Whore- Pleasure Seeking Capitalist Denier.

Slut- Cardio Libido.

Hooker- Customary Futuristic Love Chemistry.

Pleasure and relaxation are health and personal care, in the game of an intimate business; written in lipstick on my bed sheets is, ‘Five Star, Best Selling Whore.’ Tease is the foreplay of eroticism, sex is the punishment of intent, and fucking, well fucking is an art, and I am the vessel of a slave kissing freedom in the night. Another message alert booking; it makes my clit hard when I slide my silk panties up my freshly shaven legs and the silk pushes against my clit as the notification rings. Am I a voyeur of the underworld or an exhibitionist of people’s hidden desires? Do I really have a choice between the two, perhaps I am both. My first booking, a beach mansion in a nice neighbourhood with a cute guy, I need to pack my overnight bag; women’s intimates, massage oil, and fashion label clothes.

I gave up masturbating before work, and now I cum with my clients and it is a better connection. An old work crush recognized me from my advertisement and booked me; this is going to be humiliating, but I have to see it through to gain his silence, I will already be warmed up. I need something subtle; work panties, a long skirt, make-up, and glasses. The kinky BDSM couple wants to see me at midnight, the witching hour; for the woman, lace underwear, expensive perfume, and jewellery, and for the man, knee-high boots, sex toys, a horsewhip, dog collar, and a mini skirt. The last date of the night, a stranger in a hotel bar, wants to take me into the public toilets and bend me over the sink and fuck me.

It is Friday Black; black coat, black purse, and black heels, as black as the sky and gilded in gold, my wings moisten to the precipitation of mystery. I am a willing sex puppet, a kneeling slave, a beauty in submission; I am anything you want me to be, for I do not sell sex, I sell a window view into my own desires. I take a deep long breath in, as I step outside the front door, the cool wind blows against my legs, and message alerts ring through on my phone-

Buy Now- Payment Received.

Buy Now- Payment Received.

Buy Now- Payment Received.

Buy Now- Payment Received.

My silk lingerie moistens, and I can feel a droplet run down the inside of my smooth leg; I step into the darkness, and glide into my ride, as my underwear grips onto the delicate curves. There is no hiding in the game, you are the game, and the game is to make you moan. I am a slave to my own actions, and as the mystery swallows me into the night, my nipples harden against the anticipation. I whisper to myself, ‘I am a whore, and the daytime witch disappears, I am the Buy Now, and it is going to be a $10,000 weekend, I am the wild thing in the night. Your package is being delivered…

I am not the hero you are looking for, but that’s okay because love is not logical. Fantasy is an illusion, and illusion is the facts in all the real frustrations and love. We relate to connection, in the same ways civilizations relate to the stars; as you are me, and I am you, in every wish and dream, and in every loss and memory. It is not about what you wish for; it is about the unplanned journey that you would not take in another thought. If only the stars could provide a map of our feelings, thoughts, and inner desires, life would find meaning at the crossroads of wanderlust. At our core, life is separated between acknowledging the textile sensual and tactile passion of the self, as a constant feature of wholeness. We are the roses and thorns, the light and the dark, and the lived and the lifeless.

You do not go to Valhalla you are chosen by the Valkyries who are the choosers of the slain, and my chosen battlefield was the sin of good, where I was dominant. I was taken to a land where I was powerless, and the domain was ruled by three queens. The first was Frigg, the goddess of marriage, motherhood, love, and fertility. The second was Freya, the goddess of sex, battle, pleasure, and health, and the third was Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, wilderness, and chastity. In ego I had served righteousness, in nature, I had served no light and dark, and in powerlessness, I was to serve, the goddesses that spoke through the enchanted wanderings of all woman.

There is an underworld, in daylight, where women are all powerful, to the domains of powerful men, and it was in this place that I was enclosed in their jungle, lost to the freedoms of their better magic. I had wished for the rose, and now my righteous and good cage was their thorns willing to experience Frigg, Freya, and Artemis, as the goddesses of many possessions. There is no independence from the three goddesses, you must serve them till you become them, and they become you, like a rose of thorns, blooming in the darkness; to sin, is to be free.

I met Sagia of Goddess Frigg, in a late-night diner, which absorbed the last-night revellers from bars into its neon grip. Drunk and in a haze, this woman of full beauty, was splendour and maturity incarnate. Sagia was being harassed by the drunks and destitute; out of impulse, I sat in her booth and asked her if she was going to pick up my dry cleaning after work tomorrow. Sagia smiled, and we drank coffee as I slurred my words; the drunks turned towards Sagia again as more of their friends turned up, and bravado started to peek through the cracks of their whispers.

‘I can’t leave you here; those boys will be waiting for you outside.’

‘Don’t worry about it, I can handle myself.’

‘I have booked us a ride.’

We waited for the driver to come and collect us, and she put her shoulder under my arm and helped me into the car; you do not go to Valhalla, you are chosen. The ride to her house was a blur of images and sounds, but a hallway appeared with family photos.

‘Are you married?’

‘I am recently separated; we broke up on vacation.’

