid black shadow. He grabbed my throat and forced me down. I struggled weakly, my strength compromised from the blood letting. I kicked him and kneed him and screamed. He was unflinching in his hold on me. Then he threw me to the ground and was upon me.

My insides burned in fire – a bright bursting and tearing of pleasure. I gasped and moaned so loudly and was greeted by his laboured groans. His hands clawed at my breasts, squeezing them in earnest. His mouth would lower to them every now and then, savouring my nipples and before finding my neck and biting it so roughly, drawing blood and lapping up the drops. It was intense and long. For hours it seemed he went at me, devouring me slowly as the time went by. His body was insatiable for mines. The power of the stones coursed through me causing my body to respond to his savage amorous attentions in such exquisite pleasure. It shamed me to enjoy this violation, but the ritual was being completed even if I no longer wanted to complete it. I wondered grimly how many of the other women who came before me were of the same resignation in this phase of the ritual as I. I endured his savagery until the moon began to fall. It was then that he let himself release in me, long and intense. He howled at the dying moon and I quaked and shuddered in his arms with my own long awaited relief. My eyes rolled to the back of my head and I lost consciousness in the intense waves of pleasure which were shamefully flowing over me. A fleeting thought of happiness filled my mind.

I thought of that night often in the months that followed. He was never the same after that and neither was I, but the ritual was done and behind us. That fall when our son came, the stones were no more, cast into the bottom of the sea with only the smell of brine to remind us of the sins which gave life to our blessings.

Spring

Things changed for her that year when Spring came late.

He had left on time, as usual and she had been alone to endure those two months of cold the best she could. It had snowed the day he left. The night before they had been arguing and the arrival of snow only added to her heat. She did not want to be alone and she had hoped this year would be different. He was a man of prudence though – he arrived on time and left on time, no matter if a snow storm shut down the roads. Her pleads fell on death ears and once in bed she gripped him tightly. The next morning her arms held nothing, he was gone. She had gotten up and searched the cottage in a dreary sad state, hoping, but all his things were missing – no clothing or shoes or any mundane small trinkets that were his. She had looked outside the windows and sadly lamented that there had not even been footsteps in the snow to mark his passage. He was gone and all that had remained was his lingering scent on her pillow and memories, plenty of memories. When she had fully realized he was gone, she stood in the open doorway of her home looking out towards the long lonely road leading away from her cabin. The wind had billowed up her white nightgown around her ankles and scattered her hair affray, making her look like a snow wraith – sad and mournful. She had stood there and let the cold crisp air chill her until she began to grow numb and could not bear it any longer.

In those months of loneliness she had packed her things and returned to the city. When the calendars marked that winter was over, regardless of the cold or snow on the ground, she would leave the cosiness of her cottage for the hard concrete world of the city where she would live in a small apartment until fall. Though she had liked the cottage, she could not endure the loneliness and the cold. His absence had made being there painful. She had hoped that the business of the city would take her mind off of that pit inside her heart and give her things to focus on until the wind brought warmth into the air and the trees gave birth to soft green buds and new life.

Sometime in May, when the first buds had begun to bloom into bright green leaves, he came. That was his ancient calling card because he had never paid attention to calendars. She had returned home from work to find him sitting on her couch staring at her with hungry eyes. In those two months away from the cottage and by herself, she had gotten used to her loneliness. She had let the city swallow up her interests, returned to work and began to live life as she had always lived it before they entered her life – aimless and alone. She had thought of him occasionally, but with the warmth in the wind increasing, her mind turned to other thoughts – warm and happy thoughts of a world thawed and renewed. She had thought about his replacement and how long he took to come. She almost thought that it was over, but on that warm day in May, his replacement sat there ready to fill her with new life.

He had been smiling so genuinely. His smile told her sweet kisses and soft whispers, laughter and joy. He was lounging on her couch, his bare feet propped on its pillows, his sandals on the floor. He had been so different from the one before, the one who left. This one, he was everything that embodied spring, right on down to his youthful form and youthful attention. He had hastily stood up when she came in, and hastily grabbed her in his arms, his hungry eyes dead on hers the whole time. He was like an infant too long in the womb and so his behaviour had been so eager and so rushed. She remembered how his excitement had saturated the atmosphere of her home and his energy had pulsed through it. Despite his allure, she rejected him, and continued to her room where upon she laid on her bed and cried, shedding no tears.

The next few weeks were tense. She would leave for work early and then would work until late to miss him. Despite hardly seeing him at all during those first few weeks, he had made sure to make his presence known to her every day. He would leave his magazines and clothes scattered throughout. She would come home and find a shoe here or there caked with mud and smelling of grass. Mornings he would leave a plate in the sink or would wake her up with the sound of his breakfast making. His energy had permeated into every surface. Once she had stumbled onto a pile of his workout clothes. In a fit triggered by loneliness and stubbornness she fell to her knees, grabbed his jersey and breathed in his smell. She stole it to her room and his only acknowledgement of its absence was a long intense grin in her direction that following evening. She knew that he wanted her, but upon being within his vibrant presence, the weight of her winter loneliness had come back and settled under her ribs, making her heart flutter. She acknowledged that her loneliness had made her bitter and the sting of that cold day when the other had left still numbed her limbs. She could not figure out why she could not move on and enjoy this new man.

