"RELAY"

(Picture submitted by Miss R)

“RELAY”

Arafin © 2009

The invitation to the party had simply read, “Relay”, then giving a time and location. Of the thousands of such invitations sent out only a few hundred recipients took it seriously and of those about half accepted eagerly while the others shivered in fear. The key factor had been the location. Those who had not understood what “L’ancien Château des Rêves” meant had dismissed the gold leafed invitation cards as some sort of prank. Those who did understand were either mad with desire to go to that mysterious place or terrified of what would happen to them if they did. It was thus that on the night of the party some one hundred and twenty guests arrived at the appointed hour and were admitted through the towering iron gates at the end of the winding gravel road, a road which no one seemed to be able to find unless they had been invited. Once past the gate the road turned to cobblestone and the grounds on either side were immaculately kept. This contrasted sharply to the dark and overgrown forest which had encroached on the old dirt road to the point where it appeared almost impassable in places. 

There was one guest out of all the others who had not understood what 

“L’ancien Château des Rêves” meant and had come out of sheer curiosity, and as fate would have it, he was a reporter for the city newspaper. William Autrey arrived at the gate on his scooter, something which seemed to give the two guards on duty reason to snicker. Most of the other guests had ridden in limousines or expensive sports cars. As William now piloted his trusty Vespa up the winding cobble drive he was beginning to have a rather uncomfortable feeling that he had gotten himself in over his head. Not the first time. Not the last. Back in the city, one Wilhelm Aubrey was still waiting impatiently in his penthouse suite for the invitation he had been promised by the Countess. Due to the wonderful intricacies of postal incompetence, it would never show up. Fate was on a roll tonight.

The old castle was a magnificent display of replicated French gothic outside and modern minimalism inside. While the Countess adored the look of all things dark and brooding, she much preferred the physical comforts which current technology could afford. Towering walls and pointed arches of grey vine covered stone outside gave way indoors to white plaster and glossy hardwood floors, underneath which radiant heating had been installed. No cold drafts in this castle. Stainless steel and glass were used extensively in all decoration and trim and lighting was provided indirectly by recessed halogen spots which bounced off the high ceilings. The air seemed hushed, as if speaking in anything but a whisper had somehow been forbidden.

William immediately noticed that all the guests were male. He then noticed that he was the only one wearing faded jeans and a corduroy sports jacket. All others wore full white tie formal evening dress. He stood out like a sore thumb and for a moment contemplated slipping back out the front door and leaving, but the two enormous guards there who had taken his invitation card did not look as if they would be amused by such a retreat. He decided “in for a penny, in for a pound” and resigned himself to discover what he could about this curious affair. The newspaper he worked for, like so many others, was in dire financial straights and he knew it was only a matter of time till was given his dismissal notice. A really fascinating story about richly decadent gatherings in a secret castle miles outside of town could be just the thing to boost, and even preserve, his career.

“It’s about to begin”, someone whispered in his right ear. It was a woman’s voice, soft and cool and refined. William turned to see a short figure dressed all in black, a sort of layered lacy taffeta gown that might be seen on someone like Stevie Nicks, and out of the high ruffled collar on top poking the dainty head of an old woman, perhaps in her nineties. She was still striking, her high angled cheekbones hinting faintly of oriental descent and her large dark eyes sparkling with youthful impishness. She was captivating now and must have been a heartbreaker when in her prime. “Come with me”, she commanded in a voice like honey. And without thinking, William turned and followed the Countess across the long floor of the great ballroom to the base of a curved staircase.

The guests were queuing up at the bottom of the stairs, forming a long line against one wall. All appeared to be patient in a strangely dazed sort of way. There was the occasional gentle banter between two or three of them, but for the most part all waited stoically, there eyes either focused towards the top of the stairs or staring straight ahead into emptiness. One by one, very, very slowly, walking as if in a dream, each man would ascend the stair. At the top of the stair a beautiful young lady would hand him a red rose and he would disappear out of view around a corner. In a few seconds the beautiful woman at the top of the stairs would descend, holding a red rose between her fingers, while a new lady would take her place, ready to hand a rose to the next man to climb up the steps to her. The whole procedure had a very unreal quality to it, almost as if it were some sort of illusion being projected into the air ahead like a hologram. But is also looked so REAL. It was at once frightening and riveting and William could not look away. 

