Sensual

Sensuality and the carnal action of most sexuality is felt to hinder enlightenment by some in Buddhism while it is adopted that you respectfully refrain from wrong doing in sensuality. You refrain from intercourse with underage, married and engaged partners and those protected by family or law. The Buddha held a very realistic view that can be possible in modern conditions. There's a respect and desire not to cause another suffering in Buddhism and this translates to sexuality. You see in most western cultures the exploration of sex, like most pleasure seeking activities can cause suffering between those involved. Either deliberate or unintentional. In Buddhism there are no laws, rules or commandments to obey. It is not a biblical religion and purely lies in your ability to restrain yourself and engage in behavior that is mutually consensual. Simply put: If a behavior does not feel good you do not do it; If a behavior feels appropriate you allow yourself to feel it. This premise transfers to sex and the connection people can experience with one another. Sensuality isn't a bad thing, being disrespectful of your partner and yourself is. 

Here's a bit of erotic flash fiction that I wrote a few years ago. I had it published online but the site has restructured. As soon as I hear back from the editor I will drop the link for you dirty birds. 

Enjoy! 

Kisses, m. 

Voyeur

(2-26-10)

Voyeur. People watching. Everyone does it. No one thinks anybody the worse for it. A simple glance over a busy room. Fleeting eyes across the open plaza. A thousand stories revealed to the anonymous bystander. Never been one for snooping on others. No intention of being the uninvited observer in the scene. Until I find myself all alone. Restless in the night. Unable to be entertained with the typical book and glass of Merlot. Pacing across the apartment, I catch the glimpse of light in the open view.  Familiar movement in the distance catches my eye. Something intriguing that can not escape my vision in the building across the way. Quickly I look around for my glasses when it becomes clear, the telescope. Jion sent it over as a housewarming gift three months ago. Devilish Jion, with his gift. The inscription, “Don’t worry about who’s watching you, as long as you’re watching back.” He knew I’d never use it. Or did he know curiosity would get the best of me eventually?

Curiously I grasp my new gift for the first time. Fingers gently find a home along the metal shaft. My eye dilates as it attempts to focus sight through the lens. Night opens up before my view. The buildings that surround are half alive with light and reflections. With a slight push I spin the arm. Winding down the building floor by floor until I can find my target. Along the way there are empty rooms and hallways filled with strangers exiting elevators, watching TVs, and making dinners. Once again discovering the movement, I stop. The golden hue illuminates the room in the building before me. Center of my attention is blurry but familiar. Carefully I lift my hand and move the dial. Click. Click. Aha.

Legs part as she reclines backwards. Open mouth, as her fingers run along his skin, savoring every movement below. Lifting himself upward and pauses before pursuing further. Waiting she trembles, never looking away. Hands rest upon bare breasts then trail down the front of her body as he kneels against the chaise. One leg remains on the ground as he rests slightly above her. She leans back on elbows against the lounge. Down he leans in and kisses her neck. Hands remain downward between her thighs. Every movement sends her head back with an open mouth. Pleasure. Descent continues. Further. His hips drop against hers rocking inward. Pelvis tilting upward. Legs lifting and falling in a hypnotic rhythm before circling around torso. Sweat dripping down. Faces alive with bliss. Open for view. Open for me. Open to me. Returning my view.

Turn away I think. Despite my blushing face I can’t look away. Smiling. Caught while I’m catching the act. Adjust the front of my coat to reveal my bare skin to him. His eyes continue to lock onto my position. All the while pursuing his fulfillment. I should stop now. But the show is far from over. My mind still wandering as I watch my hands began playing with my bare skin. Wet places explored as hot breath escapes my warm mouth.

The progression continues. She lifts his neck and makes tiny bites below the chin. Tongue crawls along the neck leaving a wet imprint. Hands lift and fall with frenzied intent. Gripping outer thighs. Tugging at waistline. Eyes are open and locked with intent. Wet lips meeting to consume before falling downward to devour at flesh. Heads rocking with sheer involvement of their arrangement. Arms pull and push as they grasp for more. Faster. Deeper. My thrusting fingers compete with the movements that climb toward a purpose. Quietly the act of passion declines. A final embrace quakes in unison. Smoothly he lifts himself upward. Standing over her open legs he smiles with sheer satisfaction. Her hands reach up and caress his torso while he turns and edges towards the window. Sliding onto her side she connects with my stare now. Fingers circling her bare breasts while she calmly watches him watching me. Boldly revealing himself, he leans in and nudges at the glass with a hand that entices. Inviting. So inviting.

To Wait Anyway...

“If you know you have to wait anyway, why not make a decision to enjoy your life while you’re waiting? Why not be happy...? - Joel Osteen

To wait... it's not that bad. Or at least I've come to find if you enjoy yourself living you won't notice the wait too much. It's not longing that keeps you waiting or pressing matters and quite often it's patience that stills the impulse to react badly. Don't get me wrong, rushing into things has its moment too. But with some things you wait. You find the delicate balance and you let it all happen without intrusion. Why? Because sometimes another person knows better than you... it's trust you place upon another person. If you can not, then it's best not to enter those situations where you must rely upon another besides yourself. Your life is yours to care for, trust yourself first, then you trust another. Here's an old story, with an update that came the published ebook, that reminds me of waiting and a bit of trust. 

Enjoy! Kisses, m.

Tub - c/o tylershields.com

On Ice

(8-12-09)

On Ice. 

