*... continued ...*
Chris closed his eyes in surrender.
Jenna had obviously made her mind up and she seemed to be convincing him as well. Slowly, she molded her fingers around his hardness, squeezing lightly against the head of his organ. He let out a ghost of a whisper, as he relaxed against his will. Jenna seized the opportunity and took his lower lip between hers, cradling his chiseled jawline with her free hand. She sucked on it as hard as she could, threatening to pull it off into her mouth. She smiled to herself as his bulk seemed to melt into her arms. She grazed her teeth against the soft innards of his lip.
Then he snapped.
With a rigor that took her by surprise, he grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into the air, firmly pressing her back against the cold glass walls of the shower. A passionate desire burned behind his eyes, something she had never seen before. She knotted her legs firmly around his midriff, locking her ankles behind him and slyly pulled him into her. She offered him her neck, which he took almost violently. His lips ravaged her thin sensitive skin, nibbling and sucking in all the right places. Her nerve endings swam in delight, thankful for the layer of flowing water that diluted the intensity of his kisses. His nails trailed teasingly down over her sides, flowing along the rivulets of water that poured from her wet hair. She made mental maps of everything he was doing. And then his tongue surprised her, darting out from between his parted lips to further torment her neck. It swirled its way up her neck towards her jawline. Then slowly along the contour towards her ear. He slowly took her ear lobe into his mouth and tickled it with his tongue. Her head tilted towards his mouth of its own accord. Her brain seemed to be swarmed with contrasting senses; the cold of the shower wall and the warmth of the water, the softness of his skin and the firmness of his body. She could feel one of his hands snaking its way up over her stomach. His palm cupped round her breast and he squeezed hard.
A pulse rang through her body. She lost some control of her legs and they began to quiver. She knew she was dripping over his lower abdomen, he didn't seem to care. Her nipple hardened slightly as soon as his fingertip grazed it. He circled slowly over the dark knot, applying gentle pressure against it. She tensed as it hardened to his expert touch. He rolled it vigorously between his fingertips and made her squirm against him. His palm seemed to be sculpted for her breast to fit perfectly into his grasp. He rolled his smooth palm over her rock-hard nipple, ripping into her self-composure. She moaned deep and long. She hated that how he always robbed her of control she possessed at the beginning, but also never complained about letting him take charge.
But tonight was hers.
Wrapping her hands behind his neck, she pulled his lips into hers, tracing across them with her tongue, asking him to open up to her. He parted his lips and she accepted his invitation, snaking her way into his mouth, nuzzling her tongue around his. She sucked gingerly, the way she knew he liked and his manhood responded with an approving nod. She held on to his rod and pulled on it, working her way up his shaft. She could feel vibrations running through him. She worked it faster. He sunk slowly as he whispered a moan. She caught it in her mouth and kissed him hard.
She pulled away for a second and whispered almost inaudibly:
"I want you."
* ... to be continued ... *
*
Friday 9 November 2012
Wednesday 24 October 2012
Insight (Into Me)
Many people see me, but do not know me.
I understand how that must feel.
Sometimes I barely understand myself too.
I am discovering myself further everyday.
Learning while I work and while I play.
17 years I have lived with me.
Yet, I still find new ways to surprise myself.
New boundaries to push and test.
New extremes to subject myself to.
New places to go and things to do.
They say I have many talents.
Don't be deceived. It's not true.
As far as I know, I only have two;
The ability to learn,
And a powerful determination
To attain that which I yearn.
I'm lazy but I dream big.
This is both a blessing and a curse.
Because sometimes, my ability is my own hearse.
When I have a goal, be it in a day or a year,
I strap up my boots and I work my way there.
I can be unrealistically optimistic.
An impossiblist if you will, it's unhealthy.
Because when I set a goal beyond my grasp,
My failure is inevitable.
Failure is followed by self-reproach.
Self-reproach invites INSECURITIES.
I am riddled by many of those.
Ugh, the pressure is immense.
It crushes me in every sense.
Physically, mentally, emotionally.
It harasses me from all sides.
From my parents, peers, society and from inside.
I fear mediocrity, it's an idea I cannot bear.
But not in itself. In reality, it is my potential I fear.
They say ignorance is bliss and such it is shown.
Because left to myself, I would not have known
Of this "potential" hidden in me
That everyone else tends to see.
