Really?
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Posted:Jun 23, 2017 1:27 pm
Last Updated:Jun 26, 2017 4:33 pm
15143 Views
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Really?
Seniors who get home health aides so they don’t have to lose their independence are shit out of luck, REALLY?
who got Medicaid for healthcare benefits for disabilities, that’s also gone. REALLY?
23,000,000 Americans who depended on ACA for healthcare will now be without healthcare and the insurance companies can now also not cover preexisting conditions like diabetes. REALLY?
Women who counted on Planned Parenthood for free medical care can no longer assume that that care will be there because the funding for that care is gone. REALLY?
Veterans who need care upon returning for fighting for our country and are suffering from PTSD will no longer receive the MH benefits they need…oh sorry, no one will?………..REALLY?
Maternity care? Nope. REALLY?
How about if your penis falls off? Covered? Oh, of course.
Social security? Hey wait………..we pay for that…..that’s not even fed dollars. SAY WHAT?
Tax cuts to the who? FUCKING REALLY?????
This is a sex site and we all like to get fucked. But THIS?
This is R**E.
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13
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i can't do this anymore
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Posted:Jun 22, 2017 2:24 pm
Last Updated:Jun 26, 2017 4:35 pm
14617 Views
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‘Can we at least talk about this?’
‘I don’t see the point.’
‘But it seems like we haven’t really talked about it all.’
‘It? What it?’
‘The reason you’re leaving.’
‘I told you the reason.’
‘That’s not a reason.’
‘It’s MY reason.’
‘Because I have to, isn’t a reason. It’s just a statement.’
‘I have to leave because I can’t stay.’ Her voice was strained.
‘But WHY can’t you stay?’
‘If I stay, I will go stark raving mad.’
‘Why?’
‘What are you, two years old?’ she hissed.
‘If you’d give me a reason that I could understand…
….’
‘I don’t care if you understand.’
‘Oh....’
‘Yeah.’
She opened the car door, tossed her bags inside.
‘So, what is it then?’
‘I can’t do this.’ Her hand swept through her hair.
‘What is THIS?’
‘This.’
He muttered something under his breath. She climbed into the car, starting the engine.
‘So that’s it then? Just nothing, no explanation after two years?’
She leaned over, her head on the steering wheel. Her shoulders shaking. He reached in to rub them, seeing her upset always made him feel terrible. She shrugged off his hand. When she lifted her head, he noticed there were no tears at all. He felt his jaw clench. Unbelievable. She wasn’t crying. She’d been trying not to laugh. The fucking bitch.
She pulled on the door, catching his fingers. As she opened the door, he pulled his hand out, she revved the engine, pulling away. His scream was loud, people rushing to pass him. He sat on the stoop, depleted, his swollen fingers cupped in his other hand.
He texted her. ‘Come back.’
Number not in service. Like that mattered.
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9
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because you're mine.
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Posted:Jun 18, 2017 10:46 am
Last Updated:Jun 22, 2017 2:30 pm
14826 Views
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“Jamesons and ginger,rocks.”
She sat back against the banquette, letting the muscles in her neck slowly loosen, her shoulders drop. The ambient voices lulled her into something so close to sleep that she did not notice the waitress set her drink down, nor the tall man slide in besdie her. It was his hand on her neck that brought her back to the room, her eyes opening, her tongue wetting her lips. He shook his head ruefully. She shrugged, reaching for the glass, emptying the top third
“thirsty?”
She leaned into him, yawned.
“Next time, I’ll just steal your purse and leave.”
“What purse?” She turned her back to him.
He slipped his hands into her shoulder muscles, squeezing, pressing. Her eyes fluttered, closed, her head fell forward. His teeth scraped the back of her neck, his left hand smacked hers as she reached for the glass. Sitting back, he swallowed the next third of her Jameson’s, then handed it to her.
“the hard stuff. What’s going on?”
“Food first, or I’ll bite.”
The room seemed to want to leave them alone, no one sat to either side. The waiter was, a gnat, dismissed, a momentary lifting of the cloud that seemed to hover over them. If they were there, they were only there with each other. At all other times, they seemed somehow to melt away, to drift from view.
