text:
Chapter 3 – Truce?
Kirsty smiled as she watched Monica swing on her playset. The day was chilly and a bit grey. Those dark clouds overhead were just another reminder of him…and last night. She dropped her head and toyed with a blade of tall brown grass. Even that would be gone soon, hidden under the white of snow, she mused.
Breakfast this morning had been tense. Unlike the café yesterday or dinner last night, everyone was not talking all at once. No one talked at all. She caught Bjⱷrn looking at her across the table a couple of times. She tried to smile reassuringly at him, but it did not seem to work. Those dark circles were still present beneath his green eyes too.
Svein, too, did not have much to say, only answering his uncle's questions a couple of times. Or she assumed they were questions. She would talk to Petrine when she came out of the greenhouse. Maybe she could order an online language course. She was certainly tired of not knowing what the people around her were saying.
Of course, he was the most silent. Although that was not all that unusual, he sat directly across the table from her. Never once did he look up, though. Damn, the man. She had woken up alone in that damned monstrosity that passed for her bed. Torture device was more like it. Hell, her whole fucking bedroom was.
The bed with its four huge posters and metal rings all around it. She remembered photos on that site of women suspended with rope in mid-air. She bet they could do that there. So, why did that idea excite her as much as it frightened her?
She had explored the room a bit after she finally found the energy to get out of bed and forced her shaky legs to work. She could not find her clothes. So, she wrapped herself in the quilt.
The wardrobe she had come to realize could double as a St. Andrew's Cross with three of those rings across the top as anchors for roping. To make it worse, the ancient mirrors on the doors would reflect everything. She would see every blow before it even hit if her eyes were open anyway.
And that damned chair? The one that she had thought at first was some oversized captain's one. It was more like a fucking throne. She had shivered as she ran her hands across its ancient wood. It also had three rings. On at the very top of the high back, through a laughing Loki's nose. The other two at the ends of the arms through the snouts of dogs, or she thought they were supposed to be dogs anyway.
Of course, the one thing she had wanted to explore the most was that damned trunk, which she supposed was their 'toy box,' only more substantial than the one on the boat. It was locked when she woke up. Besides the rope and that horrid tawse, she had no idea what else might be in store for her.
She had jumped up from the floor and wrapped the quilt tighter about her when the door to her room opened. It was only Petrine, though — only her mother-in-law.
Kirsty looked once more towards the closed doors of the greenhouse. The woman had disappeared in there over an hour ago, and she had no idea what she was doing. She thought about knocking, making sure that everything was all right. But she was in charge of Monica.
Thinking about that room that was now hers, but it had been this woman's before. Mikael's words from last night about the things his parents might have done in there, well, maybe disturbing Petrine was not the best idea after all. Talking about her marriage and how it worked with the woman had been bad enough yesterday, the other was most definitely one conversation she was not ready for.
BDSM? Bondage. Domination. Submission. Masochism. She had checked all the boxes last night in that room with him. She shifted on the hard, cold ground where she sat. She was still sore this morning. Walking was not easy. Then again, neither was sitting. Was it from the stiff leather of the tawse that he had used, not on her bottom, but her…front? Or was it from his fingers and tongue stuffing her fuller and fuller, more than most cocks ever could?
Pain slut. His words tormented her. She had had enough trouble trying to come to terms with her need to submit to a man in this feminist world in which she lived. But she had never for one moment thought that final M – masochist – would apply to her. She would have sworn that pain did nothing for her. Until last night…
She fought back the tears as she looked around her. Monica had moved on to her sandbox that was protected from the elements beneath a playhouse that rose a good five feet above it. The whole thing showed such careful planning and construction. She would have loved to have had such a thing with 'her kids.'
'Her kids,' her clients, she should say. Her hand rested on her coat just over her lower abdomen as she watched the little girl play. They had never been hers. All of them had merely been borrowed for an hour once a week or so. Calling them that was just her way of making her life seem like it meant something, like she had some purpose.
But today, another therapist would step in and take over where she left off. Some of them would not even notice. For others, of course, the transition would be much harder, but she knew that they, too, would adjust eventually. She was so easily replaceable. She always had been. The email from her supervisor authorizing her sabbatical just proved that.
Now nothing was tying her to that old life. Her flatmates had confirmed that they would be happy to look after Little Miss. Actually, they had begged and pleaded to keep her. Kirsty still was not sure about that, though. Even though Petrine had a couple of cats, mousers as she called them, this place was more than large enough for Little Miss to join the family.
This place, the Holding. It was breath-taking. Petrine, Monica, and she had wandered around a bit more after they had cleared up the breakfast things. It was acres and acres, one of the larger islands in this area. Most of it remained fully wooded though there were a couple of good-sized fields like this one which housed Petrine's greenhouse and Monica's play area. Another housed Olav's cabin and a woodworking shop. A third was blanketed with late autumn wildflowers.
This place was so beautiful and peaceful. Peaceful in a way that she had craved her whole life. While she knew that she was not on the autistic spectrum, Kirsty had always wondered if something was wrong with her. Sensory processing disorder, perhaps?
London had just always been too much. Too loud. Too many people. All were rushing around, most with no real place to go or be. She shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment as she leaned her head back and inhaled the fresh, clean scent of pine and sea. It reminded her of them.
She forced her eyes open again, though they seemed so fucking heavy right now. She had no idea how much sleep she had gotten last night. But this felt, unlike any exhaustion she had ever known. Not even after her rare all-night binge in uni with her girlfriends had she felt this… She frowned as she tried to find the words to describe it. Tired? Yes, more like exhausted, knackered. The colloquial British – shattered – took on real meaning.
But at the same time, her whole body thrummed with some weird energy. She supposed it must be something like what her kids with ADHD, hyperactivity, felt. Nervous energy. She could not sit still or force her mind to focus, not for even a moment. The two were at complete odds, and it felt like they were warring inside of her, like they might tear her body apart in this battle.
She felt like her whole skin just did not fit, like it was itchy and scratchy all over. To make it worse, one minute she was freezing cold and the next she was too hot. She reached up and felt her forehead. She did not feel feverish, but perhaps that was it. Maybe she was coming down with something. She had, after all, been through an ordeal that would weaken most people's immune systems. Kidnapped and taken hundreds, a thousand miles from home?
Home? Just that word made her want to burst into tears. What was it anyway? Certainly not the damned one bedroom in a flat she shared with two other women to whom she barely spoke. Not the boarding schools that she had been sent to from the time she was seven so that her parents could concentrate upon what was truly important: their careers as consultants, doctors in the vast National Health Service. Hell, not even the large brick home in one of the better neighborhoods in north London where she had lived on school holidays, where her earliest memories of nannies and housekeepers had formed.
She shook herself. What was wrong with her? She had thought after speaking with Bjⱷrn and Petrine yesterday that she was coming to terms with everything. Every? Thing? Kidnapping? Married to three men? Hot sex, unlike any she had ever had…with not one partner, but three. She supposed she could count Mikael, even if it were not intercourse as such. And kinky bondage, domination, submission, and now even masochism.
Fuck her ex-boyfriend Raj for giving her that damned tablet as his final present on Valentine's Day. Only a couple of weeks before informing her that he was going to marry his cousin from India. Fuck those damned e-books that had gotten her so worked up about BDSM. Fuck Captive Brides most of all. And especially fuck Raquel Graffen and her sick imagination about Dom brothers who captured women to seduce and marry them. And fuck, her new reality where that was no longer just fiction.
She shivered. But it was from more than just the cold that seemed suddenly to be overwhelming. This time it was not a single chill. She was shaking. Her whole body trembled as if she had a high fever and chills.
"Kirsty?" she heard the soft voice and looked up. Her mind clouded even more just then. The older woman with long silver hair and kind green eyes looked down at her. She knew that she should recognize her. That she knew this woman, but her name escaped her.
"Look at me, Kirsty," the woman commanded. Commands? She was good at those, wasn't she? It seemed that something else was missing.
But right then, she did not care. She was floating…just floating. She remembered this. Remembered him. Then it was not so fun anymore. She was falling. Falling so fucking fast. Everything around her was spinning so fucking fast like that ride at the funfair.
Green eyes? Someone else had green eyes like that too? But she could not remember who just then. But it did not matter. "I think I may be sick…have caught something," she tried to whisper though she was not guaranteed any sound came out of her throat. It was so dry at the moment.
Warm arms wrapped about her then. She gave up and just leaned into them, closed her eyes.
Petrine looked at her daughter-in-law. "I'm going to fucking kill him," she swore.
She looked over to where Monica was playing on the climbing frame. She could not leave either of them unattended. Not now. And there was no way she could carry this woman to the boat where her boys were probably all working on the nets. Olav's cabin was just over the ridge, but if the damned man were in his woodworking shop, then he would not hear her screams over the machinery.
But she had to try. She took off her coat and wrapped it around the younger woman, "Everything will be alright, Kirsty," she tapped her face lightly, just enough to rouse her and get her to open her eyes.
"Listen to me, sweetie. This is drop, just sub drop, that's all," she did not add that it was the worst she had ever seen or let on how scared she was. Sub drop was after all…shock. The body's response to trauma.
"Damn, Mikael. Damn him to hell," she whispered under her breath as she began to scream at the top of her lungs, "Help!"
Monica looked up. She could see her granddaughter beginning to panic, but what option did she have right now? She could not leave either of them. She felt tears forming in her eyes as panic rose. She knew what to do…of course, she did. She had dealt with this herself a few times, though never this bad.
But other than keeping her as warm as possible with her coat, there was not much she could do. The house was too far. She probably could not even get the girl to her greenhouse, although she should try. Water – she needed water, but that also was at the house. Chocolate? Herb tea? All of it was out of reach. Especially what the girl needed most: her son's comfort. Fuck him. She was going to lay into Mikael's ass when she saw him.
She opened her mouth to try screaming again when he appeared out of the trees. "What is it, Mama?" he yelled as he continued towards them. She noticed that Bjⱷrn was only a couple of steps behind her middle son.
"What's wrong?" he panted. "Monica seems fine," he shrugged.
