Friday 2 October 2015

It was still following me...

I stole a hurried glance behind me. It was still following me. I held my breath, sweat dripping from my forehead. It had been following me for an hour already and I still didn’t know why. My heart was thundering in my chest as I shuffled along the pavement. I wanted to run but what if it was faster than me?

Suddenly, on my left, I saw a narrow, dark alleyway. I decided to turn into it, rushing as fast as I could along the dank pathway until I saw a large pile of festering rubbish. I ducked behind it, peeking out as I desperately tried to slow down my breathing partially because it was loud and partially because the smell of rotting refuse was overpowering.

I could see the rectangle of light that was the end of the path. Vague shadows of people glided past. Maybe one of them had been it? Maybe it hadn’t seen me come into the alleyway. I could feel myself relax. I could breathe a little better. No. wait, there was a shadow, darker and more menacing. It was peering into the shadow then peering away. Please go away! I held my breath as it took a step away. Then it paused. NO! It was coming down the alleyway. It moved slowly and yet it seemed to bear down at me. The shadowed figure shuffled silently towards me.

Its footsteps were nearly silent but I could hear it sniffing the air. For the first time I was glad my hiding place stank so badly. Carefully I peeked over again. It was facing away from me but I saw its huge body, mostly in shadow but just enough to see the spikes on top, and the long claws glistening red. It turned and I quickly ducked down. Praying desperately that it hadn’t seen me. It sniffed again, louder this time. I felt the air grow heavy as it loomed into closer.

Suddenly, the air cleared. The sense of its heavy presence was gone. Cautiously I peeked out. There was nothing there.

The relief I felt was the most blissful feeling I’d ever felt. I couldn’t help but check myself over. I was alive! I had never felt as alive as I did at this moment. I stepped out carefully, avoiding the puddles of rancid garbage juice lying on the ground.

At the end of the alley just before the street, I peered out. Nothing. Just empty streets with the occasional car in the distance.

Sighing the biggest sigh of relief I strode out. A part of me was still cautious but the closer I got to home, the more I relaxed. I had escape. I was safe! I had survived!

There, I could see my door! Finally I would be safe! I fiddled in my pockets for my keys and as I walked up to my door, I looked down to find the right key.

“Yoohoo!” cried a shrill voice. I froze, the keys fall from my icy fingers. My heart stopped in my chest and I felt the blood drain from my face. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” I turned around slowly. There is was. After all my efforts, there it stood before me. The frizzy curls styled into spikes, the nails painted bright red. Out of the shadows I could see her wire frame glasses making her eyes seem like huge orbs staring into my soul. Her pink paisley dress taut around her round pudgy body and that froglike mouth stretched into and overenthusiastic smile. Mrs Figgles, chairwoman of the local culture club.

“I was sure I saw you on the street, dearie, but you just disappeared! I did so want to speak to you my dear, so here I am! Finally I caught you!” the high pitched giggle threatened to rip open my eardrums and I barely hid my wince. “Now, I need to ask you for your help at our fundraiser, you do know this year we are going to sell our copies of Kittens in Kimonos calendar and we’ve got our bake sale with gluten free cakes and for the first time, we are going to do a clown competition and you were so helpful last year, we would really like to have you volunteer for us again! You would look so lovely in clown makeup!”

Visions of last year came flooding back. The nightmare of being surrounded by old ladies chattering away about crochet. The horror of being force fed ancient fruitcake. The complete humiliation of being dressed as a giant chicken and trying to sell last year’s calendars ‘Cat Fashion – Knitted edition’.

“ I … Uh…” I stammered awkwardly. I had to say no. I had to, otherwise I was trapped.
“Of course dearie we know how busy you are which is why we would be so grateful! Mrs Poddington has already made her famous fruitcake, gluten free of course, and Mrs Snodgrass has agreed to knit you a clown outfit!”

“Um, I… er.. I am … well I…” my tongue betrayed me. The words would not come out.
“Excellent dearie! I’ll out you down as entry number 5, now I’m off but we’ll see you at the fundraiser! Tada!” and with that, like an evil typhoon of paisley horror, she was gone.


I stood frozen to the stop. I knew now, I had never had a chance. My fate was sealed. 

Wednesday 2 April 2014

Let it Grow (dirty version for Tony)

Tony, again i write smut for you!

Let it grow (for Tony)

My cock grows hard behind my jockstrap tonight
And I’ve lost my cock ring.

A kingdom of throbbing blue balls
And it looks like I’m the king
The bulge is much too big to even try to hide
Couldn’t keep it in, heaven knows I tried…

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see
Be the good boy you always have to be!
Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know
Well now they know.

Let it grow, Let it grow
Can’t hold it back anymore
Let it grow, let it grow
Turn away and slam the door

I don’t care what they’re going to say
Let the bulge throb on
The cold never bothered me anyways

It’s funny how a jock strap, makes everything seem small
But a glimpse of someone hot and it can’t contain it in at all

It’s time to see what I can do
To test the limits and break through

No briefs, no jocks, not pants for me,
I’m free!

Let it grow, let it grow
I’m one with the lube and fleshlight
Let it grow, let it grow
I’m about to blow out white

Here I stand with my dick in hand
Let my cock throb on

My power flurries through my balls into my cock
The load is heavy in my balls
And I’m about to drop
And everything’s about to happen really fast

And when I finally blow
It feels a mighty blast…

Let it grow, let it grow
I’m one with the bed and sky
Let it grow, let it grow
I’ll be hard again in a sec

Here I stand with my dick in hand
And I’m so damn hard!
The cold never bothered me anyways

Monday 24 March 2014

Let It Grow

For Helena...

The hair gleams black on my armpits tonight, not a razor to be seen.
A forest of messy tendrils, but at least it's all clean.
I kept on shaving, pulling, waxing till i cried.
Couldn't keep it off, Heaven knows i tried.

Don't let it grow, don't let them see
Be the smooth girl you always have to be!
Conceal, Don't peel, Don't let it show!
Well now they show!

Let it grow! Let it Grow!
Can't wax them off anymore,
Let it grow, Let it grow!
Throw away the razor now!

I don't care, what they're going to say, Let the hair grow out....
The fur never bothered me anyway.

It's funny how some bristles
make everything seem rough
but after just a few days
It's all smooth and shiny fluff.

It's time to see what they can do,
To test my T- shirts and break through,

No right, No wrong, No wax for me!
I'm free!

