The Cafe  ©

 The Hot August Night  ©

 

      Charlie toyed with his wine glass, his attention completely focused on the gorgeous woman at the next table. Tall, lean, with voluptuous breasts, she looked like a model especially since her clothing looked ultra chic, as if she’d just stepped off the runway. Normally, he didn’t notice women’s clothes except to assess how quickly he could get them off her, but this was different. She looked rich, sophisticated, elegant, and downright sexy.

Even with all those attributes, her expression was bleak. She’d bite her upper lip, gaze into her glass, sigh, and rub shaky fingers across her brow. What kind of heartbreak could a woman like this have? She looked like the world would be at her feet. Of course, he knew heartbreak was universal. He’d had his share.

Her head rose, her gaze shifted around the café, and met his for a second. In that second, he was hooked. Her large, shimmering silver gaze, swimming in emotion, drifted past him out into the busy Parisian boulevard. He willed it back to him. He succeeded.

She blinked, curled a finger under her eye to catch a wayward tear, her luscious lips parted, and her gaze rested on him. Good Lord, the full effect of that gaze blasted his composure to smithereens. High cheekbones, light eyes, sharp nose, soft full lips, pointed chin, all melded together into stunning.

He demanded of himself that he get it together. Meeting this woman was of utmost importance, and he had no intention of missing the opportunity. He lifted one side of his lips in a smile. He wasn’t going to risk overdoing it. She was obviously in distress and needed gentle handling, at least until he had her naked body lying beneath him. Then he’d see what kind of handling would be done.

* * * *

Every memory of her breakup with Claude left Madeline’s mind. No matter that it was ten minutes ago. She was devastated, wasn’t she? She had been until her gaze met the man at the café. At first, she’d surreptitiously watched him play with his wine glass. His long, thick finger rimmed the edge, then rubbed the stem. Every sensuous point in her body responded to his unconscious actions. She crossed her legs even knowing that it wouldn’t do anything to assuage the heavy beat of her vaginal pulse. Biting her lip in dismay at realizing that Claude was forgotten as quickly as this, she tried not to look at this stranger, but failed.

My God, he was a heavenly specimen. Deeply tanned skin contrasted with lake blue eyes and thick, black hair held back at the nape of his neck in a leather strip. His lips were firmly sculpted and his jaw jutted strongly. Jesus, where did he come from? Dressed very casually, his dark blue T-shirt hugged his shoulders and chest tightly hiding absolutely none of his very impressive muscles and flat belly.

She didn’t usually like the muscle-bound type, but for him she’d make an exception. Of course, maybe he wasn’t interested in women. Many men who looked as gorgeous as he did were gay. But the way he was looking at her wasn’t gay. Those blue eyes had deepened in arousal, and he was gifting her with the sweetest come hither smile she’d ever seen.

Fuck Claude. At this moment, she couldn’t remember what she’d ever seen in that creep. She lowered her lashes flirtatiously and let her own lips lift in a smile. She wanted that mouth and those large hands touching her everywhere. She just hoped that the surprise about this guy wasn’t that he was married like the bastard Claude.

 

 

The Hot August Night  ©

 

      Sunburned and ensconced in a cool, silky bath, Madeline leaned her head back on the pillow and sighed as the water soothed her tight skin. She had never succumbed to a stranger’s invitation like she had today. Sure she’d let a man buy her a drink before, but to spend the day wandering the avenues and boulevards of Paris, drifting down the Seine on one of the ubiquitous tour boats, lying on the grass surrounding the Eiffel Tower, well, that was new for her. They hadn’t even conversed too much. Still, it was the most comfortable day she’d spent in a long time.

      The most uncomfortable too. His hand had rested possessively on her waist on the river, the warmth from his big body negating the cool breeze wafting off the water. She’d felt his lips at her ear whispering descriptions of the passing sights. She pretended she’d never seen them before just to wallow in the tickling heat of his breath. Lying in the grass along the bank, they munched fresh bread and cheese, sipped wine, and stole long gazes at each other. All she really knew about him was his name, but she also knew that they’d end up in bed and that it would be so worth it.

