Fiction - Twinkle, Twinkle Dirty Girl... (pt.6)

Excuse me?

No, I don't take the word "No" so easily.

Especially when I know you don't mean it.

Oh, c'mon.

Come. ON.

You and I both know what you want.

... sorry? You think you know what you want, but it's not..?

Right.

RIGHT.

I could touch you, right now, out on the street, with people walking
by, and you'd struggle. Maybe fight.

But you give in. Deep down, you so desperately crave a guy who doesn't
take "no" for an answer.

And I don't EVER take "no" for an answer.

Especially when I know the answer's "yes".

Don't look away.

Look at me.

I'm right.

God, it must drive you crazy sometimes, doesn't it? When so few people
get in your face, and refust to back off. When all you want is a man
to act like a man.

To not take your bullshit.

To take you.

... yes, I know my mouth is inches from your face, and my fingers are
in your hair.

And we both know you like it this way.

My apartment is right up the street.

And you're coming with me.

Aren't you?

--

(to be continued)

Nonfiction - The Emptiness Inside.

"he fucks my body---and I enjoy that, I respond with enthusiasm---, but he doesn’t penetrate my soul."

--

Dirty Talkin' Girl over at Pussy Talk writes almost every day. I love her writing. It's sexy and stylish, and quite cerebral. But there was one entry that made me pause. Go read this.

I was blown away by it. It's an honest, soul-baring entry, and one that resonates not just with me, but with many people I know; In real life, and in the online world.

I'm having a hard time writing anything about this besides "go read it". It hits way too close to home. Not because I'm screwing anyone who's empty inside, but because I've been there before. I've looked down, stared at her eyes and seen nothing; and there have been 2 females where I looked down, and saw... something. When the connection was more than physical/sexual/intimate. It was..."more", I guess.

There have been only 2 girls I've made that connection with. And one of them is an ex-girlfriend I can't seem to shake. Not for lack of trying, either.

See, I've just been re-hired to do my summer gig. I got "the call" last week, and have already started re-hiring staff, and doing paperwork. I've got six long months of prep-work ahead of me, before the program itself. The upside? I got promoted. I'm the Big Man, now.

The downside? The person taking over my position, who'll act as my assistant is my ex-girlfriend.

And she's one of the only 2 girls I've ever been intimate with, where I look down, and see something in her eyes. We spoke for the first time in three months last week, when I offered her the job. And the sexual tension is still there. The game has begun anew.

Soul Fuck, indeed.

I've considered writing about my history with Her. Yeah, she gets a name, that's how serious I take her. It's long and complicated and almost never-ending.

It is going to be a very long six months.

You'll hear more about this topic, surely.

--The Already-Weary Bastard

Twinkle, Twinkle, Dirty Girl... (pt. 4)

I caught you off-guard there, didn't I.

Yeah, I do that.

No, I think you do like sex, and yes, just like that. No, really.

Why do I say that?

Oh, It's just...

(that twinkle in your eye. It's gotten bigger now.)

I can tell, with certain women...

I think you thirst for it.

Oh c'mon, what's wrong with enjoying sex?

Well, that's true, I did say 'thirst'...

(hm. are you a whore?)

I'm right though. You thirst for it.

Yes, you do. And you _crave_ it.

You know I'm right. Why try to argue with me?

Oh, no changing the subject, sweetie. It's too late for that.

And you like to be touched, don't you. But not in that sensitive-90's-needs-to-go

-to-therapy-kinda way.

No, not like that.

You want strong hands on you. And it's not so much a point of you just
letting the "guy do the work", is it?

No.

It's a combination of your lust and his power. He knows what you
want, you know what he wants...

It's a feeding frenzy of flesh.

.. hm?

How do I know I'm right?

(I can smell your lust)

Because If I was wrong, you wouldn't be leaning in, listening to every word, face turning red. You would've left already.

(and my hand is on your thigh)

--

(to be continued)

--The Bastard

Fiction - Friction

He was pissed.

"Why do you this?" He snapped.

She sighed.

"I thought we agreed we wouldn't talk about this."

"In your own little world, maybe. But here on Earth..."

She turned over, pulling on the covers. "I need to be up early."

He watched her form twist in the darkness, then reached over and turned on the lamp.

She cursed.

"I have to be up at 6." She snapped back.

"I don't care. We're doing this."

"Now?"

"Now." His voice said firmly.

She flipped over.

"Fine." Her voice, dead.

"You don't trust me."

