PDA

~ a half imagined moment ~


We sat in the diner booth, the three of us killing time til our afternoon movie, a distraction to fill the dreary Sunday. He sat next to me, our legs almost, but not quite, touching. Our friend sat across from us, massaging his scalp, then retying his dreadlocks back up under his bandanna.

Our friend and he talked, rather exuberantly, about a subject I had zero interest in. I found them almost cute in how much they loved the subject, except for the fact that I could not follow them, nor did I want to.

All of us at the beginning of our diner stay, even before our server took our orders, had brought out our smartphones. His laid to his left, at the edge of the table; if it had been a thin thing, I would've feared it falling. Our friend alternated between unlocking and relocking his Droid throughout our wait for our food, our meal, and even now as we sat, the two of them sipping coffee and talking.

I occasionally twirled my phone on one of its corners, but now it rested at an angle on the edge of the table as I perused my Twitter feed, letting the boys have their chat in peace.

He crossed his arms, resting his left forearm on the table, his left hand dangling in the pocket of space between his chest and the edge. His right hand gesticulated enthusiastically as he explained to our friend the answer to his tech problem, solving an issue that seemed almost impossible.

Matter-of-factly, I reached my left hand over and held his forefinger, softly massaging it with my thumb.

He continued to talk to our friend, and I continued to read my feed, but our hands under the table lived a life all their own.

He pivoted his arm, giving his hand more room to move. He interlocked his fingers with mine, sliding his digits in and out between the valleys of my hand. He grazed his fingertips inside my palm, tracing my life, wisdom, and love lines. He danced his digits across my skin on the back of my hand, encircling each knuckle, figure-eighting across and back. And then he gripped my hand again, squeezing hard, holding it tight.

I didn't let go. Nor did he.

It was loving, comforting, having him so close to me, being so close to him. Even in this restaurant, even on this dreary day, I felt warm not because of the layers of clothing on my body. I felt the heat between us, the connection, the constant way we always had an eye on each other.

When it was time, our trio paid our bill, left the restaurant, and headed to the small theatre nearby. We saw the indy movie with our friend; everyone loved it. We then went home.

But during the walk to the theatre, and during the movie, and as he drove us home, more time than not, we held each others hand.

Quick

~ erotica ~


"Wait."

He turned, looking at me quizzically.

When the doors to the elevator closed, I immediately grabbed him by his tie and pulled his body towards mine. We slammed against the wall with a muffled thud, his head now near mine as I continued to hold his fashioned noose. His leather gloved hands had instinctively braced against the wall, his arms above me, his wool coat crowding me, his body enclosed around me.

"What are you doing?"
"Oh, nothing."

I kissed him, quieting his inquiry. His left hand found my hair, gripping my strands tight and pulling my face into his, our embrace ravishing our lips. The sweet aroma of his leather filled my nostrils along with his cologne which he loved to layer on before we ever left the house.

My free hand, which was resting on his chest, now eased into his coat, unbuttoning his wool as it traveled, gliding down his shirt, across his pant leg, and finally caressing his now stiffening cock. I felt the smile form on his lips as we kissed. I returned it in kind.

"What if someone...?"
"What if someone?"

I released my grip on his tie, and hurriedly unbuckled his belt, undid his pants, and pulled out his hard cock. His right hand went right for my thigh, lifting me up and onto his cock, finding easy entry through my tights; I'd cut out the crotch for just such moments.

"Fuck," I gasped as he entered me, reclining my head back, taking all of him in.

His movements hiked my skirt up to my hips. His hands now went for my shirt through my open jacket, wrenching my breasts just barely free. His lips closed around my nipple and sucked before lightly nipping the delicate flesh. His teeth then found my neck, my arms encircling his head.

My hips pumped trying to ride him against the elevator wall. He used his arms and his hips to lift and let me down, as in and out his cock glided inside me.

With a jolt, we stopped. The elevator had started moving, descending.

"Shit!" he screamed.
"Fuck, please don't stop," I whispered into his ear.

We were heading down, down to the lobby again.

