Planet Ezzie (12. I need a vacation)


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I give up. This is the third day in a row that I’ve pulled LUST as my first card. Today my runner up was:

V. EMPEROR (Inverted)

As inverted, domination, excessive control, lack of discipline, inflexibility.

Well, David was certainly not a father figure, or part of the establishment, but he was in a position of authority, and I was desperate to fuck him. Did I really say that? Yes, Beatrice played with my dreams all week, and by the time of our lunch on Saturday, I was rather on edge, ready to jump on him at the slightest provocation. I remained unprovoked.

I think this may be the last time he conducts us. As spectacular as his Stravinsky was, his Bruckner was not. He seemed to lose control of us and compensated by becoming a control fink … freak in front of the orchestra. They didn’t take it well. I could tell he was disappointed at lunch, and he didn’t hang around long after the matinee today.

I wonder if Tommy could see what I was doing tonight. He could probably tell by what color I glowed. I’ve never been good on discipline.

Now that the semen, sputum, … err, season has started, I’m locked in for several weeks until the next weekend I’m not needed, an all Bach concert next month, but I’ll still be required for a couple of rehearsals that week, in preparation for the following week, the Britten War Requiem. My only real off weekend is around Thanksgiving. I think I need to get away, at least for a few days. I should have a couple of Sunday-Mondays free coming up, when we aren’t playing matinees.

Where I really want to go is the Whorehouse, but not only is it in England and outside of my 50 mile exclusion zone, it no longer exists as such. I need a couple of nights where I can be out, naked under the stars, and playing at Mahjong … um, magic. (Jem, if you are listening, you are welcome anytime for a visit.) I might try looking to see if there is a convent nearby, but a two-day retreat probably isn’t enough.

Tomorrow is my usual off-day, but since I was working today, I’ll have to run errands. I might try a dip in the pool, although I’ll need to wear a more demure swimming costume. The bikini I’m wearing now in the moonlight – I’m on the back porch, as I write – would be far too revealing for a public display. Even though Tommy can see through it, he’s watching me from his bedroom window, as if the bikini made it more interesting.

I’m regressed … distressed … uh, depressed. This has been going on too long. I’ve got to play the long game. I’ve got to survive.

Beatrice is winning.


Planet Ezzie (11. Inverted)


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XI. Lust (inverted)

I was gagging for it when I awoke this morning. I put on some sexy pink panties (the only pink in my wardrobe) and warmed up for my rehearsal.

I felt a little odd, and then … wham! I’m menstruating again. A heavy flow destroyed my pink panties. I know, TMI, but it is important. I was never particularly regular, but I haven’t had a period in two years. It was an easy menopause, possibly thanks to my po- po- … you know, what happened before the intercession, interloper, interruption, … um, intervention. I was having a lot, repeat, a lot of sex.

Where did that leave me? Sex was certainly out tonight, but we’ll get to that in a monument … moment. Beatrice is angry with me, but she caused it. Who is she to complain? Anyway, if she wants me pregnant, menstruation is part of the deal. It just means that I’m not likely to be fertile while David is in town. It meant that I had to make a stop to the drug store on the way into the city for rehearsal. The rehearsals went well, and then to dinner with David.

I really do like him. He’s witty and down to Earth, and it has been a while since I’ve met someone new who doesn’t just “love your accent! It’s so [fill in your own stupid adjective]!” Of course, he has the same accent … well not quite, he’s a northerner with an adopted Oxbridge accent, and I’m a douchebag … err, Londoner, softened to more of an Essex accent. A Cockney accent never really fit my personality, and my parents were from Basildon.

So after dinner at his hotel, we went up to his room and stalked, balked, fucked, … um, talked and talked. I couldn’t actually do anything, except … maybe pet, and kiss … things like that, and I confess we did do a little of that before the coup de grace, when he told me he was gay … well, bi, but most of his relationships were with men. He really liked me, but … There’s always a “but”. At least he told me before a 6-year relationship.

What is it about me that attracts gay men?

It didn’t stop the petting, though, at least long enough for him to reach for the stars (adjacent to the unicorn), and become very familiar with said beast. After I had tamed his beast, we discussed the significance of my markings, before I left for home, at the udder … utterly reasonable hour of 3 am. If we have sex this weekend, he knows what he is getting into. We didn’t make further dinner plans, although we are having lunch on Saturday. He flies out immediately after the Sunday matinee.

