MEMO TO DOUCHE BAG

06.03.10

MEMO: This memo is being reissued because apparently all parties did not receive or read it.

Let it be known that as of the 6th of December in the year of our Lord 2009, you no longer had any say over me, my actions, my behavior, my decisions, or my life. I do not answer to you nor do I have to fulfill the contractually obligated sentence "obey" as per our wedding vows.

Once YOU walked out on ME you, in effect, committed breach of contract and that contract became NULL and VOID. I do not have to love, honor, or obey you anymore. Ordering me around and demanding I do things and then getting uppity when I ask simple questions was a delightful perk you enjoyed for 12 years. Unfortunately, you do not seem to have realized that when you give up the girl, you give up all those benefits.

Moving forward, some advice: I am not your maid, secretary, or mother. If you want me to do something you will get alot better response if you ask nicely and not have a tantrum when I ask clarification questions (which are often needed due to your track record of lack of follow through). Don't bitch at me because you have destroyed your own credibility. Furthermore, ranting about how you no longer care and I can simply do it all myself does not strike fear into my heart, simply reminds me why I refused to take you back.

If you act like a child, I will treat you like a child.If you act like an adult, I will treat you like an adult. My response to your attitude is entirely up to you. I am sure my voice is lost amongst the roar of adoring women and your own ego so this will fall on deaf ears and blind eyes. But, it has been said.

With all due disgust and disdain,

Josephine

Pretty Girls

Last night I went into the locker room after I finished with Captain Awesome. There was this young (college age) girl in there sitting on the bench checking her phone texts or something. I am not sure what she was checking because I was looking at her legs. My GOD they were gorgeous. Long...not skinny or body builder toned but that nice heft like a softball or soccer player has. And she was so tall so I swear her legs were as long as I was tall. And tan....she was a blond and had this gorgeous deep toasty tan. She was beautiful. Well...her legs were. I glanced at her face for context and I didn't wince so I think she was pretty enough but then I was back to her legs....wow. Magnificent. Seriously.

Why do I write this?

I write this because I am a straight woman with absolutely no disposition towards homo or bisexuality. Yet...I find myself enchanted by a gorgeous body (and that includes a woman). I share this because recently I have heard a number of men say they "get in trouble" if they so much as glance at another woman. Captain Awesome was telling me how his gf was cross with him yet again because a girl he knew that he hadn't seen in ages happened to run into his gf and tall his gf how she was lucky and CA was a good guy. GF comes home and gets upset at this. Apparently this other girl is pretty so it's even more upsetting (thank goodness I am a fat old lady or she may be bitching about me also). Anyway...

So I am drinking in this gal's legs and thinking how if I (as a straight woman) can truly appreciate such a beautiful form, I can't ever imagine getting mad at a guy (or my guy if and when I ever do get one) for looking at the same thing.

For goodness sakes, I would wonder if there was something wrong with him if he DIDN'T look.

That all being said, I would much rather be in a relationship where I could lean over and say, "Babe, check six....look at the rack on that one!" or "Look at those legs!" and share that appreciation of beauty with my mate/man. I look at men also and drink them in but I wanted to make the point in that you can look at something and really truly be captivated by it's beauty and not necessarily be wanting to jump it or screw it or fuck it to death. (Granted, I am sure men often do ponder that as well...I do with hot men I look at).  There is yet another woman I work with who has to be all of about 6'5". She is black and her skin looks like chocolate velvet. I am just enchanted with how even and perfect and soft and deep and dark it looks. Part of me just wants to run my finger down her arm to see what that gorgeous skin feels like under my touch. Do I want to fuck her? No. Do I want to get intimate with her? Not at all. The idea does nothing for me. But it's sort of like wanting to touch a beautiful fur or an Egyptian carving or a beautiful oil painting.  There is this intrinsic beauty that cries out to be experienced in the flesh and through all the senses.

I feel sorry for men who get barked at to "not look". I know I look ALL the time. And I think that's okay.

I just wanted to share that today because I was thinking about Long Legs Locker Room Girl and it sort of started to cascade into a mental ramble.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

The Stairwell

Silence now surrounded them, the music and other sounds of the service above now gone. Footsteps approached from above and as he zipped his slacks and fastened his belt, her hands reached out in the dark and found the heavy chain that held the gate closed. She tugged at it in exasperation and the chain rattled in the dark. The footsteps grew louder and closer. She gave it one last tug, already formulating a
story in her head to present to whoever was approaching them on the dark stairs.
"Who's there?" A voice called out from above.

They grinned like children who had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. The disembodied voice paused to listen for a response. Hearing none, the footsteps started to retreat. She felt strong fingers pinch her ass cheek and let out a loud squeak of surprised pain. The footsteps paused and she felt for his face in the darkness. She bestowed a butterfly kiss on his parted lips and then a light slap on his cheek as payback for the pinch. The place where his finger had squeezed was still warm and burning slightly.

"Is anyone there?" The pause continued. He threw an arm around her neck and pulled her to him. He embraced her tightly and released a low chuckle into her soft silky strawberry blonde hair as they listened to the nervous voice probe the darkness from above. Finally the footsteps receded and they heard the door at the top of the stairs shut with a dull thud.

They stood in the dark for a few moments, silently agreeing to wait for a moment before climbing the stairs and emerging back into the main Cathedral. Finally she felt him grasp her hand and pull her forward up the stairs. When they reached the top and he placed his hand on the door handle, he paused to dip his head and kiss her one more time. He ended the kiss with a gentle nibble and a light lick with the tip of his tongue. He flexed his forearm to open the door. Nothing. He turned to face it and pulled more forcefully. Still nothing. They were locked in. Once more he grasped the handle with both hands and his biceps rolled under the light touch of her hand on his arm as he pulled with all his might. The solid oak door was locked tight. Now they really were trapped.

He felt soft kisses on the back of his neck in the darkness. Her arms encircled his waist and he clasped her small hands where they met in front of him. He could feel her cheek rest against his back. She let out a small sigh.

"Now we are really trapped," he said quietly. She responded by pulling his coat aside from behind and putting her hands in his pockets.

"It's cold in here," she replied. He felt her delicate fingers dance along the thin fabric that separated his slightly aroused cock from them. He shook his head and pressed down on her hands with his.

"We really are trapped this time," he said with a frown. "Maybe we should bang on the door so they will hear us."

Since her fingers were locked down in his grip, she slowly slid her body back and forth behind him. Wiggling against his hard firm body. He could not help but laugh out loud.

"You are insatiable" he whispered back over his shoulder. Her answer was to pull her hands from his pockets and shove him roughly against the door. His hands flew out instinctually and his palms rested against the cool musty oak door. He could smell an underlying scent of rust and the dampness of the stone stairwell.

"Do you know what I was thinking when we were in the chapel?" She ran her hands up under his sweater. "I was thinking how much I wanted to feel you against me." He turned to face her and she pushed his sweater up and starting kissing the soft flesh of his sculpted stomach. He sighed and leaned back against the door.

"Are you listening to me? We are locked in here."

He felt the tip of her tongue lick suggestively up the center line of his belly and her head disappeared under his sweater.

"It's really quite simple." Long lick that ended at his right nipple.

"Either we make alot of noise and they come running to unlock the door...." Her teeth grazed his erect nipple gently and then her mouth closed over it and began to suck. Despite the chill emanating from the stone walls he started to feel slightly flushed. Her mouth released him and he could feel the cool air move over the wetness she had left.

