Author Archives: F Dot Leonora

Wicked Wednesday #107 — YKINMK

“So this woman is a collector of my photographs, and she came on to me at her house party. Everything seemed fine, and then she showed me a chair she had that looked like a woman. She told me that she would love for me to replicate the chair for her,” Fiona smirked. “I am as kinky as the next girl, but I am not going to pretend to be a chair!”
Eliza smiled at Fiona. Fiona was telling her the story both to distract her, and let her know she was not going to stand in her way with Rafe. Rafe was not as injured as her. In fact, he was able to leave the hospital in a few days. But she had been there longer. Rafe seeing her injured had been lovely to her as well. He was still angry, but he would sit and hold her hand. His being there spoke loudly of their relationship, his hand a warmth she needed.
Her physical injuries she would recover completely from, but she was broken in a lot of places.
She had a private room, and that was nice for the moans she emitted without wanting to. It was awful at night when she was left alone to rest. Her wet eyes would stare out of the window, succumbing to her pain.
“You need your rest Eliza,” Fiona said after she finished her story which detailed the kinky things she had done with the collector.
Fiona placed a soft kiss on her forehead, and Eliza closed her eyes so Fiona would not see them water.
When Fiona walked out, she closed her eyes tighter to will sleep and escape her pain.
The shuffle of feet on the floor startled her, because the nurse had already taken her vitals while Fiona was there.
The hand on her face made her start, and in the dim room, she saw him.
She wanted to jump into his arms, but his hands moved down her neck and shoulder softly.
“Hello beautiful,” Oscar caressed her face.
“I am not beautiful,” she groaned.
He put his fingers to her mouth.
“You are my beautiful,” he said.
She was happy Fiona had helped her into a nightgown of her own, and that she had nice cleavage in this one that was deep-blush colored.
“You are beautiful…”
He sat beside her.
“I snuck in after Fiona left because I did not want anyone to see me and…”
Eliza nodded, knowing.
“I read in Shanghai about the accident. I saw your name, and I had to get here and make sure you were going to be okay.”
“I will be, just a lot of broken bones and rehab, but I will be.”
“I knew you would be for me. Eliza…”
He took her hand and kissed it over and over. When he stopped his kisses, her pain resumed which had been suspended in the moments before.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” she said quietly as if words too loud would cause her more pain. “I almost told Rafe about you before the accident…”
Oscar’s eyes widened, Eliza confessed everything.
“I could not lie, when he asked me if I loved you and then the crash happened.”
She closed her eyes tightly. The pain ruminated with the memory, and she ushered it away from her more fervently than a bull in Pamplona.
Seeing him made her realize how much she loved him, which was easy to forget when he was not with her. Being with Rafe made her feel the loyalty and faith that she had felt when she agreed to marry him.
“I love you,” she said simply not wanting to address her conflict of emotion. Love was supposed to be it, the thing everyone aspired to and when you had it you were supposed to be set.
But she wasn’t.
Love had crashed into her like the car that left her broken, but nothing would heal exactly the way it had been.
“I am back in New York now. When I said I had to come back, they said I was coming back anyway, so I could stay to nurse my loved one.”
Eliza needed him to love her. She squeezed his hand as tight as she could, his heat went through her like currents. Her desire for him was not lust, but for all of him body and mind.
She did not know how to let him go.

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photo via www.pinterest.com/richardhutten/forniphilia

Motel Stories

The first time is always the hardest. Although my first time…with a guest blogger, I joined forces with my friend Oleander Plume. We wrote stories based on a phrase I overheard, that she tweeted would make a good story. You can read that here.

This time thanks to my semi-addiction to my Tumblr which feeds to my Twitter, Kenny C. tweeted that this image would make a good story. Inspired, I said let’s do it! I am thankful to him, for getting me focused on this project. We have swapped blogs for today, below is his steamy “motel story.”

A Fantasy Fulfilled

The clouds finally parted, and a streak of sun shined on his life for the first time in two years. The light was named Anaé, and Nick knew the moment he saw her that she’d change him.

She was lithe, with dark hair and big eyes. He approached her at a wine bar in the suburbs. Nick hated the fucking suburbs. To him they represented the lies of marriage. The lies of the middle class American family. He left the suburbs, and all its lies, two years ago and found a small room at a downtown motel. The place was old, but clean and fairly safe. He took a second floor room and moved in a few personal things to make it home.

