Two Days Til Touch Down

Pushing Forward

‘You look so pretty’, I told Lo as she walked up the stairs.

‘You do too’, she replied. ‘Why are you wearing a dress?’

‘Because none of my shorts fit.’

‘They will again, ya dork.’

I gave her a tiny smile while I put the brakes on my chair and lifted it over the threshold of my apartment door. I have to admit, I feel pretty bad ass when I do that. Who knew I’d be able to lift a wheelchair while standing on one leg? I stood at the top of the stairs as Lo walked past me and took my chair down the stairs. I laughed as she banged the damn thing down every step. She laughed as I hopped on one leg down those same steps. I’m sure my neighbors hate all the noise I make. When I run into The Old Lady that lives beside me, she often gives me the stink eye for absolutely no reason. Bitch! I digress.

Lo waited for me at the bottom of the steps. I hopped and fell into the chair.

‘I’m so damn sick of this shit!’

‘Think about how I feel’,  Lo exclaimed. ‘I have to carry that damn chair of yours everywhere.’

We laughed as I hopped yet again and maneuvered into the passenger seat of her car. As we traveled to Saline, we caught up on the events of the night before. She went to visit a mutual friend of ours and I hung out with Bette. I tried not to cry while she told me of her happiness. I sat next to her and smiled, but behind my sunglasses the tears flowed.

‘I often think it would be easier on everyone if I died in the accident.’

‘Nae, God saved you for a reason.’

‘What is that reason though?!’

I for reasons I can not fathom think it would have been easier if I’d died. My family and friends would have grieved, and I wouldn’t have felt any more pain or loneliness. I would have stopped incessantly crying, or the constant wishing for things that are never going to come to me.

‘Lo, I feel so broken.’

‘Honey, we are all broken, in our own way.’

‘At least you have the prospect of someone to love you.’

God saved you in that accident. He hasn’t shown you the reason you were saved, because you’re not open to Him.

Our conversation died when her phone rang. I sat with my hands crossed in my lap and tried to compose myself. Rolling down the window, I let the fresh air dry my tears. I inhaled the scent of summer and freedom. All of a sudden, I was slammed with the urge to tuck and roll out of Lo’s car and find a pool to jump into. Wheelchair and advisement from my surgeon be damned! How I’ve missed my rebel spirit.

Before grocery shopping we met T at Cancun for lunch. I was so glad I’d done my hair and makeup. I felt pretty, even though I was sitting in a chair, and had gained so much weight while I’ve been recuperating. T’s daughter joined us and Lo and I made sure to talk about inappropriate things while we we ate. Sex was often the topic. T admonished us more than once, which seemed to make Lo and I act even more lewd. T’s daughter didn’t seem to mind, though she did blush a time or two. The young woman was so fair complected, I bet one could see her red glow from a mile away. She had a gentle but guarded smile, and all I wanted to do was hug her.

At Wally World, Lo brought around scooter for me to shop with. I drove the thing like a pro. I didn’t have my brace on and was constantly hoping other shoppers didn’t think I was using it because I was too fat to walk. I have no idea why I gave a shit what perfect strangers thought of me driving around in a Walmart scooter, but I did. I made sure to smile at the people that stared at me. Often, I balanced on one foot to grab items from a high shelf. Lo may have to drive me, but I did my very best to be independent when shopping.

After checking out, Lo took me home. I waited while she took my groceries up to my apartment and placed them on the table. Her car radio blared because we needed to hear how the Tigers game would end. While Martinez struck the ball with his bat, I raised my face to the sun and breathed in my last bit of summer and freedom for the day. The Tigers won while she wheeled me to my door. She dragged my wheelchair up the stairs, and I went up the steps on my butt. I slid into my chair like Lieutenant Dan and lifted that damn chair over the threshold on one leg. My BFF and I hugged and said our goodbyes.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was the last time I would be lifting my chair over the metal molding in my apartment doorway. It was the last time Lo Lo would have to drag my chair up and down the stairs. It was the last time I would have to take my wheelchair on a shopping excursion. It was the last time she’d have to push me around in my chair while I stubbornly tried to push it myself.

Two days till touch down…I hope I find out why God saved me on that snowy night in March…Maybe it’s something as simple smelling the aroma of summer and freedom…Maybe it’s for something greater…Maybe it’s to experience the joy of becoming a grandmother…Maybe, maybe, maybe…

Friday Fictioneers-Time for Absolutes

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Bleary eyed from fatigue and two vodka tonics, Janelle strained to read the text from David, her ex.

