Monthly Archives: June 2013

Fetish

Posted on by

The man knew it was wrong the moment he saw the three women, but he couldn’t help it.  He’d spotted them as he left the studio, tired from a long day on the set.  From the sudden intense whispering and shy smiles his way, he knew they were fans.  Ordinarily, he felt pleased and a little gratified to meet fans, making small talk, scrawling autographs and posing for pictures.  But this promised something more – naughty. A thrill of anticipation rushed through him as he approached.

He scanned their faces, judging who could be The One.  The slight blonde, standing behind the two older women, didn’t seem a likely prospect.  She smiled and eyed him in a polite detached manner, lacking the “fan” aura.   She likely accompanied her friends to the studio just to observe.  The youngest of the trio looked ready to burst with excitement, shoulders scrunched in tension, hands clasped in front of her tightly, and the widest smile he’d ever seen.  He would have been able to see her shining eyes but she could barely look him in the eye. No, she wasn’t “it.”

As he turned to the oldest of the trio, his heart sped up.  The tall brunette stood nearly eye to eye with him. She regarded him in a more subdued fashion with a crooked uncertain grin and cocked head.  The eyes gave her away: they darted from his and away. Ordinarily, he’d think she was stealing sneaky glimpses of his mouth, but he knew that wasn’t it.  It was the BEARD.

He reached up reflexively to touch it.  This was the beard’s second stretch for his character.  After four weeks, it had grown in but hadn’t reached it’s full potential.  Commentators on Alia’s blog called it “the baby beard.”  He smirked.  When the itchiness of the growth subsided, he quite liked the surprising silkiness of it.  He also liked another thing: the fans touching it.  That discovery occurred when a fan had asked to touch it on a dare.  He’d posed in amusement for the photo but had been secretly shocked by one thing; the frisson of tension he’d felt the second her fingers stroked his face.  It was as if another part of himself had leaned forward figuratively to luxuriate in her touch.  It had felt so – sensual.  He hadn’t regarded himself as a particular tactile person in this touchy-feely business, so he’d been caught out by the fleeting intense surge of pleasure.  Friends did not produce the same effect; the touch of a fan seemed somehow thrilling and – forbidden, yes, deliciously forbidden.

His hand’s motion quickly drew her eyes.  Her top lip sucked at the bottom.   Surely news of the earlier fan had gotten out; she wanted to touch his beard too.  Her eyes darted back to his questioningly.  His smile widened as that naughty part of him tempted her by leaning forward.  She took the bait.

“Would you like to?” He leaned tantalizingly close, marveling how he could invade her personal space like this.  Who was he and what was he doing?

“May I?”  She didn’t seem to mind.

Her hand seemed to move in slow motion as it rose from her side. The anticipation stretched as she came closer and closer and then – just the barest, lightest touch. His eyes fluttered closed as her fingers left a trail of subtle sensation across his cheek and along the jawline.  He slowly exhaled breath he’d not realized he’d been holding and he shuddered lightly.  Delicious.  Simply delicious. The hand fell away suddenly.  His eyes opened.  Good grief, had she noticed?  She smiled, thanked him, and glanced in amazement at her friends.  No, she’d probably remembered she’d been stroking the beard of a stranger.  She’d been too enthralled in her own experience do notice his.   He collected himself and posed for the group photo, pretty sure that his eyes possessed a bit more twinkle.  He sent them off with a nod and smile.

He turned away, heading for his bike. Tonight, he would relive the moment over and over.  Maybe Alia would write a post about it – beard stroking by strangers as pleasure.  He reached the bike and stopped in his tracks.  Good grief. What was fandom doing to him?

He had a fetish.

 

 

C’mon Baby Light My Fire; or the Underbelly of Motivation

Posted on by
I know the feeling.

I know the feeling.

With a change in medication regimen, my mood has been stabilized on the positive side of neutral for almost three weeks.  This has been the longest stretch since the London trip in June 2011.  Dr. G. tried this regimen previously, but wondered if it would work sans work stress. Voila!  I feel good.  I know there’s no cure for depression, but I hope this regimen has a long viability.

