the good neighbor

Posted in Autobiographical, Crimson Writ on October 3rd, 2017 by D'jaevle

I live in a townhouse and share a wall with my neighbors; my neighbors and I are friendly, if not particularly social.

Most of the time I am a good neighbor. I’m relatively quiet. I mind my own business. I don’t leave messes. I play the pirate for neighborhood kids before heading out to Renn Faire. I move mis-delivered mail to the right mailbox.

Most of the time I am a good neighbor.

But sometimes…

Sometimes the sound of my hand on bare flesh is loud enough to carry through the walls. And if that wasn’t loud enough – the yelps, the moans, the ‘oh fucks’ definitely are.

Sometimes a friend of mine will leave in a disheveled state. Half-dressed, dazed, sleepily satiated or on edge from the tease.

Sometimes I don’t wait for the front door to close before I have them pinned to the wall just inside, my hand buried under their skirts and between their thighs.

Sometimes I have them bent over the wooden railing of my deck outside, spanked and beaten. Or I slide to one knee and slip their leg over my shoulder as I devour them amongst the leaves falling from the trees overhead.

It’s not easy to see onto my deck from the upper floors of my neighbor’s windows.

Not easy. But possible.

Most of the time I am a good neighbor.

But sometimes.

Sometimes I’m really not.

learning curve

Posted in Autobiographical on May 12th, 2015 by D'jaevle

In my early twenties I didn’t know what I was doing.

In my early thirties I had something to prove.

==

Now I know exactly what I am doing.

And I have nothing to prove.

This makes me very, very dangerous.

christmas

Posted in Autobiographical on December 13th, 2014 by D'jaevle

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The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.
George Carlin

a few of my favorite things

Posted in Autobiographical on December 3rd, 2014 by D'jaevle

My favorite words:

Serenity, kerfuffle, soliloquy, pernicious, tomfoolery, dulcet, sobriquet, flibbertigibbet, ineffable and malevolent.

the consequences of rhetorical questions

Posted in Autobiographical, Crimson Writ on November 24th, 2014 by D'jaevle

I had to relearn how to lace my fingers through her hair. A grip that was authoritative before painful.

I kept her trapped against the desk. “Do you remember your place?”

“H-here, master.”

Fingers brushed her nipple, caught it, tightening. Her back arched into a gasp.

“It is a yes or no question, NE.”

“Yes! Yes.”

I leaned in, “Can you feel the heat of my hand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you miss how it feels?”

“Y-yes.”

“Where do you belong?”

“Here, master.”

I roughly pulled her head to the side, my fingers biting into the inside of her thigh.”Yes or no. Where do you belong?”

Her breathing was labored, uneven. A second passed, then two. My fingers tightened in her hair “Where do you belong?”

“Yes, master.”

I smiled against her throat.

hubris

Posted in Autobiographical, General Musings on June 23rd, 2014 by D'jaevle

Let’s suppose someone has mastered the nuances of human behavior. They’ve spent the better part of four decades watching how people interact, studied their motivations in the face of ambition and desire, learned when instinct outweighs consciousness, examined the patterns that lead to heartbreak and betrayal. Let us say that at first this study was done to learn the art of seduction but later was simply a tool for living a better, happier, life.

Let’s suppose all of this is true.

There remains one other singular fact:

No matter how great their understanding, it is arrogance itself to believe they are not bound by the same motivations, same instincts, and same patterns.

And being arrogant is about as human as it gets.

this ride

Posted in Autobiographical on July 16th, 2012 by D'jaevle

Everytime I get on my motorcycle, I am putting my life into danger.

Than again, the same can be said for each time I get into my car. Or cross the street. Or swim in the ocean.

It’s a matter of degrees.

But the degrees matter. The feeling of danger when riding my motorcycle is a visceral one.

I take the proper precautions. I wear a leather jacket, full-faced helmet and riding gloves. I drive with a healthy paranoia and am heightened-sensitivity to the world around me.

Yet. It takes a single distracted driver, a slick spot in the road, or a particularly strong gust of wind to make my life…interesting.

And I love it.

The older I get, the easier it is for me to become insulated from the world. Safe and secure in my study, my car, my cube at work, routine becomes a comfortable cell.

That which makes it impossible for me to get my bearings.

I /need/ to be moving to know where I am.

all maps just two dollars (or, how I spent my year)

Posted in Autobiographical on December 14th, 2011 by D'jaevle

This last year has been interesting: I went hang-gliding at Kitty Hawk, chased crabs by flashlight on the beach, wrote (and acted in) a one-act play, taught a class, destroyed a car, bought a car, rode the Harry Potter ride at MGM (twice), walked with sharks and swam with dolphins in the Bahamas.

I attended the short film festival in DC, caught the Book of Mormon in New York, participated in Santarchy in Pittsburgh (as Hobo-Santa), and watched a woman strip while putting together Mouse Trap (burlesque rocks!).

Not to mention stopping by a sex positive convention, assisting at a naughty freak show by standing on the back of a woman laying face and chest-first in ground glass, taking private harmonica lessons, changing employers, sword-fighting in a parking lot, and hiking by moonlight.

And this Saturday I’ll be hosting my first murder mystery dinner at my house.

So – I’m still here.

Busy.

But here.

green trees

Posted in Autobiographical on June 29th, 2011 by D'jaevle

Whenever one of us grand kids would ask for something – candy, a yo-yo, legos, a cabbage patch doll – our grandparents would tell us, “Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

Except for that one day that it did.

My grandfather had a beautiful garden beside their house (they also had apple and pear trees and a grape arbor). One day, after church, he took us around the garden.

Was that…a dollar bill amongst the basil? It was! And another by the tomatoes.

I collected a fistful of dollars that day. I ran back to the house to show my grandmother who couldn’t stop smiling.’

Grandparents rock.

go back there someday

Posted in Autobiographical on October 26th, 2009 by D'jaevle

There’s not a word yet for old friends who’ve just met.
Part heaven, part space, or have I found my place?
You can just visit, but I plan to stay.
I’m going to go back there someday.
I’m going to go back there someday.

Gonzo, “I’m Going to Go Back There Someday”

This song has stayed with me over the last few weeks; I came across it while creating a lullaby CD for NE’s littles. Like all mixes, I listen to the playlist several times, removing a song here, adding another.

And this song, the one sung by a purple muppet sitting at a campfire, gets to me. Every time I hear it.

Sitting in the lobby of a small hotel in Bruges, I think of my friends. The close ones, the ones that mean something to me, that help define my life. The old friends I have met.

And the others I have yet to see.