It’s all been a bit quiet on the ole’ Western Front, eh?
Well, I have been busy in many areas…one of which has been putting together this collection of poems (new and old) that’s available on Amazon right now! Seriously…go take a look…it’s right there 😉
Let me know what you think…I love the cover!
Hey strangers!
It’s been a while since my last blog post…a lot has changed here as Casa Emma and I’ve been a little wrapped up in a few things that have kept me away from writing, but I’m back!
Slight change of subject, but if any of you perverts have any interest in spirituality and the Law of Attraction, pop over to my new blog… (drum roll please…)
https://fftsblog.wordpress.com/
I’ll still be popping back here to litter your lives with filth, but it’s time to start writing about my other passions and hopefully help a lost soul or two…
This stuff isn’t new to me, it’s been part of my life for as long as I can remember, but I’m better equipped to write about it now and in a much better place to ‘put it out there’….Enjoy!
The sky is a cloudless blue, the birds are chirping happily, mocking me, the breeze is warm for this time of year, and this part of the world. I’m lying on the grass, staring up at a never ending vastness, feeling the sun kiss my skin in a way it hasn’t for such a long time, and I’m aware that this is heaven. But I don’t feel like I’m in heaven. I feel like I’m in hell.
Last night he broke me.
And not in the way that I wanted to be broken; not in the way that in years to come, I will ask to be broken.
He broke something entirely different. Shattered it. Took it, fragile as it was, and crushed it in his bare hands right in front of me. And he doesn’t even realise it yet, because he hasn’t come home.
He put his hand around my throat; 10 years from now, when a man puts his hand around my throat, it will be on my terms. Not this time. But that didn’t break me.
He spat vicious words in my face. Words that were so vile they dripped like acid on every kind, loving word he had ever uttered before. But that didn’t break me.
Fuelled by the vodka, he vomited, pissed, stumbled, and smashed his way around my tiny flat, the only place I could call home so far away from my friends and family. But that didn’t break me.
He looked at me, with so much contempt, so much hate. There was no love in his eyes; eyes I had gazed into for years, eyes that laughed when he smiled. There was no familiar voice in his eyes that reassured me this wasn’t real, this wasn’t him, this wasn’t a game. These were different eyes. These were filled with blackness and anger.
That’s what broke me.
I loved the way he looked at me; like I was beautiful, special, his…
That look…the one that was cold and new, the one I didn’t recognise, the one that frightened me, was one I would never forget. And that lasting image would burn so vividly in my mind that every time I looked at him in the days, weeks, months, that followed, it would be all I could see.
That look broke me.
Destroyed the very part of me that those same eyes had helped to create.
It would be a lie to say that this one event, this one evening, was the reason we fell apart. In truth, my world had been crumbling for quite some time, I just couldn’t see it…didn’t want to. But years from now, when I look back at what went so horribly wrong, this one night would stay with me. It would be the linchpin. The catalyst.
It was a slow death, my love for him. Excruciatingly painful and one that I fought tooth and nail until I couldn’t fight it any more. When I finally left, I was exhausted…broken.
The funny thing about being broken, shattered into a million pieces, is that the only direction you can go is towards repair. We are all fighters at heart, all capable of strength, and our will to survive is primitive and primal. Even doing nothing, letting time slip away, our soul fights to repair the smallest of the breaks. There is nothing we can do about that, even if we long to stay in pieces.
Even at our lowest, time keeps moving us forward, and from the bottom, there is only up.
I was lying on the grass, staring up at the bluest of blue skies. Time didn’t care that I was forever changed, and from where I was, I could only stand up and keep going.
“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars…” – Oscar Wilde
When a woman is around a man she finds sexually attractive, her voice will rise just a fraction of an octave…
Blood will rush to her lips, reddening them and making them more sensitive. It’s the reason the French invented lipstick…
Her body will release a small surge of adrenaline, making her feel slightly anxious, hence, the butterflies…
Her heart rate will alter almost imperceptibly, encouraging her breathing patterns to alter in much the same way…
Her brain will be bathed in a concoction of happy hormones; dopamine and endorphins being the most present…
Her pupils will dilate, allowing in more light, giving the illusion of her eyes sparkling…
These physiological symptoms cannot be controlled. They cannot be forced, faked, or mimicked. Her body will literally respond to your presence in ways she cannot explain.
You see guys, you don’t have to make her body want you…it already does. The tougher battle for you is to make her mind want you.
That she has far more control over, initially.
That is what she will fight more adamantly against, but crave the most.
That is her greatest strength, and her biggest weakness.
Those physiological changes are easy to ignore, easy to write off, easy to belittle. But her mind…once you have it…
That is where you will stay the longest.
I dont just want you to touch me,
I need to feel your hands.
I don’t just want you to spank me,
I need every sting that lands.
