“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.”
― T.S. Eliot
Click the kiss and see who else participated in Sinful Sunday!
Instead of a good, demented story, I guess I’ll break into some real life sentiment here. I try not to do that too often, but I’m opening up when it comes to some of my writing. So I guess I’ll kick around some rocks.
2014 is slipping into 2015. It will be June before I get the year right when having to sign and date any document. I never make resolutions for the new year. I figure if I didn’t anything special in August, why slap down a pledge to on January 1? It’s just another date. *shrugs*
I can’t look into the next year and predict what it will bring. I can look back at 2014 and see what I’ve accomplished and what it took to get there. There are people who have different levels of influence over me as a developing blogger. I’ve learned how to take a picture, read a story without any expectations, see an image through someone else’s eyes, use a damn computer, and become a better writer. To so many people, I’m thankful.
2015. I need more of this, less of that. I have hopes. I have plans. I want to keep the machine running, maybe replace the window dressing and paint. Keep it fresh. Keep it rolling.
Polly snuggled against the side of the love seat. She penned a letter to Richard and listened to Sinatra croon. Polly’s little brownstone smelled like hearty, warm, food, with a hint of sugar cookies. The soft white lights around her Christmas tree gave the room a pleasant glow. The few gifts below it were wrapped in matching paper with big, handwritten name tags.
She spent the afternoon in the kitchen working on an array of Richard’s favorites; hamburger steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green peas. After she finished her love letter, Polly made him a warm plate. She went to her room to change before delivering Richard’s food. She reappeared with her blonde curls fluffed and dark lip stain reapplied.
She packed his food up and tapped the letter to it. Polly kissed the picture of Richard that sat framed on the counter. She grabbed one of the gifts under the tree and headed for her car.
Richard waked in the house and set his briefcase on the counter. There was a Tupperware plate full of food and a letter laying out beside it.
“Don’t touch any of it,” she said.
Richard looked up to see his wife jostling down the stairs. His initial reaction was to pick up the paper and read it, but the familiar twirl of lights outside alerted him of the police.
“What’s going on? This again?” Richard leaned over and squinted to catch a few words of the letter before his attention was drawn to his wife.
“It’s too much! It’s got to stop. I could have been killed when that thing came through the window!” She cried.
The police arrived at Polly’s home. They found it to be neat and cozy, nothing out of place. She was happy to answer questions. As an officer took down her name and information, the Detective took a look around and asked questions that popped into his head.
He checked the fridge and noticed the leftovers. The Detective looked around the counters and noticed the picture of Richard. He made his way back into the living room and two more pictures caught his attention.
“Ma’am do you know Richard Smith?” The Detective asked.
He leaned over for a gift under the tree.
Same paper. Same heft. Same nametag. Different brick.
“Of course, he’s my therapist,” Polly smiled brightly to the Detective.
Tolbert watched the couple from across the restaurant. The Blonde tossed her head back and laughed easily at what her companion said. They were enjoying each others company. Only a few sips of wine into dinner, and from where he was sitting, this was a beautiful match.
Tolbert cut into the filet and decorated his plate with blood from the almost raw, red meat.. His taste buds danced with the same anticipation as did his cock. His meal was accompanied by the show from across the way. He didn’t have to worry about being noticed or seen.
The Blonde reached out and tapped the pads of her fingertips gently on top of The Gentleman’s hand. She teased him with a coy smile and primly pulled back her hand. Her red nails left an invisible net of lust, drawing him to her.
Their server, Williams, delivered their food, and their wine glasses were refilled.
“Will there be anything else for the moment? asked Williams.
The Gentleman shook his head and The Blonde just smiled. “No, thank you, though.”
Williams bowed slightly and left the table. The Blonde and The Gentleman took moments tasting their food and complimenting choices. Tolbert just had to wait. He’d seen the fervor, just under the white tablecloth.
The restaurant was emptying slowly, and the couple was finishing their meal. Her legs recrossed under the tablecloth. She feigned an accident as she brushed one up against his trousers. He felt the length of her heel. The Gentleman imagined her leg over his shoulder.
She squirmed in her seat. The Blonde leaned over the table, her ample breasts pressing themselves against the top of her dress. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him towards her. He didn’t need the invitation. The Gentleman’s hand wrapped around the back of her head. He pawed in public display of sexual desire. Their actions caught the attention of the hangers-on. It propelled them towards the door.