"Or," She licked across to his left nipple, "I get to feel all of you...all over me..." She repeated the licking and sucking on his left nipple and he felt himself grow even harder in response to her flicking tongue.

"Either way," she kissed his collarbone, "I will be happy."

His back to the door, he bent his knees and slid down to a seated position. She straddled his legs and lowered herself so she was seated on his lap. She could feel him, stiff and hard, through his pants, and she strategically rested her mound on him, still swollen from it's last stroking at the base of the stairs. He could feel her heat as shemoved on top of him and placed her hands on either side of his face and demanded yet another kiss. The kiss started out light and somewhat playful. She pushed at his jacket and he obliged by removing it as she continued to suck on his tongue. Next came his sweater and after he had pulled it over his head her desire seemed to grow as she stroked and caressed his skin and rocked gently in his lap...rubbing her heat against his swollen hard on. Her hair tickled him softly as it fell upon his chest and trailed behind her head as she bestowed tiny chaste kisses across his shoulders.

His hands found her bodice and once again freed her breasts from their lace prison as he had earlier in the little chapel. She moaned as his mouth found her nipples and her hands caressed the back of his neck and head as he nipped and teased her with his tongue. His hands ran up underneath the soft chiffon of her dress and found her hips and felt the rhythm of her as she rocked back and forth, rubbing herself on him and moaning at the sucking sensation he had created with his lips.

He brought a hand up to her face, gently running a finger along her jaw line. He leaned in close, pinning her with a lust filled gaze that shone from his eyes in the darkness. Letting the hand at her jaw drop slowly down her neck to her collarbone and then her waist, he drew it around her and pulled her strongly to him. In his mind's eye, he could see her mouth was slightly open as she watched him, her own desire rendering her powerless to offer any resistance. He tilted her face up to his with his free hand and kissed the corner of her mouth lightly, then the center of her upper lip. As he did so, a low moan escaped her throat. He pulled her tighter against him as his lips closed over hers completely. He shivered as he felt her purr while she brought her arms around him and returned his kiss. Their hands moved over each other's bodies with increasing hunger. The fabric of her dress was fluid over her skin as he moved his hands over her and teased her with thoughts of slipping it off. He slipped his hands under the chiffon, slowly inching it up as he kissed his way up the soft skin of her torso. He leaned forward and slowly lowered her to her back on the cold stone floor. He mentally made a note to leave the belt at home next time as he shed his pants once again. He bent to kiss the sensitive part where her thigh met her hip and her felt her squirm underneath him. He blew softly into her damp golden curls and she moaned yet again. He continued to kiss up her body and she could feel his warmth and smell his scent as he moved closer to her. His hard cock brushed against her inner thigh and it felt like a steel sword that had been sheathed in velvet. The head of it brushed against her sensitive slit and she almost cried out in frustration as it teased her while he kissed her neck and shoulders. Suddenly she felt him tense and she caught her breath as he pushed through her, relishing the feel his size and length. He could feel her body responding to every touch, to every move he made. His breathing was ragged at her ear.

"Does that feel good?" He questioned as his mouth covered hers.

The saliva pooled at the back of her mouth and ran down her throat, rendering her mute; she nodded against his temple in response. He continued enticing her with his whispers.

"Does it?"

"Yes..." she managed this time. He moved against her with mounting intensity; he felt so good and the combined sensation of her tight hot wet pussy clinging to him and holding him tightly was almost more then he could bear. As she met his strokes and whimpered from the deep penetration, she felt the building sensation in her center rise to breaking point. His breath was at her ear. "God you're so soft..." She moaned and the throaty sound transformed to a low cry. Her voice broke as her body tensed against his in tremendous force of release. His body erupted in an explosion of pleasure along with her; everything around him seemed to fade away.

He rolled off of her and rested on his back on the floor. She lay next to him still trembling from her orgasm. How he wished they were in a nice soft warm bed instead of locked in a cold dark damp stairwell.

"I could have sworn I heard something down there, Bishop."

The both jumped at the voice outside the door. They could hear the tumblers in the lock fall and they scrambled from the floor as a sliver of light appeared at the edge of the darkness.....

December 2001

The Invitation

The invitation I sent him read:

Do you like riddles?

I have a plan to drive you Mad with Passion and if you are victorious in Exposing my Secret, I will grant you any wish. It's on the tip of your fingers-or rather, your Four Fingers and a Thumb. Not coming to you? Then I shall Simply Surprise you with my Erotic and Decadent Kinky Kisses. 

This mystery unfolds when you get home...starting at a time of my desire...meet me in the garage.
And, wear your sunglasses.

***

I stood in the chilly garage and couldn't help but blush as you came through the doorway. It was late and dark but you were wearing the sunglasses as I had requested. I motioned you towards the car and when you were leaning up against it I pressed myself to you for a deep wet kiss. I stepped back pulled a set of wrist restraints from behind my back...grinning and blushing like crazy. You laughed at me because I looked so embarrassed but naughty at the same time. You obliged and turned to face the car so I could apply the restraints.

I opened the car door and slid the passenger seat forward so you could get in the back seat. You looked at me funny but got in. I slid in behind you and removed the sunglasses from your face. I pulled a red leather blindfold out of my pocket and dangled it in front of your eyes. You blushed this time. I put the blindfold on you and you leaned forward for a kiss but I pushed you away and got out of the car. You were confused as I went around to the driver's side, got into the car and started it up. You asked where the hell we were going and I just giggled. Silly boy....you thought we were just going to fuck in the backseat in the garage but I had MUCH more planned then that. I backed out of the garage and started to drive. As we drove I slid a sexy CD into the deck and every time you asked me what was going on or where we were going, I simply told you to hush and be a good boy. Finally, after driving for about fifteen minutes in confusing circles, I pulled back into our garage. I left the car on auxiliary power so the CD could continue to play but got out. I slid the driver's seat forward this time and crawled into the back. You smiled as I undid your belt and happily lifted your hips so I could pull down your pants and boxers. I leaned forward and pressed my breasts to your chest and kissed you again. Lots of tongue. I wish you could have seen the look on your face when I said, "Be a good boy. I will be back later." I then got out of the car and left you there with your hands restrained behind your back, your pants around your ankles and blind. I shut the door and refused to answer you as you demanded to know what was going on.

I crept quietly out of the garage to the front porch where I had hidden my stash of props. First I applied the lip gloss I had purchased. Cheap, tawdry, trashy cherry lip gloss. The kind only twelve year olds or cheap hookers wore. Something you would have never caught your wife dead in. Next I pulled my hair back and put on the wig. Long and black....just in case you could peek out ever so slightly under the blindfold....you would see nothing that resembled my honey blonde do in the dim light of the dark garage. Then I pulled out the tiny bottle of Coco by Chanel that I had borrowed from a friend. It smelled nothing like my regular perfume. Finally, I slid on the elbow length black velvet gloves and the high heels.

I deliberately clicked my high heels noisily across the floor of the garage. You had squirmed around in the back seat a little but were still pretty much where I left you. I opened the door and once again slid into the back seat. You spoke to me but I refused to answer. You think it is me but I stop your words with a kiss. You taste the cheap cherry gloss and get a nose full of the perfume that makes me smell like a French whore. I could tell you were confused. And I was enjoying it. I wrap my velvet gloved hands around your rapidly swelling cock and start to squeeze and stroke it. I rub and caress until it is as hard as stone. Suddenly you feel soft lips caress the top and then slide down the shaft engulfing you whole. You feel the suction and the friction as my eager head bounces up and down in your lap. You are bound and blind. You have no idea where you are or who I am. Your entire universe consists solely of your raging hard-on, the hungry mouth wrapped around it and the velvet hands stroking and rubbing your balls. 

