The only remarkable times in a 3-day stand are that first glorious moment of reunion and the last horrific moment of separation. Heaven and hell. Any time in between is irrelevant, at best. Want breakfast at 3 p.m.; go for it. Want to get snockered at 8 a...
“Since you didn’t lick it all off,” he says to the ceiling, “I guess I’ll have to take a shower. Want to join me”? Ruby’s bright blue eyes, rimmed by glaring white, peer from her blackened, mousse-encrusted face. “I could try again,” she offers. Rolling t...
Five or six shots of espressothrough no demand of my own. Perfect end to a commute with a worthwhile jumper. playing "Sing Out" by Celtic Women Steering a curve at 65 with my knees heading into a bright orange sun south of the dark cityscape. The jumper w...
You are my love and I yours. I could speak your names but to what end? I write this not to you but for you.Since I am of the hoi polloiI must speak to them as you deign not to. I speak to them of love, far beyond and yet within the flesh they celebrate;ou...
The phone rings and is answered. “Concierge, Hotel Royale, how may I help you?” The voice on the other end of the line is the Bell Captain. “He’s here.” “Are you sure?” asks the Concierge. “Think so. Gray brown hair and not much of that. Glasses. One whit...
She is not dead, far from it. She is in love, but the pains of her days are the grim reminder that she is not dead. She lies upon a bier to not feel the memories of loves lost or unrequited, shallow sex without love, betrayal and abandonment. The daily gr...
"So, how does this work?" Ruby asks, shucking off her black lace bra. While he stows her suitcase, Ron tosses over his shoulder, "Just lie down on your back, sort of diagonal on the bed. Stick a few pillows under your head so you can see. I'll be over as...
I was once a peasant girl clad in gray rough woven skirt and flour sack blouse; black hair chipped with straw from the pallet on which I'd lain. Every summer day I picked berries in the lane and you'd ride by in your gilded carriage; wild black and white...
It starts with an idea; sublime torture... the bluntest of instruments. Think of apricot marmalade, with a touch of crimson cayenne, spread slowly about a nipple and over the folds of an areola. Think of the sun making it melt and wafting its scent to the...