Almost asleep, her eyes flew open when Charlie slid bare naked into the large tub, his cock deliciously fully erect. She smiled welcomingly at him and gasped at the lascivious expression on his face. He reached toward her, his fingertips tracing feather lightly up her legs, over her knees to her thighs. She shivered as his thick fingers invaded her pussy, thumbs smoothing along the sides of her clit. He grasped her hips and pulled her toward him. With a loud groan and gazing intensely into her eyes, he impaled her on his cock. Her pale breasts thudded against his hard chest, and their mouths fused. Cock and tongue fucked her furiously. Water splashed out, splashed her hair. Lost in the moment, in the delirious pleasure, she shouted out her climax at the same moment she felt his hot, potent release flood the mouth of her womb.
December 10, 2008

I discovered that rejections are not altogether a bad thing.  They teach a writer to rely on his own judgment and to say in his heart of hearts, ‘To hell with you.’  Saul Bellow

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ollie's ©

      He made a sudden move toward her. She flinched. His hand traveled past her face to pick up her coffee cup. He felt his gut roil with hot bile. This woman had been hit. The hand wiping the table clenched in the wet cloth. For a peaceable guy like him, his inclination to a murderous rage was surprising, but an abuser didn’t deserve to live.

Not that it made any difference because no one should be beaten, but she was a pretty, delicate thing. Somewhere in her thirties unless the abuse she’d been living with had aged her. Her hands lay flattened on the table as if she intended to bolt. He glanced quickly at her left ring finger and thought he spotted a telltale white line denoting a recently removed ring.

* * * *

You were a fool to have cringed. What must he think of me? She’d watched him behind the bar talking to customers. His smile looked sincere. He seemed to genuinely like the people, and they liked him back. The vibe from him was of gentleness and safety, but then she’d been wrong before which was why she was sitting alone in this bar in a strange town and terrified at being discovered.

She exited the Ladies Room to the long hallway from the back of the bar. Unlike the front area, it was well lit which was the only reason she felt comfortable enough going back there. She lifted a hand to brush strands of hair falling in her eyes and spotted the bartender watching her. Tensing, her arm up, she stared back with her fiercest expression. She wasn’t too scary, she knew, but she needed to intimidate people to keep them at a distance.

But his gaze wasn’t on her face. It was focused on her arm. She cursed the bright light she’d just welcomed. The bruises and scars on her forearm were totally visible. He knew. It was almost as humiliating to have him know as it was to be the victim of domestic abuse.

He didn’t move out of her way. His features were rigid, his sweet blue eyes burned hot as fire, his lips pressed together.

“I’m sorry if I startled you…earlier,” he said, his voice soft and soothing. “Um…are you all right?”

Don’t fall for this. He’s not really interested in your problems. He’s just nosy. It’s something for him to talk about to his customers. That woman has bruises on her arm. I wonder what her story is.

He moved slowly toward her. She stood stock still refusing to flinch or run. Not any more. She was done with that life.

“Whatever is going on, you’re safe here. Ollie’s is a city safe zone.”

“That’s for children.” She hated that her voice quivered. It was past time to learn survival skills.

“It’s for anyone who needs it. Please remember that. I’m here just about every night. My mother is here in the daytime.” He held out his hand, palm up, luring her to rest her hand in his.

Jesus, she still had her fingers in her hair leaving her body open to attack. Usually, at the first sign of trouble, she crossed her arms over her middle for protection. Her gaze jumped to his, her lips parted. His expression completely focused on her face. His eyes promised safety and understanding. How can this be? She didn’t know him, but something about him gave her comfort.

She found her arm lowering, her shaky hand stretching out to his. She touched his fingertips with hers, wanted to close her eyes at the feel of the leathery smooth skin and the heat. He didn’t move. Didn’t push her to do more than she could.

Could she take his hand? Could she trust was the real question. Her fingers slowly, incrementally, slipped along his, her hand suddenly sweaty. Long, lean fingers, strong, still, his palm hot and dry.

Her gaze never left his. Her body shivered at the sensation of giving herself into his hands. Literally.

