The name I use, and have used for many years, on line and in my D/s mode, is Arach.  If you do not understand the root, I will confess to having a character in World of Warcraft named Arach who was a hunter.  Hunters have pets.  My pet was a huge spider named Nid.  Now do you get it?

As I grew up, I remember that any time I assumed a character in a role playing game, I was Tom Spider.  The genesis of that is so long ago that it is beyond my memory, but I do remember the image, as I was and am quite tall, of spreading my arms and legs and hovering predatorially over some hapless victim.  Perhaps another one of those early memories which could have told me of my eventual path, if I had only known.

As have said in other posts, I am living alone now.  In any new apartment or living quarters, you often have uninvited guests.  I keep it relatively clean, as I presume others do in the building, for I have seen no roaches.  Ants come and go, but not often.  I have, not so strangely, been acquiring a growing number of spiders of various sorts.  While some would not enjoy the company, I tend to feel that if they are here, many other beasties are not, and that may be a good thing.

In the apartment there are 4 or 5 jumpers who wander around my bedroom and office.  But they are small, are not in my bed, and usually keep to themselves.  This morning, while washing the dishes, I looked out the window to see an orb builder working away between the eves and a lovely flowering vine that covers the balcony railing.  I stepped out to watch his diligent and concentrated work.  A very fine web, it was difficult to see in the bright morning sun, except in occasional reflections of lite.  But his work was obvious, circling round and round, building his trap.  Then he stopped.  I thought at first he had spotted me, then he turned in the opposite  direction and seemed, to my inexperienced eye, to be “finishing off” his web, stepping forward, reaching with an outer leg, pulling and testing, possibly making a finishing connection, then stepping to the next juncture and doing it again.

Strangely, it was only then that the connection flashed to me.  Just the evening before I had finished off two of my string creations, adjusting with a small crochet hook the height of each wrap of thread around a screw, gluing the knots to make them tight, making secure my own web.  I wonder what it might catch.

The world talks to us in strange and magical ways.  It behooves us to listen.

The Eroticist