I continue to stroke, suck, lick and squeeze as your hips thrust and strain towards my face. I can see the sweat on your brow and the frustration in your face as you cannot bring your hands around to control things as you are used to. At first you whimper. Then you moan and beg. Finally you yell and demand that I fuck you with my mouth until you come. Order me to swallow you whole. I brace myself for the final approach and I take you all the way to the hilt...faster and faster just like I have seen so many times in the videos...your body suddenly arches and I can feel the contractions of your cock vibrate between my lips. I feel the taste of your cum on my tongue and vow to swallow every drop...something else I have never done. As your climax runs it's course and you drop back into the seat exhausted, I continue to lick and suck your clean. You shiver at the sensation of my tongue as it is still sensitive down there. At last I run my hands up the side of your face and remove your blindfold. You look pleased, yet slightly relieved to see my sweet face smiling back at you....I give you one more kiss with cheap cherry lips and you start to laugh and call me a very naughty girl.....

In The Chapel

I wore my dark winter raincoat over my short navy blue chiffon dress. Navy blue thigh high stockings with my Ralph Lauren navy 4" spike heels. I had opted to go without panties as I figured they would just get in the way. He stood in the doorway in his dark slacks, charcoal sweater and overcoat. He smiled at me through his lush black eyelashes. They framed each sparkling black eye and were so long and full that I could just imagine the closeness of his face and the delightful whisper of a soft tickle that they would make as they fluttered against my skin. The heels of his boots made a deep solid sound on the floor as he walked towards me. My cheeks grew flushed and I looked down to the floor, embarrassed by the rush of warmth and moisture I felt spring to life between my thighs. I sat on the alter with my legs crossed primly. The flap of my overcoat slid to one side and I blushed again as it exposed a sliver of milk white skin between the top of my dark stocking and the hem of my soft dress. I shifted slightly and tried to cover myself with the coat. He said not a word, but stopped when he reached my seat on the edge of the hard cold stone. I wanted to tell him how handsome and sexy he looked but the silence of the chapel and the fear of echo made me bite my tongue. As he faced me, his right hand came to rest on my right knee. The little room was so chilly that the warmth from just his hand was like a current. He took each of my hands and placed them to my sides and my coat fell open once again...my little navy dress had slid even higher from my miniscule wiggles as I shifted trying to keep the wetness that had formed between my legs off the back of my dress. I ran the toe of my high heel up the side of his leg and then hooked it around his lower thigh to pull him forward to me. His eyes continued to sparkle as he moved closer...not even pretending to fight me. I blushed and dipped my chin again as I was not used to behaving as such a harlot, especially in a Cathedral of all places. I relaxed my seated position from lady like crossed legs and he moved between my parted knees at once. It was chilly so for a moment I just savored sitting on the edge of the alter, wrapped in my warm coat and his even warmer embrace. The soft kiss of his sweater on my cheek The raspy feel of his wool dress slacks against the soft interior of my thigh. The smell of his aftershave and the silkiness of the skin of his lower back as I slid my fingers under his sweater and lightly stroked him there. 

Time was something he never wasted and neither of us knew how much we had in the little alcove. As there were no voices or echoes of sound, he began at once to kiss me. His strong fingers rested gently on the sides of my face as he held me still so his tongue and lips could explore my mouth. For a single moment I worried that my deep red lipstick would be mussed and all over his face but the deep penetrating probes of his tongue and the electricity of his lips quickly gave override to that concern. Still alone and still no sound. We grew bolder and I slid my hands up under his sweater to feel his warmth. I felt the silky skin of his chest and lightly brushed his nipples. I wanted so badly to feel his naked body against me but this was not the time or place for such extravagance. Just knowing that I could not fully touch or feel his flesh made it so much more erotic. He broke our kiss and as I gulped a breath his hands pulled down on the front of my dress. My ample cleavage spilled into his waiting hands and his head bent to my breast.

At that moment we heard voices and our bodies froze in an instant. If anyone had stepped into the chapel they would have seen a handsome gentlemen embracing a lovely woman...hopefully nothing more. Hopefully they would think he was comforting a friend. His long dark over coat hid my legs wrapped around his waist, his sweater pulled up with my hands caressing his torso and my naked breasts pressed to the soft material of his sweater. We held still as the tourists passed and I peeked through partially closed eyes as one of them glanced in at us. He looked surprised and then embarrassed as he seemed to think he had interrupted a private moment of mourning.

We stood still until their footsteps and voices faded. As we waited, I had teased him by lightly running my fingers around to his belt buckle. Although from the tourist's point of view we had simply appeared to be in an embrace....little did he know at that very moment I had slid down his zipper and inserted my hand to caress him. When the coast was clear he reached down and grasped my wrist firmly. I was going to be scolded for being a bad girl and teasing him while we were watched. His head bowed to mine again and he bestowed another deep wet kiss while he forcefully guided my hand along the top of my thigh...across the top of my stocking...across the soft pale flesh and to the hot damp area between my legs. He continued to stroke his tongue against mine while he used his hand to force my fingers to part myself and seek out the little treasure spot that nestled there. As our fingers mutually found it, I could feel him grin as he kissed me harder and deeper and seemed to drink in the gasp that I issued so that I could not be overheard in the stillness of the church.

His fingers continued to hold mine down there and they flicked, rubbed, and caressed my dark crevasse until I could do nothing more then squeeze my eyes shut, hold tight to his broad shoulders and bury my face in his chest while trying to keep silent and not moan with all the pleasure I was experiencing. In a desperate moment I attempted to distract him by reaching down with my free hand to caress his length that had grown to monumental proportions while he had stroked me with his hand entwined in mine. This time he was the one who exhaled sharply and I could tell our time was just about up.

In one swift move he grabbed me by the hips and roughly pulled me further forward towards him. My ass was almost numb from the cold marble of the alter and there was a tiny little squeak as my skin skipped across the surface as he pulled me closer. I leaned in for another kiss and pushed his pants down from his hips far enough to free him completely and all was forgotten as I felt him slide into me. I moaned out loud and at that point the Pope himself could have walked in and he would have had to wait. He was so thick and each thrust was exquisite. I leaned back and lay spread upon the alter. I could feel his fingertips dig into the soft flesh of my hips and I knew there would be bruises the next day. His grip on my body and the way he filled me inside caused me to arch my back and meet each pounding thrust with one of my own. I meet his penetrating stare...now more of an animal then the man who had originally entered this little room. He pulled my legs up and together in front of him and continued to stroke me inside as he bit and licked and kissed my calves. Then he let go of my ankles so I could part my legs and drop them back down around his waist. One of my high heels fell off and landed on the floor with a hollow tap. My dress was up around my waist and my stockings had been dragged down to my knees. His slacks rode low on his hips and his sweater was pushed up so that I could see the tight muscles flex in his stomach as he thrust into me. 

I looked down and saw him moving in and out and the growing sensation of a wave about to hit made me lay back again and grab onto the edge of the alter so I could hold myself in place to meet his driving hips. His pace grew faster and I bit down upon the heel of my hand to keep quiet. All of my senses were heightened because I could make no sounds for fear of being discovered. I could not moan or sigh or tell him how good he felt moving back and forth and in and out of me. How good the thick length of his cock felt as it glided in and then how fantastic it felt when he had buried himself as deep as he could and I could feel where his pelvis rubbed against me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry out loud and beg him to never stop but I couldn't. Far off in the distance we heard the murmur of voices and the idea of being caught added a certain intensity to the already frenzied pace of our act. We had to finish. 