It was the last thing that Petrine wanted to hear from her son. Bjⱷrn leaned down next to her; he seemed more in tune with the situation though he did not speak. She passed the woman's limp body off to her youngest son as she stood up.
She was not a small woman at five foot eleven inches, but her sons, all of them, towered over her. Right now, that did not matter at all. She poked him in the chest. "Your daughter is fine, Mikael. It is your wife you should be fucking worried about."
"What the hell were you thinking? She is your WIFE. Not one of your whores. Or those pathetic subs you play with in the clubs. Where all you have to do is hand them a bottle of water, wrap a blanket over their shoulders, and give them a couple of pats… 'there, there.' It is fucking called – aftercare. Have you never fucking heard of it?"
Her son's face clouded over as he looked from her red face to the ground where his younger brother was holding the girl and brushing her red hair back out of her face. The pained look in Mikael's eyes that were so fucking much like his father's almost made her regret her harsh words…almost, but only for a moment.
Then Svein appeared out of the woods in one direction and Olav from the other. Both men spoke at the same time, "What is it? What's the matter?" Of course, her husband had to add 'old woman' for good measure.
"He's the matter. My idiot son, that's what's the matter." She stared at all of them in turn, "Have none of you ever heard of a little thing called sub drop? Aftercare? Any of this ring a fucking bell?" She was so angry that she was trembling. She could see her sons all blushing as they looked at the ground.
It was the first time that she had ever spoken openly about it. Any of it. She supposed that all of them had put the pieces together as they grew up. It was after all her husbands, who had introduced the boys to the BDSM clubs once they were old enough. Places like Amsterdam and Saint Petersburg had some of the best.
Still, she supposed that none of them wanted to connect the dots. Wanted to admit to themselves that if their fathers…then their mother? Maybe she should have forced the issue sooner, though, and made sure they saw things from the woman's perspective. The submissive's. She probably was not doing any of this right. But she was mad right now — madder than she had been, in a long time.
"Bjⱷrn, help me get her to the house," she commanded. "Mikael, take care of your child."
Then she was spinning. Until she stared up into the dark grey eyes of her husband, she recognized that color. Knew that she was not the only one who was mad at the moment. Well, that was just too fucking bad. Whatever the Old Man had to say would wait. Right now, she needed to get the girl back to the house. See to her properly.
His eyes never left her face as he spoke, "Svein, help Mikael take your wife back to the house. Son, you know what needs to be done. Bjⱷrn, watch your niece for a few minutes. Your mother and I need to 'talk.'"
Petrine knew that she should listen. She had not seen this man like this in….a very, very, very long time. Maybe too long, considering that she did not have the wisdom to shut up while she could. She shook her head, "No, Bjⱷrn and I can manage. Monica is scared. She needs her father."
He leaned in even closer. He was quiet when he spoke, too quiet. "As you told our son last night, right now, his wife needs him more."
He crowded even closer into her personal space, brought his face right next to hers until she could feel his whiskers abrade her cheek. "Open your mouth again, Rachel, and it is double. Do you understand me?"
He drew back, and all it took was a look to send them all into action. Though Mikael's shoulders slumped and he would not look at any of them, he reached for the woman. Bjⱷrn drew her tighter into his arms and shook his head, "No, I'll take her."
"No, this is Mikael's job, and you know that, son. Besides, your mother is right," he said as he looked over to where the little girl cowered in the corner of the sandbox. "Monica is frightened. And besides her father, she likes you best. Give your wife to your brothers; they can manage."
Petrine could see that he wanted to argue. She smiled; at least her youngest had some sense. Then again, she had had more of a hand in raising him; of course, it was logical that he could see things more from a woman's perspective.
Her smile froze when she saw him looking at her. Bjⱷrn reluctantly released his burden to his brothers and stood up to go to his niece. Mikael and Svein draped her arms over their shoulders, and half carried, half dragged the semi-conscious woman towards the house. She noticed that Svein's face was almost as dark as Bjⱷrn's.
But neither of her sons' came anywhere close to the dark grey that flashed in his eyes. That was when she realized. She was in trouble. Big trouble as he crooked his fingers and motioned for her to follow him. She thought about running. It would not be the first time. Maybe she could even outpace him…this time. She was close to a decade younger, after all. But then what? Run where? And if speaking would warrant double, what additional punishment would running earn her?
She sighed. No, it was best to go with him. To get this over with as quickly as she could. Although she doubted very seriously that it would be all that quick or that it would be over with any time soon. She would likely need extra cushions for a few days from the looks in those eyes. For the first time, she felt fear. It had been almost thirty years since she had faced a real punishment, but something told her that was about to end.
Mikael stared at the woman: his wife. Their wife, he reminded himself as Svein pulled back the quilt and helped him get her into the bed.
Damn it, his mother was right. He had screwed up — big time. And while no one had ever actually died of sub drop…how would anyone know though? This was as bad as he had ever seen it.
"Fuck," he cursed as he pulled her boots off. He massaged her feet, trying to get circulation back to her extremities.
"I'll grab what you need downstairs," Svein said as he headed towards the door.
And wouldn't you know it, Mama had to let him have it in front of his brothers. Not that he did not deserve it. He should have known better. He had been playing these games for close to fifteen years. But Mama was right about that too…dealing with drop in a casual play partner was very different.
Besides adequate hydration, which idiot that he was, he had not even seen to that last night, thinking that she looked so beautiful and peaceful as she slept. He had not wanted to disturb her. Or that was the excuse he had used for not waking her. Not looking at the anger, disgust, and hatred in those eyes after what he had done, how far he had pushed her, was much closer to the truth.
Too fucking far, he sighed as he reached up and pulled down her skirt and tights in a single motion. He was not sure whether he wanted to laugh or scream when he noticed that she wore no panties beneath them. One thing about their wife: she was about as naturally submissive as they came. He had made that command without consulting either Svein or Bjⱷrn. But then again, he had not expected her to remember and obey something he had casually tossed out in the heat of the moment.
He chuckled as he tossed the damn things across the room. He pulled the quilt up in case Svein came back. Not that his brother had not seen the goods. Hell, he had seen them before either he or Bjⱷrn. But he still was not comfortable with any reminder that this wife was theirs – to share. Was that the problem? Had he pushed her so hard because he wanted to stand out, to be different from his brothers?
She rolled over and opened her eyes, "Mik…" she began.
He placed his fingers over her lips, which were cool to the touch. "Don't talk right now, Kirsty." He saw the confused look on her face. She really did have the most expressive features. One look and he could almost read her mind. "You dropped. Sub drop."
She frowned for a moment then nodded as if she remembered. But did she remember what had happened, or what drop meant? "We…I…should have been more careful. We had no idea how you would react to pain." Or that level of pleasure, he thought but would not embarrass her right now with that reminder.
Svein entered the open door carrying a tray. Mikael frowned as he brought it to the bed. "Back to the world of the living, Kirsten?" His older brother asked as he passed the tray to him and knelt next to the bed.
Mikael flexed his fingers as he reached for the bottle of water. He tried to still his mind and cool his anger as he watched Svein brush hair back from her face with a smile. "How are you feeling?"
She shook her head a bit as Mikael lifted her shoulders from the pillow and brought the bottle to her lips. He did not pull it away until she had emptied half of it. Then he smiled at her as he picked up a piece of the dark chocolate from the tray. "Magic elixir. Open wide," he coaxed her.
She shook her head, but he brought it to her lips anyway. With a firm look, she opened and allowed him to feed it to her. He made her finish the bottle of water before he turned to his brother. "Thanks, but I have this from here."
He saw the dark look cross Svein's face and squared his shoulders, preparing for an argument. Instead, his brother placed his hand on his shoulder, "Baby brother may not like to admit it, but this could have happened to any of us. You know as well as I do that drop varies from sub to sub." He looked to the woman in the bed, whose eyes were closed again, "We had no way of knowing hers would be this bad," he whispered.
Absolution was the last fucking thing he wanted from this man. He would have a thousand times preferred that Svein smash his fist into his face. But this was worse, much worse. He shook his head so violently that he dislodged his brother's hand.
He lashed out, "I should have known. It probably was not the first time. When I went down into your cabin yesterday to tell her we were docking, she had been crying. So yeah, big brother, maybe it could have happened to any of us. Maybe it already did with you."
He saw Svein's hands fist at his side. He prepared for what was to come. But a fight was just what he wanted. And the way he felt right now, he would take them both on. His father too.
But the small moan from that bundle in the bed pre-empted whatever release he might have found by slamming his fist into his brother's face. Svein and he both looked towards the bed where she tossed and turned restlessly.
"Look after her," was all his brother said as he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Mikael climbed back onto the bed next to her. He debated whether to leave her be, but right now, it was more than just sleep, which she needed. He reached down and pulled her sweater over her head.
She woke up and stared at him, "Mikael?" Her voice was stronger this time; that was a good sign at least.
He lifted her enough to undo her bra and slide it down her arms. She reached for the edge of the quilt and pulled it almost to her chin. The blush on her cheeks, another good sign, told him that it was more than the chills that prompted her actions.
He reached over for the herb tea that was also on the tray. It was one of his mother's unique blends. Was this its real purpose? His mother. It was one thing to suspect. Another to pretend the way his brothers did. But damn it, having your mother lecture you on the Dom rules – in front of your father, brothers, and wife.
"Here, take a sip of this," he said as he leaned down and propped her up. He brought the cup to her lips, and she sipped slowly.
"Thank you," she whispered as she tried to smile.
Fuck, he deserved it all – and worse. He helped her to finish half of the cup before he placed it back on the tray, "More chocolate? More water?"
She shook her head, "No, I'm fine. I don't know what happened," she had a puzzled look on her face. "Maybe I am coming down with something."
He placed the tray on the floor, close enough that he could easily reach it. Then he climbed into bed next to her. He knew she would not welcome it, so he stayed fully clothed, only kicking off his boots before coming to rest on top of the quilt. He drew her into his arms. Held her as he had last night against his chest.
He was glad that they were spooning; that way, she could not see his eyes when he spoke, "It is drop, Kirsty."