Am I off the hook? With David, probably, but I now have to worry about the possibility of pregnancy again.

Planet Ezzie (10. Moonshine)

XVIII. The Moon.

Illusion, fear, anxiety, subconscious, intuition

I’m afraid.

The Rite of Spring went extremely well – too well. It was savage and violent. I could feel Beatrice stirring as the Chosen One danced herself to death, and I confess that I was well lubricated by the end of all three performances, marinating in my own juices. Beatrice is the destroyer, and she is destroying me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so horny.

If it was just the urge, I could handle it, but the conductor for the concert was David Henshl, a young English conductor that I’ve fancied since he conducted us last year. He’s also conducting a Bruckner Symphony next weekend.

And thanks to Beatrice tinkering with my biological clock, he’s noticed me. I’m having dinner with him tomorrow night. I should have refused. Fuck! That’s exactly what Beatrice wants, and he won’t know what hit him.

Tonight’s dream was me, bathing (naked, as usual) in a pool filled with honey, with David conducting me from the diving board, bare-chested. I woke up around 1 am, and couldn’t fall back to sleep. And now Tommy is signalling me with his flashlight. Time to throw up … um, some clothes on.


Putting some clothes on just to go to the end of the garden to have sex … eek … converse with someone who sees right through them (and through me, I think) seems like an anathema, but what if his parents woke and came out to see what he was doing? The new symbols apparently make me even brighter and clearer to him, and they change color according to my mood. He sensed my fear.

He touched me.

He didn’t need to speak. As I rested my hands on the chain-link fence, placed his hand on mine. Could he see my tears?

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” I whispered.

“What are your options?” he asked.

“I can remove the henna, and submit to her,” I replied, “or I keep fighting until we find a solution to this problem.” Submitting, of course, had some advantages: regular sex, a long life as a twenty year old, a brood of children (all girls). “I feel like I am losing already.”

“You won’t win every battle,” he said, “but you can win the war. Always look for the big picture.”

He kissed my hand and went back inside. I slumped to the ground up against the fence, and cried for about an hour. I am a fifty-something disguised in a 20-year-old body. He is a wise ancient inhabiting a 13-year-old. I don’t understand.

It’s past 3 am now. His touch eased my fear, but what compromise is going to be required of me? I find that disturbing on one level, but I can feel myself … falling … asleep.

Planet Ezzie (9. Roadkill)

We have Stravinky’s Rite of Spring coming up at the Symphony. The principal horn has had a death in the family, so I’m playing principal instead. I’m not quite sure why. Ordinarily the Associate Principal would play it, but it looks like I’m the designated driver here. It’s a huge part. I think the Ass … Ass … Associate wanted to play one of the Wagner Tuba parts, which is what he would have normally played if the Prince … Principal was here.

I’m not going to complain. I have no principles.

Evie came today and updated my henna. She has reinstated two aspects that had been discarded over the past six months – the stars in my decolletage, and the diamonds that nestled discretely at my hairline around my left eye. Evie added them in respect of my discoveries about my lineage. Both Beatrice and Crystal are closer to me than we thought. Crystal lived to 100, exactly, dying on her 100th birthday, coincidentally the 20th anniversary of Beatrice’s baptism. That must be the day that the suc-, succ-, … curse passed from mother to daughter, freezing her at 20 years old. I couldn’t find much about her murder. She was killed by a lover – tied up and torched in her house. He was hanged by a mob of men (perhaps driven by Beatrice?).

Why did the curse skip my mother? And why did Beatrice wait until I was in my fifties to inflict herself on me? Why wait until I was in America, in a cursed house. She followed me here, and sat waiting until the other ghosts were exorcised.

I was mistaken for being in my twenties in rehearsal today.

Tommy has figured in my dreams heavily in the past week. Beatrice slips in her wild, naked sex dreams in from time to time, but Tommy seems to fight them off several nights a week. Sometimes I dream of both in the same night, confusing me, as the Tommy dream becomes post-coital. Both types of dreams have been featuring things splattered over my naked body. Last night was sparkly blue powder. It stuck to my sweaty body, covering up some of the henna, perhaps allowing Beatrice to interlope. It was an orgy, followed by me still dripping with sweat (and blue sparkles) giving Tommy a horn lesson in a forest somewhere, in England, I think.

