*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.

Just a little JSYK...

So just wanted to put my other links out there. Cause I know I promised them to reader(s) before. So I offer an explanation along with.

I have two Lit profiles, obviously PrettyPersephone, but also LadyLeveaux. The Lady is my first profile, encouraged by my mom. I've been a little out of sorts since her passing, hence the direction of my last post on that profile, as well as the new profile. I felt like a person within a person, and not in the sexyflexy way. So now there really are voices (plural) in my head. It's weird. I've been coming to different realizations with varying degrees of gravity and breadth lately, and these writings kind of reflect that transition and change.

So, just to reiterate, check out my other pages. You might find something you like, something that confuses the fuck out of you, or something that takes you to a place you never knew you could find. At least, that's what I hope. *But who am I kidding?*

*So this is an unedited, currently untitled piece. I started it this morning during a bout of insomnia. Apparently 2012 can't wait three weeks to 'be my year'. So, here goes a start, which is no-thing like the last story. More character focus even though the protagonists are as yet unnamed, indepth plot, and a lot of references. A very slow moving attempt, this. But I had to get it out while it was fresh in my mind, so this is what comes of it. And away we go...
~~~

My morning was turning into a prime example of a true clusterfuck. Woke up late, so no time for breakfast. Forgot Dee's lunch, so had to hustle to get that done and to her, which set errands back half an hour, which meant I'd be arriving at the gym later than usual. It wasn't really a big deal; just that this was really the only time I got to sort through the past week and zone out.

I never paid any attention to my surroundings, or even to my progress. When I started coming nearly a year ago, I was in bad shape. I didn't really look fat,just pudgy, and my clothes hid that well enough. But I lacked stamina and strength. Sure, I was strong enough to do a lot of the chores and other household things it would have been nice to have a guy around to do, but that was because of circumstance and not a conscious, concerted effort. I wasn't 16 and on the swim team anymore.

I didn't notice that it slowly became easier and easier for me to hit my stride from a short jog to a full on run on the treadmill. Sure, I was a bit self conscious at first. Big girls shouldn't run, no matter how big your t-shirt is. You get looks. But when my workout buddy, Chloe, met her goal and moved on to slimmer wardrobes, she bestowed upon me her workout playlist. She made me a few cds so that I could put them on my iPod and still have a hard copy in the event my technology impediment reared its ugly head again. We still kept in touch and meet for the occasional walk, jog, treadmill run, or latte at Starbucks, which is nice. I can't say that I have very many female friends I connect with regularly. Not that I'm a ne'er do well, but being empathetic and observant, I try to avoid conflict as much as possible, and most of my friends are male, with female significant others. I don't like stepping on toes or rocking the boat unnecessarily.

I had been blasting Bo's, my precious '04 silver Jetta convertible, speakers out cranking the playlist to get me psyched up from the round of chastising I'd treated myself to for not making sure my alarm was set and not being more prepared in general. The top was down, the breeze was warm, and the makings of a pleasant smile were on my face as I pulled into the parking lot. I hopped out, secured the car and grabbed my bag, a slight spring in my step as Beyonce's End of Time continued in my head. I fished out my member card, took a swig from my ice bottle (bit of a trick I picked up: to keep your water refreshing, especially in the summer at small gyms, freeze a water bottle a third to half full, adding a slice of fruit if you like, then about an hour before you hit the gym, fill the bottle with cool water. By the time you reach the first machine, even ifyou live over the gym, you'll have cold, lightly sweetened if you choose, water that won't warm even if the air conks out in the middle of July. And, it should last well past your workout if you freeze it halfway or a bit more and pace yourself.), and stepped into my sanctuary. I immediately wanted to turn around and go home.

'Shit!' I thought to myself. Some jackass was on my treadmill. The one farthest from the door, in the corner, facing away from the row of TVs. Once I was on my own in my visits, I decided on this machine because it was inconspicuous enough. Even as I improved, I didn't want peopleto notice me. I liked being invisible. It was a condition I had become accustomed to and perfected. I could zone out to my tunes, go somewhere else in my mind and not worry about the squat Guido in the Mets shirt or the sturdy girl in the lacrosse hoodie glaring at the Barbie twins who were making sure the jock wannabes in the row behind them were watching their asses and ponytails swing as they ran. I was alone. No one took the other machines next to my treadmill. Couldn't be seen over in that corner. But I as didn't have anyone looking for me, other than Chloe when she could make it in, it was perfect.

"Uh-oh. What is it? You're usually the most oddly chipper person here, even when you're exhausted."

I could only smile lamely at Tara, the girl at the member desk. She'd been the first one of the staff to actually say something to me about anything. She called me on the fact that I should consider a new wardrobe, as my current one was almost an issue.She just grinned and nodded to my shoulder, exposed from the now super large neck of my sweatshirt. We spoke every visit since then, and formed a nice rapport.