But I was there. I was right there. Just another moment. Just another minute.

"Lenora..."
"Please..."

He kissed me and fucked me hard, pumping my body up and down on him, grinding my back against the wall. Closer, closer to my cum. Closer, closer to the lobby. My warmth growing. The floor levels decreasing.

~

When the doors opened up, the old man saw the back of the gentleman's wool coat, as well as the back of the gentleman's head, and he could just make out the form of a woman standing in the back corner of the elevator. Her breathing was labored, her head planted on the man's chest, his arms around her. Their embrace created a small world for them in the back of the elevator.

The old man's steps were as labored as the woman's breathing, but he had come to accept his slower speed with his increased age. He crept onto the elevator, his walking cane, now his most beloved travel companion, helping his way.

The woman caught a glimpse of his face as he entered. The old man wore a knowing smile, as if a friend were constantly whispering truths into his ear. With an uneven gait, he turned around, and pushed the button for the fourth floor.

He couldn't hear the two behind him, save for the woman's breathing which was slow to ease. He reached up to readjust his hat and push his glasses back up on his nose. When his floor came, he lumbered off the elevator.

Just as the doors were closing, he stuck his cane in between them, bounding the metal back open.

"Next time, push all the buttons. That way the ride down is a little longer."

The old man tipped his hat to the couple and lazily walked away.

Cool

~ a story ~



As the doors opened, my breath caught in my throat, yet I tried not to show it. She just stood there, no leaned there, against the wall of the elevator, her manner so striking, yet quiet, unassuming.

Her body was positioned in the lazy way fashion models try to fake, but on her it was real. Her hair was raven black, cascading down far past her shoulders, skimming the sides of her hips.

Her eyes darted up for only a moment before returning to the tiny screen in her hands. Even in that brief millisecond I saw they were a rich brown, almost as dark as her hair. One ear bud hung from the other, only half delivering music I could just barely not hear.

Like everyone these days she was bundled against the cold. And like most magazine covers, she made my paltry drab look all the more quaint. Her thick knit scarf, the cream color a soft accent against her sun-kissed skin, hid all of her throat. Her black leather jacket was buttoned up and zippered, but with the belt strap hung loose on her sides. Her jeans had rips and holes that revealed blood red tights underneath. And her scuffed and worn dark brown boots looked older than she did.

It was as if I were looking at a fantasy, as if the elevator had created a dream and revealed it to me, some sort of evening prize after my long day at the office.

I'd stood so long at the entrance, shocked by the sight of her, that when I went to step into the elevator, the doors knocked into my arms and opened back up. She didn't bother glancing up at my clumsiness. I took a spot across from her, leaned against the elevator wall as well, though not nearly as cool as she, and waited for the doors to close.

After a moment, she reached out her hand and softly hit the Door Close button. Before I could stop myself, I said, "I think they make those, but never connect anything to them. They just want to give you the satisfaction of thinking you're doing something to make your trip quicker."

Her eyes flashed up at me again, her annoyance easily conveyed without words. The doors closed slowly; somehow it felt like the world was growing smaller, claustrophobic-like. Instead of hoping for more time in the presence of this beauty, which was all I wanted as soon as I glimpsed her, now all I desired was for the small box to move quickly so that I might run away from my embarrassment.

But, true to form, the elevator stopped on every floor on its way up to the seventh level where my, and it would seem hers as well, car was parked. No one else got onto the lift, yet there must have been some random malfunction since none of the indicator lights for any level were lit. And at each new stop, she extended her finger and jabbed the Door Closed button a few times, a futile effort to get away from someone who wanted the separation just as much as she.

As we painfully endured our long trip, I could think of no way to salvage my self worth, no way of redeeming my stature to her, so I merely stared at the floor and bit my tongue, hoping to not let loose any more ill advised words.

When finally we reached the seventh floor, she seemed to make a made dash for her car. In a quick moment, as a game to myself, I tried to snap guess what car she drove. But it was obvious from the start as soon as I stepped off the elevator. The only two vehicles about were a shiny jet black Prius and my old Jeep.

