The Not Ideal, Mighty Fine Work Around

This week’s Turn-a-Trope Tuesday was an interesting one – good people have good sex.  And I couldn’t help myself.  The voice, the story just happened and I’m not going to apologize or take it back.  I will, however, do a warning that it has an adult rating (because sexy talk) and some adult language, so if those two things bother you, then you don’t have to read it.  I won’t be offended, I promise.

I present 999 words, flipping this trope on it’s head (I think):

 The Not Ideal, Mighty Fine Work Around

My name’s Eve and I feel cheated. Not in the way you might think. No one robbed me or swindled me, but I’ve been cheated just the same.

The thing is, no one tells you what to expect. They just assume you know. How that’s even remotely possible, I’m quite sure I don’t know. But I’m here to say that I didn’t know and I’m thinking it would have been only fair if someone had taken the time to tell me so I didn’t have to puzzle through it on my own.

Not that my parents were going to tell me. They wouldn’t talk about sex to save their own life much less mine. Pretty sure their sex life was (is?) about as much fun as getting cat piss out of the carpet. Not that I want to know. Nope. They can just keep their sexy secrets behind closed doors, thank you very much.

See, growing up you watch TV and no, it isn’t porn or anything, but you wind up with certain expectations. Have a glass of wine with a gentleman; wear a dazzling outfit; smooch a bit; everything polished to a perfectly pretty shine. Then the door closes and the scene fades to black and your imagination takes over. And boy could my imagination take over!

It probably didn’t help that I found my parents’ book porn hidden in their room when I was younger. Now, just to clarify unless you go thinking my parents really had porn lying around their house, hidden in their bedroom or not; they didn’t. It was more like steamy romances, which had the same problems as listed above, only book scenes end with, “He took her into the bedroom.” Regardless, I ate that shit up! Had to make sure I put the book back so they wouldn’t notice, but when they were at work, I was in my bedroom poring over lustful words.

So, you might say I had some idea what to expect. But, boy would you be wrong.

There I was, the ripe old age of eighteen years old and me and the sweetie had been dancing around it for a few months. Now, keep in mind that we were both raised in religion, so it’s not like we were excited about this new experience, this sharing of sex with each other. It’s more like we were scared shitless.

But it didn’t matter what we did or how much we tried to stop it. Somehow our hands just ended up all over each other and soon we were lifting clothes and kissing more and farther down…

Well, you get the idea.

It’s not like we talked about it either. There was no “you’re going to do this” then “I’m going to do that” and “I really liked that” and “keep doing that” or “stop that right now!” In fact, I seem to remember an absence of words – like the first one who spoke would die a horrible death, or something.

So there we were, getting in on and before I knew it certain clothes had been removed and I was staring at something that I knew would not fit where it was supposedly going. And yep. I was right.

That’s another thing I never really learned about. Lubrication. As stated above, it probably would have helped to have some sort of words from someone on the subject and how to do things the best possible way.

Anyway, long story short, we kept at it and eventually managed to go all the way. But then another thing happened that continues to happen to this day. Once the thing was where it needed to go, it’s like it couldn’t help itself. Being surrounded by all that moist heat, pumping in and out, it expended itself within a matter of moments.

All that build up for a few moments? Because it’s not like things continued. No, once he was done, so was I apparently. And for some reason I did this thing where I smiled and acted like things were great when I was really feeling, well, I guess the appropriate words would be let down.

Which brings me to feeling cheated.

At this point, those moments have turned to minutes and sometimes we get a full ten, but other than that, it’s pretty much over as soon as it begins. I’m not sure he even realizes it, but it just doesn’t happen quite that fast for me. I mean, sure, I enjoy it, because all the build up is nice; but it should lead to that moment, you know the one – seeing stars, fading vision and languid, limp body.

Just in case you were wondering, we aren’t much better at the whole talking thing. We can’t even say things like, “Yes, I absolutely want to fuck tonight!” No, it’s more like we do another dance. I look at him a certain way and he’s supposed to just know that I want to; or he leans into me and puts his hand on my knee and somehow that is the magical symbol for “I want to fuck”. Things could be so much easier if we just opened up and said what we wanted, you know, with words.

Needless to say, we haven’t had that conversation. The one where I tell him I’m walking around most nights like a sex crazed maniac, throbbing and wet with hunger.

But to be perfectly honest, since that’s what I’m doing here, bearing my soul to anyone who will listen; I’m not really walking around like that because I discovered something – a work around; and a mighty fine one too. It’s not ideal, I suppose, but in the absence of actually communicating with sweetie to get shit done, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

And when I say that, I do mean it literally.

