nebris: (The Temple 2)
~Club Dynamic was Manhattan's hottest party spot. At least for this season. Being in the East Village Inclusion Zone – the most storm vulnerable IZ on the island – made it all the more enticing. The imagined proximity of Death was always erotic.

It opened at 8pm and closed at 8am, so things usually didn't get going until around Midnight. That is was New Year's Eve made that doubly so....and the countdown had just begun. The place thrummed and droned with Deep Vibe EDM and lots of beautiful bodies. Like most partying these days, it had a sharp edge of hysteria.

One hot brunette at the bar in a super tight black and red mini-dress seemed too calm for the place. Some had tried to chat her up, but she politely rebuffed them. The more insistent got a look from her real self that caused them to scurry away quickly. That glimpse of Death was a little too proximate.

Erika had not been in a psychic shithole like the Dynamic in a few decades. She'd grown out of this type of scene in her early twenties, but had kept coming back because it was a fertile hunting ground for slave boys, though less for recruiting Sisters. The females tended to be too drunk or drugged to properly assess.

Tonight, she was on a different kind of hunt. And she wasn't really wearing a mini-dress. She actually wore a Mark XXVI Combat Suit. Its outer layer was TeleCamo and was only projecting an image of her in that outfit. She did in fact own such a dress. She'd just been scanned wearing it and had that downloaded into the suit. Integrated into the suit on each forearm was an MRG-6, a Mini-Railgun, as Primary Armament.

Her body and skin had needed no editing however. Erika was a fully Enhanced Sister. Her bones and muscles had genetically increased density. Her blood teamed with nanobots that used her regular infusions of raw stem cells to repair and replace every single cell in her body on a moment by moment basis. And her brain, eyes and ears were embedded with millions of nanofibers – Neural Nanonics – all connected to her dozen personal on-board computers, keeping her aware of everything around her as needed.

Because of all that, while she was little more than a month shy of her seventieth birthday, she still looked to be in her late twenties and she had always been a beauty.

Though still a new political entity on the world scene, The Sisterhood had become immensely rich very quickly. Because of its foundational beliefs, it had the most advanced cybernetic and genetic Human Enhancement technologies in the world. All Sisters received whatever level of Enhancement they desired, which was the near maximum in most cases, and steady upgrades were the norm.

Even their infamous male Servitor classes were given various Enhancements and lived far better lives than the major of the world's non-wealthy population. This meant that the best and brightest women from all over the world sought to become Sisters. And no small number of pretty young men sought to become Servitors.

Everyone here at the Dynamic were Enhanced in one fashion or another. Only the wealthy lived in Inclusion Zones. The poor lived outside in The Shit, as Incluz called it. Too hot or too cold or too wet or too dry, Catastrophic Climate Change had showed up with a vengeance about twenty years ago, followed by all the expected horrors; war, pestilence and famine on a grand scale. Over three billion had died off.

The wealthy had built their protected enclaves and left the poor outside. The security personnel who guarded the enclaves lived in their outer rims, though they were well paid. Their children and those of the wealthy only mixed socially in the party scene. That helped provide the wealthy with 'new blood'.

Erika had noted those semi-desperate mating rituals while keeping an eye out for her real prey and monitoring the Hunting Trikona that also moved through this crowd. Her Neural Nanonics fed her visual, auditory and text information from all members of her team in real time. Like her, those three Sisters wore Mark XXVI's projecting 'party clothes'. If the revelers had known there was a Sisterhood kill team in their midst, there would have been a brutal panicked stampede toward the exits.

Normally, Mistress Erika, First High Priestess of The Cult of Mictecacihuatl, would not have been involved on the tactical level. She had done a lot of this kind of work 'back in the old days', but she was Upper Management now and too valuable to risk. But this was a Very Special Mission with Very Special Prey. Besides, she had to admit she did miss the thrill of The Hunt. Calm as she appeared, her blood was coursing hot tonight.

There was a second Hunting Trikona outside in an armored limo acting as the B Team, watching the comings and goings and monitoring the various Comm Nets. Plus they had heavy weapons 'just in case'.

Still, this was a dangerous mission. They were along way from home and deep in unfriendly territory. While the Union of Matrilineal Republics, The Sisterhood's 'political manifestation', was in firm control of all North America west of the Rockies, this was New York City, capital of the 'rump' United States of America; the old Upper Midwest, North East and eastern Canada. Their political relationship was tense. The USA still claimed all of North America.

If things went in the soup, the Sisters would have a hard time getting out and there would probably be an international incident. But the USA did do a steady amount of business with The Sisterhood – and was notoriously corrupt and decadent – so something would be worked out.

No way they'd try anything like this in the Christian States of America, the Old American South. Those fuckers were batshit crazy and proclaimed The Sisterhood to all be Hell Spawn. There was regular bloodshed in the buffer zone between them. Any Sister caught in the CSA, for whatever reason, would be literally be burned in public.

Mistress Eva, Erika's sister and Spiritual Leader of The Sisterhood, had been unhappy about her going on this mission and had made her objections known in no uncertain terms. But she conceded because of the nature of the thing. Sisters had died because of the Greed of Men, therefore Pain and Punishment would be meted out.

The target tonight was named Christof. He had a dozen or more aliases, but was always known by his first name. And reliable intel said he'd spend New Year's Eve at The Dynamic. If he did show up, The Sisterhood would make sure he'd see less than a full day of the coming year.

Christof was a particularly vile breed of vermin; a trafficker of curve goale, literally 'blank whore' in Romanian. These were individuals, of both genders and all ages, who had been brain wiped and reprogrammed as sex slaves. Christof's organization had become the number one player of this game in Europe. They controlled their entire chain of 'product', from abducting victims outside of the Inclusion Zones of the major European cities, through the wiping and implanting, to operating the brothels where the goale 'worked'.

It was well known that Christof's sexual appetites included mutilating and murdering goale, especially young females who were 'rewired' to interpret pain as sexual stimulation. As Europe had become a quite depraved sinkhole, his operations had flourished.

The Sisterhood's General Security Directorate were well aware of this creature. The tech he used had been developed by The Sisterhood itself during The Dissolution Wars. They'd brain-wiped enemy male combatants, reprogrammed them and turned back against their various opponents. The fear of suffering such a fate had caused many of The Sisterhood's enemies to finally let them be.

But even though he was using their tech, Christof and his organization could not be a top priority. Everything worldwide was in flux and while The Sisterhood had become very powerful very quickly, its survival was not yet assured. So numerous horrors like him went unaddressed.

