Friday, April 30, 2010

Bedlam

She walked upon the broken stones scraping her nails along the church bricks. The dove flew above her head guiding the way. It was cold here in the shadows. The gothic cross hung haphazardly from the steeple. She had never wanted to come here. Even as a child it scared her.


The wind cut deeply—pushing the flimsy fabric of her nightgown against her chilled skin. The dove cried and demanded she follow. Moss clawed at the hem of her nightdress—making her bare feet slip on the stones. No one had ventured out this way in years. The groundskeeper kept the gates chained, but the lock had been easy to pick.


She saw the soft glow of light warming up the windows as she rounded the corner. He was in there. She could sense him. They’d been small the last time he’d talked her into coming here. They weren’t small anymore.


She paused under the archway to push the old door open, shivering as it creaked on rusty hinges. He looked up from the fire. He watched her with sad blue eyes, his black hair tumbling over his forehead. “You look like an angel.” She shifted her weight uncomfortably, attempting to hide the mud on her feet. She’d never been good enough for him. He held a hand out and welcomed her to his makeshift campfire.


She walked toward him keeping clear of physical contact. The dove’s flapping wings startled her as it perched itself in the eves. The night was thick with nature croaking and buzzing—setting her teeth on edge. “Why did you ask me here?”


He stood up and stroked her arms, moving to outline her breasts beneath the white fabric. He leaned in and kissed her temple and she inhaled his scent deeply. She hadn’t meant to but she couldn’t help herself—he always had this effect on her.


“Have you been out to the graves?” He leaned back to study her face. She shook her head no and he kissed her plush mouth. “Come on, let me show you something.” He pulled her behind him leading the way down the decayed steps.


The air felt colder down by the gravestones. It’s just your imagination, she chided herself. But she shivered all the same. He held her hand in his and drew her over to an impromptu altar. She stopped—the chill seeping into her chest. “What’s that for? What have you planned, Garret?” His beautiful face snapped back to look at her. “Don’t call me that!” He gripped her jaw with his free hand painfully digging his fingers into her soft flesh. Tears welled up and she saw that the rumors were true. He was mad.


Fear lanced her and she stammered helplessly, “I-I-I’m sorry. I forgot.” He relaxed then and stroked her reddened jaw in a tender motion—drawing his knuckles down to graze her nipples. He groaned a little as her body reacted to him. She’d always loved him, but now that blurred with fear and suspicion. He only saw what he wanted to see as he unlaced the top of her nightgown and lowered his mouth to her breast.


“You’re so beautiful, Aria. So lovely…” His lips closed over one tip and then the other, sucking greedily. Her head fell back and she gasped at the contrast of the cold night air and his hot wet tongue. He pulled her to him, licking and biting softly at her breasts. His free hand delved between her thighs and he stroked her core—bunching up her nightgown and searching out her treasure.


She rode his fingers with pure joy, losing herself in the pleasure of his kiss as his lips opened hers and claimed her mouth. Time seemed to ebb and she became aware only of him.


Then she felt the cold slab of the altar.


Her body jerked—rejecting the icy stone. But he pressed her down, pulling her knees apart. His mouth kissed and coaxed her back into submission as he pushed himself into her body. Her eyes rolled back and her body arched—throbbing for him. He drove her over the edge and she felt herself float above them. For a moment it was heaven. But when she came to her senses she realized that he’d tied her wrists to the posts on either side of the altar.


He straddled her hips, his beautiful cock resting on her belly as he used a knife to cut away the last of her nightgown. She lay there naked—her mind reeling. When had he gone mad? Thoughts jumbled in her mind while Garret drew the tip of his knife over her smooth skin. He leaned forward, almost erect again as he whispered against her mouth. “You’ve a dance with Nosferatu, my sweet.” She flinched when he kissed her.


He smiled a most hideous smile. She licked her lips nervously, “Honey…everyone knows that vampires are a myth.” He seemed uncertain, and she thought she saw a bit of the boy he’d been. He put the knife aside, “You won’t think that after tonight. I’m going to give you the gift of immortality and then we’ll start a following.” Aria frowned, “A following?” Garret grinned with enthusiasm, “”A loyal following—an army of vampires!” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers searching out her tongue.


