Nonfiction - The greatest trick the devil ever pulled...

Every so often, I am filled with the urge to pack all my belongings into storage, and disappear for a few months. New England, Europe, Hawaii, Ireland, California, Greece... Anywhere but here.

I never do. I always stay, and sort through whatever dilemma is making me wish I was somewhere else. My usual method is to hone in on the things that are important to me, and re-prioritize everything else.

This blog is now a casualty of that re-prioritization.

Originally a vehicle for my writing, Kinky Bastard has become an unwelcome burden. I'm a bit surprised by my lack of sadness at letting it go, but the truth is this: It feels like I've stopped writing for myself. I feel like I have to churn out stories, and that they have to be different, but more of the same. There are things I want to write about, but I don't feel like they have a place here.

It's uncomfortable. And I've almost wrote personal details and things going on in my life, into the stories. THAT'S not something I want to be doing, either.

So, I'm going to keep writing. I'm just not going to do it here. And I'm going to work on writing better. I'm looking at taking a class or two in the spring.

Thanks for all the kind words. It's possible I may start up another blog, at some point. I may even re-open KB, down the road. No guarantees, though.

The stories and archives are available for you to browse at your leisure.

Be good.

-- The Bastard.

Nonfiction - Links and Life

- Chelsea Girl informatively expounds on the topic of anal intercourse. For those who haven't indulged (and for those who have), there is a great deal to be learned here and here.

- Lex has written in several spots about the unwillingness of certain individuals to believe that his lifestyle, and subsequent writings of such, are true. Never having met Lex or Leslie, let alone knowing anyone who actually knows them, I have chosen to be optimistic. I see no reason NOT to accept that Lex has the poly- lifestyle that so many men wish they could have. I am neither envious nor credulous regarding his life. I am merely entertained by it.

I am often bothered by the inability of people to approach subjects with an open mind. It seems more and more(and I think it's prevalent in Americans) we refuse to actually go into a debate with the possibility that there is something to be learned.

This is what I get for watching The West Wing for years and years: I've become an idealist. My parents must be proud.

- I've got to finish a three-year, three-part story at Lit, by Thanksgiving. I think I know how the story starts, and maybe how it ends, but the middle... eh. And surprisingly, there's no sex in it yet.

I know, I know. Shocking. I'll work on that, I promise.

- I'm not a big awards show fan, but I watched The Emmy's. It wasn't horrible, unsurprisingly. Kristen Bell singing Fame, David Letterman honoring the legacy of Johnny Carson, Lost winning the Drama category, James Spader and William Shatner winning awards in their prospective categories, Jon Stewart winning several categories and his hilarious pre-taped bit, and the touching three-man tribute for Brokaw, Jennings and Rather made for a warm and
pleasant evening.

I didn't know that Ossie Davis and Brock Peters had died, though. I've enjoyed both their careers over the years, and I'll miss their gravitas and style.

- Up until recently, I was seeing a beautiful woman from a nearby state. It ended peacefully, and we are still in contact. But the last several months with her, have forced me to question many of my motives on a personal and professional level. I am proud to say that I did not let my self-destructive relationship habits get in the way of what we had. It just didn't work out between us, even though we tried.

There is a part of me that feels like I lost something special; Worse, that at some point down the road, I will regret letting her go. I have loved few women in my life. I feel like I should've tried harder, even though I know it just won't work right now.

I want to say something schmaltzy and inspirational like "know what you've got, don't let it go", but I think I'll just recommend a stiff drink, a smoke, or a good movie with a friend. Some combination of the three always works for me.

So, if you detect a certain sentimentality to any upcoming stories, you know why.

-- The Bastard.

Fiction - Breasts

I want to strap your down, and bind your wrists and ankles, on my oak 4-poster bed. I'll use a blindfold, of course. Why let you know what's coming?

Add two pieces of ice, run them over your nipples, and wait for them to become erect.

However, I'm not a patient man, so it wouldn't hurt to insert a vibrator in-between your legs. I press my knee against it, watching you thrash a little bit. I must admit, watching you twist and turn, at my beck and call, feels empowering.

So, when you hear me chuckle, and feel the clamps close on your nipple, you can only imagine my joy at being a sadistic sonuvabitch.

Of course, they clamps are tight.

Of course, they hurt a "little" bit.

Of course, I love every minute of it.

For no other reason than it amuses me to do so, I begin fucking you with the vibrator. Moments later, I cease said action.

You're panting a little bit. I can't help but smile broadly.

I release the clamps, grab both your breasts with my hands, and squeeze in a fashion considered "not delicate". I twist, watching your jaw drop in pain. I twist them again, your body screaming for... release? For more? It doesn't matter.

Reluctantly, I cease, and watch your body recover.

I reach over for the flogger, and let the leather straps run up and down your chest. Your breasts glisten in the candlelight. I'm struck with the idea of sliding my cock in-between them, while your tongue licks eagerly, hoping to catch a taste.

Instead, I bring the straps down on your breasts. You cry out, as that line between pain and pleasure gets blurred.

I reach in-between your legs, and give the vibe a twist, then several hard thrusts. I grab the flogger and whack your chest a little harder. Again.

And again.

Following several more strokes, I open my mouth and lick each nipple slowly. I hear your arms struggle against the straps. It drives you crazy being tied down, doesn't it? The kind-of crazy that is both arousing to you, and enticing to me.

I can't stop my teeth biting your nipples hard, and twisting them against your breasts. You squirm, as your back lifts off the bed. I laugh into your chest.

I love being a bastard.

I grab the flogger, and assault one breast with a quick snap of the wrist, then the other. Alternating back and forth, I watch small red marks form on your luscious tits. They'll be there tomorrow; a reminder of your godless slut-self.

I straddle your chest, cock stretching in my pats, and slide it out, placing it in-between your breasts. I push them together, and thrust forward several times. The combination of ice, saliva and sweat acts as a natural lube.

I reach behind and push the vibrator back in, increasing the speed. Your hips thrust, and your mouth beckons.

Your mouth shall be denied, though. I smack each tit tenderly. A lovetap? Perhaps.

The word "slut" whispers my lips. Your body agrees.

I pull back, after several minutes of tit-fucking, and order you to beg me to come on your chest.

You eagerly respond.

I eagerly explode.

I laugh as your tongue sticks out, my cock shooting all over your naked body. You aim for a taste, or the sensation of it hitting your lips.

No matter.

I lean back, panting.

Then I pull out the rope, and wrap it around your breasts.

--The Bastard