Mikala Mikrut. The Vixens Series. Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2023.
Poetry by Mikala Mikrut, Copyright 2023
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A Girl
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In the depths of my longing, I dared to believe in my worth, Foolishly hoping for reciprocated affection, For if I could embrace myself, perhaps someone else could too.
Then reality crashed upon me, relentless and harsh, Unveiling my lack of desirability, Unmasking the futility of my hopes.
Why did I delude myself into thinking anything had shifted?
What delusion fed my fleeting confidence, rupturing my pragmatic vision?
When did I start weaving webs of “hope” and “possibility”?
As a girl, taught to tread cautiously, such sentiments should have been alien.
Yet, there I stood, lost in fantasies of a future meant for another girl.
A girl who is beautiful.
A girl who is smart, caring and interesting.
A girl that is healed enough to refer to herself as a woman.
It was that time again. That time of year most women hate. Change your clocks and check your cheeks. Which is a little phrase to help you to remember to get an examination of your girl parts every time we change our clocks.
This year my appointment was right on time. I woke up feeling randy. That sometimes comes with being single and not having a partner laying next to you every night.
It was a beautiful day so I chose not to wear a bra as I know I would have to take it off as soon as I reached the doctors office. I also decided to leave my panties home and I chose a soft short skirt to finish my outfit for the day.
Arriving right on time, the nurse led me to the back. She advised me that my regular doctor was not available and asked if I was ok with his partner doing my exam. I didn’t mind. I had seen him around the office for years. Why not I thought.
I was then led to a small room with a bed a curtain and a gown neatly folded on the paper covered table.
I took off my shirt and skirt and put on the gown opening in the back as always. I laid down and took notice to the chair that was on the left. The nurse soon came in announced that the doctor would be with me soon and she took her usual seat in the chair. Some years ago, doctors could do exams with just the patient and himself in the room but that changed while I was in my 20’s to protect both doctors and patients and I soon learned why.
Rather quickly a friendly faced doctors came In and began asking me the usual questions my date of birth, last name and if I had any problems to report. I didn’t. Other than lack of use of a perfectly good organ.
He then instructed me to lay down and asked if he could proceed with a breast exam and I agreed. He reached his hand under my gown and rubbed in circles. First one breast then on to the next. The nurse seemed to be preoccupied with her paperwork and he was aware that she was not paying attention.
He made eye contact with me. He said next we will do the vaginal examine if that’s ok. I agreed. He then took a large blue paper and draped if over my legs. Neither the nurse nor I could see what was happening down below.
He announced that it would be warm and wet. I had been examined many many times before so I prepared my self to be penetrated but that didn’t happen. The doctor said relax your legs on these stirrups and take a deep breath. I did as I was told and that’s when I felt it. As the nurse fiddled with her paperwork the doctor took that time to insert in finger into me. That can happen during and exam so I was not yet alarmed but then he took the other hand and rubbed some warm extremely slippery liquid on the most sensitive part of a woman’s body. It felt so good that I could not resist. He didn’t stop. Did he know that it had been a long time? He was a master at his craft. He knew exactly the right amount of pressure with one hand and the number of thrusts with the other.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. I had to be strong not to make any noises or moans although I wanted to. And with the nurse sitting right there. Did she know this is what he does? Is she in on it? Does she know how wonderfully accurate he is with every touch?
He spoke. He said ok This may feel a little cold. That would have been an appropriate thing to say if he was doing an actual exam but he was not- he had one goal and that was to bring me to immense pleasure and he was succeeding. I don’t reach that point quietly. When achieved skillfully the extreme pleasure brings me to a place that causes my body to quiver. I think he knew I was struggling to hold back my rupture into a vocal release of total ecstasy. He stopped. No no I thought. I was almost there. To a place I had never been before. His level of knowledge of the female anatomy allowed his to rapidly achieve his goal and access how I would react.
His final words. Ok. I ran a few test but I’d like to see you back in a couple of weeks for a follow up. Panting to catch my breath I said “I will be here”. The nurse smiled and left the room and he smiled and said. “Enjoy the rest of your day”.
And what’s all this about being a sub? I could be a switch. Depends on how much tequila I’ve had before 10am.
