Postcardia-cum-Poetica #37

This one is a bit of an odd fish! I started off with an image of boats on a harbour in a sublime violet-hued dusk, and ended up in this hotel room. 

There is something about the image that gave me a sense of immense spaci dislocation. The card appear far bigger than I actually was. And I expected at any moment for a Lynchian character to wander through the frame. Or for me to be sucked into it.

Nothing like a little adventure to keep one on their toes. And the subversive shit-stirrer in me wished this particular one didn’t have to go in an envelope! 

Image taken from a travel brochure and words from Elyora.

Day Ten #nanowrimo

Day 10Words for the day: 3851 (target was to reach 30K)
T-shirt: Infinity
Best song vibe: More of The Preatures (this is getting a bit ridiculous!)

Hello and welcome to the end of the first third of NaNo. I reached 30K today (30623 if I’m going to be pedantic about numbers). I’m ahead of the word count for 50K and for 75K. That’s a good feeling.

What’s less of a good feeling is the realisation I have a lot to pack into the next 5-7K in order to line the events up for the mid point switch back. After feeling like it was taking forever to get to where I wanted to go now it’s like arriving far too early. So I need to sit down and think hard about what needs to play about between the first dinner party and Tabitha’s visit to the sculptor.

I knew there was something not quite right about the trajectory of Tabitha and Christian’s sexual relationship and I think I fixed that up today. Added an extra scene in and now I think it is a smoother transition.

I’ve ended today with all residents sitting down to their first fancy dinner. Christian and Tabitha are playing a married couple to conform to the protocols of the house, Becca has been running off at the mouth and I’m still unsure how the character of Marie fits in. I keep thinking there needs to be two of her to get through all the work that is required (and that just gave me a brilliant idea).

I’ll leave off with the horizontal folk dancing for a bit and leave you with a sweet and tender moment. I’m intrigued at how all these moments come via Christian and not Tabitha!

* * *

A shiver ran down her back.

“Someone walk on your grave?”

“Just me stepping over my dead thoughts. The bits of me I left behind to come here.” His stroked the side of her hip and moved his hand down to settle on her stomach. “I think the silence might have crushed me if I’d come here alone. I thought I could do it. But I don’t think I would’ve survived.”

“You would have done it. You are stronger than you think you are. The waif of a girl I knew at high school, she grew into an amazing woman.”

“But Robert –”

“You can define your life by your past or by your future.”

“What am I to you? Past or future?”

“You are and have always been my present.” He reached up so his hand nestled on top of her heart, the pound of it an aphrodisiac of a different kind. “You are the gift of life. You made me feel alive when I didn’t even realise I was dead inside.”

“We’re not going to come out of this the same people we went in, are we?”

The rhythm of her heart beneath his hand sped up. “Probably not.”

“You remember how I asked you when we’d know it was the end?”

“And I said when it was the end. I was trying to be all philosophical for you. I thought that was the sort of person you’d be attracted to.”

“I was only ever attracted to you, not some other version of you.” her hand rested over the top of his. “I think it’s only now that it’s starting. Everything else was just prologue.”

“Then let’s just be happy then and not worry that every prologue is bookended with an epilogue.”

“Is that you trying to be philosophical again?”

“No, that’s just me being wanky and thinking shit aloud that was probably best unsaid,” he said, kissing her shoulder.

“Speaking of the unsaid, do you see the light in the walls?” Tabitha asked, rolling away from him so they were looking at each other through the void of the darkness. He felt her fingers on his cheek bones and on his lips.

“I don’t see anything. It’s dark.”

“The light moves through the walls like clouds across the sky,” Tabitha said in a drowsy voice that like the night before, felt like it came from a long way off even though he felt the words on his lips. “I saw one that looked like a rabbit.”

“I only see you.” He moved forward until his lips brushed hers.

“What do I look like in the dark?”

“Perfect,” he said, kissing her harder.

The only protest, when he lifted her leg up over his and he slid slowly into her, was from a body that was two decades too old to keep pace with his desire for her.

“We’re in no rush,” she whispered as if she’d heard his thoughts and he surrendered to the motion of two bodies learning to fit together.

