A cruel late autumn wind hit the man on his cheek like a slap on the face. The day had been warm and sunny when he and his wife began the hike up to the top of the mountain. He carried a picnic basket on his back gaily while she prattled along the trail ahead of him. As they approached the sheer cliff of the summit, the wind had its way with the couple. Sparse trees swayed and shook. Red leaves barely holding on finally let go in a swirl.
At the edge of the clearing, a girl sat in a swing that hung from a maple branch. The couple beheld the sight of her dark silhouette suspended from twin ropes. An exorbitant amount of ribbons, ruffles, and bows made her seem out of place in the wild outdoors. She would have made more sense in a Victorian doll house.
The couple looked at each other in disbelief. The man wondered if they were looking at an art installation or a fashion mannequin. The woman looked around for any other people within the vicinity. They were alone.
The girl turned and focused her piercing blue eyes on each of the hikers, assessing whether they were friends or foes. The woman was quick to speak.
“Hello! We’re here for a picnic! Would you like to join us? We have food!” The woman motioned to her husband to take the contents of their picnic basket out.
“Right, right, food!” The husband busied himself setting up a blanket on a patch of grass. He took out apples, grapes, bread, cheese, and salami.
The girl smiled. “I’d love to!” In one swift motion, she leapt from the swing. Her dress ballooned open like an umbrella, giving them both a half-second glimpse of her thigh-high stockings and her panties. She folded herself readily on the picnic blanket, every pleat perfect over her black lace-up boots. She devoured the food as if she hadn’t eaten in days, entirely uncharacteristic of her formal attire. The couple watched as fruit entered her mouth, moistening her red lips.
The woman took a sip from her water bottle. “What’s your name, dear?”
The girl attempted to answer but decided to keep eating instead. The couple watched as the girl ate every single morsel of food they had packed for their picnic. When their basket was empty, the girl seemed self-conscious.
“I’m sorry I ate all of your food. But I thank you. I was really hungry.” She leaned over to the man and gave him a tight warm hug.
The man chuckled, “We’re glad to feed you. No harm done.”
The wife watched the man put his hands around the girl’s delicate waist. She watched his cheeks turn a rosy hue, his eyes sparkle, his smile spread giddily from ear to ear. She knew that look. It was a look that until then was only reserved for her. A look that she had not seen on him in a long time. She knew what he was thinking. What a perv!
“What’s your name again?” the wife asked.
“I’m Elenora,” the girl replied after she peeled herself off the man. She stood radiant. Her skin was impossibly translucent. Her hair shone like a beacon. For the first time that afternoon, it became apparent to both the man and his wife that the girl was a blossoming woman.
The sun dipped the bottom tip of its rays into the lake. The man pulled his scarf up over his face and exhaled to warm it up. He shivered.
“Aren’t you cold?” he asked the girl. He took his scarf off his neck and wrapped it around her nape. His fingers brushed her smooth sweet skin. He felt his toes tingle. He tried to push away the thought of cradling her exquisite neck in his hand and tasting her juicy lips. He had an overwhelming desire to wrap his body around hers, to protect her fragile beauty from the harsh wilderness.
“Are you here with anyone?” the wife wanted to know.
“Yes,” Elenora answered.
“Where?” The woman looked around. She could have sworn there was no one else there but the three of them, but that in itself was odd.
“They’ll be here soon,” Elenora assured.
The man’s blush turned pale. He felt nervous. They? Who are they?
“It’s going to be dark soon,” the wife warned. “Maybe we should look for them. I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you here by yourself.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Elenora said wanly. “They’ll find me. They always do.”
The wife felt uneasy. Something was amiss. She shook the crumbs off the picnic blanket, wondering in the back of her mind why it was so quiet. Where were the birds or crickets? Where were the chipmunks that usually come after the food? She dismissed the thought, folded up the picnic blanket, and stuffed it into the basket. All she knew was that she wanted to leave. She wanted to get away from the girl, but she felt guilty about abandoning her at the top of the mountain at dusk. She was torn.
“Maybe you should come home with us,” the man spoke up suddenly.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. They might be worried about you if you come along with us without asking their permission,” the wife argued.
The man felt the heat rise to his head. “They! Who the hell are they? Do you even know who they are?” he yelled at his wife.
Elenora was visibly startled by the man’s outburst.
The man checked himself. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just… who are these people that you’re with? Are they your family?”