There are things you put on ice. 

Sore necks. 

Bad news. 

Hot tempers. 

Vodka. 

Dead bodies. 

All of which are among the countless uses for frozen water. 

My teeth start to chatter. I’m pretty certain my lips are blue. Hypothermia can set in the body in a matter of minutes depending on the temperature. Which in this instance the warmth in the room is anywhere in the vicinity of below 59 degrees and continuing to drop. Upon entrance to this walk-in freezer I disabled the controls to the thermostat in the hope it would extend my life while I wait.

As soon as I enter the room and secure the door behind me I began removing my shoes and clothing. I carefully step into the vat of ice. Delicately I submerge my torso inch by inch beneath the cold blanket of ice. The blood from my open wound spills out staining the ice. Slowly the flow of crimson begins to lessen. The waves of freezing set into my body as I wait. My skin takes on a new color and my face feels the blush of winter. My breathing is slower and shallow. I’m getting sleepy.

I’m not certain how long a person can live without a kidney and proper medical attention, but I wait. He promised he’d come. Follow shortly after I did. Rather after we did this. See you can’t cut out your own kidney. It requires assistance. 

Chance said, “I’ll be there in a matter of minutes behind you. Wait. Don’t do anything stupid. You can not risk your life. Just wait for me.” 

So I wait. Keep in mind. Neither of us are doctors. Actually Chance was excommunicated from the world of medicine for a similar abuse on school property during his last term as a med student. His calling as a surgeon washed away with one foolish irresponsible move. But we didn’t have time to find someone else. He gave me a local anesthetic and promised it would hurt like hell. Well, it didn’t tickle. Laugh. Pain. Smile. Chatter.

Wait.

Now why am I missing a kidney? Money. Of course, right? I would be thinking money. Not at all. It’s quite the contrary. To simplify it, Chance asked me for it. I agreed. What woman gives a man her kidney? A crazy one. I trust him with all my heart. This explains why I’m waiting here instead of the emergency room at the nearest hospital. This rationalization seems ridiculous when I think about it. The long story isn’t much clearer in my opinion either. 

Chance returned home quite distraught. He wouldn’t speak to me or look me in the eye for over an hour. It was clear he wrestling with something in his mind and it was winning. When I could no longer bear to watch him suffer I grabbed him and refused to let go until he told me what was going on. 

“I need a kidney,” he says like it’s a gambling debt he has to repay. I can tell he’s quite serious though. I mention cadavers. With that thought he breaks free of my grasp and shakes his head no, moving his entire body in this denial. 

“It has to come from a person… a… a… a living person.” He’s terrified and shaking fiercely. “I don’t need to keep it. Just need it for a little bit. And his voice gets quiet and stops with a pause before dropping the final blow, “TONIGHT!” 

I walk over and hold him to stop the shaking. 

He whispers, “Its life or death. Mine.” 

I love him, so I offer. 

He declines and pushes me away. 

I pause. 

He asks, “Are you sure? I won’t unless you are.” 

I am. We agree. He promises to come for me. So here I wait for him to return, with or without my kidney.

The icy bath has the rancor of death. Frozen slow death. It’s my blood mixing with the ice. Red, glistening, breathe taking, numb, creeping in without a warning. 

Chance, where are you? I think I’m dying. On ice. Alone. 

There’s not enough life in me for anger or sadness. It’s cold. Quiet. I trust him. My breathing has slowed even more. The precise hole in my torso has temporarily cauterized from the cold. I’m thankful that bleeding out isn’t what’s killing me. I manage to stay coherent a little longer. 

My eyes flutter. 

The door swings. 

Eyes closed then open. 

It’s Chance. Maybe it’s too late. 

Closed. 

Open. 

He’s bent over next to me with both hands fiercely digging in the ice to free me. 

Closed. 

Open. 

Red ice. 

Closed. 

Closed.

Maybe not.
Open. 

Chance.

Love makes you...

Love makes you a lot of things... a better person is one of those things. You aren't in love if you are not caring & thinking of someone besides yourself first. Love is selfless & giving. So instead of longing for love or screaming about your lack of love from the wrong places... just be love. Love is brave, strong, powerful and always within you. Sometimes it's overflowing; you become brave, powerful and strong enough to give to someone else without end no matter the cost to yourself.

Enjoy! 

Kisses, m.

love collision c/o tylershields.com

Love Makes You Brave

(7-16-09)

Love makes you brave. Brave? Stupid. Invincible. Reckless. Mad? I’m thinking as I’m doing 95 driving in the wrong direction. I’m going back. Sure I’d never return again. But she calls me and fool that I am… I run.

There ought to be sirens by now. Nothing. It’s dark out here in the desert. No lights. Even darker since I’m driving without head lamps. It’s cold out in the black night. My skin is gooseflesh and I wince from the night air. Like the cool breath of death, himself, blowing across my skin and I almost forget the pain because of my love for her. My shoulders dislocated and I’ve been shot.

On the run with no plans to come back; that was the case. Well until I saw her. Just as beautiful as the first day I laid eyes on her. She was standing there long and cool smoking those Virginia Death Sticks with her blood red lips and ice cold stare. I’m no match for this vixen. Always was a sucker for a red head. This one’s fated to bring me to my knees. The day my world comes to an end there will be a fireball of trouble preceded by this lovely lady. That much I’m certain of. Love will make a man do some pretty crazy things. There’s another definite certainty. Confuses a man’s mind and throws rational thinking to the wind. Someday, a woman will ask you to give her the world and being a crazy lovesick fool, you might just try to. Did I love her? I think so but I can’t say for sure. But one thing is for sure, I’m driving like a madman across this blackened night, losing a lot of blood and cheating death to return to her side.

