Broken Vessel…

It’s 3 a.m., I’m awake, because you can’t drink heartache away. Believe me, I’ve tried. If you would’ve asked me two hours ago, I’d have sworn it was possible. 

For a moment, my head spun, giddy with forgetfulness. But, nothing is better for sobriety than the learning you are a stupid, naive, idiot, who would rather drink poison than walk away.

Instead, I plaster a smile on my face, cover my eyes in large sunglasses-hide the tears that silently leak from their corners as I go on my way. I’m a professional, dammit. I laugh, I sing, I make jokes, and small talk, I can make dinner, and I can make you think I make love. 

Because, I’m a broken vessel;I’ve picked up my pieces one-by-one, over and over again. Some days, I believe that I like what I’m seeing. Then days like today, break me apart. 

And I lay awake in the darkness and beg for the sunlight.


SH Part Deux 

We slipped into a darkened bedroom suite and this beautiful princess switches off the bed-side lamp to leave only a sliver of light from the en suite. I briefly hear grumbling from our counterparts but they are immediately hushed as snaps and hooks are amplified in the ambient light. 

The realness of our shapes taking form before their very eyes, a white lace dress, a gold chemise, then a black lace bra, some of it slips from my body while other pieces are tossed cerimoniously. 

All the while, she has presented herself in the middle of crisp white sheets like the gift of all gifts. She’s a Goddes, no doubt. I have butterflies in the pit of my stomach and fire in my eyes, her skin is tanned from the Georgia sun-feels like velvet, and her body is tiny and deliciously tight. Her nipples stand to attention, demanding my lips, and I’m the greedy little minx who crawls up the side of the bed as she opens her thighs and welcomes me in. 

There’s desire in her emerald eyes and her pouty pink lips are parted when my arms cage her shoulders and I lean in. Oh, I know, it’s against our rules, but I want her to taste herself on my tongue, so I kiss her. And kiss her, and kiss, until the the heat between my legs is disturbed by someone’s fingers. 

Erotically, I have no idea who is touching me. And because she’s beneath me, I don’t even care. I let him explore my wetness as I slither down her body and move between her thighs again, because she’s a drug and I’ve had my first hit. 

I feel the pressure of his body body behind me and just as my lips part hers, he pushes in at the same time I do. There’s a collective breath. The air has been vacuumed from the room and only us four exist in the bubble. 

There’s a gorgeous sound coming from above us, and I roll my eyes up just for a peek. I see his body so familiar and her lips engulfing him. I’m enraptured at the sight, like I’m watching a foreign film, without subtitles and it’s black and white, and my tongue plunges deeper as I close my eyes. 

He’s beating a steady rhythm behind me, his hands are firmly clutching my hips and my senses are in overload. There’s a shifting and I’m suddenly on my back and and looking down and I’m watching her dark her fan out across my chest and slowly follow her between my thighs. 

Her fingers slide over my lips, down, back, down, part, and she lowers her beautiful mouth as I close my eyes…

Swing Her…

It was our very first one-night-stand. And it was a hot one!  Not an ordinary one-night-stand, -if any of them are? ordinary-that is- these kinds of things! 

We had agreed on a set of rules: safe words, do’s and dont’s. We went to a club- one especially for this type of thing, for “safety”. 

But, nothing ordinary ever happens to the two of us.  And, since when have either one of us ever followed the rules? 

It was getting late in the evening and truly, the place didn’t seem to be all that it was advertised to be. Plus, I was getting restless! This was my big fantasy! I wanted a chance to have a threesome, with a woman!- sober! (This time) no drunken fumbling, no college experimentation- something real!

And right before we were about to call it a night, in walks–well–a 1 in a million chance! And damnit if she wasn’t sex personified. A hot little number, wearing a sage green t-shirt dress that barely covers her tight-tanned-black-lace-thong-clad-ass. She had large green eyes, rimmed in black, peachy-collagen filled lips, heavily glossed, and jet-black hair cascading down her back. Her only bad feature is the five-foot-tall male attached to her arm. 

