The fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the other two urged her on. One said:

‘Go on! You are the first, and we shall follow; yours is the right to begin. The other added:

‘He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all.’ I lay quiet, looking out under my eyelashes in an agony of delightful anticipation. The fair girl advanced and bent over me till I could feel the movement of her breath upon me. Sweet it was in one sense, honey-sweet, and sent the same tingling through the nerves as her voice, but with a bitter underlying the sweet, a bitter offensiveness, as one smells in blood.

I was afraid to raise my eyelids but looked out and saw perfectly under the lashes. The fair girl went on her knees and bent over me, fairly gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed to fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could hear the churning sound of her tongue as it licked teeth and lips, and feel the hot breath on my neck. Then the skin of my throat began to tingle as one’s flesh does when the hand that is to tickle it approaches nearer – nearer. I could feel the soft, shivering touch of her lips on the supersensitive skin of my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there. I closed my eyes in a languorous ecstasy and waited – waited with beating heart.

Bram Stoker
Dracula

Dreams & Moonlight

February 1, 2019

Wednesday 30th January

Last night, misty moonlight in the window. Our duvet and bedroom furniture turned milk white in this strange, uncanny light – which makes me drowsy and dull, the same feeling you have after lovemaking.

In reality: I’m the ghost of a third rate Edwardian poet trapped between dimensions, here, in the snow, on this moor. It’s sad you should have to find out this way – but that’s life, as they say.

Now, for my next trick –

P

A house is never still in darkness to those who listen intently; there is a whispering in distant chambers, an unearthly hand presses the snib of the window, the latch rises. Ghosts were created when the first man woke in the night.

J.M. Barrie
The Little Minister

where feminine energy flows

November 4, 2018

It’s such an injustice that women have been made to fear the night. Women have such a strong connection to the moon and the night is a time where feminine energy flows and the goddess is in the air. The night belongs to women and being out in the moonlight is good for the woman’s soul. It’s a crime that men have tried to take that away from us.

Lesbianwicce

converse for ever

September 1, 2018

We might go to moonlight ruins, cafés, dances, plays: converse for ever; sleep only while the moon covers herself for an instant with a thin veil.

Virginia Woolf
Letter to Vita Sackville-West, September 1928

lay naked

August 18, 2018

But then she had always preferred the night to the day. Moonlight fell directly over her bed in the summer. She lay naked in it for hours before falling asleep, wondering what its rays would do to her skin, her hair, her eyes, and then deeper, to her feelings.

Anaïs Nin
A Spy In The House Of Love