The band arrived, set up. the early diners nearly gone. Now it would all change, a charge in the air. He leaned over and redid her ankle straps, running his hands up her leg. She was purring. He slid to the edge, leaning in, pulled her forward, her silk slipping like water over smooth stones, her legs following until with a final sweep of his arms, he swung her into the air, setting her to rest on the parquet floor. She, a gazelle, elegant, swung out and back, her dark eyes , her red lips, her
full hips, oh and that neck.
“I put a spell on you……..” dark, sensuous, honied…
she walked from the shadows onto the stage.
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7
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Let it be
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Posted:Jun 15, 2017 12:19 pm
Last Updated:Sep 6, 2017 9:56 am
14955 Views
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In between the burnt purple sunset and the cobalt blue sky that follows with the first star, is a fragment of time where unless specific attention is paid, things go lost. Little things, pink barrettes, topaz rings, the top to a jar, the smell of lilacs through the window, your one true love.
The year she noticed the lilac smell leave, she began to experiment. She would place her very most favorite things on the table in front of her as the sky turned crimson. She would write a list of the items and number them, showing their placement. This, she did for weeks.
And always some other thing would go missing. Something she yearned for deeply, knowing only when it was lost its true significance. Would she never know her own heart?
With time, loss became as much a part of her as every other part. The man who claimed her, called her Perdida for he knew her well. His love was strong but his life was short. Their grew and like seeds scattered on the wind. Her house filled with whispers, the eventide stole from her with such regularity that she took to keeping her purse in the freezer.
One morning, sitting in her garden, watching the sun rise, a ladybug landed on the rim of her cup. It is rare to see a ladybug with an uneven number of spots, this one had five. It lingered. She wanted to sip her coffee but she wanted the ladybug’s company more. Together they appreciated the softening sky as night slipped off to bide its time. She inhaled the smell of damp earth with heavy eyes. When next she looked, the little red bug was gone. She reached for the cup, the coffee barely warm, yet its taste divine. The first ray of sun hit her neck, like the hand of a lover.
It was then that she walked inside, took her purse from the freezer, dropped it on a chair. The world would take and it would give. She opened the windows wide. Let it be.
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9
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a murder of crows
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Posted:Jun 12, 2017 11:10 am
Last Updated:Jun 15, 2017 2:01 pm
14570 Views
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The three women sat in beach chairs on the sidewalk as they did every day, watching. They had known each other for over 50 years, had traded recipes, ’ clothes, secrets, dreams, and if truth be told, husbands though of this they never spoke. Now, life was a waiting game, treading water between this time, that time, coming, going, a meal, a good shit. They were the watchers at the gate. The dogs at the window where there were no dogs. Socks in old slippers, housedresses, hair frizzed from a bad perm or long and greasy from too long without a shower, they sat, watching, a murder of crows, glaring down the people who passed by their way to or back.
They saw it happen.
They didn’t look up when he stopped in front of them, his shadow blocking the little bit of sun left in the day.
“Ladies, I’ve got questions. I hear you three are the guardians of this street.”
Bella gave out with a cackle. “Mind moving out of the sun Mister, it’s chilly today and my bones are aching’ fit to kill me. “
He took a settle on the stoop. “You being the keepers ‘n all, wondering could you tell me what you seen.”
Jenny blew out a puff of smoke. “We SEE everything. Your mama ever tell you, best to ask what you want or you’ll get nothing at all?”
He smiled, “she did at that. So did you see that man’cross the street, kill that girl?”
“This street here?”
“Yes ma’am”
“Today you mean?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“Lord knows , you aren’t the best at this, are you?”
He was wondering if he should quit. But instead, he shook out a handful of peppermints, offering them.
“That’s better. Course we saw. We’re sitting right here.”
Marcie said, sucking greedily, “You could smell it.”
He waited her out, tipping his head to watch her as her eyes closed on the memory. “My grandpa used to shoot, I love that smell.”
He blinked, staring at the three. “What he look like?”
“The Man?” He nodded, patience dimming.
“He looked like all y’all. “ Confused, he looked at his feet, then asked, “You mean white? “
“Noooo, I mean men. He looked mad, bunched up.”
“Oh, okay. Well, was he white?”
“No idea. “ And the three nodded.
“He was wearing a hat.”
“Like a fedora?”
