Luscious Litha

For the Yule half of this story: http://barbedpentacle.com/2013/12/ancient-dance/

For more on the Ivy Girl: http://barbedpentacle.com/2012/06/the-holly-boy-tied-up-the-ivy-girl-or-maybe-its-the-other-way-around-happy-litha/

 She looked at herself in the reflection of the bathing pool. She was filthy, thin, and her hair beraggled. Two days ago she had found a sparrow trying to make a nest in her hair; it was so horrible. She scrunched her eyes tightly to hide her tears as her Tendrils tried to gently tease out the knots. They were good girls, she knew, and they always tried to be gentle, but she was very tender-headed, and no matter how hard they tried, she always cried when they brushed her hair. Every day before the Oak King sent her into the fields, the Tendrils would braid her hair into simple peasant plaits and cover it with a poofy linen cap that her sunhat fit over, but every evening when she took the cap off, her hair would be unplaited and full of knots, tangles, and brush—and sometimes critters. Every Oak season was the same, and she never understood how it happened. It was just part of the magic of the cycle.

She let her mind drift to the coming opulence of the Holly King, that is if things worked the way they always did. Although without fail the brothers met twice a year to kill each other, the Ivy Queen always worried that this may be the year when things didn’t go as they were ordained, that her Holly King wouldn’t come back and that she would be stuck in an endless summer of hard work forever. She was tired of sweating. She shouldn’t work in the fields like a peasant. She was a Queen! She shouldn’t be tanned like the Oak King.

Her skin should be white to better show the lusciousness of her cool ivy leaves. She missed her castle where she could cavort and frolic with her Tendrils without the interference of the ever present Oak. His low growl of “Back to work” never left her ears, nor the exciting chill of dread that sprouted in her heart when he would touch the buckle of his belt or when he would glance between her and the whip hanging from the wall. The Tendrils washed her with whisper light touches over her thin, hard body. They drew the rag up between her small breasts and over her protruding collarbone. The Queen longed for her curves that had to be contained in an endless line of beautiful corsets. All in due time, she thought, all in very short due time.

She thought back to the Oak King touching his belt buckle and shivered.

Catch the irony?

He rarely punished her in that matter. The Tendrils started washing her thighs, and she opened them wider. One of her girls started to gently rub the tiny nub that always brought her so much pleasure. Instead of beatings, the Oak King was fond of the saying, “No work, no food.” He used hunger to motivate the people to do his bidding. Everybody worked hard, but he worked people so hard that their caloric earnings couldn’t keep up with their caloric spending. “Mmmmm”, she sighed as the Tendril rubbed a little faster and harder.

Everything wasn’t horrible with the Oak King. He did enjoy his pleasures, although they were of the more rustic variety. And she enjoyed sharing his pleasures, when he allowed. Often though, he would take a Tendril out with him into the wild wood, and either make her experience his touches vicariously through her girl’s retelling or be made to watch while she was imprisoned in a hollow oak tree.

She hated the tree most of all, since the hollow was only barely big enough for her to stand in and her arms were pinned to her side, not allowing her to masturbate in any way. There were times, however, when he touched her and melted her natural resistance to his authority. Once, during a terrible spring storm, the Oak King had spirited her away into the wind and lighting, pushing her back against a broad strong oak tree, pinning her hands above her head, and fucking her roughly while the rain and hail pelted them, leaving bruises on her slowly tanning skin. The Queen knew that she still had the scars where the tree’s bark had torn into her back, leaving the Oak King’s mark upon her skin.

At Beltane, when all the young men came to treat a Tendril for the night, the Oak King, just like a young swain, built her a cool, soft leafy bower for their sacred coupling. As gently as a nervous groom, he shyly took her with his perfect priapic wand, taking almost all night for her being to burst into a frenzy of fireflies and stars.

That was her sweetest memory of him. She fancied that that night was the sweet meat beneath his hard shell, but she was allowed to taste it so rarely, she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Ohhhhh,” she gasped, remembering his rod moving back and forth slowly inside of her,his rough tip rubbing her most sensitive spots. One of the Tendrils slipped a small wet fist into the Queen’s vagina and started to flex her hand.

Then, most recently, there had been their coupling in the field of partially ripe wheat. He had ordered her Tendrils to strip her of the simple brown shift that she was allowed to wear during the Oak King’s reign. Then he had blindfolded her and led her forward with a strong hand around her wrist. As she stumbled behind him, her skin was burned by the unrelenting sun, her nostrils were assaulted by the smells of grain, grass, and humid earth, and her ears rang with the drone of millions of insects. The wheat, about waist high, had switched and cut her thighs, leaving hundreds of little scratches. It had even tickled further up, sometimes even dipping between her nether lips. By the time the Oak King brought her to a halt in the middle of the field and removed her blindfold, her pussy was dripping, further irritating the tender flesh of her thighs, and she was covered in a heavy sheen of sweat. Through the memory the Queen was aware that her Tendril’s hand was moving even faster. She moaned louder with pleasure, knowing that she was close to coming.

The Oak King had invited her to lay down amongst the wheat, the dust and dirt of the field turning to mud against her sweaty skin. He took a length of wheat and teased her abused thighs with it, tickling her, working his way over her sunken tummy and breasts. He tickled and rubbed her nipples with the wheat kernels until they started to bleed. Then he took the wheat head and caressed further back from her vagina, moving her wetness back to lubricate her ass.

With out much thought she had lifted her hips and opened up as much as possible to him on her own. He teased her tight hole with the acorn head of his penis, being more patient than was his wont, slowly rubbing her in tight circles, coaching her body to slowly open up and swallow him. His entrance had made her stiffen and cry out in pain, but his slow persistence soon convinced her body to relax. The Ivy Queen remembered that she had lost herself in the blinding blue of the sky until it all started to feel good. The Oak King had been very attentive to her that day. He took his time and went as slow as she needed him to go, only starting to pump her dirt coated ass harder when she pulled him fully on top of her, wrapping her legs around him to pull him tighter. She remembered how the wheat tickling her soles had pushed her over the edge.

“Oh!” the Queen gasped and clamped down on the attending Tendril’s hand. Ivy Queen started to giggle, allowing herself to climax. The harder she came the louder she laughed. Then a loud knock on the door shattered the moment.

Her summons had arrived. The Oak King was ready for her, for what may be their final mating of the season. The old fear returned. What if this time, the Oak King prevailed for another six months? What then? She didn’t think she could bear any more of the Oak King’s austerity. Besides, she longed for her own castle. The Holly King allowed to her to come and go as she pleased with her Tendrils. The Oak King never let her go beyond the fields unless he was with her. The Holly King always invited her to share his plush bed. The Oak King insisted that she maintain a pallet on the floor in a dark corner of his chamber. The Holly King was robust and dark yet endlessly mirthful. The Oak King shone like the sun, tall and sturdy like his tree, but he rarely laughed, and then usually at her expense.

