Of course eating less is only half the battle. The other half is to MOVE. Move, move, move! You do not burn calories by sitting still. Forget all that bull about reading burns blah-blah calories. It does, but in order to lose weight you got to burn A WHOLE LOT.
So move. Take the stairs. Take the dog on a long walk. When doing laundry make as many steps as possible. Go put up the socks. Then walk back the laundry room and get the shirts. Then go back and the towels. Yes, it will make you tired. That is exactly the point.
It really doesn’t matter what you do as long as you are moving. That is the truth, I swear. I jump on a trampoline. Sometimes I jump rope. I do crunches. I walk the dog. I go up and down the stairs as much as possible. It adds up.
The trick to moving is this- you must do it constantly for 15 minutes OR you must do it every hour all day. You can’t do twenty push-ups and call it a work out because it’s nothing. It will gradually make you stronger, but it doesn’t really burn calories. You must move every day.
The best way to exercise is called muscle confusion. This means changing routines constantly so that your body cannot get used to the exercise. So one day is crunches, then pull-ups, then weights, then aerobics, then back to crunches.
So how much to do? I do ten crunches then I rest for one minute. I do ten more and rest again. I keep going until I do about 80. That’s a good work out. Could I do 80 straight crunches? No. That would kill my back. But I get the benefit of a work out without hurting myself. Sometimes I do twenty crunches and then do twists.
I don’t have a scale, so I measure my waist with a tape measure. If you lose inches you are most certainly losing weight.
There will come a time when the exercising is boring or depressing. That’s the day to go for a long walk. Because the whole point is just to MOVE. I can’t stress this enough. Move, move, move, MOVE!
The Witchcraft of FreeDragon
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
How to Not Be Fat
Mind you, I am not ultra thin. I used to be, but that was some years ago. Nevertheless, these things DO work for me if I stick with them.
First, be aware of what you eat. Are you eating those fries because you are hungry or because they came with the meal? Are you eating cookies because you really wanted a cookie or you’re just bored and wanting something to munch while watching television?
Second, where can you cut back? If you want hotdogs for dinner get the light wieners. No, hotdogs are not healthy, but if you’re going to eat them anyway, get the light, low fat ones. Which leads us to number three: don’t lie to yourself. You know perfectly well that you will NOT get up every morning and do 100 crunches before having plain low fat yogurt for breakfast. So don’t even say it. You’ll just feel bad about it, and that brings us to number four:
Stop. Revenge. Eating.
That’s a biggie. Get mad, go eat a cheeseburger. Feel depressed, eat ice cream. Hurt by friend, go get drunk, sleep with creep, oh, wait. I’m mixing advice. Anyway, deal with your emotions instead of eating them.
Number five: change slowly. Most people reject change, especially when it is radical or sudden. So if you want more fruit in your diet, first you must buy it. Then you will snack on it. Then you add fruit to your weekly grocery list. Then you will start eating it for breakfast. But do NOT say that never again will bear claws be breakfast because then you will just be resentful of the fruit.
Number 6. This is not easy and it IS a lot of work and that’s why you should be happy with any progress that is made.
Number 7: Learn who you are. All my comfort foods were foods that my parents did not like. I used to pig out on pizza. Then I realized I liked to eat it because my parents thought it was a teenage thing. I was still trying to be rebellious. After that I stopped craving pizza. I still like it, but now I rarely think about eating it.
Number 8: Stick to the plan. Make a weekly menu. Buy only those foods and plan to cook each day. Really, I hate cooking. But if I don’t cook I go though the drive-thru and doing that every day will make you FAT! So go home and cook and then (here’s #9) SIT DOWN and eat. Slowly. Don’t watch tv or surf the net during dinner. Remember Mom used to make the whole family sit at the dinning room table each night? She was right. Not paying attention to what you put in your mouth means you don’t know when you are full so you just keep eating.
Last, but not least, #10: Food is just food. It is not a drug or a magic potion. It is not a replacement for activity or love. It is not something ‘to do’ It will not bring happiness. Only you get to decide what kind of person you will be. If you are fat it’s because you decided not to do anything.
First, be aware of what you eat. Are you eating those fries because you are hungry or because they came with the meal? Are you eating cookies because you really wanted a cookie or you’re just bored and wanting something to munch while watching television?
Second, where can you cut back? If you want hotdogs for dinner get the light wieners. No, hotdogs are not healthy, but if you’re going to eat them anyway, get the light, low fat ones. Which leads us to number three: don’t lie to yourself. You know perfectly well that you will NOT get up every morning and do 100 crunches before having plain low fat yogurt for breakfast. So don’t even say it. You’ll just feel bad about it, and that brings us to number four:
Stop. Revenge. Eating.
That’s a biggie. Get mad, go eat a cheeseburger. Feel depressed, eat ice cream. Hurt by friend, go get drunk, sleep with creep, oh, wait. I’m mixing advice. Anyway, deal with your emotions instead of eating them.
Number five: change slowly. Most people reject change, especially when it is radical or sudden. So if you want more fruit in your diet, first you must buy it. Then you will snack on it. Then you add fruit to your weekly grocery list. Then you will start eating it for breakfast. But do NOT say that never again will bear claws be breakfast because then you will just be resentful of the fruit.
Number 6. This is not easy and it IS a lot of work and that’s why you should be happy with any progress that is made.
Number 7: Learn who you are. All my comfort foods were foods that my parents did not like. I used to pig out on pizza. Then I realized I liked to eat it because my parents thought it was a teenage thing. I was still trying to be rebellious. After that I stopped craving pizza. I still like it, but now I rarely think about eating it.
Number 8: Stick to the plan. Make a weekly menu. Buy only those foods and plan to cook each day. Really, I hate cooking. But if I don’t cook I go though the drive-thru and doing that every day will make you FAT! So go home and cook and then (here’s #9) SIT DOWN and eat. Slowly. Don’t watch tv or surf the net during dinner. Remember Mom used to make the whole family sit at the dinning room table each night? She was right. Not paying attention to what you put in your mouth means you don’t know when you are full so you just keep eating.
Last, but not least, #10: Food is just food. It is not a drug or a magic potion. It is not a replacement for activity or love. It is not something ‘to do’ It will not bring happiness. Only you get to decide what kind of person you will be. If you are fat it’s because you decided not to do anything.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
A Sort Pecker Story
Once in I was in my 20’s my friends set me up on a blind date. I didn’t ask for it. My friends were convinced that because they were married I should be too. So in order to help me find Mr. Right, they arranged for blind dates. Sometimes they invited me to dinner and when I got there a man would be waiting. This is our friend they would say. He dropped by a minute ago so we invited him too. Yeah, sure.
But on the date I’m referring to I knew it was a date and worn down by constant badgering, I broke my own rule, which is never, never, never go on a blind date.
I don’t believe I will ever meet Mr. Right on a blind date because Mr. Right shouldn’t have any problems in finding female companionship. When a man has to ask his friends- all three of them, if they ‘know anybody’ then something is wrong.
In this case he was boring. He was also a little fat. He lacked imagination. I do not remember a single thing we talked about during dinner or if we talked at all. Sadly, I do remember getting very drunk and this is what made me sleep with him. I regretted it, of course, because he was very bad in bed.
I was simply bored. At first I tried. I tried to at least make things pleasant. He had a small pecker and I thought to begin with that after he was hard it would be a good size. That’s normal with most men. I sucked him a long time and he was still half limp and small. I started to think I was losing my touch. Then horribly it dawned on me that this might be as hard as it gets.
I gave up on pleasant. He got on top of me and I couldn’t feel him inside me. He poked around for a while and I stared at the ceiling politely waiting for him to finish. It seemed to go on forever. I don’t know if he came or not.
The next day my friends were asking me if I was going to see him again and I said no. They asked why and I said we didn’t connect. They said he really liked me and I said no thanks. They kept on and on and on and finally I just blurted out, “He has a short pecker.”
I have mean friends. They told everybody they knew what I said. A year later they were at a wedding. He was there and he saw a girl he wanted to dance with, but he was too shy to ask. My friend T actually said to him, “Don’t let the fact that you have a short pecker slow you down.”
The moral to this story is it’s not how big your pencil is, it’s how you sign your name. So please learn to write.
But on the date I’m referring to I knew it was a date and worn down by constant badgering, I broke my own rule, which is never, never, never go on a blind date.
I don’t believe I will ever meet Mr. Right on a blind date because Mr. Right shouldn’t have any problems in finding female companionship. When a man has to ask his friends- all three of them, if they ‘know anybody’ then something is wrong.
In this case he was boring. He was also a little fat. He lacked imagination. I do not remember a single thing we talked about during dinner or if we talked at all. Sadly, I do remember getting very drunk and this is what made me sleep with him. I regretted it, of course, because he was very bad in bed.
I was simply bored. At first I tried. I tried to at least make things pleasant. He had a small pecker and I thought to begin with that after he was hard it would be a good size. That’s normal with most men. I sucked him a long time and he was still half limp and small. I started to think I was losing my touch. Then horribly it dawned on me that this might be as hard as it gets.
I gave up on pleasant. He got on top of me and I couldn’t feel him inside me. He poked around for a while and I stared at the ceiling politely waiting for him to finish. It seemed to go on forever. I don’t know if he came or not.
