Here's a thing...

Sometimes I get sad thinking about how my mom never got what (I think) she wanted or deserved. And I think back to the time we went on a ski trip with my girl scout troop when I was ten. Long story short, I got all decked out, we got on the lift, and at the top of the run, I punked out. I could see the disappointment in my mom's eyes. She had hoped to live vicariously, that her babygirl had more of an adventurous spirit. Then I get even sadder, because I feel like I'm still letting her down. This is the greatest person I will ever know in the history of me knowing people. I feel like it's up to me to get what she never had, and be who she wanted to be. But then, this calm washes over. I don't have to get and be what I think she wanted. I have to live my best life. That's how I can erase the memory of that hidden sadness atop that snowy hill.

I've got a lot of work to do, but I also have nothing better to do.

Part Two of this Fanfic-y thing...

Solé couldn't keep herself upright. She had thankfully made it from the bathroom down the hall, and just had time enough to unnecessarily protect her modesty by clutching her towel to when it just barely met at the corners. She was out of breath, as if she'd been running for the phone. In reality, she had been racked by the most intense and direct arousal she had ever experienced.

Two fingers of her left hand worked unflaggingly at her entrance and on her clit, while her right hand helped her cling to the door jamb. Tears flowed from her eyes as her knees buckled and her thighs quivered. Solé couldn't contain the strangled wail that launched from her throat the instant she came. Her blunt nails scored the croun moulding as first her towel then her body succumbed to gravity. Her jaw clenched as she hit her knees, chest heaving and neck and shoulders bowed in seeming defeat.

As she caught her breath, a face appear unbidden, again as it had for the past few weeks, in her mind's eye. The man from so many nights ago who stopped for directions. And as it had been since that night, Solé heard the whisper of his voice in her ear. "Come again, pet. Once more for me."

It was torture. Blissful torture of the most decadent kind. Her back arched as both hands flew to the door frame. She rose on her knees, her spine curving forward and her head lolling back as the feel of hands caressing her sent her over the edge again. The sound of a door opening and closing downstairs had her freezing stock still.

"Solo, you ready?"

"SHIT," she exclaimed under her breath. Her best friend Eric had arrived unacceptably early as usual. Solé cursed her luck. She would end up with a pair of friends who while accepting her flaws and all had their own nearly bothersome quirks.

"Uh, yeah," Solé managed as she wobbled to her feet and shook off the fleeting surge of inexplicable rage she felt. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be down. You know where everything is."

Solé clutched her towel to her chest as she leaned back against the door jamb and finally caught her breath. In her orgasmic frenzy she had forgotten the reason why she had closed the shop early for a Saturday and had been in the shower at six in the evening. Eric and their other good friend, and his sometimes lover, Breely had gotten her tickets to a very nice evening of music with the New York Philharmonic for her birthday. And now one - or both - of them were downstairs meandering around her kitchen while they waited for her. She could hear Eric muttering quietly.

"Did she not know we were coming," he asked almost incredulously.

"Shut it," Bree hissed. "I'll go see what the hold up is."

Solé rolled her eyes and felt her shoulders sag as she heard Bree climb the stairs to her apartment above the coffee shop. Pushing off the doorframe, she scurried to at least look like she hadn't been knuckle deep in herself for the last half hour screaming for mercy. She dashed past the vanity only sparing herself a hurried glance as she reached her dresser and yanked open her panty drawer. She pulled out a black bra with green and gold thread detail and matching panties, her birthday gift to herself.

While wandering the mall one day not long after letting her mysterious visitor vanish from her door, she had the sudden urge to make a very out of the ordinary lingerie purchase. She would be the first to admit to being a 'no-frills' girl who preferred her underwire sturdy and her panties comfy cotton, but she would add that she wasn't immune to nice things in severe moderation, with the addendum that the only people who would ever see her in her underwear were Bree and Ric, and that they didn't warrant spending more than $10 a pair. Of course they would both scoff, Bree as the supportive best girlfriend, and Ric as the typical male sidekick who made a running joke of having slept with his best friends.

As she slipped on the lacy frills, she felt and heard Bree behind her.

"My god, woman! The fuck have you been doing all this time?!?"

