Women on the brain.

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The sisterhood.  Many.  So very many.  They have invaded.  While I am a master of my mind, with so many feet and boobs hithering to and fro, hips rubbing and touching, my ability to keep some doors closed and certain things private is being slightly impaired.  Thankfully, they know not what they do.  Yet I suffer for the releases.  I am being psychically bum rushed by skirts.  I must admit, it is not an wholly unpleasant experience.  I'm not sure they even intended it.  Something has... undone them.  Something I did?  Ever had a woman become incapable of not brushing through your hair with her fingers, touching you in that way?  Impersonal in a way, and yet ever so exactly targeted.  Think about being in a room with many such women at one time.  Or, if you are a women, think of those times when you could not stop yourself from the luxury of such a touch.  Invaded.


I have experienced this of flesh many times, though only one woman at a time where it came to... actual touch.  Mostly.  It wasn't, always, a daily thing.  Even when I was with a women, or in the day, women.  It simply wasn't a rare thing.  Sometimes welcomed, sometimes not.  The want, the hunger, so very strong.  I know my own side of that, mind you.  And I understand the seeming loss of control.  The anger in it, the want, the feel.  So many emotions actually, spilling into the here and now.  Oblations of a most pleasing nature are produced, even when chastity is maintained, ones which only Father has immunity, or at least a... full accounting about.  Myself?  Not so much.  As catnip to a cat, this effusion of the feminine dafts my mind.  Dulling much of my other sense.

It started last night while I thought I was sleeping.  As if borne by Valkyrie, though not for their vocational purposes, but for personal desires.  And not to Valhalla, but to their bedchambers.  Unable to touch through the irreconcilable cloistered claustrophobic natures separating spirit and flesh, they merely enticed.  Dancing before my hungers, as sugar plums might in the mind of a child in some far ago empire.  Just there and not.  Even so, from time to time... touch.  Soft, silky, warm... wet.  It is not finished.  Ladies, ladies, can't we just get along?  Deaf ears, as my mind is ravaged.  Hmm...  At least I know that I must be giving as good as I am getting.  *grins... like a fox*

While they have unleashed the hunger of a potential world-eater, I can tell I have unleashed even greater hunger.  The hunger of even such a one as myself is less than the hunger of a soul.  Spirit is less than soul.  Many souls are greater by a vastness none can express or understand.  That is why they are here, embedded in flesh, to learn to not destroy through hunger.  To learn to live with it, even consume hunger itself, in a right way.  That hunger will... morph... over time.  So raw, so visceral, so terrible, so... beautiful.  It cannot be fulfilled.  And they call me a potential world-eater?  Bah!  I must banish them.  Go, ladies.  But... not too quickly.  Coming, or going, the view is... delicious.  Tend that hunger, do.  But rightly.

Ugh!  Later.