Let it grow, Let it grow!
I'm One with my hairy pits,
Let it grow, Let it grow!
I don't really give two shits!

Here I Stand and Here I'll stay!
Let the hair grow out!

My pits grow long out through the front and round the back..
The hair is spiraling in wiry tendrils all around,
And they all bounce and curl as if they've just been styled!

I'll never shave them off,
I'll let them grow all wild!

Let it grow, Let it grow!
Can't wax them off anymore,
Let it grow, Let it grow!
Throw away the razor now!

Here I stand, with my arms up high!
Let the hair grow out!

The fur never bothered me anyways...

Sunday 26 May 2013

18 - A Mission

Just a quick note, I don't normally write anything like this. EVER. However a friend of mine (who shall remain unnamed... he knows who he is) challenged me to write an erotica with specific parameters. The gauntlet was thrown, challenge was accepted. This is the result. It's my first erotica, ironically a gay one, and it will probably be my last. Since it is a rarety I suppose it must be shared. Enjoy and don't be too harsh. 


Emford was a good Mormon boy. He’d observed all the laws and followed every instruction. He had fought to keep sin out of his life and had channeled all his energy to doing his Mormon duty. So it was with no trepidation that he set out to fulfill his duty by going on a mission. In fact he was excited, terribly excited when he heard that he was to go to the far flung and clearly uncivilized land of Hong Kong.
Oh how uncivilized it was. It might have been a shining beacon from the sky, but nobody it seemed wanted to be saved. People ignored him with a firm finality that convinced him that he was invisible and door after door was sternly slammed into his face. When a word was spoken, it was harsh and often unintelligible.
Still, Emford persisted. He persisted even when the brother that had been assigned to him gave up, pleading headaches and nausea. He persisted alone.
It was alone that he knocked on one final door. It was getting late, far later then he was supposed to be out, but Emford felt deep inside him that this was the day that he would finally show someone the wonders of Jesus. He plastered on his most eager smile and knocked stoutly three times.
The door opened to reveal… an angel. At least that’s what Emford thought at the first sight of the man behind the door. He was shorter then Emford by several inches but with a firm lithe body. The face looked earnest and entirely innocent, with wide dark eyes, and straight mouth that stared up at him like a schoolboy awaiting instruction. He clearly was a man but there was a youthful sweetness about his face that confused Emford.
“Yes?” said the man. Emford found that his mouth was dry. He forgot what he was here to say. Then he remembered and began his speech.
“Have you found Jesus in your life?”
“I didn’t realize I’d lost him,” said the man with a sweet grin. “Come in and help me find him.”
Despite the insult of blasphemy, Emford was so delighted to have finally found a way in, he followed eagerly into the small apartment, taking a seat on the couch when it was offered and pulling out his bible. He was about to start with his next speech when his host turned around and he realized that the man was wearing a furry tail.
Odd, but this was a foreign country after all. He kept his eye on his book no matter how much he wanted to follow the tail and instead started to talk about the angel Moroni. It was only halfway through the speech he realized that he didn’t know his host’s name. He asked bashfully, hoping that his rudeness would not reflect badly.
“Antonio,” replied the smooth faced man in front of him. “Here have a drink.” He handed Emford a glass with something.
Emford took a sip and coughed in surprise, feeling his throat warm as the liquid dropped. He had never consumed alcohol in his life and he knew it was a sin. “Is this alcohol?” he asked.
Antonio waved his question away. “Tell me more about Jesus,” he said instead.
Emford felt suspicious but he couldn’t ignore the invitation so he did, he explained all about the blessed union and the messages brought by the lord savior. He talked so much he had to sip from the glass and the more sipped the more he felt his head swim until his words trailed away into nothing.
At this point, Antonio began to rub his thigh and Emford distantly thought that this was probably not right. Closer to the surface however, he marveled that the sensation was quite nice.
He was still staring at the artistic fingers that were gently roving over his leg when suddenly he felt something hot, wet and insistent against his lips. The fist gasp surprise drew him back and he stared into the dark eyes that simply watched him, giving away no secrets of their own.
“What… what are you doing?” he stuttered.
“Helping you find Jesus,” came the hushed reply which was then followed by another clasping of lips against lips. Emford didn’t fight it this time, he’d always wondered what a kiss felt like and he relaxed, tensing only when the mouth against his opened. He paused then opened his mouth, unsure of what it meant but tense when he felt what was obviously a playful tongue.
He would have complained, he told himself he should, but the tingles started at his mouth and burned down his body to further places that twitched and suddenly woke up. His body ached and burned for things he didn’t know of. He actually felt disappointed when the lips pulled away and he opened his eyes to stare at Antonio watching him with a mischievous grin.
The impish expression was gone the instant he saw it leaving Emford to wonder if he imagined it. He had no time to wonder on it as Antonio filled his glass and began to talk of people he knew.
“I’m having a party tonight, I’d like you to stay for it,” he said. And Emford nodded sleepily. A party sounded nice. He loved playing card games.
“My friends are all bringing someone religious and really I was stuck, so it’s a miracle that you are here.”
Emford again nodded. He was a miracle. He liked being described as a miracle. It was only a moment later that he wondered what Antonio meant by religious people. Still Emford found that he just liked to listen to the voice that washed over him though he had stopped registering the words and he liked sipping from the glass.
Emford wasn’t sure when he dozed off; apparently he was tired, only realizing when he was woken by a loud moan. It was harmonised by other softer moans, hushed gasping breath and odd dull smacking sounds.
Emford rubbed his eyes until they focused on what was clearly two bodies writhing together. Naked. Sweaty. Emford instantly turned his gaze but found himself looking directly at a man with his tongue deep inside another man’s. Another turn of his head and he was watching someone being whipped lightly.
Emford sat up straight, his heart beating, his conscience trying very hard to scream at him to leave. Then he saw it. Antonio standing in the doorway to his kitchen, a catholic priest leering down at him, with hands fiddling with the tail. As he watched, the older priest, put his hands on Antonio’s head, as if to bless him, then firmly start to push downwards… towards what was obviously the open fly of his pants.
For the first time in his life, Emford felt the hot urgent flare of jealousy. It hadn’t been that long ago that Antonio had been staring down and fondling him! Now he was with the priest?! Emford had a mind to leave, but his jealousy aroused more than anger, he had a stronger urge to save Antonio.
