I was cold hearted at 21 years old. So many horrid things had been done to me in just over two decades that I didn’t want or need anyone. Needing people was a sign of weakness and I would be damned if I would show that. Never again would I open myself up to be hurt, not at anytime and not for anyone.
The walls I built around myself were high and solid and although a few tried, no one could get close to scaling them. My walls were not only on the outside though, I saved a little of the hatred I felt for humanity for myself. Even I could not get beyond the darkness in my head and I tried to fill the void left by that emptiness with fun and laughter but never love, not for myself and certainly not for the bastard world that had hurt me so horribly.
I surrounded myself with disposable people, people I could care for but who were shallow and self centered enough to not notice that I was not a whole person, who wouldn’t know that there was something missing in me. These people wouldn’t prod into my life too much and none of them had what it took to get close enough to me to make it hard for me to let them go. They were easy to use but I never did it maliciously. I did care for them but never enough to where any of them would have the power to hurt me.
Then I met her. She was beautiful, charismatic and she sucked me into her like a black whole. A black whole has no ill intent; it just is what it is. What she was I still don’t know. Sociopath, bi-polar, demon spawn from hell...names don’t really matter but I called her Mia. Like a thief sneaking up in the dark and leaving destruction behind, she hit me hard, took what little I had and left me cold, colder than I had ever been before.
I didn’t mean to fall for her; I enjoyed my life in spite of the shallowness I kept around me. There were a few people whom I loved to fuck and have fun with and I had my acquaintances to share the gory details of my partying with, I did not need a complication like Mia.
The first time I saw her she was leaning against a pool table, waiting her turn. Her short, spiky brown hair and piercing green eyes met mine from across the bar and for a moment I could feel her in my head. It scared me, the way she looked at me, as if she could see inside of me to a place even I was barred from. The darkness inside of me parted for her and she could see straight through to my bleeding heart that had never healed from the last cruel person to use me up and throw me away.
I left the bar and didn’t return. For weeks I sat home alone, the worst thing for a person who was running from themselves, but I would rather do that than face her and the fact that maybe someone could get inside. The thought of letting someone inside scared me beyond words.
Finally I drew up my pride, reinforced my walls and gave myself a giant helping of Dutch courage and went back. She stood by the doorway as if she were waiting on me even though I knew that couldn’t be true. I walked right past her and could feel her Irish eyes bore holes in my back. I think now, looking back, that ignoring her was the worst thing I could possibly have done. A person like her can smell fear and intimidation a mile away and will use it in whatever way they can.
She cornered me a few hours and several rounds later. I was barely standing by that point, my defenses were down and I was bullet proof so I had no fear. She walked up to me and whispered in my ear.
“I’m Mia. Who are you and why do I want you so bad?” Her words tickled my ear and I couldn’t stop myself from gasping. I have had entire rounds of sex that didn’t make my knees as weak as her breath on my neck.
“I’m Michelle and I don’t know,” I manage to say through a lust filled haze.
She took my hand and led me out of the bar, put me in her car and took me home. We didn’t have sex like I thought we would. We talked. We talked until I was sober. We talked until I had to go to work. We texted and called until I thought my boss was going to fire me, then she picked me up from work and we talked some more.
After a week she knew my life story. She knew about the molestations, the rapes, the drug abuse and any other bit of information I could recall. I loved her because she listened when I told stories, horrid things that most people turn away from. Soon I was hooked on her, if she had been a drug I would have happily overdosed, if she were a train I wouldn’t have bothered to dodge her. Mia broke me down and made herself my world. It was fairly easy to do once she got beyond my walls, I didn’t have much of me to hold onto.
Months went by and I did what I was told. We never had sex but anytime I appeared to be drifting away she dangled herself in front of me, touching me, kissing me until I willingly returned to the fold. I would have done anything for a little affection; she had my heart, my body and even my soul. If she had only asked I would have laid my life down for her.
I gave her every penny she asked for, bought her food, clothes and a car. We moved in together and slept in the same bed even though she denied me the one thing I truly craved, to be completely loved by her. I told her I would die without her and for some reason this made her sad.
When she first started disappearing I thought I had done something wrong, that there was something I could do to bring her back. I called, I begged and I even followed her around like a little lost puppy. Soon it became clear to me though that I had lost her. When she finally confronted me and told me to leave her alone I wailed, pleading with her to just tell me why. My world ended when she finally answered, her eyes the color and strength of emeralds.
“I wanted you and I got you. I own you now.” She looked down at me and looked sad for just a moment. “You no longer interest me; you gave me everything you had to give.”
A part of me died that night, lost in an ocean of pain that was love turned cold. My heart bled and my soul cried out to the Gods for mercy and forgiveness. I had broken my only rule; I had gambled and lost with the last piece of my heart.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
YOU ARE JUST A RAT CHASING THE CHEESE
I find people interesting. They are fun to watch and observe. Like a scientists with his lab rats I watch, I listen, I learn and occasionally I laugh. People almost unanimously think they are special and important and they are the only ones who have ever experienced that joy, the angst and the apathy that is the human experience. For the most part people are no smarter than the lab rats chasing the cheese because that is what they are programmed to do.
Most people do not examine their lives and never take a good long look inside themselves to see what makes them tick. The things that are obvious to an outside observer are lost on them simply because they never stop and think about what they are doing, they are stuck on auto pilot and no one is at the control to stop them from crashing. They live from day to day and minute to minute without a clue as to why they feel and act they way they do.
The minute one of them tries to break from the pack they are ostracized and torn down by the other rats. They don’t know why they hate and loathe this person who chooses to be different, who chooses to be other than them they just do. They never stop to think that it is fear that kicks their mob mentality into high gear or that maybe the oddball may have it right. They just can’t fathom why anyone would want to be strange or have an opinion that doesn’t jive with the think of the majority.
What I don’t understand is how the mob mentality can reside inside of these people who think they are special? How can one person simultaneously think that they are the only person on earth who has ever loved that hard or hurt that badly when everyone around them thinks in exactly the same way? I don’t get it at all.
I have always been the odd one out. The person who would rather be alone if the only alternative is to be surrounded by braying sheep who don’t have a single unique thought in their fluff filled heads. Somehow I lost sight of that and tried to conform and it didn’t work out so well for me. I used to write just for me because it made me happy. Then I started to worry that what I said would offend someone or make someone powerful angry with me. Now I find that I simply do not care anymore. I am going to start writing and living to please myself. I am the only one who can judge me and that is the way it should be.
I encourage anyone who finds themselves losing themselves to satisfy the idiot masses to take a step back and look at what you are doing. Figure who you are and what makes you happy and if someone doesn’t like it then that is their problem, not yours. You can’t please all the people all the time and I think it is time that we all stopped trying.
Be yourself. You may not be special, you may just be one speck in a crowd of a million but if even one speck would stand up and be heard then maybe, just maybe, we could start a revolution.
You'll either get this or you won't. The people who need to hear it, who want to hear it, will and that is okay with me.
............
Most people do not examine their lives and never take a good long look inside themselves to see what makes them tick. The things that are obvious to an outside observer are lost on them simply because they never stop and think about what they are doing, they are stuck on auto pilot and no one is at the control to stop them from crashing. They live from day to day and minute to minute without a clue as to why they feel and act they way they do.
