Pause

Hiatus. Taking a break or pressing pause on one part of your life means you are on hiatus. Once I forced myself to take a year off from blogging but did not stop writing, photographing or drawing. There is probably still more unpublished work in that year than anything I had written prior.

Currently, I am still creative but I have put blogging on pause and intermittently been using social media. It has been a long unplanned pause. It definitely was unplanned. Let us get this in the open: I did not take a break, hit pause or go on hiatus for mental or physical health issues. I am all right and did not step back intentionally. However, my life required that I prioritize my daily responsibilities differently to deal with circumstances beyond my control.

This has kept me away from friends, sometimes checking in with friends and oh, so many things I was accustomed to being a part of my routine. I take many blessings for granted that I am involved with and there are many people that I miss seeing. Sometimes you have to accept that the universe has other plans and let it all happen… so I let go and paused. There was no force, it was just quiet and felt completely natural to focus on other things.

This has all been weird because it is hard to be restrictive with my life. Typically, I am transparent with myself; I reach out, pester and cannot help myself when it comes to people in my life.

Tbh, I cannot say I will or will not be posting regularly again, but I am not on a hiatus and the plan is just to go with the flow. It has been very Zen. Highly recommend taking breaks from all the unnecessary things you think you need to do. 

Do you ever take social media breaks? On purpose? Here is an old story that is a bit dark from the D Men about a person that wanted to get away from his life and someone gave him exactly what he wanted. 

 

Enjoy

Kisses, m.

 

Departure

(3-17-11)

“Jackson Slater you’re an irrelevant bastard. You are going straight to hell. And no one will notice you’re gone.” says Haller Thomson.

Those are the final words Haller has chosen before we leave the shore. I keep telling myself this isn’t happening but that doesn’t change the circumstances at all. I can’t quite place the location of the boat with my eyes blindfolded. But north of the docks is as good as any guess.

What you have to understand is that I pretty much deserve to be in this position. A position that I created for myself. Although I wouldn’t have admitted it before now. Which is about 15 minutes after I should have admitted it.

I wasn’t particularly a great man or a man of character. On the whole I was a terribly shallow man with a talent for avoiding the obvious. Avoiding was a brilliant art that I mastered; especially when it came to people.  People can be so incredibly co-dependent that you might say avoiding them helps them. One might say I wrote the chapter on avoidance and I would have corrected them by handing them an autographed copy of the book.

My own sense of vanity ran deeper than any river. The great Jackson Slater renowned for his looks. And I was. My personal routine involved several hours a day before many mirrors in a grooming ritual that would make a cat’s look amateur. For the most part I had lived my entire life pretending that nothing was happening around me. I hadn’t worried about such things.

And I couldn’t be more wrong. There was plenty happening all around me, I just didn’t care about it. Besides everything went away if you threw enough money at the problem.  And if it didn’t, ignoring it often worked for me.

“Jackson, I want you to know this isn’t about the money. It’s a matter of my word. My integrity. I promised to come through on my end of things.” Haller tells me softly as the boat shimmies a little faster.

Unlike most people I was hardly the kind of fellow to be drawn in. As a matter of my own personal character I felt it was my duty to be exactly the opposite. I’m the type of man who would fervently deny that a building was on fire to save myself the trouble of becoming involved. It meant caring and that would not do. People want a piece of you and then that is one less piece you have for yourself.

And lack of involvement is exactly where I find myself this windy April evening.  Somewhere in the bay I’m free of the mask and looking at the man…

Haller Thomson came into my life exactly the same way a freight train mows down your car when the engine stalls on the tracks. With the fury of an uncontainable beast, Haller came forth. And it wasn’t something I could have seen coming before it happened. It wasn’t money that he was after when he came. It was so much more.

A man with an offer only a shallow man wouldn’t refuse…

If you help me, I will help you. Give a little of this for a little of that. And I went along for it. Including the part where I had planned to double-cross the man. Because I only thought of what he could offer me.  

Except it never works out the way we plan.