The light of the moon is awful bright as it ascends into the dark sky above. The sands and road illuminated in a blanket of blue. Maybe my eyes had adjusted to the night. I’m making good time out here. No one on my tail. Even feels like my bullet wound is starting to clot. Luck is finally coming my way. She used to be a sweet girl. But that girl is long gone and I’ve been shot trying to collect her bounty. I’m supposed to be dragging her in, but here I am attempting to assist in her disappearance. Shot by the police as I’m stealing the money and boosting this car needed to secure her safe departure. Long before morning comes I’ll reach that lady and head away from here. No more of this life. What’s left of it, which isn’t much? Leave it behind knowing I’ve done the right thing for once.

What happened she wouldn’t clearly say? Showed up wanting something, but not asking for it directly; always avoided the obvious. We talked about old times that day she came to see me. Only as she’s leaving does she mention the money situation and problems with the mob. I’m either a really foolish man or just possibly one of the last true gentlemen out there. Lady in trouble needs rescuing. Chivalry should be dead or just downright outlawed. She played me like a game, only she knew the rules and I was a beginner losing my first hand. She needed me and I never stood a chance.

Quiet. Darkness. Engine is full throttle barreling down this endless night highway. In Love. In Pain. I’m heroic in this stolen car with a backseat of money; money that grants her freedom and seals my fate. I’ve got a slim chance of escape after tonight. The law, the gangsters and the dark arm of death all wanting a piece. For now, there’s no one out there or at least it seems I’m alone in the dark. Almost there. Destination filled with the unknown. I shouldn’t be edging closer to this wicked little town. I can feel something waiting. The feeling of premonition filled with an uncertainty of events. But I can’t stop. Won’t until her fate is secure. Death’s embrace is upon me, attempting to slowly closing in.

Death and I are dancing tonight. I can feel him chasing me down. Circling around me. Tracking my next step. We’re like two beasts charging toward each other in the dead of night destined to collide. The collision seeks to transpire tonight in the darkness. It is impending and I can’t outrun it for much longer. But I have to try she needs me to get there. Money by dawn and she lives. No time for wasting. Shoulder can be set later. Bullet just grazed my arm. Blood has finally clotted. No pain. Adrenaline. I’m going to live through this night. I just need one more night. The grasp of death will have to wait tonight. Or at least he can try dragging me to hell himself.

I’m flying down the highway in the wrong direction; 105 mph and there’s no turning back. And I’m brave enough to take on death or any man that stands in my way as I edge back towards the past that haunts me and last place I’ll ever return to.

Crash into me, Ms. M.

Crash Provocateur - Tyler Shields Photography

Ok, I'll crash into you... But only since you asked nicely! Behave or I'm certain to change my mind! So... Ever get into a fender bender? I hit a curb today! Oh no! No worries! Well never fear it's not the end of the world... unless you go around trying to hit people! Here's an old story about someone who likes to cause a motor crash or two... hope it's not you! 

Enjoy! Kisses, m.

Motorcrash.

Motorcrash.

(12-17-09)

Weaving and gliding through the tightly packed patterns of traffic I find a path. The sun radiates on my skin. Warmly I take in the day on my bike ride. Sounds that emanate from the wheels of my bike are a soothing comfort to my ears. This afternoon could not prompt a better opportunity to entertain the wild thoughts that run rampant in my mind. Upon great lengths catastrophe should be avoided at all costs. At least that’s how most people feel about things. Well that’s what they’ll say anyhow.

Two lane black asphalt. Five car pile up. Smoky black cloud engulfs the air as the third car in the mess continues to burn. At minimum there are at least eight casualties among the wreckage. None of which are fatalities. Death isn’t what one hopes for in these situations. Often in the aftermath of a collision you will find a dead man buried deep within the twisted metal debris. Among those surviving are a couple of children watching the firemen scramble to clear the wounded and trapped within the pile. Quietly I remain in the midst of the spectators, invisible to the view, enjoying and taking in the beauty of this devastation that rests before me. My mind transfixed by its magnificence.

“What was going through your mind before you almost died?” This is the question they always ask. Immediately after the accident, before the scene is cleared away. Right after the cameras have begun to record every last square inch detail in full color for the evening news. Yes that’s what they ask each and every time. “Such a lucky girl to have escaped with your life! Especially on a bicycle.” I am a lucky girl. Except escaping with my life isn’t so much of a coincidence. It’s more like challenging death to a staring contest to see who will win. Poor innocent people. Oh please. Every time you get in the car you take a chance. Sit behind the wheel and gamble with the high stakes of mortality.

Nine times out of ten there’s a drunk driver to blame for the accident knowing full well the score of the situation. The drunks aren’t hard to spot actually. The sway of the intoxicated vehicle as it dances in and out of the double lines. Carefully the speed increases and immediately cuts short with the slam on the brakes. Really doesn’t take much to distract a drunk. Sound of a car horn. Small animal darting across the road. Person on a bicycle. Darting in and out of the traffic while gaining momentum. Slowly building a frenzied state of panic until it’s time.

