May Ling Su

Tag: gothic

  • Angels in Sodom

    Angels in Sodom

    On our first Christmas at the church, we invited our friends Beaver, her boyfriend, and their pet parakeets to join our family for dinner. It had been snowing for days prior and I fired up our kitchen making a bean feast: soaked cattle beans baked for a day with pork, molasses, and spices. The warm aroma mixed with the crisp fragrance of an 8-foot pine tree hung with Christmas lights and toys in the living room made the gothic structure feel like home.

    On Christmas morning Jay made shepherd pie while I simmered spiced wine on the burner. Beaver braved the blizzard and brought frozen fiddleheads she had harvested from her family’s farm last spring. I sauteed the greens in butter and served it up simple, a little taste of spring coming eventually. For dessert she had made a blueberry stollen but was completely upstaged by my kid, at 20 years old, who baked a psychedelic seed cake so light and enchanting like it was made by fairies.

    We sat by the Christmas tree basking in the joy of togetherness. Beaver played her flute, Jay sang and played his acoustic guitar, I sang and played ukulele, the parakeets chirped happily. We exchanged presents, then Beaver and company drove home. Jay and I continued to sing and play more songs.

    During a moment of sleepy contentment, we heard a knock on our front door. I opened the pointed arched door to a young man, big, dark blond hair and mustache, dressed all in black.

    “Are there services?” he asked. “We heard music.”

    I looked at Jay and our 20-year-old kid. I contemplated the possibility that we might have a troublemaker asking to enter our home. Jay is a fierce protector. I rely on his instincts.

    He asked, “Are you a musician?”

    “Yes,” the stranger answered.

    “Then come in,” Jay invited.

    Another stranger joined the man and they both entered our home. The second one was older, balding, and had a dark scruffy beard. He had a brick red shirt underneath his coat, jeans, sneakers.

    I could feel the nervous energy. We’d just let in two strangers, grown men, into our home at nine o’clock on a winter night. If they had malicious intent, could we defend ourselves?

    The men looked around. From the outside our home looks like a church. We have a steeple tower and tall stained glass windows, but inside the space is filled with our hodge podge of antique furniture, books, designer toys, and music instruments.

    Jay strapped his electric guitar on. The first stranger sat at the drum kit. The second man sat and fiddled with the electric bass. They were horrendous. Jay knew what he was doing, of course. It’s his instrument. But the man on the drums was making an awful racket and the man on the bass guitar made halfhearted strums.

    ‘Tang ina, I couldn’t bear it. “May I?” I asked for my bass guitar. The man turned it over to me.

    This prompted a switch around. The first stranger got up from the drums and asked if he could play Jay’s guitar. Jay sat at his drum kit. That was more like it. I played bass to Jay’s beats, and the man surprised us with pretty awesome blues riffs on the guitar. It felt good bumping to the beat as I thumped on those fat bass strings. Everyone was in their element.

    “You’re a hot bass player!” the second stranger said. Then he started ranting like he’d been waiting to front a punk rock band all his life.

    I wish I could have recorded our jam session on my phone, but I didn’t dare break the spell and change the mood. We kept playing, laughing. We couldn’t stop. It was a moment of pure liberation.

    “Are you guys angels?” the second man asked in a pause from his rant.

    I was thinking they were angels before he asked it. Later on, Jay told me he was thinking it, too.

    1 The two angels came to Sodom in the evening, and Lot was sitting in the gate of Sodom. When Lot saw them, he rose to meet them and bowed himself with his face to the earth 2 and said, “My lords, please turn aside to your servant’s house and spend the night and wash your feet. Then you may rise up early and go on your way.”

    – Genesis Chapter 19

    Never mind the rest of the chapter. The rest of it is fucked up and one of the reasons why I rejected the Judeo-Christian tradition when I was twelve.