Elenora shook her head. “No, they’re not.”
“You see!” the husband turned to his wife.
“But I guess they do protect me,” Elenora added.
“Who? Who protects you?” the man pried. He didn’t know why he felt threatened by them.
“I don’t care at this point,” the wife piped in impatiently. “It’s going to be dark soon and I want to be home before then. I’m going to find them, whoever they are, and make sure Elenora is back safe with them. Then I’m going home. I’m going to take a nice long bath and sleep in my own bed. And you better come with me if you know what’s good for you.”
The man wanted to be home before dark just as much as his wife did. Maybe even more so, because he did not want to find them and he did not want to wait for them to find Elenora. He wanted the three of them to leave the mountain at that moment.
“Woman, you will do no such thing,” the man ordered his wife firmly but calmly. He did not want to scare Elenora any more than he had. “Let’s all go home together. We’ll call them on the phone after we’re safe at home and have had a nice dinner.”
“NOOOO!!!” The wife tore madly through the woods, screaming at the top of her lungs. “HEY!!! HELLLLOOOOO! YOOOHOOO! You better get your girl back now ’cause I don’t want to leave her here by herself!!!”
The man shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Elenora. I’ve never seen my wife act this rudely before. That woman gets hangry on an empty stomach, I tell you. Let me get her back and we can all go home.”
The man took after his wife, following the sound of her shrieks through the trees. When he finally caught up with her, she was teetering at the edge of a sheer cliff. He grabbed her. She struggled to get away from him and fell.
The woman hung by her fingertips an arm’s length down the cliff. Several hundreds of feet underneath her, jagged rocks dotted the bank of the lake.
The man got down on the ground and reached for his wife. “Take my hand!”
The wife shook her head. Dust clung to the sweat and tears on her face.
“Come on, baby. Take my hand!”
The wife looked deep into her man’s face. She saw his determination to bring her home. She saw his infatuation with the girl, the lust in his eyes, his desire for what the wife was long unable to give him. Youth, excitement, newness. She saw her own jealousy and insecurity. She saw that she was on the brink of falling to her death, and for what? She put all of her weight on her left hand and reached for her husband with her right.
A scream echoed through the mountain.
The man’s eyes wavered from his wife. They had the girl! His wife’s left hand was slipping. He imagined her broken lifeless body on the rocks below. He yanked his wife up by her outstretched hand with all his might.
The man and wife ran back to the clearing to find the swing barren. The man’s scarf draped lonely over the seat. He snatched the scarf quickly.
“ELENORA!!!” he called, ready to run through the woods again, this time in search for the girl.
It was the wife’s turn to rescue the man from the edge of insanity. She clutched tightly at her man. “Let’s go home, please. Please. Come home with me. They’ve got her now, darling. Let’s go home.”
“ELENORA!!!” the man kept screaming, looking wild-eyed from tree to tree hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl. The wife held him tight and pulled him all the way down the mountain. A loon cackled as the sun dove deep into the dark lake.
Thank you for the many words of encouragement about how good I still look after over 20 years of modeling. However I am sowing the seeds toward my future behind the camera by putting other models in front of it. If you are interested in posing for me, please get in touch with me. I would love to hear from you.
I’m enjoying the journey of sharpening my skills as a writer and as a photographer. I hope you’re enjoying it, too.
I have more photos of my model, Naomi, in MAYCAM, if you’d like to see more of her. I will also be posting one more free photo of Naomi in a password-protected blog entry soon so subscribe now, if you aren’t yet. Make sure you’re on my May Ling List when the time comes for me to send out passwords by email or you’ll miss the opportunity to receive that entry’s password forever.
I tell people I’m a vegetarian but that’s somewhat of a lie. It’s true that I generally don’t like the taste of meat. Especially lamb because it tastes sweaty. I’m not one of those vegetarians who eat fake meat. Seriously, if your body craves the taste of meat, feed it meat. Your body is trying to tell you something. Listen and respond. Knock knock! Who’s there? Your true nature.
I’m honestly drawn to fruit, vegetables, and grain. You could say I’m a natural vegetarian. Oh, and dairy. I love dairy. I love cheese, ice cream, yogurt, ice cream. I guess I’m a lacto-vegetarian then. Ooh, eggs. I love all kinds of eggs. Chicken, duck, quail. Put me down as a lacto-ovo-vegetarian. Well, it’s true, I do occasionally eat seafood. No self-respecting mermaid/island girl would go without seafood. You could call me a lacto-ovo-pesce-vegetarian, if you want to be technical about it.
