‘a shared solution’

 





      A small sliver bucket packed with ice sat on the table.  Chilling within it were a number of beer bottles.  I removed one bottle, unscrewed it’s top, lifted it to my lips and drank it’s contents down in full.  I then placed it on the table in front of my seated companion. 

      ‘Now we’re one short’, she said. 

      ‘Not necessarily’, I replied. 

      ‘How so?’, she asked. 

      ‘Lift your skirt and part your legs’, I said. 

      ‘No’, she said. 

      I grinned. 

      ‘You’re wicked’, she said.  

      ‘You’re a coward’, I replied. 

      Slowly and somewhat reluctantly, she thought the idea over.  While she did, I picked up the bottle and placed it between her legs.  Her eyes grew wide.  I pushed it in closer and stared directly in her saucers. 

      ‘You’re not kidding’, she said. 

      I shook my head. 

      A long hush followed during which we stared at each other intently.  I saw her questions.  She read my answers.  I broke the silence with three words. 

      ‘Just do it’, I said. 

      Smiling weakly at my sportive jest, she took the bottle and carefully pushed the tip out of sight.  Her blonde curls formed a garland about it’s brown hued neck.  The sight gave me an appetite. 

      ‘Good girl’, I said. 

      She did not look up. 

      ‘Go ahead’, I said,’now … fill it.’ 

      Another hush followed during which I kept my eyes fully fastened upon her midsection.  At length, she leaned back and screwed up her face.  A muffled rushing sound soon commenced.  Her long eyelashes trembled as she filled the bottle neary half full.  When finished, she opened her eyes and then delicately drew the bottle out and up.  She handed it to me. 

      I took it from her. 

      ‘Your turn’, she said. 

      ‘I knew I liked you’, I replied. 

      As my compliant companion looked on, I first drew the bottle up to my nose and took in it’s acrid bouquet.  I then slowly circled it’s lip with a single finger and teasingly licked it even more slowly clean.  I pursed my lips in pleasure. 

      ‘It’s definitely you’, I said. 

      She stuck out her tongue. 

      ‘Now … finish it’, she said. 

      Two buttons and a quick zip and my own skirt quietly fell to the floor.  As many of you know, I seldom wear more.  My companion was not surprised either. 

      ‘You always plan ahead’, she said. 

      Nodding, I placed the head of the bottle gently into my nest and carefully closed my thighs tight.  I raised my hands high as a healthy stream nearly filled the bottle full.  I then slipped the bottle out and held it up admiringly. 

      ‘Show off’, she said. 

      Her eyes followed mine as I looked at the cap sitting on the table.  I picked it up, turned it over and screwed it back on.  Back into the bucket the bottle then went. 

      ‘No one need ever know?’, she asked.  

      ‘No one … ‘, I said. 

      ‘Except us’, she replied.



     See ya.  You know who  ( one bottle too few is one friend too many )

‘what she wants’

     I lay waiting for her on my bed.  She walked in and sat down beside me.  A question buzzed and spun in my mouth like a wasp in a jam jar.  I bit my lip. 

     ‘When I return I will expect to find you here’, she said. 

     I looked up.  Her eyelashes were jail bars. 

     ‘When I return I will expect to find you here’, she said. 

     I nodded.  She slapped me.  

     ‘Do you understand?’, she asked. 

     I nodded.  She slapped me. 

     ‘Do you understand?’, she said. 

     I nodded again.  She slapped me harder.  The jar tipped over.  I parted my lips.   

     ‘Do you … ?’, she asked. 

     It escaped. 

     ‘I love you?’, I asked. 

     She slapped me again. 

     ‘I love you’, I said. 

     ‘When I return I will expect to find you here’, she said. 

     I looked through the bars.  If it were not for her I would not know what I know. 

     ‘I will be here’, I said. 

     She got up and walked out.  I slid my hands under the covers.  I know my wrists are bound. 

    

      See ya.  You know who  (  she does what she wants  )

‘what we know’

 



      I want her.  I want her mouth.  I want her tongue.  I want to wrap my lips around her eyes and suck the desire that coats them.  She wants me.  I know. 