"I trust you."

"You're lying." He accused.

"Now who has trust iss-" She joked.

"Don't." He said sharply.

"What?"

"Don't make jokes. Leave it alone."

She lay there quietly.

"You're angry." She said, bewildered. "Why are you angry with me?"

This time, he turned away.

"Forget it."

"Oh, no. I will *NOT* forget it. What is this about? Is it the sex?"

"No."

"It better not be the sex, because it's good."

"It's great."

"The sex? " She asked.

"Yes." He agreed.

"Then what..." her voice faltered.

"Haven't you ever wanted to be a part of something?" He whispered. "To be open and free, and enjoy life?"

"I am a part of something." She said.

"No, you hide things. You hide them from your friends, and you hide them from me."

She said nothing.

"And you can't even admit it, can you?"

Her heart pounded in her chest.

"I need more," He begged. "Can't you give me more? Or is this all you've got to give?"

She reached over to touch him.

He flinched.

The silence held them still, as they waited for the other to fix the breach.

No words came.

He left the next morning.

--

The Trusting-or-is-it-trustless Bastard?

Fiction - Twinkle, Twinkle, Dirty Girl... (pt.3)

Thanks for coming. Yeah, I completely forgot I had this gig and...

Hmm? Oh, 20 years or so. Yeah, I love it. I get up there, grab the
sticks, and just have a good time. Rock, jazz, blues... it's all fun
for me. Actually, I went to college for music.

Yup, degree and everything. I'm licensed to teach and..

No, really? Piano? Huh. Small world, right.

Yeah, so I actually play more orchestral gigs, than small clubs like
this. Standing behind the orchestra... Yeah, you know what I mean.

By the way, you look absolutely smoking. I'm getting dirty looks
because the hottest chick in here is talking to me.

No, really.

Yeah.

(I want to touch you)

You need a drink? Yeah, me, too. After you.

(ohhh... look at that ass)

So, I'm surprised you came out.

Well, I appreciate it, as does the bar owner, I imagine.

I like what you did with your hair, too.

Do you really look like someone I know? That's an interesting quesion.

How does "maybe' sound?

Well you can't blame me, can you? You look stunning.

(grr.. that perfume is.. intoxicating)

No, really.

Ohh, don't play coy with me. You and I both know you spent time
figuring out what to wear.

Yes, I know all women do that, but you know exactly what I mean.

Oh, really? Okay.

You looked at your clothes, and wanted to look good. You want people
to notice you. But, you didn't want an outfit that would make people
say "Oh, she just wants to be noticed." You were looking for "Hot
damn, look at that."

You just didn't want to be obvious about it.

Heh.

You can pick your chin up off the bar.

(ah, the twinkle in your eye... and now.. there's something else behind it.)

Well, I'm brilliant, what can I say.

*laughter*

(something darker.)

What else do I know? Oh, I wouldn't want to ruin it for you.

(... I can almost...)

Really?

*leans forward*

You really want to be fucked hard.

(I want to taste you)

-- The Bastard

Nonfiction - Time for a change

I'm in a bit of a slump, so I'm going to switch gears a little bit.

I've had this idea of buying a diary, and using it as a journal. The only stipulation would be that I always use it while I'm "out and about". In other words, never when I'm home.

For some reason, it's been hard to write lately. I don't know why. Actually, I do. I'm distracted and have other things on my mind.

So, in order to get back in the game, I'm going to try something.

"Notes on the run". It's going to be a random collection of notes that I write down while I'm out. The first one is directly under this entry. What I write in my "little black book" will get typed in, with minimal editing. It's an experiment, we'll see what happens.

The sole purpose of this, is to keep me writing. For the record, there will be more sex stories coming out in the near future. I'm just... jumpstarting my brain a little bit.

-- The Distracted-but-unrelenting Bastard.

Notes on the Run - 1

The little paper strap that surrounds the book says "The Legendary Notebook of Hemingway, Picasso and Chatwin." Okay, I'll bite: How much writing did Picasso do?

Sigh.

If it had said Beethoven, Stravinsy, or Tchaikowsky, I would've understood.

The bartender (snobby) and waiter(pleasant) were just discussing gambling; Well a "football pool". It occurs to me that every job I've worked since moving up here 18 months ago, has included working with employees who gamble.

It's a gambling town, So I shouldn't be surprised. Me? Nah. I stay away from it. I know better.

Wow. My hand hurts. I haven't written this much in awhile. The product of the computer generation, I guess.

