Cecilia's wardrobe contains many dresses, many confections, many costumes. Colours, birds, beasts and trees and grasses, sky and sea. All the worlds and characters that she puts on. Some squeeze and primp, while others drift and sweep. Many, most indeed, she made herself. These she prefers for the most part, and knows their power. She's … Continue reading Taste of Glory: Filthy, Part IV.
Alone in the big bed upstairs Cecilia gazes at the ceiling and listens to the crows rattling about on the roof. She thinks of the strong hands that built it, that fitted notch and post and tongue and groove, and thus thinks of not just ceilings and roofs and crows but hands and notches, posts, … Continue reading Tongue and Groove: Filthy, Part III
"Once," said Cecilia, wide-eyed over the top of her glass, bare legs tucked under on a still folded towel, her hair piled recklessly on the top of her head, "once, he thumb-fucked me in the elevator, the elevator to the ninth floor. It was full at the time." She'd come home a little late and … Continue reading Filthy, Too
There's filthy glory in this kneeling And the sense of prayer it gives The worship of each other Taste of him on my lips And I can feel my blossom blooming As its heat spreads on my heels As I take complete charge of him Even though it's me that kneels. The store-room floor is … Continue reading Filthy Work