Are you talking to me?

She didn’t have to speak. Her lascivious smile and the prurient way she moistened her lips with her almost-too-pink tongue said everything. I stood, poised to make my move, then quickly sat back down. She was looking at the guy behind me.

Blech, Eww, Yuck

I couldn’t remember how I got here; my mind racing to recall the suppressed details. What was at stake? Did I have to go on or should I just give up now. My intestines knotted from the smell. Curse you Joe Rogen.
 

Campfire

Friday Fictioneers prompt for September 5, 2014 ©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

We sat by the campfire and we were all taken in by the cacophonous crackle of capricious combustion. John told inappropriate jokes that were utterly obfuscated by one too many horizontal meters of beer – which is to say one horizontal meter of beer. My knees burned because they were somehow, through the contorted way I sat on the camping chair, the closest part of my body to the flames. Tired of John’s incoherent babbling, I contemplated how a few inches can reduce the heat exponentially and how my own hands could be used as a heat shield; as if I just discovered that
q = ε σ (T_h⁴ - T_c⁴) A_c.

Goodbye

The breeze carried something with it as it ruffled the bedroom curtains; unwanted, yet inevitable. The summer ended and with it the dream. It was time for autum reality and responsibility, time to leave behind carefree and wonderment. Maybe again next summer.

Secret Grammar Police

Nobody remembers how it all started, but it was about thirteen years ago. I can’t go on living in this constant fear. They lurk in the shadows waiting for the slightest mistake. We need to stop running. We need to fight back.

 

Expectations

 

My experiences with Buddhism are very limited. I sat with a Zen group for a few years, decided to take the ten precepts, and became a Buddhist. Shortly after I became a Buddhist the group I sat with changed and there were expectations of the members. These expectations were not easily met. They expected time and service that, with family obligations, were unrealistic. I withdrew from the group and stopped meditating – the second of which I regret.

It is expectations that I have been struggling with of late – mine and others. I try not to have expectations. I am nowhere near perfect with this, but I try. I find that expectations lead to disappointment much more frequently than they lead to delight. As a brief example, my 4-year-old has an expectation about how his sandwich should be cut – on the diagonal or straight across. If I cut it the right way everything is fine. No delight; just fine. If I cut it the wrong way there is major disappointment. If he did not have an expectation as to how his sandwich was cut there would never be this disappointment.

Often times, when I am going to be involved in something of any importance, I run through the situation in my head. I script the event. I build the perfect situation leading to the most desirable outcome. Clearly, this will not lead to good things. I have set the bar at an unattainable height and anything short of that is going result in disappointment. I try not to do that. I am often unsuccessful.

In my experience, Zen teaches complete mindfulness about what you are doing. At this moment, I am writing this post. I have no image of the result; no expectation of its quality or its length. Because of that, I am not worrying about how this post is going to turn out; I am just writing it. That is not to say that I will not bother to edit it before I post it or that I do not care about its quality. Far from it, but the experience of writing this loses something if my mind is occupied with those things.

I am not am not an expert with this, but I find that when I try to be fully in the experience of what I’m doing and I have no expectation for the result that I am happier for it. When you have expectations about something, you prevent yourself from fully experiencing your life at that moment. This happens because you are now comparing what is happening to what you what wanted to happen. By making this comparison you are now split. Part of you is experiencing and part of you is analyzing.  At the very best the reality and your expectation coincide perfectly, but you are only half experiencing it. More likely, however, you realize that the reality does not coincide with your expectations and you are disappointed.

What happens if you remove the expectation and live fully in the moment? Now you can fully enjoy the experience for what it is—ideal or not. But also, you remove (or at least significantly reduce) the possibility of a bad experience by never setting the bar at all.

Janis

What happened? How did we get here?

I’d heard the story countless times, but it still didn’t make any sense.

It started simple. Who brought the complication to the party?

Do the math. Ha! Easier said than done.

Eviscerated by Janis Joplin.

 

200 Meter Butterfly (Long Course)

 

1:59.98

Her time got my attention. She broke the elusive two minute mark at a division III meet.

When she climbed from the pool I knew. She put Daryl Hannah to shame.

A mermaid in the water and a goddess on land.

 

 

Signs?

