Quenched

The rain is drumming the roof and my mind is calm and still for the first time in weeks and weeks. We haven’t received rain here in southern West Virginia for a long time it seems. Everything has been dry and brown. The grasses have been withered and the soil parched. Gravel roads dusty and sun-baked. It is as if we are receiving all of September’s rainfall in one evening. The creeks and rivers will rise and swell. I am listening to it now as it is happening. Tomorrow the Bluestone will breach its banks. Millennial river rocks that have roasted in the sun for weeks will be submerged under rushing waters, limbs and debris will gush downstream. The spring box here on the farm will fill. Aquifers deep within the mountainsides will raise and spill from a million different sources. And I’m being filled too. I’m being washed. I am being cleansed. I am drinking from an overflowing cup of abundant life and my thirst is being quenched.

Refocus

Okay, it’s really time to refocus. Things got a little carried away there. I moved up here and 8 weeks later an executive chef position was dropped in my lap. At the same time I met a truly amazing woman who took my world by storm. Not sure exactly what happened with the woman situation but it went south but I’m not going to launch into discussing that here now because it would just be counter-productive.

So it’s officially Autumn now. The leaves are falling from the trees, splashes of color in the forests, up on the mountains and along the roadsides. It’s cooled down a bit but it still has not gotten COLD yet. I’ve been putting up firewood. My neighbor Curt has been helping me out with that, giving me a kickass deal on wood. I’m giving him $50 per pickup truck load of wood that’s already cut and split. I’ve been working so much at the resort that I’ve just not had time to cut much wood myself. A lot of the projects I had planned got pushed to the back burner while I was dating C too. But now that’s over so I am trying to refocus on what I was up to before I met her.

I scheduled myself off Wednesday and Thursday this week. It’s been a while since I’ve had two days off in a row and even longer since I’ve spent them here at the farm working on projects. Time to insulate beneath the floor, put in windows and install the wood-burning stove I bought off Curt a few weeks back. There’s a TON of work to do. Also on my days off this week I need to get insurance and register my car in WV as well as get a WV driver’s license. Also gonna go with my sous chef to his aunt’s house to see about adopting her daughter’s dog. The pup is around a year old and a full-blooded german shepherd. Josh says she’s beautiful and really good natured. It’ll be nice to have a pup to come home to at night. Need a good companion.

Deer season is right around the corner and I don’t have a rifle so I need to get one of those. I’ve done some hunting in the past but I’ve never killed a deer. I’m looking forward to deer hunting this year and hope this is the year I pop my cherry.

Yes, a change of focus, a turning of the page. Let the heart heal and grow and ready myself for new experiences to come. That’s it. Peace.

I am the Highway

Attachment, detachment, fear, hope, strength, illusion, consciousness, mindfulness. Just a few of the things that rattle around in my skull a lot lately. Tonight I was driving home from work and there was a full moon in the sky. As I got to the end of Dunns Road I pulled over to the side of the road and pulled out the cd case that had been lying in the floorboard of the passenger seat. I flipped through the pages and found the cd I was looking for, ejected another cd from the stereo system and inserted the new one. I clicked the tracks ahead until I found the song I wanted. As the first notes of the song started I illuminated the headlights of the truck, shifted the transmission into drive and pulled back onto the highway. Audioslave’s “I am the Highway” erupted from the speakers. Chris Cornell’s singular strong voice crashed against the walls of the truck cab and against the interior of my mind.

“I was lost in the city…alone….in the hills…”

I screamed the lyrics at the top of my lungs as I navigated the truck along the winding symmetry of Highway 19. 19 years ago I was 19 years old.

Why is it that I try to possess things? Deep down I know that there is nothing to be gained and nothing to lose. In my core I know that this entire life is an illusion. Every single bit of it is a dream. It seems so real. It seems so lasting and permanent. But in reality it is anything but. I am spirit. WE are spirit. The clothes we wear, the cars we drive, the schools we attend, the houses we build...they are all window dressing on a mind-blowing infinite existence. None of it matters. I build myself up…for what? For whom? For why? Life is a breath. Life is a heartbeat. Life is a gift. We bump into each other. Like seemingly random little atoms spinning around a bright burning nucleus.