There was no return from the height of sensation that we had reached. He buried his face between my breasts and I could feel his jaw tense as he also fought to keep silent. His hands moved to my collarbone and they gripped me with the strength of a demon. I could feel my skin bruising and the firm glide of his thrusts turned into a harsh pound. He didn't care anymore about anything but release and the ferocity of his touch drove me over the brink. The orgasm was like a wave at the beach. It started as a gentle swell and I could feel it moving slowly towards climax. As it neared, it grew bigger and the true nature of it's deception was clear when it hit. It crashed upon me like a tsunami and I could feel it whip through my entire body like a warm fat electric current. As the roar died in my ears I was brought back to reality by the sting of his fingernails digging into my hips...the tendons in his forearms tensed and I could feel him shake as he poured forth inside of me. His head was thrown back in a silent yell and his back arched as his final thrust buried him deep inside me.

December 2001 

But Oz Never Did Give Nothing To The Tin Man (June 2003)

..That he didn't, didn't already have.

I formulated this essay in my head this morning while lying on the couch in the dark listening to the rain.  I was thinking about my step-son who would be getting up soon and how I was going to deal with him today after he came home from school in trouble again yesterday.

I am not against or opposed to some deep internal reflection on myself.  I do not consider myself perfect nor always right.  My point of frustration lay smack dab in the middle of the fact that I am trying to help this son (step son) break out of some very deeply ingrained and very crippling habits he learned from his biological mother. 

I thought of the exasperation.  Of the annoyance.  Of the sheer frustration of having to deal with these problems over and over and over again.  Each time he promises that he gets it this time.  Each time I get promises that he will really try harder.  Each time he fails.

Or does he?  Maybe he does get it.  Maybe he gets it but not how I want him to.  Maybe he really is trying harder for him.  Trying harder doesn’t mean being perfect, I reminded myself.  Trying harder means just that.  Trying harder. 

I was experiencing a moment of uncertainty.  Perhaps the hardest part of dealing with this child and his challenges was dealing with what I perceived to be my failure because I couldn’t or hadn’t yet fixed him.

Speaking about a child like he was a broken toy that I could just snap together or change the batteries in.

This lead me to think critically and look to the Temple for guidance.  What would the Temple tell me to do?  What would the Adepts and Sorcerers and Priests tell me?  What would the Predators and even Initiates say?  I thought.  And thought.  And then thought some more.

And I realized that it wasn’t important exactly WHAT they would say.  What was important is that I could go to them with any struggle.  With any problem.  With any question.  With any concern.  And, like family, they would receive me and offer what they felt I needed most.  Perhaps some would only listen and cluck their tongue.  Perhaps another would give me a cryptic and inscrutable koen that I could mull over and tease apart like a knot.  Perhaps others would send me a story from their own experience or some words of wisdom from having been there before as well. 

“The family endures because it offers the truth of mortality and immortality within the same group. The family endures because, better than the commune, kibbutz, or classroom, it seems to individualize and socialize its children, to make us feel at the same time unique and yet joined to all humanity, accepted as is and yet challenged to grow, loved unconditionally and yet propelled by greater expectations. Only in the family can so many extremes be reconciled and synthesized. Only in the family do we have a lifetime in which to do it.

-Letty Cottin Pogrebin

What is important about family is that they allow you to experience, learn, grow, explore and teach in structured environment.  There will always be rules but these rules are based on mutual respect and consideration.  There will always be squabbles but they are generally insignificant when compared to the true bond that is shared.  A child may struggle…a child may slip…a child may fall.  But if that child has a good family then that child will triumph in his struggle.  He will recover from a slip.  He will pick himself up after a fall.  And what is most beautiful of all, the child will grow to be an outstanding resource for the next generation of children that come behind him. 

Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man that he didn’t already have.  We all come into this existence with some measure of potential.  The family unit is the catalyst for this potential.  The family does not GIVE the potential.  The family can only help the individual exercise and tap that potential.  If it is a good family then the possibilities are endless.

The Temple uses the word Family.  Some people may be put off by this because their own experience with their own family has been less then pleasant.  Others may be put off by it because they have a great family and are hesitant to accept those that are not biologically related.

What I think needs to be stressed is:

The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof. - Richard Bach, Illusions (1977)

  

I lay back with a smile on my face.  It would be very easy for me to be selfish and to ignore or give up on this child I was struggling with.  But, wasn’t that why he was having so much trouble in the first place?   My Temple Family has been patient with me through a lot of questions.  Through a lot of confusion.  Through many requests for clarification.  They have sat back and let me explore, learn, experience, question and grow.  A gentle nudge here, a smack on the bottom there, a smile and praise at other times.  I love and respect my Family for their patience with me.  For their belief in me when I questioned my belief in myself.   My son is not a looser.  He is not stupid or slow.  He is simply young and has had some things happen that were not his fault.  I can’t blame him for struggling with things as a result. 

We ask each Family member to empty their cup when they arrive.

If I am so impatient and self centered as to ignore my own child when he needs help emptying his cup…..if I am so selfish that I can’t give him the Elixir of Life to refill it once it is empty….if I am so impatient with his attempts….then I have not learned from the patient and generous example that the Temple has set for me.  If I cannot embrace their grace and hold myself to the same level of excellence…then I am not worthy to be of this Family.

I can though.  I can learn from those I respect and love and admire.  And I can teach and share that which has been given to me with trust to others that earn and deserve that privilege.

The family is the test of freedom; because the family is the only thing that the free man makes for himself and by himself.  -Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874–1936)

I Am One of Us.  Are You?

***This is an essay I wrote as a Member of the Priesthood in the Temple of the Vampire. It is posted on our board in "The Priesthood Speaks" section for those who are new.  If you are intrested in the Temple of the Vampire after reading it, please visit us at www.vampiretemple.com

Her Majesty's Royal Body Guard (2002)

*For those not aware, in certain circles I am known as and referred to as "The Empress of the Satanic Universe". In a sort of Marvel Comics /" tongue in cheek" way. This is from a series I wrote years ago for those men who wanted to be part of my "entourage".  All in good humor ;)

Empress Josephine turned the corner and continued running down the dimly lit corridor. In the distance, she could hear the echo of running feet that belonged to her pursuer. At the next intersection she paused, sank to one knee and listened. The footfalls had grown distant and marked with hesitation. The assassin had become lost in the twisted maze of the space station and would be deleted any moment by the crack team of body guards that had been at her disposal since the implementation of her reign.

She breathed a sigh of relief and then nearly fainted as her arm was seized firmly from behind. She spun out of it's grip and stopped short of burning a hole through the forehead of her personal guard and Commander of the Imperial House Security Team - Sir TR966. Sensing the Empresses' fatigue and emotional drain from the last few adrenaline laden hours of being systematically tracked by a psychotic member of the House of PseudoSatania, TR swept the Empress up into his strong arms and made his way to the royal bedchamber. She sighed and closed her eyes as she laid her head on his shoulder and recharged herself off his eternal battery of stoic strength...evident in each solid stride he made down the opulent corridors of the Imperial Quarters.

TR laid the Empress on her bed and went into the spa to begin drawing the royal bath. He surveyed the selection of additives and glanced through the doorway at the Empress laying still on her bed. He reached for the chamomile and then added an additional pinch of lavender in hopes that it would contribute to a night of restful sleep.

