Tag Archives: Half-Moon Bride by Marilyn Jaye Lewis

Wow, Let’s Just Stay in Bed Awhile!!

Okay, gang — can you say 98% humidity??!!

Yes, that’s what we’ve got going on here this morning in Crazeysburg!! It’s not hot, but it’s humid.

I laid in bed for awhile, after breakfast, meditation, etc., and I drank my coffee (and I thought about sex & love & real estate) and I wondered why I was so thoroughly averse to getting on that treadmill today, until I looked at the weather app on my phone and saw that humidity index and realized – oh, that’s why. Because if I get on that treadmill in this kind of humidity, I’ll be dead in under 2 minutes! (I have no AC here to filter it out.)

I didn’t even feel like doing yoga, but I forced myself, because I’m going to spend another entire day sitting at my desk, working on the short story, and I have to at least do something physical before I sit my quite comely behind down on my desk chair for the next 9 hours! Otherwise, there will be a lot more of my behind to get comelier!!

And that said — yes, I am still hard at work on “Half-Moon Bride”! Can you believe it? It was already dark out when I closed down the laptop for the night last night, and as I sat down on my bed and wondered if I was basically coming to the end of the story, a whole other chunk of it opened up in my head!

OMG, it’s probably going to be more like a 30-page short story, at this point.  It’s insane. But I’m still loving every minute of writing it. Except that last night, as I was re-reading what I had written during the course of the day, I came upon a paragraph that was kind of really insane, and I thought: You know, Marilyn, you might want to re-think that when your brain is fresh because by any definition under the sun, that paragraph is just plain rape. The “questionable consent” aspect of that is indescribably paper thin.

So tweaking that into something a little more acceptable is the first thing on my plate for this morning!

The whole D/s thing can really cross over some lines, especially if a reader is not into D/s. (And I’ve been assured by Wikipedia, that most people in the world are not into D/s — how does Wikipedia know something like that, anyway? Have they polled everyone in the Universe??? I don’t remember them polling me. Of course, they probably didn’t have  to — they simply read everything I’ve ever written over the last 30 years and likely concluded I was one of the pathetic few who was “into” it.)


At breakfast this morning, I was thinking about what they’d said on Wikipedia about D/s and it was sort of jarring, because I have always been into it, even as a little girl. Just always, always into it. Long before I even understood what D/s was. And then, in NYC, almost everyone I knew was into it. So I’ve just sort of taken it as a given that there is nothing weird about D/s and that it’s actually only a handful of people in the Universe who aren’t into it. To one degree or another…

But apparently the experience of my own life has left me misinformed.

I am, of course, exaggerating a bit here, but it was sort of a shocking moment– “most people” aren’t into it? Have I just been classified as part of the marginalized society? Again???? To be honest, I can’t imagine life being appealing to me any other way. (I’m talking strictly about my sexuality here, gang, in case you’re losing track of my insanity here this morning.)

In fact, on a somewhat related topic…

I saw something on Instagram that really disturbed me last night, right before I went to bed, as it turned out.  The worst time to encounter something disturbing, right? An ex-colleague of mine in Paris has a new book out. A collection of essay-memoir type pieces.

This is the woman that I had mistakenly thought was a really good friend of mine and then she absolutely ruined my last trip to Paris — on purpose. I have not spoken to her again since that trip. In fact, she was so mean to me — I’d gone there to do a book-signing in a bookstore in Paris and it was really, really important to me, and then she did her best to ruin that event for me, too. And so the very next morning, I packed my things and simply left. Took the metro out to Charles De Gaulle, put a big black “X” over Paris in my mind, removed it from my map of the world, and got on a plane to Exeter, where a really wonderful Croatian, musician-photographer friend of mine lives.

(And then Exeter’s airport was a little nightmare, because I was an American writer, flying from Paris into this tiny little airport in England and it raised all these little red flags for airport security there. Jesus. They took me out of the line and questioned me forever and looked me up on their little computer and I knew  by the non-look they had on their faces, as they questioned me over and over and over again about who I really was and why I had come to England by way of such a small airport, that they knew exactly who I was… Back then I was still dealing with an FBI issue regarding an international ring of pedophiles attaching themselves (unbeknownst to me) to my illustrious “pornography” career.)