The next day my friends were asking me if I was going to see him again and I said no. They asked why and I said we didn’t connect. They said he really liked me and I said no thanks. They kept on and on and on and finally I just blurted out, “He has a short pecker.”
I have mean friends. They told everybody they knew what I said. A year later they were at a wedding. He was there and he saw a girl he wanted to dance with, but he was too shy to ask. My friend T actually said to him, “Don’t let the fact that you have a short pecker slow you down.”
The moral to this story is it’s not how big your pencil is, it’s how you sign your name. So please learn to write.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
So Not Cool
The most embarrassing thing my mother ever did to me was drive around with a fifty pound sack of chicken feed in her car.
My parents had chickens. Whose idea it was to get them in the first place, I don’t know. What I do know is that while my father liked having the fresh eggs and the occasional fresh fried chicken, those were not his chickens. The chickens belonged to my mother. Because they were considered hers, and not his, she had to feed them. And buy the food.
I’m not sure what happened. I suspect my mother said something to my father is a nagging tone of voice and then he probably said something along the lines of “Tote your own goddamn bag of chicken feed.” But at any rate, Dad would not carry the sack to the chicken pen and my mother would not do it because she knew it was a fifty pound sack. Whether or not she could actually lift the sack was completely irreverent. She knew it weighed 50lbs, therefore it was heavy, and she was NOT picking it up.
I think it was my aunt who gave Mom the brilliant idea of keeping the chicken feed in the car. So my mom would go to the feed store and the old retarded boy would carry it out for her and set it in the back in the floor. My mother would then go to the car every single morning and scoop out chicken feed with an old enamel pot and walk up to the pen to feed the chickens. I believe this has traumatized more than anything else in my life.
You must understand first that it was not just the chicken feed. It was also the car. My mother’s car once belonged to my grandmother. It was a Ford Fairmont and even when it was new it just screamed “granny car.” The car was pale gray, so it looked faded even though it wasn’t. The inside was maroon. And vinyl. The ac died so nearly all the windows would be rolled down. Through no fault of her own, my mother had been a car wreck. She was rear-ended by a truck which hit with enough force to knock her car into the one in front of her.
My father, being cheap, decided he could do the body work himself. The trunk was crumpled in the accident and he painstakingly smoothed it out and primed it. But the only primer he had was red. Of course he wasn’t going to buy primer when he already had some at the house.
The trunk latch was broken, so my father tied it shut with hay rope. For some reason, he tied it so that the rope stretched across the outside of the trunk. No one could figure out how to retie his rope after they opened the trunk, so the trunk was no longer used. No repairs were made to the front bumper.
So there we were, creeping down the highway with our legs sticking to the seat and little bits of chicken feed flying out of the windows and pelting the windshields of any unlucky enough to travel behind us. With our primer red unusable trunk and askew bumper, there was no point in hiding behind the seats. The car was too recognizable and even if I wasn’t seen in it, everybody was laughing at my mom, and thus at me.
But it was more than a blow to my image. It was that we looked so white trash. We had the money to take care of things, we just didn’t bother. We looked lazy and cheap. The chicken feed meant that my mother was stubborn and my father was inconsiderate. It meant my parents had a bad marriage and I was terrified that one day they would divorce.
Once, full of teenage practicality, I decided to do something about that damn chicken feed. I picked it up, (proving my strength- no wimpy girlie-girl here) carried the feed sack into the house, and asked my mother where she wanted it.
She got mad with me.
Didn’t I understand that it was convenient to store chicken feed in the car? She never had to pick it up. Whenever it was empty, she simply stopped at the garbage dump and tossed it out before proceeding to the feed store. If she left it outside it would get wet. If she put it in the shed the rats would get it. If she got a storage container then somebody would have to pick up a fifty pound feed sack and pour it into the container. She told me I was very inconsiderate and hardheaded and I was making a big deal out of nothing. Since then I have tried very hard not to interfere with my mother’s business.
Of course, my father embarrassed me, too. But that is another post.
My parents had chickens. Whose idea it was to get them in the first place, I don’t know. What I do know is that while my father liked having the fresh eggs and the occasional fresh fried chicken, those were not his chickens. The chickens belonged to my mother. Because they were considered hers, and not his, she had to feed them. And buy the food.
I’m not sure what happened. I suspect my mother said something to my father is a nagging tone of voice and then he probably said something along the lines of “Tote your own goddamn bag of chicken feed.” But at any rate, Dad would not carry the sack to the chicken pen and my mother would not do it because she knew it was a fifty pound sack. Whether or not she could actually lift the sack was completely irreverent. She knew it weighed 50lbs, therefore it was heavy, and she was NOT picking it up.
I think it was my aunt who gave Mom the brilliant idea of keeping the chicken feed in the car. So my mom would go to the feed store and the old retarded boy would carry it out for her and set it in the back in the floor. My mother would then go to the car every single morning and scoop out chicken feed with an old enamel pot and walk up to the pen to feed the chickens. I believe this has traumatized more than anything else in my life.
You must understand first that it was not just the chicken feed. It was also the car. My mother’s car once belonged to my grandmother. It was a Ford Fairmont and even when it was new it just screamed “granny car.” The car was pale gray, so it looked faded even though it wasn’t. The inside was maroon. And vinyl. The ac died so nearly all the windows would be rolled down. Through no fault of her own, my mother had been a car wreck. She was rear-ended by a truck which hit with enough force to knock her car into the one in front of her.
My father, being cheap, decided he could do the body work himself. The trunk was crumpled in the accident and he painstakingly smoothed it out and primed it. But the only primer he had was red. Of course he wasn’t going to buy primer when he already had some at the house.
The trunk latch was broken, so my father tied it shut with hay rope. For some reason, he tied it so that the rope stretched across the outside of the trunk. No one could figure out how to retie his rope after they opened the trunk, so the trunk was no longer used. No repairs were made to the front bumper.
So there we were, creeping down the highway with our legs sticking to the seat and little bits of chicken feed flying out of the windows and pelting the windshields of any unlucky enough to travel behind us. With our primer red unusable trunk and askew bumper, there was no point in hiding behind the seats. The car was too recognizable and even if I wasn’t seen in it, everybody was laughing at my mom, and thus at me.
But it was more than a blow to my image. It was that we looked so white trash. We had the money to take care of things, we just didn’t bother. We looked lazy and cheap. The chicken feed meant that my mother was stubborn and my father was inconsiderate. It meant my parents had a bad marriage and I was terrified that one day they would divorce.
Once, full of teenage practicality, I decided to do something about that damn chicken feed. I picked it up, (proving my strength- no wimpy girlie-girl here) carried the feed sack into the house, and asked my mother where she wanted it.
She got mad with me.
Didn’t I understand that it was convenient to store chicken feed in the car? She never had to pick it up. Whenever it was empty, she simply stopped at the garbage dump and tossed it out before proceeding to the feed store. If she left it outside it would get wet. If she put it in the shed the rats would get it. If she got a storage container then somebody would have to pick up a fifty pound feed sack and pour it into the container. She told me I was very inconsiderate and hardheaded and I was making a big deal out of nothing. Since then I have tried very hard not to interfere with my mother’s business.
Of course, my father embarrassed me, too. But that is another post.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Charlie
I grew up on a farm. Being that there were so many animals around, I had lots of pets. I had dogs, goldfish, and a bird named Max who could talk but he only said one thing “Max is a pretty boy.” There were a couple of cats hanging around that didn’t like to be petted. We had chickens. Once, for a very short time, we had an emu, and I must say right now that is quite possibly the ugliest creature on Earth. But mainly we had cows because that is my dad’s thing and the largest pet I ever had was a 1,000 pound bull named Charlie.
Charlie was a family favorite. Really he was my dad’s pet because cows are his thing. But everybody loved Charlie because he was surprising gentle for a thousand pound testosterone laden male. First he was tame. Most people think that just because an animal is on a farm that is already tame. But some cows never really overcome their fear of humans so they don’t let you get too close, even if you feed them everyday and they recognize you as the food bringer. But Charlie loved people and actually begged to be petted. He would shove his giant head under your arm and look at you with big brown eyes and wait for you to stroke his nose. He was very sweet.
I’m not even sure why we had Charlie because my dad didn’t really keep bulls. He didn’t need them because all of his cows were artificially inseminated. Dad went to school to learn how to inseminate cows and he had a tank filled with liquid nitrogen where he kept the sperm of prize winning bulls. All of that is a post in and of itself, maybe two or three posts and I’ll have to write about it some other time.
So anyway, Dad never really kept bulls. He always sold them once they started to get big. But there was something about Charlie. At first he just had the makings of a good looking bull, so we held onto him for a while. But Charlie grew and grew and grew until he was the largest animal on the place and still we kept him.
Everyone who came to look at cows oohed and aahhed over Charlie. Several people offered to buy him. Every cattleman in the area wanted Charlie for his herd. Every child wanted to pet him and some even wanted to ride him. While we never dared put a child on his back, I have no doubt the gentle Charlie would have been okay with it.
Eventually Charlie had to go. He was huge. It cost a lot to feed him. He led the herd and it wouldn’t be long before he got testy about his cows. So Charlie was sold to a preacher who promptly ground him into hamburger. As everything else was just right with Charlie, I have no doubt that he made the perfect supper.
