Generosity

Ask and you shall receive! Some men like to recieve so much more than they give!  This doll prefers the ones that give as much as they take and adores that her favorite Ken is a generous fellow! As most of her favorite kens are generous men! She personally has little to do with the stingy ones! 

Needless to say I still think give all you can to those stingy Kens! Give it to them dolls!! Being generous is a kindness and even the Dalai Lama would encourage you to give others what they need and ask for... Why? If the roles were reversed... You know they'd give it to you even if you didn't ask for it.

 

Hmm... There's nothing wrong in asking for what you want Kens. There might be a doll out there that will give you what you want... You Never know. 

Here's one of the D-Men. From Vol. 1 & you can find it in the amazon kindle store!

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Discipline

(2-11-2011)

Dylan Montgomery never got what he wanted in life. This was mostly because he didn’t know how to get it. Always afraid of what might happen if he were to be denied so he never asked. Dylan wasn’t a bad looking fellow; in fact most women would find him attractive and quite charming. He had always been sweet and pleasant. But Dylan often found himself overlooked. Because there are men who go after what they want with a fervent desire rather than stand aside in fear, and he wasn’t one of them.

Until he met her.

May.

The introduction was quite brief but his attraction to her couldn’t be missed. The new friend of an old friend that insisted her hand forward and tried to get him to talk. Instantly he could feel her attraction for him and felt himself step back inside. Dylan had never been shy or what some might call introverted but he couldn’t help catching his own tongue when he they met. It sounded like a dream when she said his name. In response he couldn’t help but say hers. She’d smiled back widely when he said her name, May.

Although he didn’t know why she picked him, Dylan knew from the first time he laid eyes on her that she could give him what he wanted. She was exactly the kind of girl that would do it. A little bit of sweet with a lot of daring. If only he could bring himself to ask her to…

“Spank me!” His screams beg for it as the leather strap cracks before laying into his bare ass. “Darling, give it to me. I need to be punished. SPANK ME!”

Dylan wasn’t like the other boys growing up. He hadn’t any desire to misbehave. Only a desire for what came after the trouble. The reprimand. The harsh swift paddle against his bare skin meant business and he couldn’t resist. This urge developed into an insistent predilection. But whenever it came time in a relationship to tell a woman what he wanted he shied away from the very notion and walked the other way. Except when it came to May.

May wasn’t persistent like other women he’d pursued, but she always made sure that Dylan knew of her complete adoration at every chance. It was often a mere touch of the arm, a wink or a smile but he knew that she would do whatever he wanted if only he could bring himself to ask it. Dylan could only think of the others who spurned and rejected his vulnerabilities before he could ever let them in. And he always let them leave.

For weeks Dylan avoided her direct gaze in their common haunts. Embarrassed by what he secretly wanted in private. Amidst a sea of their closest friends he would find himself staring at May through the cracks and nooks but unable to face her. The very thought of what he wanted from her tormented him inside. Between two friends or more he would not allow for their closeness or flirtation. Often May would smile to encourage him further. But Dylan couldn’t manage to react fully to her encouragement. The moment would quickly pass with his tongue tied in knots.

“Give me more.” May loosens up the leather strap and waits for him to insist once again before giving a little more. And he does. “More!”

When the cat and mouse of things had become quite hard for him to bear, Dylan decided that he needed to take an action. An action that seemed too bold but completely necessary. Dylan extended an evening invitation to May who agreed. And things proceeded smoothly until he began to think of what he really wanted to do and say. With those thoughts their intimacy had quickly become a moment that flushed his face leaving him to catch his tongue once again.

Dylan knew May to be armed with an interesting knack for sensing a person’s tension. It wasn’t a shock that she continued to remain close to him. Dylan understood that it was her only desire to encourage him further. It couldn’t be denied that she truly enjoyed Dylan thoroughly.

Her remaining closeness kept his heart racing. And the racing of his heart sent his pulse into a frenzy. At last he decided to react instead of ducking behind anything to avoid the obvious. With a swift and direct hand he raises and smacks her across her backside before telling May exactly what he wants. The firm hand of discipline that only she could give him. With a slight twist in her smile and lean of her head, May leans into his right ear with a whisper that tells Dylan she’d have no problem giving him what he wanted.

“More? I’ve been very bad, May. I think I need more. Give me more. MORE!” Lashing after lashing continues by the course of her extended hand.

May tells him “let me” before tying Dylan’s hands far above his head. Both his legs spread and waiting for the sting upon his bare skin. Dylan feels overjoyed as their moment is brought to realization by the swift sharp slap of her hand.