All that changed four months ago in a particularly awful outer zone of Munich.

Erika and Eva had been born and raised in Munich, and though they had lived in SoCal for a half century now, Eva still loved their hometown, even if it had mutated beyond the place of their childhood. Because of that she had requested of The Priestesses of The Cult of Sekhmet, The Sisterhood's primary Medical Cult, that they create a special Sub-Cult to attend to the poor and sick of Munich's outer zones, The Cult of Eir, a Norse Goddess of Healing and Medicine.

A Trikona of The Cult of Eir had been going about its regular rounds when it encountered one of Christof's abduction teams. Once upon a time the team would have backed off. But he and his people had become arrogant and a fight ensued.

Even though these were Healing Sisters, they were still Sisters and were trained and armed. But Christof's men numbered in the dozens and the running fight last nearly an hour. When it ended, two of the Sisters were dead and the last one badly wounded. Christof had lost at least twelve, with more wounded. The locals guarded the wounded Sister and threatened Christof's men, so they withdrew.

This truly had been an International Incident. The EU could not track down Christof. It was simply too corrupt. Its leaders were terrified that The Sisterhood would launch an overt strike against them because of that failure. The Sisterhood's political and spiritual leadership was in an uproar. Even Mistress Eva herself, The Sisterhood's Face of Welcoming Love, had been in a towering rage.. But to everyone's surprise, it was Mistress Erika, The Darkness, the Sharp Blade of The Sisterhood, its terrifying Priestess of Blood, who urged restraint.

Erika was well known for her fierce hatred of men. And her rage at them had never abated because men kept providing new reasons to be raged at. But where it had once burned like fire, her rage was now as cold as the depths of space.

“They expect a hammer. Let us use a scalpel instead,” she had said. Eva calmed as she saw the wisdom in that. The rest followed their lead.

And so nothing seemed to happen for months. Of course, the EU's intelligence apparatus willing opened all its doors to The Sisterhood, which is what Erika really wanted. Unlike her more tender hearted sister, she had little love lost for her old home town. She had landed in Southern California a half century ago and fallen in love with it almost immediately.

Erika took charge of the entire operation herself and bent a significant amount of Mictecacihuatl's assets and resources to tracking her enemy. Because she did have a perverse sense of humor, she titled it Operation Daisy.

And now, on the last day of the Patriarchal year, Daisy was about to bloom.

A few minutes before Midnight, Erika received an info packet from Bryn, the B Team leader outside in the limo. “Target Sighted,” is said, along with all the relevant data. The A Team inside received their own copies. It contained images of Christof and his security team, with a through analysis of their real time positions, bio-readouts, gear carried and projected movements. They were fairly well Enhanced and very heavily armed.

Everyone acknowledged and waited.

In the two hours they had been at The Dynamic, Sula, the B Team's cyberwarfare operative, had whispered through the Enhancements of the five hundred or so club goers looking for systems to jack into. By the time Christof and his crew arrived, she had ghosted over a hundred of them. Everything they saw, heard, felt, tasted and smelled was being monitored and passed on to Erika and the A Team inside.

The club's security system they bypassed and ignored....for now.

Christof had a twelve man security detail. Two proceeded the main group into the club, labeled A and B, and scanned the place. Six closely surrounded Christof himself, labeled Target One and E through J, while two more led, labeled C and D, and two others followed, labeled K and L.

Erika would stand by at the bar while the kill team did its work. They were veteran operators and knew exactly what they were doing. Minka, the team leader, was in the middle of the dance floor. Selene and Artemis were equidistant from her and each other on either side of the main entrance. They'd wait until Target One was in the center of their triangular kill zone until they opened fire.

At two minutes to Midnight, A and B passed through the Kill Zone. They would be Erika's first targets. Her Neural Nanonics had them highlighted in red, club security in yellow, the revelers in a dull green and her team in white.

All four Sisters heard a soft tone in their heads. Christof and his men were entering the Kill Zone. Each Sister pulled the hood of her combat suit over her head, which activated Reflective Mode. They are all now effectively invisible. In the mounting excitement, no one noticed.

Erika raised her arms, her targeting indicators showing a ninety seven percent accuracy ratio. The other Sisters were doing the same at the corners of the triangular Kill Zone. Their indicators showed a near one hundred percent ratio. And at these ranges, only heavy combat armor could stop the weapons being used.

The hard sharp snaps of hyper-sonic ferrodarts pouring from eight MRGs did breakthrough the din, though only a few people recognized the sound. All thirteen of the targets were down within little more than two seconds, shaking and writhing on the floor. The darts were neurotoxin delivery systems. It cause muscles to contract so violently bones broke and it caused neural inflammation that felt like molten metal poured into one's veins. The Sisterhood meant for Christof and his men to suffer before they died.

The sight of a cluster of large dangerous looking men suddenly falling to the ground and spasming violently did get people's attention and the rush for the exits began. Though faster and more orderly than Baselines would have done – these were all Enhanced humans – it was still a panic by any measure.

The Sister's suits shifted image. They now appeared to by NYPD officers in heavy tactical gear. The clue goers worked hard to avoid them.

Erika strode over to Christof, placed her gloved hand upon his face. Microfine tendrils lanced into his flesh, seeking all his on-board cybernetics. They jacked-in and downloaded everything, his entire network configuration and all his data. That took thirty seven seconds. The A Team stood guard while this took place.

Jacking out, Erika looked up at the nearest CCTV cam, pulled her hood back to fully reveal her face and said clearly, “Greetings from The Sisterhood.” She then pulled her hood back and they headed for the back of the club toward the owner's private entrance.

At this point the bodies of Christof and his men began spurting blood from every orifice. That was captured on vid. Sula then totally crashed the club's security system. All that would be left was Erika's 'greeting' and the images of those deaths.

The Sister's exited into an alley behind the club just as a NYPD cruiser pulled up. It was driven by Alita, Erika's personal assistant. They all piled in. A block away from the club the vehicle's exterior shifted to a normal looking luxury sedan. In the meantime, Sula had borked and scrubbed every CCTV cam in a three block radius.

In front of the club, the B Team's limo was moving with the orderly chaos of people fleeing in self driving vehicles. They let the limo's AI do the driving, but Jo was ready to go manual and Bryn was jacked into the weapons suite, prepared to reduce any active opposition to flaming wreckage. But they glided out with the rest of the escaping clubbers without incident.

