Women

Eryn’s Dream

She awoke next to her dream on a bed of forget-me-nots. It was one of those rare moments that transcend reality, love, death, happiness, innocence, prejudice, understanding, fear. . .

She listened to the dream speak. In its voice she heard every person’s laughter, every child’s scream, every unfaithful lover’s lie. She heard the sorrow of every parent losing a child, and the bitterness of every brother or sister losing a sibling. She listened to all of the emotions she would vocalize, as well as the ones she couldn’t, or wouldn’t. . .

Looking into the dream’s eyes she saw every first crushes broken heart, every first love’s disappointment, every first-born’s wonderment. She saw the motivation on the face of a boy told he’s not good enough, and the nervousness of a boy afraid of rejection. She saw every crushed hope, every broken dream of a son, a daughter, a father, mother, friend, lover, who only wanted more for. . . someone. And in those eyes she saw all the men she would love and every inner-child she would hate. Every person that would love her but she couldn’t love back. She saw the people she loved and wondered if they loved her. . .

Inhaling her dreams breath she smelled the waste of a person alone, the desperation of a woman falling apart but trying to hold herself together. She smelled the sweetness of a teenage boy’s whisper, and the tartness of that whispers impure intentions. She smelled the odor of two bodies entangled as she let her body be taken by that whisper. And she smelled alcohol. . .

She tasted her dreams tongue and in that the flavor of tears lost in a public bathroom in some city somewhere and the drugs taken to forget those tears. She tasted the sweat falling off the faces, arms, legs of children and their parents working to survive. She tasted the blood lost in a hospital room for being human. Of blood lost on the street for being a different shade of skin. Of blood lost on the battlefield for being young. Of blood lost in the bedroom for grasping at innocence. . .

She reached out, and touching her dreams hand felt the goose bumps of a nightmare or fantasy realized. She felt the panic and guilt of a wrong-doing, and the tightened fist of a person done wrong. She felt every bruised, broken, bleeding wrist of a person who gave up on nothing but themselves. She felt the sting of a missed opportunity, and of a missed friend. She felt herself falling into this moment of self-actualization, self-awareness, self-realization, self. . . self. . . selflessness.

She had heard, seen, smelled, tasted and felt everything she was, is, and could become. Anyone could become. And she wondered, “Is this all there is?”

Letters to the Girls I (Once) Love(d): 10

There was a letter written to someone, somewhere, once. It may have read, in part:

“Dear [REDACTED 10],

I know. I know. I know. Times infinity. I fucked up. I made the cliché the reality. I wait breathlessly for nothing to happen. I’ve been waiting for someone to come change me, but what if the real miracle, or magic, or possibly even love, was finding someone that didn’t want me to change? What if I’m too fucking stupid to see that?

I’d destroy this wall with my fists if it did anything but hurt me. Yet, I’d still wake up alone.

How many great loves are we allotted again? I think I may have used my last one up on you without even realizing it. Because I did love you – no, I do love you – even if I told you so many times that I didn’t. I just couldn’t see that I did with the noise in my head. It took you finding someone else to love you that made me realize it, and I’m sorry.

Do you think that before we’re made to atone for our sins we’re given a chance to explain them? Why we stole, why we hurt, why we fucked – there is a reason behind it all, isn’t there? God… I was so surprised to find out just how deeply I feel for you. As much as moments like that are terribly traumatizing, they’re also strangely exhilarating. They teach you things about yourself.

I think that if we were able to explain our sins they wouldn’t seem so bad. Then maybe we’d each have a chance at the pureness we started with. Before the mistakes piled up, I mean. Because they do pile up. Often the same ones, over and over and over and over… Until you get sick of them. I made a lot of the same mistakes over and over again with you, and you always let me. Why did you let me?

I know you’re happy now, and I can’t interfere with that even though you’d be even happier with me. I just know that in the morning, when I’ve slept this off, I’ll hate these words. I’ll know that this is for the best and that my loss is his gain. At least now I won’t be able to hurt you anymore.

