Something has changed in me, in my footstep, in my thought process, in the way I carry myself with you. I am no longer yours, in my mind and in my body I am belonging to someone else.

My body has betrayed me because of this dichotomy of men. Or is that dichotomy lives within me? In my mind it’s easy to have two lovers, in reality my body is not functioning and letting go properly. The mental block has manifested in a blocking of the body and betrayal of my generally good natured wide open slutty pussy.

You have hardly been able to slide a finger deep inside my tight walls let alone your throbbing cock and when we do get that far–it is a forced fucking and feels not the same as it once did.

Maybe I should think of my SF cock, while I fuck my NYC cock.

I have made my NYC cock serve, what has become my bohemian lifestyle–including lovely cheeses and breads, find drink and good smoke, but also sexually.

I have become strict, unrelenting and perhaps a bit mean with NYC, but all in a cock loving, ball crimping, ass spanking, vibrator ass fucking, lick my pussy kind of way. ferociously I tease your cock, making you refrain from cumming, building you up then making you come back down, only to again force a raging hard on from you that is sure to go nowhere, until I am ready for it to.

I have enjoyed a few selfish girl cums, some pouring into your eager mouth while you lapped and drank me down, but this act of cumming was disconnected from the man who gave it to me. While I held your the back of your head between my thighs and released my cum–I was else where– drifting away into thoughts I made my own, thoughts to make me cum, thoughts of one cock.

The night of flirting was highly successful.

Those martinis sure get me going. The night was mostly spent on the dance floor to 60s soul, where I danced with all the cute boys, got my ass held and grabbed on the dance floor. I too may have done my fair share of grabbing on the floor. I vaguely recall a boy whispering into my ear…

“you know you’re making me hard.”

But my favorite part of the evening some nice kisses, some from a boy, but some particularly nice soft wet warm kisses from a woman. She certainly surprised me. We are close, tight even–always affectionate toward each other–but the martinis that night did something to her. On the floor, I was leading holding her in tight to me — just being drunk and warm, not sexual –then it just happened, she planted her lips right on mine. In my mind I was thinking this is odd and out of character, I should pull away, but my body and lips did no such thing. She has such soft lips.

Back at our booth, she slid in and I followed, as I did so she grabbed my around the neck by my sweater, pulling me into her. It was a bold drunk move– she was a mix of control and submission pulling me in as my body hovered over her tiny frame and we kissed again, this time she felt my breast, she caressed them, cupped them and pinched them.

Then she apologized for her behavior, and then kept doing it all night.

image by shane deruise

My favorite online crush likes pictures and I like showing him my ass…it’s a good fit. Sometime there are requests, sometimes just whims. He likes stockings. So…Sunday night before going out I set the camera up to take shots of me getting ready, my ass, tits, legs, big thighs. Shot of me putting my stockings on, clipping them to their belt, crawling across the floor, my fingers exploring my pantie patch.

I left, but always take my camera with me. Not long ago my crush requested some peep shots from inside my car. So I took advantage of this night out to shoot those too. My dress lifted, ass up in the front seat–I took a series of snaps. Close ups, odd angles, spilling cleavage, the pantie patch with its triangle of forming wetness. I took shots while I drove, feeling myself, stroking my full lips over the fabric. I started my night out kittenish.

It was one of those classic strange San Francisco nights–full of carnies, gypsies, misfit cabaret barflies, big thighed broads’ in short short skirts with eyes of glazed glass. The music was off—a weird mix of eccentric gypsy, Eastern Euro, bizarre. I felt like I was stuck in some David Lynch fucks Fellini as seen through the librarian’s glasses. It was pure oddity. I found myself becoming light headed on heavy beer, the infamous tamale lady looked more like a bearded lady, there was a strange dancer that looked like sherpa with a hospital band around his wrist–who claimed not to want to marry, but just dance with us. Dance. The saxophone player from the second band had me wanting my pussy licked and worshiped ferociously like the musical instrument it is. Lapping at my clit like a reed. I felt myself get wet and stay that way, sticky even. He was all oral, a definite pussy worshiper, I imagined his beard covered in my liquid love. The cast was a strange mix of misfits that had wandered in from the streets, but all somehow belonged together.

