Kisses

He didn't like mawkish displays of sentimentality. Definitely not a hand-holder. No flowers for Valentine's Day. And kisses at the stroke of midnight on New Year's were out.

And I loved him, or at least I was pretty sure I did, so I didn't try to press the point. We would fuck like rabbits after the ball dropped and I was okay with that. The first New Year I spent with him, he rented a hotel room, we watched about one minute of the festivities, and then he was up my ass, hard, for hours. I'm pretty sure he took something to stay so hard, because it was pretty atypical. Not that he was a bad lover, just that he usually needed some recuperation before going again, but that New Year he just stayed hard and only pulled out of my ass to switch positions.

And sex is like kissing, right?

After it ended, I realized a lot of things. Well, I realized some of them before it ended, which is why it ended. But I realized that I like romance. I may be cynical, I may be hard-bitten by life, and I may not admit it to most people I know, but I believe in romantic love. I also believe in other kinds of love, and that other kinds of love can be expressed physically, but I definitely believe in kissing under the mistletoe and on New Year's Eve and flowers on Valentine's Day (not that I require them, just that I appreciate them) and dates and holding hands and all the stuff that he didn't like.

The first year, I tried to prove it. I kissed under the mistletoe; hell, I bought actual live mistletoe and hung it up just so I could kiss under it. I held hands with anyone who'd let me. And I made a date for New Year's Eve with the specific goal of kissing at midnight.

And it was okay. But it wasn't right. It was vengeful and kind of stupid and I was trying too hard. But it scared me, because I was hoping for fireworks and all I got was just some kiss with someone I didn't care all that much about. Maybe he was right. Maybe romance was silly. Maybe sex and love were important, and romance was just Hallmark bullshit.

So I myself steered clear of romance. I did it sometimes because I really wanted to, but I always couched it in mockery, and I'm pretty sure I ruined a fair number of moments that way.

Then one day I was holding hands with someone and I suddenly started crying. I wasn't missing romance, I was missing love. The romance should come from the love, not in spite of it. Needless to say, this freaked my partner at the time out, but it wasn't that serious, and we had a few times after that which were fun without me going off on crying jags.

Now I kiss on New Year's Eve if I'm with someone I love. I'm planning on kissing Sveta this New Year's, as well as other people, although Sveta will get pride of place. And in New Years past, I've kissed people out of love or just lust or as a joke, but I haven't tried to make it something other than it is. It's just mawkish sentimentality, after all. The feeling behind it is what counts.

I'm not sure if I forgive him or not, but I don't hold him any ill will because he didn't want to be romantic like that. I just wish that I'd known what I wanted, and that I could have told him. I doubt it would have changed his mind. That, I have a harder time forgiving him for.

Holidays

If you celebrate Christmas, Merry Christmas. If you celebrate Hanukkah, Happy Hanukkah. It's not until tomorrow, but if you celebrate Kwanzaa, Joyous Kwanzaa. If you're more Yule oriented, Yule tidings to you. If none of those fits your condition but you still celebrate something, Happy Holidays and I'm sorry I don't know what your celebration is because I'd probably love celebrating it. And if even that isn't broad enough to capture your spirit, have a great day.

That was inclusive, I hope, but I didn't say it that way because I'm afraid of offending someone. I did it because it's nice to celebrate, even if all you're celebrating is life in general. I shouldn't need an excuse to celebrate life, but unfortunately I and many other people do. So celebrate and don't worry why. Whether it's a baby, a fat man, a harvest, the closing of the year, a lamp, the victory of life over death, or any of the myriad of other reasons to be joyous, and whether it's today, tomorrow, next week, or any day you like, celebrate with me.

The new year may bring changes. It may be scary to let go of old ways, to step from the warmth of a dying fire into the snow. You may be tempted, as I am, to grab hold of the last days of this year, to hold fast to the sand slipping through your fingers, to convince yourself that you're savoring them rather than just wrapping them around you like armor made of tissue paper in the rain. But I can't stop the inexorable creep of time. I can only decide if I want the spiral to creep down or up.

Savor, by all means. but don't hold tight. Take hold of someone's hand, someone you love, and go out. The snow is cold but it's calling for footprints to be left, for brave souls to venture out and build castles and snowmen and leave stories in the tracks they make, to blaze new trails, to walk away from old winter and out into the spring, even if the spring seems like it won't ever come. And maybe it's not snowing where you are (I know it isn't where I am, because I don't think I'll ever have a white Christmas unless I make the snow myself) but that's okay; leave the huddled, gathering cold in your heart and go out anyway. We're all scared, deep down. We all want things to be alright. We're all together.

Peace and love. And celebration. That's what holidays are about. That's what every day should be about.

Sometimes You've Got to Run Off

Starting tomorrow, I'm running away. I won't be joining the circus or traveling with gypsies, although I could see doing either. But this week, and the current show, and everything have just sucked so badly (or is that "bad" since it didn't suck poorly, it sucked extremely professionally in a way which makes me wonder if it has sucked like this before for money) that I've got to run away.

I will be fleeing to Sveta's room. This is possible because (a) we don't really have to hide any more and (b) her roomie turns out to be pretty cool, if not interested in joining in. Sveta has been terrified that her roomie would freak out if she found out anything about Sveta's naughty side, but it turns out that her roomie (I can't remember if I ever gave her a name, so I'm christening her Jodie) Jodie is just kind of button-down in appearance and demeanor, and doesn't really give two shits whether Sveta is in love with another woman. In fact, in light of Sveta's recent unpleasantness in the family department, Jodie actually stepped up and provided a lot of support to Sveta when I wasn't able to do so in person.

So yeah, anyway, Jodie is totally fine with me coming to stay for a few days. She said she'd be in and out, but that we could have the run of the room for the most part, and she'd knock so we could at least pull the covers up. Actually, this isn't the first time I've been over, it's just a more extended period. And we're all three going to maybe do some girly Christmas stuff, maybe makeovers or facials or something. I am not girly like that, but hey, I'm game for some relaxation.

Anyway, I'm running away. And this time, I mean it. And I'm never coming back until next Thursday, when I have to work again, boo. Don't try to find me.

Also, I'm still sick. It's one of those annoying lingering things; I treated the main problem, saw the doctor, all that good shit, but the little sniffle and cough are driving me crazy, and they won't go away. Coughing during sex isn't as erotic as heavy breathing, and as heavy breathing tends to want to make me cough... yeah. Blech.

TMI'm Not Really Here

France posted early, so I stole her questions and posted while I had a free moment. I'm not actually here. I'm mired deep in hell. Remember me fondly if you'd like.

1. If you were a car, which one would you be? What are some of your best features?

Right now, I'd like to be a car which ran on water. Maybe I might be slow, but I'd get people where they wanted to go comfortably and cheaply. I'm not sure what that says about me.

2. If I gave you an elephant where would you hide it?

In Africa. That's where they'd least suspect it.

3. Finish this sentence: Tomorrow I absolutely refuse to…

procrastin... I'll finish this answer Thursday.

4. What is the longest period of time that you’ve gone without a shower?

I was sick once, so sick that I didn't shower for a week because I didn't get up for a week except to stagger to the bathroom. I didn't even notice until I got well enough to shower, at which point I was disgusted and was tempted to burn my bed. Other than that, I skip a day every so often, but it's a rare thing if I skip two. I've got to be either super depressed or super sick. I like being clean.

5. What is the silliest prank you ever played on someone?

I think I told the story of the prank war I had with my sister once. One of those was probably the silliest prank I've ever pulled. I'm not great at pranks; I can think of them, but I never execute.

Bonus: What is the best piece of gossip that you heard recently?

Justin Bieber is really several ducks in a cunning disguise. Spread it around.

Tenors of Love

This is not about some Irish male singing group doing covers of the greatest hits of the 70s on PBS. It'd probably be better if it were, but it's not.

So I've been having a fair amount of emotionally-charged sex recently, as well as, most recently, some physically-debilitated sex as I fight through the Plague (if I started sprouting buboes, I wouldn't be in the slightest bit surprised, actually; I have glands swollen enough to be buboes). Most of the time, the focus in sex is on passion or energy, whether it's rough or not, fast or slow, out of love or out of lust, whether you're just getting through it or wanting more. I know a lot of people probably wouldn't think of sex as an appropriate mechanism for grief either. I'm not saying no one else feels this way, just that I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about it until recently.

Grieving is bizarre because it's like celebrating, only turned on its head. I think the same emotional triggers are there, which is why funerals can be both ways to grieve and to celebrate. And if I can have a celebratory glass of champagne, I can have a sorrowful glass of wine. If I can eat a celebratory dinner, I can eat a funeral feast. (Hamlet's line about funeral meats coldly furnishing forth marriage tables comes to mind here). So if I can have sex in celebration, I can have a sad, sorrowful lovemaking session too.

Loss makes us want to reassure each other that we still have things, and I can't think of a better way to reassure someone that they still have me than to love them, either mentally, spiritually, or physically. Grief gives a particular poignancy to lovemaking which many people have experienced; how many of us have had one last fuck before saying goodbye. But if you can't make love to the dearly departed (and I'm not suggesting for a moment that you should try, either) making love with others who are grieving is a good way to show your love for them and for the one you've lost.

