Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Okay, it took me forever to figure out which book I was stealing a kissing scene from for the Official Kissing Day post. This is the beginning section of Parallel Lives. I kept looking at Stories and Magic, but it would require too much exposition. Anyway, this is pretty long, but I couldn't decide what to cut. She sees a murder across the way from her darkened office and she's about to leave when someone comes in (to save her because she'd screamed) and he turns on the light.
I was nearly to the front office door when he opened it, and turned on the light. He was in his mid-thirties, lanky, with short, curly brown hair—brown eyes looked tired as if he'd put in a long day. He'd rolled up a light blue pin-striped dress shirt to his elbows, and his matching, solid-blue tie was loosened but still on.
He was surprised to see me right next to the door. Frowning perplexed, he paused, looking at me. I could tell he was on the verge of saying something, but I didn't give him the chance. I put my hands on either side of his face and apologized, saying, "I'm sorry, but I have to do this."
He was even more surprised when I winced and then started kissing him like a newlywed. At first, he even resisted as I dragged him deeper into the office by his neck while still lip-locked. I pushed him up against my desk and tipped my head slightly just a little so I could peek beyond him. Oh yes indeed. We had an audience. It was time to really apply myself. I might never be able to look this man in the eye again.
I pulled back long enough to say, "Just go with me on this, okay?"
He looked a little startled, but at least he started working with me. I think he might have even picked up the reason for this Prom Date flashback because he applied himself to kissing my neck too which allowed me a chance to open my eyes just enough to see what the audience thought.
They still looked dissatisfied.
A thought suddenly startled me, and I pulled back enough to say, "Please tell me you're not married."
"I'm not married. You?"
"No—not dating either.”
"Me neither," he said breathlessly and returned to kissing me.
His hands pulled the pearl clasps out of my hair without even tugging a strand. He was a pro. This wasn't his first time on the stage. He slid his fingers through my hair, and even though I knew this was an act, it felt real. It felt really good. It probably looked like a
"You're really good at this," I said at the next breath.
He smiled and said, "Thanks," before going back to kissing my face and neck.
I chanced another peek. Crap. What did a person have to do to sell this thing? I worked on getting his tie off. He paused for just a second, and then seemed to decide his next course of action. For a moment, I'd wondered if he was going to prude out on me. Then, he buried his hands in my hair, twisted it around his fingers and pulled my mouth deeper against his. It was really hard to concentrate on his tie.
Whoa. Hang on just a second… our audience couldn't see what was happening inside our mouths, but it was kind of nice. It was very nice. For some reason, though, that particular style of kissing always made me close my eyes. It was sort of counter-productive to my tie removal. I finally got the tie loose and threw it on the floor.
When I pulled back this time, and they were still watching, I requested, "Wilder—or we'll be here forever."
He paused for a moment as if this statement was odd, but apparently he was just gathering strength. Oh it was wilder. I pulled his shirt loose and started unbuttoning it. My fingers felt clumsy on the buttons. Apparently, he didn't love the shirt, because he took over by just yanking it off and throwing it on the ground. Buttons flew in all directions. I heard them bounce off of my desk and the floor.
"Wow. You really know what you're doing." Seriously—this guy was really invested in this.
Another peek. Seriously, they needed expanded cable or something, although, I will admit that the bare skin my hands were now up against might have drawn me in as an audience. "It's not enough," I whispered against his mouth.
"No," he agreed. He was even keeping his eyes closed. I was impressed. I was very impressed actually. My hands were on some serious muscles.
"Help me get my sweater off. I have a shirt underneath."
I was thankful I'd thrown on a leotard top underneath the sweater. He helped me get the sweater over my head, and it joined the rest of the clothing on the floor. Okay…. This skin to skin touching thing was no good. This was beginning to feel real, and my natural inclination to panic, should this have been real, was kicking in. I was breathing heavy, and my heart was pounding. I could barely think of my name let alone remember that this was just for show. Plus, apparently our audience was willing to watch it out to the end. What was wrong with the morals of society?