Tolbert sat down, back into his little cove, flushed. His cum garnished the single piece of bloody piece of meat on his place. He continued to cut into his dinner, enjoying the texture of the meat mixed with the warmth and saltiness of his own semen.
Williams appeared by his table just as Tolbert noticed the couple rushing for the door. Williams watched them go and noticed Tolbert’s plate.
“I thought I might have put a bit too much in the wine, Sir.” Williams half-way asked the owner.
Tolbert laughed. He ran a sliver of meat around in a circle on his plate, chasing up the juices. “You did fine, Williams. Just fine. That’s all for now.”
She dipped into the bathroom of a truck stop to clean-up and do damage control. Eileen lifted her fingers to her busted lip and hissed at the pain. It was still swollen. Her eye looked worse. She wore a pair of cheap, black sunglasses and carried an overstuffed purse. Her heels were dusty from walking. She straightened out her bag and put a t-shirt on over last night’s club wear. Her tiny skirt continued to ride up. Her blonde hair had a knot in the back. Last night’s make-up blackened her under-eyes. She was a mess.
Bill saw the young woman enter and exit the building as he sat eating his lunch. He saw her walking as he drove by, on his way in. Bill figured she was a lot lizard or a hitcher. He took a long slurp from his orange soda and straightened his belt.
“Ma’am?” Bill waved politely.
His tall, lanky frame made him seem awkward and innocent. He kept his hair short and neatly brushed. He wore khakis, a polo and a big, lop-sided grin to lock it in. Bill was a little goofy. He was in his 40’s. His pants were a little high. He thought it a shame her having to walk like that.
Eileen was finishing off a much needed spliff before beginning her walk. That’s when she noticed Bill. She was not in the mood to be bothered. She waved him off. The traffic was picking up and the sounds of the cars were drowning him out.
“Ma’am! I’ve seen you walking. Do you need a ride?” he called out.
Eileen perked up. She got up slowly and walked towards Bill.
“I need to get to Phoenix,” she sighed.
“Well, I can take you as far as La Paz. How’s that?” he asked.
Eileen nodded slowly. Her shoulders relaxed. Finally, some good luck. She hoped for a nap, too. Unfortunately, Bill wanted someone to entertain him. They were barely settled in good before Bill started with his questions.
“So why are you leaving town?” Bill asked, excited to start up a conversation.
“Because my boyfriend..ah, ex-boyfriend, Hank, hit me in the face, again,” Eileen was matter-of-fact.
“Besides, I just want to go home. Start over. I hate this shit,” she hugged her overstuffed bag closer. It was all she had in the world.
It looked like Bill was really gearing up for some unwanted advice when the sirens caught both of them off-guard.
“Oh! Oh, I wasn’t paying attention! I believe I was going too fast!” Bills voice almost cracked.
Eileen groaned, “Shit, just be cool.”
The two officers approached Bill’s car, one on either side. Eileen was shocked at how Bill’s anxiety skyrocketed. One of the officers smelled marijuana in the car. Eileen knew when they searched her purse they’d find about an ounce and papers. She owned up to it. They searched, detained her, and stuck her in the back of a squad car. Bill was probably shitting his pants right now.
Three other squad cars and an unmarked rolled up. The cops pulled Bill out of the car and questioned him. She watched as Bill was frisked and cuffed. The police were searching his car. She felt like shit. It wasn’t Bill’s pot.
Finally, an officer finally came over to the door.
“So, tell me how you fit into all this,” he said.
“The pot’s mine. I smoked right before I got into this guy’s car. I’m know I smell like it. I’m trying to get to Phoenix. This guy was nice enough to give me a ride to La Paz. He didn’t know about the weed. It’s not his fault.” Eileen tried to sum up the situation and take blame.
“Not his fault, eh? How long have the two of you been riding?” he asked.
“About twenty – thirty minutes… something like that.” Eileen shrugged, guessing.
“He do that?” motioning with the tip of his pen towards her face.
“Huh?…Oh, no…” Eileen forgot what she looked like.
“You’re a lucky girl. Sit tight. Someone will be with you soon.”
“Lucky. O.k. Thanks…”
The officer walked away. Eileen’s view was partially blocked by a County Coroner’s van parked beside Bill’s car. His trunk was popped. They were removing a body.
