New, fanfic-y thing that is as yet untitled

Hello, hello again. Shaboom shaboom. So I'm back with a new... whatever this is I think I'm doing. A new, slow-starting piece that I'm pretty sure will be a cheesey piece of fanfic by the end of it. Meh. Such is life. So here goes hoping I don't offend, fuck shit up or make the true fangirls/fanboys mad...
~~~***~~~

Solange Lloyd sang into the broom handle, not caring who heard. She was home alone, anyway, and on a Saturday night at that. Her neighbors were probably all out. Being somewhat introverted, no matter how good she got at hiding it, had stunted her social life. So she stuck to singing as she swept up in her tiny coffehouse, just a few minutes after closing. The rest of her night would consist of getting in some time on the boards before she took a few hours to practice her instruments. That's what she had planned, at least.

Her voice faltered in the near dim light as she looked up to see a very tall figure at the storefront window. Her cheeks tingled crimson as her vision adjusted to the shadowed reflections on the inside and the night cloaked reality outside.

"Can I help you, sir?" Solé walked closer to the window, praying he hadn't seen or heard her personal concert. She thought she had an okay voice, but was certain she'd not be in the top 8 of American Idol in this lifetime, regardless what her close knit circle said.

"You have a lovely voice," the man purred. His voice sounded so close, deep and rich and clear, even given the thickness of the shatter-resistant glass, as if he were just beside her sharing the quiet of her little Chestnut Hill corner.

"Uh-hoh, you saw that...," she trailed off, her voice a nervous laugh.

"Yes, I did." He smiled at her then, and Solé felt her heart tumble into her stomach. He seemed aware of his effect on her, and mercifully continued. "I was hoping you could tell me where I could find South Broad Street, my driver seems a bit," he paused, his brow furrowing as if trying to find the right word, "...new."

It was at the mention of a driver that Solé thought to get a good look at something other than his face. He was, in her opinion at least, the best example of 'tall, dark, and handsome'. She couldn't venture a precise guess at his height, but he seemed to dwarf her 5'6" frame. His slightly long dark hair was slicked back and he was elegantly dressed, which made her wonder what was on Broad Street that he was going to. His cerulean gaze narrowed as she blatantly appraised him from the other side of the window before belatedly remembering herself.

"Sorry, so sorry. Didn't mean to stare," Solé blurted as she set her broom aside and unlocked the door to him.

He had the nerve to smile knowingly at her as she stepped aside to let him in, which made him more appealing, if that were possible. More appealing in a dangerous way. 'Dangerous to my battery stock,' she thought to herself. He made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a snort of derision, as if he'd heard her.

"If you've got a minute I can write down directions. Please, come in."

"Thank you. That would be very generous."

Solé shut the door behind him as he walked a few feet past her, leaving a thin veil of designer cologne in his wake. She turned to the bar and leaned forward to hop up and grab some paper and a pen. She settled her feet back on the floor, blowing at a few loose strands of her hair as she wrote out a list of directions. When she was done, she turned to find him looking at her oddly which made her realize how she must look: ratty Spider Man Chucks, black tights, an oversized green sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder and covered by a Holy Star Trinity (-Gate, Trek, Wars) apron and her hair in a complete shitshow of disarray. Figured she'd be looking like Cinderella's understudy when in the presence of another grown up of exceeding aesthetic proclivity. 'Dah well,' she thought to herself again. 'He's out of my league anyway'.

"Okay, here ya go, directions to South Broad. Not sure if you'll need to park, but there's plenty of lots and street space if you do."

He smiled again and took the paper from her, their fingers grazing just slightly with a tinge of static electricity. He read through the directions before he spoke again.

"'Solé's Little Coffee Shop'. Cute. So you must be Solé?"

Solange nodded and blushed, so transfixed by his elegance that she didn't realize until she looked away from him and down at her feet that she was backpedaling as he advanced, slowly crowding her into the bar. There must have been fear in her eyes when their gazes met again, as he stopped, a sheepish grin on his face that allayed suspicion. He gave a slight bow, something that seemed an out of place action for him, stepped back and reached for her right hand.

"Good lady, thank you for your assistance, it is much appreciated."

His fingertips were cool where they rested beneath her palm. He lifted her hand to his lips, tilting down slightly and placing a delicate kiss to her knuckles. Solange don't know how she stayed upright or kept her hands to herself. His lips were so soft and warm, and all she wanted to do was shove her fingers through his hair to see and hear him moan as her fingertips caressed his scalp. His hair looked like warm espresso, and she now had an urgent need to know if the strands would pour as easily over her fingers.

He straightened, returning her arm and hand, with that odd look again that she was starting to find not so troubling. His smile took its time appearing, and Solé knew she'd have no trouble finding inspiration tonight.

