Monday, October 26, 2015

Unmasked: Part 3: Defiance

Power flooded into her again, pushing the words to the tip of her tongue. Again, she resisted, receiving another wave of nausea and throbbing in her skull for her efforts. It was harder with those amber eyes boring into her. She wanted to comply so badly, to please the giant man before her. Salt and pepper hair fell to his shoulders in the soft waves one gets from constant braiding. A short, but full beard of the same color covered his face. He did not look the frightening beast she had been told about all her life, but she knew what he was capable of. Or, at least, some of it. Her defiance was stupid in the face of a man who could tear her apart with relative ease. But she was dead anyway, so she might as well go down fighting.

For the second time that night, she attacked his arm with her teeth. A quick chomp this time, to make him jerk away from her. He growled with the pain, snatching her braid up in his fist and wrenching her head back. Pain bloomed in her cheek as he landed a swift, but controlled slap.

"Do that again, and you will spend your first week in my Den standing. Do I make myself clear?"

Conna just stared at him in shock. What did that even mean?It was a threat. She knew that much, but what kind of threat, she didn't know. Standing? Wait. First week? They weren't going to eat her?

He let her go and stood, gesturing to something behind her. Two more giant men appeared to either side of her and followed the leader out the door. The instant they were out of sight, she went to work on the chains on her wrists.

"She is impressive," she heard one of them say. It sounded like the one who'd said she looked tasty.

"This is more difficult than I anticipated," said her interrogator.

"I think we can safely say she isn't a spy. She would be more cooperative if she were," said the third man.

"She shouldn't be able to refuse my direct commands. I can't sense any sort of dominance in her. I think she is too consumed with fear...because someone implied we would eat her."

The chain fell away with a small clink. She managed to catch it before it clattered to the floor, stuffing it in the satchel with the rope from earlier. Tucking her skirts again, she crept towards the door, peeking out of it. Three men...three wolves...stood together in a circle, bathed in the light of the full moon, still discussing her. The light revealed them clearly, as well as a tree root jutting out of the ground very near them. She took a breath and reached out to the root, bidding it to grow. The tendril of wood snaked through the earth, twisting up and down, arching over their feet and back down into the ground. They never even looked down.

As the conversation grew heated, she made a break for it, darting past the men toward the tree line. A shout rang out behind her when they finally noticed her escape. The shout was quickly followed by a series of grunts and curses, but she didn't have time to be amused at their fall. She ran as fast as she could, but she was so tired. A stitch formed in her side. Slowing to a stop, she doubled over, panting heavily. The unhurried stroll of booted feet through the underbrush made her want to vomit. She spared a look up at him, hyper aware of the hair sticking to her sweaty face.

"Are you finished?" His tone suggested the question might be for a child throwing a tantrum.

Still holding her ribs, she managed a rather rude gesture with her free hand.

He snorted. "That can be arranged." Grabbing her arm, he tossed her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. He hooked an arm behind her knees to secure her in place and began the trek back the way they came.

"I admire your persistence," he said, giving her backside a gentle pat, "but this really is pointless. No one is going to eat you, but we aren't letting you go, either."

He had just stepped over the threshold when she bit him on the ass.

"Fine, we'll do this the hard way," he said with an ominous tone. Conna swiftly found herself on her feet again, wrists caught behind her back in the vice of his massive hand. He pulled up on her arms, forcing her into an awkward bend. The jingle of a belt buckle set her back to struggling.

"I did warn you."

A loud crack announced the first blow. Somehow, the leather managed to bite through the thick fabric of her skirt. She yelped, more from surprise than pain. Pain quickly replaced shock, however, as the belt landed relentlessly against her backside. She attempted to squirm away, but the position was rather expert for preventing that. She couldn't keep count of the blows.

When she started sobbing, he paused. "Be a good girl and tell me your name."

"Fuck you," she said with a sniff.

" can actually speak. That is an improvement, but I can see we are not done yet." He tossed up the back of her skirts and tucked them into her belt.

"No!" She pulled violently at his grip on her wrists. The belt cracked down across the backs of her thighs.

"Stop." he commanded, his voice hard, unyielding, and tinged with power. A few more stripes had her hanging limply, legs ready to buckle. He eased her to the floor, releasing her hands, and crouched near her. "Now, what is your name?"

It was a purr this time rather than a growl. His dominance slid easily past her walls. With her cheek pressed to the cold floor, her ass on fire, and her body limp with exhaustion, there was no more resistance in her. His power nestled into the back of her brain and pushed the words onto her tongue. Whatever words he wanted.


Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Saturday, October 24, 2015


She held her hands about her throat, trying to remember the feel of his hands on her skin. It wasn't the same. Her hands were too small, too soft. She missed the sensation of his calloused fingertips pressing against her pulse and wondered at her own desire.

Sinful Sunday

Friday, October 23, 2015

The Arsenal

Welcome, lovely reader, to the catalogue of my current arsenal of implements for teasing or torturing the night away. For five years, ladies and gentlepervs, I have been collecting and refining my armory, tailoring it to cater to my personal tastes as a connoisseur of pain and pleasure. It's also partially designed to suit my pitiful little T-Rex arms.

So! Gather around, my lovelies, and behold my colorful instruments!

