, QUEEN (aka The Myth of The Infinite Lover, as told by Fig) – Confessions of an Infinite Lover

QUEEN (aka The Myth of The Infinite Lover, as told by Fig) – Confessions of an Infinite Lover

QUEEN (aka The Myth of The Infinite Lover, as told by Fig) – Confessions of an Infinite Lover

Not long ago I was supplied the gift of some thing truly amazing – and primarily so for a story and term obsessed lexisexual who craves thoughtful exterior perspective.

Above several uncensored nights, Fig, my From time to time Lover and Continuous Delight (you may possibly bear in mind him from What’s (Infinite) Like Received to Do With It?) enthralled me with an epic tale about a lady wildly going through like, sexuality, exploitation and self-recognition. Like a strapping, modern-day day masculine Scheherazade, he still left me hanging for times in between instalments, all of which have been sent through a collection of late night time texts that felt channeled rather than prepared. I was fascinated to obtain out what came up coming.

Irrespective of its grandiosity and occasional surrealness, this tale didn’t appear like a fictional account…but wasn’t till the 3rd instalment that it started to strike me as undeniably acquainted. I was caught up, as if I didn’t by now know the features, but beginning to recognise myself and, through a richly symbolic veil, functions of my lifestyle, additional and a lot more.

This was my story, witnessed from the outside, and instructed by another person who had possibly additional admiration for my encounter than I realised.

Lifestyle imitates artwork imitates life: confessing a motivation to be worshiped to him prior to the story’s inception provoked the tone of the piece, even as that adoration started off to look in genuine and stunning means for me. I assume the container of the prose even authorized him to talk with me in a additional brazenly devotional perception than he’d been capable to prior to, emotions that had beforehand experienced no outlet freed by this new context.

I experience and master a thing different each individual time I study it – this kind of is the ability of a good narrative, and the ability of the reward he has supplied me.

The tale has been reproduced right here with his blessing, and to my delight.


A queen does not sit on her throne.

She lounges.

Just about every eye in the direction of her, 50 percent devoted in worship,

Some others jealous, accusatory.

All with the Lust.

Uncooked in some.

And it was the unkempt that swept her from her perch and into their fast, grubby palms.

They gripped and twisted, until the queen’s flesh bit again.

Enamel bared in direction of the beasts. Battle, and then struggle, tied with each other so strangely by passionate, hair curling Ecstasy.

She would hunt and journey the violent nature of people who in no way remaining the treetops, exactly where she could giggle and scream to the whooping of insanity. She would tough and tumble and be animal. But in the mornings she would collect herself and go away them to stare up at the stars.

Allow her upcoming to be the tall man who provided her slippers with a tranquil bell. Each and every working day was a maze, and she would walk it faithfully until he collected her, suitable from the shadows. Then be bared, lain on pristine silk sheets. With a knife, and these kinds of tender tolerance, he would coax every single murmur to a moan to a cry in which she begged launch. Until she cracked his mask with shrillest begging and it would all arrive down, and he would punish her. About.

A person who set an total orchestra for that remaining crash and launch.

Twisting and hurling lightning on the daring lady who broke his mask.

Until it became sweet summer rain that was sticky in her hair and flicked with her toes.

Later on she would drift away, vacant and new, and leave him to his designs.

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Until she drifted up a river, wherever the land grew fats and flies lived on every shirt again. There she was tossed in with the pigs and heifers. From dawn to dusk put in doing the job knots and callouses concerning her fingers. Singing for Joy and Sunlight, she would have the youthful bulls adhering to obediently. Till she would get His approving nod and be slung on a shoulder, bustled on to a straw mattress and have just about every callous and bone stripped from her panting, joyous deal with

And she would lie there awhile, drinking in the rugged natural beauty of do the job.

Right until a dragonfly danced on her porch.

He sang, and he danced, and presented excitement from the program. She went, she partied in dresses and normally much less, flowing with electrical power. The night time vibrating, her in location. The dragonfly usually experienced another occasion to wrap his sugar sweet lips all-around.

Robbers of honey and nectar, they would hush each other at jokes only they knew, then slip all-around corners. Chasing lights, lights chasing, two hands in the dragonfly’s pockets, all set for the up coming trick, or for when she is exhausted adequate, and they sprint off to his den. Often in a rush to tear off clothes, tear around corners, whirlwind lights.

She danced on and on and into the working day, the great dawn breaking the spell.

She twirled, and spotted him in the horizon, knee astride his sail ship, telescope in hand.

They toasted “here, then below!”

New to attempt, new flavor, nothing much too bizarre to wear or say.

Bent more than bow, tongue hanging on to new air. She would journey the planet driving his quick tryanst. “I can” was the battle cry, and they surged on and on.

Every night they would choose the pleasures again on board with them, and they would apply what they figured out, serious more than enough to give a excellent show, loose ample that the journey by no means crumbled. Free as a chicken right until she stretched out on to the sand, and he caught the tide.

When she woke, it was in her favorite area, wherever all her stories stream from, but none of them start out. The fireplace banked significant with furious red and lighter yellows. Fires who dance, slip and spin on logs that burn up for times with out conclusion. Smoke billows into the shifting canvas of stars and sky, styles lurking within if you just attain for them.

And from these the storyteller picks and chooses, weaves a tapestry in the air. She hops in and he earns his craft. Flexibility to be, not flexibility to be even now. A different! One more! She patiently asks, reduced to child as soon as a lot more. Tears, smiles, and unabashed. The teller stalks the hearth, herds the smoke, and harvests edge immediately after edge. From his a lot of faces she simply cannot convey to if he is 2 times her age, or half. Leaving her grasping at straws in a single second and then turning the tables, consistency the antithesis to a chaotic brain. Devilish sensible, and Impish natured, he would allow her assume she had him, then sweep his fingers and be gone like smoke.

The fire cooler, but not absent, she traced embers in the air.

Her have script, penned not for pleasure, but for living. Published of all that she was, her name no more time in rote. She stepped into her very own aspiration weave and willed it to be.

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Swirls shifted into the shadow of a doorway.

A faint mild peaking all around wooden that turned organization as she achieved out. Urgent towards the weights, the archway opened and blinded her.

She focused on the cobblestones, shifting her eyes up the avenue to keep away from the glare. Scintillating rainbow reflections gripped her ever astounded interest as she caught the artwork and majesty of the lane.

She basked in the glow, letting pinks and greens float over her pores and skin, all the whilst unable to stare up at the peak of the hill.

Curious, she walked, and with her eyes averted she would see hurriedly hidden faces. Shadows ducked all-around corners, just much too brief for her to see.

A masquerade, she felt, and so she unbuttoned her blouse and stood. Where all other folks disguise, she would be bare and unafraid.

Resolute, she walked, and though she stared down her prize, each individual other eye remained mounted on her form.

A chair, at the peak of the hill, woven of molten gemstone. Luxurious velvet so expansive it overflew the bounds of the hall and into corridors past. And in entrance, a stone basin, crammed with earth.

As she passed, she dusted the loam, feeling its richness and craving for seed to root.

She stood poised, crusting her arms in the earth, weaving shapes she felt rather than observed. And she gave herself.

All the items.

The Animal,

The Composer,

The Farmer,

The Dancer,

The Entire world,

The Mind,

And all the passions, enjoys, innocence, guilt, Ecstasy and stillness dove into the earth. Returned to where by it belonged. She experienced stored a firm of guys, and a firm had retained her.

But then, a queen have to return to her throne.

And a queen doesn’t sit on her throne,

She lounges.

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