Thursday, March 1, 2012

Thursday Morning Coffee - Snowed in on Leap Day...

Without coffee!

OMG. It was a crisis! I had to sip v-e-e-e-r-y  s-l-o-o-w-l-y while waiting for the power company technicians to do their thing, which, thankfully, they got done before the temperature in the house dropped below 60. I was getting nervous there for a while, but really - there's nothing wrong with snuggling into a fuzzy micro-fleece blankie and taking a long afternoon nap.

I also have my Kindle Touch loaded and charged (now that's thinking ahead) as well as the iPad, although with the modem and router down, the only internet access today was via iPhone. Which was all okay with me, because having a less-tech day is actually a bit refreshing.

Sprite, while initially tickled about having a snow day, developed hysterics when the power went out. "My technology is gone, oh, what am I going to do? I'm doing to d-i-i-i-e-e-e-e. What are we going to eat? We have no food! I'm going to s-t-a-a-a-r-v-e!" I understood Sprite's concern - she only eats about 4 things, macaroni and cheese and chicken strips being two of those, so indeed, the only option left to her was peanut butter and jelly or bologna and cheese sandwiches. Ahhh, the plight of the spoiled child.

Nonetheless, we did survive. It was questionable for a moment how many of us would survive, because the snotty tone and the dramatization got somewhat out of hand, but all is well now that the lights have come back on. And the Disney Channel, and the internet, and the... well, you know.

Exciting moment #1: the recycle bin tipped over and all the lovely lightweight things like cardboard and empty plastic bottles were skittering around the yard in 65 mpg swirling wind, but I caught them all, even when they gave me a run in my snow boots. (picture to the right absconded from Montgomery county site, it's not my county or my picture, but you get the idea).

I have lived here all my life, and never had a pair of Sorel boots until oh, maybe 3 years ago. I don't know what I was thinking - they are 100% worth the money (all of my Christmas money the year I bought them), and probably one of my most intelligent purchases. Ever. I needed them today, that's for sure.

Exciting moment #2: when I looked outside and noticed the man door to the man cave had blown open. Oh, this is not good. Particularly because just on the other side of that now-open door is the new pool table, and I'm not sure they're built to withstand snow drifts. Which is exactly what I found. A snow drift piling up against the pool table. 65 mpg swirling wind aimed directly at that door had actually shifted the door cock-eyed to the door frame, so the door actually would not close. Oh dear. At left - our actual pool table - and Sprite - in our actual man cave. Well, dad's man cave. We girls are allowed to visit, but whining and complaining has been banned (and so have magazines with titles such as "Ladies Home Journal" and "Redbook"), so if it's too smoky, cigar stinky, and dirty, buck it up or leave. Rules of the Man Cave. Yes, sir.

I am a resourceful chic. I looked around the cave and found some speaker wire hanging on a nail pounded into the garage wall. I tied it around the outside doorknob stretched it across the actual garage door opening - on the outside, because the garage door opening has been framed in to become a non-opening wall - and tied it to the bracket where we hang the electric bug zapper in the summer.

Easy-peasy? Um, no. But it held until a man-friend of the husband arrived to do a better job of it. Whew.

I'm a little sorry that I didn't take some pictures during the 65 mpg swirling crazy snow-wind. Of course, probably would have ruined my camera and the swirling snow-wind would look like a blurred out mess, because even with my eyes it looked like a blurred out mess.

This is what we got, between 6 am and 6 pm. And the thing of it is, it would have been NORMAL to be talking about a storm like this in November. In fact, typically our first big storm of the year here in northern WI would be before Thanksgiving. But this year had been really weird. THIS, on February 29th, is our first big storm. Which is crazy. Crazier still is that there are parts of the yard completely devoid of snow, and then there is the 6 foot drift around the shed, and the 3 foot drift up to the drivers side quarter panel of my car. And so while the pics aren't all that impressive, the huge randomly placed drifts actually are a lot cooler than they look.