First, we have the main feature of any toy bag, the thing you generally can't find a vanilla substitute for at a typical store. The floggers. Currently, I have six of these little beauties. I had 7, but rehomed it with the lovely Peach after deciding I didn't like it. The top left is a suede and faux fur affair from It's one of my favorites, but it's a heavy son of a bitch, so I can't throw it for very long. Going down, we have a blue leather monster. The leather is stiffer and harder, so it packs a fair wallop. I won it in a prize back back in June. Also from that prize bag is the black paracord flogger made by Foxy at Good Girl Goodies. The two black ones on the right are my twins, and frankly my favorite to throw. Ringing in at a whopping $3 a pop, I found them at the state fair. And, of course, we have the red suede, which was the subject of A New Old Friend

And next we come to the spanking implements. We've got, your standard bamboo back scratcher, an essential for any budget-conscious kinkster as you can get them anywhere from 50 cents to $3. We have the billet strap from the horse tack section of a farm goods store. Then there is the lovely leather slapper, purchased from the same couple that provided the red suede flogger mentioned above. It's made my Sportsheets. And to your right, we have the purple leather paddle from Spencer's gifts, with it's dual sensation of leather and plush fuzzy opposite side. Then we have a spatula from the prize bag, unused thus far. And finally, our East Pointe ping pong paddle, which is great for playing butt bongos.

Here lies the battery of sensation play. Swooping in from the right this time, we have the sharps. Delightfully versatile, theses dangerous little babies can be used for edge play, temperature play, fear play, and cutting, if you're into that sort of thing. Moving right along, we have a standard pair of adjustable, alligator-style nipple clamps connected by a string of silver beads. Up at the top, the back scratcher makes another appearance for it's scratching and massaging abilities. Coming down, we've got a silicone basting brush, a blind fold, and a paint brush. The black hairbrush has been featured on Sinful Sunday as A Beauteous Beast. Alas, said beast was broken on someone's ass, so it is now only suitable for hair brushing and sensation play. Next we have glass pebbles. An odd choice you might say, but they are great for temperature play, and I just love the smooth texture. The nubby purple thing is a microfiber mitt, which is wonderful for cool downs. And finally, we have a couple "Jesus candles" for wax play.

Concluding our tour is the Bondage Gallery. Back on your left, we have various ropes: black paracord, purple Japanese silk, and multi-colored rope of a material unknown to me because I won it at a party. Then we have a basic leather and suede cuff set that replaced my nylon velcro cuffs after one of the ankle cuffs up and walked away. And, of course, we can't forget the chains. You knew there had to be chains. It's in my name, after all.

So, there you have it. These are my kinky weapons of choice. This is, however, not counting the collection of actual sex toys that I have amassed in the same time period. Those you will find more about in current and future Lady Fapping posts. I probably have a few hundred dollars in my play bag, but it's certainly not a luxury level bag. Admittedly, a little over $100 is just in the knives.

But, get ready, folks! Within the next two weeks I'll be posting a guide on how you can build yourself a respectable toy bag for roughly $30. Stay tuned!

Monday, October 19, 2015

Unmasked: Part 2: A Simple Question

Rodrick glared up at Jurgen, growling. "What the fuck did you have to say that for?" he bit out.

The other man shrugged. "Thought she might stop if she thought it wasn't helping."

"Right, because the fact that she almost bit off a chunk of my arm indicated that that would work." He stood up, gently picking up the unconscious woman and putting her over his shoulder.

She was certainly not what he expected. Or perhaps she was. The generous swell of her hips and the rounded softness of her belly put her far outside the Kin standard of beauty. She was unusually petite for one of her tribe. Her long, oak-colored hair woven into a thick braid, slapped against the back of his knees as he walked. Despite all of the falling and kicking and running, the emerald green filigree mask dotted with bits of milky quartz stayed defiantly perched on the top half of her face, not having moved a fraction of an inch.

As they walked back to the outpost, he noticed Jurgen looking her over as well.

"You were right. She is much more delectable than I thought," Jurgen said, giving the plump thigh peeking through the gap in her dress a squeeze.

Rodrick growled again, pulling the edge of the skirt free of her belt so that it fell to cover her. "Keep your paws to yourself. I haven't decided who gets her yet."

"Based on that reaction, I'll assume it won't be me. Disappointing. I like a woman with some teeth. They're more amusing to tame."

Rodrick said nothing more until they returned to the outpost where Reiner waited for them. He  stepped through the gates and into the room in which he'd received the messenger.

"A chair," he commanded, jerking his head at Reiner. The other second placed a high-backed chair in the center of the room. Rodrick sat the girl on it, threading the back of the chair through her bound arms. He pushed back the hair framing the side of her face to find the thong that held the mask in place. Plucking a knife from his belt, he cut the thong and pulled the mask away to set it on a nearby table.

Jurgen whistled. "She won't like that. Those Kin never take those things off."

"The more vulnerable she is, the more cooperative she's likely to be. Besides, best to get it off now. She can't wear it in the Den."

He turned back to her, examining her face fully. She was younger than he'd first thought. Her brow was smooth and lightly freckled. A pale shadow of the mask remained on her face. A product of the sun shining through the gaps in the filigree. Descending from her hair line were peaks of shimmering iridescence on her skin of a pale green. He brushed a thumb over one of them, but it did not smear away and seemed part of her complexion.

"A Geo Kin. I wonder how powerful she is," he mused quietly.

"Well, if she's a spy, likely very. If she's the sacrifice, probably not much of a threat at all. You said yourself, they wouldn't give away something valuable. I can't see her looks alone making her a pariah if she were a Kin of power," said Jurgen.

