A Crow’s Kiss

The pointed edges of the frigid aluminum shop table dug into his shoulders. A combination of coarse black feathers intertwined with the remnants of her molted talons locked him tight against the surface. Any attempt he’d made to move up to this point had been futile.

If he’d known six months ago while fighting through a drunken bout of depression that saving a wounded crow from being run over would lead to this, he might not have been so eager to save her. Then again, with the bond they’ve created, it would be nearly impossible to picture his life without her.

The air was tinged with the metallic scent of fresh blood. Her howls of pain still echoed through the cinder block walls of the sub basement. The fact that his neck was strapped down to the table along with the rest of his body only left him with the sounds of her transformation and the violent shadows cast against the wall from the bare ceiling lights to inform him of what was happening. 

At times it was too painful to watch. When he did look he couldn’t believe his eyes. What he’d witnessed was so incomprehensible that his soul trembled with both terror and anticipation. He had no point of reference for this. He could only track the events that led him down here tonight and hope that maybe, things were not as they appeared.

He never intended to keep her as a pet. His only goal was to give this crow a fighting chance to survive. The more he read about crow behavior the more he understood how difficult that could be. The fight she gave him when he picked up her broken body from the street let him know she had the will to survive. Even the veterinarian he took her to in order access the damage to her body suggested they euthanize her but he refused. The chance this bird had to be reintroduced in the wild was slim but it was a risk he was willing to take.

Due to her severely broken wings and the damage to her legs the trust they formed was essential to both of their survival. Weeks of bloody knuckles from her attacks as he was trying to feed her soon transformed into mutual respect and understanding. She gave him a purpose. The emotional elements that plagued him he redirected towards her survival and soon the intelligence of her breed of bird was on full display.

She could read his mood better than any human he’s ever encountered. Her ability to display empathy was unique. Their method of communicating through gestures and sounds felt as if they had created a language of their own. In his heart he knew this was temporary but her exquisite ability to read him made things difficult. She was a wild animal, something that was never meant to be tamed to the point where he refused to give her a name until he felt ridiculous trying to avoid it.

“What about Vina?”

She cocked her neck to the side and flapped her still healing wings in a display of excitement that allowed that name to stick. 

As she got stronger, he did his best to reintroduce her to the wild by keeping his human contact to a minimum but she wouldn’t let him go. He’d take her to a park, miles away from where he lived, and released her only to find her waiting for him on his windowsill when he returned. As much as he wished to give her a normal existence away from him, she kept coming back but he refused to cage her. His dedication was to her freedom and if she chose to return he’d be willing to receive her with open arms. He knew crow’s mated for life and he hoped she’d find a mate and eventually live the life she was destined to live.

He had no idea the mate she would choose was him.

It had been weeks since he last saw her. The first night she didn’t return, he was worried. Those feelings prevailed until he finally reached a sense of calm, through waves of sadness, until he reached a level of acceptance.

What he hadn’t realized was she had returned but never made her presence known. Vina processed his wants and needs through her observations through his window. Every private craving he indulged in, his proclivities towards being dominated by a strong female presence as he scanned the web for the perfect images to release his tensions… she’d seen all of it from a dark perch after he felt that she wouldn’t return and he stopped looking for her.

Her eyes consumed every storks he gave himself. Every moan of ecstasy that crawled from his mouth. The immense pleasure he gave himself which would be followed by intense sleep. Up until this point, her purpose had not been revealed until a spiritual homing instinct lead her back to his apartment tonight.

“Vina,” he called out as she beat her wings against the window forcing him to open it. She flew in and headed directly to the front door and scratched he claws against the wood.

“Follow me,” she cooed softly.

Normally, he would’ve been shocked but a crows ability to mimic allowed him not to question things too much. He opened the door and followed her in a trance until they reached the basement. 

At the end of the hallways was a thick metal door. A remnant of when buildings had bomb shelters in the 1950’s due to the threat of a possible nuclear attack. He watched in awe as she diligently observed the old rusty padlock and made quick work, with her beak, to break the ages of rust that had kept this door shut to the world and whatever contents that were behind it.

She made a gesture with her head that could only be understood that she was asking him to open it. He used all of his strength to pull open the door when the hard smell of decay pierced his being and he passed out.

Now, as he lay strapped to this table by the physical elements of her bird state he waited for her to reveal herself. He focused his eyes on the shadow of a female body approaching. Her movements a perfect combination of human and avian until she reached the end of the table. 

