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.

TMI Random Questions

I'm posting this in advance because I'm not at all sure I'm going to have any time this week. So yes, you get filler. If the actual TMI this week is any good, I might do that too.

1. What is your best friend's Mom's name?

Lee, I think. I say "I think" because I've really only met her once or twice, and I was taught not to call people by their first names.

2. Where is the weirdest place you have a mole?

I don't think I have any moles at all.

3. Who was the hottest teacher you ever had?

Maybe Perry? I don't know; I had a hot English teacher in high school who was probably hotter, but that's because I tend to rank women above men in terms of pure visual hotness.

4. Have you ever made out in a movie theater?

Yes. It's a waste of money, as people have pointed out, and I'd probably suggest staying home instead now, but back in my misspent yoot, it seemed like something exciting to do. I've never had sex in a movie theater though. It's more difficult that it seems.

5. What body part do you wash first?

I shampoo my hair first. It's just common sense, really; that way I can leave it in while I'm washing the rest of me.

6. Do you hover over the toilet in public bathrooms?

I'm not sure what this means. If it means, "Do you refuse to let your ass come into contact with public toilet seats?" the answer is not really, although I am a little squeamish about it. If it means "Do you lurk in public rest rooms?" then no and what have you heard? If it means, "Can you physically hover over a toilet in a public rest room?" then yes, I have achieved the seventh rank of bowl fu mastery.

7. What's the strangest talent you have?

I can do crazy things with my little toes. Actually, I'm pretty good at doing things with my feet in general; I think my handwriting is probably only a little worse writing with my feet (more of a comment on my handwriting than on my skill with my feet), and I can pick things up and so forth. That's the one I'll pick this time the question gets asked; next time, it'll be something else.

8. Do you have an innie or an outtie?

Innie.

9. What's your favorite flavored Pringles?

I'm not a huge fan of Pringles, and I haven't had any in ages, but I guess barbecue.

10. Have you ever been tied up? Do you want to be?

I have been a bit, and of late I've been desiring a bit of light bondage, possibly because I'm feeling in a rut. Or maybe deeper psychological reasons. I don't know; I just work here.

11. What was the last thing you ever got grounded for?

Teenage "rebellion."

12. Do you parallel park or drive around the block?

I can parallel park a semi (okay, so maybe not, but I've achieved the seventh rank of parallel fu as well). I'll always give that a shot if it means getting a better spot.

13. Have you ever had two dates in one night?

Once or twice, depending on your definition of "date."

14. How many times have you been cussed out?

Once or twice. When you work in high-stress environs, you expect it. But it doesn't happen often. It's better that way. Oh, and once when I was younger because someone's father was a jackass. I may have deserved to be yelled at, but he was a jackass.

15. Which shoe do you put on first?

Whichever one happens to show up in my hand first.

17. Have you ever been to a gay bar?

Nope. Not really my scene. I guess I could go to a lesbian bar or something and enjoy myself, but bars aren't really my scene in general. I like bars which don't have affiliations like that. If there happen to be gay people there, that's fine, but I'm just interested in having a drink with friends of any sexual orientation or gender preference.

18. Girls--

...are fun to look at? Is this fill-in-the-blanks?

19. Is there one thing all of your love interests have had in common?

Good question. Probably not, even if I restrict the definition of "love interest." I've had a fairly cosmopolitan group.

20. Did you French kiss before you were 16?

Yep.

21. Have you ever been cow-tipping or snipe-hunting?

No. Uncle Sam once threatened to take us cow-tipping, but not seriously. And I know better than to go snipe hunting.

22. Who is the last person you usually think about before you fall asleep?

I try not to think of anything specific right before I fall asleep because it keeps me awake.

23. Have you ever had a poem or a song written about you?

A few poems. One song, I think. Not worth bragging about.

24. If you had to choose to not ever wash your bed sheets again or not wash your bath towel ever again, which would you rather not wash?