“I like malbec…from Mendoza.” Anaé sat across the table from him, her lips perfectly glossed and pouted.

“I do too.” Nick had caught her eye as she ordered her first glass and waited until her glass was empty before making the bold move to ask her if she was expecting someone. She wasn’t, and after the usual pleasantries, they settled at a quiet table.

“Have you been to Argentina?” Nick asked. He was dressed in his work attire. A suit. Nick was a suit now and although he’d once hated the idea of tying a tie each morning, it had grown on him.

“I have. Have you been?” Anaé kept her glass close to her face as she talked. Her eyes were painted dark. Nick liked that. Like wearing a tie, he’d let go of previous prejudices about women and what he found attractive. She wore a black cocktail dress that fit her perfectly.

“I haven’t. It’s on the list.” He smiled, then tasted the wine.

“Oh, there’s a list? I must hear more about this.” Anaé smiled as she talked, her eyes teasing Nick.

“Actually, I don’t have a list. Just a few things I’d like to experience.” Nick held her gaze. His heart flipped in his chest, then flipped again. He hadn’t had the attention of a woman like this since well before he was married.

“Tell me some of the things on this list, I’m interested.” Anaé touched the glass to her lips and continued to stare at him.

“Will you tell me some of yours?” Nick asked. Anaé nodded, smiling.

Over the next hour they shared, wine and stories. Aspirations. At one point Anaé excused herself to the ladies’ room and Nick noticed how the men looked at her.

When she returned the eyes of the men were again on her body, her beauty. They couldn’t help themselves. The conversation continued. More wine. More smiles and sharing. They grew increasingly comfortable with one another. The bar emptied out, suburbanites returning to their heavily mortgaged homes with manicured lawns and friendly neighbors. Nick had no mortgage, no lawn, and his neighbors included a drunken writer and a young couple who’d eloped.

“Tell me, Nick,” Anaé smiled devilishly at him. “Is there anything sexual on your list of things you’d like to experience?”

Again, their eyes locked as Nick considered the question. The malbec dampened his nerves, and heightened his sexual senses. “Just one.” he said.

“Tell me.” she said.

Nick began.

He woke with a wine induced headache that subsided when he remembered his night with Anaé. His morning was spent sipping black coffee, ignoring the work on his desk, and replaying the conversation from the night before. He floated when he thought of her words, her smiles, and the way she felt in his arms when they hugged before leaving in separate taxis. His confidence refreshed him with possibility.

At three in the afternoon, while in the break room pouring what must have been his tenth cup of coffee, his phone beeped the familiar sound of an incoming text. His heart filled, then filled even more when he saw it was from her.

‘There’s something I’d love to show you tonight. ;-)’ Nick read the message again. He contemplated the possibilities. He read the message again as he walked back to his desk, spilling coffee on his shirt. At his desk, he read it again.

Nick ignored his work for twenty minutes, the same as he’d ignored it all day, then answered Anaé’s text, ‘I’d love to see. 8 o’clock.’ He added his address and room number.

Once home from work, he poured himself a drink and took a shower. He put on a fresh shirt and pants. His thoughts were scattered, yet focused only on her. At 8:15 he checked his phone to see if he was mistaken on the time he’d given her. He poured another drink. At 8:25 he heard a car door slam in the parking lot below. He glanced through the thin curtain and saw her, Anaé. It was only then that he was certain it wasn’t all a dream.

She had on a long black coat and her hair was pulled back. He lost sight of her while she climbed the motel steps but his heart jumped nonetheless when she tapped on his door. He opened it, smiled, and without a word, welcomed her into his room.

He handed her a drink, whiskey, per their conversation the night before. She touched the glass to her lips without taking her eyes off his. She was even more stunning than he’d remembered. The room was illuminated only by the red neon light of the motel sign near the road.

Nick sat in the chair near the window. He downed his drink, an attempt to quell the nerves. She bent over and set her drink on the small table next to Nick. He could smell her perfume.

Anaé stood before him and opened the coat. Under it, she wore only a short, black camisole. She took the coat off her shoulders and set it on the bed next to him. She stood still for a moment, and then began moving her hips back and forth, slowly. There was no music, but Anaé moved her body with a slow rhythm. Nick settled in his chair.