If this suggests that my aunt's funeral was an orgy, it wasn't. It was a very nice service at a church she attended. We missed her, and the people who couldn't be with us for other reasons. I think my Dad missed his parents. And then we went home, and Mom and Dad and I all made love. Not much actual penetration went on; Dad's still having problems and it wasn't really about that. We just cuddled up in the big bed and were together. I think I kissed my mother in a sexier way than I ever have before, and that turned me on, which made me feel guilty for making it about me, which turned me off. I'm not saying it's easy.

Sveta never met my aunt, and that's too bad because they would have gotten along, I think. Aunt Jenny would have been happy for Sveta and me, and Sveta would have liked my aunt's cooking, and also, if this were a perfect world, would have enjoyed getting to make love with another member of my family. But things happen. Still, Sveta and I have enough things to worry and grieve about that adding addition grief didn't really change things; we forget our troubles when making love, as opposed to commemorating them. Sometimes I feel bad about that; I feel like sex shouldn't just be a circus sideshow act to distract us from the mangled body of the lion tamer. Sex is part of life, not an escape from it. But sometimes you need a vacation. It makes us feel better.

And even though I know that I'm sick and weak and shouldn't exert myself, when Sveta turns me on, I have to kiss her, which turns to licking and fingering and rubbing and stroking and all the good things. And while I still feel weak as we make love, the weakness diminishes, and in the afterglow I can almost pretend that I'm not sick. After that, of course, the sickness comes back, and I'm not sure if it just feels this way by comparison or not, but I feel worse sometimes. It's a brief release, if nothing else.

Yet I still do it. And I'm not making love because I feel obligated or forced or I just need to orgasm. It's strange feeling this way. I want to make love. I like cumming, but I want to be with someone physically. Either in sorrow or as an escape from it, I want to love and be loved.

Someday soon I hope, I'll get back to where I was, and I'll feel sexy rather than lonely. I'll cum more often, and I'll enjoy sex in a happy way. I'm not saying I want to give this up, just that there's joy missing right now. My happiness is muted, overcast. I want the sun to shine again.

Sick

Not dead. Ill. And busy. Yay.

TMI Like Food

I do like me some food. And even though it's not Tuesday any more, I'm going to dwell on food for a bit because I like it a lot. I don't like turkey though, so I'll be filling up on side dishes tomorrow. Yay side dishes!

Häagen-Dazs or Ben & Jerry’s?

Häagen-Dazs had this terrific chocolate ice cream once which was made with rare rainforest chocolate or something. I'm just not that big an ice cream fan though. It's too cold. I like Ben & Jerry's, but I might have to give the edge in creamy goodness to the... I just looked it up, and apparently, Häagen-Dazs is from the US, originally. So I'll have to give the edge to the weird name. What were they thinking?

What is always in your refrigerator?

OJ, milk, flour tortillas, and probably butter. Not that I eat butter by the pound, just that I can't think of a time when I haven't had butter. There are other things which frequently make an appearance, and there are usually at least some sorts of vegetable, most notably carrots. I don't keep some things in the fridge.

What’s your worst kitchen disaster?

I made dumplings once for my boss when I had him over to dinner. They... weren't so great. And once, when I was on my own and poor, I had some leftover meatloaf and tried to make pasta sauce with it and a can of tomatoes, but when I tried to put a little pepper in, the top came off and the entire container of pepper dumped into the sauce, which I had been stirring at the time. I tried to pick out most of it, but it was no use. Then I tried to eat it anyway (I was hungry and poor) and nearly threw up, because while I like pepper a lot, this was too much.

What’s your best kitchen success?

Advizor added this one, and I thought it was a good addition. Except that I can't pick out a success story. I'm quite critical of my own food. I once made my mother an entirely vegetarian Indian meal for her birthday, complete with several courses and hand-made naan on a grill outside, which was awesome if I do say so myself, and I do. I cook many things people seem to like. I just don't love any of them more than any other, I guess.

Favorite kitchen gadget?

I'm not a huge gadget-user, but I have some that I do use. I like my zester, although I'm starting to wish I had a microplane for zesting. And I like my immersion blender because I like cream soups, but I don't get to use it that often. I wish I had a standing mixer for dough, but it's expensive and I wouldn't use it that often. I don't have a radish-rose whatchamahoozits though.

What was your last meal? Did you like it?

Stir-fry a la dorm kitchen. Not bad, given the severe limitations. I've often wished I could have a cooking show where I would cook things with extremely limited equipment, like most people have in their kitchens. Improvisation and the use of pans as the lids of pots was the order of the day (no, not the odor of the day).

What’s your favorite cookie?

Anything chocolate. The only cookies I make are chocolate oatmeal raisin. I'm not sharing the recipe with the masses because I don't know where it is at the moment and it's not mine, but I like me some chocolate cookies. I know some people think double chocolate chip is overkill; they are wrong.

Flash Fiction Friday - Chats with Cats

“I resigned,” Penny crowed, slipping off her blouse and tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. Maximilian said nothing, but he was a quiet one. “God, I’m not sure what I’m going to do now. Maybe art school. I always wanted to be an artist.” She sensed disapproval. “Sure I could,” she said, without waiting for the response. Her skirt was sent flying to join the blouse, leaving her still too warm. “I’d pay my way by modeling.” She struck a pose and giggled.

Maximilian was a cat, so he didn’t see what was so exciting. He would have preferred fish. Penny needed someone like her to appreciate her beauty. But that’s always the way of things.

---

“I resigned,” Penny scowled. “I couldn’t take the pressure.” Maximilian was sympathetic, or at least he seemed that way to her. “Exposing yourself like that is tough.” She reached for her blouse, only to find it covered in cat fur. “Damn it Max, shed someplace else, okay?”

He looked at her with unblinking eyes as if to inquire what she expected. She couldn’t stay mad at him, and, wincing as his claws unthinkingly scored her bare flesh, she picked him up and pressed her nose to his. “You get me,” she said, feeling lost. “Why can’t anyone else get me?”

Maximilian could have told her had he been a human, but if he had been there would have been no need to ask the question in the first place.

---

“I resigned,” Penny said. “Resigned myself to loneliness and talking to Max all day.” She laughed, a free laugh that made her breasts shake and drew a smile from her companion. “He’s a good boy, but he’s not much for conversation.”

“I think he’s cute,” said Jill, lying back on the bed and stretching. “Not as cute as you, of course...”

“You minx,” Penny chortled, slowly turning her gaze from Maximilian to her lover. “Don’t hurt his feelings.”

Maximilian’s feelings weren’t hurt at all as Penny and Jill proceeded to make love for the fourth time that day. He didn’t care. The fish was plentiful with this new woman in the house, and truth be told, quiet was nice sometimes.

---

Three takes, in sequence. I don't have much time to talk about them, but I may amend this exegesis tomorrow; I just wanted to have it written before the deadline.

Flash Fiction Friday: it calms the shakes.

VBA Is an Award, Not a Programming Language

Yeah, I'm that much of a geek. "Visual Basic for Applications?" I thought to myself.

The Versatile Bloggers Award. You all know it. I have no idea why it involves versatility, but it's an awarded thing which makes the rounds, and while I'm not all that interested in basking in my own glory and winning awards for what I think has been not that great a time, blogging-wise, Sephi was nice enough to include me in her list, and we all like Sephi, so if Sephi says I get an award, I guess Sephi gets her way and I get an award. Notice how I never once included a "t" in that name, and how I linked to her a bunch of times? Thus, I both prevented her from killing me and also fulfilled one of the stipulations of the award, which is that I have to link back to the person who awarded it to me. And that person is Sephi. If you awarded it to me in the past and I didn't acknowledge it, I'm really sorry and let me know so I can thank you too. I have been bad at keeping up with things of late, as you know.

Step two, I'm given to understand, is listing seven things about myself. I could just tell you seven things you already know, but hey, let's be creative and see if I can't think of seven things you might not know.

1. My middle name is a family name, comes from trees, and has two syllables. And no one spells it correctly either. And none of those clues will help you guess it, because I won't confirm or deny any guesses. I don't tell people my middle name, even if they know me well. It's like my secret magic name.
2. I'm ticklish. I say this under advisement, because admitting that will probably mean that certain people will tickle me to death now.
3. I can't spell. What you see here is the result of strenuous editing protocols and spell-checker use. I'm better than I used to be, but in the absence of a spell-checker my spelling goes straight to Hell.
4. Flying bugs freak me out a little. I make other people kill wasps and bees that come near me. I can't deal with them.
5. I am absolutely dying to hear Chevelle's new album when it comes out, and if that means I have bad taste, then I pretty much already knew that.
6. I have an absolutely smashing idea for an April Fools prank which I never have the time or energy to execute.
7. I don't think I read enough blogs to award 15 awards. I'm not even particularly sorry about that. Time is precious.

So I can't really accept the award because I don't have enough people to give it to, particularly since a number of my choices already have the award. I guess I'd give the award to everyone on my blogroll over there to the right. And that's not 15, counting the people who already have one.

