“The Diaries”…continuing… these are ‘flashers’, 200 word stories…

WARNING: THESE are NOT Flashers….a whole lot of fish here (mackerals)

These flashers ‘tell’ an ongoing story about a woman caught in Paris when the Germans invaded France in the summer of 1940. She is involved in a sadomasochist relationship with “MN” who is a Frenchman.

Lady Nyo

DIARY OF A CHANGELING #4

Diary: June 21, 1940

MN is back. I was at S.’s and he just appeared! It’s been a week and of course I had questions, but S. warned me. Don’t ask him anything.

MN seemed tired, his face thinner, paler. But looking at him, my own gut clenching, there is little difference. Still that same full mouth, that smile which touched on a cynicism with all life, those eyes so expressive, or maybe I am so much in thrall with his power I can’t see the truth: he is just a man.

No, he is more. He is much more, now. And he knows it. There was almost an invisible thread that connected us across the room. All propriety with S. there, but when she answered the phone across the room, MN turned to me, his hand across his mouth, hiding his smile. Only his eyes danced over his hand, and it was enough for me to feel this flush of lust.

S. announced a Lieutenant Wolauf was to visit.

MN left too soon. Only a kiss on the cheek and a whispered “a demain, a demain” and he was gone.

Two cold words to warm me.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

Diary of a Changeling

Diary: June 24th, 1940 (#5)

The division of France is done, and no one is happy except the Germans and Marshal Petain. S. is puffing her stinky Gauloises, nervous. I can’t stand to be around her.

Petrol is scarce, but MN took me in S’s car out to the countryside. He has use of a farmhouse and this was new for us.

The house is old, with beamed ceilings and a stone sink in the kitchen. We ate bread,. stinky cheese and a bottle of wine.

Upstairs in the bedroom, MN said we shouldn’t ‘waste’ the beams and tied me with ropes he brought.

Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps I am ‘getting tougher’ but he gave me more lashes than usual. I didn’t want to stop, but he was still careful.

This pain gets my attention fast, radiating outward and inward at the same time. MN stuck his hand in my crack and rubbed, cooing in my ear, whispering French nothings, soothing my tears with his breath.

We made love for the first time, MN slowly touching my body from my feet to my neck with his tongue and hands.

Why am I doing this? Because I must.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

Diary of a Changeling

Diary, June 28, 1940 (#6)

I was at S.’s today, telling her about our night over in the countryside.

How MN filled the woodstove with wood stacked in the kitchen, how the stove puffed and groaned and how good the three eggs I found in the old hen house tasted. Hens were around so the eggs were fresh.

S. laughed, she seemed at ease. She said I am good for MN. He needs a diversion in his life. He needs a woman to fry him eggs in the morning.

MN has never told me about his past. I thought it would come in time. There is such little chance now, with him scarce and not even S. knowing where he is from day to day.

S. and I were having our usual talk when the maid informed her the German, Lieutenant Wolflauf was downstairs.

This German is very cordial, quiet, but commanding. He kissed my hand, which I thought outrageous considering his army has just invaded Paris.

I sat and said little. S. was her usual self, elegant and unflappable, but a bit nervous.

I kept staring at his shiny black boots. They seemed more than boots. They were like mirrors that saw the future.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

“Diary of a Changeling”……6 NON-flashers….

WARNING: These are NOT flashers for the above (much above) reasons..they are scenes that just happen to be 200 words long each.  They will stretch themselves in the newest episodes.  Don’t want any more mackerals flying around..

I’m going to post all 6 of these  non-flashers (200 word scenes) I have very recently written. I am doing so because people have asked to read them in sum…and I thought…why the hell not?

I post these one at a time on ERWA, but that is too slow for some readers..and i can understand their feelings. This was something I wanted to write to answer some of the pain/pleasures issues that I was discovering for myself recently, and I have set them in Germany, summer of 1940 when the Nazis entered and occupied France in general, and here, Paris.

Nazis, a Sadist, woman exploring these pain/sexual issues, the French Resistance, Jews in the Resistance, etc. The juxtaposition of all this makes me queasy because the formation is …..tricky.

But if we can’t take risks with history and our writings…we don’t grow.

Lady Nyo

“Diary of a Changeling” in Six episodes so far… (3 today, 3 tomorrow)

DIARY OF A CHANGLING (#1)

I have started a series of flashers in an epistolary form. This follows the development of a woman who begins to understand the issues of pain and its application to arousal and sex.

Diary Entry 1

It finally happened last night. This morning I feel a stranger in my skin. The welts from his whip will disappear soon.

I never thought it could be so! How could I crave this—torture? How could pain do this to me? Am I normal?

S___ was the one who set it up. She didn’t tell me much, just that it was ‘time’. All those conversations over tea, those events I thought she was making up. They were just lascivious stories, something a friend would tell another to wile the afternoon away. Besides, S___ was a writer, a novelist. She cultivated her imagination.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s time’?” I asked.

I remember her laughing, placing her cup on the tea table.

I quote her:

“I can smell your excitement. It gets stronger with each visit. You must not deny anything, ma cherie. You are wet now, yes?”

S__ had smiled and said: “Your responses are obvious. You crave it.”

Ah! I can’t write anymore. My hands shake. Even now my face burns with blushes!
Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

DIARY OF A CHANGELING

Diary Entry 2.

I saw S. today. She smoking a stinky Gauloises and looking so chic. French women are born this way, with no efforts to be so.

She asked me how it went with MN. I struggled to answer, my hands shaking, my teacup rattling in the saucer.

I told her ‘it went well.’ How could I explain??

We made small talk for she was expecting a guest and I was leaving anyway.

But my mind recalled when MN. traced the whip handle down my back, making me shiver. I remembered his breath in my ear, the scent of him close to my skin, the cuffs on my wrists, how he stroked my flesh, warming it with his hand, cupping my breast and my ass. Dipping his hand in my wetness.

Nothing could have prepared me for that first strike. The sting was like a hornet, the pain radiating outward, making me gasp. His whip owned me with the first blow. What had I done? I wanted to scream.

Rising to leave, MN. walked in. I froze. I saw S. smile. MN. kissed her hand, and turned. I must have looked the fool.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

Diary: June 14th, 1940 (#3)

I was looking out the window with S. and watching the Germans march past. They passed forever, seemingly endless supply of men in black boots.

S. is very nervous and puffed on her terrible Gauloises. I could have screamed but we are all bundles of nerves. She said things would radically change and we will have to ‘make do.’

I don’t know about S. though. She is well placed and has lovers in the government. She has the best brie and wine.

I can’t get back to England now, am dependent upon S. MN.disappeared this last week, but S. tells me he will be back, he is on ‘business’. What kind she doesn’t say.

He was a bit too lavish with the whip this last time, and my back and buttocks are still bruised. It is strange how these bruises have become something different to me than just examples of pain. His whip stings me, but he knows to wait and in the waiting something happens. I am resolved to find out more. Of course, this is rather outre considering what is happening outside the windows now.

I have become obsessed. Pain is the portal.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008