The apartment was ridiculously small. It only took him three strides, well four counting the large one he took stepping over the writhing figures of what looked like two people to reach Antonio and the leering priest.
Emford felt aggression rise as he shoved the priest away into the kitchen where in the back of his mind, he realized three figures were each trying to take up one space on the counter one of which a Middle Eastern man was in the middle. The priest looked as if he was going to object but Emford didn’t want to fight. Wouldn’t have known how, so instead he locked his lips on Antonio’s instead, showing the priest that this choir boy was his.
Hours could have passed, perhaps eternity though it was not long enough before Antonio pulled away, the impish glint in his eyes stronger. “Come on, lover boy,” he drawled, taking Emford’s hand and leading him to a closed door.
Emford was very aware that the priest was staring at them both looking angry and yet also as if he wanted to follow. Emford was worried that he might try to come after them, but instead, he saw the hand slip rather subtly into his own fly.
Emford had felt like preening himself as he followed Antonio but he deflated quickly when he realized that he was entering the bedroom. There lay the bed, taking up most of the room. The bed itself was so inviting, the colours warm, and the pillows lush. But still! “Wait,” said Emford, his voice betraying his nervousness.
“For what? You want to find God don’t you?” asked Antonio gently. He pushed Emford on the bed and silenced him with a kiss.
“I saved you,” he muttered against the hot urgent lips that were so insistent on staying against his.
“I know, saved me from the filthy debauched catholic priest! Excellent! I hope you have much worse planned for me,” drawled Antonio. Emford opened his mouth to say something towards the negative but he was silenced with another kiss.
His head was swimming so much; he didn’t realize when he’d lain back down with his arms above his head until he found he couldn’t pull them down! Panicking slightly he struggled until Antonio shushed him. “It’s alright, been waiting all night, you can show me Jesus, and I’ll show you God.”
“Why not have the catholic priest show you?” asked Emford after a stray thought.
“That stodgy priest? Nah, I’ve already played choir boy plenty of times, now I’m up for a different role,” he whispered.
Suddenly, Emford heard a muffled cry from the closet. It sounded like a person who was trapped. “What is that?”
“Oh that, just my gimp.”
“What?!” Emford didn’t understand.
“He’s my Westboro Baptist Church gimp. He’s just in training,” Antonio shrugged.
Emford wanted to believe him, to sink into the warm embrace of those hot hands that tickled and teased but he couldn’t let it go and he said so. Antonio sighed and got up, walking to the closet and opening it, revealing a blond man with frantic eyes inside a cage. He had a red ball in his mouth, secured with leather and he was wearing a rather fetching leather suit.
Emford was shocked and he cried, “you kidnapped him too?!”
“Kidnap? Hell no, he loves it. Don’t you my widdle fuzzy poo,” Antonio continued to make sickening little cooing noises at the man who looked up at him, eyes burning. As if Antonio knew that Emford would not be convinced, he slipped the gag off and instantly the man began frothing.
“Oh please master, take me next. Me I want to be next. Not him!” Antonio let him ramble for a while, smiling at Antonio as if to say ‘I told you so’ then slipped the ball gag back on.
“Not yet…” he mumbled as he closed the closet door and went back to Emford.
“I don’t understand, he yearns for you.” Emford found it difficult to keep his eyes away from the closet door.
“I know but he’s terrible in bed. No stamina. Tiny dick. You are way hotter.” Emford burned with the compliment and he couldn’t help smiling.
Then suddenly he jumped up and started to undress, revealing for the first time the smooth chest and then the strong legs. The tail, it became obvious, was not attached to his trousers because it swung playfully even when Antonio was almost naked.
Seeing that tail swing did funny things to Emford’s head and also sent disturbing feelings to his more private regions. All of it was so unfamiliar but Emford was beginning to guess that what he had assiduously avoided all his life was now happening. Emford felt conflicted. He wanted to leave, he had to protect his soul but he also wanted to stay, to feel Antonio’s lips on his again. His brain won and Emford sat up to leave when Antonio pounced on him and subdued him with a kiss.
With a groan, Emford relaxed and let Antonio take over. Only when he pulled away did he remember to say, “No, this is a sin, we will burn in hell!”
“We’ll burn in this bed is more like it. Don’t worry Emford even if we burn in hell, it’ll be worth it,” drawled Antonio. “Now, I’m almost naked but you are far too dressed for the occasion.” Antonio began to unbutton his shirt and Emford found that he wanted to be revealed.
“So you Mormons do wear magic underwear!” he cried with a laugh and Emford found himself wishing that the earth might swallow him up. Yes he wore the sacred clothes that would have protected him but even he had thought that terribly unflattering. When Antonio asked if he could take them off, Emford paused then said, “rip them off,” then hid his face praying silently to God that he be forgiven.
Antonio wasted no time to rip the thin cotton, then “Wow!” Said Antonio with wide eyes. “Who’d have thought Mormon boys were so well endowed?” Emford had his eyes firmly shut at that point. No one had ever seen him naked and he prayed under his breath. He felt Antonio lay beside him, fingers playing lightly on his nipples. The rush in his head grew stronger, his breath catching. It built and built as those hands dipped lower until…
His entire body tensed and writhed and he let out a groan he couldn’t stifle. An explosive release, which passed to reveal Emford’s utter shame. It lay in a congealed mess right there on his belly. Antonio laughed, “So you were a virgin I take it! That was hot. Let’s try again shall we?”
“Wait,” Emford breathed. “This is wrong. Sinful. We will go to hell!”
“Oh, honey you called out to God just a moment ago, don’t tell me you don’t remember. Perhaps I’ll help you remember,” Antonio rose up on his elbow and pushed himself down.
Emford was trying to remember when he might have called out to god when he felt a hot, wet … something enclose over the most private part of him. “Oh GOD!” he breathed and looked down. Antonio was devouring him, his lips encased around the tip of his… he fought with himself to even think it… penis.
He watched the spent bit of flesh start to grow again, Emford had never seen that part of his own self look quite so eager. And to see those soft warm lips tease and caress was almost too much. The sight was excruciating but the feeling, Emford groaned, loudly then felt his face grow hotter with shame. Then the shame was forgotten in how Antonio was making him feel. Emford struggled against his bonds but felt all the more better for it. He heard himself now, chanting “oh God, oh God.”
Oh how was he to know that his cock had a direct line to every nerve ending in his body. One flick of Antonio’s tongue had him reeling in ecstasy. This must have been what heaven felt like. Nothing could be better. Not even if God himself appeared.