All right, all right, once in a while I eat meat. Like that time I was invited to dinner and our hostess was serving moose meat. I couldn’t pass that up because I have to try everything at least once in my life. (It was so tender and delicious!) And okay, I admit that since I live with a couple of meat eaters, I eat meat every time I’m too hungry and too lazy to cook a vegetarian meal just for myself.
Forget it. I’m not a vegetarian. I’m a liar.
Did you take a good look at that Snapchat video above? Go ahead and play it again. And think! It’s time for the Caption This Contest. Win a week-long MAYCAM password from September 19 to 25 if you think up the most fitting caption for this Snapchat. Post your entries before Tuesday, September 19. Adult participants only.
I remember the day I became an American. I stood with a group of strangers from all walks of life and over the world. Together, we each raised our right hand and recited the Oath of Allegiance. I found myself holding back tears and swallowing down a lump in my throat as we collectively sang the Star Spangled Banner. Our journeys thus far and our dreams of the future shone in our eyes. This is the promised land for the brave and the free.
While watching fireworks last night I thought about that song again. I thought about that flag that “was still there” despite the rockets and the bombs. Quite possibly that flag was singed, torn, tattered with holes, but it endured. And strangely enough that ratty old flag inspires me to keep going when the going gets tough.
Reaching for the American Dream isn’t easy. No one hands it out on a silver platter, especially not to a woman of color. I’ve had to compromise myself. I have battle scars. I’m damaged goods. But everyday I get up even when I feel like it would be easier to crawl into a hole and die.
Freedom is risky. It’s safer to go along with the herd, keep your head down, do what’s expected of you. Freedom of speech means speaking up when there is injustice. Freedom of expression means being open to criticism, opposition, and shaming. Freedom requires courage.
Dare to be free, my little munchkins. You can come out now.
On Mother’s Day they came
Back to their childhood home
Carrying their mother’s ashes
Hearing the voice of her wishes,
“I want my ashes to feed the roses.”
I woke up on Mother’s Day with a funeral outside the tall windows of the Master’s bedroom. The old man who built this home had passed decades ago, but his wife, the woman who looked out those tall windows in loneliness all those decades to the rosebush that blooms red in the California winter, just recently died.
And her children, who themselves have grown old and lonely, formed a procession outside what are now our windows and fed her ashes to the rosebush to fill their dead mother’s last request. This is what I did on Mothers’ Day. I walked outside and stood in my grey wool dress and red shoes, and silently hugged these lonely people before they walked back to their cars and drove away. I had nothing to say. There was nothing that needed to be said.
Later my daughter picked a ripe rose from the bush and gave it to me. The rose looked plump, juicy, full of life. Too soon the petals will dry and crumble to dust, just like the woman whose ashes joined the dirt under the bush. I hugged my daughter tight, smelled the freshness of the sun in her hair.
I gave in to the thought of my greatest fear: that my husband would leave me too soon, that I would one day take the place of the woman looking out the same tall windows of the Master’s bedroom, and that after I have withered in loneliness I too would be sprinkled at the foot of the rosebush. An offering in exchange for a ripe red rose.
I fit the rose within the thin lip of a crystal vase, appeasing its cut with water from the sink. I sank my own body in a bath, attempting to dissolve my fears. That night my man and I made love. Our sex is a violent act of defiance against decay and death. A fuck-you to the gods who watched from the seat of immortality and boredom.
Outside, the rosebush bore witness to our passion and rebellion. It taunted me, claimed my ashes even as our naked flesh glistened with sweat and come. My man and I spoke of perversions as if they would preserve our youth, magic incantations to release us from the rosebush’s bonds. We know we are doomed. No one has defeated death. Not rosebushes, not humans, not even gods whose names very slowly through the ages succumb to oblivion.
Until then our rituals of life challenge the call of the grave. I look out these tall windows naked and shameless, ready to frolic and fuck. You will not have me, you thorny fragrant beautiful bush, until I have exhausted every bit of life I can muster from my body. You will not feed off my loneliness and grief. Wait, you will, and for a very long time.
Reposted from MAYCAM diary entry, 10 May 2011.