Other than that, there’s really not one negative aspect about her. Even her deep southern Georgia accent had my panties dripping the moment she started to speak. We notice they look lost, and even though it’s our first time there, my man decided to give them a tour of the place, just to break the ice. They find it comical and we laugh and share in some small talk. 

Little man and his southern angel seem to like what we have to offer. I figure I’m just his size at only five-foot, myself. And the angel probably likes the prospect of of my dangerously tall 6 footer. You know what they say, big feet and all…

As it was getting late rather quickly, I was inclined to just call it a night. Chalk it up as a loss , until little man casually asked me if I was into woman? I’m sure my right eyebrow did it’s own thing, it can not be controlled! 

Sometimes, you must give- inorder to get! This is a lesson all must learn. And so, I knew, I would have to compromise in order to get what I was truly after. In a strange turn of events, the club decided to close early because of slow business. 

Having never been there, we were at a loss but didn’t want to lose out. Our new friends invited us to their hotel bar. We accepted and they left with us. Both had flown in and took an Uber from their motel, the presidential suite, at the airport. 

The angel and I sat together in the back, more conversation. The angel’s man wants to talk about her breasts, my breasts, she shows me her’s and I run my hands up her stomach and palm both breasts, squeeze them, and run my fingers over her hard nipppless. At the same time, she squeezes both of mine in her hands and comments on their perkiness and softness. 

We pull into the parking lot, and head to bar. But, it’s closed for the night. So we grab a few beers from the convenience store and head up to the their room. 

They have a little balcony overlooking the runway. The view is gorgeous, in more than one way. We all have a few drinks before the angel’s man reaches under her dress and takes her panties off. My partner does the same. Angel’s man, lifts the hem of her dress and says, don’t let me stand in your way. 

I take two steps, and lower myself to my knees, she’s drinking a beer and leans her head back at the same time my lips find her’s. I hear her take a deep breath and hold it. I let my lips pull her swollen lips into my mouth and use my tongue to split the layers until I find hard little pearl that tenses against my movement. 

Her hips begin to find their rhythm against my face as she lifts her leg to give me more access to her deeper, I hear her hand her bottle off, feel her hand against the back of my head, my face pushed against her skin. I use my arms to wrap around her thighs and pull her closer to me. I can feel her getting close. I sense it in her breath, in the way her hips are moving, I know any second, I will feel her shudder and I’ll pull ecstasy from her body but just as she’s about to peak, someone insists we stop and move inside…

I begrudgingly pull away and slip inside the door following her into a darkened suite…

Cliff Diving…

She believed her world was centered around the oxygen from another’s very breath. That without it, the world would not turn. 

It would simply tilt on its axis-askew. Slip and lose its grip, its footholds sliding like stilettos on gravel roads in mid-july’s rare summer rain. 

She believed her happiness did not exist in the continuum that didn’t hold the two of them together. For so many years, her voice had carried them through good times and bad times and even more than bad times, the worst of times, the very shadow of the valley of death and yet! She left. 

She had chosen no special occasion, no specific wrong or outburst…

She hadn’t chosen at all, she became indifferent.

And indifference is a fate worse than choice.

It’s perilous, because it’s ignorance and selfishness and spiteful and even more than that…

It can only be seen in the aftermath-

In looking back, one will say, if only they would have! If only she could have! But, it’s too late. Because, you can never return to a heart unbroken. 

They do not exist, they can never exist, they will never, ever again exist. 

Goodbye Old Friend…

I’m done!

I’m done begging people to be a part of my life, being a friend, being a lover, being a means to an end. 

I’m done asking for favors, taking out loans, taking on jobs I don’t want to do just so you can have time alone. 

I’m finished worrying about your feelings, your salary, your spiritual destination and even your salvation. I don’t care about your sexual orientation and I don’t care at all if you care at all about mine. 