The Tendrils smoothed her wet hair down her delicate back. They had dressed her in a simple green tunic that swept the floor and opened fully down the front. As she followed the King’s servant to his chamber, the Oak Knights caught sight of her apple tits and ripe peach. The Queen was conscious of their stares, and despite her blush, she held her head high and glided on. The Oak King was standing before a wide window, gazing out into the courtyard bathed in the late morning sunshine. It was already hot. The spring breezes had ceased several weeks ago, and now it was swealtering. The King stood with his back to her, straight and tall. She always wondered what the brothers thought about in the final hour before the fight. Neither one ever appeared to be nervous or even the least bit concerned. She was the only one who ever seemed nervous. Each brother bore his fate with an unfathomable faith that the cycle would be never ending, that nothing would go wrong.

The Ivy Queen took a deep breath and shrugged her robe off, leaving it a green puddle on the floor. The Oak King turned at the soft thud of the fabric. A greedy, slightly malicious smile twitched on his lips. He took her ALL in fully. It wasn’t often that he saw her freshly scrubbed. He kept her too busy at her chores. She was finally the way he liked her best. She was whispy, yet the delicate muscles that rippled under her bronze skin belied the physical strength she had slowly built up during the growing season. Her hair hung down straight and brown, with blond and red highlights bleached in from working in the sun. Her attitude was tempered too. At the beginning of winter she was always full of disrespectful quips and constantly challenged every order and request. But by the beginning of summer, the Ivy Queen’s attitude was as pliable and agreeable as an ivy vine. Every year he was tempted to keep her naked once the weather grew warmer so that he could see the changes in her body more easily, but he had yet to command it. Perhaps this spring….

“Please lay on the bed, my Lord, and allow me to pleasure you one last time.” The Ivy Queen requested quietly meeting her lord’s gaze. He cocked his head at her, wondering where this was going to lead. It wasn’t like her to be willing to give pleasure. The Ivy Queen was a very selfish lover and felt that people giving HER pleasure was a tribute always due her. She met his gaze full on and pointed at the bed. “Please, my lord.”

As requested, he laid down, stretching his full length out. The moment he had sense her in his room, he had become aroused. This was the epitome of everything they had worked on for his half of the cycle. He felt confidant that he could turn the world over to his brother for six months and that due to his hard work and staying after the populace to also work hard, that civilization would still be here at mid-winter when it was time to for him to take control again. The Ivy Queen pounced on him, untying his trousers and releasing his semi-erect penis.

She bent her head and finally started to show him the respect that he felt he deserved. At first she lapped at his bobbing member like a kitten, paying special attention to the vein underneath. Each lap made him harder and harder. Then she opened her rose petal lips wide and pulled his cock into her mouth with a suction that took his breath away. She had never deigned to pleasure him in this manner. Her skill shocked him. It felt as if his penis were encased in vines, each one hugging and releasing at a different pace. He got lost in the sensation and felt that he was close, very close to spilling forth in her mouth when he felt something cold and sharp against his throat.

The Oak King’s body became still and rigid. The Queen slipped him out of her mouth and gave him a wicked smile. She pushed the small knife into his neck a little more, and a small bright stream of blood started to trickle down his neck. The moment was suspended in time and space, the Fates spinning and weaving furiously to get the cycle back on track. Finally, the spell was broken, the proper weft repaired in the fabric of time. “You seem surprised, my Lord. You shouldn’t be. Every year I’m always worried that something won’t go right, that the One I look forward to best won’t come back.” She slowly drew the grafting knife along his neck, leaving a thin but shallow line of crimson.

The thought of the Ivy Queen, that insolent and ungrateful bitch, plotting to slay him in his own bed jolted him out of his shock at the turn of events. He wrapped his long, strong legs around her tiny body and flipped the Queen in a wrestling move. She screamed and stabbed his shoulder, leaving the knife in his flesh. He had her pinned to the bed spread eagle, keeping her in place with his bleeding body. He roared, “How dare you! How dare you! After every thing I’ve provided for you? How dare you try to interfere? And favorites? How dare you even think to choose! My brother and I are different but equal. We are both necessary to the cycle. And you, dearest bitch, are the fulcrum that keeps it all balanced. You worry about things not turning out the way they should each turn of the wheel? If they don’t turn out correctly, you and your choosing favorites will be to blame! Nothing that I’ve done!” His eyes burned into her as hotly as the noon sun did outside the window. The look truly scared the Queen. The King turned his head from her and bellowed, “Bring the brambles and the nuts!” Within an instance the room was filled with several Oak soldiers, one carrying a sack full of something and the other ones bearing yards and yards of thorny brambles.

“What, what are you going to do?” she whispered, swallowing hard. This was not going well at all.

“Hold her.” The King commanded the soldier holding the bag. He did as commanded, replacing the Oak’s body with his own. The Ivy Queen closed her eyes. The fact that a commoner was on top of her at the King’s bidding was too much for her to bear. She could feel the King’s strong, hard hands grabbing her wrists and pulling them over her head. Around each one he tightly wrapped the bramble vines, their barbed thorns grabbing and biting into her flesh. She felt something cold and sticky being laid on her throat. The Queen realized that it was the knife she had left in Oak’s shoulder. She tossed her head until it slide off of her.

“Quit!” The Oak King growled. “You will be still and take what’s coming to you. And you’ll figure out a way in your twisted, viney brain to enjoy it so that the balance is restored. No more favorites!” As commanded she stopped. He pulled first one and then the other ankle tight with the bramble vines, spreading her as wide as her limbs would allow. The soldier climbed off of her and gave her a pitying look as he and the others left the room.

The Oak King was still hard. In fact he was harder now after their tussle than he had been when he was at the point of climaxing a few minutes earlier. He stripped off his clothes and straddled the Queen’s neck, smacking her enchanted face with the one and powerful Priapic wand. She started to sob. She was so tired, so afraid, so sure that this was going to finally be the end, so turned on that this was finally going to be the end. Finally something different was going to happen in the cycle. Her tears pushed the King back to almost climaxing. With firm, sure strokes he rubbed his rod and exploded all of the Queen’s face. She gasped in shock and embarrassment. Her eyes streamed more tears as the semen burned her eyes. Without meaning to she inhaled it up her nose started sputtering and sneezing in an effort to breathe.

The Oak King waited for the Queen to compose herself. He knelt between her legs and picked up the bag and poured acorns all over her. She shuddered, not sure she could bear where this may be headed. The King smiled at her glistening sex. At least her body made an effort to obey him even if her heart didn’t. Slowly and methodically he dipped an acorn into her juices and then pushed it past the tightly crimped petals of her hidden rosebud with a pop.

“Oh!” the Queen exclaimed. She struggled to scoot away from the King and his wicked acorns, but the brambles only dug deeper into her skin. Finally she gave up and lay still while the King inserted one after another, each time dipping and rolling it in her cunt first. Each inserted acorn made her whimper. Every time she breathed she could feel them moving within her. At first it felt horrible and embarrassing, but now with each acorn and breath she felt more and more aroused. She could feel her juices dripping down from her spread lips and into the crack of her ass. She heard her king chuckle. Her king, had passed almost unnoticed through her brain, but the uncomfortableness of her bonds caught it just in time to register in her mind.

When he felt that the Queen was full enough behind, he started stuffing her pussy, popping the acorns in two at a time. His time was running out, with the sun almost directly over head, and he wanted to make sure that the Ivy Queen was full of his seed for when his brother tried to mate with her later today. She lifted her hips as much as her prickly bonds would allow. “Please,” she pleaded in a husky voice and pushed her pelvis toward him.