This time when his head exploded, he was aware that his cock throbbed in time. The waves went on longer this time and when it ended, Antonio’s face was above his. “Find God again?” Emford he nodded dumbly. “Well, I think it’s my turn,” whispered Antonio.
Emford wriggled then said hoarsely, “release me.”
Antonio shook his head, “no dice. Pulling a Joyce Mckinney is really hot.”
Emford didn’t understand at first but then he remembered the story, whispered among the other brothers. A tale of kidnap and debauchery. A woman who taken a Mormon and did unspeakable things to him. Was this what happened to the Mormon brother who had been kidnapped by Joyce Mckinney? If so, her victim had complained far too much.
“Let my hands go,” Emford said more earnestly, looking at Antonio’s underwear. Antonio paused until he added, “I’ll show you God.”
A quick pull at a line and Emford felt his arms free. Instantly he sprang up and pushed Antonio down on the bed and began to pull his underwear down. (disclaimer, if you don’t want to read about my fanciful descriptions of cocks, block ears or stop reading aloud the next paragraph)
Emford stilled. He had never seen another cock besides his own and he had worked very hard for years to not look at his own either. Now he had another in front of him, he stared opened mouth at the smooth long organ that throbbed just below his face.it lay slightly throbbing on Antonio’s flat stomach, darker skinned and lightly adorned with curling twisting veins. Emford glanced down at his and couldn’t help comparing them. Similar sized but he realised that he had a slight bend while Antonio’s was just rigidly straight. His was also surrounded by slightly unruly, crisply curling blond hair. He looked down and noted that no hair hid the wonders of the organ that throbbed achingly just below him.
“Just try it,” whispered Antonio, his innocent eyes briefly revealing that naughty side he knew lay just underneath. Emford complied and was rewarded with the most delicious sound of a very satisfied sigh.
It was a strange feeling, the skin so smooth on his tongue, yet the entire thing so hot and hard. It tasted strange as well, the skin sweet but the tip dropping little hints of saltiness. However once he got over that, it was like playing an instrument. He followed the gasps, moans and little hiccups of delights from above, taking confidence from them and finding that he loved the feel of cock in his mouth.
He was wondering how much more to go when he was rewarded with a terse “oh JESUS!” because Antonio exploded in his mouth. The unfamiliar warm and salty goo made him uncomfortable. But he couldn’t complain about the taste so he swallowed it.
There was a low aching groan at the door; Emford turned his head to see the priest with a pained expression, staring at Emford while simultaneously holding his cock, manhandling it roughly.
The priest stormed in and stuck his crotch into Antonio’s face, as if he couldn’t wait and had gone mad with longing. Emford was not happy and he pulled at the priest’s shoulders aggressively.
“Boys, boys, plenty of me to go around,” drawled Antonio sitting up. He stared at Emford and pushed him back until Emford was sitting at the edge of the bed. Then Antonio leaned down, taking his cock again in his hands. Emford looked down, feeling his own flesh quicken and harden again and watched with wide eyes at what Antonio was doing with his wicked tongue.
Emford leaned his head back and revelled in the ecstasy when he felt something far better. Antonio had groaned, the vibrations at the back of his throat sending shivers through the rest of his body. Emford groaned in delight as well and opened his eyes to look… at the priest kneeling behind Antonio lifting tail and sliding himself in.
Emford didn’t know what to think. He did not like the priest all that much, but he did like that Antonio was enjoying whatever was being done to him. Another low moan in the back of Antonio’s throat and he stopped caring.
The room swam and was filled with the cacophony of moans from all three of them. The tension built, the voices rose until the crescendo broke, first with the priest, who obviously lacked real stamina, then Emford. When his head cleared and he was able to sit up, Antonio was not in the room.
Emford left the priest still gasping on the bed and walked out to find Antonio in the kitchen. The three writhing figures were gone, though a glance outside at the frame showed the a dark skinned man tied up this time with a blond slightly built man with glasses expertly torturing him.
The air in the bedroom and living room was hot and thick, but it was cooler in the kitchen. Antonio was drinking a large glass of something when he pulled Emford around and kissed him.
This time the kiss was cold. Antonio had taken an ice cube in his mouth. The cold made the rest of his body burn. Antonio pulled away and carefully pushed Emford to the kitchen counter. “I haven’t christened the counter, how about we do that now?”
“Christen?” he whispered with just a hint of nervousness. “How?”
In answer, Antonio reached behind him and pulled a bottle and shook in front of Emford with that same impish look. Emford was confused and his face must have shown it but Antonio gave no explanation, just opened the cap and poured the contents all over Emford’s bare chest.
The subtle scent of olive oil rose up to Emford’s face, but before he could react, Antonio began sliding his hands all over his body, rubbing the slick oil over his skin. The slippery smooth sensation was too much as the heat of his skin warmed the oil and when his hand dipped down to the most eager part of him, Emford couldn’t hold back a loud groan.
The sound seemed to attract attention from outside the kitchen. Emford opened his eyes to see two naked figures standing at the doorway.
The slightly taller brown haired man came in first and immediately slicked his hands on Emford’s chest to slick up some oil then pulled Emford away from the counter to slick his hands down his back. Antonio’s hands did not pause for an instant and sandwiched between them Emford found his knees growing weak. He had to hold the counter with one hand; the other clenched and unclenched with the need to grab something.
Antonio started in front but after a few moments he moved to behind Emford and firmly pushed him down on to his knees. The protestant moved back and then around and stood apparently waiting as Antonio reached around with one oily hand to push Emford’s head around.
Antonio kissed him urgently at first then pulled away to whisper in his ear, “time to christen the kitchen, just like we christened the bedroom, you me and the priest.”
Emford blushed as he remembered what had happened then tensed, “wait, what do you mean? Are you playing the role of the priest?!”
Antonio answered only with the most innocent expression Emford had seen yet. He was not fooled for a second but he didn’t resist when Antonio pushed him down to his hands and knees. He didn’t resist when he felt something tease and poke behind him but he did tense when it felt it push.
“No this is wrong,” he cried.
“I know but doesn’t that make it more fun?” said the man in front of him.
“Who are you?” cried Emford confused.
“I’m Aaron, I’m Protestant,” replied the man with a grin.