He took a step back and she realized she knew nothing about this seemingly refined and sophisticated stranger she had let into her bar so late. Not even a name. She found herself trying to guess at one as she smiled graciously herself and accepted his thanks. Judging by his accent, cadence and vocabulary, he probably didn't have a name that smoothly followed 'oh, god, fuck me', like Trent or Mark.

He seemed to be reading her thoughts again, and she had to wonder if she had said any of that last bit out loud. His voice, now slightly more upbeat than necessary, broke her from her thoughts.

"Well, I should get going if we wish to arrive on time. Thank you again, Solange."

He stepped back and let her pass to open the door. As he crossed the threshold, he turned back and gave a slight nod, with the hint of a knowing glance and telling smile, before pulling the door closed and telling her to lock up against the dangers of nighttime in Philadelphia. Then he strolled over to the open car door and got in. Solé watched and sighed as the taillights disappeared down the street. A few awkward and bittersweet moments and back to being a pumpkin.

"Story of my life," she shrugged as she took broom in hand again and began singing the Leeann Womack tune. "Insanely hot dude stops for directions and of course, he's probably got some trophy waiting for him in the car. Asi es la vida, Mama."

She took no notice of the fact that he used her full name without her having mentioned it, or the faint cerulean-green orbs seemingly watching her from just beyond the farthest window...

See, the thing is...

And the reason I don't attend parties: because I only know one person there, and I'm socially awkward in a most pervasive way. Introverts usually don't do small talk with strangers. That and I always feel like even the wait staff are "better than" me. Frowntown.

Also, since my mom passed, I've realized that on my own I'm not as fantastic and charismatic as she was. People don't gravitate towards me much unless we're kindred spirits. So I'm even more of a tumbleweed. But I'm a fierce and fabulous tumbleweed, dammit!

Just had to get that out.

*A bit of something I wrote a few years ago in the dark ages...*

'Do you know what they do to you in foster homes?'

My mother would ask me this those times I had pushed her to

her limit.

When my antics were too much.

When I

couldn't seem to

straighten up and fly right.

I would stare back through brown-black gaze

Defiant

Because I knew

she

loved

me

too

much.

But you...

In my heart,

In my heart I wanted to SCREAM

'DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DO TO ME IN THIS HOUSE?!?'

Not out of anger or blame

but desperation.

Because I knew she would make it right.

I know she would have whooped yo' ass and

damn near strangled the life out of you

Not out of anger or blame, but because...

just because.

I'm her baby girl.

I never told,

So at least on this side,

your secret was safe.

But you...

You who had a hand in my spirit's demise

My subjugation,

an

emotional, mental, physical repeated rape

of innocence.

"Like robbin' a liquor store."

Or how you kept the fact that

you'd already negated whispered promises

secret for so long.

You sly dog.

'Trust me', 'Don't tell', 'I'm (not) your father', 'I'd kill for my baby sister'

Funny.

By kill you must have been referring to

my hope,

Because you have yet to keep

the one promise I hold you to.

The clock is ticking...

tick... tick... tick...

And as every year comes and goes,

so my disappointment grows.

Make it a deed of spite

if that makes it easy.

But you...

You showed up that night

Snake smile slick

eyes pissing crocodile tears

Breath reeking of your new woman.

Did you think after so much time I'd

forget?

Like mother, like daughter?

No, that's your other women dearheart.

I told my story once,

and was asked,

"How come you grew up so... normal?"

Hmm... define normal.

Bottom line?

I spent a lifetime seeking supplication

from a withered stream

A surname with a long line of...

fidelity issues.

'Oooh, girl! Dis is A, and B, and C...'

Four fathers

Two husbands?

Ready to break your body over his,

But not your soul?

Wait. I get it now

It ain't trickin' if you can get it

Don't really matter how.

But how could we be so close when we're so...

different

Night and day, day and night

'I love you, I'm here for you, Mom told me to look out for you'

Shame about that last one.

So many bright sunny days

eluded the porchswing of my soul to

I hope

give someone worse off than me

a moment of joy.

(Mama said no suffering is in vain.)

But I needed you

Needed you to

Fight for me
Kill for me

Have my back

like I had yours

when and after my world collapsed.

My bad. Guess I asked too much.

Integrity and loyalty are

out this year, and

I know how you're always

'On to the next one,

On to the next one...'

Please believe me,

I would be too

if your

iron spiked fists

of words and actions

lies and neglect

silence and sustained solitude
hadn't left shards

of your

broken glass soul
in my heart.

But you...

I still love you

Even though you've none for me.

So I'll just shuffle along.