If I Had a Girl (Short Skirt / Long Jacket)

Hey Mami, American Girl, Southern Girl

Almost Lover, Young and Beautiful

She’s So Mean, Gives You Hell, Ring of Fire

Desire, One More Night, A Little Less Conversation

Falling in Hate, Hallelujah

The Church in Aci Castello

“He taught me how to read people’s eyes. He taught me how to anticipate their actions, how to know what they were thinking before even they did. ‘It was the eyes,’ he would say. ‘Always watch the eyes.’” Daniel explained their relationship as we stepped off the train in Catania. The warm breeze felt good in the hot, Mediterranean sun.

It was a bit of a walk to Aci Castello. Daniel went on about Antonio. “He always talked about Sicily. His grandmother lived here her whole life. Antonio loved to come visit her. He said he was going to move here when he retired.”

“Is that why you know he’ll be here,” I asked, “for his grandmother’s funeral.”

Daniel slowed his pace and stopped. He looked at the ground then raised his gaze to the sea on our right and stood like a statue deep in thought. I read his eyes. He was conflicted. He started walking again.

“Yes,” he said finally, “he loved his grandmother. There is nothing that would keep him from her funeral.” We arrived at the village and made our way to the church where the funeral was to be held.

We walked in at the back, the nave open before us. Daniel blessed himself with Holy Water and surveyed the interior in a manner that said, “We’re not really here to pray.” He did that wherever he went, a 360 degree surveillance tactic that was taught in close quarter, urban combat training as a SEAL, reinforced as a CIA field agent, and distilled to perfection – by Antonio – in his current trade. It was impressive to watch really; within two seconds Daniel could walk into a room and tell you how many people were there, their approximate ages, their sex, what they were wearing, and if they were a threat. If he expected a threat, the time to locate it was practically instantaneous.

There was no one there. Daniel turned to me and whispered, “Two in the vestry.” I had no idea how he knew. I didn’t hear anything and there was no direct line of sight. “Sit down,” followed and I took a seat at the far side of the rear most pew. If things didn’t go according to plan, I wanted to be out of the way.

Daniel walked a few rows ahead, genuflected and entered a pew. He knelt in prayer. The scene before me was both logical and ironic.

Daniel lowered his right hand and slid it into his linen jacket towards his left breast where his Sig Sauer was secured. As he did this, Antonio and the Priest walked in from the vestry. Antonio looked right at Daniel as he walked into the room as though he already knew he was there. He whispered something to the Priest. The Priest turned and left immediately.

“Ciao, Daniel,” Antonio said in a calm voice. “I’m surprised they sent you. Who’s your friend?”

Daniel sat up on the pew. “I’m teaching him the ropes.” By this time the Sig was loosed from its holster and resting on Daniel’s right thigh.

Antonio walked to the front of the high alter where his grandmother’s body lay at peace. He kissed the fingertips of his right hand and rested it on the casket. He stood for a moment as if in silent prayer and then turned towards the pews.

 “Can we take this outside?” Antonio asked knowing the answer.

“I’m sorry friend, but you were the one that taught me to never give up a tactical position.”

The corners of Antonio’s mouth turned up slightly.

The scene was linear now. Both men stood in the isle looking at each other, reading each other’s eyes. Antonio was calculating odds, evaluating routes of escape, trying to figure out if Daniel would carry out a contract on a friend as close as he was – Daniel’s eyes said he would. Daniel, Sig in hand, had the clear upper hand. He was reading Antonio’s eyes anticipating his movement, but he couldn’t help feel that something was not right. He had Antonio. There really was no escape, but his eyes… his eyes held a genuine calmness.

Our linear scene started to morph into one without logical boundaries as Daniel started to make sense of the situation. He slowly turned his head to his left and stared down the barrel of my Desert Eagle 44. He lowered his right hand to his side.

“I’m sorry, Daniel. How is it that you never saw it in my eyes?”

Trust

 

 

She was blindfolded, bound. There was complete trust, but fear always crept into her mind. That’s what made the game worth playing. I pushed the button on the stiletto, an unfamiliar sound. She drew a sharp breath and withdrew… then she smiled.

