FFF

 

 

"C'mon", he'd said, "we'll have drink a few beers, we'll have a few laughs . . . it will be fun".

 

Lying bastard.

 

Her mother had told her . . . had told her and told her and told her.

 

"You know what happens to a young girl who listens to a smooth talkin' cowboy lookin' to sow some wild oats .. . . "

 

"Yes mama, I know", she'd answer.  Then she and her mother would say together in chorus, "she winds up naked in the desert wearin' only her boots".

 

And now here she was - naked in the desert wearin' only her boots.

 

She guessed she'd need to make an appointment w her Ob/gyn when she finally trekked home.  This was how mama had become pregnant w her.

 

 

 



FFF

 

She stood on the stairwell looking up into a big blue wall.  A deep voice sounded from the other side of the barrier.

 

"Sorry, I'm sorry, my brother bailed on me, he was given tickets to the ball game, I wasn't supposed to be moving in by myself".

 

And of course, the elevator was out of order.  The damned thing was always out of order.  Her choice - to help the voice or stay stuck behind the blue wall.

 

"I can help".  Together they carried the mattress up another two flights.  They dropped the mattress when they finally got it out of the stairwell.

 

She could finally see the face that went w the voice.  Not bad.  He smiled, holding out his hand, and started to give his name.  She placed her finger to his lips saying "no names".  Then she pushed him backwards down onto the mattress. A moment later, her pants were off and she was climbing astride him.  She slipped her blouse off as she slipped him inside of her. 

 

"Tell me you love me", she said.

 

"i don't even know your name".

 

"Does it matter?"

 

"No, no . . . I love you".

 

"Tell me your going to fill me w your cum".

 

"I'm going to pump you full of my cum".

 

And then he did.

 

She leaned over him, her long hair falling around his face, blocking out the rest of the world.  She could feel his dick still strong within her.  They kissed for the first time.  "Who do you think is having more fun now, you or your brother counting Ichiro's stolen bases?"

 

They laughed and she joked that he should text his brother.  He responded to her challenge and did texted away. 

 

"Ask him next if he had as much fun when he was fucking my sister".

 



The War Resumes

I thought that Blogger and me had declared a cease fire.  Then, this evening I decide to quickly respond to a few emails and catch up on some reading when I see that Blogger has struck again.  Various pictures have disappeared again.  No dreaded white bar this time, instead there is just nothing.  A big gaping black hole of nothing.  Bastards!!!  Why does Blogger hate me so much.  What did I ever do.  I'm just a girl trying to talk about her fucked up love-life and post the occasional naked picture . . . sometimes even of herself.  I'd think most red blooded American boys would be screaming "Hell Yeah".  So frustrating.  Its just a few pictures right now, but I anticipate more will slowly fall into the creeping black hole.  After a few days and after Blogger has had its fun, then I will re-post a few.  Grrrr!!!!!

And they strike again . . . by putting everything back!!!  I swear there were black holes.  I posted the paragraph above, then went to review the damage again - and everything was back!!!!  I promise its not the wine I had to drink tonight. 

Ugh, this is enough to make Rachel stop drinking forever . . . or maybe to keep drinking forever. 

About Writing

There are two reasons I occasionally indulge in FFF.  The first is I have a secret crush on Advizor and he enjoys FFF.  The second is that I like to write.

 

I really do enjoy writing.  I love the entire process of brainstorming ideas and then developing those ideas.  I forget who, but I vaguely recall reading a poet who compared her writing process to giving birth.  Sadly, as much as I love it, no matter what the story or how much I may like what I've written, I always wait anxiously for the criticism.

 

I blame Miss Bitch (my nickname for a particular high school teacher).  I was a Junior at the time.  She taught World Lit.  I forget now exactly what the assignment was.  We were supposed to write a report.  I forget the paper.  But I remember the introduction.  My introduction was from the eyes of a caveman; initially telling his stories orally and then later recording some through prehistoric artwork.  I was proud of that introduction.  It was, to date, the most creative thing I had ever written.  She returned the papers a few days later.  On mine, she wrote the introduction "sounds copied".  She graded accordingly.  I argued some, but knew there was no point arguing much w Miss Bitch.  I've always been mad at myself for not arguing more forcefully.  I think that's also a part of why I get so irritated when I think someone now is being fair towards me.  And it probably contributes to my always expecting the worst.

