Lauren Davey
Bio
The short Creative stories In which You Will Read Here, All pertain to the Journey of BeLoved, TwinFlames. They Are Inclusive of various concepts of Spirtuality, Tantra and Sacred Sexuality, Amalgamated with a cheeky, mild dose of Erotica.
Stories (17)
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A Divine Gift from my Beloved Pooch
“Razjae. Razjae.” I yell out for him, but he doesn’t respond. This is not like my rottweiler. Usually, Razjae comes bolting for the front door whenever I enter the house. “Hmm.” I wonder, “Maybe I accidently left him outside before I left?”
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Petlife
Into the Abyss.
Is this actually him, though? Is he astral projecting right now? Is he telepathically communicating with me? This is not the first time I have heard Zabian inside of my head speaking with me and the last length of period in which this happened, it near drove me fucking crazy. I once watched a video of Zabian and his wife where-by at the end of the video, Zabian indicated that we shared a telepathic ability. And I should probably note here, that the video also insinuated that the woman sitting next to him was not Zabian’s wife at all, but his brother’s. This was then validated when I was later looking at a photo of him and his wife and my phone began to glitch. Then when the picture returned, his wife was still covered by a glitch and Zabian, was as clear as the original photo. Anyway, his eyes were soft and gentle in the video. It appeared as though he was in a natural altered state of consciousness, similar to the one that which entices within me, a state of vibrational ecstasy. As his wife was talking to the camera, Zabian was whispering to himself. I could not hear what he was saying, but his lips were moving as though he was responding to a voice inside of his head. This video was produced right after I had questioned our ability to accomplish telepathic communication. I was not sure if the message was genuine, for obvious reasons. Don’t get me wrong, when I hear his voice in this way, it is always one of pure unconditional love, encouragement, adoration and of course, the most tempting of amorous seduction. However, without any solid verbal validation from Zabian that this is actually what is taking place between us, I begin to question my sanity every time that it occurs. That horrible feeling of bewilderment floods my system again in this moment as the transpiration of this transmission arises. The original intention behind that of my instigation of self-pleasure quickly flashes through my mind and I sequentially decide, that if Zabian needs to be in my thoughts in this way, then I shall welcome it. In fact, I am going to further this with an invitation. “If this is the way that you want to make love to me Zabian, if this is what your soul needs, then go for it. My vessel is yours to enter.” With the sentiment, I roll over onto my back, to where I spread my legs and welcome penetration. However, as soon as I do, the experience immediately ceases.
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Fiction
Into the Abyss.
There is still a deep part of me that believes that Zabian is behind these occurrences. Or at the very least, that he is related to them somehow? My heart longs to be close to him and so, moving forward, I offer the invitation for this presence to connect with me in this way. However, I leave a non-negotiable intention for the barrier to stay sealed around that of any sexual interaction. The experiences are now inclusive of incidences where-by I may feel the stroke of some fingers along my spine. The occasional kiss. I was even poked in my right ear once! That was weird! I have felt a presence spooning me from behind as I am falling asleep, or cuddling me as I am relaxing on the couch. These things are no longer a bother to me, though. In fact, I find them rather comforting.
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Filthy
Into the Abyss.
I awake no longer in my lounge-room, but in my bed. My dog is next to me, licking the outside of my left thigh. “How did he get inside?” Sitting up, I realise that there is blood everywhere. It is all through my bed and all over me. Searching my vessel I notice a deep gash on the outside of my left thigh, right where my dog has been licking. “Yuck!” I grab a flannel from the bathroom and apply pressure to the wound. “What the fuck happened? How did I get into my bed and how did I get this gash?” The blood does not stop pouring from the wound and I know that I am going to have to call an ambulance. “Fuck.” Walking out to the lounge-room area, I observe the scene. It appears as if there has been a struggle. The back door is wide open. There is a broken fruit bowl behind the couch. The area to where I tried to take my life was still as I remember it, though. Popping the dog outside and shutting the door, I call the ambulance and quickly tidy up the area in the lounge-room, hiding all evidence of any attempt on my life. I feel a little groggy, but otherwise I am completely conscious. The tears begin to flow as I realise that my life has been spared. However, they are not tears of joy or gratitude. They are tears of sorrow and pain, knowing that I am expected to continue with this journey as it is.
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Fiction
Into the Abyss.