He returned to the bed and knelt to remove the Empresses' shoes...the first step in their nightly ritual. She sighed in the darkness as he unlaced and then removed the right boot. As he slid the sock from her dainty ankle he kissed her tight calf muscle. Kisses were next bestowed to the arch of her foot and then the ball. He felt her move above him on the bed as he reached for her other boot and repeated the steps. Once her boots had been removed he gently spread her knees and placed his hands on her thighs. He pushed aside her iridescent blue skirt - the colour of the Imperial House and incidentally, her eyes. The soft material felt cool on his skin and he was certain she felt a flutter of pleasure from the slick material moving across her skin as well. Carefully, he undid the clasps that held the skirt-like panel to her garter. Once exposed, her soft white thighs were indeed a contrast to the brilliant blue fabric. He bent his head to kiss her legs...the sweet strong calves, raised her leg oh so gently to kiss behind her knee, for what seemed like an eternity he feasted upon the delicate soft flesh that tasted of honey with the slightest of hints of salt and tension from her earlier adventure in the corridors. She smelled of a mysterious perfume that was kept in a tiny flask on the nightstand. A subtle musky intoxicating scent that could only be obtained in one place and was sent by Legions happened to be there.

The combined savory smell and taste of her body made his head swim and he was only brought back to the present at the feel of her hands resting on his. He paused and looked at the half clothed Empress and in the dim light of the room he could see her eyes were hot and filled with longing. She put a hand on each side of his face, dirty from the day's work and scratchy with five o'clock shadow and raised her moist pink lips to be kissed. He obliged and lowered his mouth and his body onto the Empress. She sank back and took the full weight of his body on her slight frame and entwined her hands in his hair.

As he ravished her mouth his hands removed the rest of her uniform and dropped it to the floor off the side of the bed. With a practiced hand, she removed the shirt of his dress uniform and released the buckle of his belt. His passion rose and he kissed her harder and deeper as she slid his pants off his hips and he felt her soft body against his.

Her passion was on the rise as well and in one swift movement the Empress rolled them across the bed and landed firmly astride his now hot and sweaty body. Slowly she lowered her head and began to kiss up the warm flesh of his belly. Stopping to flick each of his nipples with her tongue before going to feast on his neck. He grasped her by the ribcage and pulled her forcefully forward so that he could reach her breasts. The were the colour of cream and the areola were the softest of pink that brightened like rosebuds as the blood coursed from her desire. She moaned softly as he held her tightly to his mouth, first the left nipple then the right and finally both together in his mouth between his teeth and nestled by his tongue. She attempted feebly to escape his firm grasp on her ribcage but gave up as the pleasure over rode the idea of escape.

As the sound of the rushing water echoed from the spa and the room filled with the steam and the heady scent of the hot water, he rolled the Empress back over and entered her from behind. She cried out and collapsed on the bed with her luscious royal behind raised in the air. Her hands gripped the gold brocade comforter and his callused hands gripped her hips and he drove into her again and again. Her eyes were closed and her lips pursed in pleasure as she issued little cries of desire and pushed back against him to meet his thrusts. Roughly he pushed her down onto the bed and withdrew from her. He grabbed her by the ankle and spun her back onto her back. No longer was this the Royal Bedchamber. No longer was this the Empress of the Galaxy. No longer was he a loyal servant. All had fallen away but the animal edge to their lust and as she bared her pointed teeth at him he fell upon her once again in a frenzy of passion. As the steam caressed their hot bodies and the scent of raw desire filled the room they writhed in a tangled mass of wild and uninhibited thrusting pounding clawing hair pulling and moaning. As they reached the ultimate state of release both went dark and for a moment all that existed was their blinding body shaking orgasms.

Untangling himself from the Empress, he rolled to the edge of the bed and came down feet first in a pool of hot scented water and realized the tub in the spa was still running....and was now running into the bedchamber. The Empress giggled playfully and hit the intercom to call for a clean up crew. 

In The Evening

It was late when I pulled into the driveway. The rain still fell in a light mist from the dark and cloudy sky. As I quietly searched for my key in the dark, I paused for a moment to survey the town from the porch perched high upon the hill. At three in the morning, most everyone was deep asleep and dreaming away.

I entered quietly and hung my keys on the coat rack. I slipped off my boots as to not track the mud, grease and soot from the last domestic that had involved a search of the woods for a man with a knife onto the light coloured carpet. The house was pitch dark but I hung up my coat in the front entry...comfortable in the familiar blackness. I silently stole up the stairs and paused to feel for the light. I almost switched it on but didn't want to wake you so I left it off. I continued up the stairs to the bedroom. The house was deathly quiet and the soft light of the moon was filtered gently onto the bed where you lay. I paused again at the doorway. You were a lump under the covers. Your handsome face rested against the pillow and your chest rose slightly with each deep breath.

Not wanting to wake you, I tiptoed across the wine coloured oriental carpet to the dresser and finished undressing. It seemed to take forever as I quietly removed first my badge, my weapon, my knife, and finally both sets of handcuffs. Each item was set down with the utmost care not to clink against the surface of the dresser and wake you from your restful sleep. I considered taking a quick shower before sliding into bed with you but decided against making that type of noise. Besides...a shower might wake me up more and I so wanted to sleep soundly. I crossed around to the other side of the bed and gently lifted the covers to slide underneath. You were laying on your back with one arm above your head and the other resting on your belly. I wanted to wrap my arm across you but didn't. Still not wanting to disturb your slumber.

Instead, I closed my eyes and curled up next to you...my head just barely resting against your side. My knees pulled up and just grazing the side of your thigh. I took a deep breath and drank in your scent and warmth. Now that I had stopped after going for more then 32 hours with barely any sleep or a break, I was hit suddenly by the exhaustion and fatigue that I had been warding off by simply ignoring it's existence. You sighed and mumbled in your sleep and abruptly rolled over leaving your back to me. I decided you were in deep enough sleep that you wouldn't noticed if I snuggled a little closer. I spooned around your warm naked body. Curling my thighs up under your ass. Pressing my breasts to your back. Without even thinking, I kissed the back of your neck. Once. Twice. Then I cautiously ran my fingers up the back of your head. I just loved the way your hair felt under my fingers. So soft. This slow act of embracing you was the last push I needed towards final relaxation and I ran my fingers softly down your side and then over around you in a hug.
And I lay there. My cheek pressed lightly between your shoulder blades. My soft body curled around yours. I felt the tears come and I allowed them to flow because I would not sleep until that final bit of stress had drained from my body. I didn't shake. Or cry out loud. Not even a sniffle. Just lay quietly and leaked tears down your back. Eyes closed tight. My hand returned to your side. And stroked softly. Gently. The slight curve towards your hip. So lovely. You must have woken because your hand stopped mine and pulled it up towards your lips for a soft kiss. I heard your whisper a soft inquiry in the darkness. Had it been a long shift? I didn't answer. Just closed my eyes tighter and nodded against your back. You kissed my fingers again. And then tucked my hand under your cheek. I wiggled even closer to you and could tell you smiled sleepily at the movement.

I pulled my hand from under your cheek and started to caress your chest. Trailing my fingers lazily up and down from your belly button up to your collarbone. Tracing around your nipples and then back again. Each time I went closer to your cock until I had included it in my caresses. It was so soft and warm but each time I brushed against it, it grew a little harder and a little warmer. You still lay with your back to me but I could tell by your breathing that you had not returned to sleep. I continued to stroke up and down your body as I began to place tiny butterfly kisses on the back of your neck and across your shoulders.