 

The comments I get from others mean a lot to me.  Everyone has been so supportive and have always had had a kind word.  I need to tell everyone that your are great.

 



FFF



She stared at the two women in the kettle.  The fire beneath them was hot.  They were hotter.

 

She turned to watch the Voodoo Priest as he said more chants and tended the fire.  She had paid him to keep the fire on simmer throughout the night.  Getting to watch was part of the deal.  The women were not really in the kettle.  It was an illusion created by the spell.  She'd placed their representation into the kettle.  As the water began to warm so to did their blood - and their passion.  The spell was difficult, but the real trick was in maintaining the fire.  She wanted their passions to remain hot; their bodies in bed together writhing and moaning w need.  But this was dark magic.  And that was the only reason more men did not use it.  It came w a cost.

 

The longer the fire simmered, the greater the cost.  The cost was unpredictable.  The woman may become pregnant despite any form of birth control used or even if she had long been infertile.  And then the pregnant woman would make her lover pay and pay and pay.  She may become obsessive and jealous.  It was impossible to know in advance what would happen.  The only thing for sure was that the emotions which followed would equal the passions from the spell.  The cost was unpredictable. But it was always intense.  And, she smiled, looking again at the two women, it would be all the more intense because there were two women in this spell.

 

Angrily she imagined the two women in bed now w her husband.  He had slept w each and she'd learned about it.  Now, the spell had placed all three in bed together.  She had not included his likeness into the kettle because men did not require magic to jump into bed w a woman.  Her husband was just an idiot.  Idiots don't know any better.  Her two best friends should have known better.

 

 

 

FFF

He was running late.  And at age 80, retired, w no real responsibilities, w basically nothing to do, it boggled his mind how he still managed to be late.  Despite being rushed, he moved w a grace and stealth that defied his age.  If anyone had been sitting along his path w their eyes closed, they would never have heard his passing.  He was still that good.  For years, his life had depended on it.  Growing up, having to provide for the family after his father died, he learned the necessity of tracking his game quietly.  Then came the war.  A friend bragged about his skill w hunting.  Next thing he knew, he was volunteered to recon behind enemy lines.  Being silent used to mean a good hunt, then it meant staying alive.  He thought he'd put that behind him after the war, but then the Sheriff came asking for his help to track a killer in the badlands.  He knew when he saddled his horse that day that he'd be tracking men for the rest of his life.  He hadn't been wrong.  Fifty years w the law; he'd hunted and caught more killers than anyone could recall.  But he could recall them, every single one, especially the ones he'd killed.  Being quiet then meant his staying alive and maybe stopping a killer from ever killing again.  But now, today, being quiet and moving w stealth was not about staying alive.  It just meant he'd get to smile again.  If only for a little while.

 

She knew about Hunter.  He was a legend.  And the legend had even saved her life once.  It was about ten years ago, she'd have been eleven at the time.  She'd gotten mad at her older brother.  He wouldn't take her exploring w him and his friends; so she went off exploring on her own.  She'd found a dried up well which she imagined to be a mine shaft full of hidden treasure.  She stood on the platform trying to see any treasures left below.  The wood was long since rotten and not able to support her - a scream, a fall, she was trapped . . . and no one knew where she was.  It was her brother who noticed her missing ran to find Hunter.  Hunter had only just retired to the place nearby.  Her brother begged for his help, saying she wouldn't have stayed out past dark.  Neighbors were already gathering, but Hunter went alone w just her brother.  He soon found her.  Her brother climbed down a rope to help her get out and Hunter carried her all the way home.  They had been her hero's ever since.

 

She knew he was out there.  The past year, she vistied taking him treats weekly and made certain to mention that she bathed regularly in the cement pond when everyone was gone.  She didn't have to see him to know that he was out there.  He had been sad, but started to seem much happier afterwards.

