a fool's musings

Boreas by Waterhouse
Fool, said my muse to me,
look in thy heart and write...

Warning: Adult Content

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the five Ws, or, all about me

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current mood: current mood

"pathological and unbalanced"

Items of Interest

    Music
  • Walk On - U2
  • Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen
  • If I Can't Change Your Mind - Sugar
  • Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet
  • Town Called Malice - The Jam
  • One - U2
  • The Space Between - DMB
    Books
  • Lord of the Rings
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  • The Neely Trilogy
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  • Possession: A Romance
  • Foucault's Pendulum
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  • I Capture the Castle
  • Sandman
  • Waking the Moon

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  • Angel

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  • The Simpsons

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2002-01-05 - 6:22 p.m.

Target shopping

Much shopping was done today. My first time at Target. I got a gift certificate for Christmas, so I went and wound up spending way more money than I should have on stuff I don't really need.

It was great.

I'm now wearing my new toasty warm purple pajamas [yeah, I know it's only twenty after six. I hate wearing clothes at home] and my new spicy red lipstick, and contemplating watching my new DVD of Shrek.

Life is indeed good. *g*

~victoria

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2002-01-05 - 3:11 a.m.

nekkid and horny Logan

I really need to go to bed, since I have to get up kind of early tomorrow.

But I finally managed to throw together some smut.

I know you've all been waiting breathlessly for it. *snicker*

And away we go...

He kissed the top of her head, then nuzzled at her neck, protected by her hair. His hands were already roaming her body, preparing to show her how much he loved her gift.

"Hold it there, big guy," she said, pushing back. "I'm waiting for an apology."

"A what?"

"An apology, for treating me like some airhead with no sense of fiscal responsibility."

He winced. "You're right. I was being a dick."

She gave him a measuring look and he did his best to look apologetic. It must have satisfied her, because he grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer.

He reached around her into the dresser for one of the ever-present scarves that protected him from her skin, and for the box of condoms stashed there.

Draping the sheer material over her lips, he kissed her deeply, reveling in the feel of her beneath his hands and lips.

Unfurling the scarf to cover more of her, he lowered his head to suckle at one taut nipple and then the other, enjoying the soft moans and whimpers his actions drew from Marie. She arched into him, her hands rubbing at his erection through his jeans.

"The other gloves," she gasped.

He shook his head. "Don't bother." He turned her around in one smooth motion, slipping a knee between her legs.

She grinned wickedly over her shoulder before bending forward and grasping the far edge of the dresser.

One hand already working at the zipper of his jeans, he slipped the other around her waist and dipped his fingers into her damp curls. She pushed back against him and he spanked her lightly. "Behave," he growled.

"Or what?"

"I'll punish you."

"Promise?"

That made him growl again, as he contemplated the perfect curve of her bottom, soft and beckoning for his touch. He had the strongest urge to lean over and bite her, but he settled for squeezing her cheeks lightly, enjoying the feel of her firm flesh and taut muscles as she squirmed.

He rolled the condom onto his cock and slid without warning into her tight, wet heat. She fit him light a warm glove, tightening her muscles and bucking back against him.

Marshalling every ounce of control, he held still. "I warned you, Marie," he said, his voice low and dangerous. She shivered. "Hold on."

She tightened her grip on the dresser's edge and dropped her head, arching her back and pushing against him. The slight alteration in her stance drew him in deeper and he let out a low rumble.

He began to move then, and there was no gentleness, just the hard grip of his fingers on her hips and the relentless thrusting of his pelvis against hers, a driving force that demanded her supplication, which she gave willingly.

One hand remained at her hip as he bent to lean against her back, not wanting any space separating them. He wanted to be inside of her and surrounding her and a part of her; he wanted to make her part of himself.

His other hand was rubbing circles over her clit. "Come for me, Marie," he ground out, his voice harsh from desire. He pistoned into her, rocking the dresser, which banged the wall in time with their thrusts.

"Oh, God, Logan," she moaned as her muscles began to clench, pulling him ever deeper into her body. She grunted and panted his name as she climaxed. "So good, Logan. So good. Love you."