We, the librarians, fit right in. Misfits of the book, guardians of the strange.

When I got home, I was sort of high on the night; I turned the yellow hued light on followed by the blue glow of the computer screen.

I watched your cum spurt out and land on your belly, streaming and streaking in white, landing like electric spittle, dripping from your tip. It made me jealous of something and nothing tangible at the same. I want to fuck you with your glasses on–I want fuck you with my glasses on, two overly educated people fucking like animals with none of that education at work, critical thinking skills have no place here. I lifted my dress, unhooked my stockings from the buckles, pulled them down, spread my thighs wide, and pulled my panties to the side. The smell wafted up into the air, creamy excitement from thinking earlier about my cunt being worshiped. Vanilla yeast. My pussy was full ready to be stroked drained, sapped of it sexual build up of the night. I put the Friday playlist on even though it was Sunday and slid my fingers between my folds, wet pages opened up.

Dripped.

Hitting the record button, on the split screen was you stroking your thick cock, coaxing your love and me caressing my pussy. I watched both of us. Watching as your cock grew in girth–creating that ache of longing from the core of my insatiable cunt.

Simultaneously we virtually fucked each other. When you sat up, directing your beam at me, inviting my lips to taste, to feel you grow further inside my mouth, for a split second you are really passing my lips and I could smell you, and I can taste you. For a split second you were mine.

Envisioning the way I would slide onto you–your round substantial head teasing my slit, seeping into me. Gradually my cunt devours every inch of you. Spreading myself open–slow grinding onto my fingers, the silver bullet rumbles on my clit, two fingers lost inside, my flesh fully concealing their movement. I am fucking you, arched teetering on that pain consumption of the mind and pussy. Coming, I close my thighs around my hands, fingers and toy.

Sitting up from my orgasm slouch, my hand still slipping in between my pages, I lean forward, my pussy off the chair, but my ass still on it. Fucking myself harder, thinking about you coming inside me, squeezing your cock, draining you. Faster my hands plunge and flick, the bullet circling my button. I thrust and drove onto my already buried fingers and I begin to drip, the camera catches it all, the trickles dropping between my legs to the floor below, the elation of me coming and the gush from inside surrounding my fingers as I come hard for the second time. Stars flash that magnetic white light then fade.

I hit stop, save, and strip my way to bed.

originally posted Tuesday, July 14, 2009

I walked the stretch between Grove and your house, up Polk St. Watching my reflection pass in the shop windows, behind me the people images blurred in a city dance step. I stop–gazing, lost in my own impression–washed away, like the image on a Polaroid as it develops, my ghost image attempting to communication. Across the street I hear someone yelling–

“hey Red, Yo! Red.”

In the plate glass I can see the large hump of a man limp running across the street towards me. He recognizes me from the library, I begin to walk like I don’t hear him. My ghost image picking up pace–in the shop windows I become a blur of movement.

“Red, where ya goin’ –you hear me girl- Red!”

For a man with a limp he runs pretty fast my high heeled boots become no match, I resign, turn and face him as though I was just now hearing him calling out to me. Flustered, when I turn, he is only inches away, a fire in his eyes, his face tensed with pain and anger.

“You heard me calling you, that’s rude Red.”

His body is leaning and shoving into mine, his mouth moved and words bellowed out at me in a stream of angry obscenities.

His large hardened belly pushing into me, moving my body with his, before I could even think he shoved me in a doorway with the force of his body combined with the spit and confabulation flying past his lips. I was now reflected in three view–only two visible to me–all visible to him. In the side windows I realized just how big this man is, hovering over me with a power of a crushed life and the streets, his boiling breath inches away, steaming, hot, ugly, lost and empty. His body pressing me further into he doorway, my back forced up against the shop door. Pinning me with his drunken belly, one hand stretches far above me and onto the glass above my head. Still unable to focus on his words that spew out, I see his other hand approaching me. Turning my head, watching as his hand invade, my reflection–now clear. A dirty paw grabs at my thigh, hungry.