I’ve never been a fan of body hair. I would prefer to snap my fingers and be soft and smooth. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work for me. I have a pale body and more black hair than any person on earth. It feels that way, at least. It started when The Socialites and The Husband began checking on me while I was in the shower.
“Hey, you ok?”
“Uh… yeah. I’m taking a shower. Why?”
“Just checking. You’ve been in here for about an hour.”
An hour? What the hell was I doing that was taking me an hour? I was shaving.
I’ve been shaving my legs since I was in the 5th grade. I begged my mother to let me do it when school started so I could wear shorts with pride. She made me wait until Christmas break. When I was in 6th grade, I think I shaved off a bug bite. There was some skin missing and a lot of blood. Other than that, no mishaps. I have to shave every day to have smooth legs.
I don’t remember when I started shaving my armpits. Probably, it was before my legs. But by the time I was 15 or 16 I was shaving my pussy. I tried little designs and cute shit. Always something small. I quickly moved to hairless. It was smooth and soft. And it moved to slippery really easily. Maybe that’s what’s so captivating, there’s no hair to interfere with seamless exchange of texture.
I’ve never used a mirror to shave my girl stuff. One hand always led the other.
I like a bikini wax, but it hurts like fuck. And so far I’ve found a few pieces of that blue wax stuck in questionable places. Thanks, Natalya. But the place I go is fancy and the girl is quick about it. Those usually last about two weeks. For me, that means a week, solid.
I shave my arms in the summer. That started when I was a teenager. I was at a pool party and met my very first swimmer. He was slick. I’ll leave it at that.
Would I Like My Partner Shaved?
Honestly, I’d love for them to be as bare as I am.
I’ll take a nice, tight trim.
There’s no way I’m going down on a sweater.
Photo courtesy of SassyCat
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We worked at a bar filled with people who kept eyes on the door, and did their business at night. I was too young to work there. A pretty girl who just hit her twenties was fresh meat in a place like that. I was vetted, but my ability to do the job was another thing. The place was a seedy layer of rough.
Thomas was intimidating. He had thirteen years on me. I had no intention of causing Thomas any problems. Brian made me an issue for Thomas.
All of our secrets chased up the sun.
I knew Thomas felt some sort of way about me in the beginning.
I didn’t care.
We were fucking in the end.
“I don’t have any Kool-Aid or orange juice. How about a beer? I think you deserve it.” Thomas chuckled darkly and pulled his head from the fridge. Thomas liked the sharp parts of honesty.
“So….. why hasn’t he said anything to me?” I popped my ass up on the counter top. I hissed when the peeling laminate scraped against the back of my thigh. I spread my legs, cradling an ankle in my hand while my other one gingerly ran across the abrasion. There wasn’t any blood, but it hurt like a beast.
“You know that I can see almost all of your vagina?” Thomas was blunt as a fucking butter-knife.
I pulled my legs back down and rolled my eyes. I had on a flimsy tee and a pair of faded, red cotton panties. I’ve never been modest. Besides, I was fucking Brian. I never gave a second thought to Thomas seeing my body. Thomas and Brian were friends. I liked to think that Thomas and I had a slight friendship. I wasn’t going to pretend Thomas’ proclamation had anything to do with his alliance to me as much as it was a way to get rid of me.
“I’m being serious,” I was young.
“So am I,” he finished off his sandwich.
Thomas turned his beer up and finished it off. He ducked in for another.
“What was I supposed to do? Brian stashes you here for the weekend so he can fuck and go as he pleases? Look… somebody had to tell you. You were going to figure it out one way or another. This little set-up wasn’t going to last forever.”
Thomas was right. It was a life lesson. Brian stashed me with Thomas so I was always accessible. I was the whore. And I got played. Flickers of people I’d let him meet and places I’d taken him to, family, all in my head. Inexperience shook around my head in big boulders, then plummeted down my gut until I fully understood.
“Was there anything else?” I asked.
“That Sherri bitch, tried to get a job over there where you used to work?” Thomas motioned in the air with his bottle.
I nodded slowly, placing the girl in my head.
“Brian fucked her in the ass. He said she almost wore him out.” Thomas nodded factually.
My brows lifted.
“Lovely,” I said.
“So, does Brian’s girlfriend and her kids live with him? Or is it the other way around?” I was curious.
Thomas grinned, shaking his head, “after six years, does it matter?”