      ‘I want you’, I say. 

      She hides her eyes. 

      ‘I want you’, I say. 

      I know her.  We have the same eyes.  In our eyes, hunger hangs like soiled drapes.  In hers, the soil is fresh and nostril moist.  In mine, the dirt is old and heel dry.  It hurts to blink. 

      ‘I want you’, I say. 

      She does not look up. 

      Unable to reach her with my eyes, I reach out with my hand.  I touch her cheek.  She leans in.  An offer.  I pillow my palm and catch it.  

      ‘I want you’, I say. 

      She hides her face in my palm.  She parts her lips.  I feel the tip of her tongue lick across my life line.  Sampling me. 

      ‘I want you’, I say. 

      She hears me. 

      I wait.  She waits.  I feel her waiting.  She waits like a bell rope waits to be pulled.  I just hang. 

      ‘I want you’, I whisper. 

      I cup her face in both hands and lean in.  She turns and opens her mouth.  I open mine.  Full stop.  

      ‘Not now’, she whispers. 

      I pull back and bite my lip.  A trickle of saliva forms in the crease.  She reaches up and touches her finger to it. 

      ‘There is wildness in you’, she says, putting the finger to her lips.  ‘I can taste it.’ 

      I lean back in.  She turns away. 

      ‘Not now’, she says. 

     As she pulls away, my hand brushes across her blouse and catches a snap.  It comes undone.  She smiles. 

      ‘Not just now’, she says. 

      I blink.  It hurts.  I want her.  She knows.  



      See ya.  A woman undone  ( you want me, I know )

‘minding my mother’

           





      We met at her kitchen door.  I knocked and she promptly opened it.  She stood in the door way.  I remained just outside.  As I stared at the hem of her skirt, my mother’s prime admonition swam through my mind.  “Remember, my dear, the roots of desire grow best in fear.” 

      ‘You were waiting for me’, I said. 

      Earlier, I had asked her to do something for me and was now stopping in to see if she had complied.  I listen as my mother’s voice intones …”Obedience equals love alone.” 

      ‘Have you … ?’, I asked. 

      She nodded and then turned round.  

      ‘I love you’, she said, facing the empty kitchen inside. 

      ‘We’ll see’, I said, as I carefully lifted her skirt indiscretely above her waist.  The now exposed cheeks of her bare bottom proved her love.  She had done as I asked despite initial misgivings.  

      ‘Can we do this upstairs … please?’, she asked. 

      ‘No, we can’t', I replied, as I began to fondle her bottom.  She leaned back, resting the nape of her neck upon my right shoulder.  She turned her head and rested her lips next to my ear.  My love has baby cheeks.  

      ‘But …’, she said. 

      ‘Yes, and it’s mine’, I replied, as I took firm hold of both her babies and drew them discretely apart.  She did not pull away.  My mother was right.  “Push the bashfully brave hearted.” 

      ‘Must we do this … here?’, she whispered. 

      ‘You know the answer’, I said, as I ran my thumbs across her wrinkled hole.  Her warm breath moistened my ear.  I heard her lick wet her lips.  She was almost ready.   

      ‘Alright … I’m ready’, she replied. 

      A door opened.  Footsteps on the stairs.  Hallway floorboards lifting and falling.  She gasped and tried to pull away.  I held her tight and pushed my left thumb inside her surprised hole.  It gripped me tight.   

      ‘Oh no, it’s … ‘, she cried weakly. 

      ‘I know’, I said, ‘… and don’t you dare move.’ 

      The light in the hallway came on.  It was her mother.  She stood in the hallway’s entrance and looked right at us.  Neither one of us moved.  I felt every muscle in my lady’s body instantly spasm when her mom spoke. 

      ‘What’s going on, honey?’, she inquired. 

      ‘Nothing, Mom’, she replied.  ‘It’s only Eve.  She was just walking home and decided to stop by.’ 

      ‘Well, invite her in ‘, her mother said. 

