Virginia Slim

Virginia glanced over her shoulder when the phone rang. Sitting the photograph onto the table, she slowly walked toward the ringing. Heart racing, she looked at the caller ID display and saw his name. Hesitantly, she picked up the receiver, “Hello James.”

“Slim. I thought I’d missed you. Can I come see you?”

“For what James?”

“I need to talk to you. Please?”

“Anything you need to say to me, say it now before I hang up.”

“I need to say this in person. If you’ll let me. Please?”

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slow, Virginia responded. “Okay. You have ten minutes to get here and say your piece. Not one minute more. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Thanks Slim. On my way.” The dial tone resonated through the empty room. Placing the phone back in the cradle, Virginia headed towards her kitchen. Reaching in the cabinet above the sink, she grabbed a glass tumbler from the shelf. Turning to her stainless steel refrigerator she drifted into her thoughts as the clink of the ice falling into her glass. Grabbing the bottle of apple brandy from her cabinet above the stove, she quickly poured herself a glass. As the sunlight reflected from her glass, Virginia thought about her two-year relationship with James. Fear that she made a mistake agreeing to let him stop by one last time stirred up a flood of memories…

Sultry laughter and heated arousal filled the kitchen as James suckled Virginia’s right earlobe. Wriggling underneath the pressure of his body holding her hostage against her refrigerator elicited mixed feelings. The tingle coursing through her veins with each nip on her ear and the coolness of the stainless steel on her bare back made her giggle like a school girl. James’ left hand casually slid the strap of her black evening gown off of her shoulder.

His right hand shortly mimicked the motion and the other strap slid off of her right shoulder. As the silk dress slid from her body James’ eyes lit up like a furnace. Caramel brown skin now only dressed in a black, strap less bra and panty. Virginia felt goosebumps surfacing along her arms while other parts of her began to warm up. James suckled and kissed the length of her neck, stopping long enough to look into Virginia’s eyes, letting her know this would be no quick affair…

The doorbell ringing snatched Virginia back to reality. A quick look at her watch told her that only five minutes had passed since she had hung up the phone. Meaning James was already in the area.  She took a long drink before going to answer her door. The sweet, brown liquor produced a shiver as she turned the doorknob.

And there he was. Five feet, eleven inches tall. Deep mahogany complexion with the most hypnotizing brown eyes she had ever seen in life, standing in her doorway. A place she vowed to herself she would not ever allow him to cross again in life…

 

If you enjoyed reading about Virginia Slim, leave a comment below. Thanks!

Realistic Glimpses

Staring at this computer screen I want to throw it across the room. The cursor blinking at me, accusingly, while writer’s block has me mentally paralyzed. Images flicker. Characters show glimpses of themselves but not enough to flesh out anything solid. It’s like they are taunting me. Laughing at my ability to capture them on paper.

I walk away from my laptop in frustration and turn on the television. Mindlessly flipping through channels, I stop at a home improvement show. One of those home fix and flip shows. At the first commercial break I shut the television off in irritation. Why can’t I write? What is blocking me from grabbing this story and putting it on paper?

Sitting back at my laptop, I stare again at the blinking cursor. Snatches of the argument I had earlier that morning surface in my mind. Defending my choices in life is tiring. Realizing that the time, money, effort and dedication I invested into my current relationship has not yielded the results that were advertised has left a bitter emotional residue. I’ve seen many quotes on Pinterest about life, one in particular, that if you don’t fail then you haven’t tried.

I get it. You have to fail a few times in order to get it right. I get it. I don’t like it. Relationships are not supposed to be a constant battle. Describing characters on a page should not be a battle either. Don’t they want their stories told? Glimpses. Flashes. But nothing concrete. Irritation. Anger. Frustration. Feelings of throwing out any idea of writing and turning to something, anything mundane but regular. But I know I won’t survive the mundane. I suffocate with monotonous routines. I hate feeling like I’m suffocating. I guess this is my caterpillar phase of life. My chrysalis is forming and I feel like I am suffocating under the current circumstances.

And my cursor continues to blink at me. Another glimpse of character. A whisper. This time a name: Virginia Slim. Who is Virginia Slim? What does Virginia Slim want? Where is Virginia Slim? When is Virginia Slim? Why the name Virginia Slim? Another glimpse. Sophistication. Business attire. Heels. Brown skin. So I know Virginia Slim is a woman. A business woman. A woman of color.

