Mahalo!

Mahalo! ...HALO!!!

IS THING ON? GODDAMMIT MITTENS HOLD YOUR HEAD STILL OR WE'LL LOOSE THE WORMHOLE!

..upid cat! I can tighten that vise grip ya know! Sheesh!

So what the heck happened? It's hard to say. Well no it's actually not hard to say. After going by Tracer's grave I worked on the transmorgafier a bit when a certain IDIOT CAT dropped a wrench she was holding in her mouth... I DON'T CARE IF IT WAS HEAVY MITTENS I SAID HOLD THE FUCKING WRENCH NOT DROP THE FUCKING WRENCH ACROSS THE RELAYS CREATING A MESMERTRANSCONDUIT

into...

into... an alternate universe.

And here we sit, Mittens and I. Well OK Mittens isn't exactly sitting, Mittens is more or less duck taped to a gurney with her head in a vise grip so that she'll hold the damned uplink strapped to her head still enough that I can blast this message into your universe through her central nervous system.

Oh cry me a river Mittens, I DIDN'T DROP THE GODDAMN WRENCH!

But I'm sitting, I'm quite comfortable actually, as comfortable as one can be when they're riding this Madone on a trainer using a powertap so I can pass just the right amount of juice through Mittens... drinking single malt...

::sigh::

I'm boring you.

Anyway Mahalo! I trust you're well. Mittens and I are getting by but this place is sorta weird, for one thing you actually have to work. If you want to eat anyway. Other things? Well people actually take Al Gore seriously over here and it's not hard at all to win the Nobel Peace Prize, in fact you don't even have to do anything! You just have to sorta promise that you might actually think about maybe doing something... sometime... maybe... and BINGO! they're practically blowing you to give you the prize!

Who knew?

I don't know how I appear to you over there, but over here I'm just a dude, ten fingers, ten toes no paws to wring, no fur, just some dude - I came through pretty pudgy and all but now I'm a regular at the gym. I quit smoking. Well cigs anyway. Knocked off around 30-35 pounds with this gym/bike thing currently clocking in at 200lbs and trying for 190. I figured it was better than flushing out my system like MsGrace did, that didn't look like fun and she got a wittle loopy during it, if you ask me.

So here I sit on this bike, holding 200 watts that I'm passing through Mittens over there talking to you, whoever you might be. I wonder if anyone? Oh well, I hope so but gothGirl probably burned down the lab for insurance money by now. I wouldn't blame her.

I see palimpsests over here. Almost people of the ones over there. MsTara is in the Bolshoi Ballet and a world renown author of erotic haiku in her spare time. I'm pretty sure it's her because I managed to swindle get a hold of a ticket, front row center at the Gardens. She's the prima ballerina assolutas which sums up MsTara dontcha think? And she's major beautiful and graceful, well until she caught sight of me anyway.

She was doing some ballet thing, smiling at the crowd when she suddenly stopped, bent over, and squinted at me (I think she wears glasses!). Her face contorted in rage as she wheeled away from me shoving through some confused back up dancers. The whole show came to a stop and dancers were milling about on stage wondering what the heck was going on when she turned back, charging across the stage, screaming,

I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU LITTLE BLUE SHIT!!!

and cleared the orchestra pit while planting a ballerina shoe filled with Tara toes right into my mouth! It both hurt and was hot at the same time. Weird huh? They tasted salty...

Anyway I deployed all my advanced karate moves on her and wound up across her knees while she delivered a horrific spanking, all the while she's screaming over and over, "FUCK ME I WANT YOUR BABY!!!" Every FUCK and WANT punctuated by that infernal hand of hers striking my innocent bottom.

If security hadn't pulled her off I would have cried.

She spent the night in Bellevue, where she wrote her most haunting haiku to date, titled Blue Fur, Thighs of HEAT

Blue Furball, sad eyes
Blue heart, slippery thighs must
Fuck him FIVE DOLLAH!

I think she's stalking me.

I caught site of jem recently. I'm pretty sure it was jem, though she goes by Jem over here and is some sort of pop star. I can't stand her music but what does she care? She's still raking the coin in, having fun, getting by. The tabloids say she's some sort of secret dominatrix like Hannah Montana or something like that. I'm quite serious.

One night I was at the Duck Tape My Balls Please! House of Sushi and Domination just drinking a beer when Jem came wobbling over all black leathery and stiletto heels and what not. She looked at me almost sadly and shyly asked, "Do I know you? I feel like I know you..."

I looked up at her with my black, solemn doll eyes (probably because of the mountain of opium I smoked on the cab ride over, sushi is best when you're wrecked on opium - fyi), wanting to say 'yes' and quietly said, "I don't think so."