He trailed kisses down her neck, licking and sucking on her soft skin. He brushed her hair back and kissed along her shoulder. Two raised bumps drew his attention and he leaned closer to see what they were. He squinted, “What—?”


Aria used his hesitation to her advantage, ripping her hands free of the ropes, she sunk her fangs into his exposed neck. She drained him and moved to cradle him in her lap. He looked at her in disbelief—his eyes slowly glazing over with death. Tears streamed down her face and the part of her that was still human mourned him. It was clear that he was mad and would have ended up killing countless others. She cleared her throat and stroked his hair away from his brow. “Oh Honey, I’ve already danced with Nosferatu. I bear the scar of his kiss.”

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Couple’s Counseling



What do you do with a drunken sailor,” the men sang with full voices and even fuller mugs. “What do you do with a drunken sailor,” they clanked their ale and jeered one another. Wee Willy Fitzpatrick sang proud and clear—his fine Irish tenor filling the pub, “What do you do with a drunken sailor, Earl-eye in the morning!”

A serving wench set a fresh pitcher of ale on their table and Gandy Gargoyle (so-called for his maimed face) smacked her soundly on the arse. “Singin’ ‘ere wench!” She jumped, startled, and then smacked him back. “You’ll be keepin’ them hands ta ye self, ye will, or you’ll be pullin’ back a bloody stub!”

The men folk laughed at the exchange and took a healthy swig of their brew. Then they broke into a round for the chorus (they really take their singing seriously, you see). “Way hay and up she rises, Way hay and up she rises, Way hay and up she rises, Earl-eye in the morning!” They were really going now—the other patrons cheering them on with drunken glee.

“COWARD!”

The shrill scream broke the sea shanty and the pub filled with boos. A short dark woman pounced on the pirate’s table jabbing the blade of her cutlass against the throat of their Captain. A small bead of blood trickled down his neck and he dared not breathe. “Dearest, Darling Lass”—he began, but she cut him short. “Spare me!” Rage boiled in her pretty features. So he gave her his trademark grin and winked, “Naw Missus, tis I should be sayin’ ‘Spare me!’” He gently pushed the blade away from his neck with his forefinger. “I can see you’re plenty angry,” he soothed, sliding from the table carefully as she kept the sword aimed at his person. It was clear she meant business.

Old McNally laughed into his brew, “Ye stepped in it now, ye did! Shoulda nailed her better Capin’” Captain Leary grinned, a true rogue he was, “Don’t be thinkin’ she’s at her best humor now, McNally.” The old man roared with laughter his rotten teeth growing more yellowed by the minute. “That’s when it’s best, me boy! Toss her in the hay and ride her till she smiles!”

“Old man,” she drawled, “Captain Scallywag shan’t be riding anything but the plank.” Her hard brown eyes met Captain Leary’s nervous green ones and he took a step back. “Now, Bess, my Bonny Bess, you can’t mean that.” She smiled sweetly at him, “Can’t I, Love? You left me on that Island with a note—six lines and a bottle of rum. Was I meant to find solace in that? Or just to drink away the memory of your face?”

Gandy raised his mug, “A bottle of rum seems quite generous to me!” She glared at him and he settled back quietly into his chair. Captain Leary tried again, “You’re a lover, Bess, a lovely Latin lover, you can’t mean me any harm.” She sneered in his handsome face hating each line—yet somehow still loving him—and loathing herself for it. “You forget, my pet, I don’t just make love. I also make war.”

Her quiet declaration fell like stone in the now silent bar. Leary gathered his thoughts quickly. “Games then, you like games!” She laughed the eerie cackle of a woman scorned. “You betrayed me for the last time, you black-hearted scoundrel! I’ll not play another game with you. I’ll see you as shark bait first!”

Now Leary was terrified. As well he should be. He swallowed hard and began to sweat. He understood her ire, knew it was justified even, but he needed a path to freedom. He couldn’t tell her that she suffocated him or expected more than he could give. These things would hurt her. It was kinder to cut her loose.