“I just wanted to say hi Red, but you wanna just keep on runnin’ pretended you don’t know me. Rude bitch.”

His hand creeps, his bovine stump of a leg, kicks mine apart. Inverted V. Mashed into this reflection, frozen in time– is this mans lingering pose on top of my body. Not my body. His fist jams into my cunt, my jeans like they are not even there. My back pressing against the door, with his strength he lifts my legs off the ground from my pussy, they dangle, my thighs– relentless–not connected-wet cunt consumes this monsters fist of madness and loss. His knuckles grinding into my clit, his anger vibrating his body sending pulsation through him and directly into me. I am his pussy.

Catching glances of the street, there are people–workers, computer geeks mixed with hookers, addicts and their ad men, dusk is turning. Hanging on his fist, my head relinquishes, I watched myself reflected, tensed, jerked and I come. Collapse on his limb. Glaring me directly in the eye, he slides me down the back of the door, allowing my feet to reach solidity. Shoving my full lips one last time–

“you a rude little slut Red, next time just say hi. fuck…bitch…library fuck bitch”

This was originally posted on 08/15/09 on the first Library Vixen site; it was part of a group blogger post. The topic was “reflections.”

I am in the process of going through these older posts, from the first and second LV sites,  and bringing some of them back, now that I feel secure with my web hosting.

Good morning, it’s a sleepy 6:30 on the left coast–my eyes are barely open the coffee is still brewing. I thought I would give an update on a few things I have not been talking about or avoiding or something.

First the DUI--everything is under way and moving forward, there for awhile it was stuck in legal limbo. I finally got my “restricted license,” this allows me to drive to and from work and to my “First Time Offenders”(FOP) program. The FOP is a time consuming, high cost joke. For six months I will be spending four hours with other DUI recipients doing “group” work and drug and alcohol education. Both of which appear dreadfully ineffective to a DUI recipient. The education portion of the FOP consisted of out of date film about the misuse of drugs and alcohol–it was like an 80s version of Reefer Madness. Although, my co-work informs me it may be a good place to meet some fun loving cock. Funny.

If all goes well, by September I will have my drivers license  back, of course it will have cost me over $5000 and 6 month of Thursday’s.  DON’T drink and drive kids, they want to stop you, they want your money–don’t do it.

Do you want to know about work? I am bored, I am frustrated, things move slow (especially when I move fast) when you work for a bureaucracy. I’ll leave it at that.

There are as always, especially with the sunshine, fantastic looking city people all over the place, shedding their clothing and riding their bikes, looking ever so fuckable. I love it when San Franciscans get a collective bout of Spring fever.

My sex life?

I have had very little sex with another human in the flesh. I have, loosely, decided to wait for a guy or girl I really dig. I’m not talking love, I just want to be into them, ya know? Plus a nice juicy thick cock doesn’t hurt either. I was seeing a fellow, we ended up getting too loopy and high and half fucking and if we were not loopy, the he jumped the gun…sure he could fuck several times throughout the night, and sure it looked amazing when he pulled out and his shaft was coated in me–wet and glossy–as he proceeded to stand over me and stroke his cock to cumming all over my belly, but I need about 30 more minutes of him fucking me first. Hence, the lack of cock and why I am waiting, though–I may have to re-evaluate this train of thought. I need to get fucked and soon, I need to taste, lick, suck and worship your cock. Now.

I have been plagued with a house guest, that finally left last night. My god did I ever need to cum, four days of build up, of slight touches, mild strokes, only fingertips dipped. Last night, I had my release, it was late, I had almost forgotten my cum mission. It began with image harvesting for the Tumblr then moved toward some good ol’ fashioned porn. First my fingers stroking my filling flesh on top of my jammie bottoms, then kneading my heavy tits with body oil, down to my belly and eventually the oil and my hands made it to my cunt. The 20 minute clip featured a cute, almost wholesome–if it wasn’t for all the black eye shadow and false eyelashes she had caked on–Pacific Northwest slut, who I knew, due to the title, was an anal lover.

