Tis' the Season.

   After not wearing clothes for a certain amount of time, I have found, that one feels strange when finally facing the dilemma of getting dressed. I mean, you kept me undressed for almost 36 hours. In that amount of time, in a decent climate, your skin becomes your clothing. Laying on my couch, legs entertwined, and literally staring at your cunt, my wine tasted delicious. You had this sly smile across your face. It was the same sly smile when you walked over, and looked me dead, straight in my eyes.
   "What are you doing?", you asked.
   "Cleaning the kitchen so I can make Migas", I knew what you were asking, I just wasn't answering.
   "Take them off now."
   "Oh, my jeans?", I'm horrible at faking surprised.
   "Today is Christmas, let's be naked just like the Lord", and then came that sly smile.
   "I'm fairly certain the Lord didn't spend his Christmas drinking wine, taking Xanax, and fucking each other's mouths, but then again I'm not a Theology major", I sarcastically added while pulling my jeans and briefs off together.
   "There, that's better", you bent down, dragged my jeans off to my bedroom, practically hiding them from me. I watched your bruised, red, welted ass walk away. God damn, I did some beautiful damage in a small amount of time. Every meal I fixed, whether it was the grilled cheese at one in the morning, the migas at ten the next morning, or the homemade spaghetti sauce with angel hair and a salad, there you were. Standing next to me, nude, and smiling. There I was, nude, and smiling. The jazz from my record player wafted through my house. Every so often, in between the chopping, grinding, and sauteeing(sp?), you would sneak a long, passionate kiss.
    "Mmmmmmm, mmmmm, mmmmmm", you'd smile up at me. "You're not only one of the first men to cook for me, but the first to do it nude on Christmas. I'm actually starting to think this might be a first and a last."
    "Well, I think we are both lucky because I don't know the next time I'm going to have a cute little 23 year old naked, in my kitchen, and all to myself for Christmas", compliments will get you everywhere. "Plus, I seem to be on my game cooking wise. Damn this is a good holiday." Not surprisingly, another fresh beer appears in my hand. You would come in for a kiss and I could feel you swoon. My head would spin as you lightly pressed your soft pussy hair against my leg.
   I saw you yawn. That's when I knew our time, and my holiday was coming to an end.
   "Are you getting sleepy?", I knew because the Xanax was hitting me hard, also.
   "Uhhhhhhh, hmmmmmm", you managed to answer through a yawning hand.
   "So, this is the end of our holiday. I'm going to be bold and say something", I leaned forward, sat up, and crawled across the couch and blanket like a lion ready to pounce. "This has been the best Christmas I have ever had. That includes getting a bike when I was ten, so this is a bold statement."
   "I didn't want to scare you, but I've been thinking the same thing all day", you leaned up and kissed me just enough. "Well, let's end this holiday on a high note", you sat up. We both stood up, turned off the lights, and you grabbed me by the hand and walked me to my bed. I could see the smile from the back of your head, and even though it was almost midnight, I knew Christmas wasn't over yet.
  

Happy Holidays Everyone. May every year be better than the last, and may all your dreams come true.



  


  

Sleep: Valuable Commodity or Waste of Time?

   Laying there staring at the ceiling, my breathing grows more shallow. The room was dark. Steady and dark. The sound of the wind roaring through the open window made me laugh inside. I could hear the trees talking through their leaves.
   "Marry, Fuck, Kill.........Larry, Curly, Moe?", I asked to the open air.
   "That is too hard. I mean Curly seems crazy, but he was the good looking one", it answered back.
   "Marry, Fuck, Kill......Gene Hackman, Bill Murray, Danny Glover?"
   "Well, one of them is black."
   "WOW!!!!! Just wow", my thoughts astound me. Then, I was out. Asleep. Darkness.
   The curtains open. The play begins. I'm sitting in a closet, talking wildly, with a bottle of Cab Sav in my hand. I'm astounded by the amount of shoes. If anyone knows me. They know I have a thing for women's shoes. Not like a fetish wherein there is a need to have sex, or sniff, or rub them on any part of my body. They just interest me. So many shapes, sizes, styles, colors, patterns, it is overwhelming and delicious all at the same time. I don't know what I'm talking about, but she is laughing. Laughing hard. Laughing, rolling on the bed, and for a moment I see her feet up in the air as she laughs holding her stomach in a fetal position.
   Act two. It's an apartment living room brought to you by IKEA. The smell of chicken, mixed with clean white walls, makes me comfortable. The TV plays a movie about a drug deal gone bad, and the overacting has caused me to stare at the side of her face. Do you remember when you were a kid, you would go to the store, and they would give you a helium balloon? You would play a game with yourself of letting go of the balloon and watching it float just barely out of reach. Then, quickly you would snatch it. We are playing that game. She moves close, we make out. She wants more. I interrupt it with a swig of wine. She moves away a bit. I grab her feet, and rub them. She moves closer and kisses me on the cheek. I reach for her lips, she drinks wine. She moves her legs off my lap. I grab her by the back of the neck. We kiss deeply, and madly, and stop.
   Act Three. The final act. I can see mirrors. I can see all angles. Like an ethereal being. She is taking me into her mouth. I can float around the room enjoying it from every view. I turn her over and force myself inside.
   "FUCK!!!!", she whisper yells. I can see all sides. All positions. Sweat pouring off of both of us. Our eyes rolling. Our mouths grinning. I watch us stop and laugh. I am floating at ceiling heights. I can see her look almost through me, as my mouth works its way down between her legs. She isn't looking down at me, but up, at my eagle's nest viewpoint. Her back arches, her tits point to the sky, her arms support her, and her mouth opens like she is going to take in the entire world. Instead, she lets it out. I can see everything at all times.
   Light shines into my bedroom window. The dogs are way too eager to wake me up. I let out my stretch and decide to join the day. I walk into the bathroom in all my sarcastic nude splendor. Look at myself in the mirror.
   "Just because it seems like a dream, doesn't mean it didn't happen."