But now it has been spoken of, I am aware
It would be a shame to let it waste away
I must blossom and develop a name
A legacy to look back and smile on when I am old and gray.
However, this lays a question heavy on my breast
And I need to address it to experience rest.
In all honesty, who do I do this for?
Is it really for me? Or do I labour for the score
Of people who implore that I can amount to more?
Do I work myself sore for those who adore my candor
And those who find valor in my fulfillment of the requirements
Of those who came before?
I try to convince myself that I sweat for me.
That my passions are my passions because na so dem be.
But when I fail at something, I don't feel quite the same.
What if I am not who I think and someone else is to blame?
Can you really term me 'intelligent' based on numbers on a sheet?
There's so much on my mind, I don't know what to say.
I started this in fitful rage but it seems my anger has faded away.
I think I was angry at myself, I can't even remember why.
But I've now sunk more into thought than I was before.
I cant' even maintain a train of reasoning anymore.
Screw this, I'm going to get food.
I understand how that must feel.
Sometimes I barely understand myself too.
I am discovering myself further everyday.
Learning while I work and while I play.
17 years I have lived with me.
Yet, I still find new ways to surprise myself.
New boundaries to push and test.
New extremes to subject myself to.
New places to go and things to do.
They say I have many talents.
Don't be deceived. It's not true.
As far as I know, I only have two;
The ability to learn,
And a powerful determination
To attain that which I yearn.
I'm lazy but I dream big.
This is both a blessing and a curse.
Because sometimes, my ability is my own hearse.
When I have a goal, be it in a day or a year,
I strap up my boots and I work my way there.
I can be unrealistically optimistic.
An impossiblist if you will, it's unhealthy.
Because when I set a goal beyond my grasp,
My failure is inevitable.
Failure is followed by self-reproach.
Self-reproach invites INSECURITIES.
I am riddled by many of those.
Ugh, the pressure is immense.
It crushes me in every sense.
Physically, mentally, emotionally.
It harasses me from all sides.
From my parents, peers, society and from inside.
I fear mediocrity, it's an idea I cannot bear.
But not in itself. In reality, it is my potential I fear.
They say ignorance is bliss and such it is shown.
Because left to myself, I would not have known
Of this "potential" hidden in me
That everyone else tends to see.
But now it has been spoken of, I am aware
It would be a shame to let it waste away
I must blossom and develop a name
A legacy to look back and smile on when I am old and gray.
However, this lays a question heavy on my breast
And I need to address it to experience rest.
In all honesty, who do I do this for?
Is it really for me? Or do I labour for the score
Of people who implore that I can amount to more?
Do I work myself sore for those who adore my candor
And those who find valor in my fulfillment of the requirements
Of those who came before?
I try to convince myself that I sweat for me.
That my passions are my passions because na so dem be.
But when I fail at something, I don't feel quite the same.
What if I am not who I think and someone else is to blame?
Can you really term me 'intelligent' based on numbers on a sheet?
There's so much on my mind, I don't know what to say.
I started this in fitful rage but it seems my anger has faded away.
I think I was angry at myself, I can't even remember why.
But I've now sunk more into thought than I was before.
I cant' even maintain a train of reasoning anymore.
Screw this, I'm going to get food.
Saturday 13 October 2012
You know that feeling..
You're walking through the park
The sun shining, not too hot
The wind blowing, not too cold
And nature seems to be happy with you
You see the children playing
Shouting, not too loud
Falling, not too hard
And you can tell they're having fun
You see the couples together
Kissing, not too gross
Arguing, not too angry
And you know they're gonna last
You know that feeling...
That makes you smile to yourself
That makes you laugh in your head
That makes you sing in the shower
And dance when your walking on the road
Yeah, that one.
I like that shit.
: D.
You're walking through the park
The sun shining, not too hot
The wind blowing, not too cold
And nature seems to be happy with you
You see the children playing
Shouting, not too loud
Falling, not too hard
And you can tell they're having fun
You see the couples together
Kissing, not too gross
Arguing, not too angry
And you know they're gonna last
You know that feeling...
That makes you smile to yourself
That makes you laugh in your head
That makes you sing in the shower
And dance when your walking on the road
Yeah, that one.
I like that shit.
: D.
Tuesday 9 October 2012
A Quickie
There had been this tingling in Jenna's lower belly all night.
