I Don’t Get Along With Women Typically

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“I don’t get along with women typically.” -Duchess Bella Lynn De’Lioncourt
Baroness Jade Mira
House of Vega

Last Monday night I sat at a table at Dan’s Tavern with my BFF of 30 years. There were three other women sitting with us. The one seated to my right and I were jabbering away and having a great time. We laughed a lot even though we weren’t particularly close in high school. My BFF was seated to my left. She shook her head at me from time to time while listening in on the conversation that I was having with my new but old friend to my right.

I looked at my BFF of 30 years and stated, ‘I’m a lot like you ya know. Quiet, reserved. A wallflower.’

Her reply, ‘Renee, you’re about as much of a wallflower as an earthquake.’

My BFF of 30 years, new but old friend, the two other women at the table and I laughed until we were nearly in hysterics. BFF was right, I am about as subtle as an earthquake. When I’m in my element. On Monday night, I was not. I still harbor resentment for my hometown and the people I went to high school with. I didn’t fit in then. Don’t now, but that’s okay. It was fun to sit and chat anyway. To get to know someone that I kind of knew. To have them get to know me.

As we were talking I shared a story about an old boyfriend of mine named Brian H. He was the only ‘jock’ I ever went out with in high school. I was a ‘stoner’, ‘drama’, ‘singer’, ‘actor’ girl. The girl who sang in choir, talked too loud, and read books. I didn’t go out with jocks. But Brian, he was nice. And he liked me. He asked me out and I said yes. We dated off and on. Eventually we started ‘going together’. He gave me his baseball shirt to wear. I was a curvy girl, but he was a big guy, so I kinda swam in it. It was the 80’s, I put a belt around my waist and cinched that sucker as tight as I could. I was so proud to be his girl.

One night he took me to a party to meet his friends. I was scared to death. Me, the force of nature that fears nothing was afraid! I was out of my element and I didn’t have my BFF with me. The only girl I’ve ever trusted with my life. I had Brian though, so I hoped I’d be okay. It was so long ago, I don’t even remember where the party was. As we walked to the front door, the hairs prickled on my neck. Brian slipped his hand into mine and gripped it firmly. When we walked in, I smiled at the girls as they looked at me with disdain. We said our hellos and walked to the part of the house where Brian’s friends were. With the boys I felt at ease. Not because of my boobs, ass or what I had between my legs. But because I could drink, cuss, and shoot the shit with them. It was Brian’s turn to be proud of me. He loved the fact that I was not a girly girl.

New but old friend said, ‘you were the fun girl that’s why Brian loved you, and that’s why the guys got along with you.

Yes, but I’ve always gotten along better with men than I have women’, I replied. ‘I could also drink them under the table too.’

BFF and new but old friend laughed. I teared up a little and began to speak as I pointed to my left, ‘My closest friends have always been men, but that woman right there has been my best friend for 30 years. I would trust her with my life and with every secret that I have to tell. She has never judged me and I’ve never judged her. When life falls apart and turns to shit for either one of us, we turn to each other. I love her beyond measure.’

BFF’s eyes misted over and the rest of us at the table were silent.

‘Now it’s time to let all that old stuff go’, my BFF said.

The unshed tears in my eyes dried and I gave a radiant smile. I realized that she was right, it was time to let it go.

BFF and I know we’ll love each other till we’re dead. Seeing as we both believe in the hereafter, we’ll love each other there too. I don’t know if I’m good enough to get into Heaven, but she is. The woman should be sainted.

As for Brian and me, we broke up. I was the one that broke his heart. I don’t even know where he is.

Even at the age of 45, I find that most of my friends are men. There’s Roger Darling, Harry, Rory, Biker Dude, My Little Work Brothers, my nephews, and even a few from Across The Pond.

Laura calls me an earthquake but she is a volcano. And when the two of us combine, we are a force to be reckoned with.

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Friday Fictioneers-Descent

copyright-David Stewartcopyright-David Stewart

You know it’s over, don’t you?

Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?

Unfortunately, not.

Are you scared?

Petrified, but determined.

How will you live?

Not sure, but I will make my way.

I will miss you Amy.

I’ll miss you too, but I have to go.

Jason scooches to the edge of the scaffold. As he leaps, Amy feels peace. Upon his descent, his face shows terror and then resolve. Her demeanor never changes. The first responders look at her and know there is no reason to fear, she’s not going anywhere but home.

98 words/Genre: Hell, I don’t know, but damn sad.