Well, long story short, that trip was really difficult.  And as time has gone by, I have tried to wipe that woman from my memory completely, and have tried to re-embrace the idea of Paris and, you know, allow it to be on the map again. But I have, on occasion, tried to figure out what the hell was up with that woman and why she suddenly got so outrageously mean to me.

She was a well-known writer in Paris, and a financially successful one, but in her private life, she was a Dominatrix (heterosexual). I had no problem with that at all. I knew  plenty of other women who did that, all over the world, I just personally have never been into that whole scene.  Ever. It does nothing at all for me. In my opinion, that whole scene is strictly Sadomasochism and not D/s, and that’s not something I’m into.

But I have wondered if maybe she had gotten it into her head that I was a masochist, and she was trying to force me into some sort of psychological scene . I don’t know.

Then suddenly, last night, I see she’s got this new book out and what is it about? Her experiences over the last few years of basically forcing women into Sadomasochistic relationships with her and what she learned from it!!

Jesus. Just reading the PR blurb about it totally creeped me out. Fuck, you know?? For that, she had to totally ruin my trip to Paris? She couldn’t have just asked me if I’d be into it?  Of course, I would have said ‘no,’ but still. It just made me feel sick and disgusted and really just totally creeped out. No other words for it.

So, anyway. Yes, there are lines within D/s that can get murky indeed. Communication, of course, can take care of a lot of the murkiness, though. To me, D/s is a fluid, creative, emotionally-nuanced erotic exchange of power, that relies on trust and a deep sense of fun and play.  Not the rigid, pain-inducing, psychologically restrictive structure of Sadomasochism. To me, they are two totally different worlds.


For the last several mornings, upon awakening, a very specific section of Cat Stevens’ song “Moonshadow” has been playing on a relentless loop. I would wake-up, and my mind was right at the exact spot in the song as it had been for days on end. I find that stuff really interesting, but what was even more interesting, is that today I woke-up and my mind was singing an ENTIRELY different song!!!!!


But the song I was suddenly singing couldn’t have been more unexpected, or perhaps even more bizarre. (I have not thought of this song in probably light years. I didn’t even really realize that I actually knew it.) But I embraced it, joyfully! Because, at last, it was a new song! And I’m leaving you with it here, on this fine Saturday morning. And in the highly unlikely event that you need access to the lyrics, I have included them below. Enjoy!! Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya.

In Heaven There is No Beer

In heaven, there is no beer
That’s why we drink it here
And when we’re gone from here
Our friends will be drinking all our beer.

(Repeat, indefinitely)

© 1956 Ernst Neubach

Howdy, Howdy! Sorry I’m late!!

Kevin, the director of my play, Tell My Bones, has been hard at work, streamlining the play for the upcoming staged reading on StreamYard. And this morning, I had to read through what he’s come up with so far, and it absolutely amazed me, what a great job he’s doing!

I am so excited about this reading, gang. I just cannot wait.

But anyway, that’s what I’ve been doing here this morning — reading over the play. And so now I am late posting here.

Wow, is it humid today. Just unreal. It’s supposed to rain most of the day — I think remnants from Hurricane Laura. So we’ll see how that goes. But all I’m planning to do today is sit at my desk and finish writing the new short story.

I believe it is almost done, but, honestly, I don’t really know, since I wasn’t expecting to write this story in the first place. And I’ve just been sort of letting the story tell itself. (It’s about 20 pages now.) And I’m getting the pronounced feeling that a lot of people will be offended by the story, but what I’m hoping is that those kinds of people will read it and think they “should” be offended by it (or aspects of it), but instead find it disturbingly erotic.  (That’s when I know a story is a success!!)

I’m only partly kidding. But it is a really strange story.  (See previous posts from the last several days, re: “The Half-Moon Bride”.) You know, even when I’m reading over it, tweaking it, revising it, sometimes I’ll get to the end of a passage and just think: Wow, that was fucking EROTIC.

But then I’ll also laugh at myself because it’s just — I don’t know; it is such a weird story and it just keeps coming out of nowhere. And it is totally D/s, because I can’t seem to write anything that is not totally D/s for the life of me. Which means it goes down some of those murky “questionable consent” paths which are getting more and more “unmarketable” nowadays.

But I figure, my erotic stories have always been known for that. And some (women mostly) people get offended, but for the most part, readers are okay with it. I guess because they like D/s. And since I’m publishing myself now — oh, well.

So I just keep moving forward with the story, letting it be what it wants to be. And I think I am almost done, but we’ll see what today reveals.