Okay, I do feel slightly guilty. There are many wonderful blogs out there, the list of which my blogroll is a minuscule sampling. So I'm awarding this award to anyone who wants one. If you have a blog, feel free to put the following award up.

I know that seems like a cop-out, but I genuinely don't have enough blogs to give out an award to. I just wanted to thank Sephi for thinking I was fuckable/friendable, and that I was daring. I love you all, and you all deserve an award, even those of you who don't have blogs.

Also, because PB pointed it out, I'm on another list here. The other people on it are better than I am, but I'm pimping it because I'm on a list! I'd like to thank the Academy...

TMI To Keep My Foot in the Door

I'm still here, but I've really, really fallen out of the habit of writing, apparently. So you may be getting a lot of filler for a while, partially because as I said, I've got little else to talk about, and partially because I just can't do anything else, but I want to keep in the habit before I lose it completely.

1. What is your favorite type of weather?

I like cool, sunny days sometimes. Sometimes I like snow, a lot of it, falling softly and silently. I enjoy nighttime with a full or nearly-full moon, maybe a few clouds in the sky. I prefer it to be cooler, and I don't always mind when it rains. I'm really not sure what my favorite type of weather is, actually. It might have to do with my mood.

2. How do you sustain the motivation and energy needed to write erotica regularly?

Clearly I don't. I wish I were better at sustaining it. I feel more motivated when I have just enough to talk about that I want to tell the story, but not so much that I don't have time to tell any stories at all. And I feel much more motivated by good things, sexy things, that I can talk about. Which is why I started blogging in the first place: to tell sexy stories. How all the emo e/n shit crept in I'll never know.

3. Do you like roleplay? What is your favorite scenario?

I can roleplay, but it's not something I need to do, really. And I don't have a favorite scenario; if I'm roleplaying, I like to always be trying something new. It's like fucking in a costume; I don't want to wear the same thing twice. I might, but I'm hunting for something else.

4. Have you ever been hurt so badly in a past relationship, that it has affected you for the rest of your life?

Yes. At least it has affected me up until now. I work through it all the time, and it doesn't ruin my life; I won't let it. But the past does affect us, and I'd be lying if I said I ever thought I'd completely stop being affected by it. It made me who I am. That's not a good thing or a bad thing; things I did yesterday made me who I am today.

5. What message would you want to put in a fortune cookie?

"It's going to be okay." I think there should be more reassuring fortune cookies. I don't need to hear that I'm going to take a long trip; I want to hear that it'll be okay. Sorry, big old ball of emotions at the moment.

6. How big is your dick?

Quite small, but my balls are enormous. Brass balls I have. Giant, brass, and I'm always waving them around to get people's attention. I believe they call it chutzpah in certain circles, but I've got huge fucking brass balls.

No I don't either.

Bonus: I would like to know, do you have Formspring on your blog? Why or why not?

I don't. All these questions were apparently from Formspring, which I suppose is one of the reasons why I don't. I am perfectly happy with people asking questions (I love it when people ask questions), but Formspring's TOC worried me, and I need another thing like I need another hole in my head. I don't think it's a bad idea, I just don't really see the point. I've got comments and email. Ask away.

Coping

I am, should I say we are because it's not just me, in full-blown coping mode. We are coping. There is startlingly little that's sexy about coping, I'm afraid. It's not particularly pleasant.

I don't want to turn the blog into nothing but my emo shit, so I'm not going to. I know that people don't mind, but I mind. If I've got nothing fun to talk about, I'd rather not talk about it.

I'm fine. I'm coping. Thank you for your thoughts and words. I just don't feel like anything is real at the moment. It's kind of weird.

It Rains

Aunt Jenny died Monday. She just couldn't fight any more. If you're the prayerful type, she'd probably appreciate that, and if you're not, she would understand. Dad is a wreck. The funeral is going to be difficult. I'm really not seeking sympathy or really anything at all, just telling everyone why I haven't been in touch this week. Unlike last week, when it was some other fucking thing. Or the week before when it was something else. Or before that.

I feel terrible because I didn't really get any chance to say goodbye. And I'm a bit frightened of death. Which is a terrible thing to be, really. I should have been able to visit her, to tell her I loved her. Instead, I was scared and I didn't, and now I can't. I'm not sure what our obsession with saying goodbye is; it's not like it would make me feel any better, or make her any less dead. Yes, I'm saying she died. She didn't "pass on" or "go to her reward" or any of that shit. She died. She is no longer alive. That may be brutal, but it's the truth.

I've been spending far too much time with Sveta, and neglecting other things, and I'm pretty sure I've been making her neglect things too. But at this point, I almost don't care. I just want to be happy for a little while.

Anyway, that's what it is.

Flash Fiction Friday Supplemental

So the last two weeks I wasn't remiss, although I did miss. I felt mildly, very mildly guilty at first, but you know what, I don't now because shit happens and other things are more important. However, I love doing FFF so I wanted an excuse to do a few more, which is why I went back and did the challenges I missed. Huzzah. Hope you enjoy the extra Flash-Fiction-y goodness.

Performance Art

She sat still, the barest motion of her breasts as she breathed betraying that she wasn’t art, but life. Or was it both? I looked at her and found that I couldn’t see her from all angles; I had to see her through the frame or she looked out of place, indistinct.

“I love the purple,” I said to her. She smiled, just slightly, her head turning to me, and I knew she heard, even as she settled back into her meditation.

---

Just a moment. Not really a story, but coming upon this picture in life and wondering.

Her Master's Voice

I can’t stand to hear him anymore. I’m sitting naked in the dark, and I pull off my headphones and cry because I know. He’s just a voice now.

Once upon a time I would have waited for him. I would have ignored my commitment in the next room and waited in pained delight. But now the voice is too much and I can’t help myself. So I crawl back to my husband and try to forget. He’s not coming. I can’t stand to hear him.

---

Some of you may be familiar with the old RCA ad. If not, don't worry about it. This isn't really about domination. There's just something kind of sad about her, sitting in shadow, no longer listening to the headphones. Who is this voice she would once have waited for? I don't really know. But she can't wait for him now, for whatever reason. I wrote this one first-person and present-tense, which I don't ordinarily do but it seemed to fit.

---

Not prolific, but there you go. If you haven't already, go to PB's site and see the wonders of the Flash Fiction world.

Flash Fiction Friday - The Call

Come to me. On wings of tenebrous gossamer, come to me. I hear your sweet music in the wind, in the gasp of rushes, in the sighs of trees. Come to me.

We will lay our heads on a pillow of shadow, pull cobweb blankets close, and fuck like wild things. Our blood will boil, our bones turn to dust, our flesh decay, in an endless embrace. Come to me.

And when morning pierces the veil, what will remain, the monster or the saint? I know what my money is on. Come to me, and you will be mine everlasting. You will be mine.

---

I have plans. They'll have to wait until tomorrow when I've slept, but there are plans afoot. Anyway, I managed to sneak this one in under the wire, rather than late as I expected. Other than an injunction to get your ass over to Flash Fiction Friday headquarters, I have very little to say about this one. Oh, except that because Blogger's image uploader wasn't working, I'm leaching off of PB at the moment. I hope to correct that shortly [EDIT: I have corrected this problem, bu still go to visit PB and see the absolute scads of people who are playing this week]. If the image doesn't show up, all the more reason for you to get over to PB's blog to see it.

Gee Lexi, Where Have You Been

Short version: with Sveta.

Longer version: Sveta's parents found out that she was seeing me. Which was unpleasant and unexpected. They basically cut her off completely, then "relented" and cut her off mostly completely. She's been a bit of a wreck. I've been going to see her whenever possible.

It's also forced me to address some of my own issues, because I don't feel like she deserves a ruined life because of me. I'm really not worth it. Or something like that. So there's been some mild unpleasantness. Nothing bad, just not happy.

I love her. She loves me. I'm okay with that. She'll probably be spending her vacations with my family from here on out, at least until she graduates and I can get us a place of our own. Or she can. Or we both can. It's a bit terrifying, because I haven't had what you'd call the most stellar record in the living with people department. Or in the relationship which one could actually classify as a relationship department. We're both scared. But hopeful.

Addendum: Also, my sex drive has been incredibly, ridiculously, almost farcically low. I think I've cum perhaps 6 times in the past month. Seriously. What the hell? Things have been put on hold, things I really should have dealt with. But this month... bizarre.

Addendum to the addendum: I am going to try my damnedest to Flash Fiction, but I may not be able to do it until tomorrow, which would mean it would be late, but it would happen. I hope. I really miss doing it; things have just been so crazy recently.

Still TMI Tuesday, Damnit

For a few brief moments, it's still Tuesday, and I find myself actually able to write something, so here we go. I promise, something more substantive as soon as I'm able. Things... have been interesting. Also, a resounding continuation of the fuck-you-Blogger I gave last week. All must be new! All must be different! All must bow!

1. Name 5 things you did more of before social networking (facebook, myspace, twitter, etc.)?

1. Spent time not wondering what the hell the point of "social networking" really is.
2. Talked to friends who would actually communicate with me rather than assuming I'd just read their shit on Facebook.
3. Spent time not wondering what the fuck the point of Twitter is.
4. Spent time not reading invitations to see things I can't see because I'm not on Facebook.
5. Watched about the same number of movies about Mark Zuckerberg (0).

