Category Archives: Writing

His Broken Presence

It had always been that look in his eyes she was drawn to. There was a fire, a hunger that she’d never seen elsewhere. And it captivated her so, when he set that look upon her.

The weight of the years hung on him like chains. Maybe he’d never been the carefree boy she imagined sometimes. Laughing and running wild, bringing home the kind of critters that would make his mother grimace as she pointed out the door. Had that woman kissed his scraped knees when he tripped on broken concrete? Had he been the boy to climb high and taunt those less brave?

She found herself wondering of his life. Far too often. His presence had invaded every part of her mind and heart. And all she wished was that he would stay there.

But he was never hers to love. This sweet man who she’d come to love more with every meeting would never hold her and spin her around in joy. He would not bring his fears to her in the night, so she could comfort and console him. Even the barest of touches was denied her. Those small touches she longed for the most: the feel of his hand around hers, her fingers delicately stroking his cheek. The briefest kiss with smiling lips.

She took comfort where she could. In making those lips curl ever so slightly. In bringing a spark to those deep haunted eyes. She would love him, honestly and truly. Until his use for her no longer remained. Sometimes, she longed for that end as much as she longed for him. To be broken by his hands would sear him into her heart forever, and she would bear that pain with a gritted smile.

Till then, she let his gaze roam, as she never did with anyone else. She would let him take her in. She would not cringe away from him. All she knew of him that could hurt her, she welcomed. She basked in him. In his his broken presence, she felt momentarily whole. And for that she would endure it all.


My Fucking Words

In all honesty, my heart is kinda broken tonight. I can’t even write. I want to tear up every word that spills from my fingers. Oh hell, I even hate my words tonight. I want to shred them, make THEM bleed for ME. Crush them, stomp them, punch them, kill every last fucking one. I want to slit the throats of my words tonight. Because they all betray me and leave me so bare, all my hurt showing. And I just want to bury that inside.

But my goddamn words won’t let me, angry little shits that they are. All they want to do is tell on me. That I’m in pain, that I’m angry. That I’m bitter and worthless and stupid and just fucking unlovable. That I hate and crave. That I want to die and live and fly and fall and lay beside you and just be… That my heart is jealous of what I’ll never have. Fuck, I’d cut off my fingers if that would make them stop!

I shouldn’t post this. I know I sound crazy. Well, fuck it. I am.

I know I’ll recover. A little more wary, a little more weary. And probably with all fingers intact. Maybe. But tonight, yes, I do want to scream, and sob, and dig my nails into anything and everything. I want to punch and stab and … Who am I kidding… I’ll get drunk and play video games, crying, till I fall asleep. That seems to be my fallback position.

I’ll try to drown out my words tonight. Tonight, they hate me, and I hate them back.


From The Vault – 2

I burst out laughing when I found this hiding at the bottom of an old folder.  This was the original first chapter of a multidimensional science-fiction thriller I started to write years ago.  I still have bits and pieces of it floating around.  Oh, read, laugh, and understand why I stopped writing!  =P

 

*****

 