Gentleman after gentleman climbed the stairs, received a rose, disappeared around a corner, and lady after beautiful lady descended the stair holding a rose. None of these spoke, preferring to stare blankly into the distance as if sleepwalking. Behind him the crowd of lovely young ladies grew and grew, all remaining perfectly silent, all standing almost as if at attention. “Get in line, William”, the Countess cooed in his ear, and without thinking he did. Time seemed to have sped up somehow, or slowed down, he could not tell which. He could have sworn that only a few moments ago the line of men against the wall was over a hundred strong, but now only seven remained, the last of which was himself. He looked back at the Countess to see her smiling devilishly at him. He wanted to run but could not. He HAD to see what was at the top of those stairs! He HAD to get one of those roses for his own! Suddenly he noticed that he was aroused. Had he been aroused all along but not been aware of it? From the dark red lips of the Countess a dry little laugh broke forth, shattering the still air as if it had been delicate glass. William turned again to look at her and then back to look at the man in front of him who was just starting his ascent. 

As yet another gorgeous lady descended the stairs in front of him, dressed all in a white silk pant suit and carrying a red rose between the fingers of her right hand, William found himself walking forward without willing it. He was floating up the stairs. He was being drawn. All thoughts of resistance faded now as his arousal grew and grew with every step, his longing to obtain a rose completely overwhelming all other goals. Five steps to go. Desire building. Four steps to go. Oh!, how he wished he could run! Three steps. This was agony, having to move so slowly. Two steps. Come on, come on, almost there. One step, and time suddenly seemed to stand still. He was frozen in place and all movement around him had ground to a halt. There before him was a woman of impossible beauty dressed all in pale blue satin, holding in her outstretched hand a red rose that he knew was meant for him. He could sense the Countess at the bottom of the stairs cackling to herself in demonic glee. Soon she would have one hundred and twenty one new female slaves to feed on, and she would be saving him for last.

LOST MOTEL

(Picture Submitted by Lady Julia)

“LOST MOTEL”

Arafin © 2009

They had driven all day and part of the night, having spent too much time at the party. Intending to reach their next gig by noon tomorrow was now a foolishly unrealistic goal, so a gas station phone had been used to make a foolishly unrealistic excuse to the club owner. Was it accepted? They would find out in the afternoon. Their schedule was not as full as they would have liked it to be, hypnosis stage shows these days being a dime a dozen, but they still offered something others did not, ….. a chance for members of the audience to think they were making love with one of the hypnotists. This tactic got them work in places where they would otherwise have been unwelcome and made them unwelcome in places they would otherwise have gotten work. It was a trade off and anyone’s guess as to whether it was a wise one. 

The road was nearly invisible now through the howling tempest of rain and wind and the lights from oncoming transports presented a heart stopping agony of blindness and fear. Several times the old Cadillac had nearly found the ditch. Too tired to drive any longer they turned off the highway onto a frontage road at the next town and began searching for a motel. This would mean yet another phone call to the club owner, but hey, he was probably so ticked off with them by now that they had lost the gig anyway. 

With no motels displaying “Vacancy” signs anywhere to be seen, they pulled into a gas station and inquired as to where they might find a place to stay. A gap toothed teenage boy with multi-colored stegosaurus hair shuffled in from the pumps and spoke with a drawl so disingenuous that it was laughable. He was putting on an act and he was terrible at it. “Yawl kin try the Cherry Top down the ole’ highwayyy, ……… but it’s plum weeeee-ai-yurd!” He rolled and fluttered his eyes when he said this, dislodging little clumps of cheap mascara onto his sweaty face.

They paid for the gas and took notes for how to find the “Ole’ Highwayyy”, dashed out into the rain, and were gone. Exhaustion had set in hours ago and although the car was now freshly fueled they were both running on fumes. Windshield wipers frantically bashing against sheets of water, defroster trying to breath fire against foggy glass, the Caddy pushed away into the night, weaving it’s way like a blind man through back streets and tangled turns. At last an old road with cracked pavement snaked off towards utter blackness, it’s signpost long ago fallen to ruin and now resting peacefully among soggy weeds. 

“How far did that punker say it was?” she asked as he peered forward into the tumultuous gloom.

“He said fifteen miles.” The words fell out of his tensed mouth like flakes of ash dropping from a cloud of volcanic doom. Trying to see the road and stay on it was the most miserable of tasks. How wonderful it would be to rest in a bed! “Damn, this road is a mess!” Pothole after pothole was irritating both of them, and it was wearing away their usual good nature. Mile after mile they pushed on, the Cadillac taking the beating like a trooper. At times it would bottom out, sending a brief flash of orange sparks scurrying forth like soldiers being sent out of the trenches into withering machine gun fire of relentless rain. The promised motel could not come too soon.