Rodrick pulled out another chair and placed it in front of her, taking a seat.

"You two stand against the wall. I want her to concentrate on me."

The two warriors dutifully stepped back into the shadows out of the girl's range of vision. Rodrick peered at the woman, peaceful in her unconscious state. He pushed a bit of power at her, feeling out the terrified soul. No dominance pushed back at him, no sense of an alpha spirit. But then, she was asleep, so that could mean anything. However, she smelled like prey, so he doubted it.

Her eyes fluttered open as she finally awoke, wincing from the pain of the blow he'd used to knock her out. Her gaze settled on him, eyes going wide. Lovely, odd eyes, a mix of blue and green with flecks of brown. Her eyes flitted around the room, noting the exit and his position between her and it. Despair flashed across her face when she noticed the mask sitting on the table.

"No..." she lamented softly.

"Don't worry about the mask," he said gently. "You won't need it anymore."

Her gaze snapped back to him, a new steely resolve lurking within those colorful depths. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

"I am Rodrick. What is your name?"

Those unsettling eyes just glared back at him.

He sighed. "This will go so much easier for you if you just answer my questions."

She sat up straighter but said nothing.

"I can force you to answer. You know that...oh? Still nothing? Fine. What. Is. Your. Name?" He said, the last four words coming out in a gravelly voice of his wolf.

She tensed, the power washing over her, compelling her to obey him. She pursed her lips and averted her eyes, but not before he saw the pain of the headache surely caused by her disobedience.

He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.  "Name."

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Friday, October 16, 2015

e[Lust] #75

Kilted Wookie
Photo courtesy of Kilted Wookie

Welcome to Elust #75 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #75? Start with the rules, come back November 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Is it hate? Am I a fraud?
On Rape Fantasy
Just Breathe

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

On Filth

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Erotic Non-Fiction

How I Became an Escort
I'm 2 and 0 for the season
He fights back
Hands On
The foodslut and the semifreddo...
The Photographer
Ex-Nazi girl: my hand on the back of her head
I Belong To You

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Disciplinary Drives
On Filth
On sex positivity in public play
Cock Rings 101
A New Scene

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

The Fuck Feast Sexual Literacy Test
Sex Toys in Relationships — Yes, it’s OK.
Negotiating Power
Out of Touch
Don’t catfish: Be you.

Writing About Writing

On Jackie
Trigger Warnings (revisited)

Erotic Fiction

This would be fun
The Fucking Machine.
Erotic Fiction...With Aura
A Little Romance
Domination Dreams
My Pretty Dead Ones

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

5 Hilarious Pieces of Anti-Sex Propaganda
19 Reasons to Cheat on Your Boyfriend

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Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Unmasked: Part 1: The Gift

Rodrick looked down at the letter again and then back up at the trembling messenger. He was a rather scrawny boy, the messenger, his chin bare with the smoothness of youth. The upper half of his face was concealed by a metal filigree mask, painted red and adorned with tiny amber gemstones. All of the Kin wore these strangely feminine masks, a curious habit Rodrick had yet to figure out.

"I'm sorry, your Council has done what now?" he said, squinting at the boy.

" lord," he said, swallowing nervously, "A gift has been left in your forest. If you can catch her, you can keep her. An offering to ease the tensions between our peoples."

Rodrick cocked an eyebrow. "So you abandoned a woman in my forest...alone."

The boy looked a bit sad. "I am but a messenger, my lord." He looked down. "But if you would like my advice, I suggest you hurry. She is not particularly well-equipped."

Rodrick crumpled the paper in his fist. "Please get off my lands before I eat you."

The Pyro Kin fled the outpost without another word, tripping over his own feet as he stumbled out the door.

Jurgen pushed off the wall behind him with a snort. He was a tall wolf, just a hair taller than Rodrick himself. His hair was gathered into a series of small tight braids that fell down the left side of his head like a black curtain. Coupled with the short goatee and the claw scars running down his right cheek, it made for a fearsome visage, aided ably by his height and bulk.

"Do they expect us to eat her or fuck her?" he said with another snort.

Rodrick rolled his eyes. Somewhat undignified for an alpha, but he was never much for formality, particularly with his seconds. "I imagine the latter would be more beneficial to their supposed cause."

"I can't imagine either would be palatable given the waifish creatures they tend to favor."

"Knowing the Kin Elders, they wouldn't give us anyone they actually value," he sighed, sitting back in his chair. "We will collect the woman and see what she knows. If I like her, I will keep her for myself. If not, you and Reiner may have your choice. Or, we can offer her up to the unmated warriors and see who will take on a woman of the enemy."

Jurgen frowned. "Does that mean you are accepting their peace?"

"That depends on what the woman says, but so far, I would wager against it. The female is either a spy or a sacrifice. If the former, they do not truly desire peace. If the latter, they do not deserve peace."

Jurgen let out a sigh of his own. "Well, then let us go catch a Kin."

* * *

Conna felt as if her heart were beating out of her chest. Day was quickly fading into night and the ropes binding her hands were tied a bit more expertly than she expected. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. They had said they would wait until nightfall to sic the wolves on her. Surely that was enough time to make some progress. She settled there in the grass, trying to piece together the pattern of the rope. A minute or two of struggling later, the coarse binding fell away from her hands into a pile in her lap. Scooping it up, she stuffed it into the one satchel they had allowed her.

