My Body Bathed in Moonlight

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It wasn’t long after I’d graduated from high school and broken things off with my first fiancé that I began to run a little wild. I met up with G. at a party but I’d known him since he was a freshman in high school. He was a senior and a jock so we really didn’t run in the same circles.  That’s not entirely true, I ran in any circle I wanted to, seeing as I was a chameleon and all.

G. brought me a drink, a cheap brand of beer most likely. We sat and chatted while other party goers took turns doing lines of cocaine off a huge mirror that had been placed on a dining room table. I’m not sure if G. was into coke or not, but that drug scared the hell out of me. Our poison of the evening was alcohol, though we didn’t begrudge anyone else for choosing to snort lines off a mirror for five bucks a pop.

One beer turned into three and our tongues loosened. The conversation turned dirty and I saw a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. I gladly returned a devilish look and answered yes to his request to take me to bed. Walking hand in hand we quietly retreated to a friend’s apartment just a few doors away. We wasted no more time with pleasantries and innuendo. He produced a condom and I grinned from ear to ear. I’m pretty sure I rolled that condom onto his cock with my mouth.

It was a long time ago so I don’t remember all of the details, but I do remember having a lot of fun. I don’t ever remember laughing so much and feeling such comfort while completely naked. His body was beautiful, athletic and lithe. I lay underneath him enjoying the weight of his body on mine. The outstanding feeling of his hardness moving in and out of me. I arched my hips up to meet his thrusts when he stopped suddenly, and rolled off of me. There I was splayed before him, completely naked and vulnerable. My breasts and midriff were lit faintly by the moonlight streaming in a nearby window.

‘Fuck, you’re body is beautiful’, he said.

I was tongue-tied by his comment. No man had ever looked at my naked body with such reverence before. All I could manage was a smile that I hoped he could see in the moonlight of his friend’s bedroom. I pushed him onto his back and straddled his waist as I guided his cock back into me. Sweet Jesus, how he filled me completely.

Our bodies spent, we laid in bed and cracked jokes. I think we might have even shared another beer. As we dressed, we heard his friend S. come home. The poor boy was so drunk, I think he banged his arms and torso on every wall as he stumbled to his bathroom. S. threw up into his garbage can as G. and I walked out of the bedroom.

‘Hey Renee, how the fuck are you?’,  he asked.

‘Better than you’, I giggled.

G. and I helped S. into bed, he whined incoherently about something and passed out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. G. and I headed back to the party a few doors down. We didn’t exchange phone numbers and we never saw each other again. I can’t say I wasn’t a little disappointed, but sometimes sex is just that, sex. It was fulfilling and beautifully dirty.

I did see G. a few years later, at a little family restaurant in Saline. I walked in with my future husband and sat down in a booth. I looked up and there was G. grinning a devilish grin. The blood rushed to my cheeks and sex as I smiled back at him. I might have even said hello. I remember thinking what a delicious secret G. and I had.

I wonder, if I saw him now, would my body react the way it did 28 years ago? I’d like to think it would. I also wonder where he is now. I hope he’s happy. And I also hope he tells the woman he’s with now how beautiful she is.

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Friday Fictioneers-Memories

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copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go. -John Denver

Shells from Key West, concert tickets, baby booties, pawns from board games played on rainy days. In a shadow box that has hung on their wall for 24 years.

How do Howard and Hannah divide their memories? Who gets the booties that the baby wore home from the hospital? Who takes the shells that they found on Smathers Beach?

May I have the booties? she inquires.

Yes, he whispers.

They pack their memories in separate boxes. Hannah seals hers closed.

I’m sorry, she says.

Stop it, he states.

Howard locks the Uhaul, raps on it twice before she drives away.

Genre: general fiction/100 words

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. Please be sure to go to her page and read the stories from other writers. We are a rather eclectic group. I welcome kudos and criticism. Bring it on!

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.

Letting Go of the Mundane

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And I don’t know how I can do without I just need you now-Lady Antebellum

The hardest part of letting go of a love or what we thought was love is the fact that we aren’t involved in their every day lives. The mundane. You can’t send them a message or text knowing that they’ll get it after they’re done grocery shopping or had a doctor appointment. That part of your relationship is over. They become a stranger. That’s the hardest part to deal with, forgetting their patterns. They become a ghost to you long before their flesh dies.

Then all at once their memory comes flooding back. It could take one word, song, or a mention of their name. They’re brought back to life, and you have to forget them all over again.