The minute one of them tries to break from the pack they are ostracized and torn down by the other rats. They don’t know why they hate and loathe this person who chooses to be different, who chooses to be other than them they just do. They never stop to think that it is fear that kicks their mob mentality into high gear or that maybe the oddball may have it right. They just can’t fathom why anyone would want to be strange or have an opinion that doesn’t jive with the think of the majority.
What I don’t understand is how the mob mentality can reside inside of these people who think they are special? How can one person simultaneously think that they are the only person on earth who has ever loved that hard or hurt that badly when everyone around them thinks in exactly the same way? I don’t get it at all.
I have always been the odd one out. The person who would rather be alone if the only alternative is to be surrounded by braying sheep who don’t have a single unique thought in their fluff filled heads. Somehow I lost sight of that and tried to conform and it didn’t work out so well for me. I used to write just for me because it made me happy. Then I started to worry that what I said would offend someone or make someone powerful angry with me. Now I find that I simply do not care anymore. I am going to start writing and living to please myself. I am the only one who can judge me and that is the way it should be.
I encourage anyone who finds themselves losing themselves to satisfy the idiot masses to take a step back and look at what you are doing. Figure who you are and what makes you happy and if someone doesn’t like it then that is their problem, not yours. You can’t please all the people all the time and I think it is time that we all stopped trying.
Be yourself. You may not be special, you may just be one speck in a crowd of a million but if even one speck would stand up and be heard then maybe, just maybe, we could start a revolution.
You'll either get this or you won't. The people who need to hear it, who want to hear it, will and that is okay with me.
............
EVERY ROSE HAS IT'S THORN
The first time I heard the song “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn” it spoke to me, being unbelievably drunk and high at the time probably caused it. Even now when I hear it though the music takes me back, back to those few short months when I was completely free. I miss that time in my life a lot these days.
I was 18 years old, wild and reckless. I would have preferred to be labeled trouble or slut before being called innocent. Life had given me a raw deal and I had sworn off even trying anymore. My life was one long party, months going by that I can’t quite remember through the whiskey soaked haze that I wandered through. A day didn’t go by that I didn’t partake of some recreational drugs. I loved that chaos that was my life, never knowing where or when I might sleep…or who it might be beside.
Lisa and I were inseparable back then and had been for years. If someone saw one of us without the other, people would look at us weird as if we had suddenly lost an appendage. We were best friends through everything and I though we would never be apart. Any life plans we dreamed about included each other. That is something that I can never get back and one of the few regrets that I have in this life.
We didn’t have a whole lot of options when it came to entertainment; being from a small Southern town does have its drawbacks. Go and get drunk, high or laid were our 3 main activities with some shopping on payday. We met boys everywhere, from the gas station to cruising in front of the mall and it wasn’t weird for us to meet someone and sleep over at their house all in the same night. It should have been weird, awful things could have happened but thankfully most of the experiences we had were good.
Back to the song though. It came out when I was 5 and somehow I missed it for 13 years. Probably because it came out when I was 5 so it was off the Top 40 stations by the time I was a music junkie. Back before the internet we actually listened to the local FM station to find new music, if you can imagine that.
I don’t remember exactly how we met Gary. He was older than the crowd we normally ran with, in his early 20’s and he had a job, house and his own car. The car was the best part though, at first. The car, a purple Camaro with a booming system, purple neon lights underneath and black leather seats went so fast we felt like we were flying. . I know it is a stereotypical Southern thing but I love Camaro’s and one that looked like that would never escape my attention. After admiring the car Lisa and I followed Gary back to his place and for the next few weeks it was our home away from home.
Lisa was in love and for the first time in a long time, I actually approved. He really was a great guy and even more important that that, he had a lot of guy friends. I was not in the market for a relationship, having just gotten out of a four year one that had taken over my teenage years. I met a few boys and some men that I felt things for, cared about and would have liked to spend more than a night or two with, but I ran from those guys like they were the devil. Love scared me more than anything else and in some ways I suppose that hasn’t changed much in the least 8 years.
The night I heard Every Rose Has It’s Thorn for the first time we were at Gary’s adopted Dad’s house and we were partying hard. I remember there were a lot of people there, most of their names and faces escape me now although the camaraderie I felt with them burns through me still. Lisa and I had made out for money just to give the boys a thrill. They were young and had never seen two girls kiss like that, and we were beyond broke. It was all harmless fun. As the night wore on and we all wound down, I ended up cuddled up to a cute boy named Steven. He had the prettiest blue eyes and his bad boy grin made me blush. I knew the look he was giving and what it meant. I never even gave a thought to saying no.
We all sat around sipping the last of the whiskey, Steven draining the last few drops from his Goldschlager as we listened to the music, Lisa and I singing along to the songs we knew. . When the first few notes of Every Rose Has It’s Thorn came on everyone stopped what they were doing and paid attention. All of the guys sang along with Bret Micheals and Stephen sang directly to me. Even though the lyrics were about a lost love and Stephen and I were mostly strangers in that moment I loved him with all my heart, we had a connection and bond that felt real, something rare and not to be forgotten.
As we drove to Gary’s house that night, we listened to that song on repeat and held hands like we had something special between us. Later when we were lying in bed together we learned each other’s last names and in the light of dawn the spell woven by song was broken. I saw Stephen a few times after that but we never recaptured the magic that we had the first night. Probably because a few days after that night I found out I was going to be a mother and my whole world changed. There was no longer a place in my life for bad boys and whiskey binges.
I miss my freedom from back then, I miss being able to do whatever I wanted selfishly taking whatever I needed just because it felt good in the moment. Mostly I miss the girl I was, carefree and independent and I wish I had appreciated her more. Knowing it would have all came to an end eventually doesn’t change the nostalgia I feel when I look back. Knowing and feeling are two separate things and sometimes the heart overrides the brain.
William Blake said it well in his poem Auguries Of Innocence:
“To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.”
We should appreciate what we have when we have it, instead of looking longingly into the past. Maybe I would be happier if I remember that more.
I was 18 years old, wild and reckless. I would have preferred to be labeled trouble or slut before being called innocent. Life had given me a raw deal and I had sworn off even trying anymore. My life was one long party, months going by that I can’t quite remember through the whiskey soaked haze that I wandered through. A day didn’t go by that I didn’t partake of some recreational drugs. I loved that chaos that was my life, never knowing where or when I might sleep…or who it might be beside.
Lisa and I were inseparable back then and had been for years. If someone saw one of us without the other, people would look at us weird as if we had suddenly lost an appendage. We were best friends through everything and I though we would never be apart. Any life plans we dreamed about included each other. That is something that I can never get back and one of the few regrets that I have in this life.
We didn’t have a whole lot of options when it came to entertainment; being from a small Southern town does have its drawbacks. Go and get drunk, high or laid were our 3 main activities with some shopping on payday. We met boys everywhere, from the gas station to cruising in front of the mall and it wasn’t weird for us to meet someone and sleep over at their house all in the same night. It should have been weird, awful things could have happened but thankfully most of the experiences we had were good.