  
  

Likes me the least

   I just can't read her.
  
   Usually by now it's a head over heels,
   or she can't stand me.
   I just don't get it.

  "Possibly", "Maybe", "I think so", are the answers I get to simple questions.
  
   Kisses, hugs, lust, and eye-fucks, are what I get when she is near me.
  
   She sat on the edge of the bed pouting, the last time I left her.
  
   "I thought you were going to spend the night?", she whimpered
 
   We never removed our clothes.

  We never touched bare stomachs
   I never choked her,
   and she never groped me.

   That's not why I left.
   Not mad,
   Not angry,
   Not withholding,
   I just wanted sleep.

   I can't read her, and I can read everyone.



Short

Realizing that a whisper,

makes its point better than a scream.

Realizing a caress,

fills me faster than a punch.

Realizing the truth,

energizies my brain more than a lie.

Realizing that life,

awakens me more than death.

Mornings...

  I woke up sore as hell this morning from Yoga. My calves and triceps burned. At 4:45, when everything is silent, my thoughts scream at me.
   "Don't get up."
   "Get the fuck up"
   "She's never coming back"
   "Maybe today is the day you hear from her"
   "You are fucking pitiful"
   "You are a brave, strong man"
   "You will be alone, forever"
   "I saw that girl looking at you yesterday"
   "Don't worry"
   "Worry about everything"
   I start on the treadmill. The self improvement started a while ago, but I'm fairly certain no one noticed. I quit a lot of things. Life will not be one of them. I have to remember, that even if all things don't happen for a reason, this did. There were three people in the gym, this morning. I'm fairly certain I was hurting the worst, inside and out. Yet, the second that first push up started, I was back in familiar territory. No thoughts. No worries, except the next push up. No thoughts. No worries, except the next pull up. No thoughts. No worries, except my abs burning like Syria in the newspaper.
   "You need this. You want this. You know that no matter what, no matter how, your mind and body need healing", I whisper in my own ear. I said the same thing to myself at 12:30am, 3:30am, 4:30am. Slipping out of the gym, I can see the shadow of her walking across the street. That shadow, doesn't even deserve me, right now. No shadow deserves me. Yet, one day, I know that it will be every shadow that will be scared of me. They will be scared of the light that I am. They will run and tell the people to whom they belong.
   "That man over there. Look at him. You want him by your side. In your time of need, that is a brave soul."
   I know this.

 

*p.s. If you would like you can become a follower of this blog. Just saying. 







Divorce vs. My Son

   Lately, I have leaned on my son in a way I don't think most fathers would or should. Yet, when I think about the advice he's given me in this time of need, I realize that he is amazingly wise and mature for his age. This week has been a cleansing and revamping of my house. So, as a friend and I painted my kitchen I related this story:

   My son was around 11 when I went through my divorce. Anyone that knows me, knows that he is my life's blood. Anyone that knows my son, knows he has always been strong and handled adversity in a way that is way beyond his years. So, during the divorce he showed no real signs of wear. It was a rough divorce. Lots of yelling, some broken windows, and I remember one time my ex-wife chased me and a woman down with a truck. All this time, my son kept a good head on his shoulders. Then, there was this night.
   I'm tucking my son into bed at my house. His nightlight is on, he is up to his shoulders in covers, and the dimly lit room is shadowed my stuffed animals and legos. He has brushed his teeth, taken a shower, and combed his hair and looks incredibly adorable when I walk into his room. Also, incredibly sad.
   "Logan, are you ok?", I ask, as I sit on the edge of his bed.
   "Not really, Pops", his cute squishy face looking down into his blanket.
   "Talk to me, Boog", best nickname ever, by the way.
   "It's this divorce thing. I just don't know what to think of it. It's starting to make me sad.", suddenly a ton of bricks falls on my emotions. My hearts sinks. I want to hold him. I want to cry with him. I want to tell him how fucked up I am over it, also. Yet, something kicks in.
   "Hey, look at me Boog", I grabbed him by his little chin. His big, ass blue eyes looked so pitiful and beautiful. "I know that in these times that it might be necessary for you to not only be sad, but be mad. Like really pissed. I understand that, and I would feel the same way. So, if you need someone to blame, here I am. Sitting right in front of you, and whether this affects our relationship today, tomorrow or in the future, I will always understand. I should have done a better job, as a father, as a husband. You both put your trust in me to be a good role model, and a strong man, and I failed. Yet, all I can do is move forward from this, and show you that not only in this situation, but in every situation in the future, that I can be that man. So, if you want to be sad, I will be here to hold you. And if you want to be mad, I will be here to take every punch." There was a long pause. A Mexican stand off.
  

   "Pops, I love you", he reached up, wrapped both arms around my neck, and squeezed like nobody's business.
   Here's to you Boog. One day I hope to be as strong as you.



  
  

Halt

This blog has been stopped due to emotional breakdown. Just give me time........just give me time.......just give me time...........