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. Criticisms and kudos are most welcome. Bring it on my loves, bring it on.

The Divine Truth on Guilt and Triggers

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Love the world and yourself in it, move through it as though it offers no resistance, as though the world is your natural element. –Audrey Niffenegger

Trigger happy, gun shy, and a horse named Trigger. I always thought my triggers for addiction were shame, boredom, sadness, and a host of others that aren’t coming to mind as I write this post. Turns out my trigger, my worst damn enemy, was plain old guilt. For my past, present and future. I keep trying to squash it, with humor, food and booze. I keep failing, miserably.  Then, everything turns around. I try to control it with healthy eating habits, exercise and abstaining from alcohol. Fuck not being humorous. Being a sarcastic shithead is my forte!

The truth didn’t come easily. Lessons freshly learned, no matter how important they are, will piss us right the hell off. As the dust settles in our hearts, we become comfortable with the truth. That lie you’ve been telling yourself, will become your saving grace. My moment came, in a confrontational argument with my Adam Boy.

Mom, sometimes I think you wish you didn’t have me.

Son, that is not true. You and your sister are the best things I ever created. Better than any story I could write. Any food over-eaten or drunken bender I’ve been on.  You are of my heart. My soul. I would die for you.

I gave my children the strength to speak out. I never wanted them to be afraid of the repercussions. To feel guilt or shame. I wanted them to know that I loved them even when they were confronting me about my shortcomings. Call me on my shit for the love of God, so I’ll stop being a dick!!!! My son did that. Dear God, I know he’s going to be a great lawyer some day!

Roger Darling left Adam and me outside so we could argue. I kept looking at the back door, feeling, guilty. Guilty because I was talking to my son and not hanging out with him. Guilty because I hadn’t finished the upload of Meggie’s wedding photos on my flickr account. Guilty because I hadn’t scrubbed the bathtub for two weeks. Guilty for not doing the fucking dishes after dinner. Guilty because I don’t act like a typical grown up.

Guilty, guilty, guilty. Blah, blah, fucking blah!

I believe in the Divine. That there are powers bigger than ourselves at play. We have epiphanies and revelations. Moments of clarity, that speak volumes without one word being exchanged. Sometimes they come to us in an argument with another. A blog post written by a dear friend. The tears of a loved one. Or a simple email from a co-worker. These divine moments happened to me, in a span of 24 hours. I can tell you, I have not felt this much peace-in years. Words are finally flying around my head and there is a smile upon my silly face.

Today, is a good day. Tomorrow, I pray is even better. If it isn’t, that’s okay. I can’t let guilt be my trigger. To over-eat, drink to excess, not write or reach out for help. Realizations, be they divine or otherwise are valuable teachers. We must heed the lessons they bring us. If we don’t we’ll never truly live.

Friday Fictioneers-Pink Crinoline

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copyright-Janet Webb

I fell off my pink cloud with a thud. – Elizabeth Taylor

Jen leans on the railing, cigarette in hand. Smoke hangs like dragon’s breath around her. The window screeches on the track as Tracy opens it. Walking behind Jen, she kisses her gently on the neck.

Nice dress.

Gee, thanks.

Your mom thinks she can still turn you straight huh?

With crinoline, it seems.

Tracy grabs the cigarette from Jen’s hand, mashes it in the plant.

I hate when you smoke.

I hate when she sends me dresses.

We’re okay, you know.

I know, Honey.

Jen removes the dress from the railing, letting it fall. Descent, prolonged by the springtime breeze.

100 Words/ Genre: Hell, I don’t know.

Thank you Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers. It is such a fun, crazy, and sometimes discouraging exercise in discipline. I enjoy it immensely. Kudos and criticisms are most welcome. Bring it on!

My Brother Rory

I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see. I sought my God, but my God eluded me. I sought my brother and I found all three.-author unknown

I ended my night by corresponding with my soul brother, Rory. I love that man more than words can convey. When I started writing just over a year ago, this wonderful writer started following me. Why he’s not published is beyond me.

I don’t have too much more to say about him, except that I’m happy he’s in my life. He doesn’t judge me. I don’t judge him. He’s the best brother a silly woman like me can have. Wish I could tell you all who he is. I promised I’d protect his identity.

I love you my dear, sweet brother. I breathe easier knowing that you’re out there rooting for me. And loving me.

