Sunday, May 29, 2011

dream within a dream within a .....

These words are open mouth kisses and legs spread wide.  make me hard. make me weep. send me your letters of discontent. blunt force trauma. i want you one very first last time. you have two fingers. give me one and wear my ring. two hands. he has one I hold the other. one heart. penetration. you are in my head.

I wasn't sleeping . I read. A flash-light sits beside my bed. I've started a thousand books. books  in stacks on the floor. My note-pad and a pen.
I draft the type of characters that one would dream up in the middle of the night:

'He is a teacher. He teaches creative writing. She is his student. He has never had a best-seller, he writes a blog under a fake name. He likes her, but she isn't his first. He always waits. She said she would wait until she was 18 and that was in May. He wanted to wait until she graduated. she couldn't wait. He told her he didnt want to do everything. "everything?" at least until she was out of his class. in college or something. He knew the window of opportunity was closing. It wouldnt be exciting. summer. His wife. His charming home. Writing alone at his old wooden desk. one word than two. another and more. nothing.
She met him at the hotel. he texted her the room number then deleted the exchange. They both would write about this. She laid on the bed. He told her to pretend she was alone. "show me what you do when youre alone and need cock."  He had never spoke like that to her. Never said the word "cock" so graphic.this was blunt force trauma. their fantasy. "we can't do everything" he reminded her. She wore a skirt and light blue buttoned down blouse. she sat up on the side of the bed. He was in a chair. she leaned back and spread her legs apart. she pulled her undies aside and rubbed her pussy. shaved. she was close to half his age. He  unbuttoned his pants, pulled out his dick. breathing. air conditioner hum. she watched him. he watched her. moans. she looked at him. offering. He was close to losing it. full of cum he is  liable to to anything and he knows it. just cum..just cum and things will go back to normal. he got up and walked over to the side of the bed. He slide her panties down,  they were wet in his hand. He held them in one hand and stroked his dick with the other. just ....He orgasms in a thick stream, shooting one, two, three times. On her thigh. she moans. her face is flush. watery eyes. maybe she came. maybe she didn't. He goes to the sink and gets a hand-cloth, runs  it under the water. He cleans off her thigh and lays beside her on the bed. no words. both staring at the popcorn ceiling. the she told him it was intense. that she wanted to feel him inside her so bad. she whispered about college and her latest boyfriend. He thought she was a decent writer. but what can you do with that? He touched her skin. delicate. he thought about taking his wife on vacation. He thought about other fantasies he's had lately. then he removed the rest of her clothes, took off his and told her to get on the covers. they were naked and she could feel how warm his skin was. it was the start of summer.

Friday, May 20, 2011

when the right things aint easy

       Before i left for work i checked her water dish to see if it needed filled. The bowl wasn't there because she's no longer here and it's going to be difficult getting used to. It was the right thing to do for her, i have no doubt. I couldn't selfishly keep her here just because id miss the breathing and sleep twitch. She was 15, had a pretty killer dog life. but was getting worse and worse and i wasn't going to let her suffer. I had my vet, she comes right to the house, it was peaceful.  i put on her favorite chill music.

I've had dogs for the last 17 years and now none. On the way home for lunch i mashed down on the accelerator eager to get home to check on her as i do everyday. call her name, let her out, give her a treat,  pet. pet. pet.

- Posted using BlogPress from my Lovers Hot Box (I-pad)

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

A supposedly fun thing I'll never do again

     I bought this new shave gel and the fragrance instantly takes me back years ago when I was vacationing with my ex. We were young and crazy and somewhere in the subtropics. Costa Rica. surfing and fishing, drinking and fucking. I brought along our video camera that recorded on 8mm video tape. she did some of the dirtiest things. I figured why not marry the slut and it wouldn't really be married since we are way over here and we live way over there. It didn't count. Just the honeymoon and sunshine and drinking and kissing other girls and the things you did in the men's bathroom. . 
The smell of this Nivea shave gel brings it all back and gets me hard. it makes me want to go searching the box in the back of the closet for the tapes. Problem is, the camera died years ago, I have no way to play them. It's comforting just knowing I have them. It's not good revisiting shit like that anyway. memories of a forgotten youth. Whores in love in a foreign country living out a fantasy or two. every time I shave my face I hear Spanish guitar and waves crashing, I see moonlight and think of the couple we went home with from that crazy dive bar. Slow dancing. Your lit cigarette and quiet promises. I wonder where the fuck you are. And does it still count?