“Plan? I bet the great Jackson Slater wants to know. Don’t you? Well, Jack I don’t have a plan. Except for tying you up and gagging you. That. That’s a plan. Don’t struggle. We’re almost there.”

Haller wanted someone to help with a situation. It was a matter of vanity; as any man can attest to his own level of vanity. Haller was a bit different. He was concerned and wanted no more than a bit of help becoming more involved with others despite his own shortcomings.

You see, Haller wasn’t a good looking man. In fact, you might call him unattractive after he’s left the room. And for what it’s worth, I thought I did him a favor after I pocketed most of his money. At the time I thought there was nothing I could have done to draw flies to that level of hideous. But I did what I thought worked best… for me.

Haller took a new name, a new lifestyle, and a new set of bills thanks to me. He lived and breathed my routine of shallow and I gladly introduced him to the right people at the right places. And with a little less than luck he fell right into it. Haller took to it like a fish takes to toxic waste waters and grows a third eye. It wasn’t a gradual mutation either. Overnight there was a new fresh uninvolved man and it wasn’t me.

Haller began to see me, the great Jackson Slater as direct competition to his new persona. A person with an agenda that no longer matched his own. You have to wonder where the struggle began. Exactly right after he decided that he could do it without me. And for a lot cheaper. Once he realized I was taking him for a pretty penny, Haller Thomson decided that it was time to fulfill his end of things.

An eye for an eye.

And what was my request? I was tired of all that was happening around me. I wanted to escape from all of it; being Jackson Slater with the people, their nonsense, and their involvement. I simply asked this man to help to put me in a place where I would never have to deal with these kinds of situations ever again. And now much to my dismay, Haller is holding up his end of the arrangement.

“Jackson, it’s been fun. Now… get off my boat.” With the bottom of his boot, Haller shoves me out into the dark water. Despite what I expect, I don’t sink. As his tiny boat moves away from me, I watch without control as the cold water splashes against me.

This isn’t exactly the escape I’d hope for but I didn’t specify when I asked. I only wanted out.

Now I am.

Completely out. Out to sea. Adrift. Letting the waves wash over me.

Careful what you ask for. Even now as I sink slowly and my eyes watch the emergency buoy float further away from me I know that pretending that nothing else exists will be the thing that seals my fate. Because not one person will notice. I was so busy avoiding it all that it wouldn’t make any difference.

Red

Red is such a fabulous color... passion, love, blood, etc. There’s no denying its presence when you are brought face to face with it. 

Spiritually red auras are significant of the physical body, in particular the blood, because it represents our physical life force and red is an action color.

Here’s a story about seeing red... wine.

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Didn’t

(4-6-2011)

Some girls will take no for answer.

Not this one.

Not this time.

“I didn’t have a choice,” is what he thought as he steadied the razor sharp shards of glass in his hand. The length of the puddle ran the length of his restless arm as it moved. Her head lay split wide open to reveal the slow thickness of blood spilling outward onto the Italian marble floor. The red on white tile was a startling contrast to his eyes. Trying to convince himself that there was no other way Victor pulled another shard from her lifeless body. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Over and over he kept thinking that there was something else he could have done. But there was no other way to do it because Carmen never gave anyone a choice.

When she wanted something she went after it full throttle.

Carmen Sandoval was the kind of girl you wanted to hang out with. She was pretty, tall, slender, big breasted and all the guys wanted to fuck her. And most of them probably did. Asking Carmen out meant one thing to everyone in the neighborhood and Victor knew it. That’s what made it hard to believe when he did it. Victor wasn’t the type of guy that followed when all the others did. But today Victor Vargas was the guy that got to hang out with her.

Victor Vargas was hardly a man with gumption. If Carmen hadn’t asked him for help with her flat tire in the middle of the parking lot at the grocer’s they might have never met. And if they had never met Victor was quite certain they never would have spent more than five minutes in the same room, let alone in the same company.

At least that’s what he thinks. In the back of his mind Victor wanders through the moments trying to piece together the puzzle of what happened before this moment where he’s standing over the bloody mess.  Like the missing parts of a dream he can barely recall the details of her before it happened.