"No big deal, Tar. Woke up late is all. Been running like feet on fire since. Gonna kick rocks outta here and get some work done." I snapped my ear buds into my iPod as I spoke, waving the device to show what I meant. I took a gamble glance over at my machine, hoping to find that the dude was just finishing up, but no such luck. The fucker was actually pressing buttons and speeding up. My jaw stayed clenched and off the floor by sheer force of will.

"Gonna go drop this bag, and maybe stretch at the lockers. Never been this late before. Lotsa folks in here this time of day."

"Yeah," Tara laughed. "People wanting to assuage guilt for weekend debauchery and lunchtime foibles."

That got an honest laugh out of me. I nodded and waved as I made my way to the locker room, ear buds snuggly in my ear, and A-B Machines revving up. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

The locker room was empty enough, so I found a free space and stowed my bag. I tucked my iPod into my bra cup and sorted out the lock, making sure to put my wrist-cord key and water bottle on the counter. I slowly began to stretch, my mind already wandering as it focused on the sensations of each muscle being prepared for wherever I would wind up today. I inhaled deep as I rolled my neck and stretched my arms overhead and behind me, opening up my ribcage. This was my favorite stretch. I convinced myself that maybe my muscles were a little too long for my skeleton, which would explain why swimming and stretching always made me feel fantastic. The warm push and pull, the tension, even the disappointment of release. I tried not to think about what a former teammate had once said.

"You're into that kind of stuff. Weird torture and shit. You probably couldn't even get off unless somebody tied you down and spread you out so wide all your joints dislocated."

Back then, what she said had hurt. Bad. I was already weird enough without somebody predicting my future with such certainty. But now, I could see where she may have been right. I mean, I did major in medieval history with a forensic psychology minor. I had been into things like the Inquisition and obscure methods of torture for years. It fascinated me. The methods, the implementation, the tools and equipment, the mindset, scandal and salaciousness, logic and reasoning. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a little wet when I heard a reclusive collector was auctioning his prized and possibly authentic 15th century torture rack a few years ago. What can I say? History, and the darker side of human nature, has always fascinated me.

I exhaled and shook out my arms as a middle aged woman came in. I smiled at her as I leaned to the side now fully engrossed in the tantalizing promise of escape afforded me by my run. I frowned a bit when Angel Is a Centerfold came on. Nothing against the song or the J. Giles Band, I just hadn't decided what mood I was in, and that song puts me in that 80's teen movie state of mind. It's a good thing more often than not, though.

I timed my stretches by the verses and chorus breaks, so by the time Angel was over I was almost to the floor. Just a few more, and hopefully my interloper would have the decency to disappear. I mean, it's pretty much common knowledge around here that that particular treadmill is mine. What's his deal anyway? He must be new. I could hear the angel and devil of my conscience gearing up for another row.

**Let's be nice to him.**

--Let's tell him to fuck off!--

**He may have a nice girlfriend. You could use afew more female friends.**

--Can it, Glenda Goodwitch!--

I smiled and shook my head as I pulled my heel up behind me, reaching up with my opposite arm. I love the dull pop I get when Istretch my spine just right. I switched sides, again getting that pop that makes me sigh. Maybe today wouldn't be such a wash after all.

I turned to see my gym mate give me a wry, knowing smile, almost an admonition. 'Yeah, I know. Keep it up and I'll have a bad back, blah blah. But given the circumstances, who's gonna care?' I thought to myself. It must have shown in my face, either that thought or my reaction to the opening bars of Alanis' Unforgiven, because her face softened for a moment before she smiled and headed out to the rest of her certainly wonderful day.

I finished stretching, particularly enjoying the pull of tension in my hamstrings as I squatted and extended to either side.'One of these days I really won't be able to do this anymore,' I thought. That thought took me places I didn't need to be, so I shook it off, jumping in place a few times to get the blood really going before skipping the rest of Alanis caterwauling to the next song. My m.o. is usually to find a kicking jam, take the iPod off shuffle, hop on the machine and let my playlist go in order. I went off a little bit on the inside as H.A.M. blasted through my buds, the possibility of having to wait for my machine far from my mind.

~~~
So like Mumble said, that's all I got so far. I mean, I do know where this is headed eventually, but I don't have anything to segue between here and there at the moment. So... Happy Holidays everyone! Let's hope 2012 sees me all carpal tunneled out from writing. :)


LMA
PP
LL

Well...

Just a quick blurb. I attempted to tie in another piece I've been working on to the Tey and Mara story, but apparently, these two don't want much of a plot. What they do want, however, is all my attention, so there will be more of them shortly, along with some other pieces from both my Literotica pages (perhaps).