“I miss you Love.”

Melodious guitar music hid her sharp intake of breath. The years and miles dissolved as she remembered him, holding and loving her.

Outside, the scent of exhaust overwhelmed her, along with the drone of traffic in the city that never slept. A taxi hailed, she instructed the driver to deliver her to LaGuardia. She sent David her response.

“On my way Darling.”

She’d had enough of what ifs. It was time for absolutes. Finally, it was their time.

100 words/Genre: Romance, of course

Thank you  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. It is an honor and a privilege to have Ms. Rochelle critique my work. Please be sure to go to her page and read their stories too. We are a rather eclectic group and the genres run the gamut.

I welcome kudos and criticism. Happy reading.

100 Word Song-Deep As You Go

We find two lovers embroiled in a heated discussion. I’m not sure of the circumstances that brought them here, but the words came to me. I was in the shower when the woman began screaming, tell her the truth! I’m learning that there are so many degrees of love. So many ways to turn your back on happiness. When we fall, we fall hard. And every time we do, it’s more difficult to get back up. We must though. We must get up, and brush the dust from our hearts. Remove the shards of glass too. Sweep them into a pile and discard them. Hopefully the next time we love, it will be forever.

Thank you Lance Burson from My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog for hosting the 100 Word Song story prompt.

(He… She…)

I miss you so much.

If you did, you’d tell her the truth.

I can’t, you know that.

I know nothing, but what is between you and me. Tell her that you love me.

I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.

Do you believe in the strength of that love?

Yes.

Then tell her the truth. I am not the reason you faltered, I was merely the catalyst.

What would you have me do?

Tell her that you love me. Own what you feel. Don’t lose me, don’t leave me. Please, don’t let me drown.

 

Robot-Badge

Lucy, You Got Some ‘Splaining to Do

Lucille Ball

“I’m not funny. What I am is brave.”-Lucille Ball

**Special thanks to Adam at TheChowderHead.com for the sexy-ass banner design. I don’t know how he did it, but he captured my personality perfectly. You can see every aspect of my life and desires in that banner. How he did so without us meeting face to face, I’ll never know. Sure, he’s a funny one, but I’m beginning to see he’s a dude with depth.

So yeah, about giving up the blog thing, I lied. I don’t know if it was indeed a lie. I think I was just, tired. And pretty fucking uninspired. 

I found my ‘fire’ as my brother in arms, Rory puts it, at The Bus Stop.

And from a little book by John Green titled, “Looking for Alaska.” As I was reading the inner monologue of the main character Pudge, I realized that though the verbiage was simple, the story was complex. I came to the realization that even I could write a book like this. Hell I’ve written stories like it, why not go for it all??!! But that’s when the fear comes in. That tickle of doubt that slides across your heart. Making it cold, and thrum against your ribs. Then the voices begin. You know the ones. Those that have told you your whole life that you’re not good enough.

You must understand that I’m terribly afraid that once I get started writing a book, I won’t stop. That I will forget to eat, sleep, bathe, or even breathe….. I do tend to get a tad, shall we say, passionate. I have a day job. I gotta work, because I’m taking care of myself now. I’m all I’ve got.

My erotic writing will continue under a pen name. No, I won’t tell you what it is. If you find her and read her work, I don’t want you to know it’s me. I need the freedom to write as I wish. My muse is wild, free, and very sexual. Yet broken. Even more broken than I will ever admit on my Rendezvous page.

Romance belongs here. Stories of inspiration belong here. Flash fiction too. Observational stories about fellow humans belong here. Comedy, sarcasm and the word fuck belong here. With romance, comes depictions of want. I’m good with that, because I’m no one trick pony when it comes to writing. I believe all stories, no matter the genre are about that word-want.

I’m a word whore, and this is what I was born to do. It’s who I am. It’s time for this word whore to make a plan. To quit flying by the seat of her pants. Time for me to write my Looking for Alaska.

Love,

A silly and hopeful, and ultimately brave Rendezvous Girl

Made for TV Porn by Chowderhead

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Made for TV Porn

Hey there, sex maniacs!  I’d ask what’s up, but I already know the answer to that question: your boners!  I can’t blame you though; a quick skim through Renee’s playground here, and I’m feeling a bit naughty myself – like I just watched my neighbors do the bumpity bump out in the middle of the parking lot…

I spoke with my pal Renee here awhile back, about having her write a guest submission for Chowderhead.  However, I forgot to mention that I’m not a sex blogger, and although I don’t mind dropping a few fuck’s, shit’s, and bastard’s, I try to refrain from topics like bukkake, bondage, and butt sex.