By the time the authorities had sorted everything out, they would all be well on their way back to SoCal on a diplomatic jump shuttle belonging to the Union of Matrilineal Republics.

Sula had received the data Erika accessed in real time and had uploaded it to a Sisterhood satellite directly overhead. The first operations against Christof's organization would be underway within an hour. And all would be completed within three days. Several hundred people would be violently terminated – The Sisterhood was making public examples here – and a few hundred more would become 'coerced assets' of the GSD.

That would leave over four thousand goale. Most of them were not retrievable and would be euthanized as painlessly as possible. The remainder would be transported back to SoCal for reprogramming.


The next morning there was a VidCon between New York and Los Angeles, capital of the UMR. The vid of Erika's 'greeting' and the gruesome deaths was played. Pixels undulated. Then a man and a woman faced each other.

The man was Frank Hammond, US Secretary of State. The woman, Renatta Sundersen, Minister of External Affairs, his opposite number in the Union of Matrilineal Republics' government.

They looked similar in their different ways, short professional haircuts and expensive business suits. Hammond was more 'masculine' of course. Sundersen's haircut was more 'feminine' and her suit was clearly of The Sisterhood's style, with the Star, V and Wreath pin on her lapel.

She had known Hammond for over four decades from when she herself was a US Foreign Service Officer. That made their conversation familiarly confrontational.

Hammond looked tired and angry. “That is clear evidence of a violation of U.S. Sovereignty and the commission of what is effectively a terrorist act by a high ranking member of The Sisterhood's leadership,” he said. “What in God's name was she thinking, Renatta?”

“More like Goddess' Name, Frank, and you know which one.”

Hammond flinched slightly at that remark. Sundersen knew she had the advantage over him. She was sure he'd been up celebrating until last last night, while she was well rested, the Sisterhood's New Year's celebration, The Festival of The Turning, being five days in the past.

“I Swear by The Goddess' Many Names that I did not know anything about this until a few hours ago.” She was telling the truth about being out of the loop on this and Hammond knew that by her Oath.

“So then how do paint ourselves out of this corner? The president doesn't want a war, cold or hot,” he said. “But half the Congress is on the warpath, mostly The Federalists, but some of our party, as well.”

His party were The Liberals, who were far more realistic about reclaiming the U.S. Former territory. The Federalists were the 'war party' and hated The Sisterhood. But all sides feared and loathed the CSA, which kept all this in check. For now.

“I received a full briefing on this about an hour ago and the GSD gave me some information your president should find useful. We will sit on it, so how you use it will be at your discretion.”

Hammond looked skeptical. “I'm listening."

Sundersen tapped a hologram on the virtual console that illumined her desktop.

“I just sent you a file with the information,” she said.

Hammond paused while checking receipt, then opened the file. Because of his long friendship with Sundersen he didn't engage any of his Neural software to 'pokerface' his expression. He read, his mouth and eyebrows slightly twitching. Then he smiled broadly.

The data revealed that the leading Federalist Senator plus seven Federalist Congressmen – and they were all men – had been clients of Christof's organization and that Federalists in New York's municipal government had been on his pay roll.

“Yes,” he said with satisfaction. “This will do very nicely.”

Sundersen smiled back at him. “I thought you'd like it.”

He turned serious again. “Renatta, I know it is a tall order, but could you please ask Her Grace to be a bit more discreet in these matters in the future?”

Sundersen gave him a rueful smile. “Mistress Erika is a force of nature, Frank. But I will convey your request.”


Erika was still too keyed up to sleep. She'd dozed a while on the shuttle from New York, but that jump lasted barely an hour. At the moment she reclined on a chaise lounge in the ocean view parlor in her rooms in the Cult's Headquarters. She wore a short fine silk robe of a pale floral design Eva had given her.

A male Body Servant massaged her feet. At the other end Seemkoo, her favorite Pleasure Server, a tall slim pretty mulatto, sat on the floor. He passed her a pipe full of hashish, a local Sisterhood blend. She planned to have him ride her hard in a short while, then have a deep well fucked sleep.

Being early winter, the Plexiglas doors were closed, only letting in the still warm Southern California sun. The Mictecacihuatl Cult's Headquarters, a solid mass of tempered steel and smart concrete, sat upon the western end of the Santa Monica Mountains, just north of what was left of Malibu. Two decades of typhoons had washed away most of that old neighborhood. The sliding steel doors just past the Plexiglas ones where a reminder of that reality.

The door chimed, then opened. Renatta Sundersen had been expected. She entered and dropped into a well stuffed chair opposite Erika.

“Your Excellency,” Erika said with a nod.

“Your Grace,” Sundersen replied, returning the nod.

“So, Renatta, how did it go?”

Renatta smiled. “He was quite pleased with what we provided him.” She placed a mini-drive on the side table next to the chair. “The whole thing.”

Erika smiled wolfishly. “I thought as much.” She frowned. “Goddess, where are my manners? Would you like a drink?”

“Yes,” said Renatta. “Some bourbon please.”

“Seemkoo?” said Erika. He moved gracefully to a cabinet, then looked quizzically at Sundersen, who had watched him appreciatively.

“Two fingers, neat,” she said.

She and Erika sat quietly for a moment while she took a few sips of of her drink, then sighed contentedly.

“Are you planning to share this with Saxon Park?” Sundersen said.

Saxon Park was the HQ of the U.S. Unified Intelligence Agency located in central Westchester County north of New York City. Along with the irradiated ruins of Washington, the abandoned CIA and NSA HQ's now lay in the Disputed Territories between the USA and the CSA.

Erika sighed a bit. “I thought it best to leave that to President DeKay. It might ding the relationship with the GSD a bit, but they'll have to understand the security protocols in this situation. The Federalists have their own people in the agency after all.”

Erika gave Sundersen a thoughtful look. “Forgive me for dropping that bomb in your lap,” she said.

“Sundersen smiled, nodded, “No forgiveness necessary, your Grace. That nasty little fucker required a public execution. Besides, that's what y'all pay me for.”

Erika flinched as the Body Servant worked a painful spot. He did not pause at all. Everyone knew she had a high pain tolerance.

Sundersen finished her drink, stood. “I expect you're rather done in by all of this, so I'll leave you be.”

“Thank you for coming by, your Excellency,” said Erika.

Sundersen made a slight bow. “It was my pleasure, your Grace.” She then exited.

Erika sighed deeply, motioned the Body Servant to stop. “Thank you,” she said.