Charlie was a family favorite. Really he was my dad’s pet because cows are his thing. But everybody loved Charlie because he was surprising gentle for a thousand pound testosterone laden male. First he was tame. Most people think that just because an animal is on a farm that is already tame. But some cows never really overcome their fear of humans so they don’t let you get too close, even if you feed them everyday and they recognize you as the food bringer. But Charlie loved people and actually begged to be petted. He would shove his giant head under your arm and look at you with big brown eyes and wait for you to stroke his nose. He was very sweet.
I’m not even sure why we had Charlie because my dad didn’t really keep bulls. He didn’t need them because all of his cows were artificially inseminated. Dad went to school to learn how to inseminate cows and he had a tank filled with liquid nitrogen where he kept the sperm of prize winning bulls. All of that is a post in and of itself, maybe two or three posts and I’ll have to write about it some other time.
So anyway, Dad never really kept bulls. He always sold them once they started to get big. But there was something about Charlie. At first he just had the makings of a good looking bull, so we held onto him for a while. But Charlie grew and grew and grew until he was the largest animal on the place and still we kept him.
Everyone who came to look at cows oohed and aahhed over Charlie. Several people offered to buy him. Every cattleman in the area wanted Charlie for his herd. Every child wanted to pet him and some even wanted to ride him. While we never dared put a child on his back, I have no doubt the gentle Charlie would have been okay with it.
Eventually Charlie had to go. He was huge. It cost a lot to feed him. He led the herd and it wouldn’t be long before he got testy about his cows. So Charlie was sold to a preacher who promptly ground him into hamburger. As everything else was just right with Charlie, I have no doubt that he made the perfect supper.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
A Love Story *EXPLICIT*
I heard it said that the only thing worth writing about is that which you are afraid of. I'm not afraid to write anything, but I am terrified of what people may think they read what I have written. But I cannot grow and develop as a writer unless I bite the bullet. Therefore I'll post my love story trust that my readers abide by the following conditions:
1. You are at least 18 years of age. Youngsters read no more!
2. You know (because I just told you) that this a dirty a story. Being that you know and read anyway, you have no cause to get offend by my content.
3. You understand that I am a private person, thus I do not wish to share any of my insights on sex and love with my readers. So you won't send me an email asking if I'm a kinky freak and you won't, Goddess forbid, ask me in person, face to face, if such a thing as ever happened to me in real life. It's not any of your business, but to answer that last question, I was inspired by a Luis Royo painting. The painting is not sexual in any way, but the man in the painting is extraordinarily good-looking and when I saw it I thought, There's a man I'd run off with. Don't ask me what else I thought.
========================================
She sat by the fire slowly spinning.
Winding down and slowly back up again, her magic flowed into the yarn shinning and wonderful. As she neared the end her voice never quavered. The last notes adhered to the fiber and they became one. The last word of her song faded into stillness. A sweet aching silence hung in the air. And he watched her from the window.
It was cold and icy in the village street, but that was not a concern for him. Cold just was and it had never bothered him. He was a hunter and he stalked his prey in the mountains in the dead of winter. Usually he would have been on the mountain at this time of year, but his last hunt had been far more successful than he anticipated, so he had returned early to sell the skins. He had the opportunity to buy extra supplies and mend his gear. Perhaps he could extend his season.
But right at that moment he wasn’t thinking about skins or profit. He couldn’t think of anything at all. Feeling slightly dazed, he trudged though the ice to his house.
The next morning dawned extremely bright and cold. It was another good day to sit by the fire. Yesterday she had completed all her spinning, so now it was time to weave.
She gathered her enchanted yarn. It was still warm with power. She smiled as she felt its weight and silky heat. This could be her finest work yet.
She tapped the loom with her wand and set the wards against tangles. She traced the ancient runes with her fingers and the loom hummed, recognizing her touch. She fixed in her mind’s eye what she wanted and the loom understood and hummed again.
Taking the thickest empowered yarn, she began making the weaver’s cross. This would be perfect.
He awoke feeling vaguely dizzy, as if something so wonderful had happened that it couldn’t be real. He sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t feel bad, but he didn’t feel right either and he thought that he must be forgetting something very important, but he couldn’t think of what it could be. He thought perhaps he felt out of sorts because he should be on the mountain, but that did not seem logical because he had been happy enough to return and earn his extra gold. He couldn’t think of anything that was troubling his mind. He really did not have any woes. Except something was not right. He looked out the window and saw that half the morning had already passed. Odd, usually he awoke before the sun rose. He felt annoyed with himself, though he knew it didn’t really matter when he got out of bed. He had already made his profit for the year and he truly did not need to hunt again until next season. Feeling confused and lost, he decided to walk down to the village to clear his head.
He stepped out and inhaled sharply when the cold air touched his bare skin. Quickly he stepped back and closed the door. How could he have forgotten to get dressed? Annoyed again, he washed and dressed in his warmest furs. He considered breakfast, but he wasn’t hungry. He couldn’t remember when he eaten last, but food did not seem nearly as important as whatever it was that he was forgetting.
Finally properly clothed, he stepped out a second time. No icy wind stung him. Good. Now, what was missing? He tried to remember what he did the day before. He sold his skins. He remembered that clearly. Then what? He remembered the howling wind and remembered that he had taken a shortcut home. He closed his eyes and tried to retrace his route. He could not think of the street name, but he remembered it was in or near the merchant district. He set off determined to find answers.
The cloth was coming along nicely. It was strong, but supple. It would drape well, but not cling too much. It was warm, but not heavy. When she finished this cloth would be made into a coat that always brought its wearer home. She had made many such garments before and the mothers in the village bought them almost before she finished. Such a coat insured no child would be lost in the Great Forest. The loom hummed and runes glowed. She was so pleased with the way her cloth was forming that she sang louder.
The door burst open. Startled, she jumped up, knocking over the stool. A large man stood in the doorway of her shop, glaring at her. She recognized him as a mountain hunter and she felt a moment’s confusion. What could he possibly need from her? He wore skins, not spun cloth. Most of the hunters had their own magick, so he didn’t need her enchantments. She suddenly realized that she could not feel the power in her loom. Panicking, she threw out her power to the cloth. It flared, but didn’t catch. She snapped her fingers, again, a flare then nothing. She clapped her hands together sharply surged the power from her core to the loom. Her magic hit so hard the loom cracked. The runes flickered and then nothing. She turned to the man still standing in the door. “You fool! You ruined it!”
An hour later they both sat with the village guards. The hunter sat beside her at the long rough wood table but instead of facing the guard before him, he was turned in his chair watching her. She was not really noticing, she was still mad about the cloth. She ranted about it to the Capitan, who nodded sagely in agreement while he stole glances at the hunter.
She was just getting to part about how the cloth was coming together quicker than usual when Capitan interrupted. “So what spell was it?”
She sighed. “I told you, I was making a coat.”
The Capitan nodded again. “One of those coats every lady in the village wants to buy for her children?”
“Yes. I told you. Now it’s ruined. I don’t think my loom even works..”
He cut her off again. “And what is the purpose of that spell?”
Irritated she snapped, “To bring the wearer home.”
Nod. “And do you start by setting the spell to the buyer?”
Impatient, she twisted in her chair. “No. I don’t know who will buy it, so I set it to me at first. I do that with all my cloth so if anything is ever stolen I can recall it.”
A slow nod. “And what would happen if anyone listened to your song?”
She twisted the other way and glared at him. “You know what happens.”
Capitan glanced at his deputy and smiled. “Tell me again.”
She blew out her breath. “It enchants the listener. You know this. That is why no one is allowed near my shop when I am weaving or spinning. You yourself assigned extra guards to my street.”
She glared harder at the Capitan. The Capitan looked at the deputy. The deputy stared at the hunter who was oblivious to it all. The deputy wished he was somewhere else.
The Capitan smiled. The smile became hard and cold. He was still staring at the deputy who was sinking lower into his chair. The Capitan said, “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
The deputy cleared his throat. “Ah, I took care of it.”
The Capitan continued to stare. The deputy shifted around a bit more and spoke again. “Some of the men went off for a drink before their shift ended. They have been relieved of duty and their pay has been docked. It is taken care of.”
The Capitan frowned. “Not yet.”
She was confused. “What does this have to do with me?”
The Capitan smiled sadly. “You have enchanted him.”
She gasped. Numb and cold, she turned to the hunter. He was watching her intently with blank eyes.
They placed him behind bars for his own safety. He paced the cell like a bear. He didn’t like the bars. They were between him and her.
She sat on a chair in front of the cell holding a small black conjuring bag. She sighed. “I need some of his hair.”
No one moved. An enchanted man was a dangerous man.
Irritated she cut a lock of his hair with the gold scissors she kept on her belt. He had come eagerly to the bars. Anything for her.
She held the lock of black hair between her fingers. It was surprisingly soft for a man’s hair. She sighed and dropped it into the bag. Already in the bag were banishing herbs.
She sat down again and rolled the bag in her hands, feeling the lump of powdered herbs. She squeezed the bag and smelled the pungent musk of patchouli. She rolled the bag, squeezing and whispering. She felt the power, dark and cold.