She surprised me by pulling up a chair and we spoke in odd non-sequiturs for a good hour until this knee-sock loving ass came crawling in. Jem smiled, saying, "Excuse me but I simply must go beat the ever loving snot out of this guy." His screams for mommy were heard for miles and were so pathetic that the staff actually comped me for the beer and sushi.

Lucky and ace I've yet to cross paths with, but if they're here sooner or later we'll meet. I have heard though of a Texas multimillionaire who made his fortune developing and selling his special Blessed Boot Polish which he personally applies to rich Hollywood chicks' boots. It's all secretive and you have to go through an extensive interview process before being admitted. Tara Reid was turned away apparently. There's also rumors and innuendos about a masked superhero who goes by the moniker The Big Pussy and leaves a single thin mint on the criminals he's subdued. Needless to say, I'm suspicious.

I miss you. Still, here we are. I hope you're doing well and I'll try and 'drop dime' again soon. Maybe around Christmas. I'm wondering if I'm gonna turn into an elf, probably not, I'll probably turn into Danny DeVito.

And I know now which is which and what angle I oughta look at it from
I suppose I should be happy to be misread-
Better be that than some of the other things I have become
- Invisible Ink

Prayers to Broken Stones

I walk out the door of my nice house, my secret labs below it filling the air with a subliminal hum. It's cold, as in very, this February afternoon. I glance back at the house before shambling off down the empty sidewalk my head filled with useless thoughts.

I pause before Ace's mansion staring up the winding driveway. It's in complete disrepair. Ace was such a total hoot. We had some seriously fun times here in Paradise. You can read about them scattered across these blogs, or not. Maybe you can even figure out what happened to him, Tracer never could.

I move on.

I glance up at Princess's castle. There's a party going on. Pets moving about, laughter. The beat goes on. I think about heading up there but maybe not right now, I have to get up early tomorrow. I've been hitting the gym for the last thirty-four consecutive days. Getting up at the crack of dawn, unwilling to break the streak. Afraid to break the streak. I'm not up late much anymore. I have new addictions to feed.

I move on.

I wander down a path past Jem's house. I don't see jem nearly as much as I use to, nearly as much as I want to but every now and then we cross paths and shoot the breeze for a few. It's nice, I hope it continues to happen. What jem's been up to is jem's to tell. She seems happy though.

I move on.

I wave to MsTara. She waves back from the shadows of her porch, sunlight bothers her. I watch her light a sincerely monster joint. She offers it to me across the distance, inviting me to chat.

Tempting, but it's been about four or five months since I've smoked anything. Every time I see her I promise to write in this blog and I don't; I end up disappointing both of us. She deserves better. I signal 'maybe later.'

I move on.

The snow crunches under my feet. I practice air riffs while I walk along. I'm relearning guitar, it's both a pain and a joy, like exercise. You should have seen this place in its heyday! Things change and people do too. My thoughts skip across my mind like a stone on water, refusing to settle on any particular one.

I look at the crater where lucky's house stood. It and lucky warped out awhile back with a bang, filled with joking and sadness. He may be back but I don't think so, then again what do I know? I play back the hologram he left behind smiling. Lucky was/is funny. I catch echoes of him from time to time, a distant, static filled, "Howdy." Maybe our paths will cross on some future date. One can hope.

I move on.

I enter the graveyard and begin my prayers to these broken stones. Friday never really quite got over Tracer skying out but I hear she's formed her own PI business and can actually buy some real perfume. She's off the crutches too. Good for her. Tracer never found ace, never figured out what happened. Eventually it tore a hole in him, he fled to Bangkok figuring ace must have gone there, after all that's what Tracer would have done. Lucy was waiting.

I stare down at these broken, forgotten stones. Smiling ruefully I mutter, "Dumb ass" focusing on one I say a silent prayer to times gone by...

Tracer Bullet Billy
I move on

Stage Two Burn

I giggle, my hair lightly tickling my face as it cascades down, enshrouding his face, cocooning us in my own little private world. My world, his world, our world. For awhile... just... awhile.

My knees are cold against the grass in the park, I hardly notice, I'm focused on my prey. My plaid schoolgirl miniskirt rides high on my hips as I straddle him. I can feel his want, his desire to give himself... to me.

I whisper, softly, "Are you ready to spurt for me baby?"

"Why did you spank me? You shouldn't have done that!"

I raise off him, pressing my hands into his shoulders so I can assess him, I'm mildly annoyed. Nope, he isn't ready. He's close but not quite yet. He still wants to play, prolong the pleasure before submitting to the oh-so addicting, inevitable release.

"You were acting like a turd, you had to be spanked mister!"

