Monday, August 9, 2010

Now is the time - the only time

Once upon a time there was an avatar named Jasmine Dae. She was a slave, not a sub, and she (fairly) patiently tried to make me see the difference. It was she who took me to Beauty, and although I barely knew her, asked for my collar that night. I do not take such things lightly and said let us talk about this first. When I was ready to offer, she had found another. So be it. We remained friends. And when she died in RL in early December, I was unprepared for how hard it hit me.

Her Mistress asked to be the one to eulogize her, so I did not mention Jasmine in the following piece, but she was foremost, though not alone in my thoughts as I wrote it. And I called upon the sadness of Jasmin’s passing a month later when Queen Allure died, although only in RP, fortunately.


Now is the time…

The Winter Solstice is upon us now, the one day of the year when the rising sun creeps along the passage and illuminates the back wall of the chamber in the heart of New Grange. The day that marks the turning of the seasons, when winter’s icy grip begins to loosen in the slow crawl toward spring. A time of farewells. A time of new hope. Who among us can say with certainty when we rise in the morning that we will see another dawn? None that I know of. We can only hope. Hope that the things we do in our Nows are true to our self-image, may mean something to others, while we are here, after we are gone. Because Now is really the only time we have in which to do anything, to love or fight, to speak words of kindness or hate, to cause or try to ease another’s pain. We mere mortals cannot change the past, and the future may never arrive. Now is the time – the only time. The only time that matters. For any of us.

So next time you pass – or play with - a tribute or a Noble, remember that this is a real person, with hopes and dreams and cares much like your own, and just as with you, the only time they have is Now. Whether they crave your submission or you crave pain or domination, try to respect the reason the other is interacting with you in their Now. Honor that Now. Cherish it.

And as we creep toward spring and another, gentler solstice half a year from now, remember this: like ripples in a pool, the things we do, the choices we make, continue to spread and can touch others, sometimes long after the original action has been forgotten. People vanish from our lives in a variety of ways, often never knowing how much we valued their friendship, never knowing how their smile brightened our days, never having heard how much we cared about them. And all too often, when we come to such a realization, it is too late. Don’t let another day go by without telling those who are important to you just how you feel. Do it in the Now.

December 21, 2007

Monday, July 26, 2010

All Hallows Eve

not in chronological order but something made me think of this...

(If Allure and I were both there, we danced with each other. But if it was a masquerade and we were in costume, she was not the Queen but a woman. We still found each other, and we openly indukged our passions. The following is built upon such an occasion, drawing from the log and embellishing a trifle.).

He stood there, transfixed. The masked blonde wore little more than feathers and the way she moved as she danced alone made him forget his name. For a moment he even forgot to breathe. When he found his voice he whispered something but nobody heard. He tried again. Still nothing. Finally, after clearing his throat a few times he regained enough volume to ask her dance with him.

She melted into his arms as though she had been waiting for such an invitation and as he breathed in the heady scents, delicate perfumes mixed with the light sheen of oils glistening on her skin and faintest tang of aroused woman. A feather in her headdress tickled his nose, and he sneezed. With that explosion came a thrust of his hips and she moaned near his ear. He bent his head and kissed her, delicately at first, a slow, almost tentative pull of her lower lip between his, and when another moan told him she was ready he traced the outline of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. Soon hers tickled his and they began a second dance, weaving in and out of each other’s mouths, and all sound seemed to cease as he focused all his attention on her.

Settling into a rhythmic swaying, they clung to each other and he cursed himself for wearing not the bare-chested barbarian costume but the spandex superhero outfit. So readily able to see her charms rubbing his chest, yet barely able to feel the delicate motion increased the tightness in his chest – and elsewhere – and his breathing became labored.

It cannot be said how long they simply danced and caressed and kissed before it all became too much and, grasping her slender waist he lifted her easily until her breast was at his lips and he nibbled and sucked the thin material blocking his delight and, turning aside, spat it on the floor. Pausing to suckle her proud nipple for a moment, he smiled as she wriggled and managed to position her other breast near enough to fairly shout her desire. Soon her nipples matched again, pebbling as he wet them with his tongue, then blew a cool stream of air over them as they seemed to strain of their own accord to reach his lips Slowly lowering her, dragging her chest over his, their breath once again mingled as their tongues resumed their dance, even more fevered, more wanton than before.