She dropped the bag into her lap and drew a spindle from her pocket. From other pocket she produced black yarn which she arranged in a counter-clockwise spiral on the floor. She opened the bag and took out the hair which was now covered with a banishing powder. She began to spin his hair. It flowed evenly. When she had a thin cord of it, she picked up the yarn and spun them together. They wound tightly. The hunter gripped the bars and watched.
She took the cord of hair and yarn and tied a slipknot. She spoke a word. The hunter didn’t move. She tied another knot and spoke another word. He stared without blinking. She chanted a little faster, speaking and knotting until the cord was filled 13 knots. She looked the hunter in the eye. He still did not blink. She spoke the word of release, pull the knots free.
He sunk to his knees. She threw the limp cord into the fire. He felt a lightness around him.
She rose before anyone could speak. “Do not let him out until I’ve been gone an hour.”
She didn’t reopen the shop when she returned. She sat by her ruined loom and felt very foolish. All evening she stayed by the fire doing nothing. He returned to her window near sunset. He watched her for a while. She did not notice.
Life in the village went on as usual. She saw the hunter often which was surprising. She excepted him to be on the mountain. The butcher told her that the hunter had gotten rich off the his last hunt and didn’t need to work until next season.
Though she saw him most days, the hunter did not try to approach her, which was a relief. The enchantment was broken. She felt very badly about it, even though it had an accident. She supposed her seductress powers were slipping though and she resolved to keep a tighter rein on herself.
She did not try to speak to him. She knew contact could reactivate the spell. She met his eyes each time she saw him and kept her apologies to herself.
After she broke her hold over him, he had no desire to return to the mountains. He felt empty. He wondered if life was worth living.
For several days he sat in his house and thought about her. He did not remember how he felt during the spell. He did not know what he had done or said. He wondered what kind of woman could trap him in such a way. He liked women, but he rarely thought of them again after lay with one. He thought of her and of little else. He wondered what other powers she had.
He decided to find out.
When the weather started to hint at spring, he trapped her in the market.
She was admiring some clay pots and when she turned to ask the price, he was standing uncomfortably close. She dropped the pot and he caught it deftly.
He set it back on the counter without taking his eyes from her. When he spoke, his voice was deep and smoother than she had expected. “Why don’t you look away?”
Confused, she whispered, “What?”
He seemed to be even closer now, but she hadn’t seen him move. In a lower voice he said, “You are the only woman in the village who looks at me.”
Her confusion must have shown clearly because he continued. “All the other women, old and young, pretty and ugly, turn away from me as I walk the streets.”
She frowned. “I am not afraid of you.”
His eyebrows raised in question. “Have I done something to …?”
She shook her head impatiently. “No. It is not you personally. The mountain men have fierce reputations.”
He nodded in understanding. He was the wolf among the sheep. Pretty as she was, he knew this was no lamb. He reached for her and clasped empty air.
He turned and saw her standing across the market. She turned away and walked swiftly home.
The next day she opened the door and found her shopping basket on the doorstep. In her hasty retreat, she hadn’t been able to finish her errands. She lifted the basket and found it surprisingly heavy. It was full. On top was her shopping list, every item checked off. At the bottom of the basket was the pot she dropped.
She was nervous. She didn’t want a man. She didn’t want to enchant anyone. She cursed her seductress side.
It was hard to find his house as it wasn’t in the village, but outside of it. She wandered though the still cold woods for a while before she saw chimney smoke. Damn. She didn’t want him to be home.
She squared her shoulders and knocked on the door. He opened it immediately and she had the feeling that he had been aware of the first moment she entered his domain.
He was shirtless. She blinked and wondered why she even noticed. She thought he must be cold and then she realized his muscles gleamed with sweat. She managed to tear her gaze away from his broad chest and meet his eyes, which were a deep blue. Almost black. He hadn’t shaved. She sucked in her breath and sternly reminded herself that she did not need a man. She held out the money pouch and spoke rapidly before she noticed anything else about him.
“I wanted to pay you.”
He raised one black eyebrow. She swallowed hard. “I cannot accept your gift. It was not necessary…”
He interrupted, “Did you return the items?”
“No.”
He smiled. “Then it was necessary.”
She frowned at him. His smile deepened. She felt annoyed. She thrust the money out again and when he took her hand, she thought he saw things her way. But he didn’t take the money. Instead he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
All she could feel was his heat. His arms were tight against her and she couldn’t move. She kicked a little and finally noticed her feet were no where near the ground. When had he picked her up? Was he that much taller than her?
She managed to move a hand. She realized it was pressed against his very solid chest and if she could just slide her right hand up, she would have an arm free. When she had her hand clutching his long black hair, she thought belatedly that she should have let go when she reached his shoulder. She did want to let go, didn’t she? So why was her other arm around his neck?
Their lips finally parted and she inhaled. She could still taste him. She licked her lower lip and discovered it was salty. Like him. His eyes were black, dark with desire. Before she could warn him, he tilted her head back and put his lips to her soft neck.
She felt her power rise. NO!
Breaking free, she jumped to the ground and ran.
Back at home she was shaking. She was so rattled she ran the whole way, lungs burning. She hadn’t even thought about orbing.
At least she had dropped the money pouch when he kissed her. So he had her payment and she wasn’t obligated to him and as soon as she calmed down, she was going to cast the mother of all banishing spells.
Her door swung open silently. Of course it was him.
He seemed to fill the room. “I thought you weren’t afraid of me.”
She stood nervously. “I’m not.”
“Then why run?”
She twisted her hands together. ‘It’s my power.”
He came in and closed the door behind him. He seemed too big for the room. She tried to back away, but his stride matched her two steps. Before she knew it, she was tripping backwards over the stairs.
He loomed over her. “So tell me about this power.”
She felt the tears rise. “I’m very sorry. So very sorry.”
He changed then. He wasn’t looming anymore. He was just a man. She felt foolish again and was about to tell him to go when he surprised her. In one motion he picked her up, sat down on the stairs, and nestled her gently in his lap. It made her feel like a child again and she started to rise. He pressed his fingers to her cheek and kissed her.
It was a different kiss. A very tender one. She could think this time. She noticed more about him. She realized he was more than a foot taller than she. She felt the protection beads tied in his hair bump against her cheek. She realized he smelled good. Earthy, but clean. She had always thought hunters smelled like blood and leather. But he smelled more like cedar trees.
He leaned back to look at her. She was pink cheeked and slightly breathless and her coppery hair was tumbling down from its pins.
“So, you are a seductress.”
She looked surprised. “I don’t use that power.”
“But you have it.”
She sighed. “Yes. I was born a seductress.” She hesitated, then spoke in a rush. “The king offered to buy me when I was born. I would have been useful, you see. I would have been the perfect spy. I could make men tell me anything. But my mother was a seductress too, and she did not want that life for me. She gave me to my father’s mother, who was a weaver. The king had her killed…” She had never told this story to anyone.
He stroked her hair. Slowly, he began taking out hairpins. “So you were raised by your grandmother. And she taught you to weave with magic?”
She nodded and felt her hair tumble down her back. Why was he taking down her hair?
He stroked her hair, admiring its thickness. “Is your hair brown or red?”
She jumped off his lap. “It’s both. You need to go.”
He didn’t move. “When did you find out you were a seductress? Doesn’t the power have to be awakened?”
She paced, irritated. Maybe if she told him, he would know the danger and leave. She faced him. “I’m telling you this for your own safety. So you will understand that I can belong to no man.” She stood straight and tall and gave him the bitter truth.
“I am a born seductress. I am from a race of women cursed by wizards to be assassins. Our power robs the willpower of a man so that he becomes mindless. He is no longer himself. He cannot think. He cannot reason. He can do nothing except what the seductress tells him to do.”
She paced again. “The original spell kept the women in line too, but one very wise and powerful woman figured out how to break it. Then she was free. She freed all her sisters. Then those women enchanted the wizards who had enslaved them. They seduced them all. And when each wizard was enthralled, the women commanded them to die. And die they did.
“But the women were not free. They still had the power to enslave. It wasn’t long until they were all captured and put to use by powerful men.
“It is an absolute power, but there is no joy in it. There is no love. A seductress cannot marry because her husband will only be her slave.
“The power is awakened, as you said. I knew nothing of it. I was very young and I was in love.”
She paced again. He still watched her, without speaking. She thought that when she was finished with her story he would leave. He would leave forever, disgusted by her. She felt very sad. Best to get it over with. She turned to the window and spoke without looking at him.
“My grandmother was very protective of me. She would not let me leave the house alone. I thought this was unfair. I knew nothing. She told me my mother died in childbirth. She never mentioned my father. And she locked me in my room whenever anyone came to the house. I thought she was ashamed of me, or that I was very ugly, something that should not be seen.
“But there was a boy who lived across the glen from us and he did not think I was ugly. He had chanced to see me gathering eggs and from that day forward, he lurked everywhere, waiting for me.
“Of course my grandmother didn’t know. I kept him a secret. He was the first boy I met, the first to pay attention to me, naturally I fell in love. I began sneaking out of the house late at night to meet him. One night, we did what came naturally. He took me on the bank of the river under the full moon.
“I didn’t know what happened. He was very quiet. I was so happy and I said if I died at that moment it would not matter because my life was now complete.