She turned and looked at him, funny, "Yeah, I remember. Well, a bit sketchy, but your mom said that too."
Mikael remembered a lot more his mother had said and blushed as he shifted her back around in his arms. "I am sorry. It is my fault. When I came back last night, you were sleeping, so I did not wake you. Then this morning…"
What could he say? The truth was that he had been in such a damned hurry to get out of her bed before she woke up that he had not given water or checking on her a second thought.
She shook her head, "No, really, how were you to know?"
He chuckled, "A hell of a lot more than you would. I have only been playing these games for almost fifteen years." He felt her stiffen in his arms. Maybe he had not said that very well, "I mean, I pushed you pretty hard last night."
Damn, did he love making this woman blush – even now. "How about you get some more rest, and we'll talk when you wake up?"
She nodded as she closed her eyes. But then she started fidgeting and squirming like a fish on a hook. Her hips brushed against his throbbing cock. Fuck, that was what got them into this trouble: thinking with his little head.
He tried his damnedest to ignore it. He tried drawing back so that there was a small space between them. But she just scooted back, three times, until he was on the edge of the bed with nowhere else to go.
He considered his options. She needed rest. She needed to be held. Fuck, she needed that most from him. She needed…
His hand slid slowly up from where it rested safely over her hip. He lightly caressed just the underside of her breast through the blanket. He did that for a couple of minutes, nothing more. The quiet "Oh" that escaped her throat, told him what he needed to know.
He slipped his hand beneath the quilt until it brushed bare flesh. He spent several more minutes lightly caressing his fingers in ever-smaller circles, homing in upon her nipple. Her hips increased their now frantic rubbing. But he noticed then that it was not just his cock that she was rubbing, her thighs seemed to be rubbing against one another. There was very little doubt now what she needed – but not forced ones this time.
He turned her slightly as he allowed his fingers to feather across her nipple. It was hard, impossibly taut. He looked into those eyes as they half-opened. She was bone-fucking tired. He saw that. But her body was not letting her genuinely rest. "I have no right to ask. But let me give you what you need, Kirsty. Please?"
She frowned and shook her head, "What I need? I don't understand."
His arm underneath her shifted just enough that his hand rested upon her bare mound. She shook her head, "No, there's no way. I couldn't possibly. Not after…"
He leaned and softly whispered against her, "Not after the way you came for me last night. The hundreds of times, I forced your body to come…over and over and over." He softly licked the edge of her ear, "Not like that, no, that is not what you need right now, but you do need this."
He rolled her beneath him as he smiled down at her. He felt like a hypocrite. A liar and an asshole as he asked, "Trust me."
She smiled softly and moved against him, "Of course."
Mikael closed his eyes. What the fuck? That was the last thing he truly wanted or needed to hear from her. She should be hitting him and throwing stuff at him. Screaming and calling him a bastard. Not this complete surrender again.
But this time, he could not afford to let it get under his skin. That had been his mistake last night. Dom Rule Number Three: you cannot control anyone else unless you can first control yourself. And he had forgotten that. But he swore as he had to Monica last night: not again. He would not mess this up for them again. For any of them.
He breathed deeply. Focus on just getting the job done. Take care of business. She was just a sub with a need. Nothing more. He had played with hundreds of them. He tried with all his being to push down that tiny voice that he had been so successfully ignoring for so long when it whispered, 'This is not play, and she is not just any sub.'
His fingers continued to toy and lightly caress her nipple as he bent down and began to trail kisses down her throat and over her shoulders. By the time he got to the soft swell of her breast, her hips were arching against his hand that merely rested its weight softly top her pubic bone. He knew that it would take just one touch, and she would be off….he had seen that time and time again last night.
But that was not what she needed this time. This was about what she needed. Nothing more, he tried to convince himself.
He ran his tongue across the soft skin. This time he allowed himself to take the time to play dot-to-dot with some of the large freckles, twinkling like stars in the constellation of her milky breast. He closed his eyes, 'Bad choice of words, bud,' he chided himself at the thought of those soft mounds hard and full with milk, her tummy round with child. He pulled himself back from the next thoughts…before it was too late.
This woman got to him. Worse than any other ever had. But he could not allow that to show, to control him. Dom Rule Number Three became a mantra in his head as he lathed both breasts with equal attention.
Equal attention – would even that ever be enough for him? And hadn't he done everything he could to push her away; make sure that he did not receive even that?
He raised slowly, looking down on her. Her eyes were closed, but the rapid rise and fall of her chest gave no doubt that the woman was most definitely not asleep. That thought was confirmed a second later when she opened them.
He chuckled, "You pout worse than Monica. Do you know that, woman?"
He bent and did something else he swore he would not do – he kissed her. Really kissed her. Not bite. Not a quick peck. A deep and thorough conquering of her mouth. And while he did, he allowed his hands free-roam over that ripe, lush body of hers.
He would not have thought this woman his type physically. Greta had been petite, almost anorexic, as had most of the subs and pros that he occasionally frequented. But he was discovering that there was something to be said for a lover that was softer, fuller, and curvier.
He could go on like this all afternoon. It was a sobering thought. After last night, how could he still not be satisfied? How many times had he made this woman come? How many times had she fulfilled his dark fantasy? That sweet pussy gushing its juices all over his face. That had been his intent now as well, though not as violently as he had used her last night.
But he realized now that would be a mistake. The point of this was to get her off…quickly…and then let her sleep for a bit. If he tasted her, all bets would be off. As much as he wanted to think he could remain in control, just the thought of her tight pussy coming on his tongue, her cunt juices coating his face had him granite-hard inside his jeans. No, eating her out to another shattering orgasm was not the right choice, not this time.
He lay back down on his side next to her, drew her into his embrace as he returned to kissing her lips. It was not just the woman's cunt which tasted delightfully sweet. Kissing had never held much fascination for him, foreplay to be quickly gotten out of the way for your partner's sake. But this…this was a banquet all its own.
He ran his thumb teasingly across the hard nub of her nipple. Then the other. She arched against him and moaned into his mouth. It reminded him of the point of all this as he ran his hand slowly down her body, across that tummy.
He chided himself once more as fantasies of it round and full with a child filled his mind. He hoped his brothers would hurry up and get the job done. 'No, you don't,' whispered that damned traitor in his head. He brought it to heel before it forced him to truths that he did not want to face.
By the time that his finger slipped between her folds, she was slick, wet, and oh so fucking ready. Even as light as this touch was, she lifted her hips off of the bed. Her moans into his mouth increased. Her breathing became increasingly shallow as his thumb brushed the sweet flesh…once…twice… He had barely begun the third, gently brush across her clit when her whole body shook in his arms. This time she screamed into his mouth.
His lips crushed hers as he swallowed every bit of it. Not because he gave a damn about the noise. Let her scream the whole fucking Holding down for all he cared. No, he wanted to take that energy deep inside of him. Wanted to store it, remember it. Because never again would he allow himself to lose control as he had last night.
His mother was right. This was their wife, and she deserved better. More. He would find a way, somehow to bury his darkness, to hide that bad boy. He would give her what she needed, not what he wanted. He would control his demons. He drew the magic of her screams deep inside; a reserve against that time, when that was not so easy, when he wanted to push her limits, when he needed more than she would ever give. This kiss, these screams would have to be enough.
He held her body as the tremors became aftershocks. He softened the kiss. Still, his finger rested unmoving over her clitoris. When she opened those eyes, they were incredibly sexy and sleepy. Satisfied was the only word to cover it – and that made him want to roar. He had done that, given that to this woman.
"Better?" he chuckled as he kissed her forehead and drew her closer to his body. She only nodded as she snuggled tighter into him. He shook his head as he slowly pulled that finger back. She whimpered. She actually fucking whimpered. He could not resist a soft swat to her bottom, "Greedy," he teased.
"Yeah," she muttered against his chest, "And whose fault is that, I wonder?"
He shook his head and chuckled. He was sure she would drift quickly off to sleep then. Instead, she once more fidgeted and moved. "You really are. Greedy. No more. You need sleep more than you need to come again," he admonished.
She opened her eyes, "That is debatable, Sir. But the problem is not that. The problem is your shirt."
He laughed a full throaty, belly-busting one that echoed around the room. "Now, you tell me? Why didn't you say that earlier?"
She shrugged as she toyed with the top button of that shirt, "And miss out on what you offered? Do I look stupid to you?"
He remembered what Svein had said in the hall last night about having something to laugh about. Maybe. Just maybe, he was right.
"Take it off," she demanded.
Mikael froze for a moment. Another of the things that he had sworn. To keep his clothes on at all times with her. It was a boundary that he had not crossed…since… Sure, it might only be a shirt. But he felt it. He had already kissed her. Now, this. The woman was chipping away at all of his promises, his safety zone, his wall.
So, why the fuck was his fingers pulling the rough wool from the waistband of his jeans even as hers was working the third button from the top? And why the fuck did those eyes just get so fucking wide like a little child on Christmas morning?
Her hand slipped inside it as he was left to finish the job. Her fingers ran across the hard plains of his heated skin until he was sure he would go up in flames. He forced himself to remain calm as he shrugged out of it. Her head barely moved as she clung tightly about his waist. And those fingers were driving him insane as she tugged and toyed with the hairs that covered his chest. He playfully swatted her bottom as he once more arranged them back comfortably on the pillows.
But she immediately shifted her head, "Nah-uh, I want a fuzzy pillow," she pronounced with finality as she moved her head to the center of his chest.
Could she hear how fast his heart was beating? Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? He covered her hands with his own, to keep them still, a desperate attempt to keep what little remained of his sanity.
Within moments, she was asleep. The gentle rise and fall of her chest and the soft mewing almost of a kitten told him that her dreams were sweet. But he was left alone. Wide awake…with his demons. And the battle to control them, before he did anything else, he would regret.
Olav followed her into his cabin, holding open the door. He wanted to laugh at the look she gave him as she entered. His wife was mad. So be it. So was he. And it was about damn time that the woman remembered she was his sub as well as his wife and best friend. She had not just stepped over the line. She had fucking blown the damned thing up.