She started feeling it as Chris was leaving to the gym. She watched him haul his gym bag out the glass front door and studied the tension in his arms. She suddenly wanted those arms around her but she couldn't stop him from leaving. He was a busy man and lived on such a strictly timed schedule. But everything about him seemed so much more enticing as he walked down the walkway towards the little silver Porsche parked in front of their hibiscus patch.
She sat quietly in the living room, a glass of cheap red wine on the coffee table by her leg. The television was off and she sulked in the dull yellow light emanating from the artificial torches on the walls round the room. The tightening in her abdomen grew tighter as she waited, silently. A quick glance at the grandfather clock reminded her that there were still eight minutes separating her and Chris's return. Even then, it took him roughly 30 minutes to freshen up and head to the bowling alley for his weekly practice. When he came back, he would return to his paperwork until bedtime. Jenna hated how precise he was.
At 8:03 pm, right on cue, the violet fog-lights of his roadster turned into the driveway. The engine died and she heard the door slam. She closed her eyes and let her ears pick up every vibration. The jangling of keys as he fumbled with the lock. A quick wipe of his running shoes on the welcome mat. The squeak of the soles against the polished hardwood flooring in the hallway. She lifted herself out of the chair and glided over the carpet noiselessly.
"Feel good?", she asked, just as she did every time he came home from the gym. She poised herself against the edge of the arc dividing the living room from the hallway.
He swept a gaze over her, visibly surprised that she was in a bathrobe.
"As good as possible", he replied the exact way he did every day.
He flashed her an innocent smile, oblivious to what he was secretly doing to her. His skin shone a heavenly bronze in the ember lighting, the sweat giving him a polished look. She swallowed hard as she drank in his appearance. The wife-beater he sported displayed his flawless arms in expert fashion. His thick pectorals and abs shadowing through the material. Her gaze followed the contour of his slimming waist upwards towards his chest and up to his chiseled jawline. A light shadowy beard lingered; the result of his recent abstaining from daily shaving. He ran his shocking pink tongue slowly over his tight dry lips. The motion chipped away significantly at her stability.
"I'll be in the shower" he said, drawing her back to Earth.
"Okay", she smiled. "I'll be there with the wine"
"Wine?", he giggled coyly. "Guess I might be stopping at your glass before I leave then".
"You're invited", she smiled and retreated to the couch slowly.
She sank into the plush leather couch and let out a heavy sigh, her breaths slightly short and raspy. What was this feeling eating her insides up? Heavy footsteps bound up the stairs two at a time. The bedroom door slammed shut and images of him undressing invaded her mind. Her lips tightened as the vivid imaginations played across her thoughts. The leather squeaked as she squirmed in her seat. After a few moments, she found herself venturing up the stairs, following the sounds from the bathroom. Slowly, she cracked the door open wide enough to peep in. The thick glass of the cylindrical Delta shower was frosted over but left just enough of Chris visible to help her affirm her decision. The knot around her waist came loose in her fingers as she undraped the bathrobe from her shoulders. She strode in confidently as the cotton fell away from her frame. A cold draught ran across her, alerting her nipples to the situation. They, in turn, stood at attention in apprehension. Chris spun around in shock as she opened the door and stepped in.
"JENNA! What the hell are you doing?"
That couldn't be anger in his voice, could it? She was honestly too horny to care.
Being this close to his nakedness created this electric sensation in her. The hot water flowing over her skin heightened the sensuality of the situation. The wine had gotten to her and she was a bit light-headed but she knew exactly what she wanted. She ran her palm down the flatness of his belly.
"I really don't have time for this, you know?"
His body was telling a different story however. He seemed to want this more than he knew, as his organ was responding to her touch. She wrapped her hand delicately around his hardness. He opened his mouth to protest but he was cut short by her index finger.
"Shhhh...", she whispered almost inaudibly, already stroking his shaft slowly.
"It'll just be a quickie"
* ... to be continued ... *
She started feeling it as Chris was leaving to the gym. She watched him haul his gym bag out the glass front door and studied the tension in his arms. She suddenly wanted those arms around her but she couldn't stop him from leaving. He was a busy man and lived on such a strictly timed schedule. But everything about him seemed so much more enticing as he walked down the walkway towards the little silver Porsche parked in front of their hibiscus patch.