Back to the song though. It came out when I was 5 and somehow I missed it for 13 years. Probably because it came out when I was 5 so it was off the Top 40 stations by the time I was a music junkie. Back before the internet we actually listened to the local FM station to find new music, if you can imagine that.
I don’t remember exactly how we met Gary. He was older than the crowd we normally ran with, in his early 20’s and he had a job, house and his own car. The car was the best part though, at first. The car, a purple Camaro with a booming system, purple neon lights underneath and black leather seats went so fast we felt like we were flying. . I know it is a stereotypical Southern thing but I love Camaro’s and one that looked like that would never escape my attention. After admiring the car Lisa and I followed Gary back to his place and for the next few weeks it was our home away from home.
Lisa was in love and for the first time in a long time, I actually approved. He really was a great guy and even more important that that, he had a lot of guy friends. I was not in the market for a relationship, having just gotten out of a four year one that had taken over my teenage years. I met a few boys and some men that I felt things for, cared about and would have liked to spend more than a night or two with, but I ran from those guys like they were the devil. Love scared me more than anything else and in some ways I suppose that hasn’t changed much in the least 8 years.
The night I heard Every Rose Has It’s Thorn for the first time we were at Gary’s adopted Dad’s house and we were partying hard. I remember there were a lot of people there, most of their names and faces escape me now although the camaraderie I felt with them burns through me still. Lisa and I had made out for money just to give the boys a thrill. They were young and had never seen two girls kiss like that, and we were beyond broke. It was all harmless fun. As the night wore on and we all wound down, I ended up cuddled up to a cute boy named Steven. He had the prettiest blue eyes and his bad boy grin made me blush. I knew the look he was giving and what it meant. I never even gave a thought to saying no.
We all sat around sipping the last of the whiskey, Steven draining the last few drops from his Goldschlager as we listened to the music, Lisa and I singing along to the songs we knew. . When the first few notes of Every Rose Has It’s Thorn came on everyone stopped what they were doing and paid attention. All of the guys sang along with Bret Micheals and Stephen sang directly to me. Even though the lyrics were about a lost love and Stephen and I were mostly strangers in that moment I loved him with all my heart, we had a connection and bond that felt real, something rare and not to be forgotten.
As we drove to Gary’s house that night, we listened to that song on repeat and held hands like we had something special between us. Later when we were lying in bed together we learned each other’s last names and in the light of dawn the spell woven by song was broken. I saw Stephen a few times after that but we never recaptured the magic that we had the first night. Probably because a few days after that night I found out I was going to be a mother and my whole world changed. There was no longer a place in my life for bad boys and whiskey binges.
I miss my freedom from back then, I miss being able to do whatever I wanted selfishly taking whatever I needed just because it felt good in the moment. Mostly I miss the girl I was, carefree and independent and I wish I had appreciated her more. Knowing it would have all came to an end eventually doesn’t change the nostalgia I feel when I look back. Knowing and feeling are two separate things and sometimes the heart overrides the brain.
William Blake said it well in his poem Auguries Of Innocence:
“To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.”
We should appreciate what we have when we have it, instead of looking longingly into the past. Maybe I would be happier if I remember that more.
EVERY ROSE HAS IT
The first time I heard the song “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn” it spoke to me, being unbelievably drunk and high at the time probably caused it. Even now when I hear it though the music takes me back, back to those few short months when I was completely free. I miss that time in my life a lot these days.
I was 18 years old, wild and reckless. I would have preferred to be labeled trouble or slut before being called innocent. Life had given me a raw deal and I had sworn off even trying anymore. My life was one long party, months going by that I can’t quite remember through the whiskey soaked haze that I wandered through. A day didn’t go by that I didn’t partake of some recreational drugs. I loved that chaos that was my life, never knowing where or when I might sleep…or who it might be beside.
Lisa and I were inseparable back then and had been for years. If someone saw one of us without the other, people would look at us weird as if we had suddenly lost an appendage. We were best friends through everything and I though we would never be apart. Any life plans we dreamed about included each other. That is something that I can never get back and one of the few regrets that I have in this life.
We didn’t have a whole lot of options when it came to entertainment; being from a small Southern town does have its drawbacks. Go and get drunk, high or laid were our 3 main activities with some shopping on payday. We met boys everywhere, from the gas station to cruising in front of the mall and it wasn’t weird for us to meet someone and sleep over at their house all in the same night. It should have been weird, awful things could have happened but thankfully most of the experiences we had were good.
Back to the song though. It came out when I was 5 and somehow I missed it for 13 years. Probably because it came out when I was 5 so it was off the Top 40 stations by the time I was a music junkie. Back before the internet we actually listened to the local FM station to find new music, if you can imagine that.
I don’t remember exactly how we met Gary. He was older than the crowd we normally ran with, in his early 20’s and he had a job, house and his own car. The car was the best part though, at first. The car, a purple Camaro with a booming system, purple neon lights underneath and black leather seats went so fast we felt like we were flying. . I know it is a stereotypical Southern thing but I love Camaro’s and one that looked like that would never escape my attention. After admiring the car Lisa and I followed Gary back to his place and for the next few weeks it was our home away from home.
Lisa was in love and for the first time in a long time, I actually approved. He really was a great guy and even more important that that, he had a lot of guy friends. I was not in the market for a relationship, having just gotten out of a four year one that had taken over my teenage years. I met a few boys and some men that I felt things for, cared about and would have liked to spend more than a night or two with, but I ran from those guys like they were the devil. Love scared me more than anything else and in some ways I suppose that hasn’t changed much in the least 8 years.
The night I heard Every Rose Has It’s Thorn for the first time we were at Gary’s adopted Dad’s house and we were partying hard. I remember there were a lot of people there, most of their names and faces escape me now although the camaraderie I felt with them burns through me still. Lisa and I had made out for money just to give the boys a thrill. They were young and had never seen two girls kiss like that, and we were beyond broke. It was all harmless fun. As the night wore on and we all wound down, I ended up cuddled up to a cute boy named Steven. He had the prettiest blue eyes and his bad boy grin made me blush. I knew the look he was giving and what it meant. I never even gave a thought to saying no.
We all sat around sipping the last of the whiskey, Steven draining the last few drops from his Goldschlager as we listened to the music, Lisa and I singing along to the songs we knew. . When the first few notes of Every Rose Has It’s Thorn came on everyone stopped what they were doing and paid attention. All of the guys sang along with Bret Micheals and Stephen sang directly to me. Even though the lyrics were about a lost love and Stephen and I were mostly strangers in that moment I loved him with all my heart, we had a connection and bond that felt real, something rare and not to be forgotten.
As we drove to Gary’s house that night, we listened to that song on repeat and held hands like we had something special between us. Later when we were lying in bed together we learned each other’s last names and in the light of dawn the spell woven by song was broken. I saw Stephen a few times after that but we never recaptured the magic that we had the first night. Probably because a few days after that night I found out I was going to be a mother and my whole world changed. There was no longer a place in my life for bad boys and whiskey binges.
I miss my freedom from back then, I miss being able to do whatever I wanted selfishly taking whatever I needed just because it felt good in the moment. Mostly I miss the girl I was, carefree and independent and I wish I had appreciated her more. Knowing it would have all came to an end eventually doesn’t change the nostalgia I feel when I look back. Knowing and feeling are two separate things and sometimes the heart overrides the brain.