I fell onto a bed frame and blackness swallowed me, as stars were swallowed by visions of a cam girl that lived in my apartment, Nova of the goddess Artemis.

Nova lived deep in the wilderness with huntress eyes, it just happened that her territory was a strip club, and entertained men with illusion. Sagia was dominant and Nova was submissive, you could sense it in their energy. Perhaps it was a thousand shitty landlords; perhaps it was Sagia’s mortgage, or perhaps it was just something I could not see. Whatever it was, the cosmic rabbit would force us into the same house, the same bed frame, and the same bed sheets, like a slow-burning candle inching towards the melting of reality. From the outside, we looked like everyone else, normal suffering of the mundane, it was everything, anyone could imagine themselves to be. However, within those walls, everything that happened to us was the things, people only imagined of themselves, in the darkest, and most private of places, where whispers bleed true.

The soul quivers you know, like an untouchable feeling, and its effect is a deep thirst, that only becomes increasingly indifferent, to a normal life. Sagia and Nova were many women’s stories, and through them, many more stories became etched on my skin both, inescapable and bound. Sagia the dominant and Nova the submissive, had a beauty in living free and wild because, in their own little way, they had freed themselves from the personal suffering that many women live with. There was a plague of unsatisfied women, but I never met a powerless woman, just some unawakened in the control of their own fantasies.

Both Sagia and Nova wanted to escape the shallow satisfaction and embrace the cosmic rabbit, a being of infinite mystery. Some believe the cosmic rabbit is a doorway between everyday life and that other place, or whatever the wage slaves describe as dirty. Perhaps it is a she, and perhaps she is a tragic figure that seduces, with tension, all that is glamorous, and perhaps she is the keeper of the slow-burning candle. Goddesses share a deep bond because they understand one another, they know how each thinks and feels. It is perhaps why they feel so passionate when they are wronged, a thorn for a rose, and a rose for a thorn. Women above their jealousy are a powerful and dangerous force of nature, but also sensual and delicate.

In the morning I woke up in Sagia’s bed in some strange dream, to see a photo frame of her husband staring at me from the side cabinet. The room was immaculate and beach clothes were carefully folded on the seat, it was then that I recalled her telling me that her husband had left her on their vacation. The room was so perfect and spotless that I could not see one single hint of romance, but a sign of a relationship was everywhere. The man had a clean-pressed suit, and an uptight face, and judging by all the cleaning rituals around the room, I could tell he was a micromanager. The next instant Sagia appeared with a smile and breakfast, and her face did not drop for a moment when she looked at me; she simply leaned over me and put the photo of her husband in the draw.

Sagia did not open like a rose, she turned to the light like a sunflower, and whatever light there was, burned in soft romance until the only thing that remained was the goddess. I was there when I saw something in her eyes snap, perhaps it was the messy pile of bills on the dresser, or the Hawaiian beach shirt, whatever it was I knew she had been loyal to him for many years.

Sagia was not intent on making love in a tomb, or in a romantic getaway, but the bedroom had become meaningless, and she slowly began exploring. Slow and purposeful, Sagia mounted me and I thought of how sunflowers that have no light face each other. She felt my face with her hands like she was blindfolded, and then looked deeply into my eyes like I was a billboard sign, that reminded her of some forgotten love. It was a strong dance of eyes that brought the world into a lost moment.

In a rhythm of swaying trees and no rose with thorns, the slow-burning candle wished to set the past on fire as the sunflower bloomed to the light. The hot wax of life spilt onto our skin, yet the pain was blemished with sensation and the sound of a photo frame knocking against the draw, not that Sagia could hear it, she was too busy burying the past. She still didn’t know my name, I think she wanted it that way, she wanted her past nameless, she did not want to be told how to clean the blemishes off the carpet, she was in charge now. As her old world began to die, her hands slid up to my neck as she began to choke me to the rhythms of our climax.

Sagia’s eye gleamed with the eye of the Phoenix, willing to ritually burn her past, in a confident tone of control and release. Sagia’s wings were wide open and she wanted me to watch, as she rode me to orgasm for the freedom of chains, bound to micromanagers, and their sad little dicks. I was in her bird cage, and she was flying, a slight tinge of insecurity was burned with the light, and monsters crumbled to the fate of the cosmic rabbit. She tightened and released, again and again into the abyss of control, and the death of love, as she came, over and over.

Sagia was psychedelic peace, although she was destined to revisit her prison and reflect, there were no chains bound to her body. The strange crypt of self-definition must have meant some version of the truth with that ideological dream of happily ever after. We live in a globally detached and virtually connected world, where fantasy is envisioned as the freedom of the slaves, and reality as its half-truth. It is an empty existence to live by your own values, there is no peace in it, but I find that closure is a form of caretaking, for karma surely visits, and cosmic justice is surely grotesque.

Chaos in the butterfly effect is one seemingly innocent act in the randomness of the universe, that creates the now and also the future. I had heard my neighbour move in, but a late bus and elevator ride saw me helping carry her bags into her apartment. She invited me over the next evening and enchanted with the imaginings of a different life, or that half-dead lost youth wishing for a universal beauty to live on in the darkness of all, I said yes. In the haunted reflections to feel some kind of connection, I felt enchanted by the connection between our eyes.

