Atroyel, p.8
Atroyel, page 8
I intend to use it, and it is my hope that you will, too. Why? Well, depending on how long we utilize the process, and that remains to be seen, it would be an interesting personal and historical perspective of our relationship in years to come. One day, it may be a very interesting and emotional read. A reflection of the day-to-day, week-to-week, month-to-month relationship of two people’s lives, thoughts, concerns, needs, wants, etc. But, most importantly, our shared love!
This is, of course, the long-term perspective, whereas the true essence of this diary is the day-to-day notations of private thoughts to be shared by you and me. There should be an attempt to make notations of a personal nature, which, if you think about it, really opens the door. Also, notations do not have to be every day, every week, or every month for that matter. It would be good to sign and date notations made. This helps to maintain a chronological perspective.
Importantly, this diary does not preclude any other form of interaction from verbal to your sticky notes. I like those, which is a good example of my intentions for this diary. Sticky notes are not left every day. Sometimes, not for months. But when it strikes you, you share your thoughts. This does imply that your diary notations are always positive. In fact, I’m sure you remember how much easier it is to deal with issues, sometimes, some issues, on paper. It gives you that arms-length protection, giving time for considered thought.
Thoughts on sex is another great example. Just think of the possibilities. Stories, short or otherwise, to stimulate. Fantasies to excite. (Yes. Yes. Just another word for stimulating as I guess that’s the point of sex.) Insights into our sexual activities. Such as: “Oh, I liked this,” or “That was different.” Of course, I would write back, asking for elaboration and perhaps share thoughts from my perspective. So many possibilities! To reiterate! Why I believe I’m getting excited just writing about what we could write about.
In any case, I’m sure this could be a viable medium to express those things that, at the time, would only disrupt that languid aftermath. After having you, I can only feel good, and I wouldn’t usually want to dissect the activity. The next day, we could talk, but time and life circumstances sometimes supersede the opportunity. But again, that is not to say we shouldn’t talk as I certainly enjoy that as well. But this provides another great outlet for insight into the pursuit of perfection. I’m not sure how you could get any better, but I’d love to try.
Sex. Sex. Sex is not by any means the exclusive focus for this diary. But, as I indicated to you, it was the catalyst. Can we take another step, through this diary, to even more hidden desires and new experiences? Perhaps. At the least, even sharing and recognizing your sexuality excites me with anticipation. Another form of foreplay if you will. Anyway, a diary provides an outlet for fun and insight when other methods of communication just don’t work or become awkward for various reasons.
As previously mentioned, and as life cycles, so would the use of this diary. I would probably keep it in our bedroom. Possibly in the headboard for easy access for us. If and when I write something, I would tell you or hand it to you. Just trying to facilitate the ease of process, confidentiality, and privacy for us.
End of Intro overview. —Troy.
17
ALEAH
Something blasts through the pain and yanks me out of the darkness. Shit. I squeeze my eyes tight to shut out any light and huddle into the warmth of the arms holding me. Breathe. Breathe. You’ve been here before. Embrace the pain. Yeah, right. The fucking genius that came up with that idea should see how he feels about embracing the pain. Only a man would come up with something like that.
But something warm is seeping through me. Oxy. Thank gods. The guys found my Oxy. I relax a bit into those arms and wait for the drugs to take me to a place where I can think rational thoughts again. The few thoughts I have drift away as I snuggle deeper into Troy’s arms. I drift into dreamland as he reads me a story that sounds very familiar.
Double Diary
Aleah on Tuesday, August 21
Well, it certainly is a welcome and stimulating idea. I like that it’s open and affords me the freedom I need, given my life circumstances—balancing love, life, and work. And I’m loving anything that moves us in our exploration of our sexuality. I feel almost ashamed of how I’m reveling in your love and our growing exploration of sexuality. Sometimes, I fear you’ll be bored, so this certainly presents a way to add a different dimension to that exploration.
