Of all the abandoned, obsolete technologies we've discarded over the years, the one most deserving of a second chance is the noble telegraph. Think about it -- when we're at our computers everyday, visiting our favorite wicker porn sites, what are we already doing? That's right: clicking. Clicking away on our mice, slowly tapping out messages to the Ether. I guarantee you, somewhere out there is a vast, diffuse machine intelligence that's listening in, slowly deciphering our subconscious dots-and-dashes message, transmitted quite without our knowledge through our everyday Internet usage. And at some point, it will have collected enough clicks to make sense of that message, and respond with a disgusted 'That's nasty', and shut itself down forever.
Do you see how powerful the telegraph is? If it can cause a barely-cognizant hardware-constrained cloud of virtual neurons to kill itself in horrified, existential anomie, surely it can revitalize our modern way of life! How, you say? I'm glad you asked, you mouth-breathing mendicant!
Imagine the following scenario: it's late. You're lonely. You have no lover that doesn't run on batteries, and those Flipper reruns don't come on until 3 AM. You crave a direct connection with another human being, someone with whom you can share your innermost goulash recipes. Someone with whom you can be truly intimate. Looking around your cell, your fevered gaze alights upon your telegraph device, coiled and smug within its mahogany-and-cheese berth.
Trembling, your hand reaches toward it, fingers already pre-tapping, anxiously awaiting that tactile, subdermal feedback. You don your headphones, heartrate jumping at the mere hiss of the static issuing forth. You begin to code your message: dot-dash... dot-dot-dot... dot-dash-dot-dot... dot-dot-dash-dash-dot-dot.
Suddenly, you're in the thick of it! Messages crowd in, staccato sweet nothings filling your headspace like the drilling of overly-amorous woodpeckers! Drum roll missives of lust peppering your eardrums with the emotional force of a thousand tiny jackhammers of love! Engorged with excitement... EWW... you hurriedly attach and activate the Press-Your-Sensitive™ Teledildonics NubbinNotch ("Now with telegraph support!") and continue your perversely promiscuous pressings.
With each dot and dash of your partner's message delivered as a jolt of current to your sex toy, and calibrated to be sensitive enough to register pressure, the harder you tap, the stronger the impulses. As you race closer to the eventual conclusion, your frenzied pounding begins to set up a powerful feedback loop, like shouting into a series of megaphones, both of you crying out for release, hands feverishly slamming into the receiver until finally the final spasm hits, both hands clenched tightly around the telegraph machine, blissed and mindless...
...until you electrocute yourself on an exposed wire. But UNTIL then! Transformative! Revolutionary! Apocalyptic! Superfluous! Yes, gentle sentients, the telegraph must return! If not for yourselves, then think of the children! Do you really want them to grow up in a society where debased adult sexmongers aren't regularly destroyed by their own fiendish devices? Look deep into your hearts; you already know the answer: dash-dot... dash-dash-dash.
I wanna be free... just me... oh baby...
EWW
-- "Easy", Faith No More
New Aria stories will be posted at:
Sasha stared at the ceiling. “Aria is the oldest of us, even older than you Pixie.”
Aria’s face burned as she stuttered out a retort, but it tapered off quickly as her mind churned. After everything she had learned, was this so unlikely? She leaned back, relaxing her body and let her mind race off into the past. No longer could she ignore her lack of aging, her freakish strength, and her strange memories.
Just this past night the same dream had come again. Cycles of light and dark, an endless stream of white jacketed men and women coming in and out of her little room.
Pain. Pleasure. Fear. Ecstacy. All of these things she experienced in her dream, but as she lay there looking at the ceiling with her friends watching with concerned faces, she knew now with certainty that it wasn’t a dream. It was her reality, her past.
“It seems so obvious now.” She said as she turned to face Sasha. “It feels true, but how could I not have known before, it doesn’t seem possible?”
“Conditioning.” He said simply. “You were made genetically, but your memories were conditioned in to you over time. It would make sense that they would fade over time as well. What is surprising is how long they have lasted.”