He bowed deeply. “I live to Serve, Mistress.” Then he exited.

“Seemkoo,” she said languidly, pulling her robe open and spreading her legs. “Come here and prepare me.”

He smiled softly, his shorts bulging. “I live to Serve, Mistress,” he said, then brought his tongue and fingers down between her thighs. Erika gasped lightly, arched her back. All would soon be right in her world.
nebris: (FemJihad)
~This is how I see the physicality of the women of The Sisterhood, though they'll be rather darker skinned in general, think Indian/Pakistani.

nebris: (FemJihad)
~Janel was nervous to the point of nauseousness. At least, she called it 'nervousness'. Truth was, her tumble of emotions – fear, excitement, rage, guilt – was too much of a cascading mess for her to sort out any single one for more than a moment.

So she started cleaning the house again.

Mara watched the skinny raw boned brunette as she vacuumed the living room. At half past one in the morning. For maybe the tenth time in the last twenty four hours. She laughed a bit. “Coping,” she thought.

Mara was doing the same thing in her own way, a drop cloth spread over the kitchen table, her Ithaca 37 12 gauge military model pump action disassembled neatly, each dulled gunmetal piece getting loving attention. Again. At half past one in the morning. She grinned to herself.

Cassie was asleep in the back bedroom. Mara knew she didn't mind the sound of Janel's relentless cleaning. “Maintenance noise,” she called it, said it reminded her of Camp Anaconda back in Iraq and she found that comforting.

But no matter what Janel was doing, or not doing, either Cassie or Mara was awake. This operation was in its final phase. Randy, Janel's ex, was on the road.

He'd tracked her down before, three times in the past five years since she'd taken their two daughters and left. Left the yelling and threats and beatings and drunken rapes.

There'd been cops and restraining orders and battered women's shelters. And he never gave up. Janel knew that one day Randy would kill her.

When she'd wound up in one of The Sisterhood's battered women's shelters and told them her story, they agreed with her conclusion. And offered a final solution to her problem

So now, two months later, Randy was on the road.

He'd gotten a call at his job three states over. “Your cunt ex-wife is fucking some nigger,” the 'black sounding' woman's voice said in a growl. And gave him an address.

The Resolution Team tracked his truck's GPS, giving regular up-dates to Mara and Cassie. Mara was Inside on this one, Cassie was Outside.

Janel vacuumed. Her girls were hundreds of miles away in the desert learning how to ride horses. Hundreds of miles away from this two bedroom ranch style in a cul-de-sac, the place where they would soon be released from their past. They still woke up screaming these days, though less than before.

Cassie trotted into the kitchen in a t-shirt and boxers, poured herself some coffee. She looked at Janel pushing the vacuum back and forth, smiled.

“My old master sergeant would fucking love her,” she said. Mara laughed, slipped another well cleaned piece into place.

“I was thinking of getting her some whitewash.” They both laughed loud enough for Janel to notice. She blushed, turned off the vacuum, wandered into kitchen.

“I wonder where he is?” she asked no one in particular.

“An hour or so away with a Glock and a bottle of Jim Beam,” Mara said dispassionately. Janel jumped as Mara worked the shotgun's slide a few times.

Cassie pulled out the chair next to her, patted its seat. “Sit down and breath, Janel. Don't want you crashing before show time.”

Janel smiled wanly, sat down. Cassie rubbed her shoulders. “This will all be over soon, honey. And then you and your girls will be free. Now take some deep breaths.” Janel did so and began to relax just a bit.

Forty minutes later Cassie sat in the van parked in the driveway, once again wishing she still smoked and grateful that she didn't. She patted her own pump action, a near twin of Mara's, a short barreled, folding stock, pistol grip baby.

A voice whispered in her ear piece, ” This is Sky Box. The subject's vehicle just turned onto Dorado Drive, going north bound.”

“This is Top. Copy that,” she said.

“This is Bottle. Copy that,” came Mara's voice on the push.

After a few minutes, a pick up truck drove into the cul-de-sac, then stopped a couple of houses down, turned off its lights.

Cassie checked its plates with a night scope. “This is Top. Confirmed subject's vehicle has arrived. Repeat, subject's vehicle has arrived. Over.”

“This is Bottle. Copy that,” said Mara.

“This is Sky Box. Copy that,” said the 'whispered voice'.

Randy sat in his truck looking at the house where 'his cunt ex wife was fucking some nigger'. He took a slug from the Jim Beam, a big one this time. His Glock .45 lay upon the passenger seat.

He knew he was going to kill Janel tonight, if he found her, then himself. Maybe some nigger, too. He didn't think about 'his girls', but he'd probably kill them too if they were there.

He took another big slug, picked up the Glock, and got out.

“This is Top. The subject has exited his vehicle. ID is confirmed. Wait one.” Cassie peered intently into the night scope. “The subject is armed. The weapon is in his front waistband. Repeat, the weapon is in his front waistband. Over”

“This is Bottle. Copy the weapon is in his front waistband. Standing by. Over.”

“This is Sky Box. Copy that.”

Randy walked up to the door, knocked hard. “Janel! Janel!” he shouted, “Are you in there?”

A moment passed...

“Randy, you fucking piece of shit loser! Get the fuck outta here and go fuck yourself!” Janel screamed from behind the door.

Randy vaguely thought she seemed like she was purposely trying to piss him off, but he was too drunk and too angry to give a shit.

“You fucking cunt! Open this fucking door!” he screamed as he pounded on the door.

“Take your tiny pinky dick and go fuck some dog!” she screamed with real rage.

“You're fucking some nigger, ain't ya!?” he screamed through a red haze.

“Yes I am! He's got a big black cock and I suck it every night!” She was laughing hysterically now.

The red haze consumed him. He pulled out the Glock and kicked the door. It flew open and half off of its hinges with surprising ease. He rushed through the doorway, but then stopped dead in his tracks.

Not six feet away was a large blond in black BDU's pointing a shotgun straight at him.

Cassie heard the single shot, tensed.

After a beat, “This is Bottle. Code Black. Repeat, Code Black. Bottle out.”

Cassie took a deep breath. “This is Top. Acknowledge Code Black. Over.”

“This is Sky Box. Roger Code Black. Over.”

Cassie jumped out of the van and went up to the front door, watching out for blood spatter. Randy's corpse was crumpled in the doorway itself, nothing left north of his lower jaw.

Janel was about ten feet back, looking it the thing in the doorway with an indescribable expression. Mara carefully handed Cassie her radio. “Scoot,” she said, blowing a kiss.

