What’s important is almost never what happens in the centre. It’s on the edges.
Where creamy skin becomes pink. Where pleasure comes with a clap and a pang.
And beauty escapes the rule of symmetry, and loses the balance.
And still, and yet, that asymmetry creates the best harmony.
People seeing this photo, which I took about five minutes ago, will think I look terrible. They’re right, I do.
But I think, “This is me just four days after scalpel surgery and then laser surgery on my face, and I’m recovering very fast.”
I think that because I’ve spared people the photos of me on days 1, 2, and 3, when my face looked like I’d been beaten up by the secret police, then pushed out of a car at high speed, then dragged by another car, and then rolling into the gutter, where people kept kicking my face for what must have seemed to them to be good reasons of their own.
The mutant’s progress
Day 1: I looked reptilian, because the flow of lymph fluid puffed up my face, and blew up the pouches round my eyes so I could barely see out of them. Mostly couldn’t see out of my right eye.
Day 2: The eye stuff had drained a little into the rest of my face. The rest of my face now looked like it had been inflated with a bicycle pump. I looked pig-like, though I was happy with that because at least I’d re-joined the mammalian order.
Day 3: I looked dead. You know the annoying guy who’s the first to meet the aliens when they land on earth, and they kill him and use his animated corpse to pass on threatening messages and generally do their work? I looked like him, the deranged evangelist whose rotting face makes dogs howl and children scream and run.
My nose was black, and swollen in an odd way that made it look like it’d fallen off and been hurriedly stuck back on with glue. Still, at least now I was back to looking human.
Day 4: Here I am. It looks nasty, but believe me, I’ve been looking at worse, lately. I feel about half-way back to being myself. The face colorisation is still weird, but most of the swelling’s gone, and the discolorisation is starting to fade, a little.
My face is shiny because I’ve rubbed a lot of haemorrhoid gel into it. The gel contains steroids to help repair, and has a mild anaesthetic effect. So you don’t have to stick haemorrhoid cream or gel up your ass; it has other uses.
Cancer scar
For the cancer op scarring under my lip, I’m using a light silicon gel as a wound dressing, as it’s supposed to reduce scarring.
Yesterday, the surgeon called me and said they got it all. I’m at the lowest possible risk of having to have more taken out later. So that’s good.
Top tip!
I recommend haemorrhoid cream or gel, by the way, for people who’ve been severely caned, strapped or whipped, and have to have their bottom back in socially acceptable condition within a few days. It’s an effective way of reducing bruising. See? Everything links back to bdsm, really.
Healing is hard work
Healing is hard work. I’ve just slept most of the way round the clock. I have so much to do, and no energy at all.
How do I feel?
I’m not in pain, or not much pain. I feel better than I look.
I’m taking steroids, on medical advice, to speed the healing. I’m finding that they fuck with my sleep, which is probably one of the reasons I’m so tired now. I was also prescribed codeine, and I think from now on I’ll use paracetamol during the day, and the codeine at night to help me shut down.
I’m relieved the cancer thing is over. Though I mostly just shelved thinking about it, and never worried all that much. So life rewards irresponsible insouciance, sometimes.
I’m grateful to the people who care about me and even manage to love me, and to science and the medical profession. I’m kind of amazed that I’m not more unhappy about all this, but the thing is, I can see an upwards path and I feel pretty positive.
And if you’re going to Eroticon, I’m looking forward to seeing you in about a fortnight. By then I’ll have a new face, or rather my usual one back.
This is a hot and loving scene, but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.
Note:
This story starts here.
Stephanie and I are in the children’s playground across the road. And Stephanie is bending over the top of the slide, so that her breasts and tummy are pressed across the cold, hard metal. She’s only wearing sandals and a little pair of shorts. I’m only wearing a shirt and my underpants. In the spirit of fairness. Less fairly, I’m standing on the slide steps behind her, tugging those shorts down.
Swinging 4
Stephanie reached her right hand back when she felt her shorts halfway down her ass, and the cold air breathing on new skin. I took her wrist in mine and pulled her arm a little to the left, so that she could feel helpless. Then I kissed her hand.
Stephanie said, “Ah-huh.”
“Put your hands back on the slide. Below your head. Low as you can reach.”
“And you’ll spank me if I let go?” She wasn’t asking for information. She knew that. She just wanted to say it aloud. I wanted to kiss her. But I couldn’t reach. So I tugged the shorts, and her knickers down till they were bunched at the top of her thighs.
“Lift up for a second.”
She did. I pushed the little bundle of shorts and panties down to her knees, then used my foot, on the gusset, to drop them to her feet. I did what any gentleman would and pressed myself her, cock hard, yearning, desperate to be in her, between the tops of her thighs, that sweet gap known to all as the inter-gracile, sub-pudendal fossa. We both sighed at the same moment. That felt good, and we wanted more of that, please.
