Books

She could feel the stares down her back!  Who the hell does she think she is coming in here dressed like that, a church, God’s house!   It’s abominable!  Indeed she’s a whore!   Indeed she smells of powdered fresh sex.   Her outfit wasn’t cheap though.  You could hear her black lamb skin skirt swishing softly as she walked; an indication as to how loud the thoughts were in the room. Her bosoms begged for forgiveness in the wake of their exposure through the netted V in her blouse.  Long black hair lay straight off her shoulders and down her back. Her lips red like blood, she never intended to give back. Eyes, outlined with black eyeliner and mascara to highlight their dark brown resilience.   She looked like a forbidden fruit. She looked like the devil’s toy.   One of the ushers, dressed in all white, tried to stop her half way down the aisle.  Her smile sinister and suspect.  She just kept walking towards the preacher.

Working in the office can be quite boring, depending on what you’re doing. From the view of one office worker to another, witnessing the fuck of the century is quite distracting. A simple outburst involves everyone in the office and no one knows how to respond.

Sample Diary Entry

All About My Eyes ~ Masquerade

Keep guessing till you get it right…

Have you ever flirted with someone, changed your mind about them, but eye contact had already given you away?

What was their reaction to your sudden rejection?

How did you escape without being too negative?  Remember, you started it.

i. Words

Words are pictures of lies or truths, stories of future fantasies bright and shiny with lust.

Lust defined as anticipation…anticipation defined as greed….greed defined as hunger, for what indeed?

Visions fixed by the experiences of the person within.  Fears freezing dreams in their tracks, solidifying them in concrete.  

Words more powerful than the stares down your back, than the actors vs. the reactors, than the evil than the good, than a smile or a crooked grin.

Even the eyes have words to say, the feet have words to say, the hands speak what they may, the face asks the questions that may linger.  

The words will be spoken, no matter, no matter what you do.  The words, the words will always creep through.

It’s a different thing, standing on a balcony watching wasted opportunity go by in the form of a possible lover, feeling like a useless contestant in a fight over righteousness.   Righteousness that doesn’t concern you more than the need for two warm bodies to share a sensuous moment, a thought of your own.  And then you try to find shame, but there’s none.  Anger, lust and disappointment beseech you, an experience you must endure until you find the right answers.  You begin by justifying your emotions, revisiting your motives in a previous state of mind.