Casually going through my reader this morning and come across this post. Friday Flash – Shattered. Why not, I say. So here is my Friday Flash – Shattered.
The doorbell rings, I am lying face down on the floor. My hands are red and throb from the pounding of wooden boards. Blood trickles from torn flesh on my small knuckles. I wipe the tears and mix them with their dried ancestors. Together they stain my soul. Damage my sight. Hold me back from the happiness that I felt just a few weeks ago.
The doorbell rings again. I try to move and bring myself to a kneeling position. I can feel the sweat, the tears, the dirt masking who I really am.
It was two weeks ago that I said good-bye to them. No, I said I would see them soon. In all actuality, deep down inside I screamed…
This week, the beautiful Felicity has issued an emotionally charged challenge. I originally wrote this as a poem entitled “Be Happy”, but it was entirely too long, so I rewrote it into prose. It’s deeply personal to me and cut me to the core when I wrote it. It shows the full circle of being shattered. I hope you enjoy.
“Serious problems conceiving,” the doctor murmured finally. “Possibly never. If it happens, it won’t go to term.” Serious problems.
“Leave it to God,” mom.
“Be a great aunt,” brother.
“Be happy,” dad.
“Be happy,” grandma.
“Be happy,” friends.
“It’s your fault you lost my child,” first husband. Serious problems.
I can’t leave these two alone. Their little love affair has become a bit of an obsession in my dreams, so it may be a few parts. Hope you’ll all bare with me and fall in love with them as much as I have. Please see part one here.
The days after Spring Break proved difficult to meet, both at work, and the weather being too warm and nice to stay indoors. We talked every day, extending the intimacy. Then he called me and told me to take a half day, that he needed to be with me. So like the good girl I am, I called in a half day.
I could barely sleep that night, excitement running through me. I had missed his touch so much, but my Sir would be in my bed soon. I finally fell asleep, but spent the night waking mid-orgasm most of the night. My alarm went off at seven, thirty minutes before Sir was to be at my door. It gave me time to do my morning routine and slip into something sexy for him.
When my doorbell buzzed, my stomach did a somersault. My Sir was here at last.
Sometimes that desire is there to simply impale oneself on a penis. As though it will take away the shittiness of the day, or erase all those times one didn’t impale oneself. Those missed chances, they follow you around like a bad smell.
What about the man? Does there need to be a man attached? Yes, it’s helpful. Self-serve just isn’t the same, yet it seems to be all there is these days. That feels-like-real silicon cock is just a click away on Amazon – what’s more, they’ll even finance you.
There needs to be a man attached. But he needs to not have feelings. Or eyes. Hands are good, if he knows how to use them, and so many don’t. Like a woman is something to be tuned for clearer signal – hey, buddy, those are breasts, not dials. How about a blindfold? Because it’s the eyes, every time…
Just got back from a night out with the girls and my hubby. We went to dinner where we were served by a wonderful waitress that actually understood that you don’t put anything in front of the baby! You would be surprised how many people don’t know that. Then we went bowling, lil bit’s first time. I wish she wasn’t so sleepy otherwise I think she would’ve enjoyed it more. About half way through, in comes what I’m going to assume was a group of Arabics with s baby still in a car carrier. I’m guessing this because they looked similar to Hispanics and spoke what sounded to me like an Arabic language. They were having s great time, and dang they could bowl. When it was time for us to go, I had to put on my shoes which were next to the carrier. The baby was nearly fully covered. But it’s feet were out. The lights hitting the feet was all wrong. So I looked a bit closer. It was PLASTIC! They were carrying around a plastic baby. Then to top off my night, my husband was propositioned by a prostitute! He had gone into the gas station to get a drink for the drive home, and she meets him at the door and asks him if he’d like a blow job, only $50 a steal! OMG! Seriously. This is why I don’t go out. Weird shit happens when I do. Hope everyone’s nights are going great! I’m off to work on pt 2 😉.
Please excuse this post’s length. I got a little carried away in my obsession. 😉 I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.
We started off simple, just passing ships in the night. Shared words and found common ground. Then it happened, he saw something in me. I don’t know what exactly he saw, but he was there, everyday, making himself a part of my life. It started off as harmless flirting, a wink here, an unveiled sexual advance there.
Two weeks ago, it all blew up. It started with a random chat about my latest post. That lead to talking about things that were lacking in our love lives, which happened to be the exact same thing. Then the oddest things started to pile up. We were beyond compatible. Every time we would ask a question or change the topic, we had the exact same answer. It was like we had this crazy psychic connection. Soon we began to say the same things at the exact same time.
I’m not exactly sure how our first time began. I’m not sure what got into us. Neither of us are the type of person who would just jump into bed with a complete stranger. But that’s exactly what happened. We talked about lacking a sex life and needing certain things, and he just spanked me. Yes, spanked me! For no reason whatsoever other than he wanted to and he knew I wanted it.