Rape of Tamar

Memoirs of a Cubist Odalisque


Memoirs of a Cubist Odalisque

Sophie’s Story

Odalisque in Grisaille Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres  (French, Montauban 1780–1867 Paris) and Workshop
Odalisque in Grisaille
Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres
(French, Montauban 1780–1867 Paris) and Workshop

Gumby Lovers

 

“I Know that I’m not much to look at but I used to be the Crown Prince of Manhood, the Courtier of Cum among Royal Lovers.”

This laughable boast came on an exultation of foul and fetid breath akin to human waste lying in the bottom of a sewer emitting from this wizened and emaciated corpse like figure with a red bulging knobby doorknob on the end of a shriveled pecker. How it managed to stand at attention was a miracle from the saints or gods of nonstop porn.  His face was a veritable road-map of lines, wrinkles, valleys, pitted scars with a bird beak blue veined appendage masquerading as a nose jutting forth from sunken cheeks.  Above the beak nose were two rheumy eyes topped by beetle brows which looked more like two warring caterpillars wrangling for domination of an egg shaped skull sprouting tufts of errant hairs growing from the beak nose, elongated ears and the various moles on his scrofulous person.

Then it began. I closed my eyes and did my best to disengage all my senses as this old bag of bones began his pitiful assault upon my body.  I tried to drown out the sound of the Click-Clacking of false teeth in rhythm with hurried asthmatic prods that gradually became more pathetic and feebler though he put his hairy back best with his pecker pushing.  Thankfully he was done in under four minutes.  The way he panted and gasped for air I thought he was having a heart attack and about to cum and go at the same time!

Four minutes of torture and hell. Because I have Scoliosis I had to deal with the runts of the litter. Yup I get all the Gumbys and Pokeys.  Though we are fed, housed, clothed and housed like Renaissance Odalisques there is still a pecking order of beauty.  My face, my sun-kissed umber skin, my small perfectly round breasts and long curly wavy chestnut locks got me a reprieve from just being another filthy dirty street urchin but this curvature of the spine has relegated me to servicing the worst of the many Geezer patrons who pass through these palatial doors.  The soldiers, sailors, traveling merchants or other Spew head Jimmy’s as many of the Ladies were want to call them rarely came my way unless they too suffered from a disfigurement of the mind and/or body which they saw reflected in me.

Stepping from the filthy foul smelling streets men were ushered into exotic elaborately decorated quarters decorated with expensive Persian rugs, medieval tapestries, silk draperies hung upon windowless walls, tables adorned with Tiffany lamps. A subtle scent of incense permeated the airways. The decorations seemed incongruous yet harmonized together in an irregular yet pleasing manner. Palatial taste a bit ostentatious like a Renaissance bordello. The furnishings were highly articulated and faceted Baroque/Rococo objects, many with deep gouges and gashes suggesting transparency and interior penetration. This room and much of the house as well as the street urchins who passed through seemed to us an Orientalist fantasy. At the far end of the living room hung a painting of a Minotaur coupling with a Centauride.

I saved my favorite costume for my only true Lover, Semper Fi.  It was a beautiful blood red silk satin with lace trimming with velvet calf length skirts. However as joyful as I was when I donned the frock what pleased me even more were the Bordello Shoes—Red Velveteen Victorian button-up Boots with a two inch heel. My long thick Chestnut hair was caught up in a chignon ala Gibson Girl but I captured the Bohemian spirit of the Flapper.

Few and far in between are opportunities to be with my Beloved Semper Fi a robust man in his late 40s. Mattered not to him my twisted spine as he guided me gently onto his massive bull staff. Skillfully bringing me to numerous orgasms complimenting me on my long curly chestnut hair, my perfect A Cup breasts gifted with large sensitive raisins that grew even larger as he sucked and licked me into ecstasy. What gave me even more pleasure than his substantial endowment was that he chose me. Semper would call at least two or three days in advance specifically requesting my services.  I felt honored to be chosen by this man among men……………………………………………………………………..