Funny how you learn pretty damn fast where your own buttons are and how to pop them.

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A Daughter’s Choice

Chuck’s challenge this week is a complete story in three sentences.  I may have cheated a bit with the last sentence, but I’m standing by it.

*winks at you and grins*

If you click that little linky above and go to the comments, there are some AMAZING three sentence stories in there!  It’s totally worth your time and I highly recommend it.

A Daughter’s Choice

She spent her childhood constantly searching for the love and attention most children take for granted in the important role their father plays in their life. After years of disappointment, severe let-downs and always playing the role of emotional adult in their relationship, she chose to walk away.  Peace is harder to find than most think, especially when bombarded by his emotional manipulation and that he never once reached out to find out why, but she is stronger now; and the love she found elsewhere lifts her up and carries her forward.

The Art of My Tattoo

This was written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt was to basically write what you wanted, but you had to end it with a question.  If you happened to get an exclamation point in there, even better; I think I have 3 (I like them far too much and I usually have to delete most of them when I write blog posts).  Once again, what I started out to write morphed into something else entirely, but I’m not sad about it.  It’s one of my favorite stories and I love telling it.  I hope you enjoy, even if you don’t like tattoos all that much.

**

As yesterday was tattoo day for me, my mind has been on tattoos and what they mean and how they affect you.  Perhaps not as much as when I first got the outline two months ago, but it’s still something I’m thinking about.  I’ve wanted to get a tattoo for many years now, but it was always out of my financial reach (those suckers are not cheap!) and I wanted to find that thing that I wanted to live with for the rest of my life; something that meant something and wasn’t just “a thing” to put on my body.  Everyone is different.  Not everyone needs their tattoo to mean something and some people have just offered up their body as a canvas for art in whatever form.  I’m not here to judge anyone.  I believe tattoos are art and I think it is another form of self-expression that… let’s just say I think it’s ridiculous that society has such shitty labels for tattooed people.

For me, it was finding just the right thing and my daughter is the one who came up with the idea and we have pretty similar tattoos.

To start at the beginning, I read a children’s book to Adelle when she was young.  It was a gift for either when she was born or one of her birthdays.  In between moving several times and the numerous cleanings and thrift runs to minimize the stuff in her room, the book was lost.  Years later, my son came home from school and told me his teacher had asked parents to volunteer to read their favorite children’s story to their class and talk about reading and their favorite books.  I just had to to it.  I love books and reading (obviously).

I remembered the book I read to Adelle, only I couldn’t remember the name of it or the author.  The only thing I could remember was it had something to do with love and a baby growing up.  I went to the bookstore with very little hope of finding this book, but I thought I would give it a try.  I walked to the back and found all their children’s books in a huge book shelf at least six shelves high and I just started scanning the titles.  I picked a few out and put them back.  On the very last shelf I actually found it!

Love You Forever

I’ve heard mixed reviews of this book, but I happen to love it.  I think – well, I’m not here to give a review of the book.  Needless to say I bought it and took it home.  When the kids got home from school, we were all sitting around in the living room just talking and hanging out when I remembered.

I said, “Adelle, do you remember that book I read to you when you were younger?”

She looked at me, “I don’t know…”

I reached down and pulled out the book.

Then she did this thing that still melts my heart when I think about it.  She leaped in the air, grabbed the book, “I love this book!”  She looked up at me, holding the book with something close to reverence.  “Mommy, will you read it to us, please?”

I had tears in my eyes when I took the book from her.  She literally leaned over the couch arm, put her chin on her arms and proceeded to listen intently.  Both of my boys were there and they also joined in and I proceeded to open the book and turn it around so they could see the pictures while I read them my favorite children’s book and cried through most of it.  It’s one of those special moments that will always hold a place in my heart.  They were ages 16, 12 and 8 at the time but they still listened to that story like they were two and I was reading them a story as they were falling asleep.

Adelle came up with the tattoo idea perhaps a year later.  She wanted to have the words from the book and her birth month flower.  As soon as I heard it, I knew that’s what I wanted too.  Originally, I was going to get the exact same tattoo as her since we were born in the same month.

Adelle's Tattoo

But, after thinking about it, I decided this was my tattoo that represented my kids, so I incorporated my boys birth month flowers as well.  I also decided their flower’s should be their favorite colors.  I know that changes, but honestly, their colors haven’t changed much in the past five years or so.  And even if they do, it was their favorite color as a child, so I think it works for what I’m going for.