William Blake said it well in his poem Auguries Of Innocence:
“To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.”
We should appreciate what we have when we have it, instead of looking longingly into the past. Maybe I would be happier if I remember that more.
I was 18 years old, wild and reckless. I would have preferred to be labeled trouble or slut before being called innocent. Life had given me a raw deal and I had sworn off even trying anymore. My life was one long party, months going by that I can’t quite remember through the whiskey soaked haze that I wandered through. A day didn’t go by that I didn’t partake of some recreational drugs. I loved that chaos that was my life, never knowing where or when I might sleep…or who it might be beside.
Lisa and I were inseparable back then and had been for years. If someone saw one of us without the other, people would look at us weird as if we had suddenly lost an appendage. We were best friends through everything and I though we would never be apart. Any life plans we dreamed about included each other. That is something that I can never get back and one of the few regrets that I have in this life.
We didn’t have a whole lot of options when it came to entertainment; being from a small Southern town does have its drawbacks. Go and get drunk, high or laid were our 3 main activities with some shopping on payday. We met boys everywhere, from the gas station to cruising in front of the mall and it wasn’t weird for us to meet someone and sleep over at their house all in the same night. It should have been weird, awful things could have happened but thankfully most of the experiences we had were good.
Back to the song though. It came out when I was 5 and somehow I missed it for 13 years. Probably because it came out when I was 5 so it was off the Top 40 stations by the time I was a music junkie. Back before the internet we actually listened to the local FM station to find new music, if you can imagine that.
I don’t remember exactly how we met Gary. He was older than the crowd we normally ran with, in his early 20’s and he had a job, house and his own car. The car was the best part though, at first. The car, a purple Camaro with a booming system, purple neon lights underneath and black leather seats went so fast we felt like we were flying. . I know it is a stereotypical Southern thing but I love Camaro’s and one that looked like that would never escape my attention. After admiring the car Lisa and I followed Gary back to his place and for the next few weeks it was our home away from home.
Lisa was in love and for the first time in a long time, I actually approved. He really was a great guy and even more important that that, he had a lot of guy friends. I was not in the market for a relationship, having just gotten out of a four year one that had taken over my teenage years. I met a few boys and some men that I felt things for, cared about and would have liked to spend more than a night or two with, but I ran from those guys like they were the devil. Love scared me more than anything else and in some ways I suppose that hasn’t changed much in the least 8 years.
The night I heard Every Rose Has It’s Thorn for the first time we were at Gary’s adopted Dad’s house and we were partying hard. I remember there were a lot of people there, most of their names and faces escape me now although the camaraderie I felt with them burns through me still. Lisa and I had made out for money just to give the boys a thrill. They were young and had never seen two girls kiss like that, and we were beyond broke. It was all harmless fun. As the night wore on and we all wound down, I ended up cuddled up to a cute boy named Steven. He had the prettiest blue eyes and his bad boy grin made me blush. I knew the look he was giving and what it meant. I never even gave a thought to saying no.
We all sat around sipping the last of the whiskey, Steven draining the last few drops from his Goldschlager as we listened to the music, Lisa and I singing along to the songs we knew. . When the first few notes of Every Rose Has It’s Thorn came on everyone stopped what they were doing and paid attention. All of the guys sang along with Bret Micheals and Stephen sang directly to me. Even though the lyrics were about a lost love and Stephen and I were mostly strangers in that moment I loved him with all my heart, we had a connection and bond that felt real, something rare and not to be forgotten.
As we drove to Gary’s house that night, we listened to that song on repeat and held hands like we had something special between us. Later when we were lying in bed together we learned each other’s last names and in the light of dawn the spell woven by song was broken. I saw Stephen a few times after that but we never recaptured the magic that we had the first night. Probably because a few days after that night I found out I was going to be a mother and my whole world changed. There was no longer a place in my life for bad boys and whiskey binges.
I miss my freedom from back then, I miss being able to do whatever I wanted selfishly taking whatever I needed just because it felt good in the moment. Mostly I miss the girl I was, carefree and independent and I wish I had appreciated her more. Knowing it would have all came to an end eventually doesn’t change the nostalgia I feel when I look back. Knowing and feeling are two separate things and sometimes the heart overrides the brain.
William Blake said it well in his poem Auguries Of Innocence:
“To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.”
We should appreciate what we have when we have it, instead of looking longingly into the past. Maybe I would be happier if I remember that more.
ROSY LIFE
I haven’t had a rosey life. You will never find me thinking things are going to be good, even when they are in the moment. Instilled within me from childhood is a feeling that one day the other shoe is going to drop and no matter how bad things seem they can and will get worse. Even during the happier times in my life, when I was seemingly unencumbered by stress and worry this nagging feeling was always there, waiting to jump out of the darkness of my mind and attack me.
One of my first memories is of my mom and dad fighting, there’s screaming, shoving and then blood and blinding light...from what my mom has told me I was around 4 at the time. I saw my dad get arrested for the first time after seeing him choke a woman until she blacked out and I remember thinking “At least it isn’t Mama”. I had my first panic attack in 2nd grade. I started my period when I was 9 and lost my virginity and got raped the year I turned 12. There is more and the list goes on but I won't, it gets worse from there but a lot of that is my own stupidity.
I don’t expect sympathy for any of those things. I have had enough sympathy and people shedding tears on my behalf to last me the rest of my life. My life has been sad but other people have had it worse. There’s a saying that goes something like “If we threw all our problems in a pile and you could see everyone else’s then you would grab your own back and be thankful”. I’m not entirely sure that is true because I know some people who have led a charmed life but for the most part I don’t want anyone else’s problems, issues or trauma because I know how to deal with mine.
When I hear someone say that the universe balances itself and you have to take the good with the bad I can’t help but feel a little resentful that all of my bad stuff had to come to me at an early age...then I realize I am being optimistic and put a stop to that rather quickly. No matter how bad things are, they can always get worse that nagging voice in the back of my head reminds me and I shut off those thoughts that all my troubles are behind me.
Some people would consider this negative or self defeating but I don’t, I consider it realistic. My son asked me why I was crying at the end of a movie the other day, a kid’s movie with a happy ending. I told him that one day he would understand, when he knew how much bad there is in the world he would get why something happy and sappy would make a grown person cry.
Do good and bad always balance out? Is there always a little pain with the pleasures of life? I don’t really know the answer to that but never in my 26 years have I ever held a rose that didn’t contain at least one thorn.
One of my first memories is of my mom and dad fighting, there’s screaming, shoving and then blood and blinding light...from what my mom has told me I was around 4 at the time. I saw my dad get arrested for the first time after seeing him choke a woman until she blacked out and I remember thinking “At least it isn’t Mama”. I had my first panic attack in 2nd grade. I started my period when I was 9 and lost my virginity and got raped the year I turned 12. There is more and the list goes on but I won't, it gets worse from there but a lot of that is my own stupidity.