Most people don’t watch the pedestrians or bicyclists on the side of the road. Two tons of steel wrapped around a flimsy bag of bones in under ten seconds. Drunks aren’t the only ones not paying attention. Imagine how coherent the person on the phone is? The mom yelling at a car full of screaming kids. Teenage girls gossiping with each other. None of those eyes are on the road. While the other one of ten percent is slim, it is out there and just as easy to blame for the accidents. Opportunity knocks and if you aren’t listening you will miss your chance.

Stop. Skid. Wait. Make eye contact. Watch the state of horror wash over the face of a person right before it happens. The world comes crashing down in front of my eyes. Speechless. I can’t help but admire the grandness of this moment. Metal snapping and bending with no more effort than a tin can smashing against the ground. Thousands of tiny shards of glass cross the pavement like miniscule pieces of shattered ice. Red glistening as it reflects off of shiny remnants of chrome. Noises within the newly born metal beast reach deafening levels. Release Pain. Alive. Relief. Cries. Revelation. Joy for life. An emotional melting pot among the survivors. Truth be told, you aren’t living until you’ve faced death. Makes you appreciate the simplicity of life. How truly delicate the human life is, as it hangs in the balance each and every day.

Larger the wreckage the larger the crowd that attracts to it. Spectators watching the rescues and wondering what happened. Thinking ‘that could have been me.’ Five minutes earlier down the highway and ‘that could’ve been me.’ Some calling their loved ones out of fear to share that last bit of mortality in case, you-never-know-what actually happens next. While others snap miscellaneous photos to send and document the event that they witnessed first-hand; the man being dragged out of the flipped car, the pregnant woman walking away unscathed from a crumpled tin can, and the children eating ice cream on the side of the road while the firemen put out the burning car sandwiched in between it all. This is where I find myself slipping away from the scene, amidst a sea of spectators wondering silently how this accident could have been more destructive than the previous.

Sing

A new old song. Can there be such a thing? I don't know. But maybe there's such a thing and this is new and old and something I don't have to explain. Here's a 300 and I'll refer to Matisse. And if you're new to my blog that means I'm not discussing the piece, I'm letting it stand on its own. Here's the gist of Matisse for the newcomers: "the job of the artist is to cut out his tongue so that he can never explain his work"

Enjoy!
Kisses, m.


Sing

Sing me a new song he says.
Tell me a new story he says. 
Show me you love me with a smile.

I tell him I need you to show me what it means to be in love with me.
He can’t. 
He doesn’t love me because he loved her yesterday. 
The same way he loves me today. 

Write me a Poem?

Love him with a lie. 

The message beneath his words is loud and clear:

Please don’t hesitate to say or do what I can not.
I’m a coward and I’ll hide behind my words and blame my emotions. 
The same feelings that urge me to love you make me fight unfair. 
I can’t help it. 
Perhaps I’m crazy. 
Irrational.
It’s your fault. 
You know it is.
Isn’t it?
You should love me.

But I don’t love him. I can’t. Not like this. Not ever.

I’d never make this demand of someone I loved.
I know if he really did love me he wouldn’t need a song, a story, a poem. 
I need this he says.
It’s my oxygen. 
My sustenance. 
I can’t breath without it he says.

And I can’t help but… 

run. 
run. 
run. 

As fast as I can. 
Away from the thing I can not give. 
It’s not love you want from me. 
It’s an ideal. 
An ideal image I can never be. 

So here’s your song, your story, your poem. 
Here are those things you begged of me. 
To show you how I felt.
Well I feel nothing.
Not even love. 

So take these words, 
Like a sword to the heart. 
Let them wound. 
Let them slice. 
Take out the lie that lives in your head and heart. 
Because you don’t know what love is. 
You can’t even love yourself. 
And you don’t love me.

C.S.or.W

Some ladies love to keep up their bits. Others don't... So do you cut, shave or wax? Nonetheless... watch out for those ingrown hairs. Here's a little short story that reminds me that maybe you shouldn't use the scissors and you might want to talk to a professional. 

Enjoy! 

Kisses, m.

Cut f/ Lili Peper c/o Tyler Shields

Quick Cut

(09-20-10)

Good afternoon. No appointment necessary. Walk-in. That’s fine I can take you now. Where’s Margo? She’s out to lunch. I see she’s your usual girl. Of course I’m capable of handling a quick cut. Let’s take care of this. Come on over. Tell me,  what do you want? A little of the top and leave this piece alone. In the rear take a tiny bit less and up front, leave it long. Got it, honey.  Let’s get on with it then. You certainly don’t have all afternoon. You’re on lunch. How much time you got? 37 minutes left in your lunch hour from the moment you stepped foot through that door. What an interesting answer. You have it all timed out. Oh I see, a 45 minute lunch hour. It takes me exactly 23 minutes to walk here in the morning. Today, this morning, the walk over to the shop that usually takes 23 minutes,  it takes eight minutes longer since there’s an old lady holding up traffic causing a crowd to form at the intersection while three men try to help her out they end up brawling over the way each other looks. What is it? Not there. I’m cutting too short. Well, I have to make it even and move onto the back. We’re down to 28 minutes and you have to pick up a suit at the cleaners on the way back in. Aren’t you a busy bee? There’s never enough time to pick up after work. I always seem to arrive after they close. Last week I had to leave my Organdy cocktail dress overnight because I missed the closing time. That’s looking much better. 22 minutes. Almost finished. Just another smidge on the left corner. Uh-huh, there. All done and back on your way. Ta-dah!