Still…the rise and fall of her breasts were captivating and he found himself staring, stiffening. He shook his head, knowing that he needed to stay in the present else become a dead man. She seemed to frown a bit and he could tell that she’d thought of something. “Not a game then, what else, Sweet Bess? What else might soothe ye?”

She smiled and his blood chilled. She licked her lips slowly, “A wager.” Leary cocked his head and stared at her, “What kind of stakes?” She was truly grinning now, “The highest stakes. Winner takes all.” She walked toward him the cutlass dipping to point at his chest and he found himself pressed against the wall. “We’ll have us a dual, you see,” she continued, “and if you win I’ll sail off with my crew never to darken your bed again…” Her voice trailed off and she looked at a spot just past his shoulder.

He encouraged her, “And if you win, Bess, what then?” She smiled and he could see tears in her eyes. “If I win, sweet pet, you’ll come be my Captain, my lover, my best friend, and there’ll be no more of this nonsense. You won’t run off sans explanation anymore.”

Leary zeroed in on her flushed face. “Ye would travel half ‘round the world to chase a man who doesn’t want you? Ye’d force him into a dual with stipulations you know he doesn’t willingly agree to? Why Bess? You’re a lovely lass and could find another…ye needn’t debase yourself so.”

She considered his words as she had always done. She weighed them and answered him clearly, “Is it debasing oneself to fight for love? To know in your heart of hearts who the one is for you and seek him out? I think not. No, my pet, I’m not debasing myself. I’m pointing out the lies you’ve told yourself.” She maneuvered him into a chair—still at the point of her sword—and carefully lowered herself onto his lap. She angled the weapon to rest lengthwise below his chin and brought her lips to his. He could feel her breath upon his mouth and he remembered the taste of her kiss. But she didn’t close the gap between them. She teased him with the promise of her lips—wet and willing against his. It was sheer agony. He moved to claim her mouth, but she pulled back.

Satisfaction gleamed in her brown eyes and she slowly moved her hips, stroking his hardness beneath his clothes. “You want me, too, Love. I dare say…that’s the problem. You want me more than you’re comfortable with. When you dream up a crazy scheme…who do you run to with it? Hmm? When you want to bellow, “poor Captain Leary,” who do you moan to? When you see me you get stiff and can barely keep your pants on. Nay, the problem isn’t that you don’t want me. The problem is that you do.”

She leaned in and brushed his mouth with hers. She stroked the soft skin of his lips with hers…once…twice…then opened her mouth and let him taste her tongue. She let him explore the recesses of her mouth, the texture and taste of her filling his head. He forgot about the sword resting against his chin, forgot that she was devil incarnate, and forgot that she meant to trap him in her lair. His hands roamed of their own volition seeking out and memorizing her curves. They slid over her warm body and trailed down to squeeze her arse. Sweet Jesus, the wench could kiss!

She pulled her mouth away, breaking the spell, and made ready to dual. Her form was exquisite as she took a fighting stance. “Do we have a dual then, Captain Brat?” He sighed and reached for his own cutlass with a feigned flourish. “Seems a pity to waste such effort on a dual…my Bonny Bess…what say you that we take our exertions to the bedroom instead?” Her rich laughter rang out clear and strong, bringing a smile to McNally’s weathered cheeks. The old man had known a lass like her once. A complicated creature with more fire than a man could handle…well, most men. Her words interrupted McNally’s reverie. “Nay, my pet. I’ll not service your loins just to have you spurn my affections again. No, we settle this matter once and for all. Take up your sword!”

The patrons sipped their ale enjoying the show. They watched with avid interest as metal clashed and sparks flew. Bess parried to the right, dodging the Captain’s thrust and he jumped up on a table. He reached up to grasp the iron chandelier, candles flickering as he swung over to another table. Bess went after him, cornering him once more. She disarmed him with a deft twist of her sword. Leary looked at her in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to be so adept. She’d counted on that. “How?” She smiled brightly, “How did I disarm you? My pet, I’m a female pirate. I’ve got to be ten times the pirate as a man, else my crew would mutiny. Now about our wager…” She held up his sword by the hilt. “Do you admit defeat?”

