So Soft, So Silky, So Small

Abstract Pink Pleasure
from 4iPhoneWallpaper.

So Soft, So Silky, So Small
By Bethany Davis

I run my hands over your body,
So soft, so silky, so small,
My hands join me to you,
To your body, to your soul.
The darkness, the blackness of you,
So beautiful, petite, wonderful.
You move against my hands,
Touching me with your body,
While I touch you with my hands.
You soft back, your small hips,
You head so perfect in my hands.
You purr at my touch in joy,
Enjoying my hands as much,
As my hands enjoy your body.
I’m so thankful for you,
For your presence, for your love.
I adore you, my little cat.

A Gentle Nap

Image from livvit.com.

A Gentle Nap
By Bethany Davis

For four long months without a job,
Resting, waiting, calm,
Creative, peaceful, full of life,
First time in four long years.

Soon that time will finally end,
And I'll go back to work.
But on this day I rest in bed,
And take a gentle nap.

Peacefully I lay in bed,
Soon to settle down.
The softness of the familiar bed,
The heavy covers nice.

This time of rest has been so nice,
And I'm glad that it came.
But time moves on and soon enough,
I'll welcome things to do.

Frustration

Image from myLot.

Frustration
By Bethany Davis

Frustration
Do this, do that
No choice
Do it now
No control
A child
Directed
Dictated
Asked but no choice
Who am I?
Child or slave?
Dependent
Longing
To do what I want
To decide when
For freedom
To say yes
To gladly choose
To serve by choice
Willingly
Because I want to
Not required to
Decide when
Decide what
Ability to say no
Ability to say yes
Frustration

Life in Water Form

Skylight

Life in Water Form
By Bethany Davis

Tink,
Tink, tink,
Thump, tink,
Drip upon the skylight,
Lightly falling,
Lightly splashing,
On the roof,
On the windows,
On the dry ground,
Thirsty ground,
Dampening,
Wetting,
Soaking,
Drenching,
Life in water form,
Bringing life to a dry land.

A Flower Like No Other

Image from Teaching in Asia.

A Flower Like No Other
By Bethany Davis

There it is before me,
The most beautiful flower,
Fairer than all the others,
More beautiful than the rose in all it's glory,
More elegant than the fair lily,
More divine than the great lotus,
More pure than the innocent daily following the sun.
The flower of creation,
All stars,
All worlds,
It shines before me,
In all it's perfection,
Closed like a bud,
But waiting,
Waiting for me,
To open its outer pedals,
So strong and smooth,
To part the inner pedals,
So delicate and tender,
To lean in and drink,
Drink deep of the illicit nectar,
Sweet nectar,
Divine nectar,
The elixir of the gods.

I Love to Play with Fire

Image from BackgroundPictures.

I Love to Play with Fire
By Bethany Davis

I love to play with fire,
The flames before me,
Climbing high,
A stick,
Slowly burning,
Slowly spreading,
Using it to light grass,
Light sticks,
Swing it through the air,
A torch,
A fire brand,
Arc of fire,
Like a sparkler in the night.

I love to play with fire,
Tender kisses,
Lightning touch,
Her skin,
Hot to the touch,
Her body,
Hotter than hot,
Sweat dripping,
Fire in my veins,
Fire in my blood,
She lights me up,
Like a torch,
Like a Roman candle,
Exploding into the air,
All at her touch.

I love to play with fire,
Teasing,
Playing,
Exciting,
Will I find anger?
Will I find passion?
She blazes hot,
Emotions building,
Her eyes flashing,
Eyes of flame,
Burning into me,
Burning with her gaze,
Lighting my blood on fire.
I love to play with fire,
I burn hot,
As the world burns,
Burns to the ground,
And in the ashes,
I rise like the phoenix,
Reborn,
Fire from ashes,
I burn bright again,
Reborn in flames.

Twisted Thorns

Image from Marginalia.

Twisted Thorns
By Bethany Davis

Darkness, shadows,
Twisted thorns,
Twisted trunks,
Like hunched hags,
Crooked trolls,
Thorns and vines,
Twisted,
Intertwining,
Like a maze,
A thicket,
All around,
Casting shadows,
Darkness,
Creepy,
Thorns piercing,
Blood black in the moonlight,
Shining through the branches,
Tree trunks,
Vines and thorns,
Stillness,
But movement,
Half seen,
Small,
Creeping,
Spiders,
Mice,
Rodents,
Lizards,
Life hidden,
Forgotten,
Unknown,
Where only barrenness was known,
A creature,
Sitting,
Watching,
Looking up,
Through slitted eyes,
Like a frog,
But grey,
Something from deep within,
Clinging to the thorns,
To the branches,
Spirit or animal,
Phantom or subconscious image,
In this forest,
This warren,
This thicket,
Dark beauty,
Life within the lifeless,
The depths of a soul.

Three Voices

Image from Stoweflake
Mountain Resort & Spa.