After what seemed like hours, (but was probably less than one), a bright red neon sign announced the presence of The Cherry Top Motel. The rain seemed to lessen as they exited the car and walked hastily into the office lounge area. It was dingy and sparsely lit. An old red vinyl clad sofa tried to hide shamefully against one wall, it’s covering having seen far better days. Above it hung a fluorescent on black painting of a cowboy riding a giant wild boar. The logo “Cherry Top” was finally understood by the ridiculous vision of his bright red hair. Clearly meant to portray a rodeo clown, this piece of art, (if one dared call it that), was beyond cheesy. It was downright vulgar in it’s ugliness. The young woman drew a disdainful breath in while stifling a laugh. Behind the desk sat an old native woman with hair in pastel blue curlers. She eyed the young couple as if she were a cougar eyeing a pair of unsuspecting lambs.

“You want a room?” she queried with absolute seriousness, the obvious stupidity of her words irritating the man to the very brink of explosion.

“No!”, he spurted sarcastically. “We just want to use the pool!”

“Ain’t got no stinkin’ pool, sonny. But for you I’ll make a special deal and let you roll around naked on the wet grass!” And with this she let forth a raucous gaffaw that sounded for all the world like a cross between a donkey braying and a bear scratching it’s claws on a blackboard. This did not impress the weary and dripping couple in the least, but the young woman withheld her wrath long enough to sign them in and obtain a key. She would join her husband in a tirade once they had gained access to a room with a shower and a bed. What a day it had been!

Fears that the room would be as tacky as the rest of the establishment proved unfounded and instead the pleasant surprise of newly renovated and spotlessly clean quarters greeted their tired eyes. Flinging suitcases upon the bed they hurriedly unpacked and headed for the shower. Ten minutes later they were ready for bed and soon fell fast asleep, the renewed lashing of rain and wind outside a thousand miles away. Dreamless depths engulfed them as their worn bodies slowed to the crawl of bottomless delta sleep. And as they slept, many miles down the road behind them, a great gust of wind ripped a tall aspen tree from it’s roots and sent it across the wires that supplied power to the motel. Blackness came which could take days for power crews to repair.

Morning arrived clear and cold. Although the storm had blown out in the night the lack of electric heat had made the room so cold that breath could be seen if one expelled sharply. The young couple longed to be on their way, grateful at least for a night’s solid rest. However, upon undertaking the process of checking out they had learned that the road was severed in both directions by a washed out bridge ahead and downed power lines behind. An irate inquiry revealed that no other roads connected this forlorn location to the rest of the world. They would just have to wait it out for a few days. There was some good news, and that was that a generator would soon be up and running, providing enough electricity for light. Heat would be another matter and everyone would have to make do with other means. A fireplace had been lit in the lounge and to this the old native woman, the young couple, and the only other guests, two middle aged salesmen, made their way. The warmth felt good and as bodies thawed so too did conversation.

At first the salesmen lamented about the state of the roads in these parts which was followed closely by a long story from the native woman about the old days before the interstate had been built and this road had been the main course of travel. The couple were bored to tears and offered little more than the odd head shake of agreement or hum of consent. Then in a moment of boyish mischievousness, he turned to his wife and whispered, “Let’s have some fun with these yokels and hypnotize their brains out! Let’s really mess with that old woman!” Her quick and evil grin let him know that his idea had been accepted with enthusiasm, and they set about bantering with the others in the room, using purposely lowered volume of voice and strangely confusing patterns of language. The young woman walked back and forth in front of the salesmen as she spoke, making sure that their eyes never left her long legs covered in black fish net stockings, flashing like deadly serpents about to strike their naughty minds. The young man stood directly in front of the old woman and mirrored every move she made, whether it was as slight as a brush of the hair or as pronounced as a stretch of both arms. Within less than ten minutes the two salesmen were out like two low wattage light bulbs and the old native woman was nodding like a willow frond in a gentle breeze. Now the fun could begin.

First his wife gave suggestions of extreme arousal to the two salesmen which she then anchored to the unlikely trigger of seeing the old native woman stand and walk. Next the young man tried to give suggestions to the old woman that she would fall in love with the first two men who showed sexual interest in her, but a curious thing happened. With every word he spoke, the old woman began to raise her head higher and higher, until at last she was facing him directly with eyes wide open. Very wide open. He tried to stop speaking at this point but found he could not. He was prattling on uncontrollably as his wife asked what was wrong. In an instant the old woman waved her hand high in the air and shouted a single word in a tongue long forgotten in that area, and as if hit by a bolt of lightening, the young woman fell silent as stone and just as immobile. Her husband fell silent as well and stood in front of the old woman with his eyes shut tight. Try as he might, he could not open them. 