His crew watched in stunned silence as their beloved Captain Leary hung his head. “Aye, Bess, sweet Bess. Ye bested me, there’s no doubt.” She positively beamed and handed him back his sword. She looked around the bar noting the slack-jawed expressions of all, save old McNally. The old man winked at her. She winked back. “You all are witnesses. You hear?” The men grumbled into their ale as she claimed her prize. She led Leary from the pub, hand in hand.

Sometime later…she felt the mattress give as he slipped from under the covers. She sat up, holding the sheet to her bare breasts. “What are you doing?” He turned and bowed, naked, save for his Captain’s hat. “Well I’ll be shovin’ off now, Bess.” She sprinted from the bed, dropping the sheet in her haste. “But we had a wager! I won!” She clutched at his shoulders in disbelief.

He stroked her face with his knuckles, smoothing her dark hair over her shoulder. “Yeah…but I lied.” He leaned in and kissed her shocked mouth. “You are a sight, though. If I were a blacksmith I’d gladly stay and bed you more. But I’m a pirate and the sea’s my only mistress.” She collapsed on the bed like sinking lead. Her lips felt numb where he had kissed her. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “But I won…” She swallowed hard and looked at his blurry features. “You’ll come back to me. You always do.”

Leary smiled softly as he dressed. “Not this time, my Bonny Bess. This time’s the end of it, I think.” She felt suddenly very small and lost. Her heart broke in her chest and she half expected to see blood pour out of her frozen limbs. She watched the door close behind him. Her voice cracked as she spoke to the empty room. “Yes…but you lie…” She covered herself with the fallen sheet, her resolve growing as her body warmed. It wasn’t over, not yet.

My Crazy Kids...

We're sitting down to dinner when my seven year old, Gabriel, asks with all seriousness... "Who here has eaten babies?" I looked at him with confusion and said, "I'm sorry? What did you say?" And he looks a bit embarrassed and repeats, "Who has eaten babies?" I laughed and said, "No one. Why? Are you volunteering?" He blushes (he's rather shy) and says, "No!"

I grin at him and ask, "Why do you think people eat babies?" He perks up a bit at this question and replies, "Well you eat them and then they come out, right?" My Mom and I looked at each other and just busted up laughing. I looked at Gabriel as if he were the cutest thing on Earth, because, well, he is. Then I asked him, "Is that how you think babies are born? That we eat them and then push them out?" He flashes me his gums (his two front teeth are missing) and says, "Yup! How else would they get in your tummy?"

Bless his heart. Sex ed is gonna scare the crap out of him. And me. Lmao!

Have a good day y'all!

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Yup, lmao!

"Every once in a while, you get a flash of how good your life could be if you really tried -- but then you turn on Nick at Nite, open a box of Cheez-Its, and wait until that flash fades away."

Thanks Facebook, you know just how to cheer a girl up. Smother her with truth. Lol!

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Frustration

Is there no way to make amends?
This truly can't be the end!

No argument, no fight
Just "I'm done."--it isn't right!

I called you lover
Raised you above all others

I called you friend
And would again...

I wanted just to kiss you sweet
And stroke your cheek when we meet

Wanted just to hold you near
Say, "To me, that you are dear."

But you slam the door in my face
And in your wake leave a cold embrace

Perhaps I'll just disappear
Maybe drink away the year


Delete my blog
Wallow in a fog

Why not? It works for you
What else is there for me to do?

Tears don't sway your blackened heart
And your silence rips me apart

So that's what I'll do
I'll mimic you.


* Music
It won't rain all the time...

Intruder

Lipstick kisses on white paper
Whispered sighs on the telephone

Easy laughter ringing in my ears
Silly flutter when I see your name

Think of you at random moments
Dreamy smiles just for you

Silly to want a man like this
Impossible not to

You've warned me a hundred times
But I dance closer to the fire

It's a contusion
An intrusion

Disrupts my life
I'd do it again

I'd kiss you soft and sweet
Knowing you're my best friend

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Slow Burn


Melted honey
trickles...
Soft whiskers
tickles...