He sighed, but that was his fault too. His and Stig's. All of theirs really, but especially his. He should have drawn these lines long ago. He had let this woman reign over them all for way too long. And that only made this punishment harder. Maybe that was as it should be – as much a punishment to him as to her. But he would think about that later. Right now, he had the battle to win.
"That boy was out of line, Olav. You know that," she said as she twirled around to face him even before he could close the door.
He did so quickly. Their sons did not need to hear what transpired between them. Any more than they needed their mother to broadcast the truth of the nature of their relationship. Something that all of them had been willfully ignorant of – until she opened that kissable mouth a few minutes ago.
"Did I give you permission to speak, Rachel?" His only chance of re-establishing boundaries that should have never become this blurred in the first place was to take full charge now.
She glared at him, and he covered the few feet between them, maintaining her gaze the whole way. "Whether or not our son screwed up with his sub is beside the point right now. What is the point is that I have fucked up with mine. And more importantly, that fuck up has hurt our sons and their wife."
"But…" she began.
He used his fingers and thumb to collar her mouth, holding it open so that she could no longer speak.
"Did I not make myself clear, Rachel? You do NOT have permission to speak right now. You have said way too fucking much already this morning. Now it is your turn to listen. To some truths, some hard ones, that we should have said long ago, old woman," he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.
This was harder than he had thought. Especially knowing that the responsibility rested squarely on his shoulders. But that did not change what must be done now. And it really must be done. He opened them again and once more steeled his own emotions: you cannot control your sub, if first, you cannot control yourself, he reminded himself.
"Here's a piece of information for you, sweetheart. Doms are human too. That means we are going to fucking make mistakes. And all that shit about safe, sane, and consensual – that only works if you are playing. Not that it isn't a good thing in clubs or casual situations, but it simply does not apply in a real relationship. Because sorry, sweetie, but when I take you to bed, I keep forgetting to drag out that big old Dom bible we all are issued."
He got closer still, invaded her space, used his superior size to intimidate her, to remind her of just who she was…something she had forgotten long ago. "Right now, I am in no position to judge our sons for how they handle their wife, considering how mine behaved."
He turned her head so that their eyes met head-on, "Tell me, woman, do you think that you helped our daughter to adjust to her fate, to our way of life, by lecturing her husband on how to be a good Dom in front of her?"
He released her jaw then, stepped back just a fraction, and watched her massage her the flesh. After a moment, she looked up at him, that fire still blazed there. Not that he did not love this woman's flames. He did, they all had. But there were limits. There must always be limits, and she had crossed them.
"Someone has to…" she began.
"What? Protect her? That is not your place, Rachel. You might have forgotten, old woman, but you are a sub too."
He shook his head as he stepped forward once more, "No one denies that you are a strong woman. And a brilliant one even. That's why I love you so fucking much. Too fucking much, maybe."
"But this has to stop. Now. We have all let this go on way too fucking long, sweetheart. After Bjⱷrn was born…" His voice trailed off. Even after all this time, he saw that pain in her beautiful face as fresh as that day almost thirty years ago.
This time though, he steeled himself. He needed to do what was best for her, not what she wanted. That was the mistake they had all made for so fucking long. And it had to stop now. Before she hurt others…anymore perhaps than she already had. And that meant that it was time for some truth between them — the hard truth.
"We were all so fucking afraid we would lose you. You just kept drifting further and further away from us. From the children too. So, we let you have your way. Forced Mikael to remain with you and Bjⱷrn when he wanted to join us at sea as much as Svein had. But we convinced the poor kid that his mother needed him here more. We put a weight on that little boy's shoulders that should have never been his to bear."
He choked back pain that was old, bitter, and sour, like the taste of vomit the next morning after getting shit faced drunk and throwing up who knows what. Hell, that was what he wanted just then, but he would not allow himself. He had never taken the easy way that Andreas had, trying to forget it all at the bottom of a bottle. But now he was the only one left, the one who had to pay for all their mistakes.
He shook his head, "Maybe we were even right. Maybe letting you keep Mikael and especially Bjⱷrn as long as we did helped to heal those wounds. You came to terms with it. We all tried to. But there was a price to pay. There always is."
He sighed heavily, "The problem is, Rachel, we let this shit go on way too long. We let you get away with murder. We let you forget who you are. What you are. You, my beautiful, amazingly strong, intelligent wife, are still first and foremost my sub."
"Control, boundaries, rules are not just there because we Doms need our fucking egos stroked. They are there because you need them. Subs need them to feel safe, secure, and loved. And we all forgot that – all of us."
"But we cannot afford to anymore. That girl does not need you to protect her. That is her husbands' jobs. She needs you to mentor her, to model good behavior her, to help her find her place here. And this morning you did anything but that. You undermined not just Mikael's authority with hers, but all of them. You sowed even more seeds of unrest among our sons."
He stood face to face with her, "You disappoint me, Rachel."
He watched as those green eyes clouded over with tears, he saw the muscles of her throat work reflexively, trying to swallow back the emotion. And for the first time in a long time, he felt hope. That maybe it was not too late. That maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back – to what they were, who they were always meant to be.
"So, my beautiful Alpha, we need to set some new rules, new boundaries. First of all, you will apologize to Kirsty and our sons at dinner tonight. You will admit that you were out of line. No justifying, no hemming, and hawing. You were wrong. Subs do not tell Doms how to do things. Period."
He watched her face as she considered his words, when she finally nodded slowly, he felt that hope jump in his old chest once more. After forty fucking years, how did this woman still do that?
But now was not the time to soften on her, he reached out and landed a solid barehanded slap on her butt. "You really have forgotten what you are, old woman. Never again nod or shake your head at me. The proper answer is 'Yes, Sir.' Maybe once in a rare while, 'No, Sir.'"
Her eyes flared wide then, "What? You are the one who threw our dirty laundry out there. Made our sons face something they have been trying for most of their damned lives to ignore. So, if you have no problem with them knowing the truth, then you can damned well live it in front of them from now on. And the proper response is?"
She inhaled deeply and dropped her eyes from his gaze, "Yes, Sir," she whispered.
Maybe he should have been satisfied with that little progress, but he was not. He lifted her chin and forced her to look him in the eye, "Did you say something, woman?"
That fire challenged him once more. He realized then that he was quite looking forward to re-training his beloved wife as his sub. Maybe it was wrong, but he also was quite pleased that this time, it would be to his standard. No sharing. No compromise. His wife…his submissive. And the little darling was in for more than one surprise along the way.
"Yes, Sir," she replied after a long pause. Louder this time.
But not fast enough, as a second even harder blow found that jean-clad bottom. "Number two – you will never again call them 'boys.' They are men, and they are Doms. They have not been your boys in many, many years." He chuckled, "Hell, I am not sure if Svein ever was."
"Nonetheless, every time you call them 'boys,' you will be punished. Ten the first time. Then twenty…"
"I know the drill. Then thirty. Forty, and so on. I am not that old and senile, old man," she challenged.
He threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled it. Hard. Until her head fell back, and those eyes flared open. He leaned in and bit down hard on her neck, right over her pulse. He held it for a long moment as she squirmed. Not until she stilled, at last, did he release her.
"I have never found 'brats' attractive, especially not sixty-three-year-old ones. Maybe that is my fault, …mine and my brothers. But hear me now; it ends this morning. And sorry, Rachel, you have mistaken me for my soft ass brothers. I prefer exponential punishment: ten, twenty, forty, eighty, one-hundred-sixty, three-hundred-twenty. Do I need to keep going?"
He relished the way that those eyes flared in fear. Had he ever seen that look? Not since that first night on the ship when she had tried to take Andreas's head off with the hook and nearly put out Lars's eye in the process.
"Now, you start to understand me, old woman. And don't think my arms are too old or weak to do it either. I spent fifty years at sea hauling nets, and I still spend most days working with them in the shop. Don't think you can try me. I promise you these old arms can last a lot longer than that cute little butt of yours."
"Oh, and yes, we need to get back out there and relieve Bjⱷrn. He and Svein need to finish what they were doing on the boat. But then again, too, I seem to remember that with you, delaying your punishment only makes it worse…gives you time to think about it more."
He leaned in again, "But tonight, after dinner, after you apologize to all of us, this sweet ass is mine, old woman."
"To make my rules clear. You will politely excuse yourself. You will come back here and shower. You will then kneel, oh yes, I said kneel woman. On the floor, not the rug. And you will stay there until I join you. Then we will discuss what your punishment will be. Based on how serious this offense is – and, it is. And on your behavior, your contrition, for the rest of this day. Is that understood, Rachel?"
She started to nod her head but caught herself. "Yes, Sir." When it came out throaty and low, she tried again, "Yes, Sir."
"You are not getting a 'good girl.' You have a far ways to go to earn that one. Now, get your cute ass moving," he said as he slapped it again.
Kirsty stretched and rubbed her nose. Something was tickling it. She smiled as she remembered what. The man was full of surprises…and her fetish for hairy chests… 'Well, one in three ain't bad, right?' she chuckled.
"Awake, are we, sleepyhead?"
She looked up into eyes that were more silver than foreboding grey at that moment. "Was I asleep very long?" her fingers could not help but enjoy the bounty of her discovery.
And she was more than pleased that her little itchy shirt ploy had worked. So, maybe he was not completely naked. Maybe they had not 'consummated' anything. But it was a baby step in that direction — a little brick out of that wall he had built around himself.
"A couple of hours. We need to get down to dinner soon. How are you feeling?"
She stretched, making sure to rub her naked body against as much of his bare skin as she could. She frowned for a moment then smiled up at him, "I would say good, but not sure that covers it."
He landed another of those barehanded slaps on her butt. "Quit flirting."
She batted her eyes, "Whatever are you talking about?"
"Cock tease," he chuckled.
She was never sure where it came from. Shy was her usual mode of operation. But something…some thing…made her reach out and place her hand directly over the fly of his jeans. She smiled broadly to discover that this man was not as unmoved by her as he seemed.
But her joy was short-lived as he picked her hand up and brought it to rest on his shoulder. In that position with his covering it, she could not even play with his chest. "And no pouting either, woman." He sighed, "We need to talk."