Between Her Legs

Some men like to spend their evening working hard on a piece while other men seem to love to spend their evenings getting hard with a little peace between some girls legs. There's nothing wrong that but don't count on love if that's all you like to spend your time doing. Which one are you? Here's a story that a lot of people love while others seem to think I went a little too far when I wrote it. Perhaps a bit of peace between my character's legs would have been better to their liking? 

Enjoy! 
Kisses, m. 

Peace between legs c/o Tyler Shields

Between my legs

(12-9-09)

Between my legs. Lies a hope for the future. Safety. Love. My insecurity? The reason he strayed is between her legs. The reason I stay is between mine. Infidelities he shouldn't have. We're both crying. Both aching. Knowing it’s too damn hard to watch him leave each time. Welcoming him back into my arms despite these flaws. Into the warmth, the depths where he’d linger too long. Falling and fading quickly, taking me down with him. Consumed by desire. A dark desire that is delicately hidden but ever so welcoming. Watching him savor the taste like drinking a hearty pinot noir as the flavor deepens into a meaningful experience. An exceptional wine, meant to be slowly enjoyed down to every drop.

Disappointment. My weakness. Inadequacies as a female. The one thing that sells you short as a woman is there between your legs. Never being taken seriously. As a woman it will keep you weak if you choose. Deprive you of love if you let it. Or allow the true nature within to become empowered by it. Controlled. Demanding. Eve in the Garden of Eden with that convincing apple. Damned is the man that believes he is manipulating a woman. A woman is a cool calculating creature never to be trusted or taken lightly despite what lies between her legs.

Waiting for him to return one more time. Deep down knowing that the game never changes, yet I’ve been foolish enough to continue this way. Sitting carefully, naked in the cold dark kitchen at the small table I trace my fingers carefully along the Formica surface. My bare skin is alive with the anticipation of his return. Element of surprise. It is my very intention to seduce and distract. The pressure of cool metal steel is nestled against the inside of my thigh as I wait. Looking down I can see the invention of death between my legs. Just as I continue to think he hasn’t returned soon enough the front door moves. Quickly my hand reaches in pushing aside the revolver where his eyes can not see. Nothing but my smile and open invitation.

Carefully the dark room masks his face as he moves closer to me. Only his eyes are visible as he makes his way forward. From the looks of it, he’s quite pleased to find me unclothed and honest. Standing over me his hands reach down into my hair and along my neck. An extraordinarily hard kiss as he makes an effort to lean in. The roughness of the moment is intoxicating as his grabbing hands continue to trail along my bare skin. Hands around my hips and in the small of my back as lips move downward, tracing their way from neck to breasts, then further. My ambitious efforts have me fumbling through his clothing, unclasping and removing, as he advances. As he reaches my navel I continue to reassure him by gently stroking his hair; beautiful hair, dark, thick and lush. Head movements find a balance as he nears my thighs. Tug at the back of his head to make eye contact. Lifting eyes meet mine in a piercing stare. Shh! He calms me with a smile before reaching between my legs.

Slowly I part my legs further and give way. Sliding the gun out from its hidden place, ever so silently, with a scoot of my thigh. Removing the cold steel instrument of death as he bends forward to kiss the inside of my thigh. Lips continue to softly caress my inner thigh as his hands come around to circle my hips and pull forward. Silently I find a place beneath his temple. Bare. Visible to my aim. Rocking my hips forward to meet his increasing movements, with my target in sight, I squeeze the trigger tenderly releasing death. Between my legs.

Reminiscing Words: Let Me... Words are meaningless

When someone begs to tell you anything remind them that "Words are meaningless." It's in the actions of how we live our lives that matter most. Telling someone anything won't stop them from continuing to live or start them anew unless they want to. Oh you could try but that is simply a waste of your precious time. Unless you like wasting things? 

This was a story that came from an evening where I witnessed a performer being heckled and also had to listen to a brokenhearted friend's woes once again. Needless to say she thanked me for the story and never took me to another show again. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m. 

Let Me
(7-1-2011)

Juno Temple and Brittany Snow c/o tylershields.com

“Let me tell you one thing, I’m through with the games. I’m done.” It’s the same lie I tell myself every day except it’s realized itself into words that I’m telling the incomparable Missy LaRue. She’s spent the better part of three years following my song with a dance in this third rate club. Somewhere between the first and second act of the night I tell her about my new ex-love and how much of a revelation it’s brought upon me.

“What if I told you that you were going to die? If I told you that you were going to die tomorrow would that change how you lived today?”  There’s not an answer in the house. It’s the one thing Missy likes to end her set with and tonight is different cause something happens when she asks it. It’s a hypothetical question meant to get the audience going ‘round in their heads. Never once does Missy ever expect a damn person pipe up with an answer. But tonight when she ended with that thought, somewhere off in the far right corner it came, a small voice that grew louder and louder until I heard what it was saying.

“It doesn’t matter.” The small man yells from the corner of the club before following it up with a colorful word or two between his rant. He’s telling her off. Telling her that she doesn’t know a damn thing after he calls her a self-righteous bitch before telling everyone that she’s a lying piece of work. Now Missy La Rue doesn’t jive with much of what other people think about her. Not one bit, but when you traipse across the advice she’s given others that gets her a bit worked up. Cause Missy don’t talk for vanity or personal gain. Missy wants to see people succeed and she knows like I know that most people won’t do a damn thing unless someone tells them to. That’s where her horse and pony show comes in.