Her sapphire eyes were bright, laughing at the scene in front of her, an arm wrapped loosely around the waist of the handsome man at her side.  She tossed her hair from her eyes as the mimes juggled and capered beneath the fairground entrance.  Their painted on faces gleamed with sweat, performing tumbles and small acrobatics for the onlookers: mostly children and their bored-looking parents.
Terra felt a tug at her arm, and realized the parents weren’t the only ones bored here.  Ryan was giving her an impatient look, glancing at the mimes as the small crowd burst into chuckles.  She flirted a smile his way, and with one last backward glance allowed herself to be led deeper into the fair.
“You know, it means a lot to me that you wanted to do this Ry,” Terra said, looking up at the tall man.  “She can be a little scary to me, and I’ve known her all my life.”  The “she” in question being Terra’s mother.
Ryan smiled at her, bringing her hand to his lips for a soft kiss, then swinging it playfully between them.  “Well, it means a lot to me that you’re letting me come,” he replied.  “For a while there I was wondering why you kept refusing to bring me.”
“Well, when you actually meet her, you might see why I didn’t want to.”  Terra gave him a half-hearted smirk, a bit worried about the event about to take place.
“Hey now, she can’t be all that bad.  She managed to make to do an ok job raising you in the middle of a circus,” Ryan teased.
“Ok?  Just ok?”  Terra punched him lightly in the arm, playing up the affront by pulling her hand from his and stalking off.  Chuckling, he grabbed her, picking her up from behind and swinging her around.
“She did a wonderful job, is what I meant.”  He set her down and gently turned her around.  Wrapping his arms around her and tugging her close, he kissed her nose softly and whispered, “Wonderful.”
A flush worked its way over her face, and she nuzzled close to him.
“Yeah, well you’re pretty ok too there Mr. Lancing.”
They laughed, releasing each other and continued making their way down the main thoroughfare, hand in hand, some of the tension evaporating.
Occasionally they paused at some of the stands to watch a few games being played: a young man with a plastic six-shooter in his hand, popping off tin ducks to win a stuffed football; laughing children playing a fishing game with magnets dangling from the lines; a flock of older women standing around a low table watching a man shuffling three cards at light speed.  The couple smiled to each other as the women sighed disappointedly, losing their money again.
Weaving through striped tents with barkers yelling and children screaming excitedly to their parents, it was easy for the couple to imagine having been transported back in time.  With the heavy smell of meats roasting over fire pits, small piles of dung left by horses and other tame animals that meandered through the people, men wandering aimlessly with lutes in hand, playing music that seemed created specifically to lure people to lay down their money with no thought, the air of the medieval seemed to pervade everything.  Barkers shouted at the passerbys to stop for a peek at what was hidden inside the canvas houses behind them, advertising “sights that would dazzle and leave your mind straining at reality!”
The strong scent of animals and popcorn invaded their noses as they stepped around throngs of anxious fairgoers waiting in queues for the next turn on the Ferris wheel, or jostling for a seat in the bumper cars with their friends.  They watched as young and old alike were being taken in at every corner, and with glee etched on their faces.  There were knights clashing swords in a circle made of hay bales, and even a small rodeo where young men were heaved furiously upon the backs of wild horses.
Terra snuggled against her boyfriend’s arm as they walked in their own bubble of silence, a soft smile carried with ease on her face.  It felt like coming home, and in a way it was.  They were here to meet with her mother, a carny since the day she left her own home in Mexico at seventeen.  Ryan had been asking to meet her for several months now, and when she’d finally decided that he wasn’t asking out of politeness, she’d agreed to the trip.
“Where did she say we were supposed to find her?”  Ryan asked, his brow furrowing as his hand waved in frustration at the crowds around them.  The fairgrounds were packed, and there was no indication of where anything was.  Shading her eyes from the brutal midday sun, Terra searched the tents, familiar with the typical layout.
“It should be that way, beyond the funhouse,” she said.  He took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, though whether for her or for himself, she could not be sure.  She smiled up at him, his head nearly a full foot above her own, then quickly rose to her toes to plant a small kiss on his cheek.  “No worries now, ok?”  She grinned, ruffling his hair, and they set off.
The loose corners of the funhouse tent were flapping wildly as the wind picked up, adding another layer to the cacophony surrounding them.  The two barely noticed though, as the fortune teller’s tent slowly came into view.  No lines were present here, and the noise seemed to dissipate as they left the concourse.  It was set back from the main walk, nearly hidden between two of the larger tents.  If you weren’t looking for it, it would have been hard to find.
Terra shrugged as Ryan glanced nervously at her.
“All part of the draw,” she said, her voice a few decibels lower.  “Makes it seem more mysterious, keeping it in the shadows.”  She laughed softly, remembering the days when she herself was scared to enter, even knowing the reasons for it’s somewhat spooky presentation.
They walked slowly, pausing at the tents entrance and listening, in case “The Seer” was presently entertaining a mark.
“Come in, come in,” the melodious voice sang out, a heavy Mexican accent giving it a seductive resonance.  “You are my only clients today, and I have been waiting eagerly to tell your fortune.”
With a firm squeeze of each others hands and a quick look between them, they entered the dimly lit chamber, a small cloud of incense escaping as they went.
From the inside, the tent felt even smaller than it looked, packed as it was with the seers paraphernalia.  Three large trunks took up most of the space against one “wall,” heaped with books of increasing sizes. Racks of clothes, robes and shawls gave the impression that the woman not only worked in the space, but lived in it as well.  There was an ancient oak wardrobe looming ominously at the back of the space, it’s scarred doors fixed with a sturdy looking padlock.  A long low table occupied the center of the room, clad in a weathered looking red cloth.  On top of it sat the obligatory crystal ball, a deck of worn tarot cards, and a half empty chipped teacup.  Two upholstered grey chairs sat before the table, the fabric threadbare, showing the pocked and yellowing cushions beneath.
The woman sitting behind the table though made the room feel all the more claustrophobic.  She wasn’t large by any means, probably slightly over five foot five, and weighing no more than one-ten, one hundred and fifteen pounds at most.  Her presence however, was that of a giant.  Looking at her, one felt small, unable to keep their eyes from such a woman; or, more commonly, unable to look directly at her, for fear that doing so would engender her wrath.
“Terra.”  She spoke softly now, turning the name into a sigh as she gazed upon the young woman.
“It has been too long.  My, but you are stunning.”  A smile graced her face, and it was as if a light had been lit in the room.  Her features looked delicate now instead of imposing, and her small mouth parted in a quiet laugh.
She rose, coming quickly from around the table, embracing her daughter before Terra knew what was happening.  After a long moment, she wrapped her arms around the older woman, holding her tightly and inhaling her scent.  Sage, roses, and something distinctly old and musty – the smell of the aged texts the woman was so fond of.
“It’s good to see you mom.  You don’t look any older than when I last saw you.”  Terra stepped back out of her mothers arms, grasping her hands and smiling.  Her eyes traced over the woman’s face, noting the small lines, how the color of her eyes had dimmed slightly, but recognizing the fierce love that shone out.
As if seeing him standing there for the first time, her mother looked at Ryan, glancing up and down, sizing him up.  The smile faltered for the briefest of moments, causing a fraction of worry to crease Terra’s face, before her hands came to his shoulders, and she folded him into her arms.
“Ryan, is it?” she asked, then released him without letting him answer and returned to her place behind the table.  “Please, sit, make yourselves at home,” she said, gesturing to the chairs.
They sat, Terra placing her bag carefully on the floor, her eyes perusing the contents of the space as the silence in the room began to grow.  Ryan shifted uncomfortably in his chair, opening his mouth as if to say something, then shutting it with an audible click that left him blushing to the roots of his long black hair.  Her mother sat there smiling, watching them like a lioness amusedly observing her prey.
After an age of silence had passed, the words Terra came to say stuttered from her mouth at last.
“We’re g-getting married mom.  Ryan and me.”  Realizing the obviousness of what she had said, she winced, her eyes falling to the table.  She took a deep breath, and looked to her mother for her reaction.
Still sitting there with that predatory smile, she made no reply at first, then slowly nodded.
“Aye.  I assumed it was either that, or you were dying.  Something serious, to have you come to see me at last.”