Solé dipped her head, a mischievous smile on her lips as her mind jumped to answer with a quip most unlike her. That had been happening a lot lately, from the underwear to her new extracurricular activities, she had been slightly out of character for the past few weeks. She chalked it up to the change of weather and the Indian Summer the city was in the midst of, and tried to block out all the tempestuous thoughts of the man who nonetheless plagued her fantasies. So instead of responding to her question, Solé turned and smiled warmly at her friend.

"Bree, you look gorgeous!"

And she did. Bree was wearing an elegant red off-the-shoulders floor length cocktail gown that she held up close to the hem in an exasperated pose as Solé moved to hug her.

"Jesus, put some clothes on before bonehead races up here. You know he has keen senses for when half naked girls are hugging."

"Ya vol, mien damen!" Solé turned with a mock salute and click of her heels before sitting down on the bed, suddenly at a loss.

"What now?"

"I just realized this thing is truly formal, and I have nothing acceptable to wear." Solé looked over to her modest tea-length retro dress that hung from her closet door.

"You can wear that. No problem! What're they gonna do, kick us out of New York?"

"They might."

"Ok, so you can borrow something of mine."

"First off, there's no time. Second, come on. You really think these things are gonna fit in something you wear?" She hefted her lace clad breasts for emphasis.

"To be honest, I've always held hope for a little asmosis action." Bree sat down in the chair across from the foot of the bed and fluffed at the skirt of her dress.

"It's OSmosis, and anytime you wanna hit the slab, honey, say the word."

Solé climbed over the bed as bree propped her feet on the footboard chest and made her way to her tiny closet. She heard Bree humming the chorus to Like It's Her Birthday and let out a frustrated groan.

"For the love of Pete, Breely, anything but that!"

"What, Scar? It's not like age is kicking your ass or anything. Ooo, wait, hey what's that?"

Solé stopped shuffling hangers from one side of the rack to the other, looking at the long forgotten garment bag.

"Oh, that bridesmaid dress, probably. Haven't seen this thing in a while."

"Well, whatever it is should be appropriate. God knows you haven't worn it around here. Pull it out and put it on. We got a show to get to."

Solé lifted the garment bag from the closet with a little more care than was necessary, placing it on the bed before unzipping it. What spilled out was nothing short of true beauty. A gossamer confection of three shades of deep green, gray and black that on Solé would lightly sweep the floor.

"Whoa, Solo. When and where'd you get that? Been holdin' out on us, I see." Bree had sprung to her feet to stand by her friend and gaze at the dress.

"I didn't buy this," Solé whispered taking a wary step back. Bree picked up the feather light gown and held it up to herself.

"Shit, well whoever did has excellent and expensive taste." She turned back to Solé. "You sure you didn't buy this and forget about it? Some retail therapy after the uh..."

"Unpleasentness? No." Solé cut Bree off before she could finish the sentence. "I doubt I could even happen to run across a dress like that on a whim, let alone afford it." Solange still stood slightly away from the bed and the dress, as if it were a python materialized out of thin air ready to grab her.

"Ok, well whatever. We gotta scoot. So throw on the frock and haul ass." Bree stepped around the footboard chest and made for the door. "Hustle, Lolo."

Solé made a face and flipped Bree off as she left, her gaze going once more back to the dress.

"Who would call this a mere dress," she wondered aloud as she tentatively picked it up. No tags, she noticed, so no real way of knowing when, from who, or how it ended up in her closet. It looked to be strapless, but she couldn't find a seam, button, or zip to tell her which way was the front. After turning it carefully in her hands for a minute she placed the gown back on the bed, nearly ready to give up and throw on her retro dress. As she turned back to her closet door something caught her eye. At the angle the gown was laying, it seemed to catch the last rays of daylight and sparkle with silver and gold. And then she saw the bodice.

A sweep and gather of fabric from the shoulders down to the corseted decolletage. Solé looked down at herself and back at the dress.

"Shit, I can't wear this," she said a bit louder than she intended.

"Whatever it is, you can wear it, and you WILL, Bink! Don't make me come up there!" Eric had apparently gotten impatient of waiting for her. He was the only one she ever let use the nickname her uncle had given her without some sort of backlash, and he only used it when he meant business.