He's staring into my eyes, flat silver disks that reflect the full moon, listening to the rhythm of my voice, losing himself in the fantasy, "But you're the babysitter! You work for me!" He pouts.

"Oh really?" I can't help but smile. We're playing one of his favorite games where he's driving me home after babysitting the kids and we have to stop by the park so I can pee. That sets the scene but then he starts getting a bit too frisky so out comes the paddle. In short he wants to be dommed by a teenager.

I can play that game.

Honestly, I can't believe I get paid for this, I'd do it for free. Just to feed the need. He has needs and so do I but he'll never know mine; however I'll strip him down to the core, I'm good at it, and more importantly, he wants me to.

He's been to see me several times now. Giving himself, knowingly allowing himself to become addicted to me, to the pleasure I give him. What the heck, if one thing's for certain, we're all adults here.

"Yes really! I have a good mind not to pay you for watching the kids..." He reconsiders this gambit, "I mean, you won't tell anyone... that you spanked me... right?"

It's over. I nuzzle his neck and whisper, "Can you be any cuter? I had to spank you baby. A little bit of pain makes this part feel so much better doesn't it?"

He floats out a tentative, "Yes..." His breath becoming increasingly bated as I whisper his brand of perversions into his ear before switching to my little girl voice, my Shirley Temple voice, "And besides you needed reminding that I'm the boss."

I sense his excited eyes are darting around looking for escape. It's far to late for that, poor little mouse.

I murmur, "You know you want to... spurt... just... for... me..." I nuzzle his neck, waiting.

"Yes."

"Yes what baby?"

"Please!"

"Please what?"

"Please let me spurt... just... for... you... please..."

"Mmmmmmm, OK, spurt for me!" and I bury both fangs deep into his carotid artery.

He spurts for me. I fill with warmth, it starts from my belly and slowly spreads out. My clit hardens from the heat of it and I giggle wondering, 'Oh my, I think I just might cum!' before suppressing a quiet little 'eeek' as a tiny orgasm passes through, waving on its way out the door.

He's still spurting and I have to be careful here. Some of my dark sisters like to drain their clients leaving nothing but a broken husk. That's not my style. Most of my clients are bright, intelligent men who I actually build a relationship of sorts with. Others move on, eventually they all do.

Like I said, we're all adults here.

"I'm all sticky and messy... that was a big one!" he proudly states.

Good he's starting to settle down, I smile, "Yes, it was a very big one."

He yawns already emotionally distancing himself, getting back to 'normal' whatever that is, "I'm sorry, I'm getting sleepy."

"Well you lost a lot of fluid. Maybe you should clean up, drink something and go to bed."

"Will I see you again?"

Goodie. "I hope so, you know where to find me."

And he's gone.

I curl up in the clearing where we played by the bike path, laying on the grass, idly staring at a picnic table, feeling the warmth flow through me. I listen to the night sounds, I doze.

My eyes snap open at the sound of a match flaring. Even before it touches its intended cigarette I've moved with inhuman speed the quarter of mile or so to the tree where that weird girl hung herself. I relax, my mind dialing down from murder to annoyance. If I thought this guy saw anything, knew anything about one of my clients he would have to go - as in die. A bit of a problem perhaps since he has no neck. But if one thing is certain, this dweeb doesn't know anything.

"Oh, it's you..." I put all my weight on my right leg, cock my head in the same direction and stare inquisitively.

"Have you seen ace?"

The little blue dork has decided to dust off his little blue dick and parade it around town, I muse.

"What did you see?"

"What do you mean?"

"What did you see?!"

He looks down and mutters, "Nothing." He gets my meaning.

"Look at me."

He does, staring frankly into my hypnotic eyes. Nothing there, he's not lying. I break the gaze. If you were to take only one thing from me, I'm aggressively discrete.

"Have you seen ace?" he repeats.

"I saw him over at lucky's a few days ago."

"Yeah, I heard that too. I went over and checked it out and all that's there now is the governor of Texas standing at the door calling everyone a 'mo-fo.' Go figure."

I burst out laughing, "Well that sounds like lucky. I could have sworn I saw ace there. Why are you looking for him?"

"Well he's gone, he left some cryptic message and just disappeared. I miss him, his humor and his kindness. I want to know what happened to him!" He sighs, "You probably think I'm gay."

Actually I could care less, "Well you both confessed to your mutual 'guy love.'" I tease.

"No girl understands guy love goddammit! You get so jealous about it!"

Oh pluhese, I barely avoid rolling my eyes, "Look, people frequently just disappear from this place. It happens, don't take it personal."

