05/24/05 - Tuesday

OMG, but some days just SUCK! What a freakin' crappy-ass day. (Except lunch. Lunch was lovely.) It's been a curl up in the fetal position & just cry sort of day. And it's not even DONE yet! The cat took one look at me when I got home & ran.

Some people should be shot, others strung up by their big toes, a few tasks that I really think would be better served by some TNT..... I'd blame it on the full moon, but I'm rather fond of the moon.

Luckily, I have a wonderful friend who had a remarkably similar sort of day, & after some mutual commiseration, we decided that it would do us no good whatsoever to continue to whine & moan about our own lousy stinkin' crappy day because after one good bitch, that's just self-centered. Therefore, we agreed that sometime this evening, we would each go scream, rant, cry at the moon, fetal-up and quiver... whatever we felt like... but instead of bemoaning our own fate as we whimpered, we'd each think solely of the other, put ourselves in the other's shoes & try to appreciate how truly crappy THEY felt today, and vent as needed on the other person's behalf. An attempt at intrinsic empathy.

Gimme just a few more minutes & I'll give it a go.....

05/20/05 - Friday

You walk in my door like you belong here. As though you've done it a thousand times. And yet your eyes are on me as though a thousand more won't ease the wonderful novelty of belonging here.. and now. A smile dances around the corners of your lips. A laugh sparkles playfully in eyes that are impossibly, drowningly blue. You don't pause when you come in... and look at me... the way they've staged it in a thousand movies. You come straight in and sit next to me, claiming ownership once again of one corner of my couch. You tell me about your day - like you've done it that thousand times and more. The familiarity... the normalcy... the simplicity of it takes my breath away.

Your lips are always each time I see you softer even than I remember. When you're speaking, your tounge is so impossibly pink teasing me as it flits and peeks and teases from between those two full-to-bursting lips, also a pink that belies description. Were you a woman, I'd compare rose buds... or the moist pink nose of a cat. You're not, and so I am lost in my metaphors. But they tease me, they tempt me, and I desire.

Sometimes, while we're talking, you suddenly sort of dive in and just "steal" a kiss... except it's not stolen, because to "steal" it would mean it was not there for your taking. That my lips were not in some recent collection of moments willing yours to mine. And sometimes when our lips meet, it becomes just you & I adrift somewhere... selves dancing in some lovely medium where nothing else matters except the dance and play of us, one against and with the other. I adore all the ways that you kiss me.

I could ... possibly... fall in love with someone who kisses me like that. Not just like that, but all the ways that you kiss me. You give me kisses that can make me consider the possibilities in hellos and goodbyes that come every morning and every evening. The kind that have happened so many thousands of times that neither of us think of them any longer as anything but one of the bits of a long-established daily routine. The kind that come complete with "hi honey, I'm home", and washing dishes, compromises, mowing the lawn, and life-changing events, and mundanity, and sometimes fighting, but always making up.

Can you make me feel that way in more than scattered fragments of time? Can you carry it through a thousand times? Through days that are bad as well as good? Special days as well as those that are heavy with a sense of 'same ol' cracker? A thousand times & more? More often than just when you "feel like it"? Can you do that? Can you be that?

Do you want to?

Art to Passion

This month, Zero Boss's Blogging For Books asks us to write an original blog post about one of three topics: lying, fornicating, or going home.

I missed the entry date 'cause I'm a schmuck... but I like the topic(s), so I'll put this out here anyway. (So there!) It's my blog, I can type if I want to.

**********

There is an art to passion.
--In letting it simmer and steep like tea leaves.
--Stirring every so often so the leaves don't stick to the pot and
turn the brew bitter.

You might begin with a look, a glimmer in the eye caught and returned. Then the faintest of touches in passing, sending shimmers of electricity along her skin. Shared laughter lilting in the breeze might nest in your soul and draw you closer. And anticipation, the best seasoning for so fine a brew. Just the faintest sense of unknowing…..yet knowing….where this will lead you.