Seriously. I’ve never been sicker than this past week. I woke up on Palm Sunday with a fever so high I hurt to touch. Ask my man. He’s the one who told me I hurt to touch. I was so sick I never got out of my nightclothes, just kept layering a couple more nightclothes over the ones I slept in, and when that still wouldn’t warm me up, I put on my man’s thick warm robe over everything. Then I laid underneath a pile of blankets and pretty much stayed there all week, shivering like a sad chihuahua.
Midweek my fever subsided but my nose was so clogged I sounded like Darth Vader. Every day a whole new way of feeling like death. My head felt like it wasn’t attached to the rest of my body. My fingers and toes felt tingly and numb. I wondered if that was how ghosts felt. Then I wondered if I was a ghost and I didn’t know it. That’s why I still kept fucking, even though I was sick all week. I needed that friction to remind me that I’m still alive. (Although I’m pretty sure horny ghosts are not unheard of.)
A little bit of courage, a little bit of grit, a little bit of taking a step in a positive direction, and I feel better now. Not entirely better, but better, thank you.
Happy Easter, everybunny!
Let me take you to another world, a world created by my words and my voice. I want to take the intimacy between writer and reader to the next level. Let me make love to you aurally. We’ll explore Eden and the ancient world together. Listen as Lilith discovers the mysteries of sex, the forbidden fruit, her free will, and the power of words.
Did those excerpts whet your appetite? That’s good, because I’m giving away free Audible audio book downloads of Lilith: Generations of Cain. Here’s a tip: If you’re not an Audible member yet, sign up for a free 30-day trial membership and they’ll give you your first audio book free. Choose Lilith: Queen of the Demons as your free first audio book, then you’ll have both of my books for free.
In exchange I would appreciate honest reviews on Amazon, Audible, iTunes, GoodReads, or your own blog/social media channel. As a new author, and a self-published one, I can only rely on friends to help me get the word out. Reviews really help.
Comment or email if you’d like to get a free audio book download of Lilith: Generations of Cain. Tell me which platform you will be posting a review on so I can keep an eye out for it. I will email you back with details.
Lilith: Generations of Cain, Book Two of the Lilith Series, is live and ready to wreak havoc on your soul. Lilith is out of boring old Eden and thrust deep into the ancient world of Mesopotamia in this erotic adventure novel based on Sumerian, Babylonian, Egyptian, and Akkadian tales. Meet Blind Dragon, Og the Giant, the two-tailed cat from Inanna’s temple library, and many more sexy creatures as Lilith continues her search for love and redemption.
Meet Didi and Miu, courtesans from Inanna’s temple in this excerpt from the chapter, Uruk:
“You can rest here, Lilith. This is the courtesan chamber where all the girls stay. Your donkey will be stabled and brought fresh straw. Tonight we will be servicing guests. It would be educational for you to attend and see how things work here. We eat in two hours. Relax until then, and I will send someone after you when it is time.”
Inanna squeezed Lilith’s arm and was off. Lilith sat on the mat and set her things by her bed. Several of the girls came to greet her.
“Hello. First day at the temple?”
“There are services tonight. Will you be joining us?”
“I’m not sure. I think Inanna plans for me to watch. She said it would be educational. My name is Lilith, by the way.”
“Hello, Lilith. I am Didi and this is Miu. Why have you only come now, and not earlier?”
Lilith was confused. “What do you mean?”
The girls looked at each other and giggled. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but you seem a few years older than most.”
Lilith thought about it. Age? Who knows what happened when I said the ineffable name? I could be hundreds of years old by now. Time had become so abstract after my visit to the firmament. She eyed the girls, “Yes, I may be a few years older than you. Is there a specific age girls come here?”
“You don’t know? Where are you from?”
“I’m from far away. I started out in a place called Eden, but now I live on Mount Hermon.”
The girls had never heard of either place. “Here in Uruk, it is customary for all girls to serve Inanna when they come of age.”
“Come of age, what does that mean?”
The girls giggled again. Didi bent down and whispered, “You know, when you get your first period.”
“Period? What is that?”
The girls are shocked. Miu leaned in, “You know, when you bleed. Down there.”
Lilith finally understood. “Oh, that happened to me during my vision.”
Now the girls were confused. Miu asked, “Vision, what do you mean?”
“Oh, it was like a dream,” Lilith answered.
Miu and Didi exchanged looks. “No wonder you have not come to the temple. You are not a woman yet.”
