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My New Group: Prurient Porno Predilections!
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May 2, 2005 11:51 am
2115 Views
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{Look, theres "Anime Mo"! Cute, huh?  }
Howdy!
Well, since I now know I'm not the only weirdo who digs really freaky porn and doesn't bat an eyelash at the thought of whacking off to The New Bondage Fairies or La Blue Girl or secretly reads slash fiction, I've started a group for us!
If you scan the "groups" section, it is listed under Prurient Porno Predilections! Alternately, if you look at the front page of my profile on the left hand side, towards the bottom, there's a direct link to it.
SO, if you are interested, come join! I don't wanna be the lone freak on the sneak!
{=}
~Mollena
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SATURDAY slipstream
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May 1, 2005 9:42 pm
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I am supposed to go to the South Bay to see a friend perform. I am disinclined, as I am bleeding like a stuck hemophiliac pig, and just want to crawl into bed. I still have 2 more commitments to reach: a birthday party for a friend, and a late-night supper party to boot.
I drag my ass from my house at around 7, thinking Ill get to the first party around 8:30, in time to catch the high point and the dénouement.
I miss the BART train I needed to catch. OK, OK, fine. I wait for the next train, get out to Dublin / Pleasanton (read: BumFuckEgypt!) and call the hotel where the party is supposed to be happening. They inform me that their shuttle is out on a run, and should be back soon.
OK
Well.
15 minutes later, no shuttle.
20 minutes and 2 phone calls later, no shuttle.
31 minutes and 4 phone calls later, the shuttle arrives. I finally get to the hotel, and guess what? They have no idea bout a party. I almost cried like a little bitch. I cant reach my friends by phone; I walk through the entire hotel looking for my friends. I am, instead, treated to room after banquet room of people proms, people having real-estate parties, people celebrating softball league victories. They are all white suburbanites who are not shy about staring at me as I stick out like a charcoal briquette in an egg basket.
This is becoming A Bad Night.
I give up after an hour, it is almost 10 PM, and the party is slated to end at 10: 00 anyway. I flag down the shuttle driver, and as we are leaving the complex, he says,
Hey, might they be in the sports club complex? Club Sport?
This rings no bells, but I figure yeh, why not check.
We drive around to the back of the hotel to a building that is connected to but not IN the hotel building.
Long story short, that was it.
I was so shell-shocked by the time I found my friend, I could only hand her her present and say Happy birthday, sweetie. Sorry I missed the party.
Everyone was petting me and expressing the need to make it up to me for such a crap experience. We chatted a bit. She asked me how things were with Steve. I felt my face get hot: we have not spoken about my life much in the past year since she has been through so much trauma,(car accident, surgeries, house fire
) I felt stupid bring up my petty BS.
Well, we arent together anymore.
She shook her head.
Idiot! Well, who are you seeing now?
The heat in my face worsened. My eyes felt as though h theyd erupt at any time.
Um. No one. Not for over a year
She exclaimed noisily.
What is wrong with these doms?!? They should be all over you!!
She went on and on, saying a bunch of really nice stuff. I tried to not cry.
If what you are saying is true
I thought
why am I alone?
One of my first friends from when I initially was involved in the scene was there. Jays been around forever, is responsible for a lot of my connections in the scene, and also probably responsible for educating MOST of the kinky people in America, by way of his books. SM101 being not the least of em. We wound up riding the train together, catching up, and swapping stories. It was nice to reconnect, and to remember that there are cool people out there who get me.
I finally wound my way back to the city, albeit in some considerable discomfort from lower back pain, and my feet being tired, and my knee acting up.
I called my friend Rocelyn, whose house I was supposed to go to. On the way there, I am on the phone with her explaining that I am gonna be super late, when our mutual friend Kevin gets on the bus. And scared the crap outta me!!
San Francisco is such a small town!!
I got a bit turned around on the way to the flat where Rocelyn is staying.
Man, was I tired when I finally got there. But there was some port. And I sipped that. And I felt better.