 

 

Rape of Tamar
The Rape of Tamar

 

 

Sophie’s Origins

My Name is Zipporah Sophia.  I am from the once favored issue and Kingdom of Jephthah whose bad choices and decisions cursed my clan

 

I came to this Bordello from a rural backwater village that held onto the 19th Century in custom, culture and values long after its demise, after a disastrous arranged marriage. From my birth I was considered “Damaged goods”. Upon seeing me after I was born my father was ready to throw me to hyenas and rabid dogs that fed on discarded garbage in the town dump.  My mother, grandmother and aunts stayed his hand. So ashamed of me was him I called father that he kept me within the compound as much as possible and I was only allowed outside on infrequent shopping excursions with my female relatives for food, house supplies and to buy enough fabric to make clothing which would covered the misshaped hump that dominated my form.  Around the ages of 14 and 15 when most young women were making suitable marriages I had no suitors. Every young man in the village knew of my deformity though I rarely made an appearance in town.  Bad news travels fast.  My family was fairly well off and we lived quite comfortably so I had a somewhat considerably dowry, yet I still had no takers.  No man wanted to love me.  Eventually as I approached my 18th birthday having resigned myself to being an Old Maid my father finally found a match in a far flung outpost where no man knew my embarrassing truth.  Negotiations began. A Wedding date was set and I was delivered to my betrothed.  The Festivities nearly two days and my future husband was eager to retire to our luxurious tent to consummate our union.

But there was no consummation because once my betrothed removed my clothes, he screamed in disgust that he had been saddled with a hunchback for a wife.  He refused to do his husbandly duties and angrily return me to my father’s tent.  My father ashamed and now disgraced in not one but two villages sent me packing out from our tribal home into what I perceived as an unknown and dangerous wasteland.  So great was his fury and so hurried his dismissal that I hurriedly left with only the clothes on my twisted back and what few personal possessions I could carry, rushing to escape his stormy anger.

Good Fortune did smile on me as I traversed pock marked, poorly lit, rubble strewn road leading away from the only home I had ever known.  Angels in the form of my mother, aunts and sisters had extinguished my father’s fiery rage through liberal applications of wine spiked with sleeping potions. They then saddled horses from his stables and intercepted my wilderness journey.  We hugged, cried, and mourned the passing of me, Jephthah’s daughter cast out like Hagar from those she loved traveling who knows where.

They had also bargained with the disgruntled groom and his family to win back half my dowry which gifted me along with one strong but sway back donkey, an animal who mirrored my disability and fortitude.  I a prodigal daughter who had committed no sin in my youth and innocence only to be rescued by the House of Sin…………………………………

 

Semper Fidelis

Semper Fi never removed his spectacles even in the heat of desire. His pince-nez caught, captured and dispensed salty yearning drops of sweat upon whichever passion princess he had chosen for his evenings of lust.

His bull powered thrusts accompanied by violent shakes and heaves of the Brass headboard threatened to crash through the plaster thin wall and into the adjoining room. Fellow patrons and madams nicknamed him the Bull in the China Shop for his furious jackhammer prick pounding he gave to Ladies of the Evening with his equine sized crimson member.  His broad face with flaring nostrils and rather full lips rendered him some animistic qualities which he gladly played out in the boudoir.

His sonorous speeches gave way to primal grunts, groans, and growls that increased with intensity of each hammer G-Spot driven plunge. At the crescendo when he could no longer hold back the volcanic force surging inside he withdrew to spew his semen eruption over his mistress rounded abdomen, full firm breasts and thick thighs.

During the week he was a respectable Antique Bookshop Owner dealing with annoying customers and fickle publishers and shady book collectors. By the weekend it’s like all that ferocity wrapped up inside he was ready to be released in the Ultimate Weekend Fuck Fest. Sometimes he was able to release building tension with whichever out of town female research bookseller/collector was in town for a convention or a project.  He was usually able to win them over with his humor, charm and dinners at the finest restaurants in town.  Fortunately for Semper Fi his begetter though rich in seminal fluids was totally devoid of sperm otherwise he would have sired legions offspring with the many young fertile women he serviced on a regular basis. On first glance his dangling appendage had ample girth but seemed to lack length but that assumption was quickly falsified during arousal.

Such was his reputation that every Friday when he made his grand entrance into the Pussy Palace Bordello all the Ladies in Waiting vied for his attention by wearing their most entrancing scintillating garb so that they would be the chosen mare to be rode hard and put out wet.

Semper Fi with his musician fingers explored every nook, cranny, crevice and grotto of the selected woman’s body blessing her with multiple orgasms before entering her moist dark chambers with his elephantine rod of steel.