Lilith felt insulted. “I am a woman! I’ve had children, many children in fact! I bled a little after I gave birth.”
“Oh, that explains it. After pregnancy you skip your period for a while, and if you get pregnant again, then you skip it some more. How odd. I’ve never met a girl who has never had her period before.”
Lilith wanted to change the topic. “When you come to the temple, how long do you have to serve?”
The girls looked at each other and giggled again. “That depends!”
Lilith wondered what was up. “Depends on what?”
“You really do not know, do you?”
Lilith began to get annoyed. She really wanted to be working on the key to her grimoire. These silly girls were using up her free time before supper.
“I think you may be confused. I’m not here to serve the temple. Inanna is helping me work on a project, and then I’ll be going. I have a lot of work to do, so if you don’t mind…”
The girls seemed disappointed, “But you are so pretty, Lilith. You’d have no problem serving the temple.”
“Why, what is it that you do here?”
The girls looked at each other.
“You tell her.”
“No, you tell her.”
“Okay, I’ll tell her. When a girl comes of age we have to serve the temple until a patron pays tribute to have sex with us. After we have completed this task we are free to go. We can stay if we want, but we cannot leave until we attract at least one paying patron.”
Lilith was intrigued. “You mean every girl must come here and can’t leave until she fucks someone?”
“Basically, yes. Most girls leave after their first patron, but some of us love it here. Some want to make riches. The temple keeps all of your first patron’s offering, but if you stay everything is split in half from then on. I think many stay for the sex. Some like the food and shelter. Others want the education. This is the only place for women to learn to read and write.”
Miu butted in, “And then there are the girls who are trapped here because no one wants to fuck them. That’s the saddest thing.”
“Oh, you’re horrible.”
“I know, I’m a catty bitch.”
Lilith found herself amused by the young girls.
“So you’re stuck here if no one wants to fuck you?”
“That’s right. The men come as our audience. We put on a little show, dance and sing. When we are done, we line up and they choose. Many times there are more girls than guys. Of course, the pretty ones are chosen first. The plain, ugly, and fat girls don’t stand a chance if there aren’t enough men.”
Miu raised her arms dramatically. “Trapped here forever, sad and unfuckable!”
“I can’t believe you.”
Lilith shook her head and smiled. “How long have you two been here?”
Miu answered first, “I’ve been here four months. It’s fun. I like the party atmosphere. It’s so boring back on my parents’ farm. I’m having a great time, and I have made many talents of gold for the temple.”
Didi rolled her eyes, “You have not! Do you know how much a talent of gold weighs? More than you!”
Miu gyrated her hips, “Oh, come on, this pussy brings them in the door, sister. All my patrons are repeat customers! Line ‘em up!”
Didi made herself comfortable next to Lilith. “I have been here about eight weeks. I’m not sure what I am to do. My aunt takes care of me, but other than that I’m an orphan. The food and opportunity here is better than what I have at home. I may end up staying until I find a husband to take me. If no one marries me, then I will save up enough gold to live well.”
Lilith had a million questions now. “Do the girls often find husbands?”
“It all depends. If you are looking for a husband you tell them so. You tell them how much you look forward to them visiting. How you want them to take you away and rescue you from this place. Make ‘em feel like a hero.”
Lilith was amazed. “I have only come to use the library. That is why I am here. But I have to admit, the party sounds pretty good too. I could use a good fucking.”
The girls giggled. Didi leaned over and stroked Lilith’s long black hair. “You’ll be right at home then. Plenty of fucking for everyone here. You say you’re here for the library? You know how to read and write?”
“Yes, a good friend has tutored me. I can read and write cuneiform, Akkadian, Hebrew, Egyptian hieroglyphs…”
“Wow, Lilith! It is rare for a woman to be trained as a scribe. Only here in Inanna’s temple do they allow women to learn such things.”
Lilith seemed confused. “What does gender have to do with it?”
Didi wasn’t sure. “I don’t know.”
Miu spoke up. “Men want all the power. Reading and writing is very powerful.” Miu paused thoughtfully. “We should spend more time in the library.”
Didi shook her head and sighed. “It’s true. I hardly ever go in there. Too busy eating and fucking!”
Miu laughed. “Didi, you are crazy!”
Join me on this exciting new adventure. Lilith: Generations of Cain is now available as a Kindle download, a paperback, and an audiobook. Let me know what you think. Leave me an honest review on Amazon. I would really appreciate it.