 

Teddy

Copyright-Ted Strutz

It was ironic, the view from dentist’s office at the St. Alban’s Home for Unwanted Boys in Eastport. Sure that wasn’t the official name, but that’s what us inmates called it. It’s strange how quickly things change. I remember playing with Teddy every day: stealing 5 cent candies from Cooper’s Candy Shop, running around the docks where the fishing boats would push off before the sun stirred, pestering the ferry goers coming to work at the cannery. It was an accident, one that I will have to live with every day. I miss him more than anyone. Isn’t that punishment enough?

It Wasn't Enough

Birds flying high

Do you even care

Sun in the sky

Darkness everywhere

Reeds driftin’ on by

Give me what you’ll share

Fish in the sea

Your wants disappear

River running free

Drowning in fear

Blossoms in the trees

But autumn is near

Dragonfly out in the sun

You’re the hawk close behind

Butterflies all out havin’ fun

They're the poisonous kind

Sleep in peace when day is done

Your body here, I’ve lost your soul and your mind

Stars when you shine

Where did we go wrong

Scent of the pine

Rots where once strong

Yeah, freedom is mine

We don't belong

We gave it everything we had, but it wasn’t enough.

It’s a new dawn

It’s a new day

It’s a new life

For me

And…

Me Tarzan, You Jane

Angie and I walked into the club. This wasn’t your ordinary club and this wasn’t your ordinary night. This was a swingers club and tonight was a BDSM party. If you’ve never been, stop repressing your sexual desires and go; it’s a hell of a time. Angie and I don’t swing per se, but BDSM is on the table and the sexual energy in the room can take whatever you bring and supercharge it.

Angie wore a black dress that screamed, “You’re getting lucky tonight.” The silver studded belt, the black pumps, and the stockings that elicited stares and comments at the liquor store we stopped at on the way added, “And you’re going to really like it,” like a kinky afterthought.

We brought a bottle of wine—47 Pound Rooster merlot, a big bottle—and gave it to the man at the door. He ran it up to the bar for us. We put some things in a locker and headed upstairs. The upstairs room is set up as a nightclub. Dance floor, bar, DJ booth, but the stripper pole in the middle of the floor belies something more. Tonight though, tonight there was no mistaking this for a night club.

The wax play station we passed on the way up the first set of stairs, the naked guy with the blindfold strapped to a St. Andrews Cross at the mezzanine, and the abundance of dungeon furniture around the dance floor -- this was going to be a good night. Angie and I headed to the small buffet for a little dinner before the night really began. We got our plates and sat down on one of the couches facing the bar, and that is when we saw her. She was hot, really hot, as Angie put it, “porn star hot.”

I think I saw her first; of course though, I’m a guy. Guys don’t miss women like Jane. She was talking to some people at the bar, and she was wearing a small white ruffled skirt. I turned to Angie and said, “Wow. Look at her.”

Angie replied, “Who?”

“Really?!” I thought, but I said, “The one in the froufrou skirt.” By this point Jane was shimmying out of the froufrou skirt I used to single her out. The top she was wearing immediately followed. The only thing that remained was the strappy, fuck-me high heels and an amazingly sexy G-string tattoo that also seemed to say, “Fuck me.” Okay, everything about Jane said, “Fuck me,” but you get my point.

“And now she’s naked,” said Angie with a bit of smile.

I went up to the bar to get some wine for Angie and me… and to get a closer look at Jane. I got the wine and on my way back to Angie, I politely interrupted the conversation she was having and said, “Excuse me, I don’t mean to be out of line, but you are incredibly beautiful.”

Jane smiled and introduced herself. I went back over to Angie and gave her a glass. The two of us sat there a while finishing dinner, drinking wine, and staring at Jane. Not casual glances, but rather something more akin to what a stalker would do. Angie brought up her breasts first. She said they looked fake. I think I said, “So? They look awesome.” Angie agreed. I got up.

Angie said, “Where are you going?”

“To tell her that you can’t take your eyes off her breasts,” I replied, not thinking I had the balls to go through with it. Thank god I did.

“Excuse me again,” I said, “but my wife can’t take her eyes off of you.”

To my delight she replied, “Well, I should come over there then.”

We walked back to where Angie was sitting, and Jane sat down next her. I sat on Angie’s other side. Some pleasantries were exchanged, but Angie and I were so taken with the Jane’s breasts that neither of us remembered her name. When we asked again, she said, “Jane, like Me Tarzan, you Jane.” Angie said that she wouldn’t forget it now. Neither of us did.