The aromatic oils that he liberally anointed his body daily provided powerful pheromones when mixed with his natural man musk scent.  Sometimes his spurting semen cascaded over the woman like golden glistening raindrops against a window pane.  Other times he ejaculated copious white cream which sprayed over flaming hips and thighs like a profuse foggy mist mixing with her fragrant perspiration musky internal womb perfumes.

His favorite of the entire harem was Zipporah or Sophie as she was generally called whose twisted back gave him a thousand pleasures in mind and body while away from her or when tracing his fingers along the S-shaped curve that she desperately tried to hide with elaborate costumes……………………

(To Be Continued)

 

 

Holy Trinity vs. the Trifecta of Terror?


Holy Trinity vs. the Trifecta of Terror?

Horror is a literary and film genre I’ve always loved from a child. Give me a good Bela Lugosi, Lon Chaney, Jr. or Boris Karloff film above the over sanitized song & dance Busby Berkley movies any time, any place or anywhere. Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy drove me nuts with their bursting into song at the most inopportune moment during the story.  I’ve never had any external or internal conflict concerning my Christian faith with my fondness for Vampires, Werewolves or zombies. Why? Because I know that they are not real.  Just scary entertainment and nothing more.

Albeit back in my college days there was a Goth girl in my school who drank human blood. Believe me I gave the Goths a wide berth but then again since I was an older (36 year old) night time student we never crossed paths so she and her minions never had the opportunity to access the quality of my veins and arteries.

Like many women I’ve dated a guy with a hairy back. Poor fellow had more hair on his back than on his head but at no time during the months that we were together did he become a snarling libidinous ravenous Wolf Being after Midnight. If he had made some sort of hirsute transformation in the midst of our eating dinner or watching a play then I would have become Cat Woman.

Cat People 1942 Film
Cat People 1942 Film

 

No, not the Cat Woman most of us are familiar with from television and movies but the old school Cat Woman in the film, 1942 flick “Cat People” where the woman upon sexual arousal turns into a real cat! A Panther!  Yes I know there was a 1982 remake of Cat People but I did not like that one.  The original 1942 version was much better.  Did you get that visual of the Cat People Woman and the Werewolf changing during their most erotic moments?  

The Trifecta of Terror: Vampires, Werewolves, and Zombies all came from the overly active imaginations of writers mixed with folklore from various parts of the world.  Bram Stoker created Dracula based on myths and legends from Eastern Europe coupled with a healthy dose of hidden references to repressed sexuality. Mary Shelley gave birth to Frankenstein or as was in the original title The Modern Prometheus which may have been a possible response to the debate on evolution and of course the forbidden realm of the occult.

1942 Cat People
1942 Cat People

As for Zombies, I’m not really too keen on them but I see Zombies aka The Walking Dead in my daily dealings with the general public who display a shocking lack of basic historical knowledge, good manners, common sense and a lack of respect for the rest of the visitors or for my hardworking fellow co-workers.  The Walking Dead is also an accurate description of our government, i.e, the Congress and Senate as well as an apathetic public that believes the hype and drinks the Kool-Aid.  Unfortunately with the advent of modern media such as personal computers, tablets, the Internet, the Web, Smartphones, Laptops, Facebook, Twitter, Google+ and other social media perhaps the true horror and terror of the movie, “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” has come to pass.  Many have been sucked into the mindlessness of Reality TV resulting in assimilation into the Borg Hive.

My favorite Horror sub-genre is psychological horror. It’s that seemingly, quiet, peaceful mundane happenings in small towns and pastoral villages across the globe, that have a hidden under current of evil. Stephen King and Anne Rice are Horror Masters. You know those small towns that exude normalcy but are really the Belly of the Beast. The late great Rod Serling hit the name on the head with the unexpected with the classic TV series, “The Twilight Zone.”  A television favorite of many viewers’ decades after his death.  I’ll leave you with two links to Two of my favorite disturbing Tales of Understated Terror.

A great literary example is the Shirley Jackson short story, “The Lottery.”   http://sites.middlebury.edu/individualandthesociety/files/2010/09/jackson_lottery.pdf

AND

A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner    http://xroads.virginia.edu/~drbr/wf_rose.html