Tommy came to my front door with his mother, Carole, asking for corn chips, torn slips, … horn lessons. I invited her in and immediately complained … explained that I normally don’t teach middle aged, middle … middle school kids. I learned also that he isn’t 11, he’s 13, not that it makes much difference (except that he is that much closer to puberty). I warned her about my slipperiness, garnets, Tourette’s-like episodes. She wasn’t worried, apparently. They have a very open household.
He still sees me naked in his mind’s eye.
Does he have to close his eyes to see me? It was very distracting seeing him sitting on the couch looking at me. I couldn’t help but wander … wonder. I will have to accept it, just as I am accepting him as a student “because I live so nearby”. The one unusual ground-rule is that I would go to his house to give the lesson, and one of his parents had to be there. I am not a babysitter, was my excuse. Does a 13-year-old need a babysitter? His parents must think so.
The stipulations were accepted, as was my extortionate fee. I couldn’t rationalize the time unless I was compensated the same as if I was teaching a university student. She didn’t even blink at it. He must have given her an amazing sell. Yes, I play in the symphony and teach at the university, but still … I’m not Dennis Brain.
As they left, he discretely handed me a dongle, dumbbell, dildo, … (give me a break), token. It was a wooden disk with a unicorn carved into it with a leather strap to hang it around my neck. It was the perfect length to hang between my breasts, directly between the unicorn and the ANKH. It faced the henna unicorn, almost as if they were pissing … kissing.
I’m wearing it now, hidden under my clothes, although the strap sometimes shows around my collar. I don’t know what it does for me. Tommy must think he does, that it has some porpoise, purpose in freeing me.
I haven’t noticed anything yet.
3 of Cups. Abundance. (Inverted)
UPRIGHT: Celebration, friendship, creativity, collaborations.
REVERSED: Independence, alone time, hardcore partying, ‘three’s a crowd’.
I don’t know how to read that, so I’ve just copied the indications. I’ve had an abundance of alone time, no hardcore partying, independence (but maybe not from the succubus – I don’t know why she has been letting me cal her that lately. Can I type poss-, posse … no still not. He has not neutered, neutralized her yet). Maybe friendship and collaboration with Tommy and/or Carole. I like her. I first met her at a block party just after I moved in, along with Patrick, her husband. There are two younger children, whose names I can’t spell … recall.
I know Tommy is watching me as I sit here and type in the middle of the night, but I can’t do anything about it. I’m wearing a long T-shirt nightie, my favorite crimson panties, and the token. He can’t see the clothes at a distance. Can he see his token? Is it a token of affection, or something else? I’m growing more fond of it as I wear it. The wood is worn smooth to the touch, and has some kind of oil in it. Body oil? Has he been wearing it? It smells sweeter than sweat. I’m going to stop thinking about it for now. There are too many ramifications, implications.
My hand is drawn to it, to hold it. My skin has an affinity with it. It is warm … it is …
I have got to stop. I’m closing my laptop … I am … now … really now. Did he see me kiss the unicorn good night? I do like unicorns. I had a blue soft-toy unicorn when I was young … named Tommy. Shit! I only just remembered that. I still have it here somewhere.
He did see it, I’m certain, and he really shouldn’t be up at 3 am.