I remember faces of strangers I never knew. Eyes that lock for a moment, maybe two and disappear into the netherworld ether of passing time. Sometimes we form relationships, sometimes we develop a “history” together, a collection of thoughts, words, memories, actions, photographs, shared experiences. We were both there. Don’t you remember? But what you remember and what I remember are often two VERY different things. We’re all bumping around in our own heads. We connect and then disconnect. We link up and then we break apart. Somewhere beneath it all there is some grand accounting I am sure. There is a book, a film, a diary…of each soul’s existence and each incarnation of that soul. And there are as many different angles as there are particles of dust swirling in space.

But I want a GIRLFRIEND!!!! And I want that GIRLFRIEND to be HER!!!! Hahahahahaha! How small we are! How petty! The moon looks down with an amused glow at all of our jostling, posturing and activity. The sun spurs us on. “But I didn’t get THIS or THAT!!! So and so did THIS to me!!!” Crazy apes in designer clothes for sure.

When I used to take LSD it was like washing away all the detritus of existence. It was like a great cleansing. 12 hours of NOW. Half of an earth spin of mind-altered kaleidoscopic REALITY. The human mind doing cartwheels with its own imagination and wonder. Oceans became puddles and puddles became oceans. Ordinary everyday birds were transformed into pterodactyls. Power lines became arteries. Automobiles living creatures. The life and source behind every single “thing” was illuminated and exposed as something entirely different than its workaday signature “self.” I, too, was illuminated and exposed, all my memories, relationships, hopes, fears, triumphs, defeats…the warmness of the womb, the light breaking the horizon of the windowpane in my elementary school bedroom, the radiators in classrooms dripping with melted crayon. Tongue swirling kisses with girls, fist-fights with boys, spankings from parents, memory and emotion riding the lysergic wave through the cavern of my skull.

Once you take LSD you are forever changed, altered. It’s a trip you never really come back from because part of your mind stays there. Part of you cannot forget what you saw, what you felt, and the way existence creaked and groaned and slithered before you. I’ve taken enough of it that I don’t ever need to take it again. The world and all its glory and confusion, all its ugliness and beauty, all its joy and pain is a dream. A dream! It’s not real! The you behind you is real. The thoughts are real. The actions are real only in that they are produced by thought. But the actual physical plane that these things occur on is fiction.

This is why when I miss my father I know I am not really missing my father. I am missing the spirit that was in the man that was my father. I am missing the memories of him carved into my thought center. What happens when we die? My dad once told me that he had an experience with dying long, long ago…in the house I grew up in. He left his body; he looked down on the bed, on the house, on the neighborhood, on existence. He was not afraid. He saw light and felt a warm glow envelope him. And in a moment a voice that did not speak communicated to him that it was not time and so he descended back into his body lying in the bed next to my mother. He told me this the last time we were both together here at the farm. We were sitting outside beneath the stars with a bright burning fire on the ground at our feet. We had become friends. His seed fertilized my body into existence and he fed me, clothed me, educated me, put a roof over my head. He disciplined me and nurtured me, bailed me out of trouble, protected me, loved me. These things live. These things endure. The rest falls away.

The highway is empty tonight. No fellow travelers under the moon here on this road. Only deer, trees and white painted lines on black asphalt beneath the stoic mountains and glittering lunar light. And it occurs to me…in a blink of nothing…

I am the highway. I am the sky. I am the light.

To Love and Be Loved

I wish I could be cold and unfeeling. I sometimes long to be invisible. Sometimes I do feel invisible, like a ghost, like a spirit, like an empty husk. Loss so deep and heavy it's physical. You feel it in your body, in your bones, in your organs. It's not just losing this fresh new romantic relationship that's got me in this state, although I know that triggered it. With all the newness of moving to the farm, starting a new job, getting promoted, dating a really fun, interesting girl, my grieving for my father got put on the back burner. It's front and center now. It's real. I feel so alone. This isn't an alien feeling to me. I've felt alone most of my life. What's dragging me down these past few days is that the bright light of her company, her presence in my life has been extinguished. She's gone. Vanished. We texted each other every single day multiple times a day. We spent days and nights with each other every chance we could get. And now it's over. Completely severed and truncated. My sensitive nature is in shock and I'm just starting to come out of it. I was looking forward to her companionship over the autumn and winter, sweet times in front of the fire snuggling and getting to know each other better, spending the holidays with one another, that kind of thing. It sure doesn't look like that is going to happen now.

