Saturday, June 17, 2017

Star Talker: Part 2: What's a goat?

Three Lo'Rahni males stood just inside the doorway of the vault. They were tall, the whole lot of them two meters tall or better. They were humanoid, for the most part. They had skin the color of deep cinnamon similar to the Terrans who descended from the desert regions of Earth, only with a shimmer of gold that gleamed in the bright fluorescent lights. Each had a set of horns sprouting from their foreheads, protrusions of bone that curled and twisted in the fashion of a Terran ram. The most striking feature of their species, aside from the amber eyes, were the additional set of arms each sported.

The one in the center was the shortest of the three, muscular. His hair fell in black braids around his shoulders, his horns spiraling back around his head like a crown. He raked his golden gaze over me and snorted.

"I didn't know Terrans hissed," he said, crossing his lower set of arms.

"They don't," said a thinner man to his right. I recognized him as one of the scientists from a delegation we'd met with several months ago.

The first man chuckled. "A little warrior then?"

"A bit plump for a warrior," said the final man with a snort.

I jabbed the knife in his direction. "Fuck you, you hulking goat!"

He blinked with surprise. "She speaks our language?"

The shorter man furrowed his brow. "What's a goat?"

"A goat is a horned animal on Terra, used for milk and meat," said the scientist. "That is Selena. The Terrans' translator."

The shorter man grinned. "How useful. Take her and put her with the other females."

The rude one strode toward me. I slashed with the plasma knife. He cried out as I made contact with one of his arms. I backed away, holding the knife up, clutching the Arkiv to my chest. My back met the hard flesh of a man. I yelped and whipped around, knife high. Large hands gripped my hips while a third gripped my wrist and the other easily pried the knife from my fingers. Why did they have to have so many damned hands? It was the man with the spiral horns and braids.

"I admire your courage, but we both know you can't win this battle, girl."

He tossed the knife aside and reached for the Arkiv. I twisted and bit the arm closest to my face. His brow furrowed, nostrils flaring. His free hand landed sharply on my left cheek. I blinked, pain blooming in my skin. There hadn't been much force behind it, just enough to smart, but I had little doubt he could have easily broken my neck if he wanted to. However, I knew from studying their language and from conversations with their people that he wouldn't despite the bodies decorating the once immaculate floors of the facility.

"I would advise," he said slowly, as if speaking to a child, "that you cooperate. This could go far worse for you, but, then, you know that, don't you?"

I lifted my chin. "I keep the tablet."

He arched a brow. "You are not in a place to negotiate."

"I'm not negotiating. I am going to cooperate. I'm also keeping my tablet." I gripped it tighter. "It's my work. You can't read it or likely translate it. You have no use for it."

He snorted. "You think we couldn't find another Terran translator to decipher your little computer?"

I stared him straight in the eye. "There are roughly seven thousand Terran languages, modern and extinct. Have fun figuring out first what language my notes are in, and then trying to find another linguist who is not only familiar with Terran languages, but with the subset of languages my notes are in. The odds of a non-Terran linguist being able to translate it are infinitesimal, and given what I saw on the cameras a few minutes ago, I really doubt you're going to get you're hands on another Terran linguist."

There was an uncomfortably long silence.

"I thought you were a xenolinguist?"

I looked at the scientist. I suddenly remembered his name was Korath. "All exoplanetary linguists are xenolinguists, but a girl has to have hobbies."

My captor closed his eyes and winced as if I had given him a headache. "Fine. You keep the tablet." He tossed me over his shoulder, gripping my ankles with one hand and planting the other on my ass.

"Is this really necessary?" I said, now eye level with the toned muscles beneath his black trousers.

He gave my ass a little pat. "Let's see, you attacked my man with a plasma knife and bit me, and I haven't beaten you yet. You really going to complain?"

I stayed silent. Mostly because the "yet" hung in the air like a menacing promise.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Star Talker: Part 1: Attack

Alarms blared throughout the facility. Lights flashed along the corridors, red, the color of attack. I had never seen the signal lights flash that color before, not in the two years I'd been studying on this planet. Blue signified storms. When the lights were solid green, it meant visitors. The facility had several delegations of the native dominant species visit before. Initially, military probes to determine whether our presence was a threat. Then a few scientists were allowed that we might observe each other. Learn about each other.