Yeah, I'm not on Twitter or Facebook or Google+ or any of it. Other than the above, which is kind of catty but actually quite true, I can't think of anything. Seriously, Twitter? What the fuck?

2. Your house is on fire, what do you grab as you run out?

I throw myself into the flames because I couldn't deal with my house burning down. It's not that my life is things, or that my life would necessarily be over, but it's a pain I don't think I'm prepared to contemplate right now. I guess I'd grab my computer so there'd be some hope I wouldn't lose all my writing.

3. Are you a morning person or a night owl?

I am on Tokyo time on Mars. I have no schedule. But I guess I'm more of a night owl than a morning person.

a. What time did you go to bed last night?

I didn't look at the clock. Late.

b. What time did you wake up today?

Early. Too early. Probably later than a lot of my readers who are all better people than I am, but it was way too shortly after I went to sleep. Dawn had yet to dawn.

4. A kid comes up to you and kicks you in the shin, what do you do?

There's been a lot of talk about punching this kid. Don't punch people. It's bad for your body to punch. If you're going to commit violence to this kid, you should probably kick back. Much healthier. Me, I'd probably curse and then grab said kid by the ear and drag him or her to see some authority figure. I don't hit children. Even if they start it. It's not a moral issue, it's an issue of having always been the big kid and hence always being in danger of being blamed for violence, even if not of my making.

5. What three things do you never leave the house without?

Keys, wallet, shoes. I guess. I don't know; I could probably come up with others. I have a purse but I don't use it much; it cramps my style. And I've left without my wallet before, or my keys. Not often. I can't even say, "Oh, I never leave my head behind, haha," because it's just not true most days.

Bonus: Name a place that you visited last week that you’ve never visited before. Briefly tell us about the visit.

I actually visited the theater at Sveta's college. She doesn't do theatre there, but she showed me around. It was nice, much nicer than it deserved to be. I had tech envy. Ah well. We can't all be winners.

TM Fuckin' I

Exhausted. Can't really talk or think about it right now, but I have to keep blogging because otherwise I'll get out of the habit and then goodbye to that form of expression. So instead, TMI, damn it. Oh, and fuck you Blogger: I don't like the new interface, I hate the new post editor and haven't used it since you brought it out because it produces non-standard code which doesn't allow paragraph tags (fucking paragraph tags, the basis of pretty much everything on the web, or at least they should be), and just basically go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut. Yeah Lexi, tell us how you really feel. That's probably more TMI than you expected from me, huh?

1. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours”…What is it that you will show me?

Scars. Physical if I like you. Mental if I love you. I don't have many of the former; I don't scar easily. The latter... that's a different story.

2. What was the last thing you regret buying?

I honestly can't remember buying anything I could regret right now. I haven't bought anything which wasn't totally mundane and everyday in a long time.

3. How happy are you? 1 = not happy at all to 5 = very happy

Right now? I'm half 2, half 5. 2 for others. 5 somewhat selfishly. I can't really explain my reasoning in this because it's too long and unpleasant, but I am both the happiest I've been in a long time and also pretty unhappy about a lot of things.

4. Last night, what did you go to bed thinking about?

Sveta. Aw, sweet, right? Yeah, more worry than love, I'm afraid, although the worry was inspired by the fact that I love her so I worry.

5. Tell us something that made you happy this past week or made you think, “that’s cool!”

I had falafel. Good falafel. It made me kind of happy.

Bonus: What is your favorite mark of punctuation? Why?

I love the tilde because I have no idea what it's used for and have never used it. I'm quite fond of the @ sign simply because it's a fun thing to write. But for pure and everyday love of usage, I'd have to go with the humble but underused semicolon; it's versatile and it makes it really easy to write run-on sentences that somehow still seem like they might be proper usage, at least in an overly-academic context. Like just then.

Not Really Here

Exhausted. Not necessarily in a bad way, but not in a good way either. Just beat. I'm back, though I didn't want to be, and now I'm pretty much unable to think about anything, so that's why you're not hearing from me. Everything went fine though, some parts better, some parts worse. Just in case you were curious.

Flash Fiction Friday - Shift Work

I punched my time card and found them still at it, so I sat beside them, drinking my coffee.

“Sorry Bess, I just need a little extra this week to cover my bills,” said Ginny breathlessly, as she enthusiastically slammed her perfect ass down on him. I was jealous of her ass, I’ll admit. I tried not to look at it too much.

“No, that’s okay,” I said. It wasn’t. She was always doing this, taking overtime and not telling me. It wasn’t like I couldn’t have come in later if I’d known.

I guess she heard something in my tone. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all, just a little self-absorbed. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll just...”

“No, really, let me finish my coffee,” I said, trying to smile. Coworkers, am I right?

I let her have the overtime, then once I was stripped, she hopped off and I hopped on. “See you tomorrow,” she said brightly as I felt him slide up into me and my hips began to shift up and down. I didn’t watch her leave; I was already enjoying myself.

I love my job.

---

I have no time or energy to say much of anything other than that this was the first thing that came into my head and given the loose restrictions this week (thank God otherwise I'm not sure I could have managed it) I basically wrote it and posted it without much thinking about it. I like the idea of everything being sort of normal and casual. Don't know why; maybe it's my happy homemaker coming out to play.

I love this picture, I love PB, I love Flash Fiction Friday, why aren't you doing it? Cliff's Notes version. I may not be able to make any rounds this week, not until very late at any rate, but I still love you all.

Tonight

Tonight! Tonight!

I am really nervous right now for some reason.

Tonight! Oh my God it's tonight!

I'm On Vacation

No, I'm not. What I'm on is something bizarre. Sveta and I are booking a hotel room (cheap, cheap hotel room) about halfway between us (and about half the money from each, something which absolutely kills me because damn it, I want to be able to treat my girlfriend, but I'm fucking poor). She has class, I have work. But if we're halfway between, the commute is manageable.

So we're going to be domestic. In a cheap room with no ability to be terribly domestic. But we'll both go do our separate things, then come "home" and be homebodies.

I'm not totally sure why we both think this is a good idea. It's probably not. We'll probably be exhausted by it. But there are a number of days where neither of us have anything to do, and we'll be together on those days. We don't plan to spend every second we're together making love. It may happen, but we'd like to try a bit of romance. Watching movies, going out, holding hands because no one knows us, all that good shit.

So anyway, I'm happier than I have been in a while. I'm also probably going to be somewhat incommunicado for a few days. We'll have some internet, but I may not have the interest in doing anything online when I can be with her. You might understand why. Anyway, I may answer emails, I will try to write a Flash Fiction Friday, and beyond that, don't expect too much. It's not that I don't love you all, but sometimes you have to take a break. Or at least pretend to be taking a break. I'll be working just as hard.

I'm not sure what you call it. Just for the love of God don't use the word "staycation." I hate that word. We're taking a break from some of the crap of life to be together. We wanted to be on our own. It is what it is.

Dash of Happy - Hugs

France is awesome. And she speaks French. And sexy. So very sexy. Where was I? Oh, yeah, so she started doing Dashes of Happy, and while I haven't been all that happy of late, I thought I'd post on a Saturday because it's raining and I'm dead tired.

You want to be happy? Give someone a hug. I'm not demanding perversion or sexuality or even deep and abiding love. Nor am I demanding beaming happiness, chipper smiles, or much of anything else. But you want happy? Hug someone.

Do it properly. Don't just gingerly fold one arm around them, trying hard not to make too much contact. Both arms. Full contact. Again, this isn't about rubbing up against someone (although I'm not saying it can't be), it's about being present in someone else's space. It's about being there with them, for them. You don't have to say anything. Just give someone a hug today. They'll be happy, and you'll be happy.

Flash Fiction Friday - The District

I saw him on the street corner, looking lost. “Are you... a prostitute?” he asked me nervously.

“Honey, I’m a whore. Nothing to be shy about. We’re all whores around here.”

“So, how do we do this?” Like it was a business transaction.

“You’ve never been to the district before, have you honey?” He couldn’t meet my eye. I found him cute, maybe in a way which says something about me. Most of the rest of us wouldn’t have touched him. But I sensed something. He didn’t look around, didn’t see them all around us. He was fresh. “Tell you what. This one’s on me, okay?”

I don’t think he knew how to take that. Maybe he was expecting me to take him back to a dark room somewhere. That’s not how we do things here. He didn’t move as I pulled his pants down, frozen in terror or surprise. His cock had no trouble though.

“This is... amazing,” he said as I slithered out of my clothes and knelt to be mounted. “I can see all these people now. They weren’t here before.”

Shades. Anyone can see them, but for visitors they’re usually hard to spot, like the shimmer of air on a hot day. Residents see them all the time. We see ourselves in them sometimes.

He was hot and thick, pressing into me without the hesitation he’d shown earlier. I had to bite my lip to keep from taking payment as I came. It’s hard not to drain them, but a promise is a promise. He grunted and came too, and despite my promise I took a little of him, carefully, a taste and nothing more.