Quietly Waiting

I can write erotica, yes.  🙂

*****

You find me ready and waiting.  So ready.

On my hands and knees on my bed, wearing a short black nighty that does nothing to cover my bare ass.  Looking back at you with a welcoming smile, eyes shining with desire.

Without a word, you are on the bed behind me, your stiffening cock in hand.  Holding my hip steady, you slowly push inside, and release a flood of warmth – pooling there just for you.  You pull back and spread my juices all along the outside of my pussy.  The tip of your cock, dripping with my anticipation for you, circles and teases my clit, making me shudder and moan, pushing back against you.

You hold me steady, and with delicious cruelty, smack my clit with your cock.  I cry out, jumping, and you shush me, tell me to keep still.  Your cock rock hard now, you tease me again, running up and down the lips of my wet pussy, again circling my clit, again smacking it.

You torture me this way until I am begging you to stop, my clit crying out for steady pressure, for release.  Your cock so wet from base to tip, sheathed and glistening with my juices, you line yourself up, grab my hips, and slam into me hard.

I come instantly, screaming out your name, grinding my ass back against you.  My pussy convulses around you as you push, burying yourself so deep inside me.  Your cock bathed in waves of hot, wet, clenching flesh.

I am still coming when you start to fuck me, gripping the sheets of the bed with white knuckles.  You move in me, slowly at first.  Watching as your cock emerges from my cunt, wet and sticky.  Watching as you feed it back into me.  I am so tight around you.  With every slow thrust, you claim me, stretch me, fill me perfectly.

I start to move against you, and you pick up the pace.  Your hips slam against my ass, your hands find my shoulders and pull me back on you harder.  Loving the feel of your cock inside me, both of us lost in the agonizing pleasure.