Monday, May 16, 2011

do you like getting dirty teXt messages?

I'm from the generation just before Internet. From just after the fall out of 70's swingers and cb radios to the  apocalypse of divorce. From isolation to connection. Music on vinyl records to the 8 track to cassette tape to compact disc to mp3. the Ipod.  Beta-max video recorders, to vhs, laser disc,  and dvd.
From three local TV channels, tin foil and rabbit ears to OnTV, HBO, ESPN, DirecTV, tivo, Dvr, 60" high definition flat screens. holy shit.
    OMG.dont forget LOL (but thats getting ahead of myself)  The car phone as big and brown as a brick, beepers, cell phones,  text messaging,  and cam.  Overload. Give me back my comic books and flashlight under the covers. but I'm not scared. not really. I was young and looking for anyway to get off and all this new unsupervised time alone with my books was great , but then HBO after dark.  "The Hitchhiker," 'walking a lonely road where terror awaits around every curve. Walk with him, and you'll find yourself in some very dark places...places you wouldn't want to visit alone. That's why he's there. That's why he's always there. He won't hold your hand - but he'll make sure the only ones who get hurt are those who deserve to.'  
    I'm  from riding my bike 8 miles to the flea market just to pick up back issues of Penthouse magazine,  to now having instant porn,  to chat rooms, love@aol, instant messaging, livejounal, craigslist, myspace, tumblr, twitter,  it's everyone, everything - here and now at my finger tips. There is virtually nothing i cant know or have. there isn't a kink or fantasy i cant fulfill with the like minded. Yes, it turns out there are people out there just like me, with similar tastes in art and music and fucking. maybe you? love isn't any easier, never was never will be, but damn if we cant email or text to meet up in some shady motel on the side of highway 1. and damn if i cant place my zappos order for the 25th pair of sneakers i don't need.
The something different is the isolation that i once had and sometimes still crave and at other times don't want to be anywhere near again. i like the unknown and i like the silent moments between them. the sunshine at the end of my street. i like for you to tell me i can have you - if i wanted, if i were closer. oh,  the secrets we keep. and ending the chaos, all this mind fuck pretty picture overload is as simple as shutting it off, saying goodbye. stop writing, stop posting, stop staring at those little icons, stop dreaming, stop ......but now that we've made it this far, who can do that?  promise me thrills, I'll promise you jet-packs.  

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

yours not mine

She stood with her knees slightly flexed, one foot forward, head down, her hands at belt level, held slightly out from her body. Arrested motion. I saw them right away, lustrous black bees,enormous, maybe a dozen, bobbing in the air around her. At twenty yards I heard the buzzing.
    I told her not to worry, they wouldn't sting. I moved in slowly, as much to reassure her as to keep the bees from getting riled. Burnished, black-enameled. They rose to eye level, dropped away, humming in the sun. I put my arm around her. I told her it was all right to move. I told her we move slowly up toward the path. I felt her tense up even more. Her way of saying no, of course. She was afraid even to speak. I told her it was safe, they wouldn't sting.  They hadn't stung me and id walked right through them. All we had to do was move slowly up the slope. They were beautiful i said. I'd never seen bees this size or color. They gleamed, i told her. They were grand, fantastic.

  As I held her close she gave me a look that spoke some final disappointment. As if i could convince her, stung twice before. As if i could take her out of her fear, a thing so large and deep as fear, by going on about the beauty of these things. As if i could tell her anything at all, fake lover, liar.
     We held that inept stance a moment longer. Then i took her arm and led her through the field.