And yes, it can serve as a way to explore other aspects of our emotional life together. Right now, I suspect that will mainly be positive for me—I don’t think I have the need anymore to express difficult emotions through the written word. I’m much stronger and have come to prefer the verbal sparring if need be. So, for me, it will likely be about sex and love. :-)
—Aleah
18
ATROYEL
The gray curtain dims, and the words Aleah wrote all those years ago come at me loud and clear. I barely have time to drink in this woman I miss more than life itself as she lies in Tristan’s arms before the veil drops as Cass reads the next words from my entry. Godsdammit!
Double Diary
Troy on Wednesday, August 22
As this is my first installment, I’ll keep it easy. Just a simple comment, no response required . . .
You mentioned yesterday that although you wished you had more time to spend with me, you’re working and very busy. Being my own boss allows me more freedom, and I do, at this point anyway, have more time to recognize you. I assure you I understand, and I don’t expect you to be overly reciprocal, so don’t worry. In fact, if I’m being overly distracting, just let me know. It won’t be easy, but it’s not your fault that you look so good. It shouldn’t be a problem to be more aware of those times when it isn’t appropriate, and I can simply up the masturbation factor. All you have to do is try and not look so good. Kidding, of course. Love you. —Me :-)
PS: Damn, it’s muggy today!
PPS: It’s still Wednesday but now nighttime. I’m back from golf. You’re fresh out of the shower, wearing only a nightshirt. You do excite me. However, it’s late, and you need to get to bed. Not only do I understand, but in a twisted way, I relish the feeling of my excited anticipation for Saturday nights. I seem to take perverse pleasure in imposing a delay in actively participating in any sexual encounter with you. It’s almost like I take pleasure in torturing myself with prolonged foreplay to the point of a painful need for release. In some twisted way, the pain is what I want.
I so love the feeling of wanting you; it’s like a drug or more likely an endorphin release that I need to maintain. The longer the foreplay, the greater the sexual hit will be. Here’s an example you might find amusing. Understand that it’s totally self-serving at best, to pump those endorphins. However, I pause as I’m not used to revealing myself this way . . . You know how I love thinking of you, seeing you, when you’re sexually aroused.
I’m downstairs and hear your footsteps creaking across the floor. I know you’re going to the bathroom, but my endorphins immediately suggest I can take pleasure in this. My mind conjures up the image of your being so sexually aroused that you are quietly opening the bedroom door to see if you can hear me masturbating. The thought of you so excited as to attempt this makes me smile, and I wish it was so, so I could pretend I didn’t know you were there and put on a show for you. And I do this because it excites me all the more, thinking of you. What an insipid hedonist I’ve become! I blame you, of course.
Five minutes later, I have an afterthought. Being a voyeur who loves to watch you masturbate . . . Is this just projection?
Time for bed. —T.
Double Diary
Troy on Friday, August 24
Friday night. Watching Predator with you. I wanted to grab you and take you to bed. Too late and both you and I are too tired, so we should wait for Saturday. That’s the smart thing to do. Oh well. I still get more endorphins.
It’s getting late, and I should go to bed, but I wanted to write down a few thoughts. Sooo, I’m into it at this point. The writing is getting easier having gone through the initial trepidation. I hope you went to bed and masturbated. One of my favorite fantasies. Of course, there are more, and I may write to you about some, sometime.
Speaking of self-pleasure. I’m really quite curious:
• How often do you masturbate?
• What is the best time?
• Where, or does it matter?
• What gets you to that state?
• Do methods vary?
Etc. Etc. Etc. . . .
I wonder how far you, or me for that matter, have come in being able to reveal ourselves? I’m sure there are insecurities that have not been surpassed as yet. Perhaps these vulnerabilities can be part of taking the next step, and perhaps we will write about them. I like the wild and strange ones the best!
Until then, I’m going to bed and will hopefully have a great dream about you. Maybe, I’ll get lucky and the dream will be a little nasty . . .
