drabble

Weekly phone call to Mother. It's what you do.

"And I lost five pounds, isn't that great?"

Deep breath in Pennsylvania. I wince.

"Well, that's not nearly enough. You really need to lose more weight--"

I slowly put the phone on the couch arm. Go to the bathroom. Get a cookie. Sit next to the phone and eat the cookie. The tiny monologue never pauses.

I finish the cookie, pick up the phone. "Mother, I'm sorry, I have to go."

"And your clothes would--what?"

"Good-bye, Mother."

I hang up, lean back and smile. So that's power.

little long drabble

Sneaking into the closet Santa used was against the rules. But I didn’t care. Much. I made my sister help me. “If you don’t –you get no gifts on Christmas morning.” I boosted her up and had her look at the big one on the tippy top of the shelf. “What’s it say????” “I can’t read!” Jeez, little sisters. I set her back down on the floor and climb.

There it is. Gold and shiny with lots of curling ribbon and a sticky bow right in the middle! The biggest box my 8 year old eyes have seen – save for the new fridge my gram got that one time. There’s a tag! Is it mine, is it mine???

“AIMEE JO MCVAY!”

I fall.

I am fucking dying over these. So very good.

This drabbling is addictive:

The windows of the ancient farmhouse are thrown open to catch the breeze. My cousins and I are piled into two beds. I hear giggling as they listen at the wall separating their bedroom from their parents' room. The house is dark.

My cousin Belinda whispers to me, "come here."

I slide out of bed and at her command put my eye to the hole in the plaster. There’s enough light. I can see two bodies. My uncle's pale ass is pumping back and forth with effort.

I've never seen adults having sex. I'm 10 years old.

Hee, I like both of those Aimee and Cash. I don't remember ever getting a visual of any of the adults in my family, but I don't think my parents realized the heat register under their bed led straight into the living room ceiling where we would stay up late Friday nights to watch movies. It provided an interesting aural soundtrack to the movies.

I can safely admit I've NEVER seen my parents having sex. This is why I can still have sex. My cousins were warped little perverts, anyway.

Deb, that is beautiful. I heart your Nic.

Ho. ly. Crap. Where did I get this?

Fingers. First gentle, then insistent on shoulders, arms, back.

Lips. Brush against lips, then spark on skin like spots of flame. A blaze is lit, the burn consuming you slowly, inevitably.

Squeeze. You are his talisman, his touchstone. You would sink without him, slide into oblivion alone if not for strong arms and legs.

Hips. Pushing into you, and all but him is forever gone. You feed, drink, breathe from him. He drives you to the edge, and suddenly you gasp, shudder, fall, then fly.

For the first time, and always, you are beautiful. He will never let you forget.

edited to apologize for perhaps being a bit fast and loose with the topic... and, of course, by that I mean porn.

No apology necessary, as far as I'm concerned. If that isn't a discovery, I don't know what is.