He continued to thrust, knowing he was close and letting it wash over him. "Love you, too, baby." And then he lost control; his instincts took over as he came, growling her name. Heedless of the danger, he pressed his lips to the curve of her neck where it joined her shoulder. "God, Marie," he whispered reverently. It continued to amazed him how good they were together. She purred in response, still unable to form words. "I love it when you come for me." She wiggled back against him and he felt himself getting hard again. He spared a vague thought for all those unlucky men who didn't have a healing factor, and then he wrapped his arms around her and carried her over to the bed.

This discussion wasn't over by a long shot.

End

~*~

I'm not sure yet if I like that ending, or if I need to do more, but I don't feel like writing more sex and really, it's a PWP - there isn't anything more to discuss, y'know?

So I'll send it out for beta now and see how I feel about it tomorrow.

Now, to sleep, perchance to dream... of nekkid and horny Logan, I hope. *g*

~victoria

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2002-01-04 - 4:28 p.m.

un coiffure nouveau

Got my haircut on my lunch hour.

I thought I'd given up on being monogamous to a hairdresser when I gave up going to Lala [and how funny, they're playing "Layla" now - the real version, not that watered-down unplugged crapple] and started going to the Jean-Louis David up the block from here, and what happens?

I get the same woman who cut my hair last time.

I like her. She did a really nice job, even if she did part it the wrong way, and last time she saved me ten bucks.

She didn't quite understand why I wanted it cut so short [it was brushing my shoulders again, and I had it cut to chin length], but she did it, and it looks good.

I was going to do an experiment, and see how long it took for my guys to notice, but they all did, right away.

Surprised the hell out of me, lemme tell ya. *g*

Still haven't written the smut. I've been avoiding it all day for some reason. But I think I'm ready to go now.

I'm thinking from behind. At the dresser. Rogue naked, Wolvie clothed.

At first I was thinking on the floor, him kneeling and her straddling, but I always have her on top, and then I was wondering if he'd cramp in that position for so long. Plus, no leverage.

So now I just have to write it. Or I could just insert this paragraph and let you all imagine the sex any way you please, eh?

Or would that be cheating? *g*

~victoria
so happy it's Friday. I feel like I'm going to fall asleep at my desk.

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2002-01-04 - 12:31 p.m.

Peanut M&M's and Francophobia

Peanut M&M's.

I don't even *like* peanut m&m's, yet I'm scarfing them like they're manna from heaven. Food of the gods. Whatever.

The strange things hormones do to you.

So in that New Year's resolution personality test, I got the thing about being superior [yes, too many thoughts. I know. Shut up.]. I think it was the question about which country you're most like that put me over the top.

They didn't list Italy. I would have chosen Italy. Tough and beautiful and slightly melancholy, full of suprises both modern and ancient, falling apart but doing it artistically, very fond of tradition and religion, as longs as they don't interfere in actual everyday life *too* much, and living for food and wine and family and friends... Yeah. Me. *g*

But no Italy on the list, so ... France.

Yeah, I, noted Francophobe that I am, am most like France.

Rude, obnoxious, sure of my own intellectual superiority and wanting to impose my good taste on everyone.

Definitely France.

My mother says I'd fit right in with the alleged rudeness over there, except I'm actually pretty nice to people who stop me and ask for directions or the time.

it's not my fault I've got the permanent fuck-off face on. You ride the A train every day for 13 years and see if you don't develop one. Jean makes fun of me for it, but damn, I can't help it. It's my face, you know?

Peanut m&m's and France. Two things I don't like, and yet... do.

Do I contradict myself? So be it. I am large. I contain multitudes.

I just wish I could remember where I saw the quote about Walt Whitman being responsible for all the bad poetry in the world, because with Leaves of Grass he invented free verse [is that so? I never studied Whitman, shockingly enough, and my taste in poetry tends to run more toward Keats and Eliot and Donne and Frost (and yes, I know there are many people who *despise* Frost and they can kiss my royal Irish ass)].

Anyway, if that at all sounds familiar to you, the thing about Whitman and bad poetry, drop me a line, 'cause it's bugging me.

Ooh, Knocking on Heaven's Door - the GnR version, which I like muchly.

"Mama take these guns from me / I don't need them anymore / It's getting dark too dark to see / feels like I'm knocking on heaven's door / hey hey hey hey yea-ah-ahh"

~victoria



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2002-01-04 - 9:29 a.m.

griping

I'm so freaking irritated right now.