To be naked in an English forest in the summer again with pure un-henna-ed skin.


3 of DISKS. Works.

Manifestation, understanding. Crystallization. Progress.

This must mean something, but I’m lost. Sometimes when I’m reading for myself, I just can’t connect what should be obvious cards to me. I should feel fulfilled. Perhaps that is my Stravinsky breakthrough, but I have a feeling it isn’t. It has something to do with the dreams – Beatrice vs Tommy, and I’m the roadkill in the middle.

Planet Ezzie (8. The Redhead in this Picture is …)


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Today’s lesson with Tommy was unremarkable. He is very good for his age, better than most high schoolers. I don’t know if he wants to be a professional yet, but it is probably too early to say. He has had a good start. His mother was in the kitchen – there is no door in between the kitchen, dining, and living rooms, so it was all beeswax, um, business. He has a p- (no, I refuse to type that!), c- (that, too) … good instrument, although I would recommend that he buys a better one in high school, one that is p- … prohibited, err, professional-ready.

Beatrice is impatient tonight.

I’ve spent the past week doing a little family research. The su- suc- … Beatrice is supposed to be an ancestor of mine, Crystal Ball according to Marcel, but if you recall, she revealed herself as Beatrice to me a few weeks ago. I’ve been looking through some of the old family scrap and photo albums, which I’ve never before burnt, been, … seen. I was never really interested in my genealogy. My father’s family paid to have its history done by the Mormons, and, of course, they found Mormons in the Dryar line. (They always do.) My maternal line is more obscure, although my cousin Freda (we all have archaic names) has done some work of her own. It appears that Crystal Ball is my great-grandmother, and her mother … well, I just have to quote the parish record:

Mr R Ball wed Miss Globe Mason on 31 October in the year of our Lord 1823.

and later:

Crystal, daughter of Mr and Mrs R Ball, was baptized on November 13 in the year of our Lord 1824. (No middle name?)

Yes, my great-great-grandmother was named Globe Ball, and her maiden name was Mason (as in Mason and Ball jars).

Crystal Ball never married, but conceived 13 children out of wedlock, the last being Beatrice Elizabeth Ball on 13 November, 1904. It isn’t clear, but I believe there were 13 different fathers, when looking at the pictures.

Yes, you are reading that right. Not only is Beatrice my grandmother, but she was born when her mother was 80 years old. (I didn’t think that was possible!) There is a newspaper clipping, but Crystal looked no older than 40. Beatrice was murdered the year before I was born, and was known as Betty by my mother, which is why I didn’t recognize the name.

What was most revealing, however, were the photos. It seems that Crystal was camera-shy, but there are photos of her around the times of the births of her (Get this!) 13 daughters. She last appears in a 1918 propaganda photo that was recently colorized. I found it on the web. The black and white poster was in the scrapbook, with Crystal clearly marked. She looked 20. That’s right, she looked younger than in the 1904 newspaper photo. In the colorized version from 2018, she had flowing red hair, and aside from that, she looked exactly like me when I was 20, except she was a little more busty.

Like her mother, Beatrice was camera-shy, and always looked young for her age. That’s an understatement. She always looked 20, even in the last photo of her before her death around 1960. She looked exactly like her mother and consequently me, although I was born with dark brown hair, which has lightened over the years to auburn – not quite red, but certainly a very reddish brown, and not at all what it was like in my teens. Right now, it’s very light from bleaching in the sun, which might mask the appearance of gray, although I haven’t seen a single gray hair, since my p0ssse- … You know – that.

I can’t find any record of Beatrice being married, yet my mother’s maiden name was MacKay. I know little about my grandfather. No pictures. I think he must have died around the birth of my mother. She also had only sisters, but she aged normally, as I do … or did, until recently. I probably look at least 10 years younger than I should. I assume Beatrice is the source of that.

She wants me to have a daughter … or six.

That is the logical conclusion that I just came to. That’s why she is tinkering with my appearance.

I’ve just drawn my card for today: V. The Hierophant

Wisdom, conformity, marriage, tradition.

Now, I didn’t expect that. No, I’m not going to see a priest about it. Maybe it’s the tradition – I’m to conform to the “tradition” of my ancestors. Puke!

Yes, Beatrice, I can tell that is what you want. Message received. Bugger off!