Okay, now we have something. Who is she? Where is she from? What does she want? What is her occupation? What are her goals? What is her motivation? I know her story will have some bumps in it because she is a woman of color. Who are her parents? What do they do for a living? What stories do they have to tell? Does she have siblings? Does she have close friends? Does she have any pets? Significant other(s)?

If she can show herself to me more solidly I can flesh out her story. Just from this it feels like an interesting one. Maybe NaNoWriMo will be up my alley this year after all. Stay tuned for updates on Virginia Slim. My cursor is still blinking but it’s not accusing me (much) any longer…

To NaNo or Not to NaNo?

I am debating whether or not i have the stamina to attempt NaNoWriMo this year. I made the attempt in 2015 and had fun although I fell short of my goal. Various ideas haven’t stopped flowing through my mind though. Just being able to flush them out into a fully formed story line is a whole other story of it’s own.

Recently I started practicing yoga and working on clearing out my mental clutter so I can hear what my mind wishes to produce. Whispers have been seeping through… Subtle, sultry flashes of ideas here and there. This is a bit of one of those whispers…

Cheryl parked her car and looked at the sparkling lights emanating from the building. As she turned of the ignition she felt the buzz of her cell vibrating in her leather clutch. Opening the text message notification she read the simple message, “Room 315. Meet me in the shower.” A flutter rose in her chest and she smiled at the phone. Cheryl grabbed her clutch, slipping her phone inside and got out of the car. Walking into the brightly lit lobby, she eased past the desk and headed towards the elevators. Stepping inside, Cheryl pressed the 3 and stepped back as the doors closed.

Cheryl adjusted her breasts inside of her black, lace lined corset. Her 36 DD cups swelled just above the top of the corset and her black leather pants hugged her ass like a second skin. Cheryl smoothed her hands over her hips and checked her reflection in the console when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Following the signs on the wall, Cheryl proceeded down the hall to room 315 and pushed on the ajar door.

Setting her clutch on the couch and closing the door, Cheryl stepped out of her heels and unfastened the clasps on her corset, dropping it to the floor. Peeling the leather from her curvaceous ass, she began walking toward the shower. Steam filled the bathroom as Jason lathered his body with soap. Opening the shower door, Cheryl stepped inside and wrapped her arms around George’s solid frame letting her voluptuous breasts press into his back…

 

What do you think should happen next? How should this play out? Leave your suggestions in the comments below.

 

Monday Motivation

I woke up tired this morning. Body aches from a spur of the moment decision to do last minute gardening/de-weeding yesterday had me contemplating life. But, the children had school and I had a yoga workout calling my name.

After my workout (about 7 minutes worth) I felt a little better and proceeded with my morning. That consisted of waking two tired children who wanted more sleep. After rounding them up and getting them prepared we were off.

They were happy to be off to school once they finished breakfast. Once they saw their friends, I no longer existed in their world (for now at least). A little sadness. But I quickly reflected on those children who scream and cry when their parents drop them off and I am grateful my children are who they are.

It’s in these moments that I truly love my life. Being able to guarantee my children’s safe delivery to and from school. A reminder for me, why I have to put my all into everything I do… It’s for them – my children. Once I am gone what will I leave behind? Things or values?

Sultry Musings

Warmth cruising through my veins

following thoughts of you…

Your eyes penetrating my hidden desires

accelerating the beat of my heart with a light caress of your finger.

Magnetized to you, following unspoken commands

my body demands satisfaction only you can provide

in time

with the rhythm of your smile…

I have been feeling all sorts of emotions this month. As I should as September is a month of transitions and in my life experience quite a bit has occurred during this month to have my emotions in a tailspin. Amidst the swirling and working on the release of my next poetry collection, Reflections: Past, Present, Future, I am striving to remain open and receptive to the universe. My heart has not led me astray once, as long as I listen to her. She inspires me with all types of visually tantalizing word play. Sometimes I surprise myself when I re-read some of the poems I have written.

While reading over some of my pieces, I begin feeling warm and tingle all over as I remember some of the inspiring factors behind my words. Erotic is what some of them are. Romance gathers quite a few more and Confrontational Life is how I would categorize some of the others. Where I find most of my truly powerful pieces are in the more erotic zone.

I have been trying to force myself to write more mainstream poetry, attempting to delve into the political poetry spectrum but that is not me. Not at all. I enjoy romance. The feel good vibes and love stories of life inspire me. The soft neck kisses, hand placed at the small of the back, brushing the hair away from the face moments that are quite innocent but invite so much more.