Dylan Montgomery was getting exactly what he wanted for the first time in his life and all he had to do was ask for it.

The Living

The living get lost in kisses with people they are willing to connect with... You are as alive as you feel like being!

Here's a D-Man that didn't make the novel.

Enjoy life, love and breathing!

Kisses, m.

The Dead

(6-28-2011) 

 

“Baby, I love you come back to bed.” She says.

The soft voice whispers and speaks the truth.

And it’s the last truth that echoes before he’s awake.

The same conundrum wakes Classer Andresen from a dead sleep. Night after night, different places, different women and the same thing happens for Classer Andresen. The whisper precedes a memory. Not the last moment, but one all entirely different.

A random instance where she was there in his arms. In the dark of the Study standing next to the window and he was wrapped around her. His mind is surrounded by the smell of the room intensified by the sensation of his touch he lets his mind wander with the thought. Imagining the smell of the dusty room filled with old books could still make him jump hard with a hunger for her.

Stiff, hungry and hung over when he jars himself free from the waking dream, Classer can’t quite shake the sensation of the moment. Looking over, he visually makes out a long pair of legs attached to a thin brunette.  The small dimple of her back feels just like the one in his memory. But it’s not. As he moves his eyes up from bottom to top he can see the signs of his night. Two wrappers trail the edge of the sheets before giving way to a third. At least his efforts were protected even if he can’t seem to remember them. The perfection of the thin body next to him lifts and lowers with small shallow breathes. With the dark hair covering her face she might be the mirror image of Inara. Soft corners of her lips peeking out from the curly mess of long brown locks could fool him the same way the others fooled him every night.

This one, her name was Rachel. She told him that was her name, but it might be something else. He distinctly remembers a Heather or a Michelle. These women seem to be all the same when there’s one after another night after night. And the one thing they seem to have in common is that they can never be her.

The women like the memories couldn’t bring Inara back into his life. She was still gone, a dead memory because he was foolish enough to let her go. Foolish enough to send her away. And much like a dead woman, thinking about her that wouldn’t change a thing or bring her back to  him. Yet his mind wanders from the simplest stimulation. Looking at the book on the nightstand is intoxicating to his mind and sends his thoughts back into the past looking for her.

The air around them was stagnating in the dark Study. Dusty from the smell of old volumes of truth. Although her lips kept begging him back to bed, her hands were making different plans altogether. Down around his back she cups his ass and pulls him close. Without a thought he reaches beneath her robe and lets his hand move up and inside her thighs. Soft, warm and welcoming she kisses him when touches her.

Snapping back to present he’s ready for more. But to wake the creature next to him would only shake the moment from before. So he quietly runs his fingers across the skin of her thighs before getting up from the bed. It’s all he can do to avoid waking his anonymous companion as he gently shuts the bathroom door. Awake means questions and questions require answers. Answers are something that Classer really doesn’t want to supply at 3am for a woman he’s known less than six hours.

In the bathroom there’s wrappers four and five making an appearance. At least there is comfort in knowing that he safely could handle his alcohol and anonymous bedfellows. But this night wasn’t like any other and Classer knew it.

Tonight much like the dead didn't like to rest, the memories kept coming back to him haunt. The cool drip of the faucet sets his mind wandering backwards toward the same sound of water gently tapping at the window in the moment that cannot become again.

Kicking the back of his legs she let his movements climb and rise. The sound of her breath and moans greet the pulse of his hips and the touch of his hands. Slowly the sounds between them come to an end. Inara kisses the soft part of his bottom lip before taking in the whole of his mouth.

It’s there the memory always fades.

Still staring at the floor and standing next to the sink Classer can’t gather himself quickly enough. His face in the mirror seems the same and very different. There are a thousand reasons to go out there and pick up where he left off with the thin brunette named Rachel or Heather or Michelle and only one to pick up and leave…

She wasn’t her.

And none of them ever would be. None of the living could replace the dead memory of her. And none of these women could ever replace her ghost that haunted his memory. Sometimes she was there in a sound or a breath, but her pure essence could never be captured in a night of mindless pleasure. But for a moment or two he could bring back the ghost of her with a thought. And although it was the purest form of intoxication for his mind, Classer knew he couldn’t live in those memories. That’s all they were.

“Baby, come to bed,” She calls.

In a small voice he can hear the woman call to him.

And it’s the only truth that he can face when he looks in the mirror before turning out the light and going back into the room.