She sat quietly in the living room, a glass of cheap red wine on the coffee table by her leg. The television was off and she sulked in the dull yellow light emanating from the artificial torches on the walls round the room. The tightening in her abdomen grew tighter as she waited, silently. A quick glance at the grandfather clock reminded her that there were still eight minutes separating her and Chris's return. Even then, it took him roughly 30 minutes to freshen up and head to the bowling alley for his weekly practice. When he came back, he would return to his paperwork until bedtime. Jenna hated how precise he was.
At 8:03 pm, right on cue, the violet fog-lights of his roadster turned into the driveway. The engine died and she heard the door slam. She closed her eyes and let her ears pick up every vibration. The jangling of keys as he fumbled with the lock. A quick wipe of his running shoes on the welcome mat. The squeak of the soles against the polished hardwood flooring in the hallway. She lifted herself out of the chair and glided over the carpet noiselessly.
"Feel good?", she asked, just as she did every time he came home from the gym. She poised herself against the edge of the arc dividing the living room from the hallway.
He swept a gaze over her, visibly surprised that she was in a bathrobe.
"As good as possible", he replied the exact way he did every day.
He flashed her an innocent smile, oblivious to what he was secretly doing to her. His skin shone a heavenly bronze in the ember lighting, the sweat giving him a polished look. She swallowed hard as she drank in his appearance. The wife-beater he sported displayed his flawless arms in expert fashion. His thick pectorals and abs shadowing through the material. Her gaze followed the contour of his slimming waist upwards towards his chest and up to his chiseled jawline. A light shadowy beard lingered; the result of his recent abstaining from daily shaving. He ran his shocking pink tongue slowly over his tight dry lips. The motion chipped away significantly at her stability.
"I'll be in the shower" he said, drawing her back to Earth.
"Okay", she smiled. "I'll be there with the wine"
"Wine?", he giggled coyly. "Guess I might be stopping at your glass before I leave then".
"You're invited", she smiled and retreated to the couch slowly.
She sank into the plush leather couch and let out a heavy sigh, her breaths slightly short and raspy. What was this feeling eating her insides up? Heavy footsteps bound up the stairs two at a time. The bedroom door slammed shut and images of him undressing invaded her mind. Her lips tightened as the vivid imaginations played across her thoughts. The leather squeaked as she squirmed in her seat. After a few moments, she found herself venturing up the stairs, following the sounds from the bathroom. Slowly, she cracked the door open wide enough to peep in. The thick glass of the cylindrical Delta shower was frosted over but left just enough of Chris visible to help her affirm her decision. The knot around her waist came loose in her fingers as she undraped the bathrobe from her shoulders. She strode in confidently as the cotton fell away from her frame. A cold draught ran across her, alerting her nipples to the situation. They, in turn, stood at attention in apprehension. Chris spun around in shock as she opened the door and stepped in.
"JENNA! What the hell are you doing?"
That couldn't be anger in his voice, could it? She was honestly too horny to care.
Being this close to his nakedness created this electric sensation in her. The hot water flowing over her skin heightened the sensuality of the situation. The wine had gotten to her and she was a bit light-headed but she knew exactly what she wanted. She ran her palm down the flatness of his belly.
"I really don't have time for this, you know?"
His body was telling a different story however. He seemed to want this more than he knew, as his organ was responding to her touch. She wrapped her hand delicately around his hardness. He opened his mouth to protest but he was cut short by her index finger.
"Shhhh...", she whispered almost inaudibly, already stroking his shaft slowly.
"It'll just be a quickie"
* ... to be continued ... *
Monday 8 October 2012
Wednesday 3 October 2012
Fill His Shoes
Tianga always knew what Mama was cooking before he got home. The dry air and wispy breeze meant that smells travelled far. The clay pot on his head felt considerably lighter than when he had filled it up at the stream. His shirt was stuck to his torso in awkward places and the faded green colour looked a rich azure where his sweat had moistened it. Bingo, one of the few goats remaining,lay on a little grass patch beside the enormous oak tree. Tianga trod carefully through a few dry shrubs as Bingo bleated lazily to announce his arrival.
"Tianga!", Mama's voiced called out from somewhere behind the small brick house.
He lay the pot down next to a considerably smaller one his sister had brought home a few minutes earlier. He was the eldest and, accordingly, he had the biggest pot to carry.
"I have returned, Mama", he greeted in the native dialect as he rounded the building to join his mother.
