Two Firsts

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So which one to write about? Which one to reveal? Which one do I remember? Which one have I forgotten ’til now? Which one really counts?

Teenage curiosity and innocent lust are more apt descriptions from the summer of ’76.  A week at the lake with other families. Days when we never got out of our bathing suits until dinner. Dancing to the music of the Guess Who. Blown away by Peter Frampton. Wiffle ball games just before sunset. When darkness fell, the older folks gathered for their nightly card games while we put pennies in the pot for Michigan Rummy. One night the lights went out and I found myself kissing him. A cousin of a friend. And that’s all there was. A small crush that lasted less than a week. Vacation was over and we all went home. I’ve heard about him from time to time over the years. Turns out he lives in the same valley region as me. I understand he’s had similar struggles. I wonder if he has ever thought about that easy time when we knew nothing of the world. Still sheltered from the harshness and hard times.

But the one I that hides in a tiny corner of my heart happened three years later. Not quite summer and not yet fall. The freshman girl who a lot of the boys thought was cute (at least that’s what my friends told me at the time). But I fell for the senior and he for me. A bit of a rebel and I assure you that was part of his appeal. I liked his curly locks and trimmed beard and the fact that he could play guitar and sing. The first night he took me out he walked me to my dorm and we kissed on the path outside. His glasses fogged up. And I remember thinking that it felt so very different from it did when I was fifteen.

Needless to say, we fell in love. Crazy, mad young love where you find yourself unable to think of anything else. Love that didn’t meet parental approval, so it was met with outright rebellion. Circumstances eventually changed and then ended our ties to one another. My heart was broken. It was hard to let him go but it was the right thing to do. I thought I saw him once years after he’d married and I was with another. He was sitting at a storefront window talking with a friend. My heart stopped and my mouth went dry. I never went in to say hello. But his love letters and photos are still tucked away in an attic trunk. Momentos of my first love unread and unseen for decades. Pieces of a former self and sweet reminders of first love.

 

Kellie’s  prompt this week had me in the way back machine! I could not decide on one particular story as one memory (in this case, the latter) brought up another. The story is my complete thought process.

#FWF Free Write Friday: First Kiss

Summer is in the air and reminds me of those sweet summer flings, first kisses and young love. Do you remember? Tell me…

 

Sipping Freedom

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Tori pushed the pedal to the metal as she rounded the curve on the not yet familiar rural road. The predawn air was cool but she had rolled down the top of her jeep anyway. Eager to breathe in the scent of pine and dirt and cleanse herself of last night’s forays and rumblings. She hadn’t any time to shower.  With a nearly two-hour drive back and her kids to get off to school and herself to get off to work,  a shower fell off the list of things to do.

This was the first night she spent at Max’s place. Normally, he would stay at her house when her kids were with their father. But the modest cape on the suburban cul-de-sac was at once gossip central in her neighborhood and at odds with the passionate love affair she had recently begun with Max. She wanted and needed a separation between her life as a mother and a newly single woman.  Lack of privacy seemed the norm once you had children. Neighbors and friends always asking after them and their activities, how they were doing in school. Inevitably, the conversation steered towards you and your interests and activities. That’s what people were after anyway.

She stole a glance at the early spring sky. Sunrise soon. The few clouds a wispy gray and brushstrokes of tangerine. She buried her wish to be free of  the chains of motherhood. She loved her children.  Aslain and Anton were precocious 11-year-old twins who kept her on her toes. Both demanding and entertaining. Full of spunk. Truly replicas of herself at that age and what she continued to be  until her marriage to Eddie sucked her self out of herself.

The ride on this road was the beginning of her new beginning.  An awakening and a reawakening.  She sipped her coffee Max brewed for her as she attempted to dress herself.  For each zip of her fly and buttoning of her shirt, he would be doing the opposite until she finally gave up. They made love one last time while waiting for the coffee to finish.  She knew she was half dressed and still moist and she didn’t care. It tasted good.

She shifted into fifth and roared down the highway.

 

Kellie Elmore offered us the best challenge ever for Free Write Friday.  This piece has been stirring inside me since last fall. And it has been trying to tell itself more so than ever this week.  Just haven’t been able to get the words down. So here’s the start of something I hope!

 

You have a story in you. Everyone does. And I challenge you to take the first step toward telling it. The prompt this week can only come from you. That idea you once had. Or maybe it’s that idea you just had. That story that hasn’t been told that you want to hear, it needs you to bring it to life. And it all begins with one step. That first opening line on that first page of that first chapter. What does it say? That is your prompt.  

Just see how far it takes you. 🙂

Heat Lightning

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Maria doesn’t remember the exact moment she met Danny. Thirty years is a long time to look back on when so much of life has occurred. She remembers it was June and the NBA finals were on. Celtics versus the Lakers. Bird versus Magic. She and a bunch of other twenty-somethings were crowded around someone’s television set in a double-decker apartment.  A Sunday afternoon sunny and warm-the windows open to let the cool breeze inside the second floor living room.

