PETE: Why don’t we meet on here next week? If we’re still hot for each other, then we’ll decide the next move. If it wears off, if we just have some type of online infatuation, maybe we’ll know in a week.
LIZ: Okay. Let’s try that. I think about you all the time, too. Now, knowing that you want me makes me happy, but it confuses me even more.
PETE: Okay. So, we wait one more week to attempt to get ourselves detoxed from each other’s neurons. Can we do it?
LIZ: We have to detox. July 2 it is. I can’t wait.
PETE: Me either. We have to try to get grounded. Figure this out. I’ll be thinking about you every day. Oh, have you ever tried any of the things Ms. Jones writes about?
LIZ: No. That was a sneaky question. I’ll look for clues about BDSM. Let you know what I find out when we chat next week.
PETE: Touché. Dammit. Now I’ll never stop thinking of you.
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Blog 6 for PoetsCafe.org
June 10
PLATO TO POET.
Mrs. Trelawney has made my year. She came round this very morning, as she has been threatening to do for some months, with a trailer attached to her Old-Testament-era Land Rover. In said trailer were her seven lively Jacob sheep.
“Poet Jack,” says she to me. “They're yours. I'm done with 'em.”
I wrote a poem about Mrs. T and her Jacobs a couple of years back, in part because my first encounter with these sweet-natured creatures - and the whisky-natured Mrs.Trelawney - was at the West of England Agricultural Show one summer.
Mrs. T, with whom there is no arguing, had simply resolved her sheep days were done and that yours truly would take charge of her now much diminished flock, including 'Plato', her prize-winning ram, now in his dotage.
“Look at 'im, dragging his sack over the greensward,” says Mrs. T as we turned her sheep out into my pasture, adding an unflattering comparison with her husband, which delicacy constrains me to spare you, and because I know for a fact he still has a shotgun licence.
Malachy Busvine came as a bonus-ball surprise, the eighth Jacob, so to speak. Twenty-one years old, and as keen as a Cornish chough, Malachy rocks up to my barn and proclaims, “I mind the sheep.”
It turns out he had attached himself to Mrs. T's farm a year back as a self-appointed agrarian intern and felt that where the Jacobs went, so went he. “I work hard,” said he. “So do I,” said I. “I like that,” said he. “I don't expect to be paid, but I would like to learn poetry.”
Incredible.
At this point, Plato took it into his head to introduce himself to myself by butting me in the groin, knocking me over in my own pasture, and rearing up over my prone poetic form.
Malachy - in the proverbial blink - launches himself like a crazed rugby forward, catching Plato in mid-air, bundling said 200 lb. ram to one side, as I watch my life flash before mine eyes.
Plato the philosopher, you will recall, had no place for swivel-eyed poets in his republic, they being corrupters of youth.
“What do you want to know?” I ask my new intern, as he wrestles Plato the ram into submission by his fine array of horns.
“Everything,” he grunts.
I pacify Plato with a handful of sheep peas, after which we become the greatest of friends. That's Jacobs for you - gutsy yet eminently biddable.
Plato the philosopher had a point: we poets live deluded lives, drawing others into our fantasies, visions, beliefs, and fibs.
Perhaps our online world is a cave where cunning creatives throw wild shapes onto the walls, anything to snare the eyes of those chained to their screens in search of ... they know not what.
Yes, it is bad to be had. Yet see how it is when they give off shapes ...
Your poet *bows*
---------------------------------
Blog 7 for PoetsCafe.org
June 12
POET TO PLATO
.
Mrs. T was right, of course. Plato, my gift ram, was dragging his balls in a most lamentable way. Let the record show that I read this mildly erotic verse to him by way of an experiment. Malachy was in attendance, clipping away at a strand of rusty barbed wire twisted up in Plato's fleece. I recited with slow deliberation, engaging Plato eye-to-eye.
.
PROFOUND FLAVOUR
.
O you! My licky-lapping man
HELLO MOON! non-stop me again
O! O! O! yes sir, yessing you
My pollinator mister bee
See how my flower draws you in
Unfurl your butterflying tongue
O you! Hibiscus proboscis!
HELLO MOON! this man is ace!
O my! O yes! keep homing in
O yes! O my! O yes,yes,yesss!
Yessing you, my nodding donkey!
Gallop fly me the moon again!
I've got your salt upon my lips
An urgency of surgent words
I'm coming again, O! O! Stop!
O you, sir real man physical!
Your silent tongue's most eloquent
This verse of yours profoundly moves
How you licky-lapping kiss, you
Line my purse with honeyed bliss, you
O MOON ME! here I am again
It's raining peaches in my tent
This licking man's my calm deep rent
O my dizzy aunt, can't breathe... can't...
No! Yes! God, I'm on the moon! O!
Stop! Please, stop! Stop, stop, stop, stop! Yesss!