He found her bent over some graying firewood, fanning frantically at the pot of fresh meat atop it. Her pockmarked wrapper was coming loose slowly and threatened to leave her body bare. Her breasts were already exposed. She payed no attention to the wrapper however, as she was transfixed on the food, as if stopping to redress herself for a second would give the food opportunity to escape. Tianga always thought she was most beautiful when she was cooking; her dark coal-hued skin with a reflective layer of sweat giving her the sheen of newly polished mahogany. Her brow furrowed over her lithe East African nose, shadowing cat-like eyes similar to those of the lions that ran wild in the savannah; focused and sincere. Her graceful lean legs bearing dust from the hard clay ground. Her motherly instinct shone through her expression whenever she was with her family or doing something for them.
"Papa said you should join him on the corn farm when you return", she instructed without facing him.
"He will be angry that you returned so late. What kept you?"
Now she looked up at him, concern burdening her brow.
Tianga stared at his feet meekly. He felt his cheeks burning up. Mama looked at him with a knowing smile.
He had stopped downhill to see Sasilka. She was the first child of the Maputu household, the closest family to Tianga's. Tales of Sasilka's beauty had spread far and wide, and at 17, she had already received suits from men older than her own father. There was just something about her that was captivating. Her radiant dark skin glowed in the sunshine, smoother than the bark on the native wooden flute. She had the long graceful limbs of the wild antelope and shockingly robust red lips. Her eyes looked deep into the hearts of men and caused a stirring deep within their loins. Her torso entailed of mouth-watering contours in the right places. She sported a buxom bosom and her thighs seemed fit to serve as pillows for the king. And then her straight dark hair cascaded around her almond face. And the innocent little gold chain on her left ankle was downright erotic. She was born during the festivities for the goddess of beauty and so rumours circulated about how she was the goddess's incarnate, sent from above as a blessing to whichever man would get to marry her.
"It is allowed" Mama said, breaking Tianga's daydream bubble.
"Now hurry. You know your father's anger well. We do not want to awaken it over something so trivial"
She didn't need to tell him twice. A quick look at the scar on his left arm reminded him that he never again wanted to be subject to the fury of Papa's cane.
Wordlessly, he spun and took off, his feet pounding dust into the air.
* ... to be continued ... *
"Tianga!", Mama's voiced called out from somewhere behind the small brick house.
He lay the pot down next to a considerably smaller one his sister had brought home a few minutes earlier. He was the eldest and, accordingly, he had the biggest pot to carry.
"I have returned, Mama", he greeted in the native dialect as he rounded the building to join his mother.
He found her bent over some graying firewood, fanning frantically at the pot of fresh meat atop it. Her pockmarked wrapper was coming loose slowly and threatened to leave her body bare. Her breasts were already exposed. She payed no attention to the wrapper however, as she was transfixed on the food, as if stopping to redress herself for a second would give the food opportunity to escape. Tianga always thought she was most beautiful when she was cooking; her dark coal-hued skin with a reflective layer of sweat giving her the sheen of newly polished mahogany. Her brow furrowed over her lithe East African nose, shadowing cat-like eyes similar to those of the lions that ran wild in the savannah; focused and sincere. Her graceful lean legs bearing dust from the hard clay ground. Her motherly instinct shone through her expression whenever she was with her family or doing something for them.
"Papa said you should join him on the corn farm when you return", she instructed without facing him.
"He will be angry that you returned so late. What kept you?"
Now she looked up at him, concern burdening her brow.
Tianga stared at his feet meekly. He felt his cheeks burning up. Mama looked at him with a knowing smile.
He had stopped downhill to see Sasilka. She was the first child of the Maputu household, the closest family to Tianga's. Tales of Sasilka's beauty had spread far and wide, and at 17, she had already received suits from men older than her own father. There was just something about her that was captivating. Her radiant dark skin glowed in the sunshine, smoother than the bark on the native wooden flute. She had the long graceful limbs of the wild antelope and shockingly robust red lips. Her eyes looked deep into the hearts of men and caused a stirring deep within their loins. Her torso entailed of mouth-watering contours in the right places. She sported a buxom bosom and her thighs seemed fit to serve as pillows for the king. And then her straight dark hair cascaded around her almond face. And the innocent little gold chain on her left ankle was downright erotic. She was born during the festivities for the goddess of beauty and so rumours circulated about how she was the goddess's incarnate, sent from above as a blessing to whichever man would get to marry her.
"It is allowed" Mama said, breaking Tianga's daydream bubble.
