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Archive for December, 2010

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I am The Black Orchid and it's still snowing this December. It reminds me of the inside of a paperweight when you shake it. Maybe snow is just salt from The Great Carnivore in the Sky. I feel quite festive this holiday and generous toward all. It is my desire to be with the mortals this holiday season. I have been alive for eons and yet feel to some extent they are my sisters as well as are the wolves. I sit here on my gold divan with my pet panther purring away and I smile as I remember the things they say. I feel a closeness to them as though they are like some soft, funny, fuzzy pets that I may devour, influence, or perhaps, even love. This waiting for the right man for a short eternity is foolish yet so charming and medieval. It warms my savage heart to think there is still some innocence in this harsh world. Wanda Lust, of course, is closer to me in philosophy though I am not a whore but a Goddess. Yet she gives off a hot molasses scent that is so pleasing to the senses and she has such warm, raw umber eyes. The goodness has not been driven out of her. The mortals warm my cold heart. I shall make their holidays sparkle.

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Its me Lady Lynda and I am well aware Hanukkah long passed. However I still well up with tears when I recall what happened. My selfless sister Roselyn. That's ROSE lyn is such a giving woman. Not only that she's never satisfied with what she gives. In fact she is never satisfied. She consistently thinks she could have done better. Given even more so. I remember just this "Festival of Lights" she gave her daughter, Shara , the Irving Howe book "World of Our Fathers" Its on the life of Jews of Eastern European descent in early 20th century NYC. She was so upset there wasn't enough money to buy....."Galaxy of our Fathers" Happy Holidays everyone.

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I am the Black Orchid and am preparing for my Christmas fete this night. My devotees are my slowly massaging my entire body with eucalyptus oil, and afterward I spray my body with a dusky, rose scent. I glory in the five senses and smell is but one of them. Then they shall braid my long, black hair in the Nigerian way and rub it with tarragon oil.
They shall paint my nails with black lacquer like liquid licorice, and I shall wear a long, low cut, red satin evening gown that is slit up the sides. I am vain of my long, muscular legs. I shall wear scanty black lace panties while my soft, pert, peach colored breasts shall be unfettered.

I choose my eight inch black patent leather stillettos, good for popping the red and black party balloons on the dance floor. They are little pieces of conquered rubber at my feet which curve high at the arches like a clef note. To the victor belong the spoils and I am definitely the victor.
I shall have two black dobermans sitting like statues of the Egyptian
Dog God, Anubis, on either side of my red velvet throne where if first greet my guests. The men shall kneel and kiss my feet while the woman must first curtsy and then lie prone until I give the hand signal for them to rise. I am inviting those two prudes, Auntie Carol, and Lady Lynda, as well as the Crack Whore, Wanda Lust. No doubt they will wear tacky, loose fitting suits and sensible shoes. I shall have my acolytes strip them naked and force them to wear tight, sequined, gold sheaths with high, haughty, fashion shoes.
No doubt they will take this little change as fashion treason. Wanda Lust will probably come in something appropriately trashy. She will need no embelishment.
Hark! I hear the door bell ring and it is early for my party so I know it must be Wanda Lust, and her two prudish companions. I am very
accurate as to their attire. Two boxy suits of navy blue and gray sensible shoes such as a grandmother might wear. This will not suit
the occasion. Wanda Is appropiately dressed in a rubber wetsuit with a
large gold zipper, going clear to her crotch. She also sported a platium "Fro" with little, white blinking Italian lights. I have my slaves force the "purity" sisters
into more glamorous attire as explained before.

They are mad as wet hens complaining that
their mode of dress might 'incite the males into lewd and lustful behavior.'
I say, "You rather hope they will, Ye Silly Bitches".

They reply that they do not wish to incite overt sexuality. I laugh and laugh and then I realize that in their Christian hearts they'd like to drive a stake through my heart. I think of Lou
Rawls' singing, "It's Merry, Christmas, Baby,
and You Sure Look Good To Me."

In a gesture to lessen their outrage I offer to return their little, white gloves. I also realize that laying on a cold, marble floor while talking to a Goddess is probably never on anyone's "to do" list. I
gesture for them to rise.
I then lead them to a black leather couch, my heels clicking on the marble floor like cruel castnettes in dark night
air. I cue up, Jonny Mathis's "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas," and am amused by the situation of "fashion assasination," as Auntie Carol called it.

I pour them three gold gobblets of Mum's Champagne and Auntie Carol refuses, saying "lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine." I bitch slap her and ask whether she would like a glass of milk instead. The other, one,
Lady Lynda takes a giant swig from the goblet, and some of it spills down her cheeks. I bend down and lick it from her face. She looks horrified and I become overwhelmed with laughter. They says my laughter is intense, and strange and terrifying. Yet, I never hold back. I am painted crimson not pastel.
Darlings, it's not as if I offered to tongue your women's flowers as you would call them!"

Just the saying of the word caused them to go pale and tremble.

I told them that everything would be all
right and that no one,
including me, would try to seduce them. We
comprhended they were saving it for the wedding
night.
They continued to be slient and subdued but
Wanda Lust piped up and said she did not like the "fizzie shit" and could she get a beer and a bowl of beans and ham hocks. I sent my slave, Gitane, to fulfill the request as well
as getting the milk for Auntie Carol. He also brought her some homemade ginger snaps.
I do all my own cooking:
it is one of my art forms.

I told them to uncorss their legs and let it breathe, and the looks on thier faces caused me to go into another fit of laughing. Apparantly they thought I was Satan, incarnate, and was there to drag them into Hell's fiery depths. This rather pleased me.

I remarked that Lady Lynda no longer had virgin feet. She blushed and said she "drew the lline" at the hem of her skirt.
Auntie Carol stiffened and shot Lady Lynda a cunning look. "That dastardly Don Juan will be your undoing, Lynda.
They start at the toes and work they're way up." she said knowingly.

"Oh, Yeah," said Wanda Lust. "It been my experience that some just goes right to it the first thing. Y'al damn bitches is go'in ta turn into goddamn concrete if they gits any dryer! What else Ya got to eat, hon?"

I motioned towards the tables full of meats, cheeses and pies, and recommended the roast pheasant. Later Santa, robed in antigue red velvet, rabbit fur, and with long white real whiskers entreated all the pretty girls to sit on his lap and tell him their Christmas wishes. Auntie Carol and Lady Lynda declined to sit in lap for obvious reasons,
and they may have been right for it looked to me like Santa had a massive hard on. He was naughty not nice.
"You better not shout, you better not pout, I'm telling you why. Santa Claus is coming.

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