We have turned into spoiled babies who don't want to deal with snow. I am so thankful that I have a few days off right now - because I have become a winter-weather pansy, (with the ink to prove it) and I'd have been in hysterics myself if I had to go driving around in this crazy weather. Ew, yuck. Stay home, people, just stay home. I found out late today that the City of Duluth closed, the banks closed, pretty much everything closed. I had no idea, being that I was cut off from the world. I did notice snow-routes were in effect when the semi-trucks starting going past the house all afternoon.

Anyway. I seem to be so chatty I almost forget this is a fiction blog. So let me go peruse the files and find some fiction for you fine folks to read with your morning coffee.

Okay, how about a little snippet, or what some might call a short-short. I have moments when I think I will develop this further when the other projects demanding my time are complete. What say you, darlings, yay or nay?

Bait and Catch

We play this game of bait and catch. At least I know I’m playing it. I can only hope that she’s playing with the same purpose. I dress and fix myself with particular care, attention given from head to toe – I am all girl, but not too girly to be dismissed.

We make eyes at one another from across the room, track movements for an hour or more while we loosen up and get comfortable.

I talk and laugh with my friends, same as she does, but it’s all pretend, and when we lock gazes, I’m sure that we both know it.

I brush my fingers lightly across the nape of her neck as I walk past on my way to the dance floor.

For a minute I dance alone, eyes closed, letting my limbs and hips move to the music, refusing to allow myself to be self-conscious or shy. I dressed for this. I am beautiful. And I know she is watching, and my every move fuels her hunger.

And yet, others join me first, dancing up to me with drinks held high, lips and smiles and eyes of strangers filling my sight. Hands that grab and twirl me, like a girly-girl, a lip-stick lesbian. Ha. They think I’m fake, pretend, and one of them even calls me a poser and a tease.

And I catch a glimpse of her face as she stands up, jealous rage, because even though she doesn’t want me, she wants me. And she definitely doesn’t want anyone else to have me, touch me, capture my attention. Oh no, that won’t be happening tonight.

She circles me on the dance floor, not making any attempt to move to the music, and I circle away, making eyes at her, feeling my lips curve into a satisfied smile.

She is predator, and I am prey. And that is just how I want it.

The dance is the game, and the game is the dance, as she floats around me, in front of me, smoky eyes heavy-lidded, sensual, shooting messages into my center. Mine. My girl. And suddenly she stops in front of me, hands on my shoulders, and she laughs, and I laugh, too, before twisting away, watching her eyes over my shoulder as I turn.

“Catch me,” I mouth to her, and she says out loud, “Oh, I will, baby. No doubt.” And then she leaves the dance floor to finish her beer, order another.

She’s out of sight for maybe three minutes, and I miss her desperately. By the time she returns I am tired of flirting with others. I want her. I want to rest in her presence, lean into her arms.

But then she’s there, and she’s close into my space, hips touching mine for a moment as arms reach and fingers brush, and she moves in ever closer, edging me toward the wall. I resist and try to move back center, but she blocks me, crowds me with her body until my ass hits the wall.

And then she is on me, one hand behind my neck, fingers splayed into my hair, and for a second I see the sly smile at her lips, the satisfaction in her eyes, and then her mouth is on mine, our teeth clicking because I didn’t accept her fast enough, and she’s filling me, tasting me, sucking the breath out of me, and I can’t breathe or think, only surrender. She pulls back for an instant, makes a noise like a purr, and takes me again, owning my every nerve, all of my senses. Her free hand is on my shoulder, fingers clinging, jabbing, then sliding over breast and down to hip, then curling around the curve of my ass, kneading and jerking my pelvis closer, holding me tight. And when she lets go I think there will be a moment of relief, but no, just a shift to the front, and her hand lands on my inner thigh, then glides up until it’s between my legs, right there, pressing up hard, as if she wants to lift me right off my feet.

And I am gone then, swooning into orgasm against the wall next to the dance floor, and I can’t even hear the music anymore, just this tiny, high-pitched mewling noise that fills my ears, and I only realize that I’m the one making it when she lets me go. Oh my god. I’m hot and breathless and all I want in all the world is for her to do it again.


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