Troy: I’ll always love you, Lea.
Double Diary
Aleah on Saturday, August 25
In answer—
1. I have—once or twice—opened the door and listened for the sounds of you masturbating. You sit in the dark—
2. Writing is obviously much easier for me than you. You’re much more likely to hear my inner thoughts—esp. if you ask the right questions.
3. Masturbation: I masturbate once or twice a week. It used to be more often, but now less for two reasons: a) I like to fall asleep just thinking of you, often sexually, and b) Sometimes sleep overrides the hornies, and I’m out before I get to it.
Time: at bed or upon waking, if the situation allows. I’m too involved in the day-to-day otherwise.
Where: Usually bed, but on the couch if you’ve gone to bed before me. Very occasionally, in the bathroom if you surprise me by coming to bed early and before I’ve come.
State: You get me to that state. Sometimes it is a difficult battle—The sublime joy of our foreplay and the delightful torture of waiting, versus the need for immediate gratification and the need for you.
Methods: Do the methods vary? Not often. I’m really quite boring. What works, works.
I do want to hear some of your fantasies and thoughts. It’s in my nature to ask to hear all of them—as you’ve demanded of me. I’m trying to mediate my desires, though.
This will be fun.
You know I love you deeply, forever, always. Even the thought of life without you brings me such pain, I can’t explore it often (How’s that for a closing? :-D) . . .
The curtain clears as soon as Cass starts reading her words, but this time, I’m ready. My Lea moans in her sleep. Her form, relaxed out of the fetal position, still rests in Tristan’s arms. Her body arches as her eyes dart back and forth under closed lids signaling a dream state. I have no idea how this works and don’t take the time to figure it out. I give a quick prayer to the universe and dive into her dream.
19
ALEAH
I slip into the familiar dream state that’s eluded me for so long, a place where I’m an active participant in my dream despite being fast asleep. When Troy was alive, he’d visited my dreams every night. Sometimes, my dreams were filled with hot and heavy sex with Troy playing the lead role. Most times, he was my protector, my hero saving me from all sorts of precarious predicaments.
During the last couple of days of his life, the dreams turned to nightmares where something stopped him from reaching me, from saving me. I’d awoken drenched in sweat, pulse racing, terror streaking through me, the pain in my chest almost unbearable. When he died, he’d disappeared, and the nightmares took charge as a feeling like Sauron’s eye pursued me, trying to consume me.
Somewhere far away, a warm voice very similar to my Troy’s reads to me. I let the words pour over me, the words that had come from his heart and mine. I see his beautiful face in the distance and reach out for him. He reaches back, and just when my heart fills with joy at the thought of touching him, he vanishes. He does that a lot lately.
In the back of my mind, I’m aware strong arms are holding me. Troy’s? I twist around, trying to catch a glimpse of his face again. Hands cup my cheeks, and hot lips sear mine. I turn into his arms and kiss him with a passion that takes both our breaths away. I wrap myself around him. All that control and security and heat and power that I wear like armor fall away. My Troy finally came to visit me in my dreams.
The magical story he’s reading to me plays in the background. Suddenly, he shifts, and his perfect body hovers above mine. I arch to reach for him, but he holds me down. Holding both hands above my head with one hand, he reaches down with the other and pulls my folds apart. Thrusting his cock in straight to the hilt, he rides me. My mind screams as I welcome him. I stare into the light streaming from his eyes, tears filling mine as I reach for the searing heat as his beloved cock claims me. He brushes his free hand over my face, inviting me to close my eyes.
“Shhh, beauty. Don’t think. Feel me.”
I slide into his commanding voice, dropping into that place where nothing else exists but his body claiming mine.
Instead of his usual controlled pace, he thrusts into me as if running a race against time, gliding his heat out to the tip before burying it deep within me again and again. With each stroke, my clit brushes against his pubis fanning the flames of my passion.