Let's get this straight - I know there are people who are homeless and hungry right here in my own city, let alone China or Africa. There's war in Afghanistan and the Middle East. There's fires in Sydney. Most frightening, there's an Ebola outbreak in Africa that has killed 23 ppl so far, but doesn't apparently merit a mention on the evening news.

So yes, I'm well aware of how petty my problems are.

Now I'm going to vent about them.

Three freaking F trains before the V came. Took me almost forty minutes to get from West 4th to 53rd and Lex.

That is *so* wrong.

I was totally on the "on-time" track today, until the goddamned MTA dicked me over.

Meanwhile, I've got my shiny new CD walkman to keep me company right?

Except that I've got gripes about that too.

The headphone cord is way too short. Can't put the thing in my pocket. Not really a problem, since I've got my old headphones at home, but annoying this morning.

No, the real problem is the volume control is just for show.

There IS no volume control. I turn it all the way up. I turn it all the way down. Doesn't matter. Volume level remains the same, which means that I can't hear a fucking thing as the F trains continue to roll into W. 4th while I'm waiting for the V.

Grr.

There's a little button on the walkman that says "Sound" which is apparently put there so Sony can have a good laugh at people like me, who press it, expecting it to actually have, you know, a function. But no. It does nothing that I could ascertain.

Plus, tracks 5 and 6 on the CD I made don't play all the way through on the walkman. Now I played it last night on my laptop and it was fine, and I'm playing it now in my PC here, and so far, so good, but that pissed me off too.

I won't even get into the fact that some of the tracks sound staticky. I thought the whole point of digital transfer was to *avoid* static? Does this mean my drive is crappy? Or the files are? Or the disc itself?

Grrr...

And I've just been told by my boss that we've been sending information to the wrong person at one of the banks we deal with.

Now, I've been dealing with this woman since I started, and Nancy before me told me she was the woman to deal with, that she'd taken it over from the woman who did it in the past.

Apparently not.

Though why she waited SIX MONTHS to tell us this, I don't understand.

Christ on a crutch, I hate people.

I'm just irked.

Oh, and to top it all off, this morning, I got stuck with "On My Own" from Les Miz in my head, because of a stupid commercial for the show.

Arrgh.

~victoria

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2002-01-04 - 12:37 a.m.

Arwen Undomiel

Arwen

Arwen

If I were a character in The Lord of the Rings, I would be Arwen, Elf, the daughter of Elrond.

In the movie, I am played by Liv Tyler.

Who would you be?
Zovakware Lord of the Rings Test with Perseus Web Survey Software

God, another one.

Arwen??? I s'pose that's all right. I mean, she ends up with Aragorn, right?

And dammit, that man Wenham does NOT look like Faramir. They should have cast Sean Bean as Faramir and someone else as Boromir. Kenneth Branagh or something.

Speaking of casting - get this little tidbit: they're talking to Ewan McGregor *swoon* for Lupin and Robson Green *nummy* as Sirius for Prisoner of Azbakan [which is my fave of the HP books, so I'm very interested in this]. Check it out here: McGregor for Potter werewolf
Scot approached for lycanthropic role.

I need to write smut or go to bed.

But I'm listening to my new CD that I made. Yay me.

I didn't really do much but copy a bunch of songs I like, so it's got no real flow, except in one or two places, with segues I've used many times.

Here's the track listing:

It Could Be Sweet - Portishead
Need to Destroy - THC
Gold Dust Woman - Fleetwood Mac
Sweet Jane - Cowboy Junkies
Anna Begins - Counting Crows
Untouchable Face - Ani DiFranco
What a Good Boy - BNL
Corduroy - Pearl Jam
Backstreets - Bruce
Bad Reputation - Freedy Johnston
Make It Go Away - Holly Cole
This Street, That Man, This Life - Cowboy Junkies
Walk On - U2
Thunder Road - Bruce
Downtown Train - Rod Stewart
Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet
If I Can't Change Your Mind - Sugar (which may be the most perfect song ever, beaten only by Not Fade Away)
Nightswimming - REM.

Whaddaya think of them apples, eh?

Must write smut now.

~victoria

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The painting is "Boreas" by John William Waterhouse. Again, not a muse, but I like her. She suits the color scheme.

The quote is from Sir Philip Sidney.

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