She nodded and looked up at him. He wanted to talk then let him begin. But when he did, it was not what she expected.
"Is my daughter autistic?"
The question itself did not surprise her. She had known they would get to this – eventually. It was his timing that surprised her. Why now? Like this? Naked in his arms…after? Well, just after.
But she had also prepared her answer, and she stuck to it, "I am not a pediatrician or psychologist. I am not qualified to make a diagnosis."
"I did not ask for one. I don't even want one. Growing up in this family, the last thing Monica needs is another label to make her different. What I want is your honest opinion?"
She sighed; she had had only a small taste of what it must be like 'growing up in this family' as he called it. And that still stung. But he had asked a valid question, and he deserved the truth.
"As long as we are clear on that…then, yes. Yes, I believe that Monica fits somewhere on the autistic spectrum," she was surprised when she felt his chest move beneath her hand. The heavy exhale as if a weight had been lifted from him.
"I think I knew. At least from the moment, we began to read about your job, what you do. The more I read, the more I saw Monica," he was staring steadfastly at the ceiling as he spoke.
She did not push, did not say anything. But neither did she make any attempt to move away out of his arms. She had been part of the team, which gave parents this news more than once. And while she was truthful that she was not qualified to make the actual diagnosis, she also did not tell him that she had served as one of the team, the panel that did.
But this felt so fucking different. The child might not be hers, but in some weird way, she felt a connection to the little girl as much as she did her father. Felt as if she belonged here – with them. But maybe she was just foolish. There were so many questions still left. So many things unsettled between her and Mikael. Especially between them.
It was several moments that they lay like that. She was uncertain what more to say or do. She knew the routine – give them time, don't push, and let them come to terms with it. But this was not 'they,' this was him – her husband.
She liked to hope one day she could come to feel as close to him as she did to Bjⱷrn…as drawn to him as Svein. But wasn't she already? Okay, maybe in some dark way, she was not quite ready to handle.
He must have felt her move though because he looked down at her then. She wanted to reach up and brush back the moisture that glistened in his grey eyes. But she knew that would not be appreciated. He would not want to hear how it was all right, how she had seen even the strongest of men weep, throw chairs across the room, curse their gods, blame their wives, and as many different responses as there were people over the years. All she wanted was to make it better somehow.
"Can you help?" his voice was impossibly deep, but it held the thread of hope that she sought to draw this man closer.
"That depends on what you are asking, Mikael," she dared not brush away the tears that she doubted he even realized were on his cheek. But she did battle his hold on her hand enough to lace her fingers through his, to offer a comforting squeeze.
"I cannot cure her. Autism is a life-long way of being. A different way of experiencing the world in which we live," how trite that part of the speech she had heard hundreds of times sounded now…with him…in this moment. But then again, she had never laid naked in anyone's arms when she gave it before.
"But can I offer ideas, options, even therapies that can help you and her…and all of us to bridge the gap between our worlds. If that is what you are asking, then the answer is yes," she looked up at him, met that gaze. "If you will let me, if you trust me with your child, if I have your permission."
He chuckled and softly returned the squeeze of her fingers before bringing her hand to his lips, "If I did not, if we did not, you would not be here right now," he said.
She kicked his shin, "Thanks for the reminder about the Russian girl."
His eyes danced, "Which of my dumb ass brothers mentioned that you had competition?" He laughed again, "Dumb fuck…baby brother, of course. That boy doesn't know when to shut up."
"Yes, well, sorry if you are disappointed," she pouted.
"What makes you think I am disappointed?" he said as he slapped her bottom once more.
Then his face darkened, and the serious one was back, "Truce? Can you and I call it a truce? I promise you I won't lose control like I did last night. Never again, you have my word on that."
She knew that should make her happy. So why the hell did she feel like she had just lost ground with this man? And why the fuck did it make her want to push his buttons? To see just how far she could go until he broke?
She simply nodded, "Truce, it is then."


text:
Fracture Thoughts
I caught New Line's Fracture last night — from director Gregory Hoblit (NYPD Blue, Primal Fear, Fallen), who certainly knows his way around the criminal justice system.
The story of a man (Anthony Hopkins) who kills his cheating wife and then locks horns with a hotshot assistant district attorney (Ryan Gosling) while representing himself, the movie is a first-rate chess match with legal thriller trappings. Co-writer Daniel Pyne puts some snap in the dialogue, and Gosling gives a great, engrossing performance as a blithe egotist under fire.
It is what it is, but it's a very well made genre picture, which Hollywood has a lot of trouble with these days. There's an especially crackling interrogation scene (above), which elicits strong evocations of The Silence of the Lambs, and Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling's first encounter. There's friction everywhere, too — all the main characters are keeping one another at arms' length, forever measuring their relationships, personal and professional.
Fracture releases wide on April 20. For more information, click here.
John Cusack, Sean Hayes Join Igor
Exodus Productions executive producer Max Howard announced today
that John Cusack and Emmy award winner Sean Hayes have joined the voice cast of
its CG-animated feature comedy Igor, directed
by animation veteran Tony Leondis (The
Prince of Egypt, Lilo & Stitch 2)
from a script by Chris McKenna (TV's American
Dad).
Cusack will voice the title character, a potentially gifted
and brilliant scientist, while Hayes will play one of Igor's inventions/sidekicks.
"John and Sean are both terrific actors and ideally cast in their roles, said Leondis.
"We couldn't be more excited to have them join an already fantastic voice cast."
Igor is an irreverent
comedy that brings a new twist to the classic monster genre. It tells the story
of a hunchbacked lab assistant who is forced to serve a cruel taskmaster named
Dr. Glickenstein (voiced by John Cleese), but harbors big dreams of becoming a
scientist himself and winning the annual "Evil Science Fair." Cusack's good buddy, Jeremy Piven, voices Dr. Schadenfreude,
Igor's nemesis. Other inked voice talent, alongside the aforementioned Cleese,
includes Jennifer Coolidge, Molly Shannon, Steve Buscemi and Jay Leno.
The CG-animated film is being produced at Sparx Animation
Studios, SAS, a Paris-based leader in key-frame CG-animation. Set for
an October 24, 2008
release, Igor will be distributed by The Weinstein Company (TWC), which has an
all-encompassing theatrical and DVD distribution deal including North
America as well as representing international rights. TWC secured
film distribution for most foreign territories at last year's Cannes Film Festival and American Film Market, as well as the
recent European Film Market in Berlin.
Set in the later Tang dynasty, in 10th century China, Curse of the Golden Flower reunites Hero
and House of Flying Daggers director Zhang Yimou with his longtime
leading lady and the star of some of his best work, Gong Li. Unfolding in
broad, colorful strokes in a lavish, breathtaking and exquisitely designed
world, it's a dizzied-up, decorative movie of cloak-and-dagger betrayal — part
martial arts epic, part costume drama — that essentially plays out as the
ultimate family squabble.
On the eve of the Chong Yang Festival, the Emperor (Chow Yun
Fat, dialing up the glowering) returns unexpectedly with his second son, Prince
Jai (Jay Chou). His pretext is to celebrate the holiday with his family, but
given the chilled relations between he and the ailing Empress (Gong), this
seems suspicious at best, disingenuous at worst. For many years the Empress and
Crown Prince Wan (Liu Ye), her stepson, have been having an illicit affair.
Feeling trapped, Prince Wan dreams of escaping the palace with his secret love
Chan (Li Man, Zhang's newest casting discovery), the daughter of the loyal Imperial
doctor (Ni Dahong).
Meanwhile, as the faithful, doting Prince Jai grows worried
over his mother's health, the Imperial doctor and his family are relocated by
the emperor when he senses a looming threat. Attacked by scores of assassins
during their move, Chan and her mother Jiang Shi (Chen Jin) are forced back to
the palace, where their return sets off a chain reaction of dark secrets,
shadowy deceptions and murky plottings. As truth is finally dragged into the
light of a moonlit night, thousands of chrysanthemum blossoms serve as the
trampled, bloody backdrop for a showdown at the Imperial
Palace.
The performances in Curse
of the Golden Flower are steeped in melodrama, matching the movie's
impressionistic handling of violence, which unfolds in leonine, largely
bloodless, certainly non-gory fashion, all things considered. There's a
haughty, regal imperiousness to Gong's Empress — similar to Meryl Streep's work
in The Devil Wears Prada — even as
she comes to the realization that she's being poisoned. It's all fairly entertaining,
but not exactly something that gives one a strong sense of identification or
sympathy, with the Empress or anyone else.
In detail and scope, this surely ranks as one of Zhang's
most ambitious films. Working with many of his frequent collaborators —
including cinematographer Zhao Xiaoding, production designer Huo Tingxiao, and
Oscar-nominated costume designer Yee Chung Man — Zhang creates a rich,
evocative drama with luminous flourishes of action. If there's a further knock,
it's that the pitch of the movie feels a bit too steep, and the setting
constrictive. Though the Emperor and Prince Jai have just returned from abroad
early in the film, there is no sense of the broader world or countryside — this
is a hermetically sealed picture, and its sumptuous settings notwithstanding,
one eventually yearns for a break — a larger canvas and some different colors.
Presented in 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen, Curse of the
Golden Flower's transfer is superb, maintaining the detail and color-steadfastness
of every frame. Focus is deep and sharp, contrast is vivid without being overpowering,
and there are no problems whatsoever with grain. DVD special features consist
of two items. First up is a brief making-of featurette that includes interviews
with various cast and crew members, all of whom talk about their experience on
the movie, and in particular working with one another. Costumes and production
design are also afforded some time and explanation. The only other inclusion is
footage from the movie's Los Angeles
premiere at the 2006 AFI Fest, which features a few short interviews with Zhang
and his two leads. B- (Movie) B- (Disc)
Van Wilder: The Rise of Taj
I'm dropping the additional appellation of ownership
bestowed upon National Lampoon, because I can't for the life of me figure out
what the hell that really means these days. That leaves us with just Van Wilder: The Rise of Taj, a movie
whose title references a character which is not at all in the actual film — perhaps
a first.
