Victory

Tuesday night. Clutching a beer in a cold room, still wrapped in my jacket, anxiously holding hands with friends and staring at the news projected on the wall.

I've been up since 4:30 and I'm tired and sore and drinking to steady my nerves as we wait, we all wait, wondering...

And then it flashes on the screen, and we're crying. Almost everyone. I'm choking back sobs and looking around and then I see him looking at me.

We've only spoken once or twice, but everyone's hugging around me so I use the excuse to fall into his arms, against his tall, lean body, and let him hold me.

"We did it," I say.

"Yes," he replies.

I let him go and glance over my shoulder at the doorway to the upstairs offices. I move away and walk in that direction, not sure if he's going to follow.

Footsteps echo behind me, but I don't look back. I hear the door close, and then I turn around. We're both smiling like idiots, and I step toward him, pressing myself against him. Our lips meet and it's electric, delicious, earnest and just a bit messy. Like high school when your mother might walk in at any moment.

I want to feel what's under that big sweatshirt, but I slide my hands up and rake them through his hair instead, and he slides his hands under my coat, fumbles with the edge of my shirt, raking it upward. His hands are cold but my shivers aren't just from the temperature.

He presses my back up against the door and I run my hands down to the waist of his jeans. He's hard already and I fumble with his belt.

His lips find that spot at the base of my neck that melts me every time. This young boy's got good instincts. I purr against him. His fingers are warmer as they slide below the waistband of my skirt.

"Is this a cliche?" I laugh softly.

"Do you care?"

"No," I whisper and finally get his jeans unbuttoned.

His hands shove my skirt up and push my panties out of the way and he slides inside of me, smooth and perfect. We're going to be missed by the fiftysomething people just on the other side of the door, but all I feel for the moment is his body against mine and twin waves of jubilation and pleasure riding up my spine.

My legs tighten around his waist and I gasp softly, shuddering, and bury my moans against his neck, digging my teeth in.

His voice breaks as he comes, a soft noise that makes me smile.

For a second we hold each other steady, then he lets me down and we shrug our clothes back into place, smiling, flushed. I go to open the door and he pulls me back for a second, kissing me again. He tastes saltysweet.

I step out the door first and into the room, and he waits behind me.

"Where'd you go?" a friend asks me.

"I just needed a second alone," I reply, still smiling.

(just a fantasy)

How to piss me off...

Do you know what im sick of today,
Do you want to know what really annoys me....

Its people asking me "when are you going to find a nice boy and settle down?"
Why do they feel the need to ask me?

I suppose its that they've now found "the one" or someone who these deluded girls think resembles the man they want to spend their life with!

But why does it matter to them that im single?
Why are they not comfortable in themselves to be on their own?

Why are the projecting that onto me?
Are they not strong enough that they have to be the whole to someone's half?
Does it make them feel better, the pity they have for me that im alone?
Does it reflect the pity away from themselves?

And WHY on earth would they worry themselves with the type of man I want?
Why is it always nice boys that your meant to meet?
I dont want a nice boy - I could have married 100 nice boys i've met along the way!
All who were perfectly suitable to settle down with, but who would bore me within seconds.

I want a man full of passion, lust and wild things.

I want darkness and pain and a soul to match my longings.

Forgive me, but how many nice boys have you met who are full of these things?
I may play with the nice boys occassionally, but i dont marry them.
I dont keep them, I cant.
I spit them up and chew them out, I cant help it - its just my way.
My character is too strong to yield to a nice boy.
I want a match for me, a challenge.....

I haven't forgotten you

We've been sadly, sadly neglecting you, I know. I wish I could tell you that it's been because I've been busy with fabulous adventures but sadly, that's not the case. It's been work, work, and more work, and in between there's this little election going on in the U.S.

Still, I have time to think about things for you.

I didn't dress up this Halloween, but many many times in the past I've laced myself into a corset, put on a wig, amped up the makeup and transformed myself into someone else for display, for your amusement and viewing pleasure. I've been an angel, a devil, a pirate queen and several comic book characters.

I dream delicious mixed-costume fantasies, my pirate meeting a space cowboy, zombie makeup mingling with my glitter lipstick, down a dark New Orleans alley on our third night of costumed revelry. Pretending we each don't know who the other is.

I want to wake up with bits of my costume strewn across the floor, makeup smudges and round ringed bruises and the last bits of the night's drinking clouding our heads, and feed each other candy to chase away the hangover.

But instead I am haunted not by ghosts but by memories of holidays past spent in the arms of various loves. I can taste them now as much as I can the sugar sweetness of the chocolates I sublimate desires with. Skin of one, thinly coated with sweat, mouth of another, flavored with beer and something slightly tangy, and the seed of yet another, that bitter salty flavor slightly different each time.

They all wore costumes, not just for Halloween, but every day. Put themselves together an identity from bits and pieces lying around, a scrap of rock star here, a piece of athlete there, sculpted bodies and personae to hide their hearts in.

When we dress up for Halloween, do we really just let out a piece of ourselves that we were keeping hidden?