      ‘Thanks, Mrs. James, but I can’t', I said, as I pushed my thumb deeper into her daughter’s anus.  ‘I just wanted to talk to Joan for a few seconds.  I really ought to be getting home.’ 

      ‘Okay, but be sure to remind your mother about our lunch tomorrow, won’t you?’, she replied, turning to leave. 

      I said I would as I awkwardly slipped my index finger into Joan’s cunt.  As I did, her mother stopped for a moment and looked back.  As she squinted at us, I tried to rub my inserted digits together.  Joan swallowed a squeal.  

      ‘You’re sure you can’t stay for a few moments, Eve?’, her mother asked. 

      ‘No, I really can’t', I replied.  ‘I’ve got to be going.  I’ll just talk to Joan for a few seconds then I’ve gotta go.’   

      As we watched her leave, I moved my other hand around to the front of her daughter’s skirt and lifted it up.  Before her mother was three steps gone, I had Joan’s clit between two fingers.  Her next squeal was harder to swallow. 

      Joan’s muffled report caused her mother to pause in her assent up the stairs.  I just kept rubbing and pulled gently on her love button.  My mother’s voice directed me.  “Always finish what you start.” 

      ‘Good night, Eve’, her mother said. 

      ‘Good night, Mrs. James’, I replied. 

      As her mother continued to climb the stairs, Joan relaxed and slowly leaned back once more.  I began to delicately stroke my fingers across her clit.  As her mother finished, so did she.  When she did, I popped my thumb abruptly out of her ass.  Joan couldn’t swallow her squeal this time, so I did.  It tasted fine … just like my mother said it would.   

      ‘I love you’, she whispered.   

      ‘I know’, I replied. 

      I walked home alone that night, but, in truth, I was not without company.  My mother was, as she always is, at my shoulder.  Beneath a smiling harvest moon, we spoke. 

      ‘Dearest mother … ‘, I began.  I got no further. 

      ‘There is nothing to say, my dearest daughter’, she replied, ‘love is all in the doing.’ 



      See ya.  The one and only  (  I’m coming, mother )

‘empty takes away’

   Forward:


       I moved back to Marfa, my home town, seven very long months ago to take care of my mother who is dying of cancer.  I had very happily fled Marfa nearly ten years earlier to attend college in Florida and more happily still had not been back since.  For some reason I still don’t fathom, my mother likes it here.  Perhaps the absolute nothingness that surrounds Marfa has an indescribable appeal to someone who grew up in the middle of a war zone.   I will probably never know for certain.   My mother can’t really respond to me anymore and on most days we just look at each other.   Empty is closing in. 

      Empty takes away.   An old woman told me this.   All I could think to say was, ‘Yeah.’   This was some time ago.   She’s dead now, but, in my head tonight, she is very much alive.   When I was half the age I am today, we stood together in our shared empty and let the eerie spectral light of a winter full moon flood over us.   Despite the cold, for a long time, that’s all we did.  I looked over at her only once the whole time.   I still vividly recall the way her face glowed like a bed of cooling coals.   I knew what was happening.   She was taking empty in.   I just stood silently beside her and took it in too.   As I did, I shook in my shoes.   Empty got inside of me that night and it filled me up.   It was a frozen dinner, but I didn’t eat it.   It ate me. 



 

 

      Empty is hard to see.   You can stare at it for a long time and never see it.   One long look into the old woman’s eyes and I could see she saw it.   Full of nothing, her eyes were full of the kind of hollow that you only see in owl’s eyes.   That old girl knew empty intimately.   In me, empty was just being born.   I opened my eyes and welcomed it in.   But empty takes time.  So, out there in the cold, for a very long stretch, we said nothing.  Silence is a yoke.   You use it by not using your mouth.   Long minutes passed.   Eventually, she broke the silence. 

      ‘Empty is hard’, she said and walked away. 

      ‘Yeah’, I said, but stayed where I was. 

      By the time I got my stiff limbs moving, the old girl was long gone.   She had walked off … somewhere out into the empty. 

      ‘Too crowded for her here’, I thought. 