Love, Nee

I am Worth Loving

Worth Loving

I stood in a roomful of people on Saturday afternoon and wanted to scream, LOOK AT ME! LISTEN! GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT ME! From across the room, Roger Darling could see the frustration on my face. My brow was furrowed. The wrinkles between my eyebrows made prominent as I tried to hold my emotions in check. He came up behind me and rubbed my back. It gave me reassurance that at least one person in the room “got” me. There was another person there that had my back too. We sat and chatted. I wished that I could sit in a quieter room with him and shoot the shit. I love the man that looks like Tommy Lee Jones. He loves me too. I always thought I was looking for love and validation from him. Turns out, I always had both. He’s proud of me. And my little family too.

Rog and I made our way out to the car. I told him I was so glad we were going to see our kids. I needed to laugh. Hell, we both did. We’d had a sucky ass week. As we made our way to Ypsilanti he looked over at me and asked, “are you okay?” I replied, “fuck no.” Tears streamed down my face. I lost my breath and shook my hands in the air. “Honey, we’re going to see the kids, it’ll be okay.” That’s my Roger Darling, always trying to make me see the positive in the middle of a negative situation. I told him, “I just don’t understand why they don’t like me. What’d I ever do, but be born different?” He stroked my hand and let me finish crying. That evening there was laughter and conversation with our kids. It more than made up for the few moments of unhappiness earlier in the day.

As we made our way home Saturday night, I checked Facebook on my iPhone and saw the quote graphic by Danu Grayson. I shared it with my FB friends and found that there were many others that felt the same. RD voiced, “you could have been the one that penned that quote.” I heartily agreed and cried again. Not for long though. A post was already noodling in my brain. One about love and acceptance. I decided right then and there that I could cry over a few people that don’t “get” me. Or, I could accept the fact that they never will. Instead, I’ll revel in the glory of all of those that do. For they far outnumber the ones that don’t.

I am loved. I return that love, every day. With word, gesture, touch, smile, laugh, advice and story. I know that I will always be loved. Always.

The Clink of Glasses

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Busy Friday night at the local pub. The patrons are packed in like sardines. Music fills the room, but all that can be discerned by the lovers is the bass beat. There’s conversation, the clink of glasses, and laughter. Tendrils of smoke rise from various locations in the bar. Maggie takes a drag on her smoke and the tip glows a brilliant red. She holds it to Ian’s lips, he takes a pull and blows the smoke above her head. Each take a sip of their drink. Vodka and tonics on a hot summer night. They feel so lucky to have gotten a corner booth.

They snuggle in close and finish their cigarette. Sip their ice cold beverages. Feel the gentle buzz of the alcohol. A blush comes to Maggie’s cheeks as Ian lazily kisses her neck.

“Woman, I could take you right here,” he whispers, “Do you think anyone would know?”

She turns and smiles slyly. “Why don’t you try it and see?”

Ian places his hand on her knee and lets it travel up her thigh. She hikes up her skirt.

“You are a devil, my love. A red-headed devil.”

His hand is underneath her skirt and he finds she doesn’t have on panties. He touches her with no restrictions. Or fear. He is so happy. Maggie touches Ian through his jeans, then unzips them. She traces his rigid cock through the fabric of his boxer briefs. Ian leans his head back and groans. Maggie looks around to see if anyone notices. No need to worry though, it’s so loud in the pub that no one can hear him. She keeps touching. Discovering. He slides two fingers in between her petals. She is wet, open, and ready.

Ian’s thumb finds her clit. Works it in a circular motion. Maggie pushes her lower body into his hand. She wants to feel, all of him. Her hand goes to her mouth to stifle her moans. Her body rocks back and forth. She leans forward and kisses his lips. Their tongues meet and she swears she sees stars. When she begins to ride the crest of her orgasm, she grabs a hold of his shirt. Her cry of pleasure fills his mouth. Ian grins and sucks her tongue.

“Cum for me baby. Cum.”

“I am. Don’t you dare stop those fingers of yours. Don’t you dare.”

He moves them faster and she explodes everywhere. It’s all she can do to keep from screaming. His hands are so gentle but knowing. Her nectar is all over his fingers. He withdraws his hand and places the tips of them to his lips. He sucks the sweetness of her. Then places the fingers in her mouth. They share her taste. The intimacy of the act excites him even more.