I grabbed his shoulders to steady myself—for show. I was pretty sure all the rest of these weird symptoms were just from lack of oxygen. Once I wasn't breathing so heavy—for show—I'd be fine—in theory.
He murmured something that sounded like "beautiful," but I couldn't tell if he was saying it sarcastically like "sheesh… beautiful… how long is this going to take?" or if it was a compliment.
"Okay, in just a second, I'm going to drag you to the ground," I warned him, and he smiled.
"I can go along with that," he said.
Then, I thought—should I count? That sounded tacky.
Apparently, he wasn't as conflicted and took care of that. I was lying on my back on the floor trying to catch my breath, and I put out a hand to stop him from putting too much weight on my chest. I just wasn't getting enough time to breathe. I was curious if this was a problem for people in real life too.
He tipped us onto our sides, I still had a hand between us, and I looked down at the bottom of the desk and up at the top of it before looking at our feet. He had his eyebrows raised when my gaze returned to his face.
"Okay, I don't think anyone can see us here," I reassured him.
"Umm. Okay," he said.
"What are you doing in my office?" I asked, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Okay, so I have a bone to pick with the publishing world. This book I read last night, "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society," has the lamest back blurb I've ever seen. It has two sentences and then the rest is filled with critic reviews. That was part of the reason I stopped reading it. I had no idea what it was about, whether it was something I'd like, and where it was going. I actually had no idea that Dawsey was a man--so it really confused me when she addressed him as Mr. Dawsey or something like that. It's fairly pathetic when you think the MC's love interest is female for the first bunch of pages.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Jon had run me out of gas again. So, you'd think he'd man up and put down that stupid book and pump my gas. Maybe he didn't think I knew what all of these "trips" out of town entailed, but I knew.
"Hey, isn't that your brother coming out of the Pleasure Chest?" Jon asked, rolling down his window to tell me. He probably thought his new mustache was something other than what it was. It was a pornstache. A thin wriggle of hair across his flaccid thick upper lip. It reminded me of the nasty tent worms we got every seven years, and we killed with a propane torch.
I glanced over at the strip club and shrugged. "He's the town sheriff, Jon. He probably had to break up a fight or something."
"Shouldn't he be in uniform or something?" Jon asked. There was an accompanying snicker, barely muffled.
Always with the questions. Always. Jon was the most worthless human being on the planet. Somewhere there was a squid that was maybe, possibly less useful to the greater plan for the universe. That might just be a rumor, though, much like the existence of Jon's brain.
I'd seen a few charges on the credit card statements that I'd found after Jon had left. Jon was intimately familiar with that strip club and he'd spent our money--my money at that place. At least my brother was single. Jon fit this self-righteous attitude just as well as he might a cheap green polyester suit from the big and tall clearance rack.
"Maybe he was on his way home and stopped."
Jon heaved a huge sigh, and it shimmied down my nerves like one of the Pleasure Chest's dancers on a pole made of sandpaper.
He'd left me. Jon had left me. Now he was back--like it was some huge favor to me. It wasn't. I was doing fine with him gone. I was doing freaking fantastic. I'd even met someone. I was anxiously awaiting the divorce papers. Then, he came back--like a bad case of fungus.
"I don't think he was in there breaking up a fight," Jon said, and the smugness was so thick you could practically see it. "You know how your family is. I won't call them white trash, but...."
Yes. That's right, Mr. Holier-than-thou. You were perfect. You were so perfect that you were too good for me--as you've reminded me a dozen times in various ways since you've returned. It was a sack of lies that stunk like roadkill baking on the pavement at noon.
The night was dark. The town was small enough that the gas station was closed though the pay at the pump was still working. I'd used Jon's card--and gasoline could wipe the prints off of everything. All of this flashed through my mind just before I pulled the handle from the gas tank and aimed it at my stupid, stupid, stupid husband. Gas splashed all over the inside of the car as he yelled about it getting in his eyes. I threw the match into the car and walked away.
Sliding into the car beside my brother, I tried to feel remorse for what I'd just done. I couldn't, and it wasn't the first time our family had resolved a sticky problem thus. My brother was filling out a police report but spared a look in his rearview mirror.