"Now hurry. You know your father's anger well. We do not want to awaken it over something so trivial"
She didn't need to tell him twice. A quick look at the scar on his left arm reminded him that he never again wanted to be subject to the fury of Papa's cane.
Wordlessly, he spun and took off, his feet pounding dust into the air.
* ... to be continued ... *
Good Bye Richie
As much as I enjoyed our little meetings, this would be our last.
I walked into the diner and slithered unseen towards the back corner. Thank goodness for the poor lighting in these shady joints. Burly men in jeans and work boots littered the bar stools directly opposite the entrance. There seemed to be some sports event on the miniscule television in the corner. It served as a good pacifier for the majority of the customers here. I was thankful for it. Joe's Steak Corner had a sleazy reputation for drunken brawls. Unfortunately, I stood out like an elephant in a skating rink. The grey Armani blazer draped across my broad frame made me the subject of many stares. The Rolex on my wrist chose the wrong moment to glint in the coloured flourescent.
I took in my surroundings one more time, scanning for the exits and any other vantage points I might find useful in the event of a skirmish. But, to be honest, I wasn't dressed for such. Smoke hung in heavy clouds near the ceiling and the place reeked badly of booze. It baffled me as to why Richie chose these places. But then again, I guess he would feel more comfortable surrounded by his type. Then something caught my attention. Two tables away. Two latino thickheads. One with no hair and the other with way too many chemical products in his. Heavily tattooed arms and necks. They came in not long after me and hadn't ordered anything yet. I mean, neither had I, so it was either coincidence or we were playing the same game.
Time had taught me not to believe in coincidence.
Their gazes also lingered a bit too long.
Richie barged through the diner doors before I could change booth. I raised my undecorated arm slightly to indicate my whereabouts to him. I saw his teeth in the dark as he flashed me a big smile. His cocky redneck swagger annoyed me. His smile annoyed me. His unnecessarily noisy boots annoyed me. His presence put me off in general. The only reason I was here was because he was undoubtedly good at what he did. He pulled the chair yards away from the table and threw his bulk haphazardly into it. Even his posture annoyed me; legs crossed at the knee, one arm thrown over the back of the chair and his head down on his chest. Mannerless miscreant.
"You have the money?". He threw the question in my direction.
I took a deep breath.
"Now now Richie, didn't your mummy teach you? You don't speak till you're spoken to. Oh, wait. She was a prostitute, she didn't have time to teach you such."
I smiled to myself as his smirk disappeared. I have a nasty habit of being nasty sometimes.
I put on my business face and plowed on.
"Yes Richie, your money is ready. All 350 grand. There's only one problem"
He seemed to grimace at 'problem'.
"The problem", I continued, "is the fact that I don't want to give you the money anymore. You don't deserve it. Your last job was a failure. And now you're in legal trouble. I'm just gonna pull away like nothing ever happened."
I flashed him his own smile. An evil little thing that screams 'I have things the way I want them'. I hear the anger in his silence. I Could see his clenched knuckles under the table. He couldn't hit me. That would only deepen the legal quicksand he was sinking into.
I stood up slowly and deliberately, watching his face go red.
"Good Bye Richie"
* ... to be continued ... *
I walked into the diner and slithered unseen towards the back corner. Thank goodness for the poor lighting in these shady joints. Burly men in jeans and work boots littered the bar stools directly opposite the entrance. There seemed to be some sports event on the miniscule television in the corner. It served as a good pacifier for the majority of the customers here. I was thankful for it. Joe's Steak Corner had a sleazy reputation for drunken brawls. Unfortunately, I stood out like an elephant in a skating rink. The grey Armani blazer draped across my broad frame made me the subject of many stares. The Rolex on my wrist chose the wrong moment to glint in the coloured flourescent.
I took in my surroundings one more time, scanning for the exits and any other vantage points I might find useful in the event of a skirmish. But, to be honest, I wasn't dressed for such. Smoke hung in heavy clouds near the ceiling and the place reeked badly of booze. It baffled me as to why Richie chose these places. But then again, I guess he would feel more comfortable surrounded by his type. Then something caught my attention. Two tables away. Two latino thickheads. One with no hair and the other with way too many chemical products in his. Heavily tattooed arms and necks. They came in not long after me and hadn't ordered anything yet. I mean, neither had I, so it was either coincidence or we were playing the same game.
Time had taught me not to believe in coincidence.
