If You Love Me, Comment *Now*!

[qos]

It's a long, slow afternoon and I am being bored witless!

Please help me survive the afternoon! Leave a comment to entertain, puzzle, delight or mesmerize me.

Be anonymous, if you'd like.

Geek out about your favorite passion.
Offer a cryptic oracle.
Be naughty.

Just talk to me, please!

Comments

[tx-cronopio.livejournal.com]

I'm not very inspired, and I can hardly even remember the last time I was naughty! (more's the pity)

Can I learn to do basic Tarot out of a book? I bought a card set with a manual.

[qos.livejournal.com]

I got started using the book that came with the deck, as well as a longer book by the same creator.

I experience tarot readings as a dialogue with the cards, and it's important to me to become familiar with the internal logic and symbolism of a deck before I start impressing my own meanings. It becomes a dynamic relationship. Sometimes the cards will have messages I would not necessarily have intuited, and sometimes I *know* my interpretation is right.

In a similar fashion, a book can provide layouts for readings to help get you started. Once you're comfortable with the basics, you can play with variations or off-the-cuff inspirations.

There is no one right way.

[gothic-coop.livejournal.com]

I hate suffer too.

"I cannot brain today. I have the dumb."


Be naughty?

Not in public. ;)

[oakmouse]

Can I post a question about divine marriage on Feral Holiness?

[qos.livejournal.com]

Absolutely!

[oakmouse]

Score!

*goes off to make post*

A joke

[gothic-coop.livejournal.com]

Why is it that PETA is more against fur coats than leather jackets?

Because its easier to harass rich old ladies than motorcycle gangs.

Some days I am just too funny.

Re: A joke

[qos.livejournal.com]

That is funny!

[crownofviolets.livejournal.com]

Seahorses, after finding a mate, perform a daily dance every single morning between the two of them. They twine their tails together. Apparently, a seahorse can deliver between 15 and 1,000 babies at a time and can deliver in the morning and get pregnant again in the afternoon.

I ought to go and post my introduction to Feral Holiness too. That'll probably cure some of your boredom. :)

[qos.livejournal.com]

I can't think of anything scarier than breeding like a seahorse!

On the other hand, I look forward to reading your intro!

Havah's vocabulary word for the week

[blessed-harlot.livejournal.com]

Claudication: from the Latin 'claudicare' meaning to limp.

Claudication is pain in the calf when walking, due to narrowing of the arteries or improper drainage of the veins in the leg. It occurs in approximately 5% of people over the age of 70, and primarily in men. Conservative treatments are often quite effective, though occasionally angioplasty or bypass surgery of the leg is required.

I came across it at the hospital, and had to know what it meant. I'm actually a little disappointed. It's such a pretty word, don't you think? *rolls it around in the mouth* I may make up my own meaning to go with it.

Re: Havah's vocabulary word for the week

[qos.livejournal.com]

You're right. A word that impressive should have a nicer meaning.

Story: Leda and the Swan, part 1

[chienne-folle.livejournal.com]

More than a decade ago, I wrote some not-terribly-good BDSM-themed stories. But hell, if you're bored, even a not-terribly-good story might be better than nothing. :-) Here ya go:

This is a work of fiction. Ithaca is much as I describe it, but Carla and Leah are not real. Also, this is not as intense as some of my stories; it is intentionally fluff.


Leda and the Swan
by Cory Kerens


When I first met Carla, I was living in Ithaca, New York. Ithaca is a strange town for upstate New York -- people who hate it say it's "stuck in the 60's;" people who love it say it has "preserved the 60's." At least they agree on what's special about Ithaca -- they just disagree about whether it's good or bad. A friend of mine who moved to Ithaca from Santa Cruz says that Ithaca is "Santa Cruz with lousy weather." We don't have a boardwalk, either.