Over the next few months, my vessel feels as though it has become a science experiment for an other-worldly exhibition! My clairalience senses increase as I endure random aromatic equations of wine, marijuana and even pizza, to which my daughter has caught a psychic whiff of, too. I have smelled the likes of flatulence and even the scent of a male scrotum in my face. I have felt a stimulation like sensation upon my nipples whilst immersed in the bath, so much so that when I touched them afterward, one of them felt as though it had been laced with saliva. There was nothing in my bath, nor on or near my nipple, that which could explain this type of wetness. When the sensations began to pervade the area of my yoni, envisioning the source of such to be Zabian, I welcomed them. It began with what felt like someone breathing in my scent, nuzzling my flower in a delicate fashion. When it is intense, the sensation mimics that of a tongue moulding my petals. However, the sensation is only but a flutter of physical contact, amalgamated with a strong vibratory stimulation which can be acquainted to something like that of a buzzing sensation. I want to use the notion of pins and needles, but this does not do the sensation any justice. There have been incidences when it has literally felt as though my vulva is being sucked on with a distinct, pulling sensation. This experience tends to happen following an orgasm. However, it has occurred a few times when I am simply resting, also. One day after I had finished climaxing, I brought my hands above my head in the throes of an intense, mind-blowing experience. Suddenly, the buzzing vibrating sensation enveloped that of my fingers, as though someone was either tasting the remanence of my orgasm from off of them, or breathing in my scent. My g-spot has been stimulated with this sensation, and even my anus! The first time in which my anus was stimulated, I was playing a game of Wordscapes on my phone. The next round of the letters were all an indication of words that represented an anus. For example, the word “date” was prevalent and just as I typed it into the results of my game, a notification popped up on my screen saying, “It tasted, girly!” This was not the only time this game was used to send me a message. When I doubted that this was happening, for obvious reasons, the next round of letters in their totality, formed that of my name. More confirmation that I am not going crazy. The more that I embrace these experiences, the louder they become. The most predominant being when I felt something actually enter my anus. Once again, a notification popped up on my phone indicating that this was an accident and that whatever it was that had entered me, was intended for my yoni, not my anus. “Oops, wrong hole,” was the message in which was delivered this time. In another instance, I felt my ovaries being pinched, just as the lyrics to the song on the radio were mentioning the word "all," in the sentence, “I want all of you!” I intuit that this message was in regards to procreation? Although, with my already giving birth to three adorable children and the prospect of my not getting any younger, the idea of another baby is overwhelming, to say the least.
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Filthy
Into the Abyss.
The fragmented aspects of our soul’s, scattered across the galaxy. Time, space and distance, irrelevant to the dimensions, planes and realms of existence. We reside everywhere, in constant harmony to one another as we each fulfill our purpose on the journey to remembering who we are. As each new level of alignment presents, we begin the process of integration. Calling forth all aspects of ourselves, back to the place where we are whole.
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Filthy
Into the Abyss.
I walk over to where the bed is and lay myself upon it. “Why is he doing this to me?” I weep. I mean, I know why. To prevent me from moving on. But how can he do this to me? A lady nurse enters the room. I instantly jump from the bed and once again plead with her, “Please, I have children who are relying on me. I was not going to run. Ask the other nurse from the Emergency Department, please?” The nurse motions for me sit back down onto the bed and says, “Its ok. Try to calm down, ok? I’ve got some medication here to help you relax, sweetheart.” She says, holding up the little plastic container with the lorazepam tablets inside. I take a deep breath in and retrieve the container from her. I cannot stop crying. I am completely broken. However, I intuit that if I do not surrender to the situation then I am going to make that of my time here harder than it needs to be. Reading the psychiatrist’s notes, the nurse then queries me, “So, whom is this Zabian Ryder?” I am resistant in trying to articulate that of an explanation and simply reply, “He was my lecturer.” Attempting to form that of a conversation with me she then asks, “What were you studying?” Once again, I am extremely reluctant on how much information I should be disclosing and I look away. “Shaniquah,” the nurse says, “If you can help us to understand the situation you are going to get out of here a lot quicker.” I turn my head back toward her, then allow my face to fall to that of my chest. “It was a Transpersonal Counselling course.” The nurse continues her enquiry. “Has there been contact with him outside of the school?” I cannot do this. I look away again, enforcing that of my right to stay silent. “Shaniquah?” She says my name again, asking me to try to answer her question. “Look,” I say to her, “It really does not matter, ok. I just want to get out of here and what he has just done to me has shown me exactly what…” I stop mid-sentence, realising that which is about to come out of my mouth. Turning my head away from her again before looking back at her, I attempt to alter that of the conversation and ask, “Am I allowed to call my kids?” The nurse looks at me with inquisition. “Yes. You will be able to at some stage. Or I can ring somebody on your behalf if you like, but Shaniquah,” She then reaches her hand to my ankle and gently rests it there, “If there has been a misconduct of some description, you are safe to tell me?” Once again, my protective instinct of him takes that of the reigns to my position and despite where I am in this moment, I refuse to disclose anything else. Not only this, but I am well aware of how anything in which I say to ultimately explain that of my position in the situation, will inevitably sound. And so, I simply choose to ignore her. Unlike him, hurting him is not on my agenda. I just want this to all be over. Knowing that she is not going to get any further with me, the nurse pats my ankle and says, “Try to get some rest, ok?” I nod my head and lay back down. After a little while, the medication begins to do its job and I allow myself to cry myself to sleep.