All right. I’m going to get started here. Thanks for visiting, gang. I cannot believe it is already Friday — how the heck did that happen??? But enjoy the day, wherever you are in the world! I’m leaving you with a Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds song that I had not thought about in a really long time. (I saw it mentioned on Instagram yesterday and found it kind of staggering.)”Sail Away,” 1994, originally a B-side from Let Love In.

And when I was playing it yesterday, it occurred to me that I haven’t played Discs 1 or 2 from B Sides & Rarities (2005) in a really long time. I always just stick in Disc 3 and play that one. So now I have Disc 2 in the CD player in the kitchen, which includes “Sail Away”…

Anyway, today I’m leaving you with “Sail Away.”  A darkly beautiful song. So enjoy. I love you guys! See ya.

Sail Away

[Verse 1]
I climbed the hill, lay in the grass
A little dark-eyed girl drifted past
She said all the best is come, it could not last
And the worst, it has come true
Her hands are small and fluttered up
I lay amongst the buttercups
I pulled on my coat and buttoned it up
For the worst, it had come true

Sail away, sail away
To a place where your troubles can’t follow
Sail away, sail away
Save all your tears for tomorrow

[Verse 2]
Orphans of the city moved toward us
And the swallows swooped and the starlings warned us
And the peril in everything
It assured us that the worst had come true
And all my sorrows made their bed beside me
The shame, the disgrace and the brutality
And she whispered then “Let laughter flee.”
For the worst, it has come true

[Verse 3]
Dry your tears, forget while we’re here
Leave all your sorrows behind you
Never lose heart, all things will pass
To a place where your troubles can’t find you
She came beside me amongst my coat
Her breath was warm against my throat
We clung to each other so very close
For the worst, it had come true

Sail away, sail away
To a place where no one can betray you
Take my hand through this night without end
For the worst, it has come to claim you

© 1994 Nick Cave

Welcome to Bizarro Land!

Okay, so. Yesterday produced about 4000 more words on the new erotic short story, “Half-Moon Bride.” And I’m still nowhere near done.

So that means that once again, today, I will be spending unending hours writing intensely erotic stuff about 2 hermaphrodites on their wedding night. Not a topic that I ever dreamed I would spend even a moment’s time thinking about, let alone carefully crafting.

I’m still having a blast doing it, but it is so fucking strange. Mostly because I have no clue where this story is coming from.


Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that the summer that I was 14, my boyfriend — with whom I was incredibly obsessed — was killed in an accident. And today marks the 46th anniversary of his death.

Even though it’s really sunny out right this minute, it is supposed to thunderstorm most of the day, and the drive to the cemetery is an hour each way. So I have decided not to go to the grave today, and just stay home and work on the short story.

I do honestly believe he visited me this morning, when I was down at my kitchen table, writing in my Inner Being journals. He came through with a few sentences, even though I wasn’t asking him to, or anything. But I do think he really did that. When I was a lot younger, he would sometimes visit me in spirit, but I was too young to have any frame of reference for that kind of thing back then and so it would terrify me. Nowadays, I’m used to that kind of thing, but he doesn’t visit me, ever. He’s been gone such a long time. So I certainly wasn’t expecting anything today, and yet I do think it happened.

He basically said that Life is not what it seems to be, and to remember what was beautiful, and to focus on what’s coming, don’t look back.

So I think he might have also been saying to leave sad things like graves alone for today, and work on a story that’s making me feel happy, instead.

Well, when I went back upstairs with my coffee, I went to the storage closet and got out my yearbooks from Junior High School (they call it Middle School nowadays, but back then, it was Junior High). And even though High School yearbooks are what most people keep & treasure & all that, for some reason (well, partly because I hated High School), I have no yearbooks left from High School but all 3 of the ones from Junior High.

Two of them have photos of Greg in them and those are now the only photos I have of him. I have moved so many times in the 46 years that  he’s been gone.

So here he is — in the full length one, he is 14. He was really tall, but you can’t tell from the photo. You can’t really tell much at all from the photo because he seems to have been in the middle of laughing.

And then there’s a yearbook photo of me from the same year, at age 12. I’m in the 7th grade. (Where my hair is longer)

And then in the other photo of him, he is 15 (graduating Junior High that year,  so that’s why his photo is more “formal”.) And he will be dead a few months later.

Then me, that same year, at age 13. When it became extremely fashionable to have really thin eyebrows!