Rocelyn and me stayed up all night talking about theater, about men, about art, about this city, about love, about all kinds of things. She is so damned cool. She is recovering from a breakup not dissimilar to my breakup with Steve, the Stupid Pizza Guy. So, we had a lot to commiserate on.
Bu the time it hit 5: 00 AM, I was fading fast. I curled up on the couch to sleep. I had to go to Berkeley Rep to see the matinee of The Peoples Temple so that I could get an idea as to what I was getting myself into with this understudy gig!!
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FRIDAY flashback
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May 1, 2005 9:04 pm
1700 Views
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Man, the weekend has been insane
I wish I could walk around with a camera to catch everything that I see, and in precisely the way that I see it.
On my way to work on Friday, I passed a corner full of socks. Probably about 50 pairs of socks on the street. Strewn about. I watched them for a while, and they regarded me solemnly, as if to say Yeah, were like 50 pair of socks on the street, whats it to you ?!? Move on, punk!!
The façade and sidewalk I next pass are littered with bright yellow splashes, and bizarre broken spheres. I realize a paint-ball battle had occurred here. Well, better than the bloodstains I had to step over last year around this time, when gang violence erupted and resulted in a death on my block.
Friday night, on my way home, the balmy evening, and my indecision as to what I should have for dinner strike me. I stand on the corner of 16th street and Valencia Avenue, wondering. I do this for about 5 minutes, listening to the street musician. I then hear my name called mellifluously from across the street. Friends of mine happen to be walking my way. 2 couples. Inwardly, I sigh. Look. Happy couples
and me, alone again, naturally.
I find out that K. and her partner C. are moving to New Mexico in a couple of months. I am happy for them, because it means better jobs for them, and a better way of life. They are two of the classiest, sharpest women you could hope to see holding hands on the streets of SF.
My other friend is there with his new girlfriend, and he is doing well. The great thing about these couples is that in the case of both couples, someone is not the gender that had befallen them when they were birthed to this dharma cycle. I smile to myself to think, In your face, right wing iconoclasts
people CAN choose their destinies AND be happy. Among my friends is a friend who is a professor and whose classes Ive guest-lectured as a representative of the BDSM community. I re-up my commitment to be available should he need me.
My knee is bothering me, and I am still hungry. I really cant afford a fancy dinner, but I feel myself sliding towards a self-pitying Why am I alone on a Friday night?!?! slide, so I decide to splurge and go to one of the awesomest Thai restaurants, in SF, which HAPPENS to be near my house.
Fewer things make me feel better than walking into a place where people remember you, and are nice to you. I peruse the menu at Osha Thai (if you are in SF, the Osha Thai are the best restaurants, IMO, for Thai food). I peruse the menu; order a nice unfiltered sake, their extravagant shrimp appetizer, and a main course of honey-roasted duck over sautéed spinach.
Im on week three of yet another marathon menstrual cycle, and need all of the iron I can get.
The shrimp are amazing: six ceramic spoons on a rectangular charger, with six shrimp in six different sauces. One is in a shoyu spicy sauce. One in a peanut sauce. One in s fiery red sauce, followed by a cool lemongrass vinaigrette ceviche style shrimp. One is in a black bean paste, the last in a light Thai BBQ style sauce. Simply amazing.
The duck is tasty, fatty, savory, the spinach fresh and green and crisp. The sake comes in a glass that is like an inverted pyramid, sitting in a mini fish bowl filled with ice.
The meal was splendid. I decided it is worth it to treat myself, because if I wait for someone to treat me, Id be missing out on the moments that I need to REALLY Live.
I have along day on Saturday, so I come back, scan my e-mail, read the blogs of others, and go to bed.
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What kind of pervert lets themselves be burned....
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Apr 30, 2005 5:48 pm
2284 Views
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BabyGirlJess posted a good question on the boards, and rather than glut the boad with the whole thing (and also because I cant post a photo there!) I am adding the rest of the story here.