“Honey, quit lying to yourself!” Missy tells me before motioning to the powder puff by the mirror.

“I’m not lying. What?”

“Honey we all say enough with the game. 'I quit.' 'I toss in the towel.' And although you can’t quit the game of living, you'll still lie to yourself and say it. You know, the only thing you ought to be through with is thinking you can change people. That’s what you should think. Every time you drag another one of these third rate bastards back from this third rate club and tell yourself that it’s love, that’s the lie. That man wants one thing and it sure as hell ain’t love. But he’ll tell you that just the same to get it. ”

“Oh Missy, you’re being…”

“Honest. Darling, I’m being honest with you. Which is more than anyone else in this world or next will ever be with you and don’t you forget it. I’m honest with every person I meet and their behavior dictates whether they are friend or foe, not mine. My sharp tongue won’t harm you if you take the truth like it is a sword to the chest. A lie is the kind that stabs you from the back.”

“Missy then how will I ever…”

“True love waits. A man that wants to know you, all of you, he does so. It’s what he’s after and he’ll be glad to wait for much more. The ones that want ONLY will settle on that. Just that.”

“Missy, I love you. Thank you for…”

“Darling you don’t know love, but I get your sentiment anyway. You’re ok in my book.”

“Now sugar, you’re entitled to your opinions about my show. I don’t think much about people who don’t have a lick of sense in their head. And fact be told, I love me a man with enough gumption to stand up for what he believes in. But first things first the name calling I can’t abide by and the second thing… the way you talk to someone you’ve never met speaks highly about the type of character you are. And you’re message is coming in loud and clear.”

Missy continues same as always. When she takes the path from side stage and walks down into the crowd she motions to Mike the stagehand to move the spot to follow her down into the crowd. The oohs and aahs of the crowd grow louder and louder until Missy is standing right next to the small man.

“Well sugar, what’s your name?  

“Jerod” the man breathes into the microphone while a thin blanket of sweat coats his face.

“Well, Jerry darling, what do have to say?”

“Um,” the small man swallows and says nothing.

“Come now, cat got your tongue?”

Silence emanates from the nervous small man.

“That’s what I thought, Sugar. Where was I? Yes, let us talk a little more. I don’t expect you or any of you to follow my word to the law. In fact that’s not at all what I’m about. I’m not a role model, I’m not a savior, and lord knows I’m not a saint. I’m simply here telling a little of what I know to those who may or may not know some of that already. And maybe it might help someone from making the same mistakes I've made. Oh yes! Jerry darling, are you ready to talk?”

“Ma’am, I don’t much agree with what you just said. I don’t like what game you’re running here. You’re trying to get people to do what you say and you’re a liar by that much.”

“Alright, that’s an opinion. No one is running a game any which way or how. And honey you shouldn’t make what I’m doing about you. Cause you don’t have to come here to listen to what I’m saying or watch what I’m doing. These people out here in the crowd, do you see them? Take a look. These fine people they get what I’m doing and what I’m REALLY about. And they do.”

With those words the audience roars with applause. Missy smiles and pats the small man on the back while the noise and laughter grows and when it rescinds she speaks her last words on the matter.

“So honey, I’m afraid your opinion… it doesn’t matter.”

And with those words, Missy let the man sit exactly where he was. Leaving him with his own words to ponder and the crowd with a show that they wouldn’t much forget when they wondered if tonight was truly their last one.

Reminiscing Words: She'll Get Hers... Let Her Have Him.

Revenge c/o tylershields.com

"F**k it! Let her have him..." Is something that I should've said once upon seven years ago when I thought I was in love with "the love of my life" before he decided to go back to his ex. But I didn't. I wrote. This lovely story (see below) was originally written with a twist of course. [Read it here: She'll get hers (09) - 1st written in 2006/2007. edited 2008. Posted in 2009. Ha!] I was afraid people wouldn't understand so I flipped things a bit... but I wrote it anyway.

After this one I wrote another. But didn't stop there. I wrote another. And another. More and more. Terrified of the gamble of it all, I still wrote everyday. And it's rather funny in hindsight how much I wrote. Then, the need for revenge ended but the ideas did not. So many things later... I still write. I still get inspired. I still get hurt. I still get angry. But I don't feel the need for vengeance. Why? If that guy had been the love of my life I never would have needed revenge. I would have let her have him. Enough said. They deserve each other... miserably. 

Do I worry about being in love again? Or how he'll see my words? No. My love will accept my past as exactly what it is: the past. As I will do the same for him. He may not understand where I was when these words were written but he will not judge me for my creativity. Love accepts, as is. You don't love someone if you need to change them. Anyway I know there's a guy out there with a unique spark for pondering the same darkness or at least an appreciation of it. 

Enjoy a little bit of vengeance revised...

kisses, m.

She’ll get hers

(3-20-2011 - revision)

Destroying something beautiful will set you free. How cliché of me to believe that. The beautiful destruction is nearly complete and I’m no more free than when I started.

Yet I’m standing over the body of this pristine creature gutting her insides and making ground meat out of her face. White skin completely emaciated and ripped clean from the bones.

Hmph! The broken bones. Well that’s worth a giggle.

What’s left of her golden hair remains tangled among sticky red, squirmy goo, which from my perspective… well it could be brains. Oh who knows? This spectacular mess is truly immature of me. All of it is nothing more than a temper tantrum that’s gone array. But it couldn’t be helped. At least not from where I was standing.