I Hate Funerals

I hate going to funerals.  Although I guess it would be weird if I looked forward to them.  I went w Daddy today to a funeral for a relative of his.  I guess of mine too, but I had never really met them.  And, despite having just been at his funeral, I really still don't know anything about him.  I think that's what I hate most about funerals.  Yes, they're sad.  They're supposed to be sad.  What I don't understand is why funerals almost never talk about the actual person.  Most are sermons.  A brief mention of the person's name who passed, their date of birth, the date they died, then a sermon like I'm sitting in church . . . except that there is an casket up front.  And today the preacher kept calling it a "celebration", only he never said anything about the actual person.  I went to a funeral once.  It was a procession of one person after another telling a memory about the man.  I liked that.   I remember another where the preacher had been at visitation the night before.  I remembered him talking to everyone about the lady who had died, listening to their stories.  The next day, he included many of them when he stood to speak.  I wanted my mom's to be so much more.  Instead, it was like today's and that bothers me now.

 

And then Daddy said something afterwards which bothers me too.  I was stupidly ranting about funerals, not unlike what I just did . . . minus the bit about mom.  He said not to even bother w his.  I said something like, "oh please, yours will be huge, w fireworks even".  And that's when he said it - "no one will come".  I thought he was joking at first, then realized he was serious.  He really believes that no one will come to his funeral.  I reminded him that he knew "like everyone".  "Yeah," he said, "I know everyone, but not really friends w any of them".  I tried to tell him that everyone called him for everything which just got the same type of response.  "Yeah, people call me when they need me".  I kind of realized this tied back in w the funeral today then.  Daddy loves his extended family.  His dad had died at a young age.  Daddy tried to bond w his father's family to be closer to his father that passed.  But they all kind of drifted into their own different clans.  No one really invited Daddy into theirs.  Daddy would get called when someone needed something, but then years might go by w/o his hearing from them.  It hurt his feelings.  After a while, he just stopped trying.  I'm not quite sure how this translated into having no one at his funeral, but it did.

 

I hate funerals.

Weekend w Tree IV

I might live.  Whatever I've had the last several weeks seem to have finally run its course.  I'd forgotten what it was like to not feel sick.  Now I just have no energy.  Stamina is shot.   And, as weird as it might sound, I took today off to celebrate feeling good for a change. 

Seems like a good time to finish out my weekend w Tree.  (It seems like a lifetime ago now).

The rest of our weekend together was kind of cute.  It took a while before I realized he was testing the bounds of our balcony conversation the night before.  What can I say, I was too caught up w being in my happy place.

We were getting ready to go out for brunch.  I'm in front of the mirror putting on my face.  Tree smacks my ass as he's walking past from the shower.  I wiggle it and jokingly tell him not to stop.  He steps back.  I'm thinking he's going to swat my ass again, so I'm just kind of smiling and waiting for the inevitable.  Instead, he starts pulling my panties down; not all the way, just enough to gain access.  At one point, he's pulling on my hare like its a horse's mane and he's smacking my ass w his other hand while he's riding me for all I've got.  I sat a little tenderly when we did finally get to the cafe, but it was a pleasant reminder of our morning tryst.

The rest of the day went pretty much like that.  I was sitting next to him on the sofa watching television, when he pulled me onto his lap to start kissing me; a few minutes later, my pants were off and I was straddling him.   He seemed to love catching me as I'm walking away from him or past him.  He'd grab my wrist and pull me back for just a kiss.  Other times, he would grab my wrist pulling me back only to start pulling my pants down.  I grabbed my ankles all over that hotel room.  Of course, the more success he had . . . meaning the lack of resistance from me . . . the more aggressive he became.

I think two of my more favorite moments occurred much later in the evening.  During the first, we had just finished dinner and we had planned to drive over to a bar which had a band.  He takes us back to the hotel first telling me how beautiful I looked during dinner.  I finally catch on when he's holding my hand and all but running back to the aparmtment.  "Oooh, I realized, "he wants some more 'quality' time together".

 

Another special moment occured following a walk on the beach.  It was beautiful on the beach.  Just the two of us.  Holding hands.  Walking.  More than once, I would stop to kiss him.  Or he'd stop to kiss me.  Later, he stood behind me, w me facing the ocean, his arms around me.  He kissed me along the nape of my neck; his hands roaming and caressing all the right places.  It wasn't long before I was pulling him back to the room. 

 

When I am in a very special place emotionally, one of my favorite positions on my back w my legs over his shoulders.  It's hard to describe what I'm feeling then.  I'm pretty much lost in the moment.  Tree got me into this position and he must have liked what he saw or felt - he kept me doubled up.  And keep in mind that he had cum several times that day already - Rachel was fucked for a very long time.  No complaints from me!!!