BB's Dirty Thoughts Dec.2 (real)

Ne vstrechal by vas,
ne stradal by tak Ya by prozhil zhizn' ulybayuchis'
Vy zgubili menya
ochi chyornye Unesli na vek moyo schast'ye

Ochi chyornye, ochi zhguchie
Ochi strastnye i prekrasnye Kak lyublyu ya vas,
kak boyus' ya vas Znat' uvidel vas ya ne v dobryi chas  

(If I hadn't met you,
I wouldn't be suffering so I would have lived my life smiling
You have ruined me, dark eyes
You have taken my happiness away forever

Dark eyes, burning eyes
Passionate and splendid eyes
I love you so, I fear you so
Verily, I saw you at a sinister hour)

Ochi chyornye, Ukranian Romantic-era poem and song
Yevhen Hrebinka, Florian Hermann.

Twitter may have been overwhelmingly in favour of discussing the finer points of French women (and I cannot blame them; les femmes Françaises sont comme un gâteau au chocolat.) But I am a servant of my beloved patrons, and I would be doing poor service as your muse if I did not adhere to your whims first. And I do it with gladness of heart, and why not? Tonight, we discuss one of nature's finest creations: femeile Romane.

I spent a very short time in Budapest; I was touring with a band through Europe, playing hooky from Eurocentro a Firenze, across the street from the famous Giardino di Bobboli. (I really had no idea how spoiled I was, but I never took it for granted. That trip changed my life. So much so that I even came back!)

Though I was of sexual maturity, I did not have the age or experience to know how to navigate myself to adult venues, let alone gay ones, so my brief forays into Romani culture as a wild and virile young woman were sadly, and very expectedly, heteronormative. (Traditional values, the Orthodox church, etc.) I quickly learned that the "Grass is greener" principle significantly applied- I loved them because they were foreign to me, and they loved a red-blonde Irish-English-American girl with an articulate tongue. And, let's be real- I was playing roadie, so I was mostly busy working with the band. (The most breathtaking Lost Boy experience I'd have- the young escapee orphan kind, not the vampire kind- would be at our primary destination in Norway, but that, darling dears, is another story. A story of sleeping in hammocks and swinging on rope vines into fjords and Swimming to the next band we wanted to see play and divine symphonic metal... and so on.)

But it was still plenty enough time for dark-haired beauties to make a painful and lasting impression, if only ever caught in passing glances through heavily-lashed eyes. The sword-dueling romantic GAY in me already had a firm grip, and lordy lord, did I fantasize about swooping in to rescue one, to ample passionate reward. Still, I was young, and hadn't yet heard and fallen DESPERATELY in love with the Ukrainian romantic poem and song written from the perspective of a Russian soldier falling painfully in love with a Romani woman.

It was my first dance with the concept of Love and Madness, and it resonated Immediately in my romantic-as-hell, kinky-as-hell heart. I was Entranced; love and sexual desire that breeds complete insanity and all-consuming obsession? How rare a gem must that have been, said my young mind, and it's pursuit took up chunks of my life that I can never gain back. There was much disquiet, but gods, was my romantic life never boring.

And it IS rare; that sort of indulgence, when Consensually engaged upon (for non-consensually, it's nothing more than stalking and harassment), know it for the delicacy it is. Those who have experienced it know; if you must question, you haven't tasted it yet. It leaves irreplaceable memories and scars.

But let us return to those fantasies- of curving, cherry-auburn touches in black sylvan hair, eyes of almond and wildflower honey, skin kissed with coffee and honey and accented with kohl. The undertones of gray-in-black are key to the highlighting of Romani skin- on my fair cream, it reads stark and cutting. On theirs? As natural as the sunrise, smoke blurring limpid pools of ink and sin.

If I had my way, I'd draw my tongue along a beauty's neck before sampling the underside of her thigh, giving her a veritable tongue bath before even Thinking of moving onto something more salacious. In every fantasy, I lead; pulling hair, desperately gripping joints and hips, turning dark ruby lips up to the sky in wild moans.

My mind ever turns back that line in one of it's translations (for there are a few versions; the original poem, it's transliteration, later versions, and versions given idiomatic translations in English intended for singing without clumsy additional syllables): "Vy zgubili menya ochi chyornye"- "you have ruined me, dark eyes"... of lovers starving and suffering (perhaps not sweetly, but quite welcomely) for their desires. There is a particularly transgressive and kinky desire, there, to leave whip welts with my single-tail, a sort of "punishment" for eliciting such aching madness upon a purring and above-it-all Romani, crumbling her haughty disaffection until it is all heat and passion, reducing her to her purely sexual nature, a state I know all too well, having been on the receiving end.

And then, of course, devouring her. Strap-on, absolutely. Savaging her until there is no more ego, no more thought, no more her, no more me; just pure white-hot abandon and storming human emotion in catharsis and ecstasy.

If I am ever lucky enough to find a woman of that heritage, in ethnicity or spirit, dear reader, you shall be the first to know.

In the shortly upcoming, I'll be posting my own piano rendition of that CUTTINGly beautiful and highly adored piece, Ochi Chornye- Dark Eyes. Possibly on soundcloud.