Anaé’s hands caressed her body through the silk camisole. Her fingertips traced her hips and across her chest. Nick watched, fighting the urge to reach out and grab her small body and hold it against his. After a few moments, Anaé took the thin straps off her shoulders and let the lingerie fall off her breasts. They were small, with dark nipples that were puckered and standing up.

She moved between Nick’s knees and bent over, her hands resting on his thighs. Without kissing, she grazed her lips over his. Nick again fought instinct to take her. She continued tracing her lips over his cheek and down his neck.

Anaé stood, and pushed the camisole down over her hips. It fell to the floor. She was naked now, and Nick could see the small black patch of pubic hair between her legs. It was sleek, and lay flat against her body. He watched as she began moving her hips again, though this time, he could see the entirety of her body. She turned around, like her breasts, her ass was small and round, not yet affected by the cruelty of gravity.

Again she put her hands on Nick’s thighs and touched her lips to his. They were sticky, and her breath smelled of the whiskey she stopped and sipped every few minutes. Not yet had a word been spoken, but so much had been shared and experienced since she entered his room.

Anaé held Nick’s head with both hands and massaged his face with her nipples. They were as hard as pebbles. Nick opened his mouth and let them in. His hands, which had hung at his side until now, were on her hips. Anaé ran her fingers through his hair while Nick tasted her breasts.

Anaé rubbed Nick’s penis through his pants, then lowered his zipper and took him out. Her long, delicate fingers wrapped around him, and Nick let out a sigh. Anae stood, and walked to the dresser across.

Nick stood, and moved behind her. He traced his finger tips up and down her back for a moment, their eyes locked in the reflection of the mirror. He kissed her thin neck and shoulders, kneeding her breasts and nipples with his hands. She bent over the dresser, her eyes inviting Nick to put himself inside her. He did, slowly. Anaé gasped, then looked at Nick over her shoulder.

She was tight around him, pulsing with each stroke. Nick knew he wouldn’t last long, the moment was too electric, too intense. This young, exotic girl, smart, well-travelled, and here she was, fulfilling one of his fantasies. It wasn’t lost on him that her every move had been about him. About making his moment perfect. She was still looking over her shoulder at him with that same devilish smile on her face as she had the night before when she asked if any of his unfulfilled experiences were sexual. Nick smiled at her. It was then, the moment perfect, Nick finished.

Anaé turned around and Nick kissed her deeply. He wrapped his arms around her small, naked body and held her tight. Then, still without a word, Anaé moved away from him, put on her coat and stuffed the camisole into her purse. She smiled at him as he held the door, then she left.

Nick watched out the window as she climbed in a waiting taxi.

A few hours later, his mind still filled with the images of Anaé dancing before him, Nick’s phone beeped the familiar sound of an incoming text. It was her.

The clouds that had shadowed his world for the past two years were now fully parted.

Steamy enough for you?! I love how even though we did not plan it, Kenny and I have similar moments in our stories…You can find mine on his blog, and follow him on Twitter.