My Tattoo

I was more than sad that we couldn’t finish it yesterday, but seeing it mostly finished, I am beyond blown away at how beautiful it is.  I love it more than I can say and every time I look at it, I think of my children (not that I need a reason to think of them).

I know I’ve seen this question somewhere in the blogosphere, but what children’s book would you tattoo on your body?  If you don’t like that question, maybe just answer, what is your favorite children’s book?

The Aftermath of Life’s Gut Punch

That thing called life?  Yeah, it went and gut punched me again yesterday.  And while I’m grateful it was just a gut punch and didn’t turn into a full-on battle to the death that left me bleeding on a cold stone floor, it still shook me.  I keep telling myself I shouldn’t be this shaken; that, thank the Universe everything turned out to be okay, or at least manageable.  But then you start to realize where your thoughts have traveled… they’ve ventured down the treacherous “what if” road. They’ve actually created a whole new reality simply by thinking them, and you feel those feelings and drown in them almost as if the “what if” event had truly happened.

It makes me wonder why we do this to ourselves because I know I’m not the only one who travels this insidious path.  Isn’t it enough that everything was okay?  No, now I have to go and wonder what might have happened if this or that or…

Picking up the pieces of my shattered serenity, I am pretty much back to the same place I found myself yesterday morning, only now things are slightly different.

First, I am going to have my tattoo colored in by myself tomorrow.  Which isn’t such a big thing, but it was that thing my sister and I had planned to do together and we were going to see it through to the end.  But since she won’t be able to finish hers for quite some time, I’m going to go and have mine done and hopefully I will be with her when she is able to finish hers.

Second, I might just be doing Tough Mudder by myself.  If not the whole thing, I will most likely be the only one who tries each obstacle, which is pretty ridiculous when you look back and realize that I was the one who said “NO WAY” when the idea was first proposed.  I’m still hoping we can all at least attempt it, but I’m thinking it is still up in the air at this point.  The training is also going to be a solo endeavor for the next little while and I’m not sure I’m okay with that!  I mean, who else is going to spur me to post better running times?  Who else is going to motivate me to do cross-training on my off-running days?  (This is where I think I’ve put far too much on my sister and I need to start looking at what I can do to motivate myself since she is obviously floundering under the weight of my neediness [too soon for the joking?… I apologize]).

So, there you have it.

Without really saying anything I have managed to let you know the state of my mind and how the next few months look.  How plans can go from concrete, set-in-stone laws to whimsical cloud fluff that could disappear at any moment – or at least change to something else entirely more whimsical and airy than what they were before.

“All negativity is caused by an accumulation of psychological time and denial of the present.  Unease, anxiety, tension, stress, worry – all forms of fear – are caused by too much future, and not enough presence.  Guilt, regret, resentment, grievances, sadness, bitterness, and all forms of non-forgiveness are caused by too much past, and not enough presence.”

 -Eckhart Tolle

Each day I am more fully convinced that Eckhart Tolle is brilliant.

There is no past; there is no future; there is no made-up event that might have happened but didn’t actually happen. There is only now.

My sister is here now and she is smiling and happy and alive.

NOW is the BEST place to be!

Newbie Writing Jitters

I’ve been feeling a bit off lately and I’m thinking if I can verbalize it here, it might help me sort it out – or at least get it out so it’s no longer going around and around in my head.  Maybe I can also find some valuable insight from someone commenting because that’s happened in places I’ve least expected it and I am more grateful than I can say.

When I first started this blog, it was in an effort to write.  My original goal was to write one blog post a week because I have a project that is forefront in my mind and my biggest reason for doing all of this, and I wanted to devote most of my time to it.  I had certain fears when I started – will people like what I write, am I good enough – that, while mostly under control, still haunt me.  I suspect they will always haunt me to a certain degree, but the fears I had a few months ago have changed and morphed because I now have more information and where my project used to be this shining beacon on the horizon glimmering its beauty into my soul, it is now a black hole of “how the hell do I do this thing!”

I have so many questions!

I have never pursued writing.  I didn’t go to college (well, I did, but it was only a semester and I didn’t have a major so does it really count?).  I wrote pretty well in high school but it was never something I thought was “that thing I do”.   Needless to say, I’m feeling a bit behind the game.  I was dead set on writing at least 300 words a day on my project two months ago. That was the goal to just get me started.  About a week into it, I realized I didn’t have the first clue about writing an actual novel.  Character development?  What’s that?  Oh, you mean we need to know who these characters are?  Their back stories?  If that’s the case, how important are character sheets and do authors use them?