And this is how I deal with things. I write. I think. I muse. I meditate. I try to learn. I post my thoughts and feelings online to share with others. Part of it is an exorcising of the pain, part of it is to get feedback from my friends, and part of it is that perhaps somehow my words might help someone else who is suffering similarly. If you don't like it, if you think I should just shut up and move on that's your right. I encourage you to stop reading my blog or hide me from your activity feed. Because this is how I deal with things. And I have to deal with them or they will deal with me. Stuffing feelings doesn't work for someone like me. I'm an alcoholic and drug addict. Stuffing feelings is extremely dangerous for me. I have to face whatever it is inside me that is causing me pain. If I don't, if I choose to fake it and pretend I'm fine then I am setting myself up for a nightmarish future of using alcohol and drugs again.

I have the bad habit of leaning on women too much, especially when it comes to romantic involvement. I put women up on a pedestal. Then I get pissed off when I learn that they are human, that they make mistakes, that  they have lives of their own and that their world doesn't revolve around me just because I'm fucking them at that particular moment in time. I've known this about myself for some time but it has taken yet another episode of my egotism and neediness to hammer the point home. C was a fine woman, an amazing woman, a real catch. That is why I fell for her so hard and fast. I've been around the block. I know an amazing person when I meet them. And my excitement and eagerness to be with there blinded me to HER reality, where she is in HER life. She tried to do the right thing by me. She was honest with me about where she was emotionally, romantically and with regards to getting into a serious relationship. I heard her but I didn't listen. I kept right on with the illusion that she was the ONE. She might have been the ONE, if there is such a thing. But she wasn't ready. She told me she wasn't ready. And I ignored her. I realize that now. She behaved in a manner that was entirely in keeping with where she told me she was in her life. And I still allowed myself to get hurt. Fuck I still have so much growing up to do. I really do.



So that is why I do this. That is the main reason anyway. Because I have to. I have to look at myself. I have to keep growing and changing and evolving. When I stop I start dying. And I don't want to die today. I want to live and I want to love. To love and be loved. That is what life is all about in my opinion. love ya, MG

Staring into the Void

I'd give anything to be able to talk to my dad right now, to sit next to him in his garage and be in his presence, to hear his stories, to listen to his distinctive laugh, to look into his wise, kind eyes. I thought about this earlier this evening when I was leaving work after a long day spent completely revamping the resort's food service menu offerings. I drove along the 4x4 road looking at the last rays of sunlight filter through the autumn trees. My body was tired and weary. 38 years old. A lyric from John Mellencamp sang in my head, "How does it feel to be the big daddy of them all?" And that triggered thoughts of my dad. My dad was ten times the man I am. He'd deny it but I know it's true. All the things I still had yet to learn from him and now his time has passed and I'm left with memories of him. I need him right now. He was my biggest champion. Never gave up on me. Loved me unconditionally. I'd go to him with a problem and although he didn't always have the answer in a roundabout way he would give me the answer. Sometimes I wouldn't get it at the time but eventually I would. I know he'd be proud of me for moving up here and living on this land he loved so dearly. I know he'd be proud that in just 60 days I somehow managed to secure on of the only executive chef positions in this area. God I miss him. And last night I spoke to my mom on the telephone. It's getting harder and harder to find the courage to call her because she is such an emotional wreck. It rips my heart into pieces to hear her. She sobs and cries uncontrollably every single time we talk. And there's nothing I can do to take away her pain. She has to walk the path to healing. And I'm grieving too. Fuck man, I don't know.