The bare parts of her body look saintly in stillness. A purity that remains absent from the fragments of his memory that fall back together in his mind. With his eyes following the bloody line between her upper torso and lower hip bone Victor realizes that he warned her from the start. She didn’t heed his warning. Even though he was hardly to blame for what happened, somewhere in his mind he remembered giving a warning.

“I’m not a courageous man,” he told her when she invited him out. And he wasn’t. But Carmen didn’t listen to him when he said it. This was because women never listened to Victor. It was something he’d grown accustomed to over the years. Now Victor couldn’t say he didn’t mind because he did. He simply wanted to know about her when he accepted the invitation. And as she rambled on about sex and drugs he wanted her to know what he was about.

“Don’t expect me to do something that I’m not going to.” He interrupted her talking and talking with plans about what’s going to happen next. While walking to the house Carmen had it all worked out and Victor couldn't be in more disagreement when they reached the door.

“I didn’t mean to turn you on.”

 “Didn’t. So many things that you didn’t mean to do. Well it’s a shame now that it has to be this way. You’re staying for a drink.” She says.

“I’m going to go. It was fun. Maybe another…”

“Victor. I’m sorry. You don’t have to. Don’t. Stay.” she pleads.

But the words may as well be silent because he knew that nothing could change. Especially not with her.

He’d gone along with the evening despite knowing what Carmen was like. Victor kept hoping for a chance to know her. To see a change in her that showed a different side that never came. He knew what she was like when he took her home and in fact it was the one time when Victor was certain that NO meant no as she plead with him further. Good night was all he had in mind, but that was anything but what she wanted when she asked him to stay for a drink.

What she wanted happened in the kitchen next to the stove next to a drawer full of knives. It could have been the knives but it wasn’t and it happened faster than Victor had time to take it all in. Carmen opened a bottle of red wine, poured a glass  and reached for his hand. At least he thought it was his hand she wanted when the glass dropped and  she quickly made her move for his pants. Victor didn’t have to do it but he did. He moved. A slight step to the right and she wasn’t paying attention when the base of her heel went out from under her in the liquid.

Back, back, back she fell into the golden pool of foamy wetness to meet her end.

As the color of red washed over her beautiful face, Victor wondered if there was more to Carmen than her oversexed libido. He suddenly wanted to know about her. And it was too late for all that when she stopped breathing. “I didn’t have a choice because you didn’t give me a chance.”  And with that Victor Vargas lay the sharp glass down gently with his sharp words before saying goodnight.  

Money

Money isn’t everything. It can’t buy you love, friends or happiness. It’s just money. Some give it away or throw it away. Take a hard look at things and remove the money. Would you still value the people & things in your life without the money they give you or you give them? All relationships with people matter before the money and if not maybe it’s time for a re-evaluation of yourself.

I simply don’t treat people as money. You can throw away money, it’s not the same with people. You have to dust them off and pick them up on occasion when they’ve lost their way. People aren’t replaceable & it’s not cool to use them in love, friendship and even in business. 

Here’s a story about using others & treating them as disposable...

Do you replace people or reduce them to something you use?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Disposable

(2-17-2011)

Ephraim Rybe was a man who knew that nothing lasts forever. Because of this knowledge he wasted no time with anything. Ephraim kept himself moving at a constant rate to take it all in. He firmly believed that if you stayed in one place too long you might miss what’s coming next. Moderately the world moved around while Ephraim sped through it. He felt that everyone and everything was a portion sized serving meant for consumption at the most appropriate time. Everything in its specific amount of time. No more. No less.

And he came to this understanding by a lesson life once handed him. A lesson that no one ever forgets. Ephraim had once been engaged to a lovely young woman. A beauty known throughout any and all of his circles. However, it was not to last. The young woman decidedly broke the agreement for their pending nuptials and left Ephraim moving on and on by wanting less and less.

