10/22/2011 7:46:05 PM: ~ For MeI see red. Crimson cheeks dance to a warm sting in my palm. The ache, so strong I can feel it. But it’s one of those days. I’m trapped at work with endless piles of paper to shove around a desk. I yearn to be free of my zoo cage, to stalk through the grass, to watch prey through slit eyes, and pounce taking it down by the throat. It’s one of those long, long work days that never seems to end.Thoughts of Susan keep me distracted through every moment. Bright red cheeks dance to a warm sting in my hand. The need, so strong I can taste her on the air. Hyde whispers lurid thoughts all day long making it nearly impossible to focus on any work. The slow simmer drags on for hours.At home I find her in the kitchen, making salads. Not exactly a hearty meal for a full day’s work.“Is this for me?” I ask.She smiles, brushes me off, unaware that she’s been on my mind all day. Sprinkling grated cheese is more important that an answer.Hyde whispers, “make her pay.” And this time I listen, letting him slip out of the cage and into the driver’s seat.I grab her hair, winding my fist in a knot. She sighs and gives me a sidelong glance, the sprinkling slowing to a controlled stop. I’ve got her attention now.“I just got home. Didn’t have time to make anything…” She stops talking with a gasp when I coil crimson locks in my grip.Fiery hair, I want to see red somewhere else as well. She’s smiling, practically smirking, thinking this is all just a tease, that mere hunger is my primary motivation. I do hunger, but for something entirely different than what she can pour onto a plate. Her back is arched, her posture stiff, hands pressed to the counter waiting for something to happen.I walk to the table dragging her along behind me by a leash of mane. Yanking a chair out I sit and pull her across my lap. She makes a contented groan as I yank her skirt up. The panties infuriate me. Sure, they are expected attire out in the real world, but right now I want to see red. I want to see her ass burning a bright crimson. I grab the panties and yank up, letting them bite into her tender bits, pulling them up sharply into an impromptu thong.Red, it’s the only thing on my mind.My hand rises and falls, over and over and over and over again. Until my own palm is burning and numb. The smack of flesh on flesh creating a lewd music in the room. A tune played by me across her bright hind end, her ass aglow in a cherry state. I keep striking over and over until my hand is numb with the effort. She squirms at first, then struggles, then cries out, first in yelps then curses.I yank back on her hair, “What did you just say?”“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, please stop.”“What? Does this hurt?” I give her another hard smack.She squeals out, “Yes! Please, I’m begging you to stop, sir.” Sir means she’s dead serious. She rarely uses it in sentence form, mostly only when affirming or denying something, yes sir, no sir. Its use here is out of place.Her eyes are pressed closed, lips quivering. Tears streak her face. I’ve quite possibly reached her limit. Hyde whispers again, “make her pay.”“Five more,” I tell her, “can you take five more?”She says nothing, fighting back a sniffle.I add, “For me?”She moans then nods after a heartbeat.I relish those five strokes taking my time. Letting my hand slide over heated flesh. Then lifting away, pausing watching her flinch, letting her wonder when the blow will come.Striking hard even though my hand cries out. The sound of her gasp and the crack of flesh far more delicious than any salad.When its done I hesitate and Hyde shoves me aside. I hear myself ask, “Another? For me?”Susan groans, but whispers, “yes, sir.”My hand rises into the air, and I wonder, while Hyde snickers, just how many more will she take, for me.

10/9/2011 1:22:43 AM: Rattling the CageLooking back it’s strange to see how the loss of a girl started my writing. Before that nothing, even though there was a world of deviant history. And since then, periods of downpours, then of long droughts. Or more true, periods of Hyde slipping free and bragging about his conquests, and periods of Jekyll having sense enough to keep quite. The quite periods are the typically the ones of contentment. Those spots where everything seemed to be going fairly well, successful at work or romantically. The urge to tear my chest open and bare my guts for all to see just wasn’t there. And yet, the last year’s been tumultuous, but no writing, no successful hunts, no victories. Just nose to grindstone, fixated on getting by, so much that the mad howling from my other half is drowned out. I have work to do. Finishing the final touches of a degree I have dreamed about since high school. My dominant vanilla desire is switching from a career that was wildly successful to one that would make me happy beyond words. I’d drive a stake through Hyde’s heart, turn my back utterly on that side of myself, in an instant for the whisper of that professional opportunity. Hyde may have wormed his way through to my very core, but I would put this need in a box if I had any choice. I don’t have time for his antics right now. Those quite periods are when he festers. When they end I see exactly how much he’s grown, hungered. Like the rumbling of a nearing freight train Hyde’s escape looms. Vibrations of it already coalesce in the form of correspondences renewed to old like minded acquaintances. Hyde may not quite be rattling the cage, but I can feel him there, pacing, watching with tiger eyes. And when he slips free I shudder to think of it. Fingertips on skin, handfuls of hair, the hot beating pulse of a throat captured in hand, teeth brushing across those warm naughty places, bruises, and the music of pained squeals.