Penned by David Drew Gallagher (obviously preserving his
prerogative to switch or otherwise condense his name on future credited projects)
and directed by Mort Nathan (a former Golden Girls scribe and, ignominiously
enough, the writer-director behind Boat
Trip), the film is a down-market blend of pretty much exactly the sort of set
piece comedy and very occasional flashing of boobs that one would expect, with
a few moments of glancing amusement thrown in courtesy of some of the personalities.
The film got crucified critically (no surprise), and it washed out at the box
office, where it grossed only $4.2 million to its predecessor's $21.3 million.
In reality, though, it's not that bad.
It's just a slightly-below-average doofus comedy for randy pubescent guys.
If it's no great shock, it certainly still bears mentioning
that The Rise of Taj sorely misses
the droll presence of original star Ryan Reynolds, who can take a fairly pedestrian
line reading and, through sheer force of will, bend it into something funny.
What we're left with in the front-and-centering of Kal Penn's empowered supporting
character from the first film is a genial guide who slogs determinedly through
an overly pat narrative.
Having learned the ways of women from his legendary mentor,
Taj Badalandabad (Penn, above right) sets out for Great
Britain's Camford
University, to obtain a graduate
degree in something or other. After having the rug of membership pulled from
under him at the snooty, elitist Fox & Hounds fraternity by sexually
compensating rich guy baddie Pip Everett (Dan Percival), Taj sets up shop at
the Cock & Bulls, a haven for misfits and losers. There's young Irish drunk
Seamus (Glen Barry), silent Simon (Steve Rathman) and nerdy Gethin (Anthony
Cozens), who picked Camford because it offered "the highest nerd per willing
chick ratio" of any nearby university. Then there's Sadie (Holly Davidson,
above left), a sexually forward tart whose inexplicably salty language (including talk of "a good poke in the low whiskers") provides
the movie with a bit of spark.
Taj spars with and eventually falls for his junior faculty supervisor,
Charlotte Higginson (Lauren Cohan,
a sort of English Sophia Bush), who also happens to be Pip's girlfriend. Balsac
the bulldog comes along (eventually literally, as it turns out) from the first
movie, and all of this feeds into a competition, naturally, for the Hastings
Cup — which rewards fraternities through a points system for athletic, academic
and social service project accomplishments. Lessons of self-respect are
eventually imparted, along with plenty of humiliation, ethnic lingo (goron,
raji, beta and haji) and referential bits nipped from other flicks like The Mask of Zorro and Dead Poets Society.
Anchored by an English language 5.1 Dolby surround sound
audio track, The Rise of Taj also
comes with a Spanish language surround sound track, and optional English and
Spanish subtitles. A nice slate of bonus materials complements a DVD whose plastic
Amray case comes with a winkingly saucy half-O-ring that gives the impression of
Taj standing between two nude cover girls. (Pull it down and they're actually
sporting bikinis.) A three-and-a-half-minute gag reel finds the cast breaking
each other up, and Penn self-deprecatingly criticizing his ability to maintain his
accent. Nine minutes of cast and crew interviews comprise a special making-of
featurette, which solves the mystery of Sadie's hardened nipples during a
beer-chugging scene (peanut halves stand in nicely) and also devotes time to
Balsac the dog's prosthetic balls.
Penn, meanwhile, gives viewers a four-minute set tour in
Bucharest (a last-minute production stand-in when budget overruns forced a
split shoot between Romania and the United Kingdom), during which the translation
for "director" in the native tongue is revealed to be "regizor." Music videos
"Get Steady" and "Heads Will Roll" are also included, and a collection of deleted scenes and an assortment of
other trailers round out this release. To purchase the film, click here. C- (Movie) B (Disc)
Filmgoers Not Sure They Love Chris Rock
Sporting a thin, black, cashmere sweater pulled over a dress shirt,
Chris Rock — chatting in a Beverly Hills hotel suite a week before his new movie's release — is every bit the picture of buttoned-up domesticity that he chafes
against in I Think I Love My Wife, based loosely on French auteur Eric Rohmer's Chloe in the Afternoon, but also given a suburban pinch of Woody Allen's angsty New York flavoring.
The film, Rock's second directorial outing, is a small and somewhat personal one, and what might be considered a tough sell to most of his fans. Less than two weeks into its wide release, it's made just over $10 million. As to the question of whether fans of Rock's forcefully delivered stand-up comedy want to see him bottled up in a swallowed dramedy of temptation, the answer appears to be no, mostly not.
More interesting, though, is the question of how does one break the news to their mate that they're "artistically exploring" infidelity and/or desertion — or, in the
extreme case of rapper Eminem and his hit single "Stan," outright homicide — in proactive, creative form? "As a comedian, I can't think about everything I say," Rock says with a shrug. "I'm
out of the concern business. I just do what I do. I'm not Picasso, but
I'm sure he didn't worry about getting the floor dirty, [going] 'I need
a drop-cloth!'"
For the full feature piece, from FilmStew, click here.
Screenwriter Talks Shooter Adds, Trims
This one isn't mine, but rather from the Writers Guild of America site: Shooter screenwriter Jonathan Lemkin talks to writer Peter Rader (Waterworld) about why he wrote seven different endings for his adaptation of Stephen Hunter's novel Point of Impact, as well as how Ned Beatty's character inadvertently turned into Vice President Dick Cheney (without quite blasting an old guy in the face with buckshot). Some interesting stuff, particularly about Paramount excitedly pumping money into the project, but how that begat even more changes. For the audio file of the chat, click here.
Percy Julian: Forgotten Genius
History is full of stories that don't learn in civics class,
because the most widely accepted methods of teaching hold that chronological
memorization and endless, parroting repetition of macro examples are the way to
drill facts into adolescent minds. We are taught by dates, rules and those that
stand on the shoulders of giants, not by exceptions, interconnectedness, galvanizing
events of the day and those that lay groundwork for change.
Percy Lavon Julian represents one such example of a person
passed over by history. He lost his job — Harvard
University withdrew his Ph.D. fellowship,
concerned over donors' views of an African-American teaching white students — on
the eve of the Great Depression. His house was firebombed. He took on powerful,
entrenched interests in the scientific community and overcame all sorts of obstacles,
both societal and personal, to become a world-class chemist, a self-made
millionaire and a humanitarian. Yet despite all the accomplishments of a
remarkable life, Julian's story remains largely unknown.
The modest son of a Postal Service worker and teacher, and the
grandson of Alabama slaves,
Julian attended DePauw University
at a time when the college town was still segregated, and broke the color
barrier in American science more than a decade before Jackie Robinson did so in
baseball. A brilliant innovator — he was the holder of more than 130 chemical
patents — Julian discovered a way to turn soybeans into synthetic steroids on
an industrial scale, helping to make drugs like cortisone available to millions
of individuals for whom they were heretofore not an option.
In Percy Julian: Forgotten
Genuis, a special two-hour NOVA documentary presentation starring Tony Award-winning
actor Ruben Santiago-Hudson, Julian's scientific breakthroughs and gripping
biography are brought to life with vivid period reenactments based on interviews
with dozens of colleagues and relatives, as well as newly opened family
archives. While dramatic reenactments have the cheesy connotation of America's Most Wanted, other similar criminal
justice shows and thinly produced warfare specials for the History Channel, these
segments are nicely done. The involvement of Julian's family and the painstaking
research that went into the program assures its veracity, and they're directed with
a graceful hand by Llewellyn Smith. Courtney B. Vance, meanwhile, narrates the edifying
passages of historical record, and the result is at once educational and
enlightening — a glimpse back in time at the type of figure that helps changes
historical course but rarely gets the credit or warm glow of an appreciative spotlight.
Ever since its launch back in the days of VHS, WGBH Boston
Video has released many critically acclaimed public television programs,
including the Emmy Award-winning The
Miracle of Life, plus bestsellers like The
Elegant Universe, The Jane Eyre Masterpiece
Theatre Collection, Commanding
Heights: The Battle for the World Economy, Evolution and Africans in America. Alongside this letterboxed,
all-region presentation of Percy Julian:
Forgotten Genius, recent releases include The Hidden Epidemic: Heart Disease in America, the very topical Global Warming: What's Up with the Weather? and Kaboom!, a chronological
history of the history of pyrotechnics, from ninth century China
to 19th century industrialist Alfred Nobel to legendary physicist Robert Oppenheimer.
Percy Julian: Forgotten Genius' DVD
supplemental materials consist of printable materials for educators. To order
this title or any other DVD release from WGBH Boston Video, phone (800)
949-8670 or visit their eponymous Web site's
shop by clicking here. B+ (Movie) C
Shooter, directed by Antoine Fuqua, a leg up on more anonymous political-conspiracy thrillers like The Sentinel, playing the material with a hard-charging heart and
rugged determination that capture the essence of these
strong-and-silent-types who fall hard for the loft rhetoric of
idealism, do occasionally awful things in the service of their
country's mission, and then fall even harder when they come to learn so
many of their superiors don't believe the same things that they do.
While the film lacks a there-will-be-blood fatalism and/or
more explicit, hot-button topicality that would have, in my estimation,
truly pushed it over the hump to near-classic thriller status, it can't
be said that the movie cops out on any level. When Bob Lee Swagger sets
out to set things right, by God, that means there will be justice, and not of the candy-ass variety. For the full review, from FilmStew, click here.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
LEGO Game Sale Hits Switch eShop
By Jeremy Peeples on April 16 2019
The Switch's eShop has quickly become one of the best ways to save money on digital versions of console games...
Stop the 'Crimewaves' in Latest LEGO The Incredibles Trailer
By Sam Spyrison on May 16 2018
Pixar's take on superheroes is less than a month away from making its return, both as a film and a...
Get a First Look at LEGO Incredibles Gameplay
By Tyler Robertson on April 18 2018
A new trailer featuring the first gameplay for the upcoming LEGO The Incredibles game was released on...
LEGO The Incredibles Coming This Summer
By Tyler Robertson on March 28 2018
The Incredibles are coming in LEGO form to PlayStation 4, Xbox One, and Nintendo Switch, according to...


