Future scene

Sitting around watching that movie about the modern-day return of christ that I was an extra in with the cult.

Wrist Rash

TO BE ENTRY #42 AS OF NOW

Sunlight spreads over Cassandra's face at just the right moment, pushing a smile across my own as I hover over her sleeping form, chin propped securely on my palms.

How much do I love watching her like this? Should get up early--before her--every morning for the experience.

The solar kiss reveals her lovely faint freckles dotting her nose and the outskirts of her supple cheeks. Don't think she's ever looked prettier than right now

Ol Sol's rays enough to wake her gently, without a hint of distress

The way it should be, for once she comes to full consciousness, it won't be easy for her...

Her eyes part slowly, and those adorable pale blue pupils greet me like no pair I've ever known.

Pull my arms in, releasing my chin from my palms, and in the same motion bend down to kiss her as gently as the sun did

"Mmmmm" she purrs

"Good morning, honey"

"Mmmmm-morning"

She's never sounded happier--to these ears, at least.

A fringe edge of the sunlight brushes up against her hair, cuing me to rub my hands through its silky texture, so sensuous to the touch

She motions to return the favor...

Only to find she can't.

"Jesus, is my arm that asleep?" she wonders as she tries to lift the other limb--to no avail

Only then does she twist her head to the left and right--to discover both wrists are bound fast by thick black leather strands, affixed to the bedposts.

An attempt to move her legs reveals that both her slender ankles are likewise attached firmly to the posts at the foot of the bed by capable straps o' leather. Being in a deep sleep, it took her this long to realize she was tied up thusly

"Darwin--what is this?"

"This is you agreeing to more."

"More what?"

"More people living here."

Can see a million thoughts suddenly racing through her mind; her forehead practically vibrating

First question she's capable of verbalizing spills forth: "How...many more people?"

This is the key response as far as this dynamic is concerned; if I don't answer with unwavering conviction, then she'll be liable to crack the split in the stone and resist my overture to expand the cult...to fill the house.

Answer her as assuredly as I have in any conversation we've shared.

"Seven more...so we have an even ten members."

This is all sounding weirder and weirder to her--and that's alright, I understand, really I do, just have to let her get it out, I reckon.

"Members? Members of what?"

"Why, the cult we're forming, of course."

"Cult? What cult?"

"I'll be happy to tell you all about it, baby--but I'd prefer to do so with you out of bondage. So why don't you just agree to it and I'll set you free, okay?"

Her eyes set firm, her mouth draws tight and realize I'm in for a fight, "No--no, it is not 'alright'--I can barely stand living here with Simon, how the hell am I going to handle living with seven more people?"

Smile down at her, shrugging my shoulders, "Don't know honey, that's for you to figure out."

Again, varying emotions and thoughts speed through her mind, traveling light years in total distance, but it's just that hesitancy that I seize...

The indecision writing her expression, for Ms. Cabal told me that Cassandra secretly longs to be dominated and this is becoming clear

But that doesn't mean she's not going down without a fight:

"No, Darwin, I don't want these people moving here in--I've put up with enough!"

Though it makes me feel shitty, I don't cave in, and set my eyes coldly and my mouth tight:

"No, you've just begun to put up with it..."

Without another breath, push myself off of the bed, standing over her, as I quickly pull a thick white cloth from my back pocket.

Just long enough to tie it around her helpless mouth and gag her proper. And I'm quick enough that I manage to pull it off before she could cry out for help (Not that she'd likely do that anyway, given her personality).

Too late either way; from now on her every scream is but a muffled frustration.

Now that she is suitably subdued, can relax my pace, and stroll rather gingerly out the door and am out the door before she can inhale a single breath of her own.

Since I'm abandoning my bedroom for this little charade, will have to take temporary residence in one of the 'spare rooms'--also a temporary state, for these rooms soon won't be 'spare' if Cassandra gives in to me and this room is filled with brand spanking new culties.

Make that when Cassandra gives in to me.


Nothing in here except a leftover mattress from the previous occupant and a clock radio of suspect operation.

Gonna have to snatch up one of the couch pillows if I intend to spend any legitimate time in here.

And knowing Cassandra's stubbornness, it could be a stretch.

But cannot waver, got to see it out.

But am not going to do that, sitting in here obsessing on the matter. It's times like these I wish I still wrote--still had some purpose.

Actually I do have a purpose--forming the cult. But to work on that, I have to get on the Internet, and the computer's in the bedroom.