      I know how this must sound, but if you had been where I was then, it sure would’nt.   Empty is a hard idea for outsiders to grasp.   Empty just takes too much time for them.   A friend of mine, a city girl, once came to visit me in Marfa for a week.   One night, we stood out where the old woman and I had once stood and we tried to take in empty together.   She didn’t get it.   Empty wasn’t quick enough for her. 

      ‘You have to let it find you’, I said. 

      My friend, after only a few moments, just shook her head and walked away. 

      ‘Yeah’, I said, to the empty space where the old woman had once stood long ago. 

      She knew that to see empty, you first need to grow hollow eyes.   As I walked after my impatient friend, I remembered the deep emptiness in the old woman’s eyes. 

      ‘Yeah’, I whispered, ‘empty takes away.’ 



    See ya.   Eve   (  out in the empty tonight … feeling mighty full of nothing   )

   Afterward:


       The old woman, I’m told, died out there.   Her body was found in the desert scrub many miles from her residence.   Apparently, she walked out into the nothingness to die.   No one really knows for certain.   My impatient friend is no longer a friend.   She wandered away from her home one day and hasn’t been heard from since.  Mom is almost as empty as a human being can get and still be called alive.   I am wasting away next to her.   Empty is nearly here. 



>

‘mommy does it too’

just like Mommy

Forward:  As some of you may know, Xanga is a social networking site sadly awash with teens, and even sadder still, tweens obsessed with what the fashion aware term ‘the waif look’.  Desperate little doughy girls fill their Xanga pages with weight loss tips, ’stay strong’ quotes and dumpster loads of ‘thinspo’ pics.  A few surfing sessions around Xanga is all that is required for any reasonable onlooker to come to the understanding that this site quietly subsidizes this regrettable behavior.  Nearly every page with a weight loss ticker at it’s top also includes side bar ads that deal with either dieting or recovery.  Simply good business?  I wonder.  I feel that the entry you are about to read is a natural extension of such wondering.

   
         Hey girls, you know those nasty belly aches that Mommy seems to always get at least once every month?  You know, the ones where Mommy has to take a ‘time out’ to go lay on her bed and hold her belly in her hands.  Yeah, one of those ‘time outs’.  Does it look to you like Mommy’s having fun?

         If you want to find out how Mommy feels when she’s having a ‘time out’, go ask your sister to ‘play Mommy’ with you.  After she says yes, tell her to sock you in your belly … really hard.  Then sock your sister back in her belly just as hard so she can play too. 

        Now, I’m not talking about the pain in Mommy’s back.  You know, the one she complains about nearly every morning at breakfast as she pours the milk on your cereal.  And you know that look she gets on her face when she’s buckling her seat belt before she takes you to school?  Yeah, that one.  Looks a lot like the one that your sister gets on her face when she can’t potty, doesn’t it? 

        Well, we know how your mother gets that, don’t we?  You’d think that someone as smart as Mommy would figure out how to get Daddy to stop accidentally rolling over on top of her in the middle of the night, wouldn’t you?  Some night soon, you and your sister should give Mommy a break and go sleep with Daddy … in her place.  Take a couple of steak knives with you, just in case Daddy rolls over. 

        Ever wonder why Mommy gets those belly aches of hers?  Sure, I know you have.  Well, you can stop wondering because I’m going to tell you.  She gets them because she eats too much food.  Yes, thats right, Mommy is a fat cow.  Yes, MOO, MOO, MOO.  Hips like those were made for dairy.  But don’t take my word for it, girls, do a little test and find out for yourself. 

        The next time Mommy takes a nap on the living room sofa, go quietly into her bedroom and open that drawer where she keeps that funny looking noisy thing that she uses on the nights when Daddy is ‘out with the boys’. Try on a pair of the panties she hides it under.  See how they fit.  Then come and tell me who the fat cow in your family is. 

        A smart little girl like you doesn’t want to end up like her big fat mother, now does she?  None of that writhing on the bed in pain shit for you.  No freaking way.  Better to simply throw up everything you eat first … long before it has a chance to do to you what it does to your mother.  Remember, pain is always a warning sign.  Anything that does that must be doing something evil. 