Despite his unfulfilled destiny, Ephraim Rybe had been known to be quite the ladies man in certain circles. A many times confirmed bachelor he had a new gal pal on his arm every week. And it wasn’t for a lack of interest in the opposite sex that he continued in this manner. In fact it was Ephraim’s distinct fascination with women that kept his interest peaked consistently.

More.

Some women will tell you they love a man with ambition. That it’s refreshing to meet a man that knows wants and wants more of it. Ephraim Rybe wasn’t that sort of man. He always wanted more but less and less of what was involved in that equation. He was never satisfied by one woman when he could have five, six, seven or eight. Tonya, Felicia, Amber, Tiffany, Renee, Sandy, Mae, Claire. There were so many more than he often kept a list. The list continued onward and grew by five more every time one name dropped off.

A man will tell you that his idea of a perfect woman might be the combination of some supermodels with a few characteristics of his mom. And Ephraim Rybe wasn’t one of those men. He didn’t believe in the existence of a perfect woman for him. The idea of some epitomized goddess seemed like complete horseshit when he had his list. Ephraim repeatedly thought why settle on one when there’s always the next girl to fill that void. At current he could decidedly pick from a few different girls to fulfill these needs that other men want in one.

If he wanted to bed a supermodels ass he could call Christine. When needing to talk about his feelings with a sensitive matron he could dine with Anna. For the eyes and lips of an angel came Claudia. An ideal woman mattered very little when he could have a single serving portion of variation whenever he wanted. And soon enough he would be rotating in another set. The changeover had become a necessary a change routine. Some women loose their charm the same way eating the same meal does. There wasn’t an exact science to it, only that they needed to go when they lost their flavor. And it was never the quite the same flaw.

Some had too much hair while others had too little. Some appeared tall while they were really short. Others had laughs like hyenas when others giggled in a way that sounded like a drowning puppy. It wasn’t that any of those things made then unattractive. It wasn’t that at all, it was only an excuse to move onto something else.

To ask this man what he wanted from these women would be meaningless. He wanted nothing in particular from any of these girls, only to make sure that there would always be one coming next. Beat the disposable woman to the plate. Leave her before she can leave you. And he had it down to a science. From the looks of any new woman he could tell you how long he’d spend time with her. Knowing full well how long he would take before he used her up. Ephraim didn’t care if a woman knew she was getting the boot. He figured he was gifting her with some knowledge. In a sort of sick way he thought he was sparing a woman the trouble of getting attached when things were already over.

Next.

Onto the next one. And without much to it, I just so happened to be next. The next on his list. I happen to have had my fair share of experience dating men with eccentricities.  Although none of which included beating someone to the punch of heartbreak. To be perfectly honest, “no” wasn’t an option with Ephraim. Ephraim pressed and pursued very insistent that I be at the top of his agenda. When Ephraim told me that our involvement would last exactly two dates and a few rolls in the sack, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not. So I laughed even though Ephraim seemed quite serious. But I went along with it.

Going with the ride longer than he said. Long enough to know about the others which soon revealed more than I needed to know about the situation. You see there are some men who will tell you that they’re seeing other people. While others will lie about it. And then some want to pretend that there’s nothing before you happened to them because its taboo. Ephraim wasn’t at all like that. He kept things as real as possible. Too much real as a matter of fact. He nodded and smiled when he said there were others. It wasn’t news to me, but I could hardly contain what it all meant until he explained.

On an interesting cab ride back to his place, Ephraim took the time, that he never takes to explain about the others. Others that shouldn’t have been mentioned but needed to be explained once they had. And I insisted on knowing and encouraging. A curiosity that couldn’t be quenched once he’d mentioned it.

Something that I didn’t need to know as it never left my mind. The thought of being disposable and simply replaceable seemed to overwhelm my mind with thoughts that didn’t matter. The openness of his confession put him at ease and sent me wondering. I was consumed by the growing thought that nothing I did mattered in the slightest as he was already three deep into his next list of women.

