This Day's Writings

This is my writing blog, focusing on excerpts of my love; my stories.

My personal, no focus whatsoever, reflections, writings, and random things of my life tumblr can be found here:

http://lastnightswritings.tumblr.com/
itsfudgingcoreyx:

Gettin’ brain in the library cause I love knowledge.

itsfudgingcoreyx:

Gettin’ brain in the library cause I love knowledge.

(Source: hydrotoxicity, via sexfoodbikesetc)

Serena.

            The gypsies are going to steal her. She is going to get kidnapped and Serena would be forced to work a life of trickery and thieving, stealing other kids to fuel the gypsies’ needs for labor. Serena laughed at the absurdity of the thought. Reflecting on what backwards fear must have driven her grandmother to warn her mom that when she was young about the gypsies’ ways. Serena laughs now in her mom’s ridiculous warnings as they walk into the ’99 cents and plus’ store. Inside the store, as she pushes the cart around, Serena’s mom grabs her palm.

“Muchacha, muchacha, un peso, and te leo la mano. Un peso y te vas con migo. Te robo. Las gitanas te roban. Always when the gypsies came to the ranch, they would offer to read my palm. Your grandma always warned me not to, even if it was only one peso, because for such a cheap price they would have stolen me is what she said. The gypsies always beautiful in their shawls, and would cry out to me ‘come, come muchacha, let me read your palm.’            

I take my hand away from hand, pushing her playfully on the shoulder, as I giggled.

“Loca.” I tell my mom.

“No se te olvide, las gitanas…” She laughs and walks ahead as she starts grabbing items. I looked outside the store windows as we passed by it, seeing the carnival set up in far side of the parking lot. The carnival was here for the week. It prompted my mom telling me about the gypsies because it reminded her of when they came to her ranch. Semi-trucks stood on the sides near the rides, and despite knowing that my mom’s gypsies were few and did not come with amusement rides but rather with trades, I couldn’t help but think if they would read my palm.

With the smell of cigarettes on my fingertips..

And the taste of your lips burning still on my lips as I drove home.

You were an unexpected kiss in the back stairs to our work place, both of us just getting off work, both of us talking openly about subjects that most people would blush at, or never talk to at all. 

Inappropriate jokes, as we walk down and you suddenly stop me and kissed me. 

I took it in as I wanted your hands all over me which you did put and made good used of, getting caught making it more thrilling as you touch me.

But nothing could be as thrilling as the ring on your finger and the thought that I was not the reason you had put it there.

A married man and I was a woman of a fun lifestyle, becoming nothing and everything to you with our urgents needs. Stopping before we took it further. 

You worrying over whether my opinion of you has fallen. I did not judge you because I would have to judge myself first.

You were nervous but I was not. We stepped outside for a smoke and you threw up on the curb with rocks because you were that nervous so we didn’t do anything but talk and that was perfectly okay, more than okay. 

Because you gave this memory and despite your swears that you never cheated on your wife, I believe you because I’m just that type of woman. The type of woman that make faithful men cheat and leave the players, the manwhores bewildered, corrupting the ones who believe they did not catch anyone’s attention. 

For an hour, you were mine, before you had to go home to hers, and I will remember you like that, like nothing more than my friend, and just someone, who if years earlier you had met me, and you were not married…

Well, we could have been something else. 

We could have been more than an hour’s time. 

But now the hour is over and all I have is the smell of cigarettes on my fingertips to remember you by. 

copyright © 2011. 

Being 19.

I was fucking Lisa, and remembered how tight Francesca was. Missy Frannie. I dated her when I was 26 and crazy and used to be with all of her 24 year old self. She made me feel like I was her favorite number. That i was19 again and had everything real simple before me. Francesca was Hispanic and she preferred to be called Frannie by those she loved best. I knew she loved me, but i didn’t know if i could love her back. Could let what was growing between us and my growing affection, my caring turn into the type of love that could set your heart into the kind of peace you only found when you were free. I loved her too but I never told her because I didn’t realized it till after there was nothing that could be done bout it except to make life a bigger mess than it already was. I was with Frannie and at the same time I was not with her. Sometimes weeks would pass by and I would only know of her existence through her updates via the internet. But when I would talk to her we would fall back into talking like if not a day had gone by. She was something else,. I should have dated her. She also was the tightest fuck I ever had. She would do things wither sweet pussy that I don’t think she was aware of doing. She just went with it and really let herself go. She enjoyed sex. She enjoyed it entirely to my pleasure which became hers. So tight, wet, willing, throbbing, and squeezing my cock with every thrust. It was crazy hot and I fucking love it and wanted so much of it. I could have her every day, every other day, whenever I wanted to as long as I worked around her schedule. 