He chuckled again, but didn’t give her the pleasure of a verbal response. He just kept popping the acorns into her. She writhed with the uncomfortable pleasure of it all, ignoring the barbs tearing her skin. There was a heavy knock on the door. The King didn’t answer it, nor did the person on the other side open the door enter. The King knew what the knock meant.

“Well, my dear Ivy cunt, it seems that our time for this cycle has come to an end. My brother has arrived. I trust that if things go as they must, that you’ll receive me warmly into your body come Yule. I’ll be most curious to see if anything has sprouted or if you were able to get all my seeds out.” She stuck her tongue out at him and was going to respond when a new pain silenced her. The Oak King cut her ankle bonds from the bed, but now he was winding new brambles around her ankles, binding them tightly together. He wrapped even more up around her legs and thighs, making sure that they were lashed tightly together. She groaned at the new pressure created in her very full body. Using the same knife that she stabbed him with, the King cut her wrists from the bed and pulled her up into a sitting position. The sound that came from the Queen’s lips was unlike anything the Oak King had ever heard. It was a mix of scream, groan, ecstatic moan, and a growl. The sensation of sitting up with so much inside of her was overwhelming. She came hard repeatedly, her head filling with bright lights and fire. Her body tried to dislodge the acorns, but they were held firmly in place by her tightly closed legs. She shook uncontrollably for a moment and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

When the Ivy Queen regained consciousness, she nearly lost it again from fear. Her eyes fluttered open to see the Oak King striding out of the castle to meet his brother the Holly King, who was just as handsome as ever. She wanted to call out to both of them, but she was unable to. The knife that started her whole late morning ordeal had been wrapped in ivy vines and crammed into her mouth and tied to her tightly. She tried to calm herself. When she had fainted, the Oak King had continued trussing her, binding her arms tightly to her sides with the brambles, bringing the jagged tooth vines up and around her breasts, over her shoulders, and then back under her arms in a harness. Then he had proceeded to hang the Ivy Queen out of the bedroom window. Each wiggle injected her nerves full of pain and pleasure. She was afraid that if she moved much that the brambles would snap, letting her fall to the cobblestone court yard below.

She saw the Holly King gesture up to her, but she couldn’t hear his question to his brother. The Oak King’s answer was out of earshot, and he pointed to the shoulder that she had stabbed and the cuts on his neck, both of which had magically stopped bleeding. The Holly King then turned fully in her direction and gave her a look that both scared and excited her. She knew from his look that the Holly King fully intended to continue the Oak King’s punishment of her even after he had dispatched his brother. Then both kings raised their swords in a salute to each other and the fighting commenced. The clashing of the swords sounded more terrible to the Ivy Queen than it had at previous fights.

Both men, to her, seemed to fight harder too. Unlike in previous years, she now could find no enmity in her heart toward the Oak King. He was right. It was unnatural for her to show favoritism. The fighting this time went on longer than usual, both men sustaining deep wounds that would have killed mortal men. Fate finally interceded, and the wind picked up. Dust flew through the summer air. The Holly King kept his head down to avoid getting dirt in his eyes, but the Oak King worried that his bramble harness may not hold in the wind. He looked up to the Queen, and at that moment, his eyes were filled with dust. He never saw his brother’s fatal thrust. His dark blood spilled over the cobblestones, making mud out of the dirt packed between the pavers. Deep, horrible sobs wracked the Queen, making her suspension a terrible torment. Her sobs choked in her throat, caught behind the knife gag. Just like always, the slain king’s body slowly started to disintegrate and disappear.

a Rafflecopter giveaway
Paying the Bills, upcoming Events, and For Your Information   



Sign Up Today!


EdenFantasys

 

Try Play Vapor Electronic Cigarettes today!

What the word “network” really means, mother fuckers!

It’s that time again!  It’s June, which means that it’s time for the Pagan Values Blogject!  This year I’ll be posting two posts that both deal with interacting with people other than yourself.  To see other PVB posts from me and other people for 2015 and previous years, check out: https://paganvalues.wordpress.com/

Very few people these days, Pagans and non-Pagans, seem to understand what a social network really is.  It is not a place to post all kinds of crap about yourself and then expect no one to see it and share,  nor is it a place to post all kinds of stuff about yourself and then to become depressed because nobody comments on your post.  A social network is a place where you are suppose to connect with people in a social manner, for whatever purpose that may be: personal, business, or religious.  That means that you need to use some common sense, good manners, and put your best fucking face on.  That means that you should expect to get friend invites from people you don’t know who think you might be neat to get to know based solely on the tiny bit about yourself that you’ve put in your profile.  Don’t be a dick about it.  If you don’t want to friend the person, just hit decline.  Don’t send them rude messages demanding to know why you sent them a friend request.  And the sites that make you message a person before you send them a friend request (um, like Fet Life) are ludicrous.  It’s a social network site.  You’re there to make friends with people you don’t know.  By sending a friend request you are asking that person to be your friend.  It’s tedious and redundant to have to send a message and then send a request.

People judge you on your posts.  If you rant all the time, you’re going to appear to never be happy.  If you talk shit all the time, people are going to think you’re never happy.  Social media sites are not suppose to be used as group therapy.  That’s why you go to the health department and get hooked up with a group that meets once a week in a church basement or community center.  If you use social media sites as group therapy, you come off as crazy.  If you find that you’ve used social media in any of the ways mentioned above in this paragraph, then you need a blog.

Apate, Greek Goddess of Deceit

Pagans, if you join groups on social media sites that cater to Pagans, people will know you’re Pagan.  If you post Pagan things on your social media accounts, people who you may not want to know that you’re Pagan will soon find out that you’re Pagan.  Therefore, don’t whine and complain when you’re suddenly kicked out of the broom closet.  You are the one who put that information on the Internet for everyone to see, despite what you think you’re privacy settings are set to.  Everybody, especially the government, can find it all out because you put it on social networking sites.

If somebody does something with your information that you don’t like, don’t confront that person in public, especially at first.  Use some common sense and manners and private message the person.  Calling somebody out in public is only going to make the situation worse.  You may think you’re a badass, but chances are the person you just called out is a bigger badass.  And if they’re Pagan, they may work more in the gray areas of magic than you do.  Be nice and private message.  The reality of the situation is that for the most part, you rarely really know the people that you’re connected to on a social network site, but I would bet good money that it’s very easy to track down your physical location from your social network account.  Don’t piss people off needlessly.  It could backfire in ways you’ve never imagined.  Also, don’t be stupid enough to make threats online.  I see people getting mad over stupid things and doing this all the time.  If you make a threat online, then it’s a public threat which can be used against you in a court of law.

And finally, don’t be offended when people share things from your social networking account without asking.  If you don’t want it shared, don’t fucking post it.

Most of what I’ve said here is common sense, but nobody, especially the average Pagan, seems to have any common sense or manners anymore.

I guess they were too busy meditating when their parents and teachers tried to teach them how to be polite to other people.

Paying the bills:


EdenFantasys



Try Play Vapor Electronic Cigarettes today!

