Night of Dreams

January 22, 2016

Foggy street. Sarajevo, Bosnia.

You were lying on top of me
waving your small hand.
I was concerned about
the foreign invasion,
the tiny animals
threatening to explode my ovaries.
You gave me a rubber palate,
you said it was an interheart device
that would prevent this sort of thing
from happening. Maybe I was
reassured. I reached to touch the hole
in your buttocks and was
sucked in.
The street lights
are stretching like amoebae
they are trying to reach in
and read my palm
they are discussing my future
humming their voices
like refrigerators
I should get up and confirm them
but sleep more comfortable
I go on
listening to my diagnosis

I hear the splintering of stairs.
I hear the beads that
covered the door
where you used to live.
You with your huge breasts
and infallible IUD.
You used to say
how beautiful I was
and tell the men in the bars
that we were lovers.
We spent hours together
cutting the people we knew
up in pieces and putting them
back together as poems.
Why are you walking
around here tonight?
I know that you are in
Amsterdam. Why are you rattling
those beads?
You lived only in that house
a short while
before the child died.
You have only to get up again
and leave us all behind.

This situation can only be analyzed
mathmatically. Just 100 feet from
the monster’s eye my finger rests
on the pillow. I have one minute to get
away. My mother and father are
already breathing the poison. My friends
from high school are trying on
new dresses. My brother is eating
his fingernails. A boat will touch
the tip of the island just in time.
There will be a yard between
the wharf and the dock of the boat.
I will have to wake up and jump.

Laura Beausoleil

(Laura Beausoleil is a poet and artist, a writer of fiction and nonfiction, her books include four poetry collections, Autograph (1975), In the Absence of a Surface (1985), The Land Above the Trees (1999) and In the Company of Birds (2005), and one book of short stories, A Chance of Moving (1979). Her work has appeared in eight anthologies and 38+ literary magazines. Ms. Beausoleil is also Editor and Publisher of Philos Press).

fangs against her neck

January 22, 2016


As she felt his fangs against her neck, she was in another world.

There was screaming. A woman was somewhere in agony. Everything was black, and the tormented scream was overwhelming, echoing through the emptiness. After the screaming subsided, there was panting, loud and steady, and it wasn’t as dark anymore. There was a room visible now, in a reddish light. A pale man with black hair hovered over a woman dressed in white. She lay on a bed, looking disheveled and sweaty. Her brown-black hair clung to her wet forehead and shoulders. She was covered in blood. The man sat next to her, and held her close to him. He stroked her hair as her chest heaved desperately.

“I love you, my dearest Katerina,” he said, cradling her in his strong arms. “Soon, we’ll be together forever.”

Everything faded to black once more, and the woman stopped breathing. All was silent and still.

Dawn Bonney


January 22, 2016


Birds and periodic blood.
Old recapitulations.
The fox, panting, fire-eyed,
gone to earth in my chest.
How beautiful we are,
he and I, with our auburn
pelts, our trails of blood,
our miracle escapes,
our whiplash panic flogging us on
to new miracles!
They’ve supplied us with pills
for bleeding, pills for panic.
Wash them down the sink.
This is truth, then:
dull needle groping for the spinal fluid,
weak acid in the bottom of the cup,
foreboding, foreboding.
No one tells the truth about truth,
that it’s what the fox
sees from his scuffled burrow:
dull-jawed, onrushing
killer, being that
inanely single-minded
will have our skins at last.

Adrienne Rich

Feminization Friday

January 22, 2016

“I know it’s a lot to take in. Of course, it’s much easier to accomplish if you have a submissive man to begin with, but even the more macho males will be taken down a few notches once they are wearing soft frilly panties under their jeans…”

Satin submissions

“”We can go shopping together and you can spend as much as you like on sexy lingerie and little outfits. You’re going to be such a pretty gurl now…”

Ms Sherborne


“No, please…I’m male, not female. Oh God, please don’t…”

Matilda Murdoch
Wife’s little Sissy: forced feminization for her new hubbyFriday_forced_fem4

“You’re a girl now sweetheart, you’re a girl now,” her voice in his ear. And soon waves of pleasure shook through his body and he could no longer hold back. Lightly touching himself through his silken panties, he had a tremendous orgasm…

Taboo Tales: Colin to Collette
Olivia Heart

“I knew from the moment we first met,” she said. “You were a guy who craved to be a gurl. You were in denial, but you needed frills and lace and greedy cock…”

Thomas Lynn
The Wife’s Underwear – a true confession

“You’ll learn. You’re going to be my bitch. I’ll dress you up in my underwear and clothes, and give you false breasts so you can act all pretty and sexy. I get off on that. I get off on the thought that you’re my little sissy bitch and men will come here and have you like a whore and you’ll just take it. Because that’s what I tell you to do. That’s what your mistress wants…”

Sadie Sue
Training your Sissy


Reading just now…

January 22, 2016


Did I say reading or masturbating…?

my sweet cake

January 22, 2016

beryl cook punishment

I think I just hit the jackpot. I can have my sweet cake and beat it too.

Willow Madison
We were one once: book 1


I think the next little bit of excitement is flying. I hope I am not too old to take it up seriously, nor too stupid about machines to qualify as a commercial pilot. I do not feel like spending the rest of my life writing books that no one will read. It is not as though I wanted to write them.

The Letters of Samuel Beckett 1929–1940 (2009), p. 362

Oh, yeah, it’s…

January 22, 2016

Sleeping on a dragon’s hoard with greedy, dragonish thoughts in his heart, he had become a dragon himself.

C.S. Lewis
The Voyage of the “Dawn Trader”

“They say dragons never truly die. No matter how many times you kill them.”

Suzanne G. Rogers
Jon Hansen and the Dragon Clan of Yden

My nightly craft is winged in white, a dragon of night dark sea. Swift born, dream bound and rudderless, her captain and crew are me. We’ve sailed a hundred sleeping tides where no seaman’s ever been and only my white-winged craft and I know the wonders we have seen.

Anne McCaffrey

“Men like you should be left to the mercy of women like me.”

Sam J. Charlton
The Citadel of Lies

                                        TFIF…THE WEEKEND STARTS HERE!!