And there he was.  Thin and tan with long blonde hair. A friend of Layla’s (technically her boss), Danny was the editor of a small town newspaper where Layla worked as a reporter. Maria met Layla through an old college friend and they in turn, hit it off.  She quickly became a part of Layla’s social circle.

And just as quickly, she fell in with Danny. Their first date together was dinner at his house on the lake. Gnocchi and wine. Maria doesn’t remember how she got there (she had no car in those days) but does recall spending the night. She loved the spontaneity of their relationship. Days at the beach. Beer and steamers at The Barnacle at sunset. Sunday mornings at the lake. Her hair streaked with sun and her skin as brown as a berry. The absolute sheer physical attraction was the energy that fueled their relationship. Maria had no inhibitions with him.  She was quite sure that her sounds of ecstasy reverberated throughout the walls of the house he shared with three others but felt no sense of self-consciousness regarding her new found self-expression. Danny brought out a lustful beast in her that she found hard to contain. Their forays in the sand nearly bordered on public acts of indecency. (Just thinking about it now causes her heart to race and her body to pulse in places only he could touch.)

They fanned the flames of their affair all summer long.  Their bodies were joined more than they were apart, breaking only for soothing swims and meals that seemed to have aphrodisiac effects. Maria’s head and heart and spirit were full of passion. Danny gave her what she needed without demands and she did the same in turn. They talked and laughed but never got in too deep. Maria loved the fact that he was a true gentleman; he treated her kindly and with a reverence reserved for those he deeply admired. Perhaps this is what drew them together. While they surely fucked like animals at times, he never treated her like a stranger or a one-night stand. But he never did tell her that he loved her nor she him.  A strange dichotomy in some ways. But it worked for as long as it could last.

As summer turned to autumn and the nights grew cold, they said good-bye. Maria felt a sad longing for a little while but she never did see or think about him again.  Until tonight. Sitting here with her friends, Maureen and Joanne at a beach front bar. She looks up from her drink to see a man standing next to her. He smiles. Tan, short cut blonde hair with traces of gray. “Maria”, says Maureen, “This is my boss Danny. I have been dying for you two to meet.”

A Moment in Eden


Credit: crimson-werecat.deviantart.com

 

             He reached out to touch her

His fingertips alighting ever so slightly on the curve in her back

The small cavern just above her tail bone that allows for the slight rise to her rear cheeks

                      A tender spot peach fuzz soft

                                    He moved his lips down to kiss her there

               The sweet taste sowing a sensation a synchronized sigh

                           Scarcely sleeping she turns absent of words

                  Her body the response the answer and permission

                              “Yes, please”

‘Til We Meet Again

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The bags are barely unpacked

I take the clothes out in dribs and drabs

Stuffing them back in the drawers or laundry basket

without a care

Some strewn on the floor

as if they were discarded in a heated moment between lovers

 

We’re travelers together, you and I

Leaving pieces of  ourselves behind each time we part

My mind often goes back to the moments in flames

When lust and desire ignited our hearts

We followed no set path

Seeing only with our Third Eye

Falling into the abyss without reservations

 

I want to keep the clothes where they lay

  A suitcase half packed

 The “go bag” for the next wandering

An oh-so-sweet drifting

That next leap

Enfolded

Enveloped 

in the Ecstasy that is Us

She Said, He Said

Credit: www.telegraph.co.uk

How do you know it’s real, she said

When each hello is ripe with anticipation and every goodbye makes you cry, he said

Yes, but what about after that? she said

When each moment feels like its happening for the first time, he said

Yes, but they don’t last, we all know that, she said

Those times are the building blocks for a strong partnership, he said

Oh so you mean what we go back to when we find ourselves settling in? she said

Yes, those reminders of why we fell in love in the first place, he said

Well, with you I always go back babe, she said

Then it must be real, he said

 

 

 

 

 

Voyage to Nirvana

 

Image Credit: stuffpoint.com

 You find yourself in the lower level of an old ship. A calendar on the wall says  1682. There is a small window, and the view is nothing but open sea and a setting sun. There is a staircase and you can see daylight at the top…

 

Lydia awoke to the sound of vomiting, the stench of urine and shit and the feeling of her body being buffeted against a rough surface. Her mouth was parched as her tongue scraped across her lips in a feeble attempt to quench her thirst. Her eyes searched for information in a near void of blackness. Straight on, a piece of paper crudely slapped upon wooden beams.  In her blurred vision, she could make out four numbers:1682.  As her eyes adjusted to the low lighting, she realized that she was looking at a calendar. August 7, 1682!

Dazed and out of sorts, she attempted to arise only to be slammed down by a sudden jolt.  Something was not quite right. She stood up once more only to fall over once again. As she tried one final time to upright herself, a phantom hand grabbed her forearm. “Aye, where you going there, Missy?”  Could it be? Was this her former lover disguised as some sort of rag tag sailor out of a pirate movie? God, he was wretched looking. And then she looked at herself.   A gown of some sort corseted at the chest and waist. She was covered in a heavy shawl and her long flowing hair-did she have hair?- was atop her head hidden beneath a bonnet.