It seemed like our whole relationship was built from pain. You hurt him, I hurt you, then myself. I deserved it. Good luck baby doll, even though I should keep it for myself. God knows I need it.”

And someone, somewhere, never read that letter.

Bonnie’s Dilemma

Why do relationships have to be so complicated? Bonnie could not understand it. She settled down and had three children with Rick. She even gave up her dream as a taco stand vendor to cater to his thoughts on a woman’s “place” in society. Rick didn’t care for empowering women like Oprah, Madonna, or Lady Gaga who lived by their own rules and self made success. Bonnie always wondered if she could be one of these women, living off the high life and doing as she pleased without answering to anyone. Would she be able to answer to herself? She wasn’t sure if she could, all her life someone was operating the control panel of her existence.

The last time she was really happy were between the ages of seven and thirteen when her mother allowed her to stay with her grandmother in Roanoke Rapids every summer. She felt free then, being able to wake up and go to bed when she wanted. It was great having a say about the menu for the day, it was like magic. Why couldn’t time stand still at those moments? Bonnie only wished it was that time whenever she felt cornered, which was often. If Rick had a long day at the warehouse, then she knew dinner wouldn’t be good enough that night, even if it was Chinese take out from Panda Express, Rick’s favorite eatery in town. The house would be filthy, even with floors so clean you could eat off of them. The kids would be yelling, even though their doors were closed and mouths didn’t move. Did marriage have to be like this? Surely there are some happy couples out there in the world, but there wasn’t one under the roof of Bonnie’s home.

All night she tossed and turned in bed while Rick was out at the local sports pub. Bonnie hadn’t gone out in years, yet Rick was out nearly every weekend. It wasn’t fair for her to miss out on having a good time. After all, didn’t she help build this family? It was time she took it back, and stopped fearing what her “perfect” marriage would be like if she were to bend some of Rick’s unspoken rules.

It was time for payback. When Rick got home today, no matter what mood he was in, she was going to tell him she was going out, and that there was nothing he could do about it. The next evening, Rick came home at his usual time. Would he play along or throw a fit? Bonnie told Rick, just the way she planned the night before, on how she was stepping out for a night of relaxation. His jaw dropped from shock, yet, he wasn’t angry, and more than willing to watch the children. Bonnie’s homemade dinner was delicious, and the house was immaculate. She only wondered how long it would last, but she was going to enjoy herself as much as she could, before time was up.

let them come these winds of terror

i dreamed a rattlesnake was loose in the closet i heard it rattling i was afraid to open the door

a man suffering a toothache goes to see his dentist the dentist administers laughing gas when the man comes to his numb tongue swooshes around his mouth he asks how long was i under the dentist answers hours i needed to pull them all out Full Story

Joining the club-part 2

tucson first step

when he looked at a woman he searched for qualities that attracted him because he wanted to desire her yet this tendency created an imbalance or disadvantage he was rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealized self-realizing this propensity he looked away from women years of disappointment neglect changed him he became afraid of women gynophobic

when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior codependence craziness

he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about the future she looks at her face naked body in the mirror her stomach churns feels a sad sickening remembers a time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of the other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go

he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi

This Is NOT An Autobiography of the E

One of the things I have to do to properly hone my art is use less ‘F’ words. Sure, it may be emotive, it may actually express the sentiment at the time, and fucking-ay it feels great — but there are larger issues at stake. Similarly I have to decrease my use of the word ‘nigga’, albeit its declaration from my being only ever having occurred as a way to convey camaraderie. I have to stop it ‘cos there’s a whole loada niggas running everywhere out there, taking the name in vain and destroying shit I never believed possible. Black niggas, white niggas, sand-fuckin’ niggas and even greenhouse goddamned niggas.

I have to stop calling ladies ‘cunts’, or ‘ladies’, for that matter. Even if her wit is so sharp as to, well, resemble a cunt, I cannot use that word.