The last night while he leaned in to kiss my neck, I sat thinking about Ephraim talk about the next one, Shelly or Sheila before telling me about Olga the dancer he had met after lunch with Hera. Somewhere between lunch and dinner, he’d been making arrangements with another woman and all I’d been doing was deciding what shoes matched with my new dress. My attention to him was disposable. It had simply been a choice of who to take home tonight.

Where did I fit on this uninvolved man’s list of disposable creatures? Not that it mattered in the slightest. His hands between my thighs mattered in the least. They mattered as much as which number of choice my Spinach salad ala carte with raspberry vinaigrette had been from dinner.

Ephraim wasted no time moving downward with his focus. Already thinking ahead, quickly his kisses found their way to my legs and I let him keep moving inward to work. It wouldn’t be long before it was over and I was merely someone else. And the more and more he pressed into things, the more I wondered about his list of women.

Even when Ephraim was moving his mouth in a rhythm all his own inside of me, I kept wondering the same thing: Would he be doing this dance with the dancer tomorrow night or the next. To Ephraim this was practice and preparation for the next act, with Olga, Hera, Shelly or someone else. When it became clear to me that I was no one’s trial run, I would get what I came for and leave him with none.

Closer and closer until the moment of release comes and goes. His arms find themselves around my waist when I say “Thank you, that was amazing. I’m done” and sweetly pat his face. His eyes look with alarm and his heart starts to race. Ephraim says “it’s my turn?” with the serious stare. His lips trembling waiting for something else when I tell him “there’s none.” So I tell him “I really have to go but I’ll get you later. Maybe next time. You understand?” and watch his thoughts crawl inside his head. I wait for something, anything to be said. When there is nothing I tell him “thank you again for understanding. I’m sure you can make other plans. After all you have Olga, Hera or Shelly.”  What more could a man need? And with that thought I left that impermanent man with his list of disposable women.

While Ephraim Rybe was too busy worrying about missing what would happen next he completely missed it without a thought of permanence because he couldn’t understand the meaning of disposable when it looked him back in the face.

Living In Moments

Writing about the Dead is more about living than dying. To remember those you’ve lost is a nice memory but you must remember to focus on the living and connect with others. That’s part of living... connecting. Moments aren’t always enough to bind or bond people. Getting to know someone is what keeps them in your mind, heart & memories. Focus on the present. Love yourself. 

Here’s an old one, from another of my favorite series’ The D Men, that’s about the living & considering change for the better if you get the chance. Enjoy whether you have or haven’t read it before.

Do you focus on the living or the dying?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

The Dead

(6-28-2011) 

 

“Baby, I love you come back to bed.” She says.

The soft voice whispers and speaks the truth.

And it’s the last truth that echoes before he’s awake.

The same conundrum wakes Classer Andresen from a dead sleep. Night after night, different places, different women and the same thing happens for Classer Andresen. The whisper precedes a memory. Not the last moment, but one all entirely different.

A random instance where she was there in his arms. In the dark of the Study standing next to the window and he was wrapped around her. His mind is surrounded by the smell of the room intensified by the sensation of his touch he lets his mind wander with the thought. Imagining the smell of the dusty room filled with old books could still make him jump hard with a hunger for her.

Stiff, hungry and hung over when he jars himself free from the waking dream, Classer can’t quite shake the sensation of the moment. Looking over, he visually makes out a long pair of legs attached to a thin brunette.  The small dimple of her back feels just like the one in his memory. But it’s not. As he moves his eyes up from bottom to top he can see the signs of his night. Two wrappers trail the edge of the sheets before giving way to a third. At least his efforts were protected even if he can’t seem to remember them. The perfection of the thin body next to him lifts and lowers with small shallow breathes. With the dark hair covering her face she might be the mirror image of Inara. Soft corners of her lips peeking out from the curly mess of long brown locks could fool him the same way the others fooled him every night.

This one, her name was Rachel. She told him that was her name, but it might be something else. He distinctly remembers a Heather or a Michelle. These women seem to be all the same when there’s one after another night after night. And the one thing they seem to have in common is that they can never be her.

