The Ghost of Raisin

My kitty Scooby is turning into an old man.  It's a change that's been creeping up on me for a while now, but this evening I noticed it again.  He hopped up onto the bed next to me, and for a fraction of a moment I mistook him for another, my long departed friend Raisin.

I loved Raisin dearly.  He was born in my childhood basement, and my sister and I met him when he was only hours old.  He loved us unconditionally, rowdy children though we were.  He was technically my sister's pet but, when he was thirteen and she was still living at home, she realized that I could give him better care than he had with her.  He had a severe upper respiratory illness at the time and she couldn't afford a vet visit (nor would my parents foot the bill for one.)  So she asked me to care for him on her behalf.  I was to become his hospice nurse.  He had been frail since kittenhood and we expected him to falter soon.

Raisin instead lived another three years.  He quickly claimed my blue velour armchair and was often found curled in a warm little ball there, sleeping soundly.  Extremely soundly in fact, because we discovered that over the years he had become stone deaf.  His surprise when I woke him for dinnertime was classically adorable until the end.  It was the most exciting part of his day, and he ate with gusto every time.

When his end did come, it was tragic.  He had been having small seizures, but they were thought to be manageable.  He recovered each time within a few minutes.  Then one evening after seizing he didn't feel like having dinner.  Mildly worried I decided to let him sleep upstairs with me, so that I would hear should he have a problem in the night.  Early in the morning I woke to find him weak and pale.  He had urinated on himself.  I knew he wasn't well off and I called my sister to meet me at the vet's office.  After he had been examined our fears were confirmed.  His heart had failed and he was slowly dying.  We gave him the last kindness we could, and let the doctor take his pain away.

It's amazing what an imprint Raisin left on my heart.  It's been four years since I've held him, but I still miss his gentle cuddles and unassuming ways.  And every once in a while, like tonight, I expect to find him with me again.  It's like his little ghost is still asleep in my blue chair, and I've just been waiting for him to wake up.

Happy New Year

Well it's official.  Welcome to 2012.

I had an uneventful evening - stayed home and read a book.  A few minutes to midnight Jute asked if we should have a traditional midnight kiss.  I nonchalantly agreed, and we came together for a short make out session.  After the clocks clicked over we broke away again.  He returned to playing Zelda (he received an NES system for the holidays) and I returned to my computer.  I texted a *snuggle kiss* to Raven and was a little sad that I couldn't kiss him in person.

New Years Day.  (sigh)  Exactly one year ago today, Jute and I visited Star and Carter for dinner.  We hardly knew each other at the time.  Star and I had only been flirting for a couple months, and had only kissed once.  We had met each other's husbands, but not socialized with them at all.  The guys were just barely acquaintances.  The plan for the evening was chatting and board games, but somehow instead we ended up having a crazy, beautiful, BDSM orgy.

I'd have to say Star was the one who initiated it.  After a few drinks she suggested we play a new card game, and this time she suggested a 'strip' version.  We exchanged glances, tittered, and then all agreed that could be fun.  Shortly thereafter we were suitably nude enough that Star further suggested that Carter show off his rope skills, using me as a bunny.  I was nervous, but agreed.  As he first began to tie me I experienced a bit of faintness.  When I admitted this sensation, he calmly lowered me into a kitchen chair, loosened the bonds and checked my pulses.  His confidence and calm inspired an immediate wave of relief in me.  I was safe with him.  That moment was when my feelings for him began to turn.

Star and Jute meanwhile had started out watching the bondage session, but somewhere along the line she had shared with him that she was very curious as to what it felt like to suck an un-cut cock.  She asked permission to experience his, and he was happy to oblige.

By the time Carter was ready to tie me to the table, Jute and Star were highly aroused.  The three of them kissed, stroked and licked me all over, and Carter's probing fingers caused me to squirt for the first time in my life.  Jute was facinated and wanted to learn how to do the same.  Carter demonstrated on me for a bit, before I was untied and it was Star's turn to gush all over the hardwood.