I cannot, as best man at a wedding, decapitate the groom and fuck (sorry — engage in sexual relations with) the wife, even though all these actions are backed up by the best intentions.

I cannot cut a hole in Antarctica and pretend to fish for mice. It is unrealistic, unproductive, and overall, inefficient. The Republicons have a word for this … ‘biding your time’. Sure, they dress it up in all kinds of clothes and wigs, (doing little tea-parties to convince you), but tbh, these guys just don’t know what to do.

They don’t have what it takes.

Take My Hand (I’ll Free You)

I know you’ve been through alot
the pain cicles you and flows through you
Like the oxygen that you breathe
You feel the need to be tough
But I always call your bluff
You’re soft inside, but that’s the side
You always wish to hide
I don’t want you to hide from me
So I’m sorry for the pain
I’m sorry for what you went through previously
Show your smile
You can still be a man and fight
Do what’s right
But don’t shut me out of your life
Just because you don’t understand
What you feel inside
I won’t hide
Things have happened to me too
Things that I always share with you
Nothing will stop me from loving you
I don’t care what you used to do
Who you were then is not you
Baby if you have to cry, cry
You can still be a man and have feelings
I want to let you free
Honey you can cry on me
Your shoulder to lean on will always be here
So baby please
Take my hand
I’ll show you that I understand
Life is full of sorrow and pain
But joy comes in the morning
And I want to be there when you woke
So baby take my hand
Be a man
Let me free you
If you let me, I promise that’s what I’ll do
I’ll free you

An Instance of Revelation

“You Failed,” I said to her, in vehement anger; my face red and impassioned with a dampening glow.

She turned away, revealing her vulnerable side; the side of her I would see when we made love. But this was no act of submission, nor love; it was pure, unbounded hatred. Behind her, the sun was setting, painting the sky a lush, fiery pink. It seeped out from behind the hills and curved over the shadowed oak trees, creating a stark black stencil of my once-beloved. Her long, blonde curly hair fanned out devilishly, to the effect of a stage curtain unraveling during some horrible play. But this was all very real; as real as fine wine and torn flesh.

Her stance was callous, but in desperate retort. She gazed into the distance for what seemed like forever. And I hoped it to be an eternity, for I feared, despite my anger, that the face I’d be looking at when she turned around would not be one dear to me. By that same token, she had earlier proclaimed I was no longer the boy I used to be.

“Bullshit. I’m no boy,” I had replied. “The man you’re looking at is all you’ve ever known me to be.”

My sudden burst of ultra-masculine indignation did little to elicit any sense of disillusionment from her. All I drew was a grimace – a typical sign of her utter sincerity.

“We were young and naïve,” she had said – like children in a closet; oblivious to the thorny complexity of the adult world.

But how could I believe our love was founded on such a rudimentary level. My intuition told me otherwise. I was no child; I was old enough to recognize love. I had been through relational turmoil in the past. Those days, all of them damned respectively, could never compare to the three years we shared. There was an unprecedented synergy to our love. When the world would seem to cave in and my spirit was stripped of its essence, she was always there to rejuvenate me. When frustration would overwhelm her sanity, revealing her volatile, exposed self, I was there to tether her back to a calm reality.

I find it curious how I was able to calm her despite the fickleness of my own temperament. Perhaps I saw a part of myself in her rage. I suppose seeing her inability to cope was somewhat empowering – by comparison I was more resilient. Still, I comforted her because I genuinely hated to see her such a wreck – but those were also the times I felt the most needed. Sure, she often told me she loved me, and we were usually quite happy, but I always felt I needed her more than she needed me.

She had a close family. The six of them were a very loving bunch, full of joy and quaint togetherness. Like myself, they were always there for her, and often enough, she would turn to them. Sometimes I would actually surge with jealously when I’d see her express such exuberance for her family. Then I became the angry one. But she was in no position to calm me down, for my anger was directed at her. An argument would ensue.