A Sweet Great Rite: A Pagan Service Announcement

Hot, fresh Krispy Kreme doughnuts straight off the conveyor belt are one of my favorite things.

In fact, they cause the same physical, mental, and psychological responses in my body that I experience during an extremely intense orgasm.  My brain floods with endorphins,  my eyes roll to the back of my head, my doughnut spasms, and I spill over with my very own sugar glaze.

If you don’t believe me, ask the Krispy Kreme workers.  There are hundreds of them running around the Southeastern US that have seen my cute O face and heard my sighs of pleasure.  And it has to be Krispy Kreme.  Those Yankee carpetbagging cake doughnuts from Dunkin’ Doughnuts do absolutely nothing for me except to make me want to start humming “Dixie”.

 

Today, June 5th, is National Doughnut Day.  It’s nothing but a ploy by the pastry industry to make you fat and penniless.  However, here at  ”The Barbed Pentacle”, we are going to start a new tradition:  The Sweet Great Rite!  The Sweet Great Rite should be celebrated whenever you feel hungry and frisky, not just on June 5th!  Why the Sweet Great Rite?  Well, let’s be honest.  A doughnut is nothing but an edible facsimile of a vagina, just like a taco.  It has a hole, it’s sweet and yielding, and you just stick your tongue through the hole and start gobbling.

If it’s a hole-less doughnut, then it must be a virgin.  Take care not to hurt it too much as you pop that hymen and suck the sweet creamy goodness out!  Just only have doughnut holes?  Then you suck.  You got the sloppy seconds.  Plus, doughnuts come in a box that seems absolutely endless until there’s nothing left and you’ve hit the cervix.

What about things like eclairs and those long twisty pastry things?  They’re pastry penises that love penetrating lusciously sweet doughnuts all morning long.  They can plow through a dozen at a time.

Now, if the female twat doesn’t arouse you, doughnuts can also be male twats, also known as assholes.

I’m pretty sure, based on my different drug-induced hallucinations, that eating a fresh Krispy Kreme doughnut is just like eating out the Goddess.

It’s hot and steamy, the pastry yielding gently and willingly to my tongue and teeth, sweet glaze dripping everywhere in obscene pleasure…….

The Sweet Great Rite can be celebrated in several different ways.  The most fun way is to take your fried yeast doughnut and lay it on your partner’s orifice.  Then start the fucking, with whatever you normally use.  If you’re not equipped with a penis or a dildo, get a pastry penis!  Then just eat and fuck your way to a sweet and sticky orgasm.  Remember, if you’re truly doing the Great Rite, you need to open yourself up to the energies of the Lord and Lady, in whatever aspect you worship them in.  Otherwise it’s just food sex, which is fun too.  If you’re by yourself, well I’m sure you can get creative.

Sponsor a Party!  http://barbedpentacle.com/sponsors-click-click-click-click-click/party-sponsor/

General Advertising Opportunities and Rates

Click to get into the guide!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

 

Now Accepting Bids for Perchta Power Project Soap

Soap can be used in many different magical applications.  With that said, I am currently accepting bids from soap makers to a make custom batch of soap for The Barbed Pentacle and the Perchta Power Project.  I will pay for the labor, materials, and shipping in cash via Paypal.  Your profits will be paid to you via advertising and intense pimping out.  So, when you submit your bid, you’ll need to have those two figures in your email.  Please email me at chirpatsparrow@gmail.com to find out more details and to get an ingredients list.  Bidding ends July 1st, 2015 at 12:01 AM EDT.

Paying the bills and announcements:

Be a Party Sponsor!  http://barbedpentacle.com/sponsors-click-click-click-click-click/party-sponsor/

General Advertising:  http://barbedpentacle.com/sponsors-click-click-click-click-click/209-2/

http://barbedpentacle.com/barbed-pentacle-yule-gift-guide/

Sign Up Today!

http://barbedpentacle.com/barbed-pentacle-yule-gift-guide/
a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

 

Is that a crystal in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?

I’ve been consuming a fair amount of tea lately, and while I was consuming this herbal tea I read the book Crystals for Beginners by Corrine Kenner.  I LOVE gemstones and I love hunting for gemstones, but despite my past attempts, I never really got the whole “love your crystal like its a pet” kind of mentality that a lot of Pagans have.  Yeah, I have some gemstones on my altar, but I’m not even really sure why they’re there.  Occasionally in the past I’ve used gemstones in magical or energy work, but there was never any kind of communication with these gemstones.  Well, that has changed.  Corrine Kenner’s book is not a magical field guide to gemstones and minerals as so many crystal books are; this book is a great user’s manual for crystals of all kinds.  All the activities that had been proposed in past crystal books that made no sense or seemed stupid all now make sense.  And I discovered something else, crystals can be extremely sexy.

Forget the magical correspondences of gemstones that can be incorporated into sexual play for a moment.  Just the energy that crystals transmit alone is reason enough to integrate them into sexual practices.  They can give things a jolt, particularly if you do electro-play.  Crystals can be charged up with a person’s desires and intent.  When these charged crystals are inserted into the body, then that energy will transfer to that person.

If you have not explored using crystals and gemstones in sex, now is the time.  There are several manufacturers of carved gemstone penises and dildos, but some of them are quite cost prohibitive.  Instead, you can use a large crystal.  Crystals are ideal for insertion play since there are such a wide variety of shapes and structural types.  Crystals can be heated in the sun or chilled in the freezer for heightened sensation.

Not only can crystals be inserted into orifices, they can be laid in cracks and crevices, and clumps of crystals can be used as tactile stimulants.  You can slip one into your panties for all day gentle stimulation.  I think I’m going to sew little holster on the inside crotch of all my panties so I can slip my little crystal in there for rubbing on the go!

Pele, a mother of igneous gemstones.

Gemstone beads can be made into anal beads.  I looked on the Internet for some already on the market gemstone anal beads, and I didn’t really see any worth purchasing or promoting, so I’m going to make my own.  I’ll keep you posted!

Another way to get a crystal’s energy into you is via a gem elixir enema.  Gem elixirs are made by leaving a crystal in a cup of water out side over night in the moonlight or in the sunshine for a few hours.  Heating the gem elixir in the sun would be a nice way to heat the water for a warm water enema.

One word of caution: crystals can have sharp points and edges that may damage skin and tissues.  If you think this may be the case with your crystal, slip it into a condom before use.

 

Crystals’ powers and magics can be transferred to a person in sadomasochistic ways other than insertion.  They can be transferred via flagellation.  A gem flogger can be made by gathering together 2 to 3 foot bunch of lengths of heavy twine, plastic lacing or thin leather cords.  The traditional number of cords is nine, but it can have as many or as few tails as you want.  If you wanted to be fancy, you could use number magic in determining the number of tails.

Gather up one end of the tails into a clump and rubber band them together.  You can wrap this in duck tape for a crude handle, or you can research online how to make a finished handle.  On the other end of your flogger, slip one or several gemstone beads onto the end of each tail.  Then knot the end to keep the bead on.  A prayer or wish can be said when you tie each knot for a little  knot magic.  Be careful when you play with this flogger.  It’s very easy to cause damage with thin tailed floggers and with floggers with things on the ends of the tails.  So, use a very light hand, especially at first.  If you doubt your abilities to wield your new flogger in a safe way, then practice on a pillow.  