Free

While gravity may be man's greatest opposition to freedom... Realize that you're the only thing weighing you down in your life. You have the power to set yourself free anytime you want without having to escape. 

This is from the D-men. 

Enjoy!

Kisses,

m.

Deadweight

(2-28-2011)

Gryphon Teller is sinking. Sinking like a stone to the very depths of the sea and in this moment he’s taking me along with him. Gryphon once told me he loved me and I believe that to be true. I believe very much that he loved me. But whether or not his love for me remains is yet to be seen.

And his grip locks tighter as the watery bottom nears closer.

Gryphon Teller isn’t a complicated man. At least he didn’t used to be. Unlike other men, he was satisfied by the little things in life. In fact he was quite the type of man that enjoys retelling the same story over and over without thinking a thing about it. And most often he still does.

Today he wears the same brand of jeans that my Dad and his Dad wear while talking about the price of gasoline in a story about the lawnmower. It’s a story from last week that doesn’t quite fit the mood or feel of the day but he tells anyway. Just like he told it last week over breakfast. Between his story and another cup of coffee, he tells me about testing his diving equipment. A test that requires a short dive and a couple hours on the boat. Before he resumes the same story, Gryphon tells me to “Come along for the ride. You’ll enjoy it.” And like so many times before I couldn’t see the harm in it.

Soon after we first met each other, I believed that Gryphon was the most interesting person I’d ever come across in my life. I’m not sure what it was that made him interesting. It might’ve been for his sense of fashion or how he talked about music or science. Perhaps it wasn’t any of those things, but I knew that there was something about him.

Simply put, Gryphon Teller is the kind of person you meet on the street once and never seem to forget. His charm never lacked for energy. Often people mistake that energy for something else when it isn’t that at all.  And just like so many others, I mistook that energy for something else.

Sometimes I’ll wake up at night. Snap right up out of a dead sleep that feels like falling. I can’t ever remember the dreams. The dreams aren’t what’s important. What’s important is that I know where I’m at. And how that feels.

It’s the same with Gryphon. Sometimes, I’ll find myself snapping. Sitting up and coming to attention. But instead of falling it’s sinking. And seeing how he really is before slipping back under the guise of unknown.

My life with Gryphon has become a bit like quicksand. Everyday we sink a little bit deeper. I used to like the feeling of sinking with him.

I can’t breathe anymore.

As I’m suiting up Gryphon tells me about the human brain. He tells me that the brain can survive without oxygen for a short time before telling me the tank only holds an hour’s worth of air. With a smile he puts the tank on my back and turns to his own equipment. It seems like an eternity that I’m staring at his back before swinging my legs over the edge of the small boat.

When he first told me about diving I was completely captivated. Listening to his stories about dives made accepting his invitation easy. Dive after dive sounded so amazing in his eyes. The world through Gryphon’s eyes was something so incredibly beautiful that I couldn’t help but contemplate seeing it. And then I finally conceded to.

When I first agreed to go with Gryphon he told me it would be a simple dive. They were always simple. And even this final one was supposed to be no different. But that first time when he said there would be “nothing to it” he was so very right. Gryphon’s words couldn’t be truer because there was nothing to it.

It was always nothing. And the only thing that changed this morning was my participation. His plan has always been the same. From that first time, I knew what diving alongside Gryphon entailed. It meant my trust.

Trust like love is something that you simply give. And when Gryphon gave me his I returned mine without question. Some people might tell you that love is full of twists and turns before you know what that means, and I couldn’t begin to disagree with them more.

Disagreeing at the depths of the sea is the last place you want to find yourself. Yet it’s where our argument finds its temperature to be perfect. The last minutes of air in the tank are counting backward on the dial as I move myself towards the surface. Gryphon hasn’t behaved like this before.

It had only been fourteen minutes since we left the boat when I couldn’t reach the valve on the spare tank. Three extra tanks he dragged down 50 ft with us. Beneath the blanket of dark I can still see his eyes in the thick mask. They’re letting me know that I’m not doing something right.

And I was wrong when he followed me back to the surface. Within minutes his legs coiled around mine as my hands pulled at the line alongside the boat. The thin cords attached to the extra tanks find themselves firmly wrapped around his legs. I can see the new look in his eyes when he can’t grab onto the boat. With a pull that releases the tanks. There’s panic.

Panic is as panic does.