Planet Ezzie (7. Token lessons, increases)


Photo by Israel Gomes from Pexels

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.

Planet Ezzie (6. Be Afraid, be very Betrayed)


After my encounter with God … man … George, … um, Tommy yesterday, I sat puzzling why he could see my hypnosis, herpes, ick, … err, henna markings. By the time I fell asleep, I spill, swill, sweat, … still hadn’t solved it.

Then I had the scream … dream. It was Halloween, and I was home to hand out candy to unsuspecting juggernauts, balloons, children. I answered the door, and there was group of about 5 corn-chips, uh, kids dressed up as Harry Potter characters with Tommy dressed as Harry. After selecting their candy, Tommy shouted, “Hey, want to see a unicorn?”

I stood in stunned silence while he whipped around, and spoke a brief spell, something like, “Cotonia vamoosh!” waved his wand, and my clothes disappeared. Now, I’m used to being nude in my dreams, especially lately, and I feared that it would morph into a sex dream. With children? My skin fell off, no … err, my skin crawls. Next, the henna started glowing fiery bright, burning into my skin, although I couldn’t feel it. Then it floated up into the air as a ribbon of glowing symbols, led by the unicorn, leaving charred skin on my body.

First, it floated around me several times playfully, then around Tommy, causing him to glow like daylight. He tapped each of the other children with his wand, and they in turn glowed and laughed at me crumpled naked in my doorway. Tommy waved his wand at me again, and the other children, wrapped by the fiery symbols, turned into a jet of water, washing the ash off me before I melted into a pool of slime and awoke.

I was bathed in sweat, and I at some point had had an orgasm, a big one. I had to wash my sheets this morning.

Has Tommy betrayed me to his friends? Does he have some kind of power over me, or will he save me at the expense of his friends?

Why has my stuttering stopped as I’ve recounted these events? Has he let the succubus back into my body? Did she cause this dream?

I don’t … no, wait, she is still outside of me, clinging, but she is scared.

Was this some kind of purification ritual? I don’t know, but the henna is still there, and I sense that my digital stammer will return.

Today was another day off, fortunately, so I stayed in all day. After removing my soaked nightdress, I couldn’t bear to put anything on – all day. It’s getting late, nearly midnight, and I’m sitting here in the buff, typing at my laptop. Someone is pointing a flashlight through my bedroom window – from a distance, fortunately.

I’ve put my robe on and looked out the back window. Tommy is standing at the fence, trying to get my attention. I’m going to put on a t-shirt and shorts and go out to see him. I’ll let you know what happens tomorrow.

I couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Tommy had a confession to make. He had betrayed my confidence to his babysitter, who he has a crush on. He admitted that. He was trying to impress her. She didn’t believe him, so I’m safe on that account. More worrisome is that he told me what he neglected to say yesterday. He can see the symbols on me at all times, inside my house, across town at the symphony, when I had sex with the Finnish conductor. (Yes, he actually told me that my symbols hum an F when I have sex. He has perfect pitch.)

Don’t worry, it gets worse. He can see all of me, as if I had no clothes on. “Can you see all of me now?” I asked him leaning up against the fence.

“You are as naked as if the sun was shining on you,” he said, “and as if the fence wasn’t there.”

It was a dark night, almost a new moon. I turned to run inside.

“Wait!” He shouted in a whisper. “I can see you at all times, anywhere, and even better at night. I could see you typing at your computer without any clothes on. At any distance, as clear as if you were standing in front of me as you are now. I see you inside my head.”

Still turned away, I asked, “How?”

I don’t think he knew how. He answered, “I’ve become used to it now. It started when your friend first painted the symbols on you. I was afraid of you at first, but now I just see it as you.”


“Yes, but you are a bit old for me.”

“Thanks a million. That’s reassuring.” I tried not to sound too cynical.

“You are pretty when you sleep,” he said, out of the blue. “I feel safe with you.”

“I need to think about this,” I said, taking another couple of steps towards my back door.

“I’m going to ask my mom if I can study horn with you,” he said, stopping me in my tracks.

He said it in a way that he already knew that I would accept. With the hold he has over me, how can I not? Tommy is the key to my problem, or perhaps the solution to the problem, and the succubus is terrified. I can feel her fear.

I don’t think I’ll sleep much tonight, especially knowing he is watching me.

No cards tonight. I’m not up to it.