A few months ago, the scientists stopped coming. Now I knew why.

"Shit shit shit!"

I ran down the stairs, clutching my Arkiv tablet. I slammed my hand on to the palm reader at each floor barrier. If I got to the basement level, I could lock myself in the pharmacology vault. Hopefully, they wouldn't destroy the facility entirely. Maybe I would be able to find a return vessel, or signal for a rescue pod from a proximal station.

I flew through the final door into the vault, securing the mag locks and throwing the thick steel bars in place. The room was the color of brightly polished pearls, pristine and sterile. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and the powdery chemical scent of pills. Steel refrigerator units lined the walls, each filled with vials of various medications. The temperature controlled safes contained the pill forms. I jerked open the drawers of the prep counter, looking for some semblance of a weapon. Pill cutters, packages of unused syringes, bins of sterile needles. I laid the Arkiv on the counter and crouched to pilfer through the lowest drawer.

An inactive plasma knife gleamed up from a package of surgical instruments. I ripped open the hemp plastic and took the knife flashing it on briefly, to ensure it worked. Snatching the Arkiv back into my hand, I flipped off the overhead lights and sat against the wall behind the counter, keeping it between me and door. The red lights continued to flash, oddly dim in the darkness of the vault. The alarms were muffled now, sounding outside the vault, but thankfully not in it.

I switched on the Arkiv, wondering if I might access the camera network. The wifi tether was still in place, so the natives hadn't destroyed the server room yet. I tapped the camera icon and pressed my thumb to the scanner. Images flickered onto the grid as the streams loaded to the tablet.

My heart stopped. Corpses littered each floor. Doctors in bloodied white coats lay in heaps on the tile. Even the poor old botanist in his dusty apron lay among his plants in the greenhouse, feeding his lifeblood to his verdant children. I scrolled through each image, zooming in on the faces of the fallen. So far, they were all men. Many were Terran, like me. Human. There were a few other races that had joined us here, studying both the planet and us through proximity. The botanist had a coworker, a female Candarri agriculturalist, who had been interested in the cultivation of Terran food sources in alien soils.

Litai had been a tall slender woman with iridescent blue skin. Her eyes were large and round with irises the color of Terran emeralds that seemed to refract light much like a cut and polished gem. Silvery feathers adorned her head in place of hair. I’d found her striking. I also found her missing.

I scanned the cameras again. No corpse. But Litai was nowhere to be found. Instead, teams of large humanoid beings moved quickly through the halls, firing blasters at any male facility staff that crossed their path.


I looked up, wondering at the sound that had echoed inside the vault. I looked back to the cameras in time to see every door in the facility fly open. Shit, the emergency release.

The steel bars on the vault door slammed open, making me jump. The sound of the mag lock releasing echoed in the chamber a split second before the door swung open. The lights came back to life, blinding me briefly with their brightness.

“Get the drugs. Take everything.”

They were speaking Klotharan. It was the primary language of the continent the facility stood on. All the visiting scientists had spoken it. From our talks, Lo’Rah, the planet we were on, had several hundred languages, much like Earth, but Klotharan was the most common and the one they used for interstellar communications. I had been studying it for years, among other interstellar languages. I had been brought to Lo’Rah as an interpreter. I guess I suck at my job.

I leapt up from the floor, flicking on the plasma knife and hissed at the invaders before they could round the counter.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Factory Defect

One of the recurring features of my erotica, seems to be a scene that includes cunnilingus. Prior to writing these scenes, I'd only experienced the act personally once, and it wasn't good. Dude bit me...hard. Ow. But, I have a pretty decent imagination, so I could craft an oral sex scene capable of turning myself on. I'm actually pretty proud of those scenes. They're typically the first sexual scenes in my stories as I'm a bit of a foreplay whore and it takes me forever to develop the plot to full on intercourse.

I've since discovered in the last several months, that I don't actually like receiving oral sex. I've long imagined what it would feel like to experience it with someone who actually knew what they were doing. I finally got around to doing just that and...I hated it. It only happened a few times, but each time, it was uncomfortable and sometimes painful.