"Fine! Fine...," she turned two confused circles before deciding on the black tie wrap heels sitting in a box at the back of her closet. Shoes in hand, she flopped on the bed, careful not to disturb the dress. She figured putting on stockings, slip, and shoes first would minimize wrinkles. Solé had to smile to herself at that. Her Nana and Mom would be proud of her. Never cross your property line without stockings, slip, and underwire.

Solé gathered up a stocking, luxuriating in the feel of the sheer material in her hands as she extended her leg to slip it on. Satisfied with the fit, she reached for the other stocking and moaned in exasperation when she had it halfway on.

"UGH! For fuck's sake, you gotta be kidding me!" Her bellow met with the sound of metal falling on porcelain. "I'm fine, we're fine," she shouted as she heard footsteps approach the stairs. "Just a run in my stocking. No big. Be down in a minute."

Solé scrambled around for a minute mumbling curses as she tried in vain to find her back up pair of stockings. They were seamed and very informal, but she figured the dress would cover it, and if need be she could cross her legs. After searching the places the stockings should've been unsuccessfully, she gave up with a resigned sigh and a mental apology to Ma and Nana as she hopped up to pull her in tact stocking off and grab her bra slip.

Solé carefully pulled her slip on, mindful as always of the fullness of her hips and how she moved to get into the thing. While she wasn't model thin, fate and genetics still seemed to bless her with an hourglass figure, which she jokingly referred to as having extra minutes. With Greek warrior calves, thighs that touched, a more than soft belly, a generous bosom, and broad wingspan, Solé considered herself zaftig, regardless of what the committee of Big Girls said.

Having done the snake dance of the slip, Solé adjusted the strapless bodice and sat to put on her shoes, careful not to rub her skin too much when wrapping the lace ribbon to avoid ashing up her ankles. She stood and went over to her closet mirror, admiring the slight cling of of the slip and the added height of the heels. Giving her reflection an appreciative nod, she turned to the bed and gathered the dress, still a bit unsure how to get it on. Deciding to try the overhead approach, Solé gathered as much of the dress as she could without wrinkling it and hovered it above her head, hoping gravity would do the rest. Luckily, she didn't have to work hard at all, as the dress cascaded over her in a quiet whisper of silken fabric.

Solé gave a sigh as the dress brushed lightly over her skin, turning right and left to admire how the dress fit her almost perfectly, and ponder exactly when and how it found it's way into her closet.

"Solange, LET'S GO!! You got three minutes before I come up there myself!"

"Yes, Father. Very well, Father. On my way, Father," Solé teased with only a hint of sarcasm. She absently patted her head, belatedly realizing she'd done nothing with her hair formal enough for the outfit she wore, however unexpected, nor the occasion.

"Shit, shit, shit," she muttered snatching the heavy brush from her vanity and hurriedly dragging it over her hair. Solé gathered her hair behind her ears, sectioning across the crown to leave the back half of her hair flowing and clipping the front with a plain gold barrette with intricate engraved swirls on the upper clasp.

Satisfied that she had done her best, Solé spun once in front of her vanity before pulling her bedroom door closed behind her and making her way down the stairs.

Something I read at a Salon recently...

He had that menacing glint in his eyes again. That flash of sheer predatory volition that spoke of determined, sadistic carnality. He approached the bed, looking down on her with ill veiled disdain and contempt. This would not be sweet. It would not be tender and gentle. This was sex at its most base. The unambiguous, unequivocally explicit, raw and unquestionable authority, control, and proprietorship of one being over another. And at that moment he wanted nothing more than the certain exquisite pleasure of driving into her body and obliterating her soul.

His tongue snaked out from behind a growing snarl, as if he were merely working on an ornery chore rather than staring at a bound and captive human.

"I've waited long enough for this. This is the end of your torment of me, girl."

With every word he drew closer still, like an errant child mesmerized by an open flame. And open she was. For him. He smoothed a hand up the back of her leg, squeezing painfully. He could feel her muscles tense beneath his pressure, but she didn't flinch or cry out. His hand continued it's baleful path, pinching and squeezing ruthlessly as it ascended, until he reached the cleft and swell of her ass. He could feel the heat seeping from inside her. Life heat, pulse, energy. And she would need it all tonight.