It was wrong, so terribly wrong but he didn’t resist even though he felt something push firmly against him. The flare of burning pain mingled with a more pleasurable sensation. This was a sin, a terrible sin. What would his brothers in the church say? What would the elders say?! Emford tried to lean back, to get up and stop Antonio but then he felt Antonio’s long hard length slide in, slick with oil, and all he could do was moan in surrender. For a few seconds, Antonio stayed still and Emford was rewarded with the delicious sensation of pressure in places he didn’t realise he had. Then there was movement.
Emford was happy enough the way he was but apparently the protestant wasn’t. He stepped forward then and got on his knees, presenting his own cock in Emford’s face.
For a second Emford felt a mild disappointment that the one he had in front of him was nowhere near as impressive as Antonio’s but he chided himself. It shouldn’t have mattered. Feeling a measure of guilt, he took it deep in his mouth.
The movements from behind started slow but began to speed up and the man in front began to follow suit. Emford couldn’t complain as wave after wave of pure gratification washed over him. He didn’t even complain when he heard a slap above him as Antonio murmured, “Eiffel tower!” Emford didn’t know what it meant though at that moment, he disengaged himself from the man in front, keeping the engorged organ in his hand and turned his head to look behind him.
Antonio had a look of concentration, sweat sliding down his face and chest. Emford followed the line of sweat down and then realised that the furry tail was swinging from side to side.
That was too much. The sight of that naughty tail, the sounds of flesh hitting against flesh, the hands that gripped his hips and then suddenly more hands taking his face and directing it back to the dick he held in his hand. Emford understood command and he was good at obeying. He continued with his duty, doing his best to service the man in his mouth while trying so hard to stay focused when the man behind abused his body so delightfully.
The hard thrusting hit a sweet spot repeatedly and he found himself moving back, wanting to be penetrated deeper. The pressure everywhere built, the sounds rising to a crescendo and Emford felt his body writhe and twist with pleasure just as Antonio groaned and he felt his host’s release inside him. A moment later, the protestant cried out and Emford for the second time felt a rush in his mouth and down his throat.
Afterwards he collapsed on the kitchen floor, his chest heaving and his body just a pliant puddle on the ground. Antonio was sitting behind him with his knees bent and the protestant in front slightly more prostrate on the ground.
Antonio chuckled and mumbled, “Great, now I have to clean up Santorum from my kitchen floor.”
Emford didn’t know what it means; only that Santorum was a senator. He didn’t really care either.  He only cared about one thing. “When is it my turn?” Emford hushed out between breaths.
“Your turn for what?” asked Antonio equally breathlessly.
“To do what you did.”
Antonio laughed, and Emford felt the vibrations of his laughter through his hip. “Oh honey we can arrange that. C’mon,” he stood unsteadily and playfully slapped Emford’s hip.
Getting up was hard but he found that when he drank the cool glass Antonio handed to him he felt much better. He followed his decadent host to the living room where several figures lay prostrate on the floor and couch in various stages of exhaustion. On a chair sat a man, breathing heavily but eyeing the two men now standing in front of him.  
“Muslim” whispered Antonio to his ear.
The man was dark skinned with thick lashes around his dark eyes. He had a dark scraggly beard that wasn’t long enough to be unruly but still more then could be found attractive at least by Emford. Antonio apparently had no problems; he went right up to the man, offered the glass and then struck up a short quiet conversation.
The conversation was very short as it wasn’t long before the darker skinned man was almost aggressively pushing his host back into the chair, devouring his mouth as if that was his salvation. Emford felt the now familiar flare of jealousy but this time something more. Watching the ardent way the two figures tried to seemingly melt into the wall was inspiring.
He looked down at his own flesh, surprised that it was swelling slightly even so soon after the last explosive release. He was so busy looking down he didn’t notice the short man timidly approach from behind until hands were rubbing over his hand and then his chest.
“Who are you?” asked Emford quietly.
“Joshua,” replied the man with a small smile. “Jehovah’s witness.”
Joshua apparently couldn’t get enough of touching Emford’s back and chest. Emford was so busy watching the tentative hands going over him he didn’t notice Antonio until his name was called. He looked up to find Antonio against the wall with the Muslim man now paying homage to Antonio’s cock.
Emford gave the Jehovah’s Witness an apologetic smile then went over to his now favourite host. He knew what was expected of him and it only took a little manoeuvring to take his now extremely hard self and do to the olive skinned man, what Antonio had done to him only minutes ago.
He was nervous, not sure and it took eager sounds from both his current lover and his former one to keep going. Then he got into his groove, found his rhythm. It was almost too tight, too hot and Emford wasn’t sure he could keep it up but he wanted to try. It helped when the timid man behind him came back and continued rubbing his hands over Emford’s body.
He looked up and saw Antonio’s face, mouth slightly open and those dark secretive eyes were now alight with carnal knowledge with all trace of innocence gone. The choir boy face was now bright with impish glee, lower lip clasped naughtily. As he watched, Antonio raised a hand, inviting it to be slapped. Tentatively he did and was rewarded with, “Eifel Tower!” it was then he understood. Their bodies were shaped like the monument.
Suddenly they were all just one figure, a mass of bodies, slick and hot, moving in soft gyrating motions and crying soft hushed moans and gasps. Emford was barely away of it but the movements gained momentum. The voices slowly grew louder and Emford couldn’t tell who was crying out the most. the hands rubbed more fervently, the hips more forcefully. Muscles tensed and relaxed and their cries raised up until Emford felt the most powerful burst of pure pleasure he had ever felt in his life.
He wasn’t in his body anymore, just a formless mass that fused into everything he touched. Maybe he had died and that was alright with him.
When he came too, he found he was on a hard floor, now sticky with oil and sweat and his limbs tangled with the limbs of three other figures. He crawled just enough to detangle himself and leaned against the wall beside Antonio who lay with his eyes closed, his face no long innocent, just entirely sated.
“So,” breathed his host. “How was that?”
Emford contemplated his predicament. “I came here to save your soul. You tricked me. Tied me to your bed. Ripped my most sacred beliefs from me. Basted me in olive oil, defiled every part of me and now you ask me how it was?” Antonio nodded.
Emford started laughing. “I think I might have lost Jesus.”
“It’s ok; we can keep helping you try to find him.”