She had this coming and I don’t feel bad for it either.

“She’ll get hers,” is the thought that crosses my mind as I watch the conniving little bitch, with her short skin-tight black hooker dress, walk over to the car.

Your car. Our car. A black ‘68 Camaro. It’s the same one I gave you for our five year anniversary. The custom upholstered black leather interior with the red piping that you wanted. Nothing was too good for my guy until now, when the very glue that holds us together is being tested by this cheap piece of trash. Fortunately the same interior will hide any spill including blood.

With a flick of my cigarette I open the door. She slinks on over and slides in. I’m behind you Bitch and I’ve been anticipating this all night.

She carried on all the time. You were never the first or only one in her line-up. In front of my very own eyes I’d seen far too many players. Men. Women. Possibly animals?

Hmmph! SLUT!

It never made a bit of difference. Because it wasn’t sufficient to break up my home, she wanted more.

Enough!

Why should this filth be allowed to parade around in this manner? My limit had been reached and I was certain to catch her in the act. And I did.

She was always particularly interested in the chasing tail late at night. Right after a roll in the sheets with my man she couldn’t help herself but look for more. Couldn’t get enough and just like clockwork, there she was… Creature of habit. Another bar, another mark, another night.

Trollop.

Home-wrecker.

Whore.

Same thing. Different names for it.

You know THAT girl; the one that’s scheming and sabotaging her way into one bed after another without consequence. The type of filth you wouldn’t consort with. Needless to say, this type of common woman had weaseled her way into my home. And I’m about fed up with this game. I’m tired of defending my actions when I’m not the one to blame.

Sadly, I can’t blame you for all of your indiscretions with this common filth. This type of woman saw you coming and went for the kill.

Somehow the trick seemed to be in getting her alone to communicate my point of view. And honestly that proved to be less of a challenge.

When I picked her up in the bar, it was like a stranger giving candy to a child. Without much convincing the little Harlot just about jumped on me when I bought her a drink. Her eyes all lit up like a holiday when I flashed the ring on my finger. It’s the promise of money and a little two for one fun that gets the little bitch giddy.

After making my final offer clear, getting her out to the car required little effort. She could see the money, smell the excitement and taste the pleasure. But it’s funny though with all her senses working overtime she never saw the crowbar coming, especially when it caught the back of her skull after nailing her square in the face. Her tightly bound body slumped over in the seat without much effort as I gave in a little more.

 Just like she wanted.

Off into the dark night I carefully maneuver the car out along an unmarked road by the highway. There shouldn’t be anyone along this stretch of road until it’s too late. Delicately, I pull what’s left of the tramp out of the car.

After dragging her body onto the road, I gently remove my tools of the trade: Hammer, knife, screwdriver, and a pair of scissors for fun. By the time I’m finished, there’s going to be no chance of anyone identifying the body. No one will be able to guess that this wasn’t an accident. An accident where some unsuspecting motorist will assume he’s run over a wild animal.

Little to no skill is required to beat a human senseless with a hammer. So I proceed without caution. The thin lifeless body lies across the asphalt as I pummel down with my barbaric weapon. Uncontrollable rage can pretty much take over in an instant without any warning. Like a surgeon, the real skill comes in knowing when to stop.

The bloody hole of red spatters back at me and gasps for air. There’s no real face left and her sluggish breathing signals my cue to stop. “Darling, you really should have stopped at one tonight. That last one was my man you messed with and no one gets away with that!”

Dragged

Some men love to be in drag! What can I say? Drag away you dirty men! Just know that the man I dig would never let himself get into drag. It would hurt his junk and that would never do for moi! So you dirty men don't hurt your junk too much when you go out in drag! That's important!

Anyhow this little ol pic reminds me of something dark I once wrote. Since I'm sharing for a few new readers... Here's another old story where another fabulous picture captures the real life sentiment of the very fictional tale  completely! 

Zachary Quinto from the Dirty Side of Glamour c/o tylershields.com

ALSO: If you haven't seen the new Justin Timberlake video, TKO... It somewhat captures the pure malevolence of my vision more cinematically. Although it's fake movie magic... Give it a look-see.

Enjoy!

Kisses, m

Six Feet

(5-21-09)

Night. Pitch Black. Headlights. Rain. Mud. He’s held up pretty well considering the 10 mile walk out here in the middle of nowhere. Barefoot for about the last 8 miles, I’d reckon. Well I’ve just spent the last 10 miles dragging this bastard down an unmarked road. Tied a rope to the hitch of my truck and gave him a 10 ft lead. Of course he fell a few times. Now about dragging someone on a rope while driving, it’s a chore cause if you go too fast he’ll end up all bloody & damaged and if you’re going too slow chances are he might jump in back. Not this one. He’s quite obedient. He’s a bit roughened up, but there’s no real damage yet. Shirt’s torn and almost gone. Well, he won’t need that anyhow.

He’s on the muddy ground in front of me. Filthy from falling in the muddy road along the way. As I’m digging he’s watching me, pleading for his life with his eyes. See I’ve got the upper hand here. We haven’t said a word since I tied him to the truck. In fact, this bastard is so sorry that he will do anything to make it up to me. His last words were something about eternal love and gratitude…etc. Sounded like begging to me. Untied and in the mud, he could’ve run at any moment. Yet he sits and stares at me, with eyes full of love and passion. Honestly all this obedience… I’m not impressed. I’m not changing my mind. I crack him with the shovel. “BASTARD!” He has me out here in the rain, digging in the filthy mud, “OUCH!” A broken nail as my hand slips down the handle. I crack him again. He stays and takes my abuse. I continue to dig.