On the first day of summer she had awoken to find him standing in the doorway of her room. He had looked so tired. In his hands were deep red roses. He entered her room and came to her bed, crouched down before her, and with a sigh had rested his head onto her lap. The roses he had placed by her side. She rested her hands under his chin and lifted his head up. His eyes were still hungry but his smile had grown into a depressed line. Tears stained his cheeks. She was tired of this game too. Winter had been long over and yet she had made sure to let it endure, ignoring the enticements of this new one, draining him. She had looked into his eyes and continued starring. The morning had been hot and she unbuttoned her blouse under his watchful gaze. His hands weakly reached up and started exploring. They were so hot on her skin. He was burning and gave her body what it yearned. She reached her hand out and wiped away his tears, brought her fingers to her mouth and languished over their salty taste. Their eyes remained locked, even as he began passionately kissing her, even as he lifted her onto her back and crushed her with his weight and eagerness, even as he removed her clothes and plunged into her body filling her with such radiating heat. Her eyes remained locked with his until that moment when she finally let go and descended into a bliss which she had refused to return to for so long. Summer had breathed life back into her.

Long hot summer days and humid nights had slowly changed into mild summer days and cool evenings. In the air there was a hint of fall and a rush of excitement in her bones. He had been a dutiful lover and gave in to her every whim, but in those early summer weeks she never let him taste of her flesh again. He did everything for her so that he could taste her love, win her love; but, she had wanted him to think it was a battle he could not win, although in her heart she knew he was winning. His joy had turned into hot passion with the heat of the summer.

She changed when he took her to a lake retreat. When they had arrived, he gave her a gift and told her to meet him at the edge of the lake in the evening. His gift was a dress, which she put on, and that evening met him at the lake. He had been sitting on a cloth, digging his toes into the grass. He gazed up at her, his eyes always hungry. He had reached out his hand to her and she grasped it only to be pushed down onto the grass. He had whispered into her ear, pleaded for her to open her heart to him again and enjoy each other again. For too long had he endured the teases and frustrating games that night on the first day of summer had unleashed. He was digging himself into her making her know just how much he enjoyed the sight of her in the new dress. So again, she relented. She put her hands on his chest and whispered sweetness to him. She pushed him onto his back and stroked his head, staring at him sadly.

Afterwards when he had lain quietly and trembling beside her, she got up and returned to their cabin. It had been getting dark, so she didn’t see him when he pushed her against the door and began kissing her neck and shoulders. The soft feel of his lips had made her shiver and she encouraged him to continue all through out the night. That next morning, while lying in his arms in her tousled bed, she pondered over the rest of the summer and the encroaching fall.

And then with coloured leaves, fall did come. He overstayed his welcome in his unwillingness to leave her, delaying the arrival of his replacement. She has been joyful at first but sadness seemed to be her companion for he quickly grew ill soon afterwards. With each day that passed he grew sicker and sicker. It was always like this for fall meant death. In those last few days he had stayed in bed, too weak to get up. She had been reluctant to care for him. It had hurt too much losing the one before and now it hurt to lose this one, the first one in so many years of this cycle who had ever wanted to stay with her. With each passing year it was something her heart had to tumultuously deal with. She had longed for the day when one of them would just stay and never leave her alone again, and when that day came she discovered that they could never stay, they always would die.

When he passed away her heart broke again and she understood the pain of the one who left her in winter, the pain of all those before. His last words had been as they always were, spoken with that very smile he had given her when he had first appeared to her in her apartment - that in a new life he’ll see her in the spring, and to carry his fire within. She moved the body to her cabin and had it buried in the green grass behind the cabin. She tried to forget.

One gusty day late in October she had been out cutting the rich red roses lining the front of her cabin. A gust of wind had blown off her hat and as she had stooped to grab it, she noticed something moving out of the corner of her eyes. Walking down her tree lined road a figure approached. The wind had swirled brown, yellow and red swarms of fallen leaves around the lane. They had danced around the slowly walking figure in a beautiful silent procession. She had stood there as she had done at the end of that past winter. Instead of looking off into a desolate distance, now she had been looking off into a potential future. The sadness had remained for that potential future was always the same. No matter how hard she had tried to fight it, she always fell in love again over and over. She was torn over these two men who would never stay with her, who changed with each passing year, but who always seemed to catch her heart in the same way with their quiet burning intensity and persistence. What was pleasurable in her younger years had now seemed a curse in these later years. All she had longed for was for one of them to stay with her forever and not to die when the seasons changed.

When he had reached her he grabbed her to him and rested his palms on her face. This year he had a beard and his eyes were light brown. His skin was dark and smooth and his touch soft. She had closed her eyes and he kissed them. He was more direct this year, but then he had always been very direct. She had opened her eyes and all that he was before merged and blurred together as tears clouded her eyes. She had wanted to say something, but his finger to her mouth silenced her. Together they had made their way inside, she leaving the roses that so symbolized the one who came in the spring behind on the ground. It was a cold winter that she spent in warmth and she loved all over again, another year, all over again, another year, all over again …