Day Nine #nanowrimo

Day NineWords for the day: 1538 (target was 2.5K)
T-shirt: Live to Dance
Best song vibe: “Take A Card” by the Preatures

It was Girls Arvo In today so I knew word would be thin on the ground once the festivities kicked in (I didn’t quite count on the hang over that has decided to grace me with it’s presence before dinner time).

I’m currently wading through the negotiation and and exploring the boundaries within and beyond Tabitha and Christian. And well, you know, there’s kinda a lot of sex, including baiting the servant Marie to watch then through the key hole. In writing that I’ve realised I need to write one scene that connects them taking to the horizontal folk dance floor for the first time and having enough gumption to begin mind game of exhibitionism.

So that’s the fun for tomorrow to find the where and how of that connecting scene.

The best bit about today was getting a chance to sit in the car, during the drive from Stacey’s place to mind and talk about my story. It appears to make sense when I related it and Stacey gave me a great recommendation of an author to read, who combines horror and erotica well.

So what to leave you with this evening?

* * *

“There’s tea,” Christian said, pouring a second cup. “Come on Tabby, don’t ruin the morning with a tantie about the food.”

“I half expect bloody Basil Fawltey to walk through the door.”

“Lets hope he doesn’t. ”Christian sniggered and poured a dash of milk into the tea. “So you reckon they have a house cow sequestered away in the house somewhere?”

“I think you have the wrong class of folk. Isn’t it the poor who live with their animals.”

“I was just thinking,” he said, adding a sugar cube. “If we’re totally cut off from the outside world – where does all the food come from. You know, the fresh food.”

“I couldn’t care less if there was no milk. I take my coffee black.”

“When you’re not drinking lattes.”

“You always just assumed I drank the same as you. I was only being polite.”

“Only being polite,” he parroted and drew her into his lap, nuzzled her neck.

“How many positions did Prince have in that one night stand?” His words caressed her ear, sparking a delicious shiver down her back that chased away her bad mood.  She’d eaten worse as a student. Hell, she’d eaten worse in the 18 years of living with her constantly distracted parents.

“21 or something like that,” Tabitha said, moving from the chaos of the series of houses they’d called home, the smell of oil paint, turpentine and rollies to the gentle creep of his hands under her top.

“And we’re up to how many?”

“I didn’t think we were counting,” she said, arching her back to let him take her nipple in his mouth.

Day Eight #nanowrimo

Day eightWords for the day: 4578 (target was 2K-4.5K)
T-shirt: NaNoWriMo 2010 Winner
Best song vibe: Everything by the Preatures

When the chips are down you pull out all stops to try to bring things back to some kind of equilibrium. Today I drew on the things that I know work:

  • Putting on a t-shirt that says ‘Fake it until you make it’ – in this case it was the 2010 Winners t-shirt.
  • Pulling out the aromatherapy. I had a tissue with Focus oil tucked into my t-shirt sleeve and while it didn’t clear my head it definitely stopped it from getting cluttered.
  • New music… this is where I love the randomness of life. I stumbled onto The Preatures on the emergency dash to the supermarket for tomorrow’s Girls Afternoon In. The Preatures are now on speed rotate.
  • Minimising the distractions – that meant sitting down toe write ASAP this morning because my easiest writing happens in the morning. It may not necessarily be the best but it requires a smaller vein to be opened
  • Maximising head space – with Dave away the domestic side of things has been pretty lax. I took the washing off the line, cleaned up the kitchen, did the dishes and also took the dog for a walk. All a chance to just relax the brain and let it hiccup/spit up the next scene.
  • Found writing friends – I’ve been really lucky in as much as every call out on Facebook for writing companions has netted at least one person. Sometimes, like today, an accidental mob.

The upshot of all of this is I sign off with 25K. I think the narrative is about to hit another lull. A chance to go in and add some stuff to the existing scenes and make them zing. And, I remember now, back at the start of the day, there may have been a bit of nakedness.

What would a bunch of NaNo extracts be without a touch of erotica (ironically it was the erotica I posted up two years go that it my second biggest hitting post!) I’ve included the entire scene (all in awesome raw 1st draft scrappiness).