I have a brand. It was placed on my right ankle, above the bone, several years ago on the eve of Folsom Street Fair. Fakir Musafar (an interview with him appears on the front of the magazine section). Since I am predisposed to keloid, I figured it was best to have one of the masters of body modifications perform it. With him was his wife, Cleo Dubois, (who interestingly also appear on the front of the magazine.) So, I was in THE BEST hands working today.
The ritual of the branding was intense. Id considered having one for years, and then finally decided on my initials. Which might seem strange. But since brands had been used, traditionally, to mark my ancestors as the property of another, I thought tit would be a fitting way for me to take responsibility for and declare ownership of my own fate. It was also a profound opportunity to bond with a piece of my history that is not pretty, but is important for me.
Fakir and Cleo were teaching a class on branding, and they were being assisted by sagacapt, and I couldnt have felt in better space.
The method I was having done was a multi-strike with single shaped pieces of thin, straight stainless steel. Contrary to popular belief, the old-west cartoon style branding iron is simply NOT the way to go. My brand would take 10 separate strikes to compose. Each strike is a rapid pres and pull to the skin to achieve the mark.
The actual branding was amazingly fast. Alan and his partner were there to hold me, Fakir wielded the steel, with Cleo talking me through it and watching the blowtorch that heated the flame. The upside of the m and the downside of the w went smoothly. Each strike caused a small wince of pain, but then it was over. Slight smell of acrid sweetness, then nothing. Of course, the brand causes third degree burn, and therefore is not painful. The last strike wasnt to Fakirs liking, and he re-did it, for a total of eleven strikes.
At the time.
I walked around Folsom Street fair with the new brand, it looked pretty cool.
By the end of the day on Monday, I was in so much pain I could barely walk. It was unbelievably painful. It took a long time to heal. Weeks and weeks, in fact. By the time Black Rose rolled around, I ran into Fakir and asked him to take a look at it, because I was concerned that the healing was unduly slow. He peered at it Yup
thats a bad one!} he said. Well, I was at least not concerned for no reason
It took, all told about 3 months for the brand to stop suppurating. It was another month before it stopped being tender to the touch. And at six months out, FINALLY, the hyperpigmentation around the brand began to fade. The amount of spread on the brand was formidable.
I had several mitigating factors. As a black person, our skin reacts differently to burning. The skin on the outer ankle is thin, and on a weight bearing muscle. If I were to go back in time, Id reconsider the placement and method. Fakir also brands with a cauterizing needle, and the result seems as though it might be easier on the skin. On the other hand, I was treated to a three-month scene that never, ever stopped, 24/7.
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My (sex) Life story part 1.1B When The Van won't leave....
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Apr 29, 2005 7:30 pm
2529 Views
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We went to the hotel bar, and Weird Al was there with the type of woman he'd never have landed if he wasn't famous and wealthy. He seemed a bit miffed that I wasn't running over to his table like everyone else. I'm thinking "Motherfucker, please. I am sitting at a table with the man who recorded "Crazy Love" and your tired "Eat It" ass is being all snotty??"
The girl with Van turned out to be Shane MacG's younger sister, Siobhan. And yes, she DOES have all of her teeth.  Unlike her Pogue Mahoning big brother.
I felt like a superstar backstage roadie slut, and that was supahcool.
It was less fucking cool when we got back up to Jims huge suite, and V. decided to stick around for a while. We drank brandy and smoked cigars while Van and Jim did horrific things to the lyrics of Brown Eyed Girl. (V. is SO tired of that song.) The minutes stretched to hours. I pondered the irony. I mean, here I was in the presence of a musical legend! Lots of people would give their right arm to be here!! And all I could do was wish hed leave so that I could screw his guitarist. Feh.
And I had to pee.
By the time I left the luxuriously appointed bathroom, I had decided to just make the best of things and relax a bit
enjoy the ride!