The old native rose and walked close to the young woman, stretched slightly so as to be closer to her ear, and whispered for a long time words both secret and powerful. Now she strode to the husband and whispered into his ear the same ancient phrases. Both husband and wife stood like statues unable to move, and both were quite, quite unaware of what was about to happen. Faint sparks of electricity began to dance at their fingertips as the old woman resumed her perch upon the worn vinyl sofa. The two salesmen now appeared to awake, yet with the most odd and disturbing expressions of deranged glee on their faces. They looked at the young couple without appearing to see them. 

Suddenly the old woman clapped her hands and the show began. The young man walked quickly out of the lounge as the others all followed, the old woman cackling to herself with crazed abandon. Straight like a beeline to the newly renovated room the young man went, and once inside he lay belly up across the bed. Now his wife mounted his face and began rocking back and forth across him as if riding a horse in a rodeo while he clutched at her with his hands and probed at her underwear with an insatiable tongue driven mad with the most profound lust. The two salesmen clapped their hands in mock jubilation and began to dance a macabre jig, their eyes still lunacy wide as if possessed. The young couple moaned and writhed as the last shred of their consciousness understood the cruel joke the old woman was playing on them. She had done this many times before, of course, and for nearly seventy years since the time her grandmother had taught her the magic of her people so primeval and so strong. It had been her grandmother, last official medicine woman of the tribe, who had, as legend told it, ensorcelled a young cowboy who had made fun of her in front of her friends. He had then mysteriously dyed his hair bright red and ridden a very large pig about town while proclaiming his undying love for the old woman.

******************************

The day passed in laughter for the old native woman, in bedazzled idiocy for the two salesmen, and in terrible unsatisfiable desire for the young hypnotist couple. How they ached to release! How they would have given anything, absolutely anything, to orgasm and fall into sleep. But that was not their fate, and all day and for part of the night they thrashed and groaned, gyrated and whimpered, till at last the old woman let them slip into dreams. Dreams of what they had just experienced, yet with an even stronger haunting presence of the medicine woman’s mind overpowering their own. In the morning the power was back on and the bridge ahead repaired so that the young couple could continue on their way, but not before apologizing through horrified eyes full of tears to the grinning old proprietress of the Cherry Top Motel.

Fabulous Face Friday – "TANGLED"

(Picture is from Corps Circuits)

 

“TANGLED”

Arafin © 2009

 

I had only wanted a simple hair cut. I must be the easiest person in the  world to give a hair cut to. A number two blade all the way around, both head and beard. I like getting hair cuts. I like the lady barber’s fingers working on my head and I sometimes wish she had more work to do on me so that it would take longer. Be that as it may, I was now on business in a strange city and found myself looking rather ragged by my standards and so had sought out a barber shop. I doubted that I would be lucky enough to be shorn by a lady barber, however, and so did not even try to locate one, instead merely walking into the first barber shop I came across when the time presented itself.

The shop was very small, sporting only one chair, this being an antique wooden contraption with wonderful brass inlay and a red padded footrest. The headrest however, appeared to be a more modern addition, even futuristic, for it was fabricated of stainless steel and glass and was fitted with tiny blue LED lights. Very strange. It did not go with the rest of the chair at all.

As I looked about for the barber I imagined him to be in the back somewhere eating a sandwich or attending to a bit of paperwork. After several minutes had passed and with still no sign of anyone, I coughed loudly to make my presence known. No response. This was odd. A thief could have walked in and emptied the till. I coughed again and then shouted as gently as I could, “Is anyone here?”

Nothing.

I turned to go and was startled nearly out of my wits by one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. She was standing less than two feet from me and was clad only in her …… HAIR! She had yards of it, scrumptious thick blonde tresses that fell to below her waist. Like Lady Godiva her breasts and nether regions were hidden by this gracious mane, though what hinted secrets shone through were lovely indeed. Her eyes were slightly oriental in nature yet her lips were as full as any European woman’s. I was stunned and I knew it. She knew it, too, and smiled mischievously at my predicament. Not knowing what else to do, I left my momentary sexual fantasy and returned to my original plan. “May I get a hair cut?” I squeaked out these words like a schoolboy whose voice was just beginning to break.

She did not make a sound, but simply pointed to the chair as if inviting me to sit. I did. So strange the mind and how it works sometimes. Here I was sitting in an antique barber chair with a blinking stainless steel headrest and a stunning naked woman with hair to her knees about to give me a haircut, and I was acting as if it were all normal. I was THINKING as if it were normal, which was even stranger. I guessed that the desire for normalcy was so strong that I was following it rather than the absurdity of the moment, no matter how erotic it might be.

