CheaterSmiterGirl III

”What are you doing here? I ask “You told me you broke up with him!”
“So? That gives you the right to hurt people? This is my boyfriend’s home. What are you doing here? And dressed like that?”
Hmmm, how do I answer this? It certainly looks kind of awkward.
“I am CheaterSmiterGirl.” I say, feeling stupid for the second time this night. “I am a superhero. I smite the cheaters.”
“No come on girl, what are you really doing here? I did not even hear the door knock or anything. Are you two going behind my back?”
“Honey,” the football head croaks dramatically “I never cheated on you. She just showed up looking like that. I swear. I told you she had a thing for me.”
“Why you lousy, mousy, little weasel!” I start but my friend silences me with her furious face and better cradles his nasty head in her ample bosom. We stay like that for a minute.
“I thought you were my friend.” She finally says.
“I am” I say suddenly uncomfortable. The corset has started to dig in my flesh.
“I am. You told me he makes you unhappy. He can’t commit. He is a cheater, you told me so yourself. You told me he broke up with him.” I repeat myself in a little voice.
“ I did this for you. I can’t stand seeing you unhappy, or making a mistake you will regret later”
“Well, I doubt that. We are getting engaged.” She says, and suddenly my high heel boots do not seem like such a great idea. I feel wobbly and a bit nauseous.
“Are you sure?” I manage to ask.
“Of course I am sure. You know, you have always been a bit condescending. And you’ve never been in love for real so you would never understand.”

That shuts me up for good. Oh yeah, it is time to go and leave my friend enjoy her fiancée (or at least try to revive him) I do not take back my smiting though. I still think he deserves to suffer.
I vanish as dramatically as I can, which let me tell you, is no easy feat, because it lasts about half a second and there is no door to bang. All I could hope for is a meaningful air whoosh following my vanishing act.
I do not want to go straight to my apartment so I slow down to a float once outside under the night sky. I need to think. Or more accurately, I need to vent.
I cannot believe this. After all the infinite hours spent glued to the phone listening to my friend fall in pieces, after all the emergency sleep-overs, bar bashes and group hugs, it comes to this. That I never understood. How could I when all the side I ever saw was the negative one? I never woke up at midnight by a happy phone call from my friend with news of her latest orgasm. I never spend hundreds in bar tabs and cab rides for detailed stories of romantic getaways and dedicated boyfriends. Come to think of it, thank God I did not.
Nice night air. I whoosh in between trees and think about giving up my newfound profession. Based on what I saw, I can’t say girls need somebody to save them from themselves. But the outfit is too cool. And I know that there are girls out there who are still suffering. And I know that my friend will also come to her senses one day.
I think should stay in business. All I need is a flyer.
“Ever felt slighted, hurt and demoralized because of your boyfriend? Ever caught your fiancée singing the national anthem to your best friend? Ever seen your husband try to regift you with a monogrammed compact mirror that does not have your initials?
Keying his car? Erasing his cell phone? Emailing his naked pics to his superviser? No need. Just call CheaterSmiterGirl and you will be vindicated! Guaranteed complete satisfaction or your money back, no questions asked”
Oh yes, and a mask.

Cheater Smiter Girl I (rated GP for Guilty Pleasure)

It is time to smite the boyfriend. He has made his last snide comment and thrown his last lecherous glance. My friend has shed the last tears on his cheating, unworthy, flat butt, and has made her last frantic, tearful call to me. I have had enough.

I feel my calling. I can’t stand to see my girlfriends breaking into little pieces and waste their money over looser boyfriends that capitalize on the desperation and expiration date of fantastic girls that they otherwise wouldn’t even see through binoculars, let alone share beds with. All of a sudden these sniveling Casanovas discover they are hot marriage commodity and start using that to make up for those high school years they spent recovering from wedgies and rejection.

I can’t overlook it anymore. The righteousness of my cause, coupled with the frustration from disruptive phone calls, tearful meetings in Starbucks and revenge bar sprees, fill me up with smiting power and transform me inside. I can feel the current running inside me, I can feel the clothes transforming into black leather gear and costume jewelry appropriate for superheros. For I have decided to become CheaterSmiterGirl! and come to the aid of slighted ladies anywhere in the world. Wherever there is one more tear shed, one more heart crack over cheaters, there I’ll be.