Makes me want for you

So easy to be here
caressing...
So easy to roll over you
pressing...

Makes a good girl do

Crazy things
love games...
Scream out
your name...

Makes me kiss you true

And yearn
for more...
A slow burn
pour...





Friday, April 23, 2010

Hell Is Other People



For Mr. Gully, with my fondest regards...enjoy, Brat!

Uncle Chuckles mutters to himself and inspects his cans with a keen eye. His fingerless gloves caress each dinted tin before deftly stripping away their labels. He tosses the bare cans into his cart. I know he’s working, but I can’t help but rub up against his legs. I weave between them and purr until he reaches down to stroke my ears. “There’s a good girl, Sniffles,” says he. I meow my agreement, twitching my tail as I take my leave.

I only require one good stroke a day. What a lucky owner he is!

I like to lay at the top of his makeshift tent and let the sun warm my fur. I lick my paws and wonder at what an odd fellow he is. His orange hair juts out and around his mostly bald head like Bozo the Clown. But I like it. He looks like a deranged angel—as if those orange tufts could morph into wings and lift him up into the atmosphere!

He’s likely not an angel, though. At least not since he sold his soul—no it’s true! I saw him wager his soul for a stick of Bazooka Joe Bubble Gum. Swear to Bast! And then after the strange dark man rolled up the contract and handed Uncle Chuckles the stick of gum, my sweet tossed the pink stick in the weeds and poured over the comic wrapper. He must have read it fifty times—laughing until tears welled up and he had to blow his nose—each time. Then he winked at me and said, “Souls. Humbag! Can’t sell what ya ain’t got, eh Sniffles?”

I roll over letting the warmth spread over my fat belly and stretch. Yup, that Uncle Chuckles is an oddity for sure. I stretch out my claws and knead the fabric of the tent. It’s not much of a tent, really. Just four sticks propping up a tattered tarp. But it makes one heck of a hammock! I yawn and sneeze. Uncle Chuckles just laughs at me. “Damn cat,” he says, but I see the rotten gleam in his eye. We’re a lovely pair, us.

He goes back to sorting his cans and I grow weary of licking myself. So I venture off to search for mice. I’m fed plenty well, mind you. But a girl needs some entertainment and nothing gets me going like a tasty treat. I’m mid pounce when I hear the teenagers coming up the hill. They only come this far down the railroad when they’re up to no good. Last time they spray painted a white streak down my back. I mean, really! A white stripe?! How original is it to paint a black cat with a white stripe? Not the future leaders of America, this lot. Well…on second thought…

Anyway…I follow the Mensa Club to see what bit of hell they intend to wreak and sure enough they’ve come to torture my dear sweet Uncle Chuckles! Can’t have that, now can we? I stalk into the tall Irises of my beloved’s garden and lay in wait for the little bastards. I watch in horror as they outfit his vegetable patch and prize wild flowers with cherry bombs. Oh sure, “Let’s go mess with the crazy old bum,” they smirk. Well, joke’s on them, cuz I’m one kamikaze cat, let me tell you!

So I lay in wait, watching where each offensive weapon is placed, waiting for the little pricks to get closer to my hiding spot. As I wait, I see my darling man crouch nearby with an armful of cans. We all stay perfectly still—the Mensa Club and their cherry bombs, myself in the flowers, and Uncle Chuckles. And then it happens! BOOM! Goes the cherry bombs! Reeeeer goes I—in full Kung-fu Kitty mode! And Thun-Thunk-Thwack! Goes Uncle Chuckles’ projectile tin cans!

It’s “genius” hunting season down on the tracks.

The Mensa Club cry and scream and runaway like good little bastards. And I sneeze with complete satisfaction. But my beloved, my poor sweet Uncle Chuckles hunkers down amid the ruins of his garden. Flowers fall in disarray. Lettuce lay flat with random chunks missing. It's a massacre. He picks up a smashed tomato—nearly ready for picking—and takes a bite. I cringe at the soil clinging to its juicy pulp. But my deranged angel gobbles it greedily. Juice squirts down his face and I lick my paws with disdain.