Bath towel, disgusting though the options both are. The towel only touches me when I'm at my cleanest, and while it does get dirty, it doesn't anywhere near as quickly as my sheets.

25. Have you ever found anything in your parents' bedroom that was questionable?

To others, or to myself? I've found all sorts of things which would probably be questionable to others, but I wasn't fazed. This is not a good question to ask me for obvious reasons.

26. What was your childhood nickname?

Girly, actually.

27. When is the last time you played the air guitar?

Likely not since I was a kid. I feel foolish doing it, even alone.

28. Have you ever peeked in the opposite sex's locker room?

Oh yeah. But then I enjoyed the same sex's locker room too.

29. What's the weirdest thing you have done while driving?

Fingerfucking? I guess that's weird.

30. Have you ever bitten your toenails?

No, not really flexible enough and I don't really dig feet.

31. How do you eat your cookie?

As quickly as possible and then look around for another.

32. When working out at the gym, do you wear a belt?

I don't go to the gym. I've done workouts at home when I was off the job or felt like I needed to way back when, but never the gym.

33. Name something you do when you're alone that you wouldn't do in front of others.

I have problems performing certain things in front of people. I'm not a musician and I have crippling shyness about any musical things I might do. I'll only do musical things when I'm drunk.

36. How many drinks does it take before you get drunk?

Depends on the drink and whether I've eaten anything. Also on how hard I've been putting it away recently. If I've been doing some regular drinking, I have a much higher tolerance. If I haven't had a beer in weeks, then it's lower. And I get different drunk for different things. Also, what is "drunk?" I'd say it takes me at least five drinks within a fairly short period of time before I'm anything approaching drunk, although I won't drive after two. Driving drunk is bad.

37. Have you ever sniffed an animal's butt?

On purpose, no. Accidentally... well, yes, but it really was an accident.

38. How often do you clean out your ears?

All the time. They itch otherwise. Well, actually, they itch anyway, but I clean them a lot.

39. Do you scrunch or fold your toilet paper?

More fold than scrunch; scrunching isn't effective. But I'm not anal about it *rimshot.*

40. About how many times a day do you pick a wedgie?

Depends on my undergarment choice.

41. Do you have any strange phobias?

Other people's food.

42. Have you ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?

I once stuck a French franc in my ear... Oh, wait, you mean the other kind of foreign.

43. What is the stupidest thing you've ever done at a bar?

Ordered another when I didn't really have the money. I really don't go to bars that often.

44. Have you ever been dared to do something you totally regretted?

Yes. But my regret threshold is fairly low.

45. Have you ever called your love interest by an ex's name?

Once or twice. It didn't happen like it does in romances. Not a big deal. Maybe I'm alone there.

46. Have you caught a guy/girl farting while on a date?

Caught? I don't really pay that much attention to it; we all do it, I'm afraid, and unless someone grabs my head and shoves their ass in my face and then lets one go, I can't say that I'm all that hot under the collar about it one way or the other.

47. Have you ever played naked Twister?

No. Drunken Twister, yes. But never naked. I wish now that I had. It sounds like fun. They should make a Sexual Twister if they don't already.

48. Have you ever been drunk at work?

I've never been drunk at work, per se. I once was called upon to help do things after a show which I wasn't expecting, and so I was shit-faced, but it wasn't "work" even though I was doing what I usually do at work. Taking down lights after almost a fifth of tequila is not a good idea, kids. Ladders... it makes me shudder just thinking about it. But I really wanted to get into her pants. Not a good night, and I didn't get into her pants. Also, during a summer I'd like very much to forget which taught me to stay away from summerstock if at all possible, I did come to work high off my ass. I didn't plan it that way, and fortunately we weren't doing anything particularly taxing, but apparently not sleeping for a few days and then getting really high and being called in to work the next day ass-early combine to produce a Lexi who is still really high when the alarm clock rings. In my defense, there were about five other people on the crew who were similarly impaired because we'd all been passing the pipe the night before. Don't do summerstock.