Many of the businesses in town are run by ageing hippies who moved to Ithaca to attend school, then never left. Every second or third business or institution in town seems to have the word "alternative" in the title -- there's the Alternatives Credit Union, and the Alternative Bookstore, the Alternatives Natural Food Store, and the alternative just about anything you can think of. One enterprising soul who believed that money is the root of all evil (not a new attitude, is it?) decided to make an alternative to money. She instituted a formal barter system in Ithaca, where people trade skills, goods and services with each other. People who work for someone who doesn't have something that they want are given chits to exchange for the services of someone who does have something they
want. Don't ask me how the chits are different from money -- if you want to join the system, it's an article of faith that they ARE different.

The people who belonged to the bartering network seemed like gentle, good-natured souls in a goofy kind of way (all those drugs in the 60's left them with fewer brain cells, I suppose), and I was an impoverished student, so it seemed like a good idea to join. I could meet some interesting "alternative" people and trade my services for a few things I couldn't acquire otherwise.

Upon joining, they gave me a list of names, addresses, and skills. My own name (Leah) and skills (housecleaning, vegetarian cooking, and listening) would be added to the next list. Scanning the list for goods and services I was interested in, I was intrigued to find "Carla Pierre, sculptor." I could trade housecleaning for sculpture? Only in Ithaca! So who needs a boardwalk, anyway?

I made an appointment to talk to Carla. On the day of my appointment, I walked down Cayuga Street, searching for her studio. It turned out to be right above a bookstore I frequented. Funny, I'd never before wondered what the floors above the store were used for. I clambered up three flights of stairs, then knocked at a door marked "Carla Pierre, Sculpture."

The woman who opened the door was tall, with black curly hair and intense blue eyes. I was surprised at how young she was. I had been expecting an older woman, but the woman before me was probably only about five years older than I was. That was good; it would make what I had to say easier. She sat on one end of a futon on the floor and waved me to the other end. Alternative people are not known for their formality.

I saw her take in my pink triangle -- she looked from it to my face and smiled. So, she was a dyke, too. Interesting.

"You're interested in sculpture?" she asked.

"Well, not *all* sculpture. I don't go for the three-basketballs-floating-in-a-fishtank kind of sculpture, but I do like realistic sculptures of people. I know that's gauche, these days."

She hooted. "Can you *believe* they put that thing in the Museum of Modern Art?"

I shook my head, and we both laughed. I liked her laugh -- it seemed unrestrained.

Re: Story: Leda and the Swan, part 2

[chienne-folle.livejournal.com]

"The only sculpture I do is the realistic kind, and yeah, it is out of favor these days. But I comfort myself with the thought that my stuff is more likely to be enjoyed by somebody in the year 2300 than three basketballs floating in an aquarium. Of course, it makes it kinda hard to pay the rent *until* then."

I nodded sympathetically. "I have a request that makes me a little nervous, since I don't know if True Artists are supposed to turn it down in disgust or not."

"Hey, that was good -- I could hear the capital letters." She smiled. "Not to worry -- True Artists probably don't join the Ithaca Barter Network, either."

"Okay. Well, I'd like you to copy a work for me. Not to pass off as the original or anything like that -- I just like it and would like to have it around to look at. It's sort of an unusual work, and they didn't have any casts of it for sale at the museum shop."

Carla raised an eyebrow. "I'm guessing this is the Met, not MoMA."

"Got it in one."

"What piece did you have in mind?"

"The Met has a whole series of `Leda and the Swans,' done by different artists. Most of them just look like they're of a nice girl and her pet swan, but there's one that's different. This one shows Leda actually being penetrated by the Swan. I'm not all that sexually conservative, but I still found it shocking, especially compared to the others."

Carla was looking at me with a really strange expression. "Come with me," she said abruptly.

We exited the studio, and she locked it, then we went down the stairs. We walked down Cayuga Street, turned right on Clinton Street, then right again on Fayette Street. All this time Carla hadn't said a word. I'm not quite sure why I was following her, but it never occurred to me not to. I'm not usually a docile person, but she said "Follow me," and I went.

She let us into a little apartment in a house on Fayette Street, then led me into her bedroom. Sitting on the nightstand was a copy of "Leda and the Swan." THE "Leda and the Swan." Looking at it, I was shocked all over again, and not just because a woman was getting fucked by a swan. I looked at Carla.