Once the act was over the shades faded for him, the other couples in the street were gone, and he was standing, forlorn, his wet cock drooping. “That was...” he said, but my look silenced him.

“Don’t come here again,” I snarled. “Leave. Now.” I had tasted him, wanted more, and if I saw him again, he would join the shades.

I guess there’s something in me that still cries, still laughs, and still hopes.

---

I want to make it clear from the outset that this is not about vampires. If you'd like it to be about vampires, you may feel free to interpret it thus, but strictly from my point of view, that's not what it's about. I'm not sure what it's about; it came to me like this, and with a few tweaks and some refinement of concept, it barely fit into 354 words.

I guess I like the idea of a district of sexual echoes, where congress is in the streets because no one can see you. It's both intimate and lonely simultaneously, the way paying for sex has always seemed to me. What does joining the shades mean, exactly? I'm not sure. Not necessarily death. Echoes.

Also, I liked the idea of turning the "prostitute with a heart of gold" trope on its head. What can I say?

I'm thrilled that PB is back because he picks good pictures (and I'm not just saying that because this week he picked one of mine) and also because I don't want him to have unpleasant things happen to him. Also, once again, I must say that while this picture is mine and I substitute-hosted last week, Max and France both stepped up and filled a gap which I couldn't have because those weeks I barely made it in on time, let alone coming up with a challenge. It's all about them, not me. Anyway, head over to Flash Fiction Friday HQ to see who else is playing (and boy does it feel nice to be able to say that again) and maybe play yourself. As Advizor said earlier this week, drop the damn towel and get in; the water's fine.

Bad Ideas

I can't think of a time when I've fucked someone because I was angry at them. I might have fucked someone while I was angry at them, but it's never been a reason that I can remember. Rage-fuck is bad news.

I'm not sure that desperation-loneliness-fuck is any better really. Maybe if it's someone you love, but then it's really less of that and more of a need-of-comfort-fuck, which I've done, on both sides of the equation, and don't think is bad at all. Sex can be comforting. Sure, if all the sex you have with someone is because you want comfort, that's probably not healthy, especially since it tends to lead you to be rather selfish in bed, but occasionally, curling up with someone is curling up with someone.

But I was in fairly bad shape on Saturday. I thought I was getting over the worst of it, and Sveta had been helpful over the phone when she really has better things to do than to baby me long-distance. But clearly I was fooling myself. I went out with some people from the theater, including the cute guy from a while back, because I couldn't really keep to myself any longer. I had to try to be social or else I'd totally lose my ability to deal with other people. I get out of practice quickly.

We went to see another show, someone else's show, which was... not all that great, honestly. Then we were hanging out at someone's house. I tried not to be clingy, I really did. But I wound up talking with Cute Guy a lot. Let's call him Eric. He didn't seem to mind, and I tried not to interfere with any of his conversations with other people. But eventually we were alone and I whispered to him, "You want to find someplace quieter?"

He's not an idiot. We found a quiet closet, closed the door, and then began the groping. And the stroking. And his pants were down around his ankles, his hand was on the back of my head, and I was sucking his cock with my tits hanging out. We're really lucky that neither of us were screamers, because several people walked by the closet while this was going on. Maybe they were looking for us.

This time I wasn't going to settle for hands and mouth. And I was wearing a dress. So up with that, down with panties, and he pressed me up against the wall kind of awkwardly and did his best to give me what for, until it was just too damn awkward and we shifted to me on my knees, him behind me. We made some noise. I bet someone heard something, but had the politeness not to say anything. I really felt bad afterward for having fucked in someone else's house, someone old enough to be my parents. But at the time, I just wanted it bad.

The thing was, all the time he was fucking me, I wasn't thinking of him at all. I was trying and failing to feel completed by sex, and it wasn't working. I didn't cum. It was bad, so bad that eventually I snapped out of it and tried to cum, just a little, to make him feel better. I don't fake orgasms, but I'm not above enhancing a tiny one into a larger one. But nothing. It's not even like I've had trouble cumming recently; if anything, I've been getting myself off quite successfully.

I don't think I ruined the experience for Eric or anything. I'm plenty tight and wet, I think I'm worth fucking even if I'm not completely into it and I don't cum, and he wasn't bad at it so it was all on me. He lasted long enough that I should have cum at least twice. It just wasn't happening. But anyway, I finished him off in my mouth, then let him exit first while I tidied up a bit. He was a perfect gentleman, didn't make the remainder of the evening awkward, didn't avoid eye contact or cling. It could have been a perfectly acceptable interlude. I just felt like it was going to eat me up inside.

I drove home, crushed, called Sveta and woke her up, told her to go back to bed, then called Mike, who was as helpful as someone over the phone could be. Then I crawled into Mom and Dad's bed and cuddled up against Dad. He woke up a little, put his arm around me, and we just stayed like that for a while until I couldn't stay without tossing and turning and waking everyone up, so I sneaked out again.

I feel bad. I've been making overtures to Eric to possibly see him again because I feel like he deserves better, in a bed where we don't have to rush, where maybe I can be more present. Or maybe it's because I'm feeling so lonely I'm willing to use him. I don't really want him; he's cute and all, but I'm not sure he's fuck-buddy material. And I don't want to promise him something I'm not going to deliver.

However, since Saturday, I've been feeling a bit better about other things, and other events have happened which I may get to at some point soon, so who knows? Maybe I can give Eric what he deserves, or at least apologize for being a jerk. Maybe he can be my boy-toy. I mean, he was no slouch. Certainly worth having again. I just need to try to do the right thing.

TMI To Get Back in the Groove

I'm working on it. From TMI as usual, although Advizor's blog notified me of its existence this week.

1. If a screenwriter turned you into a character in a movie:

a. What stock Hollywood character would it be most like? For example: best friend, ditzy blonde, absent-minded professor, captain of industry, etc.

I'm a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, so I might be the eccentric sidekick. Maybe the girl next door. I can dream.

b. What actor/actress would play you?

At one time I would have said Alyson Hannigan, who looks somewhat like me and could probably play me if given the proper direction. But then she either stopped or started dyeing her hair and ceased being a redhead, so I'm over her. Ditto for Laura Prepon. Now, I don't know. I'm not up on actors anymore. The names don't stick with me.

2. What genre of movie is your life most like? For example: romantic comedy, goofball comedy, spy, coming of age, action/adventure, sci-fi, etc

An extremely boring documentary about paint drying. No, actually probably a bit of a dramedy. But it really wouldn't make that good a movie; I'm fairly boring as far as entertaining an audience would be concerned. And in a major motion picture, all the exciting stuff would be cut out to get an R.

3. What kind of scene in a movie would you like to play most? Why?

I'd say "Sex scene!" except I think I'd like to play a climactic moment of tearful reunion right now. A happy ending. And do I really need to say why? Right now, my life is like Act II of a movie which is supposed to end with a tearful reunion but doesn't seem to have the final push to make it.

4. Have you ever looked around you and thought “this is like a scene from a movie”? What were the circumstances?

I guess not. Real life is simultaneously much more boring and far more interesting than movies. I'm a big believer in the dramatic arts as unreal, ur-real even. If you try to capture reality in film or theatre, you're going to fail. It's not real. So I guess I don't see things through that lens in real life. Either that, or I just can't think of anything at the moment.

5. Have you ever looked at a character in a movie and said, “Hey, that could be me”? Who/what was the character?

Actually, Laura Prepon in That 70's Show is the closest I can think of, and she didn't come that close, and then she dyed her hair blonde. I don't know; I'm failing at these questions. It could be that I don't think of myself in movies. I really don't know. Take my failure as illuminating something about myself, please.

Bonus: Have you ever been in pictures–Hollywood film, porno, homemade video, or other type of film? Tell us about it. …and is it on YouTube :D

Never been in a Hollywood film. I've been in some amateur porn which no one will ever see, and some amateur films of a non-pornographic nature (and I do mean that; I'm not talking about art films) which I doubt highly anyone will ever see. And even if I were on youTube (and I may be, you never know) I wouldn't tell you. You can look at any redheaded chick on youTube and wonder if it's me, if you like.

Flash Fiction Friday - Happy Jack

Hold me.

His arms were around her, pulling her close, out of the light which still tickled her pale skin. He was insistent, his hands laying claim roughly to her flesh.

Thrill me.

A shiver ran up her spine as his fingers sought her moistness. She arched her back, pressing herself further into his domination, begging to be owned, used, anything he wanted. Her breath came in gasps as he ravaged her fiercely, painfully.

Kiss me.

Her lips were wet with her own spittle as he finally gripped her and forced his tongue down her throat, hungrily devouring her, cutting off breath. She swam in pleasure in the darkness, eyes shut. She wanted to scream, in pleasure, pain, or both, but he took the breath away.

She should have expected what came next, but they never do. He looked down at her, still warm but unbreathing, and sighed, not in sadness but satisfaction. Her staring eyes didn't see him walk into the shadows again; they looked unseeing up as if accusing, or maybe longing for more.

---

First off, PB is back, and if you haven't shown him some love, do so now.