Suddenly you grab my hair, wrapping it around your hand and tugging slightly, holding my head up and making me arch my back more.  Reaching down with your other hand, you graze my clit, making my pussy bite down harder on your cock.  Fucking me steadily, your fingers circle, rubbing harder and faster.  And again I explode on your dick.

While my cunt clenches around you, while I am at the brink of collapsing in rapture, you grip my hips tight and pound into me mercilessly.  Your cock battering my pussy so hard it’s all I can to to stay upright.  I am overcome and in tears while you take me.  Your cock swelling further inside me as you fuck me, staking me so deeply.

With one final hard thrust, you empty yourself in me.  The feel of your cock throbbing and twitching in me, hot bursts of come flooding me, sends me over the edge, again and again and again.  I grind back against you, wanting every drop of you, needing it.  Loving giving you that release.  Loving how you give it to me.


From The Vault – 1

I say “From The Vault – 1” because I’m sure there will be times like tonight where I have nothing much to say, but still feel like posting something.  So here’s the first of what will be a few; something written years ago and tucked into a forgotten corner.  Don’t mind the cobwebs – and by cobwebs I mean hilariously bad writing.  =P

 

*Untitled – circa 2007 – unfinished and unedited*

 
Shouldering into her favorite black hooded parka, Kris glanced at her reflection in the hall mirror.  Though she didn’t consider herself “beautiful,” she could see what it was perhaps that drew men to her.  Her large brown eyes twinkled as she gave herself a once-over, taking in her full lips, soft cheeks, perfectly proportioned ears and nose.  Lustrous brown hair cascaded over her shoulders in graceful waves, natural highlights sparkling in the evening light that poured through the windows.  Giving it a toss, she grinned.

Her gaze traveled down, admiring the plumpness of her breasts, just visible over the tight black tank.  Her stomach wasn’t yet as flat as she wanted, and her hips were full, leading to thighs that had always troubled her.  But, even with the cotton-soft blue jeans she wore, her legs and butt looked fantastic, especially with the tall sweater boots snugged up to her knee.

Kris grinned again, slinging a tattered black purse over her shoulder.  Making sure she locked and bolted the door behind her, she yanked the hood of her coat over her head and sprinted through the downpour towards his car.  He was just getting out to come to her door, so she saw him standing there, his hair already matted down with rain, his shirt on its way to becoming soaked.  She laughed, and they both fell into the car, shaking water from themselves.

Without a greeting, he turned the ignition, giving life to the stereo.  Nine Inch Nails screamed through the dank air as the car’s heater kicked back on and Kris pulled her hood down, her hair tumbling loose.  Buckling her seatbelt, she turned to look at him.

He was an Adonis.  To her, a perfect specimen of what a man should be.  At roughly six foot, Lewis wasn’t huge, nor did he have the physique of a body builder.  He was well built, lean, with blue eyes that flashed at her at all the right moments.  His gleaming blonde hair fell lightly around his shoulders, a high forehead and aquiline nose perfecting the visage.  But, oh, it was his lips that made her breath hitch in her throat.  Those lips that made her ache in the middle of the night if she was weak enough to let herself imagine them; their softness, their warmth, the lingering pressure they left on hers long after they had parted.

Looking away, she laughed.  It was ridiculous how crazy this man made her.

They talked, having long ago gotten used to speaking over and around the ever present pulsing music.  With each word  – about where they should go to pick up a twelve-pack, what they should get, what they would spent their night doing – his voiced thrilled her.  Low, somewhat gravelly, all-together sexy.  She could hardly keep her mind on the conversation, her thoughts were spinning out of control.

Walking though the grocery store, they touched casually, as friends will do; playfully punching and pushing, leaning close to see what the other was looking at, their bodies brushing as they passed in the aisles.  Nothing that would suggest a romantic connection, unless one looked hard enough and long enough.  They’d both grown accustomed as well to keeping their feelings from prying eyes.  Of which there were a few.

They entered the cooler, looking for cheap (but good) beer, and she entertained the thought of taking him right there.  Pressing up against the cold cases, letting him feel the full heat of her body, the heat that he himself created in her.  She longed, desperately, to feel his arms around her once more, taste his mouth on hers.

The moment passed, and they walked away trading childish insults that were their form of affection.  He grabbed her hand quickly on the way back to the car when she nearly skidded on the wet pavement, their eyes locking meaningfully.  Back in the car, the music blasting once more, they fell into an easy, comfortable silence as a favorite track played out the feelings between them.