The scotch is perfect. Not too much ice (which can destroy the flavor).

The bar, which I shall refer to as "B's" is upscale and quiet; just my type of establishment.

It doesn't hurt that the waitress is sexy.

Time to finish my drink and go. I have a haircut next door.

Heh. She's sexy, too.

1/18/05 - 5:28pm.

Nonfiction - Haunted Whisper

So, a very strange thing happened a couple months ago.

It started sometime in mid-to-late November, I think. Maybe early December? I'm fairly certain (no, completely certain) that it's not from a movie or from a song.

It's a fragment. I think it's a female's voice who utters the words, but sometimes I say it out loud, when my mind wanders.

"Tell me how the story ends."

It echoes in my mind. It bounces off the inside of my skull, gets lost in the gray matter, then shows up once I've completely forgotten it exists. Usually, when I'm alone.

And... I'm afraid of it. It means something, and I don't know what. I'm afraid to use it in a story, 'cause I don't think I'm worthy of using it. It's bigger than me; there's something there.

And it's stagnant. I don't know where it goes, or what happened before. Is it at the end? Or is it at the beginning? Is it part of the 'quiet moment', between two actors on screen? Is it a reminder that we have choices to make, and the wrong ones have consequences? Hmm where have I heard that before?

"Tell me how the story ends."

It's a moment, caught in time, in a story or tale, and I don't know the setting or the characters. All I hear is that voice, begging for resolution.

I'm also concerned it has something to do with my ex-girlfriend from last summer. That particular thought petrifies me.

--

I have a kazillion ideas, and then I have one. I smile while driving, as three different hot sex scenes pop into my head, and then there are none.

And then, out of nowhere, I hear it. Pleading with me.

"Tell me how the story ends,"

I wish and wish and wish I could.

-- The Haunted Bastard

Fiction - Twinkle, Twinkle, Dirty Girl... (pt. 2)

You're walking away.

Nonono... that won't do, not at all. Not. At. All.

But how do I...

Sigh. This is where I falter. Every time. I usually need a drink
before I even consider...

Fuck it. FUCK IT.

I grab your arm.

I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else. Yes, you look just like her. Ha ha ha.

You could be her sister. Yes, really. (Not really, but I'm still
talking. Talking is good)

No, I'm not hitting on you. Well, if I was, how would I be doing?

Really.... REALLY. Huh.

Not bad for a guy who has a hard time talking to women. Yes. Really.

Well, you do look like someone I know. Plus, you've got this twinkle
in your eye, it's just... I don't know. There's something about it...

So, how about a drink sometime? Me? Oh, I'm a musician. Ha ha.. yes,
I'm the guy Mom and Dad warn you about.

Actually... I -am- the guy Mom and Dad warn you about.

Really.

So,that drink?

Yes, Tomorrow is good.

...

Heh.

(to be continued)

Fiction - Twinkle, Twinkle, Dirty Girl...

(Part 1 of ?)

---

You have this sweetness to you, don't you?

It's sugary and pleasant, but in the corner of your eyes, there's..
something else. A twinkle, maybe? Yes. A twinkle.

Hm.

I'm intrigued.

I love watching people, y'see. Their motivations, their lifestyle,
their sexual habits... how much can you figure out just by watching
them stand in line for one minute at the bookstore.

So, this twinkle, it perplexes me. It doesn't fit in with your
image. You've got this clean-cut thing going on, and... hm. I'm
missing something. The image, the twinkle... they don't work together.

Or do they? Maybe I'm I reading you wrong? Is the clean-cut portrayal
a cover? Oh my. Yes, I think that's it.

Ohhhh. You're *faking* it. You're putting out a 'good-girl' vibe, but
that's not it at all, is it? And the twinkle... ohhhh... the twinkle
is your Achilles Heel.

Well. Now it's interesting, isn't it? Now that I know a little bit
more about you, things start to fall into place. That outfit you're
wearing... it's sweet, but sexy. You like to tease, don't you? In such
a subtle way that makes a man work for it? Yes, yes... that makes more
sense

Which means... you like the attention, too. No, you like being the
*center* of attention. You like feeling eyes on you. You like being
watched, too, I think.

That twinkle is really giving you away, now.

You bend over, and do it such a provocatively non-provocative way,
that I know I'm right

You crave, don't you? You're wanton for... something.

And now I know what it is.

Oh yes.

The twinkle gave you away, indeed.