Three Voices
By Bethany Davis

Two bodies,
Beneath a waterfall.
Drenched,
Dripping,
The water pours down in a torrent,
Flowing,
Splashing,
Upon our bodies.
Wet hair streaming,
Drifting,
Like sea weed,
Like watercress,
Mingling,
Blonde and brown.
The water upon our heads,
Roaring,
Laughing,
Our laughter mingles,
With the laughter of the water,
Three voices.
Hers like bells,
Ringing,
Resonating,
Echoing,
Carrying,
Light,
Metallic,
Joyful.
Mine almost silent,
Ghostly,
Breathless,
Pure.
The water’s loader,
Overpowering,
Loader than load,
White noise,
But loader,
Like a storm,
Deep,
A pounding in my ear.
I run my hands,
Over her body,
Under the water.
Smooth,
Silky,
Wet.
She clings to me,
Holding me,
Trying not to be washed away,
Like our laughter,
Lost in the torrent,
The water,
Ever flowing,
Away.

In Praise of Lingerie

Image from Isolde Lingerie.

In Praise of Lingerie
By Bethany Davis

The texture, the colours,
The patterns, the bracing.
To look, to shop,
To buy, to wear.

I run my hands across the fabric,
Feel it between my fingers.
I put my legs through, pull it up,
Covering my body but not covering,
Hiding, yet revealing.
I pull the straps over my shoulders,
Close to my skin, holding me, embracing me,
Confidence and strength, sexy and beautiful,
I stand and gaze at my body.

I love the feel of stockings on my legs,
Containing me,
Making my legs look long.
Run my hands over my calf,
Feels so nice.
I love the looks of stockings on legs,
Sexy curves of calves and thighs,
Amplified, accented.
Her beautiful legs for my eyes to see.

My breasts contained,
The fabric falls,
Brushing my tummy as I move.
Loose,
Light,
She can see me through the cloth.
Covering yet revealing,
Gentle, soft,
The babydoll falling around my hips.

I step into the teddy,
Pull it up,
Firm between my legs.
Wrapping my hips,
My sides,
My breasts,
Conforming to my form.

I pull the chemise over my head,
Down my body,
Over my breasts,
My back,
My sides,
Down over my hips.
Tight against me,
Hugging me tightly.
I run my hands down my side,
The fabric so nice under my touch,
My curves so nice under the cloth.

I clip the clips up as i go,
One, two, three, ten,
Clip, clip, clip,
With each clip, a little tighter.
With each clip, a little snugger.
The bustier tighens,
Holding my breasts,
Pushing them up,
Looking larger,
Looking fuller.
Holding my sides,
Pressing inward,
More curved,
More contained,
I stand a little straighter,
My back arced a bit more,
My tummy held in,
My breasts more prominent.
I’m confident,
I’m sexy,
I’m content.

The lacings up the back,
One loop at a time,
Tighter,
Cinching,
My breasts lifted,
My waist narrowed,
Hard to breathe for a moment,
Then I relax.
Tighter than a bustier,
Stronger.
I stand very straight.
I can’t slump.
It is different but it is good.
Nothing can stop me.
The ribs are my strength.
The corset compels me.

The Skirt

Image by colorblindPICASO on Flickr.

The Skirt
By Bethany Davis

Swish, swish,
Around my feet,
Long, black,
The feel of the fabric against my naked legs.

Rustle, rustle,
Around my legs,
Soft, moving,
The breeze blows up between my naked legs.

Step, step,
Along the path,
Dirt, rock,
I walk along the forest trail.

Cue, cue,
I hear a bird,
Moonlight, water,
Shining across the lake.

The Children of My Soul

Drawing of Saint Zita,
a servant who lived
the Rule of 1221.
Image from
The Confraternity of Penitents

The Children of My Soul
By Bethany Davis

I am a mother,
Though my womb has born no child.
The ones I help,
The helpless ones,
Are the children of my soul.

I am a mother,
Though my womb has born no child.
The ones I teach,
The seeking ones,
Are the children of my soul.

I am a mother,
Though my womb has born no child.
The ones I heal,
The sickly ones,
Are the children of my soul.

I am a mother,
Though my womb has born no child.
The ones I feed,
The hungry ones,
Are the children of my soul.

I am a mother,
Though my womb has born no child.
The ones I free,
The hopeful ones,
Are the children of my soul.

I am a mother,
Though my womb has born no child.
The ones I bless,
The hurting ones,
Are the children of my soul.

I am a mother,
Though my womb has born no child.
The ones I comfort,
The fearful ones,
Are the children of my soul.

A Bag of Spider Legs

Spider Legs by
Isaacphotography.
Image from his page on DeviantArt.

A Bag of Spider Legs
By Bethany Davis

A bag of spider legs,
Twisting, crawling,
Squirming, moving,
Are you frightened now?

A tentacle under the stairs,
Twisting, reaching,
Squirming, moving,
Are you frightened now?

A darkened cave,
Lightless, swallowing,
Echoing, closing in,
Are you frightened now?

A lightning storm,
Crashing, flashing,
Darkness, blinding,
Are you frightened now?

