Archive for December, 2006


December 28, 2006 7 comments

I have an HNT photo (above), sketches (below), and some random spewage from the ‘net. Today is a day of errands.

This is your brain. This is your brain on drugs.

I have started taking chloroquine in preparation to fend off malaria while in Central America. 17 pills, once a week. Go!

I also have a week of vivotif to take, starting today, for typhoid prevention.

I gots the good stuff.

I think I’m starting to better understand why artists deviate from the conventional, Renaissance-era, realism. As someone who thrives off of super-realism and technical detail, I used to wonder why Picasso turned more and more to the simplistic, even child-like works later in life. What Salvador Dali found appealing in melting clocks.

This is just my personal theory, but I think, simply put, they were bored with realism. Confident in their technical ability to render lifelike works of art, they chose to challenge themselves by stretching reality, creating their own.

I like both of these artists a lot (although Dali took awhile to grow on me), although I’m also still a fan of more classical artists, like Vermeer and Rembrandt.

This is a yummy photograph I found a while ago, by a photographer named Jarek Kubicki. It’s a favorite of mine, and perfect as a sketch study of hands. Veined, muscled, tense hands, against soft, curvy, fleshy ones. Not to mention the beautiful composition, lighting…sigh.

All credit goes to him! I just wanted to draw hands…I love hands. Granted, once you see the photograph, some glaring errors come to light, and it’s unfinished, but I stopped when my cheap ballpoint pen ran out of ink.

So it goes…

I found this a couple days ago. It’s a recording of a Verizon customer’s phone call to their customer service, in which he tries to clarify whether the rate charged to him is $0.002, or 0.002¢. Unfortunately, Verizon can’t tell the difference between these two values.

Categories: art, graphic girl, links, photos, sundry

Baggage Claim

December 26, 2006 4 comments

Since it has become the unofficial tradition of my family to celebrate on Christmas Eve, Christmas day itself is actually rather drab. A few more presents always appear Christmas morning, but afterwards things are usually fairly mellow. Today was no exception – I haven’t changed out of my nightgown.

This Christmas Eve was interesting, however. It is the first time I have gone into any kind of religious building for any kind of religious service. My mother ushered my brother and I to church Sunday morning for a new kind of holiday experience. Along with some other relatives, we listened to carols sung by the choir, then a guy talked extensively of the church’s various community services for the less fortunate on Christmas. Another guy appeared (yes, my religious terminology is very extensive) to talk about the first Christmas and read passages from the Bible.

But by far, the most moving part of the service for me was the choir singing in the beginning. Besides reaffirming for me the incredible power of music, I was also struck by how much more I felt connected to those that filled the pews as we all stood, listening.

So, I’ve now fulfilled my desire to attend a church service. I’d also like to attend a synagogue and temple service, but considering how long it took me to actually make it to church, that may be a tad ambitious.

After church, we drove to Borders so I could pick up last minute gifts…along with every other person in town. I also got myself a little Christmas gift – The Story of O. I finished reading it today. Still absorbing it…

Finally, there is this little piece of fiction that appeared in my head last night. For some reason, I always get these ideas or images, and an inkling of an urge to write, just as I’m getting comfortable in bed. And, invariably, I’m always too lazy to get up and get it down on paper or computer and out of my head. Here’s a draft, I guess. I am never really satisfied with anything I write…

She grew increasingly more nervous as the plane landed, taxied, and pulled up to the gate. The nearness and tangibility of the airport, runway, even of the soft misty rain, all brought with it the concreteness of her immediate future. In the air, it had been much easier to remain calm, assured, and confident. To imagine the events unfolding in her head with the indifference of an outside observer.

Heart in her throat, she jumped up as soon as the seatbelt sign turned off, startling the man seated next to her by the window. He raised his eyebrows and looked up at her.

“Happy to get off the plane, eh?” He asked. She smiled distractedly, might have nodded in reply. Her mind was projected towards the terminal, towards a meeting planned in the most straightforward manner, yet full of uncertainties…. She grabbed her small travel suitcase from the overhead bin – all that she had been told she would need was inside – set the airplane pillow and headphones on her seat, waiting impatiently as passengers ahead of her collected their own belongings and their children, shuffling slowly down the aisle.

Finally she walked out of the gate, past peering and eager faces, past those holding names on cards and pieces of cardboard, past expectant searching eyes. He would not be there.

She walked quickly, heart thudding almost painfully against her ribs, resisting the urge to glance frantically around, to jump at every coat that brushed her arm. Over and over, she narrated her instructions to herself as she navigated through the crowded terminal, towards the baggage claim area. The seats across from the fourth carousel, the seats across from the fourth carousel

The baggage claim was packed, and Carousel Four was no exception. She struggled through a maze of people, carts, and luggage, and when she finally found the row of seats that hugged the wall opposite the belt, her heart sank to see it completely full. She looked at the screen hanging above the carousel – a plane had landed half an hour ago. Surely the area would empty soon. She hoped.

After a brief eternity of waiting, which lasted fifteen minutes, she managed to snag a seat. Finally. But now, her final instruction beckoned, and her pulse quickened again. She glanced to her left and right. What would these people think? What if airport security saw her? What if…?