I don’t expect sympathy for any of those things. I have had enough sympathy and people shedding tears on my behalf to last me the rest of my life. My life has been sad but other people have had it worse. There’s a saying that goes something like “If we threw all our problems in a pile and you could see everyone else’s then you would grab your own back and be thankful”. I’m not entirely sure that is true because I know some people who have led a charmed life but for the most part I don’t want anyone else’s problems, issues or trauma because I know how to deal with mine.
When I hear someone say that the universe balances itself and you have to take the good with the bad I can’t help but feel a little resentful that all of my bad stuff had to come to me at an early age...then I realize I am being optimistic and put a stop to that rather quickly. No matter how bad things are, they can always get worse that nagging voice in the back of my head reminds me and I shut off those thoughts that all my troubles are behind me.
Some people would consider this negative or self defeating but I don’t, I consider it realistic. My son asked me why I was crying at the end of a movie the other day, a kid’s movie with a happy ending. I told him that one day he would understand, when he knew how much bad there is in the world he would get why something happy and sappy would make a grown person cry.
Do good and bad always balance out? Is there always a little pain with the pleasures of life? I don’t really know the answer to that but never in my 26 years have I ever held a rose that didn’t contain at least one thorn.
DARK PLACES
THE DARK PLACES (BFF 28)
Current mood:twisted
Category: Writing and Poetry
Fiction! Fiction! Fiction! Fiction! Fiction! Fiction! Fiction! Fiction!
The house looked the way it should. Old, dilapidated and worn, the way any house of horrors should look. Of course standing on the overgrown weeds in the light of day it was hard to think of it that way. Even knowing what no one else did, that house should have looked foreboding, but it is always harder to hold onto your nightmares in the sunlight.
I hadn’t been here in 20 years. Since I was 14 years old and I moved away from the house that used to be next door I hadn’t even given it a thought…not in my waking hours at least. I knew that if my subconscious had her say she would tell me to get my stupid ass back in my rental and drive away. She was safely tucked away though and this was something I needed to do.
The past that had haunted me for two decades was never going to release its grip on me until I took a stand and said enough is enough. Since this is the place it all began it seemed fitting that it was where it would end.
The porch had more holes than one would think possible and still I walked across it with ease. The worn through places were the same weak spots I had skipped across as a girl. It is truly amazing what memories the body holds, even after the mind has forced itself to forget.
The front door hung open, not even the vandals bothered to close this place up and there was no sense in trying to keep anyone out the front door when they could just have easily slid through a window. Surprisingly the door did not creak as it swung open.
The musty, unlived in (dead I would call it later but not now, not in the daylight) smell was enough to let me know that it was completely unoccupied other than by Mother Nature who was taking it back piece by rotten piece. The floor was littered with signs of people but the thick layer of dust across the top of the floor was perfectly even, no signs of recent life.
I felt like an archeologist looking back in time, the scattered remains of parties, séances an all sorts of other things I would rather not think about, not just yet. The living room gave way to the kitchen but I would never have known that if this had been my first trip here. The walls had been torn off in search of hillbilly gold, copper which was worth dollars per pound at times, was scavenged by tweakers and other people too uneducated or unwilling to work.
Standing in the kitchen I saw in my mind’s eye the way it had looked before. There had been an old wood picnic table in the middle of the floor “Property of Lincoln County Parks and Rec” still stamped to the side. Many nights I had spent lying on that table, too drunk to stand and too stoned to speak, holding hands with the only person I would ever love.
The blood that I remembered pooling between the floor boards would probably still be there somewhere under the grime but I was no scientist and the knowledge that it had been there, was still there, was enough for me. I moved on, farther into the house to the dark place in my head.
The back bedroom still held a bed frame and pieces of the mattress but time and rodents had carried most of it away. If I had looked closely I would have seen twine still wrapped around the iron head board. I didn’t need to look closely though to see the scratches and rust colored hand prints on the few pieces of wall left standing.
My mind tried to pull me back in time, to the place I had locked away but I resisted. I needed to see this place but I didn’t want to truly feel it; it was too raw and too real for me still. Time does not heal all wounds no matter how many times people say it.
I tried to remember the good nights, just me and Scott there on the bed. The innocence given there should have been a good memory but the bad ones kept clouding my vision. Instead of seeing Scott above me, kissing me and telling me it would be okay I see the nameless, faceless boys from the last night. I feel the ropes burn my wrists and instant soberness take over as I realize what is happening to me.
The darkness comes over me quickly and I try to fight but I’m helpless just like before, helpless like I have always felt. I feel every thrust again in my head, every violation of my body that drives my mind just a little closer to the edge of the insanity that waits. My soul rips in half at the same time my body is left to bleed.
The ropes come off in a few minutes, they were never meant to hold me for long, just long enough for the demon boys to gain control. In my head I realize that someone is screaming and it’s not me. I find Scott tied to the kitchen table where I had left him earlier. They had cut him badly, filleting his hands so that any attempt to free himself would be agony.
I walked out of that house and swore I would never return. Putting those memories in a giant box inside my head with a lock made of pure determination seemed like the safest thing to do. When I was accepted at a private school on scholarship my parents moved to be closer to me and I never looked back until today.
Walking back towards the living room I take a letter and a newspaper clipping from my purse. I had done what I said and never came back but when I got the call that Scott was dead, one bullet to the head, I knew I had to come. The lawyers had given me a letter with Cindy written across the top. I had read it a hundred times in the last 24 hours, my tears soaking through the ink.
There were only a few words but that was all Scott and I had ever needed anyway.
Cindy,
I’m sorry. I read your last book and I knew what you meant when she went to the dark place. I go to that place too. But you have it wrong, when he screams it’s not out of rage or helpless anger…he screams because she won’t. I screamed because you never would. You never did let the bastards see you break. I’m not that strong.
Forever and always yours,
Scott.
It was dated three days ago. Scott’s last day. I can’t imagine what he must have felt living in this town, seeing this old monstrosity every time he visited his parents. He thought I was strong, but he was wrong. Cowards run away, not to fight another day but to go somewhere they can forget there was ever anything to run from.
The lighter fluid I bought at a gas station on the way here is in my hand and before I can truly think through what I am doing I squirt it into an old pile of wood and trash. The lighter seems to spark itself, lighting the letter and the obituary from the local paper before I can rationalize what could happen.
I walk into the winter sunlight, bright but cold as smoke rises behind me. A worry that the fire will spread momentarily makes me pause but I don’t stop. I keep moving until the house, now blazing brightly, is just a smudge in my rearview and I am on my way out of town.
It is done now I hope. The dark place in my head seems to have retreated farther than ever before. Only shadows remain and after all this time I can deal with a few shadows.
Current mood:twisted
Category: Writing and Poetry
Fiction! Fiction! Fiction! Fiction! Fiction! Fiction! Fiction! Fiction!
The house looked the way it should. Old, dilapidated and worn, the way any house of horrors should look. Of course standing on the overgrown weeds in the light of day it was hard to think of it that way. Even knowing what no one else did, that house should have looked foreboding, but it is always harder to hold onto your nightmares in the sunlight.
I hadn’t been here in 20 years. Since I was 14 years old and I moved away from the house that used to be next door I hadn’t even given it a thought…not in my waking hours at least. I knew that if my subconscious had her say she would tell me to get my stupid ass back in my rental and drive away. She was safely tucked away though and this was something I needed to do.
