More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (22. Too Soon – swearing)

Oops. I kissed him. Marcel. And I touched him in an inappropriate place. I couldn’t help it.

I was due to have Christa feel me up … err, retouch my henna tattoos, and Marcel took me to see his henna-artist friend, so Christa could explain what everything was, what they meant, and the best way to apply them. Excuse me if I became just a little egotistical … um, excited. I was sitting there completely naked for the better part of two hours with Christa and Evangeline (the artist) poking, prodding and painting me, all in front of Marcel.

Of course, Marcel had seen me naked while he was under enchantment … that is what he believed to be me at the time. What he saw was much more voluptuous than I have ever been, although he admitted later that he preferred the real me. I was so flattered that I kissed him, and so turned on that I touched him right in front of Christa.

That means, I’m afraid, that I’m still not completely recovered from the enchantment. It was too soon to go to rehearsal today. Just seeing a cute guy like Gary Everett (an extra trumpeter for the Alpine Symphony), made me ornery … orgasm … err, a little too horny for my own good. I couldn’t wait to get home. He’s too young and I still lack control, as evidenced by my tête-à-tête with Marcel in the evening.

Christa was lovely … living … um, livid, and wouldn’t speak to me until we arrived home after midnight. I’m still not sure that we’ve properly put on my make up … kissed and made up.

All was explained when I drew today’s card.

EIGHT of WANDS (Swiftness). Speech, light, electricity, energy, velocity … too much force applied too suddenly.

OK, I skipped a few, but you get the meaning. I emerged from my house arrest too soon.

I also dyed my hair back to it’s “natural” color today, a deep red. No more blonde bombshell … or blonde bomb, whichever you choose. It inspired Christa to recolor my leopard spots more reddish. No, they aren’t actually leopard spots (not all of them, at least), like my unfortunate friend on the X-Factor, who restored hers far too late to redeem herself. They never really went with her platinum blonde hair. (What was Demi thinking?!) She’s back on the plane home to Decatur.

I’ve been to Decatur, you know. I have distant relatives there …

OUCH!

It’s very dry today, and I just got fucked … err, zapped by static electricity. (Must stop using rubber sheets!)

Anyway, my spots have resumed their awesomeness, so I’m reading … ready to take on the world tomorrow. Well, maybe not, if today is anything to go by. Maybe I’ll dream of Gary tonight … or concoct some elaborate fantasy about time … him. (He’s not much older than Christa!)

Must get to it. Goodnight lovelies!

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (20. Lessons to be Learned.)

THE STAR. Hope, unexpected help, clarity of vision, spiritual insight.

More High Arcana. Loads of higher powers floating around me. I spent most of today giving Christa a horn lesson. She had to play on my Alex, and I’ve come to the conclusion that she needs a new instrument. She sounded a hundred pounds … times better than on her own instrument. I don’t know where she will get the mountain … err, money from, but it made a huge difference. I don’t know why I didn’t suggest it before … that is, if she decides to continue in music. It takes a lot to be a single mother, and with Tom’s death there is a lot on her plate. She needs a job, and she needs it now.

Today, I woke up feeling a new woman … ack! … like a new woman, and now I feel … (Stop it!) … even better after Jem completed the ritual. Strangely, the henna was Christa’s idea, although she refused to take credit for it. She touched me up … touched me … touched … um, touched up the painting before Jem arrived at sunset. Christa has a natural gift, and I wish she had Jem back in London to nurture it, maybe even spend a month together at the Whorehouse. I’m not sure it is still standing, but that was long ago, and I think Christa needs to find her own mentor and her own “Whorehouse.”

Me? That was her suggestion. (She’s watching over my shoulder as I write.) I don’t think I’m the right person. I have too many issues, not to mention conflicting beliefs. Besides, I’m only have half of the gift. I’m incomplete. I’m not sensitive to certain things, although Jem thinks I have more latent talent.

Christa just agreed. How would she know? She says she’s sensitive. I already knew that, but I didn’t think it was that kind of sensitive. She’s young and still learning, but Jem thinks that she was primarily responsible for my recovery – the henna, the symbols, arriving when she did – apparently, she also spent a night in bed with me warding off evil. That was her idea, too. Naked? Now she’s rubbing it in. I bet she copped a good feel. (She hasn’t denied it, but I’m old enough to be her mother!)

In any case, I can help her out until she finds the right one. (She just said she already has.) I don’t know what to teach her. How to read the Tarot? No, she doesn’t need that. I’m just a half-witch, and she needs the whole thing to get started. I can’t be the one.

(She insists.)

For now maybe, but I’ll be so far away.