Then there were the gaping holes in my story.  I have an idea with about three different events/plot points and I thought I knew the conclusion.  Those things have been set since I first thought about writing this thing, but when I started really working on it, it started to change.  How do you drive a story and take it from point A to point Z?  I had no idea what the in-between times looked like and it scared me so I started rethinking everything and then I just stopped altogether.  I think the idea is back on track and I have more going on now than I did when I first started, but I feel like I have more questions than answers.  Does everyone feel this much in the dark about writing or is it just my lack of experience?  But then I ask, how do you get experience if not by trial and error?

The other question that loomed its ugly head was how to store all these words once they are written.  This one might just be one of those questions that is stalling the process when it doesn’t need to, but I honestly don’t know.  I had a family member recommend Scrivner and I looked at it, but I feel so overwhelmed by everything.  I mean, I’m using Microsoft Word, but how do you share a document with 90,000+ words?  Do you save them by chapters and have multiple documents?  Perhaps it’s silly to focus on something as simple as storage, but the thought won’t leave me alone!

I have everyone (really it’s like the two people closest to me who got me into this in the first place) saying I need to work on my project because I have “it” (whatever that is) and all the stories are just getting me away from writing it.  Which, in some ways is true, but in others its not.

The stories have given me so much insight into myself, into the way I write and most importantly, they have given me confidence.  I honestly believed two months ago that I wasn’t creative, that all I had was this one story and once it was written I should pack it in and go back to whatever it is I do that isn’t writing or being a Mom.  Writing these stories, stepping out of my comfort zone and just doing it, has helped me so much and I know my project will be better for it in the long run.  But right now, I feel stuck not just in the project, but in writing even flash fiction.  (Or maybe it’s just that one that Chuck posted on Friday that I have zero interest in writing and I should just give a bow and say thank you but no thank you, I will wait for the next one…)  In some ways I feel like if I’m not working on my project, at least I’m writing these short stories, but if I can’t even do that?  Then what do I have?

In between all the angst (if that’s what this is), I’m just feeling a bit green, a bit new to the game.  I suppose we all have the newbie jitters when we first start down an uncharted path and that’s all this really is.  Sometimes, just putting the jumbled mess of words that flit around in my brain down on paper (or in a blog post) helps me move past it and I am actually able to take the first step.  In this case it’s probably like the hundredth step, so maybe I’ll just say the next step.

Since we’re on the subject of steps, I just realized that I probably tried to take the hundredth step before I actually took the first step and now I need to go back and fill in all the holes. See?  An epiphany, even while still working through the chaos.

Anyway, I’ve probably ranted about this enough.

At least I am feeling somewhat better…

Bring Her Back

I’m a bit late posting my story for Turn-a-trope Tuesday, but I’m still on time, damn it!  This week, the Trope was “Make a Wish”.  Thanks again to Mark Baron for hosting this challenge, it always manages to keep me on my toes.

I spent a good two days with absolute stillness in my head; no ideas, no spark. Nothing.  It was like a ghost town in there.  I was a little panicked, but I decided to give myself some time (actually it was more like screaming and crying that I was no longer creative and I couldn’t write anymore).  I spent some time reflecting on past stories and how far I feel I’ve come when it hit me on Saturday to use a character I had already created.  After that, it became much easier.

I’m a little over at 1,064 words, but I hope you enjoy my take on turning “Make a Wish” on its head, as well as Jaden’s continuing story.

Bring Her Back

Sitting in chains on the dank cellar floor waiting for my trial, I knew I had made a mess of things, but somehow I just couldn’t bring myself to regret what I had done. I regretted my own loss more than anyone could imagine, but my actions had saved someone I loved severe heartache and pain. Was that so wrong?

Mom had warned me countless times not to get too close to my human, not to care too much, but my bond with Xander was unique and most Guardians didn’t understand, Mom included. The thing was we had a set of rules to live by. We could only step in when the rules said so, but most times, we were just watching. Sure, we influenced their emotions sometimes, helped guide them in different directions, but the big events like death were written down and we could only step in when told to do so.

Xander was a great kid and it was hard to believe ten years had passed. Ten years of growing and learning together. When his first big tragedy hit, he was the same age I was when he was born and I was unceremoniously entrusted with him.

It was a tough thing to watch. Tougher still that we had this connection where he seemed to know I was there and counted on me.