Secondly, I will collect the participants here (well, I've started collecting them from people who've said they were playing, but I'll try to catch others that fall through the cracks and also update the links to point to actual stories if I can), possibly not as quickly as I ought to, but as soon as I can (which will probably be Friday evening; mea culpa mea culpa). I'd use the linky gadget, but I don't have one. As a stop-gap, please check out each other's blogs (how smart am I, huh?). Also, if I eventually don't put your name on the list but you did participate, please let me know either by comment or email.

Our list of participants so far:

• Advizor
• France
• Max
• Silly Mistress
• Hedone
• Word
• Linda
• Robert
• TemptingSweets
• Dangerous Delight
• Maybe you next?

Thirdly, while I probably don't have to say this, the song I'm quoting is U2's Hold Me Thrill Me Kiss Me Kill Me. It might take you back, it might make you cringe, or maybe you've never heard it before, in which case I have to ask what the heck you were doing in 1995 because they played it a lot. I am not over-fond of the song, but it came to mind suddenly, and in a blinding flash I knew I had to use it, and remembrance of Batman Forever be damned. It's not Batman and Robin, right? Right?

Fourthly, I wrote this out longhand because the only time I had for composition was away from my computer. I don't like writing longhand. Maybe that's where the violence sneaked in. I'm surprised I was able to read it after I wrote it. My handwriting is so bad it probably should be criminal. Anyway, I'm posting it pretty much unedited, although I didn't get lucky and had to subtract one preposition in order to make the word count even (such a harsh taskmistress am I). The preposition was "in" in case you were wondering.

Fifthly, the title is in reference to Jack the Ripper, in case you were wondering. The tone came from somewhere not entirely pleasant in my psyche. Maybe that portion of my psyche came up with the song too; I don't know about that. It's a better picture than my story, but since Saturday, I'm lucky to have written anything which wasn't sobbing.

I could go on and on about Jack the Ripper but I won't because frankly I've never found it that fascinating, at least not as fascinating as some people. Red Jack and I have never seen eye to eye, I guess. He's been more or less successful in the cinema and on stage, been seventeen or eighteen different people, and killed a strikingly small number of prostitutes when you think about it, at least in comparison to the bozos who populate prime time television. Nowadays, I'm sure he'd be on Doctor Phil talking about his upbringing.

Instead, I'd like to ask you to contemplate kittens frolicking in a meadow filled with daffodils and butterflies. Got that in your head? Okay, good.

Love

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Enjoy that, because it may be the last time I quote the Bible (I think it might be the first time too). I'm certainly not going to do it for FFF this week; I was just saying that to have a bit of fun. This week you'll be getting something far more terrible than Bible verses.

The lines above get said a lot at weddings. Maybe it's supposed to remind the happy couple what they're signing up for. Maybe it's just a good bit of the book to quote, as opposed to the more hellfire and brimstone passages (although I've been to at least one wedding where the latter were relied upon extensively as fodder for the priest). Maybe it's tradition.

But I think it's a damn shame, because Paul wasn't talking to the Corinthians about weddings. There are weddings in the Bible, and this passage isn't about them at all. This passage is part of a larger whole talking about the necessity for loving one's fellow man in order to love God (or something; I'm not a theologian, I just work here). Which is a wonderful sentiment, really; love of others is indeed a great thing, and if you go in for deities, I wouldn't worship one which said, "Hating your fellow man is the best way to love me." But the passage is translated often enough as "charity" instead of "love." I like "love" better, because "charity" sounds like a canned food drive being long-suffering, humble, and trusting. But it's not about weddings, and in many cases, weddings aren't about love anyway.

Which is too bad, because Paul was right. Love is all of those things. Or rather, all of those things are love. Loving someone means all of those things and more.

So why is it so damn hard? Why is the greatest thing in human existence so skull-fuckingly, ball-bustingly, gut-punchingly hard? Maybe the only good things are hard things.

TMI Hate Multiple-Choice Personality Tests

Seriously, I dislike multiple-choice personality tests, because it's impossible to shoehorn the vastness of the human experience into four options. Impossible. Sure, a certain subset, maybe even a majority, of the population might fall into the four categories listed, but unless it's a simple yes/no answer, the options aren't ever going to be enough.

So I'm doing this under protest, but I'm also doing it because I can't think about some things right now and this is easier to deal with. Plus I get to be all bitchy and complain-y.

1. You encounter a good looking lost and frantic tourist looking for the airport. You:

1. Shrug your shoulders, feigning ignorance.
2. Find the shortest route on your smartphone and get him/her a cab.
3. Direct him/her to the nearest bus stop.
4. Get your car, pick up his/her luggage and speed to the airport.

(A) is a pretty bush-league move, although it hasn't been established that I actually know the directions to the airport. In fact, since I don't have a smartphone and I don't live in a place with plentiful cabs (not to mention that there's no airport here either, but let's leave that), plus I have very little in the way of money for fares for myself, let alone others, if I didn't know where the airport was, I'm afraid I'd probably have to either confess unfeigned ignorance or point them to the bus. Their attractiveness has nothing to do with my decision. I'm happy to give directions, but I'm not always that great at it. Also, the question doesn't say whether this tourist has a car. If they do, then I could, if I knew, give them directions and they could drive themselves. This is one of those tests of selflessness, but it's kind of muddled up with other stuff. So lets go with: (E) Give them as much help as I was able to give, up to and including saying, "Hold on, let me run and get someone who knows where it is."

2. You’re taking a vacation alone. Your destination:

1. Beach resort — I just want to relax and de-stress.
2. A group tour — I don’t want to worry about the details.
3. Wherever the dart lands on the map.
4. Every country with a hostel — my backpack is my home.

I don't like travel, really, so I'm going to go with: (E) Someplace quiet, inexpensive, and cold. Well, cool anyway. I don't want heat.

3. Blackout! You can’t watch TV, so you light some candles and:

1. Dig up some batteries and listen to the radio.
2. Invite the neighbors, light a fire and sing camping songs all night.
3. Find a friend and play games that don’t require electricity. . . Like chess.
4. Drive to the next town — oh sweet Wi-Fi, I’ve found you!

(E) Read a damn book. Jesus, you've got the fucking candles, and books work without power. Have for thousands of years. The written word is a wonderful thing. Are we all so desperate for anything but books? I mean, sure, if the power was out for an extended period I might want to find a friend, if only to help me eat the ice cream in the freezer. But I'd be reading books and sleeping.

4. The man/woman of your dreams has finally proposed. The relationship is perfect, they are everything you’ve ever dreamed of and ever wanted. They are also a multi-millionaire and want you to sign a prenuptial agreement. Which would you do?

1. Sign it
2. Just not get married

What's in this prenup? If this truly is the person of my dreams then it ought to be fair and reasonable. In fact, I'm not totally sure I could have a person of my dreams who was that concerned about a prenup, but okay, I don't care one way or the other really. But I'm not just going to sign it. I'm going to read it. As long as it's not total crap, then I'm happy to sign it. If I were getting legally married, it's just another aspect of that legality. So (C) Read it, discuss it with my affianced, then probably sign it. It's unlikely to be the deal-breaker in a relationship of mine.

5. If you were going to marry an inanimate object, what would you marry?

I'm not sure I'd want to marry an inanimate object; I'm not super into marriage, and it seems like I wouldn't be getting much benefit in exchange. But okay, if I have to choose, I'd like to marry Berkshire Hathaway. It's a corporation so it's legally an individual, and it's rich. It could provide for me. Plus it knows Warren Buffett and Warren Buffett seems like a reasonable enough guy, for a super-rich Wall Street type anyway.

Bonus: You’ve just inherited a manufacturing plant that specializes in plastics. What are you going to make?

There's a Graduate joke here but I can't make it. I'm going to plow a lot of money into R and D on cellulose and other renewable/recyclable plastics. Then I might go into cheap farming supplies for poor countries. Basically, anything helpful, and nothing military. Then I'd promptly go bankrupt and live out the rest of my days as a burbling heap in the gutter. Basically, my life plan, only with a plastic factory somehow involved.

There, I managed to answer all the multiple choice questions with a write-in. Haha, I win. Now back to depression.

Have You Ever

Have you ever been in love with someone, but they didn't know and you couldn't tell them? That's bad. Unpleasant. It's like stewing. If the reason you can't tell them is a good one, it's still bad, but being a coward makes it worse.

Have you ever been in love with someone, and they knew but weren't in love with you? That might be worse than silent longing. It might not be so bad if you can get over it, but unrequited and ongoing love is tough.

Have you ever been in love with someone, and they loved you back, but neither of you could do anything about it? Distance, circumstance, time... whatever it is. That just sucks.

He got married today. I don't know whether he loves me still or not; I haven't spoken to him in years. I only know about the wedding because of a mutual friend. He might have been the one, but probably not; we were never that great together, when it came right down to it. Hell, maybe he never really loved me at all, not like I love him. We didn't deserve each other. And I hope he's happy being married, and that he doesn't think about me at all. I try not to think about him too much.

I miss Sveta horribly right now. Not as a substitute, but because I feel like my life is collapsing around me and I don't know why, and I love her. Love doesn't need a reason. Love holds you and tells you you're going to be okay. Am I going to be okay? Probably.