The women like the memories couldn’t bring Inara back into his life. She was still gone, a dead memory because he was foolish enough to let her go. Foolish enough to send her away. And much like a dead woman, thinking about her that wouldn’t change a thing or bring her back to  him. Yet his mind wanders from the simplest stimulation. Looking at the book on the nightstand is intoxicating to his mind and sends his thoughts back into the past looking for her.

The air around them was stagnating in the dark Study. Dusty from the smell of old volumes of truth. Although her lips kept begging him back to bed, her hands were making different plans altogether. Down around his back she cups his ass and pulls him close. Without a thought he reaches beneath her robe and lets his hand move up and inside her thighs. Soft, warm and welcoming she kisses him when touches her.

Snapping back to present he’s ready for more. But to wake the creature next to him would only shake the moment from before. So he quietly runs his fingers across the skin of her thighs before getting up from the bed. It’s all he can do to avoid waking his anonymous companion as he gently shuts the bathroom door. Awake means questions and questions require answers. Answers are something that Classer really doesn’t want to supply at 3am for a woman he’s known less than six hours.

In the bathroom there’s wrappers four and five making an appearance. At least there is comfort in knowing that he safely could handle his alcohol and anonymous bedfellows. But this night wasn’t like any other and Classer knew it.

Tonight much like the dead didn't like to rest, the memories kept coming back to him haunt. The cool drip of the faucet sets his mind wandering backwards toward the same sound of water gently tapping at the window in the moment that cannot become again.

Kicking the back of his legs she let his movements climb and rise. The sound of her breath and moans greet the pulse of his hips and the touch of his hands. Slowly the sounds between them come to an end. Inara kisses the soft part of his bottom lip before taking in the whole of his mouth.

It’s there the memory always fades.

Still staring at the floor and standing next to the sink Classer can’t gather himself quickly enough. His face in the mirror seems the same and very different. There are a thousand reasons to go out there and pick up where he left off with the thin brunette named Rachel or Heather or Michelle and only one to pick up and leave…

She wasn’t her.

And none of them ever would be. None of the living could replace the dead memory of her. And none of these women could ever replace her ghost that haunted his memory. Sometimes she was there in a sound or a breath, but her pure essence could never be captured in a night of mindless pleasure. But for a moment or two he could bring back the ghost of her with a thought. And although it was the purest form of intoxication for his mind, Classer knew he couldn’t live in those memories. That’s all they were.

“Baby, come to bed,” She calls.

In a small voice he can hear the woman call to him.

And it’s the only truth that he can face when he looks in the mirror before turning out the light and going back into the room.

Be true

"To thine own self be true."

Polonius tells Hamlet this. I can't help think this is hardest for people to figure out. What's true to themselves? Well copying others won't help you figure it out if you're not doing it with the right intention. Yup I just said copying others is ok. Well how else are you going to know what you like unless you try what others like? Exactly. 

So right now, I'm a blonde. Sometimes I wish Mr Nagel had made more women with different shades of hair colors because I identify with their strength and beauty. But he did not. I still find all his women beautiful because they are all races and strong. So my hair? At one point I imagine I was enamored by a blonde friend's hair and thought: I'm going to try that. And now of course you realize I love changing my hair to all sorts of shades. It's not the first time I've been blonde or likely the last time. 

It doesn't change my inner beauty nor should it change yours to modify your exterior. There's no types in life, friendship or love. Be yourself and others who appreciate you will find you. Maybe they're trying out your interests and will move on? Maybe they stay? Who knows! Personally I've learned that I don't have types when it comes to friends or paramours and I'm always interested in getting to know who a person is not what they are. I don't like labels because they cause unnecessary separation among people. Life is amazing when you're open & grateful to all the experience that it has to offer. 

My experience tells me that people that know themselves are comfortable with all types of people. And the universe will always guide those types to my path. Do I worry about my favorite dolls or Kens? I'm confident they are exactly in the position on their paths that the universe intends for them.

Here's an older story about being true to yourself & knowing what you want.