49. Have you ever found your date's/lover's brother or sister more attractive?

Yes. I actually went from dating a guy to dating his brother once. Not proud.

50. Do you want to bring sexy back?

God, do I. And none of this Justin Timberlake bullshit either. I want actual sexy, actually back. Yes please, sign me up.

Long-Distance Sharing

One thing Sveta and I did do before she went back to school was stop by the toy store. This is because, get this, she's eligible for a single starting this term, and while she didn't get one (first term juniors only do if someone dies, I'm told) there was a chance. There's some kind of lottery or something. Anyway, she might get one during term; people move out or change up or leave or whatever, and then people on the list can move in. Again, different from how my college worked, but we were hopeful. So we went and got a few things, mostly because Sveta had some mad money to spend and wanted to go to a sex shop rather than buy things online. I also looked at the sadly-minuscule selection of male anal toys; I'm going to have to buy one online, and I really don't know what to get because I've never bought a toy of this type for a man before. Again, anyone who has any suggestions, I welcome them. But back to what's interesting.

Sveta wanted to buy a few things which would be more inconspicuous. She got an egg, wireless, that she can put in and then not have to worry about a big old vibrator poking out. She also got a set of balls, which I guess it's impolitic to call Ben Wa balls because these were called Kegel Balls, but the principle is essentially the same. And she bought two strings of beads and wouldn't explain why.

She left me one of them, but told me not to do anything with them until she said. Then, the other day, she called me up and said, "Okay, open up your beads and we'll put them in together and then I'll go to class and you go to work with them in." I tried to explain that it would be a lot harder for me to do my work than it would for her to just be in class, but she brushed off that objection. Finally, I let her talk me into it, as long as I could abort mission at any point. Besides, I needed a bit of a lift.

It's not the first time I've gone out with a toy. I wore a double dildo to class once, and believe me, that was tough to sit through. But I hadn't done it in a while. And these were not beginner's beads either; I was a little curious whether Sveta would even be able to get them in her ass, although she claims that she's ready for DP the next time we can get two willing guys together. It was a string, anal-safe of course, connected by a cord which then leaves a discrete handle when all are in. And when they're all in, boy does it feel intense. I was all for calling a halt to it right then, but Sveta said she wasn't about to pull them back out after just having worked them in.

I'm lousy at phone sex; I guess it's because I'm more visual, or maybe because I suck at talking dirty. I can do certain types, like daring people to put beads up their ass, but after that, unless there's something else, I'm no good. I think Sveta was hoping I might talk her off before class, but in the end I was saved by the bell.

Walking, let alone anything else, was tough at first. I had to pick baggy jeans so it wouldn't look like I was carrying a load in my undies. And then, true to my word, I went to work. It got a bit easier after driving, and it wound me up horribly until I had to excuse myself during a lull and go masturbate quickly in the bathroom. After that, it seemed like I'd just get into more trouble, so I had to press the kill switch on the experiment, and pulling them out turned me on so hard that I almost stayed and rubbed out another, but I couldn't. Needless to say, when I got home, I would have killed for a cock in my ass, or pussy, or really anywhere, but I had to make do with fingers because even if Dad had been able, he was asleep by the time I got in.

Sveta wore her beads all through class; she liked it so much she's thinking of doing it again, the minx. I think she's missing Ernst, physically as well as emotionally. It's hard to go from a regular thing to nothing at all, believe me. But at least she's got some new mechanical friends to help salve her wounds.

Despite the abort, I thought it was pretty incredible too. I don't know if beads are a good idea, but maybe a plug. I've got a few smaller ones. Or maybe some other shared experience. It almost makes me wish I had a cellphone. I'd really love for both of us to find our own guy, and then call each other while fucking. That would be the type of phone sex I'm good at.