I made it about two steps out of the bathroom when I felt a hand around my neck, pulling me into the bedroom slamming me up against the all. I blinked. The door to the bedroom, kicked shut, cut off the light from the sitting room. My eyes had hardly adjusted from the brightness of the bathroom when I felt teeth on my neck and hands pulling my clothes off. I willed my hands to move against him, to stop this. He was being rough. Fingers pulling on my clothes and there goes a button and why am I letting him do this? I should say no. I should stop him. Lifted from the floor and thrown to the bed where the rest of my clothes were unceremoniously removed, I try to think clearly. What was he doing? Why dont I stop him? Why cant I stop him? Is this what I want? Shouldnt he ask first? His hand again around my neck I gasped for air, and even as I thrashed about, in the dim light from the lamps outside the bedroom I saw him smile and his hand tightened. Kissing me, feeding me air as he controlled how much I could breathe. Pulled over by the hair, his belt now around my neck I cry aloud the flesh of my shoulder caught between his teeth and he growls. My face pushed into the pillow slaps to my ass making me writhe furiously as he tells me what a gorgeous bitch I am, and didnt I want him to fuck me and now he wanted me to beg for it and if I didnt he would stop
and even as the rational reasoned voice in my head rebelled and kicked and shouted for this craziness to end, my mouth opened to whisper, quietly please, please dont stop
fuck me please I beg you
please dont ever stop
Of course, the inevitable moment of "hey, get the condom" happens. And...well...let us just say they must build the boys a bit bigger in the UK, because the standard American jimmy was barely capable of withstanding the initial assault, and created some issues. Gonna have to see of Condomania on Melrose has larger ones...
Later, lying dazed on the bed I turn over to watch as Jim went, naked, to fetch his cigarettes from the living room of the suite. Three seconds later he bounded back in giggling. Van and the girl are still out there! Hand me that robe, will you love?
I about died. You mean to say they were there the whole time?!?!? I hid under the blankets. Here I was in a hotel room with a strange man, who practically sexually assaulted me, and I liked it, and now I find out that Van Morrison sat in the next room and heard me begging to be fucked harder?
Jim sauntered out in his robe, and came back a bit later to ask if I had any more of the condoms. I grinned. "What, to make balloon animals? It barely fit you. What do you want it for? It wasn't for him; apparently Van was trying to "get lucky" and wanted to have some, just in case. Jeez, don't these guys plan ahead? I tossed the rest of the box at Jim "Go ahead.... maybe they'll fit him better than you. It's worth the money to be able to say I gave V.M. a box of condoms so that he could try to get into S. MacG's sisters pants."
It was a Strange Night.
The next morning I woke before Jim did, took a shower, picked up his laundry from the concierge, got him coffee, pastries and breakfast, drew him a bath and woke him in time for the sound check. When he smiled at my efforts, I felt as though Id do anything, anything at all, to see him smile for me. Weird, huh.
We spent seven days in LA together, and when it was time for him to go up to San Francisco, he invited me up with him. I loved San Francisco. The next 10 days were heaven. I waited on him hand and foot, he loved it, and he tied me up and fucked me over and over, while I resisted and he took what he wanted anyway. This was right! He was right! I was in big trouble. He was going home.
I cried the day he put me into a limousine to SFO. I cried in the Southwest waiting area. I cried on the plane. I had to stop crying long enough to drive. But I resumed immediately when I got home.
I wasnt even sure it was OK, what had happened, but I knew it felt right. It hurt. It moved my heart. It felt like love. He understood me better in 17 days than anyone I knew in my life. And now he was gone. Despair settled on me like a wet comforter.
I was certain that Jim was the only man for me, on the whole planet
and I could not have him. Id had a taste of something that I knew I needed, but would never have again. And in the aftermath, life was starting to look very, very complicated
What am I gonna do
go up to guys and say Hi! Um, would you slap me around a little? Hey, will you call me bad names? Hi there! Will you abuse me sexually and beat my ass? Thanks!
Jim and I kept in touch after he returned to London. He was the only person I trusted enough to tell about the increasingly sick and twisted shit I was uncovering in my head.
Five years after we had met, still never having actually seen each other face to face since those two and a half weeks in LA and San Francisco, I called him and he played me a song hed written
.and about that I have already written
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My (sex) Life story part 1.1A (yeah, I know,I know, get over it)
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Apr 29, 2005 7:05 pm
2390 Views
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N4sir67 asked a question in his blog about how tops and Other Cruel Bastards might uncover secret kinky gems among people who are not flagging as such, which led me to reminisce about the first time I had that happen to me. The being stalked and taken down thing, that is.