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

 

Discipline

(2-11-2011)

Dylan Montgomery never got what he wanted in life. This was mostly because he didn’t know how to get it. Always afraid of what might happen if he were to be denied so he never asked. Dylan wasn’t a bad looking fellow; in fact most women would find him attractive and quite charming. He had always been sweet and pleasant. But Dylan often found himself overlooked. Because there are men who go after what they want with a fervent desire rather than stand aside in fear, and he wasn’t one of them.

Until he met her.

May.

The introduction was quite brief but his attraction to her couldn’t be missed. The new friend of an old friend that insisted her hand forward and tried to get him to talk. Instantly he could feel her attraction for him and felt himself step back inside. Dylan had never been shy or what some might call introverted but he couldn’t help catching his own tongue when he they met. It sounded like a dream when she said his name. In response he couldn’t help but say hers. She’d smiled back widely when he said her name, May.

Although he didn’t know why she picked him, Dylan knew from the first time he laid eyes on her that she could give him what he wanted. She was exactly the kind of girl that would do it. A little bit of sweet with a lot of daring. If only he could bring himself to ask her to…

“Spank me!” His screams beg for it as the leather strap cracks before laying into his bare ass. “Darling, give it to me. I need to be punished. SPANK ME!”

Dylan wasn’t like the other boys growing up. He hadn’t any desire to misbehave. Only a desire for what came after the trouble. The reprimand. The harsh swift paddle against his bare skin meant business and he couldn’t resist. This urge developed into an insistent predilection. But whenever it came time in a relationship to tell a woman what he wanted he shied away from the very notion and walked the other way. Except when it came to May.

May wasn’t persistent like other women he’d pursued, but she always made sure that Dylan knew of her complete adoration at every chance. It was often a mere touch of the arm, a wink or a smile but he knew that she would do whatever he wanted if only he could bring himself to ask it. Dylan could only think of the others who spurned and rejected his vulnerabilities before he could ever let them in. And he always let them leave.

For weeks Dylan avoided her direct gaze in their common haunts. Embarrassed by what he secretly wanted in private. Amidst a sea of their closest friends he would find himself staring at May through the cracks and nooks but unable to face her. The very thought of what he wanted from her tormented him inside. Between two friends or more he would not allow for their closeness or flirtation. Often May would smile to encourage him further. But Dylan couldn’t manage to react fully to her encouragement. The moment would quickly pass with his tongue tied in knots.

“Give me more.” May loosens up the leather strap and waits for him to insist once again before giving a little more. And he does. “More!”

When the cat and mouse of things had become quite hard for him to bear, Dylan decided that he needed to take an action. An action that seemed too bold but completely necessary. Dylan extended an evening invitation to May who agreed. And things proceeded smoothly until he began to think of what he really wanted to do and say. With those thoughts their intimacy had quickly become a moment that flushed his face leaving him to catch his tongue once again.

Dylan knew May to be armed with an interesting knack for sensing a person’s tension. It wasn’t a shock that she continued to remain close to him. Dylan understood that it was her only desire to encourage him further. It couldn’t be denied that she truly enjoyed Dylan thoroughly.

Her remaining closeness kept his heart racing. And the racing of his heart sent his pulse into a frenzy. At last he decided to react instead of ducking behind anything to avoid the obvious. With a swift and direct hand he raises and smacks her across her backside before telling May exactly what he wants. The firm hand of discipline that only she could give him. With a slight twist in her smile and lean of her head, May leans into his right ear with a whisper that tells Dylan she’d have no problem giving him what he wanted.

“More? I’ve been very bad, May. I think I need more. Give me more. MORE!” Lashing after lashing continues by the course of her extended hand.

May tells him “let me” before tying Dylan’s hands far above his head. Both his legs spread and waiting for the sting upon his bare skin. Dylan feels overjoyed as their moment is brought to realization by the swift sharp slap of her hand.

Dylan Montgomery was getting exactly what he wanted for the first time in his life and all he had to do was ask for it.