I talked with Mike. He never liked the man in question, never thought he was good enough. Mike's a good brother; no one's good enough for me. But even though I really had to tell him, had to tell someone and I couldn't tell so many people, it didn't help. I'm not even sure how much I can tell Sveta, not now, not without crying. But I could tell her a little, and she could hold me and tell me it was okay. I was going to be okay.

I'm sorry that this is all so cryptic and melodramatic. I just can't talk about it.

If you love someone, maybe it's better not to tell them. Maybe you should just be alone forever, drifting from place to place, never really being with people, not really. Maybe you should say "I love you" and not mean it, keep that part of yourself locked up. Maybe.

Flash Fiction Friday Challenge - 9/23/11 - Really

Sorry about the picture confusion. Let's try this again. Oh, and thanks to everyone who brought the issue to my attention. I really don't know what happened.

UPDATE! PB is back and you should all go over to his blog to send well-wishes because I'm sure he'd like to read them. I hope he won't begrudge us this interim challenge, which I think we should all dedicate to whatever we feel would be a good way to help him get better.

Your challenge for this Friday, 9-23-11, is to use the picture above (the source of which I don't know) to write a flash fiction piece. It should contain an even number of words. In addition, it should include a quotation from a poem or song lyrics. Because I want to be crazy and all. Also because I don't feel like counting. Giving us a link to the song or poem you're quoting would be nice, just so we can enjoy the whole thing. And I guess Biblical passages will be allowed too, if you're really being crazy. Hate mail should be directed to Pat Robertson, please.

I will collect entrants, so if you leave a comment below I'll include you in the list. And I don't administer spankings because I know all you deviants enjoy it too much. If anything, if you break the rules, I'll be very disappointed in you and shake my head sadly as if to say, "You're only cheating yourself, you know." Yeah, that's right, I'm hardcore.

You could link back here (well, linking to the blog would be best since I'll be putting the entrants list on my submission, which I haven't posted yet so you can't link to it) but consider giving PB a bit of credit as well, since I'm really just stumbling around in his shoes.

Flash Fiction Friday - Strawberries

“What a load of crap. His cum does not taste like strawberries. Nobody’s cum tastes likes strawberries.”

My roommate was adamant. “I’m telling you, it does. Maybe not fresh strawberries, but strawberry jam.”

I could sense weakening. “You’re backpedaling now,” I said, pursuing the issue. “Pretty soon it’ll be, ‘Okay, so not like strawberries, but a bit fruity.’”

“I’m holding firm on the strawberries.”

There wasn’t much she could do but hike up her skirt and prove it. “Lucky for you he came inside you,” I said, licking my lips in anticipation. And of course she was right; his cum did taste like strawberries.

“Next time I’ll say watermelon,” she said, lying back satisfied as she always was after I finished off her dates.

---

I really hope to get back to my prolific and extroverted self next week because while this week has been decent, the weekend is a bear. So just one this week, and really no commentary other than to say that no one has ever played this game with me, but I'd be happy to try if someone offered a taste test.

PB is still MIA (where are you PB?) so France has stepped up to the plate and delivered a challenge which includes a sexy picture and a cruelly-restrictive word limit. No, only kidding; I like challenges that are a bit out of the ordinary. And I'm definitely calling next week. Unless PB would like to make me stop by reappearing, and as I said, I would be happy to forgo the pleasure of the challenge in order to have him back. Anyway, France is also collecting, so stop by her blog to see who else is playing.

TMI Dating

From TMI, as always.

1. You’re on a speed date. You’ve got 7 minutes with the potential partner. You already know the person’s name. What are the first three questions you would ask?

I don't know; I'd probably choke under pressure.

1. What do you like to do for fun?
2. What do you do for work?
3. How do you feel about your family?

Like I said, choke under pressure. I couldn't speed date, I don't think.

2. Have you ever participated in speed dating? Did you get a regular date/second date out of it?

Nope; as I said above, I'd probably freak out and run screaming. Or wish things had gone that well as I stutter through something that sounds like a series of questions.

3. Do you participate in online dating? How many dates have you had as a result of online dating sites/matches?

I've thought about it at various times in my life, although probably less for "dating" and more for "meeting a group of people with whom to do a thing." But I've always felt a bit sketchy about that aspect of it, and as far as actually dating, it's complicated.

4. You are attracted to:

a. Who people are?

How could you not be attracted to who someone is? That's an incredibly metaphysical question. I suppose if one were attracted to what people have, then you could answer no to this one, but otherwise, come on.

b. What people have?

I admit that occasionally I've fallen for a guy with some material possession. But it's not a deciding factor; if the guy is a total asshat, no amount of money or number of possessions is going to change that.

c. What they can do?

I have a soft spot for musicians, I'm afraid.

5. What “little red flag” will cause you to end a date or immediately decide this person isn’t for you?

Well, it's a bit of a cliche, but if someone is rude to the waiter, that illustrates something about them that I wouldn't like. Rude to anyone other than me, really. Other than that, it's just a vibe thing; sometimes guys in particular give off a certain vibe which leaves me totally cold. I haven't dated as many women, and I usually don't blind date women.

6. What do you feel you need to sacrifice or have sacrificed to be a part of a relationship?

If you view compromise as sacrifice, you're headed for trouble. It's not a bargain. Relationships are mutual commitment, not mutual sacrifice. Sure, one could look at putting the other person's interests first as being a sacrifice, but I don't know that I'd call that a good thing. You're not exchanging your own goals for the relationship, you're both changing goals to be mutually beneficial. Something like that. When relationships become negotiations, either you're in a sitcom or you're in a rocky relationship.

7. If you cooked for your date, what would you cook?

I'd ask what they wanted to eat, and if I could cook it, I'd try. If they told me to pick something, I'd think of something interesting. I'm a cook who likes variety, so one date might get vindaloo and another might get pasta. I make no guarantees if you ask me to choose and don't give me any restrictions.

8. At the end of a first date, how would you kiss your date?

It depends how the date went. I've had sex on the first date, and I've cordially shaken hands at the end of the third or fourth. The kiss or lack thereof doesn't always mean much for the future of the relationship either; I went on to have a long-term loving relationship in both of the example cases. It's also important to note that often I don't "date" in the traditional sense, so it's harder to say what the "first date" is.

Bonus: You just put up a profile on a dating site. You must describe yourself in 10 words or less. What are your 10 words?

"Redhead who chokes under the pressure of 10 words seeks..." Crap. "Redhead, twenties-ish, non-monogamous, pan-sexual, semi-funny, well-read, quasi-emotionally-damaged, dating-challenged, nymphomaniacal, overly-hyphenated." That's a first draft. I'd definitely work the hyphens though.

Just So You Know

If you're looking for something vaguely sexy, read the post before this one. If, on the other hand, you're looking for a peek into the non-stop cavalcade of fun which is Planet Lexi, look no further. Or maybe read this and then read the one before if you haven't already because this is just a weekend update.

So I, as the British say, "hurt the walk." Or, to put it another way, I bruised my hip. I am not fatally injured, but this is a risk I take in my job. I get injured, mildly, all the time and don't bother to mention it because chicks dig scars. Wait, I'm a chick and I don't really care about scars one way or the other, so there's that premise out the window. I'm also not silently stoic. I don't mention it mostly because it's everyday crap and doesn't bother me that much.

But this one is bothering me because while it doesn't keep me from working, it does keep me from being comfortable in many situations, up to and including kneeling, sitting, or straddling. Can you guess what activity using those three positions that I miss the most? If you said "air hockey," go to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect $200.

So I guess I actually "hurt the fuck" as 'twere. Not that I was doing a tremendous amount of it in any case, but it's less comfortable now. I hope the swelling will continue to subside as I have a day or two of lighter duty before the weekend. Because I'd really like to bring you all a fun and exciting story which involves penetration. Really I would. I'm selfless like that.

Also, as France is doing FFF this week, I call next week if PB is still incommunicado. I hope he's okay. I'd happily sacrifice my opportunity to give everyone a corking challenge if it would bring him back.

I Never Thought

When I was young sex was something you did. Or something you looked forward to doing. Maybe you watched, but you either watched because you couldn't yet or because you were waiting your turn, and maybe those two reasons were one and the same. Or you watched because no one was around and you needed a quick release.

I'd never really thought about being watched, not until I was there with him and he leaned back and said, "I want to see you." I wasn't pretty. I wasn't someone that people wanted to see. I was just doing this for me and him.

He ran his hand down my cheek. "I want to see you," he said again, and then moved away, as if removing the temptation.

Some things come naturally to some people. Taking my clothes off, in an entertaining way at least, never did for me. I choke in pressure situations. Whenever I'd tried it, just because I knew it was expected, it never seemed right. Sure, people said they enjoyed it, but it never felt right. And now he wanted me to take off my clothes and he wasn't going to help at all. And this wasn't just some goof. I had to do it right.

So I started crying. Because that's what I do when I choke in pressure situations. Always have, and probably always will. Even if the situations have changed or become less common. I can't help myself. Tears started to trickle down my face.

His arms were around me in an instant and he held me close. "I'm not asking because of me," he said. "I want you to know how beautiful you are. I want to see you. I don't want a strip tease or something tawdry. I just want to see you."

