Introducing Lucille

Although he did most of the work, she was the one that was ravenous afterwards. She'd showered thinking of her stomach. When they reached the bistro, would she have the Spaghetti Marinara or the Lasagna? Definitely red wine, and if he allowed it, later she'd have a spoonful, maybe two, of his Tiramasu.

She'd not had to make a decision all afternoon or evening. He'd bound her when and as he chose, fucked her in all of her holes, as it suited him. Nothing seemed to be enough for him. Just when she thought perhaps she could drift off to sleep for a while in a state of utter bliss, he produced a 'gift', a beautiful and tasteful latex maid's outfit for her to wear. Today, he wanted to be serviced in every way. He was the King of his Castle and she was to know it; physically, emotionally and spiritually. He was her King and she'd pay the appropriate homage; do his bidding; give him what he wanted and when he wanted it.

It hadn't been easy for her to stay in role; a French maid on her hands and knees checking for dust underneath the table; ensuring that his apartment was absolutely spotless. She checked herself from actually laughing, but she did smirk on occasion, such was her pleasure in these humiliating games. He debased her, made every effort for her to feel her place, but her spirit would rise up no matter what he did to her. She lived for these moments; had trouble preventing herself from lauching into his arms and hugging him until she winded him. My God, he made her happy!

At the table in the quiet restaurant, for it was now quite late, it was irksome to stay in her seat, and yet she knew she must. She wanted to reach into his face and plaster his thick lips with kisses. She wanted to stroke him, paw at him, and let anyone watching know that he was hers.

She did none of this but instead grabbed his arm and held it tight. She simply must touch him, touch his skin, somewhere.  It was against the rules. Touching in the restaurant was against the rules and he went right up to her face; brought his big, green eyes up close and personal with her deep brown eyes. They said, 'Return your arm to its rightful place', and she did.

She would do whatever he said. She would charm him. Seduce him. She would make it impossible for him to live without her.

It was working. He had never intended to enter another long term relationship; never again. But then he meant Lucille and all bets were off.

For my Scottsh warrior

Darling, Owner,


Dylan Thomas is the man you can thank for these words that have such a special place in your heart. How well they suit you. It was a Welsh man, after all, that touched your heart, just as you touched a Welsh girl's heart well over 30 years ago. Neither of us will go gently into that good night, but together we shall "rage, rage against the dying of the light". My love. Always.

 

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO
THAT GOOD NIGHT

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Passion

I have been thinking about 'passion' lately; what makes one person so very passionate and another person hardly at all passionate. This led me to consider 'attachment styles ' and that led me to this statement:

"People with a preoccupied attachment style and anxious people tend to experience passion more often than other people." 

According to Wiki "people with this style of attachment seek high levels of intimacy, approval and responsiveness from their partners. They sometimes value intimacy to such an extent that they become overly dependent on their partners..."

I am still chewing all that over in my mind so I won't go on and on about it now but I know that I am a very passionate person and my husband is a very passionate person. In fact, all my children are very passionate people. But, none more than my youngest son. His father just dropped him off at an art festival. He had made a costume for the event (everybody does) and his excitement was palpable. Don't tell anybody but we even let him miss school on Friday afternoon so that he could attend all three days.

My husband has been concerned about his interests. Will it all lead to a real job he wanted to know? Aware that there was no containing this passion I have encouraged it, supported it and applauded his successes. And just now my husband returned from taking him there and said, "Boy, he could hardly wait to get out of the car. He was biting at the bit to be there. I'm not going to kill that kind of passion. It is just amazing to see." And, it is. He is absorbed in a world of his creation; he adores expressing himself via numerous crafts but none more so than his drawing.

I think what really bothered me about the statement about passion that I quoted was that it implied that in some way passionate people were not as high functioning; not so securing attached as other people; less passionate people. And, maybe that's right. I see other people around me, happily married they say, who are not nearly as passionate as me; much more consistent really.

Yet, I adore passionate people; was attracted to my husband because he was so passionate about so many things; continues to be passionate every day in every way. Yes, those sorts of people can tire you but I know I couldn't be without them; thoroughly enjoy them.

I feel quite feisty about the statement, actually; as if passion was a dirty word. That just can't be right.

Spanish Rhapsody

I've never been to Spain before and so far I only really know Barcelona, but I am in love with the place. We have had so many magical experiences in the past few days that I have to keep pinching myself to check that it is really happening.

