Mortaine’s Blog

I volunteered last night to serve as the Membership and Volunteers Manager for the STC. The election is in April. This may have been a bad idea, but I hope not. It will make it so that I can’t do Support as much, but STC trumps LiveJournal on a resume.

Under the carnival disguise, the man-child Luis fluttered his hands– jazz hands– frantically, the motion sending the glittering streamers twirling and twirling, the tips of them flaming brightly in the black Carnivale night. They would remain lit only as long as he kept them in motion– as soon as he ceased, the flames would ride up the streamers and ignite his hands, his costume, his soul.

Across from him, on the other float, Marie danced with a wild abandon that ached his heart. Her half-naked body gyrated and whirled, like the flames on the streamers, bending the lust and passion of the crowds in the streets they rode through. Like a Venus, she danced above the crowd, secure on the float, shielded from them by the glints of the light and her smile. Like Venus, she spread over them her smile, her love, her laughter, her body, and the cruelty of her lust which they could not have.

Luis spun the streamers, an enormous erection growing between his legs. It seemed almost sacreligious, his shaft of desire pointing at Marie, throbbing in time to her pulsating dance. He ached for the dancer, but more than that, he ached for the woman Marie, the woman who danced, not the icon of dance and desire that she became on the Carnivale float.