The Superintendent III

The superintendent III

She woke up to the booming sound of a boiler and some strange music on television. She was in an unfamiliar room, full of old and mismatched furniture. Her mouth felt like ash and dung, and smelled just as bad. Where was she? She tried to move her head, and the pain hit her like a hammer while the room performed a somersault.
It took a while until she felt better and was brave enough to dare move her head again There was aspirin and water by the bedside, left by some thoughtful soul and she took it without thinking twice. Then she put on the slippers that she found by the edge of the bed and stumbling wandered towards the source of the music.
She saw the super sipping something from a large coffee mug, while puffing a slim menthol cigarette. His shirt was unbuttoned and showing his white tight undershirt and his chest. The living room was reeking of menthol smoke and of some musky cologne that made her nostrils flare.
“Morning, “the super said “Head ok? No shaked?”
“Mhm.” She answered “A bit queasy.”
He showed her a big armchair and offered her some sort of coffee in an espresso cup, which she took and sat down.
How did she get here? She remembered Todd coming over to pick his stupid karaoke machine and his crybaby CD-s up. She remembered herself, first mad, then pleading, then yelling, then tripping on the stairs while pelting Todd with his dirty old socks which he had “forgotten”, the neighbors coming out and the superintendent pulling her into his ground floor apartment still yelling and kicking, while Todd was calling the police.
She panicked. Was she going to lose the apartment over that schmuck? She turned her worried face up to the superintendent who was now offering her toast.
Ugh! The room did a little tap dance then steadied itself again. Her stomach continued its grunge beat. She stopped thinking for a moment. Then she remembered the rest.
She had flung herself in Mrs. Schurnfauler’s old sofa, springs still proudly squeaking in the super’s apartment, while the strange man dealt curtly with whining Todd and his karaoke machine. The police were not called and the neighbors went inside disappointed. She bawled and she heaved and she could not stop. The super had offered her tissues and some clear liquid drink in small shot glasses called ‘rookie’ or something. She remembered it burning down her throat and eventually calming her. The super had come and sat next to her, his broken English calming her even further. She had felt safe, comfortable, protected, in that apartment. His surprisingly full lips had been so close, and she felt it only natural to taste them, still laced with the ‘rookie’ he had just swallowed. He had frozen, but she had not given up. Instead she had attacked his lips madly, probing, licking and sucking, not letting him even breathe, let alone think and react. She could feel he wanted to answer too. So he had, imitating her gestures as well as he could. Based on his kisses, she could tell that he did not have that much experience. His tongue had more than once hidden in the depths of his mouth, while hers was seeking it in vain, and his hands kept on patting her hair, without moving lower and answering her more urgent needs. After a while, it had been her who had shifted position and sat on his lap without breaking the kiss, making his hands slide lower in her back while hers were firmly holding his back. Ooh it had been so inexperienced and so good, she’d almost died from the need. The warmth of that drink and the warmth of their kiss had permeated her bones and she wanted to be completely filled and sated, and pacify the monster in her stomach. But he was still a bit frozen, so she’d taken the initiative again and started her special lap grind that all her boyfriends liked so much. She’d also liked grinding and teasing herself against their hard…but she could feel nothing on this guy. Well, that was strange. She’d put her hand on his lap, but there had still been nothing, a slight bump not unlike her own which had made her pause. Of course there had been small guys, but there had always been something there, a little bump or raise, even if it had not always been hard. But there was nothing here. Then he’d come to his senses and pushed her away, and she’d landed sideways on the sofa and promptly had gone to sleep.
And here she was, the sexless super sitting in front of her, his shirt unbuttoned, his coffee cup in hand, his worried eyes on her. Now she could see there was something wrong with his chest. What she had taken for a tight undershirt was a big white bandage peeking through.
“Oh, man – she croaked, -are you ok?”
Without speaking, he took his shirt off and started undoing the bandage, revealing a more and more bumpy white chest, completely hairless and with much younger skin than his weather-beaten face. Her weather-beaten face, she corrected herself when she saw the tops of womanly breasts, very much like her own, freed from the bandage.
A hermaphrodite? She had heard about them of course, had even seen a documentary on TV, but she’d never guessed…
She stared open –mouthed at the creamy breasts, smallish and slightly sagging. The super was a strange sight, surrounded by unraveled bandages, a pleading look on his/her face. He/she put his/her shirt on again and then spoke.
“I am born voman. But father die and I become man. For family.”
She nodded, even though the super’s explanation was no explanation at all.
“Back, in Albania, I vas man for long time. No husband, no bride, but everybody respect me, you know? I, strong man. Vork hard, buy visa, come to America. Always man.”
She continued nodding, not daring to think about the fact that she had made out with a woman, a wrinkly immigrant woman that smelled of menthol and cologne. She realized the super had stopped talking and was now looking at her. Expectantly? For what? She felt sorry for the poor soul in front of her, so she leaned over and patted the other man/woman’s hand. Her own head was still pounding with the hangover.
“You never wanted to be a woman?” She finally asked, with her hoarse voice.
“I see your house the other day. I never shave legs, you know. Sometimes I vish I had mustache to shave. Be man, full man. Marry vife, make childrens. But I like be voman now, like you. You have make-up on table, you have dress, you have jerk boyfriend. And I like you. I never kiss before. Is nice.”
The super breathed at the end of the sentence then smiled uncertainly.
The girl was also confused. How was she supposed to react to this? Was she being propositioned by the ultimate butch? Was she supposed to accept?
And then she felt the pain in the other woman’s heart, the unspoken hope that somebody was going to be there in her hour of need, and guide her through the scary process of rediscovering her female self.
“We have to go shopping.” She announced and by the eager smile in the other woman’s face, she understood she had made the right decision.

