Wronged

This one was inspired by a quote:

"The wrongdoer is more unfortunate than the man wronged."
~Democritus

~ * ~

Dawn. Reality rises... the hard hammer of obviousness suddenly strikes...

I was wrong. You didn't get to explain – you'd tried. Why didn't I listen?

You'd said 'I'm sorry' – it's what you thought I wanted you to say. You even
sounded sincere. It wasn't even your fault. I'm the sorry one...

I can't un-do what I did that made you cry. Will you forgive me when I can't
even forgive myself?

I caused the hurt and those sad silent tears. Will you still trust me to make
this right?

All I can do is ask and hope...

Forgive me?

About Last Night

Holding a half-filled cup of cold, morning coffee... daydreaming... and not thinking about last night.

Not remembering the fire in your eyes... for me... or the taste of your kisses. Your cologne isn't still lingering in my mind. I'm not smiling while making the bed; smelling fresh linens, or remembering what happened on the other ones. I don't still feel echoes of your strong arms around me. And I'm not still missing the firmness of your hard hand, or later... your harder need pressing against mine.

No... I am not smiling... and definitely not still thinking about last night.

Hush

Hushed kisses shared in the afterglow. Breathing becoming more steady. We change
positions.

Holding both wrists above your head in my strong grasp; you struggle as my
feather light kisses travel down your sensitive ticklish body. You writhe below
me. I gently nip. You giggle, squirming even more.

"Hush, my love."

But senses have been heightened by the evening's passion. Nerve endings have
been freshly ignited. Silence and stillness is no longer an option.

Smiling wryly, my free hand smacks your tender thigh to still you. You laugh
even harder at the swat.

Romantic mood broken.

"Oh, hush!"

A Lie By Any Other Name

It wasn't exactly fibbing. Perhaps equivocation. Not really a fabrication. Just maybe sorta hedging. Wasn't a cover-up. It was just a little bit... maybe... untrue... ish. Not indisputable prevarication... or... intentional obfuscation... just quibbling evasive misleading distortion... unintentional misrepresentation of facts... kinda. Merely innocent little white... not big ugly hurtful... a small teeny tiny miniscule... hardly worth mentioning...

Caught. Thinking about it in the corner. Pants down. A hairbrush in one hand; a paddle in the other. Choose. It makes a difference, how? THINK. Think about: respect, honesty, trust, love.

"Are you ready to discuss your...?"

Stupid lies.

Bernie And Myron At Home


"Bernie and Myron? Really?"

"What's wrong with Bernie and Myron?"

"Darling, the more important question is what were you planning on doing with them?"

"Uhhhhh... Doing with them?"

I got an amused smile, but also the beginnings of an upward-moving eyebrow.

"Okay, let me reword the question, my very dearest love — for clarification, of course. What compelled you to think that bringing home live adult ducks to our three-bedroom condo was a good idea?"

Oh, so not good. This was moving straight into the dangerous sarcasm zone.

"Well... they were really cheap and they were the last two left and I just couldn't let them—"

"Whoa, whoa... slow down, and you still haven't answered my question."

"See how adorable they are?" I opened the box a bit, and tilted it slightly to show the ducks before closing it again.

"Do you really want to continue traveling down this road, or would you rather answer my question? I don't mind either way, but I won't ask you again. And by the way, we got a little pink notice in the mail today. Well?"

Oh, shoot and double shoot! And that right eyebrow was moving upward toward full mast.

"But, but they were gonna kill them. I couldn't let 'em kill Bernie and Myron, now could I? They have such sweet eyes, and I thought that they couldn't be that much trouble; there are only the two of them, see?" I smiled sweetly, and opened the box again to reveal the white, now quacking, specimens. "We do have an extra guest room. They could stay in the guest bathroom bathtub during the daytime.
They'll be no trouble at all!" I figured it wouldn't hurt to add the mournful eyes to my best sweet smile.

"Wait. Who was going to kill them? Darling..., WHERE exactly did you find them?"

"Uhm... erm... in a cage... Outside of that new Chinese restaurant, over on First Street? We're offering them sanctuary."

"Darling love, they don't exactly qualify for political asylum as oppressed Chinese refugees. Nor are we in any danger of them defecting anytime soon. Putting aside the fact that our homeowner's association does NOT approve of pets, IF we could have a pet, it — or in this particular case — they, would be chosen by mutual accord. It's not a decision that you alone can make; this affects me too. Pets are a major responsibility, and need a lot of time and attention. We, both of us, tend to work late and can sometimes have unpredictable hours. I'm sorry, but—"

"We could have someone come in and watch them... Of course, I'd pay for that someone to stay with them." I felt like I was grasping at straws, but at least it was worth another try.

"Darling, we are NOT hiring a duck-sitter, nor are we sending them to ducky day-care. I'm sorry, but we can't have ducks as pets."

"I KNEW YOU'D SAY NO! You NEVER let me do what I wanna do!"

Oh, where the heck did THAT come from? Crap. That was probably *not* one of my finest moments. Noooooo...Do-over, do-over...

"Corner. Now."