“Ok.” Emford smiled, “whenever you want.”

Friday 29 March 2013

17 - No Wedding and Maybe a Funeral

Hung Hom was a terrible place to end up. He was 84 years old and had trouble remembering some things but he knew that his life had been extraordinary. He'd survived... well many things, it was just hard to bring them up. He did rememeber those simpler days when life was not quite so rushed, and things were not quite so noisy. It was harder to remember specifics. He did remember his children and what they had done to him.  He remembered when he did not think about funerals everyday because of his view out the window.

It was a horrible state of affairs, to be abandoned by one's family in a place such as this. It was billed as an old people's home though it hardly felt like home. What was the world coming to when one's children had no concept of their duties to their parents, to the people who had given them life and sacrificed so much. To be left to rot in a home with all those other lost parents whose children had abandoned them.He was not a happy man and life was now devoid of all joy.

The knowledge that being on a ventilator and needing constant care had been too much for his daughter did not lessen the sting. No, back in his days, children cared for their sick elders. It was the sons who would marry and bring home suitable daughter in laws who would cook, clean and generally do all that the elders now could no longer do. His son had not married. His daughter had married all right and had a son of her own, but instead of staying home to care for her child and her father, she continued to work and while she had hired a foreign made to care for her child, the same consideration was not extended to her own father.

He growled under his breath as he stared out the windows. The home was not terribly unpleasent but most of the elderly were treated with a sort of cold efficiency. The caretakers were polite but terribly brisk. He did not like to consider them too much. One could not become friends with those who cleaned out his bedpan.

His children came, bringing bags of biscuits and some chocolates. His grandson was not with them. "he had to do his homework" was the excuse. He was not happy and he threw the chocolates at his children for their inconsiderate disrespect. They left after only a little while and he was left looking out the dreary windows again. Hung Hom was a terrible place to end up. From his window, he could see the little flower shop. It was not just any flower shop. They only sold flower arrangements for funerals. Behind this stall was the tall imposingly beige building of the funeral parlour. He had gone there before, he knew he had. It was hard to remember how many times. One thing he did know, the next time would be the last.

***

He wasn't sure how long he'd been here now. He could recognise most other elderly living here and knew that he was no longer the newest one. There was one new face and it was not elderly. She was a new nurse. It seemed she'd been hired fairly recently and she was put in charge of taking care of him.

It was understandable really, he did have quite a few little problems. His ventilator's tubes often could get clogged, he couldn't quite hold his bladder through the night, his diet needed managing now. He had more pills then were worth counting.

His previous nurses had done their duties but nothing more then that. This new nurse smiled at him as well. His old heart would flutter.

She was a lovely girl, much younger then him obviously though he couldn't tell exactly how old. She had no wrinkles but the slightly tired eyes of someone who wasn't exactly that young. She was rather short and plump, with hair shorter then he thought fashionable but she also had dimples.

She was diligent about making sure that he was getting enough oxygen and checking his vitals. He pretended to make a fuss when she tried to make him take his pills just so he could hear her calmly wheedle. He created a bigger fuss when she tried to make him wear adult diapers but he didn't put it against her because she didn't push the issue too hard. He smiled silently when she cut his overgrown toenails and made comments about his horrible feet and the best part of his day was when he would ask her to change the channel on the TV after he'd hidden the remote. She would bend over and her little uniform would stretch quite snugly over her bottom. Luckily for him, someone else was tasked with giving him a bath.

***
His birthday was almost forgotten, but his special nurse had remembered. "Would you like to take a stroll outside?" she asked. He hadn't been outside except for hospital visits. "Just until your family come of course. I'll have you back in time!"

He nodded enthusiastically of course and though it took time to sort out the logistics of taking a portable oxygen tank and making sure he was warm and covered, soon enough he was wheeled into the industrial sized life, carefully lowered down the steps and out the front door. Another one of the orderlies tried to walk with them, but he angrily waved him away. He wanted to be alone with her.

For the first block or so they were silent but after awhile she began to ask him about his family. He didn't want to talk about them but he did because he was having trouble thinking of anything else. She was an attentive listening but it wasn't long before he couldn't quite remember things. It might have been uncomfortable but she began to talk about her life. This was much more fun.

She told him about her family at first then things she liked to do. She talked about her favourite foods, abalone being a particular one. He was enthralled. Instantly, he decided that he liked badminton as well and he must have always liked abalone. It went on and on until they reached the small playground area that stood as a park. Not much of a park, some wilty plants and ugly benches near a small slide and something else made for kids.

She was now talking about someone. Some she was almost complaining about him but with a smile on her face. "he's very messy and sometimes he can be very grumpy." He wondered who she was talking about. "He's a little older then me but I dont think that is a big issue." She went on about this person's faults but did so with a smile. Clearly this was someone she care about. He began to imagine and wonder and suppose. His ears weren't listening too clearly when he started to imagine that maybe she might care a little bit about him like he did her. It was no great leap from caring to love so he blurted out, "Please marry me!" just as she said, "my boyfriend..."

There was an awkward pause. It went on forever. His nurse wasn't smiling anymore. Then the moment passed. "Don't be silly," she said. She tucked his blanket around him but wouldn't look at him. He wanted to say something, pretend it was a joke. He couldn't think. She mumbled about the cold and said "lets go back."

She continued to talk as she wheeled him along, this time going back another way but he was not listening. Instead he was scowling at the flower stalls making funeral wreaths, at the little stores selling paper goods to be burned for the ancestors. He scowled at the hearths that passed them on the road and scowled at the clicky noises that signalled they could cross the street from the funeral parlour to the his building.

When they got back to the Old people's home, his nurse made sure everything was taken care of, put him at his window and said, "They will be here soon." she meant his family, but he was looking out the window at the men unloading another casket. "Yes, they will," he mumbled scowling.

Tuesday 19 March 2013

16 - Art and Muse

Life had become so dull and dreary and devoid of all delights. Worst of all, inspiration had dried up leaving an empty void of non-activity and stagnation. For an artist, this was the worst circle of hell and Fred was close to another breakdown. He did not want to be admitted, not again so instead he went back to the outpatient clinic.

His old psychiatrist was there in the neutral colored office wearing earth tones in front the neat desk. Fred sat with the coffee table between them, staring at the unoffending box of tissue and the coasters laying perpendicular on the surface. A wastebasket half filled with used tissues testified to the teary client that had come before him and Fred felt a twinge guilt that he was taking up his doctor's time when there might have been others who were more emotionally distraught, then he thought of his empty sketchbook and suddenly all guilt disapeared.

His doctor listened in compassionate silence, nodding appropriately and making soft noises at just the right points. It made him feel better until he was asked about his meds. He hated taking his meds. He had stopped. It may have been the cause of his lack of inspiration. He did not tell his therapist.