“What’s a fedora?”
“It’s a church hat Bell for god’s sake. Read a book.”
“I read.”
“No you don’t. I read, you just fan yourself with People.”
Marcie intervened, “Not a church hat. A stealing hat.”
“Stealing hat?”
“Oh for god’s sake, a rob a store kind of hat so no one can tell who you are. You sure you’re a cop?”
He blushed.
“Tall? “
“’Bout the same as you. But younger.”
“Younger, how do you know that?”
“Cuz he could surely run.” The three ladies laughed. It sounded ghastly.
“What was he wearing?”
“Dungarees and a black stealing hat.”
“Now how do you know it was black, could’ve been navy Jenny, you know your eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
“My eyes are just fine Marcie. You’re the one who’s color blind. Look what you’re wearing. who the hell wears lime green and orange? You could try some navy just to give my poor old eyes a rest.”
“Ladies, ladies”…..he tried to interrupt but the conversation had taken a swing that seemed to have its own life. He sat back looking at the street, figuring the distance and wondering if any of what he had learned would be useful.
He stood, getting ready to leave. Bella looked up at him quizzically.
“That’s it?”
“Well, unless you have something to add?”
Marcie grumbled a little, pulling a hankie from the pocket of her housedress. Jennie, glared at him said, “You sure do take the fun out of it.”
Befuddled he waited as Marcie unwrapped a hankie, handing something to Bella.
Bella sat up a little. “Well you might want to take his license then, it fell out when Marcie tripped him as he ran by.”
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10
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Patterns
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Posted:Jun 8, 2017 2:27 pm
Last Updated:Jun 13, 2017 12:10 pm
15013 Views
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KitKat made a comment about love and Amy Lowell wrote a poem called Patterns. I honor them both .
I remember
Touching the face of my beloved
Him, waking up laughing,
Slipping on a pair of old sneakers,
Me, shivering with delight. we
She could not see out the window the rain was so dense. She settled on making an omelet, knowing the would eat what she couldn’t, adding bacon for him as she always did. The efficient way she moved about the kitchen showed long habit, cleaning as she went. She ate from the pan standing at the sink, a habit now. The pan was licked clean by the dog, placed in the dishwasher, still only a third full after nearly a week of meals.
The took his place beside her bed. The reading lamp on, she pawed to her left for her glasses. Once settled she entered the world she had had left the day before.
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8
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loving a
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Posted:Jun 4, 2017 10:36 am
Last Updated:Jun 6, 2017 12:17 pm
15262 Views
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When you love a , it is like reading a story you wrote only the words aren’t yours and mostly you’re the editor and the reader doesn’t much care for you. In your head you began to unfold their life way before they did. You had these fabulous ideas on plotline and character…. how they will act and what they will want.
Dreams of the greatness based on what? What you didn’t get to do, what you want for them, what you think is perfect?
And each day they reached for something beyond you. In your head you’d hear yourself saying….wait, not so fast. I’m not ready. I have so much to tell you. Listen………….
What IS amazing is that at some point they say, “hey, remember when you said?”.
While it may not be exactly what you said or even what you meant at the time, it strikes you that in some odd way your presence was felt.
What happens then when disaster strikes? When the least expected thing snatches your out of your hands? I have wandered funeral homes with mothers so bent in grief that the smell of it is like metal frying. If you know that smell, you know a mother’s pain.
A mother ages in seconds. I’ve seen it happen. The inner collapse, a slackness of the skin, as if all that held her up has crumbled to dust, her eyes rheumy, not crying, seeping……endlessly. We are made of hope, eh? Without it, we have no bones.
The feeling in your throat of air stopped before lungs can expand. The knowing that life is forever changed. Yet love is not something that can be taken back, indeed it bends you forward with its power. Still, it is not blind, and having seen is now somehow, despite what you would have thought, against all the realities of the world, deeper.
Just not as clean.
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15
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#31 Symposium Handles
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Posted:Jun 1, 2017 3:29 pm
Last Updated:Jul 7, 2017 2:01 pm
15130 Views
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When I first started on this site, I hung out in the basement with all the BDSM folk under a disgusting handle. BadAssBlonde, a Domme of elegance and great kindness, took me aside and said, “precious, if you don’t change that revolting name, I will never be able to speak to you without gagging.” I would have done anything for that Woman. So I came back with a second try. BAB shot me a look. across the crowded room. I received an email shortly thereafter. Apparently, this attempt was still not a winner. I had a week’s grace period.