* * *

It was not the couch in his office, nor the kitchen bench with the breakfast dishes pushed to one end to accommodate them. It was not the floor beside the claw-foot bath with him between her legs in an act of speed or the shower downstairs with them pressed against the glass recess joking about that scene from St Elmo’s Fire. And he knew as soon as his fingers brushed her warm, smooth cheek that he wouldn’t fuck her. It was more shocking to him, more than everything about the house and its ability to move through time. It was the slap of realisation that every fantasy he had ever played out had been about fucking her. Each private film played out for his own gratification. All about the urgency of relief after they’ve said good night and disappeared within their respective houses, to their families and the lives where neither of them existed.

Holding her, one hand beneath the bulky hoodie and her thin t-shirt her, caressing the dip at the base of her spine, he didn’t want to move. Standing with her pressed to him, her breath against his neck, the thump of his heart was more real than it had been in a decade. And all he wanted was for it to last as long as possible.

They didn’t have to rush. No one would walk in on them; no one needed to go to bed in preparation for an early alarm. There was nothing but them and he knew, as he ran his fingers up the bumps of her back, that the argument in the café, the heated discussion out on the footpath an hour ago and his denial on the stairs was all about the fear of this moment, of losing himself totally to her.

Every time his fingers touch her bare skin, she shuddered and he was afraid if he moved too fast, or too hard, she would break and fall to the ground as dust. He leaned in to kiss her neck knowing he’d been losing himself to her, piece by piece, for months now and fighting it, packaging it up as nothing more than lust, avoiding being alone with her in person, not because he’d give into lust… okay he would give in to the rampant red-blooded desire but it would mean giving the rest of himself to her. And he fought to protect himself from that. And protect her too, because it could only end badly. But in here with the world beyond gone, with her already broken, he only had her to lose.

He lifted the hoodie  over her head and then t-shit, forcing himself to slow down when she flinched.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked and she turned to show him the dark holes of bruises on her pale skin.

On his knees, he gently pressed his lips to the damage, wanting to skim his fingers over them and like an eraser take way the colour, the pain, the abuse. She trembled at this touch and he stopped.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice thick with tears he guessed wet her cheeks but he didn’t stand and wipe them away.

“You always want to fix it.” Helena’s stock attack whenever he wanted to help her. Talk about whatever was bothering her. Even back in the beginning when neither of them really had much to lose by being honest. “Some things just can’t be fixed.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said and pressed his cheek to the soft convex of her stomach, kissing it once and turning his check back to it.

Her fingers sunk into his hair and stayed like that, fingers massaging his scalp, his arms between her legs, wrapped around one thigh. A bell sounded shattering the quiet solidarity.

“Get undressed,” she said, pulling away from him, unbuttoning her jeans and peeling them down her leg. She laughed when she realised she still had her boots on.

The flurry of activity bewildered him.

“Hurry,” she said, towing him awkwardly toward the bed, her jeans still around her ankles. “The lights are about to go out.” And as she said it the bell sounded a second time. The flame in the lamps stuttered and extinguished.

“Sit down,” she said and held tight to his hand in the dark. “The rooms going to –”

And before she finished the sentence the floor shuddered and he dropped down to his knees with her, pulling her into his arms. Somewhere in the dark, the grind and clunk of machinery sounded. A frigid breeze stole in around them bringing with it the smell of storms and emptiness.

“We’re slipping,” she said, glad she wasn’t on the chair like she was last time.

As quickly as it started it was over. The room enveloped them in a stillness, like the wet, newness after a storm.

“Shit! There’s no candle this time.” If she wasn’t caught up in his arms, it would have been a disembodied voice.

“Leaves it all to the imagination,” he said and she laughed, moving out of his arms.

“I’ve had a enough of imagining it. I would’ve thought –” The sentence finished with his lips on hers.

“No clash of teeth,” she joked when they came up for air.

“Doesn’t mean all the right parts will make it into all the right slots the first time.”

And it occurred to him, in the endless blackness it was a different kind of virtual experience where he could smell and touch and hear her. Taste her even, but she was lost to him. Like a blind man making love to the woman in his mind.

“Get undressed. It’s going to be a long night and I don’t know what comes next.”

“You don’t know what comes next.” His hands ran down the curve of her shoulders and across her back to the clasp of her bra. “I’m open to all suggestions.”

“I thought you were taking your clothes off.”

“All in good time.”

She wiggled away from him, the breath catching in her throat and he guessed she’d moved in some way that hurt her ribs. He’d never thought of the sound of laces unknotting and the smooth movement of leather over cotton as the sweetest sound track to precede making love, but there it was.