As he buried his face into her pussy and ass I simultaneously burrowed my fingers deep inside me, pulling on my spot. I was rougher on myself than I had anticipated I would be. Pushing my three finger up and deep in, I pressed firmly into my clit–rotating slow and hard–pulling at my G-spot at the same time. Of course I love watching a man eat a woman and, of course, it is never long enough in typical porn (why is that?), so I pulled the scene back a few time bringing out my first come. It was a strong, body quake cum, so strong I felt sated already, like I could easily go to sleep, but instead I opened the desk drawer and pulled out the vibrator.

By now Pacific Northwest slut had his fantastic thick big cock in her mouth, choking a bit, make-up running–it made me cock hungry. Having never removed my three fingers from the depths of my pussy, I begin to massage the velvety tight walls as I crank the tiny chrome vibrator into my folds. I am pressing and crushing hard into myself, wanting cock so badly, wanting some flesh, wanting your solid root to use for my own. Waves consume my body, that familiar fire takes hold, I slow it down, you know– I want to wait for the cum shot. His cock so huge filling her ass, he pulls it all the way out and rests it between her cheeks, dripping from his tip–he want to cum, he takes the action way down–slowly he inches the head back into her, as my own pussy throbbing around my fingers, begging to cum. All of us so ready to let go, deeper I sink into myself, harder I pull, more frantically I flick the vibe on my clit–suddenly he begins to slam into her over and over–it is time. Pulling out, my favorite view–he strokes his big cock and releases all over her eager Pacific Northwest face. I pull the cum shot back one more time and let myself cum while he cums, imaging it is me you’re cumming on–tongue panting and waiting like a good girl for your white flow.

Great release! Four days of life seem to exit out from my pussy, I writhe a bit, then move to the bed–where the cool sheets caress the fire of my body and I recover from the flight.

image by Naken Bilderna!

I shot this from my fantastic evening, while I shot it– I was thinking, you may very well appreciate her upside down heart shaped ass.

I danced my  own ripe round ass off and had a sweat dripping good time. Good energy. Thanks Daryl for the tip, March Fourth was so good! Exactly what I needed.

Well, there certainly is nothing like a rock solid cock and firm spank until my ass is pink, red and stinging to make me forget about my blues. There is just something perfectly fleeting about having a “fuckguest” to come roll around with you for a few days to make you forget reality.

Chicago guy in SF has been fun, and actually sort low key, not the sex but our activity. Almost like playing house for a few days. It is easy for me to let that submissive side become the dominate side of me if, especially if I am aware it’s only going to be momentarily. I like and enjoy it then, I like to make my man happy in many ways. I like to cook you dinner, rub you down from head to toe until you fall asleep, and then I like fucking you like the crazy girl I am. Fucking all this recent pain disgruntledness away. There is a freedom to being with someone you know and fucked before.  It allows me fuck like me, and like you want me to be, and then like me again. The dynamism of man woman. Magnetism of cock to cunt.

After a nice romp and serious tear jerking cum on my part, we hit the Golden Gate Bridge, and the Marin Headlands, it was quiet, almost sunny, my bitch of German car loved the drive.  I loved the drive.  Back to the city, we hit up Madame S. I cannot believe I have never been here before, I had been to Mr. S at it’s original location, but not the new combined store. First off, this looks like fun! Secondly,  Christ latex wear is expensive–we didn’t get any. The one little thing I wanted, this cute latex collar with a tiny purple bow was $40, we didn’t get it. And another thing, the sex industry is like the wedding industry, or baby industry, they jack the price up about 300% because they can, it’s niche market. They have a leash there, selling for $18.95, the same exact one I scored at the army surplus store for $2.50. Crazy. That reminds me I need to find someone to use that leash with.