And tonight I get home after a very long 7 days of working and my mind and heart are wanting to be with C and I can't. Fucked that up royally. I wasn't understanding enough.  I was too impulsive, rash and emotional with my reactions to her actions. She really is a sweet person, a lovely person. Christ I was so happy to have met her and spend time with her. But, as always, I want MORE. More more more! I didn't want to share her with other men. I know that's just how I'm made and that part of me isn't going to change. But I didn't have to act like a prick about it and hurt her feelings in the process of discovering that. I was hurt and I reverted to old thinking and actions. And now...well...now I'm stuck with the consequences of my actions. And I will feel really alone without her in my life. She was such a ray of sunshine to me. I enjoyed her company immensely. I loved talking to her and hearing what she had to say about things. I loved being close to her. I loved kissing her and feeling her beautiful body next to mine. But my own ego has gotten in the way once again.

And then I think of all the scars that have been put on my heart and how I've always imagined other people put them there when in reality it has been me. If I could just learn to love more, to understand more, to be more patient and kind then my heart would heal itself of old wounds, scar tissue would dry up and fall away. But it doesn't seem like I do that. Instead I'm content to finger the wounds, to peel back the scabs, to reopen real or imagined wrongs done to me years ago. I see friends who are married and have been married all these years and I am absolutely fucking AMAZED at the fact that they can do it. I know it's not effortless. I know they each carry their own burdens and problems but somehow they get it done. They make it through the rough patches. They have children, work at jobs for years, own houses. I'm so proud of them. I don't know what's wrong with me that these things in life elude me. If I did know I could change. I know I could change.

Just random thoughts this Tuesday night as I sit here in the cabin on the hillside, bright moon shining out the windows and animals I don't recognize making sounds in the forested night. When I was younger and more naive I felt a sense of excitement, mystery and optimism about the wilderness night. But right now...tonight...it is a cold and ceaseless void. I am alone and I will remain alone. I had a sweet girl to spend my nights with but I somehow managed to find a way to fuck that up. Sleep will come and the sun will rise again tomorrow and I will soldier on, wounded heart and all. But tonight I may just go out and stare into the void. Maybe I'll find some answers there.

Spewage

Really?? This whole song and dance again? Fuck man. I don't even know what to say about all this shit. Just gonna spew it out as usual I guess. Why does it have to be so fucking hard to find someone? Another heartbreak. Jesus H. Christ. I REALLY dug this girl too. Thought she was awesome, thoughts of the future, dreams, desires, adventures together. She wants to still date other people. I want to be her boyfriend and for her  to be my girlfriend. We were really good together. She told me she was still going to be dating other people. I didn't like it but reluctantly agreed. As the days and weeks went by we spent so much time together and so many really special, intimate moments that I didn't imagine she would even have the time much less the interest to see anybody else. I was wrong. Found out this past week that she HAS been seeing other people and has even been developing feelings for one of them. I just don't get this at all. When she talks to me I'm listening but it's like she's speaking some foreign language that I can't understand. It's just not how I'm wired at ALL. When I start to have feelings for someone, romantic feelings, budding love-type feelings, I'm not interested in anyone else. I'm focused on giving that person a go. Fuck...one relationship at a time please! I mean, for me, a relationship with a single female is complicated enough...damn if I have any interest in being involved in two, three or four at the same time! Lunacy!

I got hurt. Took it personal. The dude she said she's been developing feelings for she started seeing AFTER we started dating. Nice. Can't help feel bad about that for some reason. Triggered insecurities in me. Like, "Oh I guess I'm not enough for you?" Shit like that. All these years in recovery and I'm still taking on other people's actions as my own shit. Should know better. But I don't. I still do it. Was starting to fall in love with her. We talked about the future, having kids, all kinds of shit. Fucking exhausting going through all that shit to end up with nothing at the end of the day. I'll get over it. I'll get over her. I don't know if it's gotten harder or easier dealing with the pain of shattered dreams over the years. A little bit of both I think (if that makes any damn sense!) What's surprising to me is that I haven't grown jaded or cynical. That really amazes me for some reason. No when the next one comes along I'll fucking throw it all there to her just the same. Shaking my head. It's like I'm some knave or something, some love idiot that just keeps throwing his heart out there and letting it get stomped all over. And then there is the blow-back. Christ I can be such an asshole. It amazes me how fucking mean and evil I can be when my heart's been broken. If I did or said even HALF of the shit that my mind comes up with....well, let me just say that I'm glad I have the good sense to censor myself as much I do. When I'm falling in love or in love with someone I feel like I am so loving, kind, sweet and generous. But when I feel as if I've been betrayed I change. I become a cold, callous, evil sonuvabitch. But I've gotten better over the years. I go through stages of grief with the breakup. Don't know what stage I'm on now, reflection I guess.