I did have a real fondness for plaid palazzo pants back then, too…

Greg 1973















MJL  12 years old















Greg 1974













MJL 13 years old

Anyway, there it is — all that’s left, really, from those brief years.

They were awful, by the way — worst years of my life. If you have read Letter #2, “A Beach to His Waves,” from my in-progress memoir, Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse, Greg is the boy I was writing about there.

It is best to try to remember what was beautiful from back then and let the rest go and just face forward. So that’s what I’m going to do.

Okay, that’s it for today. Have a good Thursday. Thanks for visiting, gang. I’ll leave you with sacred music. John Rutter conducting the Cambridge Singers, “All Things Bright & Beautiful,” one of my favorite hymns, and my very favorite version of it. Enjoy. I love you guys, see ya!

All Things Bright and Beautiful

All things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
all things wise and wonderful,
the Lord God made them all.

1 Each little flow’r that opens,
each little bird that sings,
he made their glowing colors,
he made their tiny wings. [Refrain]

2 The purple-headed mountain,
the river running by,
the sunset, and the morning
that brightens up the sky. [Refrain]

3 The cold wind in the winter,
the pleasant summer sun,
the ripe fruits in the garden,
he made them, ev’ry one. [Refrain]

4 The tall trees in the greenwood,
the meadows where we play,
the flowers by the water
we gather ev’ry day. [Refrain]

5 He gave us eyes to see them,
and lips that we might tell
how great is God Almighty,
who has made all things well. [Refrain]

© 1848 Cecil Frances Alexander (Words)

Dear Diary, Yet Again, Life Continues to Astound and Amaze!!

Wow, I got more great writing done on that new erotic short story yesterday, gang. (See yesterday’s post re: “Half-Moon Bride“) It’s evidently going to be a longer short story — maybe 10,000 words or so? Maybe more? I’m going to try to finish it today, but I honestly have no clue. Everything about this story seems to be coming to me from out of nowhere, so I’m just flowing with it!!

I can say that it is making me really happy. I’m having a lot of fun with it. And even though I have an overall, general idea of where it’s heading, I can’t really say for sure how we will get there. But in the meantime, it’s a great ride.

I think we are all finished with the cover layout for The Guitar Hero Goes Home. So now I guess we put it all together and I order a test print. That’s exciting, because even if it needs some tweaks or fixes (they usually do), it will be such a joy to have that novel in my hands finally as an actual printed book.  It feels like it’s taken forever for that to happen. (Although, in reality, it’s probably the same length of time it took, in the old days, for traditional publishers to print my books, and in some cases, this has been way shorter. Still. I feels like forever.)

So I’m really happy.  And then we will move forward with all the rest of it. After I give Valerie maybe, I don’t know — a 5 minute break?

Okay. Well, yesterday was all about rain and torrential downpours for a change. But today — so far — it’s back to being a sunny day.  And there was indeed a schoolbus back in the neighborhood, early this morning. So here’s hoping we can just move on.  I am just so ready to be over it. I’ll wear my mask when I’m supposed to wear it, but other than that, I’m done with it. Done looking at the numbers. Done worrying about it. Done wondering where it’s heading and when it will stop.

I don’t know about you, but psychologically, I simply need to move on and make decisions based on a (new) normal life. It’s been 5 fucking months already, at least out here around Muskingum County.

So, in that vein, I’m going to finish up the laundry and get down to work on the short story here. I know this is a brief post, but all I’m really focused on right now is the short story.

I hope you have a great Wednesday underway, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I’m going to leave you with something I’ve posted here before, but I totally love it and it was the first song that popped into my head at breakfast this morning — Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, doing a live cover of an old Dave Clark 5 hit, “Anyway You Want It.” (The best kind of lover to have, in my opinion!!)

This is the version off of the Live Anthology (the song was recorded on June 11, 1983, at a concert in Irvine California). There are a couple of bootleg albums out there, too, that have great versions of this song. But I haven’t posted this version to the blog before, so enjoy! It is such a great upbeat song for a great upbeat kinda morning. All righty! Have a great Wednesday. I love you guys. See ya.

Who the Heck Knows Anything, Right??

So much for working on Thug Luckless: Welcome to P-Town yesterday.

For some unknown yet delightful reason, I suddenly began writing a new erotic short story yesterday — I didn’t even know it was lurking in there, even though I do want to write more erotic short stories (see yesterday’s post). I came back from the market, put the groceries away, sat down at my desk and suddenly, the story was there.