“In a very strange voice he asked me, do you want me to die for you? I was confused and I asked, die? Only he didn’t hear it as a question…”
She began to shake. He reached for her and she pulled away. She was going to tell this story. She was going to save him.
“I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid to go home. I was afraid to leave him to find help. I stayed with him all night. My grandmother found us the next morning and she knew what happened. She pushed his body into the river to make it appear as if he drowned. This made me cry all the harder. Then she took me home and packed a bag for me. She told me I knew how to be a weaver and I could use that to support myself. She made me go.”
He reached for her again. She spun away and he caught her in his arms. She cried, “What are you doing?”
He looked concerned. “I want to hold you.”
She cried and he held her closer to him. “I can’t. I can’t. I already enchanted you once and I didn’t even know.”
He did not let go. She sobbed. He still held her. Eventually she quieted. He rubbed her back and said, “I don’t know your name.”
She looked at him. “Why do you need to know my name? You’re leaving. Forget me.”
He frowned. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And stay he did. He carried her up the stairs while she protested weakly. This was more than she could think about. He lay her down on the double bed and took off her boots. He tugged at the laces on her dress and she drew back, feeling shy. He was persistent though, and soon she only wore her shift. Thankfully, he pulled the covers over her at that point.
She thought he would leave then, but instead he sat on the hearth and pulled off his boots. She watched and wondered what he was doing. Slowly he rose and tugged off his shirt.
He was really beautiful and she couldn’t stop looking at him. He was scarred, white scars from the fangs of animals covered his arms and back, but that added to his masculinity, not detracted from it. The scars made him look stronger.
He standing by the bed slowly rubbing an obvious budge before she realized his intent.
She blushed. “Oh. I can’t.”
He leaned over her. He was so male. She could smell cedar wood again. He was on the bed now, filling her entire sight. She could feel his body heat and he wasn’t even touching her. His eyes were a very dark blue and slowly turning black. She reminded herself to breathe. He leaned ever closer and whispered to her. “What do you know about this power?”
She answered in a faltering voice, “Just enough to control it.”
He brushed her hair with his hand. “Another seductress taught you?”
She blushed again. “Oh, yes. Before I came to this village I met…one of my kind. She knew what I was immediately. She told me things.”
He smiled. “And did she gave you a seductress rod?”
She couldn’t answer, she was too embarrassed. But he knew the answer already. He grinned at her. “Where do you keep it?”
She wouldn’t tell him. But he was a determined man and it did not take long for him to find the rod under the bed.
She couldn’t move. A part of her wanted to run away and another part desperately want to know what would happen next.
He grabbed her shift. He pulled it off, yanking her up. She wasn’t sure exactly how he managed it, but she found herself naked astride him. Before she could really think about what was happening to her, he had one nipple in his mouth.
She felt her power rising and she tensed, determined not to enchant. He looked at her without taking his mouth from her. He looked at her and when their eyes met he sucked harder. She gasped and arched her back, pressing against him. She felt the barest hint of teeth and she jerked. He let go and worked the same magic with the other nipple.
It was too much. She hadn’t been with anyone in so long and now he was giving her more than she had ever hoped for.
She suddenly realized she was laying across the bed and that he was kneeling on the floor in front of her. She watched as he lowered his head. Her white thighs looked even paler against his hair. Eyes wide and feeling as if she couldn’t get enough air, she watched him kiss her triangle of hair. She stopped breathing. He raised his head, smiled, and lowered his head again to lick her clit.
She nearly screamed. She felt her power rising and she clamped her legs around his head, desperate to stop him. He stopped licking. Breathing again, she relaxed slightly and loosened her hold. Immediately he leaned in closer and the began sucking.
She could feel her power and she couldn’t control it. She didn’t care at that point, she just needed release. She felt his tongue entering her and she screamed in delight. She writhed against the bed and raised her hips.
He couldn’t believe how wet she was. The bed was already soaked where she was laying and she hadn’t cum yet. He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer, moving his tongue faster and she screamed again. He could feel her power pulsing all around him like thunder. He wanted to be in her, but she needed the rod first.
He slide the rod into her vagina as he sucked her clit. She squeezed tightly and her power roared in his ears. He worked it in and out of her slowly. She moaned and moved her hips to match the rhythm. His leather pants felt painfully tight and he yanked at the laces with his free hand. With his dick free, he jerked off while fucking her with the rod. He felt her tense and her power pulsed and roared to a nearly unbearable point. She screamed. He pulled the rod out. It shone with wetness and more oozed from her and pooled on the bed. He stood and plunged into her.
Her eyes were wide with shock. He worked in and out of her. She was so wet and so slick and she was squeezing him tightly. He wanted to tell her it was alright, but he couldn’t talk. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He lunged deeply into her and she cried out. He screamed too and fell limply against her.
He was laying awkwardly against the bed, one arm tangled in the covers and the other arm holding her. He was balanced on one knee and his foot was shoved against the dresser. Both knees burned from rubbing against the rug. He felt wonderful.
He raised his head lazily and discovered she was crying. Immediately he sat up. “Did I hurt you?”
She cried a little harder and tried to speak. Finally between sobs she said, “Go away.”
“No.”
She looked at him in amazement. “Did you just refuse me?”
“I did.”
She was still crying, but not as much. “Are you enchanted?”
He smiled. “No.”
The second time was much better. When she realized that he could give her release without being inside her, she was more accepting of his advances.
They both agreed they need more time to explore. She lay on her back and watched his deft fingers touch every part of her. She giggled a lot as she discovered she was ticklish. He liked to hear her laugh, so he tickled her skin with his fingers. And then with his tongue, which made her shriek.
He learned her breasts filled his hands. He discovered a birthmark on her back. He marveled at her tiny feet. He noticed she had green eyes ringed with gold. He decided her hair was more brown than red.
She counted all of his scars as he told her about his hunting trips. She found that the hair on his chest was just as black as the hair on his head. After much deliberation, she finally realized that his feet were ticklish, but he was too proud to tell her.
She was sitting beside him admiring his shoulders when she felt her seductress power stirring. He was half asleep and did not notice. Instead of closing the power, she opened the channel wider.
Seductress power is a multifaceted gift, not the least of which is mind reading. This allows the seductress to please without asking for direction. In his relaxed state, the forefront of his mind was wishing she would suck him.
She felt a rising excitement. She had never done it, but from the image in his mind, she thought it would be easy enough. He barely stirred as she shifted position on the bed. She grasped the base of him and his eyes opened. Then rolled back in his head.
She licked the head, slowly covering it all with her tongue. She squeezed the base with her hands and he moaned softly. She licked the soft skin under the head and he shivered. She looked up at him and smiled. Then she opened her mouth wide and did her best to swallow him whole.
He was too big for her to take the whole length of him. But if she kept her fist around his base, she could almost meet her hand with her mouth. Every time she brought her mouth down, she pulled her hand up.
He loved it. Then she got another reading from him. With her left hand she rubbed his balls. He wasn’t really thinking now, just feeling. She moved faster. He wanted her now, but she wasn’t going to stop. She squeezed hard. Sucked harder.
He yanked her up and set her on top. He held her firmly by the hips and guided himself into her. She opened her mind again and was surprised to learn that he wanted her in charge. She blushed. He liked looking at her. He like seeing his dick moving in and out of her. Feeling suddenly brave and bold, she rose up until only the head was inside her. She bore down, pressing her muscles against him. His eyes rolled back again.
She rode him. Her power rose and for the first time it made her feel good. For once she could use her power and not hurt. She knew he liked it. His mind told her how fast to move, when the squeeze, when to moan. He thought of her breasts and she didn’t hesitate, she just guided his hands up to cup them.
She was almost surprised when he thought of the rod. He was wondering if she needed it. He really wanted her release to come when he was deep inside her, but she didn’t dare. In a hoarse voice she whispered for him to use the rod.
She slid off of him and onto the rod. It wasn’t anywhere close to his size. It wasn’t thick enough. It wasn’t silky hot like him. It was just wood. It couldn’t pulse and throb. He couldn’t make it flex inside her. Still, it was better than enchanting him. It was better than nothing.
He worked it in and out of her and she tried to release. But it was not the same as him. He sensed that it wasn’t working and he threw the rod to the floor. They rolled over so that he was on top. He pushed into her and she felt wet again. Oh he was wonderful.
She ran her hands over his shoulders and pulled him closer to her. She liked the feel of weight pressing against her. She liked his heat. She liked his unshaven cheek against her neck. She sighed and wrapped her legs around him. He pumped harder and she felt her power rising. Just as she was about to release, she remembered where he threw the rod. She tried to stop him. “The rod…”
He pushed harder. “No.” She gasped. They both came together.
He was still inside her, but he was very still. She was afraid to look. Oh please, she thought, please don’t be re-enchanted. She felt the tears welling up. She heard him speak against her neck. “Are you going to tell me your name now?”
“Tell me yours first.”
“No.”
She stared at him with wide eyes. “Did you just refuse me again?”
“I did.”
“But you were inside me when I…” She blushed.
“I think I am immune to your magic now.”
She did not understand. He smiled at her. “Do you remember when I asked you why you didn’t look away?”
She nodded.
“I said I was not afraid of you.”
He pulled her closer. “You enchanted me. And then you broke that spell because you want me to be free.”