I didn’t, I couldn’t, I was a nice guy. I couldn’t do that to her, just used her no matter how many times she sext me that she wanted me. I was a nice guy and there was Angelina, who I had gone to high school and college. Grown up with Angelina and although I knew Frannie from high school, the memory of her was lost in a sea of faces of people you met but never knew. Not till after high school when she blossom did Missy Frannie made my hear turn.

A little confidence can change a person greatly or in Frannie’s case, bring her true nature out. She unleash herself and message me one day that she had the had the biggest crush on me in high school and then it was 3 years later and we would see each other occasionally enough to where she loved me and I cared. I wish now that I could have been 19 when I talked to her. Dated her, loved her.

My whole life would have been different because of one person, because of her. My life isn’t bad. I have no complaints with a beautiful wife and a baby but it could have been more, just so much more. Nearly did become more with her. It was was right after her 3rd breakup and I wanted her to myself. I was real sweet to her because I have always been a sucker for ladies in distress, or so I thought that was the reason why I was being sweet on her. Somehow through the years we would come back to each other, no matter what was happening in our lives. This was the 3rd fucking piece of shit who had broken her heart and it annoyed me because amidst partying, work, classes,wondering what the fuck was going on with Angelina who was acting weird and still occasionally thinking of my own heart break from my first and only ex, who had left me 2 years prior, somewhere in between all that my heart wanted and needed to be with Frannie. I wanted to know her more, needed to know her. I wanted to love her and be in love with her so that it would stop the madness of everything and everyone else. Our love could be a real type of stillness, of stability, a real type of beautiful. 

I was there after every break up of her, in a different place, but still there. I look back upon myself and I think what a fool, a stupid idiot that I was. I couldn’t understand myself at 26 when I found out about the first relationship and I was hurt. I didn’t let her know I was hurt, but she knew just from the way I question her about it via text. It surprised me. I was on a dating website that everyone was on at the time, at least ten of my friends and it was just for fun and how else we were to meet people who we were interested in but who were outside our social group? It was an experience, it was something new to do, the slight shame of it still burning a bit in the back of my mind when I asked myself, meeting dates off the internet? But how was it different from personal ads in newspapers before? It wasn’t. The irony of the situation was that she had found me on there, and she was my highest percentage match out of everyone in the whole world. I should have went with it right there since most couldn’t match me higher than a 80% and she was 3 percentages down from being a 90. Doesn’t sound like so much but when you think of all the women on the site and how many questions I answered, how much I looked at other girls, and talked to them, and after all that she was there again and again, popping up on my notification that she was my top match. We even joked about it.

I was an utter fool, down to the day that I logged on and saw that her status had changed and she wasn’t single. Immediately I went onto my facebook, stalking the social feed like an addict, pulling up her profile, and seeing no change there, breathing a sigh of relief, yet still grabbing my phone to text her.

Maybe it was a mistake? It was not, and I couldn’t figure out why I became angry. I let it go, letting her sweet talk me into thinking it wasn’t that serious, because it was just for the summer anyway, the guy was leaving. I didn’t concern myself with it much after that.

She broke up with him like she promised me, but not in the way she wanted to and was hurt, and I was there, going on as if nothing had changed. Because nothing had changed.

The second time she was in a relationship, she was serious about it because it was on her facebook. Relationships statuses don’t change lightly on there for most of my friends. She was serious about him and I lost her to him and lost her to myself because I was so stupid. A few months earlier she had pulled a nasty prank on me and I stopped talking to her because that prank has always haunted me because of bullshit with my ex. We stopped being friends, deleted each other from our life, and then we came around again to talking. She couldn’t keep away and I couldn’t keep her away.

But we only came around to each other’s lives when she became involved with him and she was serious. I didn’t know she was serious and how much I started to care about her. So I came around. I wasn’t a nice guy about it. I was talking to her, wanting to be around her, wanting to hang out with her and her friends when she had these group outings and I knew exactly what I was doing. I was trying to become part of her life. I knew exactly what I was doing and I am not sure how she felt about it till she called me out on it. Told me that she knew that I was trying to get closed to her and that she couldn’t have me in her life when she had him. I didn’t deny anything. She cut me out.

It felt like my heart was hard to swallow since it was in my fucking throat when I would log on and see her smile on the screen, looking right at me, the glint of mischievous in her eyes, and then notice her holding onto someone else’s arm. I had to swallow every time I saw that she posted that she went to a certain place with a few friends and he was there. I felt it every time I logged into the dating website and her profile was deleted, gone because she had no need of it. 