Standing up, she brushed the dirt and leaves from her skirt and tucked the sides edges of it into her belt at each hip. She wasn't much of a runner, but at least she wouldn't be tripping over her skirts this way. She couldn't hope to outrun a wolf. She couldn't outrun most Kin, but every little bit helped. Perhaps she could hide in a tree? No, they would scent her.

Damn it.

"You are to be a gift. A peace offering," they had told her as they bound her hands. 

"So what is the point of abandoning me in the forest, then? Seems a poor way to present a gift," she'd managed to bite out, a knife held delicately to her throat to quell any struggle.

"They enjoy the hunt." 

Conna's head shot up as a howl ripped through the air some distance away. Well, so much for waiting. She ran. The howl wasn't close, but as fast as the beasts were, it wouldn't take long. So she ran, knowing her efforts were futile. Futile, but not entirely poor, she noted, as she instinctively leapt over the rocks and tree roots that sprung up in her path.

She screamed as a large body slammed into her from behind. Thick arms wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her body, and jerked midair so she landed on the relative softness of male muscle. Conna screamed again, kicking wildly. The wolf flung his legs around hers, stilling them with his greater strength and height. Panicking, she grabbed his forearm and bit down as hard as she could.

"Fucking hell!" yelled a masculine voice from just behind her ear. Thick fingers threaded into her hair at the back of her head and yanked, but she stubbornly held on despite the pain. He cursed again, freeing his hand from her hair to press his fingertips into the hinges of her jaw and pry it open. The arm moved down quickly out of the reach of her teeth.

"Ill-equipped, my ass," he grumbled, rolling them both over to pin her beneath his weight. Sitting up, he captured her hands behind her wrists in his hand and began wrapping a chain about them. Panting from her struggles, Conna managed to calm down just enough to pay attention to his binding pattern.

"You know, little Kin, the more you struggle, the tastier you look" a different voice quipped.

Her scream lasted about three seconds before the world went black.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Besame Mucho

The run-down blue trailer house at the end of Chismville Place was just as ugly as I remembered it.  It got bigger and uglier as I rumbled my way down the rocky dirt road toward it. It was still the same unappealing blue-grey, with a rusty brown patina creeping up from the bottom. The unvarnished wooden porch looked half-rotted from too many rains.  I was sure the patio furniture sitting on it was still draped with spider webs and coated with dirt and muddy paw prints from Drake's mother's enormous black Labrador, Lucy. The garage door was still missing, leaving the array of power tools, piles of abandoned lumber and the fat punching bag hanging from the ceiling visible from the road.  The open back yard was dotted with a broken down old car, a dilapidated tool shed, and a huge pavilion with an RV parked underneath it.

            I smiled at the sight of the RV.  Just a few years ago, when Drake still lived at home, he and I had decided to play a little outside. Drake just finished  painstakingly tying me up with his one uninjured hand and was forced to cut them with the scissors in his back pocket when he got a text. He had shoved me through the door of the RV in a panic, hitting me in the face with my clothes before he tossed the door shut.  After his dad had left, he told me how he was so terrified his dad might notice my shoes, which had been left on the steps of the RV.

That was one of my few fond memories of this house on the outskirts of Greenwood, past the hayfields and the strangely out-of-place housing addition and the manmade lake full of dead trees spiking up out of the water like pale brown daggers.  I had made the trip out here so often that I made the trip on autopilot, without really paying attention to where I was going and still did even after nearly a year of not driving out this way.

            Frank Sinatra's I've Got You Under My Skin came ominously out of my speakers while I made my way down the road.  I laughed a little at the strangely appropriate song.  He was under my skin, and here I was, driving out to the middle of nowhere to confront my faithless ex in spite of that warning voice Old Blue Eyes talked about in his song.  I liked listening to the smooth crooning voices of singers from that time long before me, back when men were men and weren't such cowards.


            Around Christmas of the previous year, less than two months after our second anniversary, Drake had run out on me without a word.  I'd come home to our apartment from my job at the library to find half of his things gone.  Calling him had been useless as his phone service had been turned off.  The only reason I hadn't called the cops was because he'd taken his things.   He'd dropped the Mustang at his parents' house here on Chismville and taken their old blue '95 Ford Escort to move up north. I had only learned where he'd gone and that he'd left his car when I had taken the rest of his things to his parents…well, the stuff I hadn't burned or sold.

            His parents were as baffled as to why he had left as I was.  His dad said he'd told him to sell the Mustang and just took off.  They had told me that he had taken the time to transfer his job to Minnesota, so I knew he had planned to leave me.  That hurt the most, I think. Being told that he loved me while he was actively planning to leave.  I should have known. For the last several months of our relationship, he'd gotten increasingly more distant.  He had gotten angry over the most trivial things and would ignore me for days. In those last few months, he'd started drinking again, and I would often find him camped out in the living room, sitting in his ugly green recliner with a bottle of Blue Moon surgically attached to his hand while he watched DVDs of UFC fights and King of the Hill

            When my friend Melinda had told me a week ago he was back in town, had been back in town for months, all of that pain had come flooding out from behind the partition I had jammed all things dealing with Drake behind.  For past week, I had paced the kitchen floor, trying to decide what I would do.  Maybe I should have done nothing.  Maybe I should have left it all alone.