We did get some Bondage tape to try out,  a little bit of restraint. I have never tried it, looks like fun. I sort of prefer restraining myself though, I like locking my hands behind my back while I grind on top of your cock, or my peace fingers locked around my big toes– legs spread wide in a slut V shape, open for serious pounding by you, or locking my hand around my thighs at the bend in my knees–feet in the air– ass and pussy smiling you, inviting– while you slow slide in and out of me, my feet may come to rest on your shoulder while you appear and disappear inside my flesh. I can see you looking at my pussy and your cock taking it all in. Or even better, I like it when you restrain me with your strength. Pulling my hands behind me, or around my shoulder, or neck, or hair– while you fuck me from behind.  Keep me in my place, tell me what to do, what not to do, take my thought away from me for this brief moment of fucking.

Chicago also bought me a new glass blown butt plug. I had one, but well one, it did get lost that one time–  and two,  it was not (bluntness ahead) opening me up enough to take his cock. We had tried early that morning and I practically punched him the nose.  It hurts like nothing else I have exactly felt before. A finger, a thumb is certainly not a hard cock, it takes more time to get it in.

When we got back to my place, I jumped in a shower to put the plug in, the heat makes me relax more. It was difficult still, I had to get on all fours and spread my cheeks a bit to get that lubed round tip to pass. The pain shoots to pleasure and it’s in.

We lull around the rest of the evening–ass plugged, I make drinks, relax, watch a movie–then “let the wild rumpus begin!” We fuck all over my tiny room, the bed sheets lost to the floor. I am acrobat on your cock. Eventually I am backwards riding, my ass to your gaze, with each grind you push the plug in deeper, twisting, and fucking both apertures. Then you pull the plug out and I slide you cock in with ease and, yes, with pleasure. I ride and ride, until you command me to face you without getting off your cock. Twisting around, we are eye to eye, leaning my hands behind me for support, I slow grind.  My pussy wide open and clit begging for attention, which you give.

You cannot take it any more, pulling out you flip me over grab on to my body, limbs, hair–and fuck me from behind, truly. I have my vibe coursing through my core, as you plunge, face lost in the pillows, and you plunge. My pussy opens up wide and you cum hard, in my, now, not scared space, my pussy willow jerks from your release and the vibe hitting just right spot.

Collapse into fuck sleep.

(thanks GrayRake for term fuckguest)

For the first time in my long history as a city employee,  SF’s budget crisis is bleeding into the library. We have been forced to take mandatory days off with no pay. We are on official furlough.

Which, ya know, is good and bad. Yesterday’s day off allotted me some quality,  overdue–kitty time. I caught up on some reading, watched some porn and played with my new flip cam.

I learned; I need a tripod because I cannot control my action shots. I learned; just how wet I sound when I am needy insatiable cunt.  I tripped into dreaming about you between my legs devouring and drinking me in, the sound not of my pussy but of your hunger, your lapping, licking, slurping…

Your finger hooked into me, pushing me to that brink, making me release that sigh and moan, that fuucck yeah–state of mind.

Of you making me cum, not me.

I fucked myself a lot yesterday, barley putting any cloths on all day. Just a tank top to go to the kitchen.

I came many times. I came and napped, woke up and fucked myself again. Wet cycle.

Watching, but more– actually– listening to myself cum on film (because the film quality was off), was so strangely hot. I did not know my pussy sounded like that, so wet, so slick, needy of cock, ready. Wanton slut.

I learned; I need to get fucked, I need some cock. Soon.

Oh bloody hell. The start of 2010 has just been a nightmare of bullshit.

Coming home from work Saturday night– why the fuck did I get a speeding ticket? Perhaps I am cursed, perhaps the lil’ red wagon is cursed? That could be. German bitch. She only wants to drive on the open road at 90 miles an hour.

The funny thing is, prior to getting pulled over I was thinking about giving a blow job.

I live by the ocean, so it takes some time for me to get home and I had to go pee.  For me, holding back the need to pee triggers that same feeling of almost having an orgasm. One of the only 3 stations I can get in–was playing  LA Woman–blasting and crackling out my crappy car radio. I was lost, clinching my pussy, my mouth slack and open, my tongue anticipating cock. My mind imagining a nice hard dick sliding in and out past my lips.  I was speeding and sucking cock. I get to the top of a the crest, passing a few cars, then notice one of them is on my ass–hard. It did not dawn on my that it was a cop, until I erratically switched lanes with no blinker in an attempt to get him off my ass. When he followed my movement, I knew immediately. Fucking cop.