The past that had haunted me for two decades was never going to release its grip on me until I took a stand and said enough is enough. Since this is the place it all began it seemed fitting that it was where it would end.
The porch had more holes than one would think possible and still I walked across it with ease. The worn through places were the same weak spots I had skipped across as a girl. It is truly amazing what memories the body holds, even after the mind has forced itself to forget.
The front door hung open, not even the vandals bothered to close this place up and there was no sense in trying to keep anyone out the front door when they could just have easily slid through a window. Surprisingly the door did not creak as it swung open.
The musty, unlived in (dead I would call it later but not now, not in the daylight) smell was enough to let me know that it was completely unoccupied other than by Mother Nature who was taking it back piece by rotten piece. The floor was littered with signs of people but the thick layer of dust across the top of the floor was perfectly even, no signs of recent life.
I felt like an archeologist looking back in time, the scattered remains of parties, séances an all sorts of other things I would rather not think about, not just yet. The living room gave way to the kitchen but I would never have known that if this had been my first trip here. The walls had been torn off in search of hillbilly gold, copper which was worth dollars per pound at times, was scavenged by tweakers and other people too uneducated or unwilling to work.
Standing in the kitchen I saw in my mind’s eye the way it had looked before. There had been an old wood picnic table in the middle of the floor “Property of Lincoln County Parks and Rec” still stamped to the side. Many nights I had spent lying on that table, too drunk to stand and too stoned to speak, holding hands with the only person I would ever love.
The blood that I remembered pooling between the floor boards would probably still be there somewhere under the grime but I was no scientist and the knowledge that it had been there, was still there, was enough for me. I moved on, farther into the house to the dark place in my head.
The back bedroom still held a bed frame and pieces of the mattress but time and rodents had carried most of it away. If I had looked closely I would have seen twine still wrapped around the iron head board. I didn’t need to look closely though to see the scratches and rust colored hand prints on the few pieces of wall left standing.
My mind tried to pull me back in time, to the place I had locked away but I resisted. I needed to see this place but I didn’t want to truly feel it; it was too raw and too real for me still. Time does not heal all wounds no matter how many times people say it.
I tried to remember the good nights, just me and Scott there on the bed. The innocence given there should have been a good memory but the bad ones kept clouding my vision. Instead of seeing Scott above me, kissing me and telling me it would be okay I see the nameless, faceless boys from the last night. I feel the ropes burn my wrists and instant soberness take over as I realize what is happening to me.
The darkness comes over me quickly and I try to fight but I’m helpless just like before, helpless like I have always felt. I feel every thrust again in my head, every violation of my body that drives my mind just a little closer to the edge of the insanity that waits. My soul rips in half at the same time my body is left to bleed.
The ropes come off in a few minutes, they were never meant to hold me for long, just long enough for the demon boys to gain control. In my head I realize that someone is screaming and it’s not me. I find Scott tied to the kitchen table where I had left him earlier. They had cut him badly, filleting his hands so that any attempt to free himself would be agony.
I walked out of that house and swore I would never return. Putting those memories in a giant box inside my head with a lock made of pure determination seemed like the safest thing to do. When I was accepted at a private school on scholarship my parents moved to be closer to me and I never looked back until today.
Walking back towards the living room I take a letter and a newspaper clipping from my purse. I had done what I said and never came back but when I got the call that Scott was dead, one bullet to the head, I knew I had to come. The lawyers had given me a letter with Cindy written across the top. I had read it a hundred times in the last 24 hours, my tears soaking through the ink.
There were only a few words but that was all Scott and I had ever needed anyway.
Cindy,
I’m sorry. I read your last book and I knew what you meant when she went to the dark place. I go to that place too. But you have it wrong, when he screams it’s not out of rage or helpless anger…he screams because she won’t. I screamed because you never would. You never did let the bastards see you break. I’m not that strong.
Forever and always yours,
Scott.
It was dated three days ago. Scott’s last day. I can’t imagine what he must have felt living in this town, seeing this old monstrosity every time he visited his parents. He thought I was strong, but he was wrong. Cowards run away, not to fight another day but to go somewhere they can forget there was ever anything to run from.
The lighter fluid I bought at a gas station on the way here is in my hand and before I can truly think through what I am doing I squirt it into an old pile of wood and trash. The lighter seems to spark itself, lighting the letter and the obituary from the local paper before I can rationalize what could happen.
I walk into the winter sunlight, bright but cold as smoke rises behind me. A worry that the fire will spread momentarily makes me pause but I don’t stop. I keep moving until the house, now blazing brightly, is just a smudge in my rearview and I am on my way out of town.
It is done now I hope. The dark place in my head seems to have retreated farther than ever before. Only shadows remain and after all this time I can deal with a few shadows.
IN LOVE WITH A STRIPPER PART 1
I met Adam on Valentine’s Day, the most romantic day of the year in the most romantic place on Earth, the Shady Ladies. Shady Ladies wasn’t a bad place, it was actually pretty fun or at least I hoped so. Being a Shady Lady myself it was my job to is make it so fun that the men who come there never want to leave. We didn’t sell romance by any means though...what we sold was more leather than lace.
Valentine’s Night was a busy night. We had frat boys, interns and divorcees galore. They were dropping 50s and 100s that they could have spent on any girl like it was nothing to them, all in some desperate attempt to make themselves believe that being without one single person of the opposite sex who will agree to go out with you on the most important “date” night of the year is not truly sad and pathetic. I was having a blast. Raven and Diamond and I were working a group of suits who were too drunk to say no when I climbed on Adam’s lap.
He wasn’t like the other guys, pawing and squeezing until you wanted to spit in their face and stomp their balls. Adam was respectful and looked us in the eye, something that a lot of the men there couldn’t do. Whether it was lack of respect or just mindless lust was a question none of us ever really answered but depending on how long you had been there you had your theories. I had been there long enough to realize I didn’t care, why would I want respect from someone I could never give it to?
Adam looked at me, looked into me when as I danced for him. He enjoyed the dance, which I could feel for myself but he studied me in a way most men are incapable of when they have a lithe and classically trained young woman bouncing on their lap. Towards the end of his song his breath quickened but his eyes never wavered. He was a gorgeous guy but honestly I was glad my set was coming up and I needed to change. I gave him a peck on the cheek and shook my ass when I got up.
As soon as I was backstage I sent Amber in to help Raven and Diamond and I dressed in my outfit. I had on a rip away bustier that pushed my breasts almost to my chin, thigh high stocking and shy high heels with a whip to play with onstage. My hair fell almost to my bare ass, a shimmering wave of garnet that shined on top of all the leather.
The first strains of my song came on and I took the stage not even knowing who my victim would be until I was onstage. There was the lucky guy, either a birthday boy, the groom at a bachelor’s party or some other poor shmuck whose friends had paid for him to get to be part of my routine. I didn’t always use audience members, many of the girls would volunteer to be my slave, some because they wanted the attention more though because they enjoyed playing with me.