text:
Apple Inc. – 4 Reasons Why They Are Different And Why They Rock
By Youth Ki Awaaz in Business and Economy
By Pradyut Hande:
Every now and then there emerges a company that radically redefines the realms of the often clichéd and loosely utilized term "revolutionary". A company that dares to break out of the cocoon of often predesigned customary business models; that dares to question and discard conventional "business dogma" in their quest to traverse the tortuous path towards accomplishing streamlined operations, increased profitability and global brand recognition through the use of continual innovation and reinvention. If there is one global company that truly epitomizes the aforementioned, it has to be Apple Inc. The computer/electronics behemoth has consistently ranked as one of the most innovative global firms. One look at their extensive blockbuster product range and it comes as no surprise! The ubiquitous iPod, the iPhone, the MacBook series and now the iPad are a handful of their path breaking product offerings that have literally taken the world by storm, much to the chagrin of their competitors.
So what is it that fuels Apple's stupendous success… success that seldom ceases to amaze. I shall attempt to enumerate a few factors that could plausibly elucidate the same:
Factor 1: Strategic Clarity —Â Understanding what it takes to Create Quality Products
Apple has excelled in this regard. After hours of onerous groundwork, prototype development and testing; they have come to regard the design of their products as their "fundamental soul". It is a prerequisite they have woven into their operational fabric. Having made new product design, development and quality their priorities; they have managed to uphold these basic tenets that are clearly reflected in each of their products. Apple is also its biggest critic; spending billions of dollars on radical products until they meet high specification norms.
Factor 2: Creating the Right Atmosphere for Continual Innovation
Many quarters regard Apple as an often closed organization, paranoid with security to ensure the utmost protection of their trade and business secrets. This "secretive strategy" is a double edged sword at best though. On the one hand, it gives arms Apple with the proclivity to surprise competitors on a cluttered market; while on the other it can take a mental toll on its employees. However, more than the secretive element ingrained in the culture; it is the tactful manner in which Apple creates a congenial atmosphere for indulging in innovation. Instead of straitjacketing their creative pools in splintered, disorganized units; Apple ensures they are given the freedom to pursue disparate individual goals for a larger collective objective. Apple goes out of its way to empower its most valuable employees. For instance, their state-of-the-art Industrial Design Group based in California is a separate world unto itself where Apple's top designers work in a "secluded melting pot of creativity"; churning out one revolutionary product after another!
Factor 3: "The Apple Brand of Management"
Apple has always believed in assembling a multidimensional proficient team. Their bold proactive management approach has been one of their strong suits, aiding their steady ascendancy in corporate echelons. Apple possesses a streamlined hierarchy devoid of extensive chains of authority. CEO Steve Jobs and his trusted "crew" take most important decisions. Another noteworthy managerial facet is Apple's conscious predilection to rely more on their intuition instead of extensive market research and competitor analysis. One could call term that a serious gamble, but had Apple not walked down the "intuitive avenue", the iPod and the iPhone would never have seen the light of day!
Factor 4: Omnipresent Talismanic Leadership
Strong, effective and responsive leadership is a prerequisite for corporate success. In Founder and CEO Steve Jobs, Apple has one of the most dynamic, focused and proactive business leaders on the planet! Often regarded as a "tyrannical perfectionist" during the halcyon days of youth, the Steve Jobs the world knows today is a highly mellowed down and less eccentric (if you may!) version of yore. However, without his almost maniacal drive and evergreen passion for his "job", Apple Inc. would have struggled to scale the acme of success it enjoys today. Although still dependent on Jobs, Apple has begun instilling the tenets of the "Apple" brand of leadership in the emerging breed of new age managers.
The aforesaid are a clutch of factors that in some measure are responsible for Apple Inc.'s healthy market position today. One thing is for certain: Apple will continue to redefine markets, ameliorate products and enthrall scores of "Apple aficionados" the world over for a long, long time! This is one company that revels in "discarding the tried and tested"! Think different… think Apple Inc.!
The writer is a Correspondent of Youth Ki Awaaz. This article has been reproduced from his blog post at http://pradyuthande.blogspot.com/2010/09/apple-inc.html
By IMPRI Impact and Policy Research Institute
Agriculture, Food Security And Rural Development Amidst The Covid-19 Pandemic
By Hariaksh Kamal
Why The Farmers' Protest Shouldn't Lead To Big Farmers Changing Their Occupation
By shakeel ahmad
Why India's Defence Budget Is Likely To Reach A New High This Financial Year


Pizza Delivery Mascoutah, IL - Order Domino's Now!
For Mascoutah pizza delivery that's faster and fresher than you could ever imagine, choose Domino's. When you order Domino's, you're not ordering a run of the mill pizza. You're ordering a pizza with an expertly browned crust, a chef-inspired marinara sauce made from only the tastiest tomatoes, and a yummy collection of toppings that'll please both veggie addicts and pepperoni lovers alike! With Domino's pizza, your grumbling tummy won't be grumbling much longer.
At Domino's in Mascoutah, we make it fast and easy to get the fresh pizza you're craving. Order your pizza over the phone or online, or visit a Domino's near you to place a carryout order.
Start off by picking from our menu of crusts. Choose a fluffy, hand-tossed crust that's dusted with garlic seasonings and buttery flavor, a crispy thin crust, a pan crust featuring two delicious layers of cheese, or even a gluten-free pizza crust! Next, pick your sauce and load up on your favorite, most delish toppings. Whether you're a serious fan of mushrooms and spinach or love spicy pepperoni and tangy asiago cheese, your local Domino's has it all.
Here at your Mascoutah Domino's, we're serious about pizza delivery. In fact, we're so serious about it that we promise your pizza will arrive piping hot and freshly made, right from our oven to your door. Use our patented Pizza TrackerⓇ to follow the progress of your pizza order from the time it's placed till it arrives at your doorstep… and do your best not to drool on your computer's keyboard in the meantime.
Hungry for More Than Pizza Takeout in Mascoutah?
You already know we deliver pizza, but did you know we rock at fast pizza takeout in Mascoutah? Feel free to try something different or stick to your favorites from our pizza menu. Satisfy everyone's cravings with one of our oven-baked sandwiches or pastas, platters of specialty chicken wings, crisp and colorful salads, and even mouth-watering desserts like chewy cookies and chocolatey brownies.
We have over 12,000 stores in more than 80 countries, which means we know quality and customer service. We think it's our calling to not only be the best pizza delivery company in Illinois, but also the world, and everything we do reflects this commitment. You'll see it in our courteous delivery drivers and money-saving pizza coupons, and taste it in every bite of pizza you eat. Order online, call your nearest Domino's restaurant in Mascoutah, or use our free smartphone app for hot, fast, and delicious pizza carryout and delivery today! We aren't any old Mascoutah pizza restaurant. We're your go-to pizza place in Mascoutah!


William Stafford. "Traveling through the Dark".
W.B. Yeasts, "The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner".
William Shakespeare, "Full Fathom Five Thy Father Lies."
Ray Young Bear, "Grand Mother."
Moli Nissani, " Two Long Term Problems".
Marslma Traught, " The children Who Wait".
Martin Luther King. "I have a Dream".
Lilaa M and Berry, C Bishop, "Hurried to Avoid a Bad Star".
Germaine Grear, " A Child is Born".
"The Tell – Tale Heart".
Dylan Thomas, " A Story".
James Joyce, "The Boarding House"
G. Garcia Marquez. "The Last Voyage of the Ghost ship"
Brother's Grim, " Hansel and Gretel" and its variations.
1. Doff, Adriam. Chirstopher Jones, Keith Mitchell, Meaning into words (upper Intermediate) Student's Book. Cambridge. Cambridge University Press. 1984.
2. Meaning into words (workbook) Cambridge. Cambridge University Press.
3. Lohani, Adhikari and Subedi, The Heritage of Words Kathmandu, 1998.
4. Swan, Michael. "Basic English Usage" OUP.
c) Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English (Third Edition) Harlow: Longman Group. 1995.
d) Oxford Advanced Learner's Dictionary (5th edition). Oxford. O.U.P. 1996.
2. Swan, Michael; Basic English Usage. Oxford: O.U.P. 1984.
3. Doff, Adrian, Christopher Jones, Keith Mitchell, Meaning into Words (Upper Intermediate) teacher's Book.
4. Meaning into Words (upper – Intermediate) carsette (student's book). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984.
5. Meaning into Words. (Upper – Intermediate) Carsette (Drills). 1984.
0 Response to "Complete Syllabus of Compulsory English | Class 12"


text:
1MATCH URL: https://static.rappler.com/images/bam-aquino-20140224.jpg
Senate OKs bill helping SMEs get funding
It seeks to put up Negosyo Centers in cities and towns to help entrepreneurs register and manage businesses, and gain access to sources of financing
Ayee Macaraig
@ayeemacaraig
Published 8:46 PM, February 24, 2014
'ESSENTIAL SECTOR.' Senator Bam Aquino says micro, small and medium enterprises are an essential sector, comprising 9 out of 10 of local businesses. File photo from Aquino's Facebook page
MANILA, Philippines – A newly passed Senate bill seeks to help ensure the growth of the sector that accounts for 9 out of 10 businesses in the Philippines: micro, small, and medium enterprises or MSMEs.
The Senate passed on third and final reading the Go Negosyo (Business) Act of 2013, which aims to help MSMEs get access to funding, incentives, and an easier way of doing business.
Senate trade committee chairman Benigno Aquino IV sponsored the bill as part of his advocacy of helping MSMEs. It is also among the priority measures of the Senate aimed at achieving the Aquino administration's promise of "inclusive growth."
Under the bill, the Department of Trade and Industry (DTI) will supervise Negosyo Centers or one-stop shops in cities and municipalities to help entrepreneurs register and manage businesses, and gain access to sources of financing.
The centers will also provide training, courses and development programs, advice on business conceptualization and feasibility, management, human resources, marketing, and other services.
Aquino and Senate President Franklin Drilon hailed the passage of the bill, saying the sector comprises 99% of all businesses, and provide at least 66% of all jobs.