"Never liked Jon," my brother said.
"Yeah--neither did I," I said.
"He was a little like a rabid mutt--mean and begging to be put down."
"Yeah, well, I'd call him put down," I said, watching the fire engulf the car like the swamp mud swallowing a rock--a big, dumb, stupid rock.
Adam and I were in a battle for total domination. Well, not total--just king for the day really. It was unofficial. A snarky little skirmish between just us. We didn't know when it had started, and there was no way to end it.
Such is the relationship between a super intelligent older sibling and a middle-child sister forced to hear: "OH! You're Adam's sister." From teachers: "I had Adam in my class already. Are you as intelligent as your brother?"
No, I'm dumb as rocks. That's why I'm in your advanced classes. Yeah--and bite me.
Green as grass jealousy defined my tricks just as amused retaliation had become his instinct. Once he tied up my arms in too long sweatshirt sleeves and hung me from a doorknob. I was stuck in my own sweatshirt. Stuck.
The toothbrush was my epiphany of passive aggressive genius. When I first conceived its simplicity, I laughed out loud. Perfect. He would doubt his very frame of mind. His high I.Q. wouldn't be able to wrap itself around the quandary. Brilliant. He thought he was so smart.
The first week, I just got it wet--each morning. His puzzled reaction was hard to ignore.
The second week, I smuggled both lemon juice and salt into the bathroom. I alternated. I tried to hide smug smiles. It was difficult.
The third week, he switched toothbrushes--and I picked up my toothbrush to find it wet one day.
Well played, Adam. Well played.
Friday, December 11, 2009
No. Control. I needed control. Too fast. Too soon. Too much.
“Reeve.” She pulled me on top of her. We both moaned as my weight settled on top of hers, and our bodies just seemed to match—like a puzzle piece sliding into place. Her hands pulled at my back, kneading, tugging, and tightening. ‘Closer,’ she whispered in my head.
I tried. I really tried.
‘We shouldn’t,’ I said, while my hand slid underneath her to try to get her closer. It wasn’t just the pledge enforcing a want. By the winds, I wanted, needed, and intended to make her mine in every sense of the word. Mine. I’d never wanted to possess anything as much as I wanted to possess Honor. It was making me a jealous fool at times.
‘I want…,’ Honor said, moaning as kissed her neck. She couldn’t finish that sentence. My muscles stiffened at the word—the pledge was much, much stronger than any will I had to resist on this subject.
‘The blood bond,’ I reminded her.
‘Mmm. I love you, Reeve,’ she said. Her words almost incited the same response as the pledge would have.
Control. I needed to regain control of myself.
‘I love your hair,’ she said, sliding her hands into it. ‘Shiny. I love shiny silver.’
‘It’s the same color as Tuck,’ I said, covering her mouth with mine.
‘I love you more than Tuck.’
‘I love you more than anything,’ I replied, and I was grateful for the mental bond that allowed me to say such true but emotionally motivated words in our heads. I could just imagine the mimicry of the other Brethren we’d be hearing otherwise.
Her hands slid down my back, leaving tingling warmth in their trail.
‘Your body is yummy,’ she said.The imagery of oral interest juxtaposed with my body was too much. My control was slipping—dissolving in desire. My skin felt hyper aware of the slim, beautiful curves beneath me. Throbbing heat flushed every point of intersection of our skin.
I rolled her back on top. I was having a hard time remembering why we wanted to wait, and what was wrong with the floor after all.
A moment later, Thor stood at the top of the stairs and said, “Reeve, send Honor and her nimble little fingers up here.” I was grateful that three hundred feet of stairs and a closed door prevented Honor from hearing that—and the raucous laughter that followed.
They would all be tripped before the day was over.
I needed to stop. We needed to stop. This shouldn’t happen on the floor anyway. I intended for it to happen far away from the prying ears of the Brethren. Honor’s heartbeat gave away my desire as much as her own. It was pounding—and the sound stroked the ego I hadn’t known I possessed.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
There were several made from olive trees. The husband and the husband's father are big fans of wood nativities.
Friday, December 4, 2009
see more Funny Graphs