"Try doing one thing different everyday," said the deep voice across from him.

"Like what?"

His doctor considered, looking up at the ceiling as he made a soft noise in his throat, "like walk home on a different path one day or... go to a different cafe or maybe just even order a different drink. Just one thing. It might help with the inspiration." The therapist smiled encouragingly.

It sounded so silly. Fred was disapointed slightly but it didn't stop him from trying it. The next day he woke up, and followed his old routine until he went out for his coffee. Instead of his usual place, he went across the road. He didn't order something different though.

The coffee tasted about the same but this cafe was definitely different. The tables were lower, the couches and chairs more worn yet the whole place had a homey atmosphere. Fred rather liked it but he still felt anxiety. Until he saw her.

She was sitting at the window, the sunlight illuminating half her face. She had light brown hair, glinting gold slightly, pale skin with a hint of freckles and brown eyes. She was wearing a modest sweater and baggy jeans. Her shoes were almost too sensible. Everything about her was so clean and neat. Her hair was in a neat ponytail. Her table was perfectly clean, everything on it perpendicular to each other.She was sitting ramrod straight, eating what looked like breakfast with a cup of tea. Her movements were precise and careful, each seemingly planned out and done with perfect execution.

Fred was enchanted. It wasn't that she was particularly pretty but she glowed with the mystery of everything unknown that Fred needed to know. Fred pulled out his sketchbook and began to sketch. The way the light was falling on her at this moment was perfect. She had to be drawn. The girl didn't seem to notice. She only looked out the window, her face just slightly melancholy. He was so engrossed in shading and perfecting his drawing that after awhile when he looked up, she was gone.

 ***

Amelia was not having a good day. Her anxieties were worsening with with them her moods. Her meds had been adjusted already but they didn't seem to have helped. If anything she felt so much worse. She could hardly concentrate with her eyes alighting on everything that was messy and dirty. The need to adjust and clean and the fear when she couldn't was becoming overwhelming.

She went to her outpatient clinic to see her Psychiatrist. He suggested she wait, the meds sometimes took longer to take effect.

Amelia left feeling worse but she had to soldier on. The trip itself had been hard, she had to follow a routine. The next day, to make up for it, she was extra vigilant to stick to her comfortable ways. Wake up and brush teeth the exact number of times. Turn the light switches exact number of times. Wash her hands afterwards, the exact number of wringing. Go to her favourite cafe and order the same meal. Scrambled eggs, bacon and toast with no butter and a cup of tea with no lemon or sugar. She liked lemon, but it was impossible to find two slices there were the same size and it had been easier to give it up.

She sat at her table, made sure everything was neat, clean and perfectly perpendicular and tried to just enjoy her meal.

***

Fred didn't forget the girl. He went to the cafe the next day and the day after. She was always there. He tried to be subtle but he had to draw her. He worked fast and was able to do several sketches. He started to sit at different tables to get different angles. He worked manicly with silent enthusiasm, loving the way his hands could not stop, the way he could not stop. As if creativity had taken over and his body was just a vessel.

When he got home, he still couldn't stop. He would paint. His work until now had been pretty plain, he used to just do stills of life, like pictures but the mystery of the girl who's name he didn't know was haunting and he painted what he tried to imagine she might be like. What might be her thoughts, her feelings. He created worlds in minutae in the backgrounds, used colours to create her voice. His sketches were his basis, but on canvas, he brought her to life.

Fred painted and painted, stopping only to sleep and eat and occasionally go out to buy more materials. He used the last of his savings to buy bigger canvases and continued to paint and create. He had no idea how much time had passed but when his creativity finally waned, his energy almost spent he had created an entire series of paintings all around this one girl.

The next step was to call some galleries, try and get them shown. It wasn't easy. He had been almost forgotten but his work had to be shown and through sheer obstinacy and possibly the obsessive enthusiasm in his voice won them over. A gallery would show his work.

***
Amelia was feeling as if everything was conspiring against her. It was not just her OCD, she was at a point in her life where she was really truly beginning to consider her future and finding it so terribly bleak. It stretched out before her as an endless parade of hours in the toilet washing her hands. Hours organzing items, hours spent catagorizing, and adjusting and checking. Hours spent on things she herself knew was just a waste of time. Hours that could have been spent living life was instead spent trying to scratch that itch in her mind. That urge that promised that if she failed, only the most horrible of horrors would occur.

Amelia kept going to the cafe only this time she noticed that there was a new regular. A thin wiry sort of man with tussled blond hair. His hands were usually clean, but he often had specks of paint on his arms and on his shirt which was always worn and old. He was not her type. She had to have neat in her life, and this man did not seem neat, but her eyes would frequently wander over and while part of her brain catagorized all the things that she wanted to fix, the other part sighed at his pretty hair, his long artful fingers and most of all, the earnest almost yearning look in his eyes.

He was always working on some notepad of his. Perhaps he was a student or something. She didn't know and didn't have the courage to find out, but she did know that he frequently looked up at her. Each time, she was careful to avert her eyes as if she didn't notice. She was so afraid he might come to talk to her. She wished so much that he might one day.

That thought kept her awake. She imagined what it would be like. The smiles, the easy conversations. She imagined them on a date, talking together, walking in the park. She imagined holding hands with him. Then she imagined the shudder she would betray looking at his scuffy shoes. Worse she imagined him watching her washing her hands obsessively, his face not showing eagerness anymore but disgust.

It always ended awfully, but she couldn't stop thinking about him. It started a dream then became a nightmare. Oh how she wished she was different. That she was normal.

***
Fred's gallery opening was imminent. It was making him nervous and he rushed back to the outpatient clinic to see his Psychiatrist. They talked about his artwork and his inspiration. Fred talked about his muse.

"Perhaps you should talk to her," suggested his psychiatrist. "Perhaps even invite her to the gallery."

The idea was so fantastic and so awful at the same time, it stuck. It didn't help that as Fred left his psychiatrists office and walked out the door, a figure passed him. Hunched over, staring at the ground, careful to avoid the cracks on the sidewalk. Fred almost missed who it was. It was the girl. He was so excited he almost stopped her there to talk to her, but the moment passed and he watched as she turned into the outpatient Mental health clinic.

Fred wanted to wait for her, perhaps even follow her, but people did not like to be bothered when about to meet their psychiatrists. He understood that.