Off to my little corner,

just someone you used too...

Another bastard stepchild orphan.

The 8:27 - Chapter 1

*So I started working on this piece a few months ago. It is indeed inspired by some... slightly indulged true events, as most of my stories are. This is part/chapter/installment or whatever one. There will be more, as the muse visits me. But for now, enjoy!*

I catch the last rush hour train in to work every day.  It’s become sort of a ritual.  Not that I’m always late, or a certified procrastinator, not at all.  It’s just that in the mornings, parting from my bed has become quite frankly loathsome.  I have this queen sized slice of heaven that is my only luxury in this life so far.  Sumptuous linens, gorgeous merlot finished cherry wood and a high profile box spring.  My own brother said Saturday mornings were like trying to pry a junkie from their dealer.  Until he himself tried it, then all bets were off.  I had to threaten him with bodily harm and embarrassment before he got up.

But that’s not all there is to my morning commute.  By the time I’m showered, appropriately dressed, have come to some tenuous truce with my hair and run back into the house at least twice for some forgotten necessity, the crowded 8:27 ‘Last Hope Express’ is literally just that if I want to keep my reputation for punctuality in check.  I’m as meticulous as I can be with my appearance out of sheer habit.  Being a geeky nerdgirl most of my life I’ve developed a pattern that has over the years been adapted to maintain the same result.  No one ever tells you growing up is shit.

But there is one silver lining to my mornings in purgatory.  On a few fortuitous occasions, I have had the pleasure of being sardine-packed flush up against the loveliest piece of man-candy on the face of the earth, at least in my opinion.  We’ve never spoken, but he’s always been kind enough to look sheepish when our eyes met after the final herd of corporate drones pressed us together, his occasionally blatant morning wood crushed into my middle.  The first time it happened, he seemed slightly embarrassed, and the second time, nearly relieved it was me.  Kind of like ‘thank god you’re fat’. 

Now, about that; I’ve been described with varyingly unique terms in regards to my proportions; soft, plump, voluptuous, billowy, curvaceous, Rubenesque, fluffy, and nearly Zaftig, because there are men out there like my Uncle Charlie who prefer women with some “good grippin’ for the rippin’”.  Nice.

Actually, getting back to my story, it is kind of nice.  The opportunity for the anonymity of being pressed up against this gorgeous man first thing in the morning, like sort of a karmic gimmie for getting out of bed.  That first contact is always startling; kind of warm and surreal.  In the winter, with the blustery cold of the outdoors and the train tunnel it’s so welcome I have often had to tamp down the intent to shuck off my heavy parka and just press up against him, skin to suit.  And he wears the nicest suits.  Gorgeous colors that compliment his lightly toasted almond tan and fluctuatingly green eyes.  Which leads me to believe he has a girlfriend.  No one that naturally attractive can be that styled.  Laws of nature.  I told you, I’m a nerdgirl. 

What’s really fascinating is that in the summer, with his jacket over his arm or hanging from his briefcase, his skin is actually quite cool.  I found this out first hand one day, when he had to make a grab for me as the train reeled to a sudden stop due to signal troubles. 

The feel of that massive hand splayed over my arm was what I can only imagine cold fusion to be like.  His grip wasn’t forceful, but he held me trapped to him nonetheless.  Pressed intimately flush against him all the way down; head to shoulder, back to chest…  I could feel his body shift as he looked down at me.  I quickly caught hold of the grab pole in front of me to get my balance and keep my weight off him.  Who wants to start their day with the chubby chick pressed sweaty up against what could only be described as fabric on sin?  I felt him chuckle behind me, a weird little thing that reminded me how much I wasn’t the benchmark of idealism.  At that point, I didn’t really care.  I was late to work.  And I couldn’t call in on account of being underground.  Fuck.

The train p.a. system warbled on and transit personnel informed us that we would be back underway in literally a few moments.  I breathed a sigh of relief as I switched hands on the pole to glance at my watch. 

“Nearly ten to. You’ll make it,” I heard him say behind me. 

You’d think people would be a bit more considerate than to just melt a girl’s panties on a delayed rush hour express train.  With his hand still on my arm and the rest of him still nearly touching the rest of me, I could only nod.  I knew if I looked back at him I would definitely lose my balance, and it looked unlikely that I could rely on the train lurching back to life as a cover. 

“Thanks,” I mumbled over my shoulder. 

In the next instant, the train did lurch back to life, barreling forward with more than its usual speed.  The motion slung me forward, collapsing my arms between my body and the pole and pulling Mr. Sin-in-Silver along with me.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to acknowledge the grunt I heard from him as we made contact, but if I did, I was fairly certain it was one of discomfort.  Minimal discomfort, as I’m sure I’m much nicer to be propelled into than a spun steel rod, but discomfort nonetheless.