“Ten four,” said Cassie with a smile.

Driving out of the cul-de-suc, she radioed, “This is Top. Code Blue. Repeat, Code Blue. Top out.”

“This is Sky Box. Roger Code Blue.”

Deputy Sheriff Bonita Garza sat in her black and white sipping green tea from a bottle. A large black van drove down the other side of the street, flashed its brights twice.

Garza turned over the engine, turned on the lights, stepped on the brake pedal, put the cruiser in gear, waited.

Her radio squawked a few seconds later, “All units in the vicinity of sixteen hundred North Dorado court. Shots fired. Possible one eight seven.”

Garza responded instantly. “This is Adam one seven. Proceeding north on the thirty five thousand block of Dorado Drive. Responding Code Two.”

She roared up the block, sirens wailing and light bar flashing. She knew exactly where she was going.


Two months later the case file landed on the desk of ADA Jim Dubchek. And then sat there for another ten days.

When he finally reviewed it, he was unimpressed. Randell Pinkston shot dead breaking into the house of Janel Raed, his ex wife. He had a gun and a high blood alcohol level. She had a TRO and a bodyguard, one Mara Jensen, who was the actual shooter.

Now Ms Jensen looked impressive. Bonded and Licensed security agent. Veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom. Ex-US Army Military Police NCO. LA County Reserve Deputy Sheriff.

The Robbery/Homicide investigation had signed off on this a 'clean self defense shooting'.

“Public service homicide,” Dubchek muttered, and dropped the file in his Decline box.

There was a small nagging part of his subconscious that wondered how Pinkston had found his wife and that it all seemed a bit 'too neat'. Dubchek was a pretty good ADA. But he stashed that nagging feeling away.

He could work that out tonight while groveling before Mistress Carmella, licking her boots, and taking her lashings. He did need to be guilty of 'something'.
nebris: (The Temple 2)
~The Sisterhood will continue to expand and refine The Sisterhood Training, with the goal of sharing it with as many women as possible.

It is essential to understand that after The Pentavalent itself, The Sisterhood Training is the Most Important Element of The Sisterhood. To use a rather fevered metaphor, The Sisterhood Training is the womb from which the New Matriarchy will be born. Without the efforts and actions of properly trained and motivated Sisters, all the preceding concepts are just so much 'sound and fury'.

Because of that I shall go into a considerable amount of detail regarding The Training itself.

I have been through a number of Large Group Awareness Trainings [LGAT's] These LGAT's were for the most part beneficial and positively transformative for me and for others. And I did see where they had their own internal problems.

The problem that was most apparent to me at the time was that LGAT's tend to 'crack you open' without much proper follow up except more trainings and workshops. They did try to form some kind of community of support - there would be a lot of talk about Relationship and the such - but since the focus was almost exclusively upon Individual Empowerment, that effort usually failed, a few times with tragic consequences.

Another issue was the utter lack of any type of Spiritual foundation. A trainer of mine once addressed this with a statement that they, the LGAT, "were willing to except the possibility that here was something greater than The Universe." That's a pretty thin metaphysical soup.

But the Key Issue with every single one of them is this; they are all ultimately 'part of the problem'.

As has been said before in these pages, a primary Operating Motto of ours is a quote from Jiddu Krishnamurti, "It is no measure of good health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society."

In the final analysis, the primary outcome of all the LGAT's I have ever encountered is to support you becoming 'more well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society'. They are after all, capitalist operations and, for all the good they might do, they are in business to sell a product and to make money. This also contributes to the first two problems mentioned above, the cracking open without follow up and the lack of Spiritual foundation.

Many of their graduates become 'more effective' in expanding the reach and power of Modern Corporate Marketing Culture, the producer/creator of the hologram that now holds most Americans - and many around the world - in its thrall, where we are no longer citizens, or even humans, but merely Consumers of Product and the entire focus of this is to Sell Product.

LGAT's are a part of that mechanism. They cannot be otherwise. And their models facilitate the perpetuation of Modern Corporate Marketing Culture. Why do you think so many corporations send 'their people' to these trainings? They make said people more Effective etc, not more Aware. If they really became so, they'd leave the corporation. Some do, but usually only to start some other type of corporation, not to exit the paradigm.

The very first thing that will make the Sisterhood Trainings different is that they will be non-profit. That way the entire financial focus is devoted solely to getting the Trainings into the reach of as many Sisters as possible and in the optimum fashion.

The final overall structure as presently envisioned would first be the Workshop Series, staring with a Guest Event to provide an enrollment mechanism for the two preliminary extended weekend workshops, a Basic that would run Friday through Sunday and an Advanced that would run Wednesday through Sunday, each designed to be preparatory for the Long Training itself.

They each would have benefits in and of themselves, even the Guest Event. For many Sisters they may be the only direct experience of The Sisterhood they are able have at that point in their lives, so these workshops have to be able to be as positively transformative as we can safely make them in that window.

Ultimately however, their primary outcome is to recruit Sisters for the Long Training, which is called a Wave. As such the Guest Event and the two Weekend Workshops would all take place within a roughly thirty day period preceding the beginning of a new Wave in the area in which that Wave was to be based. This would also intensify the experience of those Sisters who can only do the Workshop Series.

These workshops will be fully run by the Central Training Operation, a stand alone non-profit educational corporation whose sole purpose is to coordinate, guide and refine the Sisterhood Trainings. It will have a core professional staff which would be augmented with volunteers from the Trainings themselves.

The Long Training, aka a Wave, is the actual Amazon Warrior Priestess Training mentioned above. Each Wave would consist of a dozen to two dozen Trikonai, a bond group of three Sisters which would be formed during the two weekend workshops and would be a mandatory element. [A dozen to two dozen Trikonai would come out to 36 to 72 Sisters.] The only way to enroll in a Wave is as an already formed Trikona, optimally one that formed and bonded during the Workshop Series. The next section, Part Six: “Building a New Matriarchy – The Trikona”, will explain why this is necessary.

The Central Training Operation will provide support, networking, feedback, guidance, etc. But each Wave will be functionally autonomous. Its own members will run the Wave's specific scheduling and be almost entirely self funding, doing whatever is is needed to make sure that every Sister in that Wave is able to achieve all the goals and complete the Training.

Each Wave with be given an overall operational plan and a specific set of goals to achieve. Each Wave can also establish its own unique set of goals and outcomes as long as those do not interfere or contravene the overall plans and goals.

