DIRTY, SHE SAID

With the tip of her unpolished nails she plays by the rim of the glass resting infront of her by the surface of the bar, beautifully raw, like she. The intensity of her libation she thought to match well the situation. Anticipation had been building up since the sun raised, she had been gently commanded. Good girl, he had said, she very well knows how good she is and is overall aware she is no girl no more, but this, was a game she was curious to play. She enjoys her own company by the bar, to the movies, through anything else she does throughout the day. On full control, her life is very much of her own. Still, collaboration in certain areas of this kind of fulfilled lives can be quite lovely and delightful. She is a mother, to her inner child and to all of the wonderful creatures that live in her mind, nevertheless, she had enjoyed this affair with this, her new friend for the day. They met under the same underlined demands, left, almost, no trace behind besides the burning on her left cheek she could feel while resting by the, apparently, not soft enough though very elegantly designed stol she is seated on, reminding her to the whip in his hand, how it made her laught but no further emotion than that, a substitute feeling for the lack of substantial and deeper spasms. It had been fun. The collar buckled by her neck attached to the leash she had been directed with had left a subtle red rash by her smooth and silky skin, she applies on it the coldness in her hand transferred by the drink she is celebrating all the flashbacks of this her latest venture with. Being dominated is not in her nature but this had been well consented and accepted. The delightfully present and teasing cravings under her skin should not be ignored, she has learned. highly un-recommended in the making of a healthy mind, an advice she so naturally endorses. Intense red, whether a curse or a bless, it runs through her veins. Yin-yang molecules make their way through her nose with every breath she takes, travelling in and out through her poors. Tapping now her lips with her fingertips she gets that silly grin on her face. The last olive in the cocktail pick, resting in the emptiness of a glass with dripping brine remains by its crystalline walls, will receive the last bite of the night in which she opened the door to that room she had not been before.

Dirty, she said. Short-story from 12 o’clock-tales and after hours thoughts.

IN ANOTHER LIFE WHEN WE ARE ALL CATS


Drugs through the needle are to be avoid but no one warned me about the dangers of the little vibrating device I hold in my hand. I was not told that once you get started it is quite hard to stop. Dosification and moderation are key to a healthy, balanced life, getting to know my drinking limit and leveling down the amount of sugar turned out not to be enough. Laying down on my back as I look out and up to the sky, nothing is more hot and sexy that nature, the wind blowing, travelling through the swinging trees, feels so inviting to launch on this free skydiving trip. I forget I’m on my kitchen floor, by the balcony’s glass door, wide open so I can hear the birds. The subtle buzz gets my mood right on and wanderlust builds up, girlscout prepared embarking on the vogage up towards pitch high. Hanging on a thin string with my fingertips for as long as I can bare, it’s at times difficult to handle, specially whilst my body and mind discuss back and forth whether this is the best I can do to relax or should I rather take a cold bath in the aim to simmer the flickering flame of desire. Am I as greedy in other aspects of life, I doubt that. Overall invasion of electric shocks and then, one, is never enough, neither is two. How many treasures can I find, before I run out. Out of power, energy and any conscious thought. An innanimated flesh mass until I regain my strength again, and my will power to get up on my feet, and on with the day. Wondering if everybody feels the same, if we all have this need for attachment through this delightful inner convulsions and extraordinary high voltage charges to our brain. And if so, how come it is not easier to get, how come I need a device to get me there. In another life, when we are all cats, we might just be able to get smoothly close to one another, and ever so gently, touch with the back of our heads the shoulder of the ones we prefer and explore this free love of the hippies and the sixties affair.

In another life when we are all cats. Short-story from 12 o’clock-tales and after hours thoughts. The book

SAFE SPACE

‘I like to play when I feel safe’ send. The sound automatically generated by the reaction in her phone gave her tickles in her belly. Though she has done this few times before, she still feels nervous and unsure. Is this a good idea? This bitter sweet experience drives her crazy every time. She enjoys the safety of the distance, and the notch of anonymity, but, soon enough, it all feels too close and she, exposed. There is no point on opening this door if one is not willing to share, to dare to reveal your honest inner desires. Sure, there is some teasing around certain activities one is quite unlikely to engage with, giving the chance, but, the core still needs to be genuine and fair, raw pure. She lifted up her head timidly, quick check to see if someone might have noticed her arising blush, the lower lip bitting and her legs tighten. Daylight shining in all directions through the surrounding venue’s glazed walls, all of a sudden, seating by the bar has become a bit too risky of a choice. How it has all escalated to this degree is not that clear at the moment, from a Bloody Marie, not too spicy, to her index finger between her teeth playing with the tip of her nail. She scouts around shifting her eyes only, discretely, she hopes, aiming for a casual look, non-suspicious, at this point, quite a difficult task and well founded hunch by the heated sensation on her cheeks most likely showing scarlet on her expression. Back and forth with compromising suggestions in public was making her, among all the other natural reactions, smile, she understood why she likes this so much, complicity hosting this exchange of flesh rewarding propositions in smart compositions. Her mind thrilled with that level of connexion, the trust they had built. Feeling safe is here the major thrill. All the irrelevant details skipped, the aim is to impress each other with their witty minds and cleverly free charismas. A pick-me-up , a spontaneus intermission, a privately owned virtual bubble with restricted admission. Landing back to her feet, recovering her more harmonious mien, she cheered to herself and her playful disposition. ‘Laters, babe’, send.

Safe space. Short-story from 12 o’clock-tales and after hours thoughts. The book