            And yet, now, as I got ever closer to his house, I found myself wondering about what it would be like to have him back. Even though his appearance had changed--or so I'd been told. I had not seen it yet for myself--I felt, given my previous addiction to him, that I could ignore that. I mean, perhaps it wouldn't matter that he'd changed from the thing that had drawn me so. Perhaps, he would still be that drug my body needed so badly.

            My stomach clenched as I drove up and noticed that Drake was already outside.  He was bent under the hood of his black 2008 Mustang that rested under the small sheet metal carport perched on cinder blocks over the car.  Because the metal on one side of the carport was longer than the other, all I could see were his legs leaning against the fender. A salmon pink grease rag dangled out of the back pocket of the pair of black Dickies he wore.  He didn't look up from his work until I'd managed to pull up behind the Mustang and climb out of my truck, throwing the old door shut with a slam.

            There was a loud thump followed by a "Shit!"

            He walked around the side of the car, wincing a little as he wiped his hands off on the grease rag…which he promptly dropped when he saw me.  If my purse hadn't been slung over my shoulder by a strap, I might have dropped it too.  He looked so…different.  Sure, Melinda had told me that he'd changed, but, I guess I hadn't really believed it.  It had only been about nine months since I had seen him last, but clearly even that small span of time could wreak havoc on a body.



            He gave me a quick onceover with his dark brown eyes, the awkward feelings plastered across his face.  "You look…good."

            I gave him a similar inspection and let out a nervous giggle. "You look…fat."

I covered my mouth, trying not to let the awkward laughter out. He just didn't look a thing like I remembered.  Nine months ago, he'd been reasonably fit. He'd still had a small pooch of a stomach and his chest hadn't been particularly toned, but now he'd developed a bit of a potbelly and his chest was far more generously padded beneath the black-grey mechanic's shirt from Walmart Tire and Lube. Where he hadn't outweighed me before, he certainly did now. His black hair was shaggy and unkempt, and at some point he had clearly stopped shaving the unibrow that now sat low on his forehead like a plump caterpillar.  Thankfully, he still had the beard, the one familiar feature that kept him from being totally foreign and repulsive, although, coupled with the unibrow, it did give him more of a Neanderthal-esque  appearance.

            He glared at me, and, as the unibrow lowered sternly, I had to fight the giggles again.

            "Was that necessary?" he said.

            I laughed. "Well, it's better than what I wanted to say, but I didn't figure that you'd want to stand here for the hour or two it would take me to say it, and I'm not quite that mean."

            He looked at the ground.  

            "I figured I would do what you couldn't scrounge up the balls to do…that, and after hearing that you'd found the weight I lost, I felt the need to bask in your glorious weight gain." The words came out strong, but my heart was pounding so hard against my chest, I felt like it was trying to beat its way out of my rib cage.  I thought it would feel good to say that to him.  Lord knew I had thought up worse insults to hurl at him, but even that little dig had me worried about whether I'd hurt him.

            Drake plucked the grease rag off the ground and started walking to the house. "If we're going to do this, I guess you might as well come in."

I followed him up the gravel driveway through the garage. As soon as we walked into the garage, half a dozen tabby kittens scattered and dived into the nearest hiding places.  He kicked boards and tools out of the way to make a more acceptable path. The sound of startled kittens thumping against boxes and boards followed each swipe of his foot.  He stopped at the fridge sitting beside the door into the house and pulled a bottle of Blue Moon out of it.

            "Want something?" he said, looking back at me.

            "No, I'm good." I knew he usually had water and soda in the fridge too, but I was too nervous to bother.

            I followed him through the door and past the half-finished construction on the master bath that had been half-finished for as long as I'd known him.  The wall to the right wasn't even a wall at this point, just a few support beams and more lumber lain at weird angles on the floor.  A large stall shower with dark grey tiles had been installed, but was still unfinished. That had been here for the last two years as well.

            The kitchen was still as I remembered it, dimly lit and dirty. A mountain of dishes sat next to the double sink, one side spilling into the sink like an avalanche so it was impossible to tell if the chaotic pile was clean or dirty.  Cobwebs filled the window and dangled from the light above the sink, and I saw a few ants scurrying across the counter.  The dining room table on the far side of the counter was piled with broken appliances, boxes of papers, and a fair amount of dust. Yep, just like I remembered.

            I heard Drake pop the top off the beer and toss it into a trash can brimming with soda cans and crusted TV dinner trays sitting next to the entry way into the living room.  He slumped into right of the two recliners pointed at the forty-inch flat screen TV against the partition wall separating the living room from the kitchen and took a pull from the beer. 

"Have a seat," he said, and I obediently perched myself lightly on the end of couch that sat next to his recliner and sat my purse beside me.

            "Back on the bottle, then?" I said, eyeing it as he took another swig.  Drake had always been a bit of an alcoholic, but occasionally he would stop drinking to work on his fitness...or that's what he would tell me. 

            He cut me another look.  "How did you find out I was back in town?"

            "A friend of mine used to work at your store.  She said you used to creep on her when she worked there."

            Drake sat up, sitting the bottle on the end table between the recliners a little more forcefully than necessary. "I did not 'creep' on Melinda."

            I laughed a little. "See, now, that just makes it seem like you did, since you clearly know who I'm talking about." 

            He rubbed his eyes.  "What did she say?"

            I smirked. "She said you were distastefully arrogant, exceptionally creepy, and that you looked like you hadn't entered a gym a day in your life. Now, the first is true and always has been. The last I can believe now that I've seen you for myself.  Let yourself go in the icy reaches of Minnesota, did you?"