        All you have to do is stick a couple of your fingers back into your throat past the place where that funny hanging thing is, you know the thing that looks like one of Spongebob’s friends, and everything you have just eaten will pop right back up.  Yeah, it’s just that easy. 

        You can even practice doing it with the skinny bitch who babysits you.  If you ask her nicely, she might even show you some other neat tricks.  And you know what, sometimes even Mommy does it too … just not often enough.  Don’t you make that mistake.  See ya.  Eve  (  a post for all the little wanabees   )

Afterward: As a result of posts much like this one, I was often less than welcome on more than a few of the many ‘thinspiration’ pages that currently litter the landscape of Xanga.  Nearly every day, I would get at least one message telling me what an “evil bitch” I was and that I ought to “pull whatever I was sitting on … out of my ass”.  I guess I really must have been doing something right.  Ah … the good old days.

‘louisiana lullaby’

trembling in anticipation

 

Forward:  What follows is a short post that I wrote very early one morning while sitting on the edge of a pretty lady’s bed.  She and I had made love to one another the night before, and afterwards, had fallen asleep together.  I awoke earlier than my tired blonde bedbug, had an idea while laying half awake beside her and found the time to scribble it down, all before she opened her eyes.  From November 25 of 2007, here it is.  I call it a lullaby.  You can call it whatever you like.

       ” The feet are the eyes of the soul.”  Wish I’d said that.  What’s that?  Alright … I did say it.  But, more to the point, I have a question.  Have you ever taken notice of the peculiar way that feet sometimes speak all of a sudden?  Well … I have.  Give me a moment and I’ll tell you about it. 

        Late yesterday evening, while laying in bed with a friend, I whispered a sweet nothing into the night air.  Quite by surprise, at least to me, I received a reply … from my lady’s little toe.  Drowsy as I admittedly was, I sat up and took notice.  After all, it isn’t every day one gets a reply from a minor member of the toe family. 

        ‘I love you’, it said. 

        ‘Damn’, I thought, I was shooting for the whole lady and all I hit was her little toe.  I need practice.  I looked down at the toe.  It looked up at me. 

        ‘I love you’, it said. 

        Well now … what’s a girl to say, I ask you?  I hesitated, looked up at the ceiling searching for an answer, found none there and then looked down at the toe once more.  It looked up at me. 

       ’Tell me … that you love me’, it said. 

       ’Okay’, I thought … a small piece of the pie is better than none at all, so I’ll answer. 

        ‘I’m waiting’, said the toe. 

        ‘Alright’, I said, ‘I love you.’ 

        As I watched, the toe curled inwardly and rubbed itself up against it’s nearest neighbor.  Toes act curiously sometimes. 

        ‘I love the way you say ‘I love you’ , it cooed.  

        Well now … that touched me.  Somewhere deep inside myself, something curled inwardly and rubbed itself up against it’s nearest neighbor.  Smiling, I bent down and gave the toe a kiss. 

        ‘I love you’, I said. 

        ‘I love you too’, it said. 

         Just then, my slumbering companion stirred and opened her sleepy eyes for a moment.  I looked down at her.  She looked up at me. 

        ‘Did you say something?’, she asked. 

        ‘It was nothing’, I said, ‘go back to sleep.’ 

         In mere moments, she had done just that.  After awhile, I looked up at the ceiling and whispered softly yet another sweet nothing. 

        ‘I heard that’, said the toe. 

        ‘I know’, I softly whispered back. 

        As I watched, the toe curled again.  In reply, so did I. 

        A small story from a warm bed in the Big Bad Easy.  See ya.   Eve  (  just a little girl dreamily lost somewhere along the surprisingly romantic digital divide  )

Afterward:  In a few hours, I was once again on my way to little old Marfa.  I have not had a chance, since that morning, to see my sleepy lover, but I wager I will … in time.  After all, her loving toe will call me home.  See ya.  Eve  (  a lover of ‘digital’ lullabies  )

“why, no … it’s my name.”

   You don’t actually need to look like you can … if you actualy can … but don’t be surprised when everyone else thinks it might be better if you did.