So, after I received Renee’s submission, I read through it quickly and decided that it might be a little too risqué for my standard audience.  My editor (me) agreed, so I decided to trim the raunchy edges a bit, and turn it into more of an ABC Family piece – you know, something a bit more wholesome.

It turned out to be quite a challenge…

We were Enraptured…While we ate Ice Cream Together

He bound me to our bed and began to devour my [ham sandwich that I made for him]. Little nibbles around the lips gave way to him ravaging my swollen [thumb that I slammed in the car door today]. The tongue lashing left me mewling like a kitten. I thrashed my legs about his [lazy boy sofa] and [ottoman] begging him to [make some popcorn for] me. To let me [eat snacks]. He would not honor my fierce cries. As I continued to battle him with my legs, he put [salt on my popcorn] with his [salt shaker]. I embraced the onslaught, without embracing him.

Feeling my [Aqua Net] spray his mouth and chin, it drizzled onto our cotton sheets made warm by the blood coursing through our veins. Without opening my eyes to look at him I knew, he was basking in the taste of my [hairspray].

‘My Love, fill me with your [happiness, not your hairspray], I breathed, my eyes now open, shined only for him.

He looked up at me, and responded, ‘All in due time, my Darling.’

My body responded to the constant barrage of his [funny jokes] and [movie one-liners]. Finally, he allowed me to lose myself in the most exquisite apex. The churning began in my [irritable bowel suddenly] and emanated through my entire being. It seemed that it would last forever. My body continued to quake. His arms wrapped around my legs to hold his [ice cream cone] to me while the storm continued to brew. As it subsided, my legs quivered and I was covered in a sheen of sweat.

I felt him shift his weight and move above me. He lowered his body onto [my sofa again, geez], I felt the head of his [Labrador retriever] brush the length of my [leg]. The sound that emerged from my lips could only be heard by heaven. And him. With a flourish he [thanked] me completely and began to entice me with [square dance] movements I never knew existed.

‘Release my hands so I can embrace you’, I begged.

Continuing to move his [doe see doe] inside of [the gymnasium], he repeated, ‘All in due time, my Darling.’

I moved with him, not against. We were fluid motion and love. His [awesome dance moves] became more intense and my body stalled. Another [irritable bowel movement] erupted within my center and I disappeared into him, only my soul was exposed. So close to death, yet immortal, I trembled with every nuance of my [very unfortunate bowel movement].

I glimpsed into his eyes, and discerned he was close to the end. Reaching behind my head, he released me from my bonds. With a final [clench of my butt cheeks], he poured his [medication] into me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, to draw him as close to me as I could. My hands found solace in the thickness of his hair. Resting his head on my chest, he lazily bit my [finger]. A lone bead of sweat trickled from his forehead onto my body.

His [ice cream] softened and fell from my [cone]. [ice cream] flowed from my [cone]. We laid together, with nothing between us but the memory of our [lazy stroll in the park]. And we were enraptured.

*****

This is the equivalent now of two fully clothed consenting teenagers petting each other in a booth at Denny’s after Sunday mass.  I guess some things are better left uncensored…

Pull up your pants, Chowderheads \m/

**Thank you Chowderhead for that, ahem interesting take on my sexy story. I’m honored, I think. Tongue kisses, gropes, and lots of love from your favorite Rendezvous Girl.**

Friday Fictioneers-To Tell the Truth

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The couple stand at the railing, hands clasped. The ferry rocks them gently. Almost lovingly. Jason can find no security in it though. He’s anxious about the conversation to come.

‘I envy your strength, Miranda.’

‘Don’t, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.’

‘Where do I begin?’

‘At the beginning of course.’

‘I’ve never lived on my own.’

‘It’s time you did. Tell your truth.’

As the sun dips below the horizon, the impending darkness gives Jason newfound strength. In port, he leaves Miranda at the railing.

Meeting his wife at the dock, he declares, ‘Love, our story’s over.’

100 words/Genre: love story?

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. It tickles me to death to write with such a great group of writers. Please be sure to go to her page and read their stories too. We are a rather eclectic group and the genres run the gamut.