And I really, really don’t care about your personal PR’s and this morning’s protein shake, I don’t care that you checked in to the gym at at at 5:08. Your muscle definition doesn’t really impress me and frankly your smile these days looks hollow and sadly empty. 

Prophetic Whispering…

He tried to warn her, begged her to listen. “I don’t want to pick up the pieces”. And inside she already knew that he would. That somethings are inevitable- like dying.

Because a fragile heart can only take so much. It pulses with undeniable need until the edges begin to leak, like tears from a newborn’s eyes. No one even knows why? They only try to soothe it. To dull the pain. 

They offer it drinks,upon drinks- vodka, straight. They cover it with gifts-silk dresses. They offer it compliments- so pretty. They give it medicine- relaxers. Tell it to sleep- more pills. Feed it lies- don’t worry.  Give it chills. 

Yet, she convinced herself it wouldn’t happen. Not this time, evolution-the real deal. Even as the mortar started cracking, she closed her eyes and laughed, whispered…Peace Be Still. 

On our Own…

Sitting at a table with you by my side and I’m reminded that I like my life. Instantly, I’m thankful that there’s more to me than my career, my money or lack there of, my average income car, my weight, my looks, my children and even us. 

Even more so, I’m thrilled that what’s more of me is even less of them. A secret life, a hidden happiness, a beauty that can’t be bought. The joy of realization- a part no one can steal. 

It’s outer space, hemispherical, ethereal- like foam on the ocean’s neap tides. Love’s darker connection, traversing gender barriers and age’s firm hold, to sit together at this table, with you by my side- no part of their dull mold. 


I write things, in the middle of the night, under stary Oklahoma skies, under the guise of anonymity with the realization that hardly anyone in my life knows about or cares. 

Sometimes, I stop in the middle of the day, on an old backroad, and scribble fragmented phrases on napkins I keep, just in case. 

I bare my soul to a inanimate object in silent hope that I can somehow find myself in the words of my heart-speak. 

At dawn, I exhale my dreams into a page so that I can not forget or deny my subconscious. Because the heart has a mind of its own, and I dare not forget that it speaks. 

To whom? I do not know. To myself, to undercover writers, to shame-filled sinners, to dreamers, and society’s shunned lovers? Perhaps, because, I am all of these. 

Therefore, I will pour out from this overflowing vessel, so that it may be filled again and again to overflowing. 

The Hot Seat…

Now, you can try to hide yourself behind fancy words, new clothes, new hair, no food after five o’clock, no soda, no smoking, or happy hour but like I’ve always said, “A tiger can’t change its stripes”. 

Believe me, I know. Because damnit if I haven’t already tried. And for the most part everyone believes. Except for the select few. You know, the ones that can see right through you. 

Those people, well- They are fuckin dangerous. 

They don’t buy your confident smile, your high dollar boutique clothes, your expensive cars, your white teeth, your perfume for different seasons, your lingere, your porn addiction, your alcoholic intrusions, your secret obsessions. 

They won’t cash your check of self-dillusion, your power to please, to manipulate, to captivate, to dissimulate. It has no significance in the lives of those who stand nothing to gain. 

Truly, there’s only one or maybe two of those people who can really see. It’s no superpower, no whispered dream, no illusion, no gift, no title, no pedigree, they don’t need the help from some outside source, some cracker-jack wanna be. 

Because when you can look at someone else, you can peel away the pretense, the fear, the absolute need, you can begin to finally see, the only difference is you stopped looking at yourself to glance at me. 


She let the sun wash over every inch of her skin, she did not adorn it with clothes or swimwear, it was offered up to the sky with no false barriers.

Her palms were open, head thrown back,legs parted, back arched, eyes closed. There for the taking, she could never get enough of the warmth spreading from between her thighs.

Tiny droplets of salt water rolled downward following their gravitational pull, making people jealous of their travels.

Salty-sun kissed blonde hair swept back in a barely-there Summer breeze. It too envious of the sun’s places on her body. 

It’s scorching fingers, caressing delicate and begging skin, following the whispers of more as she turned away offering her other side.