My god, you are a working man
Such competence, in one sir prize
My poet pollinator bee
My taster-in-chief, mischiefise
Your tongue astounds me silently
Your salt, o you, I'll soon make mine
To flavour life your salt I pine
To lick your sweat, your holy brine
Look into mine eyes mine all mine
Mistress Mistral, Bora, Sirocc'
My principal salt mine all mine
This mouth of mine commands your brine
My lips and tongue ... cocksure you're mine
~
Sadly, my non-tupping ram did not respond in any way other than to give me that, “Would-you-have-a-handful-of-sheep-peas-about-your-person, perchance?” look.
What I hadn't realised, despite Malachy kicking my ankle, was that Mrs. T had decided to pay us a surprise visit to see how her sheep had settled in. The first I knew of her presence - one tends to lose oneself when one is breathing a poem - was when she swooned when I got to 'commands your brine'. She was out sparko for what seemed like... And when she came round with a flutter of her eyelids, I swear she muttered, “Yes, John, o yes John, do it again Johnny.” Most odd, as Mr. T's name is Raif.
Malachy tactfully said he thought we'd better go and check the Stirk Pasture for barbed wire. Which is precisely what we did. Leaving Mrs. T to beat a somewhat flustered retreat.
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JUNE 27, 2003
PETE: I’m going to the cabin for a few days. Going to try to search my soul. Find out what’s going on. Spend some time with no electricity, no computers; just trying to understand. I just want you to know that you are never far from my thoughts. I think about you all the time. I would never want you to feel that you’ve been abandoned by me. XXX ph
JUNE 29, 2003
LIZ: You are so sweet! Thank you for that message. I’m going to stay offline, too. I miss you terribly. xo~me
JULY 1, 2003
PETE: Are you online? I don’t know if I can wait til tomorrow for you. I think I’m obsessed by you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. I need you. At the cabin, there was no one but me. Nature. The wind even seemed to call your name. Honest to God, Liz, one day a mockingbird was singing & part of his song was tick tock tick tock. My world has been waiting for you. Counting the minutes til we can connect again.
JULY 2, 2003
PETE: I’m here, b
aby.
LIZ: Oh, Pete, I’ve missed you so much. It’s like you said. This is an obsession. Maybe we are trying to live some fantasy. I’m not sure. I've just re-read all The Savage Blogs. I wonder what he would make of us! He makes me smile. To think that a far-off poetic spirit had a hand in US.
That said, I'm still just not sure what this all means.
PETE: Me either. I just know I have real feelings for you. A real desire for you. I don’t know if I can wait much longer. I start my vacation tomorrow—it was all planned before you came into my life. You know that.
LIZ: Yes, you mentioned it in an email. You’ll be back the 10th of July?
PETE: Yes. I’ll be with my family, so there won’t be any time to go online. I’m like an addict for you. The thought of another week without you drives me insane.
LIZ: I love you, Pete. I want to drive to Chattanooga. See you right now. There, I've said it. Actually, I deleted it twice. But I wrote it again. Now I’m going to hit SEND.
PETE: I feel the same, but I’ve got the kids tonight.
LIZ: Okay. We’ll just have to wait. Then July 10th it is. Can we try something just to help me find out for myself what’s going on?
LIZ: Pete?
LIZ: Hello? Where did you go?
LIZ: Pete? Oh, hello ???
PETE: Sorry, baby. Little emergency there. What do you want to try? I’ll do anything.
PETE: Liz? Okay, okay, now it’s my turn to wait. I get it.
PETE: Come back, sexy.
LIZ: Hey, don’t ever disappear like that again. You upset me.
PETE: Okay. I promise. Glad you’re back, baby. What did you want to try?
LIZ: IF this is a fantasy, I want to get it out of our system before our business meeting on July 15th.
PETE: Sure. What are you thinking?
LIZ: Long story short, I have access to an experimental software called Zen. It’s being developed for private, corporate chat rooms. Once you leave the chat room & delete the chat, there’s no archive. It’s all confidential.
PETE: I’m liking it. Is it for my office? If it is, just add it to the invoice.
LIZ: You mentioned something about BDSM a few days ago, when we were discussing Fables. Why don’t you meet me in a private chat room when you get back?
We’ll “live” out our fantasies in that chat room. That way, we’ll know when we meet on the 15th if this is real, or if it’s just online fantasy. If it is real, we will know before our business meeting in Dalton.
I’ll post the access code to the chat room on here for you.
PETE: So, you’re going to leave me a cryptic clue then?
LIZ: Starts with S ends with M. Yes. You could say that. Be prepared, I’ve been researching this. It might get
PETE: Hot. Steamy? God, I hope so. I really want you. I love you.
LIZ: I love you too. See you there & bring your appetite.
JULY 9, 2003
LIZ: Zen.com/testrun101
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Blog 8 for PoetsCafe.org
July 4
MOISTURISING THE MIND
.
Call it what you will. It's all around. In the myth, there's a monster on a remote hill. In our lives, there's a monster just a click or two away: #erotic #explicit #blah #pornadinfinitum. Its monstrous success is a triumph of primal prose.
.
ON THE WILD HILL
.
We is the monster made to thrill
Whose arms and legs and guts enmesh
This craven frotwolf in your flesh
Shy innocence we lust to kill
Our ugliness all beauty eats
Such is our appetites and greed
We're in your rampant primal need
You can't resist our raging heats
And so succumb - my succubus
To my ferocious hirsuit will
Your Life's essential surge to spill
To sanctify my hid'ous pus
We promise we will set you free
Though some call me porn-og-raph-y
.
by Jack O Savage
.