Nova was a sensitive wildling; with antlers that rested on her crown made from the wild, it is probably why she walked so delicately, as to not frighten the thing she was seeking. You had to have trust to be submissive, and in a life of betrayal trust is a kind of freedom, but submission is not about predictability. As the goddess of the hunt, she was soft and graceful, but when moved to action she struck purposefully and with intent. Nova goddess of Artemis was both the hunter and the prey because whatever she hunted, she was hunting the uncertainty. What Nova really wanted was the removal of power, which reminded her, that she was responsible for all her mistakes and all lost wandering.

She invited me over for tea, which turned into whiskey, and then into a poker game, I think she needed help with her cam modelling. It was an icebreaker, but my apartment bedroom wall backed onto her apartment wall, and she was probably worried about the noise. I had seen her outside the strip club on a break a few times, and she was a regular at the local grunge dive bar, so her social media page was also her promotional page. You could say, I knew what she was all about; anger, passion, wonderment, and connection, in chaos to her own intimate reflection. She lost several hands of poker and was bankrupt, she pulled a long aromatic candle from the dresser, lit it, and placed an old red cracked lamp shade over the candle.

The room glowed in a mostly red light, with psychedelic swirls; she told me that my prize was to use her body, while the flame was still burning. Ironically the street we lived on used to be a red light district where in 1916 a journalist described a harbour and a broken old bridge. Nova was wearing cute innocent clothes, more a librarian than a stripper, but she had blushed just enough that made her shame, all the more real. Her hair was messy she had not planned this; it was a moment of inspiration, in our eyes meeting once too much. She had only moved into the neighbourhood a month ago, and she wanted me to be a part of her surrender.

The term, ‘Red Light district,’ originated from railway workers using their red lanterns to display their presence to their co-workers or services that were currently occupied. Nova stood up, took off all her clothes and lay on the bed spread eagle, the red light staining her skin with deep breaths. Her bedroom apartment overlooked a small hidden alleyway, where rows of bungalows were split in two, where women used to sit in the windows waiting for sailors.

The candle smelt of vanilla, cinnamon, rose, and a kind of moon dust; I pick up Nova’s underwear, blowing gently from her big toe, up her legs, along her stomach, and the soft skin of her neck. I pulled Nova’s arms over her head and tied them together with her underwear, as she wriggled in suspended anticipation. Participation was the domination of shame, the overthinker is bound in acceptance, with no hands to type out her thoughts. All kinds of women had walked the streets below, in a thousand different stories, leaving or coming from gold rush salons of the Wild West, or faraway ports, as the streets ached in time. One thing I noticed with red light dwellers, they embrace time with more control and power, than the fears of mortal herds.

Intimacy is control, as affectionate rhythms hold consistency to freedom; when Nova was bound, she was freer. Her clit was hard, her pussy wet, and her nipples erect; the aroused pleasure map spoke deeply through her eyes. She was the part that all women remembered of their first kiss and first orgasm, all held in anticipation of the quiver. The red light that sensually conquered her body was a slow excitement to the strange, a mystery to unravel, where she could submit to excitement. A silenced woman in marriage and a conquered woman in her desires judge each other from the abyss; my spirit slid into Nova like layers of erotica, released from our thoughts.

Excitement was exposure and revelation was a slow tension, stimulating illustrations of Nova’s sexual desire, although she was naked there were layers of her mind still to undress. In rhythm to the music, the flame was slow burning and it had not budged an inch; wax dribbled down from the shaft, and she was going to be my slave for the entire night. Punishment and tease is a slow burn, she is wet and tight, but not hard and cold, and she is still aroused in intimate cues of control. Nova struggled against the binds before she surrendered her entire body, as her eyes dilated she was the goddess Artemis. She was every woman’s fantasy, and every beautiful woman was in her; resting in that strange space, between innocence, adventure, and fantasy.

The ultimate risk is to love, in a passionless world, but Nova was brave, and towards our climax, my job interview had been a success, and we both felt an unbreakable bond. Images of Sagia and I making love flashed in my mind, I reached behind Nova and firmly grabbed her cheeks and gripped them tightly. We rocked in motion to the swelling climax, she moaned in a voice made of divinity, sweet, sensual, wild, and untamed. Contrasting, reflecting, and resisting each other, the slow build-up crashed like ocean waves on a deserted beach, there was no turning back. Nova was already orgasming by the time I was holding back past the point of no return, I pulled on her hair as I thrust away; multiple waves of ecstasy rode her into the bed frame.

Afterwards, I wondered if this was what Sagia was like before she met her husband, the night was early, and Nova’s clit was begging for attention. She had that long night, look in her eyes, but I knew time was going to pass quickly. I explored every crevice of her mind and body, slowly and tantalizingly, she seemed to surrender even more and only struggled against the illusion that it was all a fantasy. Perhaps she thought if someone wanted to tie her down so much, they would not want to leave her either. Who are we to judge the thoughts that free us to experience pleasure; There were no ghosts that folded on each other through her body, I could not feel another person, we were simply one. I wondered what freedom from the underlings of a haunted delusion of itself connects two people; we both felt that we were going to be in each other’s life for a long time.