When the train finally slowed, he pulled away from me, leaving me with a not so unusual tingle.  I was barely aware of someone shouting something over the din of bodies trying to make an exit as I straightened away from the grab pole.  His hand, to my alarm, slid under my short blouse sleeve and over my shoulder, squeezing gently and pressing against ‘that’ spot just above my shoulder blade. 

“Fun riding. Gotta go. Nice tat. Good morning.”  His breath was still in my ear moments after he’d gone, a mixture of the cool menthol and eucalyptus I recognized as a cough drop and the warmth I knew was body heat. 

Who the hell says good morning when they’re leaving, I wondered.  Then, ever so slowly, confusion set in.  Somewhere in those eight words was a coherent message. I stood there, in the midst of the express train, trying to figure it out.  Fun riding?  That had to be a joke.  Sort of a ‘no hard feelings’ type of thing.  The whole good morning deal pressed its way to the forefront of my mind again, and I tried unsuccessfully to shake it off.  It wasn’t until my cube mate Tara caught me puzzling that I even realized what it was. 

“Jeez, Seffie!  What the hell are you doing?  We’re gonna be late!  And I hope you have a jacket to cover the back of that shirt.”

SHIT! 

“Nice tattoo!  FUCK ME!” 

I could have sworn that was all shouted riotously in my head, but the smattering of cat calls that flew our way told me otherwise.  There was even a shout of ‘It’s gon’ be a good day, Tater!’  Some were even close enough to catch a vague glimpse of said tattoo; a hand, flexed over my left shoulder, four fingers on my collar, thumb behind, pressing into ‘that’ spot on my shoulder.  The intent was to represent someone reaching out, having my back, so to speak.  But what it more than often got confused for was someone restraining me into a rather lurid position.  And the only reason my train fantasy had seen it this morning, after nearly a year of riding the same train to nearly the same destination, was because my brain chose comfort over conformity this ridiculously warm morning and went with the tastefully fashionable, yet still not work appropriate sheer back camisole shirt set, but I forgot my blazer on the arm of the sofa. 

Shitty fuck shit.  Well, at least my day started off well.  Really well, if I’m honest.  I’d have to ask Tara if she had anything to remedy sodden undergarments when we got to the office.  Stepping off the train and into the early morning swelter, my shirt began to cling to my skin as we ran up the stairs to the street level.  And I had the strangest feeling that I was being watched…

Infinitum or 88

I want you to meet me on the moon

soon as you can,

cause love won't let me wait.

Let me be the fuel by which

you search and destroy
this temple of a body wonderland
and
make me holier than thou.
I gotta have it.

I wanna move you like a

spirit in the dark,
under a dracula moon,
if you would only help me, baby.

Let's take our swee little time,

get clean together
shout it on soapboxes
or castles of sand.
I wanna find out how you like it
so give it to me while it's hot.

Baby, tengo que decirte algo,

perdito sin ti.
Even when you're around, baby
I have found I get lost in
more than a memory.

Hey, Love, hey you,
for once in my life, I got trouble.
Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
couldn't spark my faith, but you,
you just might make me believe.

Your love has no sense of crime,

only highlights, and even in my
fuck me pumps you sent me flying.
 
Now, I know it's a man's world,
but would you mind, just for a while,
if I was in control?
Maybe you could pour a little sugar
in my bowl,
give me more til the world ends
and we sigh and say
let's do it again.

I'm a sophisticated lady into
discipline and daredevil boys
with heresy tattoos.
Come on, baby, come be my ruiner.
Or nepalm bomb, or steamroller
How blue can you get?
I just want a little lovin before you
pass away.

Let me fall head first into

the springtime of your voodoo
and land in your cloud, Smokey Joe.
We can two step Scarlet's walk
while sipping rye whisky and
a violet fluid.

But wait, baby. Wait.

Take it easy, lemmie
drop the other.
I want lust and love
not just a lil freak.
But if I fell into the space between
I'd be too shy to say.

There's no church in the wild
for a lonely new religion, but say yes.
Just this once,
baby come to me
because it's getting late,
you're getting to be a habit with me
and fool that I am,
I can't get enough.

Don't pull out on me yet, stay.

Make yourself comfortable.
Please forgive me,
but the answer is you.
And no one man should have
all that power.

But I'll be waiting, my daydreamer

for the moment when
everything is everything
simply because of
something.

Then,

if I can't have you,
if it don't work out,
then you can tell me goodbye.

Deep

Green,
like the leaves outside at dusk.
Haunting with the promise of mystery,
the threat of revelation.

Blue,
like the ocean at midnight.
Endless and fleeting,
transient and eternal.

Black,
like a massive attack,
my undoing before you.
An edict of appeal.

Red,
the line, the dot
my defiant capitulation.

"Give in to me."

Yes.