When he’s done gorging on the fallen vegetables, I sidle up next to him. I put my furry face on his lap and he strokes my ears. I sneeze again and walk all over his lap looking for the most comfortable spot. He licks the remaining juice from his fingers and I swear that deranged angel looked positively feline. I find a comfy spot on his lap with my ass halfway up his belly. I flick my tail in his face—just because I can—and then I take my place on my throne.

He scratches my ears and chuckles softly. “You know why I stay out here, Sniffles? It’s cuz hell is other people.” I look at him lovingly…and sneeze.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Sultry Summer Nights

Hear the night bird call
Perched high above the sill
Gently we fall
Laughing with delighted thrill

Slow exploring kisses
Become heated strokes
Your game never misses--
And my arousal deftly stokes

Hot need fills the air
Sending sparks along our skin
Tempting hands roam everywhere
Strumming the truth lost within...

Friday, April 16, 2010

The Exhibitionist



Sex and lust and love are a heady mix. Isabella licked her lips the way a matador waves his flag before the bull. “Come and get me,” her eyes challenged. Her body primped and plump—ripe for the picking—drove him mad. He stared at her hotly and her skin tingled. Is it possible to care for someone so quickly?

Or was it just lust?

“Lick your nipples, Baby.” His voice was soft, but firm and Isabella moved to obey. Tongue lapping, her body shivered, and she wished he would just touch her. She needed him—and only him—to put out the fire. It was madness to carry on like this. Maybe it wasn’t lust and love and sex. Maybe it was addiction? Her hand moved between her thighs to stroke the honey there, but he couldn’t see. So she smiled and sucked her damp fingers. He drew a breath in sharply and sat up straight. He must’ve liked that, she thought.

His eyes, good God, his eyes—she couldn’t escape them. But then…she didn’t want to. She wanted to reach out and grab him, to press her mouth to his and draw his tongue inside her parted lips. She wanted to make him wild with need as she touched him, as she took communion from his body.

But she did none of these things. She simply sat and waited for his instruction. It turned her on to have him direct her. She hadn’t known that she loved being dominated. But his aggression was an aphrodisiac. She sucked the honey from her fingers once more and he groaned. The power play bounced between them. He took a gulp of wine and stroked his chin.  

“Open your mouth wider, Honey; I want to imagine pushing myself in there.” She complied, eyes closed, and gasping as the pleasure built. The idea of his phantom shaft brushing against her lips was destroying her—tearing down long laid defenses. Her head thrown back, his name was a plea upon her lips.

She had to taste him.

Her eyes opened and looked straight at him—glazed with lust and black against her face. She was close to coming, but starved for him still. It wasn’t enough—could never be enough…



“Isabella!?”

“Huh?” Isabella looked at the faces of the women piled around the table. “I’m sorry! Did I drift off?” Janice laughed and patted her hand. “Yes! We were talking about internet sex. Sara asked you if you ever tried it.”

Isabella shook her head slowly and hid her face behind her frothy cappuccino. “No. No, I would never do anything like that. I mean, what if someone found out?”

“See!?” Alice laminated. “No self-respecting woman would.”

Janice’s eyes narrowed on Isabella’s face. She could tell that Bella was lying, but she didn’t out her. Sara shrugged, “So I’m depraved. It was fantastic and I’d do it again in a minute.” She winked at Bella, “You know, one day some guy will come along and mess up your make-up and your hair and turn you upside down. He’ll take your tidy little world and make you scream, “Uncle!” And when he does there’ll be no going back, Ms. Prude.”

Bella’s lips curved into a small secretive smile, “I know…I know…” She shook her head and sighed, “God help me then.”  Her friends moved on to some mundane argument over shoes, but it fell to the background. Bella looked out of the restaurant window, watching the passing traffic but not seeing it. She only saw him. Saw his eyes, his mouth, heard his chuckle. It was something more than addiction… It was everything.