photo courtesy of tumblr

Wicked Wednesday #106 — Green-Eyed Monster

Fiona wore a bottle green dress that accentuated her Coca-Cola bottle shape, and the green eyed-monster that was rampant peeked out of her.
Eliza watched as Fiona gave the toast for her and Rafe’s upcoming wedding, promising to throw herself wholeheartedly into the planning of it. At the intimate family dinner, Rafe put his arm around Eliza.
“It will be hard, but I will make myself happy for you Eliza. I just will. Sometimes the green-eyed monster might show up, but I will always defeat it,” Fiona had promised her on the plane back to New York. Eliza saw the monster in Fiona’s eyes that she defeated, as she smiled despite it while giving the toast. It was hard to watch, but Eliza realized it was the right thing to do. Her love for Oscar was something that she was going to put to the side. She had already made a commitment to Rafe, and she would be committed. She put her hand in his, and he squeezed hers. Something was wrong. That was why she would marry him, she knew him so well.
In the car going home together, Eliza had her hand on his thigh. Sex with Rafe was something she was looking forward to, a means of reconnection.
She watched the New York skyline swirl around them, her hand went further up and inside his thigh. The tension she met there was unexpected.
“I have been sleeping with someone else…” He answered before she could ask.
Her hand tightened on the inside of his thigh, her nails digging.
“So have I!” She blurted out happy to compete.
The car swerved and forced them to the window roughly. He buffered her impact, as he regained control of the car and pulled over.
Eliza grabbed his thigh tight with fear, asking,
“Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, you?” She saw the blood at his temple, and took moist towelettes out of her purse to dab at this forehead. He looked like an actor with the New York skyline bigger than life about them, but real blood on his face.
“Are you in love with him? I was not in love, I was nervous about getting married and I just did not want to be responsible…”
“I felt like that too, I wanted to be reckless. I let someone pick me up, but I want this, us. I always loved you.”
They were silent, as she continued to wipe his face.
“Do you think we should go to the hospital?” She caressed his cheek.
“I am fine. You did not answer me, are you in love with him?”
The tears dropped before her mouth opened.
“I know you Eliza, you could not just sleep with someone.”
“You know me so well? This? This is not me. I was a free spirit when you met me. But you tamed me, I wanted to be tamed. But on my own? I am not tame…”
“You are blaming me because you fell in love with someone else?!”
“It is better to sleep with someone meaningless of course! You are not going to reprimand me for what I did!”
She never yelled like that, but after it came out of her mouth she realized that it was so dangerously true she was surprised she had not exploded before now.
“When I met you, you were different, but don’t blame me for trying to make you anything Eliza. I was even a little jealous of how free you were. But I thought you wanted to change.”
“I only want to be myself.”
“So you have pretended all this time. Pretended everything including loving me.”
“I never pretended I loved you…”
“But you love him don’t you?”
She looked at Rafe, like in a dream when she screamed and no sound came out of her mouth. Eliza could not say it, but it was there and lying would be worse.
With her mouth in a circle, just about to say it, she saw a flash of green. There was a crash into the car, and the words flew from her mouth soundless.

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photo by f dot leonora

Sticky Note No. 4

I had an idea for a story last night, one that mixed horror and erotica. It seemed a good idea to start with a story on a sticky note a la Being Blacksilk, to whet my appetite. Plus last night, I had unexpected inspiration from Twitter to start really brainstorming something…
Conveniently it is raining today, and I have a gorgeous picture I saw on Tumblr in mind to put me in the mood…This is a very rough draft on a pink sticky note below…typos included!

She had outdone herself. Her taste in men was always particularly bad: an assortment of creative types, overzealous creative types, addictive personalities, semi-abusive–she had been lucky to get out of that. And now, now, she smiled as the rain beat against the windows of the car and on its roof like a melody she must observe. now she was heading to a motel to meet a man whose online darkness was so sparkling. he told her he’d do things to her she would be ashamed she asked for. It was all part of the game. He said he could kill her.