Reckon I could ask Simon to use his laptop for that rare nanosecond he's not using it.

Then again--why the fuck am I being such a wimp about it? I can go in there and use the computer any time I want, who gives a shit if Cassandra doesn't like it?

Reason I didn't think of it sooner is that I'm new to this domineering thing...

Later that day, I'm making a faux chicken sammich in the kitchen, Simon is making a rare appearance, overcooking some pea soup it appears.

Only until it's bubbling does Simon declare it worthy of being served into the bowl waiting on the kitchen counter

Just as he's to pour it, there's a loud BANG!--and his waiting bowl jumps an inch in the air; it must be Cassandra lifting all her limbs at once to force part of the bed to raise of the ground and slam back down. Lucky no one lives below us.

Simon turns to me as if he expects I will have an explanation.

Andthat I do, but not sure I want to reveal it to him.

Still, want to come up with something, especially after--BANG!--it happens again

"UH...I think Cassandra is moving some things around in the bedroom."

Most plausible lie I can muster on the spot; after all, he'd never dare enter our bedroom

"I understand" Simon replies, completely buying it.

"Thanks," I respond, "you might wanna wear headphones for the rest of the night--or weekend, for that matter."

Simon nods his further understanding--and questions no further, finishing pouring his split pea soup into his bowl, steady at present.

Although after the fifth or sixty bang, couldn't really blame for getting a little suspicious...

Suspicious about what? Is he really going to think I have my live-in girlfriend tied up to our bed?

No, I don't think Simon is even capable of such suspicions.

Maybe if he lives here long enough, he will be...

Simon snatches a few crackers from the cupboard to go with that soup and without looking at me, scurries off back to his room, which is pretty much where I want him to be anyway for the time being.

Apart from all this.

Never did ask him about using his laptop. Oh well, I'll figure out what I want to do later...

For now, content to plop my ass in the comfy recliner and just turn up the TV set so loud it renders me oblivious to any banging or similar noise emerging from the bedroom.

Surf for awhile until finally settling on good ol' DVNT--right now it's some news show round table discussion on the upcoming election--basically a not-too-subtle promotional vehicle for Pleasant's campaign. Main topic at hand seems to be whether Pleasant should run as an independent candidate on some sort of 'Crusader' ticket or sublimate his ego and ambitions (for the time being, at least), and serve as veep to some Republican, paving the way for his election in eight years.

Pleasant in the blank house; that's all this country needs to go straight down the tubes.

There's a pause before the commercial and in that transitional moment think I hear Cassandra SLAM! again; and in that moment reflect on Ms. Cabal's notion that by tying that woman up to bed she shares with me and getting her to agree to permitting a bunch of my readers move into this flat, that somehow is going to prevent America--and the world--from going down those aforementioned tubes and becoming an everlasting theocracy.

Like to say I'd believe it when I see it, but then, I'm not in the business of believing.

A few hours pass, which I filled mostly by watching a made-for-cable movie about alchemists in the 17th century; not too bad.

Feeling a bit guilty by this point...no, not about Cassandra, but that I haven't done any work as far as contacting the potential cult members.

Slowly return to the bedroom, opening the door with some admitted trepidation, half expecting to find Cassandra frothing at the mouth like that demon possessed chick in that one 70's movie, with the bed levitating above the floor and shit.

But no, she's fast asleep. Guess the struggle got the best of her and she figured the best way to deal with it is to sleep it off.

Either that or she passed out at some point from lack of sufficient nourishment.

Just as well, can't stomach this domination thing 24/7, so it's a lot easier to respond to emails by pretending she's just asleep like she'd normally be.

First task at hand is choosing who to respond to first--Anna Belmont, a nurse from Nebraska, seems as good a choice as any.

It's times like these wish I had asked for pics of all these prospective roomies; it'd be easier to keep track of them via visual categorization.

But didn't want to bias any of my choices--even subconsciously--by seeing a picture I might judge one way or the other--even subconsciously. It doesn't matter what any of them looks like, just that they have a dedication to living together to create something better.

The lone exception being Palmer, who I already met--numerous times--on the book tour.

But for now, back to Anna:


Anna, this is Darwin. How are you? I enjoyed your last email and the links to those medical websites. Good news, it looks like we're closer to making the cult a reality. So you can start packing your bags, it's just a matter of time.

Hit SEND and then back to the main file to see who should gets the next one...

