Mar 102014
Snow hill

Snow hillHer love for him was fresh and untainted. It was a sunny day with a hill of untouched snow. It was delicate. It was a pretty picture.

Their tracks went back and forth on top of the hill. They hung on to each other for better footing. Neither wanted to upset the fragile allowance beneath them. In time, steps became stomps and walking gave into a run.

On her way down, she felt a hand at her back, not one that offered aid. Her body cleared a path down the hill. The snow hid the branches that tore at her clothes. The slicked grass permitted her no foothold.

She slid. He watched from the top. He was stoic. She relinquished flesh and tears to the tumble. There was no pardon for her. It was inescapable. Every rock, branch, and punch of earth was a recitation of what she already knew; but had to live through to pocket the experience.

Be careful who you climb hills with.


Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Dec 202013 rated me number 34 in their Top 100 Sex Blogging Superheroes of 2013 list. Rori from Between Me Sheets also does an annual list of Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2013. I was lucky enough to receive a spot at number 34 on that list as well. Beck from Beck and Her Kinks put together her list of Top 25 Sex Bloggers of 2013. I was number four.

A huge ‘thank you’ goes out to Kinkly, Rori, and Beck. There’s tons of great bloggers out there. It’s an honor to see my name up there with people that I’ve read and on levels that I’ve aspired to be on. If my readers, new or old, did not like what I put out then I wouldn’t get enough attention to be noticed by anyone. I appreciate my readers.

I have put out some pieces this year that I’ve’ve been proud of and plan to continue  on and see where it takes us into next year. I don’t have anything to jump off with. Life’s been throwing boulders at my immediate and extended family since October. I’m sure everyone knows how serious issues can rattle people to the core. When things calm down in my personal life, I’ll start rolling again. Trust me.

Until Then,

The SinDoll

Aug 222013

ListenA man named Johnny Red drove her to private school every day since she was old enough to go. They went in a big black car. She liked the way it shined and never put finger prints on it. Everyone usually went through a car line, but Johnny Red got to pull right up to the front door to drop her off, and he would always be there to pick her up.

She told Johnny Red all about her day, showed him her pictures, drawings. He drove and their conversations were jovial. She loved Johnny Red. He was her friend.

When she got home, she’d go to the kitchen for a snack with her Mother. Her Father would come from his office and praise her, their only child, for something as simple as an endless row of whatever letter of the alphabet her class happened to be working on at the time. Afterwards, her Father would go back to his office. He did his business in his office. She wasn’t allowed in her Father’s office.

She never knew a credit card, only stacks of cash, nice and straight, in large bills, wrapped carefully. She once told a schoolmate that her Father was a banker. The older she got, the more she heard about who her Family really was. All of her Family.This thing of ours. She heard terms and learned never to ask what they meant. The meaning would come in time, heartbreakingly. She began to get used to comings and goings in her home. Meetings. Exchanges. Who was a friend of who. Who was a friend of ours.

One of her final days as a student, she came out to greet Johnny Red and instead was met with a face she didn’t recognize. She stopped in her tracks and ran inside, screaming for her Father. He met her, rushing from his office. She was breathless and afraid, stumbling over how Johnny Red wasn’t at the car. Someone was inside the gates. She didn’t know him! Her Father hung his head and nodded, adding a comforting arm to her shoulders as he explained that Johnny Red wasn’t going to be around anymore. And how Salva was a friend of ours. He would take over for Johnny Red.

Years of unexplained attachment to her beloved driver rushed over her and released in tears and demands that she’d never made of anyone before, especially her Father. He grabbed her by both arms and gave her a shake, a jolt back to reality. Their reality. Johnny Red wasn’t a friend of ours anymore. Her heart sank and met her stomach on the way down. He had been someone’s work.

She didn’t want to be a friend of anyone’s.

No one should be a friend of hers.

Feb 062013

What if we both weren’t two takers.

It’s not even love. It’s as if love, loyalty and compersion all melded together.

I’ve felt the warmth of your heart, but not the heat. It’s a position that I fell into while being honest with you. Sometimes crying with me made me feel like I was hurting you. It made me not want to speak of anything at all. Your tears are more painful to me than the initial hurt that I’d suffered, and far more painful than any hurt I could bare thereafter.

Does she even know?

Apr 302010
I was in the shower. You were leaning against the vanity with your arms crossed. You were wearing a grey sweatshirt and jeans, maybe basketball shorts, I can’t remember. I’m just sure of the sweatshirt.
I was ripping you a new one while shaving my legs.  My right leg was perched on the edge of the shower. I was in a rush to go meet K.  I was blaming you for he and I even being together. I was hateful to you.
You came over and sat on the toilet seat. Your elbows found your knees.  Your head found your hands. I got out of the shower. I wrapped a towel around myself. I hadn’t dried off, though.  My hair was wet, and the whole room was so cold to me. I forced my way into your lap, wrapped myself around you and kissed those horrible things away. I kissed your face. God, your face, your eyes.
I can suck all of your pain away with my lips. Every time I think of you, it always goes back to the same thing. I want to kiss your face. I want to lay you down and touch your face and love you, touch your eyelids with my lips, put my face in your neck and hold you tightly.
Would you sleep like that?
With your head against my breasts, my arms around you, my legs around yours?
I’m rambling.
I can remember standing there, looking at where I could see this almost taking place. I chastise myself for wasting time. I’m always late. I asked him again that day if he’d been reading you.
I used to only imagine suffering for you, at your hands.
At some point that changed.
I don’t know why. Now, my focus is more actively loving you. I don’t know if you’ve led a life where you need things in your past sucked out and stomped to death, but I do. How wonderful if one person could eat those things and they could never touch me again. I would do that for you. I think that’s what love is, in an odd way.
I play with the thought of love with others, but deep love, suffering love, is amazing. What I’ve felt of it.
I am going to meet you one day, I hope.
I would love to suffer for you.
I wanted you to have this last night.
I didn’t want you to go to bed without hearing from me.