Wicked Wednesday #105 — Holiday House

When Eliza was younger, she used to spend holidays with her parents in their holiday home. House No. 9 was sold as a luxury accommodation, but ended up being the simple quarters for the help. Her parents did not mind though, and they made it homey if not luxurious in their own way. Floors to ceiling covered with books to begin with, and in every nook and cranny of the house.
It was easy for Fiona to stay there, lost in novels. But when she met Rafe whose parents owned a house further away, she would often sneak out barefoot to meet him. She was in college then, and her parents were very liberal about sex, but she still did not want them to know that she was out all night.
Tomorrow was her flight back to New York which, Fiona had not been at all upset about when she told her. Eliza was sad because she knew she was part of the reason why Fiona did not want to come back to New York.
However at this moment, she was not concerned as much as she would be when she was back in New York. She crept out like she did from house No. 9, but this time she was seeking Oscar.
Lust kept her awake. She had not eaten and barely slept since the reception, unable to focus on anything but having Oscar skin to skin, mouth to mouth…inside her…She was in the lobby of the building before she even remembered to put on her shoes. All she had thrown on was a trench coat and nothing else.
Shanghai was gorgeous at night, she thought in the taxi her body heavy with erotic anticipation against the backseat. Whenever she thought of the city, she would think of Oscar. The same as with Paris. She would always connect them with him. Right then she especially thought of him, as she felt the silkiness of her thighs brush her engorged labia. She did not want to put her hands there, because nothing would feel like Oscar there. Her body though rebelled against her resistance.
Oscar waited for her in the lobby of his hotel, which made her smile. It was some ungodly hour of the morning, when he took her hand she felt contractions between her legs. She had never had this kind of desire for a man before, and it was something that she could barely handle.
In the elevator, his hands were in her hair and her lips were pressed to his chest. He was barely touching her, and she was half ready to come.
When they walked into his apartment, she took off her coat immediately, but did not make a move toward him. She did not want to rush into anything, but she wanted him to know that she was ready for anything, at any time. That she was at his disposal even though her desire was at the brim.
Oscar put his arm around her, and she buried her face in the crispness of his shirt. He stroked his fingers over the side of her face, and she leaned into him even more. Their silence was heavy. All she thought about was she was returning to New York and leaving him an insane amount of miles away.
“Your flight is tomorrow,” he stated softly and she nodded into his chest.
She did not want to ask any questions because they would all lead to answers she knew already.
They stood like that for awhile before her fingers slipped into the opening between the buttons of his shirt. His lips touched her temple with tenderness. The throbbing between her legs murmured deeper and deeper desire, but she had no intention of rushing.
Every gesture that followed was like a ballet. Kisses like a soft moment when the music slows between partners. Her delicate movement around him almost as a secret, his hands and mouth supporting every gesture. Finally, he lifted her and she threw her head back, their game of seduction over.
The end of their performance found them curled on his sheets, bare, pensive.
It killed her not to know when they would be together like this again, but she did not react now. More quiet declarations of love were made when they faced each other, but she could not bear the words spoken now. Spoken now to be left hanging in New York.
When she was on the airplane, her heart raced on its taxi as they lifted, before she fell back in her seat.
Fiona beside her.
“You know it was really awful of me to want you to tell everyone I was not coming back. It is even more awful of me to want to not see your wedding. You are Rafe’s and my sister.” Fiona squeezed Eliza’s hand, and Eliza bit her trembling lip. Fortunately, no tears came to her eyes. She understood very well now why Fiona had been so blasé, as she pressed her head to the cool window of the airplane and resigned to her fate.

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The "Violation" Story Challenge

Since I can never drown out other people’s conversations (and probably don’t want to), I permanently overhear some fragment of someone’s conversation. I was in Starbucks when the young girl walked past me and said casually, “No one can violate him but me.” I immediately tweeted what I heard because I was sure someone else could use it for inspiration. Immediately Oleander Plume tweeted that it should be used for a story. Almost like a dare that was too hard to resist, I suggested we use the line to write stories for each other’s blogs. Oleander of course, wrote hers right away. I lagged a bit, but FINALLY I finished mine so we could publish them simultaneously. So from the beautiful mind of Oleander Plume, a tale of violation:

The Kingdom Falls

by Oleander Plume

“No one can violate him but me!”

The king’s protests fall on deaf ears. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I pick the slave up from the floor, he’s trembling and sobbing. The guards look to me for instruction.

“Take his highness to the dungeons and lock him in the coldest cell. I’ll take care of this one.”

He’s filthy and bruised, yet still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Skin like cream, eyes as dark as night. Yes, I’ll take very good care of this one.

“Master, you needn’t bother yourself with such vermin, I’ll take the slave to the gallows.”

“No, Cedric, he’s the king’s favorite plaything, and I have greater designs for him.” I stare into King Vlad’s steely gray eyes and sneer. “Think about all the wicked things I will be doing to his sweet body while you rot in prison.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“But I would, you can count on that.”

I pull the slave closer and run my tongue down the side of his face, while keeping one eye on the king. His eyes narrow, his cheeks turn purple, and he violently struggles against the hands that hold him back. The handsome bastard is so enraged, he could probably spit fire. Nothing else I have done today has caused such ire, not even when I lopped off the queen’s head with his majesty’s own sword.

“That creature is my property!” Spittle spews from his mouth as he bellows.

I yank my short blade from its sheath and press the tip against the king’s neck. “You are no longer in charge, of anyone, especially him.” I smile as a small bead of blood coats the edge of the blade. “I should make you watch.”

“Bastard!” The king’s eyes glitter with rage, but he holds his head high, ever the true, haughty monarch. “The citizens of this land will revolt, and I will take back the throne. And when I do, you’ll be the first to be drawn and quartered in the village square.”

I spit in his face. “Your citizens will rejoice while you dance in hell’s belly.” I pointed to the door. “Take him away, the sooner the better.”