Their palms met. Her mouth opened in awe. She swallowed heavily. Very slowly, he closed his fingers around her hand to hold it gently. She hadn’t felt this cherished since her mother died.
November 17, 2008

Do Bad Things With You ©

     The minute we were inside the door, he slammed me back against it—hard. The strap of my dress was wrenched off my shoulder. His lips explored mine—again—hard. No soft kisses these. They were all teeth and tongue and dominance. Huffing like a bull. Groaning. No, that was me.

My nipples hardened, tingled. His mouth suctioned my neck. Oh, he was surely leaving glorious, public marks. Both straps were down now—the point of wearing a slip dress.

His kisses on the tender skin of my breast were like sharp pinpricks, lips and teeth combined. Each one sent electrical shocks through my veins all the way to my toes.

“God,” I moaned. “Suck my nipple. Hard…” My voice went deep and guttural. I’d been so tightly wound lately that I hadn’t known how horny I was until this man slid his hands around my waist and hauled me off to the dance floor. He wasn’t the greatest dancer, but he sure knew how to use his body to the best effect. Knew when to brush against me, polish his cock on my belly.

And a wonderfully humongous cock it was. I drew my hand down his chest, past the snap of his jeans, and grasped the beauty. He groaned and covered my nipple with his wet, seeking mouth. I sobbed. My head clunked back on the wood of the door. I felt the strong draw right to my clit. He lifted me under the arms, pulled me up so he didn’t have to bend so far. I stretched upward to stand on my toes even in three inch heels. Whatever it took to keep the rhythmic sucking going. Oh, yesss.

“Shit, yes.” He stopped his sucking long enough to exclaim and encourage my further stroking of his cock.

I squeezed, wondering if it was too hard, but he didn’t seem to mind. For every caress I made, he responded with a hard draw. Or maybe it was the other way. Whatever, we fed off each others’ passion. I pressed my fists against his shoulders and rasped, “Want to suck your cock.” I pushed. I think he helped send me south.

I dropped to my knees, my nose at his zipper. He thrust his hips toward me. I took that as more than a hint, more than an order. It was already my intention. His hands in my hair cupping and stroking my scalp, and I could feel his anticipation.

Unhooking the button, I grasped the zipper and pulled, the gritting sound so sweet, so loud in my ears. Peeling the edges back, I groaned. He didn’t wear underwear. Jesus, that was hot.

His cock eagerly popped out. I didn’t waste time looking at it, brushed my lips over him, spreading the seeping fluid, moistening his large head. The pungent smell of his arousal combined with his rich, salty taste. I ran my tongue and teeth down the side until my nose hit wiry hairs at the base. I cupped his balls in my palm. They were tight and hard and as hot as his cock.

I could tell by the urgency of the pressure of his fingers on my head what he wanted. Surprising myself, I wanted it too. I licked my lips, licked his penis up and down the sides, all around, then…

I slowly slid my mouth down over him, my tongue swishing and swirling, circling. God, he was hard, like the proverbial steel rod, even the ridge below the head was stretched out tight, and my teeth couldn’t get a grip on it. So I scraped, not that gently. Scraped, my mouth pulsing around him. I was noisy, smacking luxuriously.

Then I heard him too, his loud groans. He pushed his cock into my mouth. I took it, every long inch. He fucked my mouth. I fucked his cock, my slurping as loud as his groans. I could feel the beat of his heart in my palm, feel the beginnings of his ejaculation. Let the head of his penis scrape against the roof of my mouth, giving it the extra sensation as my tongue pressed along the vein on the underside.

Kaboom…
November 10, 2008

 

359 DAYS AND NIGHTS ©

      Their coming together was religiously cataclysmic. He couldn’t believe she’d waited the three hundred fifty-nine days until he came home from his first tour of duty in Iraq. It had been that long since he’d touched a female body and that long since anything other than his fist had touched his.

She’d been there when he got off the bus with his unit. Speeches, back clasps, hugs and there she was standing in front of him. Embarrassed by his shaking, he reached out a tentative hand. She took it, and they were both trembling. She bit her lower lip. His gaze honed in on that, and without another word they walked deceptively sedately to her vehicle.

Her apartment, dim and cool, was an oasis of normalcy compared to what he’d been through.

They stood inside the door. “Do you want to take a shower?” she asked, her voice polite. “Would you like something to eat?”