I said to Jane that Angie was a little shy, but really wanted to touch her breasts. I’m not sure if that was true, but I got things this far; I was going to try my luck. Jane complied. I asked if I could as well and again, Jane complied. I was starting to like Jane. I commented on how spectacular they were. She said, “They are really fun to wear.” Jane asked if she could touch Angie’s breasts. I desperately looked around for some guy to fist bump. There was none. Fuck.

Angie said, “They are not as nice as yours.” I didn’t have a chance to disagree with her before Jane did. Out came Angie’s beautiful breasts, which were at once covered with Jane’s hands. Angie’s hands on Jane’s breasts, Jane’s hands on Angie’s breasts, and no one for me to fist bump. Oh well, I would just have to enjoy the show.

I said, half joking and all hopeful, “I’m just throwing this out there but if either of you want to use your mouth, I’m perfectly fine with that.”

Jane replied somewhat sarcastically, but with a tone that hinted that she liked the idea, “You’re just throwing that out there, are you?”

Unfortunately, we didn’t get to that. We were informed that the wax was ready. Angie was eager. Jane was up for anything. Down we went.

Angie undressed, showing off her amazing body and got on the table face up. Sir Todd talked a bit about wax and then began the demonstration. He dipped a ladle in a crockpot full of paraffin wax and dripped it all over my wife’s naked body. She groaned with pleasure. “Drip it from higher and the wax is cooler when it hits the skin,” he explained as he raised the ladle. “Drip it from closer and it’s hotter.” She winced as he lowered the ladle.

The wax congealed in a second skin over Angie’s breasts and stomach. As she started to moan, I turned to Jane, took her hand, and gently placed it on Angie’s thigh. Jane didn’t hesitate. She started to stroke Angie’s thigh, leg, whatever. We were done with the dripping part, now the fun part. Sir Todd used a sharp blade to shave the wax from Angie’s body. Jane and I peeled wax from wherever we could. Angie enjoyed the hands.

Now it was Jane’s turn. Jane didn’t wait; she knew what she wanted. From the first drip she was moaning. “Pull my hair,” she said to me. It was my turn to comply. “Squeeze my throat.” I instantly reached out and took her breath. She tapped my hand to release. I did. She put my hand over her mouth and nose. I squeezed tight so she couldn’t breathe. She tapped my hand when she need air moaned and put my hand back on her mouth. Sir Todd’s wife asked if she could use her Hitachi on Jane. Jane nodded in agreement. The hands, the wax, the breath play, and mostly the Hitachi made Jane come hard.

We peeled the wax from her perfect body while she recovered.

It was time for the fucking machine demonstration. Seriously, it was a demonstration of a Sybian and a Fuckzall. Angie loves the Sybian. She volunteered quickly to be the demo bottom for that ride. Jane sat next to me with her hand on my thigh through Angie’s tour of ecstasy. Judging by the repeated screaming, Angie was more than a little happy.

When Angie was done, she came over and sat on the other side of me from Jane. This is where things got really interesting, for me anyway. They were caressing each other’s chests while the Fuckzall demo went on. Somewhere during the evening—I don’t remember when—I noticed that pulling Jane’s hair made her shut up, groan appreciatively, and get really submissive.

I turned to Angie and said, “You want to see something funny?”

Angie said, “Yeah.”

I pulled Jane’s hair and again she groaned and looked completely at peace. I let go and she snapped to. I did it again, same response. This time I turned her head toward mine and played my mouth on hers. I licked her lips; she opened her mouth and—ever so slightly—stuck her tongue out. As I liked and sucked on her tongue I reached my other hand to the back of Angie’s head, grabbed her hair, and slowly moved her mouth to ours. The three of us kissed and licked and moaned. Angie’s hands once again found Jane’s breasts and Jane’s once again found Angie’s. And I still was left without my juvenile need for a fist bump.

After a few amazing minutes we were interrupted by the guy who gave the class. He was cleaning up and we were in his way. Seriously?! Fucking cock-blocker! Not cool!

Jane got up. Angie went down. Angie loves cock in her mouth and tonight, with everything else that had happened she was eager. Jane was still in the area. Given how everything else had been going, I figured I'd try my luck one more time. “Jane,” I said, “If you have a minute we can use a hand.”