Every day is one closer to the release of Book Two of the Lilith series, Lilith: Generations of Cain. I’m beyond excited. I’m giddy and madly in love.
Have you read the first book yet? Get ready for Book Two by reading Lilith: Queen of the Demons. It is a free download at Kindle Unlimited. If you don’t have access to Kindle Unlimited, you can still download it free from Thanksgiving Thursday, November 24, to Cyber Monday, November 28. Here is a little excerpt from Lilith: Queen of the Demons to whet your appetite. It shows the moment when Lilith first sets eyes on the stranger in paradise, the one who takes her on her journey to find the meaning of life and love. From the chapter titled Fire:
Lilith took Adam’s hand and led him into the waterhole to wash off after all their toil. They splashed and frolicked until it was too cold to continue. They sat in the last sunny spot and dried off as the sun began to set.
Their shelter was small but adequate. They fluffed up the straw and grass, and huddled together for the night. Adam fell asleep fast, but Lilith watched the night sky through the opening. The stars amazed her. A crescent moon smiled down on Eden. She reached into the clay pot she had made and nibbled on the last few figs that she had found earlier in the day.
Above, clouds began to move in. She watched the stars disappear. The glow of the moon lit the clouds from behind. The cool air became humid and warmer.
A light mist started to fill the air and it began to rain. The wide tropical leaves on the shelter’s roof kept the couple dry. The rain fell stronger, but the raised floor protected them from the puddles below.
Lilith felt all snuggled in, safe, and protected. She felt lucky. Adam was fast asleep. He was missing the show. Lilith was wide awake. The rain was exciting to her.
Without even thinking, her hand found its way between her legs. She spread herself wide and caressed her cunt. The energy of the rain storm turned her on. Lilith arched her back, and as her fingers moved faster, the rain storm and wind became stronger.
Light flashed in the distance. Silhouettes of mountains appeared with each flash of lightning. The rumble of thunder coursed through her body as she rubbed her fingers around and around her clit.
Her body arched back with orgasm as lightning struck nearby.
Adam woke with a start. “What’s going on?”
“Shhhh… it’s okay. It’s only a rain storm.”
“Wow, I was dreaming. I was eating apples.”
“Of course. Apples. Go back to sleep, you apple crazy boy.”
The storm drew closer and closer. Lilith looked at Adam as he huddled up and went back to sleep. She put two wet fingers in her mouth and tasted her orgasm. Outside, lightning struck a tree with a bright flash.
Adam and Lilith jumped from the loud crash. She put her hand on his back. He relaxed back saying only, “Apples.”
The tree outside had split. A small fire formed on the ground among the dry sticks and leaves. Lilith had never seen fire before. Her curiosity was peaked. She sat up watching the fire grow.
A dark shape took form inside the fire. Lilith saw the shape of a man rising inside the flames. The man inside the fire rose up and extended two large bat-like wings and stepped out of the fire. He shook off ash, flapped his wings and folded them back up. He raised his face to the rain as it began to die down, and walked off into the dark.
Lilith didn’t know what to do. She looked at Adam. She thought he was probably dreaming of apples so she left him to it. She crawled out of the small opening of their shelter and wandered slowly and cautiously toward the fire.
It glowed yellow and orange. It was warm. The fire consumed sticks and leaves, so she put more of them on the fire, and it grew. She held her hands out and felt the warmth enter her body. Fire is good, she thought.
She used a half round piece of bark to scoop up some of the embers and fire and brought it back to the shelter. She poured the embers inside the clay pot that once held the figs. She placed the burning pot just outside the entrance a short distance from their hut. She added more sticks to it. The fire grew.
The rain stopped, and the clouds opened up to stars again. Lilith sat by her little clay pot of fire and fed it small pieces of wood they had collected from building the shelter. She crawled back into the hut. Every now and then she went out and fetched another pile of sticks to keep the fire going. Soon the fire was bigger than the clay pot. Lilith continued to feed more and more branches to the fire surrounding the clay container.
She sat warming herself by the fire and thought, Who was it that appeared in the fire? Eden is full of so many mysteries.
Download Lilith: Queen of the Demons this Thanksgiving weekend.