So why haven’t I been blogging? Interesting question.  I mulled over this for some time with Dr. G.  Why haven’t I been motivated to blog since I feel so good?  The answer: because I feel so good.  Good feelings are a positive motivation, but my entire life has been controlled by reflex reactions to dire external consequences.  Negative motivation is an entrenched behavior, and such a thing is very, very difficult to change. Musing that I want to do X, so it gets done is an unusual and unfamiliar concept.  Distraction and desperation motivated the previous long stretch of blogging.  Now, what’s stressful about happy feelings?  Dr. G., who has been pushing blogging big time, suggested working up to writing my novel (did I mention that?) as a motivation.  But realization of a real book won’t happen for years; it doesn’t have the punch of immediacy.  No pressure?  Oh dear.  No matter my real or imagined excuses, I’ve decided to allot time every morning after rising to blog, write – type something.  Let’s see how this goes.

So what have I been doing for almost three weeks?  Making busy work and plans. Firstly, there will be no more snap decisions – retirement was enough.  I need to move forward with careful consideration.  The condo sale is on hold because 1) I love the place and am not ready for any emotional fallout from suddenly wrenching myself away, and 2) I don’t know where to land and certainly don’t want to move someplace I don’t want to be, and 3) I can feasibly stay for another year while I sort things (repairs, painting, clean-out, etc.).  I’ll have more than enough time to research living in other parts of the city or the suburbs while becoming mentally and physically fit.

Also, I’ve been PC video gaming, namely playing RIFT.  Now don’t laugh; this has been therapeutic. I played game therapy for psych rehab in the wilds of Ohio with my friend a few weeks ago. The first half of the week, she beat me easily, every single game.  Ridiculously simple-minded and silly mistakes characterized my play.  I used to be a damn good player and this secretly chapped my ass.  However, because of focus and concentration issues, my ability to persist in either has eroded badly.  It’s been like an atrophying muscle. So I hunkered down and exercised it over the week. By the end of the trip, I finally won several games.  So when RIFT went “free to play,” I decided to check it out again.  Gaming requires extended periods of concentration. The characters embark on missions called quests, work on trade skills, duel, etc. etc. etc. It’s a massive time sink.  After an initial stretch of play, my interest quickly waned but then I discovered a game aspect called Dimensions.  A dimension is the player’s own world crafted with special items.   If it’s not sold in-game, it has to be made or recreated (morphed).  For example, there is no item called a turkey dinner platter, so it must be recreated. I must break the image down into parts and conceptualize what obtainable items can be rotated, flipped, sized, pushed, and pulled to look like a real turkey dinner platter (3 burlap bags, 6 decorative sweetberries, and a patterned urn).  The morphing requires a lot of focus and thought.  So, I’ve been crafting in my own dimension (my inner decorator is happy) while gaming, and exercising focus and concentration.  Bizarre, eh?  But it’s working.  Eventually, this interest will wane (after I finish six more tiers), but that focus muscle will be a little stronger.

great room

The Great Room. Most of the furniture is crafted.

kitchen

Everything crafted but the walls and floor.

My character and her dog in a top hat of course, Kirby.

My character and her dog in a top hat of course, Kirby.

guest house

I built EVERYTHING – including the house.

bath

Luxurious bathroom. I made that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, I suppose the odd gaming has created a POSITIVE motivation in psych rehab. Who knew?

 

 

 

 

Mental Rehab: Slacking

Posted on by

I’m clinging to a strong wifi signal at the local mart. My iPad informed me it was old and tired. Poor baby. Writing has been in fits and starts- mostly fits. And stops. But there is a “The Man” story coming before the week is over.

Watch this space.

Here, have something cute.

20130604-143317.jpg

Dreamlet

Posted on by

I lie suddenly in my current bed in my current home. The lamp to my right partially lights the room; it’s late at night. There’s a book in my lap. I glance casually to the figure beside me.

His long, dark, gray-streaked locks fall across his shoulder. Long fingers scratch idly at the matching beard. There’s a glint of humor in the down cast eyes; a corner of his mouth quirks. My eyes wander from his eyes, down the long nose, across the smiling lips and finally over the broad, bare chest. A mat of dark hair trails over hard muscle and out of view. Propped on his right elbow, he shifts a bit.

He glances up at me, blue eyes questioning.

I motion at the lamp. “Do you have enough light?”

Thorin glances back at his book. “I’m fine.”

***
This is what my Catholic upbringing has done to me. Sigh.