"I'm not usually turned on by depictions of heterosexual activity," she said, "but I couldn't get this piece out of my mind, so I copied it."

`Heterosexual activity.' I hadn't really thought of it in those terms. At least I had been right about what the smile meant.

"May I look at it?" I asked.

"Of course."

I picked the piece up and looked at it. It was only about as big as a loaf of bread, but it was bronze and heavy. It looked, to my inexperienced eye, very like the original. Certainly it was just as beautiful, just as realistic, just as shocking. Leda was on her back, legs spread wide, head thrown back. The swan was between her legs. Fucking her. I wouldn't have said that I was at all into bestiality, but there was something about this piece that got to me.

Carla came up beside me and looked at the piece while I held it in my hands. Her arm brushed my breast as she reached over to point out Leda's
expression with her forefinger. An accident?

Her voice was soft in my ear. "You said that you weren't sexually conservative. Did you just mean that you're a dyke, or are you a loose woman in other ways?"

`A loose woman.' What a quaint expression. Having her so near certainly made me *feel* loose. I'd always been attracted to women of her physical type, but it wasn't just that that drew me. There was something in her manner or her eyes or her aura that held me. "Aura." Right. I think I've been Ithacaized.

"Oh," I said flirtatiously, "other ways, too."

"Do you ever have sex with somebody you've just met?"

"I never have before, but I think it's time I broadened by horizons, don't you?"

Story: Leda and the Swan, part 3

[chienne-folle.livejournal.com]

She took the sculpture out of my hands and set it back on the night table. Then she unbuttoned my shirt. I have small breasts and never wear a bra, so she was caressing my breasts all of about twenty seconds after I said yes.

"Something tells me this isn't the first time *you've* ever had sex with a stranger."

She moved back slightly without letting go of my breasts and looked me in the eye. "Do I feel like a stranger to you?"

I'm a shy person; it takes a lot to get past my defenses. Once in a while I meet someone I feel I've always known, and with that person the defenses never get raised. Carla was one such person, which was undoubtedly why I was doing something with her that I'd never done before.

"No," I answered her, "I feel as if I've known you for years."

"And soon you will know me better."

I removed her hands from my breasts long enough to pull her tee-shirt over her head, then replaced them. "Controlling bitch, aren't you," she said.

I giggled. "You don't know the half of it."

She gave me a look that said she knew more than I thought, and I wondered, for the first of what would be many times, how she could read me so well.

My purple Indian skirt had an elastic waistband, as did my underwear. One yank, and I was dressed only in sandals. Carla was wearing ratty jeans, the appropriate attire of the working sculptor, which took longer to
remove.

Once they were off, I dropped to my knees, pressed my face to her vulva, and inhaled. God, she smelled wonderful.

"Can't wait to get to the good stuff, huh?" she teased.

"I never can." I was completely serious.

"Somebody should teach you some manners." She was still teasing.

"People have tried." I was still serious.

I pushed her over to her bed, onto her back with her legs spread. I laid on my stomach between her legs, with my face next to her vulva. I inhaled again. Mmmm -- woman. I took her clit in my mouth and began to lick it, alternating flicking it lightly back and forth with flicking it lightly up and down. She got wet almost immediately, which made licking her all the more fun.

Her scent grew stronger and her juices tasted wonderful. I was surrounded by, immersed in, the sight and scent and taste and feel of Carla. She started to moan, and sound was added to my other pleasures.

I licked her slick wet clit, sucked her delicious juices, rubbed my tongue against the warm wet folds of her vulva. It always amazes me that women like this. I'd ask them to let me do it to them as a favor, because I enjoy it so much, and they actually get pleasure out of it, too. It's
days like this that I believe there really is a Goddess.

I supported myself on my left elbow while I put the forefinger of my right hand into her. I moved it slowly in and out of her, licking her clit all the while. She felt open enough for more fingers, so I added another and pumped a little harder. Judging by the sounds she made, Carla very much liked getting eaten and fingerfucked at the same time. I was glad she wasn't one of those anti-penetration lesbians.