Once Gryphon told me he wanted me to leave him. Because he couldn’t leave me. He needed someone to be there for me, he said. To reaffirm what he wanted he told me that I shouldn’t question it ever again. I knew this wasn’t what he wanted but he said it to me anyway. It hurt when he said it and I couldn’t imagine ever having to. Deep down, I would never leave him because he didn’t want me to.

“Let go.” I mouth the words as Gryphon’s panicked hands pull at my suit and hang tightly onto the cords weighted by the tanks that drag us down.

We’re sinking and he can stop us. The weight of the extra tanks pulls tightly against my waist. I want him to calm down enough to realize he can stop this. There’s not enough air to last another trip up to the surface for two of us. Foot by foot rushes past us in the darkness.

I can’t breathe and this moment feels more like the same dream.

Over and over again there’s a chance for release. In any situation there’s a chance for escape. Even in quicksand, there is a chance you can get out. You have to reach for it though.

Closer.

Closer to the bottom my love drags me. It’s when I start to think he doesn’t care that his actions change. Gryphon finds a moment in my eyes and stops. His tight grip loosens from my waist and pushes. There’s no more sinking as his hands untangle from the cords. We’re not going to die.

In a moment of effortless calm, Gryphon Teller looked into my eyes, realized that he was only sinking because he chose to and simply let go of the unnecessary weight.

Revisiting The D Chronicles - (Men): Give and Get

A bird died in my yard last week. It's a little off topic but I always take the unpredictable occurrences in life for meaning or guidance from the universe. I suppose everything has meaning if you give it some. I remember how hard I cried when I found the bird. It wasn't tears for myself. It was a great sadness for the loss of the life. You see, I tried very hard to save the bird. I held him in my hands, felt his energy, his life and how scared he was. I knew how much he wanted to live. So to find him passed was very upsetting. Those closest to me continue to reassure me that life has a cycle and you cannot save everything. In buddhism you learn that attachment will only lead to suffering and letting go ultimately means you release your suffering. I don't think the bird deserved to get killed but I'm learning to release that sadness. Anyhoo, I digressed!

There's a saying you give what you get... It's half right anyhow. You give and if you're lucky other people give back. It's up to you what you get. Careful, some people don't ask. Sometimes I'm one of them. For the most part that statement is about Karma. And there's nothing like a bit of Karma if you believe in that sort of thing. I believe in Kindness. I don't much know about other people but I do try to remain kind when I can. Here's a story about a man that gave and I suppose he got a little of what he deserved in return. I don't know how realistic it is. Only that when I wrote the series of men, I did borrow a few quirks and ticks from some very real people I knew. I am in the middle of the women right now and it's interesting how downright peculiar the female species can be, including myself. 

Enjoy! 

Kisses, m. 

Swim. Zachary Quinto c/o tylershields.com

Departure

“Jackson Slater you’re an irrelevant bastard. You are going straight to hell. And no one will notice you’re gone.” says Haller Thomson.

Those are the final words Haller has chosen before we leave the shore. I keep telling myself this isn’t happening but that doesn’t change the circumstances at all. I can’t quite place the location of the boat with my eyes blindfolded. But north of the docks is as good as any guess.

What you have to understand is that I pretty much deserve to be in this position. A position that I created for myself. Although I wouldn’t have admitted it before now. Which is about 15 minutes after I should have admitted it.

I wasn’t particularly a great man or a man of character. On the whole I was a terribly shallow man with a talent for avoiding the obvious. Avoiding was a brilliant art that I mastered; especially when it came to people.  People can be so incredibly co-dependent that you might say avoiding them helps them. One might say I wrote the chapter on avoidance and I would have corrected them by handing them an autographed copy of the book.

My own sense of vanity ran deeper than any river. The great Jackson Slater renowned for his looks. And I was. My personal routine involved several hours a day before many mirrors in a grooming ritual that would make a cat’s look amateur. For the most part I had lived my entire life pretending that nothing was happening around me. I hadn’t worried about such things.

And I couldn’t be more wrong. There was plenty happening all around me, I just didn’t care about it. Besides everything went away if you threw enough money at the problem.  And if it didn’t, ignoring it often worked for me.

“Jackson, I want you to know this isn’t about the money. It’s a matter of my word. My integrity. I promised to come through on my end of things.” Haller tells me softly as the boat shimmies a little faster.

Unlike most people I was hardly the kind of fellow to be drawn in. As a matter of my own personal character I felt it was my duty to be exactly the opposite. I’m the type of man who would fervently deny that a building was on fire to save myself the trouble of becoming involved. It meant caring and that would not do. People want a piece of you and then that is one less piece you have for yourself.