"For every sari-sari store, bakery, or vulcanizing shop that opens and grows, for example, they will need employees, suppliers, and partners that will also get the chance to earn. There will be different livelihoods for many Filipinos," Aquino said in a statement.
Senate President Pro-Tempore Ralph Recto, a co-author of the bill, cited the benefits of the bill for MSMEs:
All micro-enterprises shall be exempted from paying income tax with respect to income received from the operations of the enterprises.
All micro-enterprises shall be exempted from the coverage of the minimum wage law, provided that their employees will be covered by social security, Pag-ibig (housing), and health care benefits.
Small and medium enterprises that will hire more employees after its registration under the law will be allowed a deduction of P40,000 from its gross income for each employee hired in a taxable year, provided that the minimum allowable deduction from the gross income shall not exceed P80,000. Another condition for the tax exemption is that entrepreneurs must employ the worker for at least a year. The incentive can be availed of for 5 years after the law takes effect.
MSMEs will be exempted from the value added tax (VAT) and other percentage tax as long as their gross annual sales will not exceed P3 million.
Recto also said the law encourages local government units to lower the amount of taxes, fees, and charges imposed on MSMEs or exempt them from payment.
Senators said the bill will create jobs after a September to December 2013 Social Weather Stations (SWS) survey found that 12.1 million or 27.5% of Filipinos are unemployed.
"For us to be able to create more jobs, we need to help micro enterprises grow and enter the formal economy. Our goal should be to help the micro 'graduate' into small, and the small graduate to medium, so that they grow and generate revenue and jobs for our communities," Aquino said.
Other priority bills
Other than the Go Negosyo bill, the Senate will work on 36 priority measures that Senate Majority Leader Alan Peter Cayetano identified on Monday.
The legislative agenda was discussed in meetings of Senate leaders with Malacañang, the business community, and the House of Representatives.
Quoting Drilon, the Majority Leader said charter change is not included in the Senate list because the chamber has yet to reach a consensus on the issue, and will wait for the House to finish deliberations.
Cayetano said the following is the initial list of priority measures:
Anti-Corruption and Good Governance
Freedom of Information bill
Whistleblowers' bill
Witness Protection Act
Amendments to the Sandiganbayan (anti-graft court) charter
13th month pay tax exemption
Finance and Investments
Fiscal incentives rationalization
Build-operate-transfer law amendments
Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas (Central Bank) charter amendment
Customs Modernization and Tariff Act
Regulation of water utilities
HIV and AIDS prevention, treatment, care and support
Picture-based health warning for cigarette manufacturers
National student loan program
Open high school system for out of school youth
Ladderized education program
Open learning through distance education in post-secondary and tertiary levels
Cabotage law amendments
Promotion of MSE development institutions and consumer protection
Land administration reform
Acquisition of right of way of government infrastructure projects
Rationalization of mining revenues
Emergency management response agency
National Food Authority reforms
Department of Information and Communication Technology bill
Philippine Ports Authority and Maritime Industry Authority charter amendments
Defining forest boundaries
Electric Power Industry Reform Act amendments
Energy sufficiency and conservation
Children in situations of armed conflict
Internal displacement act
Magna Carta for the Poor
Bangsamoro Basic Law
Bill strengthening Anti-illegal Drugs Law
Barangay Officials Welfare bill
Sangguniang Kabataan Reform
– Rappler.com
Filed under:16th Congress•Franklin Drilon•Go Negosyo bill•Go Negosyo law•MSMEs•Philippine Congress•Philippine Senate•Philippine business•Ralph Recto•SMEs•legislative agenda•micro small and medium enterprises•Bam Aquino


text:
The rock pigeons we discourage as urban pests have amazing skills that have served humanity
by Jeanine Farley | Oct 9, 2021 | Wild Things | 0 comments
Home | Arts + Culture | Wild Things
By Jeanine Farley
Adult pigeons usually have red eyes. These birds have excellent vision and can even see ultraviolet light. (Photo: Jeanine Farley)
Did you know that the common pigeons we see in Cambridge and Boston, called rock pigeons, were one of the earliest animals to be domesticated? Egyptian hieroglyphics from 5,000 years ago show domesticated Columba livia domestica, but we know they were also domesticated at least 10,000 years ago in Mesopotamia (modern-day Iraq and parts of Kuwait, Turkey, Syria and Iran). People spread these domesticated birds around the globe so much that today it is not clear where wild rock pigeons originated.
Pigeons are fantastic flyers. They can travel more than 500 miles in one day, and they have been clocked at 94 miles per hour. They have a unique homing instinct. For these reasons, people have used them for racing and as homing pigeons and message carriers. If ancient Mediterranean sailors got lost at sea, they would release a pigeon to point themselves back toward land, while people in ancient Rome sent pigeons between cities to announce winners of the Olympic games and to broadcast the results of chariot races. Genghis Khan used a system of pigeon relays from Asia to Europe to keep up to date on what was happening across his vast empire.
More mundanely, thousands of years ago in North Africa people raised pigeons both for food and to make fertilizer from their droppings. In medieval England, pigeon droppings were used to make gunpowder.
In medieval times in England, the lord of a manor, when leasing farms to tenants, reserved the right to let his pigeons forage over them. . . . The destruction of crops by the pigeons caused serious losses to the farmers and a great deal of trouble between them and their landlords.
Pigeon manure is very rich in niter, which the government had difficulty in procuring for the manufacture of gunpowder; so it regulated the construction of pigeon houses and appointed collectors to gather the pigeon manure. It was easier to do this when large flocks were kept by landlords than when an equal number of the birds were kept in small flocks by tenants.
– John H. Robinson, "Our Domestic Birds" (1913)
American colonists brought domesticated rock pigeons to Plimoth and Jamestown in the early 1600s. These farm animals were raised for food. Throughout the 1600s, ships transported thousands of these birds to our shores. Beginning in the 1700s, people became interested in exotic pigeons, and fanciers started breeding new varieties. Even Charles Darwin crossbred fancy pigeons to study variation within a species.
Selective breeding has created many varieties of domestic pigeons, much like people have bred domestic dog and horse breeds. This explains why you might see some pigeons that are brown, white, gray or black. Most pigeons have the typical wild bird's blue coloring, though – a blue-gray body, wings with two black bands, and an iridescent purple-and-green neck.
Juvenile pigeons look much like adults, but they are less iridescent. (Photo: Jeanine Farley)
Today, you can find wild rock pigeons only along the western coasts of Ireland and Scotland. All of the other rock pigeons in the world, including all those in North America, are feral birds that escaped or were released from domesticated stock. But because domesticated and feral pigeons have interbred with wild pigeons for thousands of years, a true wild-type pigeon may not even exist.
Wild rock pigeons nest on rocky cliffs or caves; the escaped feral birds enjoy building ledges, rafters and exposed beams in bridges and tunnels.(We do have a native pigeon in Massachusetts, the mourning dove, but that's a conversation for another day.)
Scientists have studied the genetic differences between groups of pigeons in the Northeast. Their findings indicate that the pigeons living in the Boston-to-Providence urban corridor are genetically distinct from pigeons in the corridor between New York and Washington, D.C. Yet there is a great deal of green space in Connecticut between the two populations, and the pigeons do not travel over this area. A pigeon in New York might decide to travel down to Philadelphia, but it will not fly to Boston. And, by the same token, a pigeon in Boston might fly to Providence but will not fly to New York.
Pigeons are often found in urban areas where food is plentiful. (Photo: Jeanine Farley)
Our feral pigeons make a nest that they reuse many times. What begins in year one as a lightweight nest of straw, sticks and stems becomes over the years a heavy, potlike mound. Large nests can include nestling feces and sometimes unhatched eggs from previous years or even desiccated dead chicks.
Pigeons are monogamous and may mate for life. Females usually lay two eggs at a time. Both parents care for the young that hatch by regurgitating "pigeon milk," a fat- and protein-rich substance made in the throat pouch, or crop, from nearly any food. Unlike other birds, pigeons do not have to rely on insects, worms and caterpillars to feed their young: Though they eat mostly seeds, their menu also includes berries or insects, as well as food spilled from bird feeders, handouts from people and food waste. (The need for water keeps many near lakes, rivers or city fountains.) This allows pigeons to breed year-round, raising up to 10 chicks annually. By six weeks, the youngsters are independent enough that the parents may start another brood.
I have noticed that there seem to be many fewer pigeon nesting sites than there were 20 years ago. This anecdotal observation is borne out by the Breeding Bird Atlas, which says the feral rock pigeon population in the United States has declined by 46 percent from 1966 to 2015. It is not known why pigeon populations have declined, but we can speculate on two factors: increasing numbers of predators such as hawks and municipal pigeon-control measures. The MBTA, for example, has installed spikes on its rafters to control pigeon populations, and people are discouraged from feeding the birds.
The Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918 protects native birds, but the act does not apply to feral pigeons, common starlings or house sparrows, because these birds are all introduced species.
Despite the fact that pigeon populations have declined in the United States, there are an estimated 400 million of them worldwide, and the numbers are increasing as urbanization continues. Pigeon populations appear to be in no danger.
Pigeon facts
Pigeons are quite intelligent and can recognize themselves in a mirror. They have been trained to discriminate between four-letter words and 7,832 four-letter combinations that are not words.
In the 1970s and 1980s, the U.S. Coast Guard found that pigeons were much better than humans at spotting shipwreck victims at sea. Because of advances in technology, pigeons are no longer needed for this task.
Pigeons can make their way home even if released from far away. They navigate by sensing the earth's magnetic fields and by using sound, smell and the position of the sun.
Rock pigeons carried messages for the U.S. Army Signal Corps during World Wars I and II.
Have you taken photos of our urban wild things? Send your images to Cambridge Day, and we may use them as part of a future feature. Include the photographer's name and the general location where the photo was taken.
Jeanine Farley is an educational writer who has lived in the Boston area for more than 30 years. She enjoys taking photos of our urban wild things.
Always dinner for black-crowned night-herons, wading into the hunt when other birds are asleep
Appreciate our common Eastern bumblebees, because our colonies are fewer and still at risk
animals, environment