He leaned down so that his lips barely brushed her earlobe. He knew his breath was warm and crisp as he nosed strands of her hair from her face when she turned to him. She huffed once as she felt his fingers caress their way inside her, surely the only gentility she would receive from this monster. But she refused to react. He would not see her fear or her passion. She glared at him, hoping all the hate she felt radiated through that stare. He merely leered back before licking the shell of her ear, the act sending tiny but unfloutable fissures of pleasure through both of them.

He stiffened, realizing too late that his subconscious had betrayed him. Done with the preliminaries, he wrenched from her warm, moist openings, ripping the gusset of her panties along the way. He climbed onto the bed then, noticing the little tattoo of a hammer and anvil exploding matter on her left shoulder blade with a slight awe he had no desire to foster at the moment.

He leaned forward, propping himself by his arms on either side of her head and distributing his weight across her back, he squared his hips into her cupped and upturned hands, bound at the small of her back, enjoying the way they instinctively molded to the distended fly of his trousers.

"I knew from the moment I saw you you needed it, Whore. And I'm gonna give it to you. Now pull me out."

She could hear the cruel laughter in his voice as he made no effort to make her task easier. In fact, her movements only enflamed him further, her ass and thighs innocent of their otherwise sensuous undulation beneath him. Sweat broke out across her back as he huffed and tried to contain his reaction to her unknowing movements. To break the tension and torment her a bit more, he pressed down on her back, leaning in and licking a patch of the slick sheen gathered at the base of her neck. She froze, the first sign of a reaction, and he reveled in the way her hands involuntarily clenched, released, and clenched again. He smiled as his teeth scraped over the area he'd just licked; a small victory.

"The longer you take, slut, the longer this lasts."

Her hands scrambled and scraped around his belt buckle, finally unclasping the slightly ornate rounded square and pulling it free of itself. She fumbled with the button of his pants and as her fingers found purchase on the zipper, he lifted slightly off her, pulling away for a much needed respite from her touch. The little minx really had no idea her guileless movements were that of someone well versed in the pleasures of the flesh. She was just doing as she was told, whatever he wished to get this night over with. But in his mind at least, it would never be over for them...

Untitled

You are an illusion
a fallacy made up
in my mind
to offer freely
the comfort and certainty
no one else can
or will.

In the storm,
you cover me.
In the dark,
you guide me.
In the wind of defeat,
you brace me.

I am nothing
without you,
because I am
You.

Surrender the Chase

That plain gold ring
Is like a burden on your finger
But with a heart as black as night
How can you claim love her, too?

Apply a little pressure
Take time to realize
Where do we go from here
When you don't know my name?

Even now, as you whisper
Winsome words worth wonders
Can you say you know
you really love a woman?

You're all I need
If you would try and
See things my way
But that'd be asking for
The moon and the sky

I don't wanna be
Your soldier of love
In this vacancy of a
Silent house
Gimmie shelter or at least
Release therapy

You talk that talk
But can you walk the line
You know, the one between my heart
And... hers?

She me and he
We three agree,
But we lack harmony.

Discord in this chord
Broken beaten scarred
But I'll never give up on
My apocalypse
Dripping down your fingertips

All of my love could
Be that easy if you would just
Sayso
But in my dreams
I keep falling through
The space between to
Stay or leave

I know my world is not enough,
But let me give it to you,
Make it good.
You have my devotion
In these arms of mine
Even after tonight

But because that
Pretty little thing
Has your pretty little heart,
I tell myself I'm not in love

When the naked truth is
This is just artificial breathing
Meant to fuck with your head
While angels teach u a lesson

But come closer
I'll tell you a secret
This me, I'm not is
Somewhat damaged
And in need of a fixxxer

In your eyes I see the
Spectrum of how I let you down
By letting more than words linger
Like a star in the distance

I'm so dazed and confused
Do I shut her down or
Save me

I mean the hand that feeds
Leaves scars as you
Kiss me when I wake up,
And I do not want this

I'm broken between the lines
Of this love song
Abnormally attracted to sin
And bleeding me into
Azure autumn leaves

Wishing I was the
Chosen one
In your beautiful world
Making time stand still for
The both of us.

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.