Panic set in. A simple redirection of his eye would reveal to him what she looked like in human form but the muscles in his neck locked up. His mind attempted to figure out how this was possible. Whatever magic that had created this couldn’t be good in any way. It wasn’t until her soft familiar voice called out his name that he was able to face what she had become.

“Marvin…”

Her voice trembled with anticipation, almost to the point of being nervous, and he tilted his head and way amazed at what she had become. 

A beautiful, statuesque woman, completely devoid of any bird like biology, fully naked with feathered onyx hair. Her skin was slightly lighter in color with indentions to where her feather used to be. He swallowed hard at the beauty before him, not sure what to say or how to react, but his eyes radiated with a sense of amazement that she returned with a smile.

“You like?” she asked.

He nodded in approval, lost for words. Her smile grew brighter as she moved closer to him. An intoxicating scent washed over him as his nerves spiked. His eyes drifted from her to his own naked body as his erection that was once dormant with fear sprang to life.

Vina glanced. The smile on her face grew curious as spasms of nervousness focused his cock to flench. She leans forward, gave him a tender kiss on the lips before climbing her silken body on top of his restrained body.

“Now, we mate,” she said gently.

Before he could process what was happening Vina gripped his cock and lowered herself on top of him. The sensation was sublime as if they were created for each other until her animal nature took over. She pounded herself upon him. Her body brewing a glossy sweat as her eyes focused on his. He recognized the familiar look, that one of devotion she’d given him so many times as he helped her to heal, which allowed him to stop questioning what was happening and accept his fate, as the howls of pleasure echoed off the wall surrounding them.

WRITING BY MOONLIGHT

It’s always been one of my favorite things to do. Ever since I was a teenager, there’s something about moonlight that brings out a sense of freedom with my creativity. 

Those late nights with a notebook in hand sitting on the floor as the silvery light cascaded through the skylight. The sounds of the urban wildlife outside would spring to life in the darkness as my felt-tipped pen scraped across the recycled paper of my sketchbook that doubled as a writing journal. The distant croak of a bullfrog sending out its last mating call in the final weeks of October in a desperate need to reproduce before winter would send my fingers flying until fatigue took over and I’d drift off to sleep with my pen still in my hand.

My current self-imposed writing hiatus, which extended longer than I expected, springs to life with moonlight.

Finding a 30-minute window between sunset and sunrise on the roof patio of my apartment building to write when other people aren’t around is challenging. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been up there, taking deep breaths to relax my mind, as my eyes adjust to the dimness of the light when the strong stench of cannabis cuts through my peaceful preparation. It’s usually followed by one end of a phone conversation consumed with social media malfeasance that goes on long enough for me to abandon my creative plans and briskly walk past the offender with a smile before they have a chance to ask me my opinion on their personal matters.

It’s a public space for the entire building. Allowing myself to think of this space as ‘mine’ would be a fallacy. It’s never their intention to interrupt my sense of calm. In fact, they aren’t thinking of me at all, which is their right, as we both have the same intention… to find a place to express our thoughts freely.

Louis Brandeis stated ‘sunlight is the best disinfectant’. Even if his focus was on organizational transparency in dealing with exposing corruption it applies to so many other areas of life. The same can be said of Carl Jung’s ‘knowing your own darkness is the best method of dealing with the darkness of other people’. I’ve always expressed this as darkness being the great equalizer. 

In that case, for me, moonlight works as the great revealer or concealer, depending on where you stand.

I can’t think about my experiences with eroticism and kink without moonlight being a major factor. Those incredible visuals created by a slither of silken illumination that cuts through the pitch allowing your eyes to capture something meant to be hidden or exposed.

My mind floats back to those New York City summer blackouts when my girlfriend and I would retreat to the balcony of her dorm room to escape the heat only to eventually venture into an illicit display of mutual masturbation if the neighboring balconies were occupied.

It’s the same balcony when the frustration of being trapped in the city due to a blizzard exposed some emotional tremors that we eventually drowned out through profound fucking 16 stories above a frozen Manhattan.

That same balcony is where a few glasses of wine, combined with a three-course meal I cooked led us to our first of many threesomes. Trails of Cabernet Sauvignon-infused saliva dripping down breasts as erect nipples divert the cascading flow of liquid flowing from lips caught in the illumination from a crescent moon. The shadows of sticky wetness reflected on brown flesh as fingers that were once lodged deep inside opposing bodies are raised to enter my mouth only to be consummated with a three-way kiss before retreating to her bedroom.