I welcome kudos and criticism. Happy reading!

Walk Through my Door

Walk through my door

Heart on your sleeve

Smile on your face

Take my hand

Lead me to my bed

Stand above me

Remove your clothes

Unveil my body next

Feast your eyes upon me

Drape your body over mine

Cover my mouth with yours

And adore me

I will adore you

Fill me with your fire

I’ll speak to you in tongues

As we press on to oblivion

Friday Fictioneers-I’ll Come Back to You

Copyright-Douglas M. MacIlroyCopyright-Douglas M. MacIlroy

“I’ll come back to you,” I say. “I promise you, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll come back to you.”
Her face is buried in my neck. She nods.
“I’ll count the minutes until you do.” she says.”
Pittacus Lore, I Am Number Four

Miranda scattered a pinch of dried food in the koi pond, and the frenzy began. Hungry mouths skimmed the surface. Scales shimmered like oil stains on pavement in fresh rain. Satisfied, they fell away and continued mindlessly swimming.

Seated beside the pond, she thought of Jonathan. She said she’d wait for him. But days turned into months. Then months became over a year.

She continued to live, hoping he’d find his way to her.

Behind her, boots crushed gravel, ‘Been waiting long?’

‘All of my life’, she replied softly.

‘Am I welcome?’

‘Yes, my heart has always been your home.’

Thank you DCTDesigns for the song suggestion. I HAD to add it to my post.

100 words/Genre: Romantic Fiction

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. I am so honored to write with such a great group of writers. Please be sure to go to her page and read their stories too. We are a rather eclectic group and the genres run the gamut.

I welcome kudos and criticism. Thank you so much for reading my work.

Tunesday-Taylor Swift

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Everything has changed…..

I can NOT stand Taylor Swift!

And I’m a big fat liar pants. I want to hate her music. Tell you she has annoying beady blue eyes and she’s a hack. But I’ve come to realize she is quite genuine. She plays guitar, sings marginally well, and writes her own music. Taylor’s music is a little too pop for me. I want to hate her, but I just can’t.

I listened to the song, 22 and couldn’t help but sing along. As I took in the lyrics, I envisioned myself running around with one of my best guy friends, and acting all kinds of stupid.  However, the little heart sign she makes with her hands in every damn photo, makes me want to slap her.  This self-proclaimed Music Whore is on Taylor Swift crack!

I’m too damn hip for this. Oh my fucking God what’s wrong with me?

I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 22!

I’m obsessed.  Give me more Taylor, PLEASE!

Awhile back I wrote a Friday Fictioneers story, about a sculptor, seduced by a man she thought loved her. I ended the story with the song, Trouble. The main character knew that the man was no good for her, but she fell anyway. He was trouble, yet she wanted him all the same. My character knew she would be left broken, but she had to try.

The Madness of a Woman Seduced

There’s Mean, Love Story, You Belong With Me, and my all time favorite, White Horse. I can’t forget Back to December either. Yeesh, I’m a sucker for lovely lyrics and a simple tune.

Say you’re sorry
That face of an angel comes out just when you need it to
As I paced back and forth all this time
‘Cause I honestly believed in you

Holding on, the days drag on
Stupid girl, I should have known
I should have known

That I’m not a princess, this ain’t a fairytale
I’m not the one you’ll sweep off her feet
Lead her up the stairwell

This ain’t Hollywood, this is a small town
I was a dreamer before you went and let me down
Now it’s too late for you and your white horse to come around

Simple words to tug at my sparkly heart . They make me want to write romantic stories about a knight in shining armor that comes to save the damsel in distress. Thing is, I’m no distressed damsel. I’m not looking for a white knight on a noble steed. I want to be my own KISA (Knight in Shining Armor).

Somehow Taylor’s music inspires me, to chew giant wads of pink bubble gum and blow bubbles the size of my head. To wear one of my many tiaras, act like a princess and wish for the age of 22. And to hope that someday, someone will be….Mine.

And I remember that fight, 2:30 a.m.

You said everything was slipping right out of our hands

I ran out, crying, and you followed me out into the street

Braced myself for the goodbye, because that’s all I’ve ever known

Then you took me by surprise

You said, “I’ll never leave you alone.”

You said. “I remember how we felt, sitting by the water

And everytime I look at you, it’s like the first time

I fell in love with a careless man’s careful daughter

She is the best thing that’s ever been mine.”