A cliff up high,
Plunging, receding,
Dropping, falling,
Are you frightened now?

A silent grave,
Sitting, stillness,
Cold and damp,
Are you frightened now?

From deep inside,
Our deepest fear,
We see it all out there.

On the edges,
Coming for us,
But it's really deep inside.

Creation in a Point

Image from Hipnotherapy blog

Creation in a Point
By Bethany Davis

Water hot, body hotter, the heat within me soars.
The rush, the flow, the energy builds, the power within me grows.
My fingers part, soft peddles below, my flower opening up.
Gentle touch, skillful touch, a touch that's only mine.
Fingers move beneath the flow, hot water on my skin.
Slowly moving up and down, across the heart of me.
Gentle circles, rhythm building, my pulse begins to rush.
The heat, the pleasure, intimate waves, flowing all through me.
The ecstatic rush, Sex and Pleasure, the Goddess in myself.
The pleasure takes me, rushes through me, waves and waves divine.
It's me and her, but she is me, creation in a point.

Naked for All to See

Image from Flashwear.

Naked for All to See
By Bethany Davis

I stand up before the crowd,
Naked for all to see.
No masks, no walls, no acts to hide,
The me that's really me.

I pull back the curtain,
Step inside,
Let water pour over me.
My naked body,
The water hot,
Flowing down over me.

Authentic me,
Shy but strong,
Me just being me.
I need not be,
What others want,
No act, no play, no games.

I run my hands,
Through my hair,
Shampoo rubbing in.
Silky soft, straight and fine,
My hair no one else.


All the eyes,
They stare at me,
I'm lost within their gaze.
But then I straighten,
Look away,
And come back to myself.

The bath puff,
Foam covered,
Smelling of peppermint.
I scrub my breasts,
I scrub my belly,
Dry skin coming off.

Still in myself,
My shyness strong,
I work to gather myself.
I straighten my back,
I set my shoulders,
And step forth full of me.

My naked body,
Cloaked in foam,
I step back under the flow.
Hot water flowing,
Washing all away,
Skin like silk below my touch.

I dance forth,
Lost in the dance,
The dance and I are one.
No eyes, no cheers, no awful boos,
It's me and me alone.

Cleansing water,
Like the blood of Christ,
Washes away what isn't me.
No masks, no walls, no acts to hide,
Naked for all to see.

Osama's dead, but are we any safer?

I'm sure everyone in the world heard the news tonight, or at least all those that care and have access to the news.  Osama bin Ladin is dead.

I watched a bit of the news tonight, including President Barack Obama's speech.  I guess Osama was shot about a week ago and the United States has his body in their possession.  It was a good speech, but Obama is a very gifted speaker, whatever his other strengths and faults may be.  Not as funny as Bush was, but, then, that wasn't intentional.

So, Osama is dead.  Not that it means much, really, except if Al Qaeda has any leadership left they now have a martyr to rally people.

I've been talking to people tonight (or this morning as the case may be), and was asked the question, are they going to show the body.  My response was that I hope not.  I still remember the video of Hussein's hanging being released on the Internet and being so popular as entertainment, laughing at it, thinking it was funny.  It sickened me, and still bothers me.  No matter how bad he was and what he did, it's never okay to laugh at someone else's death.  And it was definitely not a humane hanging.  No, I hope they don't show Osama's body.

And is it proof to see the body?  It's pretty easy to make another body look like the one you want.  Hollywood does it all the time.  I never believe anything blindly.  But I also know evidence can be faked, so evidence isn't proof anymore than just words.  The only thing that is 100% is my own experience.  And even that is subjective and filtered through the illusions my mind creates to protect itself from what it can't understand.

The big question I'd like to know is why does it matter if they really killed him or not.  Are we any safer because he's dead?  I'm not talking do we feel safer, I'm talking are we safer in reality?  Am I, sitting here in Wyoming, less likely to die now?  Or even, to be fair, less likely to die from a terrorist attack?

Al Qaeda is only one, small orginization.  The IRA could do more damage in the US than Al Qaeda, if they had any reason to.  Not that they'd ever have a reason.  There's been no major Al Qaeda organized attacks outside the Middle East since the Underground bombing in London in 2005.  Were they still a threat to the United States even a few weeks ago, before Osama was killed?  I don't think so.

What's safety, anyway?  People bragged about how there had never been an attack on US soil since the War of 1812 besides Pearl Harbor (if you don't count the Civil War, of course).  We as Americans thought we were safe.  When 9/11 happened, people went from complete safety, to fear for their lives.  They were safe before but not safe afterwards.

What changed?  Perception, not reality.  It's not safety we're looking for, it's to feel safe.  Terrorism doesn't make the general public less safe, it makes them fear, it makes them feel less safe.  Everything is perception.  Just like the Almighty Dollar.  The dollar has value because people still believe it has value, even though it isn't backed by anything.  Politics and economics are about faith, just like religion.

So, are we safer with Osama dead?  No.  Do we feel safer?  Yes.  Do we care about the difference?  Now that is the real question.

~Bethany