My Hands Are Tied

"How could you betray me like this?"

The matter of fact tone to your voice throws me. I usually hear a hint of pain, or a touch of disbelief, when I'm asked that question. But not you; you almost sound as if you expected it. I glance over towards you sitting on the couch.

"It's nothing personal. This is business, pure and simple."

A smile comes to your face, as your gaze drifts off.

"Business. Of course. You always were a fast learner. My best student."

Your eyes turn towards mine, fixing me with a deadly stare.

"And now the student is the master?"

There's no mistaking the anger beneath those words. I fumble slightly as I place ice in the glass in front of me, trying to maintain my composure. Trying to maintain the upper hand. Trying to understand why, despite my anxiety at this moment, I'm slightly aroused by your fury. I pour some Jack into the glass, then slowly make my way over towards you. I feel as if I'm approaching a wounded tiger. I offer you the glass, but you slap it out of my hands, ice cubes flying.

"I take it straight. Perhaps you haven't learned as much as you thought."

That cold stare is boring into my soul. Boring into my heart; I feel it start to race as I bend over to retrieve the glass. I drop my guard for a moment, just enough time for you to knock me to my knees. I feel the weight of your foot as you place it on the nape of my neck. I brace myself.

"And now the student is the master?"

I try to think of an answer, but the only think that runs through my head is mindless banter. I struggle for breath, struggle to regain the upper hand. I can feel the sole of your shoe rubbing against my skin; rich Italian leather. I strain to turn my face towards you.

"Why are you taking this so personally, I told you, this is business. There's nothing I can do, my hands are tied."

You shift your weight, dropping onto the floor, your body straddling my back. You unknot the silk tie at your throat, then pull my hands behind me, binding them together.

"Now they are. What lesson should I teach you now?"

The Phone Call

RIP Amy Winehouse 1983-2011


It comes

Without warning.

Even though you always knew

It would come.

In the middle of the night.

First thing in the morning.

On your cell before you head off to lunch.

The phone call.

With the cold

Official

Voice

On the the other end.

"We're sorry to inform you

That your son

Your daughter

Your brother

Your father

Someone you love

Has died.

We think

It was

An

Overdose".

And your brain

Goes on

Automatic pilot.

And you hear your voice say,

"Thank you

For Calling."

And as you

Hang up the phone

You feel

As if

Someone

Has just grabbed

Your soul

And

Ripped

It

To

Shreds.

Safe

I like

the weight

of

your body

on top

of mine.

It makes me

feel

sexy.

Loved.

Safe.

Today

I really need you

to make me feel

safe.

PSA

Heat makes me cranky. Excessive heat makes me very cranky.

I don't know where your rehearsal is. It is your responsibility to know where you're suppossed to be at any given time. You are a guest in this theater; I suggest you start acting like one. Which means you do not do vocal warm-ups in the ladies' room while everyone else is trying to take a slash.

I am not responsible for class schedules, delivering the lunch your child forgot to bring today, or submissions. If you're looking for customer service, you need to look else where.

In short, I have a years worth of bank statements to reconcile, this quarter's federal taxes to file, and a general ledger to balance, all before the auditors show up in thirty days.

Unless you've got a gin and tonic in your hand, are hung like a horse, and wearing nothing more than a saucy grin, I think it would be best if you didn't visit my office any time soon.

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Your finger tips

Upon my lips

Elicit shivers

And Quivers

And Sighs.

While your lips

Upon my finger tips

Make me hunger

For more.

And more.

And more.

Still Here

Early Detection is Essential

To Ensure Your Quality of Life.

So Grab Those Girls,

Give Em a Jiggle,

Feel Yourself Up,

Indulge in a Giggle.

If Not For Yourself

Then Do it For Those

Who Will Miss You Intensely...


She stared at the post. That had to be the worse PSA ever written. She started to press "DELETE" but pulled her finger back at the last moment. Stepping away from her laptop she walked over to the full length mirror in the corner of their bedroom. She regarded her reflection, then slowly began to pull her shirt over her head.

She stared at her chest with a clinical detachement. The first year after her surgery she couldn't look at herself, not in a mirror, not in the shower. She didn't think she'd ever be able to make peace with her body. She didn't want to be brave, didn't want to be strong. She wanted to be whole, she didn't want to see that look of fear in her husband's eyes, didn't want to be reminded of what could have happened if she hadn't caught that lump in time. Yes, maybe it was a small price to pay to keep living, but still there was a part of her that felt cheated.