I don't fault her although I really want to of course. I know I'm to blame. She flat out told me she was going to be dating other people and I agreed to it. But after the times we spent together I really couldn't imagine that she was dating other people. Honestly it's so outside my thoughts on our dynamic that it did come as a shock to me. And then it was a shock to her that it was a shock to me. Like she told me she was going to be doing that and so I had no right to get my feelings hurt the way I did. Oh well, I'm a softie, a romantic. I go all in or I don't go at all. Go big or go home. Kinda feel like a dumb-ass now about the whole thing but fuck, I've been a dumb-ass many, many times before so it's not exactly alien territory for me. She's pissed at me now. Sent me a text today saying she would mail me something I was having sent to her house. I think her words were "I WILL mail it to you. I don't want you here." I'm sure this was intended to hurt my feelings and it did. But the really fucked up perverted thing about it was that I was somewhat pleased that she was angry enough to be mean and try to hurt my feelings. During this whole thing she's seemed nonchalant, matter-of-fact, cold and non-emotional about things. Like, "I told you. You should have believed me." Her showing a glimmer of emotion in sending me that text was actual a signal to me that maybe I did mean something to her after all.

No answers tonight. But the writing process has at least quelled some of the questions. Lots of work to do in my professional life so I guess I will again turn to the kitchen for solace. Been going in early for the past week. Going in early and staying late. So yeah, I've got that going for me. The romantic life fails and the professional life succeeds. Whatever. Good night.

Mid-September Evening

On the roadside a few hours past sunset listening to the sound of the motor turning in the truck. Truck headlamps shining out in front of two dirt tracks and a strip of green between. On my left a wire fence attached to wooden posts firmly entrenched in the ground. Barb wire on top of the fence. Beyond is a meadow covered by 3 feet of evenly laid fog, a pure white blanket shining in the moonlight. Beyond the fog-carpeted meadow three blue mountains stand in the distance, their lines curving against the sky, darker than sky though, opaque. Beyond those three blue mountains are two more blue mountains, darker still, bluer still, even more opaque and mysterious. The fragile moon cuts lines of light down from the heavens and as always, I am standing on the roadside....watching.

El Sangre de Cristo

Valleys and fields, old wooden churches with white clapboards peeling away, the sun shines through, rolls of hay bound tightly and resting...yellow school buses in the lot, no cars in the general store lot, grasses mowed, firewood stacked, sun an immense circle of light in the brilliant blue sky, camera pans down on the silver truck navigating the black-top two line highway...a young-ish man is at the wheel, his lower lip swollen on the left side with chewing tobacco, no music on in the cab of the truck, windows down, wayfarers on, white t-shirt, faded blue jeans and black cowboy boots---

image cuts to black and white and a little boy in the backseat, two sisters beside him, mother and father in the front, the sisters talk to one another, the father speaks to the mother, the boy sits with his forehead against the glass looking....

image cuts to present and man at steering wheel of silver truck...

image cuts, nothing remains, everything stays the same...

camera pans into the man's head...thought bubbles of spirit and sight, monsters and daydreams, far off lands and familiar rooms, dawn on the prairie, nightfall on the plains, a solitary tree silhouetted against the light, stars showing in the east, vibrant colors in the west, the man with long hair, skinny and young, blowing bongs hits and laughing, his eyes wide and red, image cuts the man at 32 lying naked and shivering on the western floor, tears streaming, wailing sounds, nightmarish sounds, beating his head against the brick tile, fingernails scratching, fists beating...all the dust gathered in flame, all the flame gathered in spirit, all the spirit beginning to lift him away...the flame flickering in the dark, the kernel and seed nearly expunged, the heart beating fast then growing slow, faint now...image cut of the heart slowing, the needle dropping, quiet...."pump-squiiiiish..........pump-sqiiiiiiiiiiiish....pump-squiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiishhhhhhhhhh" it pauses and then begins again, for some reason, it begins again...."pump-squish...pump-squish....pump-sqish"

El Sangre de Cristo flowing through his veins.