    But two strangers came to our door asking for services and we had the most fun jam we’ve had in ages. As we quieted down, the men fixated on our kid’s euphonium sitting on the large bookcase, unplayed for years. They took turns attempting to play the horn, prompting our kid to clean it and blow beautiful low notes himself to cap our Christmas night. By ten o’clock, the strangers were gone.

    I’m going to file this along with the other strange visitations. An auspicious omen for the coming year. A memory that makes me laugh wildly.

    Jay and I played music at an open mic in Maine on New Year’s Eve, then packed the car and drove south to Miami to take our kid back to college after the holidays. We brought the winter with us all the way down to the Carolinas. In South Carolina we stopped for some catfish. I played the piano they had in the corner of their place.

    We’re back home now and ready for 2025:

    • Write my memoir. I’ve been talking about this for ages, it seems. Write madly, furiously, “like I’m running out of time.”
    • Post more regularly on this blog, maycam, and social channels.
    • Read more! Read the masters and classics. (Currently reading Bluebeard by Kurt Vonnegut) Read more POC authors.
    • Make clothes out of the handwoven fabrics my Mom brought from the Philippines. (The scarf I am wearing in these photos is handwoven by the Yakan tribe.)
    • Give myself more handpoke tattoos.
    • Get my songs on music sharing platforms.
    • Play music more. Write more songs.
    • Walk more year round. Swim more this summer.
    • Spend more time with friends. Get out. Invite them in.
    • Stay sexy. Stay dangerous. Stay focused.
    May Ling Su Let's Go

    What are you excited to do in the next 12… uh, 11.5 months?

    Love, Lust, and Liberty,

    May Ling Su
  • Strange Things

    Strange Things

    Shortly after Lilith: Queen of the Demons was published Jay and I became friends with a young woman named Lillian. She had straight black hair down to her waist, an hourglass figure, and a pretty smile. She used to visit weekly, always dressed impeccably from head to toe. She and Jay spent a lot of time together, cooking and baking all kinds of goodies. They were friends and sometimes they were lovers.

    When Lillian was a baby in Vietnam, she suffered a fire injury that required her to undergo surgery. The operation left her without a belly button for the rest of her life. Just like Lilith, who was not born of a human mother, fashioned out of clay by God.

    It was uncanny and I thought it auspicious to have her in our lives. There was a point when she began looking for a house to buy in which we could all live together, but it all changed when she met someone else. They got married in a whirl. We never saw her again.

    I will always consider her arrival as an otherworldly presence. The divine moves in mysterious ways. I cannot begin to fathom it. I can only be thankful when it happens.

    Lilith book series on audiobook, kindle, paperback by May Ling Su

    Another strange visitation occurred when I was recording the audiobook for Lilith: Generations of Cain. I didn’t notice it while I recorded, but during playback the angel and demon names were obscured by static.

    The first time it happened I got a shiver down my spine. I took a pause, then went back in front of the microphone like a soldier. Every time it happened I got more stubborn and determined to get through the text. Lilith: Generations of Cain is all about the power of names. It seemed to me that a presence, divine or not, was making me work hard to pronounce these holy and unholy names.

    This past summer as I worked on Lilith: Beyond the Deluge, I was on a business call with someone who went off tangent about strange situations he had found himself in, seeing supernatural creatures among people in New York City, hearing people’s thoughts from across the room. He said he felt like he could tell me these things he never told anyone. I listened to him for an hour before I wrapped up the conversation and brought it back to business. I asked for his name.

    “Michael.”

    “You have an ‘el’ name,” I mused. Many of the angels (and some demons) have names that end with ‘el.’ Azazel, Samael, Rafael, Gabriel, Baraqiel, Daniel, Michael…

    “Ah, so you know…” He sounded pleased. “It comes from God’s name ‘El Shaddai’ and ‘Elohim.’”

    I thanked him again and said goodbye.

    Before he hung up he said, “You will hear from me again.”

    I thought nothing of it. Even when I pulled out of the garage and saw a crow sitting in a tree across from me I didn’t think to tie anything together.