This was too weird. Where the hell was she? That tequila sure was strong last night. How many shots did she drink, anyway? As she looked around, there appeared to be others in the “hole” with her. Men, women, children in various states of sleep as well as health.  Then that smarmy voice called out  again .”Come on lovey, give it over a little.”  One hand was at her breast and the other up her dress. But her foot reached the perfect target just in time for another rolling around the room. He screamed and she found herself up against a set of stairs, her head aching. She looked up. Daylight! Lydia mustered all her strength and crawled on all fours to the top.

“Hey, babe. Sounds like you had a rough night at Club 1682. I made your favorite breakfast and some strong coffee. But first let’s get ourselves in that warm bubble bath made just for two.”

 

 

Thanks once again to Kellie Elmore for the Free Write Friday prompt!

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Magdalena

Source: We Heart It

Source: We Heart It

She ambled out into the hush of the city’s streets,the Arctic air at once taking her breath away and filling her lungs with renewed life. The spectacular chill washed away the late night’s pungent plundering. Another evening another man.  Pure bliss coupled with an exacting need to refill that sugar in her bowl.  The dark season only increased her need for the heat of skin on skin. She liked the anonymity of it, never knowing quitewhat to expect even when she was well acquainted with her conquests. The conversation ended as soon as the key unlocked his door. She wasn’t interested in small talk or the intimacy revealed in some random deep conversation. Each encounter was a relief and a revelation, each getting their share and never once feeling used or abused.

She never liked to stay, never enjoyed the tangling of limbs and sheets in the aftermath. Never wanted to greet the day with him. She preferred a quiet exit as he lay soundly sleeping. Nights like this when the world seemed dead asleep were hers and hers alone. She could make first tracks. Listen for the squeaky crunch of her boots on newly fallen snow. Shelter  herself beneath the awning of her umbrella. Alive,silently satiated, but still simmering with anticipation, awaiting the sensual mystery of a subsequent surrendering.

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#FWF Free Write Friday: Time and Place Scenario

by Kellie Elmore

An image prompt that took off down an unexpected path. But hey, isn’t that what free writes are all about?  I am thankful once again to Kellie Elmore for helping me tend to my muse! XO

At Last

Credit: wallpoper.com

I remember the first time I saw you.

Walking towards me in the heat of the day.

I remember that first conversation.

Hours of intimacy, our skin pruned and blistered from the water and sun.

I remember that feeling of connection.

Immediate ease, our bodies in unconscious rhythm.

I remember the endless days awaiting your arrival.

Airport greetings, my heart leaping and skin tingling.

I remember the soft downy covers.

Sheltered from head to toe, your heart on mine.

I remember knowing we were forever.

When just the sight of you

or the sound of your voice

or the touch of your hand

feels like the first time.

Another prompt from dear Kellie that gets to the heart of the matter. In love and in life it is always the small moments that count.

Click on the link to read other talented musings!

#FWF Free Write Friday: Ponder This

by Kellie Elmore

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Just A Little Fury

Credit: lowtechgrrl.deviantart.com

WHY LEAVE ANYTHING

YOU THIEVING BASTARD?

Tammy Lynne spray-painted that question onto a piece of plywood, dragged it to the end of the driveway and leaned it against the mail post for all the world to see (well, at least the folks who screamed by in their cars and trucks along Route 481).

Tammy had returned home from her afternoon shift at the clinic only to discover that nearly the entire contents of the small cabin she shared with her husband Kevin had been removed.  He left the bed, her dresser, a few chipped dishes, dented pots and pans, the worn couch, her CD player and all of her music.

The walls were bare. All of the art work that had served as memorabilia from their backpacking trips abroad had vanished. The pieces were the only thing of value that they owned. Well, maybe the snow blower and the tools; they were gone too along with the desktop computer that Kevin’s parents gave them as an anniversary present last year. He had the audacity to even take that with him too. Luckily, she saved all of her important information on thumbnail drives. Including those friggin’ incriminating emails between him and that case manager at the hospital. Did Kevin really think she would be that ignorant not to notice how those two looked at each other at the last hospital fundraiser? He spent most of the night ignoring her. Humiliated,Tammy spent it nursing one too many drinks at the bar and fending off the paws of Kevin’s mentor, Phil Keeley. He was one of those docs with big egos and small brains who was constantly trying to get in every woman’s pants except his wife’s. Tammy was sure the night ended badly because when she woke up the next morning, Kevin was sleeping on the couch.

Good thing he had no clue where she kept her secret stash of Hendrick’s gin. The stuff was expensive and hard to find. But Bobby, the bartender down at the Newtowne Tavern, was able to score some for her last month and didn’t charge her for it. She would probably have to find a way to return the favor someday. And Tammy knew exactly what Bobby liked as payments for his good deeds. Heck, he was a hottie; she might even enjoy paying back that debt.

In fact, it was the Hendrick’s that inspired her work of art. She was two drinks down and working on her third, listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s  “Tuesday’s Gone” when the idea came to her. She found the plywood and paint in the shed. In her drunken stupor and the coming light, she tattooed her anger on a 10×12 sheet of pine.

*An older story that I found hiding on a piece of paper in one of my writer’s notebooks. Inspired by something I observed on a road trip last summer.