Later we took the party to their kingsize bed, and spent a few hours alternately fucking and then making love.  The energy between us was indescribable.  We awoke the next morning in a happy tangle of limbs.  We were amazed at having discovered this intimate connection with each other.  We felt as if we had all aligned just perfectly.

We were ready for a perfect new year.  And what a year it was...  what a year.

Prayer and Magick

I invited Jute to attend the Full Moon next weekend with the local Wiccan group.  We've participated a couple times in events with them, but honestly I've been somewhat hesitant to revisit them. It was Star who introduced me, both there, and to Paganism in general.  When Star and I first met she followed a different style of Paganism, but she had old connections to the Wiccan group.  At one point in our relationship she was considering converting back to Wicca.  I don't know if she's still feeling that way or not.  My guess is not.  Her mercurial whims frustrated me to no end.

Regardless, I've wanted to return and learn more about their teachings, but I've been afraid to step onto their grounds on my own, without her presence as an introduction.  I've also been afraid that, should I arrive there, I might find her as a participant.  Every time I see her, my heart wrings up.  We are gracious with each other, but internally I am shrinking away, guarding my soul from being burned again.

I've tried reading Pagan books and websites on my own.  I'd love to figure out what draws me toward the belief.  I spent a good number of years a staunch atheist, comfortably unconcerned with matters of the spirit.  Star and Carter's beliefs were interesting to me, but only academically.  That changed last spring, when I was taken by a dark depression.  One night, crying in the shower, I began to pray.  I prayed to 'I-don't-know-who-or-what-you-are-just-please-help-me,'  and after that prayer I began to question my belief in nothingness.  I began to feel as if there was more to be understood.

It seem to me, the same as the Christianity I was raised with, that Pagan religion is riddled with inanities.  Some folks will propose that X is the way to do things, and if they aren't in the exact place or at the exact time they are meaningless.  That plain seems wrong to me, on a primal level.  Nothing spiritual really makes sense to me yet though either.  What does speak to me, is the power I feel radiating from the sacred fires.  The windsong I hear in my minds ear.  The caress of water droplets running down my body in the rain.  The warm core of the earth steadying me when I reach for it.

I'm going to return to the Wiccan group, because they might have some answers for me.  I can't forget the anticipatory buzz I felt the first moment I stepped onto their grounds.  It called to me.  The earth seemed to be saying, "There is magick here."

Cuffed

I wore my cuffs to sleep last night.  I was held by baby pink faux leather lined with fuzzy faux fur.  The short shiny stainless chain restricted me in a peaceful way.  I haven't worn my cuffs to bed for months.  The last time I did Jute caught me and teased me about it.  He thought Carter had told me to do it, but Carter hadn't.  At least Carter didn't think it was a silly action though.  He figured it meant I was feeling insecure, that I wanted comfort.  Carter understood that bondage, cuffs, rope, can mean more than physical sensation.  There's a powerful emotional release when I am bound.  Carter wove ropes around me and I saw it as an expression of art and love.

As far as I can tell Jute has never felt the magickal aura of bondage.  It is functional to him.  Mechanical restriction which can be used to facilitate physical pleasure.  Months ago, during a week where Star and I had been fighting and I couldn't be with Carter because of that, Jute thought it would be a good idea to arrange a date for me with a rope top.  I was unsure, when he proposed it, but decided it might be fun.  He found a nice enough man to do it, and I even enjoyed myself through the process.  The problem arose the next morning.  I dropped *hard.*  I sobbed.  I felt dirty.  I felt like I'd sullied the purity of my love for rope.  I'd cheapened it.

Star and Carter were furious.  They both knew how powerfully I react to being bound, and were incredulous that this idea - a fling to get my mind off them - had ever been given merit.  Even though she had been angry with me the other day, Star comforted me.  She spoke soothingly to me as I sobbed to her over the phone.  That afternoon she brought me chocolates and held me.

Even now, recalling that, I'm starting to cry.  I miss her friendship, her touch.  We were volatile together, almost because we understood too much.  We fought so many of the same internal demons - histories of abuse, abandonment and depression.  We have mirrored histories, and they link us together.  As distant as I've become from her I cannot 'un-love' her.  My heart is forever roughly bound and cuffed to hers.