Your body was so wonderful and soft and warm. Just being next to it had such a calming affect on me. You rolled onto your back and I moved so that I was able to lie on your shoulder and continue to stroke up and down your body. I stroked your thighs after my fingers ran the length of your penis and around your balls. Your arm was around me and you began to return the caresses. Running your fingers from my elbow to the curve of my shoulder. Up underneath my hair. You caressed my neck and I moaned softly into your shoulder as you did.

I raised my head and started to kiss your lips. Softly. Gently. As I had been stroking you with my fingers. You returned my kisses with a matched passion. I could write a book about the sweetness of your mouth, your lips, and your tongue. If I was crawling in a desert and had the choice between water and just one of your kisses, I would choose the kiss. As always, the feel of your mouth over mine, on mine, inside of mine stirred the other parts of me and I felt tiny tingles run up and down the length of my body. Did you know you could get a tiny orgasm from a kiss??? I can. From yours.

As we continued to kiss, You rolled me over and rested on top of me. My legs spread naturally and you lay on top of me with your hardness pressed between us. Your lips dropped from my mouth and begin to brush along my jaw line and then down my throat. I closed my eyes and arched back as I felt them travel down my neck. Alternating lips and tongue. Soft bites with your teeth. I was starting to go crazy and you could feel my pulse quicken from your attentions.

I started to kiss the top of your head as you kissed across my collarbone and then down to my breasts. My hands roamed your back and kneaded your shoulders as you took a nipple in your mouth. You raised an eyebrow at the sound that I made as you closed your mouth around it and your tongue began to swirl around it. Teeth gently biting. The suction you were creating combined with the sensation of your teeth and tongue was maddening. Your mouth moved to the other nipple and repeated the sequence. I could still feel your hardness against me and I reached down and grasped it firmly in my hand. You exhaled in a rush and this time it was you that closed your eyes. I squeezed again and whispered into your ear how much I needed to feel you inside me right now.

Ever the gentlemen, you obliged by sitting back on your knees between my spread legs. You reached down with your fingers and spread me open gently and then pressed the head of your hard shaft against me. I felt your hands on my hips and then you slide slowly into me. The feeling was exquisite and suddenly all my worries and concerns disappeared. All that mattered was the steady firm stoke of your cock inside me. Your hands on my hips. Your fingers sunk into my flesh. The way your balls brushed against my ass as you fucked me long, hard and slow.

I pushed against each of your stokes and soon we had a rhythm going. We had spoken barely a word and each of us was lost in our own little microcosm of pleasure. You looked to be in your own world as you knelt and thrust between my thighs. I wanted you closer and deeper so I reached up for you and you opened your eyes to see my arms open and lowered your self back onto me. Your lips found mine and as our tongues went to match the timing of our hips. I raised my legs and hooked my ankles around your back in order to pull you deeper into me.

Around this time, I lost all track of where I ended and you began. We were just one slick, hot, wet, pulsing mass. As I moaned into your mouth, you whispered back to me. Between licks and kisses and thrusts and strokes I told you how good you made me feel. And you told me the same. I became aware of my approaching orgasm like it was a wave at the beach. I could feel the swell in the distance. As it grew closer, it grew bigger. I knew I would be unable to escape it crashing down upon me and when it finally did it felt the same. Intense pressure. Roaring in my ears. I couldn't breath. Blackness for just a moment then the feeling of raising back up to the surface as you came deep inside me. I could feel your entire body go tense and you held your breath as you emptied yourself. We lay spent and breathless. I think we feel asleep that way. All I know for sure is that there were no bad dreams that night.

There Are Two Kinds Of Men

While my daughter sleeps and the morning is still quiet, my mind wanders to a comment once made to me by Thomas.

"They are right. A tat would only ruin it."

This was in reply to my musing to him about getting a tattoo to cover the scar I have from a surgery I had gone through.  Actually, I have two scars.  One is about ten inches long and the other is about two feet long.  Of course, I have other scars also.  I have a scar on my left cheek, high up near the corner of my eye.  That one actually looks like a dimple and most mistake it for that.  I have another scar across the notch area of the collar bone from my cancer biopsy.  I also have scars on the tops of my feet from a lymphangiogram (also from the cancer).  I have a scar on the back of my right hand. Thin, light, a wisp almost but it's there if you are looking.  Then, of course, I have a speckling of scars under my breasts from the breathing tubes and chest tubes.  Oh, and can't forget the scar from my daughter's c-section (breech anyone?). 

It occurred to me that if I tattooed every scar I had to "disguise" it, I could be a circus sideshow freak.  Or, these days, just work in a biker bar. 

As an artist, the idea of incorporating the scar into something artistic and beautiful had a creative vibe to it.

As a woman, as much as I like tattoos, I really didn't want to look like a tacky piece of bar trash.

So I ask Thomas for his opinion. He is a man.  A man who finds me incredibly attractive, I might add.  I had sort of expected him to maybe suggest some ideas for what types of art I could go with but his unreserved and almost emphatic negative was sweet.  And appreciated.

There are a ton of men in this world that value a woman for how she looks but ONLY if she fits into what society has manipulated them into thinking is "perfect".  And these men base their self worth on how close to perfect they can get with whatever woman they find.  Then, they proceed to show these women off as if to say, "Look at me!  I have a pretty girl so that must mean I am hot shit!  I must have an enormous penis!  I must make alot of money! I must be handsome as everyone else has to be as conceited as I am thus such a pretty girl would never be with a rover!"

Amusing. 

I have nothing against pretty women.  I love to look at them as much as the next person who can truly appreciate a beautiful thing.

What I find most wonderful though is that there are men who do not buy into this entire Madison Avenue, Beverly Hills, Hollywood, Fashion Runway ideal of what a woman "should" be.  They recognize that marketers want to manipulate the ideal of a woman's body for two reasons.  First, if they tell men this is what is worth money, men will spend money to get it.  Second, if they convince women that men will never want them unless they look like this, then women will spend billions of dollars to buy the latest shoes, makeup, accessories, diet plans, liposuction, and clothing to make them look as close to this ideal as they possibly can so they can get the man.

A vicious circle, no?

So, here is my secret.  I like that I am a pretty attractive woman.  But, I also like that I have flaws.  I like that there are things about me that would send the average Paris HIlton type weeping to a variety of doctors and boutiques.  Why?  It's called a FILTER.  Yes.  A filter.  It filters out the men who aren't worth wasting your time on.  It filters out the women who are petty and shallow and worthless for anything other then clothes hangers or a good fuck.

It allows you to identify those who have the true potential to be real friends.  And real friends are worth more then revolving door BFFs any day.

So.  My dear sweet Thomas says to me,

"Those scars are like the scars of a warrior.  They show what you have been through.  What you have fought against and what you have fought for. They show that you can stand tall and win over any challenge and that you are not afraid.  They show your toughness and your unbreakable spirit because when I see how many you have and that you are not a down trodden female but still a wild and spirited woman it shows me your true strength of character.  It shows me your soul. Don't cover them with meaningless ink.  Wear them proudly and to those who find them ugly and unattractive, it is because they have no respect or honor for what it took to get them."

A real man will love my scars because they are a part of me.

A real man will love my imperfections because they are what sets me apart from the plastic cookie cutter woman.

I am so honoured to know so many men and women who love me deep and true for who I really am. They love the beautiful me and they love the parts of me that only further enhance the beauty.

Thank you so much.  You all know who you are.