Incorporation: To begin with a Wave will establish itself as a Corporation of the type that best suits the state within which it is primarily operating. That will give the Wave a heft and a flexibility that enhances its ability to pursue its goals that no unofficial group could match. Corporate Personhood is the Key to Power in modern America.

Note that this is essentially an Event. It happens once and is done. The rest of the below are Process. They will unfold and change as the Wave proceeds.

Each Sister in the Wave will be a Voting Member of its Corporation and will be required to have a working understanding of it functions. At the end of the Training Cycle, the Corporation can be dissolved and any assets leftover divided equally among its Members. Or it may continue on as a sub-collective of The Sisterhood, engaging in The Work as its members so choose.

Majickal Working: Sisters would not be Witches without it. Operating with The Pentavalent as a guide, all aspects of each Wave will be Ritualized and conducted with some manner of Majickal and Goddess frame-working, starting with the above Incorporation and then through all the various goals and outcomes listed below.

This should be done in a reasonable fashion, with Focus and Efficiency in Balance. It will not be about 'getting it right', but about making it work. The goal in this is to use the collective and individual Majickal Talent of the Sisters in any given Wave to create a Tulpa, a manifested thought form that embodies the Wave itself, one that helps propel the Wave forward to a successful and fulfilling conclusion.

This will likely be the first real test of a Wave's ability to work as a collective and set the tone for what follows.

NLP: [Neuro-Linguistic Programing] Each Wave will complete an entire NLP Practitioner Certification Training over the course of its Cycle, with each Sister therein getting an individual NLP Practitioner Certification.

NLP is both a powerful Behavioral Change technology and a very effective Personal Communications technology. It should be self evident how such can be useful for The Temple's long term goals.

Impact Self Defense: This is a company that provides a type of self defense training for women that allows them to punch and kick full force, thereby providing a 'body memory' of combat training. Each Wave will contract with ISD to provide a full training to all its Sisters.

The purpose of this is to lay the foundation for a real Warrior Spirit, one based upon actual physical violence, not merely some hypothetical exhortation 'to be a warrior'. That is also why this will be undertaken at the beginning of the Wave Cycle. Warriors Fight. Sisters need to Learn that Lesson from the very start or my brothers will break you.

Yoga: It is likely that many Sisters coming into The Sisterhood Training will already be Yoginis of one school or another. Each Wave will seek their experience and guidance in embedding Yoga into the fabric of the Wave. Over time the Sisterhood Training will develop its own school of Yoga that best serves the needs of a Wave Cycle.

Yoga and Meditation will be the 'off-set' to the Martial Vigor of the various Warrior Disciplines a Wave will undertake. It also will provide a Centering and Grounding Discipline that can used by the entire Wave, a single Trikona, or the individual Sister, thereby providing Harmony and Connection throughout the Wave.

12 Step Work: The 12 Step modality is one of the best I have ever found to examine one's own Self. Though primarily used in addiction programs, it has a universal application. It's key is that with a methodological step by step structure it works upon discovering one's true thinking, which is largely how we get to wherever we are at any given point in our lives.

It is crucial for each Sister to understand who she is, what motivated her to do what she has done and how she got to whatever point she is in her life. These are Essential Elements of Self and the work of The Sisterhood requires a deep understand of Self. Each of the comforting illusions that every Sister harbors must be uncovered, discovered and discarded.

This work will be done individually, within each Trikona and by the Wave in group sessions. There will a lot of pain in this work, so it must be done with vast Compassion for both one's Self and one's Sisters.

Sexual Domination Of Men: As the Greater Goal of all of this work is a New Matriarchy, the practice of a genuine Female Supremacy is at the core of an Amazon Warrior Priestess Training such at this. And at the core of all intra-gender relationships is Sex.

Therefore each Wave must learn the art of The Dominatrix. Given its intimate nature, most of this will be done via the Trikonai. Each Trikonai is to engage a professional Domme to teach them the nature and practice of Domme Work. Each Trikonai will acquire male slaves who will support the work of its Wave in whatever fashion said slave in capable of.

Becoming Sexually Dominant, even as a 'exercise', makes a profound shift a Sister's basic nature. As with a training like Impact Self Defense, this work 'imbeds' that shift in a Sister's consciousness on a deep and atavistic level. And it is down in those places that Patriarchy has its strongest hold.

Dakini: This is the name I have given to a hypothetical mixed Female oriented martial arts system that is still to be developed. What is proposed is a blend of Eskrima, a Philippine martial art that uses simple weapons, sticks and knives, along with hand and foot fighting, Capoeira, a Brazilian martial art which ritualizes it's fighting as a form of dancing and Parkour, a French urbano-centric running and jumping sport.

I chose those forms because of their simplicity and their flowing motion. The idea is for more than just an 'effective fighting system'. If that was the goal, we'd just go with Krav Maga. But as with all of this work, there needs to be a Spiritual aspect, one that shifts Sisters all the way into their core. And as this would be a martial art that originates within The Sisterhood, it is also something that The Sisterhood owns completely.

Body Work: Due to the rigorous nature of the Sisterhood Training, each Sister is going to need body work done to help them heal and renew. Much of this will utilize skilled outside professionals. But between these sessions, each Sister will be required to learn a basic massage/ body work technique so that she can work upon other members of her Trikona on a regular basis. This will also deepen the Bond within each Trikona.

Rock Climbing: This is a prefect all body training and is an outdoor sport can be first learned in doors. It also favors the Female as leg and hip strength is more important than upper body strength. It will support and enhance all the physical training.

Weapons Training: Each Sister in the Wave will learn the use of the Staff, the Bow, the Sword, the Handgun and the Rifle. Teachers and training organizations will be engaged to teach the use of each of the weapons over the course of the Wave's Cycle. You're to be Amazons and these are the essential weapons.

Sports: Each Wave can pick and choose most of the sports they wish to, but Baseball is strongly urged and Paint Balling is mandatory.

Baseball is about Patience, Focus, and Strategy. It can be an excellent 'team builder'. The basic lineup of nine members is perfect for Trikonai. And as America's National Pastime [once upon a time at least] it has deep propaganda and nostalgia value.

Paint Balling is an obvious choice, hence being mandatory. It is a high impact form of mock warfare. The skills, gear and much of the equipment are easily transferable to The Sisterhood's security needs. The Trikona is an organic structure for a Fire Team. And as a serious bonding ritual, at some point each Trikona should be hunted by the rest of the Wave simply to see how long they can survive.