I highly recommend Crystals for Beginners.  It’s a great companion to Scott Cunningham’s book on crystals.  It is more of a New Age book instead of a Pagan book, which makes it very accessible to people of all different religions.  There are foot notes and a bibliography, which makes me extremely happy.  Plus, it’s easy to read and navigate.  Here’s the Amazon link:  http://tinyurl.com/oh6r7pk  Thanks Miss Meow Meow for passing the book along to me!  I’ve enjoyed it during my tea time.

Paying the Bills and helping folks out:

Phantom September:  http://phantomseptember.tumblr.com/  (contact him for an art commission)

http://barbedpentacle.com/barbed-pentacle-yule-gift-guide/

Sign Up Today!

 
a Rafflecopter giveaway


Sparrow vs. The Phantom: Episode 2

As you will remember from the last episode, The Phantom and I were discussing Edmond, his cat.  Remember, I’m in pink and Phantom is in blue.

Wow!  I wish I had had that “Goblin Market” essay to use as a source when I wrote my “Goblin Martket” masterpiece for my BritVicLit class.  Then I could have had a mega essay!  

Why do cats eat dumb things?  My cats eat some dumb things sometimes.  Sometimes they eat bird food, which is weird.  I’m tempted to leave the catbox dirty to see if anything sprouts.  Is Edmond doing better?  Is he out of the woods?

He seems to be doing ok! He’s had a couple of check ups with the vet, and he’s out of the woods. However! He managed to score an eye infection, and so I’ve been dealing with that over the past week. XD Haha, and of course he wants to stick as many paws as possible into his hurt eye because of course that will make it better. The eye seems to be clearing up now as well though. He’s been on anti-biotics for a week and a half now. 

 
And while it may be tempting, a clean litter box is important for all cats, whether they decide to eat bird food or not. XD Edmond eats earwax. I showed him some one day because I wanted to mess with him and gross him out. But he just started eating it, turned the tables, and grossed me out instead. 

Ewwww!  That’s so gross!  It’s like letting the dog clean out the litter box!  LOL!  I have a friend whose cat likes to get in the dirty clothes hamper and wear her dirty panties and bras.  I guess it’s because it smells like her.  

I’m really glad that Edmond is out of the woods.  I hope that everyone reading this interview gets a commission from you or donates money (big subliminal message).  
So, what are your big plans once the TA gig ends?

Aw, well, that’s at least cute though. Thirsting after earwax just doesn’t come off as quite as affectionate. XD

 
This month is spent moving out of my apartment. Also, I am currently waiting for the arrival of the Vampire Artbook books. I don’t know if you were in on the project, but I headed up an artbook funding project last year, and the books are finally set to arrive in early June! It’s a collection of 40+ illustrations and comics by a wide range of artists–and it also includes a statement by each artist discussing their work and their personal views on vampire mythos. It’s pretty great. 
 
The kickstarter is over, but you can find all the info here: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1592236066/the-vampire-artbook/description
I’m pretty proud of bringing something this big together. 
 
Summer plans are to move, mail out books, and do lots of art. I’m also travelling around a little to visit some friends. 
Awww! I missed out on the vamper books, but it sounds really cool!  Do you have any art work in there?  It sounds like your summer is pretty well filled; what about the fall?  And what do you need an English degree for if you’re going to be doing art?
Yeah! The vampire books are very cool. 
I do have some artwork in it. The extra copies will start to go on sale once the contributors get their copies.
In the autumn, I’ll be reevaluating my life as my student loans become due. 
 
What isn’t an English degree good for? The amount of ideas and materials I was exposed to had a huge influence on my intellectual development, my aesthetics, and my art. I’m looking into going to art school next year though. 
That’s so true about an English degree.  It’s like it’s good for everything and nothing at all.  Usually it’s good for being an over-educated fry cook, warehouse work, or field hand.  And English professors have the best stories!  A lot of them seem to be star fuckers (or at least the ones I’ve met).  Maybe it’s the whole Arthur Miller complex.  
What art school are you looking at going to?
Your million dollar question:  Is pornography art or smut?
Here’s the artbook’s tumblr! I’m currently posting interviews with the various artists so that the blog doesn’t sit stagnate while the books are shipping. Once the books arrive and the extras start selling, I’ll post links there to where you can buy one! :D
 
Haha, well, I think that English people tend to half-jokingly say English degrees aren’t good for anything, but dang, an English degree is like a history, literature, rhetoric, and philosophy degree combined into one. Plus, deep down English is about clearly and concisely relating information (and analyzing information); who doesn’t need that? 
Business person? Well, they need to be able to articulate their plans to their employees and customers. 
Mathematician? They need to clearly articulate their findings, and why the findings matter.
Lawyer? They have to know how to argue convincingly.
Astronomers? They need to write compelling proposals to fund their research.
 
“English” as a discipline is so integral to everything in our society I think people just tend to forget how central it really is. I think it’s good for everything. And people can get jobs in English specifically. Personally, I think the “English degrees don’t get jobs” sentiment is based on an almost entirely erroneous assumption. I’m just kinda “????” whenever sentiments like this come up, because they’re just silly. English degrees get people jobs. Surprise!
 
I have no idea what a star fucker is, or what an Arthur Miller complex is. Can you explain? The definitions google’s giving me aren’t very helpful. XD
 
I’m looking into school in Finland! If I can get even just a part-time job, then I can get my residency permit and school is free there. Finland is where I want to end up eventually anyway, no matter what.
 
It’s not quite that simple, of course. What I don’t think is art, is images made for the male gaze that rely on objectification, the degradation of women (or anyone else), the perpetuation of stereotypes, and harmful modes of thinking. That stuff is not art.
 
Luckily, this isn’t an area I’ve thought about enough to give you any more than the answer above. I’m not really qualified to say beyond that. Since I’m not interested in porn, I’m not qualified to give a more particular answer. :)

 Here’s the artbook link I meant to include: http://vampireartbook.tumblr.com

 
The kickstarter provides a better overall look at the artbook though, and it does link to the tumblr site. So I often just give out the KS address anyway. 

A “star fucker” is a person who only has sex with a person because they’re famous and later on they can brag about it.  An “Arthur Miller” complex is when a writer marries somebody famous to launch their own career.  Arthur Miller, even though brilliant, would not be as well know if he had not been one of Marilyn Monroe’s husbands.  I’ve had at least 4 different English professors tell me that they’ve slept with Erica Jong.  So, either Erica Jong is a slut, the professors were star fuckers, the professors were liars, or all three.  And one of those professors was female.

What if the art is trying to make you think about how porn objectifies women and how that makes your body feel? And to do that, it emulates pornography?  At that point, is it still art or has it crossed the line into pornography?
So, since it keeps coming up, let’s talk about this asexuality, if it’s not too personal a subject.  When you say “asexual”, do you mean that you feel no sexual interest what so ever when you see men or women?  Are you celibate?  Does your body respond to sexual stimulation? 
Wow, those aren’t the English professors I know. Mine were all very committed to their work, and just about as far from that as one can get. 
 