I stopped crying and sniffled, which I'm sure made me all the more attractive (or maybe it really did; I can't fathom some things that people find attractive). "Close your eyes," he said. "Don't think about me. I just..." He trailed off, because I knew what he was going to finish with. He wanted to see me.

Closing my eyes didn't help, but at least I didn't have to see his reactions. If he had reactions. I reached up, eyes closed, and slowly slipped my blouse over my head. Then I undid my skirt and pulled it off too. "Lie back and let me just look," he said, not an order, a request, almost a plea. "I wish you could see what I see."

I could, or I thought I could. He saw a gangly kid with practically no curves, not skinny enough or maybe too skinny, no boobs to speak of either. I wasn't fucking him, so why would he like what he saw? That's the only reason anyone really wanted to see me, because if I was naked then I'd put out. But I kept my eyes closed and let him look, because otherwise I'd see him looking.

Then, when the tension got too much for me, or because I wanted to prove that he was going to get some, I don't know, I pulled my bra off too. And that's when the closed eyes finally tuned me in to my other senses, and I heard him suck in his breath, almost inaudibly. And I realized that he wasn't looking because he wanted me, or rather he was looking because he wanted to see me, like he said. He was telling the truth.

I could have opened my eyes then, because I no longer minded the idea of him looking at me. But I kept them closed because then I could almost feel his eyes on me. I arched my back a little, then slid my panties off and lay back again, legs spread. I felt the heat of his gaze on my pubis, or maybe it was my own internal heat. I didn't gyrate or talk dirty, I didn't finger myself or suck my thumb, I just lay there until he asked me to roll over, then I lay on my stomach until he shifted his weight and reached to touch, not my pussy, but the small of my back, running his hand down my shoulders and spine and resting it just above my buttocks. It was warm, sexual in a non-sexual way, just a touch.

We fucked after that; it wasn't like I was going to stop at that. I didn't open my eyes as he helped me roll over again, kept them closed as he fed me his cock and then got between my legs and mounted me. I didn't open them until I came the first time, his hot breath on my face, looking down at me as he thrust over and over. And I found myself wishing, as our eyes met, that there had been a third person in the room with us, so I could have felt two pairs of eyes.

I won't say that it was the last time I was awkward, or the last time that I felt unattractive or was ashamed of my body. Adolescence is tough, and just being alive is tougher. But before that, I never thought of myself as something worth looking at. I never thought that eyes could caress me. I never thought.

Flash Fiction Friday - Lessons

little girl lost in the snowy woods he howled to his pack but crafty crafty him did not say where. All the crunching and munching would be for him only him only him only. And he put on his best sad poor me face and crawled out to lure her.

She did not frighten. She did not know him for who he was. He was not used to human speech but he growled the question and she told him of grandmothers and so on. Little girl supper grandmother desert. How the tongue ached for the taste, but he was patient patient so very. She should not walk so far in the cold he told her as best he could. He could show her a shorter way he lied.

But mother had taught her well and she did not trust a varg even so scrawny seeming. So skipped she on fearless and he was hungering belly rumbling body aching. Patience is limited even among the oh so very crafty. And he leapt at her fangs glowing blood flowing claws showing.

And the magic in the red cloak struck him down dead. Some little girls are not lost or interested in losing. Remember this my children.

---

I've never really bought into the whole "all faerie tales are really about sex" thing. Sure, it's a lens through which you can look at them, but Little Red Riding Hood is not just about a girl losing her virginity, if it's really about that at all. You'd think I might be one to read sex into things, but actually I'm pretty happy with sex being where it belongs; I just happen to think that sex belongs in places with which other people might disagree. Basically, my thesis is that all the sexualization of faerie tales is an academic trick to give literature majors something to talk about. I didn't exactly lead a low-sex childhood, and my parents never once used faerie tales as illustrations of sex.

That said, I started to think about different ways one could tell faerie tales, and it hit me that maybe wolves tell a similar story, except the lesson is that sometimes seemingly-easy prey is actually really bad news. That's basically the story of Red Riding Hood; she's smarter than she looks, and in the end the wolf gets the chop. If he'd just worked with his pack instead, maybe either they could have brought her down or the wiser elders could have warned him away. He thinks he's so smart, but in the end, bam, dead. Sure, for the purposes of the length requirements I did make some cuts to the essential plot, but the meat is still "wolf sees girl, wolf tries to trick girl, girl is not tricked, wolf loses patience and acts alone, wolf winds up dead." That the girl and the grandmother occasionally wind up dead too would be of little consequence to the wolf.

I tried to work a bit of oral history and a different tone into it, just to think about how a wolf might sound telling a faerie tale. And because we tend to anthropomorphise animals in stories, I've had the wolves lupomorphise Red just a bit, since they need to be able to talk to her and humans are too stupid to understand wolf.

And now for the sex. Because, see, maybe I'm wrong and Red Riding Hood really is about virginity. In which case, this is a cautionary tale; some seeming virgins are not, and some virgins aren't eager to give it up to the first "wolf" who comes along. Or maybe it's all about the clitoris. Don't be rough with her, boys; she'll get you in the end. Tongues, not teeth.

See, I can say pretty much whatever I want.

Thanks to Max (that's a link to the challenge page, since there's no real formal collection of names this week) for hosting this week, and I hope PB is okay. Go over there and see who else might be playing, or throw your own hat in the ring, or just be a troll. Ooh, next week maybe I'll do The Three Billy Goats Gruff...

Home and Mostly Sober

It has been not just a week, but this week in particular has been week-y. You know the kind. The ones you wish you could just fast forward through, even if you had to put up with the consequences of maybe having done things in fast forward non-optimally. Okay, maybe that made no sense at all, but it's been that kind of week. Or month.

So tonight, when some of the cast and crew said, "Hey, you want to go out?" I said, "Sure." In fact, those were my exact words. I don't have the money, and I'm tired, and I don't love all these people all that much, but hey. I wanted to get really drunk, but I couldn't because I have to drive. Still, I had drinks, which was probably not the greatest idea from a legal standpoint but I am not a good person.

We were all crammed into the place, elbow to elbow, and I was seated next to this cute guy who's been flirting with me for a while but never actually doing anything other than flirt. My flirt-fu has been a bit off lately, so I'm not sure that it's not my fault that he hasn't done anything. It may well be that I've been turning him down without realizing it. But the drinks were flowing and I was basically pressing against him without being able to do anything about it, and before I knew it he'd reached under the table without anyone noticing and put his hand on my thigh.

I'm an old-fashioned girl. If a guy puts his hand on my thigh, I'm either going to slap him or encourage him. And there wasn't enough room to slap him, so I rubbed my leg against his under the table and gave him a sideways glance, and he returned it with this cute little smile, and pretty soon his hand was between my legs. He wasn't really doing much with it, just kind of resting it there, but every so often, without even looking at me, he'd rub with his middle finger. I wished more than anything that I'd been wearing a skirt, because I would have let him fingerbang me under the table in a heartbeat. Sadly, my pants were in the way. But I still enjoyed it.

I didn't want it to be too obvious, so I didn't put my hand in his lap. Because it would have been pretty obvious. Also because I'm a whore. Glad I've established that. Anyway, I wasn't interested in just sitting and rubbing, so I said, "Get up, I've got to go to the bathroom," and once I was out I gave him a little look and nodded in the direction of the bathrooms. He raised an eyebrow, but he didn't do anything else, and I was all set to kick myself in the ass all the way home. But I trailed toward the bathrooms, which luckily were fairly secluded and not crowded at that time of night, and waited for a few minutes until, miracle of miracles, he showed up. "Sorry I was being cryptic," I said.

"What did you want?" Okay, so I was being way too cryptic or he was being stupid.

The point was made that I'd enjoyed his hand and would be happy to continue in some other fashion, away from the hustle and bustle, and though I would probably have tried bathroom sex at that point, he didn't seem like that was his style, so I told him to meet me by my car. We said our goodbyes and headed out, and maybe we weren't fooling anyone, but whatever, it's not like no one else in this cast is shacking up. At my car we hopped in and headed off to a darker area of the strip mall to conduct our business, which turned out to be him stroking me off with his hand in my panties, then me giving him head in the passenger seat. I can still taste him on my tongue. I wanted a fuck but he played coy, so in the end I drove him back to his car and then went home. And now I'm writing this and wishing, really wishing, that I had a magical bedroom in a box which I could produce and whisk people away into, where comfortable surroundings would make sex more possible. Damn it.

It somewhat depresses me to think, now, that actually I wasn't all that into sex either, at the time anyway. It would have been a lot of effort. I'm getting lazy. I was perfectly happy to get off, give a bit in return, and then go home. Sex would have been a production. Not worth it. Which is not where I really wanted to be. Also, in the morning I'll probably kick myself for shitting where I eat. But oh well. He's just an actor.

Anyway, it's more action than I've had in a while, so I'm not really complaining. Nor was I really drunk. And who knows, maybe we'll get together again in circumstances less cramped both spacially and temporally, and we can have a show fling. Haven't had one of those in a while, and I'm really not looking for anything steady. And the way my career is going, it's not like I can do that much damage by canoodling with an actor anyway.