We had many arguments, many of them rooted in my contempt for her lack of needing me. Of course, I never made it very obvious to her that this was the case. Our true grievances would boil under the cover of petty annoyances – the most infamous being my neglect of doing the dishes. Whatever the matter, her anger towards me was always exaggerated beyond reason. I didn’t want her to think I was solely responsible for our clashing. It was obvious to me this was a two-way street. Her fits were untamed and unjustified. I could not accept total humility.

Now here we are, yet again, embroiled with what feels like an endless whirlwind of conflicted opinions and relentless accusations. The last few months have seen us run a grueling gauntlet of trying to make peace with each other. But it has all gone to hell. As hard as I try, I can’t accept that I’m at fault. I can’t let her win. But, I can’t let her go.

“Dammit, all I wanted was for both of us to be happy,” she had cried, as her paper-thin face thickened with frustration.

It was in that response that I delivered my deafening statement. I immediately realized how brash it was, perhaps even childish — but it was too late. She then turned away and never looked back. The sun sank behind the hills and the celestial inferno quickly collapsed into darkness. I gazed over her shoulder and out the window as her stenciled figure slowly faded to black, my last words hauntingly reverberating throughout the bedroom:

“You failed.”

Then I climaxed.

UP IN SMOKE

Rated R

“BITE ME! BITE ME!! BIIIITTTTEEE MEEEEE!!!” is what I have heard for the past eight months every Tuesday night between eleven and midnight. Mr. Nakamura loves Fiona because she’s the only one willing to put up with this crazy ass “pain for pleasure” thing he’s got going for himself. I will never understand, even though I’m a guy, how you can ever feel good by having your dick chomped on. As much as I don’t want to think about it, the thought comes back to my mind every Tuesday night.
I roll over in bed, trying to get myself into a happy place so I don’t punch the wall again and interrupt the freak fest in the next room. Last time I did that Ananda wasn’t too happy with me. But she forgave me; she understands that living in a whore house has its ups and downs, even for someone like me. I love it when the girls walk around half naked; it’s the damn customers that get to my head. All that damn screaming and hollering just to bust a nut is ridiculous.

Think, think think…..think man, think! Finally, I get a good visual fresh from this morning. Wendy “Jesus is Alright with Me” Mumford, the preacher’s daughter. Someone that squeaky clean will never look at me, ‘specially if she knew the rumors were true about me staying here. It would amaze me to see her naked. It’s different from seeing the chicks here bare assed-I expect it, but to see Wendy? My my my………aaaahh, Wendy’s tits. Yeah, Wendy Mumford’s glorious tits. Saw them jumping around in gym today. I pray for the day her shirt decides to quit that bitch so I can see what kind of nipples she has. Living here has turned me into a certified nip-ologist, if there is such a thing. If there isn’t, there should be, cuz then I’d be one rich son of a bitch. Imagine that: eighteen year old fuckn’ billionaire. Sounds good to me. What doesn’t sound good is Mr. Nakamura meowing like a damn cat in heat. I’m not officially a man yet (still can’t buy a beer legally), but I know men aren’t supposed to do dumb shit like that. No wonder he has to pay somebody to fuck him–who the hell wants to have sex with Fluffy?

I still remember when my life was hell, still remember going home to my dad, the animal that drank and lived in front of the TV all day. He’d work the mid-shift at the paper mill, and then get blasted until the sun came up. I remember when his hours got cut back and he complained for a month about how I needed to get off my lazy ass and get a job. He was such a sweet cuddly father. I remember havn’ to go get him every other Friday from Ananda’s place, where I am now. He was hooked on Paloma, didn’t care if nearly half his check was going to her, just for the sake of him banging her until he passed out. The trillionth time I went up to Ananda’s to fetch my old man, we got into a scream match-think we might’ve scared off some customers that night. He called me a ‘good-for-nothing spawn of my mother’ after I told him I didn’t think I needed to work, I mean, we weren’t in the poor house but we were doing okay with what he was getting at the mill. I could take all of that, every gin soaked word, until he said my mother died because she knew she had birthed ‘nothing but another useless bastard’ into the world, which made me pound him so hard I ended up breaking my hand. He was still conscious, saying I was ‘dead to him’ and that ‘if I didn’t get a job then he would kick me in the street’. Next thing I know I was working here, just fixing drinks and stuff for the clients while they waited to feed the horny devil in their pants. I think Ananda felt bad, especially after dad died two months later, and knowing I really didn’t have anyone else, she insisted I could stay here as long as I stayed in school. I didn’t like school, still don’t, but being homeless and dumb isn’t something I ever wanna know about. Seven months later, and I’m still here, still trying to getting a grip.

