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!

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.

A little closer...

Sometimes having eyes for someone can be a little tricky! Do you have eyes for anyone? 

Anyway...

Here's a little fun fiction from a few years back! Enjoy if you've never read it! It's definitely one of my darker inventions! And I love the darkness! Kisses, m.

Closer

(1-15-2010)

Closer. Gently I pull his face towards mine. Both hands holding his jaw firmly. Arms tightly locked with intent. Closer. So very innocently I look up into those eyes. Both arms remain at his sides. Trusting. Closer. His breath hits my cheek in deep heavy blows. Closer. Finally my face is resting against his. The tip of my nose meets his cheek. He remains still and solemn allowing my gentle affections to progress. Carefully my lips find their way upwards. Lightly I push tiny little kisses against his skin. Lips flit over and around the eyes. Delicate little flutters. Hot breath escapes the warmth of my open mouth as I continue to address the situation. Never breaking the grip of his jaw I begin nursing my target with the tenderness of a skilled surgeon. Without indicating any warning I gently open to spread my lips further. Mouth continues massaging the socket while my tongue is allowed to caress the lid and tickle the lashes. I begin to add a slight pressure to my mouthful. Drawing back I tenderly engulf the entirety of his eye within my lips. Slowly intensifying as I apply more suction with every stroke of my tongue. Quietly his breath increases with excitement. Tighter I grip onto his jawbone making it harder to break free. The pressure of my mouth growing deeper with every second while I continue to nurture and press into the opening. Drawing back with simple pleasure I persist. Sucking. Lips surround and seal. Tongue softly pushes back the lid until there is no barrier. With no more than a gasp I dislodge the eye. Gateway to the soul nestled in my jaw. Gentle tongue movements finding their way along the cord. His body is fully aware of the situation as every quick breath crashes against my skin. Appearing to be in complete rapture his face never breaks free from my grasp. I continue to provide suction against the cavity. Pulling back with quickness I release myself. Teeth sink in severing the arterial connection with a snap. The excruciating pain brings him down to his knees. Spit. Discard the useless piece of sight with little remorse. Hands frantically grabbing the vacant bloody hole. Taste the blood on my tongue. Listen as he unleashes the most horrifying sounds of anguish. Spit. Watch his body writhe in pain before me. Wipe the blood from my mouth.

Image: Eye/Mouth c/o tylershields.com