Equestrian Training: Each Sister in the Wave will learn basic horseback riding skills. There is no need to go for competition level training, just the feeling and ability to be at home upon a horse. Again, this is about being an Amazon. Horse Culture is in the Amazon's Soul.

Outward Bound: During the Wave's second year it will engage the organization Outward Bound for a vigorous group 'nature experience'. This will be a bonding experience that the Wave itself does not need to control and a useful place to utilize much of the training and skills acquired in the previous x-number of months.

So, looking back upon these goals one can see that the Sisterhood Training as outlined here is very demanding, especially on a physical level. And that only a small group of Sisters would be able to complete such a Training. They would be fairly young, say 20 to 40 years old, in good physical condition to begin with and be willing and able to commit their time to totally participate in and finish a full Wave Cycle.

This will obviously seem unfair and exclusionary to those who are not in that category. And it is. The entire Purpose of The Sisterhood Training is to create an elite of Sisters who are capable of driving The Sisterhood's efforts forward to build a New Matriarchy. Be aware that in the long run some of them will die doing that work. This is not a child's game we are playing here.

That said, we also cannot simply write off entire groups of Sisters who do not have the ability to do the above type of Training because they are not 'the above type of Sister'. That is more than merely unfair; it is utterly foolish and totally contrary to our Purpose.

Therefore, besides the Maximum Impact Training [MI-1] outlined above, there will also be a Medium and Minimum Impact versions of the Sisterhood Training.

The Medium Impact Training [MI-2] will be for Sisters who could probably handle the physical and emotional demands, but whose lives and/or personal inclinations do not allow for the type of time and energy commitment required by the Maximum Impact Training. How each of these Waves operates will largely be determined by their members. The Central Training Organization will set some basic goals, but from there the specifics will be worked out 'in group', which I have found is often an 'interesting exercise' in and of itself.

The Minimum Impact Training [MI-3] is for those Sisters who simply cannot handle the physical demands of either of the first two versions. They may be too old. They may be disabled. Some could find it all too emotionally intense and need something gentler. It too will determine most of its goals and plans 'in group' along with guidelines from the Central Training Organization.

The Trikona will still be the required basic unit however and for the same reasons in each Wave.

It is hoped that after a Guest Event and a Workshop Series that one of each of version will manifest. That may not always be so. But whenever there would more than one version underway, the key is that they are all Sisters and intramural support is essential. It is likely that many issues would come up, such as the 'feeling less' and 'popular girl' paradigms that may have plagued some Sisters since their teens. That would be some tough work right there.

Some will look at all this and proclaim loudly, and likely hysterically, all this to be a 'terrorist training scheme' and/or an effort to 'build a revolutionary army', so let's address that noise right out of the gate.

The Sisterhood utterly eschews Terrorism. Such is the desperate strategy of the weak and the dis-empowered. And terrorists almost always wind up as pawns in someone else's political game plan. Our goals and plans are our own.

The Sisterhood also rejects Revolution. History shows that it tends to merely replace one set of grasping oppressive bastards with another set of grasping oppressive bastards, ofttimes a worse collection. And note they're usually all Males, too. We won't play that game either.

The essential purpose of The Sisterhood Training is two fold;

One, to train a cadre of Sisters to protect themselves and the rest of the Sisterhood. The goal of a New Matriarchy will terrify some into violent reaction and The Sisterhood must be prepared to deal with that. As I have said many times, my brothers will not give up their power without a fight.

Two, any Sister who can commit to and complete such a rigorous regime as outlined above will never again be intimidated by anything. She will still see how Patriarchy oppresses her, but she will never ever again be a 'victim' of anything. Victim Feminism is a handmaiden of Patriarchy and it will take a Sisterhood of Amazon Warrior Priestesses to truly extirpate such a deeply embedded and self defeating paradigm.

And all this is still totally hypothetical. The very first Wave will have no Guest Event or Workshop Series. They'll be a handful of Sisters, maybe only two or three Trikonai, who will work from the above outline to build what will become the Central Training Organization. One day their work will be legendary because of what was stated at the very top of this section; The Sisterhood Training is the womb from which the New Matriarchy will be born.
nebris: (The Temple 2)
“Six days ago, a nicely-dressed man waiting on the platform for the 6 train zipped down his fly and exposed his penis to me. I turned around and hid behind the corner until I saw an officer and reported it.”

As the author was obviously psycho-emotionally incapable of dealing with a Predator, running and hiding was probably the best course of action. But there is a word for those who have to 'run and hide' from Predators; Prey.

The Key Element in the Ideology of Victim Feminism is that society is supposed to make All Of Us Safe All The Time. That is also the Ideology of The Petite Bourgeois. And it is clearly an illusion, one that turns all who believe it into Prey, because they then have no personal capacity to defend either themselves or their loved ones. Any reasonable person understands that society *cannot* make All Of Us Safe All The Time, yet so many act as if it could, usually by demanding laws that prohibit this, that and the other, as if Universal Safety could be legislated.

But really, the most effective way to stop rape [and I'm going to yell this] IS TO HURT/WOUND/KILL THE RAPIST! And that requires a *serious* change in mind set, from that of Prey [aka victim] to one of Predator, albeit a benign version of said. That mind set would prevent quite a few rapes because Rapists are functionally cowards who seek the vulnerable and, as such, avoid other Predators.

Now some of you are already seething that I'm “blaming the victim” etc. But if one does not fully pay attention to the true reality of one's environment, who else then is responsible? Life Is Dangerous. Period. And no, that's not Fair or Just or Right, but it most certainly is What Is So. You can accept that and prepare accordingly. Or you can be Prey.

Back to the opening quote. If the author had diligently studied Krav Maga or Mui Thai or Impact Self Defense, when that asshole flashed his dick, she would have had the mind set to confront him because she'd know she could kick the living shit out of him. Maybe that would stop his behavior, although he'd probably just look for Prey elsewhere. And, because at least 85% of human communication is non-verbal, being that she was now a Predator herself, her body language would 'speak that' and he may not have tried that crap in the first place.

We like to think we're separate from Nature, but we carry Her around inside of all of us. In Nature there are Predators and there are Prey. As Humans, we have the ability to pick which one we choose to be. And the 'Not Choosing' Default is to become Prey.