"Oh fuck that noise! Of course you take it personal. This is admittedly a very weird place but you make friendships, what seems like real friendships or as real as it can get when you're spread out all over the globe and it doesn't take much to occasionally keep in touch, you know?"

He has a point but after awhile you just get callused to it, accept it as the norm, "You mean you haven't heard from ace at all?"

"Well I occasionally get some sort of message from someone claiming to be ace. It sounds like him anyway."

I stare at him, cocking an eyebrow.

He sighs, "I just want to know what happened... that's all."

"He owes you, huh?"

"No."

The poor dear looks positively demoralized, I steer him back to safer ground, "What do you think happened to him?"

He brightens, "Oh he was MURDERED, there's no doubt!"

"Murdered?! Who did the deed?"

"Well he was last seen with Sassa, I need to talk to her."

"Who?" The name dances on my synapses like a drop of water on a hot skillet, I feel like I should know, or knew whats-her-name but I just can't recall. Weird.

He smiles gently, "Never mind. Can I tell you something... well two things?"

He can see I'm growing impatient, I sense fresh prey on the night breeze, "Sure."

"You told me once that you appreciated having me around. That you enjoyed my particular form of madness, I just wanted you to know the feeling was mutual even though you're prone to beat me. Paradoxically there's a gentleness to you that I find, well, pretty."

"Um, thank you?" I'm confused, what's he mean? "You're not planning on taking a powder are you Billy, er, Tracer? This isn't some backhanded goodbye is it?" There are so many of 'him' I get confused at times on who I'm talking to, the little blue cockroach.

Another grin, "I'm learning things. I will say only this, I'm not planning on 'taking a powder' and if I do I'll drop dime and let you know."

OK, I'm starting to hop from foot to foot, it's time to go! "What was the other thing?"

"Well maybe you've just eaten a side of ribs or won a hot dog eating contest but there appears to be a whole lot of ketchup all over your chin," he smiles evilly.

I blush furiously. The jerk, I'm busted. I whirl, putting my back to him, grabbing a baby wipe (tools of the trade) from my purse wishing I could see myself in a compact mirror! I scrub the 'ketchup' off.

"Uhhhh, I was at Rib King and..."

He's gone.

I dance off. I own the night and it owns me. I cavort, prance, dance and romp in it's stillness, its quiet, where secrets lie waiting to be uncovered and encouraged.

What's this?

Fresh prey!

I'm on him inside a second, grabbing his arm and twirling him around to face me. He stares into my eyes, startled. Yes, look into my eyes, I mentally giggle at the cliche, look deep, let me get a read. I've changed from schoolgirl to twenty something, tight lowriders and a t-shirt, you can just barely see the edge of my white panties peeking out from the waistband of my jeans. Perfect.

"I saw you take them, now give them back you pervert!" I say in a loud angry voice.

"What are you talking about?! Let me go!"

A few bars of Tom Petty's Don't Come Around Here No More float through my head,

Stop walking down my street,
Who did you expect to meet?

Oh pluhese. You put yourself out here, you came here of your own volition. You already know all about this neighborhood. Honestly, did you expect me not to pounce? A girl's gotta eat and nothing's for free. Grow up, time to pay the piper.

"You took my panties out of my laundry basket! I saw you! I bet you put them on didn't you?!"

"I did NOT!"

"Well let's just see..."

He's already growing still, like a mouse under a cat's paw. He's looking at me, listening to me, he doesn't notice his belt being undone, his fly being pulled down.

"My, my, my, what do we have here?"

"Listen..."

"Hush. You stole my pinkest, frilliest, girliest panties! You like girl things don't you pervert? Never mind, I can see you do, sissy-boi. I just love secret sissies!"

I lead my secret sissy off into the park where we can be alone and later as he stares into my silvered disk eyes and listens attentively to my soft voice he hears, just like you will hear one of these nights, my sweet mouse,

"Are you ready to spurt for me baby?"

Stage One Burn

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TWENTY-FOUR!

We interrupt this TracerBullet Billy story with the following news...

Lucky's blog will self-destruct in about twenty four hours!

I'm sad, your sad, we're all bummed out by it but there's nothing we can do about it (when Mr. Bullhead makes up his mind it's made up, GOSH DARN IT). Well except drop by and say something nice, a remembrance. I mean this is one gentle spirit and so if you harbor evil, keep it to yourself.

It would be kind of fun to jack up his comments on his last post to some lofty number with that sort of stuff (nice fun remembrances).

Intrepid BillyBear has already at 'ground zero' feverishly trying to diffuse the situation by egging lucky on with thoughts on the great times they've had together giving lucky more reason to do it.

I'll hush now... go to licky... er... lucky and say adios and thanks for the blog. If he's gonna do this help him do it right.