I can’t take it anymore. I’ll go see what Ananda’s up to. I could sure go for one of her crazy ass stories, or at least some vodka and tea. I get up, stretch a bit, and turn my head in search of my boxers. I like sleeping naked; if only I could do everything naked. I wonder whose bright idea it was to wear clothes anyway, I mean, dogs and monkeys don’t wear clothes so why the fuck should I? Oh yeah, damn law, that’s why. My boxers must’ve slid onto the floor while I was flipping like a fish in the bed, trying to drown out that Japanese wailing next door. I don’t feel like looking for ‘em, so I’ll just grab some from my drawer.

“Hi sweetness,” Ananda says before standing up to give me a kiss and a hug. She’s always been warm towards people, and she was especially fond of me since I don’t down what she does or look at her like a criminal. After all, prostitution is illegal in Delaware.
“Hey Ananda. What’s good at the bar for tonight?”

“Mr. Roboto keepin’ you up again baby?” She chuckles. What a sweet chuckle it is.
“You know he is. Can’t you move him to another room?? Can’t he come earlier so I don’t have to keep hearing that shit?? It’s ruining my beauty sleep Ananda, it really is.” I have asked her this before, so I already know what’s about to come out of those thin pink lips of hers.

“Now Demetri, you know I done told you that Mr. Sake up there is one of my best customers, and I’m not gonna let a shift in time run off good money like that. Why don’t you listen to that zoop I gave you?”

She’s always mispronouncing anything current. She’s only thirty-eight but a bit out of touch. Just the other day I found out she thought an MP3 was a new STD. What would she ever do without me around? “It’s a Zune Ananda, and I can’t fall asleep to music, you know I need quiet,” I say with an ounce of mercy in my voice. I know it’ll work on her. It has to if I ever wanna wake up on the right side of the bed on Wednesdays ever again. Maybe I need to make a puppy dog face too. I do.

She’s looking at me with those caramel eyes, then says, “Okay sweetness, I’ll run it by ‘em before he hits the street tonight. I promise.” I believe her.

“Thanks Ananda, you’re the best, but you know that already.”
She chuckled again. “Stop it Demetri or I’ll have to thank you properly.” She just winked at me. She’s been doing that a lot lately, but I figure she’s just messing with my head. With all those licorice waves of hair, that nutmeg skin, and thickness the girls at my school could only dream about or see in rap music videos, why would she want me? I mean, I am pretty hot, but, nah. No way. Is she a cougar? Cougars are hot. But a madam cougar is a whole other story.