For Donald Trump’s eighteenth birthday, the she-demon Satrina, who appeared as his college advisor, instructed him to bring her a goat as part of his final exam. He ran around the hot streets of the Bronx, down to Chinatown and Alphabet City, all the way out to Brooklyn and Queens. Just when he had given up and was on his way back, he finally found a makeshift petting zoo at Union Square.
The young goat was surrounded by children giggling and rubbing their fat fingers in the goat’s fur. Donald whipped out a wad of cash and negotiated with the stocky Mexican man tending to the animals. The man wouldn’t budge.
“No, la cabra not for sale. For children, see?”
It was two-thirty in the afternoon and he had no time to dicker. He kicked the Mexican man in the groin, pushed the children aside, and grabbed the goat. He ran. He could hear children wailing, mothers screaming.
One of them yelled, “Police!”
He kept running as the goat bleated into his ear. He headed for a stopped yellow taxi. An old woman with a cane was carefully lifting her leg into the cab. Donald pulled her and threw her to the curb. He got into the backseat with his stolen goat and slammed the door shut.
“The Bronx!” he ordered. The driver looked at Donald’s red sweaty face, looked at the whining goat, and drove away, leaving behind a beat cop scratching his head, holding a pad of paper and pen, surrounded by the Mexican man, mothers holding toddlers, and onlookers pointing toward the fleeing taxi and the old woman bedraggled on the sidewalk.
At three o’clock on his eighteenth birthday, Donald ran into his college advisor’s office in Fordham with the goat in his arms.
Satrina stood by the window in her office. Her black hair fell shiny and full down to her tiny waist. Her eyes shined like black diamonds.
Donald hadn’t yet caught his breath. His face turned even redder. After all the trouble of bringing her a goat, he wanted to scream.
“I will not tolerate tardiness in my apprentice, Donald Trump. You’re fired.”
Anger turned into fear. Donald’s face went from red to white. The stupid goat kept fussing in his arms.
“No, no, please,” he begged. “The goat. I got you a goat. It wasn’t easy.”
“Easy? Did you think it would be easy? Of course it wasn’t easy. If it was easy, everyone would win. Everyone would be president.”
“Please, I’ll do anything,” Donald fell to his knees. “Please take me back, I beg you.”
Satrina walked away. Donald followed her, still carrying the goat with him. They entered University Church. It was dark and empty. Satrina walked up to the altar and turned to Donald. She took the goat, and for the first time the goat was quiet.
“Prove yourself to me.” Satrina handed Donald a knife with an ornately carved handle. He took the knife with shaking hands. “You know what to do.”
He focused his eyes on hers. Her face was shrouded in shadow but colored light came in through gothic stained glass windows to illuminate her eyes. She held the goat and exposed its neck to him. That poor little lop-eared goat. Its fur was so white, its nose so pink. It stuck its soft pink tongue out and licked Satrina’s finger as she held its head up.
He did it. He slit the goat’s throat. It kicked against her as she sucked on its blood.
“Quickly!” she spat at him as she handed him back the dying goat. “Drink!”
Donald sucked. He felt a surge of power in his veins. The metallic taste of blood electrified from the center of his body to the tips of his limbs. He felt a roar well up in his throat. The goat’s kicking slowed until it stopped. She pulled the dead goat off his mouth and kissed him.
They sucked blood off each other’s mouths. She laid the sacrifice down on the altar, pulled Donald’s pants down, and pulled her black pencil skirt up over her thighs.
“Fuck me,” she ordered.
“Fuck my ass! Desecrate this altar with sodomy.”
She crouched on all fours and stretched her back like an animal. He mounted her, rammed his cock into her wet cunt.
“My ass, you numbskull!” she demanded. “Fuck my ass!”
He pulled out of her dripping cunt and pushed his lubricated cock into the tight pursed mouth of her anus.
“Yesss!!!” Her eyes rolled back in ecstasy, her breathy voice mumbled phrases in Hebrew, Latin, Greek, Farsi. He fucked into her until he emptied himself into her thirsting ass.
“I love you…” he cried. His voice sounded like the bleating of a dying goat.
Through the years, she guided him with every business deal, every property purchase, every decision. With her instruction, he built every Trump Tower the world over with a sub-basement.
“Your very own entrance to Sitra Ahra, where you rejuvenate your energy,” she said. No matter where in the world he is, he could come to the sub-basement of a Trump Tower, and there she would be. He never questions it. With his trust in her grows his wealth and power.