She hopped into her ride, silently turned on her car, and slid away, cool to the very end.

I stepped into my Jeep and let it warm up as I banged my head against my steering wheel a few times. Then I drove off, hoping I would never see her again.

Allure

~ a story ~



As he walked down the street, no one took notice of his form. He glided over the concrete, barely making a sound with each footfall. He wore a suit, though it was wrinkled seemingly from his day. His hair was mussed, almost as if he were in a fight, but not as messed up as one would assume such activities would entail.

I noticed him from my car as I drove by. While no one else seemed to know he even existed, his form caught me, almost startling me.

I recognized his face immediately, though I only saw part of it as my car approached. Instinctively, I applied my accelerator, putting myself as far away from him as possible. He was dangerous, calculating, and never to be underestimated.

Yet that was what everyone he encountered seemed to do. Others had discounted his influence and had paid dearly for their naivete. I only missed his shock wave by accident. I didn't come to work that day; I had the flu.

When my boss first saw him, she recalled his warm manner and even nature. That day his suit was pressed, his shoes shiny, reflecting the amber lights of our lobby, making his honey gold eyes sparkle even more.

My boss liked him immediately, and invited him into the small conference room. The haze of his sphere of influence drifted throughout the office as he passed by the sea of cubicles, eyes turning as he moved. My boss recalled his motions being catlike, with an inhuman smoothness and predatory stature.

Yet she couldn't help but nod and smile as he made his proposal, barley glimpsing the paperwork he placed in front of her before she signed, shook his hand, and then invited the first person in the waiting line that had formed during their meeting to enter and have their own little chat.

When he was done, everyone in our company was swooned, and swindled, yet none could say no. His fancy talk, his calm and comforting air, and the smile; he was a devil cloaked in fairy dust, sprinkled over all he encountered.

When I came into work a few days later, the mood was somber, reflective. No one wanted to talk to me, to talk about him. No one wanted to admit their err, their stupidity, their new woes ahead. And none really understood how it had happened.

I finally got the story from my boss, who showed me the surveillance video, showed me the evidence of his allure right there in snowy black and white. The turned heads. The line outside the conference room. And his face, a face I made sure to remember.

I couldn't believe it. To look at him, he wasn't much. How could he cast such a spell over them all?

I didn't want to know. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

Even in a wrinkled suit. Even with mussed hair and a slow unassuming gait. Even with his back to me, I knew a predator when I saw one.

I floored my car, raced away, and hoped I would never spot the man again.

Hooked

~ a poem ~


You feel like a drug.

The rush
at just
the smell of you.

The high
when your hands
are on my body,
when your lips
touch mine
and we kiss.

God, when you're inside me.
It's almost...
almost too much.

I feel like
an addict,
always craving
the high of you,
the high of us
together.

I can't stop
thinking about you,
your hands,
your lips, 
my next hit.
 
How much will I get
this time?
Enough to last
the night?
A few hours?
Or maybe just
til you leave.

And then I'll sweat
and shake.
I'll ring my hands
and pull my hair.

I'll wonder:
What can I bargain?
What can I do
to have more of you?

You are my drug.
I am your addict.
And I don't ever
want to kick the habit.

Goodnight

~ an imagined romance ~



"That sound you hear, that awkward long silence punctuated by my now explanation of it. Well... that's me biting my lip and my cheeks hurting from how hard I'm smiling. That's me being over-the-moon thrilled by your call, so more than happy to hear your voice. That's me not saying it, but feeling how much I love you and I'm really glad you called."

Her smile couldn't help but ride her voice, bursting from the phone's speaker into an awaiting ear. And Fera couldn't help but catch the infectious nature of Gem's grin.

"How is it? Where are you this week?"

"Oh, just some small town in the middle of nowhere, at least it feels like nowhere. We're inspecting soil samples this time, testing for baselines and to see if there's been any contamination to the ground water or crop soil. Hot, boring work out in the heat of the long summer day. But surely you've got better things to talk about, something more fun you want to hear."