She was very close to understanding. “So now…”
“So now I am not afraid of you because I know you will always set me free.”
She settled closer to him. “Nothing to lose…”
He kissed her forehead. “And everything to gain.”
1. You are at least 18 years of age. Youngsters read no more!
2. You know (because I just told you) that this a dirty a story. Being that you know and read anyway, you have no cause to get offend by my content.
3. You understand that I am a private person, thus I do not wish to share any of my insights on sex and love with my readers. So you won't send me an email asking if I'm a kinky freak and you won't, Goddess forbid, ask me in person, face to face, if such a thing as ever happened to me in real life. It's not any of your business, but to answer that last question, I was inspired by a Luis Royo painting. The painting is not sexual in any way, but the man in the painting is extraordinarily good-looking and when I saw it I thought, There's a man I'd run off with. Don't ask me what else I thought.
========================================
She sat by the fire slowly spinning.
Winding down and slowly back up again, her magic flowed into the yarn shinning and wonderful. As she neared the end her voice never quavered. The last notes adhered to the fiber and they became one. The last word of her song faded into stillness. A sweet aching silence hung in the air. And he watched her from the window.
It was cold and icy in the village street, but that was not a concern for him. Cold just was and it had never bothered him. He was a hunter and he stalked his prey in the mountains in the dead of winter. Usually he would have been on the mountain at this time of year, but his last hunt had been far more successful than he anticipated, so he had returned early to sell the skins. He had the opportunity to buy extra supplies and mend his gear. Perhaps he could extend his season.
But right at that moment he wasn’t thinking about skins or profit. He couldn’t think of anything at all. Feeling slightly dazed, he trudged though the ice to his house.
The next morning dawned extremely bright and cold. It was another good day to sit by the fire. Yesterday she had completed all her spinning, so now it was time to weave.
She gathered her enchanted yarn. It was still warm with power. She smiled as she felt its weight and silky heat. This could be her finest work yet.
She tapped the loom with her wand and set the wards against tangles. She traced the ancient runes with her fingers and the loom hummed, recognizing her touch. She fixed in her mind’s eye what she wanted and the loom understood and hummed again.
Taking the thickest empowered yarn, she began making the weaver’s cross. This would be perfect.
He awoke feeling vaguely dizzy, as if something so wonderful had happened that it couldn’t be real. He sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t feel bad, but he didn’t feel right either and he thought that he must be forgetting something very important, but he couldn’t think of what it could be. He thought perhaps he felt out of sorts because he should be on the mountain, but that did not seem logical because he had been happy enough to return and earn his extra gold. He couldn’t think of anything that was troubling his mind. He really did not have any woes. Except something was not right. He looked out the window and saw that half the morning had already passed. Odd, usually he awoke before the sun rose. He felt annoyed with himself, though he knew it didn’t really matter when he got out of bed. He had already made his profit for the year and he truly did not need to hunt again until next season. Feeling confused and lost, he decided to walk down to the village to clear his head.
He stepped out and inhaled sharply when the cold air touched his bare skin. Quickly he stepped back and closed the door. How could he have forgotten to get dressed? Annoyed again, he washed and dressed in his warmest furs. He considered breakfast, but he wasn’t hungry. He couldn’t remember when he eaten last, but food did not seem nearly as important as whatever it was that he was forgetting.
Finally properly clothed, he stepped out a second time. No icy wind stung him. Good. Now, what was missing? He tried to remember what he did the day before. He sold his skins. He remembered that clearly. Then what? He remembered the howling wind and remembered that he had taken a shortcut home. He closed his eyes and tried to retrace his route. He could not think of the street name, but he remembered it was in or near the merchant district. He set off determined to find answers.
The cloth was coming along nicely. It was strong, but supple. It would drape well, but not cling too much. It was warm, but not heavy. When she finished this cloth would be made into a coat that always brought its wearer home. She had made many such garments before and the mothers in the village bought them almost before she finished. Such a coat insured no child would be lost in the Great Forest. The loom hummed and runes glowed. She was so pleased with the way her cloth was forming that she sang louder.
The door burst open. Startled, she jumped up, knocking over the stool. A large man stood in the doorway of her shop, glaring at her. She recognized him as a mountain hunter and she felt a moment’s confusion. What could he possibly need from her? He wore skins, not spun cloth. Most of the hunters had their own magick, so he didn’t need her enchantments. She suddenly realized that she could not feel the power in her loom. Panicking, she threw out her power to the cloth. It flared, but didn’t catch. She snapped her fingers, again, a flare then nothing. She clapped her hands together sharply surged the power from her core to the loom. Her magic hit so hard the loom cracked. The runes flickered and then nothing. She turned to the man still standing in the door. “You fool! You ruined it!”
An hour later they both sat with the village guards. The hunter sat beside her at the long rough wood table but instead of facing the guard before him, he was turned in his chair watching her. She was not really noticing, she was still mad about the cloth. She ranted about it to the Capitan, who nodded sagely in agreement while he stole glances at the hunter.
She was just getting to part about how the cloth was coming together quicker than usual when Capitan interrupted. “So what spell was it?”
She sighed. “I told you, I was making a coat.”
The Capitan nodded again. “One of those coats every lady in the village wants to buy for her children?”
“Yes. I told you. Now it’s ruined. I don’t think my loom even works..”
He cut her off again. “And what is the purpose of that spell?”
Irritated she snapped, “To bring the wearer home.”
Nod. “And do you start by setting the spell to the buyer?”
Impatient, she twisted in her chair. “No. I don’t know who will buy it, so I set it to me at first. I do that with all my cloth so if anything is ever stolen I can recall it.”
A slow nod. “And what would happen if anyone listened to your song?”
She twisted the other way and glared at him. “You know what happens.”
Capitan glanced at his deputy and smiled. “Tell me again.”
She blew out her breath. “It enchants the listener. You know this. That is why no one is allowed near my shop when I am weaving or spinning. You yourself assigned extra guards to my street.”
She glared harder at the Capitan. The Capitan looked at the deputy. The deputy stared at the hunter who was oblivious to it all. The deputy wished he was somewhere else.
The Capitan smiled. The smile became hard and cold. He was still staring at the deputy who was sinking lower into his chair. The Capitan said, “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
The deputy cleared his throat. “Ah, I took care of it.”
The Capitan continued to stare. The deputy shifted around a bit more and spoke again. “Some of the men went off for a drink before their shift ended. They have been relieved of duty and their pay has been docked. It is taken care of.”
The Capitan frowned. “Not yet.”
She was confused. “What does this have to do with me?”
The Capitan smiled sadly. “You have enchanted him.”
She gasped. Numb and cold, she turned to the hunter. He was watching her intently with blank eyes.
They placed him behind bars for his own safety. He paced the cell like a bear. He didn’t like the bars. They were between him and her.
She sat on a chair in front of the cell holding a small black conjuring bag. She sighed. “I need some of his hair.”
No one moved. An enchanted man was a dangerous man.
Irritated she cut a lock of his hair with the gold scissors she kept on her belt. He had come eagerly to the bars. Anything for her.
She held the lock of black hair between her fingers. It was surprisingly soft for a man’s hair. She sighed and dropped it into the bag. Already in the bag were banishing herbs.
She sat down again and rolled the bag in her hands, feeling the lump of powdered herbs. She squeezed the bag and smelled the pungent musk of patchouli. She rolled the bag, squeezing and whispering. She felt the power, dark and cold.
She dropped the bag into her lap and drew a spindle from her pocket. From other pocket she produced black yarn which she arranged in a counter-clockwise spiral on the floor. She opened the bag and took out the hair which was now covered with a banishing powder. She began to spin his hair. It flowed evenly. When she had a thin cord of it, she picked up the yarn and spun them together. They wound tightly. The hunter gripped the bars and watched.
She took the cord of hair and yarn and tied a slipknot. She spoke a word. The hunter didn’t move. She tied another knot and spoke another word. He stared without blinking. She chanted a little faster, speaking and knotting until the cord was filled 13 knots. She looked the hunter in the eye. He still did not blink. She spoke the word of release, pull the knots free.
He sunk to his knees. She threw the limp cord into the fire. He felt a lightness around him.
She rose before anyone could speak. “Do not let him out until I’ve been gone an hour.”
She didn’t reopen the shop when she returned. She sat by her ruined loom and felt very foolish. All evening she stayed by the fire doing nothing. He returned to her window near sunset. He watched her for a while. She did not notice.
Life in the village went on as usual. She saw the hunter often which was surprising. She excepted him to be on the mountain. The butcher told her that the hunter had gotten rich off the his last hunt and didn’t need to work until next season.
Though she saw him most days, the hunter did not try to approach her, which was a relief. The enchantment was broken. She felt very badly about it, even though it had an accident. She supposed her seductress powers were slipping though and she resolved to keep a tighter rein on herself.
She did not try to speak to him. She knew contact could reactivate the spell. She met his eyes each time she saw him and kept her apologies to herself.
After she broke her hold over him, he had no desire to return to the mountains. He felt empty. He wondered if life was worth living.
For several days he sat in his house and thought about her. He did not remember how he felt during the spell. He did not know what he had done or said. He wondered what kind of woman could trap him in such a way. He liked women, but he rarely thought of them again after lay with one. He thought of her and of little else. He wondered what other powers she had.