2/27/2011 6:40:05 PM: ~ SmittenThe party is already in full swing when I arrive late. Work. There are lots of people mingling, there always are when Carrie throws a soiree. Lots of conversation and drinking. I weave through the crowd looking for her. polite hello’s to those I know, politer hello’s to those I don’t.Of course I don’t immediately look for her. There’s a detour to the bar to make up for some lost time.While I’m there a blonde girl, cute, chats me up. She’s wearing something that leaves her shoulders bare. My eyes wander across the exposed skin. Ivory, smooth and lovely. I notice however that there are no freckles, and while that hasn’t been a traditional like, tonight the lack of them makes me pause. After a moment of pleasantries, I excuse myself and go hunting.Prowling the abode, I’m after a single person. Susan. She’s here somewhere but as always, hard to find. A flash of copper hair and I halt my course. I’ve circled around behind her and watch for a moment. She’s alone, nursing a wine glass, knowing her just enjoying a moments peace before being hit on. She’s wearing one of her favorite dresses, a mod inspired one piece with rounded square patterns on it. It’s low cut at the neck, only reaches down to mid thighs, and shows off her shape well. The other girls in the room go unnoticed, mere background of the want I feel so strongly for this one. Where they all fade into shadows her dainty sip is like beacon of light in the gloom. I move in after a moment of admiration.Reaching out an open hand comes to the small of her back, just an instant before I press my chest to one of her shoulders. I lean forward letting my nose brush through her firey mane, inhaling her. It causes an unexpected moan, a purr really as she turns her head, sees who it is, then leans back into me. A perrs in a glove. I brush a check against hers as my lips place a kiss just under her ear where the jawline take a hard right turn.Bent over her like this my eyes can’t help wandering down to her chest. The angle allowing my see right down the dress. Freckles, a field of them, a starry night of them, a thousand pin pricks of lust dotting my mind.In the middle of the crowd my lips come to her ear. I don’t care if anyone hears. I don’t care what anyone things. I whisper, “You are so hot I want to fuck you right now.”She looks up at me and something deviant dances in her eyes, perhaps the very thought of that image planted, right here in the center of the party, in front of everyone. Her desire is reflected right back at me. She turns to me and pulls me down into a long kiss, the waves rolling through her body affirming that I’d said just the right thing.

1/9/2011 9:16:04 PM: Americana; A Road Trip from Boise to Los AngelesRelocating to another city, the new company offers to fly me and I decline. Why fly over the vast stretches of absolutely gorgeous countryside? I explain that I’ll drive it instead, I enjoy the quiet, the lonely road, the time with nothing to do but think for mile upon mile.Leaving Boise, not really my home, but where parts of my family are from. Some I hadn’t seen in decades. Being laid off gave me a chance to do something I never have while working, take a vacation. The mountains and pines vanish replaces by long open stretches of scrub covered in thin snow.Avoiding the main roads to set out on back country ones. Empty stretches from horizon to horizon fore and aft. When I finally do spot a car in the distance it takes nearly ten minutes to go past in the opposite direction.Seeing a vulture for the first time. It feeds on the side of the road, lifting off finally as I approach. It’s passage into the air is with a grace that is surprising for a creature so hideous it almost has a beauty of its own. The vast wing span is much wider than my sedan. I slow to watch in circle languidly back around to the roadkill it had been cleaning.A speeding ticket for 6 miles over the posted limit. There are no towns, villages, or hovels marking the map for hundreds of miles. The officer is awfully nice and a little embarrassed, perhaps the county’s only source of income.Shadows on the freeway becoming 3 young does. They watch my car approach almost with indifference, then bound off into the snow. I honk in hopes that it will make them a little more concerned about crossing the road.Traversing 30 miles of unplowed icy passes. Only a little tense, certainly nothing worse than I ever saw in Alaska. This was the only snow on the road the whole trip.The worst snow falling as I enter Los Angeles. Other drivers are slowing to take pictures of it. Some reaching out of their cars to touch it as it falls. I never entertained the notion of living in LA. Could this be a sign that hell froze over?And finally Los Angeles. Palm trees. Sunset Strip, Santa Monica Boulevard, Beverly Hills. The stuff I’ve grown up seeing as a magic place on TV. Now real. And a little shabbier with many more people than on the silver screen. This should make for interesting adventure.

11/16/2010 9:48:58 PM: Dexter Morgan gets itTV usually isn't my thing, but someone turned me on to Dexter, a show about a serial killer that channels his inner demons to hunt down worse people than himself. He ends up having to go to an Narc Anon meeting and introduce himself. This leads to a confession that the audience thinks is about drug use, when he's really talking about something so much more sinister...'I just know there's something dark in me and I hide it. I certainly don't talk about it, but it's there always, this Dark Passenger. And when he's driving, I feel alive, half sick with the thrill of complete wrongness. I don't fight him, I don't want to.'It's an uncanny feeling to hear someone else express the baggage that I've always carried inside me. Even if it isn't about exactly the same thing.