"I just want to hear your voice. Even if it's talking about dirt and water. Even if you're tired or worn down. I miss you next to me, so since I can't have that, can you just keep talking."

"About what?"

"About anything. What did you have for breakfast?"

Gem, with her earnest honesty. With her dark brown eyes that always made Fera melt. Gem with the insistence on weekly calls, long aimless conversations, so much time spent on the phone while Fera was away. Gem, the girl Fera couldn't help but love.

"I had orange juice, a bagel, and some oatmeal. What about you?"

"I didn't eat breakfast. I hit snooze too many times and had to run out the door to make it to work on time."

Gem, who never wanted to get out of bed. Who, on Sunday mornings when Fera slept over, would curl up next to lover, pulling all the covers away, and never letting them go. Or who'd splay her entire body across the bed, arms draped over Fera, snoring loudly into her lover's ear. Or who'd grumble when Fera got out of bed, lifting the sheets, letting all the warmth dash into the room.

Even grouchy sleepy lazy Gem was still the Gem Fera missed now, the voice over her phone on this Monday night.

"I miss you."

"I miss you more. We should plan something for when you get back."

"Like what?"

Gem, the schemer. Gem, the big idea girl. Gem, her love.

"Definitely something big. And fun. And with lots of friends."

"And lots of clean up."

"You won't have to do any of it."

I'll have to do all of it, thought Fera. 
"How about just you and me, Gem. Just you and me in bed, on a chilly morning, watching something unimportant, sipping hot cocoa, snuggled up next to each other."

"I miss our Sunday mornings, me magically finding you in my sleep."

"I miss the scent of your hair as you slept, it all tousled about and wild. And the little whisper of your breathing as you drifted off. And how you'd close your fists tight as you slept, as if you were holding onto something and would never let it go."

"When do you get home?"

"You know, Gem. End of the summer."

"But it's so far away."

"I know."

"I miss you."

"I miss you too. But you know I have to go to bed now. Very early morning."

"I know. I just don't want to stop talking to you. I don't want to not hear your voice."

"Okay. You're in bed, right?"

"Yes."

"Curl up under the covers."

"Okay."

"Nice and snuggled?"

"Yes."

"Okay, and so am I. Now, close your eyes. Imagine my arms around you. Imagine my breath on your neck. My face resting in your hair. You can hear my breathing as it slows. As I drift off into sleep with you."

Fera could hear love's slowed breathing. Could hear she'd stopped moving. And, a moment later, could hear her Gem fast asleep.

"Goodnight love," Fera whispered, the sound of Gem sleeping her only needed reply before hanging up the phone.

Must Eat Pussy

I have not been on OKCupid for long, but in my brief stint I have grown disheartened, disillusioned, and dis, I mean pissed, off in general by the crop of folk migrating my way.

It seems so simple, and yet it also seems to be the hardest thing in the world: a person who I find attractive sending me a coherent thoughtful message.

As such, I have decided to soon augment my profile with some information that will hopefully weed out unsuitable applicants who come upon my page. Of course they may just ignore my words all together, but at least I tried a little harder.

Henceforth, here are some of the basic standards I intend to hold up as the introductory requirements for me even considering someone for possible dates.

1) Thou shalt not be a douche.

You can be an asshole, if you are a fun lovable asshole. There are assholes in my life that have done some asshole-ish things to me, but I asked for it. Assholes can make things way more interesting, can push you to be more honest than you might want to be. Fun lovable assholes are good.

You can be geeky. In fact, I would prefer you at least be a little bit geeky. Geeky is fucking awesome. We can geek out about Battlestar Galactica or Harry Potter or the Avengers. We can share our geekiness with each other and marvel in all the geeky awesomeness that we are. Geekiness is a plus.

You can be passionate, ecstatic, full of life and energy. You can run around ready to teach and learn and grow and shape the people around you and reshape yourself.

You can be quiet, reserved, yet a totally great person I want to be around. You don't need to be loud or boisterous. Just being yourself is great in and out itself, without all the bells and whistles.