When I saw Adam my step faltered but I kept going. The only way I can do my job is to not think about it too much when it is happening. He had disturbed me with his stare earlier but the show must go on. I warmed up the crowd using Adam as my pole. I wrapped myself around him and rid him like he was my favorite roller coaster, the whip hanging harmless off of my wrist. As I rubbed myself on his thigh he regained some of his earlier firmness and I knew it was time for me to get to work. I worked my stockings off while still lying on Adam’s lap.
I smacked my pussy with my whip hard enough to make Adam’s eye get big and his dick grow harder. Sitting up I took off the bustier and rubbed my nipples on Adams open mouth. I could feel his breath tickling me, making the ice I had used earlier unnecessary. He was really starting to enjoy himself when the first song ended. I dismounted and went behind Adam feeling his eyes follow me.
I take Adams hand and turn him to pole behind him. The bouncer quickly takes away the chair he was sitting in. Pushing his back and making him hug the pole I tie his hands in front of him. I dance around him but as soon as he tried to move from where I put him I give him a little swat with the whip. His look of shock is hot, park shock, part anger. I can tell he didn’t expect to become the entertainment. I hope he doesn’t cry, I hate when they do that...it takes away all of the fun.
When he moves again I spank him a little harder. This time the front row of people eagerly watching me can hear the hiss of the whip and there is a collective “ooo” sound among even the biggest of men. The only thing protecting his ass is air and khaki and before they know it I whip it out again, this time for looking back into the crowd. Adam looks somewhere between intrigued and pissed.
I got close enough to whisper in his ear, “Had enough or you want to play some more?” He whispered back, “Yes I want to play but on my terms, meet me later.” I shake my head at him and gave him a few more light smacks for the crowd. He wasn’t drunk or into it enough for me to do my usual routine of pulling down his pants and spanking him with my hand and then making him felate my boot. . Besides I have learned from experience there are some men who just can’t submit.
After untying him and leading him offstage I went back to put some bottoms. You can’t actually walk through the club with your twat hanging out, some kind of health regulation. When I came back onto the floor another girl was with Adam and I went on with my night, playing with one of my regulars for the last few hours. I was one of the only girls to have my own personal back room but most of my customers were willing to pay the price.
By the time I had gotten showered and dressed for home Tony the bartender had a cab waiting for me. Normally I drove myself but not after working for 12 hours straight. Adam was waiting outside for me, shivering in the February weather. I was hoping he wouldn’t recognize me in my faded jeans and leather coat and hair wrapped in a scarf. With no makeup or hair extensions a lot of men who had spent hundreds to spend time with me didn’t notice me on the street.
I told Tony to go on after I got my bags in the cab. The guy who came and picked me up was a friend and carried a .45 in the seat beside him. I figured I would be okay.
“I didn’t get your name,” Adam said looking at me with intense gaze that had disturbed me earlier. Without me being naked and on his lap it was even stranger to have a man look at me like that.
“It’s up in lights,” I said pointing to the big billboard with my picture on it. “Destiny fulfills every desire” was that latest gimmick but most people just knew me as The Mistress.
“No not that one, your real one.” He came just close enough that I wanted to take a step back but I know better than to show weakness, even to someone like him.
“That’s none of your business and I am tired. Happy Valentine’s Day,” I said as I slid my tired legs into the car. Al looked in his rearview mirror to see if I needed help and I just shook my head.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you or anything,” he said sincerely and I could tell he really meant it. My heart softened a little as I rolled down the window.
“You really want to know my name?” I asked, not for the first time in my career, what came next though did shock me a little bit.
“I’ll tell you my name if you buy me a cup of coffee and a donut...I could really use a donut.”
“Sure, I can do that,” he says reaching for door handle.
We ride in virtual silence, me with my head resting on the back of the seat, him sitting beside me wondering what he got himself into. I was just tired and wanted a few minutes of silence after the hours of listening to bass thumping, booty shaking music. There were only a few girls who would dance to anything other than hard core rap and after a while it became monotonous and just white noise.
We got to my coffee shop and I ordered and then sat down where Al who was sitting in the car could see me. He waved from behind his magazine letting me know he was keeping an eye on me.
When Adam sat down with my coffee and doughnut I looked at him for a few minutes without saying a word, seeing if he would take the lead and ask for what he wanted. I figured if he went back to being pushy about the name thing I could just take my coffee and leave him there. He seemed content just to sit there and sip his coffee and look back at me which was unusual.
“My name is Gabrielle. My friends call me Gabby.” I told him trying to see if he would be disappointed once I took away the last hint of my stripper persona. Some guys look crestfallen when I tell them my name is something simple.
“Hi, Gabby. I’m Adam but I think one of the guy’s already told you that,” a little boy grin breaking out over his face.
We talked for almost an hour and Al even took him home, first of course I still didn’t know him well enough to let him know where I lived. I was surprised to see he lived in a really nice neighborhood, the kind where it matters if the silverware matches when company comes.
He called me the next afternoon sounding chipper and happy while I was feeling sore and tired. For some reason I decided to go to the park to meet him anyway, We laughed and walked the dogs and he never brought up anything about my job, it was wonderful really. For the next week we met at the park everyday, me with my Great Dane named Tulip and him with his Corgi named Diesel. We had the most mismatched dogs there but we were having the most fun. He was so easy to talk to that when he asked me out on a real date I didn’t hesitate to say no. When we made love the first time on my birthday 10 days after we first met I knew I loved him and he said he loved me.
By July we were vacationing together in Hawaii and I was happier than I had been in ages. I took an entire month off of work to fly with him to Paris when he had to be there for work. It was truly one of the best years of my life. He never asked about my work but he didn’t complain either so I thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie. He was the first boyfriend I had ever had who didn’t beg me to quit or treat me like his own personal whore so I didn’t want to rock the boat by asking him if it bothered him. Some part of me knew though since I went to extra effort to hide my costumes and make up when he came over. I was never as neat as when I knew he would be spending a day or two at my place.
The sex was great but tamer than what I normally liked. Any time I tried to get a little kinky he would let me know in subtle ways that he preferred to be make love not fuck and I let him get away with it. Love this fresh and new was not to be disturbed, we could work on some things later if that is what it came to. For once I felt safe and I wasn’t going to let anything, especially something as meaningless as sex destroy it. I lied to myself all the time....what was one more lie?
Valentine’s Night was a busy night. We had frat boys, interns and divorcees galore. They were dropping 50s and 100s that they could have spent on any girl like it was nothing to them, all in some desperate attempt to make themselves believe that being without one single person of the opposite sex who will agree to go out with you on the most important “date” night of the year is not truly sad and pathetic. I was having a blast. Raven and Diamond and I were working a group of suits who were too drunk to say no when I climbed on Adam’s lap.
He wasn’t like the other guys, pawing and squeezing until you wanted to spit in their face and stomp their balls. Adam was respectful and looked us in the eye, something that a lot of the men there couldn’t do. Whether it was lack of respect or just mindless lust was a question none of us ever really answered but depending on how long you had been there you had your theories. I had been there long enough to realize I didn’t care, why would I want respect from someone I could never give it to?
Adam looked at me, looked into me when as I danced for him. He enjoyed the dance, which I could feel for myself but he studied me in a way most men are incapable of when they have a lithe and classically trained young woman bouncing on their lap. Towards the end of his song his breath quickened but his eyes never wavered. He was a gorgeous guy but honestly I was glad my set was coming up and I needed to change. I gave him a peck on the cheek and shook my ass when I got up.