The king wails and struggles, but he’s no match for my men. I stop one of them, and whisper in his ear. “I want you all to take him, as painfully as possible. Leave him screaming and covered in your fluids.”

Giles grins wickedly. “I’ll make sure he screams loud enough for the devil to hear.”

The slave is on his knees, shaking like a newborn lamb. I sling his frail body over my shoulder and carry him to the stables. After choosing the king’s best steed, I ride off with the young man draped across my lap. The grime covering his body turns my stomach, and I am happy to come across a small pond that will serve as a proper bath.

I strip away his ragged clothing, then remove my own. Cradling him gently in my arms, I wade into the tepid water, the feel of his naked flesh against mine stirs deep longing. He’s so frail, so wounded, I can’t go forward with my desires, not yet. But as I struggle with my inner turmoil, his fingers dance over my skin and his sweet lips caress my ear.

“Elyan, I knew you would save me.”

Oleander told me that this story was a teaser and it is–the best kind! I need to know more about these characters, I especially need all the titillating bits fleshed out to the fullest! But then I am the kind of girl who overhears suggestive phrases in Starbucks…

Fortunately, Oleander is one of the most prolific writers I know, so continue to follow her blog. Or you can follow her on Twitter where she is generous with her wit and writing. If you visit her blog today, you can read my take on violation…

Psst…

I find myself inevitably walking into an independent bookstore, pushing usually a bell to let them know someone is entering and asking after a brief twirl around,”Do you have an erotica section?”
This question gets three responses usually, first, being an indignant “no.” Second, is a smile (accompanied with the unsaid you naughty girl) “no.” The third, is a you naughty girl look followed by “yes.” I love that answer, but when I get to the section it is just all sex books. If I am lucky there are either copies of Anaïs Nin’s Little Birds or Delta of Venus, Pauline Reage’s Story of O (all of which I own) or some erotica novel I have read before (and probably did not like).
What made me irate the last time I asked aside from being told no, was that I had to ask. Although I was indignant when told there was no copy of Fifty Shades of Gray, I just wondered why do I have to ask? As the genre has become more in demand, why is it still optional to have an erotica section? It’s not like there are a lack of readers, it really offends me at this point to have to ask. Of course I have a particular talent for finding the naughtier, seamier books…I know what I desire in books, the same way I know what I desire in a man. That insatiable have to have that now feeling strikes me quickly. If I have to search harder for the type of book I want it is kind of fun as well, but why should I have to tap into my inner sleuth to find a book to read?
I understand that the double standard remains. People are completely fine with graphic violence, but graphic sex is a no-no. To see two (or more) people engaging in sexual activity is galling. Last time I checked, I would rather engage in sexual activity, than be beaten but maybe that is just me. Why are we so afraid of something people like to do, and need to do to maintain the species?! I cannot understand it, yet I remain humbled whispering to a bookstore employee: “Psst–do you have an erotica section?”

photo by f dot leonora

Wicked Wednesday #104 — Trigger Warnings

Eliza was restless and agitated after the opening. She and Oscar encountered Fiona after their seemingly unnoticed reemergence from the stairwell.
“Oscar!” Fiona greeted him with a kiss on the mouth, which surprised Eliza.
Now that love had been declared, she was possessive even though she had no right to be since she was engaged.
She leaned over and kissed Eliza too, her champagne-flavored mouth lingered just a little longer than expected. When she pulled away, Eliza was unable to describe the look in her eyes.
Champagne continued to flow along with random conversation.
“Trigger warnings for novels for students? I wish I had trigger warnings for my every day life. A warning about who not to fall in love with for example,” Fiona began.
Eliza felt her hand tighten around the delicate stem of her champagne glass. She was afraid to look at Oscar, but observed him peripherally.
“Life is a trigger. An imperfect poem, love should come with trigger warnings. It is never what you expect, it never can be. Eliza, do you ever think about that now that you are getting married? That Rafe might not live up to everything you want or expect?”
“Rafe and I know that love evolves, that things will change over time. We are not expecting to be surprised by that.”
Fiona looked at her with a bit of a smirk, before raising her champagne glass.
“Well cheers to the two of you, you have always been the most solid couple I know. I do not think anything can tear you apart.”
Eliza shrugged her shoulders, still avoiding looking at Oscar.
“Thanks Fi, we certainly are not perfect but it is nice to hear how you think of us.”
“Well then again, the one time I fell in love it was the complete opposite of what you and Rafe have. I fell in love with a woman I could not have. I really loved her and am friends with her, more than friends she is practically a sister…but I could not have her. She was in love with someone else, and then another person while still with the first person. She gives her love to everyone but me. Or maybe to no one at all.”
Eliza looked at Oscar finally, he looked at Fiona with a soft expression.
“Fiona, you are too beautiful for someone like that. You need to find someone who will love you.”
Fiona’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them like a butterfly so the tears would not fall.
“The problem is Oscar, no one loves me.”
“I love you Fiona.” Eliza hugged her fiercely. “You know I love you.”
“You’re like a sister…” Fiona said blinking her eyes quickly.