Jane came over and started to caress Angie’s breasts again. “That’s not what I had in mind,” I said.

“I know what you had in mind,” she replied as she slid a hand to my cock and started stroking it. She continued for a while until she had to leave for a scene of her own.

The rest of Angie’s and my night went on without our new friend and it was incredible. We didn’t see Jane again until we were leaving for the night. Jane left us with a kiss and one last breast squeeze for Angie, a kiss and hug for me, and a few memories that will not soon fade.

On the car ride home, Angie commented, “Oh my God, She was the hottest girl in the place.”

I quickly corrected, “The second hottest girl in the place.”

Either way, I was hanging with the two hottest ladies in the place.

To any guys reading this… virtual fist bump!

My Brat

                           

I don't like yelling and fighting, and I can't quarrel.

Bullshit! You love messing with me.

Shut up, I hate you.

I love it when you get feisty. You are a brat, aren't you.

Sorry, Sir. I am a brat. Your brat.

 

Fear

We all have fears. Some are rational; some are irrational.

Fear of spiders. Fear of heights. Fear of erect penises (ithyphallophobia – it’s real, look it up). I wish mine was that simple.

My fear is of losing the person I love. Loss can be in the horrible sense of something terrible happening to her or it can be in the horrible sense of her leaving me. I have no basis for this fear. I imagine the likelihood of the former is quite slim. And I am certain that she loves me very much, so the likelihood if the latter, too, is quite slim. So, why does this fear persist?

I spend more time than I should rationalizing away this irrational fear. Recently she went to Miami with a friend. I was nervous. Miami does not strike me as safe place; I’ve seen Dexter. I told her to text me frequently. She did, but not enough for me. There are millions of people that pass through Miami every year and all but a minute handful make it home okay. That knowledge helps but not completely. I still worry.

The jealousy is the worst though. I watch myself creating scenarios in my head at the slightest thing and I manage to get myself in quite the tizzy. I make jokes, but I don’t like it. It’s odd. I don’t have a problem with certain things – a guy putting his hands on her body on a nightclub dance floor – but text her a couple of time in an evening and the green-eyed monster begins to emerge like Mr. Hyde on a caffeine kick.

I always keep the cattle prod close at hand for when Mr. Hyde makes an appearance. I know that my fear is unfounded. I know that it is irrational and there is no reason for her to suffer from it. It is my problem; it shouldn’t have to be hers. I love her too much for that. I guess she knows now.

Genuine Love

Caged by genuine love, she aches for unfulfilled desires.

Veiled content, quiet struggling. She goes on pretending.

He hears her silent song. He loves her.

Sorrowfully he slides her prison key from around his finger.
His heart dies, hers is set free.

Smoochyface

 

“Ugh. He’s messaging you again. I get a weird vibe from him.”

“He’s harmless.”

“I know he’s harmless, but I think there is more than friendship in his head.”

“I told him I’m not interested in anything more.”

“I know, but I get a weird vibe. I think the messages are kind of leading him on.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Okay.”

Phone vibrates.

“Can you get that, I’m painting my toenails.”

“It says, ‘I’m going to bed, smoochyface, I’ll talk to you later. I think the kids call it duckface. I call it smoochyface.’”

“Bullshit, what does it really say?”

“That is what it really says. I told you, I got a weird vibe.”

“Give me the phone. Holy shit. What the hell! What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it… smoochyface.”

 

 

 

 

 

Super Dad

“Where is he, mom?”

“You know your father. He’ll be here. Has he ever missed the important days?”

“Seriously?!” I ticked off countless events on my fingers. “Really, mom, do you want me to keep going?”

“But this is your Med School graduation. I’m sure he’ll be here.”

“I know he’s a busy man, but this is getting ridiculous. He always puts everyone else first.”

“Look, here he comes.”

“No, that’s a bird.”

“Is that him?”

“Nope, that’s a plane.”

“Oh yeah… how about that?”

“No... wait, that’s him.”

“Sorry I’m late, son.”

“It’s okay, dad. I'm glad you're here.”