Time To Move On

(Originally written 13 June 2009)

I sat in the dark.  I watched. 
I had pride in my professional ability to witness hideous atrocities and not show a single emotion.  Years of work with the Sheriff’s Office seeing human rudeness as well as the viewing of homicide photos for my medicolegal studies had left me jaded and, I thought, pretty cool under pressure.  This was different.  I continued to watch.  I felt my throat constrict.  Tears threatened. I reprimanded myself and tried to do some deep breathing but couldn’t seem to stop the mounting anxiety.  I tried to close my eyes but I could still hear.  I made a critical decision.  I stood up and grabbed my purse and turned out the rear exit, trying to hold my sob until I got outside the theater.  I was momentarily startled as I almost ran into a tall dark figure that was also exiting in front of me. 

I burst out of the second set of doors and into the sunny alcove where there were a few conversation chairs and benches arranged for breaks.  I was even more surprised to see several other individuals coming out the rear exit on the other side of the theater.  We all had one thing in common.  We were all trying not to cry. 

I made my way to the huge expanse of window overlooking Route 28.  I found a tissue in my purse and did my best to dab at my eyes so that I wouldn’t look like a drowned raccoon.  It was quiet in the alcove and I listened to the others.  The man closest to me was a big tall Marine looking type.  Tough and buff.  Khakis and a casual black dress shirt.  And tears.  Suddenly I didn’t feel so bad about my own emotional slip.  If a big tough guy could cry then I supposed it was okay for me.  I stared out the window and wanted nothing more then to leave.  Go home to my new baby daughter and wrap her in my arms and kiss her.  This was too much for me.  For anyone.  How could we win?  There was no way we would ever be completely safe.  I stopped myself.  If we all thought like this then we had already lost.  I wasn’t raised a quitter and wasn’t going to start now.  I was going to compose myself, go back in there and learn everything I could to make a difference no matter how small.

I used to have a job that I loved and that I was proud of. I used to feel like I made a difference.  Now, I don't. My job has gone from something I enjoyed to something I dread. From something I took pride in to something I want to avoid.  I know I am valuable and I know I am worth something. I am looking for a new job so I can, once again, assist my coworkers and all my clients – Federal, State, Local, Public and Private.   This is important.  I will make a difference.  And I will not be steam rolled by one petty bitch's  ignorance and greed.

Time to move on.

*This was written after viewing a classified film that was part of a classified briefing at a location that might be obvious to some but was not named.

Sailing

Recently, I had the opportunity to try something that has been on my “to do before I die” list for quite some time.  I took a day of sailing lessons and raced a sail boat.  (We did this at work for a team building exercise).  I have wanted to learn to sail for a very long time for a few different reasons.  To me, sailing is the ultimate symbol of relaxation and achievement.  While some folks have dream of ruling the world or being mega super rock stars, I have a dream of sailing the world in a sporty little sail boat that is big enough for my husband and daughter and some amenities (like a potty and a kitchen).  It would have a cute name like the “Queen Josie” or the “Lost Shaker of Salt”.  I love Jimmy Buffet and deserted tropical beaches.  The sound of the ocean and the smell of the sea air.  There is something about the aesthetic of sailing that really gets me.  So, when an opportunity presented itself I took it!

I started the day at JWorld in Annapolis (these guys were all fantastic).  We were assigned in four ‘man’ teams to a J80 Sailboat.  Described as the sporty little star of race sailing.  It is a 26 Foot Sportboat as seen in the picture below.

Each team had to place their folks in one of four positions.  We had a driver that was responsible for steering the boat, a main sail trimmer (that is the big sail), a jib trimmer (that is the smaller sail in the front), and a strategist who is responsible for guiding the crew through the course and coordinating with the four other boats on our team so that we race as a team.  Yes, as you can guess, I was elected the strategist.  We spent the morning learning how to trim the sails which is a fancy way to describe pulling on the lines and sheets (there are no “ropes” on a sailboat I learned), remembering port vs starboard and doing such other boaty things such as ‘tacking’.  Tacking is when you turn the bow of the boat through the wind.  This usually caused the huge main sail to swing from one side to the other.   At this point, the crew must ‘duck the boom’ which refers to the big arm the sail is attached to as it swings.  Ducking is important so one does not get hit by the boom and knocked off the boat.  If the wind is good, getting hit by the boom not only will knock one off the boat but could knock you out or even break an arm or other important bones in the process.  Once we got warmed up and some what competent, we stopped for lunch and the strategists from all the boats had to meet and go over how we were going to win. 

Interestingly enough, the way the race worked was we all had to race as a team.  We would be given an order in which we had to cross the finish line.  If we were not in order then we would have to round the mark and try again.  If we crossed in order, they took our total time and then the delta of the time between the first boat and the last boat crossing the finish line.  The delta is added to the time and that is the score.  This was done to encourage team work as opposed to just one boat out racing ahead and leaving everyone in the dust.  Our team of five boats did really well.  We stayed together pretty well until almost to the end.  At that point, our last boat was seriously lagging as they lost wind.  The strategists called for a group tack and we all turned our boats in place to let the last boat catch up.  This worked wonderfully and we were doing great until the third boat went to cross the line and the wind just stopped.  Our last three boats just inched along and it took forever to cross and of course it blew out our delta.  Even though we were all over lapping it still look way too long for us to cross.  But, all things considered, we did come in second and we thought that was pretty damn good for a bunch of beginners. 

At that point we had to wait for some new wind but it wasn’t long before it picked up.  The race course guy had to reset the marks so we took our boats across the way to the new course and it was like flying!   Several times we had our boat almost sideways with the huge sail tight in the wind and the water racing inches from our backs!  The spray kicking up and the sun beating down.  The wind keeping us cool.  It was a thrilling sensation.  The rough power of the wind and the glide of the boat on the water.  We did much better on our second race.  We won AND had one of the smallest deltas they had ever seen.  7 seconds!  We regrouped and set up for our final race.  We did well, but not well enough and ended up placing second again.  The nice thing was….no one really cared.  It was just such a pleasure to be out on those boats and flying through the water.   When the last race was over, they announced ONE more race.  We were to race back to the marina all at the same time (the other races had been each team one at a time).  

If you could have felt what it was like!  Fifteen 26 foot sailboats all in a large group screaming as fast as possible across the bay….most of the time we were all so close together I could have reached and touched another boat!  I was sad that we were headed back and that the adventure would soon be over.  But I was absolutely floating on air that I had taken this opportunity to fulfill a dream! 

How I Found God

"Give It To Me Straight Doctor, I Can Take It!!!!!!!!!!"

-Dr. Johnny Fever

We were sitting in a noisy Ruby Tuesday restaurant on a Friday night.  We had just finished interviewing several candidates for our small local group of Satanists.  Our Unofficial grotto.  We were waiting for the last interviewee and I was getting tired and looking forward to going home.  My partner had gone up front to look for our person and soon returned with him.  We settled into the booth and began the interview.  The individual under questioning had filled out an application that seemed at first glance to have potential.  We had learned in the past, however, that a face to face interview needed to be a mandatory part of the acceptance process.  Paper does not always accurately convey the 'whole story' or the whole person.

We began with some simple small talk and I sat back to let my partner take the lead.  I was still learning how he did things and taking my own small notes on the side.  I liked to watch how he alternated between light hearted banter and grilling interrogation.  It was infinitely more entertaining then anything I would be watching on television if I had stayed home that Friday night instead.

