Friday, January 15, 2016

The Feels

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are: cold ~ stand still ~ ice ~ new year ~ eskimo kiss

They were submitted by:

*no lips were harmed in the making of this blog

She stands there in the cold, waiting and looking for him. Despite the freezing temperatures the new year has shown so far and the ice clinging to the surface of the parking lot, every inch of her skin is on fire with anticipation. The last few months of imagining this moment and all that might follow for the next few days has been frustratingly tense, an exquisite ache of sorts that could only be relieved by one person.

That’s when she sees him crossing the pavement. Time stands still stretching out the final few moments keeping them apart for what seems like an eternity while her heart is beating so hard in her chest she feels like a cartoon character with a heart-on. The swirl of competing emotions—lust, adoration, awe, relief, and nervousness--is almost too much to handle when he finally sees her and makes eye contact. The connection hangs in the air between them, electric and intense, as he crosses those last few feet and stops in front of her, smiling in a way that makes her weak in the knees.

She looks up, hair a mess from the wind, and one eye covered as always. It seems unreal to finally be here after all the waiting and wanting, and for a moment, she wants to pinch herself to see if she’s dreaming. Then she thinks, fuck it…if it’s a dream, let it play. The air is warm between them, both speechless. Standing there in front of him, she gets the full picture of just how short she is in comparison, how much she likes his hands and the intensity in his eyes, how blue they are. His beard is a bit longer than when they first met, and his hat makes her smile her awkward, crooked smile. She’s fond of seeing him in that one.

The awe she feels looking at him in real time, face to face has her momentarily paralyzed. Chills wash over her skin, the silence laden with desire she has never felt so intensely, both hers and his. The way he looks at her…the feeling in that gaze wraps around her like a blanket pulling her in until she finally feels herself lift on her toes and reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck and bring him closer.

She stops just millimeters from his lips. Their noses touch barely almost like an Eskimo kiss. She bites her bottom lip like he has seen a 1000 times before but the strength of emotion in that moment must have gotten to him. He grabs her around the small of her back pulling her in close, so close she can feel just how much he wants her before their lips finally meet. The butterflies that have been so nervously fluttering in the deepest parts of her swarm now flooding her with need. She pulls back, though, breaking the kiss and staring at him intently, searching to see if he feels the same. Her need is mirrored back to her and she gasps. His hand reaches up coming to rest on the back of her neck while his other hand moves the hair out of her eyes. He kisses her forehead.

And she melts.


Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts: Baking In A Tornado The Bergham Chronicles Spatulas on Parade Rena’s World Dinosaur Superhero Mommy Not That Sarah Michelle Confessions of a part time working mom Southern Belle Charm Someone Else’s Genius The Angrivated Mom Climaxed My Brain on Kids

Friday, January 8, 2016


Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 13 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My prompt is: Start with the sentence "If only I could remember where I left my pants..."

It was submitted by:


If only I could remember where I put my pants, I could get out of here with some semblance of dignity, I might have thought.

Okay, so I wasn’t wearing pants that night but the sentiment is still the same. Actually, I had on a gray corduroy skirt with a teal, thin sweater and gray and black argyle tights. Knee high boots completed the outfit. It wasn’t exactly up to my current standards (this was several years ago), but I definitely looked pretty fucking hot that night. Some asshat at a gas station I stopped at before I drove over even offered me his phone number… which I politely declined with “hell no, fuckface” before sliding right back into the driver’s seat of the car. Apparently, I was also full of sass that evening.

So now, here I was without skirt and trying to find it without either A) waking this dude up or B) injuring myself in a dark room I was unfamiliar with. Why do single guys keep all their dirty clothes on the floor?

I know someone else out there has to know the difficulty in tracking down a garment of yours in a dark room full of haphazard piles of clothes belonging to a man you just banged.

This guy also happened to live in a house with 2 other guys and I really didn’t want to wake either of them up either. I mean, I wasn’t ashamed of what I had done, and I had a pretty fucking great time doing it (pun intended), but it would still be kind of awkward making eye contact on the way out the door considering their extensive knowledge of just how I sound when I do the deed.

I am forever a loudmouth.

It took some time, but I finally managed to crawl around in the dark feeling through dirty man clothes to track down the skirt, the undies, and the tights. I was able to get the skirt and undies on there in the dark, but I said fuck the tights…and the boots. I wadded up the tights, shoved them in a boot, made a stop in the bathroom to make sure I didn’t look too fucking crazy, and made my way out of the apartment into the misty, gray morning. The asphalt in the parking lot was dewy and cold, but it wasn’t freezing out. It was a good kind of cold that refreshed me even as it gave me chill bumps. I made it to the car thoroughly chilled, cranked the heat up, and pulled out of the parking lot. It might have been 7 or 8ish in the morning and I had been there all night; the exact way home was a bit fuzzy, so I navigated on my phone, put on some tunes, and got a little lost in thought about the evening before.

The sex had been good. Great even. And the guy was pretty gorgeous as far as my standards go. Beard. Longish hair. Big. No, not that kind of big. I mean chubby. But he wasn’t bad in the other department either. (insert heart-eyed swooning emoji). Intelligent. Witty. Slightly strange. All the things I like in a dude, right? Right. But like me, he was also a tad bit socially awkward. Okay, maybe saying a tad bit is a little generous. We were a wreck.

It had me laughing all the way home in that way that comes from deep down in your bones because you can’t believe what the fuck you said to another human being. We didn’t just have sex, we talked, we fondled and made out and had sex more and talked some more. That kind of night. And in those times, we talked about life and moving on and the past and movies and music because always.

He said: I wish I had done more things in life, traveled more, seen more… Like what if I stopped at a truckstop on a road trip and blew Michael Bolton the bathroom?

I said: Even *I* wouldn’t blow Michael Bolton in a truckstop bathroom….. wait….


I said: Phone sex is pretty good if that’s all you’ve got.

He said: I don’t know…I feel like I might get all weird during phone sex and not know what to say then suddenly I’m there saying “I want to fuck you on a goat, girl…..” and things just downward spiral from there.

I died.

He said: what if we get freaky with it a church bathroom one day.

I said: Maybe I can get on my knees and pray for forgiveness.

He said: We should do this again sometime.

I said: Maybe we can do more than fuck next time.

He said: I can probably put up with you.

I said: Same.

I don’t know if it counts as a one night stand since we have technically remained in contact over the years, but we never really hung out again. Life intervened and any time we reconnected the cards never fell in such a way that we were brought together again, but for that one night, that one night only, that little single serving dose of human connection made a lasting memory that still makes me feel a whole lot of weird and lust all at once. And for a girl like me, that’s as good a place in my brain as a dude can hope for.


Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there: Baking In A Tornado Dinosaur Superhero Mommy The Bergham Chronicles The Lieber Family Blog Spatulas on Parade Rena’s World Not That Sarah Michelle Confessions of a part time working mom Southern Belle Charm Someone Else’s Genius My Brain on Kids Climaxed The Angrivated Mom