Rise Up

Life's currents are choppy at times and difficult to navigate when you're surrounded by people that each want something from you. Realize one thing though... You are the only thing weighing you down. In order to rise to meet the challenges life brings and overcome all things, you must take responsibility for yourself instead of blaming external factors. Once you do this life is easy. You are the reason and have always been the reason things don't work out... no one and nothing else. Discipline sounds like a bad thing but it's not always. Discipline transforms difficult circumstances. 

Are you ready to focus and rise? This doll has been rising up for the last few months and is amazed at how great life is. 

Here's a story about a man finding himself being the only person to blame in difficult circumstances...

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Dry

When the water dries out I’ll know where I stand or hang. I know this as I move my hands carefully beneath their rope tied shackles. Carefully I lift my head backwards and hope that the rope around my neck will pull back with the ebb of water. Letting it happen is a matter of relaxing in the right position.

A thousand times over I’ve felt the cold water lap up neatly against the bottom of my chin with a false hope. The force of my own weight shoves back towards me as the water rises and rescinds. There’s a reason or two that have found me in an interesting predicament now and again but nothing could’ve prepared me for this. Both my arms bound above my head hanging beneath the dock of the bay with a noose around my neck. Tighter and looser the ropes dig in before releasing with the ebb of tide. One thing is for sure is that once the tide rolls out dry I’ll be sunk and left hanging by the neck unless I can relax.

“Miles Redfield there ought to be a law for the kind of man you are.” So says Zanrha Grey the only woman who ever walked out of my life more than twice and still knew me better than any other when she came back around.

If there’s one thing I know from spending my time with Zan was how much she liked to lay down laws.

And I did enjoy when she did cause I loved to break them.

Except this time around it wasn’t so much the law she laid down as it was her foot that said “No more.”

No more was what I should have said when I welcomed trouble back into my life instead of walking away. That Thursday morning out on the avenue by the docks hanging back with Charlie Black and Melly Abriga I knew there was nothing like trouble but I went along for the ride. I wanted to be in, so I was.

 There weren’t any cops around when we boosted the old dodge, certainly no one looking when Charlie pried open the driver’s side door and Melly took a knife to the trunk. What threw me by surprise was the body that jumped up out of the trunk and grabbed a hold of my throat. There wasn’t time enough to react. Melly dropped his knife and jumped into the freshly running car that Charlie threw into gear leaving me with 6ft 2inches of terror with his hands wrapped around me and a look of pure hate in his eye. It can’t be happening. But it was. And so was I.

He wasn’t an angry man the fellow that handed me back my neck. His fate was sealed inside that car and I’m the one to blame for letting him out. Yet instead of setting me free, he gave me a choice on how to be dead. And it wasn’t what I might have chosen, but no one knows what trouble will hand you when you aren't clear about what you want. So with an agreement and a nod…

Smoothly I let this happen to me. I chose the noose around my neck. I wanted to have a betting chance and agreed this was a better way to end up than with a bullet through and through my skull. See most people want to know what’s coming for 'em, and I’ll be the first to say I’d rather not know. For every inch of water that dries up and drops my body, tightens the noose around my neck. My arms bound up tight won’t save me when the full force of gravity yanks downward on my body.

As I relax and give into the current, my body remains afloat while I let my neck loosen in hopes of shifting the noose. My mind continues to think of Zan and her words while my hands fumble to untie themselves.  

“A law” she said time and time over again whenever I’d roll back home with a mess or two trailing behind me. To Zan it was purely infuriating that I could be so callous and not think of her when dragging another round of trouble to the door. But this time in the back of my mind I knew there would not be another round as the water takes another drop with my neckline growing tighter. It’s when the tightness takes hold that I realize floating won’t much longer be a problem as the slow drop into the dry will snap my neck without question. Taunting me the water laps up and back across my chin dragging and easing the rope in a tug of war for life. A war that will end in freedom either way.

Dry. For too many men it means something different. One man is clean from his addiction, another is flat busted, and for me it means I’ll be out options if I don’t break free.

**Photo credit: tyler shields