As the interview progressed it became increasingly evident that our interviewee was not actually a Satanist.  At the conclusion, we asked him to give us a moment to discuss our decision and he wandered off to the bathroom.  We both looked at each other, rolled our eyes and agreed that it was not going to be a fit.  When he returned, I watched with interest as my partner rejected him.  I had never seen someone rejected in the few interviews I had attended so I was curious as to how he would handle this.  True to form, my partner was the picture of professionalism and manners.  He graciously and politely informed our guest that he was not ready for participation in our group and we were going to have to turn down his application.

The man was stunned.  He had made it clear that he had been a special forces team member and currently had an important job with a security clearance and was very obviously a high achiever.  What he didn't understand was that he wasn't a Satanist.  His immediate response was to ask for some guidance and feedback.  That was fine and my partner rattled off a list of literature, publications and essays that he thought the guy would find enlightening.  The man scribbled furiously into his day timer and made a nice neat little list of all the suggestions that were made.

Then he made the final and most critical error:

He asked, "If I do all this, how long should it take me to get there?"

My partner and I just blinked and looked at each other.  Trying to be civil while feeling suddenly like two wolves who had stumbled upon a sheep right under their noses we tried to gently explain to him that you didn't achieve Satanism like a medal or a cub scout badge.  He ignored this and demanded to know how soon he could interview again after he 'prepared'.  My partner simply smiled and told him he would never be ready and we had no desire to revisit this with him.  Good Bye.

He left looking hurt and slightly angry.  We sighed and sat back to discuss the episode.  My partner commented quite astutely that he appeared to be a man who had never been told no in his life or who had always managed to somehow accomplish everything through sheer determination.  Which is fine if you are a Ranger but not how you discover your black flame.  You can't force it.  It either is or it isn't.  "Do or do not, there is no try", as Master Yoda might say in his Top Ten of The Most Annoying Voices of All Times.

This prompted me to share my story on my search for God with my partner.  He is a fairly neat fellow who I feel a bond with and felt comfortable enough to share with.  I look back on it now and it is such an amusing story.  Almost as nauseatingly cute as a Satanic After School Special.  But, I shared it with him and I will share it with you.

***

It all began shortly after I got married.  Keep in mind that I was not aware that the CoS actually still existed.  I thought the extent of the group from the sixties was probably limited to a bunch of folks who met for dinner maybe once a year.  That it had been a big fad but fell off the radar screen.  I had no idea how wrong I was.  My husband had been on the road for a year and I had been running the household, working two jobs and taking care of my step sons all by myself.  I was growing more frustrated and tired by the day and started wondering why I felt so drained and empty.  I am not sure how or why I came to the conclusion.  I think it was some ridiculous television commercial.  You know, the ones where they have little children singing about Jesus in the background and telling you how happy you can be if you just accept the Lord into your heart?  Well, one night I started wondering.  What if they were right ?!?!?!?!?  Maybe that was what was wrong here.  I didn't actually feel I was being punished for my non belief...it was more like I saw all these ignorant and seemingly blissful Christians and decided I wanted that.  I wanted to be ignorantly happy and cheesy and blissful.

I decided I was gonna believe in God!

*pauses for the laughter to die down*  And I was dead serious.  I started that very night by going out into some AOL chat rooms where all the Christians gathered.  I literally threw myself at them and begged them to save me.  Convert me.  Fix me.  They were overjoyed, of course.  It was almost the rapture for them.  Fresh meat!  A blank slate.  So I listened.  I tried.  I said the words.  I read the books.  I studied the little handouts.  I tried.  OH LORD did I try.  I didn't argue with them.  I didn't challenge them.  I didn't question them.  I just told myself to follow the directions and it would happen.  This wonderful big daddy God that loves everyone would see how hard I was trying and come take me in his majestic arms and welcome me into his Kingdom.

*pauses for more laughter*   Soooo.  I keep trying.  And trying.  And it wasn't happening.  I am not believing.  It's like there was this huge non-connection thing happening.  I started to get angry.  Frustrated.  THIS IS NOT FAIR!  How come all these morons get to believe and I can't???  I just have to try harder.  I am smart.  Successful.  A 'good' person.  Really I am.  I CAN DO THIS!!!! 

And..............................................................................................................................nothing.

Finally, after several months, came the night.  The breakthrough night.  I was logged onto AOL again.  Trying again.  Begging, almost demanding that someone tell me HOW to do this.  I could go through the motions but the blissful ignorance WAS ESCAPING me because I didn't believe deep down inside.  And I couldn't figure out how to make it happen.  Was there a switch?  A button?  A fucking return receipt card I had missed somewhere?  Then this gentleman sent me a PM.  We started talking and he started getting very philosophical on me.  Which pissed me off even more because I wanted an answer and he wasn't giving me one.  As a matter of fact he was being so ambiguous that I couldn't tell whose side he was arguing.  He ended our chat by telling me I will find the truth when it was time to.

I shut off the computer in tears.  Literally.  I was crying.  Why is this so hard?  Why can't I do this?  I got so angry with myself and then....I did what I always did when I hit a challenge.  I gave myself a pep talk.  And, whenever I did that, I always dragged poor Anton LaVey into it.  WWAD?  What would Anton do?  What would the Doctor prescribe?  He would tell me to stop my blubbering and do something about this.  Every moment I spent crying was one less working towards what I really wanted.  If what I was doing wasn't working then I needed to try harder or do something different.  I got excited again!  YES!  I still could do this!  Tomorrow I will go and find a church!  I will .... I will....  I will figure this out.  I WILL believe.  I laid down in the dark.  I felt happy again.  I was going to do this.  I was going to find God.  And I laid there.  Snuffling and sniffling and thinking warm kind thoughts towards LaVey for, once again, providing me with a proper ass kicking and perspective lesson. 

I closed my eyes.  Snuggled into the pillow.  Cuddled under my blankets.....drifted off to sleep.  Then bolted upright in bed.  The closest description I could come to that moment is akin to some folks describing the moment they achieve Nirvana.  It was this blinding flash of realization and insight.  It hit me like a ton of bricks and literally knocked the breath out of me.  My mind raced towards this light.  All along the words I have been using to describe were that I felt empty.  Alone.  Incomplete.  Unfulfilled.  Confused.  Unfocused.  Lost.

And all the time I was looking outside for something to complete me.  I was looking for an external solution to the problem.  When .....the reason I was so empty and lost and confused and lacked focus...was because I had stopped or forgotten how to believe in myself.  The realization stunned me so much that my chin literally dropped.  I just sat there shaking my head and giggling.  Chuckling.  Then laughing.  Great huge body shaking laughs.  And with every laugh I felt more full.  More clear.  More focused.  Less lost.  I had been found.  By myself.  The realization that I was my own god was so profound that I was at a loss for words.  I simply felt myself fill with happiness and joy and I was smiling and warm and happy for the first time in months.  It was me all along.  In the darkness of my bedroom I did it.  For the first time in my life I whispered,

"Hail Satan!"

And it was magical.  I finally understood.  I finally felt complete.  I had finally found God.

***

I finished my story and took a drink of my iced tea.  My partner just laughed at me and commented on how now I must understand what it meant when they say you are born one.  You don't become one.  I nodded in agreement.  "I could see it in his eyes," I commented further....as he begged for directions and lists of books to read and steps to follow.  I remember being where he was.  Only we were looking for different things.  It was when I saw how hard he was trying that I knew he wasn't meant to be.  If you are....it will flow like a natural current.  There is no need to force it.  It just will be.  And if it is not there, it never will be. 

Satanists are born.  Not made.  It is as simple as that. 

Hail Satan, Hail Me.

Praise God!

Josephine Seven

January 22, 2003