Faint trace of fingernails on skin, ruffling the tiny hairs along your arms. Aimlessly wandering your body, no goal, no intention to their direction. At once soothing and stimulating.
You relax, muscle by muscle. The days', the weeks' tension flows out of you as the slow, constant whisper of skin on skin goes on. From that loosening of tension slowly rises a languid sense of passion. The clock slips away until finally the night is yours. It stretches endlessly before you -- your playground. You are no longer focused towards a goal, but utterly content to bathe in sensations as one flows into another: Timeless rhythms as seductive as the heartbeat of the earth.

Fingernails and fingertips: faint tracings brushing across sensitized skin. Small forgotten corners of your body weep as they are found and rejoined through touch. The tiniest crevasse in the crook of your arm joins its broader bicep cousin, flowing into the back of your arm where shoulder meets armpit and curves into side and then chest. Broad swathes take nails down your back where sides meet back, then back up along your spine. Brush softly that sweet hollow in your lower back, covered in tiny sensitive hairs to touch softly as a breath of air. Light furrows raked across pale buttocks of flesh, framing them in pale pink lines. The lightest flicker of touch along the line where buttocks meet--so vulnerable, so sensitive to a wing-like flutter. Teasing with an almost-there caress, they flinch and contract and beg for more.

Down your thigh, strong muscles outlined in moonlight and nail polish, defined in burnished passion's heat. Back of the knee, feather light, then over calves' curve to the ankle. Nails change to fingertips to hand cupping your heels, across the tender sole of foot and toes, each individualized, separated, recognized. Finger drawn between each tiny foot's finger, skin rarely recognized leaping to obey. And back up that foot, delicate bones traced quickly by soft strong hands. Ankle, calves brushed lightly along the sides as hands slide up your leg, over knee and meander across thighs taut with a different tension. Forever they climb, slowly, oh so slowly back and forth across your thigh. The sensation spreads & tingles from legs to toes to buttocks to groin, electric pulses oh so slightly slower than the touch of nails to skin.

Tension mounts, and that soft plateau where thigh meets hip meets belly pulses. Touch explodes into a fiercer rhythm, heart pulsing to its beat. I can feel its rhythm through that delicate skin.

Upwards towards its source. Tiny goose pimples of flesh greet me as I brush your belly. Soft gasps of inhaled breath fill the silent dark with sound as I tease the softest trail of hair in treasure's triangle. But those teasing, grazing hands move onwards up away from that throbbing bent of passion. Your whole body begs to be touched. Up, up, outlining ribs and feeling each quick shallow indrawn breath.

Circling round and round tiny nipples hard as pebbles on a rocky beach. They leave. They pause the space of an exhaled breath, and on that breath's last wings, they touch. Tiny ripples of fire straight from nipple tips to groin to toes, body connected in electric sting.

Mouth descends to join the dance, hot moist breath felt oh, so softly in the crook of your neck. In the silence, the parting of lips is felt as clearly as the closing of teeth lightly on your earlobe. The tiniest of moans is as audible as your heartbeat, our breath, in the stillness of this night.

My lips trace the path my fingers have flown as we move together effortlessly, touch and sensation merging in this passion's dance. Along the outlines of shoulder blades and spine, the faintest touch of tongue makes you arch your back in involuntary response. Soft lips tease your contours, pale cheeks of flesh quiver and tense as they are gently probed. And again, contours fully outlined, the crease of buttock and thigh so often forgotten is paid homage by the lightest flicker of tongue.

Soft skin trailed to the back of the knee, hot warm mouth open and sucking widely on that skin while tongue rolls across it. Down taut calves and to the foot's benediction. Each individual toe is immersed into this hot, wet mouth for a moment of blind sensation. And up, up again come lips and hands, across miles of skin begging to be caressed yet again.

I ignore passion's plateau, toying with bellybutton and taunting the tiny hairs with my chin. My hair brushes across your belly randomly, flickering onto unteased areas. Up your chest to where I began, where neck meets chest meets shoulders, earlobe getting the lightest of nips. Across your shoulders, down outstretched arms, your mind's eye follows my mouth in the dark.