    I should mention that it was a special day, my Dad’s birthday and my (great grand aunt) Lola Ilyang’s death day. I facetimed with my Dad that evening, but the only way I connected with Lola Ilyang was from mysterious events that happened all day: a swarm of bees robbing my hive, the phone call from an angel, the crow in the tree. Everything brought me memories of her.

    Laurelia (Lola Ilyang) was a spinster who lived with her little dachshund, Cupsi, in a hut in the middle of a tobacco field in Pangasinan. She was the first witchy woman in my life. She had long salt and pepper hair. She told stories of the kapre smoking her tobacco. She entertained our maids by reading common playing cards for divination.

    Ten days after the odd phone call, my mother tagged me in a Facebook post. My college friend died. Deogracias Cruz. Is there a name more God-like than his? The Facebook post contained a video of Deo singing the Prayer to St. Michael.

    “Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen.”

    The man on the phone said I would hear from him again. I did not know it would be this way.

    That afternoon Jay invited me out to the temple he had built in our backyard, overgrown with yarrow and lupines in the spring; tansy, mint, and goldenrod in the late summer. Jay spent the summer clearing around an arrangement of rocks and made paths to it. He decorated the place with Hindu gods and goddesses, Balinese wooden animals, and a statue of Quan Yin. There is a bed of marbles of various sizes, a solar system at the foot of a wooden frog. A Nag Champa cone burned and dripped smoke down a path in the rocks. As soon as the incense burned out, it started to rain. Thunder. We went inside.

    I made chicken soup from scratch. It’s a long process that begins with boiling a chicken carcass into broth. My daughter named it “Mama’s famous chicken soup” way back when a butcher in California used to gift me with chicken carcasses whenever I came around his shop. I set aside a wishbone for my collection. I keep several wishbones in a little teapot. I realize it’s kind of witchy but it makes me feel lucky.

    Deogracias. Thank You, God.

    Love, Lust, & Liberty,

    May Ling Su signature

  • Caption This Contest for Halloween

    Caption This Contest for Halloween

    Hi, everyone! What better time to play Caption This than on Halloween? Got any sexy nun puns? You better say your prayers and comment the best caption for this photo by the end of Sunday, November 4. Adults only please. I will pick the winner who will get a week-long MAYCAM pass. Can I get an “Amen?”

    Love, Lust, & Liberty,
    May Ling Su

  • Witch

    Witch

    I awoke to darkness. It took me a while to realize that I was indeed awake, that this darkness was not a dream, that I was bound and blindfolded in a bed. The smell of burnt wood brought me back to the moment before I fell asleep. Or did I die?

    I was engulfed in flames, surrounded by kindling that burst quickly. The fire took my breath away, but before it did, I remember it turning my clothes instantly into ash. I remember standing in the fire, naked, looking out at the crowd gathered to watch me burn. I saw the fire dance in their eyes. I saw their collective lust flicker as I writhed in my inferno. I heard the words spat into the air I struggled to breathe.

    Witch!!! Witch!!! Witch!!!

    I felt hands spreading my thighs wide. Fingers crept deep between my legs and pushed digits into my cunt. I gasped. For the first time since I awoke I realized that I was breathing. I wiggled my toes, struggled against my restraints, took deep breaths. This body is alive, awake, and ready.

    MAYCAM 💋 is resurrected. It is alive with hundreds of years worth of real life stories, photos, and movies to capture your immortal soul in that deep dark place between my legs. Come. Find out the true story behind this photo. Read about deception, vulnerability, intimacy with strangers. Watch the video clip. I promise it is more fantastic than the fiction I wrote above.

    Love, Lust, & Liberty,
    May Ling Su

  • Protected: Enjoy your Wednesday 💋

    This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

  • Gothic Lolita

    Gothic Lolita

    Photo by May Ling Su, Model: Naomi Roberts

    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,” 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.

    May Ling Su