As soon as I was backstage I sent Amber in to help Raven and Diamond and I dressed in my outfit. I had on a rip away bustier that pushed my breasts almost to my chin, thigh high stocking and shy high heels with a whip to play with onstage. My hair fell almost to my bare ass, a shimmering wave of garnet that shined on top of all the leather.
The first strains of my song came on and I took the stage not even knowing who my victim would be until I was onstage. There was the lucky guy, either a birthday boy, the groom at a bachelor’s party or some other poor shmuck whose friends had paid for him to get to be part of my routine. I didn’t always use audience members, many of the girls would volunteer to be my slave, some because they wanted the attention more though because they enjoyed playing with me.
When I saw Adam my step faltered but I kept going. The only way I can do my job is to not think about it too much when it is happening. He had disturbed me with his stare earlier but the show must go on. I warmed up the crowd using Adam as my pole. I wrapped myself around him and rid him like he was my favorite roller coaster, the whip hanging harmless off of my wrist. As I rubbed myself on his thigh he regained some of his earlier firmness and I knew it was time for me to get to work. I worked my stockings off while still lying on Adam’s lap.
I smacked my pussy with my whip hard enough to make Adam’s eye get big and his dick grow harder. Sitting up I took off the bustier and rubbed my nipples on Adams open mouth. I could feel his breath tickling me, making the ice I had used earlier unnecessary. He was really starting to enjoy himself when the first song ended. I dismounted and went behind Adam feeling his eyes follow me.
I take Adams hand and turn him to pole behind him. The bouncer quickly takes away the chair he was sitting in. Pushing his back and making him hug the pole I tie his hands in front of him. I dance around him but as soon as he tried to move from where I put him I give him a little swat with the whip. His look of shock is hot, park shock, part anger. I can tell he didn’t expect to become the entertainment. I hope he doesn’t cry, I hate when they do that...it takes away all of the fun.
When he moves again I spank him a little harder. This time the front row of people eagerly watching me can hear the hiss of the whip and there is a collective “ooo” sound among even the biggest of men. The only thing protecting his ass is air and khaki and before they know it I whip it out again, this time for looking back into the crowd. Adam looks somewhere between intrigued and pissed.
I got close enough to whisper in his ear, “Had enough or you want to play some more?” He whispered back, “Yes I want to play but on my terms, meet me later.” I shake my head at him and gave him a few more light smacks for the crowd. He wasn’t drunk or into it enough for me to do my usual routine of pulling down his pants and spanking him with my hand and then making him felate my boot. . Besides I have learned from experience there are some men who just can’t submit.
After untying him and leading him offstage I went back to put some bottoms. You can’t actually walk through the club with your twat hanging out, some kind of health regulation. When I came back onto the floor another girl was with Adam and I went on with my night, playing with one of my regulars for the last few hours. I was one of the only girls to have my own personal back room but most of my customers were willing to pay the price.
By the time I had gotten showered and dressed for home Tony the bartender had a cab waiting for me. Normally I drove myself but not after working for 12 hours straight. Adam was waiting outside for me, shivering in the February weather. I was hoping he wouldn’t recognize me in my faded jeans and leather coat and hair wrapped in a scarf. With no makeup or hair extensions a lot of men who had spent hundreds to spend time with me didn’t notice me on the street.
I told Tony to go on after I got my bags in the cab. The guy who came and picked me up was a friend and carried a .45 in the seat beside him. I figured I would be okay.
“I didn’t get your name,” Adam said looking at me with intense gaze that had disturbed me earlier. Without me being naked and on his lap it was even stranger to have a man look at me like that.
“It’s up in lights,” I said pointing to the big billboard with my picture on it. “Destiny fulfills every desire” was that latest gimmick but most people just knew me as The Mistress.
“No not that one, your real one.” He came just close enough that I wanted to take a step back but I know better than to show weakness, even to someone like him.
“That’s none of your business and I am tired. Happy Valentine’s Day,” I said as I slid my tired legs into the car. Al looked in his rearview mirror to see if I needed help and I just shook my head.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you or anything,” he said sincerely and I could tell he really meant it. My heart softened a little as I rolled down the window.
“You really want to know my name?” I asked, not for the first time in my career, what came next though did shock me a little bit.
“I’ll tell you my name if you buy me a cup of coffee and a donut...I could really use a donut.”
“Sure, I can do that,” he says reaching for door handle.
We ride in virtual silence, me with my head resting on the back of the seat, him sitting beside me wondering what he got himself into. I was just tired and wanted a few minutes of silence after the hours of listening to bass thumping, booty shaking music. There were only a few girls who would dance to anything other than hard core rap and after a while it became monotonous and just white noise.
We got to my coffee shop and I ordered and then sat down where Al who was sitting in the car could see me. He waved from behind his magazine letting me know he was keeping an eye on me.
When Adam sat down with my coffee and doughnut I looked at him for a few minutes without saying a word, seeing if he would take the lead and ask for what he wanted. I figured if he went back to being pushy about the name thing I could just take my coffee and leave him there. He seemed content just to sit there and sip his coffee and look back at me which was unusual.
“My name is Gabrielle. My friends call me Gabby.” I told him trying to see if he would be disappointed once I took away the last hint of my stripper persona. Some guys look crestfallen when I tell them my name is something simple.
“Hi, Gabby. I’m Adam but I think one of the guy’s already told you that,” a little boy grin breaking out over his face.
We talked for almost an hour and Al even took him home, first of course I still didn’t know him well enough to let him know where I lived. I was surprised to see he lived in a really nice neighborhood, the kind where it matters if the silverware matches when company comes.
He called me the next afternoon sounding chipper and happy while I was feeling sore and tired. For some reason I decided to go to the park to meet him anyway, We laughed and walked the dogs and he never brought up anything about my job, it was wonderful really. For the next week we met at the park everyday, me with my Great Dane named Tulip and him with his Corgi named Diesel. We had the most mismatched dogs there but we were having the most fun. He was so easy to talk to that when he asked me out on a real date I didn’t hesitate to say no. When we made love the first time on my birthday 10 days after we first met I knew I loved him and he said he loved me.
By July we were vacationing together in Hawaii and I was happier than I had been in ages. I took an entire month off of work to fly with him to Paris when he had to be there for work. It was truly one of the best years of my life. He never asked about my work but he didn’t complain either so I thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie. He was the first boyfriend I had ever had who didn’t beg me to quit or treat me like his own personal whore so I didn’t want to rock the boat by asking him if it bothered him. Some part of me knew though since I went to extra effort to hide my costumes and make up when he came over. I was never as neat as when I knew he would be spending a day or two at my place.
The sex was great but tamer than what I normally liked. Any time I tried to get a little kinky he would let me know in subtle ways that he preferred to be make love not fuck and I let him get away with it. Love this fresh and new was not to be disturbed, we could work on some things later if that is what it came to. For once I felt safe and I wasn’t going to let anything, especially something as meaningless as sex destroy it. I lied to myself all the time....what was one more lie?
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