PS I didn't post the above at the OP. It would have just traumatized the author some more and likely kick off a flame war that I'm not in the mood to conduct. But IMHO you lot here are made of tougher stuff.
nebris: (The Temple 2)

Ceylan Ozalp, 19, was reportedly surrounded by ISIS fighters near the Syrian Kurdish city of Kobane also known as Ain al-Arab. After she run out of ammunition Ozalp said “goodbye” over the radio and spent her last bullet on killing herself.
nebris: (FemJihad)
MOI: The Hunter needs to see his Prey in order to hunt it.

SOME DUDE: Troll alert. Don't feed the troll people.

MOI: Goddess knows I certainly do troll, but that is not the case here.

My Brothers do in fact generally regard women as 'sexual prey' and they do hunt them as such, Yeah, it's mostly with money, booze and bullshit, but it IS a hunt nonetheless.

That is a harsh truth about the basic nature of the male that nice middle class folks really don't want to deal with.

MightyDoll: You were doing so well until you fell into that "basic nature of the male" bullshit.

MOI: Bet you get mighty pissed off when some dude makes presumptive statements about you and your uterus. Do you see the irony of that when you do the same regarding me and my penis?

MightyDoll: You're the one making presumptive statements about penises, not me. Your inability to control your dick isn't universal and it isn't "basic nature" I get to rolling my eyes when people cite pseudo science to make statements about me and my uterus AND when they use pseudo science to make statements about men and their penises.

MOI: Hey babe, I control my penis just fine. It's all a matter of the right rhythm. /end snark

Seriously, I'm sixty one years old and have been actively bisexual since I was nineteen. I most probably have far more 'hands on' experience of how men operate their cocks than you ever will. We're very predatory and aggressive, more than we'll generally admit to women because it would scare the fuck out of most of you.

That said, I did not make up the global sexual assault stats; one woman in three will be raped or sexually assaulted in their lifetime. I did not come up with the concept of Schrodinger's Rapist; that you will never know beforehand which of the men you meet will try to rape you. Note that such can be merely getting you too stoned/drunk to actively resist, which more men than you'd like to believe think is just fine.

This is not because all men are innately 'evil'. It is because our Primary Imperative is to *Impregnate*. That is a Hard Wired Species Survival Trait, aka 'the basic nature of the male'. Those of us who did not have that trait Do Not Reproduce!

Most of us do this 'with money, booze and bullshit', but make no mistake that we *hunt* you. As a presumable Hetro female [I have found that lesbians usually have no issue with this POV] that is understandably upsetting. You want, or have, a male lover and do not wish to think ill of him. You may also have a cat that you love and don't want to think of them as a little killing machine. But they are.

And any male partner you have has those predatory instincts. If you're a dynamic female, which I suspect you are, he'll likely be Beta and controllable. But have no doubt that you are dominating him and keeping him in line. We're also a 'pack species' and respond well to such when properly done. [yeah, Hierarchy is another hot button issue] Of course, if he gets drunk and/or angry enough, all bets are off.

The harsh truth is, in the long run, we Baseline Males need to be outbred. We're generally too aggressive and unstable for a complex technological civilization like the one we have created, ya know, nukes and all that. As the technology for intrafemale fertilization is well underway, the need for males in human reproduction should not be an issue for much longer.

The tough part will be the psycho-social adjustment to a real no-fooling-around Matriarchy, which is the underlying subject of this exchange, ain't it? I have found that you hetro gals seem even more scared of that than most men. [you like your cock] But a lot of my Brothers are resigned to such. As por moi, being a strong believer in reincarnation, I welcome our new Amazon Overlords. ;-)
nebris: (FemJihad)

I was very excited when I came across this image. This is the most accurate depiction of the true Amazons of Antiquity that I have ever seen, their gear and clothing drawn from that of the Sarmatian tribes of what is now the Southern Ukraine. The Sarmatians are known to have had a large number of women who rode as warriors with the entire tribe and were likely ruled by queens.

Of course there is still no ‘definitive’ proof that fully fledged Amazon Queendoms existed. Yet the Greeks certainly proclaimed them to be real and on a quite visceral level. In both Art and Legend the Greek fear of Amazons is clearly related and often.

Now there are those who dismiss such as some sort of sublimated ‘fear of women’, that an entire civilization and culture, one that for centuries supposedly dominated the shores of the Black Sea, The Pontus of Antiquity, could not have disappeared so thoroughly.

However, I shall cite two examples.

The city of Tartessos was well known to both the Greeks and the Phoenicians. It was an important trading society in the Mediterranean and the Bay of Biscay. It existed somewhere in the vicinity of modern Cadiz on the south coast of Spain during the first half of the 1st Millennium BC. But its location has never been found and its language and culture have vanished almost absolutely.

Up until just seventy four years ago as of this writing, there was a large and vibrant Jewish culture that existed in what is now Eastern Poland and Western Belarus. Roughly three million souls with their own language, culture and religion who could trace their roots in that region back five/six hundred years. Yet if you journeyed there now, you would find no trace of the civilization beyond a few of the places where it was consumed.

So, to those who doubt, I would say it is very easy to imagine that the physical remains of a great Amazon civilization could be wiped away by those who feared it. Men are well practiced at such things…


Jun. 27th, 2012 06:24 pm
nebris: (The Temple 2)
“The Power of Three is considered the highest connection to the source…each faith or belief has a source of three that connects them to their power source and higher level.” ~Rose Ann Schwab

nebris: (A Manga Thang)
~Of course the first Official Gay Military Kiss is between two very cute lesbians. Somebody in PR was paying attention. lol

nebris: (FemJihad)
I strongly urge Sisters of all colors to read what Scottie has to say. In my own experience – I've been in and around most of these scenes – I believe her keen observations and thorough analysis to have a universal application.

Scottie Lowe
CEO and Founder of AfroerotiK

I’ve been putting off writing this follow-up piece to White Male Submission for almost a year now. My love/hate relationship with submissive white men on any given day is tempered by how many cups of Roobois tea I’ve had to keep me calm, exactly how effective I think I’ve been in communicating to them another way to look at their behaviors, and how annoying they insist on being. Submissive white men love me and I . . . well . . . I don’t hate white men, of the submissive or any other variety, but I’m not fond of the arrogance, lack of empathy, compassion, or concern many of them have for anyone with different experiences than they, or the sheltered, and unjustly privileged existence they lead that allows them to think that the world revolves around their fantasies, and how they manage to think that I owe them my time and attention.

My very first exposure to the concept of submissive white men began in January of 2000... )


nebris: (Default)
The Divine Mr. M

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