She saw him stop short as he came in the room. There was still that awkward hesitation on his part; struggling against treating her as if nothing had changed between them, when everything had.

"Hey baby. What are you doing?"

She returned to her desk, leaving her shirt on the floor.

"I was trying to write some sort of early detection message, but it all sounds so trite. How can I explain the importance of doing something that I rarely did myself? It was just a fluke that I checked my breast that month."

He leaned over her shoulder, reading what she wrote. She felt his breath in her ear, squirming slightly at the sensation building between her legs. He leaned forward and started to type, kissing the back of her neck after he finished.

She read what he wrote, then raised her arms above her head, embracing him. She felt his hands reach down to caress her breast. Her breasts.


Early Detection is Essential

To Ensure Your Quality of Life.

So Grab Those Girls,

Give Em a Jiggle,

Feel Yourself Up,

Indulge in a Giggle.

If Not For Yourself

Then Do it For Those

Who will be so grateful that you're still here.

"Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves".

Confucius

Sisyphus

Move the files from the back to your desk.

Move the files from your desk to the back.

Move last year's files from the back to the further back.

Move this year's files to the back.

Repeat as necessary.

This is why you don't get a degree in the liberal arts.

Pussy

"Life is cruel, like a bitter, cold titted bitch whore who lies in wait for that one moment of indecision on your part so she can sink her fangs into your soul and suck it dry."

She placed the cup of coffee on the table, fighting the urge to spill it on his lap. She sat in the chair opposite him and proceeded to pour half a cup of sugar in her tea. She flashed him the stink eye.

"The whole point of an internal monologue is that it's silent."

He glared back at her. He was down to two options; leaving and spending the rest of his life regretting it. Or staying, and spending the rest of his life regretting it. Last night's pity fuck didn't help, only confused him. What had happened to them? When did the woman he love turn into such a cunt? Well, he couldn't really blame her, he wasn't exactly prince charming any more. They'd tried therapy, tried date nights, role playing in the bedroom, or in the living room like last night. Nothing, no sparks reignited, no passion left. He was just about to tell her he was done when their six year old daughter came running into the room.

"Mommy, where is it?"

Her mother put down her cup and looked at her.

"Where's what, baby?"

"The kitty. I looked all over the house and I can't find it."

Her mother shot him a "What the fuck did you do now" look, then took a deep breath.

"We don't have a kitty, honey, what makes you think that?"

A crushing look enveloped the little girl as she slumped into her chair.

"I came down stairs last night to ask you a question and I heard you and daddy making funny noises on the couch. I started to go back upstairs when I heard daddy ask you to give him the pussy, so I thought you got me a cat for my birthday."

The two of them sat there, trying to maintain their composure. He broke first, chuckling to himself, then laughing out loud, while she tried to keep her cool, opening her eyes wide and whispering "stop it" in between her own laughter. Their daughter looked at them in bewilderment.

"What's so funny?"

They looked at each other; for one brief instant there was a spark of connection, a new common bond between them. His wife smiled at him, the first genuine smile she'd given him in a very long time. She turned towards their daughter.

"It was going to be a surprise, but I guess we can go to the rescue group after breakfast to look at the kitties."

Their daughter brightened like the sun.

"Can I have sliced bananas on my cereal, Mommy?"

"Sure baby. Daddy can slice them for me."

She gave her husband a 'come hither' look, and nodded her head towards the kitchen. He smiled at her, then stood up to follow her within. Sometimes fate has a way of giving you a sign right when you need it. He kissed the top of his little girl's head.

"Why don't you go sit in the living room and put a video on, baby girl? You can eat your breakfast in front of the TV this morning. Turn the volume up as loud as you like."

When I ceased to exist for you

I died.

I curled up in a little ball

And I lied

Laid

Lay

On the floor

Dust bunnies curling around my nose

The dog nibbling at my toes

My tears covering my cheeks

Puddling on the floor.

I turned off the heat in the apartment

Hoping to freeze to death

But then I thought

That's not fair to the dog

She has a fur coat on

And will take longer to die

And starving is an awful way to go.

So I got up

Turned the heat back on

Washed my face

Fed the dog

Then went on line

And used your credit card

To subscribe to hard core porn sites

Under your name

Sent to your work e-mail.

(And BCC to your bosses as well).

So the next time you want to do the nasty

With the teenage baby sitter

I suggest

You consider

The consequences

Of your

actions.

Moth to the Flame

I throw my heart in the air, and then wonder why it gets shot to pieces like a clay pigeon.

Am I a fool for constantly repeating this, or an eternal optimist who always hopes that this time it will be different?