Six feet. I continue to dig with the occasional glance at my dearly beloved. He never stops watching me, with those deep penetrating eyes, piercing my heart and confusing my mind. Damn! I’m in too deep to crack him with the shovel. “STOP IT!” I can’t take him back. This will only continue to happen. He can’t help himself. And he doesn’t understand. I wish he was like this all the time, but he’s not. It’s only a matter of hours even minutes before he changes again. And the madman emerges. It’s like night and day, Jekyll and Hyde. No matter how much I love him, this has to end. I could look the other way when he killed the animals and even all those evil men he hunted down. But that poor girl. What he did to her was horrific. It was hard to believe a human was capable of such physical violence. It took me three days to find all of her parts, minus the ones the monster kept as souvenirs, in that room. The one I’m not allowed into. It was quite frightening when I picked the lock that day. It couldn’t be helped. Not after that trail of blood that zigzagged its way down the hall and disappeared under the door.

“Get in the hole!” I scream. I have a rifle pointed square at the back of his head. He gets up and climbs in. “SIT DOWN.” He pauses and stares at me with those gorgeous eyes I can’t resist. I wish he wouldn’t, it only makes this harder. See I have to shoot him and I hate killing things. I cry when I run over small animals. I can’t imagine doing this for sport. It’s still raining. I’m crying. I sit down and drop the gun. Before I know it I’m in the hole kissing him goodbye.

“BANG!” sounds the gun, just as he breaks away from my kiss. His body pauses, he looks at me one last time and falls to the ground. He knew. Had the gun the whole time. I’m relieved. I was going to let the monster out of the hole. Selfishly I didn’t want to live without him no matter the cost. Even my life.

Maps

It's been a while since I posted some new darkness, the writing... in fact it's been a while since I've posted some writing. I let someone's bad attitude and my work environment affect me more than I should. Terribly inauthentic of me don't you think. haha. bygones. 

Needless to say I met some lovely artists and promoters, rather encouragers of art today at The New Algonquin Round Table who were very curious about my writing which yes it's been a while. Lovely to meet you all! Well I thought I'd give them a treat when they visited my blog: A story! It's old. Please don't judge me. It's been far too long since I've put up new. In fact the last short story about darkness I wrote has never been posted/published. It was something I had written after getting this lovely snake on my leg. Beautiful art! I could brag about the artwork for days. One of my favorite artists... Whom I trust, respect and who's work I've come to admire a great deal in addition to his always making time to answer my questions. Now the unpublished story?  It's about an art collector of sorts and reminds me of another story I once wrote...

snake. 2013. photo courtesy: w.m.

It's a little bit of something interesting I wrote about two years ago. It's not quite darkness or dirty. It's was about the experience of getting inked, which at that time I participated in as a bystander. It would not be until a few years later would I experience this for myself and realize... my friend was quite ridiculous to make it sexual. (PERVERT!) There's nothing sexual about it but it is... quite personal for both the artists and the people receiving the art. 

Enjoy the story! And the Art!

Kisses, m. 

Map

(11-2-2010)

A map of creation rests silently above my porcelain skin. Imprinted. Lines take shape and reach further beyond limits to document the contours of form. Two tiny tendrils of black circle and envelop my inner thighs. There’s no place untouched by the black vines climbing down and around the hips and small arch of my back. His rough arms reach across. Arms touching exposed valleys while moving closer against the canvas of flesh.

The color of the mermaid tattooed on his left arm appears to bleed into his skin. She’s weeping profusely as the needle enters my skin. Penetrating the thin layer of flesh with its intent the sharp instrument spreads the secrets of its inside. Throughout the surface the color spreads. Stamping itself into the bare reaches of the flesh canvas. Dark emotions swim from the petite lady sitting on his upper bicep as he continues to work. An artist crafting a masterpiece like no other before while I sit patiently waiting. In and out the needle works. The sound hums as I wait. Buzzing melodically to accompany the insatiable feeling of enjoyable pain that entices the receptors in my skin. Color grows larger and longer reaching upward and toward my face. The lines follow the symmetry of my breasts to complete the whole of the torso.

Branded by markings that reach beneath the surface in a sensation that is like nothing felt before. Unique identifiers laced in and out of the dermis to isolate one person from another. The only thing to separate the masses and it rests above your skin. An unprotected barrier now covered in a slightly bluish black outlined by red throbbing with an irrepressible pain that is more satisfying than unpleasant. Far from displeasing the sensation deepens the awareness of the body. Hands reach into the small curves of my small frame and grab to hold tighter as the surgeon continues steadily with his instrument.

Chair spins and rotates upward and around to follow the lines of my upper body while his hands move the mermaid never stops her tears. Her green tails swims in and out of my imagination while the final words are laced into the curls that stretch from the front up to the side of my neckline. The only thing I can visualize is the small tip of her green tail as it swims in the movement required to shift the needle against the remaining pieces of white skin. There are no souvenirs from this journey to commemorate the previous experience unaffected. No empty places or patches of bare left in this blueprint of life. Squills wind down one side and back up to the top of another in the pink light that falls clear through the windows upon the camouflaged bareness.