Standing behind me and without uttering so much as a whisper, this blonde goddess set about cutting my hair. Her fingers were so soft yet so strong! They flitted about my eager head like ten tiny hummingbirds, expertly snipping and clipping and trimming. It was wonderful and I wished it would never stop. Sensations of electric tingling moved down from my scalp into my brain, down further into my neck and shoulders, and finally filled my entire body. It was pure ecstasy! Then I suddenly realized that I had given no instruction, no notice that I took a number two blade all the way around. With my right hand I felt the top of my head as I simultaneously looked at the instrument in her hands. She was not holding an electric trimmer at all, but antique scissors, and my head …….. it had much longer hair than it had but a few minutes ago! Looking into the mirror to my left I gasped aloud as I saw long curly locks of hair on my head where before had been but no more than half an inch! I pushed down on the armrests of the chair in a frantic attempt to rise, but her hands upon my shoulders held me down as if she by some superhuman strength.

“What the heck is happening?” I screamed, and then she bent over me and let her magical tresses surround and engulf me. Instantly I felt a great rush of calm spread over my mind and body. It felt like I had been dropped into a state of dream sleep, so peaceful, so soft, so glorious. I did not want to struggle in the slightest, but managed to speak again, though now the words came with some difficulty, as if trying to speak when one is just waking. “Please, madame, will you tell me what is happening to me?” I was as polite as I could possibly be.

Not a word did she speak, but instead resumed her task. I noticed now out of the corner of my eye that the blue LED lights on the headrest of the chair were blinking in a pattern and that that pattern seemed to be keeping time with the movement of her fingers. It was almost as if music was being played so rhythmic and lilting was the dancing of her hands. And as she worked, my hair grew and grew, till at last she stopped and it ceased it’s mad proliferation just below my shoulders. Slowly she turned the chair on it’s swivel so that I faced the mirror. But for my clothes I looked for all the world as if I belonged in the time of King Louis XIV of France. 

She walked slowly around to the front of the chair now and placed both hands atop my arms as if to hold them there, not that I would have risen from that chair if someone had shouted to inform me there was a fire. Again she bent forward so that her locks engulfed me, but this time, due to the greater distance she had to bend to do so, I caught a full view of her perfect breasts. As my arousal grew so also grew the sensation of absolute peace, as her thick silky hair surrounded and entrapped me. It was like falling into an erotic dream of impossible intensity, and for a moment I wondered if that’s what it really was, a dream. But then, as if to answer my unspoken question, she straddled by lap with her creamy thighs and wrapped her angelic arms around my shoulders. She did not speak. She did not need to speak. She had completely entangled me and I knew it. 

Knew it? 

I welcomed it with all my heart and soul!

"COILED"

(Picture is “II Volt” by Lithium Picnic)

 

“COILED”

Arafin © 2009

She poses on the table and your gaze softly follows, eyes confused wide with trembling anticipation. The patterns of ink on her skin ripple and writhe as she breathes in, seeming to draw the air out of your helpless lungs in a silent sigh of prayerful hope. With coy stare she freezes you and curls her toes over the edge of the table, shivering with joy at the havoc wrecked upon your strongest resolutions, so that you have not the slightest wish to struggle, not the simplest thought to resist. And the ink dances on her perfect form like a snake of frightening desire, coiled to strike, tense as steel, yet loose as smoke. Go to her if you can and bow your head in anguished pleading. Kneel below her if your will is strong enough to carry you there, and then yearn beyond all reason to be completely hers, leaving your self, your ego, your will behind to vanish as  do tiny flakes of snow in shimmering dessert fire. In the instant that her eyes found yours you never had a chance.

Fabulous Face Friday

“NOT FORGETTING”

Arafin © 2009

Old grey eyes moist with youthful longing

the memories of ancient times as fresh today 

as shoots of green amid the ash 

trembling fires and terrible loves 

so long ago.

 

The heart bleeds tears of fondest partings

prayers not forgotten to reunite

bells on shores of waiting wonder 

gull cries above the empty bay 

so far below.

 

Errands of crucial daylight distract 

a moment’s release as messages echoe 

written in pulsing ink of the heart

and sent long

on desperate wings calling.

 

No task too great nor pain severe 

to draw gaze from water’s promise 

to bring the ships again 

a host of softest sails

to kindle sweetest singing.

Happy Birthday Lady Julia