He was lying next to his deceased mother in her hospital bed, holding her close one last time, tears streaming down his face. Everyone had left the room to give him some time alone, but I was watching, feeling helpless. I would have done anything in that moment to take his pain away; it was all I could do to stand by and not offer anything.

I was so caught up in our shared grief, I barely heard him whisper into the stillness.

“I know you’re there.”

He didn’t look up or turn his head, just soft words spoken into the desperate silence. I knew he was talking to me, but I kept quiet, bound by the Guardians’ rules.

“I think I’ve always known you were there. I just want my mom back and I know you can do it! Please, help me. Please bring her back.” He was staring straight ahead, holding her hand as he cried out his plea.

It broke my heart. I knew I couldn’t bring her back, but how to make him understand? I tried sending calming waves in his direction, but it didn’t help. He cried, pleading and begging, all the while hugging his mother, kissing her hand.

All I wanted was to comfort him, to make it stop, to bring him some release.

I don’t know if it was the overwhelming emotion, our connection or something else, but in the midst of the emotional assault, I felt something give inside me. It was the same feeling I had felt when Xander and I connected at his birth, but this time, it directed itself toward his mother. Xander must have felt it too because he lifted up and looked at his mother’s face. We both watched as her eyelids fluttered and a loud breath whooshed out of her mouth.

I was dazed, not entirely sure what was happening, when the air stirred and my own mother flew through the window and landed next to me.

“Jaden, what have you done?

Seeing the concerned look on her face and feeling the joy coming from Xander, I realized I must have done it. I had given his mother back to him.

“Mom! I don’t know. I didn’t know. How did you know?” The words and questions flew out of my mouth reflecting my inner turmoil.

She gently placed her hand on my arm. “When things like this happen, we all know. You need to fix it, son.”

“Fix it? I don’t even know what I did!” My voice was panicked.

“I will help you. You need to gather that same feeling, the one you had when you brought her back and direct it towards her again, but this time you will think the opposite of what you were thinking when it happened. I will do the rest.”

“I don’t think I can. Look at him!”

“Jaden, we are Guardians. If it wasn’t written in his file, then you can’t step in.”

“What happens if I let her live?”

“The consequences are too numerous to go into right now. You need to fix it quickly before life sets in for good. At that point, it will take a whole lot more than what you and I have to make it right.”

I looked back at Xander. He was laughing and crying and hugging his mom. He was saying thank you over and over again and I knew it was directed at me. I was torn. On the one hand, even though I hadn’t done it on purpose, I knew it was wrong. On the other hand, how could I take back what was given? To make him lose his mother all over again simply because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing?

“Jaden?” Mom’s soothing voice penetrated my thoughts.

I looked at her and nodded my head, all the while holding back the tears that threatened to well up. I knew I didn’t have a choice.

I held her hand and focused everything I had into Xander’s mother. At the same time, I felt Mom’s energy flowing out of her and mixing with mine. It wasn’t bright white like before, but stardust gray, billowing and melting like molten lava towards the heartbeat that should never have restarted.

The non-life energy encompassed Xander’s mother and I was just about to breathe a relieved sigh when I realized it hadn’t stopped. The energy continued to flow to the heartbeat closest to hers and I was helpless to stop it. I looked at Mom, her eyes reflecting the horror in mine.

I thought I was focused and clear, but in the midst of the energy meld I divided my focus between Xander and his mother. I couldn’t bear the thought of him losing her all over again. I just wanted to take care of him, to guard him, to give him what I thought he wanted.

Xander would always be with his mother now and I had inadvertently sacrificed the truest connection I had ever felt.

Sides

Welcome to Stream of Consciousness Saturday hosted by Linda G Hill.  For this week we were prompted to write about “side”.  I have to admit that I changed the last line because it was originally too repetitious for my tastes in a poem… but the fact that I did a poem and didn’t change anything else besides that one line is a milestone for me.

Anyone who knows me will know I do my best to avoid the news and politics.  My boyfriend, on the other hand, is the exact opposite, so it is difficult for me to stay as oblivious as I once was (not that you can ever be truly oblivious to what’s happening in the world).  I suppose it doesn’t need any further explanation than that.

Sides

You take your side, I’ll take mine
Draw a line in the sand
Who is right and who is wrong
An idea, an ideal
Principles

Stand on a stone
Looking down
Where has humanity gone

Make a statement
Take a step into war
Bleeding on all sides

Aren’t we all beings
Come from the same place
But you have your god
And I have mine
Who breaks the barrier?

Of this side and that