It’s a fine line. I don’t think emulating porn is the best way to go about critiquing it. But it all depends on the approach. Personally, I don’t think emulating something like exploitation or objectification is at all helpful in critiquing those structures. Of course, it’s tricky, since then we run into the issue of what constitutes “emulation.” 
If the artwork is clearly sending a message that is critiquing rather than glorifying the objectification of women, I’d say it is still art. And of course, that depends on our definition of “clearly” as well. XD I think critique is most powerfully done not through emulation but through direct confrontation with the subject. 
 
Asexuality! I don’t think it’s anyone’s business what my personal life is like in that detail. :) However, I will give you quick rundown of some of the words you used. Asexual means not feeling sexual attraction to anyone (just mentioning men and women would set up an unnecessary binary). That’s it! Pretty simple. Celibacy is entirely different. Celibacy is when someone makes a personal choice not to have sex, whether they feel attraction or not. It’s also often a religiously motivated choice. So those two terms are very different. Asking me about this stuff is like asking me for my views on this year’s rutabaga crop. Not my area, not particularly interested. :) I spend my time pursuing other things, like art. :D
Oh, and I do know about this year’s rutabaga crop.  I have some in my garden. ; )  The tubers are going to end up being smaller than normal and hard.  We started out with lots of rain, but now it’s completely dry, which will lead to shriveled tubers because they’re using up their stored water to keep their green tops alive for photosynthesis.
Stay tuned for more of the tete a tete and touche hilarity of “Sparrow vs. The Phantom”.
Paying the bills and announcements
Don’t forget to sign up for the newsletter and to check out our companion podcast on Tumblr, “Sparrow Chirps”.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

http://barbedpentacle.com/barbed-pentacle-yule-gift-guide/

Sign Up Today!

Join the party, be a party sponsor, or both!

http://phantomseptember.tumblr.com/

http://phantomseptember.deviantart.com/

 

Fume Rite, 3: When the smoke clears….

“There are two of you, you see: one that loves and one that kills.”

 

My torrid love affair with Apocalypse Now began in my high school AP English class.  We watched it after school as a companion to Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, which I was currently in engaged in a dark humid muddy affair.  Apocalypse Now has always been associated with smoking for me.  Before my first viewing, my friend Matt and I slipped up the road to his house to get high (he lived two minutes from school) while his mom went to McDonald’s to get us munchies (because she was that kind of mom).  Then after the movie, we smoked cigarettes as we walked back to his house to get stoned again.  From the very first strains of “The End”, I knew that Apocalypse Now and I were going to be very close.  ”The End” was already one of my favorite fuck songs/cutting songs/getting high to/ getting drunk to/belly dancing songs, so it was only natural that anything that it introduced to me was going to become an intimate companion.

Later on that same year I had my own fan allusion, where I came to out of a Rimeron haze lying on my living room floor watching the fan go around and around, just like Huey blades.

Apocalypse Now is a very sexy movie.  The artistry of the cinematography.  The eye candy interwoven with the blood and grit.  The jokes and idiosyncrasies of war.  The absolute brilliant and elegant script.  It’s the total poetic package.

As you all know, I’m a gritty kind of girl, so the blood, guts, and mud, hooked me and made my clit twitch.  And then you get towards the end of the movie, and the Pagan overtones start to become obvious with the Cult of Kurtz.  By the end of the movie, how could you not want to bathe yourself in buffalo blood and fuck Martin Sheen while he’s stuck in a bamboo cage or tied up in a very compromising auto-erotic asphyxiation position with a buddy’s head in his lap?  I can’t help but lust after his machete.  The dual sacrifices set everything in the world back on track.  The killing of a god.



And then like your girl friend getting breast enhancements, it got even better and the “Redux” version came out, and I fell even more helplessly in love.  I can understand how sitting in a theater through the whole uncut movie could be a bit much, but some of the best parts, my absolute favorite part, were not included in the original film.  After wrapping myself up in the luscious smokiness of the “Redux” the original is sorely lacking.

And smoke is everywhere in both versions of the film.  The army and navy and air cav are constantly igniting colored smoke bombs to obscure view in a literal smoke screen and to signal to the forces and helicopters.  Scene after scene is filled with the smoke of napalmed trees and bombed villages.  Willard is almost never seen without a cigarette in his mouth.  The “Street Gang” crew crouches down in the turret to smoke pot.  Kilgore (is that not just the most perfect character name for this movie?) has his cigarette in his “man” length holder and then later on smokes cigars with his surf crew.

And now we’re to my favorite section of the “Redux” version: The French rubber plantation.  I love the brunette, “Claudine” who feeds the Elder de Marais.  She is such an exotic beauty.  Her features hint of mixed blood, like an illicit affair behind a rubber tree, but she is so intoxicating, that the indiscretions of her ancestors can be forgiven.

Then you have Madame Sarrault, who while she’s not a smoking beauty, she is a beauty who smokes, from after dinner cigars to opium.

My favorite is her pressed naked against the mosquito netting with Willard reaching up to cup her breast.  It turns me on every time.

If you’ve never seen Apocalypse Now, it’s worth the however many hours of your life it takes to watch it. If you think you’re not going to like it, drink while you watch it.  Willard drinks through out the entire film.

Paying the Bills and the Giveaway and a party

Sign Up Today!

The Yule Gift Guide–Reserve your spot today: http://barbedpentacle.com/barbed-pentacle-yule-gift-guide/

Be a Party Sponsor: http://barbedpentacle.com/sponsors-click-click-click-click-click/party-sponsor/

General Advertising: http://barbedpentacle.com/sponsors-click-click-click-click-click/209-2/

Parties: http://barbedpentacle.com/events/

 a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sparrow Vs. The Phantom, Episode 1

Phantom  is a really good person and a really awesome person.  He did a Krampuskarten project a year or so ago that I wrote about here.

Phantom is the fantastic artist who created the sketch used on the Perchta Prayer cards that I leave in Wal-mart bathrooms and on tables at such fine dining establishments like as McDonald’s and Taco Bell and at gas pumps.

Phantom’s cat, Edmond, has had some unexpected emergency vet bills, so he needs money.  Well, what does Phantom do for a living, you might ask.  Well for the next tiny bit of time, he will continue as a teaching assistant at a really big college, but the semester will be ending soon and so will the pay check.  If you know anything about academia, teaching assistants are worse off than share croppers and slightly better off than slaves.  I’m not sure what his next plans are; that’s part of the reason why this segment was created.  Phantom had set up a “Help Edmond” fund:   https://life.indiegogo.com/fundraisers/edmond-s-vet-bills-fund,  but that campaign has ended. Phantom is also excepting requests for commissions.  He does great quality work quickly for a very reasonable price.  To get a piece, email KrabatRaben@yahoo.com  See more of the Phantom at http://phantomseptember.deviantart.com/ and http://phantomseptember.tumblr.com/

Deneb by Phantom September

(Code: Sparrow=pink; Phantom=green)

What is it about the fin de siecle that you like?  Does your fondness of the fin de siecle extend to the Belle Epoque and all things Edwardian?  