With a deep breath, she pulled the black silk handkerchief from her pocket. Her hands shook slightly as she folded the cloth into a triangle, then again lengthwise several times, till it formed a long flat strip. She raised the band of cloth to her eyes, the crowds of people disappearing as she knotted the handkerchief securely.

She let out her breath. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she found a deep calm welling up from within. Even as her other senses began to sharpen, making up for the loss of sight, allowing her to hear the steps of hundreds of people, the crinkle and sigh of lifted suitcases; to smell the sweat and perfume of those walking past; to feel, even more acutely, the smoothness of her skirt against her legs and panty-less ass; even as she grew more aware of all of this, she felt her heartbeat slow, her breath deepen. Her hands stopped their agitated movements – one found the handle of her suitcase and gripped it tightly. The other rested, palm up, on the seat.

And she waited, no longer caring what curious looks she must be getting, what whispers might be directed at her. She had no idea how quickly time was passing. She didn’t even realize that she was smiling. And those who saw her, however troubled or curious they were, did not dare approach her.

Slowly, as people retrieved their luggage and went on their way, the area emptied. She vaguely noticed the lessening of noise and traffic. But she was on a different level of consciousness now, almost as if in a meditative trance.

The sound of one pair of footsteps echoing in the now empty baggage claim penetrated her mind as if from far in the distance. They were approaching…she could sense the change in atmosphere that marked a physical presence nearby. She shook herself mentally, trying to clear the serene fog that had settled over her. She did not dare move.

The footsteps stopped, and she thought she could feel a slight rise in the immediate temperature, caused by the heat emanating from another body. Fabric rustled softly, the source of heat drew nearer. She raised her head slightly, thinking its target to be her blindfold. She felt an electric shock as skin came in contact with her…a hand grazing her cheek, fingers curling at the nape of her neck. Then, lips against hers, and when her mouth parted in surprise, a tongue that took advantage of it, probing deep.

Her breath no longer her own, she melted into its new possessor, giving it willingly, and she was lightheaded when the lips finally released her, allowing her air. She panted shallowly, head tilted upwards, and the fire that had been brewing within her for so long – perhaps since she had stepped foot on the plane – roared into life and consumed her as she heard that familiar low, soothing voice inches from her ear, no longer separated by a phone line.

“Good girl.”

Categories: fantasy, submission, writing


December 23, 2006 2 comments

I watch her quietly as she works. So intently focused is she on her writing that she doesn’t hear the scrape of the door opening, nor the soft rustle of my jeans as I pad inside. Just a few steps, so as not to disturb her. At least, not yet.

I love watching her so absorbed in her work. Her head bent low, wisps of hair grazing the desk and paper. The pen moves quickly across the page, compelled by its owner’s hand and inspiration.

She has such tiny, delicate wrists and small hands. I always feel like a giant when I hold her hand, or when I grab her wrist. The thought causes my cock to twitch, almost imperceptibly. I take a few more steps inside.

Sunlight fills the study from large, open windows to the right, and my shadow falls alongside me, trailing on the carpet and wall. Perhaps it is that movement that catches her peripheral vision, causing her to look behind her suddenly. Or perhaps she already senses my…distracting thoughts.

She smiles, blinking and rubbing her eyes. “Hey, you. What time is it?”

“A little after one. Are you hungry?”

I don’t know if she catches the underlying tone of my own hunger, already starting to stir in my groin. She shrugs; looks up at me, her wide eyes giving off an air of innocence. But I know better. I smile and run my fingers down through her hair. Hearing her hum of satisfaction makes my cock twitch again. My hand moves slowly down to her neck, massaging and rubbing.

She reaches, still sitting, for my hips, to pull me closer. Her hands grasp the sides of my jeans.

“Oh. So you are hungry…” My voice is light, joking. But she hears my breathing getting ragged. Smiling still, she reaches with both hands to the zipper of my jeans.

“Ah ah…Not so fast.” I take both her wrists in one hand to stop her. Even with just one hand, my fingers wrap all the way around. With my other, I reach into my pocket and bring out metal handcuffs. Our favorite.

Taking a wrist in each hand now, I put them behind her back, locking the cuffs with swift familiarity and kissing her deeply as the gears click into place. The sound has become an aphrodisiac to us.

The chains clink as she tests them; the cold metal makes her groan. Her tiny wrists are almost too big for these cuffs: the last gear still allows her to rotate her hands freely. But the cold heavy steel is hard and uncomfortable and bruises her wrists easily. She feels their weight long after they’ve been taken off.

She falls from the chair to her knees as I stand back up, motioning for her to continue. She takes the zipper between her teeth, staring up at me as she pulls it slowly down. There is no hiding the bulge in my jeans. My cock is already straining against its confines…knowing what is waiting on the other side of the layers of fabric.