“Okay Ananda, slow down girl.” We both laugh out loud, then Ananda pulls a bottle of vodka from the bar and a small shot glass that reads on the front You Look Like I Need Another Drink in faded red letters.
“Do you have any sweet tea to put with that?” I ask. I loved some sweet tea and vodka. Something about it made me relax. If only it came with a good night’s sleep.
She put her hand on her hip while slowly nodding her head, now making an expression of disappointment. I think I might be shit out of luck with the way she’s looking at me right now.
“Sweetness, you should know better than that! I always have some of my sweet tea ready for you…..and I’m not just talkn’ ‘bout what’s in the fridge.” She lets out a ball of rolling laughter. She’s giving me a case of the scareds big time–was she drinking before I got here? I search for a bottle of alcohol of any kind. Nothing, not even a scotch glass. She’s never flirted beyond a wink with me before, so I don’t know what her deal is right now.
I need to say something to stop this weirdness from going on…. In an attempt to break the awkward silence, I finally say, while she’s still cracking herself up, “Okay, well, how about that drink Ananda?”
Looks like she’s getting herself together, still chuckling as she mixes the two sweetest nectars of Heaven together. Did she have some ‘E’ or something? This shit is from the Twilight Zone or something.
Ananda slides the glass to me over the cherry wood bar counter. I’m look at her, but before I can get the ‘Thank You’ out my mouth I see her tongue, charging like a raging bull, crashing into my mouth. Oh. My. God. Is this really happening?
I can taste the Italian wine she had earlier, Barolo, her favorite. I’m tense….but now I just have to let my body go with this. If this was going to happen…..then it was going to happen. Who am I to disappoint fate? But I have no idea what I’m doing……I don’t know anything outside of gettn’ down while I’m on RedTube, the best free porn site I’ve ever found. Truth is, I’ve been too scared to bang anyone, though I’ve had many offers. I always lie to the guys, saying I’ve had my fair share, but only in my wildest dreams. Was this a dream? It has to be……….

Ananda stops kissing me long enough to whisper “You have school in the morning….off to bed now.” Then one final tongue thrashing. I’m rock hard–she sees this and laughs wildly. Is this a game to her? I have to get out of the kitchen.
Embarassed, I quietly stutter “Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh uhkay, I mean, okay.” I’m racing to the stairs, I almost knocked over Tandy, though she could’ve just as well pummeled me with those meat balloons of hers-do they really make bras in a size E? Her specialty is role play, and from what I’ve seen and heard through the door of her room when she forgets to shut it all the way, she’s quite convincing as a slutty secret agent and undersexed house wife.

“Watch it Demetri or I’ll shit on you! You might like it!” She hollers as I run up the staircase. I couldn’t get to the bathroom fast enough. Sure, I could’ve used the one downstairs, but I fear Ananda might get to me there. I used to have a serious crush on her, but then I snapped out of it once I realized she was more like an aunt, a mother even to me, and that it wasn’t right. Now everything I used to feel is coming back, and my hard on is telling me so.
Finally manage to get to the bathroom; the door is closed. I open it.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” Paloma and Mr. Duran are screaming so loud I’m sure all the glass in the house is broken. I’m screaming too, only not out of shock but disgust. Mr. Duran is on his knees, level with the tub, drinking red bath water, lapping it up like a dog. Red bath water? What kind of fuckery is this? Do I even really want to know? I do!
“What the fuck is this!” I demand, mostly out of panic then curiosity.
“It’s my bath water and my blood,” Paloma says loudly, still half screaming.
I’m trying to calm down, but get fired up again when I realize she said her blood. “Wha-what? Did this ass bag cut you?” I dart my eyes at Mr. Duran , feeling my fist tightening.

“No no no no Demetri! It’s my menstruation, you know, my period,” she says coolly, as if this kind of shit was your everyday bathroom routine. Mr. Duran is nodding his head in silence, while he still looks as if he’s been caught spiking the punch at a school dance. He should have been hiding his face since now I know what kind of freak he is, though I should have suspected before when a week ago he picked up a case of raspberry jam from here……fuck, that wasn’t jam!

I feel the need to vomit, so I do.
“Oh Demetri! You’re gonna have to clean that up honey. Hurry, it’s quite rank.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I’m running, looking for the closet with the bleach and mop. I find it, then rush back to the bathroom. Mr. Duran is still there, finishing what he had started before I barged in. I clean like the wind, and am now heading back to my bedroom. I wasn’t aroused anymore–Count Duran and Paloma took care of that.
I slowly turn the door knob and, sigh just to relieve the stress of the night. Didn’t work. Oh well, at least now I just need my bed since I’m sure Mr. Nakamura is gone. At last, some shut eye!
I’m taking my boxers off again. I don’t want to see them until the morning. What time is it? Alarm says 12:49 am. I turn the light on.
“Heeeeyyy boy!”
“AAAAAHHHH!!! YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME GIGI!”
“Damn, nice ass you got, front looks good too.” Gigi giggles wildly. She’s been after me since the day I moved in here. She was the first one, besides Ananda, to make me feel at home. She’s always playing grab ass with me, and I don’t mind since she always gives me cash here and there if I give her a good full body massage. I think she wants another one tonight–or did she? Her body is amazing, and I enjoy every part of it, but I feel too beat to give her a massage.