When I first started making love with women, I fingerfucked them because I thought they would enjoy it. It only took a few sessions, though, before my fingers looked forward to it at least as much as their cunts. I was bemused when this occurred. Fingers are not on the recognized list of erogenous zones -- how could it be that my fingers *wanted* my lover. They didn't itch, exactly, or ache, or tingle -- it was some sensation I didn't have a name for. But they *wanted* her in a way that felt physical, even though I knew it must be psychological. I wondered what it must be like to have a penis, if my fingers could crave cunt so badly. Have to find out in my next life.

Carla seemed to be getting really close to coming, so I speeded everything up, licking and fucking faster. "Harder," she said. I didn't know which activity she was talking about, but it didn't seem the right time to ask for lengthy explanations, so I kept licking lightly but fucked her as hard as I could. Carla came, screaming, then collapsed. I love the screamers.

She was sweaty and breathing hard as I moved up to hug her, and we lay intertwined for a while, snuggling.

Story: Leda and the Swan, part 4

[chienne-folle.livejournal.com]

After a while she raised herself up on one elbow and looked at me. "Haven't you ever heard of foreplay?"

"You can have all the foreplay you want, right now," I said.

"That makes it AFTERplay."

"Details, details."

She laughed.

"Are you teasing, or are you really disappointed?"

"Oh, I'm always TERRIBLY disappointed when I come my brains loose."

I was relieved.

"I was just a little surprised is all. I don't know many women who get right down to business like that."

"Business! I forgot all about business. How many chits do I have to give you to let me lick your cunt?"

She pretended to slap me, then chuckled. "That's a kind of whore I never heard of."

I ducked the blow. "Stop that, or I'll call the police."

Carla stopped teasing and looked at me seriously for a minute. "Before you made me incapable of noticing anything, I did happen to catch sight of those bruises on your ass. They didn't look like you got them by falling down one of Ithaca's endless hills."

"Oh," I teased, "Are you a connoisseur of bruises?"

"Yes." She was still being serious. "I inflict enough of them on my lovers to know what hairbrush bruises look like, Leah."

"You're a pervert, too!" She nodded. "Top or switch?"

"Top," she answered. "Bottom or switch?"

"Switch."

"Speaking of which, I'd like to take one to you."

"My body is yours."

She caught my eye. "Someday you will say that to me and mean it completely."

I shuddered and didn't answer.

"What's your safeword?"

"Vanilla."

She smiled. "I was joking about the switch, but I do have this nice hairbrush, and since it looks as if your body is already...familiar... with such an implement, I'd like to use it."

"Could you start with your hand and then switch to the hairbrush? It seems more personal somehow if it's your flesh against mine."

"Certainly wouldn't want to be impersonal with somebody who's spent the last hour with her face in my cunt. Come lie across my lap."

I'm pretty tall, so lying across someone's knee always leaves me with a couple of yards of arms and legs left over. Some people get off on the indignity of the position, but I'm not one of them -- I just like what happens after I get into it.

She caressed my ass gently with her palm, then slapped me lightly. Somehow the first slap always surprises me. She waited a moment, then slapped me again, just slightly harder. Another pause, another blow. It was clear that she wasn't in any kind of hurry, and I liked that. It's always overwhelming when somebody manages to convey that they don't have anywhere
else they need to go or anything else they need to do besides make love to you.

She spanked me in that same leisurely way for quite a while, each blow just slightly harder than the last. Eventually, my ass started to feel quite warm, and at that point she switched to the hairbrush. Her first blow with the hairbrush was much harder than the last one with her hand, and I yelped, as much out of surprise as out of pain.

Strictly Mediocre Story: Leda and the Swan, part 5

[chienne-folle.livejournal.com]

She gave me an evil grin that I hadn't seen before. "Now that I've got you sufficiently warmed up, we can get down to some serious beating."

I gulped, then comforted myself with the thought that she was just trying to play with my head.