But a douche... 

A douche brings everyone down. A douche turns awesome to awkward. A douche takes the party from YAY! to meh. I will find it very hard to like you, let alone date you, if you are a douche. No douches accepted; please keep it moving if you are a douche.

2) Thou shalt not be a hermit.

My last "relationship" involved me with an anti-social individual. Most of our time was spent at either my place or his (or ours when we moved in together). I tried to be happy with it just being us, or me leaving to go do things alone with my friends. All the time. Never with him. But I was lying to myself.

I'm not saying I'll expect us to do everything together, because no. But we will do some things together. 

I can, at times, be a little social butterfly. Yes, I go to quite a few events and visit my friends all over this great planet. But if I had a partner, a person I was fully committed to, I would make more than enough time for us, just us. And then I would want you to come along for the ride, experiencing some of the fun stuff with me.

I want a travel companion, a concert buddy, a hotel roommate, a lover, and a friend.

3) Thou shalt talk.

Not only was my Ex anti-social, he didn't talk about his feelings. Ever. Very big problem.

I'm not saying I expect us to go into marathon gab sessions where we explore the inner reaches of our moral code, dissect the influence of our parents and siblings on who we are, and finally realize the thing that has held us back from true enlightenment.

But I do expect us to talk. Tell me if something upsets you. Makes you happy. How was your day? I want to know that. Is there something bothering you? Something you want to expound on that makes you happy.

Talk. Because if you don't then we will have problems because...

4) We shall be poly.

I am poly. I am poly. I don't stop being poly just because I don't currently have any partners, nor will I cease to be poly because the immensity of your love with fill me to the brim with all the blahblahblah.

No. I am poly.

I have the great capacity to love many people, and would love to have multiple special important lovers in my life. I want partners, dammit, and the idea of denying myself a full rich life because someone wants to change my mind or, worse still, change me, is heartbreaking. And a definite dealbreaker.

I am all for us going slow, not jumping into a W configuration with random semi-permanent offshoots. But if poly is not a possibility for you, if merely the idea of multiple caring emotionally invested lovers does not compute, we shouldn't even start.

Inevitably, when I tell you about this person I met, or this friendship that is developing into something more, and you tense up, or turn cold, we will be done. You will make an ultimatum or remain quiet until one day blowing up at me, and that will be it. And what would our time together have been for if you lied to both me and yourself from the beginning.

& 5) Thou shalt meet the basics and fucking exceed them.

- You have a job or are actively searching for steady employment.

- You own your own car or have the ability to transport yourself without my assistance.

- You do not live with your parents. (Roommates, great. Parents, no.)

- You can write grammatically correct sentences, which will then form a coherent paragraph, possibly leading to multiple thoughts encompassed in a short essay.

- YOU READS BOOKS! Not a sports page. Not a magazine. But a book. (Bonus points if you know the reference. If not, your welcome.)

- You have the ability to engage in intelligent thoughtful conversation on a range of topics and issues. (For example: You know the difference between Iran and Iraq. And you can find them on a map.)

- You are not an ultra-conservative Republican. No. Just no. Trust me; no.

- You are kinky, or you are kink aware and accepting, realizing I will need to find my kink elsewhere.

- You wholeheartedly accept gay people, their civil right to marriage and families. 

- You are pro-choice.

- You enjoy whit and humor, both high and low brow.

- You practice basic hygiene rituals. (See above link.)

- MUST EAT PUSSY! This is a dealbreaker. Seriously, if you don't eat pussy, don't even say hi. Don't try to be funny or witty or baby step around it. No. Just don't. So. Fucking. Annoying.

If you can abide by all of the above, and then some, then maybe, MAYBE you can date a poetic.

Because that's another thing.  Just because you meet the minimum doesn't mean we'll click.  It doesn't mean I'll find you attractive or you, after inspecting the goods, will find me attractive.  And that's okay. 

But, for the love of all that is good, the fact that people can't even meet the minimum is rage-making.

/rant