Pixie flew over and landed on Aria’s shoulder. “We’re sisters!” She exclaimed, giving her a pint sized hug.
“What will you do now.” Asked Keesha, uncertainty plain in her eyes.
“I don’t know.” Aria said, rolling over to face her. “I really don’t know.”
They stood outside the front door of the building, exchanging long hugs and kisses. Pixie shed a little tear as she hovered in front of Sasha and kissed his nose. “Goodbye.” Aria said simply as she turned and left. Long goodbyes were too hard, and this one had a feel of finality about it. Quickly she fell into her usual brisk stride, Pixie sitting on her shoulder and waving back to their friends.
Keesha waved back to Pixie, her heart aching to think she might never see them again. Sasha took her by the arm, leading her back inside and up to their apartment. He led her to the bedroom, slowly undressing her as she stood mute and sad. His mouth found her thick dark nipple, taking it between his lips and caressing it with his tongue. As he sucked his fingers found her sex, fingers dipping between damp lips to feel the warm slipperyness of her most private place.
He guided her to the bed, laying her down gently as she closed her eyes and lay limp and open to him. Slowly his mouth drifted down her body, hundreds of little kisses covering her perfect dark skin. As he reached her soft fleshy mound his kisses turned to the little nibbles that he knew drove her wild. Soon her hand was in his hair, guiding his attentions down between her legs. Eagerly he extended his tongue in long licks along her dark lips. As she began to respond, back arching and hips pushing against him, he darted his tongue into her warm pink slit, tasting her sweet juices as he pressed in.
She moaned and threw back her head as his tongue explored, her fingers moving down to pinch her large clit. Matching her rhythm he licked her to climax, her throaty wail signalling her release as much as the wild bucking of her hips. Gently he cleaned her with his tongue, leaving her skin glistening with his saliva. As he lay down beside her, she rolled into his arms and cried herself to sleep.
His mind was too busy to let him rest. What would Aria find? If she found the truth, what would she do? The implications were staggering. Now all they could do was hope.
After they passed through the city Aria continued on for a mile or more before she stopped at the side of the cracked and uneven road. With no trace of self consciousness she stripped nude, folding up her loose travellers clothes and putting them aside. She donned her usual armor, feeling the comfort of it as she strapped it down. Her swords across her back, she packed up her bag and hiked it up onto her shoulder.
“Come Pixie.” She called out to her unseen friend. Pixie emerged from a bush, her lips pink with the juice of the berries she had found. As she landed on Aria’s shoulder she asked. “Will it be far?”
“Well if you hadn’t slept through us planning, you’d know.”
Pixie pouted. “But I was tired.”
Smiling impishly at Pixie she said. “I will be about a year.”
“What!!” Pixie jumped up into the air. “That’s like forever!”
“I”m teasing you girl, we figure it will be about four weeks if we don’t have trouble along the way.”
Somewhat mollified, Pixie landed back on her shoulder and began to sing a quiet song to herself. Aria kept her thoughts to herself. She felt different.
She had a purpose.
He does not live in the house of truth
but on the shifting sands of convenience;
driven by his personal trinity of weaknesses.
Here's where we separate the strong-stomached from the squeamish. I give you: Bohemian Rhapsody, a capella. One of the lyrics is wrong, but damned if I was going to re-record that.
History will judge me.
It’s been a long December, and there’s reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last. But how much better? What has kept it from being better before this? Have you been unable to do everything you wanted to, due to scheduling restraints, personality conflicts, or plain old fear? I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but I can tell you that a lot of people fail to accomplish their goals because they’re afraid. Not just of failure, but also of success.
Neil Gaiman once published a Sandman short story called ‘Fear of Falling’ for a collection of DC Vertigo preview comics. The story concerned itself with one man’s recurring nightmares, linked to his pulling out of a stage play he had written and was producing. He had become cripplingly afraid of being unable to perform to the expectations of the audience, even though the show had yet to begin. He likened it to nightmares in which he would climb to a great height, fall, and try to wake up before he hit the ground, which he was certain would kill him. This fear is common. Stage fright, just like Writer’s block, can take many forms. It’s natural and normal to worry over reactions to anything you create, but the most important thing to remember is just to get your creation out there in the world, without regard to how it may be received.
