"I should know better than to touch the fire twice."
If she hadn't known who he was, it would have been like a fairytale. A modern, urban fairytale set in a night club with a mini-skirted, smokey-eyed princess and a brandy-sipping prince with a goatee. But it was Harley's little fairytale. Her in the club with all her girls. Having a great time, looking fantastic. A great song playing in the background. And then catching eyes with a guy across the room. Not just any guy, THAT guy. The one with swagger reverberating across the room, the one with style and sophistication, the one that made Harley blush a little just by looking at him.
The moment came. Three of her favorite friends by her side. Sporting her new Bebe dress which complimented every curve and sleek line the past six weeks at the gym had given her. One of her favorite old school Jay-Z songs blasting. And in her casual glance around the room while sipping her martini, she caught his eye. Except that it wasn't THAT guy. It was her guy, her old guy. Lewis.
Harley and Lewis were a legend in their circles. They'd been falling in and out of each other's lives since high school, never really dating but always a little more than just friends. That is until the last time. The last time they took the leap. They had a passionate, some would say epic, relationship that lasted nearly two years. Then somehow they'd fallen out of love with each other. Harley remembered the feeling well. That one day she had woken up beside him, looked at him, and knew that the passion was gone. She had imagined it was the same for him.
Of course, Harley knew more than her friends on the outside did. That the end wasn't quite as sudden as she liked to believe. There had been arguments and silence and distrust and anger. There had been hurt feelings and vindictive actions on both of their parts. And when it had finally officially ended, they both decided it was for the best. That their passion was too strong and could lead to nothing but this bitter conclusion.
Honestly, Harley hadn't really thought much about it. Sure, there had been the usual moping time period, then the rebound time period, then the moving on period. She was done with all that and had not thought much about Lewis in the past year. So it surprised her how quickly that original passion stirred in her when she saw him from across the room. How her body seemed to react to him, urging her to move towards him. The memories came back, but somehow only the good. She remembered the way he smelled, the feel of his hand in hers, the taste of him even.
Harley stood, she smiled and Lewis smiled back. She finished off her martini swiftly, took a deep breath, and began to make her way toward him.
Showing posts with label passion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label passion. Show all posts
Monday, March 15, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
uninvited
"Must be strangely exciting to watch the stoic squirm."
The lights in the room began to dim. And as the lights softened, so did the crowd. The laughter, the clinking of glasses, the polite interruptions of waitresses all turned into a soft hum. Almost like the constant yet comforting sound of a clothes dryer. The crowd was eager and strained to see beyond the sudden darkness to the stage. Almost silent happenings were occurring onstage. Silhouttes of people walking. The sound of stilettos trying to tiptoe into position.
Then as suddenly as the lights went down, the stage lit up. On it sat three girls in was assumedly expensive, overtly arousing outfits. A brunette with long wavy hair wearing a black jumpsuit that looked more like a second skin than an actual layer of clothing. Another brunette, this one with a sleek bob, in a barely there mini skirt and silk cami. A blond whose hair was more than halfway down her back in tight capris and a literally breathtaking corset. Three girls straddling three chairs.
And the hush deepened in the crowd. The waitresses stopped serving and themselves sat to watch the show. Drinks were nursed in effort to keep focus on the show. The women sang. They danced. Eventually they disrobed. There were some in the crowd nearly salivating by the end. Some were clearly aroused and ready to go home to their own lovers.
Then there were the ashamed few. The prude newcomers. The people's whose friend or significant other or sibling or co-worker had pushed them to come. The people who were suddenly faced with a sexuality they had run from their entire lives. The people who found their own deep-seated belief that shows were exploitation of women being overtaken by their own suppressed sexual desire. When the show ended, those people sat transfixed and embarrassed. They were frozen by their internal conflict. They were confused and disgusted by their enjoyment. They were unwilling to face the people they came with. But most of all, those people found themselves reluctant to get up in case they missed the encore.
The lights in the room began to dim. And as the lights softened, so did the crowd. The laughter, the clinking of glasses, the polite interruptions of waitresses all turned into a soft hum. Almost like the constant yet comforting sound of a clothes dryer. The crowd was eager and strained to see beyond the sudden darkness to the stage. Almost silent happenings were occurring onstage. Silhouttes of people walking. The sound of stilettos trying to tiptoe into position.
Then as suddenly as the lights went down, the stage lit up. On it sat three girls in was assumedly expensive, overtly arousing outfits. A brunette with long wavy hair wearing a black jumpsuit that looked more like a second skin than an actual layer of clothing. Another brunette, this one with a sleek bob, in a barely there mini skirt and silk cami. A blond whose hair was more than halfway down her back in tight capris and a literally breathtaking corset. Three girls straddling three chairs.
And the hush deepened in the crowd. The waitresses stopped serving and themselves sat to watch the show. Drinks were nursed in effort to keep focus on the show. The women sang. They danced. Eventually they disrobed. There were some in the crowd nearly salivating by the end. Some were clearly aroused and ready to go home to their own lovers.
Then there were the ashamed few. The prude newcomers. The people's whose friend or significant other or sibling or co-worker had pushed them to come. The people who were suddenly faced with a sexuality they had run from their entire lives. The people who found their own deep-seated belief that shows were exploitation of women being overtaken by their own suppressed sexual desire. When the show ended, those people sat transfixed and embarrassed. They were frozen by their internal conflict. They were confused and disgusted by their enjoyment. They were unwilling to face the people they came with. But most of all, those people found themselves reluctant to get up in case they missed the encore.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
hold on
"You've got no one to blame for your unhappiness."