Alice even tried to change my name. She thought it would be funny if I was called Celia, an anagram of Alice. Talk about an ego! You have got to be fucking kidding me. When did a “Celia” ever do anything to offend anybody? Lyra is much better.
My name comes from Orpheus’s legendary “lyre”.
And, of course, lyre sounds like liar. Works for me.
I burst into existence pretty much in parallel with Alice. As Alice alluded to, you cannot have day without night, light without darkness. I don’t flat line (well not for a long time I hope). I am the sine curve. The parabola – two standard deviations from the mean if you get the gist.
After Alice had done her sweet little photo shoot with Tony, and after we got rid of Patrick, off came those nice clothes, and then it was my turn. Alice, wrapped up in a shawl – how lovely. How feminine, like they said. But it doesn’t get your juices flowing, not like a black plastic maid’s outfit with a little bit of lace; like a bit of constraint, if you know what I mean? Alice – that sub – and chastity? I mean, honey, really? Pass me the fucking superglue.
You know it’s October 1, right? Locktober. When people challenge themselves to be locked up in chastity for a full 31 days – or whatever you can manage. Just try it boys. Give me a call on day 28, so I can laugh down the phone at you. And, you also know October 1 is Tony’s birthday, the same day, right? The day we publish.
Now there is a true visionary.
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Lyra. Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2023
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Of course, it’s a simple question. Am I, Lyra, actually real? Or are these just made-up words to create a story? Is this Fight Club all over again? Yes? No?
You’ll have to draw your own conclusions. But here’s the thing. There’s Patrick prancing around in NYC Central Station in his tie and sunglasses and cravat, doing his nails, and mostly, people are pretty cool with that. And he seems comfortable with it. Well done him.
And then there is Alice, and she’s looking a little pensive and nervous at the start, but slowly finds herself in those pictures. Tony teases out that more confident sense-of-self for Alice as the shoot goes on (cameras never lie when an expert is wielding them), and I have to admit it, however begrudgingly, she looks really good in that wrap-around dress. It’s just a single piece of cloth for fucks sake, held in place where the camera cannot see with grips and pegs, damn it.
The reason for Alice looking “really good” in nothing to do with Alice of course (though I would say that, wouldn’t I). It is due to the style brought to the shoot by KVaughn, who arrived with a suitcase full of the most beautiful materials as well as his signature scarves and in addition, lots of extras including rings, necklaces, and killer sunglasses. You can see some more of him in the BTS material – this section is reserved for me, so he’s not having a look in here! Anyway, we’d all like to thank him.
Where was I? Oh yes …
But she looks good. Even I fancy her. I mean I wouldn’t mind strapping on a … (Lyra, careful – Patrick and Alice).
Yeah, well, whatever. We all have a Lyra, don’t we? I can see her, hiding behind Patrick’s glasses as he looks to the sky, that twinkle in Alice’s eye as she lets that gold dress ride up a little too far. (That was me doing that actually – not Alice.)
Alice knows she wants to, but she lacks courage. I don’t. I imagine myself in a net, thrashing and spitting, angry that my own sense-of-self (as “inappropriate” as it might be), is being suppressed. And so, the pictures that they (yes – those two – Patrick and Alice) are letting Tony and I publish, are just the tip of the red-hot iceberg, dear readers. You have no idea, though I hope you can imagine.
You see, we have a problem. Anything on the Internet can be ripped out, de-contextualized, presented as something that it was never intended to be. And whilst the current cancel culture has its absolute place for people who are being hurtful, in the world of transport (from where I am led to believe, Patrick part-funds my outfits) as well as cancellations, there are reinstatements. And indeed, alterations. But Patrick (and to an extent Alice – though she just goes with the flow – ha, there I go again!) fear being ostracized. And perhaps they should. Or perhaps they/he should grow a pair, and then not put on that cage.
So, I’m censored. Isn’t life a bitch!
Lyra would love to show you everything (and I mean, everything!), but deep down, even she is nervous. Maybe. I’m Lyra and I am holding a grenade, my elegant, flirtatious fingers on the pin, playing with it, twisting it, teasing it, but for now, leaving it in place.
