Tossed here, left, no refuge
From the loneliness of time
Passing by like surly strangers
Night after empty night
But sighs left here to litter
Remnants of an abattoir
The whitened bones of lust denied
Scattered across the floor
Raven’s laugh or demon cry
They sound the same to me
Goodbye echoes off these walls
Reminders of what can’t be-
I held you in my hand once
Upon a long time gone
I held you on my tongue once
Before it all went wrong
What you said and where you went
Have vanished from me
And make no difference to this end
The one where you set me free
To wander out here, alone
To drift through mists and dreams
To wonder how to go on
While stifling these panicked screams
But the night will get me
Here in our bed
Beneath a stranger’s hands
I will find my end.

The Rock

There was a rock. Strange that a rock would catch her attention. But this was a different rock, kind of white and gold, and it looked like a mountain. A tiny mountain, perched on the side of the road. And it wasn’t like it had been there forever. Or even for a while. No, it just appeared one day. Right there, on a route she’d taken twice every day for four years.

Maybe they cut the grass and weeds away from it. It had been there all along, but she hadn’t seen it. Not till now anyway. What were the odds of that?

She asked her passenger that day. “Have you seen it before?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t come this way very often. Have you ever stopped to look more closely?”

Who said ‘more closely,’ she wondered. Only Jerry. Jerry said very correct things like more closely and please and thank you and he still called the gas station attendant sir. Jerry was 40 years old. The attendant looked at him like he’d grown another head. She figured Jerry got that look a lot.

“No.” It was in a blind curve on a fast road. Stopping wasn’t safe.

He read her mind. “You could park back a ways and walk to it.”

“I suppose. It still doesn’t seem safe.”

“Do you always do what’s safe?” he asked.

Yes. She did. Risk wasn’t a word in her vocabulary. Risk was… risky. “Usually.”

“I suppose you’ll never know then.” He looked out the passenger window and fell silent.  Finally he said, “What if it were a calculated risk?”

“Is there any such thing? That seems like an oxymoron.”

“Maybe it is. It does not mean it isn’t a thing though.”

“Risk is risk, Jerry. You can’t really quantify it.”

He nodded. “But some are more dangerous than others.”

“Like, some things you do might kill you, while others might only cause injury.”

“I suppose.”

“Besides,” her mind was still on the white and gold rock. “It’s just a rock.”

“As far as you know.”

She thought for a mile or so. They were inside town limits now.  “What could it be besides a rock? It looks like a rock.”

“Yes. But you don’t know for sure.”

Of course it was a rock. It was too large to mistake. In fact, she thought it had gotten larger. “Maybe it’s growing,” she mused.

“Rocks don’t grow.”

“Sure they do. It just happens very slowly, so we can’t see it’s happening.”

“Well, you’ve just spotted it, right? You couldn’t expect a rock to grow overnight. It takes thousands, maybe millions of years.”

“Mr. Geologist.”

He shrugged. “You should stop and look.”

She dropped him off at his office building. “Do you need a ride tonight?”

“No, I’ve got one, thank you.”

She went through her day, like every other day. But the rock stayed on her mind. She decided if it had stopped raining and wasn’t too dark on her way home, she’d stop and check. She’d park at the little store a quarter of a mile this side of it, and she’d walk in and look. She’d touch it. She’d see if she could move it. It was a calculated risk. It was worth settling her curiosity.

The rain had stopped as she started her journey back home. She parked at the service station, and paused. She thought about the risk. She thought about the rock. She went inside and bought a Dr. Pepper. Only the diet. The diet was sweeter than the regular. She locked the car and started walking.

She wondered what she expected to find when she laid her hands on it and discovered it was just a rock, a rock that had been there forever and she’d never seen it.

She didn’t hear it, the motorcycle. It was one of the Hondas with the quiet engines. Not a noisy hog that would have told her to get out of the way. She was on the gravel shoulder. But the young doe that bounded in front of him caused him to swerve, and maybe he didn’t see her. Maybe he saw nothing but his own death.

He missed the doe, and she watched it run between her and the rock at the same moment she felt the impact, felt herself flying forward through the air. There was no pain, only flying. She was gone before her body thudded on the asphalt and slid. She thought she smelled fishy wet pavement and motor oil and fuel fumes, but it was probably anticipation. She did see the rock, though, below her. It didn’t look very large at all; it looked like an ordinary gray rock. It looked very much like a calculated risk.