Drat. What WAS I thinking? "We do not shout in this household." It wasn't even the first time I'd been told this. I dashed to a way too familiar view of adobe-colored Venetian plaster, automatically lacing my fingers behind my back. We'd both chosen the color and texture of the walls for OUR home. The authentic Italian plaster artist wasn't too happy when we kept finding uneven spots in his work.

When will I ever learn? This day was getting suckier by the second. A millennia later I heard a soft voice behind me.

"Are you quite finished? And do I really have to say that we don't shout at each other, again?"

"Yes, um... I mean, no — and... and I'm very sorry that I shouted," I said sincerely and just as quietly into the corner, my eyes beginning to blur. At least there was still hope; I hadn't been asked to lower my jeans.

"You may lower your jeans now, love. And face the corner again, please. Thank you."

Arg! That quiet, inordinately polite voice was not a good sign. I may? Really? I didn't wanna 'may'. I took a guess and lowered them as far as my thighs. That was usually far enough to help me to remember why I was here.

"Do you have any idea how disappointed I was for us when we received that pink notice today?"

"WE didn't receive it. It's mine, and it wasn't my fault. Can I go and check on the birds, now? I think they're hungry."

I really didn't mean to sound so whiny and be so petulant about it, but the notice really REALLY wasn't my fault. Why couldn't I just get yelled at? It would be so much easier to just get yelled at. It was never how this worked. We had to be all reasonable. Quiet talk just made me feel so—

"They're fine. And yes, it IS in fact ours, and was I blaming you? Sweetheart, I do realize that this wasn't your fault. I really do. Being laid off is often by seniority and you were one of the newest hires there. I understand about it being very stressful. I've been there too, remember? But your job is what you do; it's not who you are, and who you are is the love of my life. People who love and respect each other aren't hurtful and definitely do not shout at each other. Have I ever shouted at you or made you feel disrespected?"

"No, you haven't and you never would," I admitted, softly into the corner.

"So what are we going to do about all this? And come here, please."

"Fine. I'll just tell everyone that I've decided to become a sign twirler," I said, turning from the corner, trying not to stomp.

"Is someone in need of more corner time?"

Is it even possible for an eyebrow to actually enter the hairline?

"No. I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated, and mad, and annoyed, and infuriated, and enraged, and I suck, andIboughttheduckstofeelbetter," I grumbled, pulling up my jeans.

"Don't bother. Go ahead and take them off, please."

I lowered them and kicked them off and away from my ankles, and walked toward open arms. Being sat in a lap was always so nice and warm and comforting.

"Sweetheart, I do understand that you're upset. You have every right to be upset. What you can't do is make random decisions that effect us both, or shout at me for no better reason than you've had a bad day. So what are we going to do about all this?"

I was enjoying just being held, and the soft kisses on my head and forehead were so nice.

"It wasn't fair. I was the ONLY one from my department. It just wasn't fair!"

"Go on..."

"We really can't afford me being laid off and the department head said— hey!"

"Go on... I'm listening."

"No you're not. You can't be listening to me and doing what you're doing. HEY! You're just trying to change the subject by distracting me."

"Is it working?"

"You... can't... uh... mmmm... HEY... you're not... we can't... not here... the ducks'll hear us!"

"And...?"

"What'll Myron and Bernie think? Oooooh, yes... right... there... mmmmmm..."

A Blow-Job By Any Other Vintage...



Celebrating you. My elegant magnum of sumptuous Champagne... sophisticated, mellow, exquisite. A prized bottle just for two. Love flowing. Refined complex apéritif, I decant you.

Sliding one gentle fingertip down your rampant long-stemmed flute. Bubbles urgently rising. Sipping love's own rare special vintage; my treasured intoxicating libation. Savoring the full-bodied richness of my favorite... brut(e)... cuvée. Our love. A revered fine sparkling rarity, my own private reserve. You are my cherished special occasion Cristal.

Your sensuous smoothness... uncorked. I am your crystal coupe. Fill me up until pouring over. Effervescence breaking the surface.

Mustn't spill a drop. Priceless.

Matching Camisole


Your roving hand touring my tender tingling bottom, I sigh. Caressing slowly under my sheer lace tap pants. New, bought just for tonight. The spaghetti strap of my new matching camisole, slipping off one silky shoulder. Warm lap beneath me. I was a naughty good girl just for you. You promised this tonight.

Delicious stingy swats following dreamy wanton strokes... there. Heavenly pleasure and pain. Unite.

You whisper, "Is my naughty, sweet girl gonna be, oh, so good for me tonight?"

Peeling away delicate gossamer lace... down creamy firm thighs. Luscious sweet sensation.

"And if I'm not, what then?"

Splash

The hot cement below my bare feet. I sit to dangle them in the cooling water. I enjoy watching as you leisurely dip your hand into our new backyard pool. The first step down, lapping at your toes. You bare. With something down below that looks suspiciously like a sunburn. No coconut-scented sunscreen could ever save you from the burn I put there.

As I sit lazily by the edge, you dive into the sparkling clear water... and splash. Watching you, and the cool mist that you raise, makes something raise within me as well. I follow, smiling.

We splash!