Marcie woke up with a grunt. She could never sleep past seven am without the neighbor's carpool honking to wake her up. Today was no different. She sat up reluctantly, looked over at Glenn resentfully, and stumbled out of bed. Somehow Glenn always slept through the stupid carpool. He conveniently slept until after she had gone outside to get the paper and the coffee was fully brewed.
Marcie's disdain for the day continued as she edged through traffic only to arrive at work more disgusted than when she got in the car. Her mood today was sullen. She skulked around the office, barking at her secretary, mumbling at her supervisor, and half-heartedly finishing the marketing reports for tomorrow.
About thirty minutes before time to clock out, Marcie's secretary came into her office and gave a two weeks notice. The girl's name was Darelle. She was barely twenty-five years old. Marcie's curiosity peaked and she had Darelle sit down to explain.
Darelle briefly looked surprised, then took a seat directly across from Marcie. Over the next twenty minutes, Darelle explained that this secretary job was just to bring in some money. Her real passion had always been painting, and she had worked hard to make a name for herself in the local galleries. It had finally paid off. For the last six months her paintings had been in high demand. So she was leaving to take on her passion full time.
Darelle left Marcie in her office thinking about passion. It almost seemed like a foreign word. Or like a dirty word. Passion. Marcie didn't think that passion had a place in her life. Mortgages, grocery shopping, oil changes, meetings, electric bills, traffic. That was her life. A husband whose face she rarely saw peek out from behind the newspaper.
Passion. Marcie wasn't even sure the last time she felt it. But she knew that it had been there at one point. The relish of creating innovative and effective marketing strategies. The comfort in settling down into a house. The lust and love for her husband that brought them together every night. Those things were a decade past. They had no place in her life now.
Yet still she was envious of Darelle. Of her passion.
Marcie woke up with a grunt. She could never sleep past seven am without the neighbor's carpool honking to wake her up. Today was no different. She sat up reluctantly, looked over at Glenn resentfully, and stumbled out of bed. Somehow Glenn always slept through the stupid carpool. He conveniently slept until after she had gone outside to get the paper and the coffee was fully brewed.
Marcie's disdain for the day continued as she edged through traffic only to arrive at work more disgusted than when she got in the car. Her mood today was sullen. She skulked around the office, barking at her secretary, mumbling at her supervisor, and half-heartedly finishing the marketing reports for tomorrow.
About thirty minutes before time to clock out, Marcie's secretary came into her office and gave a two weeks notice. The girl's name was Darelle. She was barely twenty-five years old. Marcie's curiosity peaked and she had Darelle sit down to explain.
Darelle briefly looked surprised, then took a seat directly across from Marcie. Over the next twenty minutes, Darelle explained that this secretary job was just to bring in some money. Her real passion had always been painting, and she had worked hard to make a name for herself in the local galleries. It had finally paid off. For the last six months her paintings had been in high demand. So she was leaving to take on her passion full time.
Darelle left Marcie in her office thinking about passion. It almost seemed like a foreign word. Or like a dirty word. Passion. Marcie didn't think that passion had a place in her life. Mortgages, grocery shopping, oil changes, meetings, electric bills, traffic. That was her life. A husband whose face she rarely saw peek out from behind the newspaper.
Passion. Marcie wasn't even sure the last time she felt it. But she knew that it had been there at one point. The relish of creating innovative and effective marketing strategies. The comfort in settling down into a house. The lust and love for her husband that brought them together every night. Those things were a decade past. They had no place in her life now.
Yet still she was envious of Darelle. Of her passion.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
he touched me
"He touched me and suddenly nothing is the same."
An accidental hand brush
The brief caress of skin
And I am left dazed
I have to touch him again
For touching him is like breathing air
Necessary
His hand was like a jolt of electricity
How can an instant of contact do so much?
Sets my skin on fire
Sends my heart racing
Clears my mind
Elevates my soul
I can't imagine what his kiss would do
But I can find out...
An accidental hand brush
The brief caress of skin
And I am left dazed
I have to touch him again
For touching him is like breathing air
Necessary
His hand was like a jolt of electricity
How can an instant of contact do so much?
Sets my skin on fire
Sends my heart racing
Clears my mind
Elevates my soul
I can't imagine what his kiss would do
But I can find out...
Friday, February 27, 2009
call my name
"I know its only been three hours but I love it when you call my name."
Temptation is
The thought of you
And me
Gripping sheets
Or headboards
Seduction is
The sweetest kiss
With roving hands
Connection is
Hearts pounding against each other
Intense rhythms
Sweet rides
Intimacy
Satisfaction is
A primal ecstasy
A loss of control
And the sweet euphoria
Addiction is
Opening my eyes
Wanting more
Now
Temptation is
The thought of you
And me
Gripping sheets
Or headboards
Seduction is
The sweetest kiss
With roving hands
Connection is
Hearts pounding against each other
Intense rhythms
Sweet rides
Intimacy
Satisfaction is
A primal ecstasy
A loss of control
And the sweet euphoria
Addiction is
Opening my eyes
Wanting more
Now
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