Character Sketch – Depression

No one noticed she was gone. Or if they did, they said nothing about it. She left long before she left.

The light went out of her eyes first. She told those she was close to she felt tired, that her body hurt all the time.  Her words left next. She had no energy, no desire to communicate. Then her physical presence left. Her presence at functions, her presence through phone or correspondence – people knew she was still there, but they took her silence as needing to be alone. Her closest friends reached out, to be met with silence.

She didn’t blame them. No one wants to be around negativity. Sadness is insidious. It reaches into the core of a person like a cancer. Or perhaps that was just her. She told someone far away, too far away to be of any physical assistance, she couldn’t fight any longer. It was safe to tell him because he couldn’t intervene.

It’s how she left their minds, how one is forgotten. People take comfort for themselves in pulling the blanket over it, telling themselves a person simply needs time alone and they’ll be okay. The world becomes an ordinary place without that voice. It’s how we leave before we leave.

No one noticed she was gone, or that she didn’t return. Except the one person who couldn’t help. He noticed, and he called and reached, he fought for her. But when a person wants to drown, when they cross the threshold into there being nothing good left, their hearing goes, too.

There’s nothing anyone can do. We walk our path alone. We live alone. We die alone. But if we’re very fortunate, we will be missed.

Writing 101: Day 6: Character Study

Love you, Kat! I want to be just like you when I grow up 🙂


We met last year on WordPress.

I cannot recall which one of us read the other’s work first, or who was the first to comment and start chatting. I do remember thinking she was an incredibly talented writer, and feeling slightly in awe of her.

Once we started talking, we discovered striking similarities in our lives and personalities. Early on, she shared with me her love of food by telling me she had some leftovers in the fridge, which she was inordinately and disproportionately excited about eating later that day; I completely understood where she was coming from. Simpatico!

Since we began talking I do believe not a day has gone past that we haven’t exchanged Skype messages, DMs or emails. I call her my soul sister and, put simply, I am completely in-friend-love with her!

Standing just shy of 6 feet tall in her bare feet, a thick mop…

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Writing – Bound

That’s when I started. Started hunting, I guess you’d call it. There was a bar, down in the mill district, where desperate people went to hook up. It was a shit hole, dark, reeked of tobacco and too many hot bodies too close. I used to wake up there, in a booth in the corner, feeling like I’d been used. Feeling wrung out, sore, dirty. I never remember, though. When she takes over, the cat, I don’t remember who had me. I just know I’ve been had.

The dream came back, but it had changed. The man who knelt before, now he stood and faced me. He had beautiful eyes  – brown and orange, almost. And a Vandyke that nearly hid his lips. I couldn’t tell if he meant to help or harm. He was still naked, but his cock was soft, his hands at his sides. He stood and looked at me like he knew everything about me. I wanted to put my hands in his hair, I wanted to taste him, but I was bound.

I am always bound.

Stella – (a working title)

An Open Letter To WordPress

A round of applause for Goldfish, for saying what we’ve all been thinking, and maybe saying, too! For a while, I thought I was losing my mind… or worse, being anal retentive! This deserves a reblog. I’ve been with WP in one form or another for 8 years: I got a Happy Anniversary from them yesterday, congratulating me on 4 years of blogging; therefore, that dog is apparently their numbers guy…

Fish Of Gold

Dear WordPress.com,

I am loath to write yet another letter to you, since I typically prefer to spend my time writing actual blog posts, but I’ve been bitching on Twitter and in your forums to no avail, so maybe you’ll pay attention to a blog post. It’s not likely, but hey, you never know.

Please, stop. Just put down whatever you’re working on and stop with the futzing. You have been tinkering under my hood long enough and you know what? None of the “improvements” you’ve made are actually improvements.

Below, you will find explanations as to why your improvements aren’t improvements sorted conveniently by feature.

Post Editor

Let’s talk about this “Beep beep boop” post editor nightmare with less than half the functionality of the old editor. Thankfully, you haven’t taken away the old editor yet. However, I fully expect that one day, I will go to write a…

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“Need a lift?”

He was young, beautiful, dark and wet. He was barely a mile out of town, and the worst of the storm was over.

