Mitigating Circumstances, Pt.3

I hadn't intended mature subject matter to appear much in this blog, but I may just have to explore certain erotic aspects of my imagination. This is an impromptu warning/disclaimer that if you are under age leave.

Read part I

Read part II


part III...

It was like sinking into a deep warm ocean, just like she always imagined it would feel to be held by him. When he held out his arms, she didn't question his gesture she just went. He understood; he always did.

Why did this have to be wrong? When they first met, he asked her if people would buy the story of star-crossed lovers today. She told him she wouldn't. What circumstances could possibly make two people who loved each other remain apart willingly without seeming cliché or parody? Irony can be so cruel.

His white tee shirt smelled like Tide, fresh from the laundry. She imagined him pulling it right from the dryer and shoving in a duffle bag for this spur of the moment journey. Bare feet had caught her attention when she entered the room. Never had she thought feet sexy, but the sight of his sticking out from the end of his blue jeans made her melt into a puddle of goo. Tension threatened to pluck her from the waves of comfort, but she inhaled deeply, and when she blew it out it heated the cotton fabric in front of her face. She felt him shrug it off, and shifted his arms so that he was now more comfortable on his back and her neck nestled in the crook of his shoulder. Together their chests rose and fell in synchronicity.

His fingers were making lazy circles across the soft cotton of her tank. She focused on the feeling and drifted away with them; patterns appearing in her head as he drew them, like she was a living doodle-pad. When his finger slipped off the shirt and across her bare shoulder a shiver passed through her and he hesitated. His hand hovered then slid a safe distance between her shoulder blades.

She took her own hand and placed it flat on his chest while she nuzzled her face against him more. If she could crawl inside him she would. Then she would make time stop. She began to stroke along his collar bone and traced his jaw line with her fingertip. She felt his heart quicken under her cheek. Was she being unfair? He came to her, after all. He'd never let them get this close before. As if he read her thoughts he rolled to face her more, gathering her tightly and bending his head low against hers. She could feel the intent of his desire pressed against her. Her name whispered like a butterfly's wings flew warm on a breath near her ear, and passed through her body, melting every bone and vessel, setting her core on fire. If he didn't kiss her immediately she was going to explode.

Her wish was granted.

TBC.

Mitigating Circumstances cont...

**ETA: I edited this part a bit, if anyone cares. (If anyone reads! HA!) But for the sake of accuracy, posterity, and perfection I correct.

I hate how blogger goes from most recent post then backward in time. Why can't I change my settings so you read my posts in order of their inception?

Part I.

The book sits on his lap while he leans his head back against the wall. It falls on top of the propped up pillows which support his neck. He put it down after realizing he'd read the same sentence three times without any comprehension. Any pretense of normalcy or relaxation was useless in the face of such anxiety. But what was done was done. He wasn't sure if he was more afraid of her coming or standing him up.

It is then the tumbler clicks announcing her arrival.

Of course she wouldn't knock, you gave her a key.

He held is breath.

She appeared in the threshold. She was fresh faced and lovely, wearing pajamas of all things, and she eyed him expectantly. Her lips were focused; pursed almost as if suppressing a smile. He felt like a deer trapped in the headlights.

"You're scared to death, aren't you?" She asked.

He looked down, guilty as charged. She padded over and sat at the foot of the bed.

"I don't understand; I'm so confused. Why did you ask me here? How did you know…" her voice trailed off and she looked away.

"I saw Sandra, she told me the news. I couldn't believe it." He paused a moment, but then pressed on. It was too late to hold back now. "I know what I said Sabi, I don’t mean to upset you on top of it all but I just had to see you. This is so… so devastating. I was in shock. The reasons, everything else that happened, suddenly seemed unimportant."

Her eyes looked like pools of liquid that shined, with little crinkles appearing at the corners. "I'm not upset," she said softly, "I'm just in shock myself I guess. I can't believe you did this. I'm glad you did." Her smile faded somewhat. "God that makes me such a shit."

"You're not a shit."