It’s maybe almost halfway finished. I’m already at 4000 words. (I know! So odd, right? How stories will just suddenly come. Aside from speaking with Valerie for a bit yesterday, I was working on the short story for 9 hours, and will be working on it all day today, too.)

And what’s even all-out weirder is that it’s a futanari story. Futanari is now pretty much only a hentai porn term for hermaphrodites (generally: extremely sexy females who also have huge cocks) (in hentai animation). But it used to be more of a Japanese folklore term, a long  long time ago.

But anyway, I am not into futanari porn.  I find androgyny sort of appealing, a tiny bit, maybe,  but not enough to think I would ever in a million years write about it erotically. Ever.

And yet… 4000 words later, I’m not even halfway done.

So strange. But I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

The story is titled “Half-Moon Bride”. In Japanese folklore, a “half-moon” futanari was someone of one sex who switched sexes on the full moon. So I’m guessing you can kinda see where the bride on this particular wedding night is headed…. (and our poor bride has no idea what she is yet, but as luck would have it, she’s marrying a full-futa and so he/she is going to be able to help her out with that.)

I won’t go into any more of the details. Obviously, it’s hardcore fantasy erotica which is not the kind of erotica I usually write. So everything, on every level of this story, has been a complete surprise to me.

Well, okey-dokey.

The trip into town yesterday was illuminating. With school starting back this week, the grocery store was empty. However, the Home Depot parking lot next door to it was jammed. And some of the more breakfast-type restaurants were busy again (by social distancing standards). But, overall, lots less cars on the streets.

Going back to school seems to still change everything, with or without COVID. It just signals: Fall is coming. (And yet, it’s still August…)

Anyway. Life’s good.

Valerie and I are just about ready to sign off on the cover layout for The Guitar Hero Goes Home. And then I can order my test print and see if I’m happy or not. I still have to format the ePub file, but once I do that, the eBook will be published, too.

So we are almost there.

Well, I’m going to get started here today. I hope you are having a truly terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world!! I leave you with a song I have posted here before — one of my favorite songs by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, “Do You Love Me (Part 2),” from that truly amazing album Let Love In from 1994 (which seems like yesterday, but my higher math skills assure me it was 26 years ago… wtf???). However, in case you missed it the last time I posted it, here it is again!! So enjoy and thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya.

“Do You Love Me? (Part 2)”

Onward! And Onward! And Onward I go
Where no man before could be bothered to go
Till the soles of my shoes are shot full of holes
And it’s all downhill with a bullet
This ramblin’ and rovin’ has taken its course
I’m grazing with the dinosaurs and the dear old horses
And the city streets crack and a great hole forces
Me down with my soapbox, my pulpit
The theatre ceiling is silver star-spangled
And the coins in my pocket go jingle-jangle

There’s a man in the theatre with girlish eyes
Who’s holding my childhood to ransom
On the screen there’s a death, there’s a rustle of cloth
And a sickly voice calling me handsome
There’s a man in the theatre with sly girlish eyes
On the screen there’s an ape, a gorilla
There’s a groan, there’s a cough, there’s a rustle of cloth
And a voice that stinks of death and vanilla
This is a secret, mauled and mangled
And the coins in my pocket go jingle-jangle

The walls of the ceiling are painted in blood
The lights go down, the red curtains come apart
The room is full of smoke and dialogue I know by heart
And the coins in my pocket jingle-jangle
As the great screen crackled and popped
The clock of my boyhood was wound down and stopped
And my handsome little body oddly propped
And my trousers right down to my ankles
Yes, it’s onward! And upward!
And I’m off to find love
Do you love me? If you do, I’m thankful

This city is an ogre squatting by the river
It gives life but it takes it away, my youth
There comes a time when you just cannot deliver
This is a fact. This is a stone cold truth.
Do you love me?
I love you, handsome
But do you love me?
Yes, I love you, you are handsome
Amongst the cogs and the wires, my youth
Vanilla breath and handsome apes with girlish eyes
Dreams that roam between truth and untruth
Memories that become monstrous lies
So onward! And Onward! And Onward I go!
Onward! And Upward! And I’m off to find love
With blue-black braclets on my wrists and ankles
And the coins in my pocket go jingle-jangle

© 1994 Nick Cave