“I’m too tired to give you a back rub Gigi, I’m beat. How about after school tomorrow I fix up that stellar body of yours?”
Gigi chuckles, then says, “I don’t want a massage tonight.” She stops talking. She’s looking at me with those green eyes, her tits practically leaping out of her size-too-small satin cami. To be forty-two, she was quite hot, like Demi Moore hot. I always get hard when massaging her. I couldn’t help it. Plus she let me touch her tits, so, it was all good.
I look back at her, hoping she says something to break the uncomfortable silence. Feels like we’ve been staring at each other forever. Ok, I guess once again I need to start talking.
“What is it that you want then, Gigi?” Silence again, and she’s still holding that gaze. Now she’s slowly rubbing her breast. Jeez. What is this, seduce Demetri night?? I feel my penis inching. Shit!
Gigi opens her legs, revealing black crotchless panties. I bet she just finished using them on some client. They look clean, though. She starts rubbing her glorious vagina……oh no. I’m totally hard now.

“Come,” she practically whispers. I’m still standing a few feet from my bed where she’s lying on my Iron Man sheets. Was I too old for Iron Man? I’m too scared to move. I don’t know what she’s gonna do to me. Oh. My. God. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? Ok, I need to chill, need to be cool about this. I have a hot ass milf in my bed, and I’m just standing here like a star struck teeny bopper backstage at a Justin Bieber concert. Think man, think!!!! She keeps touching herself!!
“I said come, Demetri. Don’t you want to go to sleep? You look a bit tired, have you been working h-a-r-d today?” She starts laughing again. Damn it, why won’t you go down!!

I take one step, another, another, just taking my time in case I trip and break my dick off. No one wants a dickless guy.
I jump. My door just opened loudly. It’s Ananda.
“What the hell is this, Gigi?” She says. Her face is twisted up like a lasso.
Gigi stops touching herself. Her smile melts to a frown. Oh shit, is there gonna be a catfight? Cuz that would be hot!
“Ananda, my dear, I’m just showing the boy how I warm up my customers.” She was lying soooooo bad.
Ananda relaxes her arms and face. She starts walking to my bed, pushing me gently to the side. She bends over and kisses Gigi, practically eating her face off. What in the hell is this?!
Now Ananda is lying in bed with Gigi. I can’t take this. I think I’ll just go get a drink.
“Where do you think you’re going?” They both say almost at once. I jump from shock.
“I’m a little thirsty, so…..I, uh, I uh, I want-“
“Get in bed, you have school in the morning,” Ananda says gently while looking deeply into my eyes. Man she is hotter than ever tonight.

“Um, there’s no room for me.”
“Sure there is.” Gigi smirks. She was on fire herself.
I still can’t believe this! My first time, and with two women! I need to pinch myself. Ouch!
I start back over to my bed. Two ageless beauties are lying there nude. They both move over to make room for me. I’m in the bed now, still hard as a rock, shaking a little bit. This is just all too much for a virgin!
Gigi looks at Ananda-Ananda looks at Gigi-they both look at me, smiling like two little kids up to no good. But this was good. So good, it can’t be real, but it is! Ananda is rubbing my chest now…..Gigi starts kissing me–this is great!
I need air, all this kissing has taken the life outta me. I’m trying to pull away, but Gigi won’t let up. I keep trying–it’s like she’s forcing me to stay. I’m trying to talk, but it comes out muffled with her mouth all over mine. I feel a burning sensation on my feet….now my legs…..my waist….my chest…..what’s happening to me? The burning is in my throat now–I’m coughing.
“At last, a fresh virgin soul to absorb!” I hear Gigi cackle.
“So tender it is, mmmmm the sweetness of it……” Ananda’s voice.
“Another few months of beauty–no age, no sickness, no feeble bones or minds!”
“I’m sorry Demetri, we like how you helped out around here, made us feel better on some of those hard days, but we like your youth more. We need your soul to live, to stay beautiful.”
I manage to get a raspy word out “Bitches!!”