The superintendent II

She heard his shuffling steps in front of her door as he let himself in and started to make some coffee. He went straight for the bathroom, dragging his tool bag behind, not even acknowledging her presence. She could hear him banging and cursing to himself, while she sipepd her hot coffee. Damn, was he breaking something? Todd would have known immediately if he was. She decided to walk over and check out what he was doing.

She first saw his rising and falling back and straight legs. Well, she thought, he is not all that bad then. he was laboring with the plunger and some other long thin metal thingie over the bathtub, and cursing to himself in that strange language of his. What was it, Armenian? Albanian, Romanian? One of those countries, anyway. That Russia was so hard to keep track of. States were falling out of it faster than fake boobs out of Agnes. She chuckled as she remembered the poor girl always trying to push up her tube top, and refix the fake boobs without anyone noticing. She never had that problem, thank God. Her boobs were not only big, they were also high and bouncy. Todd loved seeing her on top. That skunk. Her face clouded again, as she remembered him and their never-ending fights. Ah, screw him.

Discombobulated (Rated P for pathetic)

The man I want to kiss is sleeping at the other corner of the bed. The man I want to kiss is curled in a position far away from me. The man I want to kiss kisses me back without conviction. The man I want to kiss is handling me instead of making love to me.The man I want to kiss always holds part of his mouth back. The man I want to kiss is building walls faster than I can knock them down. The man I want to kiss is trying to get away.

Casting A Spell (Warning, Cheesy content)

Lost asked about my Halloween contribution. Since I’ll be on a plane bound for San Francisco that day, and pretend to be a business woman later in the evening, I won’t do any role-playing in public this year (in private is another matter), hence no material for the blog.

But maybe you’ll find this story interesting. It is mostly true.

“ So, what do you think about us being together? – I said and tried to catch his beautiful brown eyes, currently studying his big, strong hands. “I really would like us to”

I waited for several anxious heartbeats.

“The thing is- he finally said, – I don’t feel I can do this. I just can’t.”

“Why? – I asked, even as my heart sunk into my intestines and bile made its way up my stomach.

“ I don’t know. – He answered – I guess I have always seen you as my best friend and I do not want to jeopardize that.”

I tried to ask for more explanations, tried to plead and beg and throw a tantrum, but I could not. I had a feeling he would bolt at the first tear coming down my cheek. What on earth was I going to win anyway, except his loathing? I stopped the tears before they made it past my eyes and gulped on some more red wine. My head felt weak and I could see myself as if from a far away distance, frozen in place.

 “I do not deserve you anyway- he said- If things go wrong, I won’t have your friendship anymore and I really need that.”

His words were like frozen hail upon my brain. I could not understand what he was talking about.

“Besides you hit on me every time you drink. –He said. Then, my brain shut down completely. There was nothing left to say, so he murmured some excuse and left.

cafe drama

- i can’t believe you did this to me – he says.

-did what? -she asks.

-you know fully well what – he hisses.

-stop it now – she pleads – give it a rest man. it was a month ago.

- just can’t get over the fact of what a slut you are.

she winces at his words. a headache is making its way from the base of her neck. possibly because her energy has run out.

- stop being such a wounded dove. you knew i was a slut since the beginning. that is why i slept with you in the first place.

- yeah but, but i did not think you would sleep around like that.

- i never pretended otherwise. -she says and drinks her espresso wearily. this conversation is definitely getting to her.

Lover (another blues song)

lover you come

and lover you go

lover you speak

and lover you stop

lover you love

and lover you kiss

lover you meet

and lover you miss

lover in love

and lover in need

lover is friend

a lover indeed

lover in eyes

and lover in me

lover i lost

and lover i free

Panic

she looked at herself in the “good” mirror, the one that had enough imperfections to make her appear slightly better than that the latest hideous home video her parents loved to play anytime a guest came by.

he said he was coming back. the six month assignment was over. the company branch had now recuperated enough that it could trudge along without the hot shot from the home office, the one that stung her dreams and seared her thoughts. she was grateful he had called her after all this time. granted, they had three passionate dates, the flashbacks of which still left her gasping during the most embarrassing circumstances, but there was nothing that said he was coming back to her, if he was coming back at all.

they had talked on the phone of course. she’d learned to recognize all the intonations, breathing pauses, embarrassed coughing and the slightly higher pitch that announced boss-in-the-room during work hours. his boyish voice had whispered improper things that made her squirm, his tone had made a million unsaid promises of affection, dedication, bluebirds singing and sweaty winter nights. yet there was no explicit anything. the important words were not said. in fact, there had been no official words, ever. they’d sort of drifted together during several parties, until they found themselves exchanging numbers in front of a bathroom door full of drunk people. they’d sort of made out the same night, and it was only because her heel broke that she had not gone home with him.