I enjoy writing about that so much more. The soft red light in the room you can see just through a partially ajar door. Quiet music playing. Low moans swimming towards the entryway as imaginable feats of pleasure are being reached. These are the scenes that paint my poetry so vividly, my sultry musings as I shall call them from here on out. Well, let’s see where this will take us…

Imperfection Perfection

I found one of my notebooks in my desk at work today (I have several notebooks stashed in various locations at home and at work). Looking through that notebook I discovered some of my poems that were written about six months ago.

Talk about surprise. I am caught off guard sometimes when I re-read my work because the intensity of my poetry is amazing. But alas, it is my poetry, right? This one particular poem, Imperfection Perfection, is one of those poems…

Staring at my reflection

at the results of bearing life

stretch marks gracefully swim

across my abdomen in waves

of caramel kisses.
The low slope of my breasts

reflect the nourishment

I provide for all who came forth

from my body.
My body is imperfectly perfect

in it’s own way

loving me as I love it…

– Why Yet 11/29/16

National Sibling Day, Easter…

Memory overload. I need to dump some of these mental files I am storing. Forgot that National Sibling Day was yesterday. Was reminded that Easter is this upcoming Sunday. Today is only Tuesday. 

Okay, I had to let that out. 

My children get along and enjoy each other’s company (for the most part). Well enough that I have pictures of them together. So here is my tribute to National Sibling Day…

Kindle is Life…

I just finished reading Mini Habits For Resilience by Tom Meitner on my way to my day job. He breaks down little ways we can develop a stronger resilience in our daily lives. I came across Tom’s book accidentally while searching for free books I could download for my children. (In case you are new to reading my words I am a word nerd, book nerd, however you’d like to describe it – I love books).

In life we tend to be harder on ourselves than anyone else, especially when we fail to reach a goal we’ve set for ourselves. This book shed light on the truth of how set backs can effect our view of ourselves and our abilities. Tom also offered ways to build resilience so setbacks aren’t as devastating to our sense of ability and accomplishment.

I think everyone should read at least one self-help book a year to improve in an area of life you may feel needs sprucing up… 

Black Without Apology

Too many times I have encountered individuals who behave as though only they have a right to exist on this planet. As big as this rock is… really? I can’t say I’m surprised with 45 fueling the flames. But I was inspired by the words I’ve been reading on here tonight. I wrote this poem, Black Without Apology, as an in your face call out to those who are closed-minded about anyone who is different:

Does my skin offend you?

Has my DNA mocked you?

Has my resilience taunted your very existence, pushing you to hate me?

Does my intelligence frighten

the very idea of your

subsistence on the degradation of my genetic make-up?

I guess nightmares and dreamscapes of terror

encourage you to intake artificial courage

to defile the image of my being

solely because you can’t bear

your child-mind of feeling inferior,

that gestating seed of uncertainty

that gnaws at your immorality

while you justify your (lack of) humanity

to your brotherhood of nonsensical brethren…

But I digress…

Your inability to come to terms with your ideas of the world

belong to YOU.

I am my melanated self because I am

and always will be

Black without apology.

– Why Yet 4/3/17

It’s National Poetry Month 2017!

Poetry month has returned again. I always find myself enthralled reading other’s words and feeling surprise at someone being enthralled by my own.

Don’t misunderstand me. I LOVE my works. My poetry is my therapy – therefore it is very personal and raw for me. Which makes me shy and proud to share it.

The first poem I remember having to memorize was Langston Hughes’ A Dream Deferred. I didn’t understand that poem at the age of ten but it stirred something in me. That quiet stirring continued until I read Maya Angelou’s Phenomenal Woman

Maya Angelou’s passion ignited the stirring in me and I began to slowly release my words onto paper. Not ever did I think, “I’m going to publish these poems and sell books.” But here I am, poetry collection published, writing more for another collection and pondering what to do next.

But every April for thirty solid days I am reminded, by myself and other poetry friends acquired over the years, that all poetry has beauty in it and speaks to someone somewhere.

Poetry is appreciation of life in the raw. Simple. Elegant. Rough. Raw. Love. Hurt. Deppressed. Happy. Excited. Sad. Mournful. Erotic. You get where I’m going with this.

Should you be a poet or know poets, show them some love this month. Read, share and/or review some of their work. Let them know their words mean something to you. In the meantime, I’ll keep writing and expressing my emotional transitions for all who choose to enjoy them!