She grips the belt now, pulling it to the side with her mouth and grunting with effort. Effort and desire. Holding back the urge to rip the belt out for her, I instead fold my arms to my chest. Finally, my cock emerges, hard and already wet with precum. Taking it in my hand, I guide it to her open, greedy mouth. I feel her soft breath on the head,

her wet tongue massaging the shaft,

her sweet slick saliva coating the skin,

her full lips kissing my balls,

her hot mouth engulfing me,

and with a throaty growl, I grab her head, her dark shining hair flowing under my palms, from between my fingers, and lunge deep into her throat. I feel her desperate attempts to reach my balls with her tongue, to lick them at the deepest point of impalement. Her choking, gagging, moaning are heavenly, feeding my energy and lust. Metal grinds on metal as her cuffed hands search for balance and stability while I force her head repeatedly back, farther back with each thrust.

It begins – that exquisite build-up, the tightening in my balls, the increasing pressure, and I fuck her throat harder and faster. All sensations merge into one, the world exists in feeling my cock pulsating in and penetrating her eager throat, fueling the heat in my loins…

“oh, fuck—“

It is eternity in seconds. Something guttural escapes my lips; my cock spasms against the walls of her throat, my seed emptying into her, she hungrily swallowing around my shaft. All the pressure erupting from my balls through my cock, rushing into her waiting mouth.

I let out a ragged breath as the world tilts.

As I soften inside her, she suckles gently, bathing me with her tongue. I withdraw slowly, savoring the warmth and gasping at the heightened sensitivity.

A kiss on her now salty lips.

The click of a key turning, of gears springing free.

Small hands rubbing thin wrists.

The rustle of clothes being smoothed.

An embrace, soft whispered words.

I glance back one last time before walking out. She’s seated at her desk again, head already bowed in concentration. But I catch her tongue, flicking out along her lips, as she picks up her pen. And there is a dark ring on each of her wrists.

This is what I started, and what inspired my 3rd set of sketches. I lost interest in the writing halfway through and started drawing instead. Well, that came full circle, and looking through the sketches made me want to finish this post.

So I did.

Categories: fantasy, sex, submission, writing

Orgasming for the wOrld

December 22, 2006 4 comments

Happy Global O Day!

I came 4 or 5 times after breakfast myself. I’m unsure of the number…after the third, they began blending and merging into a continual delirious stream of sensations. I was left gasping into my covers, feeling the energy seeping out of my body.


Categories: ethereal, links, sex


December 21, 2006 5 comments

I had a story in mind for this one…It was half-written on here until I got too impatient to start drawing. So I ended up with this instead.

I am one horny girl right now.

Categories: graphic girl, photos


December 20, 2006 4 comments

As promised! I went through a lot of designs, but this one…this one I really like. She…kind of looks like me. Except I do not look nearly as good with short hair, heh.

I’m trying to decide between using pencil and ink. The ink is definitely clearer…but I like the quality of the pencil lines. And I need a name. “Jada” is the only one I have so far.

I have a male character design, too, but I’m not as happy with it. I find guys a lot harder to draw, too, though, for some reason.


This song is ridiculous.

Categories: art, graphic girl, links

Graphic Girl

December 16, 2006 3 comments

I seem to have hit a dearth of writing subjects. And desire. I got nothin’ (and yet I’m still writing now). Life, admittedly, has been sluggish at best. It is 50 and breezy, foggy at night. I have yet to start holiday shopping, card making/sending, or preparing for my study abroad program. Yikes.

I feel a lot more comfortable though, being here. At a new (and old at the same time) URL. Writing the simple code for my new header reminded me of how much fun that kind of stuff is. And I feel much more at ease without the ghosts of the not-so-distant past marking the blog with their invisible presence.

I have been nurturing an idea for a while now, something I have been wanting to do but never knew quite how to get started on. A comic.

It started a couple days after I read Shon Richard’s post on Inspiration. At first, I didn’t think I could really relate, not being a writer myself. But after letting that statement sit and ferment in the back of my head, I thought, I’m not a writer, but I’m a visual artist, and two forms of art are never too far apart in understanding.

Soon afterwards, the idea, really the germ of an idea, of doing a comic appeared in my head, and I’ve been guarding it, examining it, probing it, and finally nurturing it ever since. And, what better than to center it around what I love thinking and writing about most? Domination, submission…just those two words alone provide enough potential fodder for a graphic novel. Yum.

But before I get too excited and ahead of myself and spew everything out half-conceived, there is much more to think about. Character sketches. Character history. Story lines, plots, relationships. I’m worried about feeling overwhelmed before I even start, and giving up!

If this does come to life, it will be an exciting new venture for me. It will be wholly intimate as well, displaying my work, and will also make the blog that much more personal. Because as much as I enjoy writing here, it is really visual representation and creation that I thrive on.

Perhaps this is a premature announcement, to say this all now, but perhaps it will also force me to take action more quickly, and get the ball rolling. I already have character sketches. Maybe I’ll post them up sometime…

I’d also like to invite any of you, dear readers, to offer ideas as well, especially for the storyboarding part. I’m thinking loosely of it involving a heterosexual couple’s discovery and journey through bdsm, and sex and debauchery (whoo!), but that’s pretty vague…

Categories: graphic girl, hope, life, sundry