Up front, I’d like to mention that my real love is the “long nineteenth century,” since I really love the different aesthetics and philosophies that circulate throughout the whole century (plus a few extra decades at each end). One of the central things I really love is the century’s fixation with death. Absolutely love it. 
The easy answer, of course, is that I like almost everything. There are so many things, it’s hard to go deeper than that without repeating the same sentiment except at greater length. The things I especially appreciate are the period’s aesthetics, the obsession with the occult and science, and the various social and philosophical discourses of the time. Naturally there are a lot of unlikeable things about the time, but overall I find the fin de siècle (as included under the umbrella of the long nineteenth century) aesthetically and intellectually stimulating. As for the many not-so-great things of the time, I think it’s important to look at and acknowledge them as well, especially as a way to critique and examine current society/societies. It’s a pity humans didn’t learn from all the mistakes they made in the nineteenth century. Plus it’s also important not to fetishise the nineteenth century and ignore its many problems.  
 
Yes! My fondness does extend to those other periods. I’m not as familiar with the Belle Epoque and the Edwardian period, but I’ve been looking into them more closely recently. One great documentary is BBC’s “Hidden Killers: The Edwardian Home” and it explores the hidden dangers present in every day Edwardian life. Highlights include asbestos clothing and radioactive toothpaste. There’s also accompanying documentaries about the dangers of the Victorian and Tudor homes as well, if you want to track those down. You can usually find them on Youtube. 
“Plus it’s also important not to fetishise the nineteenth century and ignore its many problems.”    Oh, please!  Fetish is what I do best!  Who doesn’t want to fetishize the damage that corsets did to millions of young girls or the incredible evil cleverness of shoving small children down chimneys to clean them, or my favorite, round up all the poor people and making them pick oakum!    So, who is your favorite author from the 19th century?  Who is you favorite artist from the 19th century?  What is your favorite sexual custom of the 19th century?  Have your read Oscar Wilde’s “Salome”?  And what was up with that Little Ice Age? 

Deep Sea Gulper by Phantom September

 Oh geez. Just one author? Asking all the tough questions. Well, I’ll give you one per-country, and cheat with Britain because it encompasses a few different countries.  

England – Charles Dickens 
Ireland – Bram Stoker 
Scotland – Arthur Conan Doyle
(Sorry, Wales. D: )
Russia – Leo Tolstoy
Germany – Karl Marx
France – Alexandre Dumas
Japan – Natsume Souseki
You can just list one, if that’s too much. There’s a good reason that the works of these authors are considered classics. It’s sad that they get passed over as just stuffy old “classics” now. Their work really is actually very good. I’m well aware that there’s not a single female writer on that list, and I’m doing my best to explore the works of more non-male authors from the century. Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Shelley, and Jane Austen are excellent, of course. I’m thinking of looking into the work of Marie Corelli, who outsold(!) Arthur Conan Doyle, H.G. Wells, and Rudyard Kipling. I’m most interested in her novel called The Sorrows of Satan
As for an artist, that’s tough as well. Hopefully you’ll indulge me and allow me to list more than one. 
Harry Clarke, Aubrey Beardsley, John Austen, Alphonse Mucha, and Caspar David Friedrich.
 
Sexual custom is actually the easiest. None. I identify as aromantic and asexual, and that sort of stuff just doesn’t interest me. One of the best things about most nineteenth-century fiction (especially novels) is the lack of sex scenes. It’s a total turn off when I read a modern book and am suddenly surprised with a sex scene. It annoys me, and I feel like I’m wasting my time. So with most nineteenth-century fiction it’s like I have this whole century of great fiction that isn’t going to rudely surprise me. XD That being said, there was CERTAINLY tonnes of sexy times and sexy things going on in the nineteenth century for sure. You’ve seen some of Aubrey Beardsley’s drawings. Just like any time period, there were some serious erotic adventures afoot. But I appreciate that it’s a century where I can also easily avoid running across sex scenes in the regular fiction. Works that explore the far reaching effects of lust and desire are fine, and can be very compelling. It’s the unneeded sex scenes that I find annoying. This is a long answer, but I want to try to be clear about the fact that it’s not that I look down on people who do like that sort of thing, and it’s not that I’m in favour of censorship. It’s just not something I find particularly compelling. 
 
Salome! I do love all the Angel of Death imagery. And Beardsley’s illustrations are excellent too, of course. 
 
The little ice age. I do want that back. I want to jump around on the Thames and go to the River Thames Frost Fair. I don’t have much to say about it, except that I really like ice and snow, and would have loved to see the magnificent glaciers back then. 

Oh my!!!!! You have opened up a terrific rabbit hole that we will explore a while later!  It’s going to be the hyper-sex vs. the asexual!   I’m horny already!

I like your answers!  My writers are Joseph Conrad, Guy de Maupassant, Edith Wharton, Kate Chopin, and Christina Rossetti.  And I have a bad yen for Sir Richard Burton.  And Oscar Wilde makes me laugh.  In terms of artists, I like Christina’s brother, Dante, I like Toulouse-Lautrec, and I like Nadar, and of course Beardsley.  
I have to disagree somewhat about the lit and sex.  Victorian literature is full of repressed sex.  And then there was the thriving unground literary pornography published by the very prolific Anonymous.  I mean, even Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde….. Speaking of Stephenson, have you visited the PIrate’s House in Savannah where supposedly he wrote a lot of “Treasure Island”?  (I have a thing for Savannah too, like a bad sexual thing.)
So, what about all those crazy Victorian parlor languages, like the language of flowers and talking with fans (more Spanish than English, but still…)
(Yusssss. Wilde is awesome. As a side note, I really really want to read his collected letters at some point. I’m sure they are full of sass).

Absolutely. In my response I tried to make it clear that yes, sex is there in the century for those who want to look for it, and yes, there was plenty of porn. Plus syphilis 8D. What I appreciate, is that the mainstream literature doesn’t insist on including graphic sex scenes. Compared to modern literature especially, most of nineteenth-century literature is asexual-friendly literature, which also has the huge plus of being excellent literature. Plus having lots of death, of course. XD

However, I do think that allosexuals tend to read sex into everything anyway, even when it isn’t there. But to each their own, and that’s what’s nice about literature. People can take what they want from it. 
 
Nope, I’ve only been to Savannah once and basically only went to a rare book shop. XD 
 
I do love the language of flowers. I’m not as well-versed in the different parlour languages as I would like to be. It’s one of the next areas I’d like to explore next. The century just keeps revealing new layers to explore. Love it. 

Emri Deer by Phantom September

Parlor languages will completely change the way that you read Victorian literature!  One night when you’re in a really froggy, Vic Lit, English nerd mood, you’ll have to read Rosetti’s “Goblin Market” with a Language of Flowers website up.  It’ll make your head hurt.  

 
But now onto to Edmond.  Tell us all everything there is to know about Edmond and what has happened to him.  He looks a lot like a cat I use to have named Knucklehead who weighed 20lbs (at least).
I’m reading an interesting essay/chapter on the Goblin Market right now, actually! It starts off talking about the terrible frosts that happened in Britain the same year that it was written. I hadn’t really thought about the agricultural history of the century before, but it’s actually pretty interesting, especially with the huge influx of exotic plants and new gardening techniques. I haven’t read the whole essay yet, so I can’t say much more than that so far.