When he got to the car,  I put my window down, his cock at my mouth level–his flashlight in my face. I tripped into sucking his cock. Could I get out of this ticket? But, nothing like that ever happens to me. He was not the Bad Lieutenant and I have a serious disdain for law authority.

But, it sure would be a nice role play scenario. Cock through my window. I think I will have to make this one happen. No cop though, but perhaps in parking lot or garage, some man walks up to me. Pretending to want to ask me something, I roll the window down and cannot help but take notice of his hard cock trapped within his jeans. Needing my lips and mouth with no hesitation. My tongue licking across the denim cover, feeling the trapped twitch. The two of separated by the car door. A step closer and his hand falls in, searching my tits, pinching hard until I gasp. I am hungry now for the smell of dick, he begins to undo his fly and release that hard-on that has been building for who knows how long.

In the fading light of the parking lot, it becomes just he and I, the life around fades and he begins his cadence of thrust and I devour. People walk by, maybe notice, but not dare stop. Precum begins to flow and drip. He is such a dripping animal. He would have to be to approach a car like that with his cock so rock solid.

He grabs his base and bounces his head on my lips and tongue, getting his shaft nice and wet with my perpetually open mouth, rubbing his dick all over my face like the slut I am. His free hand grabbing and twisting my tits, yanking, piercing. Feeding me. Cumming into me, onto me as a life rotates around us.

Well, it is raining again. I have found myself obsessed with songs about the rain, about love and loss, about crying in the rain.

It’s raining so hard
Looks like it’s gonna rain all night
And this is the time
I’d love to be holding you tight
But I guess I’ll have to accept
The fact that you’re not here
I wish the rain would hurry up
And end, my dear

The new year has really started out pretty damned lousy. There have been few memorable moments, really it has been a rainy, depressing, sick, drunken January.

Things must change. While I feel I am generally not one to be controlled by loss and anger and depression and all around bullshit, I sort of feel like it’s following me. I have lived a life of self induced struggle and moved past that stupidity, but this, this is all different. Things have not been going my way. I write and I wonder, who the fuck wants to read this self pity shit, who gives a shit what’s in this mind, because the funk I am in is not sexy, not cock fueled and certainly not full of new love. Which is why I guess I need to see it, I need to read the words, and understand why loss and pain never leave. How I hold myself back.

In just this week, my best friends boyfriend/husband got stabbed in a robbery. He is doing fine, strong and healthy, but it is still truly not right. Then over the weekend, I got a bloody DUI. Not good, not good at all. I blew it. Funny thing, I was just thinking to myself that–in 12 years of living here I have never visited the infamous 850 Bryant, that is until Friday night. What a fucking nightmare. It has me feeling like such an asshole. All of it has me down, low, like I can’t pull myself out. Low; like self destruction, addiction, fucked up love, low. I don’t know how to write about it, or feel about what I feel and I hate that. And it makes me feel small and petty. But at least I’m not dead or wounded– nor did I physically hurt anyone, except for that ego of mine– and maybe the feelings of those I love most, of course.

The past never leaves us, the loss, the grief manifests and when it resurfaces it is like experiencing the loss all over again. Some loss you still have to face everyday, some loss your still married to. Some loss, washes up on the shore or comes down with the rain. Everything lingers, every song has a past and each listen can so easily bring that pain right back.

Just like that cold August day on the beach, where sat from dawn to dark–mourning the loss of my marriage. Who was there? Jeff Buckley the Grace album–All that was so Real, that haunting rendition of Cohen’s Hallelujah. Also there, the most tragic of Elvis Costello–belting songs of pain and brokeness–A Good Year for the Roses, was played on loop.  I was broke. We were broke. We broke each other.

