Tag Archives: Beer

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.  =)

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To Making Better Choices

I keep telling myself that this year I will make better choices for myself.  In regards to my health, physical and mental, as well as emotional.  I will eat better and exercise more.  I will make smarter decisions when it comes to my love life.  I will be open and honest, and try not to be so afraid – or at least, to not let my fears constantly rule me.  And damnit, I will write.  Because as shitty as I think I am at it, it feels right.

So, in that vein of health-mindedness, I’m gonna do something stupid.  I’m gonna promise, here and now and publicly, to cut down on my drinking.  Quitting outright just seems too drastic.  =P

Over this last year – probably the hardest since I lost my dad – I have relied on this particular crutch far too much and too often.  It’s easy to drown myself in a 6 pack of Ice tallboys.  I don’t know why really, it’s not like it makes me feel better in the long run.  But I have been a drinker since I was 15.  Drinking is an old friend, one of the only ones that’s stuck by me all these years.  And it’s to that friend that I ran to for comfort, more and more as the year progressed.

But I realize it’s not getting me anywhere.  I’d love to be able to indulge on occasion, dig out my PS2 and do some drunk-driving on Midnight Club 3 (I love that game).  But to the extent that I’ve been going at it?  Yeah, that’s gotta stop.

It’s not healthy for me, physically.  I know this.  It’s not healthy for me mentally – bad hangover days really mess with my head and cause anxiety.  And it sure as hell hasn’t helped my love life.  I would get into some of the biggest fights with my ex when I was drunk.  Granted, he was a selfish asshole, but still.

Worse than anything though, to me, is how it affects my writing.  I am not one of those brilliant drunken writers.  I wish I was!  I’d personally tear out my liver and roll it in broken glass if that would let me write the next Great American Novel.  But fact is, as trite and sorry as my writing can be while sober, it is just pure crap when I’ve been tying on one.

Man, I am so good at tying one on.  I am a champion drinker on a good night.  I bet I could drink any of ya’ll under the table!  Let’s find out someday.  =)

But for now, for the sake of liver, brain, heart and whatever combination of organs make my fingers keep tapping these keys – I promise to cut back.  One sixer a week?  Can we all agree on that?  You have no idea how hard that’s gonna be.  Well, OK, someone out there will know.

And hey, if I can manage to survive on one sixer a week, perhaps I can do better.  Part of the process.  We shall see.

Here’s to making better choices!  *raises a glass of water*  =)


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