His prior marriages ended because his wives questioned his daily disappearances at three in the afternoon. Those wives did not know their place, and they had to be done away with.
Donald’s devotion is only to one. Satrina, the true Miss Universe, to whom the most beautiful women all over the world pay homage.
“My queen.” She never ages. She remains in the fullness of her beauty from the moment he met her to this moment, when he kneels naked in front of her, an aging multi-billionaire.
She digs her high heel deeper into his shoulder and pulls him toward her exposed cunt. Donald plants his mouth around her swollen clitoris and suckles like a babe. She grips his head by his hairsprayed hair and rubs the sensitive folds of her cunt around his swirling tongue. He inhales her deeply. He fills his every molecule with her. He drinks her eternal juices. She writhes and shudders with pleasure, then pushes him away from her.
“I want you to build me a large structure that extends all the way across America. Above ground it will be a wall, a border between the United States and Mexico. Underground it will be the biggest gate to Sitra Ahra.”
“Your wish is my command, my queen. When I am President…”
Are you ready for this? Turn your audio on and press play. It’s time to play the Caption This Contest. I am giving away a MAYCAM password good from November 7th till the 13th to whomever comes up with the best-fitting caption for this short video clip.
Amuse me! Delight me! Make me giggle and squeal! Ooooh!
Post your entries into the comment box below or comment on my Instagram clip before Monday, November 7. Adult participants only.
Have you seen this?
A white woman yelled “Go back to China!” at an asian man on the street. He turned around and yelled back at her, “I was born in America!” The asian man happens to be New York Times deputy Metro editor, Michael Luo, who then wrote an open letter to the offending woman. He also started a twitter conversation about Asian-Americans’ experience of racism, #thisis2016.
Most of it sounds like petty playground taunting. The fact that an asian man can confront his abuser and write about it later on the New York Times shows he has power. Had it been a black man doing the same thing, he would have been shot dead on the sidewalk before he even opened his mouth. Had it been a Muslim doing the same thing, s/he would have been labeled a terrorist and taken away, never to be seen on the face of the earth. I’m exaggerating, of course, but not by much and you know it.
I do have a problem with people assuming “victim” status. I’m not talking about real assault here. I’m talking about words thrown about carelessly on one hand, and hypersensitivity to certain keywords on the other. On the playground, if you let a bully see your weakness, the bully wins. Remember, the best defense is offensive. Here are a few suggestions for snappy come-backs to racist comments:
- People talk “ching chang chong” around you? Don’t act all hurt. “Ching chang chong” back at them. Incessantly, like you’re their new best friend. “You-me-ha-ha!” I’m pretty sure it’ll weird them out enough to stop, or if they have a sense of humor they’ll actually laugh at you and themselves and the whole situation in general.
- Someone call you Bruce Lee? Say thanks, it’s an honor. The man is a god! Then whip out some karate chops. You don’t know karate? Just make shit up. Racists are stupid. They won’t know the difference.
- Someone tell you your English is perfect? Say, “Thanks! Yours needs work.”
- Someone ask about your slanted vagina? Say, “Yes, and I’m another slanted vagina you’ll never get to fuck.”
- Someone tell you to go make chinese food? Take their money to go.
- Someone wants to kick your butt back to China? Kick their butt back to Ireland. Not from Ireland? Who cares? I’m not from China!
See what I’m getting at? Asians can out-racist the racists. We’ve had plenty of experience. East Asians think they’re better than South and South-East Asians. Chinese, Japanese, and Koreans don’t like each other either. Singaporeans and Hong Kong Chinese hate Filipinos.
If there is anything #thisis2016 has shown me, it’s that Asian Americans are racist against Asian-Asians. They’re saying, “How dare you lump me in with immigrants and international students who don’t speak English well or at all! How dare you compare me to low life sex workers, maids, nurses, delivery boys, cooks… I’m better than them! I’m American!!!”
I’m a naturalized American citizen originally from the Philippines. I’m a college graduate and my American English is impeccable. But you know what? I put on a mock Asian accent and race play with white men in my latest MAYCAM video. Why? Because it’s naughty. Because I like Asians, yes, including the whores, the maids, the nurses, the delivery boys, the cooks… I am them and they are me. Because calling myself racist slurs does not threaten my racial dignity any more than being a sexual submissive threatens my feminism.
How does your hard white cock feel about that? Love me long time, Joe?