a message 4 dubya

he told her

in a gentle, open moment. he told her. her next sexual encounter would involve a woman. she reflexively flinched. balked. at his words. at their sentiment. but she did not protest. stopped just short. and that was that.

or so it seemed. still. how had he known? that she did think of it? of that one time so long ago. he knew her, he replied. a response to the puzzlement etched in the lines on her face. he knew her.

and …. yes, he did. it pleased him. the thought of her with a woman. as opposed to a man. and she wondered if he noticed the tiny curve in the corner of her lips.

pleasure, he’d said, referring to her sexual encounter with a woman. not pain … nor anxiety … nor fear … nor loathing.

just …. pure pleasure. and she knew. he was right, of course.

what a bold realization.

the scarf – act one

originally written june 6, 2006 for alt.com 

gripped by a sudden craving to please him. she wanted to please him. she smiled demurely. he gently tugged the scarf from her grip. and they both watched it slink away from her fingers in billowing movement.

he wrapped the scarf around her head twice, gently tugging on its end as he fastened it. no reflexive panic this time. soothing blindness – she could see only undulations in the light. no form. little shadow. and she focussed. a sea of smoothness. the silky scarf softly hugging her eyes.

focussed. she noticed her breathing. shorter, sharper respirations. in quicker succesion. she lost herself in the sounds of her own breathing. her breathing – it grounded her. he drew close. so close. and delicately caressed her lips with his own. a soft, succulent kiss on the mouth. slow. deep. heavy with desire.

a sliver of panic stabbed her. her mouth had its own unpleasant memories. tendrils of a ghost from the past stroked her fear. she remembered choice. trust. and power – hers. and her need to focus. she heard breathing. hers. his. and his scent filled her nostrils. and she knew. and she remembered.

her panic melted into the sound of his whispers. she heard herself breathing again. saw herself in the deepest corners of her Self. she did not need to close her eyes. the scarf. it soothed her. protected her. the faint scent of roses lingers.

cuming. thrilling crescendo. she silently squealed. pressing her pelvis into the bed. gently arching her back. he stroked her petals. with his gentle tongue. she held her breath. counting. 1-2-3-4-5 … then … losing count. the feeling, cuming, swept through her. a sensory explosion.

prelude to a scarf

originally written june 4, 2006 on alt.com

6.5 inches wide. over 4 feet in length. fringed. teeming slender, corded ivory-coloured fringes. glimmering fringes. luxurious. abundant. a colourful, visual orgasm. an orgy of gold, pink, green, indigo and shimmering ivory. paisley, tiny flowers and delicate curves. like a woman’s body. sublimely sensual.

she held the scarf loosely with both hands. then pressed her nose and face gently against it. a faint scent of roses lingered on the shimmering scarf. silky. and erotic, the way it ribboned onto itself when she gently dropped it onto her bare, pulsing skin.

she closed her eyes. she caressed the scarf. studied its soft silky creases with the tips of her slender pink fingers. gently. slowly. with certitude. quiet certitude. she places the scarf over her eyes. then ties it in place.

a sea of smoothness. she slowly ran her fingertips along herself. silky. gently pulsing. soft petals. plump lotus flower. hers. bathing in her own slippery dew.

acid lust

originally posted june 2, 2006 on alt.com

she mused of being blindfolded and restrained with ropes. fantasized out loud. musing. fantasizing. rolling the scenarios around her mind. letting the taste of these images sink into her soul.

he directed. implored her cooperation. and so, she acquesced. submitted herself. to the blinding of her vision. to the vulnerability of restraint. her spirit received the most equisite jolt when he fastened the blindfold over her eyes. pressing oh-so-gently. and then the restraints. wrists fastened crudely to the headboard.

an impotent reflexive panic gathered in her chest. a ghost from the past. she reminded herself of choice. of power in submission. her choice. her power. her panic evaporated into the gentle undulations of his soothing voice.

he painted his touch on her lips. slowly and gently with his fingertips. moving closer. closer still. his mouth kissing hers. soft. deep. he gave her a hungry kiss. a kiss so heavy, so burdened with an acid lust for more.

more? always more. always?

reality check

ok. so i had the nite shift from hell last nite. patients in severe respiratory distress and doctor no where to be found. nice, huh? yes. particularly when one of the patients is in severe congestive heart failure (ie with lungs filled with fluid) because of the actions of other health care professionals. DO PEOPLE THINK B4 THEY ACT? i mean, do they?

i wonder exactly what that nurse was thinking when she blindly followed that doc’s order to increase the elderly heart failure patient’s IV rate to 150 ml per hour. like … HELLO? where, exactly did you train? is that what they teach nurses these day? hmmmm … scary.

so … i desperately wanted to take that girl and shake her and say …HELLO? is anyone home in that pea-sized brain of yours? apparently not. yes, that seemed quite apparent to me when you recounted to me the story of how you blew (ie caused it to burst inside the patient) another patient’s central line** because you didn’t know what you were doing!!!

and then i have to wonder why i need to page the doc 7 times b4 he decides he should do his fucking job! grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. so, this is the sort of health care we get when its so-called free? nice. and a great reminder that i gotta get outta here. all in good time … but i mustn’t allow myself to get complacent … i must stick to my plan.

for those of you who don’t know, my plans to move to the southern usa are sort of temporarily suspended while my 10 year old afghan hound is dying. most of my energies have been directed toward that end and so my blogging, etc has been sort of neglected. i’m trying to make a comeback though … love reading all your blogs. you inspire me all. wrt moving south … i’m hoping to visit in the fall and write my NCLEX at that time. we’ll see.

** a central line is a special IV inserted into the vein that leads to the heart … the tip of the central line is very near to the heart’s right atrium

lethal injection and medical ethics

here is the position statement of the americal association of anesthesiologists regarding their role in lethal injection. interesting. but, i gotta agree with ‘em. killing any individual is absolutely NOT a role for any health care professional. a physician lethally injecting a person? its unethical. really. for physicians any participation in any lethal injection procedure violates their code of ethics. see for yourselves.

foam, ceramic tile and nasa

so what’s up with that space shuttle? another crack in the foam? and … do i detect some denial on the part of nasa regarding the safety implications? hmmmmpfh. interesting. well, for those of you that want the science behind the bullshit, here is a good link to check out.

blues, anyone?

suicide denied

18. years old. actually, she passed her 18th birthday in the hospital. in a persistent vegetative state. anoxic bain injury. that’s the official line. reality? anyone’s guess. i’m doubting she’ll regain enough capability to finish the job. and i wonder about her level of awareness. the grimacing. the sobbing sounds coming from her tacheostomy hole. they sounded like sobbing noises to me. sad. and, the cause? cocaine + benzodiazepines. an overdose. a failed suicide attempt. and i wonder. what am i complaining about? what are you complaining about? things could be so much worse, you know?