“I guess I don’t get to seduce you with my guitar,” he said, stripping naked, grateful for the mask of the dark on a body gone to rot by ambivalence, bad food, good alcohol and too many hours sitting behind a desk and on the couch.

“If you think you can—”

And he found her again in the dark.

“The bed or the floor,” he asked, his hands cupping her breasts and all thought of being slow and gentle was consumed by the need to be with her now, just not on his knees.

“How about the kitchen bench,” she joked and moved out of his reach again. Her knees clicked. “There’s a bed here –” and there was a muttered swear when she hit something. “Found it. Shame not to use it. It’s one of those four-posters with thick red curtains.”

The bed was deep and soft and endless without the ability to sight the edges. The heavy curtains brushed against his skin and he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything.

Beneath his hands and fingers, his lips and tongue she opened like a lotus flower, cooing and moaning quietly until he told her there was no shame in vocalising her enjoyment. The sound of her pleasure was a crescendo that mirrored, step by step, the speed of his tongue on her clitoris, guided by everything she’d told him she wanted and never got, and a certain amount of trial and error, until she screamed out in raw ecstasy, once and a second time when he decided to see how far he could push her over the edge.

“So… I… take… it…” he said, each word intersecting a kiss placed in a line up over her pubic mound and up onto her stomach twitching and heaving as she tried to catch her breathe. “That you –”

She slid out from beneath him and the jerk of breath in the bottom of her throat snagged on him. She pushed him onto his back, her hand pushed against his chest. “Stop talking,” she panted and straddled him, the inside of her thighs slick with sweat. “Time doesn’t stand still in here and I’m impatient.”

“I thought –”

“Stop thinking,” she said and slid down onto him with a sigh that rose goosebumps over his body. And he trusted she wouldn’t do anything that hurt the bit of her already in pain.

Later, when their bodies gave out before their desire she lay in his arms. Her fingers twisted in and out of his chest hair and he stroked the back of her hand.

“You have beautiful fingers,” she said.

“Better in person.”

“You are better in person. Though it’s like braille. Feeling but not being able to see you.”

“You don’t want to see me naked,” he joked and he felt her shift and from the feel of her breath guessed she was directly above him. “If I can’t pay out on my body you can’t. I thought we agreed on that months ago.”

“That was until I took my clothes off.”

“You are beautiful,” she said and her lips found the hollow in his chest where the bone of his sternum was hard beneath her flips. She trailed up to his collar bone and her hand crept lower..

“I can’t,” he said, pulling her back down beside him. “I’m barely awake. And I’m exhausted. We should have done this when we were twenty.”

She nestled back into the grotto of his arm and torso and took one hand in hers again.

“These are hands that make dreams into reality.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said.

“I’m not talking about that.” She nudged her shoulder into his ribs.

She ran two fingers down the sides of his middle finger, her thumb caressed his palm. “These hands mould dreams of the impossible, into tangible things.”

“And what do you think you do with words. Jean Jeanie.”

‘Mangle them.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You’re here, aren’t you? Someone other than me thinks you have talent too.”

He yawned and stroked her arm. The pull of sleep was zero gravity that cut him loose from her and he tried to hang on.

“The walls are glowing,” she said, in a voice that came from a long way off. “They didn’t do that the last time I was here.”

“Flashing neon.”

“You’re asleep.”

“No I’m not,” he said and was gone before she had extracted herself from the tangle of arms.

Pulling a quilt from the bed, she got her bearings using the low light from the walls to find her was to the edge of the room. There was the subtle jolt of static electricity when she reached a finger out to it and the hairs on her arms rose up.

The wall was warm. She pressed her cheek against it and looking across, she saw small flickers on the uneven surface, like wild electricity.

“You’re glowing,” Christian mumbled.

“The wall is electric,.”

“Come to bed,” he mumbled. “I miss you already.”

The bed shifted and she moulded herself to him.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she whispered into his shoulder, her arm snaking up over his chest to play with his chest hair again.

“Mutual orgasm… always… best,” he joked beneath the yoke of sleep.

“I mean here.”

“I’ll still be here when you wake up,” he said, voice trailing off as his fingers wound in hers. “So go to sleep.”