(to be continued)

Nonfiction - Quiet Home

11pm, Christmas Eve, My Mother's House, "downstate"

--

If you ask anyone from Long Island or NYC, they'll tell you that anything north of Manhattan is considered "upstate".

That same question, when applied to anyone south of Albany(but north of NYC), will tell you that all citizens north of Albany is "upstate", but that everyone south of that area is "downstate".

(This is far more confusing than necessary.)

Screw NYC. I was born downstate. As a general rule, I don't come back here much anymore. There's something wrong with the area. I can't find the word for it, but there's a meanness that's off-putting.

The 90's recession was not kind to the Hudson Valley Region. Several large corporations cut their staff by upwards of 20-30%, and the real estate market took a nosedive. It was around this time that my family fell apart, and I took my first hiatus from college.

Going back home is the mental equivalent of regurgitation, there's too many memories; I get hit with both nostalgia and fear whenever I return. The nostalgia hits me if I drive into certain areas or streets. The fear hits me when I see certain pictures in my mother's house, and a long-forgotten memory flashes before my eyes.

And then I go out to get gas, or go shopping with my friend at the mall, and I listen to the people talk. And Bitch. And Complain. And Bitch. And Act Rude. And Bitch. And do all the things I can't stand.

I moved upstate almost 18 months ago, seemingly to a different world. The girl at the Sunoco station is young, but smiles without a trace of condescension. My friend who owns the pizza place grins and hollars "There he is!" whenever I stop in. A co-worker, whom I didn't think liked me, offered me his mechanic (and a good rate), if I ever had problems with my truck.

I like it upstate. Even on the worst days, people smile.

I miss my friends, though. They understood that it was time for me to go, but my move was abrupt. One day I was there, the next day I was gone. They're good people, and we had good times.

As of late, I've wondered if I should relocate again, or even move back there. But that would be a regression, stepping back into a life I'm still trying to move away from.

No, I don't think that's a good idea at all.

2.5 hours north of here, there is a small apartment on a lake, waiting for me.

-- The Quiet Bastard

Nonfiction - Return of the Bastard

I live, I breathe.

My time off was very pleasant and quiet. I checked e-mail intermittently and enjoyed a handful of movies.

Not to mention a deliciously naughty evening. Heh.

It was nice, not being hooked up to the online world. I see a future where everyone is online all the time (via micro-implants); the accesibility of information will be helpful, but the dependency on technology is a little scary.

... I digress.

It was quiet, peaceful, and a little naughty.

Back to work.

-- The Eye-Twinkling, Well-Rested, Always-Obnoxious Bastard

Nonfiction - Thanks, Nick.

Dear Santa, you half-assed miserable git:

So, Christmas came and went. A bit uneven, but I'm not complaining. Truth be told, your track record over the last 10 years has been unimpressive. It's okay, I don't hold a grudge. Not everyone's perfect. (Well, I am. That's what comes from being arrogant and brilliant, y'know?)

Anyways.

Where was I.

Oh yes. "Unimpressive".

I mean, I've gotten older, and I know how this is supposed to work(life, that is), and things change after a certain point in time, and you know you've got stuff to do, and you just...

I dunno.

...

Since the early 90's I've asked you for a number of odds and ends; Some happiness, some hope, a little peace of mind... y'know, the usual. And, for the most part, you've failed me.

Really, no bitterness. Just the way life goes.

This year though, you surprised me. Besides the usual gifts and gift cards (Barnes & Noble and Best Buy) I received a small(very small) bout of peace of mind, and a healthy dose of inspiration.

I am stunned. It caught me off-guard. When you have low (or no) expectations, the smallest things can be a surprise. And that little dose of inspiration, not to mention some real quiet time... it helped.

(Oh, and I don't know what strings you pulled to get Blockbuster Video to FINALLY open a fucking branch 10 minutes away, but crap... THAT was a wonderful gift, too.. We have every conceivable store imaginable within a 5-miles radius, and yet it took forever to get Blockbuster to open. I've watched a shitload of movies the last couple weeks. Fun fun.)

I was pleased.

No, I AM pleased. I don't think I even asked you for anything, and yet you gave me a little bit anyways. I wouldn't mind more, but hell... something is better than nothing.

So, since we as a society normally take things for granted, occasionally forgetting to be gracious and such...

Thanks, you old softie.

And yes, I'll try to be a better person this year.

Sorry, that's the best you're going to get.

Cheers.

-The Ever-Present and Very Relaxed Bastard.