He decided to find out.
When the weather started to hint at spring, he trapped her in the market.
She was admiring some clay pots and when she turned to ask the price, he was standing uncomfortably close. She dropped the pot and he caught it deftly.
He set it back on the counter without taking his eyes from her. When he spoke, his voice was deep and smoother than she had expected. “Why don’t you look away?”
Confused, she whispered, “What?”
He seemed to be even closer now, but she hadn’t seen him move. In a lower voice he said, “You are the only woman in the village who looks at me.”
Her confusion must have shown clearly because he continued. “All the other women, old and young, pretty and ugly, turn away from me as I walk the streets.”
She frowned. “I am not afraid of you.”
His eyebrows raised in question. “Have I done something to …?”
She shook her head impatiently. “No. It is not you personally. The mountain men have fierce reputations.”
He nodded in understanding. He was the wolf among the sheep. Pretty as she was, he knew this was no lamb. He reached for her and clasped empty air.
He turned and saw her standing across the market. She turned away and walked swiftly home.
The next day she opened the door and found her shopping basket on the doorstep. In her hasty retreat, she hadn’t been able to finish her errands. She lifted the basket and found it surprisingly heavy. It was full. On top was her shopping list, every item checked off. At the bottom of the basket was the pot she dropped.
She was nervous. She didn’t want a man. She didn’t want to enchant anyone. She cursed her seductress side.
It was hard to find his house as it wasn’t in the village, but outside of it. She wandered though the still cold woods for a while before she saw chimney smoke. Damn. She didn’t want him to be home.
She squared her shoulders and knocked on the door. He opened it immediately and she had the feeling that he had been aware of the first moment she entered his domain.
He was shirtless. She blinked and wondered why she even noticed. She thought he must be cold and then she realized his muscles gleamed with sweat. She managed to tear her gaze away from his broad chest and meet his eyes, which were a deep blue. Almost black. He hadn’t shaved. She sucked in her breath and sternly reminded herself that she did not need a man. She held out the money pouch and spoke rapidly before she noticed anything else about him.
“I wanted to pay you.”
He raised one black eyebrow. She swallowed hard. “I cannot accept your gift. It was not necessary…”
He interrupted, “Did you return the items?”
“No.”
He smiled. “Then it was necessary.”
She frowned at him. His smile deepened. She felt annoyed. She thrust the money out again and when he took her hand, she thought he saw things her way. But he didn’t take the money. Instead he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
All she could feel was his heat. His arms were tight against her and she couldn’t move. She kicked a little and finally noticed her feet were no where near the ground. When had he picked her up? Was he that much taller than her?
She managed to move a hand. She realized it was pressed against his very solid chest and if she could just slide her right hand up, she would have an arm free. When she had her hand clutching his long black hair, she thought belatedly that she should have let go when she reached his shoulder. She did want to let go, didn’t she? So why was her other arm around his neck?
Their lips finally parted and she inhaled. She could still taste him. She licked her lower lip and discovered it was salty. Like him. His eyes were black, dark with desire. Before she could warn him, he tilted her head back and put his lips to her soft neck.
She felt her power rise. NO!
Breaking free, she jumped to the ground and ran.
Back at home she was shaking. She was so rattled she ran the whole way, lungs burning. She hadn’t even thought about orbing.
At least she had dropped the money pouch when he kissed her. So he had her payment and she wasn’t obligated to him and as soon as she calmed down, she was going to cast the mother of all banishing spells.
Her door swung open silently. Of course it was him.
He seemed to fill the room. “I thought you weren’t afraid of me.”
She stood nervously. “I’m not.”
“Then why run?”
She twisted her hands together. ‘It’s my power.”
He came in and closed the door behind him. He seemed too big for the room. She tried to back away, but his stride matched her two steps. Before she knew it, she was tripping backwards over the stairs.
He loomed over her. “So tell me about this power.”
She felt the tears rise. “I’m very sorry. So very sorry.”
He changed then. He wasn’t looming anymore. He was just a man. She felt foolish again and was about to tell him to go when he surprised her. In one motion he picked her up, sat down on the stairs, and nestled her gently in his lap. It made her feel like a child again and she started to rise. He pressed his fingers to her cheek and kissed her.
It was a different kiss. A very tender one. She could think this time. She noticed more about him. She realized he was more than a foot taller than she. She felt the protection beads tied in his hair bump against her cheek. She realized he smelled good. Earthy, but clean. She had always thought hunters smelled like blood and leather. But he smelled more like cedar trees.
He leaned back to look at her. She was pink cheeked and slightly breathless and her coppery hair was tumbling down from its pins.
“So, you are a seductress.”
She looked surprised. “I don’t use that power.”
“But you have it.”
She sighed. “Yes. I was born a seductress.” She hesitated, then spoke in a rush. “The king offered to buy me when I was born. I would have been useful, you see. I would have been the perfect spy. I could make men tell me anything. But my mother was a seductress too, and she did not want that life for me. She gave me to my father’s mother, who was a weaver. The king had her killed…” She had never told this story to anyone.
He stroked her hair. Slowly, he began taking out hairpins. “So you were raised by your grandmother. And she taught you to weave with magic?”
She nodded and felt her hair tumble down her back. Why was he taking down her hair?
He stroked her hair, admiring its thickness. “Is your hair brown or red?”
She jumped off his lap. “It’s both. You need to go.”
He didn’t move. “When did you find out you were a seductress? Doesn’t the power have to be awakened?”
She paced, irritated. Maybe if she told him, he would know the danger and leave. She faced him. “I’m telling you this for your own safety. So you will understand that I can belong to no man.” She stood straight and tall and gave him the bitter truth.
“I am a born seductress. I am from a race of women cursed by wizards to be assassins. Our power robs the willpower of a man so that he becomes mindless. He is no longer himself. He cannot think. He cannot reason. He can do nothing except what the seductress tells him to do.”
She paced again. “The original spell kept the women in line too, but one very wise and powerful woman figured out how to break it. Then she was free. She freed all her sisters. Then those women enchanted the wizards who had enslaved them. They seduced them all. And when each wizard was enthralled, the women commanded them to die. And die they did.
“But the women were not free. They still had the power to enslave. It wasn’t long until they were all captured and put to use by powerful men.
“It is an absolute power, but there is no joy in it. There is no love. A seductress cannot marry because her husband will only be her slave.
“The power is awakened, as you said. I knew nothing of it. I was very young and I was in love.”
She paced again. He still watched her, without speaking. She thought that when she was finished with her story he would leave. He would leave forever, disgusted by her. She felt very sad. Best to get it over with. She turned to the window and spoke without looking at him.
“My grandmother was very protective of me. She would not let me leave the house alone. I thought this was unfair. I knew nothing. She told me my mother died in childbirth. She never mentioned my father. And she locked me in my room whenever anyone came to the house. I thought she was ashamed of me, or that I was very ugly, something that should not be seen.
“But there was a boy who lived across the glen from us and he did not think I was ugly. He had chanced to see me gathering eggs and from that day forward, he lurked everywhere, waiting for me.
“Of course my grandmother didn’t know. I kept him a secret. He was the first boy I met, the first to pay attention to me, naturally I fell in love. I began sneaking out of the house late at night to meet him. One night, we did what came naturally. He took me on the bank of the river under the full moon.
“I didn’t know what happened. He was very quiet. I was so happy and I said if I died at that moment it would not matter because my life was now complete.
“In a very strange voice he asked me, do you want me to die for you? I was confused and I asked, die? Only he didn’t hear it as a question…”
She began to shake. He reached for her and she pulled away. She was going to tell this story. She was going to save him.
“I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid to go home. I was afraid to leave him to find help. I stayed with him all night. My grandmother found us the next morning and she knew what happened. She pushed his body into the river to make it appear as if he drowned. This made me cry all the harder. Then she took me home and packed a bag for me. She told me I knew how to be a weaver and I could use that to support myself. She made me go.”
He reached for her again. She spun away and he caught her in his arms. She cried, “What are you doing?”
He looked concerned. “I want to hold you.”
She cried and he held her closer to him. “I can’t. I can’t. I already enchanted you once and I didn’t even know.”
He did not let go. She sobbed. He still held her. Eventually she quieted. He rubbed her back and said, “I don’t know your name.”
She looked at him. “Why do you need to know my name? You’re leaving. Forget me.”
He frowned. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And stay he did. He carried her up the stairs while she protested weakly. This was more than she could think about. He lay her down on the double bed and took off her boots. He tugged at the laces on her dress and she drew back, feeling shy. He was persistent though, and soon she only wore her shift. Thankfully, he pulled the covers over her at that point.
She thought he would leave then, but instead he sat on the hearth and pulled off his boots. She watched and wondered what he was doing. Slowly he rose and tugged off his shirt.
He was really beautiful and she couldn’t stop looking at him. He was scarred, white scars from the fangs of animals covered his arms and back, but that added to his masculinity, not detracted from it. The scars made him look stronger.
He standing by the bed slowly rubbing an obvious budge before she realized his intent.
She blushed. “Oh. I can’t.”
He leaned over her. He was so male. She could smell cedar wood again. He was on the bed now, filling her entire sight. She could feel his body heat and he wasn’t even touching her. His eyes were a very dark blue and slowly turning black. She reminded herself to breathe. He leaned ever closer and whispered to her. “What do you know about this power?”
