His gaze swept over her and she basked in its warmth as one would the suns rays after they emerged from cloudy cover. She stared at his lips, full and soft, delicious like swiss spun chocolate. His kisses starting behind her right ear and cascading down her neck. Halting on her collar bone and causing her knees to nearly give up the task of holding her upright. She wrapped her arms around his rock solid waist and ran her fingers up his washboard abs. Lord knew the man had earned every single bit of his fine physique.
Moaning as she attempted to get even closer to him she wrapped her legs around him to prepare for his thrust and she was shaken out of her reverie.
“So is that a yes,” he repeated. “Yes, we should have sex.” Realizing she’d spoken aloud her face burned with shame. Fantasies were one thing but say out loud anything even hinting at the nature of the thoughts she had whenever he was near was unbelievable. “Maybe if dinner goes really well we shall,”he quipped. Oh God, please open the floor to swallow me whole, she pleaded.
When a few seconds passed and that didn’t occur she finally raised her eyes to his and responded with a subdued, “Yes. I meant yes we should have dinner. Nothing more.” His eyes twinkled as he gazed down into her eyes as if he knew that he could take her right on the oversized desk in her office and she wouldn’t even bother to lock the door. “Then I will see you tonight at eight.”
Something was off. She could feel it as soon as she closed the door behind her. It was in the silence that hung heavily throughout the house. In the central air current that didn’t really cool her. In the hum of the appliances that seemed to be waiting on something with her. She tried to ignore it as she kicked off her shoes in the front hall. The feeling couldn’t be shaken as easily as she had her shoes. She couldn’t help but look down at the space where her shoes were. What was wrong here? Something was knocking at a door somewhere in her mind. She shook her head. It was fine. She was fine.
She wasn’t sure if that was the truth or she was lying to herself. This was ongoing conversation that seemed to be repeated daily. Whichever it was she was determined to continue to tell herself that until she no longer wondered.
A short while later, Lacey, lay on her couch watching scripted reality shows and trying not to think. These shows made the task easier. Slowly an uneasy rest overtook her.
The sound of the front door slamming shut jarred her out of her slumber. Rushing off the couch to the front door and she finally admitted to herself what had been missing. There he was in all his splendor. With his broad shoulders, his crooked smile and kind eyes. She ran into her husband’s arms.
“Hey, babe. I’m home.”
Looking down at his shoes next to hers on the hall floor and after all the time he’d been on the road it all clicked into place. It wasn’t the house that mattered. It wasn’t any one thing that added up to what had been missing. It was him. It was always him.
I recently posted a call to arms on my Facebook page. I asked my friends to list one word in the comments section which I would use as a subject for a short story. I will be posting those stories here. It’s a little scary but bear with me.
Please feel free to leave comments and critiques.
She stared at the man across from her. In his grey off rack suit she found he was interesting. No, not really interesting. Unassuming. That was it. He was very unassuming. The kind of man you wouldn’t remember if asked to describe him. He was nothing like her husband, ex husband, former husband? She wasn’t sure what to call him but he was nothing like Charlie.
Charlie and his toothy grin and sweet sugar coated words.The more he spoke to her the more his unceasing questions caused her to think of Charlie. Her handsome, rotten, lying Charlie. Charlie who sent her a text just that morning claiming he couldn’t wait to see her. Said he had big plans for when she got home tomorrow. Her husband who must have been exhausted from his previous nights activities when he sent that message and probably had not received the email with her flight change. She thought of how excited she was to go home to her loving, doting husband. Thought of how widely she’d smiled when she received that message.
A smile that did not last when she walked into her bedroom and saw her husband and that woman in her bed together. The more she thought of the rage that consumed her the more her sight was clouded with a rage filled blood lust.
The rage she felt just became red. Red hot betrayal. Branding her very soul. Crashing into her and completely taking over her very reason.
“Do you hear me Mrs. Cooper?” She felt herself being pulled out of her daze.
“Yes detective. I hear you.”
She looked down at her hands and realized she still had blood under her nails. On her clothes. All of it so very red. She wasn’t sure how much of it was Charlie’s and how much was that woman’s. She’d always hated the way she looked in red.
“Will you be calling my lawyer or shall I be allowed to call him myself.”
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
“Yes. Unless I can clean up first?”
My Mother’s Daughter is a strange bird. She believes in self love but sometimes forgets to apply that belief to herself.
Isn’t it strange that although we very often know exactly what we need to facilitate our own healing we shy away from it?
I could write a book on all the things that I could d daily, or even weekly, to truly start loving myself. I could meditate more often. I could pray with unceasingly with the fervor of the saints. I could eat only the best raw organic foods. I could be honest with myself about where I am in my life and where I want to be. Why am I not doing these things?
Great question. What about you? Are you doing the things a person who actually loves themselves would do?
How do you say to some one that you want to be their Sunday morning and not just their Saturday night?
What I’d like to say is, “I want to be your Sunday morning like breakfast in bed. Or sleeping in and doing brunch instead. I want the slow strokes of familiarity and not the hurried frantic frenzy you’ve doled out to other folks.” Instead I smile and answer, “Nothing,” to your question of, “What are you thinking?”
– an excerpt from an unfinishedproject.
My Mother’s Daughter is a runaway bride.
For the last nine months (or so) I have been hanging my head and trying to justify myself to everyone I know. In August of last year I had a wedding. But I did not marry him. I walked down the aisle and smiled for the camera all the while trying to convince myself that it wasn’t all a huge mistake.
Not three days after our ceremony he proved my decision to be the right one. Nearly every one around me with the exception of my siblings wanted me to stay with him. I could not fully articulate the hundred and five reasons why I had to leave in a way that made them understand. I just knew I couldn’t stay.
I did not feel safe with him. I was slipping into a depression. I knew I could NEVER raise my children with him. There were so many reasons to leave. Finally one day we had the fight to end all fights and I knew that I had made the right decision.
The things he said were the most low down disgusting things you could say a human being. I’m sure even Khan would not have lobbed such insults at Captain Kirk.
Now all these months later I can breathe easier. I’m not worried about what i’m saying, how i’m saying or how i’m breathing. Yes my breathing was sometimes an issue.
In the end not many agreed with my decision but I trusted my gut and I chose to walk away from a situation that was not good for me.
I now strive everyday to make decisions that will fulfill my goals and my happiness. You are the only one who has to live your life. Make decisions that make you happy.
My Mother’s Daughter is a backslider!
Well, almost. This morning when I woke up I had to catch myself from reverting to my old pattern of negative thoughts and doubts.
Instead of thinking of all the things I didn’t like I had to make myself think of all the good things in my life. It took awhile but I finally found a rhythm and I have to admit I have far more to be thankful for than to complain about.