You and me
We’re in this together now
None of them can stop us now
We will make it through somehow
You and me
If the world should break in two
Until the very end of me
Until the very end of you

All that we were is gone, we have to hold on
All we were is gone, we have to hold on
When our hope is gone, we have to hold on
All we were is gone, but we can hold on

You and me
We’re in this together now
None of them can stop us now
We will make it through somehow
You and me
Even after everything
You’re the queen and I’m the king
Nothing else means anything

They spent the evening and night watching movies, playing video games, talking about nothing important, merely enjoying the feeling of being able to be together.  Meaningful looks and suggestive comments were batted about, along with much laughter and teasing.  Though she wanted nothing more than to throw herself at him, she knew how this game was played; she was an expert.  And she honestly enjoyed this quiet before the storm.

Six beers and a few shots from an old bottle of Smirnoff later, they stumbled back to her place.  He didn’t need an invitation anymore, they both knew what they wanted, and had been waiting all evening for it.  She led him to her room, shutting the door and turning off the lights as they entered.  He sat on the bed, watching the muted TV she had left on as she tossed her coat and purse onto a rack by the door.  Turning to him with a smile, she fluffed her hair out behind her, still damp from the rain.

As she moved towards him, his eyes lifted, and he grinned softly.  Such a tough, sarcastic guy in all other arenas, Kris knew that here he was hesitant, shy even.  Placing her hands on his shoulders, she knelt on the bed, her knees on either side of his waist, her bottom on his lap.  Looking into those deep blue eyes she loved more than anything else, she lowered her face slowly to his, letting their lips touch briefly, their noses rubbing delicately against each other.  She kissed him softly, opening her lips as he did the same, their passion straining as she worked up to it’s release.

Th-th-th-th-that’s all folks!  That’s all she wrote.  =)


Writing, Poetry, & Haiku

I think most writers would say that writing is a challenging business.  Unless of course they’ve had divine intervention of a Godly, godly or otherwise alien nature, in which case I imagine writing would be fairly easy.  The aftermath of inspiring lightning bolts or probes of some sort would dampen that gratification though.  I assume.

But for those of us with nothing more than our mortal wits – writing ain’t easy.

Hell, I find it a challenge sometimes to write a response to a friendly email!  As with most my writings, it’s something I tend to do in the evenings, and is often accompanied by a refreshing canned beverage of the “Iced” variety.  Usually 16 full ounces.  It eases the pressure I put on myself.  Though I will still read, correct, alter, re-read, rearrange, edit and analyze the final product.  Then rush to click send before I can convince myself it’s embarrassingly stupid.  Again, as with most all my writings.

One thing that really challenges me though is poetry.  Something I find especially amusing tonight, having drawn interest to my blog with a very spur-of-the-moment haiku.  (“Flames,” check it out just beneath this entry.)

I’ve always found poetry to be exceptionally daunting, because it is so flowing and free.  And maybe also because it is more directly, emotionally honest.  I can lie my face off in a blog post.  I’m a fiction writer – or at least I hope to be when I grow up – so I’ve always got a story to spin.  But poetry doesn’t work that way for me.  Poetry is in the moment, in the midst and heat and stink of it.  It can be so raw, so private.  And so excruciatingly painful to look at once I’m done.

There, I’ll say it.  My poetry embarrasses me.  Even more so than my other writing.  In blogs and in stories, I hide in my words like a raptor in the tall grass.  Poetry leaves me standing in a barren desert, naked and alone and on display.  Feeling self-conscious and more than a little bit silly.

I do, however, love haiku.  I love the structure and symmetry.  The rigidity of it.  The rules.  Like clothing my poetry in fatigues and Kevlar.  In a haiku, I can say anything and not feel too stupid about it, because I’m still following a set path of some sort.

Somehow, this makes haiku writing easier for me.  Though of course I must still lasso, wrangle, and coax words into the right place, the right cadence and syntax…  They also can, at times, sprout organically.  You have a thought, and in a few moments it’s complete and pretty, and ready to be sent out into the world.

Haiku via Twitter is definitely fun.  I love the idea of tossing it into the wind as soon as those three lines come together.  It’s exciting.  A bit scary, but a thrill.

All part of the process, right?  Just on a micro scale.  =)


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