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Fiction
Into the Abyss.
My third-eye, tingles, bringing with the sensation an expanded sense of awareness to that of my immediate environment. My surroundings, suddenly become clearer, like when the ripples settle upon a body of water and the contents beneath are revealed to that of the naked eye. The air, settles into an eruption of stillness, as though the entirety of the world has become solidified within the abyss of complete silence. My ears, sharpen to the voice of the person of whom in which is speaking, enhancing the channelling of my expanded awareness into that which they are saying. It is as though I can hear that of two conversations being had at once. One, to which the speaker is aware and the other to which, they are not.
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Fiction
Into the Abyss.
As I sit on the floor in the middle of my loungeroom, I am completely numb to that which I am about to do. My emotional body is spent. My mental body is fragmented and my soul, longs only for peace. It yearns for its freedom. The exhaustion of this roller-coaster has finally taken its toll on my being and I can no longer, find the strength to go on with this life as it is. I am powerless to change it and without the right support to reach for, I can perceive no other alternative.
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Fiction
Into the Abyss.
When I open my eyes a few hours later, I am surprised to see a missed call. “That’s weird. I didn’t wake up to my phone ringing?” The call is from a private number so I am not too fazed. And besides, it seems that whomever it was has left a voice mail for me. When I dial the number to retrieve said message however, the walls of my psyche begin to shake, feeling as though they are going to close in on me like the collapsing foundations of an unsteady building, whilst the ground beneath me appears to vanish from my sense of gravity altogether. The voice on the other end, his voice, the same voice in which I climaxed to only hours before, shatters my perspective of reality, instantly. “Shaniquah. Yeah, it is Zabian Ryder here. Don’t you ever, come to my house again!” Just like a scene in which you would expect to see in a movie, the phone falls from that of my hand and bounces onto the floor.
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Fiction
Into the Abyss.
Sitting out of the front of his house in my car, my anxiety is through the roof. I don’t want to be doing this. Since I returned from the hospital a week ago however, the messages from that of the universe have been loud and clear. If I wish for him to be real with me, confronting him is the only way in which I can initiate it. “How the fuck am I going to knock on his door, when every time in which I have attempted to make contact with him, I have been lied to?” The fear of once again, having my voice stripped from me before I so much as have a chance to utilise that of my authentic expression, pervades my system and amplifies that of my anxious state of being. Despite this though, my anxiety is no match for that of the determination in which I hold, to take back that of the reigns to my life and receive the answers to the questions that which elude me the most.
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Fiction
Into the Abyss.
The three hour drive to Yacht Peninsular ends up being futile. On the way my analytical mind attempts to rationalise the situation. “Maybe that was his way of affirming my calling to Mermaid Beach? Maybe, I read the circumstance completely wrong? Maybe they are not together and he really was, just teaching her to surf? So, why not just be honest with me then? Why the pretence? And why the fuck am I once again, struggling to make sense of a situation that which makes no fucking sense!” I cannot cope with this any longer. I am hanging onto my existence by that of a mere thread and if I do not get some answers to the questions that which leave me a prisoner of my own mind very soon, I fear I will lose what little bit of strength in which I have left. By the time I get to Yacht Peninsular, I am fuelled with the urge to go back home and confront him. I am not quite sure how I will accomplish this when he blatantly refuses to talk to me, though? To help shine a little light on the darkest of places within that of my psyche, all that which pertain to him and exactly what his intentions are, to put me through this? I have no choice but to catch him off guard. Right now however, I need to try to get some sleep.
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Fiction
