Erotica

Toss the Dice

I went to the AVN Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas. I went there because I had a free pass. I went there with no particular expectations other than perhaps that this would be a good way to toss the dice – either I would be disgusted or inspired by the adult industry. I went without seeking any particular results.

I ended up being moved to tears. Something I did not expect. I met Lucifer and Lilith in there in person. She looked exactly how she had described herself to me, two summers ago when I came to live in Sin City. Back then I made the hard decision to move forward with my photography erotic and publish what I had been sitting on for years, and I started shooting more, and publishing it. I had since forgotten about Her promise to come see me in this form, I was not expecting it to happen on my last days in Sin City. But She hasn’t forgotten about me. She gave me a wondrous sign that was unmistakable.

Lucifer appeared in his grandmotherly form, a rather quaint and unexpected character at an adult trade fair. She had the most caring and understanding vibe, like a consummate House Momma at the strip club but more, it was his deep Sympathy for the Human Condition. He-she hugged me and asked if I was doing right, it didn’t dawn on me right away that He used the same words as the lady who called me from the Czech Consulate the other day. She had the exact same voice. When I realized it, an electric vibration ran through all my ribs.

I could not ask for a greater sign that I am meant to stay and grow deeper. The Ring of Lust shall soon welcome me.


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The Price of Demonic Pacts

My live meltdown on Moonday Dark Arts has generated a lot of interventions both from you and the Spirits. I read the most hard-hitting comments, and I tell the full story of several miraculous events that have since happened in my life. I have a sad announcement to make regarding my modeling career a.k.a. the Last Pictures for Satan.

I was crowned the Queen of Hell in ritual by Lucifer, after I spoke to H.I.M. through a medium on the phone, and then He also came to me H.I.M.self and restated the original terms of our Pact that I made years ago, and have since forgotten.

Join me as we live once more as we live together through this Black Magic reality TV which is more raw and bizarre than anything a scriptwriter can think of…

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The Taboo – I Won’t Read the Tarot Naked

I turned down an interesting request today, for a nude tarot reading. I explained that would be breaking taboos that bind my Spiritual Work. And that’s just my personal feeling, I have a former stripper friend who started reading tarot on the backstage while topless. I know at least one famous cam girl who reads tarot on the same menu as various sex acts that you can pay for to see her perform. I just don’t mix the two and I feel pretty strong about it.

Either you look me in the eyes even if I was naked / covered in blood / risen from the grave because this is Serious Magick, or you’re looking at my titties which is adorable of course, and highly promoted at the right places but it’s a totally different thing.

Or, could it be actually that as the Priestess of Ishtar I am more of a Dominatrix who is untouchable? Could it be so?

This is how I see it ~ my modeling is all about creating that fiction, drama, entertainment. My magical work is not. It’s very real. It’s serious business. It’s not for the cameras either. It can be spoken of, but not profaned as content for media. I don’t ever film myself in ritual or take pictures of my rituals for the clients or the public. It’s not an artistic endeavor for me, I appreciate occult-themed art and even witchy photoshoots but there is a big difference.

Keeping it separate helps to keep it powerful. Taboos exist for that very reason.

The Virgin Martyrs

Seriously, these random past-life visions getting out of hand. I was listening to Lana Del Ray and saw her as an opera maestro in 1700s Venice. She must have been singing the same tune as back then.

Then, my playlist went on to Amy Winehouse, and I saw her as a Mexican 19th-century outlaw leading a murderous band of robbers.

Still, this doesn’t quite beat that one time when I was watching some adult pictures and I got a random vision of the past. I had been following an adult model, who is the same age as me, for over fifteen years ever since she started her career at eighteen. One day it dawned on me that there must be a reason why we are connected this way, her doing this line of work, and me watching her this entire time. I was thrown into a state of instantaneous physical manifestation when I felt her holding my hand! Then, I saw the two of us with three Roman soldiers who executed us. We were early Christian Virgin Martyrs, her and I, and one other woman. They tortured about, but not me. They just did away with me swiftly as they had some apprehension of doing this to a woman, and there was an aura of holiness around me. So that was the moment our lives ended, in violent self-inflicted death as Virgin Martyrs. Two thousand years later we connected as an adult performer specializing in S/M content, and her anonymous fan across the seas. I got the sense also that unlike me she had many lives she engaged in torture of people, and this incarnation was her way of atoning for those sins, and integrating that violent heritage, because sexuality is most of all a force of Integration and Unification. For me, the heritage is one of war and also quite a bit of human sacrifice.

I am firmly convinced that all kinds of sexual fantasies, kinks, and perversions that come out of nowhere actually result from past life karmas. To illustrate the point further, I knew a girl back in Prague who was an entertainer and also a nymphomaniac who had a hopeless, and in Eastern Europe rather uncommon, fetish for black men. As if something was compelling her to seek them out for pleasure. She just couldn’t help it. Not surprisingly, a hypnotic regression showed her getting filthy rich from the slave trade in the past, exchanging large amounts of money for what was essentially traded as animal pelts. It caught up with her in 21st century Prague, so that’s why you see her every other night at the bar where soccer players hang out because that is the only place where she can meet her former victims, to reconcile…

Little Bird

I’ll be the little bird in the cage
That you told me about
You said you’d like to keep me in a cage
Just for your pleasure

I’ll be the little bird you pictured
In a jeweled cage with comfortable pillows
That added a real nice touch

Many had come up with the jewels
Some had a cage for me
But you were the only one
Who thought about the pillows

I’ll be the little bird you didn’t want
I’ll be the little bird that you forbade yourself from having
When you suddenly stopped yourself in that train of thought
When you said it loud ‘What is this shit
This is some sick shit that I am saying’

And so it never came to be
The jeweled cage with comfortable pillows
The bird was let loose but I stayed confined
By all the promises that were broken
A little bird with a broken heart

I Had A Dream

It’s 4:30 A.M.