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Chapter 6
No Sweeter Dish
LIZ
Mistress. All words of importance must be acknowledged with a capital letter.
I am your Mistress.
PETE
Yes, ma’am. Oh, yes, Mistress.
Damn, Liz. Is that you?
LIZ
You can leave all your inhibitions. Once we finish with this room, I’ll delete it. There will be no record of it.
We’re all alone. We can say what we want to do. This is our fantasy room. It’s just you & me.
PETE
How did you learn this?
Not, how did you set up the room, but the BDSM part? Have you done this before?
LIZ
No, this is my first time. Never tried anything in a chat room or in real life. I’ve been researching. It’s amazing what you can learn online. You can learn from asking your hair stylist a few questions. Apparently, Atlanta has a lot to offer those interested in an alternative lifestyle. What about you? Have you done anything like this before?
PETE
I’ve fantasized about it a lot. I knew a girl that would let me tie her up, but that was long ago, back in school. Nothing as sexy as this.
LIZ
We’re going to pretend that I tie you up.
I’m going to be the Dom. Your Dominatrix.
PETE
Damn. I got hard just seeing those words. I’m getting harder, harder. It’s hot in here. Is it all right for me to say this? Tell me. I hope yes, but don’t want to offend you.
Do you love the thought of that? The thought of me being hard in your hand? In your mouth? Tell me. Tell me.
Liz
You are forbidden to speak until I allow it. Do you understand? Everything is for
My Pleasure. Only by
Pleasing
Me will you find the true meaning of pleasure. Do you understand me?
Pete
Yes, Mistress.
This is hot as hell. Is that a picture of you?
Liz
You are being a very naughty boy. Now you HAVE to do as I command.
How am I doing so far?
Pete
You’re kidding, right? I thought you had done this before. I’m impressed. You sound like an expert.
Liz
Okay. Guess that means I’m doing okay.
No, it’s not a picture of me. I found it on the internet. Now.
You need to learn how to please
Me, so I am going to give you a few lessons to help you. You will have punishments because you really are a very bad boy. Now, I’m going to give you your first punishment. Do you believe you are worthy?
Pete
No, Mistress. I am not worthy. I will take the punishment.
Liz
I don’t know if I can do this. Why don’t you just drive to Atlanta or let me drive up there tonight?
Pete
Baby, you know how late it is. We both have to work tomorrow. Does this make you feel good?
Liz
Yes.
Pete
Then, just pretend. I’ve never had a woman say she wanted to punish me. This is so hot. You’ve already made me hard. Now, just let me know what you want to do.
If I was there, what would you do next? What would you say?
Liz
Your lesson is to trust me.
Pete
Okay, Mistress. I accept my lesson. What do you want to say next? What would you want to do if I was there? Would I be your slave for the night?
Liz
You just made me so wet. I got chills all over my body.
Pete
Good girl. Now, just close your eyes. Imagine me there, willing to let you do anything you wanted. I’m already hard, so what would you say? What would you do to me? Go with th
at sexy playfulness you have. Touch yourself. Close your eyes; touch yourself. Let me know what I have to do to make you happy. What’s next?
Liz
Ohhhh, this is so much sexier than I imagined. Let me think.
Okay.
You have been so naughty & unworthy. You know that your Mistress deserves only the best. Today you are going to kneel naked in front of me while I blindfold you.
Pete
Damn. That is hot.
I’ll do anything you ask, Mistress.
Imagine me saying this to you
Yes, Mistress. I understand, Mistress, & I will do as I’m told.
What next, baby?
Liz
I would want to kiss you. Make love. I’m not sure I can do this.
Pete
This is a game, baby.
Let’s play our game. Then we can make love all night. Now.
Go on. What’s next?
Liz
Next, I cuff your hands behind your back.
Pete
Okay, baby. I’m on my knees in front of you. You’ve got me blindfolded. My hands are cuffed behind my back. What am I hearing in the room?
Liz
You can hear my heels on the wood floor as I walk around you, deciding what to do with such a naughty boy.
Pete
Oh yeah. What do you see? How does my cock look? What are you gonna do with it?
Liz
Your cock looks perfect—rock hard, but I'm not going to touch it yet.
Pete
Do you feel the heat? What’s the next question in our game? C’mon, you’re in control.
Liz
Are you worthy of
Me?
Pete
No, Mistress, you’ve already asked that question.
Teach me. What will you do to me now, Liz? Let me know, then tell me how wet your pussy is.
Liz
I pull up a wooden chair. Sit in front of you. My hot pussy is so close you can smell the animal desire. You can hear the wetness when I touch myself.
Pete
What about my tongue? Anything you want from it?
Liz
Should I allow your tongue to have a little taste?
Pete
My tongue. My body. My mind. Everything is your servant, Mistress. I love the scent of you and the sound of you. I love how you want me. You want all this. I want it, too.
Honest, my cock is twitching. You are making me want you so badly.
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