 

Claire

I live my life in a series of flashes. Jumping from event to event never quite knowing how I got there. The only constant has ever been Claire. She has been there for as long as I could remember. Usually provoking me into doing things that I didn’t really want to do, but I always felt comfortable with her. Even if I wanted to, I was helpless to keep her away. When I woke up she was there lying next to me with a smirk on her face, like she knew something that I didn’t. She was always there.

I knew she was a problem, but she was my problem. I connected my identity to her. For better or worse she was part of me. I believed that until I was standing over the beaten and bloody body of a man who bumped into me in a bar. The events are sketchy. I remember not wanting to hurt him. I was happy to walk away, but Claire wouldn’t let that happen. She pushed me to do something. “Are you going to take that? You’re not a man! You don’t deserve me. Don’t be such a pussy!”

I told her it was okay, but she kept prodding. I screamed at her to leave me alone. The patrons looked at me like I was crazy, but she kept pushing. “I’ll leave if you don’t handle this. Then what will you do? You can’t live without me. Be a man.”

The security camera had to tell the rest of the story. I picked up the bottle of Allagash White that I had been drinking and brought it down on the back of this poor guys unsuspecting head spilling beer and blood on the distressed wooden floor. He crumbled. I stopped on the screen. I looked at the body and then off screen. I must have been looking at her. The bouncer lurched towards me, but I dropped with the remains of the brown glass bottle in my hand and landed it on the man’s neck just under his chin with the full weight of my body on top. Frothy pink bubbles spilled from the fresh wound as he gasped for air.

I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up in an emergency room handcuffed to a hospital bed with a uniformed officer outside the room. Claire was nowhere to be seen. I was woozy and drifted off again. When I came to I saw her through the glass window in the waiting room. I half wished she hadn’t come, but I was glad she did.

She threw the officer a smile and then walked right past him and came into the room. Why would he let her come in? I had to be in some pretty serious shit. She looked me in the eyes and told me how proud of me she was. I screamed at her, “Do you realize what you did? Do you realize that we are not going to be able to be together anymore?” She laughed. The officer opened the door and barked at me to shut up. Clair mocked him. I laughed. She could always make me laugh.

A doctor came in to talk to me. Claire sat quietly in the corner. He asked me how I felt. I told him I was fine, that I wasn’t hurt. He said he knew that I wasn’t hurt. He wanted to know how I felt. Claire laughed again. I told her to be quite. The doctor asked who I was talking to. Claire introduced herself. He ignored her so I introduced her. The doctor was polite to Claire and then excused himself from the room.

When he returned he had a syringe and vial marked Haldol. Claire started to panic; I asked what the needle was for. I felt fine. All he said was that it would help. Claire was yelling, telling me not to let him give it to me. I struggled; the officer came into the room and I stopped. He gave me the injection.

Claire stopped panicking. She looked at me with depressed eyes, turned silently and opened the door to the emergency room treatment bay. She stepped through. I called after her, “Don’t go. Where are you going? I need you. Don’t leave me.”

She never looked back, she just kept walking.
 

Last Night

She moaned a little different; her hips softly gyrated with the sting. I surveyed my work, the lovely shades of red that would soon give way to purples and yellows. I traded the koa paddle for the single-tail. Time to get serious.

Unwanted Changes

Unwanted Changes

Copyright – Erin Leary

It’s the Sunday mornings alone with him I miss the most. We would follow the old post and rail fence down the country road to the pond at the edge of our property. It’s been a while since he had the desire to go fishing with me. It’s been a while since he had the desire to do anything.

The happiness was replaced by rage, the smiles with scowls, and the undying love with anger. Where did my baby go? This is not how an eight-year-old should be. I would give my life for one more smile.

Difficult Decisions

It’s hard to believe a year has passed.
My heart still lays on the asphalt where it happened.
Time heals all wounds.
Bullshit! Nothing can heal this.
Living without them isn’t really living.
Halcion or the 9mm?
Not much of a choice.

Survivor

 

Lined up at the edge of the shallow trench arm-in-arm with my brothers, soldiers behind. I stare at the abundance of worms churning the fresh soil below. “FIRE!” I feel nothing, we fall together. Fighting tears, I lay still. Earth covers us.

Too Late

There she was… in an instant I was alive…

Through each moment… she brings life to me…

Our short time… our brief journey… happiness and sorrow…

She lies still… her breath has left…

The crow sits where the Cuban Emerald once flew.