She answered in a faltering voice, “Just enough to control it.”
He brushed her hair with his hand. “Another seductress taught you?”
She blushed again. “Oh, yes. Before I came to this village I met…one of my kind. She knew what I was immediately. She told me things.”
He smiled. “And did she gave you a seductress rod?”
She couldn’t answer, she was too embarrassed. But he knew the answer already. He grinned at her. “Where do you keep it?”
She wouldn’t tell him. But he was a determined man and it did not take long for him to find the rod under the bed.
She couldn’t move. A part of her wanted to run away and another part desperately want to know what would happen next.
He grabbed her shift. He pulled it off, yanking her up. She wasn’t sure exactly how he managed it, but she found herself naked astride him. Before she could really think about what was happening to her, he had one nipple in his mouth.
She felt her power rising and she tensed, determined not to enchant. He looked at her without taking his mouth from her. He looked at her and when their eyes met he sucked harder. She gasped and arched her back, pressing against him. She felt the barest hint of teeth and she jerked. He let go and worked the same magic with the other nipple.
It was too much. She hadn’t been with anyone in so long and now he was giving her more than she had ever hoped for.
She suddenly realized she was laying across the bed and that he was kneeling on the floor in front of her. She watched as he lowered his head. Her white thighs looked even paler against his hair. Eyes wide and feeling as if she couldn’t get enough air, she watched him kiss her triangle of hair. She stopped breathing. He raised his head, smiled, and lowered his head again to lick her clit.
She nearly screamed. She felt her power rising and she clamped her legs around his head, desperate to stop him. He stopped licking. Breathing again, she relaxed slightly and loosened her hold. Immediately he leaned in closer and the began sucking.
She could feel her power and she couldn’t control it. She didn’t care at that point, she just needed release. She felt his tongue entering her and she screamed in delight. She writhed against the bed and raised her hips.
He couldn’t believe how wet she was. The bed was already soaked where she was laying and she hadn’t cum yet. He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer, moving his tongue faster and she screamed again. He could feel her power pulsing all around him like thunder. He wanted to be in her, but she needed the rod first.
He slide the rod into her vagina as he sucked her clit. She squeezed tightly and her power roared in his ears. He worked it in and out of her slowly. She moaned and moved her hips to match the rhythm. His leather pants felt painfully tight and he yanked at the laces with his free hand. With his dick free, he jerked off while fucking her with the rod. He felt her tense and her power pulsed and roared to a nearly unbearable point. She screamed. He pulled the rod out. It shone with wetness and more oozed from her and pooled on the bed. He stood and plunged into her.
Her eyes were wide with shock. He worked in and out of her. She was so wet and so slick and she was squeezing him tightly. He wanted to tell her it was alright, but he couldn’t talk. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He lunged deeply into her and she cried out. He screamed too and fell limply against her.
He was laying awkwardly against the bed, one arm tangled in the covers and the other arm holding her. He was balanced on one knee and his foot was shoved against the dresser. Both knees burned from rubbing against the rug. He felt wonderful.
He raised his head lazily and discovered she was crying. Immediately he sat up. “Did I hurt you?”
She cried a little harder and tried to speak. Finally between sobs she said, “Go away.”
“No.”
She looked at him in amazement. “Did you just refuse me?”
“I did.”
She was still crying, but not as much. “Are you enchanted?”
He smiled. “No.”
The second time was much better. When she realized that he could give her release without being inside her, she was more accepting of his advances.
They both agreed they need more time to explore. She lay on her back and watched his deft fingers touch every part of her. She giggled a lot as she discovered she was ticklish. He liked to hear her laugh, so he tickled her skin with his fingers. And then with his tongue, which made her shriek.
He learned her breasts filled his hands. He discovered a birthmark on her back. He marveled at her tiny feet. He noticed she had green eyes ringed with gold. He decided her hair was more brown than red.
She counted all of his scars as he told her about his hunting trips. She found that the hair on his chest was just as black as the hair on his head. After much deliberation, she finally realized that his feet were ticklish, but he was too proud to tell her.
She was sitting beside him admiring his shoulders when she felt her seductress power stirring. He was half asleep and did not notice. Instead of closing the power, she opened the channel wider.
Seductress power is a multifaceted gift, not the least of which is mind reading. This allows the seductress to please without asking for direction. In his relaxed state, the forefront of his mind was wishing she would suck him.
She felt a rising excitement. She had never done it, but from the image in his mind, she thought it would be easy enough. He barely stirred as she shifted position on the bed. She grasped the base of him and his eyes opened. Then rolled back in his head.
She licked the head, slowly covering it all with her tongue. She squeezed the base with her hands and he moaned softly. She licked the soft skin under the head and he shivered. She looked up at him and smiled. Then she opened her mouth wide and did her best to swallow him whole.
He was too big for her to take the whole length of him. But if she kept her fist around his base, she could almost meet her hand with her mouth. Every time she brought her mouth down, she pulled her hand up.
He loved it. Then she got another reading from him. With her left hand she rubbed his balls. He wasn’t really thinking now, just feeling. She moved faster. He wanted her now, but she wasn’t going to stop. She squeezed hard. Sucked harder.
He yanked her up and set her on top. He held her firmly by the hips and guided himself into her. She opened her mind again and was surprised to learn that he wanted her in charge. She blushed. He liked looking at her. He like seeing his dick moving in and out of her. Feeling suddenly brave and bold, she rose up until only the head was inside her. She bore down, pressing her muscles against him. His eyes rolled back again.
She rode him. Her power rose and for the first time it made her feel good. For once she could use her power and not hurt. She knew he liked it. His mind told her how fast to move, when the squeeze, when to moan. He thought of her breasts and she didn’t hesitate, she just guided his hands up to cup them.
She was almost surprised when he thought of the rod. He was wondering if she needed it. He really wanted her release to come when he was deep inside her, but she didn’t dare. In a hoarse voice she whispered for him to use the rod.
She slid off of him and onto the rod. It wasn’t anywhere close to his size. It wasn’t thick enough. It wasn’t silky hot like him. It was just wood. It couldn’t pulse and throb. He couldn’t make it flex inside her. Still, it was better than enchanting him. It was better than nothing.
He worked it in and out of her and she tried to release. But it was not the same as him. He sensed that it wasn’t working and he threw the rod to the floor. They rolled over so that he was on top. He pushed into her and she felt wet again. Oh he was wonderful.
She ran her hands over his shoulders and pulled him closer to her. She liked the feel of weight pressing against her. She liked his heat. She liked his unshaven cheek against her neck. She sighed and wrapped her legs around him. He pumped harder and she felt her power rising. Just as she was about to release, she remembered where he threw the rod. She tried to stop him. “The rod…”
He pushed harder. “No.” She gasped. They both came together.
He was still inside her, but he was very still. She was afraid to look. Oh please, she thought, please don’t be re-enchanted. She felt the tears welling up. She heard him speak against her neck. “Are you going to tell me your name now?”
“Tell me yours first.”
“No.”
She stared at him with wide eyes. “Did you just refuse me again?”
“I did.”
“But you were inside me when I…” She blushed.
“I think I am immune to your magic now.”
She did not understand. He smiled at her. “Do you remember when I asked you why you didn’t look away?”
She nodded.
“I said I was not afraid of you.”
He pulled her closer. “You enchanted me. And then you broke that spell because you want me to be free.”
She was very close to understanding. “So now…”
“So now I am not afraid of you because I know you will always set me free.”
She settled closer to him. “Nothing to lose…”
He kissed her forehead. “And everything to gain.”
rain
I just washed the truck and now it is raining. I washed the truck real good, too. I scrubbed the hell out of it and then I came back and wiped off all the little spots that I missed. I rinsed the truck three times. Now what is odd about this story is that it has never before rained after I washed the truck. Sure, I know that sort of thing happens all the time to other people, but it has never happened to me. Actually, I have been washing cars on the verge of a storm with lightning flashing in the distance and then it did NOT rain, not even a drop. So I was very surprised to see rain drops. Clearly my life schema is changing, but to what I do not know. Am I losing my luck? Am I becoming more normal? Can I now summon storms? Is this punishment for using magic to push Tropical Storm Fay away from my house? Ordinarily I don’t fool with the weather, but I got tired of thinking the roof was about to blow off. One can only listen to the rattle of cheap tin for so long. So something is clearly afoot. When I find out what, I’ll let you know.
Friday, September 5, 2008
can't say anything really
I HATE it when the people who are writing the blogs I read don't post anything new for long periods of time. I despise finding a cool blog, reading all the archives, and then eagerly waiting for a new post over the next three months. But alas, I have done the same thing.
I really wanted to go in order and do all the myth posts. I have other things happening in my life that I could write about, but I wanted order. However, I got a promotion and I have been busy and distracted. I should be writing, but I'm just not. And I read everybody's blog today and felt badly, so here is my latest post. Maybe tomorrow I can have a real one.
I really wanted to go in order and do all the myth posts. I have other things happening in my life that I could write about, but I wanted order. However, I got a promotion and I have been busy and distracted. I should be writing, but I'm just not. And I read everybody's blog today and felt badly, so here is my latest post. Maybe tomorrow I can have a real one.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)