I told myself I was just trying to be her friend again. To reconnect. I was bullshitting myself. Frannie, how could I have lost you? But I did, and when you started talking to me again after the manipulative asshole left you for another girl, I was so happy and pretended I wasn’t so I was just your friend.

I didn’t even know about the bastard or the relationship this last time she broke up. So I did something odd for us and I ask you over, and then you ask me out, and then we were eating dinner at a restaurant the next day, and found ourselves in my car in my driveway afterwards where I ask if you wanted a kiss which lead to my back seat, which lead up to my room, which lead to my book case, and talking, and tickling, and reading, and then sex, and more kissing, and then you almost leaving, but I stop you because I wanted you to stay.

We watched a movie in the living room and my hetero husband/roommate/best friend came in and join us and he noticed the way she was leaning into my shoulder and when she took my hand and I held it for the entire movie.

I wanted her. I want her. It was right, it was so right.

I should have never let her go, should have never let Angelina get to me because Angelina was Angelina and while she was my best friend, she should have stayed that way because I knew her. It was right after my date with Frannie that Angelina came calling a few days later, telling me stuff that I knew already, that she cared for me but she wasn’t serious but it was still making her feel something about me, and maybe it could develop into something serious. I comforted her and talk to her, and work it out with her, and nearly dated her again but I kept seeing how some part of her wasn’t serious. She was into me, she loved me, I was her best friend, but it was better to just stay friends because there was something missing to give it that spark to have that amazing thing we would call a relationship.

I didn’t talk to Frannie as much when this was going on with Angelina. I should have kept my priorities straight but I was already fuck up enough with my past history and this situation with Angelina that I didn’t want to drag Frannie into it and end up hurting her even more than her ex-douchebags. I didn’t want to hurt Frannie.

I was then promoted at work, more responsibilities than money, and was taking care of my classes, and balancing Angelina, while Frannie was just there, fading quietly into the background. I should have paid more attention to her, should have done more, but I knew by that point that too much time had passed, that Frannie had move on, and that I had hurt her. I had hurt her by not doing anything else after we had gone out. I was ashamed. Then at a friend’s party, no less,  where I was slowly getting drunk, wanting to go home and be a hermit, Lisa was there. Lisa was still relatively new. She was a mutual friend and I had a college class with her a few classes back.

What I should have done was stop drinking and text Frannie. Ask her to meet up with me. I didn’t. I made up excuses. I was busy and she was already busy, she was always busy, working 2 jobs, classes, and juggling her family who would not let go of her.

I didn’t. I continue drinking and so did Lisa.

I ended up getting really drunk and really handsy and then getting sober enough to have sloopy sex with Lisa in one of the rooms and driving home as it was getting light out. It was ok sex.

This wasn’t me. I wasn’t a one night stand type of guy, I cared about my girls when I was with them, and made sure they were the only one. It is why I stopped talking to Frannie when Angelina came around, I didn’t want to be with both of them at the same time and Angelina needed me to help her so I did.

I wasn’t going to go after Lisa and she didn’t either so we just left it at that. My life seem to settled without any drama. Angelina found herself a beau and I was happy, except for Frannie. I didn’t know what to do anymore so I did what I always do, started talking to her. She came around, and I came around and I was about to ask her to go out again, and this time intend to keep with her, when Lisa talked to me.

Lisa told me she was pregnant.

The rest of the story is obvious. I stopped talking to Frannie, and got into a relationship with Lisa.

I know I wasn’t obligated but it made things so much easier for Lisa, I, and the baby. Lisa was a good woman, a better mother, and was okay with me being there. Eventually what we had as friends grew into caring, into love in the short period of her pregnancy. Lisa and I became new parents, overwhelmed and didn’t think about our relationship anymore till we got married when the baby was two. 

I’m happy, really I am.

But sometimes, when I am washing the dishes, or just letting my mind wander when I am taking at breather at work, I will not be thinking of home, or Lisa, or the kid, or responsibilities. It was her, Francesca I would let my mind think about.

I would think about what it felt like to feel like I was 19 again. What it felt like to be cared for completely by a woman who was all heart. I remembered our crazy times and how we did everything backwards and the sex was just mind blowing and how she was flexible for her curves.

I would remember her warmth. 

I would remember the touch of her hand as I interlaced my fingers with hers on the couch that day in front of my best friend.

Most of all, I would remember her.

copyright © 2011. 

Realities within dreams.

Her face still haunts me, or at least what she would look like now, in real life. Does she look like that, could she look the way she does in reality, the way she looks in my dreams?