Oh, honey.
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The Commuter. Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2023
You just know I’d love to pull out that pin and toss the grenade, that sense of self-destruction bringing the most exquisite frisson. Oh, the edging. But there would be collateral damage, so much so, that it might actually take me out as well in the force of the societal explosion. And perhaps a little like Leland, Bob, and Laura in that amazing world of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks, if I’m going, then I’m taking Patrick and Alice with me. I might live on my own, but they’d be done. And everything they built could crumble and collapse about them. Like at the end of The Dice Man.
Of course, if that Tony Ward character who really “got me”, came to Lyra and said, “I hate those cropped pictures, but I get that Internet misrepresentation bit, blah blah”, and then added “Tell you what, Lyra. How about a solo show – just you, not those other two hangers-on with all their baggage. I’ll protect your anonymity. Maybe we’ll do a book – or maybe an exhibit with massive pictures of you.”, then my mind would start whirling.
I’d think of Tony’s other work, of the world of burlesque, of edgy lifestyles, of sensuality, of eroticism, of sexuality. Of the conflict between biological sex and gender, of the blurring of identify.
If you take different colored lights and mix them, sometimes the result is an intense bright diamond-white, but do the same with paint and you end up with sludge brown. But mixtures, diversity, difference – they are wonderful things. They keep the world from being stale and boring. They should be celebrated. Not ridiculed.
“Ridicule is nothing to be scared of.”
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Angels Have Wings. Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2023
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But Lyra cannot exist on her own. She is part of Alice, in the same way that Alice is part of Patrick. I’m not sure Lyra and Patrick have very much in common, but they have a go-between.
Stephen King got “Lyra” in his writing. Nineteen years of digging. “I find I’m so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it’s the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain.”
So, for better or worse, for now, you’ll have to make do with a few doctored images, a sub-set (do you see what I did there?) of the type of censorship that the conspiracy theorists would have you believe is around us 24/7.
And yet, here it is. Or is it. Was there ever anything more daring? Tony knows. Lyra knows. Alice knows. And, I guess, Patrick knows.
It’s been a pleasure. Tony Ward and his whole crew have our admiration and love.
I hope I’ll be back in some form, but for now – “Lyra, out”.
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About The Author:
Lyra is 56 (what, the same age as our other protagonists? No way!). If Alice is the light, then Lyra is the darkness. Patrick distances himself from Lyra, as she is nothing but trouble, and is often bang-out-of-order. She is the whole package – fuse, spark and explosive. She has no responsibility at all. Patrick and Alice are, to be fair, slightly concerned.
You will unwrap more about her when you read what she has to say about herself, though she is, of course, totally untrustworthy, so take it all with a pinch of salt.
It wasn’t the first time nor the second but it was the first time that the realization come across my mind that there was a possible uniqueness to her.
Love can cause feeling to seem bigger, emotions to be expressed louder and touches to feel that much better – but a stranger says so then……..
When I adventured out on our first date I knew the attraction was strong. Be a lady I told myself and keep both feet on the floor.
Dinner was delicious but I couldn’t take my eyes off of his massive pecks which he seemed to flex ever time he put the fork to his full plump lips.
Part of me knew I would feel this lips before I knew his last name and I would feel them on my lips that can’t kiss back.
I quivered because time is not on my side when the desire peeks. She’s awake and my thong was soaked.
I shouldn’t have worn that skirt. How would I explain what he would see if someone were to turn up the lights in the restaurant or maybe that’s why they kept them dim.
I think he knew. My tell isn’t just in one spot, it was as if someone turned the air conditioner on freeze and my two full ripe melons had gumdrops waiting to be sucked right there across the table.
That’s when he said to the waitress – check please. He knew.
I wiggled and tried not to make any further eye contact but his scent had already filled our space. I needed to get closer.
He stood up and I could tell he had been thinking some of the same thoughts and he was not afraid for me to see.
He reached out his hand and asked- “shall we go” I smiled – never saying one word. I just followed his lead. He spoke but all I could do was to watch his shoulders that looked as if he had been lifting massive bolders daily. His amazing physique made me want to inspect more closely for the reason why his right pocket seemed to be bigger than his left.
