I am tired.
and I still have to finish packing, just a little bit.
the house is a wreck AGAIN (see: 4 year old twin boys)
and I just realized I haven't arranged anyone to feed the cat.
nor have i cleaned her litter box in what looks like a week and is probably more like 2 days.
I did, however, have a marvelous massage earlier this evening.
a professional-in-training one.
and it was, well, as I said, "marvelous".
the evening was filled with clusterfucks, however, and i just smashed my brain against the top bunk as I tucked in bottom-bunk boy.
i ate too many non-tree-derived cookies,
and skipped the weight training part of my workout (doubled the cardio though) because my FUCKING i(mposter)pod's 14 hour cellphone-esque battery died.
...if i could form a few more creative words that would be great.
I count 5--if you can find them all you get a prize.
I shall warn you, I've offered prizes before...
they usually consist of a jpeg...
FLIPPING THE BIRD.
cuz I don't really DO prizes, and i happen to think it's funny/clever/cute/non-lame to tell people to fuck off, with my hands.
don't fuck off with MY hands, please--use your own.
you're welcome to my hands anytime, dream lover.
anyway, I actually know it's not funny or clever or cute and it can even be sometimes construed as lame...
but it still makes me giggle.
and no, not particularly like a school-girl.
more like a maniac.
maybe i could write a porned-up version of cinderella,
or a happied-up version of Wild Things.
maybe I could tell you about the time--
but i don't remember any times.
well, not any pre-marriage times.
I'm not trying to claim i have completely forgotten them, it's just that the details are losing color like a shirt in bleach.
nah, i guess that's not it.
i could still work with it, if i had the energy.
my mind is just plain foggy.
also, just so's ya know--
my belly is rumbling like a semi over a bridge.
and not cuz i'm hungry.
THANKS goddamn Murphy's Law asshole--
going on my lil trip tomorrow, sick today.
so how was THAT for the anti-Fanti?
(fanti could be short for fantasy friday...and i think that makes 7)
since I'm a huge slacker, and most of you are either newbies or (i hope)have shitty memories--
here's a Re-run
(if ya haven't seen it, it's new to you, etc)
--********Blue Collar Caller (as opposed to Gentleman Caller...hee hee)************
Without a word, you step through the door.
I don't even know your name, just your face and the roar of your Harley.
my pulse quickens, like a cliche.
I step back, you close the door.
you remove your sunglasses, and my stomach leaps to my throat as our eyes meet.
this is it, I think.
you step closer, removing my shirt in one fluid motion.
before the shock can register, i'm against the wall,
with you filling my field of vision,
your mouth finding mine.
I have always known it would be like this, as I watched you from my kitchen window.
working on your bike, smoking.
nothing else exists.
I tear at your belt, finally getting to what's inside and reveling in that first touch
--the smooth, dry skin against my hands, I begin with a light massage.
you smile down at me, almost a sneer, showing your approval.
you thought I might resist.
apparently you never saw me watching.
you with your tattoos and earrings, your bike, your blue collar quietness.
I want to push you down, slide on top.
you are in control, and it makes me squirm, adding to the pleasure.
your hands rough from building houses feel like warm sand paper against my skin, and I don't want you to ever stop touching me.
as your shirt comes off, I bite your neck, you grab my hair and pull my head back, biting back, licking...
i've already started moaning and you're not even inside...
you kiss me on the mouth, for the first time--hard.
I continue my massage, just so, thumb on the vein, rotating my wrist.
you brace yourself, hands on the wall on either side of me and let it rock you.
I stop abruptly and stand still.
the gleam in your eye is mixed with anger and pleasure.
you easily encircle both my wrists and pin them above my head, as you slide inside.
finally, an end to the torment of wanting.
and the beginning of the sweetest torment of all...
you release my hands and kiss me softly, as if to reassure me that the tough guy act is just an act.
I bite your lip, and sink my nails into your back.
you kiss me again and I can't take anymore...
I push you onto the table and pin your arms, with a defiant half-smile.
i'm almost there...so close...
you break free of my loose grip and spank me, just right, sending me over the edge.
we tumble to the floor in exhaustion, and you say drily, "wanna catch dinner sometime?"
happy weekend ladies and gents--