The cost of an ancient Roman male slave was around 500 Denarri which equated to around 285 ounces of gold, while a female could reach 6000 Denarri or 3425 ounces of gold. The Barbary Pirates operated off the Coast of North Africa, between the 16th and 18th Centuries, built from the Roman slave markets; the trend continued into the 5th and through to the 15th century. Between 1450 and 1700, the slave import to Istanbul from the Black Sea would have totalled over 2.5 million people based on customs statistics alone. I had not paid in gold for my own slave, but I wondered what price I would end up paying.

The pirates favoured an aesthetic referred to as ‘Circassian Beauties,’ where the most desirable would end up in harems as concubines. The woman originated from a region of North Caucasus but the description of beauty became a common Western troupe on Orientalism. General Circassian aesthetics contained rosy pale skin, light and dark blond hair, or red hair, and grey-blue to green eyes, or very dark hair with light complexions, with a slender body style.

Cairye was a term used to describe women enslaved under the Ottoman Empire under Islamic law, traditionally it was used to describe women caught from warfare, as Muslims could not enslave other Muslims. My degree was flaccid, I had tried to invigorate it with a kind of erectile dysfunction medication, but all I was left with, was a worldly experience, whored into an illusion.

Slaves indoctrinated into the Ottoman culture that showed particular talents, were given new names, and if they had male children the boys were born free, but if they had a girl, they were born as slaves. The Roman Empire had around 2 million slaves, by the end of the first century BC, and either side of 300 years in the first Millennium averaged around five million slaves at any one time. Julius Caesar once sold 53,000 Gaul people in one instance to slave dealers after conquering the entire Germanic region. We are all born from the bones of slaves and witches, like a red lantern glowing in the night, to stories of other travellers.

Life can be the death of dreams or the reveal of false wishes, I feel comfortable numb, in the madness of a system that owns truth and lies, like clay moulded from time lost to love. People imagine in the absence of love, so they punish in want of other people; the sensations, smells, passion, tragedies, and temporary minds. I think people are misfortunes by silent stories, like passion is love, and worthiness is an audience. I am lucky in lost youth but tortured in missed chances, what is there to dream of now, in the raw beauty of goddesses and their slaves, muses, and masters.

Nova was still turned on, so she curved her back in temptation like a bow waiting to let go of an arrow, It was her half-moon curve of arousal; slow deliberate, and with intent. By the time I left Nova's apartment, it was morning, and while drained of passion, I was haunted by the raw eroticism of the night, as visual images flashed back in my thoughts. There was a romance in our goodbye kiss, we both felt it, and perhaps that is why I was unable to sleep. It is a cloudy day, slightly rainy, the Sunday streets are quiet, and the odd soul walking around; everywhere feels like a post-apocalypse world.

In the absence of people, the concrete reminds me of a kind of memory museum, like I am a ghost in a vintage video game after moments have passed away. People are creation rooms, and moments are dimensional portals to the universe of their minds. We are old news, for a paper stand that no longer exists, and they say when the last person that remembers us dies, we cease to exist, but real reality is already a form of amnesia. Specks of time ebb onto my body like toes reaching the cold ocean; the frothing bubbling waters sweep past my feet, implying stronger currents, than the will of the mind. Everyone seems to have a kind of home to return to; even the homeless have tribes and places to go.

In the realm of romantic notions I am a counter-fantasy of love, like a moth that flew too close to the flame, I suspiciously think of myself in light of the realm of fake knights. I am not a utopian hero of a woman’s illusion, but through their truth, I enjoy invisibility, to the facade of life, and that in itself forms a kind of attraction. Pretty life exists everywhere in the city, reminding me of those moments in my life with grey skies and glances of sunshine. Limited time and dying choices, become pillars made of sandstone to support marble roofs that collapse to true lies resting peacefully in photo albums. We save ourselves every day, to justify, in an empty abyss, as fake people meet some halfway point in an idealistic inspiration of time, dying to space.

I have noticed that the more elegantly something is spoken with the perverse, the quicker both realities seem to be annihilated from their mutual existence. The exception to the rule are accents, as people are a society of misunderstandings, and wisdom sells enlightenment, but promises only freedom, for every other strange asshole. I miss my innocent optimism of a world seemingly filled with dreams and think I am somewhat stupid, but secretly, I love and loathe the absence. Sagia and Nova were a week apart, and they enjoyed a slow burn to love, no matter how rough or soft, and in their power and vulnerability; intimacy was a road to trust.

Those who are youthful are free to chase the sickness of music, art, love, and adventure. I am youthful but now my mind is a hindrance in living with the visions and thoughts of Sagia and Nova. I had made no promise between each of them and I had kept in contact with each of them, and the emotional intimacy had remained. I felt pragmatic about it because I knew the two roads, we were going to join over the weekend at some point. I could not commit to another night of passion without telling them each of the other in spontaneous combustion. I did not know if it was being self-destructive or having a preference for horror, but Nova would be back from her parents by the weekend, and Sagia wanted to make plans.