I spent the days and weeks that followed, sitting in that 1964 Dodge Dart Convertible wreck of car we loved so much, crying my heart out, watching the ocean roll in its ugly gray waves. Replaying the soundtrack of our life, with the largest heartache I had known at that time (amazing how much more heartache the human heart can handle).

Often I think of my marriage, in terms of quantified problems that never would have never added up right, no matter how much we may have loved each other. And then there are the times I think of my lost love as, just that– a loss. Another fuck up. I lost my cock and my best friend.

Like all great love stories of highly charged, chaotic artistic romantic lost love, it includes large amounts of debauchery followed by loathing and hate. It involved mountains of cocaine, large amounts of booze and gangster drug dealers. We had found ourselves in a friendship with the coke man, which is altogether a bad and glorious relationship. Cocaine makes you hate yourself, yet you cannot say no to it, especially when it’s free.  Our nights with the drug dealing gangster became increasingly more frequent. Sleep was elusive, awake was torture.

This night, my birthday, which will never to be the same, the celebration consisted of an eight ball, good scotch and a party at our little love shack. The night wore on  and on. The coke never stopped dropping down on the table. I didn’t want it, but was unable to refuse it. We were super high. I think we must have played that  stupid Eminem, The Marshall Mathers LP, about a hundred fucking times that night. I certainly cannot hear any song off that album ever again.

Midnight.
One AM.
Two AM.

He disappears. I am alone with a house full of Excelsior gangsters, none of which are who I actually invited to my birthday, but none the less–here we are, wondering what happened to the husband. My mind knew, I knew, nothing good was flowing through his blood, and as so often, nothing good flowed straight to his cock. I knew, I knew.

I thought I knew. But when, he came back to the apartment, with a 6′ gay black man. All of sudden– I didn’t know shit.

Was he an offering?

I never saw the  gangsters run so fast in all my life. The only one that stuck around was the cocaine man, because misery certainly likes to have two, three, four….there is more than enough pain for everybody.

The husband disappears again. Back and forth– in and out, super flying high. Anger flooding in with each open and closing of the door. They come back, the dawn is creeping, Foxy Brown is bumpin’ she’s a bad girl. The coke still droppin’ and my husband is out chasing cock. My heart is gone, not even broken or sunk –it’s just up and gone. I know, I know and I know. But, I need to know for sure. I leave the gangster there and take the walk to my art studio I had at the time, I know he is there. Descending the hallway, passing the heavy wood doors, it smells like basement, chemicals and garbage. My door is close, but I don’t even have to get to my door, I see them, their silhouettes, my husband on his knees with big black cock in his mouth, sucking like a high strung bitch.

I never made my presence known. I kicked the cocaine gangster out, I locked the door to the bedroom, packed my shit and headed for the ocean, where I spent the next week crying in the rain, listing tracks of tragedy.

Our marriage was over long before this, but this act pushed it through.

I often wonder if we only had the knowledge or bravery to talk to each other, maybe we could have worked through the sexual issues, but it was to late, it was dead already. Our love was dead, I wanted to be dead, I wanted that cock sucker to be dead.

And the rain is still coming down. And I am still obsessed with songs of rain, but now I am putting  on a little mix that stirs the potency of love. Because with love comes laughter, and laughter is always, eventually, accompanied by his partner tears.

Love Goes Up, Love Goes Down compiled by a good friend, who I miss and love,  in my time of need.
Wilson Pickett 634-5789
The Chiffons He’s So Fine
Martha Reeves and The Vandellas Heat Wave
Betty Wright Tonight is the Night
Marvin Gaye Sexual Healing A cappella style sooo good.
Ivory Joe Hunter Since I Met You Baby
Smokey Robinson and The Miracles You Really Got a Hold on Me
James Brown Please, Please, Please
Maurice Williams Stay
Jan Bradley Mama Didn’t Lie
Barbara Lynn You’ll Lose a Good Thing
The Drifters There Goes My Baby
Jackie Wilson Lonely Teardrops
Smokey Robinson and the Miracles The Tracks of My Tears