They ended up at the bar they were at the other night for dinner, the fire colors even more striking to Eliza. She embraced her role as sister when Fiona passed out over the table, her knife and fork a blur as they fell to the floor. Fiona’s head in her lap, Eliza ran her hands through her hair and caressed her cheek softly.The innocuous interaction with Fiona made her forget about the congestion she felt between her legs and rising. She had not been with Oscar for this long an amount of time without having sex. She wanted to so bad she was not sure what was going to happen if they did not.

Everything was a trigger…

“She is very fragile,” Oscar whispered watching her caress Fiona’s cheek and hair.

Eliza continued to avoid his eyes because she could not deal with the emotion that would be there, when there was no way to be any closer to him than she was now.

“Yes, she is and I am afraid to tell her that I am going to have to leave Shanghai soon too.

“You are leaving? When?”

“Soon. To New York, and pretend none of this happened. Maybe Fi will realize that she wants to come back home after being here alone.”

“To the perfect family…”

“Nothing is perfect, nothing at all…”Eliza shifted in her seat so heavy with desire, she was afraid it would burst.

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photo by f dot leonora

a hell of a town…

I left New York for a few days, which I love to do because I have severe wanderlust. When I said I was from New York (City), it was an event. Most people want to visit New York…and I am always trying to escape.
New York is the kind of place that makes you want to travel. Since every culture is represented, you can have a conversation with someone from another country and learn about it. It was in a Starbuck’s with a luscious view of the Empire State Building, that I met a gorgeous Ethiopian woman. As a foodie, I had to ask her about the cuisine there. She told me to order the doro wat in an Ethiopian restaurant, which she said was eaten for special occasions.
Traveling dwarfed New York a bit for me. There is an entire world out there and though a lot of it is represented in New York, it is not all here. It is my mission to seek it out.
Savannah where I wrote this post on its waterfront, is nothing like New York. The Savannahians responded to me nicely, and very proud of their city. Some thought I expected more as a New Yorker, because Savannah is not a “big” city. My response was that I loved the calm, and the smaller size. Since it would have been cool and raining in New York, the heat there was refreshing. The smaller size is nice for a person like me who has wanderlust, but no sense of direction. Honestly my New York life was, and will continue to be so fast-paced, I was more than happy for the break…
The irony of my severe wanderlust, is that I saw Rockefeller Center on weekend Today as I was getting ready for the day and thought that is where I live. My favorite restaurant near my hotel, reminded me of a place in Brooklyn I love. Home is home, it is inside you. I could live somewhere else–I know a few places offhand!–but I will never lose New York…it’s a hell of a town as the song says!

photo taken by f dot leonora from her plane before landing in new york city

Sticky Note No. 3

Ever since I read Being Blacksilk’s post on post-it size stories, I keep my pink stickies in my bag, hoping that I will be able to come up with a story to fit its tiny pages. Generally with me it is never a lack of desire to write, it is just that the words do not always come pouring from me. It must have been pouring rain outside this morning however, because the thunder literally woke me up. It was so loud, it took me a second to realize what it was. A text later rejogged my memory, and I dug down in my purse for my pad. I started with thunder, and the rest followed…transcription of my relatively neat print below…

She could not sleep through a storm, the smallest sounds put her off. The thunder woke her up. She had not slept on the plane and even the soft hotel bed was not going to help her. The flight to New York had been fraught with a lot of things racing through her mind like a horse race without mint juleps. She drank wine on the plane whenever it was offered. Very tipsy, she’d hoped the alcohol would lull her into rest. But her mind could not rest. He was on top of her as if he were there.