Each thrust drives me nearer to a frenzy so powerful I want to scream. My essence trickles down the crack of my ass, exciting me even more. Nothing else exists except Troy’s body moving in mine. For what seems like an eternity, the voices whisper the magic words as Troy fucks me. I lie spread and captive to his will.
I’m exposed and vulnerable as only he’s seen me. Somewhere in the far recesses of my mind, I’m aware that someone is watching us. If it had been any other time, I would have resisted. But this is my dream, and if it means being with Troy, I’ll fuck him in a stadium. My excitement shows as the wetness oozes from me.
His cupped hand slides between us and captures the full mound of my sex. I push up, sliding through the wetness, saturating the palm of his hand. My mind and body rage with need when he closes his hand in a viselike grip, capturing my throbbing clit between the engorged lips of my cunt. He massages my clit until I’m panting with the need to come, but my orgasm remains elusive. In one quick motion, he removes his hand, grabs my hips, flips me to my knees, and buries his cock deep.
With each stroke, he slaps the cheeks of my buttocks, hard. His hand molds the round globes of my ass perfectly. My flesh shudders under the impact, and I’m sure he’s left his brand with a red-tinged imprint of his hand. I gasp as each slap enhances the pleasure of his hard cock. I lose control, completely overwhelmed by the unrelenting waves of pleasure, pulling me to a climax of uninhibited abandon.
A blue mist merged with a golden light swirls around us as my Troy solidifies in my arms. I fall into the love and light streaming from his beautiful brown eyes.
Suddenly, searing pain blasts my joy out of existence as Troy disappears, and another migraine hits.
As I grip my skull, that terrible feeling like Sauron’s eye sweeps over me, and I slip into darkness.
“I will find you!”
BLACK ROSE AND THE THREE PRINCES
THE FAIRY TALE CONTINUES . . .
The sex angel princes captured the lovely young maiden and took her into the forest. The moment each touched her, divine light passed between them, binding the princes to protect the Nephilim named Black Rose. The princes vowed to keep her safe from suffering and had word sent to the sex angel lord, Syrael that they’d all been killed, torn apart by wild beasts. They hid deep in the forest and built a magic cabin to shield Black Rose from the archangel’s mirror.
Years passed, and the princes fell deeply in love with her inner beauty and developed an unbreakable bond of trust and friendship. The princes channeled their energies into the labor of keeping the pantry stocked and cabin repaired. Whenever they left to gather supplies, the princes warned Black Rose to be careful not to leave the cabin lest Syrael catch a glimpse of her in the magic mirror.
20
TRISTAN
Divine light fills the room as my brother Troy’s ghost takes form for several seconds. Cass and I exchange a look, confirming we know what needs to be done. Magic released in the Earthly realm drains the essence, called grace, that fuels angels. Although angelic mating brands, a sign of the mating bond, enhance an angel’s powers, forming the brand uses all of their reserves. Troy and Aleah need to recharge before the remaining fragments of their essence fade into the Void. Once there, it will be almost impossible to gather enough fragments of their grace to pull them back.
As Troy’s body slumps forward, Cass uses divine light to grab his vanishing essence and dashes from the room. I look down at Aleah’s sleeping form locked in their dream. Her unseeing eyes remain wide for several seconds as if looking at a vision disappearing over the horizon. The divine light disappears, snatched out of the air as the dome of protection I conjured suppresses the force of the mating bond magic. Her eyes close. She curls into a ball and starts shivering uncontrollably. Post-magic hypothermia. I’ve only seen this once before when the potency of a destined mating bond drained the magic from the mates before their combined energy could replace it. It had taken several sessions of intense lovemaking to restore their powers from . . . That’s not an option in this case. The triggering of Troy’s mating bond and the pain building in my left delt that signals that my own mating brand may be forming are all the confirmation I need that Aleah is our destined mate. I will not lose her to the Void.