So, let us rewind in my ongoing long-winded telling of my sexual history to the first time I met that &%$# Limey Bastard whose fault it is that I am on this ^%$#@ website in the first place.
Jim was trouble from the first moment. The first feature of his that I became aquatinted with was his ass. Well, he was playing pool with a group of men at Barneys Beanery in Hollywood. I was with two girlfriends, Lori and Anne, and we were seated in a booth next to the pool table area. It was cramped. The players had to practically enter the booths to take long table shots. I wasnt entirely peeved when a fantastic specimen of male posteriorhood was presented to my gaze. Absolutely the finest ass I have ever seen on a white guy. I tapped it with my finger. Oo! Nice! Its owner turned, startled, then smiled at me.
Excuse me, but were trying to eat over here, do you mind not putting your butt on our table?
His smile broadened
Sorry there, love! Hope I didnt put you out none!
I stuttered stupidly instantaneously salivating
Oh
.aha
.no problem
.!
SO sue me. I have a thing for British accents.
Eventually I worked up the nerve to invite him over to our table. His friends were hollering and applauding as he sat in our booth. Within five minutes Id learned that Jim was a musician, was in LA on tour for a week or so, then he was flying up to San Francisco for another week and a half. He also had a girlfriend back home. And he played guitar and sang. I wondered why he felt compelled to tell me he had a girlfriend. I mean, he was only in LA for a week. And we had just met. Whatever!
I asked him where he was going to be performing. He wasnt sure, so he asked one of the Irish dudes at the other table. The guy pulls out a huge, and I mean fat freaking binder and flips through it
they were at the Shrine Auditorium that Tuesday.
Yeh. The Shrine. I was amused.
I have never heard of you. The Shrine Auditorium is where they hold, like, the Academy awards and shit. You cant possibly be playing there.
Jim explained it was not his gig, he was playing backup for another guy. He asked me if Id heard of V.M.
Huh. Like as in "moondance" V.M.? Um, yeah I have heard of him.
So
you are touring with V.M.? Right.
I asked him if he could get tickets for my friends and me. He said he didnt think that would be a problem. Frankly, I had my doubts about the whole story. Furthermore, I will confess to not be being a huge V.M. fan. But that didnt really matter. This wasnt about anyone but Jim and me.
The evening flew and I found I couldnt stand to be away from Jim. Hed look at me with this sly sort of grin and Id giggle. Hed touch my arm or knee and Id sweat. I was out of control. Helpless. He knew it. He felt it and there was nothing to be done to stop it.
He invited me back to his hotel, where he and his mates were going to continue partying. Id have followed him anywhere, but my car was in Pasadena and my girlfriends were less than supportive of my desire to trot off with this stranger. We exchanged numbers and promises to get together the following afternoon...
I reached to shake his hand and he laughed, grabbing my wrist and pulling me towards him his hands in my hair on either side of my face looking into my eyes and leaning down to kiss me what
now I cant breathe
my entire body
compressed
tight
hot
alive
numb and frozen
He was a
.
really
good kisser.
I called my friends. I rescheduled my therapy appointment. I talked to my Boss
just in case
I needed a few days off.
I picked him up in front of his Hotel, and we cruised down Melrose to my favorite bar, the SnakePit. This was, of course, for show. What I really wanted was to turn around and go back to his hotel room immediately, but I had only just committed to curbing my promiscuity! I thought about it.
Look, Ill feel really slutty if we go right back to your hotel room after our first date. Um
how about this. We can go to two more bars, then it will be like our third date, and then we can fuck. Hows that?
He was amenable, and so off we went. We drove over to The Cat and Fiddle, then the Burgundy room
We left Burgundy room and I floored it back to the Sunset Marquis Hotel. We ran through the lobby and up to a pair of double French doors which suddenly swung open towards us and we almost collided with a stout short man, a bottle of brandy in one fist and the hand of a girl in the other. Jim smiled and told me hed like to introduce me to his boss. Oh! Hi, Mr. M. Oh, just V.? V. it is then! Pretty fucking cool.