I had trouble coming to grips with this. I thought there was something wrong with me. It was something I was supposed to enjoy. A lot of women talk about how they get mad if a man refuses to reciprocate on oral sex. I felt bad that my partner was trying to do something to please me and all I wanted was for it to stop. I didn't say that though. I didn't want to deprive him of his pleasure.

I think my body must be weird. My clitoris is pretty deep set anyway, so having to be parted to get to it is very uncomfortable. I'm also not terribly fond of pinpoint stimulation. I can't stand the tiny finger-shaped bullets because of this. I prefer broader coverage.

I've been assured by others that I'm not defective because I don't like it. I've seen plenty of women online claim they hate it, but I still feel like it's something I'm supposed to enjoy. For many it's the fastest way to orgasm. For me, it's never going to happen. I can't blame my partner. I'm sure on anyone else, it would have been a fantastic experience, it just doesn't seem to be a form of stimulation that works for me. I never addressed the subject with him because I didn't want to make him feel bad.

I'll probably still write the scenes in my stories. They're always nice. I just probably won't be requesting the activity in future relationships. I'm perfectly okay without it.

Saturday, March 11, 2017


Mr. Gray, the sad little tom that
lives on my mom's porch.
I think amicable splits are the hardest to process. At least when a relationship ends badly, you can rage and vent without a care to the feelings of the other person. But when it ends with a hug and a suggestion to hang out, what do you do with your emotions then?

I don't know how to do this. Sad is just a woefully inadequate word to describe how I feel. Devastated is more apt. Confused is also applicable. I mean, he explained himself pretty clearly, but my brain can't process it. It's not like past relationships where things got gradually worse until the end was almost a relief.

No, this is traveling along a scenic road with the top down on a perfect day, with the wind in your hair and the sun on your skin...and then suddenly tumbling over a cliff you never saw. Everything was great. Five months of affection, care, intimacy, fun, and adventure. Then suddenly it's over.

He was kind about it. He did it properly. In person, sweetly. That doesn't make it any less painful. Somehow I think it makes it more so. I know he put a six month trial period on the whole thing, but everything was going so wonderfully well, I didn't expect this to happen. I secretly feared it after a particular conversation a few months ago, but I was not prepared for this. Just Tuesday, he was at my house in my arms, stroking my face an hair.  Thursday, I go to bed happy, looking forward to the weekend, then wake up to him at my door.

I managed to contain myself to a few silent tears, and avoid the angry hysterics in my head. You know how I hate to cry in front of others. I was thoroughly confused by the time he left because he was so kind about it all, and perhaps because I couldn't bring myself to believe it was happening, that after he left, I had to clarify through text what he'd intended with that conversation.

I cried for a good two hours.

He had mentioned possibly seeing a movie this weekend, which is why I was confused. I don't think I can do that yet. I don't know how to be with him without being WITH him yet. I don't know how to be around him without all the affectionate little touches, hugs, kisses. I don't know how lose the whole Daddy/kitten dynamic.

I don't know what I'm doing yet. The thought of trying to find someone who lives up to the standard he set is daunting.

In short, I'm really fucking sad right now.

Monday, February 20, 2017

How Do I Love Thee?

With Christmas and our birthday gift exchanging out of the way for the year, I've been reflecting on my gifting habits and my methods of communication in general. It got me thinking about the 5 love languages and how I express myself through them.

I took one of those online quizzes to figure out my love languages.

  • 10 Physical Touch 
  • 9 Quality Time 
  • 5 Words of Affirmation
  • 3 Acts of Service
  • 3 Receiving Gifts

I'm completely unsurprised that my primary love language is touch. I've always been more of a physical communicator in romantic relationships. It's funny to me that this is the case, since I generally eschew touch from most others. But with a partner, I'm like a needy cat who always wants to lay in your lap at the most inconvenient times. I crave physical affection like some sort of addict. I jump at every chance for contact. I relish every pet and caress.

I also kind of hate that he's built this little fort of stuff around his favorite spot at his house. He has a little makeshift computer station in front of his seat. The other side of the love seat is more like a tray for various convenience items like tissues, cigarettes, and a bowl of snacks. I'm relegated to the couch, where I wait for occasional head pets. Which are nice, don't get me wrong, but I am, at the very heart of me, a lap cat.