Even awake, I still cannot get her out of my head. She lingers in my mind, just like the smell of smoke from a cigarette, long after the smoker has left. I was taught never to ignore my dreams. She’s always appearing and disappearing in my dreams, leaving me with questions. Question who she is, questioning why I keep dreaming of her, questioning my reality. Does she exist? She must exist, she could not be just a person in my dreams, not after seeing her so often there. Why would I keep dreaming of her, if I never met her. Know her so well, see her in my dreams, and yet the reality of her existing in my dream could be only a nightmare.

Am I going mad? Am I already mad? Who is this woman? This girl? Why does she keep revealing herself to me in my dreams? There are times during the days, when I could nearly see her. I could feel her there. When I feel that while waiting at a red light, I could look over to my right and see her driving the car next to me. I keep expecting her to walk into my class, my work, anywhere, just walking around, not knowing, not looking, not seeing me, not realizing who I am, and who she is to me.

I have fallen in love with a dream.

In these moments, right before I am fully awake from any dream of hers, I get the sensation, the need, that my entire life, all I ever wanted was her.

copyright © 2011. 

Scribbles.

Fear clutches my heart.

Squeezes it tighter. Holds it hostage. Does not release.

Fear seeps into my soul, contagious in its hold. Grabs my brain. Takes my emotions, makes me think irrational thoughts of doubt. Turning what was once beautiful to what if’s, maybes, to the pessimistic.

To the jealousy of where there was none before.

Shallow breaths come easy and ideas of the far fetch possibilities become near as personal monsters emerge.

copyright © 2011. 

*Sarah Emily*

How do you mourn a person? How do you celebrate their life? How do you create yourself, your day, out of what life you used to know that they destroyed by leaving you alive? How do you disattached yourself from a person who you did not know you were attached to? How do you answer your questions, resolve your issues, verify your wonderings without talking to them? How do you live with the memories of the dead within yourself?

What do you tell yourself in the quiet of the night that the morning will be brighter when you know that you will not be with the ones who have passed in the coming day? How do you live? How can you pretend to live? For how long can you play pretend before someone notices?

I just want to die. I just want to join. I just want to not live here. But each day I wake up to a cruel reality of the truth that I am alive and will continue living. Being alive through being dead. 15 years old and surviving. Dying each day and arising the next day. The night pushes death upon me, every night. It suffocates me with memories; with the hurt of remembering. 

copyright © 2011. 

The first time he saw her, she was wearing some other guy’s jacket.

He was on campus, in the faculty building. He was going to drop off an essay he had missed doing earlier in the semester due to his accident. He went into the elevator, and saw from out of the corner of his eye, someone coming towards the elevator. He automatically placed his arm on the door, without looking her over, until she stepped inside. The door closed behind her.

She was wearing a mechanic’s jacket. Her hair in a ponytail on the side of her neck, and faded jeans. 

Cute. Dean thought as he slyly tried to check her out from his peripheral vision. Then he recognized that straight little nose, and those doe eyes of hers, and the rest of her. His heart exploded. He gasp as he turn to look at her.

It was her.

She was real, down to the chocolate color freckles on the right side of her jawline.

"Winnie." He mumbled, not believing. She cock her head to the side, looking at him.

"Hi, have we met? She smiled at him, that familiar smile he saw so often in his dreams. When she was getting ready to go out, when she was talking tot hat younger girl she was always with, when she was with her family, grocery shopping, running errands, her smile was there. A sweet smile of calm happiness and now she was here, smiling at him.

"I…uh…"  He didn’t know what to say. What did you say to the girl you have been dreaming of for weeks? The girl, who in your dreams, in your imagination, you have already spent the lifetime of a relationship with, over and over again. Different dates, different occasions, conversations, touches, hugs, kisses. The girl who has revealed so many secrets to you, when she appeared in your dreams, without her knowing of even your existence? What do you say to her the first time The girl who you have been picturing in your head while you were fucking other girls? The girl whose memories you couldn’t get out of your head? 

She cocked her head at him, a puzzled smile on her face.

"Where do I know you from? Did we have a class together? Are you in a fraternity? Do you know Eduardo?" 

Eduardo, might be her cousin, Dean thought, that one guy who was in a few of her memories. 

"Yeah. I’ve seen him around."

"That’s cool. I must have been with him… I didn’t know he talked about me."
"Not all the time." He didn’t want to creep her out. She looked disappointed when he said that.  He didn’t want to say too much, not until he knew for sure who he was to her.

"I’m just good with names and faces. It is Winnie, right?" He knew that, but didn’t want to come off as suspicious, either. 
"Yeah, it is." She bit her bottom lip.