I can’t really describe what happened during the spell. Jem burned some funny incense, and that made me feel strange. She wouldn’t tell me what it was. Before I knew it, there were more strange symbols on my thigh. They look like little kisses. (Christa!) I don’t remember her painting them there.

All I can say is that they have to stay on at least until the next full moon, which should be around Christmas. Christa is going to stay an extra week and touch them up (Don’t even think it!) before she leaves. In the meantime Marcel, who I won’t see until tomorrow, is going to find me someone who can maintain them. I’ve already grown attached to them, and Jem thinks that the longer I wear them, the better. I’m also not allow to sleep with any men until after the next full moon either.

By the way, my girl on X-factor seems to have got her mojo back, but sparkles have replaced her bodypaint. She probably should have gone home last night, but she survived on the strength of her best performance yet. Incidentally, I think they saved wrong person. The bloke is scary, but I think he is unusual, whereas the girl is just one of many with a nice R&B voice. Good, but … eh.

Right now, Christa is my star, and I had better get to bed, since Marcel (my attending “physician”), will be here early in the morning. (Sorry, there was a slip there, but Christa made me correct it. Marcel might not have taken it the right way, and Allen certainly wouldn’t have liked it.)

She’s no fun!

(That was me, by the way, not some evil influence adding lewd suggestions.)

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (19. Coincidence?)

XIX. THE SUN. Glory, gain, riches, pleasure. Recovery from sickness. Sometimes sudden death.

Another four days lost to oblivion. However, this time was different, as Christa sat at the side of my bed when I awoke. I was still naked, but someone had painted strange markings all over me, either Jem or Marcel. Christa refused to explain.

“The past must stay in the past,” she said.

My house had returned to a more normal temperature, from a balmy 90°. My furnace was close to breaking point when Christa and Dana arrived three days ago. Dana slept peacefully in the spare room while Christa kept her vigil.

I felt as if I had recovered from a fever, as my aching body was sweaty and stinky. I also had a serious headache, which I will expand upon shortly. Of course, the markings are henna, so they won’t wash off for a few days. None of them are visible except for a few on the side of my forehead, at my temple. At least those look remotely decorative. Clothing is no longer verboten, but I feel heavy, although I have lost 15 pounds.

The police car is gone, and the house smells more like normal. Christa had burned … err, cleaned up, too. Yes, my verbal tick survived the ordeal, but at least it is no long subject to the control of Ms. Ball. (I still managed to accidentally tell Christa she had a tight bottom. I can’t remember what I intended to say at the time.)

Marcel had left instructions for me to stay aloft … err, indoors until the full swoon … moon late this week, when Jem will return and complete the spell. I got the impression that Marcel shouldn’t see me until afterwards. Apparently, I have both of them to thank for rescuing me.

Is it a coincidence that I drew THE SUN today? It is number XIX and so is this instalment of my new frog … blow … log … um, blog. Was it sudden death or is this life after death? It certainly isn’t riches. The money is no longer in my bank account. I just checked. The bank sent me a letter explaining that one of their employees had accidentally transferred the funds into my account instead of another. For my trouble, they let me keep a small fraction of the interest. What is .04% of 40 billion? Well, it was in my account for one hour, so pro-rated, it’s about $182,000, enough to pay off the mortgage on my house and then some. Well, I guess that amount isn’t insignificant. Mustn’t forget to pay the taxes on it, though.

Motherhood has looked kindly on Christa. She’s lost the weight, and she looks gorgeous. Prettier than before, maybe. She’s still as tiny as ever.

Me? I’ve got serious cramps tonight and heavy bleeding. That’s the source of my headache – the heaviest period I’ve had in decades. Oops, I shouldn’t talk about things like that here. Well, the bat’s … cat’s out of the back … err, bag. I should say that I look like cheese … um, death warmed over, but I don’t. I feel like it, but there is something about the markings. They are sort of foolish … uh, cool. They remind me of that girl on X-Factor who used to paint designs on her teats … ack! … face, arms and legs until her mentor said they made her seem egotistical. She also dyed her hair and now cries at every opportunity. What a baby! And she sings like one now, too. Grow up, girl, and get your swagger back. If you don’t, you’re heading home. I’ve gone off you. Me likes the three boys. Yummy.

Anyway, I like my henna squiggles and stars. Maybe I’ll have them touched up regularly. (I so like being touched up! – by the right person, that is.) Although some of my British friends might just say that I’ve been “touched,” and that isn’t a good thing.

I’d better get to bed now. I don’t know how much I’ve slept in the past few days, or how much I’ve been out in the cold, naked … or how many men or souls I’ve eaten. I don’t know what I’ve done. Will the police be after me? Or the Feds? I guess I’ll just wait and see.

In the meantime, nitey-nite followers!