How often has worry over not having something worthwhile to say kept you from writing? How many times have you shrunk from trying something new because you were frightened of looking foolish? How much time do you spend regretting that which you’ve not done? And here I’m not just talking about creation – I’m talking about taking that trip you’ve been meaning to take, asking for that raise, or telling someone how you really feel. At the end of your life, will you be able to total up your successes and your failures and find that you’ve got more to regret than to be proud of?
At the end of ‘Fear of Falling’, our protagonist, having returned to helm the show, tells a friend what he’s come to realize: “Sometimes you fall. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.” This is my New Year’s reminder to you. Take everything you’re afraid will happen, and throw it all away. Don’t even give it a second thought. Put into the world what you want to experience. If you don’t, it will never happen. If you don’t release what’s inside you, what’s inside you will kill you. If you release what’s inside you, what’s inside you will save you. Sometimes, when you fall, you fly.
Come on and we'll sing, like we were free
Push the pedal down watch the world around fly by us
Come on and we'll try, one last time
I'm off the floor one more time to find you
And here we go there's nothing left to choose
And here we go there's nothing left to lose
-- "Nothing Left to Lose", Mat Kearney
Oh waffles, you quadrangles of gridded delight, is there nothing you can’t do? No ill you cannot overcome? No foe you will not vanquish? These epicurean wonders are the epitome of civilized breakfast fare, the last bastions of all that is Good and Yummy in our world against the onrushing Hordes of Banality.
Consider the pleasing solidity of the waffle: four sides, four corners – promising strength and support and shelter, bulwarks against the common irregularity of the fruits and eggs with which the waffle shares the mealtime plate. Marvel at the seamless synthesis of elements both rigid and soft – the firm lattice structure contains the spongier matter, providing a deliciously textured experience to even the most jaded palate. The tiny squares, repositories for the life-affirming syrup, mirror the shape of the whole, recapitulating the geometrical motif, granting a casual look into the shape of the underlying construction of the Laws of the Universe.
Yes, my friends, waffles are these things and so much more. No matter how many times you might order them, you will always recall the previous order, regardless of the interstitial duration of time. Carl Jung spoke of the racial memory, and waffles tap into this, confirming the archetypal nature of the Square as a fundamental unit of our collective unconsciousness.
Do you dare to deny the power of the waffle? Consider how effortlessly these marvels of mandibular might adapt themselves to whatever your taste might be: today, you will have them with butter and powdered sugar, a mellow start to a busy morning; tomorrow, perhaps strawberries will adorn your plate, ushering into being an afternoon of challenge and triumph; the next day, you might prefer embedded blueberries, each bite a whimsical guessing game, with a depthcharge-like explosion of sudden extra flavor awaiting the anticipatory bite, preparing itself for that night’s journeys into nocturnal adventure.
For the waffle is not bound by the mean strictures of temporal exactitude – they may be enjoyed at any time, day or night, pre-activity or post-, as an enticement or a reward. Their inherent composition taking on as many forms as your daily breads, topped with ever more exotic combinations of syrupy, sugary flavors to dazzle your tastebuds and engendering only the most pleasant of synaesthetic buzzings in your body.
I hereby offer to you, O Learned and Wise listeners, nothing less than the Consummate Food of Our Time. Laud it! Embrace it! Shout approbations to the heavens, that all may know the sublimity and satisfaction to be gained by the merest approach of a plate heaped dizzyingly high with waffles, the epitome of mankind’s gastronomic achievements!