So, I spent some time thinking about how I wanted to present myself both as a submissive but also as a woman. At that time I was collared, so I asked my Dom. He gave me a list of adjectives. Some I tossed, some I kept. I did this with a number of people from the site but also from my work and life. When the same words appeared over and over I took it as a sign. These were my words that repeated:
Kind easy to be with listener empathetic
Wicked naughty a scamp playful
Smart intuitive perceptive shrewd
Snarky caustic brat
Being from Bawstin, I liked wicked as an adjective. In my youth I must have said it a million times. Wicked cool, wicked fast, wicked bad, wicked pissah. and though I toyed with smart and snarky, my Dom flatly refused both although He would have allowed brat. Pfft. Eventually I chose easy because of the song. “Easy, easy as Sunday morning.”
Et voila, I became as wicked as Saturday night, as easy as Sunday morning. One blogger has called me Oui, which I adore. In fact, it gave me the shivers. I find it interesting to see which part of the handle people choose.
In the end, when i walked back into the basement as wickedeasy, BAB greeted me with “ Precious, now there’s my girl!” and gave me a SKOMC. The other Doms in the room fell to using wicked or easy but BAB always called me Precious, unless she was annoyed. I cherished that.
And no, I will never ever tell you my first handle. Suffice it to say, I was overly descriptive. SNORK.
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12
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Look for me when i am not lost
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Posted:May 29, 2017 2:58 pm
Last Updated:Jun 6, 2017 12:15 pm
15145 Views
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Long ago and far away in a land that held few surprises and little laughter, a weary and worn out princess sat on a stone by a stream. She was dressed in a purple gown; it was her favorite She was not so much unhappy or sad as she was empty. It wasn’t that she felt pain. It was more that she felt nothing much at all. Each day the same things happened at the same time. It was only in her dreams that the world seemed to hold anything new, anything that could pique her interest in the slightest.
As she sat staring at the stream, not noticing the play of the sun on the water, or feeling the wind lift her hair, not hearing the little bird above her, singing with an open heart, a frog leaped into her lap. Not a tiny sweet green frog but a large brown toad. Slimy and not the least bit appealing but nonetheless, in her lap it was. She swatted at it to move it off but it seemed given to stay. It stained her pristine dress. Its voice was deep. Its long tongue speared a passing fly. Startled, she stood, yet the frog clung tightly to her dress.
Twirling, pushing at it with her slender fingers did nothing to disengage it. She became crazed, batting at it repeatedly as it crawled higher until it sat on her shoulder, his eyes staring at her until she went still, quiet. It smelled of silt but also of cinnamon. She touched its back, its tongue tickled her ear. Her laughter was out of proportion to the event but she couldn’t stop it, falling to her knees, bending over, clutching her belly as the frog crawled into her hair to sit on top of her head. They were now eye to eye as the frog leaned over her forehead, staring at her.
Gently, she cupped her hands, and offered him safe journey so they could be face to face. She sat that way for minutes or hours, telling the frog many things. He listened carefully. In the end, he licked her nose with his tongue, then leaped off into the stream.
She saw that the day had passed. The sun was low as she began to make her way home.
Her father on his , sent her running forward. He scooped her up, holding her so tightly that she gasped.
His laughter filled her up. she drank one of his tears.
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10
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a chance encounter
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Posted:May 27, 2017 12:57 pm
Last Updated:May 29, 2017 2:40 pm
14631 Views
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there he was, walking towards me, 9 years later.
thank the goddess I had mascara on. yes, I actually thought that. me a 67 year old woman with a life. I did a full mental body scan. 87 out of a 100. could have been worse considering it was a Thursday. I lit a cigarette just to frost his ass. His was with him and hugged me before he disappeared into the crowd.
I tilted my head, he's very tall, though he hunches.
I have learned a few things in 9 years, silence being one of them. I waited him out.
He reached out to touch me. I stepped back a foot or so, looking at him as if he must have mistaken me for someone else. his hand fell slowly to his side.
"are you well?"