I felt lethargic and wanted to disappear into the crowd, look different, blend in with the ignorant dreamers, and be one with the spirit chasers of first loves. To live empty is to suffer worthless sacrifices, seeking self-validation through others. No amount of wealth can bring you to the darkness, no amount of love can free you from yourself, and no amount of wisdom can make you feel intelligent. Whore, always seemed to be a self-empowering term to me, a state of mind, liberation from the world of things, and a gratifying form of love. If someone called me a whore, I would feel like I achieved something, but that doesn’t mean I’m a slut for love, it is just an idea elegantly spoken with the perverse.

I thought of a ménage à trois between Sagia and Nova, as an unfolding satellite where orbits kiss in reflection, and in the myriad of sensations, who would love who. To me, it was just a casual idea to displace the anxiety. I decided to write them an identical message on social media, highlighting our hook-up and the dates, in light of the causal randomness and sent them each other’s social media pages. I signed off my message with, ‘Work it out between the both of you, and get back to me.’ When life begins to get too complex, I found it was better to be upfront and matter of fact, because the world sells too many lies, and lies are not my cup of tea. I had butterflies when I pushed the send button, but my mind felt a little relief, both girls were different, but both seemed to tilt towards building a connection.

Sagia and Nova seemed dead to the idea of happily ever after, as it seemed to be a more realistic standard; they had girlfriends they hung out with on their social media pages. Women communicate through relationships because in a male-dominated society they need a heightened form of connection that runs as an undercurrent to the surface of life. I felt like I had pulled off the great escape, not thinking that Nova lived just next door and Sagia a few blocks over. The day was warm, it was better to enjoy it naively, than worry about the future, be it two hours or three months. Surrendering to the abyss is like giving up on the fate of the universe, but I had given up long ago, it was just the giving in, that tortured me, as it was a thing not of my soul.

I do not feel alone when I find the tragedy of others, because it is the only thing that feels like home, which is rare, in the metaphoric horde of normal people, living so many lives, that I dreamed of. It is okay for your mind to be betrayed, it is okay for your body to be betrayed, and it is even okay for your experiences to betray you, but when your spirit is betrayed, fate feels eternal. You see people do not repair their mistakes on such levels; they only make compromises on their tolerance, so they move through life like that. As to tolerate love with broken people, is to accept their own failures and the things that can never be changed or repaired, because they have found a comfortable logic between the heroes and villains.

If eroticism is best on a long slow burn, then women exchanging secrets at the speed of light were the chains that bonded me. Sagia and Nova had itemized their emotional intimacy into a vulnerable essence like they had known each other for years. They only said, ‘Everything is good, we have some mutual interests, and we have some things to sort out over coffee.’ It didn’t tell me much at all, the secrets of women rarely do.  I knew they both shared a mutual interest in escaping reality; just as they were both a daydream of my imagination. We are all ghosts of other people’s dreams, it’s just sometimes we get to be real in other people’s lives; It does not take much to feel, but it takes a lot to trust in the dreamscape.

I chased the waves of nostalgia but I was lost in the swells of time, which drove a stronger desire to seek connection through the space of other people’s ideas. With a few moon rises, the girls had talked out a compromise, there had been no space for a deep connection, but they had reached a mutually beneficial agreement. I was caught in a void, the physical space between the places of passion and love, some might call it erotic, but I like to think of it as a mutual understanding of lifeless reality.

The simplest way to explain it was a timeshare agreement, Nova would pretend to be my exclusive girlfriend, so I could help entertain Sagia and her friends and help her with the mortgage. In return, Nova would expand her apartment into a webcam studio, and I would help her with production, and we would share a bedroom at Sagia’s as boarders.

My apartment was to become the remnants of other people’s galaxies, filled with abandoned artefacts trying to belong to a world that did not seem interested in it. Nova seemed excited in the waves of change, and I sensed she could swim effortlessly where others had drowned while trying to survive. I could not say if tragic voyeurism is surrender or wisdom, or a little of something else, but the tension it created was a mutual bond of mystery and excitement, between Sagia and Nova. Sagia had been cleaning out her old life and Nova had been away from the apartment, the weekend was set for a communal meet and greet, over drinks and music. After the party, there was to be a special surprise for me; all that Sagia and Nova told me was, ‘It was a proof of commitment and pooling resources towards a sharing lifestyle.’   

I was to meet Sagia and Nova at Sagia’s house on Saturday morning; we drove around taking photos of eating out, to build out a back story to Nova and I, dating. Sagia printed off some photos for some nice frames that we had brought, while Nova had been building a fake social media profile of us. We brought some food for the housewarming party, and in many ways, it was Sagia’s party as well. Sagia was welcoming a new kind of freedom in a house that was once a money prison, as it was symbolic of new beginnings. In the laissez-faire arts, everyone must discard their dignity and dance naked in the rain at some point. Sagia had renovated her home at the fruition of a quick settlement, and memories slowly diminished from sight, with enough space for a spa bath. 