Yesterday by chance we walked past the Church of Santa Anna, apparently the second oldest church in Barcelona, and a very pretty one at that. We happened to notice that there was a concert this evening in the chapel; a guitarist by the name of Alen Garagic, and we bought two tickets on the spot. It was sublime. Not only were we two of only about 25 people in this gorgeous chapel this evening, with only candles for our light but we were treated to an hour of the most gifted of musicians playing a lovely Sergovian style repertoire. Before each piece, Alen spoke in Spanish and then in English which allowed us to hear all about the pieces he had chosen. His talent is thrilling to watch as well as to listen to and it was an experience neither my husband nor I will soon forget.

As we made our way out to the courtyard we were served a really lovely glass of Spanish wine by the man from whom we bought the tickets and he told us a lot about the history of the church. We bought Alan's CD, of course. I'm listening to it now, as was my owner before he fell asleep on the couch. (Being a tourist is just exhausting!) The deal ws that Alen sign the CD and I took it up to him and naturally told him how much I enjoyed his playing and the whole experience. As it turns out his guitars are made by a man in Sydney so we had quite a bit to talk about. It is our first real conversation with someone who speaks English fluently since we arrived, so the four of us were very chatty.

I'm loving the passion I see here - in their food, their city, their country, their history; what they do and produce. I'm loving their manners and helpfulness and their restraint. They want to help but they don't want to intrude. I get that. It's all a marvellous adventure for me and proof that a city can be densely populated and civil at the same time. Gosh, I even get to dry my clothes on some cords strung out the window three storeys up. I do love such authentic details when travelling. You won't find me in the Hilton Hotel.

Kinky things are happening in the early morning and I'm a girl with a grin on my face but I'm just so entranced at the whole Barcelona experience, I don't have a great desire to get into that just yet. But I will share I did learn pretty quickly that my owner was not going to have me dawdling or lagging behind him on the streets. I had to be right beside him at all times, no matter what I wanted to drewl over in some other window. I'm more or less running to keep up with him. In spite of the people everywhere, I've managed to get a few hard swats on my bottom out there on the streets to remind me of my place. Nobody seemed to think it at all out of the ordinary though. I noticed that.

We had to practically push a couple out of the way to get through our wooden door leading to our apartment building late last night. He was rubbing her ass and trying to get her worked up while she begged that she needed to sleep for work the next morning. We offered her an escape through the door with us, but despite her protests to him, she decided not to come with us. Isn't that odd?!

I get the feeling that the rules may be different here between men and women and I'm loving the passion, the flair and the 'daring to be different' in the men all over the city. I feel that I'm breathing fresh air.

We should be back to normal kinky thought programming soon. Trust me when I say that my kinky mind is working overtime.

The Truth

This weekend I rented the movie ‘Revolutionary Road’ with Kate Winslet and Leonardo diCaprio. I loved it! I can’t say that I really enjoyed it, but gosh, I loved it.

At the outset, when I was writing for Janus nearly every day, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I just did my best. I have never taken a writing class and so I just wrote. I had a tendency to want to tell my reader all about my characters. I wanted to tell them right away that Janet loved this or Janet wanted that. Janus would tell me to do it again. He would say something like,

“Tell me about her with dialogue or an action. Don’t just tell me facts about her.”

Eventually, I got the hang of that. When I get back to writing, when I finally get back to doing what I should be doing, I think I might even have that nailed.

I applaud the screenwriter of ‘Revolutionary Road’ for his ability to tell us so much about these characters through such carefully crafted words.

When they meet, Frank and April, it is immediately apparent why it is that Alice has fallen in love. By her own admission, she has never really been anywhere. Frank has been to Paris and can’t wait to get back there.

“Well, I’ll take you with me,” he tells her.

A girl whose passion to live life on her own terms oozes out of every movement, April pays close attention to Frank’s words.

“All I know Alice, is that I want to feel things; really feel them.”

That’s all it took.

“I think you’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

But, Frank isn’t exactly the man he portrays. He takes his responsibilities seriously and he looks for the approval of his peers. We see April bloom at his agreement to move to Paris and we see her fade when he takes that option away.

It is not for her; a life lived according to society and her peers. That means nothing to her.

“Who made these rules, anyway?” and then “Look at us...this idea you have to settle down, resign from life...”

But, Frank doesn’t get it.

“I support you, don’t I?”

And, then her plea...”We can’t go on pretending.”

It is so painful to watch, but there it is on the screen, her truth, his truth; two different truths.

My truth is that I want to write half that well.