Dear Winnie, the things I would do to you…

"I’m Dean. He held his hand out. 
"Well, nice to re-meet you Dean." She shook his hand. her fingertips were cold. He took her hand in both of his, and gave her hand a slight squeeze. She was confused by the gesture. 
"You’re freezing."  He withdrew his grip and let her hand free.

"Uh yeah. Forgot my gloves. Actually, forgot my jacket too, so I just drove over to pick this up from Eduardo’s work, which is closer to here than my house. 

"That’s cool of him to lend it to you."

"Well, he has too, unless he wants his girlfriend to freeze."
"Girlfriend?"

"Um. I thought you knew, since he talked about me."
"Nah. I thought you two were cousins."
"OH! Ha, some people get confused by that, because our families are closed to each other." She said. 

"Oh." She had a boyfriend. He tried to recalled the memories of hers that she had with Eduardo. She was comfortable with him, but no feels stood out. He didn’t have a memory of them kissing, or fooling around. He messed with her, ruffled her hair, push her, but he thought that was them just playing around, being cousins. Maybe it was a low-key relationship. Too low-key of a relationship. Her memories were not important when it came to their relationship, not that Dean would have appreciated her memories of Eduardo and her having sex, and doing other couple activities. But Dean would have known she had a boyfriend. The elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened. 

"Well, I’ll see you around Dean." All of his thoughts stopped. She was going to walk out of the elevator, and out of his life. Seeing her around school was not that much of a possibility. She was walking out. 

"Winnie!" She stopped. The doors started to close, he pushed the door open button and held it.

"Give Eduardo my number. We should hang out." 

"I can do that." She stepped back inside the elevator. She took out her cell, and handed it to him. He took it and let go of the door open button. The doors closed but the elevator stayed on the same floor. He typed in his number on her cell. He took it a step further and called himself and hung up when it went through. Now he had her number. 

"You can text me too, if you want to, whatever." He told her, trying not to make it sound like he wanted it. 
"Alright Have a good afternoon Dean. Nice seeing you. Bye." She pushed the door open button and stepped out.  

copyright © 2011. 

(Part II)

And suddenly he was there. He saw himself briefly reflected in her closet mirror. He was in bed with her, and he was holding her. She rolled over and face him lazily. She spread her arms up and around his neck. She hugged him closer to her, bringing her whole body against him. Her legs started intertwining with him, the cotton sheets getting entangled in between them.

"Winnie…" he whispered, as she pulled herself up to his neck, kissing him, sucking at his neck, biting. He grabbed her hair, pulling her face up to his. He kissed her, tasting her mouth, exploring her with his tongue.

He had never been so lost in lust before, the sensuality of their lips pressed together with the sense of how right it was, just him and her.

He was jarred awake by the sound of a door closing. He was dreaming.

"No!" He closed his eyes again. He could nearly feel her. He reached out to hold her and just hugged the air. His fingers reach the edge of a pillow. He pulled it up against him, holding it. He closed his eyes, buried his face in it, could almost imagine that he was burying himself in the softness of her top. He breathe in sharply as his stubble rubbed over the material. He was almost there. Dreaming again of her. Could almost feel her heat underneath him.

"Oh Winnie…" He had lost complete touch with reality. He couldn’t tell if that was a memory of hers, or a dream of his anymore. He could almost smell her. He lost it. He open his eyes. He was alone. Frustration crowded him with disappointment. He hated himself for waking up, and not waking up to her. To waking up to his reality that she wasn’t there. She was only his dream. There was something seriously wrong with his head. He let go of the pillow and move. He sat up at the edge of the his bed.His forehead resting on his palm. He shrugged his shoulders, stretching, feeling his muscles awaken from the near stupor of the near hypnotizing sleep. He grabbed the pillow he was holding only a few moments before. He threw it as hardest as he cold at his wall. It hit with a muffle sound and fell to the floor. 

He had to get her out of his head. He was being driven nuts by her. Worse now that he knew her. He just wanted her, and he couldn’t have her. Winnie, she was haunting his dreams, his daydreams, his soul. She was completely within him, his mind. He didn’t know why, he just couldn’t get him out of his head.

He shook his head. He got up and went to his closet, grabbed his riding boots, putting them on under his jeans. He put on a wife-beater and then grabbed his heaviest padded jacket. He was going to ride. It would clear his head. He was also going to stunt. It would take him out of his head. He secured the jacket against him and put on his gloves. 

Endos, wheelies, burn outs, even just doing laps, and practicing on his skills as a rider, he could never not improve his riding. He could do circles and work on his turns, he wouldn’t care.

He was starting to feel the pressure changed already from frustration to aggression. He liked it.Copyright © 2011,