Shot from our latest shutterbugging
The prominence of quality time is also unsurprising. I'm always looking forward to the next visit. I measure time in days til I see him next. It helps me get through the work week. My productiveness has decreased a bit, because my focus has shifted, but I do so enjoy it when we spend time together. We often go for drives down the old scenic highways and take pictures of abandoned buildings and various bits of nature. We'll go to the movies, often animated ones, and munch on popcorn while I lean on his shoulder. A couple weekends ago, we broke our usual routine and played video games for the first time together. It was fun, and I'm honestly surprised we hadn't done it before.

Words of affirmation are less important to me, although I enjoy it when he lets me know that I have pleased him. I have had to work on expressing my appreciation verbally, as I'm often more physically expressive. This is primarily a coping mechanism of my anxiety disorder where I avoid speaking in order to avoid embarrassing myself. It's been rather cathartic now that I think about it, to delve into the Little mindset where I can sort of figure out how to reverse compulsions instilled in me as a child. Sometimes though, I have to go back to other languages as some verbal expressions aren't right yet.

Acts of service is naturally low, as far as receiving. I am less interested in receiving acts of service than I am giving. Although, I can see this also being a little low due to the fact that I enjoy having acts of service requested of me. I enjoy doing things on my own as well, but I am less confident about acting independently in someone else's space. I don't want to disrupt Daddy's space without knowing how he wants stuff done, so I prefer to wait for instruction there. Daddy does a lot of things for me. Just this week he bought me an antenna for my TV so I could watch something that didn't require an internet connection. I really enjoy his nurturing form of dominance.

I'm not surprised receiving gifts was so low, but I was surprised that gift giving didn't factor into the equation, because I would have thought that would have been part of it also. I like receiving gifts, like most people, but it's not an important aspect of a relationship for me. And I still hesitate to ask or rather accept offers to buy what I consider to be expensive things from Daddy. I don't like to be a burden or impose on anyone, and I grew up being trained to be as financially unobtrusive as possible with other people's money. However, I've always been a vigilant giver.

I never really ask people what they want for any specific holiday, unless it's some relative I rarely see and know nothing about, but am obligated to give to because of holidays. For personal relationships, I see gift giving as a sort of challenge.  I want it to be a surprise, and I want it to be deeply personal.

I've done this with every significant other I've had. I remember the first gifts I gave to my first dom for Christmas. He had casually mentioned an interest in voodoo, so I bought him a book on Voudun, which looked fairly credible to me. He didn't end up terribly interested in that, but I had also found him a rare retro video game he had mentioned previously which got a better reaction.

With my long distance master, I had very few ways of showing affection, so I tended to go overboard with the gift giving at Christmas and birthdays. The first year, I painted him something, since he didn't want me spending a lot. He had mentioned being a Conan the Barbarian nut, so I sent a miniature replica of the Atlantean sword from the Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. The next Christmas I sent an array of things, but the main gift was a hand made Minion doll in a maid's outfit I'd gotten at a local craft fair due to his love of minions. The last Christmas, I sent a Dragon Ball Z coffee mug that changed colors with heat. The last two years, I even sent his kids some small gifts personalized based on information I got from him.

 Daddy has been an interesting new challenge for gifting. I mentally scroll through my archives of information that I've gathered, and try to come up with ideas. I was quite proud of my selections. I told my mother what I got him for Christmas, one of those large coffee table type books on The Art of the Classic Car. She responded with "And...?"

Apparently my tendency to go overboard with gifts precedes me.

I was so excited about the birthday gift I got him, that I purchased it over a month before his birthday. One of the first things I noticed upon first visiting his home was a curio cabinet full of beautiful glass clocks, cordial glasses, and antique silver dinnerware, and a collection of antique cigarette holders. So I scoured the internet until I found an ox bone cigarette holder from the early 1900s complete with the original leather case. It wasn't a very elaborate piece, but interesting just the same. I'll have to work hard to top it in future.

It's been interesting topic to muse about. It's helped me learn more about how I express myself. It also gives me insight into how those I interact with show affection too.

What's your love language?