There was just one problem. My condoms were in my wallet, and my wallet was in my jeans, and my jeans were, at Stephanie’s demand, stuffed into the post-box back at my place. So the thing we both wanted most was temporarily not on.
We were both more than likely to be STD-free (small provincial university, general condom use, and the fucking Stephanie and I did involved a relatively small social circle), and under some circumstances lust would have led to us taking the risk. We were horny humans after midnight, not role models. But aside from the STD issue, I knew that while I could pull out before I actually came, at that moment there was no way I could guarantee not to leak seminal fluid into her.
Stephanie said, “Are you going to fuck me?” In the tone that meant: what in hell is keeping you?
So I pulled back, and put my hand where my cock had been. And pressed up against soft, wet, girl-folds. I stroked her, fingertips just inside. Stephanie sighed, and turned her head, so her cheek rested on the slide. She was smiling.
I slipped two fingers along, not quite inside her, fingertips touching her clitoris, thumb pressing her asshole. I stroked, and Stephanie started to move against my hand. There were goosebumps on her buttocks and inner thighs.
She moved her feet further apart, giving me better access. Her shorts fell to the ground; she was a naked girl on a slide, and nothing to be done about it if anyone happened along. I pressed against her as close as I could with my hand working on her cunt. Stephanie blew a lungful of breath out, and breathed in more quietly; breathing was something she’d forgotten about. She murmured, “Yeah…”
I stroked, my world or my awareness of it shrinking to my hand and her cunt, moving not quite in unison, sliding together, skin to wet, yearning skin. And speeding up.
After a time Stephanie pressed down on my hand, hard, and said, “Oh.” I pressed a my thumb little harder on her asshole, and she opened. I moved my fingers in her, as hard and fast as I could as I could. Her feet left the slide, so she was supported only by her tummy balanced on the top of the slide. She shook her head, and grunted, deep and low. Her thighs clasped my waist.
I kept my hand in her, and with my other hand smacked her bottom. Hard. Four times. Stephanie lay still, relaxed. It seemed that I had the right to spank her. Provided I used sound judgement. And kept her warm. I said, “Warmth.”
And I set about stroking her, slowly again. I wondered how long it would take for her to come for a second time. We’d find out.
Note: The next episode is here.
Life is good, sometimes. To tell the truth, my lovely model had been perfectly good, too.
But… there are times when eliding the difference between goodness and badness is exactly what makes life so incredibly, fucking… good.
I wrote a novel about Frank Harris, Oscar Wilde, Lewis Carroll and the young Aleister Crowley about four years ago. It had too many characters and the plot was far too complicated. Also the strongest sequence came in the middle. It should either be the beginning or the end.
It’s called Harris’s Adventures Underground, after the original title of Alice in Wonderland. Anyway, there were major structural issues, and there was a problem with Frank Harris’s voice, as the narrator.
Frank Harris is, in sense, the opposite of Harry Flashman, George MacDonald Frazer’s anti-hero. Flashman was a coward, and various other sorts of bad man, but he was utterly honest and reliable in his “Flashman” memoirs.
Harris was a brave man, and mostly decent, but he could never resist improving any story he was involved in. As a result, you can never quite believe that what he writes is what really happened.
Harris wrote a lot, though few people have read anything more than his autobiography, My Life and Loves. But his style is very unfashionable now, and it was hard to write in his voice while still being readable and immediate.
I put it aside to work on other things. Now I’ve finished those other things, and I’m back to it.
It needs a lot of editing, and some new scenes. And I think I have a solution to the “voice” problem, though I’ll find out as I write it. But I think there’s something very strong there. So that’s my new project.
A side-effect is that until it’s done, my blog and my writing will have no cross-over. I think I’ll find that strange. What, no bdsm? What, writing in someone else’s voice?
But I’ll keep writing this blog at the same rate as now. I may do more shorter stories, since I’ve nearly got enough for a volume of bdsm-related, but also person-related, short stories. With interlocking characters. Maybe it’s the bdsm equivalent of “Slaves of New York”. Or some such.
And some things, like the Maddie saga, will go on forever, probably, unless I think of an ending.
(“Well,” gasped Maddie on her deathbed, “getting run over was unexpected, but it’s all been tremendous fun.”)
For now, I have three books to sell. Two novels and a non-fiction book on bdsm.
I’ve recently finished proof-reading them, and I found that it’s nice when you read something you wrote, and it’s well polished, and it feels real. The people act and speak credibly, each according to their own motivations , and they’re neither better nor worse than real people. Also, all three books are often sexy, sometimes sad and often funny. I feel good about them: they are good enough to be proud of.
On the other hand, I know that I’m shit at selling myself, commercially speaking, and… Well, frankly, the marketing issue scares the hell out of me.
I’m coming to Eroticon in London in March of this year, and I’m looking forward to meeting a lot of lovely people. I also hope I can get published and make a non-insulting amount of money out of that visit and those meetings that may arise from it.
