Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Hooked

dawn lake

Just joining me? Catch up on the Greyhound Summer story here.

Magic has a way of sneaking up on you whether you believe in it or not.

I watched Sam's face in the glow of the iPod screen, the expression soften when he came to a tender part and I forgot the itch. The rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his arms around me, felt less confining, more necessary. His voice caressed each word with the reverence of a sorcerer over a spell and I wanted to believe. Believing comes easy in the dark part of the morning, the old day is behind you and the new one hasn't started. I was at that place in my life, the limbo between what was finished and what I hadn't started.

I pressed my lips to the edge of his jaw, felt his breath catch, but he kept reading. I ran my tongue up to his ear. I might not have been paying serious attention, but I was following along well enough to know when he lost his place. Funny thing about those touch screens, your thumb strokes a corner and the book will jump ahead twenty pages.

“Sam,” I said, trying for one of those sexy, breathy whispers.

“Hmm?”

“I want to make love to you in that Chevy van.”

He stopped pretending to read the story.

We had to unload some equipment. Sam threw an old sleeping bag in the back and then we drove to a lake.

I felt shy an awkward when we crawled into the back of the van. Sam's hands were shaking when he unbuttoned the shirt he loaned me. When he touched my face cupped it between both hands before that first long slow kiss, I felt cherished. There was reverence in the way he lifted my breasts, kissed each one.

I mirrored him, treasuring his body with my tongue, and lips, taking my time to savor the taste of salt and desire, to feel him tremble. We loved the last bit of the night away.

It was magic. Or a drug. Or some altered state. It was love so sweet it made me cry. It made him cry. When we were spent, I snuggled in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder. Through the window we watched the sunrise turn mist on the lake to silver and then gold. A lone fisherman cast his line. Sam followed his example.

“Stay,” Sam whispered. “Live with me.”

“Okay,” I said.




Good news!!
The Editors at textnovel.com selected Greyhound Summer as an Editor's Pick. If you're enjoying this story, help me make it into the finals of the competition with your vote. Just click this link and vote me up by clicking both the thumb symbol and cellphone symbol next to my story. I know it's a pain to have to create an account, but it's free and you'll gain access to all the great novels on the site. You could be helping this author toward a publishing contract. TIA

Monday, September 21, 2009

Poetry Train: Blue Harbor

face

I've been so pressed with deadlines this month that I haven't had time to write anything new here, but my poem, Blue Harbor, is in the September edition of Emuse.

It won the Summer Madness competition, a nickle narrative, five parts, one hundred words each. I'll post a bit here and you can follow the link to read the rest there. The illustrations they used are beautiful and a perfect match to the content.

Blue Harbor

1. In the Mirror

I didn't know I had a dark side,
until I saw my reflection in the mirror of a man.
He played dark games.
I wasn't old enough for night games.
He didn’t care.

You don't go crazy;
you go to sleep.
When you open your eyes,
when you get up and dress,
the nightmare doesn't stay under your pillow.
It gets up with you and follows you around.

Read the rest

View the work of fellow passengers on this Monday's Poetry Train here.