He ducked his head and smiled as he dove for the passenger side door. The wipers thumped, and gathering dusk heightened the lights of passing cars, the street lamps, the porch lights. He looked at me and smiled a stunningly bright smile. Stunningly beautiful, youthful.

“I’m just headed in,” he said, a bit breathless. “Cheers, mate.” He had an Australian accent.

I turned up the heat. His nipples showed through the transparent fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re welcome. Looked like you could use a break.”

I pulled back onto the roadway.

“I’m Joseph,” he said. He tentatively offered his hand, and I reached awkwardly to take it, with a laugh.


“No shit,” he said. He was laughing too, and it was beautiful. Also youthful.

“You living here?”

“Visiting, from near Melbourne. I have an Uncle in the city.”

“The city? We’re a ways from there.”

“I had to get out.” He said it sheepishly. “Not nice, I know. Lotta rules.”

“Well there’s not much to do here.”

He was running his hands through his hair. It fell over his ears, almost to his shoulders, and it curled. “I’m from a small town. More elbow room.”

“Where would you like me to drop you?”

“Anywhere’s fine.”

I didn’t want to drop him. I wanted to eat him. Alive. “Buy you a drink?”

His surprise was evident. Boys were too ignorant to be frightened. He saw himself as strong, virile, irresistible and able to handle himself in a fight. He was invincible, immortal. He was fucking Superman. “Yeah, cool.”

I hit the brake and fishtailed, pulled a U-turn in the road and gassed it. I looked at him, noted his exhilarated surprise and smiled. “I know a place.”

As I pulled into my drive, I looked at him. “How old are you, Joseph?”

He grinned, and I knew he knew. He thought this was the luckiest day of his life. A hot older woman picks him up off the side of the road and begs him to use her. I saw it all over his chiseled face. The shadows of the rivulets on the windows raced over his skin like worms. “Old enough to have a drink.”

“I’m supposed to take your word for that?”

“Old enough to know how to fuck you.” He was still grinning.

“I doubt that.” I got out of the car and ran up the front steps. I put the key in the lock and felt him behind me. Not just behind me, but against me. I straightened and looked at him. “Enough of that. This isn’t your game.” I said it with a smile, and I traced a forefinger beneath his chin as I did. The sound of my own voice was thick and rich, like dark clover honey.

Once inside, I kicked off my shoes. “Undress. And let me see your wallet.”

He hesitated. But then he saw my look. Was it as naked and lustful as I felt? It must have been. He obeyed.

His visitor’s visa said he was 24. He didn’t look a day over 18. “You must get carded a lot.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. It was nervous. He stood before me in his wet boxers and white socks.


“Everything? That doesn’t seem fair,” he joked weakly.

I issued another look that caused him to clamp his jaw and bend to remove his socks. He was hard already.

I left him, went down the hallway. I took off my own wet clothes, and slid into a creamy silk dressing gown. It had leopard print on the cuffs and yoke, and almost reached the floor. I stayed barefoot. I’d still be taller than him. I took down the black leather dog collar with the silver D ring, the leather strap leash, and dabbed red lipstick on my mouth.

He stood completely naked. He was shivering, in spite of the warmth of the room. I walked up to him, my items hidden behind my back, and I tilted his face up and kissed his lips. He opened his mouth like a fish, and I pushed him away with a look of chastisement. “What do you know about women, Joseph? You’re just a pup.”

“I know enough to get you off. Make you scream.”

“You’d like to try. Kneel.”

“What? No-”

“Yes. You want this to happen?”

He thought only a second. So predictable. He was on his knees.

“Have you ever been collared?” As I said it I deliberately allowed my dressing gown to fall open and reveal the tops of my thighs, my hips, stomach. He looked, breathed.

He shook his head. He had no idea what I meant, but he didn’t want to screw up his chances.

“Would you like to be?”

He nodded, eagerly.

I pulled his head into the delta. These pups knew nothing about oral. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t what would get me off. As he fell face first into me, already moaning and whimpering, I slipped the collar around his neck, buckled it snug against his skin. I allowed him a moment more, then stepped back. “Do I need this?” I showed him the leash. His chin and nose glistened, his erection strained, his pupils were blown.

He shook his head.

“Follow me.”

This one had been easy, this latest for my collection. No hunting, planning, stalking. Just there, young and ripe for the taking.