Well, I’d rather not say too much about what happened to Edmond. It makes me anxious to think about it. He managed to get a hold of and eat some leaves (lily leaves) that are very poisonous to cats, and I caught him at it. Usually I’m really careful about anything bad for cats, but one little mistake and things can get deadly pretty quick. Death is a constant companion for everyone. 
 
Edmond himself. He’s afraid of almost everything, and spends most of his time sleeping. Sometimes he plays tag with my dog, but mostly he lounges around trying to look majestic, which is easy since he’s a very pretty cat. He’s even afraid of boxes though. I got him as a stray 6 years ago, so I don’t know what might have caused him to be so afraid, if anything. He’s great though. Very affectionate and gentle. He lets me clip his nails without much fuss and lets me pet his tummy without trying to kill me in return. The one violent thing he does is if I won’t get up and feed him, he’ll literally punch me in the face; he puts all his weight into one paw and then bashes me one in the eye. He’s only 10 pounds, but that’s a ten pound weight dropping itself on one of my eyes. Breakfast is apparently very important to him. I’ve timed him, and he cleans himself every two hours.

In reality, my cat Knucklehead looked nothing like Edmond.

https://life.indiegogo.com/fundraisers/edmond-s-vet-bills-fund

My Links: The Barbed Pentacle Yule Gift Guide:  http://barbedpentacle.com/barbed-pentacle-yule-gift-guide

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fume Rite 2: Light My Dynamite with Your Cigar, Baby!

I like the way cigars smell (although I love the way pipes smell more).  And I’ve had Cuban cigars and they’re nothing special (except illegal to bring through customs, or were, or maybe still are).  But what really gets me excited is Clint Eastwood lighting a stick of dynamite with a lit cigar.  I so very much want to do that and blow something up.  And while he’s not such a looker at the present moment, back in the day, Clint Eastwood was something very special.  He was so special that he was on a show called Rawhide, which while the show had absolutely nothing to do with S&M, the title had so much potential.

Plus, there was that movie with the cigar smoking nun that Eastwood was in……

There are so many fun thingsT you can do with cigars.  So many things……

Relly, who is with Kinky Catawba NC, MAsT: Hickory (both on FetLife), and The Leather History Conference ( http://www.leatherhistoryconference.com/leatherh/Home.html), and who is a whip master that can snap bumblebees out of the air, is a cigar aficionado.  Relly started out smoking cigarettes in high school like all the cool kids, but when he joined the Navy in ’07 his dalliance became a habit.  He realized that when you have an instructor that smokes, you get more breaks during job training.  And if a majority of your classmates also smoke and keep suggesting smoke breaks to your instructor, you hardly get any work done at all while Uncle Sam’s taxpayers keep you up.  His cigarette smoking lead him down Tobacco Road, like so many of our service people, and soon he was smoking cigars and pipes.

 ”Cigarettes are a nasty habit, and cigars are a social habit, and smoking a pipe is a hobby.” 

When Relly got into “the lifestyle” in ’09, he started getting creative with his cigars.  While he had already experienced the camaraderie of cigar smoking, he started exploring just what he could do with a sub and a cigar.  ”From a vanilla aspect…It’s just good fellowship. You go to a nice cigar bar, and it doesn’t really matter who you are, you can literally sit down next to someone you never met before and strike up a good conversation with somebody. ”  But in the kink world, cigars can be so much more.  ”I know girls that get off on walking around carrying an ashtray. The master picks out what he’s going to smoke, and the slave will lick it– wet it, cut it, light it, and hold the ash tray—or be the ash tray.”  Playing with cigar ash is a lot safer than playing with cigarette ash because cigarettes burn hotter than cigars.  

 

 “You can even put cigar ash in their mouth. There’s a nice smokey salt taste to the cigar ash. Just the feel of cigar ash is a textural based feel. It’s very much like the silk feel of the sex play powders. It’s a very nice textural feel. It’s just a warming heat. It’s very enjoyable. A lot of people like to roll the ash into a nice corset bound cleavage and it kinds of marks them as well. ”  And it’s vagina safe!

“Cigar play has the service aspect of it. And the basic play aspect of it. In the gay lover community, when they first started coming up, the masters would be sitting in their vests, and they would grab the slave’s collar and blow the smoke directly into their face, and it was very raw and powerful with that energy. The aspect of taking that control and forcing it on them. You know getting smoke in your face is generally something you wouldn’t want, but it’s something that you’re willing to take. And I do that as well. It is very empowering. It kind of sets the mood both ways.”

 

Remember, cigars still burn.

Relly, who is well acquainted with Pagan practices from when he helped lay chaplains in the Navy as a Religious Program Specialist, relayed to me a cutting and cigar ritual performed for a good friend of his that can be borrowed for several different rites of passages and other rituals.  ”He had a ritualistic cutting and scarification because he wanted this scar to last. He had a cutting done with symbols that meant a great deal to him, and while the cut was fresh he had people around him that were very close to him smoking cigars to impart themselves into the cigar. They took that ash into a bowl and ground that ash into the cutting, putting part of them into that cutting so that he could carry them with him for the rest of his life. It was a beautiful ceremony.”  This type of ritual could be incorporated into a handfasting, a Paganing (since it goes along with the American custom of handing out cigars when a baby is born), rituals of protection or naming, rites of initiation, or just about anything.  The cigar itself incorporates Earth with the tobacco leaves and wrapper, Water with wetting it down, Fire with lighting it, and Air with smoking it, which turns back into Earth with the ashes.  

Important links to click:

The Barbed Pentacle Yule Gift Guide:  http://barbedpentacle.com/barbed-pentacle-yule-gift-guide

The very cool glow stick giveaway! (a Rafflecopter giveaway)

http://www.annavalenteart.com/

Things to know about the groups in Hickory:  Both groups are on Fetlife and have specific rules.  They are not about hooking-up.  They are more about fellowship and learning.  They are also vetted groups.  Please look them up for more information.  If you still have questions, feel free to message Relly on Fetlife.  He’s super nice and there to help.

Those Crazy Cubans

Cigar Eye Candy

 

 

A Bellocq Beltane

Happy Beltane!  It’s time again for fire and sex!  Two of my favorite things.  Another of my favorite things is E.J. Bellocq’s photos for Storyville.  For those of you who are ignorant of whore history, Storyville was a legal red light district in New Orleans during the Belle Epoque. E.J. Bellocq, a New Orleans native, fulfilled his desires by taking photographs of the people who supplied the entertainment in Storyville.

 In honor of Beltane, I propose that you and a lover or lovers, choose a few of the photos that make you the most hard and bothered, and work on recreating them for yourself.  Remember, all acts of love and pleasure are acts of devotion to HER.  Set up a sacred space and get started!

To help set the mood, listen to Lisa Thiel’s “Beltane” https://youtu.be/qCsddmu9Lvs  I really like this song for Beltane because it has a nice driving beat for fucking, and her voice has that ragged longing in it that is so drippingly seductive.  Plus, it’s all about divine sex.

Happy Beltane!