            His jaw ticked.  "Too cold to move in that shitty place."

            I scooted back to lean against the back of the couch.  "The creepy part, now that was new to me.  You never struck me as a creepy, but you never struck me as a lot of things." I fiddled with the hem of my shirt, trying to force out what I wanted to say next.  It was hard.  Saying things to him had always been hard.  It had been so easy to just to cuddle up against him and be quiet for hours.  The only thing allowing me to do this now was the sarcasm. As long as I could be sarcastic and he didn't make me feel bad, I could do this.

            He watched me for several moments as I nervously picked at my clothes, plucking minuscule balls of lint from the fabric.

            "Why are you here, Sam?" he said, finally.

            "I just wanna talk.  You didn't really think I wouldn't show up, did you?"

            "I didn't think you'd find me.  You don't go anywhere, let alone Greenwood.  I had to lend you my TomTom the first time you came here, remember?"

            "You go enough places for the both of us."

            We stared at each other for a moment.

            "Was she worth it?"

            He shook his head as if to clear it.  "What?"

            "Was she worth it? That Emily girl?"

            "What? How do you know about..,"

            "I used to see her name on your phone.  I think I first noticed it that first Thanksgiving at your Nana's house. I imagine you've been texting her the whole time we were together.  When you sent us both the same picture after your surgery and I replied to both of you by mistake, she replied to me.  I did a search on her number.  Came back as a Minnesota area code."

            Drake shot up out of his chair and sped back down the hall that led to the garage.  I sat there for a moment, wondering if the back door would open and close a second time or if he'd just ditched the question like he'd ditched me.  Finally, I got up and followed him out to the garage. He was standing there, a couple of kittens pawing at his shoes while he chugged another bottle of beer. I thought about the half empty one still sitting on the table by the recliner.

            "You running away again?" I said, leaning against the doorframe.

            The kittens bolted as he turned to look at me. 

            "I…" he started then took a drink from his new bottle.  He looked around a bit as if he couldn't find words or he was calculating just what to say.  He wouldn't look at me.

            "The one you have in the living room isn't empty."

            "What do you care about that?"

            "You know, Drake? I wish I didn't care. I wish I didn't give a damn about you or what you thought or why you left, but apparently I'm too much of a masochist, so you could at least do me the courtesy of telling me what the fuck happened."

            He took another drink and looked out at the yard, one fist on his hip.

            "What I did was cowardly," he began again, speaking very carefully. "I admit it. It's something I'm far from proud of. I regret not being a stronger person, not telling you when things started to go wrong. I regret everything you had to go through because of me. It's what made me want to change.  And I have changed.  I had a lot of time to think things over up there." He turned away from me, keeping his gaze on the label of his bottle.  "I thought a lot about how to apologize, but there are honestly no words that came to me, which is why I never sought you out when I came back.  All I can say is, I'm sorry for not being a better person to you, and I know that doesn't cut it. I know it doesn't make up for all of my crap those last several months.  If I could truly make all your pain go away, I would. I'm sorry for everything."

            It was a speech. I knew it was a speech, carefully crafted over the months since he'd been back or even since he left. It sounded about as real as that katana he had hanging over his bed in his room. I guess I couldn't blame him for it. It wasn't like I hadn't practiced a number of things to say to him during his absence, although mine were admittedly more vulgar.  

            "Why did you leave? What went wrong?  What was it that broke us?"  I said quietly, looking at the back of his head. It was the question that had been burning in my mind for the last nine months ever since I'd walked into my living room looking as if it had been robbed.  I had wondered what I had done wrong. What I had done to make him leave. I wished I had known how to fix it then. I wished he hadn't slowly drifted away when I would have done anything he wanted, just to make things good again. I would have done anything he wanted anyway, just to make him happy. All I wanted to do was make him happy. I guess I thought that if he was happy, I would somehow magically become happy too, even without the things I needed.  I thought I had given him what he wanted, the obedience he demanded when we decided to be together. 

            It bothered me that I didn't know why.  I needed to know why, to know how to fix the problem so it wouldn't happen again.

            He sighed, and I heard him take another drink. "I guess the answer to all of that is me. I got so sick of being me that I started losing everything that was important to me. I was falling out of touch with the things that did make me happy and I had to change that.  I took the first opportunity to do that that came my way.  Obviously, I didn't exactly do it right. I lost who I was and what mattered.  And I lost you."

            "I'm guessing Emily didn't workout?"

            He flinched. "We didn't do anything. She lived two hours away from where I ended up."

            "So…you left me for no reason." 

             "I had to get away, Sam.  From all of this, from this house, from this town."

            "From me? You were in my house in another town. You were away.  And now you're back, so you really did leave me for no reason."

"You deserve someone much better than me anyway and it appears as if you've found that.  I hear you're with Dale Shackelford now?"

            I left this time, walking back through the house to the couch, putting my purse in my lap. Drake followed, standing uncomfortably close, hovering over me where I sat.  

"It didn't work out," I said.

            "No?" he said, warily.

            "No.  It never got started." Dale had been a liar on a far greater scale than Drake had ever been. Drake was just deluded. Dale had been malicious. Fortunately, I'd never gotten past the negotiation stage with Dale.

            Drake sat back down and was silent for a bit. 

            "So…you're not with anyone?" He had a very strange look on his face. I recoiled slightly.