This is one of the many memories that moonlight ignites in me. There are others, so many others that spark me whenever I’m alone bathed in moonlight.

Like the time I made a four-hour drive to spend time with my best friend who was having one of her many works produced. She’d flown to California from the East Coast and it had been years since we’d seen each other in person. All of the rooms in town were booked due to an international artist conference and she allowed me to share her room in a very opulent bed and breakfast on the outskirts of town for the weekend.

As luck would have it, her room was right next to a well-known visual artist and his muscular, much younger lover. They spent the night having extremely rough sex that pierced through those study walls sparking us to test the limits of how platonic our relationship could last.

When the moon is just right, I can still smell the essence from her fingers as she quietly masturbated in the bed next to me only to have me lick them clean when she was done in a test to see if I had the will power not to go any further.

The vision of us laying next to each other, the down comforter pulled away from our sweaty bodies with only the moonlight shining upon us. The look in her eyes as my full erection burst through the opening in my boxers, precum glazing the head of my cock from just her energy. Her sweet yet stern suggestion that if I really needed to ‘release my tension’ she’d understand and locked her eyes on my every stroke until I couldn’t take it anymore. The sly smirk of approval on her face and vision of her tan body covered only by a sheer black negligee made from the finest silk is still etched in my soul to this day.

There was my last night in San Francisco after I’d taken one of last tours of The Armory before it closed for good. A couple I met invited me to a sex party. This time I was more of a voyeur than anything else. It was held on a rooftop patio and the energy was electric. All manners of coupling swirled around me but the true excitement lingered on the edges of the patio where people who wanted more privacy could have it with only the moonlight as a guide.

The silhouette of a woman wearing a strap-on reflected against a white wall as she pulled a masculine face from the shadows. She delivered gentle slaps of the silicone head to his chin while asking how much he wanted it. I know he couldn’t see me but somehow our eyes met seconds before he opened his mouth as wide as possible to receive her.

A wisp of grey hair stole my focus, followed by a tight grip of my hand as I’m led to a couch on the far edges of the darkness. My eyes adjust to realize it’s the the wife from the couple that had invited me. She just wanted to check in on me. We have the most normal of conversations as dimly lit flesh melds around us in open expressions of lust until the sight of he husband being strapped onto an elaborate Saint Andrew’s Cross brought us both back towards the lighted area of the patio.

It’s much more than just the visuals that the moonlight sparks in me. It also grants me the emotional freedom to explore certain aspects of myself that I would have some trepidation revealing in the brightness of other forms of illumination. It reduces the shame one might hold as prying eyes judge your actions, or at least give you the sensation of being judged by others. 

Shared sensual experiences encapsulated by timid illumination. Swallowing fear as you venture into something new. The slight turn of your head might obscure the expressions of joy, delight, and sometimes even horror or disgust. At times it can allow you to hide in plain sight as your mind weighs the pros and cons of unfamiliar exploration. 

I’ve been lucky the delights far outweigh the horror. That fighting through deep-set trauma to achieve a semblance of ownership over the things that plague you seem not to be such a rigorous task when a slight repositioning of your body can cloak you in darkness and allow you to embrace those feeling no matter how difficult they might be. 

This is the arena from which I write. Allowing myself to get back to the main focus of what I want to do with the amount of honesty my writing deserves. Giving the characters I create the emotional balance that stems from my own experiences to flow through my fingers onto the page and make the readjustments I need to feel safe… or not.

As I now look out into the City of Angles, wondering what stories are being created all around me. My ears stay alert for the slightest sounds for inspiration. 

Those late-night moans of ecstasy, whether self-induced or through the means of a willing partner from the apartments below me hold my interest. These private moments belong to the world once the sound leaves your dwelling. The thought that nobody’s listening to these intense moments of pleasure at this hour mixes with the vocal screams of passion for those who don’t care electrifying the night.

The crunch of Velcro restraints being clasped upon the wrists of a couple trying light bondage for the first time. Breaths of anticipation sneak through windows as commanding words of pleasure force an unexpected groan to escape lips. 

The slaps of naked flesh as bodies pound against each other to promote furious orgasms through wet friction. 

The squelch of the last bit of lube being forced out of its container echoes in the empty moments of this urban abyss when helicopters and police sirens aren’t filling the night air.

I live for these moments, as fleeting as they might be, and know that in the darkness of night, with a slither of moonlight as my guide, I can always find inspiration for the deeper truths of my experiences as I make my slow return to writing those sensual episodes of lust and emotional struggles to achieve exhilarating bliss on the page again.