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.

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...

*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.