"He's now blaming everything on the tumor you know; my actions, my misjudgments," she said.

"Interesting. And you? What do you think Sabine?"

"I could never have made you up."

She looked uncomfortable all of a sudden, that initial boldness deflated. Levers and pulleys shifted as she surrendered authority.

"Please, just hold me tightly. Keep me safe, even for tonight."
He extended his arms and she crawled up the bed into their embrace, burying her face into his tee shirt. He encircled her entire body, and caressed her soft hair while she wept.

Mitigating Circumstances I

Part one:


She turned on the shower as hot as it would go, and began peeling off clothes. How did he know she was staying at this hotel? Her mouth was dry, and her heart pounded within its cage, demanding to be set free. She brushed her teeth while she waited for the bathroom to fill with steam. She was going to be beautiful. She would smell like the bouquet did; only he'd have to come closer to notice.

The flowers had been awaiting her arrival; their powerful fragrance hit her the minute she opened the door. It was gardenia, mixed with white roses and freesia interlaced with branches of holly. It was winter, spring and summer in one bouquet. She'd walked over to them and with a trembling hand picked the little envelope off its plastic perch in the center of the flowers. Inside she found not a card with the name of the giver but a plastic hotel room key with a room number written on it in black Sharpie. She sucked in a deep breath as an anticipatory flush spread through her body.

The same warmth now flooded her core at the thought and it had nothing to do with the hot steamy bathroom. She had to stop this. He was not to be; he was the forbidden fruit. Even if he was in the same hotel and this was an invitation to his room she should not be thinking with her hormones. He's a friend—a good friend. The kind who sends flowers and once asked you what the inside of your mouth tasted like.

This isn’t quite how she thought her evening was going to go. She had planned on chasing down some friends she knew were here, do a little gambling, and definitely some drinking. Considering she hadn't planned on being in a hotel in Las Vegas until last night she supposed she could roll with the punches. You can do things like that; fly off to Vegas at a moment's notice when you find out you have a tumor in the back of your head, and your loved ones will let it slide. How ironic, she came to Vegas to avoid thinking about the one thing that could finally displace this man from her thoughts, only to have him show up as what… a distraction? A noble guide to help her face her looming reality with dignity? He knows better than think she needs a knight in shining armor, though God, it would be so nice. It would be so easy.

She took some of the complimentary lotion from the little basket and opened it. It smelled like lavender, so she put it on. She stared at the inside of her suitcase like a hungry teenager stares at an open refrigerator. A sexy dress would be pretentious and out of place. Jeans would be good—she could pair them with a blouse and heels. No, it wasn't right. None of it was right. It was right for the casino or the buffet, but not for this scenario. She had a scene that played in her mind. In it, they were like an old baseball glove and a worn rawhide ball: a perfect fit, and a comforting sight to see in the corner of the room.

Once acceptably dressed, she shook out her still-slightly-damp sandy blond hair and scrunched it a little with fingers full of gel to keep it out of her face, and applied ever-so-little make-up just to accentuate her features. Standing back she admired the results in the mirror: light pink flannel pajama bottoms and a gray ribbed tank top of the softest cotton, cut to fit a woman's shape. Not threatening in the least, but still sexy in a flirty, collegiate, intellectual sort of way. It was always an intellectual intercourse with you, wasn't it? She thought. With a deep breath, she grabbed the plastic key, along with her own, and set out for the thirty-second floor.

To be continued.

Evolutionary figments; this is where it all starts

A Lingua Franca.

Let's make one thing perfectly clear: I do not exist.

This blog exists.

Obviously I have a life somewhere but for these purposes it's really not important. I could be married, or not. I could be a 64 year old man in Sacramento. This blog is for me to be whoever I want. Mostly it's a place for me to express my deep dark daydreams---the "Post Secrets" if you will, that consume my psyche. My idle mind is truly the Devil's playground. I need to exorcise it lest I burn.


If a woman writes words in a blog and no one is around to read them to they make a noise?

You tell me.