More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (31. A Lick in the …)

ear.

I’m sorry it has been several days since my last pants … sex … err, post. Lot’s has happened. I discovered that Janice has been in the hospital for several days. She’d had a car accident – a bad one – and they were worried about her spleen, a collapsed lung, and a few other things. That was the day we were supposed to have dinner. She’d lost her guts … um, cellphone in the accident, and that’s where my phone number was.

The dinner party was tonight. I had a rare evening off from the symphony, and Evangeline had planned accordingly. Elsa, Marcel’s wife, was pleasant to me, if not a little stand-off-ish. She didn’t trust me. (I wouldn’t in her circumstances.) As I expected she wasn’t a woman … err, a Wiccan, but almost everyone else at the party was. Most, except Elsa, were interested in Evangeline’s artwork all over my boy … um, body. It was mostly Christa’s artwork, but Evie was much better with a brush, and enhanced it considerably. Where Christa’s work was functional, Evie’s was art. (Sorry Christa.) Anyway, I found myself stripping down to take … show it off. OK, taking off to show off.

Although most of the “art” is under my clothing, part of it must be visible to be effective, and usually it is what looks like an olive branch on the back of my right hand. Tonight, however, I wore a lower cut than usual – was that to attract Marcel? I don’t know. Maybe that was the reason for Elsa’s mistrust. The stars in my (almost non-existent) cleavage drew the eyes downward – within – and my three-quarter sleeves revealed the leopard spots on the left side and more of the olive branch on the right. They couldn’t help but ask about it.

That just fed my exhibitionist nature.

I now seem to be part of the coterie of about 15 of them. I felt comfortable with them, even Elsa at times, and I agreed to join them for their monthly orgies … err, full moon gatherings, when I wasn’t busy with a late concert. Like Marcel, many were interested in music, and were frequent visitors to the symphony. Most had seen me perform, so I was at a slight disadvantage. Marcel wasn’t really their leader. It was a loose democratic organization, and the High Priest or Priestess was a rotating position. Evie was at the end of her term, and nominated me to take over.

I was elected unanimously – even Elsa voted for me. Why? I don’t know what I’m doing in any formal way, but that was apparently my affliction … um, attraction. Maybe they were just nosy and wanted the next gathering at my house. It was a fairly even split of men and women, but Marcel and Elsa were the only couple.

Was Evie just setting me up? Only she would know.

That explained today’s card:

TWO of WANDS. Dominion. Fire in its highest form, energy initiating a current of force, harmony of rule and justice, influence over another, boldness, courage, fierceness.

As much as I like that, I know that it must only be a temporary state. Yes, I’m fire, but isn’t that only because of what I am, and what has happened to me? Of course, I’m the Princess of Wands, but I am no leader. In fact, I’m the one who prefers to stay on the margins: not quite a Catholic (not a good one, at least), not quite Wiccan. Now I’m thrust in a leadership mode.

How long is my sentence … um term? It is of indefinite length – one year minimum, and then until someone (including me) says it is time for someone else. Evie had been the High Priestess for three years, and had apparently planned the ambush … err, dinner party to elect someone new, namely me. How did she know everyone would agree? Did they agree because they knew that I wouldn’t want to do it?

Or is it to heal the bite-marks in my soul?

Oh, I almost forgot to explain the licking reference. Somebody, licked me in my “knee pit” (not my ear, which is where I might like to have been licked in other circumstances), and it wasn’t Evie’s dog, who was asleep in front of the fire at the time. I wasn’t in a position to react right away, but when I did, the perpetrator was gone. (It was while I was being “invested” in my new position.) Who would stick their head up my skirt and lick me behind the knee? It wasn’t Marcel or Evie.

Elsa? She definitely wasn’t in view. No, it couldn’t have been her. There were others who I also couldn’t see at the time.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (17. The Hermit)

Another few days … I’m sorry I’m so constipated … inconstant.

IX. THE HERMIT. Illumination from within. Divine inspiration. Wisdom. Prudence. Retirement from current events.

I think the last just about covers me. There are still a couple of weeks before the next full moon, so I’m stuck indoors. Marcel drops off sludge … um, food late at night, but I still leave a couple of hours until I emerge to bring the bags inside. He’s left notes to suggest possible dietary additions to curb the power that has latched itself to my soul. None have worked, and the power flows … mows … err, grows to the joint … point where the fetish no longer farts … works.

I’ve removed it. At least the pong is gone … only to be replaced by the smell of semen. Whose? I don’t know, but I like that aroma much too much for my own good.

Someone is watching the mouse … house … several people (probably men) at any given time of the day. During daylight hours, someone knocks on my front door hourly, but I dare not answer. Someone will get hurt, and it won’t be me. They may die, even.

I feel Ms. Ball’s power over me. I sleep very little now (never at night), as I’m in a constant state of arousal. Just thinking of an orgasm … brrr … causes one to happen … and it happens more often than I would wish. I’m sweating a lot, and have lost ten pounds this week. I didn’t think I had an extra ten pounds to lose. I may disappear before the month is up.

I’ve stopped checking my email, so don’t bother sending me anything. I couldn’t check through thousands of emails pleading for sex just to find one real one. I’m still typing my blogs and then posting them whole with Ms. Ball’s additions at the end. What can I do?

Just out of sheer boredom, I answered one of Max’s rings … clings … um, pings. I can’t be sure what he sees me as, but in my current state I’m happy to do whatever he wants me to. At least he was alone, so I wasn’t harassed by his balls … err, wives. What did I do this time? I sang for him. He seemed to like enough to join me in an orgasm … brr, not again! … I didn’t have to do anything to myself. My song seemed to change him, visibly … I mean … shit.

Damn. I own him body and soul now. How do I appear to him? Surely, as a siren or Lorelei … like the real one that bewitched men to plough their ships into the rocks. What did I sing? Whatever came into … brr, again – wasn’t expecting that one … my head. I made up words and the melody.

Or maybe she did.

Perhaps answering that ping wasn’t a wise idea after all. So much for wisdom. Divine inspiration. Is Chastity Ball divine? Do I worship her? Will there be anything of me left when the moon turns full again?

No more contact with the outside world (except for my blog). That’s it. Funny she doesn’t interfere with my Eirica stories.

life everlasting awaits for you in my womb … come to me now … do not delay … claim your prize … drink of my purity … my divinity …

Bodice Ripper

pulling, tugging
can’t rip my clothes off
quickly enough

forget his

unconventional, this love
sex without seduction,
this erotica

drip feed

licked without taste
consumed, yet whole
cherry exposed

hollow

no temptation
just worship and desire,
lost mine

foreplay

meaning lost in clouds
of passion, his
mine absent

unnoticed

at least I play the part,
the vessel of his empty act
my cup still vacant

collision

that’s all it is
rampant experimentation
to find what moves me

temptation

his lewd words
drive me full throttle
around an emotional cul-de-sac

no entry

subtlety turns my key
opens the invisible barrier
to my yearning heart

aching

not for love, that fickle admirer
but for inspiration, dreams
the drop to disturb my still pool

want

keep ripping my bodice, love
stay interested
until you know better

yawn

now I’m his smutty photo
come to life in his hands
his fantasy

someday he will become mine