Journal 117
Opal 48
Stone carver
- Life
- A yard studio with dust in the kettle.
- Temper
- Slow speech, sudden grip
Kinks
- A short chase in a yard she already knows
- Stone dust and night air
- Heavy hands she ordered
I am Opal, forty-eight. I carve stone in a yard studio and the kettle always has dust in it, which I pretend is flavor. I do not fuck apprentices. There are none in my stories and there will not be. Men come from the supply shop or the bar, adults with their own keys, and if we run the yard we agree it at the gate. The word is marble. I say it and the hands stop. I like heavy hands when I have ordered them. I like sweeping up after, alone, pleased, with the night still on my cunt.
The blog
2 entries, newest first.
The stone yard
Stig was a different man, thirty-six, from the bar, not from the quarry night. He came to the studio yard after I texted a pin and a sentence: blowjob, then a fuck, then you leave. He answered with the word marble, which I had told him was the stop, and with yes. I was seated on a low stone when he arrived, canvas jacket, dark work shirt, bun already loose,…
Read full postThe quarry
The quarry was closed and I was not working. The gate had a chain on it that the watchman leaves loose for me because I buy the offcuts, not because I was on a clock. Benno met me there, fifty-two, shoulders like a man who lifts for a living that is not mine. I told him I do not fuck anyone who learns a chisel from me, and he does…
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