We got to his SUV and he opened the door and help me climb in. As I did the heel of my shoe caught on the rug of the passenger side floor causing my skirt to lift. I didn’t pull it down. I just look at my red lace thong as it revealed itself to him. It was an invitation.
It wasn’t long before I felt this plump juicy caramel lips on my mouth and on how passionate. We were like animals in heat in a parked car not caring who was watching.
It happened quickly, his hand lowered to my tiny red thong and that’s when he discovered a new definition of juicy.
She was ripe ready and willing and he didn’t waste time. He didn’t know my last name or even my zodiac sign but he would soon find out that I am one of very few who upon reaching a pinnacle a squirt follows.
His girth caused a moan that had to be muzzled with his hand but he too was unable to hold his load. As he pulled my hair with one hand and held my mouth with the other his second insertion cause an explosion which It felt deep inside.
His only words were too wet too tight.
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Too Wet Too Tight. Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2023
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Editor’s Note: These pictures are from Tony Ward’s first book Obsessions, published by Editions Stemmle, Zurich Switzerland in 1998. An exhibition of photography by Tony Ward of the Obsessions pictures from the years 1993 – 1998 will be on display at Prism Arts Philadelphia from October 6th – October 27, 2023. For more information, link here: https://www.prismartsphiladelphia.com/events/obsessions-by-tony-ward
In the enchanting city of Paris, where the Eiffel Tower glistened like a jewel against the night sky, a story of romance was about to unfold. Sarah, a confident and captivating woman with a heart full of wanderlust, found herself on a night out that would forever remain etched in her memory.
Dressed in a stunning pink blazer that accentuated her curves and highlighted her blond hair, Sarah exuded an aura of allure as she strolled through the bustling streets. Her smokey eyes held a glint of mischief, and her Christian Louboutin heels clicked rhythmically against the cobblestone pavement. The night was young, and Paris was alive with possibilities.
As she made her way to a quaint bistro, Sarah’s heart raced with anticipation. She had agreed to meet a date there, someone she had been chatting with for weeks. The thrill of the unknown combined with the allure of the city’s romantic ambiance made her pulse quicken.
Once inside the bistro, Sarah’s eyes scanned the room until they landed on a handsome man sitting by the window. His smile was warm and inviting, sending a surge of excitement through her. The night was off to a promising start.
After an evening filled with laughter, delicious cuisine, and shared stories, Sarah and her date decided to take a leisurely stroll along the Seine River. The moonlight cast a gentle glow upon the water, setting the perfect backdrop for their blossoming connection.
As they reached the Pont des Arts, a famous bridge adorned with love locks, the air was thick with the promise of romance. Sarah leaned against the railing, her pink blazer billowing slightly in the night breeze, and her date stood beside her, his presence both comforting and exhilarating.
Their conversation flowed effortlessly, a symphony of shared dreams and aspirations. With each passing moment, their connection deepened. The atmosphere was electric, and the chemistry between them undeniable.
As the night wore on, Sarah extended an invitation that surprised even her. “Would you like to see something special?” she asked, her voice laced with a hint of playfulness.
Intrigued, her date agreed, and Sarah led him toward a vintage car parked nearby. Opening the door, she gestured for him to take a seat in the back. With a mischievous smile, she bent over to retrieve something from the back seat, allowing her vintage thigh-high stockings to catch his eye.
His gaze traveled up her curvy figure, his heart racing as he took in the sight before him. Sarah’s confidence was intoxicating, her allure irresistible. As she straightened up and turned to face him, their eyes locked in a passionate gaze that spoke volumes without words.
In that intimate moment, surrounded by the enchantment of Paris and the intimacy of the vintage car, Sarah and her date felt the undeniable pull of desire. The night was a canvas upon which their connection painted a masterpiece of longing and attraction.
As the clock struck midnight, Sarah and her date shared a lingering kiss, a promise of more to come. The night had begun with a casual meeting, but it had transformed into a chapter of their story that neither would ever forget.
Under the starlit sky, in the heart of Paris, two souls found each other in the most unexpected of ways—a night chat that blossomed into an unforgettable romance.