Fred thought about talking to her, telling her about his art, inviting her to his gallery. What if she hated it? Some people might have felt it invasive to be the subject of an entire series of artwork without having been asked previously. Fred was worried but he hadn't thought about it. He had just followed his creative impulse.

At least talk to her. At least... introduce himself.

The next day at the cafe, he watched her come in, sit at the same table and order the same food. He stood to walk over and just at that moment, she looked up and glanced at him. The look on her face was not curiousity or eagerness. It was fear. Fred turned his tracks and walked out instead.

Fear? Because of him? Or something else? He couldn't know really. Only that it had spread to him. He went home and chastised himself instead.

The gallery was that evening and was a raging success. Everybody loved his work. He suddenly found himself being pursued for interviews. His work was photographed, to be published in a well - known art magazine. It gave him courage. He could not be enjoying such success without giving appropriate due to his muse. At the very least she had to know.

He went back to the cafe.

She did not come that day or the next or the next. This was strange. He went to his psychiatrist and tried to ask about her.

The psychiatrist listened carefully and looked sad. For a long time he was silent. Then, "Normally i have something called confidentiality. You understand that right? I could never talk about one of my patients to you."

"But I know she's a patient.. right?"

"There are two other doctors working here," sigh, "I think maybe you might want to know. Her name was Amelia."

"Amelia," Fred sang the name in his head then stopped. "Wait, was?"

"She had OCD and depression. She's been struggling with her anxieties and moods for years. It became too much for her. She had no close family, no close friends. She committed suicide just a few days ago." His Psychiatrist was tense and unhappy. So very different from what Fred was used to seeing. Fred hardly registered the words.

"She had noticed you... said she had seen you here and at the cafe. Said that you had given her a dream that was so lovely that reality became too terrible to bear because she knew that the dream could never come true."

Fred sat in utter stillness and did not move for a very long time. 

Sunday 10 March 2013

15. Cats be crazy

Goddesses deserved the most reverent and constant of attentions and her lowly human had neglected her. One could not expect the divine to take care of themselves, that was what worshippers were for. Humans, however, were woefully poor at it despite their aposable thumbs. Princess Miaowser Fluffyngton's claws had grown uncomfortably long. She might have yowled and clawed a little whenever her human trimmed them, but that was just Godly divinity asserting her dominance. Her human could hardly have assumed that she need not do it.

Princess Miaowser Fluffyngton, or Fifi as she was commonly called did not like having exceptionally long nails. They were uncomfortable and broke easily. She needed to have them filed and shorted. Her human, willfully ignorant as she was, did not keep a scratchpost nearby. So Fifi had to resort to scratching things nearby.

First, she tried the smooth leather of the bright blue coach bag her human had left beside the bed. Then she tried the bedposts. Finally she tried to curtains. All of them helped, the curtains especially.

Fifi liked her newly shorn nails but even she had to admit that her artwork on the curtains were not exactly in line with latest modern art. Fifi of course kept up with the trends. The work on the bag was better so she touched it up a bit.

Still, she thought her human should be compensated for the tacky work on the curtains, so Fifi went in search of a gift. Humans loved gifts. So did cats of course but that was neither here nor there.

Fifi prowled around the apartment. She checked under the tables and bed. She prowled above the bookshelf. She knocked over a vase and jumped a little when it crashed, causing her to run into a neat stack of CDs which also fell down. Fifi didn feel a little sorry about that but not about the vase. It had been ugly.

She found no suitable gift until she went into the kitchen. There, just in front of the sink was prey. It was small, dark brown with long feelers and rather spiky little legs, but it was the best she could find, and as far as cockroaches went, it was quite big.

She stalked and prowled, coming carefully closer. As a descendent of a long line of Divine hunters, Fifi was confident of her hunting skills. This was her superpower. It was easy enough to catch her prey. Her newly sharpened claws made it so much easier and her fangs, oh how proud she was of her fangs. They sank right through the tough outer shell to the mushyness within.

She was carrying back to the bedroom, fully intent on laying it on her human's pillow as a lovely little gift when she tasted it. A foul, noxious, vile taste. The taste of something poisonous and distinctly chemical. Oh, lowly ignorant humans, laying about poisons to kill small critters. This poor cockroach had obviously either stepped in it, or ingested it. It had probably been close to death anyways. Now Fifi might had inadvertently swallowed some.

She only just made it to the corner when she couldn't hold it back. Up, up, up it came. All the contents of her stomach. It was so humiliating, so shameful. Oh Fifi did not feel like the suave, sleek beautifully Godly creature that she was but she had no choice.

Afterwards, she sat, curled up, her tail tickling her nose slightly feel utterly small. This would not do. She had an image to upkeep. She was unique. She was special. She was Godly. She was a cat!

This thought was uplifting. She first went through a thorough grooming. Image was important after all. Then she decided that her original thought was a good one. She would bring a gift for her human. This human after all, was good with the cuddles and most especially with the food.

There were no more cockroaches, so Fifi resorted to her secret exit. The upper window in the toilet was always kept slightly open. Outside among the jungle and maze of alleys, pipes and boxes, Fifi found a rat. It was a small rat really, but suitably plump. Rats are harder prey then cockroaches sometimes, but Fifi was a fantastic hunter.

Coming back in with her fat little rat was a little harder, but Fifi managed it so well, even she was pleased. She lay the rat on her human's pillow, even taking care to artfully arrange it in the best way possible then curled up on the windowsill.

The sight of her messy puddle, complete with the dead cockroach still in the middle upset her. She was so upset, she had to groom herself again. That cause her to feel that unsettled feeling again except this time she only brought up a furball. That actually made her feel more confidence. Fullballs and vomit sometimes went hand in hand. Her human would never know.

When her human came home, Fifi made sure she was out of sight. IT had to be a surprise. She stayed under the bed, in the darkest corner and listened to the yowls and shrieks. She especially liked the high pitched squeal she heard when the rat was discovered. It filled her heart with joy.

She stayed under as her human did her routine of yowling over the curtains and other surprises. Her supper that evening was only tinned food, none of the anchovies that Fifi liked so much, but her human must have been tired out by all the excitement to forget. She only had to miaow quietly, turning round eyes up at her and her human melted.

Two anchovies appeared in her dish. Fifi smiled. Yes, the human had accepted that it had been her own fault. IT always was of course. Fifi was exonerated and her status as Goddess of the home restored.