Will you fuck me Ian? Right here?
I don’t know if we can pull it off my love.
Try me.
Maggie slides the table forward a couple of inches. She leans up slightly and sits on Ian’s lap. As she nestles in, Ian places his cock inside of her. They move the table back, so Maggie has something to hold onto. He wraps his arms around her waist and they begin to move in tandem. She leans back against Ian’s chest and keeps up with his gentle rocking. He bites her neck. Leaves his mark. Calls her his whore. She smiles, because she knows she is. She feels no shame in it.
They move faster. Enjoying the moment. Their eyes dart around the bar to see if anyone know what they’re doing. The patrons don’t have a clue. It’s dark, smoky, and the music is still playing. Maggie and Ian keep fucking. She holds on to the table and their drinks slosh with their movement. It makes her giggle, but they don’t stop. Let the drinks spill. Let them.
Cum for me Maggie.
Make me, Ian. Make. Me. Cum.
He tells her to lean forward and she does. It’s then she feels her orgasm begin. Ian fingers her pretty pearl. With his fingers and cock he brings her to the edge and she falls over it. She puts her hand to her mouth to stifle the cry of pleasure. Plants her feet on the floor and pushes her pussy down onto him. His cock hardens even more.
Baby I am so damn close.

Please, cum inside of me. Empty yourself into me.

 

Maggie reaches down to feel Ian’s hand. To touch him. She caresses his balls and finds that they are tightening up. He pushes as hard as he can into her. Moving faster he begins to moan. Maggie looks around, they are still being completely ignored by the crowd. He pulls her against him and his body stills. The only thing she feels is the twitching of his cock inside of her. He fills her. Why she likes it so much, she has no idea.

As Ian’s dick softens and falls out of her, they catch their breath. Maggie doesn’t want to move. She wants to stay where they are. Even in the middle of a crowded bar she wants to bask in the afterglow. She shifts forward and puts his underwear back in place. Then turns sideways and lowers her skirt. She continues to sit on his lap. Leans forward and grabs his drink for him. He tastes it. It’s warm and wet. Like Maggie. But he drinks it anyway. With her still on his lap, he waves over a waitress and orders them another round. As she walks away, Maggie leans her head on Ian’s chest. She catches the aroma of their coupling. He brushes her forehead with a gentle kiss.

“I love you girl.”

“Love you too baby.”

Their next round of drinks are delivered. They clink glasses in a silent toast and drink in the coolness of the vodka with lime and tonic.

Friday Fictioneers-Wherever She is, is Home

Friday Fictioneers is brought to us by none other, than Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The prompt this week is from Rich Voza. It’s a beaut.

The story will be romantic. I promise, no broken hearts this week. It’ll be a happy one. For a follower and dear friend. I won’t divulge who it is, but she knows. That’s all that matters.

Genre: Romance

Copyright-Rich Voza

Sunrise on a red eye flight. Thoughts of her kept him awake. Gone three days, felt like three months. No texts, phone calls. No email. He aches to hold her. Smell her hair. See her blue eyes sparkle. Feel lips whisper on his neck, maybe give a gentle bite.

Plane touches down. He exits the airport. He sees her, waiting. He’s missed her kisses. Her touch. Their lips meet. It’s like no time has passed.

“Hello love, I’ve missed you.”

“Hi there, Sunshine.”

“You ready to go home?”

“Wherever you are is my home, love.”

She smiles, her eyes dance.

Friday Fictioneers-The Madness of a Woman Seduced

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for the prompt this week. I encourage both kudos and criticisms. I’m tough. I can take it. Most of the time. It ain’t easy being a tender hearted potty mouth such as moi. Yes, the story is romantic. Sort of. I promised myself there’d be a death. No one dies, but a love does.

My brother Rory edited my story. He takes my words and makes them shine. If I get famous, I’m taking him with me. I promise.

Don’t like the genre, get bent. It’s what I do best.

Genre: Romance (with a side of broken heart)

copyright-claire-fuller…and the long-stemmed red tulips bent in the breeze like exotic women accepting homage.

Susan Fromberg Schaeffer, “The Madness of a Seduced Woman”

“You seduced me. Made me love you. Then you left.”

“Yes, I did. You fell. But that wasn’t my fault.”

“Of course it wasn’t your fault. Nothing ever is. You called me crazy. I’m far from it.”

“I said you ‘acted’ crazy.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“A woman seduced carries her own brand of madness.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. David’s here. Now leave.”

He touches her cheek, he walks away. She picks up hammer and chisel. Metal strikes stone, dust flies. An image appears, of lovers, holding fast. She scrawls a lopsided heart. It is finished, so are they.

100 words