The night of summer solstice. 

I just woke up, it’s right before dawn. 

Something interesting just happened to me. I had a dream. Or was it? Immediately I realize a floating awareness around me of dream memory. 

I feel as if I have lived through the same scene before. 

I get suspicious. That’s what suppressed memories do when they start resurfacing. 

I lived through this before. 

In the dream, I am eighteen or perhaps nineteen. It is the last year of high school. I live through an all-night party, a teenage orgy they threw at the end of the school year. It would have been summer, like now, late June. 

There is booze and there is dope. I see dim lighting, and in several rooms, teens are making out. Perhaps most interestingly, all of this takes place in an apartment that belongs to a family friend of ours. 

Mister L. and his young wife are known to be libertine, so that´s why they would let us do it at their place. 

L.’s wife is not present at the party, even though she had agreed to it. 

He, on the other hand, is there, with us. He is a man in his mid-thirties, roughly fifteen years older than all of us. I think I had seen him masturbate in the dark recesses of one of the rooms. There is an understanding among all of us that he is supposed to watch and not to touch. And since we have no other place to do this and we are horny, we do not mind. We are grateful for the opportunity. 

At around 2 A.M. the party is going at full steam. Some of us, the more experienced and more unrestrained, we get into full nudity and actual sex. I am one of them. I have been an early-blooming flower, since I lost my virginity at fifteen. In the 2 A.M. scene, I perceive myself on the right side of a bed that is at least queen size, perhaps bigger, with curtains. There is a blond girl next to me, and somebody, likely a boy, nearby. I am more intimate with the girl. We are still at that age when boys feel clumsy, they won´t go for the kill in a confident way. 

There is a climax of sorts. One. Then another one. 

I am in an altered state of consciousness and beginning to feel tired. So when Mr. L., who has been observing us the whole time, offers to take us upstairs and show us where to sleep, I take his hand eagerly. He walks me upstairs by the hand on a winding staircase covered with mushy carpets, I can feel it on my feet. I am still fully naked. When we get into the master bedroom, things take on a different turn. Now he is undressed, and I am too high. I am too high to raise any objection. 

We have sex.

It is short and to the point and we both get off on it. 

Maybe that is the moment in the dream when I recall with a pinch of conscience that we broke the rules, that he was there supposed to watch and not to touch. Maybe I added it later and there was no pinch when I realized it. Anyhow, I deal with it by drifting off to sleep.

The emotional breakpoint of the story and the reason I would have suppressed it lies in the aftermath of the situation. 

One of my classmates, the blond girl who caressed me and who saw me leave with Mr. L., launches a conspiracy of gossip that casts judgment over me. I am not afraid it would get to the adults, because it won´t. Rather, I fear for my standing in the class. I broke the rules, and the pack went after blood. It´s an execution, televised. 

Never mind that I was barely conscious. The adult self intercedes into the dialogue with the teenage self. He was taking advantage of me. Though I can´t say that I didn´t like it. It is what I always wanted. The boys were just so lame. Maybe that is where my real sin was found.  We are a Catholic chartered school in fact. We are not supposed to do it. And yet we do. In order to absolve us of sin, we need a sacrifice of blood. And I provided it. I was designated as the sacrificial goat. Everybody felt so guilty. Not only did we break the rule of God, we broke the only rule required from us by our gracious host. At that time, we had no capacity to judge it any different. At the moment it also made perfect sense to me that he would be so kind as to show me a place where to sleep. I was naïve. Even though he has just watched me orgasm so I´d walk from there fully naked. I was naïve, just trusting. I haven´t yet learnt about the world. It was still waiting to be discovered and this was one rite of passage into adulthood, one that we all craved.

But somebody saw it and made a big deal out of it. Kids are cruel. They also have the ability to deflect blame and the guilt because being kids they don´t yet live by their own rules. They need to conform to the expectations of the society and the adults. 

There is an “after” scene a few weeks later when school has closed. 

In it, everybody is fully clothed. It is a social scene downstairs in the front hall of the same apartment. I am there with my parents, Mr. L., and some other people. We stand by the shoe cabinet and the adults are conversing. 

I realize how tall everybody seems to be around me. It makes it easier for me to stare down, so as not to draw any attention to me. I feel so bad.  I felt like this my whole childhood. But this comes easy. All I have to do is remain quiet and let them go about their business. They will exhaust the niceties soon and we will go. I am glad that there is no need to look L. eye to eye. His wife is standing right behind him.

I get up and I turn on the lights. I deliberate for a full hour as I write this down in my diary.  

Could this have been a real life memory?

Could this be there reason why when I met him at twenty-eight when we randomly bumped into each other at a business event, he smiled and waved all over the hall on me? I barely recognized him, but he was all over me, bursting with familiar feelings, some of which I sensed shouldn´t have been there. I just couldn´t put my finger on it. 

Or maybe the dream just informed me that the way you see your friends´ teenage daughter is very different from the way he sees you and nothing ever happened for real. I would have just picked up from the environment he was lusting after me. 

In real life I recall his apartment to be slightly different, in a different neighborhood. Though maybe that´s where they would have moved years later when they had kids. Maybe it was more of a rental property, or just some place they had in custody. 

Then again, maybe it never existed.