“thank God” her friends had all said “you can’t sleep with a guy you just met and expect another date out of it!”

however, it had seemed cruel to leave him and herself hanging. she normally was upfront with the people she liked to sleep with. true, some of them never hung around after, and the rest she disappeared on. but at least there was no hanging, no blue balls and no tease accusations. if, for whatever reason she hung out with men who became friends, and sometime lovers, that was also ok. there were always reasons one slept with friends, and also reasons why they did not let things get weird. 

which is why she promptly slept with him on the first “official” date. it had been very good too. the morning after at work had been a nail-biter, what with all the heady feelings turning into fear that that was it, that the mystery was over and he had no  more reason to call. but he did call, and they did go out again and in bed again, and to work the morning after where she continued to bite her nails and dissect the moves, the voices, the kissing, the snoring, the eyelash movements and count the minutes until her phone rang or she went mad, whichever came first.

it seemed so cruel to go to work the mornings after, and leave all pleasure and warmth behind in order to surround oneself with stupid memos from frigid bosses and cow-orkers who chewed and gossiped the whole day long. but she had bravely faced it, because if she did not go to work, she would have no nails left and he would have hundreds of messages in his voice mail.

just when he’d called for the third time and she’d finally relaxed that he was not going to leave because she’d slept with him on the first date, he’d told her about his temporary move. she’d behaved of course. she’d gone home with him and made sure she had her fill of him, convinced that this would be the last time they’d be together, that it was all a ruse to get him out of their “thing” without feeling guilty. otherwise, he would have said something more, reassured her of what he felt (what did he feel by the way? she was hopeful by the heated look in his eyes and the way his ears twitched when he touched her, but there had been no declaration), and promised to hook up again when or if he came back.

she looked at herself over in the mirror and thought about the eager tone in his voice when he’d asked to see her again and whether her lips were the same full pout he remembered.  how about her skin was it still as smooth as when his fingers had traced it, or her breasts as heavy?

she was in a panic. after he’d left, she’d turned to food, the comforting companion that never left her, the one who always fulfilled and satisfied. she’d eaten spicy tacos that reminded her of his burning kisses, puff pastry full of cream that she could suck until she died of sweetness, juicy steaks that melted in her mouth, warm hotdogs off a street vendor who had the same haircut as him, roasted eggplants and stuffed zucchinis, vanilla cones dipped in fudge that she raced to lick before it slid down her hand, grapes, mangoes, riceballs, tiramisu, flan, linguini, hot tamales, and whatever else she had found, trying to fill the emptiness his words could or did not want to fill.

she’d gained a belly. and extra thighs. and a bigger bra size. and a size larger wardrobe. she did not know how to answer his questions. yes her lips were still as full as he remembered (he heaved) her skin just as smooth (he sighed) and her breasts, well her breasts were perhaps a little heavier (he groaned) than before. and no, she really had not gone out with anybody else, except a couple of dates with men her auntie had recommended and…

“ok” he interrupted a little jealous perhaps. hmm, she liked that. ”i need to see you tomorrow evening. i’ll pick you up at 8.”

of course she’d agreed. who was she kidding? she was dying to meet him too. which is why she was in front of the “good” mirror, still naked and panicked when the bell rung. shiaaat. she was f-c-u-k-ed three ways through Sunday.

she put on her long tshirt and clean sweats and went to open the door, thinking of the doomsday vision he was about to see. oh well, that was that. life happened while she was busy being disgusted from herself in the mirror. the dress and the makeup could have possibly given her a hand, and the heels could perhaps brought forth a fifth date. but her crazy soccer mom getup was not even gonna get her second base. if only she had one of those pegnoir thingies that draped the body majestically and made mile long legs appear from chubby butts like hers.

she opened the door.

“hey baby” the object of her lust and panic smiled, got in, circled her waist and gave her the most smashing, smelting, slithering, slurping, searing kiss she had ever had in her life. and that was how the mystery of the everthickening body ended.

Promises

He promised,

the words came out of his mouth,

proud, eager and a bit touched.

They had the honor to prepare the way,

the power to banish sleep

and melt it away in a puddle of desire.

The words worked all day and night,

a trail of quivering perfection after them

Anticip-pation,

Elation,

Doubt

Frustration,

Pain

Fear

Disillusionment

And heavy sleep again.

The words turned back

Eager explorers no longer

Just frozen pieces of  l-i-e-s

Into a mouth which refused to open.

And let them go home.