Resig Nation

It's a strange feeling. You wonder if you are at the beginning of a long journey or perhaps just a brief adventure. So many things...that we will never remove...I know you're sorry...I'm sorry too...Match stick men with hollow eyes and spines of gold, fiery bombs of the noon day glow, it's not all for show. It's real. The Big Doubt. The Great Discontent. Like a fish doesn't know what water is because it's ALL he knows. That's what it's like. Am I co-dependent because I want to be with her? Because I'm falling for her? Fuck if I know. Funny how I throw this heart of mine out there. You'd think I'd be more jaded, more cautious, more cynical. Somehow it's not in my nature. This sunny disposition. Ha! Painted birds on the mantle.Owls hooting at dawn. Bunnies feisty at the side of the road. Two dirt tracks with a strip of green between. Halloween.

How often do you think of death? I think of it all the time. Seriously all of the time. It's never far from my thoughts. It's not a gloomy thing. It's a reality thing. No one here gets out alive. How many days do I have left? How many hours? How many moments? The future is a fool's errand. The past a cosmic joke. The ever-ripening present is all there is and all there will ever be. I seized the day but it didn't seize me back. It laughed and shrugged me off. I felt dejected, alone. I've always felt dejected and alone. In a crowd sure. By myself, not so much. This land, these hills, these rivers and streams...these valleys and fields. At night when I close my eyes and sleep comes upon me, at night when the heaving of my chest moves in unison to the slow-disintegration of wood in the fire, my spirit climbs from me, my spirit soars...out of the cabin and into the night, above the pines and oaks, over tree tops and meadows, star-speckled, moon-struck, holy and crisp in the night sky, the milky firmament of our little backward corner of the galaxy. My spirit floats. My spirit twirls. My spirit moves through ever-settling fog and mist, through illuminated clouds pierced only by noiseless wind and gathering moonlight. Houses are still and small on the painted night-scape. Small columns of smoke trail off from chimneys, solitary headlamps from a single car wind along mountain roads and disappear among the trees.

When I return home, when I awake, the sun has risen and something in me tells me to rise too. I am not rested. I am not refreshed. Another dog day of sun-bleached existence. I faintly remember soaring the night before. There is a glimmer of the dream, an echo, but no reply, no purchase in my conscious-life. The subconscious sleeps. The conscious goes about the day as if in a dream. People, conversations, work, all the detritus of living. Splashes of light and shadows hint at it. Small animals whisper it. reflections of the sky in cool pools of water eddied along the river, swollen boulders resting in the shallows....

I know I will be old and alone. I can't help the thought. It's truth. As much as I desire...and I DO desire...The Great Desire ever as powerful in me as The Great Discontent and The Great Doubt. The Great Desire...oh how you plague me! How you drive me! How you keep me going with your dangling carrot of happiness, contentment, peace and tranquility. I am destined for loneliness. I am feted for solitude. I am resigned to it.

Kitchen Sex

The following post is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

I am standing in the restaurant kitchen with her. We are alone. There is one other person at the resort, a security guard and he is half-deaf. The lights are off. The doors are locked. Bits of sunlight stream in the dining room window and illuminate the stainless steel work tables. We are standing on the line and she drops to her knees on the terra cotta tile floor, unzips my jeans, fishes out my cock and holds it in her graceful feminine hands. Greedily she opens her mouth and takes me in. Instantly I feel her soft moist tongue swirling around my pulsing cock. Her hands are around my thighs. Her knees dig into the tile beneath us. I lean back against a stainless steel work table with my hands on her head. My fingers grasp locks of her long brown hair. She goes at it with relish. Her tongue flicks and swirls all over the ever-swelling shaft of meat. I hold her head forcefully, gripping her by her hair and rock her head back and forth on my cock. She gurgles and gags as my cock fills her mouth and throat to capacity.