I don’t just want you to kiss me,
I need devouring with your lips.
I don’t just want you to taste me,
I need savouring with each lick.
I don’t just want you to fuck me,
I need you from the inside out.
I don’t just want you to want me,
I need you to need me, with no doubt.
I’m lying naked, face down on the bed.
My legs are spread, my hands are above my head.
No restraints. But I cannot move.
He told me to remain perfectly still.
I’m not sure what exactly is keeping me here.
Fear? The overwhelming urge to not disappoint?
The smell of clean linen is the only thing that is invading my senses.
My eyes are closed and the room is deathly silent.
He told me to wait.
For how long?
The sound of movement in the room interrupts my thoughts.
The adrenaline is already seeping its way into my veins.
My heartbeat quickens. My breathing hitches imperceptibly.
Still, I don’t move.
I hear the crack before I feel the sting.
Pain rips through my body like a lightning bolt.
Then fades to latent heat.
Still, silence.
I begin to move.
Subconsciously squirming against the combination of pain and arousal.
“Keep still.”
His tone is even, yet threatening.
Crack
Harder than the last.
I cry out and beat my wrists against imaginary shackles.
“Shhh.”
I bite my lip to keep from screaming as the next blow lands.
I’m shaking.
Adrenaline? Maybe.
More likely it’s the only thing I allow myself to do so that I keep still and stay silent.
The lightest touch travels along my leg.
From my ankle to the highest point at the inside of my thigh.
Searching for something when it reaches its destination.
A sign.
A symptom of my body’s own betrayal.
Exquisite pleasure begins to wash over the shadows of the pain.
Dampening the lingering sting of the implement I chose not to ask about.
My heart rate quickens again.
But to a different tune.
Before I can reach that peak, it’s gone.
Silence again.
And I wait for the next lash.
Sometimes…sometimes, I want to be your everything.
Sometimes…sometimes, I want thoughts of me to stop you in your tracks.
Sometimes…sometimes, I want you to forget yourself, because you are remembering me and the touch and taste of my skin.
Sometimes…sometimes, I want to be all you can see.
Sometimes…sometimes, I want you to be consumed by me and us and ours.
Just sometimes.
When I’m not submissive
When you let me take the lead
When you trust that I can give you
What it is you truly need
When I’m on my knees and at your feet
And yet, I’m in control
And you watch me savour every inch
You watch me take you whole
On my terms, in my own time
Just enjoying every taste
So slowly, so precisely
No speed, no rush, no haste
I acknowledge that you’ve made a choice
To let me see you bare
To not take your pleasure from me
But to hand it to me there
When I watch your eyes grow darker
When I see you reach that point
When you relinquish all your power
And my mouth and throat, anoint
How ironic, that I have the reins
But you still have the power
Because the truth is, I could worship you
From on my knees for hours
The moonlight danced for her and when she spoke, the birds stopped to listen.
When the sunlight touched her, it turned to gold and whole oceans could rise if you whispered her name.
Her touch could ignite fires and a kiss from her lips could start wars.
If only she knew the power she possessed.
She could stop the world turning if she just raised her hand.
But instead, she knelt. Before him.
She bowed her head and held out her hands.
And he watched her, silently offer herself to him, body and soul.
He bound her wrists and led her; and she followed.
He recognised her surrender.
And he knew there was more power in that than all the sunlight, moonlight, birdsong, ocean, fire, and war in this world.
So he protected it. He nurtured it.
He owned her.
But she possessed him.
It’s been confirmed! EL James officially has nothing else to write about!
I do get it…the world fell in love with Fifty Shades, with Christian in particular, but really?! Do we really need another version of something that was suspiciously popular in the first place? The three books, combined, outsold Harry Potter! The film smashed box office records…I know! But quit while you’re ahead, people!
You know how you hear that song that you love, and the whole world loves it too, and it gets played on the radio over and over and over, and eventually you want to rip your own eyeballs out whenever you hear it? Yeah…that!
As I’ve said before, I begrudgingly loved the books when they were first released, but this kind of feels like flogging a dead horse (flogging pun absolutely intended!) It’s like the people behind the BDSM Behemoth can’t let go.
Before I go full on Elsa and start belting out my pitch perfect rendition of Let it Go, I’ll move on…(Bet you never thought you’d see a Disney reference in a piece about Fifty Shades…Yeah…I went there!)
EL James clearly has a talent for creating characters that people love. For the most part, she’s a fantastic story teller, and I do believe that she should continue to write other things (and perhaps hirer a damn good editor), but the appeal of Christian Grey is wearing a little thin now, and trying to bleed this money-horse for all it’s worth (which is pretty clearly what is happening) will just end in tears…and not the tears of the submissive being beaten with a riding crop…genuine tears! My tears!
All That Good Stuff 