Teeth graze your palm followed by tongue, then each finger is drawn deep into that mouth, surrounded by heat and tongue, teeth grazing callused tips in rough sensation. Sucking, pulling, each part of your body drawn into and through those fingers as they writhe helplessly in passion's grasp.

Back up your arms, to chest, lips toy aimlessly across it's breadth then graze nipples, tiny pebbled nipples straining t be kissed. They are immersed. Tongue toys with them as I suckle on that begging flesh. Your fingers twine in my hair as your whole body throbs in response.

And as I suckle there, teasing and tweaking nipple's peaks, my fingers inch downward, nails leaving a trail of crescent moons until they reach that soft plateau of hip and belly. They twirl there softly and I release your nipple with my mouth, only to take it up again, lightly rolling it between thumb and finger.

Mouth descends on mouth and tongues duel for love or lust. Hot wet maelstrom of kisses, mouth locked on mouth sucking and demanding surcease. Fingers curve and nails dig into that soft spot on thigh-belly. Digging deeply into that pleasure nerve, nipple explodes and mouth explodes and cock explodes into passion's grasp. I take your cries into my mouth and my body presses against yours--anchor in sensation's storm. And as that storm subsides, the still warm press of flesh on flesh melts oh, so slowly into exhausted passion's aftermath, curled in my embrace and ravished in our storm.

05/03/05 - Tuesday

My daughter is such a sweet little pain in the ass. And a bit of a hypocondriac to boot. But I have to say.. I was SO proud of her yesterday! Bad mommy lost track of the calendar & didn't realize until 3am Monday morning that 9am was rolling around quickly, and on it's heels was coming.. the Kindergarten physical. We'd been talking about "going to the Dr", next week to be followed by "going to the dentist", both of which are normally a grand event in her little life. She gets SO excited, the buildup between making the appt & actually going almost drives her insane. But... well... you parents out there know what sort of nasty surprize comes with the K physical, don't you? Yeah. Shots. Several of 'em. And I forgot about this appt, so no opportunity to mentally prepare her for potential nastiness. Maybe that was just as well?

First the TB test, which elicited just a bit of a whimper & right at the veeerrry end an "oouuuch, that hurts!" (in a tiny, high, slightly panic-edged voice). I have to say, knowing B, I expected great wails right off the top & was pretty impressed w/ this bit of fortitude.

Then our great peds office team tag-teamed her for the nasty bits -- they had me hold her in a big cross-armed hug to keep her from grabbing anything bad, & nailed her one on each side at the same time so fast she didn't know what was coming. Then the last one she did... but what can you do? Even then, the volume of outraged distress was so much less than I'd anticipated I wasn't certain I was even holding MY daughter. Didn't even begin to rival the circus of attention-demanding wails we get when she does something simple.. like scrape a knee. I guess that's the sign (for now anyway) that it's serious. Lots of noise: not hurt. Near silent whimpers: call an ambulance.

It doesn't hurt that they then immediately bribed the bejeezus out of her. Trotting off to the "loot" room, she came back with a toy, a sticker, and not one, but THREE suckers (one for each shot) clutched in her greedy little hands and not a tear in sight.

Then they gave us a script to go to the lab for a CBC & lead test (we live in an "old" house), & said "you don't have to go today". Are you NUTS? I'm not about to let this momentum pass! Not after you've managed to stick FOUR needles in her body, get off with about 2 min of restrained tears & then bribed her to the moon! I'm riding on your success, buddy. So I bribed her with her choice of whatever she wanted (ice cream) to go get this last one done NOW, knowing the sugar high would only bollux the evening, not the life..

How'd that work out? She was utterly disgusted at the meager offerings of the lab. After all, THEY only gave her a little coloring book & a couple of crayons. Pffft. What kind of bribe is THAT?!! lololol

But finally, my great kid then told me why she had three suckers instead of just one: "But mom, I have to SHARE!" And she did. The waitress at lunch was the surprized but appreciative recipient of one pristine watermelon sucker, & gave B one of the best bits of loot of the day: A great big hug with a smile & a thank you. B beamed happy for a couple of hours after that one. I love my kid.