Sagia, Nova, and I, all spent the afternoon, making dinner, lighting candles, and drinking wine while listening to mellow music. Aromatic oils filled the air from the hot tub, as we bumped into each other and grazed our hands on each other’s bodies, like time was filled with infinite circles that lay inwards, rather than outwards. I could tell by the way Sagia and Nova looked at each other, they had not seen each other naked before. Dinner began on the floor, on a rug beside the fire, as we were all down to the bare minimum of clothes; by the time dessert came around, we were all a little drunk on passion. Mist rose from the hot pool as the flames obscured the shadows of our minds, as steamrolled over the memories.

In a soft tantric massage, we were all naked like stone reliefs from sacred temples depicting the Karma Sutra that flashed in my thoughts. Soft bodies with hard parts wearing in the sun, as a light in a world, among the clouds were the providence of heavenly creatures. We were more than people with wings and spirits; we were a valley of friends who lived among the broken things. Fucking is a blunt truth, but it did little to describe the hair stroking, face touching, and shared breaths, as heartbeats melted into a single rhythm. We entered the spa bath with a love of music and blinded optimism gazing into a world filled with colour, clarity, and depth, to drown the mind in visions of beauty.

With the cleanest of light Sagia passionately kissed Nova, and stained my memory with enigmatic images of life. I felt blinded by the very fulfilment of dreams and distant destinations of the future that cast spells of love on eroticism. Dreams are petrifying at times and although not all dreams are dreadful, it is more frightening to have no dreams and live in darkness, than have ones that scare us. The evening of delight was long and strangely sensual, eking out all the build-up and tension of the week into a long and passionate night that desired to force all the mystery of each other into the warm light.

Where were we, all these lives, but making plans to meet in this moment, the night was beautiful. If we ever escaped from these dreams, I hoped they whispered back to us like puzzle pieces fragmented together. As with many things, sleep fades into the background of life with a distant living, as empty beds call for some kind of existence. I stored the night in black and white photos, buried deep in my memories, swallowed with the darkness of fantasy, mutually inclusive in this time and the past. On that night laying with one another other, was a dream connection through skin contact alone, as time ebbed to the abyss of forever.

Late Sunday afternoon brought with it different kinds of bliss, a sunning altar was no master of the void; the old world was dead, long live the new world, Sagia looked relieved. In Sagia and Nova’s astute sense of timing, they had organized an induction week for their book and craft club. Books become the metaphor for the surprise they had planned, I suspect it was efficiently designed to prevent me from getting attached to the situation, and based on the previous night, I could understand why. Sagia mentioned it was towards her mortgage charity, that the club kitty was a party fund of sorts and that I had a guest later on that night. Being an artist, never paid well, and life had been sliding backwards for some time, Nova said I was the art now, and it kind of made sense the way she said it.

Sagia’s ex-husband had dumped the remains of their craft and bookstore in the garage, and it had been sitting idle for over a year now. Perhaps it symbolized the fraying fabric of their relationship, now invisible to the new décor. The extension of her home business included making scented massage oils, perfumed soaps, and discrete boutique sex toys. Sagia made Nova and me equal partners, and the girls were excited to come up with some recipes, and gift bags, it was a new old take on the original kitchenware party.

The rubber vibrators were the most expensive item and smelt like a condom when it was pulled fresh from the box. We were all equal partners of flesh on the menu, but with loveless marriages and cheating husbands, Sagia’s small group of twenty-odd nervous friends were mostly interested in one thing. Immortal control over the female form was contemporized with whimsical imaging of hopeful realities that had been imagined by many absent beasts. After decompressing from the night before, stars appeared in the night; Jane had drawn the short straw, literally.

There were no romantic rose petals, candles, lingerie, or icebreakers; she was at a friend’s for coffee and then she would be home. So Jane and every Goddess Freya after her would arrive as a housewife and leave as a housewife. Freya was the Goddess of love, sex, and battle, and for most of the home bunnies, they were fighting a war within themselves, something they had lost to their past selves. Some had been married, some still were, others had had children, and some had careers, but all wished for some past version of themselves. They had fallen from the object of desire to a thing of control, and being ostracized from such connections made them want to rattle the cages and scream.

Jane came into my room and said hi and began to undress, her underwear was just a little comfortable, with a bush bursting from it; her asshole husband preferred it that way. Her big breasts pushed against my legs as she went straight in and ripped my jeans off for a blow job. In the raw brutality of the moment, I was caught in a rip, so I did not swim against it, I just went with it.

I lay down on the bed, Jane Goddess of Freya, straddled me, and I kissed her perky tits, from the door, I could see Sagia and Nova in the doorway holding hands. Jane began to thrust her wet pussy with all the sexual frustration of a hundred arguments; her thick bush swallowed my cock, as her hands pushed mine deeper into the bed. She came several times, and I came once, I looked back at the door frame and it was empty, Jane got up, put her clothes on and said 'See you soon,' she kissed me and left.

