How embarrassing!

Apparently you have to tell blogger to accept anonymous comments. I did not know! Thank you J for shooting me an e-mail to that effect. I've enabled anonymous comments, and will leave the commenting system registry free so long as I'm not inundated with constant spambots. :)

Piety Update

Ogosh. Did you miss me? I missed me! Hate, hate, hate being sick.

Today I am finally feeling better.

Short update to celebrate this fact. Hopefully the next one is longer!

Chapter 5 is here. All of Piety is here, as usual.

(This story contains themes of slavery and violence, as well as non-consensual and consensual sex. Please do not read it if you are uncomfortable with those things.)

Oh! I also got a facebook and a twitter. I can be social in the non-explicit social media world. Mwahahaha.

To do (besides the ongoing effort above): Another short for Felix to illustrate. Art-trade story. Another short for you nice folks.

Remember, life is Glorious!

on and on and on

The thing about being immuno-suppressed is that it eats into every aspect of your life. Things that might give another person a day or two of discomfort can take you down for a week or two (or three). That week or two is spent in bed, possibly largely out of it tending to the things that Absolutely Need tending to, and thereby driving the illness on even longer. Laundry stacks up. Dishes stack up. The smell.. oh, the smell stacks up too. If you've got something bad enough to leave you with a monstrous fever and you've thrown up on your bathroom floor and can't clean it up? Yep. That stays there too.

Since I started my daily regimen of pills & supplements, I find that my life goes quite a bit more smoothly. I do not spend every day in a state of vague malaise due to always having something picking at me. I do not fall quite so behind on my work as I did before. When I do get ill, it does not last as long, and I recover (remarkably) to the point of health I was in before the illness pulled the rug out from under me.

Yet even in this there is no little frustration. I would love to be dependable. Reliable. Even to myself. I have difficulty scheduling things, for fear of the big what-if. What if I'm feeling ill that day? What if I'm spending that day trying to catch up on all of the things that Needed doing before I fell ill? And that's not counting the years of general catching up that hover all about me and cast their ominous shadows into the light of my improved spirits.

I certainly couldn't hold a conventional job then, and I don't think I could manage it now. I'm still down too often. Even at that, what about my reputation for meeting my deadlines? Those are easier these days, and I do take on more, but even so...

What if all of this good health doesn't last?

I wonder these things, coming out of a stomach flu that took me down into dehydration, which took me down to very much worse. Still sore from the repeated poking of needles trying to find my sunken veins. I caught up on the dishes, and while I was not up to washing them, stripped my bed of its sick-smelling sheets.

But what if I'm sick again tomorrow? What if all of this energy (and even recovering I have more energy now than I did before) siphons away?

I wonder these things, wishing I had enough energy back to write something more than a distressed rambling stream of thoughts.

Don't mind me while I play with this whole RSS feed thing. Would that I were just a bit more geeky than I already am.

At what point?

At what point does one cross the line from erotica to pornography?
At what point does one cross the line from romance to erotica?

I tend to be of the opinion that erotica is pornography, just the less harshly-phrased spectrum thereof. I think that anything more than implied sex pushes one into an erotic scene, though the journey from that point to "main-stream pornography" is a long one.

Is erotica simply the realm in which one is nibbling at tiny morsels of story between sexual encounters, and romance the realm in which one is nibbling at tiny morsels of sexual encounters scattered through long stretches of story? Is it possible to maintain a balance of both and appeal to both readerships?

Food for my thought, in any case.

On a related note, Marie doodled me this:



I was too charmed not to share.

Rain (a smutty short)

And now, a break from my recent bouts of trying to improve technically.

The challenge: Make it sexy in 750 words or less.

So I lapsed into my usual style. To hell with language conventions.

------

The sheets were warm and humid with sweat. The cabin wouldn’t stop swaying. The dim shadows within shifted constantly. Gunter could hear the rain hammering against the thick poured glass of the windows. It fell in a steady pounding to the deck above. Patterpatter sprinkle splatter.

Dialogue (a smutty short)

My aunt and grandmother have left. Sad day.

My cat is happy for the return to normalcy, at least. I do believe he missed our morning coffee breaks in the sun.

Here, I've written you some sappy fucking. Warnings for.. hm.. sappy fucking.

---------

“It’s dusty,” David whispered.

“It’s not my fault we fell in here,” Joshua murmured between nips and kisses scattered across the curve of his lover’s shoulder.

“You should have been able to ho-ah, ow! Not so hard. You should ha-,” David paused in order to swallow twice. “You should have been able to hold us up.”

“And you,” Joshua replied with an edge of effort to his tone, “should not- ogod, yes, do that more. Should not have shoved me so hard against closet door.”

“Oh ffff-.”

More Piety rough, now with spankings!

Piety Chapter 4 is here.

The entirety is here, with some minor revisions in the beginning of chapter 3.

To answer an inquiry, yes I do intend to restructure it once I am done. Some things will be made longer, some things will be cut altogether, and the chapters will be more chapter shaped. In the meantime, I bring you the opportunity to observe the process as it occurs. Oh, and smut. \o/ smut.

Fences

Because sometimes our brains do things other than we want.
-----

I don’t like fences. Some prat tosses you up against a wood one while suckin’ off yer knob, and whaddaya get? Splinters in yer fuckin’ shoulders. Chain link? Pinches. Pinches every little bit of thrust. Feels like the devil’s bitin’ at yer ass. Fucking fences. Only ones that’s even half way decent is the ones them richies keep. Yanno the ones. Them what got the smooth metal bars spaced out with the spikes high up overhead. Only fucked ‘gainst that kinda fence once though. Rich fuckers don’t like it when ya fuck ‘gainst their fences. Neither do their dogs. Fuckin’ dogs. I don’t like dogs.

*

I love fences. Walls are better, but fences are nice. Oh, especially those diamond metal ones. What are those? Whirlwind? Yes, those. Oh, they’re so lovely. Don’t tell anyone, but I got a blowjob through one once. It was exquisite. Down on the South side of campus where all that brush is growing. There was just a bit of light, and I was so afraid of getting caught.

But oh, his mouth! His mouth was so soft, and warm, and he sucked like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve never had anyone swallow me back like that. It feels amazing. If you’ve never done it, I can’t recommend it enough. I almost came right there and then!

Hmm? Oh, right! The fence. Ha, the damn fence. It was so loud. It rattled and clattered as it bowed and bent. I tried not to push into it too much, but it’s hard to resist a mouth like that, you know? It was nice, though, how it gave and still supported my weight. Obviously the holes were convenient, and I got to cling tight to the spaces above me.

Really, the only down side was I pinched one of my fingertips. I had a recital the next day, and that was a real bear. Nasty, nasty bruise. Damn fence.

I love traffic lights...

I got the stomach flu. Don't you just love the stomach flu? I know I do!

Oh, wait. Wait. No I don't.

More pleasant is my family is coming in from out of town this week, and shan't be leaving until next week. There will be merriment galore, and a decided lack of privacy. Don't be surprised if I'm scarce!

Until my return, I highly recommend Quicksilver by Neal Stephenson. The whole damn series really. It can be intimidating for some, but its lexicon is historical, and you don't need to plow your way through a handful of appendices in order to understand it. It takes place in one of my favorite periods of history. Nom.

For more light-hearted fare, check out Hanna is Not a Boy's Name. It is positively charming. The archive can get a bit glitchy, but I'm sure you're clever enough to plug in page numbers to get past that.