            "I haven't been with anyone since you left.  You've got me beat though.  First Emily, and  now I hear you're with some Meghan woman?"

            He grimaced.  "You're more well-connected than I thought."

            I shrugged. "You know Arkansas. It's one big small town."

            We sat there in another awkward silence, looking around the room. He took another swig of his beer.  I noticed that he still had the tan line from my ring on his finger.  I decided not to ask about it.  I wanted to know what he had done with it.  I can't imagine a personally inscribed ring would sell as easily as I had sold all the jewelry he had bought me over the course of our relationship. Asking about it would just make this all more awkward.

Eventually, I reached out and took the beer from him and took a pull from it.  I winced at the bitter taste. This must have been what piss tasted like.  Drake looked at me like I'd grown a second head.

"I thought you didn't like beer."

"I don't. But I'll be damned if you're going to have something to do while I sit here appraising your carpet."

He frowned and plucked the bottle from my hand.  I didn't bother to resist.  He sat it down next to his other one.

"Sam?" he said, looking back to me.


"Do you ever wonder what would happen—"

"—if we got back together?"

He looked at the floor this time.

"Why do you even ask me that? You have a girlfriend."

"I'm not happy. You're supposed to be best friends with your girl, you know? But she's been around a while now. Stays here all the time.  I don't feel that with her. Now she's just the bitch I live with."

I blinked.  "Well, why in the world are you looking at me? It's not like we were best friends either.  We barely spoke. Mostly we just laid around watching TV." 

"Yeah, well, I was a fuck up. That doesn't mean we couldn't fix it."

I knew at that statement I could have him.  He would walk away from the other woman and we could start something new.  He wouldn't have said it if he weren't willing.  For a moment, I seriously thought about it. Even the memories of things I might not have been so in love with at the time, I still remembered them fondly. There had been good moments.  I remembered cuddling with him in silence, sleeping on his chest and breathing in his scent while he watched some stupid cartoon that I was never in a position to be able to see myself. I remembered those small intimate moments where he would share pieces of himself and call me something sweet. He so rarely called me something sweet that I relished those moments every time the words fell from his lips. I remembered how his was the first kiss that ever engaged me. To this day, he was the only one who'd been able to turn me on with a kiss.

 But I thought about what he said about having become a new man, and then I thought about all of the construction in the house and how it remained unfinished. It would likely never be finished. He would likely never be finished. He would never change enough to be something good and new.  He would never be one of those men from my songs. He would never be a Frankie or a Dino.

"I wish we would have worked.  I wish I could have made you happy.  I wish I could have been what you needed, that you could have been what I needed.  I wish we could have parted on terms that would allow us to be together again, but, honestly?  You're right. You are a fuck up. You didn't want to fix it then. I don't see how you could now. My family hates you. And, honestly? I don't know that I believe you're not still a jackass."

               I looked past his chair through the dingy translucent curtains to see a dog run through the yard.  I felt empty, tired. I'm not sure what I wanted from coming here.  I mostly wanted to know why, and I figured I had earned the right to be a horrible person and mock him for his failings, but the desire to mock him had faded when presented with the flesh and blood man.  Despite his toxicity and his physical changes, I still loved him.  I would likely always love him at least a little bit.  He'd been my first everything, my first love, my first lover…As bad as it had gotten and as bad as it ended, something still drew me to the alcoholic jerk.  I didn't know what it was and probably never would.  I had my apology, my reasons, my little revenge in calling him fat.  He'd even given me the opportunity to get what I really wanted.  I guess that was all I could really hope for. 

              For months, I had imagined how this confrontation would go.  I had concocted a number of insults, penned speeches telling him just how worthless he was and how horrible he was to me.  I was going to tell him everything that was wrong with him and how he never deserved to have a good woman again.  It all seemed pointless now.  I didn't have it in me to degrade him, to insult him as ferociously as I had done in my fantasies of this moment.  He was still a liar, but I would let him lie.  It had always been easier to let him lie than to get the truth from him.  I'd never been much for confronting him.  That I'd done all of this was a miracle.

            A light touch of my shoulder startled me out of my reverie.  Drake was standing next to me, holding a stereo remote in his hand.  He held out the empty one toward me. I took it instinctively.

            "Okay, so we can't fix it, but maybe we could patch it a little? I have changed, even if you don't believe it. I don't want this stay as broken as I left it."

            "Why should I believe that? You'd have left it in pieces on the floor if I hadn't come today."

            "Come on, Sammy. Just one little taste of the old days? I know you think I'm asshole, but what could it hurt?"

            A lot of things, but it wasn't in me to deny him. It never had been. I wanted the taste that he offered. I wanted the whole damn thing, but I couldn't do it. Not again. I let him help me off the couch and he turned on the stereo in the cabinet below the TV.  The first notes of Dean Martin's Besame Mucho floated around the room.  It was the CD I had bought him for his birthday our first year together.  I could remember dancing in the kitchen to this song that night, the first cake I'd ever baked sitting half-eaten on the kitchen table. The ridiculous amount of sparkler candles I had jokingly put on the cake had lit up the dark little kitchen and even burned us a couple times.

Drake put his arm around my waist, and I leaned into his chest.  We danced around the coffee table for a few brief, pleasant minutes to that velvety voice.  And as we danced, I said goodbye to my past and to him, drinking in the scent of Irish Spring, Playboy cologne, and auto grease for the very last time.  

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked


Sinful Sunday

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

It's Me Again, Margaret.