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Yeah, so, I'd fuck Chewbacca. Is it so wrong?
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Apr 29, 2005 4:27 pm
2232 Views
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My friend is accusing me of being a Furry because I said I'd be curious what it would be like to fuck Chewbacca.
On the one hand, I had to give him the verbal pimpslap for dissing my fur-suited brethren and sistren. Why ridicule these fur-lovers. SO much intolerance!!!
Then I made the hideous mistake of looking to see if anyone had written some slash fiction about Star Wars.
Oh.
Mah.
Gawd.
So, um, the answer is yes. I mean, come on. I just read some PokePorn last week. Shit.
I will confess to having a less-than secret love of all sorts of pornography. Always have. Even the off-the-beaten-path stuff. Like, take that jacked-up Japanese Hentai tentacle porn. I am fascinated by it! I think it is the idea of being overpowered by something so terrifyingly alien and obviously sexually predatory. I ordered a bunch of La Blue Girl DVDs, and they are so kick ass.
There. One of my nastier secrets.
Still, I WOULD be curious what it would be like to have someone in a lion suit chase, pounce and
er
devour me. Fine, Im a &%$#@ pervert. And a fucking Star Wars geek to boot. You KNEW this!!! At least Im not Gorean. Leammie lone.
{=}
Mollena
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HOLY SHIT!!!! I fucking RULE!!!!!!!!
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Apr 28, 2005 5:07 pm
2470 Views
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Since the number that came through my cell was a 510 number and most of the people who would be calling me from the prefix that followed it would be my stupid ex boyfriend and I need to get a call from him right now like a need a dick sprouting from my head, I let it roll to voicemail.
Once I did finally work up the nerve to check my messages, I almost fainted when I realized that the call was from Amp P. who is a casting Director. Well, not just A Casting Director. She is THE Casting director for Berkeley Repertory Theater. Which is a BIG FUCKING DEAL. I have auditioned for her in the past, but not recently.
SO! My hands are shaking as she is offering me the opportunity to understudy for their current show The Peoples Temple which is about the Jones Town horror.
OK, so I IMMEDIATELY call her back and she is all like Well, I know you are usually pretty booked, and this isnt for anything except a travel stipend, and the chances of going on are pretty slim, but it might be fun for you, etc, etc, EQUITY point,s yadda yadda
and I can hardly keep from bouncing off of the walls in my cubicle thinking: OMFG, she is trying to sell me on this!!!!
SHIT!! HOLY SCREECHING FLYING CRAPOLA!!
This is a Very, Very amazing thing.
SO I am thinking OK, well, now I have to set up an audition time and she says Why dont you come get the script, Ill list the parts youll be understudying, and if you want to start learning the roles tonight, you can see the show. Let me get your personal info, SSN, address, etc
Ands that was it. I am now an understudy at Berkeley Rep Theater.
I am so fucking high right now I could scream!!!!
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SHAMELESS transparent attention whoring! *crawl*crawl*grovel*
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Apr 28, 2005 12:10 pm
2204 Views
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OK, so every year here in SF a local rag puts out a "Best Of" issue. This is a poll decided by readers of the SFWeekly. You can find them easily online, if after the period I used in the last sentence you were to add the most common extension on the Internet. And, at the tippity top of the page is a link to their "Best Of" section!"
So, if you have a few minutes and would like to help me further my pitiable efforts at self-aggrandizement, it would rock if you voted for me in the actress category. Mostly because then theyd probably interview me, and I could plug my next big project, which is kink targeted, and would be SO AWESOME to get on the radar. And also because then I get a freaking plaque. And why not vote for Crowded Fire too, while you are at it? PS, Mollena would be the name to use....
OK, I am done groveling for yet more attention. Over and out. I return you to your previously scheduled blog, already in progress.
{=} Ms. Williams
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To link to this blog (Mollena) use [blog Mollena] in your messages.
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