‘Welcome to induction week baby,’

Sagia came into my room followed by Nova, eventually, we all drifted off to sleep, in the light remains of Jane’s perfume. Goddess Freya was to visit me in all her forms that week, raw and wild, sensual and affectionate, as an escape from opposite realities. With the gravitational pull from transverse space highways, home bunnies evaporated into thin air to that place where men buried dreams into that loyal bottle of intoxication. To love in an ugly and hideous way, forms a radioactive halo of sunshine in a grayscale light, basting the eyes dull and meaningless in time. Love is an existential crisis, as life becomes a self-involved awareness of reality wishing for a state of need; and somewhere between, passion becomes fun. After the approval rating from Jane rolled through on the gossip line, and her other world felt grayscale normal, Goddess Freya visited me in many forms of repressed pornography.

Goddess Freya told her husband Sagia had invited her over for coffee and she was going to help her with the washing. I bent her on the washing machine on a wash cycle, she wanted to wash the act with the dirty laundry; lying closest to the truth, was her safe place. With every goddess I played with, I always learned a little more about who their spirit wanted to be. An overestimation stained with the wild, and free, is a contrast of failed dreams in the nature of limited fates. Life is a short and shallow dream where regret can attest to opportunity failing or succeeding, as that void-filled purgatory, infects spiritual condemnation. The chapters of life begin and end with songs, to consistently become space filler in love tame sanity of dream wished lives.

It was ironically Sagia’s closet friend that was dominant to her desires rather than submissive. Stuck under an arrogant boss, that belittled her in condescending tones, she was sexually frustrated with a slight anger issue. With knee-high boots and a business skirt, she pulled her panties to the side and pulled my head between her legs; she mentioned she did not want to get her hair wet in the shower. After she came on my face she pulled her panties off and hitched up her skirt seductively bending over. I slid into her like silk as she tightened around me just like her tight skirt. I began fucking her hard, she just liked it that way, Sagia came into the room and hooked her finger into my mouth as I pumped her friend's swollen pussy, ‘You’re a hooker now, baby.’ She ran her hand down my back as I came in her friend; pulling her finger in my mouth she whispered, ‘Stay in line whore, or else.’

Halfway through the week Sagia and Nova decided we should review my induction week, so we had a meeting in the spa bath. Both girls had two friends over tonight to entertain; Sagia was surprised, at which of her friends was into girls. They decided on separate rooms, to begin with, and then a partner swap, followed by me watching the foursome and providing a relaxing massage. We all decided on some ground rules, as the venture had been of relative success. We were Vikings of pleasure, in a way; warriors, explorers, merchants, and pirates. We traded moments and raided opportunities, and settled connections and networks. Our long ship was an arrangement of the apartments, the social media profiles, the craft and book club, and wherever the currents took us.

Viking Laws included being brave and direct, versatile and agile, prepared, keeping in shape, being a fair merchant, and keeping the camp in order. Our friendship had gelled very quickly, and from the obscurity of being lovers, our guests were starting to feel like a decadence of normality. The book club members enjoyed anonymity and could also discuss their favourite titles and our little boat had morphed into a kind of free-form micro-community. In the spirit world, we were all the goddess receivers and givers now, life was not a castle, as romance was banished in the afterlife on forgone legends. These home bunnies, women, lost souls, and housewives; were still Sagia’s close friends, she tried very deeply to meet their donations with an equal exchange of goods, in every way possible.

Sagia was like two people, damaged and a wildling howling at the moon, and she still had her best years well ahead of her. What a classless fool her ex must have been, which is why I always liked her eyes, they were both soft and strong. Nova had a lost and rebellious expression on her smile; she had seen forms of education as a con and experienced the constriction of her family’s old-fashioned values.  There was no way Nova was going to be a slave to her family's nostalgic values, and in a way, she formed a kind of wisdom that Sagia had just experienced. They completed each other in small ways and connected intimately like the silhouette of beautiful dancers.

The night changed quickly, three more home bunnies agreed that they would come over for book club to read with me at the same time. Apparently, they knew each other and had a lot to lose and would only try it, if they all tried it together. It was going to be a full house, all risk required all trust; my memory was already having flashbacks of my friend's pussies, standing around me as I lay on the bed. I had not admitted to myself they were clients yet, I just couldn’t say it in my head, and perhaps it wasn’t so cut and dry, this felt more like friends with benefits. I am definitely a slut for living life to the full, but no one really knows how we see life in the end. Holding such flame gives life a benign reality of it all, existence is destined to cease like a civilization out in the deep stars, silent and empty.

Sagia’s old world had died and in me, I felt like the old me was on life support. As if I was above looking down at myself; I began to have thoughts of myself in the third person, like my old personality was not real enough to have its own voice. The goddesses were there also; I was stuck between an empty past and a desire for acceptance and attraction. I knew by the end of the week, deep down own voice would fade to group consciousness because the old life was just not real and raw enough. When I pass from my old self, I know I will always be reminded of it in my dreams; of my friends, their smiles, the adventures, and the things we never imagined.