I don't have much experience with men hitting on me, especially vanilla men. I never know how to respond to that kind of thing. I have an easy out. I can just say I'm taken. That fact alone allows me to say no politely rather than going "Yeah, never in a fuckin' million years, broseph." Most of the attention I get is from randos on the interwebz (FetLife) who haven't read my profile.

However, last week I got hit one of my coworkers. I was a bit blindsided. The man works on another shift. We see each other for 2-5 minutes at shift change on days we both work. I have to consciously remember to return his greeting for fear of being rude, because half the time I'm not paying attention. So...I'm not really sure how this man who is a good 18 years older than me at least developed this really odd crush.

He send me a friend request on the book of faces. I ignored it, because I'm a bit squeamish about adding coworkers on Facebook. It limits how I can express myself. I'm friends with my supervisor, but she and I actually, you know, speak to each other on a regular basis. I did not see the message attached to the friend request because it got stuffed in the "other" folder they don't show you.

I mention it to the others on my shift the next day, but mostly think nothing of it. That afternoon, a couple hours after I left for the day, I got a text message from this man telling me that he got my number out of the company emergency directory and that he had sent me that friend request and "posted something nice."

Now moderately creeped out and a wee bit pissed that he used my personal information without consent, I went to my messages to find "Sexy Girl!" staring back at me.

This man is in his 40s. Surely he knows this is not how you approach a woman.

I was a bit at a loss. I don't get hit on. I don't know how to reject people. Should I even respond at all? Should I tell my boss? My play partners were insistent I report him. Daddy said I should tell him to back off and then report if he persisted.

I settled on the middle ground. I responded to the Facebook message, not wanting to encourage him to continue using my number that I had never given him in the first place.

"I'm flattered, but I'm in a relationship and have been for 2.5 years." 
Polite but clear, yes? I thought so. I ended up showing my boss the text message, simply because she happened to come into the room and sit down. Disappointingly, she seemed to imply that I should be flattered by the comment and that it was a compliment and "you don't get a lot of guys saying that very often." Knowing that the issue would go nowhere at the moment, I just figured I'd let it go unless he got creepier.

He did.

"Is this the guy that lives out East or...?"
I'm sorry, how the fuck do you even know that? I've never told you I had a boyfriend before this conversation, let alone told you where he lives. Who told you this, and did you know this before you messaged me?

That's it, just yes. Not inviting more conversation. Just a confirmation, deliberately absent further information to discourage further questioning.

That failed.

"Have you actually met this guy face to face or just online?"
I'm sorry, but what business is this of yours? Also, why are you asking? What do you hope to accomplish with this line of questioning? Because it's certainly not going to land you in my pants.

"I'm not sure why that matters."
Because it's none of your fucking business. I'm not available.

"Because there's a difference [my name spelled incorrectly]. I [sic] guessing it's just skyping. So when is this lucky guy coming down to claim his woman?"
What the ever-loving fuck? First of all, you asshole, I have never Skyped. Phones exist. And do you think that by questioning the validity of my relationship that I'm going to abandon a man I've known for 8 years and been in a relationship for 2 and a half for a 40-something year old alcoholic working the same barely more than minimum wage job I am who stalks me and can't approach a woman like a civilized human being? Also, pray tell, how would a relationship with you be any different than my LDR? You work an opposing shift and we have different days off. We would literally never see each other except for those 2 minutes a day when I'm high-tailing it out of that office.

"None of this is really any of your business." 
Again, because it's not. I want to say so much more because you have pissed me off, but I'm opting for the Spartan response in hopes that you'll leave me the fuck alone without having to use copious amounts of "fucks" or making you feel bad unnecessarily because you are not remotely close to my physical type or anywhere near my age range. Not to mention the fact that you are so not a dominant, but you really don't need to know that I'm kinky.

"It's not. Your [sic] right. But for a guy that might really like you, I had to find out. I'll mac no further. Let's not let this affect what little working relationship we have. Good luck with your 1000 mile relationship. If you ever change your mind and I'm not busy, let me know. If you think I'm worthy."
First of all, I'm not sure how you might really like me. You don't even know me aside from weird pieces of information I didn't tell you. You should have stopped "macking" when I told you no the FIRST TIME. Way to be a passive aggressive dickwaffle though. Trust me, I was never going to change my mind anyway, because I'd never have dated you if I had been single, but after this epic display of what the fuckery, I'm amazed you even bothered to make that last comment.

I came into this post intending to talk about how people always question the validity of the LDR. I see the scoffing online about "online only relationships."  Aside from the occasional skepticism of my parents, I've never encountered that in person. My friends do not question the validity of my relationship with the man I talk to every day, even if it's at a distance. Or, if they do, they don't say it to my face.

If any of this sounds snobby, I can't say much beyond the fact that I exclusively date dominant men, and I expect more out of a dominant man than I might other men. Or perhaps I just expect more out of men than inappropriate first messages and moderate stalking behavior. This is my first job. It sucks. The pay sucks. But at least I have insurance. I never expected this to happen at work. Maybe I should have, but I don't consider myself a target of male attention. It's a new experience for me. And, frankly, this has made me more uncomfortable in a job that already makes me uncomfortable.

However, I hope you, at least, found it amusing if you managed to make it to the end.

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Bad Rope Pilot

A more whimsical post for Sinful Sunday. Basically, I suck at rope. I like bondage, but rope bunny I am not.

Sinful Sunday