a feast for the Beast

Firelight shone on the faces of the small crowd gathered around the bonfire that night.  Made glossy by a fine black lacquer, the mask of Anubis parted the way to the altar of BABALON. Robed and bare chested, the masked man-turned-god echoed out into the forest clearing.

"Who among us has never attended? Who among us has not tasted Her flesh?"

The initiate, a small man, eyes hiding behind thick frames and bound up in his robe, is lead in procession around the fire by twin priestesses, wearing jingling bells and little less. Crackling fire fills the silence as they arrive at the altar. There, BABALON reclined there, thick-limbed and dark red waves of hair. Jewels dripped from her neck and arms.

"What will you offer to our lady?" the Anubis croaked.
"My wisdom," he replied, offering up a golden bell in symbolic gesture.  But the lady tosses it aside with little more than a glance, turning her back to him.
"BABALON is older and wiser than you, mortal human. What else can you offer?"
"M-my reason, my knowledge."  He pours water into a cup of blood red glass. A light otherworldly glows within. But as soon as the glass was taken it was poured out.
"For reason also is a lie--there is knowledge deeper still beyond reason.  Again, what can you offer to her? You must pay the Whore to feed the Beast!"

The crowd, watching in bemusement, begins to chant...Feed the Beast, Pay the Whore...Feed the Beast! Pay the Whore! Softly, slowly at first, then with growing urgency. The initiate too felt it.  It built up into a frenzy that possessed him; tearing his robe from himself he began to gallop and dance around the fire as the drums took up with the chanting.  BABALON had turned her head with interest, turning her attention to this one. Propping one foot on her altar, she watched.

"I will give you my lust! My control!"

The inner beast  had seized him, his cock grown hard. Now, as he rounded the bonfire, he bounded toward BABALON, pulling her into his arms.  Face buried against her neck, taking in her perfumed scent, the soft warmth of her flesh.  Hands groped at pendulous breasts.  Caught in his animal instincts, he did not notice her smile turn to smirk, a hand in his hair pulling him down to his knees. Sharp, crecsent-shaped boline was pressed threateningly to his throat.  "Your lust.  My control."

But fear had left him. Even with the sharp point resting on his pulse, he embraced her hips, kissing her silken mound affectionately, offering up his lust and all else she would take. The blade was dropped and she offered her hand, leading him to her altar. As they lay together, the crowd cheered, firelight making their tangled limbs gleam in the night.

Why no updates?

Put simply, I've not been up to my usual harlotry, with an assortment of excuses.


First, it was the straight job and its seductive allure of security, 401k and health care.  I'd even convinced myself that I wanted more of it, and that I should be focused on moving upward and trading adventure for culturally accepted forms of success.  I put so much energy into it, I was too exhausted to spend time on other projects.  And the stress of attempting to oversee what I had little to no control over was starting to show. I caught myself in time, realizing I had misplaced the focus of my attention.


I had changed my provider name in the beginning of March, and had planned a transition into regular offerings, when I got some life-changing news.  It was of such a somber and personal nature that I questioned wether to share it.  However, there is a bit of distance now and I feel more comfortable sharing it now.  I got the news that my mom was stopping cancer treatment and moving into hospice care. I traveled back to the midwest for a final visit. It was probably the hardest thing I've ever done, and I'm stronger for being there, making sure she was comfortable.  She passed the same night my sister and I held ritual for our parents on the site our father's ashes were scattered.


When I got back, I threw myself into the simple work of bookbinding.  I was gratiful for the abundance of such work, that allowed for a meditative mind. It's always helped my grieving process to busy myself with such work.


Yes, all incredibly unsexy stuff I wasn't eager to share.  It's only in the past couple of weeks I've felt the yearning again, and knew that yes.... it is *finally* time.  It's time to follow my passions, no matter how unorthodox.


It starts tomorrow...where I am flying out to a festival with workshops about sacred sex and sex magick. There will be other sacred harlots to meet and commune with.  I'm very excited. I should have more time for writing and reflection in the coming week as well.  When I return from the festival next week, I will be placing down more roots.