I don’t write abou
This is a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.
Note
This story starts here.
But we start Episode 3 as Stephanie and I are amusing ourselves in a children’s playground, after midnight. I ordered her to climb up to the top of the slide, ahead if me. She obeyed.
Swinging 3
Stephanie reached the fourth step from the top of the slide. Her ass was level with the slide. I stood on the ground, still gazing up at her thighs, admiring the softly muscled crease of her buttocks and thighs. I said, “Stop. That’s just right.”
She looked down at me while I climbed up to join her. I stood on the fifth step from the top, so my cock, not quite contained by my underpants, was more or less level with her ass. I pressed my body against hers. This was the most intimately we’d touched, so far. My cock pressed, admiring, desiring, against her ass, and knew it was comfortable there. Her ass was the place for my cock to be. Stephanie pressed back against me, not only to keep warm.
I put my arms around her bare back, and held her breasts in my hands. Her nipples were hard with cold and arousal, rubber bullets between my thumbs and forefingers.
Stephanie turned, “Are we going to slide down together?”
She was thinking, I guessed, of my promise that her arse wouldn’t get cold on the metal of the slide. “Probably. You can sit on me.”
She smiled. “You can be in charge of keeping my arse warm. You spank Maires, don’t you?”
“Oh?” I hadn’t been aware I was in gossip quite that detailed. On the other hand, Maires was not a discrete kind of girl. “Well, yes. When she wants me to.”
Stephanie raised her eyebrows. “Oh. That’s all her, is it?”
“No, sorry. I just meant, I don’t do anything she doesn’t want. I wouldn’t do anything that you don’t want. Just being clear. But of course that’s not just just what she wants: I like spanking her. It’s, um, hot. Great ass, that Maires. Don’t you think?”
She looked away for a second. “Well, I’m not really into girls. But yes, she has a nice bottom. If you liked spanking girls, I can see that Maires would…” She looked back at me. She was blushing slightly. “Ah, anyway, yes, she’s got a nice arse. Fantastic legs. And I’m told she’s good at cunnilingus. By her boyfriend, no less.”
She was winding me up. I swung my body round to the side of the steps so we could press together and kiss properly. Stephanie nodded, and pressed into me, hard nipples against my shirt. I held onto the metal bar at the top of the slide with my left hand so I could put my right hand on her bottom. Stephanie sighed.
I patted her pretty little bottom, so lightly. I heard a chuckle from her, so I smacked her little harder. She kissed my neck. I smacked her again, a little harder still. I wondered if there was a point where she’d complain, but I didn’t want to find out. So I left my hand on her ass, kneading and fondling.
I focussed on the kiss. We opened our mouths. Her tongue touched my teeth. She put her arms round me, holding on to me and not the slide. She was depending on me. Literally. We kissed, changing the angle and exploring. My cock was pretty much entirely free of my underpants. It was, um, engorged. It was not cold.
Stephanie eventually opened her eyes again. “Shall we slide?”
“Hang on. No, I mean, hang on to the slide.” When she’d straightened and gripped the rails again, I swung my body back behind her. She waited. “Now, bend over.”
“What?”
“I promised you your ass wouldn’t get cold. I never made any promise about your tits. Bend over now. So your upper body’s on the chute. It’ll be cold, but it won’t matter.”
“You’re crazy, if you think–”
“Bend over, little Stephanie.” There was a pause. Stephanie considered various things. Which was stronger: cold, or fun and lust? Twenty seconds passed before I could say, “Good girl.”
“Hmmph!” But she said that with her head pressed against cold metal, her bottom the highest part of her body.
I climbed up one more step, and let her feel my cock slide between her upper thighs. She said, “Oh, jesus.” We stayed together like that, moving very slowly and very slightly together, savouring every micro-movement.
But eventually I drew back, and reached under her to undo the top button of her shorts. And I tugged. Down.
Nother note
The next episode is here.
Looking for a book. There’s a book up there somewhere, on aftercare for the spanked bottom.
But there’s something about girls and books, isn’t there? The combination is just so hot.
Photo courtesy of Tits and Test Tubes
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The Friend and The Acquaintance
A Slow Burn on a Summer Night.
Cervical Orgasms: the deep erogenous zones
Snow Day
Bad Dream
Heaven is a Place on Earth
Fucking Women
Laura’s Christmas
The Scent of a Woman
More than Friends: A Night Out
Eloise ~ Part one ~ Under my skin
Helios
Pain is confusing
I Don’t Want You to Hurt Me
Chemistry
There’s Many a Slip Twixt…
First Experience
Mixed bag/into my own eyes
Swinging 1
Lust and Will
Hot sunshine
Mortified
Stop Worrying and Learn to Love Fellatio
I come from sexual assault
A life in three tweets
-02.02.18_00:18-
The Four In the Morning Fuck