Day 1 Extract: A Little Bit of Erotica

In Byron Bay in August we dared each other to write four sex scene during NaNo (because we were talking about how we all shy away from writing such things) and we had to write one on the first day. I’d already been dared earlier on in the year to just write a nice, straight sex scene between two people who dug each other. I have a reputation for writing dark, disturbing and occasionally deadly sex.

I’m really not that into writing about sex, despite the fact the last three stories accepted for submission involve sex scenes of some description (and “Cocaine, My Sweetheart” would have given a longer word count!) and I’ve written a plethora of non-fiction articles about sex. In fiction I  find it excrucitating to side step cliches and setting myself up to open NaNo with a sex scene was pushing the comfort zone way out there, where the comfort zone has been lost sight of.

I didn’t want to just write a sex scene either. I wanted to find a way to use the scene to actually open the book. This is what I came up with – all raw first draft goodness! Now please excuse me while I go hide under a rock…

She leaned down, her lips caressing his earlobe, each short breath hot, moist and urgent, like a late Spring thunderstorm, full of raw energy, building, waiting to be unleashed.

“I. Love. You.” Her wisps of words punctuated by teasing attention to his earlobes, not bites or nibbles, just the slight pressure of her teeth, driving him crazy with the lack of follow through. God he needed her to do something. Not this purgatory of almost something.

Her tongue traced the gristle outline of his ear and he tried to turn his head away from her, and the exquisite torture she lavished on him. Failing to avoid her insistent teasing he grabbed hold of her hips and tried to force her body downward.

“Patience, Robert,” she said, pushing herself up on one arm, the head of his cock losing contact with her, a lazy smile pulling at her plump lips.

He groaned. Sex was the only time she let him touch her and he wanted to devour her with his hands and his mouth, to possess her, to lose himself in the closeness of their bodies, in the intimacy. He didn’t want to be pinned to the bed at her mercy.

“Slow this time,” she said and flashes of their fucking in the club toilet came to him: the two of them squeezed into the filthy cubicle, her short skirt shoved over her hips, g-string shoved into the pocket of his jeans crumpled around his ankles, soaking up the damp filth on the floor. Her fingers digging into this bare arse dragging him into her, faster and deeper, setting her hips moving in tiny circles, creating a counter rhythm… he had to stop thinking of it.

She moved slightly and he felt her fingers around his cock, pulling it up straighter and then the rapture of her sliding slowly down the length of it. He looked up at her and smiled, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

“You’re just as impatient as me,” he said.

He pushed himself up with one elbow and pulled her down with his free arm, until her breasts hung at his face. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, watching it grow erect. Moving slowly, she rocked of her pelvis back and forth, the minute grinding of her hips, taking him deeper inside her. He traced circles around the right nipple, then the left, finally clamping around the nipple and sucking gentle on it. She stiffened, her breath faster and shallower, her muscles tightened around is cock, compelling his to suck harder. She worked her hips in circles and it was like watching her dancing – just as he felt her moving on him when he stood on the side of the dancefloor, her body gyrating and pounding in time with the music.

Knowing he had her captured, she wouldn’t move away while he gave her breasts undivided attention, he let go of her back and rolled one nipple between her fingers while he sucked on the other. She moaned, swung her head side to side, wanting to be released to fuck him like there was no tomorrow, but drowning in the honey melt of mouth around her nipple.

She pushed him away, her eyes liquid and unfocused with ecstasy. “Sit up,”she said.

He pulled himself upright, redistributed his weight on the mattress and pulled her legs around his hips, feeling her heels dig into his arse. This was the way he liked it best. His cock lost inside, her breasts sliding up and down his slick chest, her mouth on his… every part of her close to him. He moved his hand down her back, feeling every bump of her vertabra, the the building of the tremors he knew foreshadowed an epic orgasm. He pushed his hands into her lower back and she moaned, moved faster and all that existed between them was heat, sweat, the primal language of grunts and moaning and the heaving freight train movement on their bodies, hurtling toward the destination where they’d both get off.

“I love you. I love you,” she wailed, her body rigid and then lost in a series of convulsions, as he came, clutching her to him, his face buried in the curve of her neck, his eyes closed feeling nothing but her and the emptying pull of her moving away from him.

Image found at Spilled Ink.