(Paid for by the Consortium of Pancake Haters of Belgium)
All my life I’ve been waiting for this
The stars align and the planet’s promise
And all Creation united strong in a
Perfect Love, baby, Perfect Love
Perfect Love
-- “Perfect Love”, Jane Child
The sun beaming through the light gauze of the curtain forced Aria awake. Or maybe it was the comforting smell of breakfast cooking. Either way, Aria dragged herself to the washroom to pee and splash some water on her face. At the basin she looked up at the reflection of herself in the mirror. She did look the same, despite all the time outside and hard living. She looked much the same as she ever had.
Her life had always been filled with hardship and strangeness, but these last couple of months seemed to be peeling back layers of fog from her mind and bringing the world around her back into sharp focus. Aria could not remember a time when her mind had felt so clear. In her time as a sex slave after she was taken from her parents, she was kept drugged and hungry. Over time her body had become immune to the drugs they gave her, and she made her escape. Her very bloody escape. How many had she killed that day? Fifty? Seventy? A hundred men?
Even though her waking mind saw that time and those events dimly, her dreams were often filled with the endless parade of soldiers cocks ramming her mouth, her cunt, and her ass. There was no night and day, no sense of time, just the endless numb haze and the ongoing stream of men seeking release. There had been other girls, of course. Like Aria they were the living dead, reported killed by the soldiers then secreted away in the basement cells of the barracks. But they never lasted long, like the soldiers they came for a time, then were gone. But always Aria remained.
Sometimes she could hear them talking about her. Remarking on her incredible stamina, or her unusual strength. Despite their use of her, they did have a healthy respect for her abilities. They learned very quickly when they first captured her that she was easily stronger than any of them when provoked. It would have been logical for them to kill her, but the appeal of her young tight body was too strong for them to resist. Until the day she broke free.
Pixie was talking to her but she hadn’t heard a thing she had said, lost in her thoughts as she was.
“Are you coming to eat?” She asked, standing lightly on Aria’s shoulder and looking at her in the mirror. Aria grinned as her stomach gave a timely rumble.
“Yes, I’m coming right now.” Pixie gave her a kiss on the cheek and flitted off out the doorway in the direction of the smell of food and the sounds of domestic life. Aria pulled her hair back in a pony tail and followed along behind.
She arrived in the dining area to find everyone already seated, on the floor as was customary in this area. The floor was covered in a thick woven circular rug, at its center a low circular table and around its perimeter an assortment of cushions of various sizes and materials. The starkness of the concrete exterior wall contrasted with the old world luxury of the scene giving Aria the sense that she was standing between two worlds. Keesha beckoned her to a cushion between herself and Sasha. Aria grinned and took the spot, taking a moment to admire Keesha’s heavy breast, revealed by the open fold of her housecoat. They exchanged a quick warm look that made Aria’s own nipples tingle in anticipation. Sasha gave her a good sized bowl that gave off a fragrant scent of spices in the steam that drifted up to her nose. Taking the offered fork she dug into the tasty mix of eggs, meat and vegetables. Her hunger getting the better of her, she wolfed down the food quickly, barely pausing for breath. Sasha didn’t wait for her to ask for more, he had her bowl refilled before she could blink.
She noticed that Pixie had found a perch on Sasha’s knee, just below the hemline of his housecoat. Pixie was trying to sneak a peek, but as Sasha kept moving around she kept getting foiled. Finally, in exasperation she walked up his leg and pulled aside the material herself, revealing his dark flaccid cock resting on large sparsely haired balls.
“Oooooh.” She cooed, hopping between his legs and standing in front of the fat purple head. “Pretty.” She announced happily, giving the head a long kiss.
“Pixie, behave yourself!” Aria said, stifling a laugh.
“It’s fine Aria.” Sasha said, smiling back at her. “I have always been fascinated by the Pixies, and they are so rare. I’ve never actually seen one before.” He looked back down, watching Pixie climb up on his thickening cock. She made happy encouraging noises as she rubbed and kissed the shaft that she was now straddling. Sasha ran a finger along her hair, making Pixie giggle, before she turned her attention back to the growing phallus she rode. Aria had to admit she was pretty impressed herself, as she watched him harden. Not overly long, but she had seen few that were thicker, and the plump head was a perfect shape.