She hit me over and over again, quite hard, but with ample time to recover between blows. I was yipping a little, but not really crying or screaming.

She noticed this. "I'd like to make you scream a little. Is that okay with you, or do you usually stop here?"

"Uh, yes to both."

"Both? Well, I *am* flattered. But not so much that I won't hit you as hard as I can."

The first blow landed, and I screamed, just as she had desired. My ass felt so hot, I could have sworn she had heated the brush on the stove, even though I knew she had not. Another blow, another scream. God, she was good. Again. We continued for a while, then I decided I had had enough. "Vanilla," I said.

She stopped and began to lightly kiss the area she had just smacked, feather light kisses that I wouldn't even have been able to feel if my ass weren't so tender. She turned me over and planted the same feathery kisses on my thighs, then my vulva, then my clit. She began to treat me as I had treated her, and with the same result.

We snuggled up close, and I played with her hair while she caressed my cheek. "I knew if I joined the Ithaca Barter Network I'd meet some interesting people," I said.

She put on a phony English accent. "Well met," she said, "Jolly well met."

And our relationship continued, and grew, but those are other stories.

***********

There really is a "Leda and the Swan" like the one I describe in the
Metropolitan Museum of Art. Check it out the next time you're there.
(There also really is an aquarium in the Museum of Modern Art with
three basketballs floating in it. I leave checking THAT out to your
own discretion.)

Copyright 1991 Cory L. Kerens. You can read it and lend it to
friends, but please don't repost it or sell it.


************************************************************
Who needs other drugs when we've got sex and chocolate?


Well, there it is, just as it was when I posted it, umpteen years ago. Hope it helps slightly with the boredom!

Re: Strictly Mediocre Story: Leda and the Swan, part 5

[qos.livejournal.com]

Wow! Thank you for sharing!
Guess I'm going to have to share some of my own bdsm erotica now. ;-)

And I'm glad to hear there really is such a Leda and The Swan statue. I'll have to look it up.

Re: Strictly Mediocre Story: Leda and the Swan, part 5

[chienne-folle.livejournal.com]

Wow! Thank you for sharing!

You're welcome. I hope it was at least slightly interesting.

Guess I'm going to have to share some of my own bdsm erotica now. ;-)

Please do!

And I'm glad to hear there really is such a Leda and The Swan statue. I'll have to look it up.

Yeah, my husband, Norman/friendlydog, and I were wandering around the museum, and it was fun, but I didn't expect to be shocked by anything there. Then Norman said, "Hey, come here; you'll want to see this." I figured it was probably a statue of an elephant or something, since he knows I like elephants. But no, it was a statue of a swan fucking a woman. Not what I expected in the middle of a stuffy museum! :-)

[pasquin.livejournal.com]

Beware the viking with his sword everpressed forward.

[qos.livejournal.com]

I'll keep that in mind.

[malakhgabriel.livejournal.com]

Every time my tired coworker stretched in her chair, she let out this little squeak/squeal of delight. I found it to be ridiculously hot.

She also finds Sue Johanson to be creepy. That's somewhat sad.

The Oracle at Delphi--What I retained from my classics education

[professor-mom.livejournal.com]

The Delphic Oracle is probably the most famous oracle in classical Greece. A woman called the Pythia would sit on a three legged stool at the edge of a crevice in the Temple of Apollo. She would breathe the fumes coming out of the crevice and then I believe she had an interpreter who would interpret what she babbled. There are hundreds of prophecies existing that came from Delphi. Kings would go there and consult before going to war. All of the important people came to Delphi before making decisions. Just a few that I can remember: Oedipus was told by the Oracle at Delphi that he was destined to kill his father and marry his mother. Alexandr the Great came to the Oracle before going to war. The Pythia wouldn't talk to him until he finally pulled her by the hair and started dragging her around. She screamed "Let me go. No one can beat you."
I don't know of any of the prophesies at Delphi that survived that did not come true.

[southernselkie.livejournal.com]

I'm late but, I LOVE YOU SEESTER! :D

[qos.livejournal.com]

Love you too, Sees-ter!