Sift through the candidates; after all, don't want to send this email to everyone who've I've considered, because they're not all moving in here. I'll invite ten to fifteen with the goal being to procure no more than seven new members. I'd consider making an exception at eight, if there eight exceptional types.

Who's to say what's exceptional? Suppose I'm supposed to. It's the last decision I really want to make--on my own.

This is going to be a progressive cult.

Of course, one little peak over my shoulder and the scene is anything but 'progressive'--unless its being viewed in some psycho-sexual context, I reckon.

Choose Doc to be the next email recipient when the still is shattered by Cassandra's voice, both raspier and louder than usual:

"Were you planning to allow me to pee at some point?"

Shit, hadn't figured in bodily functions and the like.

But am not going to allow her to make some kind of big deal--or even a little issue--out of this...

Without another word, stride out of the bedroom, straight for the cupboard where I pull down a large bowl neither one of us has used since we moved in here and I'm pretty sure it's not Simon's.

Just to be sure, when I pass his room, stop abruptly, knock and when he gives the okay, stick my head in his room, hold up the bowl and ask, "By any chace, is this yours?"

Simon shakes his head negative.

"Good enough for me," I exclaim, "sorry to have bothered you."

Without another hesitation, stride back into our--(my?)--bedroom, stand over the still captive Cassandra, pull down her till they straddle her thighs and then place the bowl under her vagina

"Anytime you're ready."

She looks up at me, with burning contempt in her eyes. It's all I can do to keep a smile from bursting out.

Decide to rub it in a bit, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

She frowns, the contempt bubbling thicker to the surface, "Do you mind? It's a little hard to piss with you standing over me!"

Shrug my shoulders, "By all means, let me allow you your privacy." and I exit the room, back to the TV couch.

Again set the TV to blare at the proper volume to ensure that she does not

Sure there's a big chunk o' me that wants to tell her this is all Ms. Cabal's doing--

But no. That is giving in to weakness, and I can't show a hint of it--least not till Cassandra breaks down.

Breaks down...

Those words resonate in my head as I seek a quick remedy to this dilemma.

And my creative mind is racing and a spark flashes and in the next instant I'm already trudging down the hallway...

To Cassandra's studio, the only room 'off-limits' to me--until today.

Look around the room, but knew what I wanted the moment I walked in there; the one, the only item that is going to have any impact.

The easel containing her latest work.

Don't even bother to remove the cloth draped over it, as it flaps in the breeze created by rapid movement gliding across the long flat hallway.

In a motion reminiscent of the guy who stepped on the Moon or the first bloke who scaled the peak of Kilimanjaro, stab the easel on its stand in the center room, before a horrified Cassandra.

Though she's muted by my gag, her eyes are about stretched to the limits, and if it were possible for the sockets to snap open, it wouldn't surprise me none.

Nothing means more to her than her paintings--and we both know that. They mean more to her than I do--I accept that.

And now I want her to see what she's missing out on by resisting my forming the cult.

Don't say a word. Don't have to.

Exit the room once more, this time at quite the leisurely pace, making sure that a light is left on so Cassandra can see in clear view what she's missing out on.

If it were possible to force her eyelids open like in that one movie, reckon I'd give it a try.

Still, the guilt's welling up in me something fierce; have to swallow two antacid tabs to quell the queasiness.

And then comes the bed banging again and it's all I can do to turn the TV loud enough to drown it out. It must be pure agony for Cassandra to be laying there, before her latest work of art and not be able to paint--or do anything else, but lay there, bound and helpless, weak and powerless.

And if there's anything that gentle geisha with the martial arts mastery hates is having her power stripped away.

Damn this hurts. If there was a drop of alcohol in this house right now, swear I'd be all over it--glad there isn't.

With nothing else to do, fall asleep while watching TV.

Wake up to the thought wondering why such a strong-willed woman as Cassandra would get into being dominated...

And it might be explained by something I once read about why males, especially successful, driven type-A type males, like to be dominated by women.

Because they had to be 'on' all the time...had to be responsible for so much so much of the time...they had to be in control all the time.

Total relinquishment of that control is like the ultimate release--the ultimate freedom--to such men.

And such is it with Cassandra, as shocking as that may appear on the surface.

But as we know full well, mere surface appearances mean nothing to Ms. Cabal, who sees and knows beneath, between, behind and beyond.

Hell, even things that one hides from oneself are eventually and ultimately exposed by Ms. Cabal's third eye that is her only eye.

And that's why adding the element of the canvas is a wild-card I threw into the mix--does she want to reqinquish control of her art?