His hunger was for more than food. She’d met him in a tight skirt and even tighter tank top with the imprint of lace showing through. “I’m rank,” he warned.

“I don’t care,” she said.

“I do,” he responded. “You deserve better.”

“Go.” With a promising smile, she urged him toward the bathroom.

Christ almighty, it felt good. A private shower, unending hot water, and scented soap. He let the water run down his back until he almost fell asleep. Shaved and bathed, he emerged, a towel hooked around his hips, from the bathroom to see her leaning in the doorway to her bedroom, a flimsy pink nightie barely covering the good bits.

“I don’t know if I can do you justice,” he said.

“You don’t have to the first time.”

“Good, because it’s gonna take more than once.” His lips quirked at the provocative smirk on her face. Bou ya. “I missed you,” was the last thing he said for a long time.

Her slender body felt wonderful in his hands. The nightie came off before they even made it to the bed. His lips roamed the cool, smooth skin of her belly. His mouth heated when it reached her breasts. He wanted to cry at the taste of her raspberry red nipples, the little hard nubs belonged to him.

His cock hurt, hot and hard since the first minute he’d seen her. Weeping from its hole, this was nothing like boning himself. This was a real life cunt, wet, soft pussy. It was fucking, banging, screwing, everything the guys always talked about doing when they got home.

“Fuck me,” she groaned.

His hungry dick throbbed. He swept it back and forth in her cleft, wetting its head, washing it in her juices until she squirmed, thrust up, begging him to shove it in her.

“Fuck me already!” she growled demandingly.

He did. With a shout. Jesus Christ, he almost passed out at the first time in three hundred fifty-nine days…and nights that his cock had been swallowed whole by her glorious pussy.
July 9, 2008

 
First Love ©

    
     January 5, it’s the first day at the new school, new town. I was shaking in my saddle shoes as my mother escorted me to the principal’s office. The transition to the classroom was done speedily. I don’t remember walking down the hall and into the classroom, my head was in a daze. I was too shy to even look up at my new classmates.

At the first recess, Mrs. Snodgrass assigned two girls to take me outside and show me the playground “ropes.” They turned out to be so friendly that I relaxed and thought maybe this school wouldn’t be so bad after all. A shy girl moving often with her parents to new towns needed all the help she could get.

Days and weeks went by. January passed into February. You all know what happens in the second month of the year. Another huge fear hung over me. What would happen on Valentine’s Day? What did the other kids do? Would everyone be included, or would I be left out because I was new?

My mother baked chocolate cupcakes, my favorites, to bring to school that day. It was cold and had snowed several inches the night before, so lugging a book bag and treats into school was tough, but we all made it without any mishaps. Sweets were arranged on a table in the back of the classroom. We were all seated at our desks and were allowed to talk quietly to one another. Two monitors gathered the little Valentine’s cards and started to pass them out.

Would I get many? As many as the other girls?

Cards piled up on my desk. Whew. It seemed as if I was popular after all. Suddenly, one of the monitors put a small box down. What? A small, gold, rectangular box with the word Chocolates printed prettily on the top. Without looking up, I sneaked a peek around the room. No one else had a box of candy on their desks. My face heated up immediately and must have been beet red.

Did the other kids see it? What would they think? And more importantly, who was it from? I was too afraid to touch it to see if there was a name on it. Can you imagine the horror of a timid girl who is singled out with candy on Valentine’s Day?

Later, at home in the privacy of my bedroom, I investigated the box of chocolates. Finally. I found the little card. In my wildest dreams, I had no idea that he liked me. He must really like me to make such a public statement.

I’ll never forget that Valentine’s Day. I had never even noticed him before. Now that I knew how he felt about me, in the law of sixth grade attraction, I developed a mad crush on him too.

My first love. I wish I could remember his name…
July 14, 2009

Words ©

With words you can hurt.

With words you can heal.

With words your heart soars in the sheer joy of the sounds rolling off your tongue.

 

Words are precious, mystical.

A constant surprise

And delight.

 

Words that sound alike have different meanings,

Different spellings.

 

Words fashioned together create sentences,

Paragraphs,

Stories,

Novels.

 

With words you have life.

Variations of life.

Your own life.

You’ve created life.

 

And you thought only God could create life.

May 22, 2003