Splaying the fingers of his left hand across her bare back to keep her steady, his right slipped between them and began stroking her supple skin, her delicate feathers, her nipple thrusting so insolently into his touch. Breaking their kiss she leaned her head against him and clasped his rear. She moaned again as his fingers parted her plumage, finding a warm, wet nest. Her sudden gasp was all the encouragement he needed and the swaying and rocking, for they had continued to dance all the while, seemed to provide just the right rhythm, for a short (or perhaps a long, it’s so difficult to know these things) time later she lifted her eyes to his with the same look a cat has a moment before jumping into your lap, and he kissed her once more, just in time to breathe her ecstasy as she found release.

“Oh Goddess,” she half moaned, half whispered, “I have to go. So sorry to leave you like this,” she continued, rubbing his costume-encased bulge, eliciting a moan from his own lips. “Please tell me we’ll meet again?”

Before he could say anything she had whispered something in his ear and given the lobe a gentle nip. Her cool fingers brushed his cheek and in a swirl of feathers, she was gone. Were it not for the sweet honey he meditatively licked from his finger, he might have thought it was but a dream….

(c) 2007 - 2010

Sunday, July 25, 2010

The Lonesome Death of John Obscure

For those who did not know, there was a murder in Stonegate a few weeks back. Briefly, one of Her August Majesty’s handmaids was found dead. It was soon determined she had been poisoned. The evidence pointed not only to a groom as the killer, but indicated Her Majesty, not the handmaid, was the intended victim. It was not long before the groom, John Obscure, was arrested and charged with the murder of the handmaid and the attempted murder of our Queen.

John confessed, in front of me and other witnesses, and that, along with the overwhelming evidence, left little doubt as to his guilt. He was subsequently condemned to die for his crimes. Extenuating circumstances, including a plea from his mother, led to several stays, but at last all hope faded and the day arrived. We gathered in the square at Wickford, and the crowd seemed in a festive mood. As the onlookers became restive, our Queen sent me, accompanied by a young guard named David, to fetch the prisoner.

John was at times morose, at times defiant. He protested his innocence, until I pointed out he had confessed. He claimed he had been drunk at the time, and I reminded him that the Romans, whose aqueducts and roads may still be seen, centuries after their departure, say “in vino veritas,” or, “in wine there is truth.” A wistful smile crossed his face as he asked if I thought the same held true for mead…

The back of his shirt was ripped and bloody by the time we reached our destination, I having needed to prod him with the tip of my sword in order that he not displease Her Majesty by tarrying. We arrived in the square and he was placed in the stocks as Allure spoke with him on last time.

It is said that in the moment of death the condemned’s life passes before his eyes. I cannot speak for his life, but here is a sampling of his last few minutes:

A villager takes a bite of melon from her picnic as executions always make her hungry.
A Lady smiles and greets another Lady
A princess closes her eyes, her body shivering at the thought, not wanting to watch
A Lady stands back, not wanting any blood on my dress
A Lady covers her mouth with her hand
A Lady starts to feel a bit woozy
A princess whispers to a Lady," So what’s going on?"
A villager looks away
Allure Somme looks at John, then gives him a wicked smirk, and then slowly raises her right hand high in the air.
John Obscure locks eyes with the Queen and gives a sweet knowing smile
Lord Albion says, “by your command, Highness”
A Lady grabs another Lady's hand to help balance and support her.
A Lady: whispers: thank you
Allure Somme sighs then looks at Zeb and briskly snaps her thumb down.
Lord Albion pulls the block loose, allowing the blade to fall
A Lady turns her head as the blade drops, unable to watch
A princess squeezes eyes shut tight, sticking fingers in her ears
A princess gasps as the man dies
A Lady stands close with her Queen
A princess gasps, a hand shooting across her opened mouth!
A Lady hears the blade cut through the neck and gasps
A princess cries: “oooo!”
A princess gasps
A Lady cheers
A groom stands, watching all the blood
A Lady swallows hard
A Lady shudders, the condemned's man's final words echoing in her mind
Allure Somme: “Its done, finally my maid can rest.”
A princess closes her eyes and sheds a tear

And so, in no more time than passes between heartbeats, passed a man, a mother’s son, perhaps a brother, perhaps a father, but in the end a traitor to his Queen. Let all who contemplate such treachery look upon the bloodstained platform in the Wickford Marketplace and imagine themselves kneeling as the blade comes whistling down.

~ Baron Albion

(Actual transcript of the event, all names omitted but Allure, myself and the condemned)