See, letting her lay there and just playing the submissive victim role might play right into Cassandra's kinky little (bound) hands...

Instead, I've rigged it so she is forced to confront the true source of her happiness--one that she likely would never
surrender--not even subconsciously.

That is, she would never surrender the art that is her life--surrendering to me in order to continue pursuit of that art is another matter altogether.

And all I have to do is bide my time...

At least, biding my time seems to be the best course of action..

Though, it'd sure be nice sometimes if Ms. Cabal could pop into my head and let me know if I'm doing the right thing or whatever.

She guides me, alright--but only on her terms.

Reckon there's some things she wants me to learn for myself.

Turn on the TV with plans to sleep on the couch as usual. Sure, have my pick of any of the other rooms, but feel more comfortable here with the TV. It's like being with someone, like when Cassandra is--was in bed with me.

Day or two passes, can't really be sure at this point--seems easy to lose track of time now that I'm no longer interacting with Cassandra on a regular basis, to get a frame of reference.

There was variety--when she painted, then came to bed for sex, then slept, then went out for a walk to her favorite Upper Haight cafe, then re-energized to paint for another 12-hour session, and repeat ad infinitum.

Now it's all the same...she lays there tied up and I either go to the kitchen, the bathroom to shit and piss and sleeping on the couch in between bouts of sustained premium cable absorption.

So whatever day it is, swagger into our bedroom and stand over Cassandra with a determined sparkle in my eye. She meets it with a burning ferocity. We're no longer lovers in any sense of the word...we are adversaries...opposing forces...me Dominant, her submissive.

State it as flat-out simple as I can: "So...will you agree to allow seven more people to move into this house?"

Bend over and pull the gag from her mouth

Cassandra gasps for air as if she had just been submerged below the briny depths for an interminable length of time

And only until her lungs are filled sufficiently does she rip my ears asunder with her shrieking cry of "NO!!!"

All that needs to be heard; promptly stuff the gag back into her mouth.

Leave behind a trail of muffled expletives as I walk out the door.

Obviously, she's just not ready as of yet...

Wonder what's on TV right about now?

One night and a couple days later or make that one day and a couple nights later, am shuffling through email, sizing up prospective cultists.

Eliza's a lesbian and she wants to know if I'm okay with that. She assumes I am and I let her know immediately that her assumptions prove correct; opposing one's sexual orientation is christianity's game, not mine.

Ultimately it won't play into my final decision, but it would be fascinating to introduce Eliza into this dynamic.

Then again, every woman that might get invited might be lesbian and every fellow might be gay, and that'd be fine.

Would piss the hell out of Pleasant, that's for sure.

Gina...now there's a special case. Her husband was a real casualty of New Inflation, losing his Fresno factory job. With three growing kids to feed and clothe and provide toys for, the family was up the financial creek.

No paddle? They'd didn't even have the canoe to float in; they lost their home in a foreclosure.

Jeez, if even half the shit this woman is telling me is true, she's been through hell and back. Living here would be a proverbial breeze. Try my damnedest not to let intangibles such as 'guilt' influence my actions--and I'm still not going to-but damn if I wouldn't feel really guilty if I didn't invite this woman to join the cult.

With that decision made, begin to realize am getting a lot closer to having the final list of 'applicants'

Am overcome with a warm sense of satisfaction--though hold it at bay as best I can; tis not the time to be full-bellied--in any sense of the word.

Won't be time to celebrate until this flat is crowded with folks. When I can no longer use the bathroom--and I'm not annoyed by the person who is keeping me from using it--only then will I know I've done the right thing.

Day or two or three later, step into our bedroom for something innocuous, really. Want to wear an extra pair of socks, cause it's kind of chilly in the house this morning, but really, too warm to justify turning up the heat. Especially what it costs to heat this house. That will be one advantage to have roomies, cultists or not; so many more peeps to chip in on heating and food and such.




LATER TORMENT HER BY BRINGING THE EASEL INTO THE BEDROOM. SO CLOSE, YET SO FAR




SHE REMAINS TIED, FINALLY LET HER GO, BUT NOT WITHOUT EVIDENCE, HENCE THE TITLE

WE MAKE TENDER LOVE IN RESPONSE

LATER, SHE WANTS ME TO DOM HER IN THE STUDIO, BUT I REFUSE

WE BREAK UP, SHE WANTS TO BR FREE OF MEN, JUST ONE WITH HER ART