The three home bunnies showed up around the same time as Sagia and Nova’s guests; we went straight to the room with wine, snacks, and books. They undressed me and lay me down on the bed, I felt more mentally naked than physically naked and it turned me on. They had installed hidden tracking apps on their partner’s phones with proximity alerts, and had removed their underwear, but left their skirts on and unbuttoned and hitched up their skirts. I remember thinking how organized and nervously excited they all were, and that we were short of a lookout before one grabbed my hard cock, stroked it a few times and then slowly squatted on it. As I let out a spontaneous moan, the second home bunny squatted on my face and rubbed her wet pussy on my mouth, as the moan became muffled.

Goddess Artemis preferred to be fucked by the ego, Goddess Frigg preferred to be fucked by ecology, and Goddess Freya preferred to be fucked by the serving. The third house bunny grabbed my hand and guided it under her skirt; as I began fingering her tight wet pussy, I thought, ‘Three more hours, three more hours, three more hours to serve.’ I looked up at the girl riding my face, she was pretty, her clit was hard and riding up and down on my tongue, she unhitched herself for a moment and opened my mouth wide with her hands, and spat into it. It felt gross but turned me on, she closed my mouth and bent down and whispered in my ear, ‘Swallow.’

‘There’s no escape for you, you’re in our biosphere now, oh and Sagia and Nova says hello.’

Once home bunny watched me swallow her spit, she ran her fingers through my hair and pushed her pussy back onto my mouth. I could feel the girls behind her switch positions, and my mouth filled with saliva at the thought of spit running down the back of my throat, which stopped me from cumming too soon. I was blessed with the ability to hold a hard-on, after cumming, from watching too many pornographic videos. I learned that if you half cum, you could decrease sensitivity and keep the momentum after a slight dip in thrusting. I used this to great effect with the three home bunnies as they began to swap positions and began to give each other more attention. The finger to clit climax was an easy way to take their edge off, but satisfaction lay in a body release from pussy thrusting.

The girls took turns in getting fucked to climax, as they towelled off my sweat from staining their friend’s clothes. Each left me with a passionate kiss on the lips, while another home bunny climaxed, to leave in staggered departures. It turned me on to watch them pull their new vibrators into their pussy a few times and put it back in the box. They carefully wet and dry-cleaned themselves with a towel, put their underwear back on, and carefully sprayed a light coating of mild perfume, Sagia’s special blend. They picked up their gift bags and books and left, it was as if they were all in the same sports team; Soon the room was empty, I was tired, and those three hours felt like a long night.

Cougar meat, Mother’s I’d Like to Fuck (MILF’S), shopping runs, soccer mums, girl’s night over, and wine nights, fell into the remaining week. Weird situations and positions returned to me in dreams with raw wild pussy, like strange voids of the mind. Slowly my old identity departed to that strange void where all things must go eventually, and leave the next moment slightly less free, than the last. Friday afternoon was my graduation from induction week, Elaine, my last hook-up before going to Nova’s to help with her webcam for the weekend, as part of her and Sagia’s timeshare agreement.

Sagia had organized my room when I met Elaine in the spa, after some talking I found she had a down-to-earth personality, a nice sense of humour, and an easy-going personality. After some time getting to playfully know each other’s bodies, she led me to my own room; I was kind of impressed she knew where it was. I lay on my bed and it crinkled to synthetic rubber covering, it was strange I thought, at least water from the spa bath would not reach the mattress. Elaine kissed me passionately, and then said in a kind of sweet voice, ‘Do you know what it’s like after the first week of marriage?’ My towel was already open and she had my cock firmly grasped in her hand. After some playful strokes, deep eye gazes, and some playful adjusting, she asked me the same question again, ‘Do you know what it’s like after the first week of marriage?’

Elaine straddled my cock and put the tip on the opening of her pussy, pushing it in and out slightly. I shook my head from side to side, and she spoke in a calm and matter-of-fact way, ‘No one is ever going to fuck your ass again.’ Elaine pulled back on my cock and sunk her asshole over the shaft, it felt soft and firm and glided straight down to the base of my throbbing dick. The sound of the rubber mattress started creaking with the rocking motion; Elaine lent back rubbing her pussy as a stream of piss gushed from it coating my torso, neck, and face. Rubbing her fluids into my chest, nipples, and across my mouth, she began to pump harder and harder, ‘Cum in my ass quickly, I want you to take all day fucking my whore pussy.’

Elaine was kinky, angry, and frustrated, she was a home bunny sex doll, that had lost all its mystery, and in betrayal, vengeance from self was the common language of her prison roof. There was no family helpline for a sad fuck husband; she could not call her daddy up and complain about a lack of orgasms, she forfeited that right when she was given away at her wedding. So I fucked her the way I imagined her husband couldn’t; on top of her, beneath her, and behind her, as I gripped tightly to her ass cheeks for a hard thrust, while splitting them open for deeper penetration. Her scent triggered all the other scents that week, and when I cum deep inside her, I felt my old personality, take its final breath.