I laughed at the stilted question. shaking my head slightly, as if to clear it and then assented with a nod. I wanted to slap his face. I wanted to kick him in the nuts. I wanted to scream, shout. I dropped my cigarette and tamped it out. I moved to his left, walking slowly, carefully into the bookstore. once inside, I could breathe. he stood there still.
there was no victory here.
my friend called my name. I turned towards him, moving forward.
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9
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HELP
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Posted:May 25, 2017 2:46 pm
Last Updated:Jun 6, 2017 12:20 pm
14628 Views
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it's bad enough that we elected he who shall not be named, but then he goes abroad and the whole world is giggling behind their hands at the idiot that we call our president.
and he takes every given opportunity to show his lack of manners, his boorishness, his piggish attitudes and idiocy. today, he managed not only to demonize Germany in public, but to alienate the UK by publicizing the name of the terrorist that bombed Manchester before they had approved it....yet another lapse of shared intelligence.
I am on my knees. can't one of you please, just call him an ignorant idiot? I know your people are booing and jeering but he's not taking any of that seriously. You all are too polite. too nice. someone just tell him he's the emperor with no clothes. c'mon. I swear, the RNC will come round, they'll thank you in the end. well maybe not, but the rest of the USA will be forever grateful.
we all know he's mad. he needs shutting down. all of our stupid ass checks and balances are taking too long. we are living in fear.. it's not funny any more. well it is, but it's scary as hell too.
Merkel..........you've got balls.......just tell him he's an ass, in front of all the others....you'll be the hero....imagine the dinner stories..... Macron will help. so will Trudeau. they both hate him. Turnbull, too.
i'm begging you girl.
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15
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The Giver
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Posted:May 23, 2017 12:51 pm
Last Updated:May 24, 2017 1:25 pm
14493 Views
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In the midst of great emotional turmoil, do you retreat into yourself or do you reach out for help?
It has occurred to me that the givers of this world, the ones that are always there for other people, the ones that show up with food, that listen, that take the at the drop of a hat, never ask for anything, tend to keep it all locked inside. They are simply there making everyone else’s life easier, rounding off the sharp corners of others’ grief and generally being helpful in ways that are unobtrusive.
We all know people like this. Someday, one day, they will need something too. and generally when that day comes, if they are so deeply in need that they reach out, they often find that the very people that counted on them…well, they’re too busy, too distracted, not listening, not hearing, not there. Givers give but they rarely get.
Why is it that the squeaky wheel ALWAYS gets the oil? Why is it that the person who selflessly took care of YOU during YOUR crisis doesn’t merit your attention now that she’s in need? ….because she’s FINE, really, she’s fine. She’s always fine, right? Except this time, she isn’t. So pay attention.
If you aren’t willing to pay attention, then you are not a good friend. You have not seen that person at all. You have not taken note of the sacrifices made on your behalf. Didn’t notice her heart being broken by loss and tragedy? Just expected her to keep giving? That’s just her being her. No big thing, she’s just like that, right?
Well yeah, she is. But maybe, when that friend is in need instead of finding it annoying or something you’d really rather not deal with right now, you could stop yourself for a minute. Just a minute. Not to tally up the number of times she helped you out to see if you owe her because that’s not what this is about. But to consider the humanity of it all. What does it cost you to listen, eh? What does it cost you to be kind, to stop the hustle for a few hours, to be a friend to a friend?
Today, Wantingsexymind2 wrote about finding herself alone in just such a moment and bloggers held her like her friends should have held her. I wish we’d all lived next door….it would’ve been a good thing.
These are tough times. We can all use a little help from our friends.
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12
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The sunset express
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Posted:May 21, 2017 2:38 pm
Last Updated:May 22, 2017 1:16 pm
13918 Views
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if you are looking for something to watch, this is an older movie directed by Tommy Lee Jones. It is based on a Cormac McCarthy play or short story.......not sure which...by the time it ended, I was not really paying attention to the credits.
it is two men in a flat, talking for 90 minutes. I think it's about 7-10 years old. I didn't catch that either.
I watched it sitting on my bed, leaning forward so I didn't miss a word.
do not expect to laugh.
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7
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To link to this blog (wickedeasy) use [blog wickedeasy] in your messages.
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