They both start laughing. I’m dying while they’re laughing, nice.
“Thank you for the compliment, but we’re actually a hybrid of succubi……never mind all that. This will be over soon.”
I feel the inferno all over me, and as I watch these two look over me, without guilty eyes, I realize that the worst thing about dying, is dying a virgin. I need help more than I ever needed it before. As much as I hate saying this, I wish dad were here to save me now. He was a piece of shit, but he was my piece of shit.
“Sayonara demons!” yells Mr. Nakamura after he lets himself into the room. He’s steadily holding a crossbow, aims and shoots Ananda then turns and fires at Gigi, both in the chest, straight through the heart. A tornado-like black funnel pours from their gaping mouths, the sound of thunder nearly shakes the room. The funnel disappears without a trace, and the hot bodies it came out of were nothing more than ash and sulfur.
Mr. Nakamura runs over to me, placing his hand on my chest, “You’re going to be fine Demetri, just get up slowly.” The burning was almost gone, and my lungs filled with air. I say, “What the hell was that?”
“Your welcome.” Mr. Nakamura says sarcastically.
“Sorry and thanks man. I’m just trying to figure out what just happened.” I realize I’m still totally naked, so wrap my Iron Man sheets around my waist.

“You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, but thanks for the thought. What just happened here is a long story, but I can try my best to tell it without too much confusion. First off, I am a demon hunter, have been for the past twenty-six years since my wife was killed by a Rakshasas demon. I moved to Delaware about four months ago on a lead from a fellow demon hunter about a succubi nest in Wilmington. Cat houses and strip bars are usually places you find most succubi since it’s easier to lure young men. Even though I was getting my fill here every Tuesday, I was also on the lookout for any clues that would help me track and destroy these creatures. I finally got my answer when I overheard Ananda placing a big order for patchouli and corn oil- succubi use patchouli and corn oil to maintain the freshness of the new skin they obtain after gorging on a virgin soul. They could have killed you sooner, but it had to be on the night of a full moon in June, and since the drop of young men coming here halted the usual quarterly soul feed schedule, they had to use you. I’m sure they liked you a lot, but they were getting desperate and needed new souls to feed on or their true age would show, which is unacceptable among their culture.”

This was all sounding like a wacked out dream you get after you smoke pot, but I knew he was serious. Seeing him kill them was real. Seeing the tornado was real. The burning sensation was real.
“Do you understand Demetri?”
I hesitated, “Yes. But what do I do now?”
“You come with me. I think you would be valuable as an apprentice. There’s been another succubus sighting in Seaford, and with some training from me, you’ll be ready.”
I didn’t know what to say really. Now I truly had no one but the guy who enjoys being bit on his junk. Research my ass. I won’t get anywhere in school, barely passing half my classes. Maybe a demon hunter is my true calling. Maybe this was the beginning of my end. This is a good time to visit Seaford: lots of bikinis and babes there.

early years 3

Odysseus is angry without knowing what reason scared hopeless longing not a good student teachers raise suspicions Mom claims he is mentally not right in third grade parents send him to well-known psychiatrist conducts many tests finds Odysseus’s i.q. scores Full Story

Pick up Dudes 102

It’s not so easy for women as it is for men. Men are expected to be the out-going, stupid who cares kinda guy. It’s the woman that well is expected to “act like a woman.” Some women are looked at as “Unapproachable” by men because they are either sickly hot, or sickly not! There is also the type of woman, that’s really picky and doesn’t want anyone in the bar except the shy guy, that’s never going to come over and talk to her anyways. SO! Full Story