Raindrops and Red Lipstick

Rain drops on the window

She touches it gently with her fingertips

She finds the window chilled by the Fall rain

Her mind wanders to warm summer days and warmer kisses

Memories of love

And him

Her mouth, close to the glass leaves steam on the window

She draws an over-sized heart

Then places a kiss in the middle of it

The cold glass is stained with her red lipstick along with the vapor

She draws an arrow  through it before the heart disappears

Then just like that, it’s gone

All that remains are her lip prints

And bitter sweet memories

And it Feels Like I’m 17 Again

Yes that’s what I looked like when I was 17. Ah 17. I thought I knew it all. We all did. I posted on FB yesterday the following status update:

To all my Saline High School friends, I heard this on the way in to work this morning and it made me think about high school dances, smoking cigarettes at the dead end, parties at the Troll Bridge, making out under the bleachers at football games, being stoned at football games, getting drunk on Boone’s Farms wine and stealing kisses from other girl’s boyfriends. OMFG did we have some good damn fun!!!!

What I didn’t realize would happen is old friends would start flooding my comments section with memories.

Tracy talked about singing Yankee Rose by Van Halen with David, riding around in Goodman’s old white van, smoking and drinking Mountain Dew. Then she asked me about the stolen kisses from someone else’s boyfriend and I told her a lady never tells. But then I was never much of a lady. Then she called me a dirty tramp. Which I was, but so what. I had me a lot of fun. The only stolen kisses I will talk about were Bobby’s. Oh my God that boy could kiss me till my lips swelled and they stung from the tiny bites he would give me.

Then Ronnie piped in about the University Drive In. He and Tracy reminisced about going there on the weekends in David’s old white van. Then the guys took off their shoes and they stunk the whole damn thing up. They had to jump out of it because the smell was horrendous and made them gag. I remember that drive in too. Couldn’t tell you what the hell was on the screen but I knew I was doing it with my boyfriend at the time. The windows were all steamed up, and our friends in the other damn car kept banging on the fucking windows!!!!

Then Danny had to chime in about us all getting caught by the cops making out in the industrial park. It was vacant back in the day. So of course the cops could see the car from the main road. I was a police cadet, so I knew the cop that flashed his light at me. Nice! I was wild, but not very bright. He then proceeded to remind me of the time he drove home with Cheryl’s bra on his head. I don’t remember which Cheryl, but I sure do remember the incident he wrote about. I tried to get him to tell me which Cheryl it was, but he plead the 5th on her last name. The thought of our crazy antics made this sparkly old girl smile.

I then told Danny (yes, he’s Dan to everyone else, but he’ll always be Danny to me) that I had this great wish. I wished for unlimited funds so I could fly everyone home for a big ass party in a pole barn. We’d have a bonfire and a pig roast. The beer and wine would be flowing. There’d be 80’s music in the background cranked up to 11. We’d laugh about the old times, cry for those we lost (we were Death Valley Saline after all), we’d share what’s happened in our lives for the last 25 to 30 years and we’d enjoy every minute of it. I told Danny I wish we could all be in the same room, not because I miss the old days, but because I miss my friends. I miss 17. I miss riding around on the roof of a car, drunk and screaming at my friend that was driving to go faster. Yes, I know I was crazy, and I’m lucky I’m not dead.

I went on to say that I didn’t want to have a party in some damn country club. That’s not who we are. Even if we are white collar, we still like the idea of beer and a bonfire. I love that my high school friends support me in my writing. But it’s not only that. It’s the sense of community that I feel with my FB friends. There is so much love and support. When there’s sadness we lift each other up. When there is anger, we bitch and fight. When there is loss, we do what we can to show our support. When a silly girl like me posts funny status updates and my friend Lisa says start a blog, you have talent, you do it. Because there is so much love and support among us.

I love, love, love, love, love, my friends. My friend Tracy from Saline, now she is one girl I would have never been friends with in high school. She scared the absolute shit out of me. I talk to her every day now. She’s one of my best friends and I can’t imagine my life without her. She’s still one bad ass mother fucker, but she’s my friend and I love her.

I don’t wish to be 17 again. I wish to have my friends around me from when I was 17. They were everything to me. They still are. The beauty of it is, I get to talk to them every day on FB. It’s not the same as seeing them in person though. I am creating an event today though. Dan’s Tavern in Saline, Thanksgiving weekend. Whoever is home better show up and have a cold one. We need some time together. To laugh, hug, love, and cry. To remember.

Man how I wish I had my Jordache jeans, my bright pink off the shoulder sweat shirt and wide belt. Of course I had to wear a pair of bright pink heels to complete the ensemble. Big ass earrings too and my hair feathered and hair sprayed to the sky with half a can of Aqua Net. Now to find those Marlboro Reds, and that bottle of Boone’s Farm, Tickle Pink of course. Dammit, now I want a smoke!