Impulsively and without warning I pull her head back away from me. A string of saliva stretches from her mouth to the head of my cock. It glitters in the afternoon light that is cast in muted rays across the gleaming kitchen surfaces. I pull her to her feet by her hair and kiss her deeply. Spin her around and roughly push her upper body onto the steel counter. I unsnap and unzip her jeans shorts. I pull them down to her ankles. I do the same with her cotton panties. Her breath is heavy. She has already begun to sweat. With one hand on the small of her back I have her arch for me. Her thighs catch the light and her back arches. Her pussy rises past her thighs and exposes itself to me. I don't lubricate her or give any warning. I pause for just one moment with the head of my cock barely touching her moistened lips. And I plunge headlong into her. I feel her hot womanly essence contract and expand around my cock. She gulps for air and her hands search the smooth stainless steel table for purchase. Again I grasp her hair, pull back her head, bite her neck..all the while pushing in and out of her with force. Her body shakes and her breath is quick. As I fuck her I notice some of my tools sitting on the workspace. I pick up a rubber spatula in one hand. I take in the vision of her porcelain smooth ass cheeks, tanned by the sun and gorgeous, round and inviting. I bring the spatula up in the air and cut down on her flesh. The rubber tip resounds with a pounding SMACK on her ass cheek. She cries out loudly and tries to toss back her hair but cannot as it is being held firmly in the grasp of my other hand. I whip her again and then again. Her cries grow louder and louder. I set down the spatula for a moment and gather a white cotton chef's towel in my hand, twirl it into a gag, loop it over her head, into her clenched teeth, tie it into a knot at the back of her neck.

I pull her shirt up and take in the sight of her beautiful and flawless back, tanned skin stretched over toned muscle. Without warning I whip her back muscles cruelly. Her pussy clenches hard around my cock as I rock it in and out of her. Her cries are muffled by the improvised gag and I delight in them. I whip her again and again. Her body is now covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She is nothing but a pool of sex now. Her gorgeous body is splayed out before me, pressed against the steel table, her panties around her ankles and her little white ankle socks and sneakers.

I give her a few moments rest from the beating while I find another improvised torture device. I select a pair of chef's tongs from the pile of tools on the table beside her. I push her crumpled torso to the side and release one of her beautiful breasts from her bra. I take the nipple in my fingers first, then in the teeth of the tongs. I pinch down on the tongs and squeeze her nipple hard leaning back so that it is pulled away from her body. She squeals from behind her gag as I make rhythm with her pain with the pounding of my cock in her pussy. I give her other breast the same treatment before returning to the spatula.

Again she is chest down over the table. This time her bare breasts lay on the cold stainless steel table. My left hand holds the back strap of her bra while my right hand wields the spatula. I ride her like an equestrienne rides his horse. I whip her ass, her thighs, her calves, her back and arms without mercy. She writhes in pain. She bucks in pleasure. She is dripping wet, sopping with juices all over my cock. I find a beautiful rhythm there with the spatula falling in heavy blows against her and my cock digging ever deeper into her gorgeous and pulsing pussy. I feel it rising up in me and with one last smack on her back and one last muffled scream into her gag I empty myself into her. I shake and call out her name.

Another few punctuated moments and the chaos and brutality of the scene are done. I drop the spatula. I release her bra strap from my grip. Still inside her I bend down over her sweat-drenched back, reddened with the heat of my blows. I undo her gag. I kiss her softly on her back, her neck, her arms, her cheeks. I gently brush back her hair from her face. She cannot speak. Her legs tremble. Her body shakes. I place soft, sweet kisses on her face, on her eyelids and lashes, on her lips. I coo and fawn over her. I touch her gently now, sweetly brushing my fingers softly across her bruised and punished skin. We stay this way for a good while as the beating of our hearts slow. I have no idea how long we've been here. Time has disappeared. We are the only two people on earth at this moment. Finally my cock softens and slips out her, my juice runs out and down her thighs. I help her up off of the table and into my arms. She is putty. She is pudding. She collapses into me. I feel my muscles holding her. I feel my beard brushing against her soft feminine face. Lazily her eyes lift and meet mine. We are both without words. We don't need any. Standing in the darkened kitchen I hold her, my jeans around my ankles and resting on my boots, her shorts and panties at her feet.

We sigh and linger in this holy embrace.