Keesha leaned over and pulled Aria to her, using her other hand to open her own garment. Aria eagerly took one of her thick dark nipples into her mouth, sucking it intently. Keesha responded with a long low moan, which grew in pitch as Arias fingers found her shaved slit. Leaving the hard nipple behind, she kissed her way down Keesha’s lovely full body, trailing her tongue along the soft dark skin. Keesha spread her legs wide as Aria’s tongue finally reached her wet pussy. She almost purred as Aria’s quick tongue explored her sex, darting in and around all the sensitive places that she knew so well from many nights of sharing their bodies.
She felt Sasha move behind her, pulling off her light shorts. Pixie landed on Arias ass, leaning over so she could watch Sasha line up his thick tool with Aria’s little pussy.
“Oooh, you’re a lucky girl Aria.” Pixie said delightedly. “You’re going to love this thick one!” Aria was going to respond, but before she could the fat head was pushing into her tight cunt and all she could do was gasp into Keesha’s wonderfully wet pussy. Sasha may have been shy to the outside world, but he didn’t waste any time getting his thick cock buried into Aria, pumping her with short hard strokes that pushed her forward into Keesha’s slick slit. Aria took her clit between her lips, sucking on it like a candy. She slid two fingers into Keesha, curling them up inside and massaging the spot she knew would drive her wild. Sasha was grunting and driving himself into Aria, his heavy balls hitting the inside of her thighs with each stroke. Pixie sat on Arias ass, furiously fucking herself with her fingers as she watched Sasha’s thick prick rapidly moving in and out, over and over again.
Keesha squeezed her breasts as Aria brought her to climax, her back arching as the orgasm flooded through her. Eagerly licking up the sweet fluids leaking out of Keesha’s glistening pussy, Aria felt Sasha pull his cock out.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Pixie exclaimed as he stroked his slick cock right in front of her. Unable to contain himself, his cock twitched as the cum shot out onto Pixie and all over Aria’s back. Pixie squealed in delight as she had her own little orgasm, her juices squirting out of her tiny pussy in a long stream onto Arias ass. It mixed with Sasha’s cum and leaked down onto Aria fingers that were busy working her cunt to orgasm. Leaning down, Sasha added to her efforts, licking her deftly with his pointed tongue.
Aria came hard, nuzzling her face into Keesha’s hand as the waves of pleasure shook her body and Sasha expertly kept her peaking over and over, until she could stand it no more and slumped forward, resting her head on Keesha’s ample breasts.
“That was fun!” exclaimed Pixie, still sodden in cum. “Lets do it again!”
Sasha laughed as he flopped down beside them. “I think they need a break, little one.”
“Hmph.” Grumbled Pixie. “You youngsters sure don’t have much stamina.” Pixie landed on Sasha’s leg and gave him her best pouty look.
“Actually, Pixie, you aren’t the oldest person here...” Sasha said quietly, looking up at the ceiling.
Everyone turned at the same time to look at Sasha.
“What?!?” They said, almost in unison.
Coming soon, Aria VIII
I apologize for the long gap in postings, Aria will be back soon.
At the very I have been able to fit a bit of time to think about the longer story around the million other things eating up my time right now. I have big plans for Aria, and I hope you enjoy the story as it plays out.
Thank you again to the folks who have been reading along, I haven't forgotten or lost interest in the character. It has simply been a function of a lot of projects coming to a head at the same time and my time getting crushed flat as a pancake.
/dr
Just a few random links of what has caught my eye lately:
http://thehousewifenextdoor.sensualwriter.com/
http://hotanimalsex.blogspot.com/
http://longingsend.wordpress.com/
http://junohenry.wordpress.com/
http://cyberspacebabes.com/
http://fantasyofawife.blogspot.com/
http://debauchette.wordpress.com/
http://mydesire.wordpress.com/
http://graciebaby.wordpress.com/
Enjoy!