Their gazes also lingered a bit too long.
Richie barged through the diner doors before I could change booth. I raised my undecorated arm slightly to indicate my whereabouts to him. I saw his teeth in the dark as he flashed me a big smile. His cocky redneck swagger annoyed me. His smile annoyed me. His unnecessarily noisy boots annoyed me. His presence put me off in general. The only reason I was here was because he was undoubtedly good at what he did. He pulled the chair yards away from the table and threw his bulk haphazardly into it. Even his posture annoyed me; legs crossed at the knee, one arm thrown over the back of the chair and his head down on his chest. Mannerless miscreant.
"You have the money?". He threw the question in my direction.
I took a deep breath.
"Now now Richie, didn't your mummy teach you? You don't speak till you're spoken to. Oh, wait. She was a prostitute, she didn't have time to teach you such."
I smiled to myself as his smirk disappeared. I have a nasty habit of being nasty sometimes.
I put on my business face and plowed on.
"Yes Richie, your money is ready. All 350 grand. There's only one problem"
He seemed to grimace at 'problem'.
"The problem", I continued, "is the fact that I don't want to give you the money anymore. You don't deserve it. Your last job was a failure. And now you're in legal trouble. I'm just gonna pull away like nothing ever happened."
I flashed him his own smile. An evil little thing that screams 'I have things the way I want them'. I hear the anger in his silence. I Could see his clenched knuckles under the table. He couldn't hit me. That would only deepen the legal quicksand he was sinking into.
I stood up slowly and deliberately, watching his face go red.
"Good Bye Richie"
* ... to be continued ... *
Tuesday 2 October 2012
Insight
You can't know what it's like.
When every minute drags longer than the last.
The beat of your heart echoes in the emptiness of your head.
The darkness seems to swim around you.
Your brain gets tired of black and invents colour by itself.
The tick and tock of the clock; the only thing breaking the deafening silence.
Your mind runs away with cars passing by.
Your imagination floods with irrationality.
Thoughts zoom through your consciousness and find no audience.
Waiting for sleep to arrest you.
To swoop down on you and rescue you from the misery.
But help is not forthcoming.
Behold, the cavalry isn't on its way.
It's you versus the night.
Every moment is a battle.
Who will buckle first?
Will the night end before your sanity does?
Round 1.
Fight.
When every minute drags longer than the last.
The beat of your heart echoes in the emptiness of your head.
The darkness seems to swim around you.
Your brain gets tired of black and invents colour by itself.
The tick and tock of the clock; the only thing breaking the deafening silence.
Your mind runs away with cars passing by.
Your imagination floods with irrationality.
Thoughts zoom through your consciousness and find no audience.
Waiting for sleep to arrest you.
To swoop down on you and rescue you from the misery.
But help is not forthcoming.
Behold, the cavalry isn't on its way.
It's you versus the night.
Every moment is a battle.
Who will buckle first?
Will the night end before your sanity does?
Round 1.
Fight.
Look with your eyes,
See with your mind.
There's a difference.
Perceive.
Hear with your ears,
Listen with your heart.
There's a difference.
Understand.
Touch with your skin.
Feel with your being.
There's a difference.
Connect.
Talk with your mouth.
Speak from your soul.
There's a difference.
Communicate.
See with your mind.
There's a difference.
Perceive.
Hear with your ears,
Listen with your heart.
There's a difference.
Understand.
Touch with your skin.
Feel with your being.
There's a difference.
Connect.
Talk with your mouth.
Speak from your soul.
There's a difference.
Communicate.
Monday 1 October 2012
Adrenaline Rush
My chest pounding,
Fingers shaking,
Hair standing.
With knotted brows,
Sweaty palms,
Drying lips.
My muscles tense,
Sweat pours,
Throat dries.
Butterflies in my stomach,
I feel light-headed,
Knees trembling.
Yet,
This is what I live for.
I feel powerful,
I feel at home,
I feel ready.
I'm ready.
Ready to roar,
Ready to go,
Ready for action.
Fingers shaking,
Hair standing.
With knotted brows,
Sweaty palms,
Drying lips.
My muscles tense,
Sweat pours,
Throat dries.
Butterflies in my stomach,
I feel light-headed,
Knees trembling.
Yet,
This is what I live for.
I feel powerful,
I feel at home,
I feel ready.
I'm ready.
Ready to roar,
Ready to go,
Ready for action.
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