And lack of involvement is exactly where I find myself this windy April evening.  Somewhere in the bay I’m free of the mask and looking at the man…

Haller Thomson came into my life exactly the same way a freight train mows down your car when the engine stalls on the tracks. With the fury of an uncontainable beast, Haller came forth. And it wasn’t something I could have seen coming before it happened. It wasn’t money that he was after when he came. It was so much more.

A man with an offer only a shallow man wouldn’t refuse…

If you help me, I will help you. Give a little of this for a little of that. And I went along for it. Including the part where I had planned to double-cross the man. Because I only thought of what he could offer me.  

Except it never works out the way we plan.

“Plan? I bet the great Jackson Slater wants to know. Don’t you? Well, Jack I don’t have a plan. Except for tying you up and gagging you. That. That’s a plan. Don’t struggle. We’re almost there.”

Haller wanted someone to help with a situation. It was a matter of vanity; as any man can attest to his own level of vanity. Haller was a bit different. He was concerned and wanted no more than a bit of help becoming more involved with others despite his own shortcomings.

You see, Haller wasn’t a good looking man. In fact, you might call him unattractive after he’s left the room. And for what it’s worth, I thought I did him a favor after I pocketed most of his money. At the time I thought there was nothing I could have done to draw flies to that level of hideous. But I did what I thought worked best… for me.

Haller took a new name, a new lifestyle, and a new set of bills thanks to me. He lived and breathed my routine of shallow and I gladly introduced him to the right people at the right places. And with a little less than luck he fell right into it. Haller took to it like a fish takes to toxic waste waters and grows a third eye. It wasn’t a gradual mutation either. Overnight there was a new fresh uninvolved man and it wasn’t me.

Haller began to see me, the great Jackson Slater as direct competition to his new persona. A person with an agenda that no longer matched his own. You have to wonder where the struggle began. Exactly right after he decided that he could do it without me. And for a lot cheaper. Once he realized I was taking him for a pretty penny, Haller Thomson decided that it was time to fulfill his end of things.

An eye for an eye.

And what was my request? I was tired of all that was happening around me. I wanted to escape from all of it; being Jackson Slater with the people, their nonsense, and their involvement. I simply asked this man to help to put me in a place where I would never have to deal with these kinds of situations ever again. And now much to my dismay, Haller is holding up his end of the arrangement.

“Jackson, it’s been fun. Now… get off my boat.” With the bottom of his boot, Haller shoves me out into the dark water. Despite what I expect, I don’t sink. As his tiny boat moves away from me, I watch without control as the cold water splashes against me.

This isn’t exactly the escape I’d hope for but I didn’t specify when I asked. I only wanted out.

Now I am.

Completely out. Out to sea. Adrift. Letting the waves wash over me.

Careful what you ask for. Even now as I sink slowly and my eyes watch the emergency buoy float further away from me I know that pretending that nothing else exists will be the thing that seals my fate. Because not one person will notice. I was so busy avoiding it all that it wouldn’t make any difference.

Revisiting The D Chronicles - (Men): Decisions

“You're born, you live and you die. There are no due overs no second chances to make things right if you frak them up the first time, not in this life anyway.

Like I said, you make your choices and you live with them and in the end you are those choices.”

- Kendra Shaw/BSG:Razor

You can wander the world making choices and carrying the heavy burden of those decisions, but unless you accept them instead of suffering by them you will not find peace. You see, decisions are based on choices that lay before us, some are delightful while others are quite despicable. You may have to live with the product of them but you don't have to live with and suffer by them because you chose to make them. Some are made without consequence and rarely do those stay with you. Actually they do but we pay no mind to the choices we are satisfied with. Perhaps it's best to take the bad decisions and see them the same way. 

In Tibetan Buddhist tradition there is a tale about a great spiritual yogi who lived in a cave. He was there to seek truth & answers in solitude. One day he left his cave to gather firewood & food. Upon his return he found his cave inhabited & overrun by demons. Immediately he was overwrought thinking “I must get rid of them” and begin chasing them to force them out of his cave. But the demons were unwavering and the more he bothered to chase them the more comfortable they seemed to be. 

So the yogi decides perhaps force will not work, maybe hearing the teachings of buddha will encourage them to go. The wise man proceeded to share his spiritual teachings with them. The demons remained only now they sat & stared at him with their wide mouths & eyes. At this point the yogi sighed and surrendered. Looking at each of the demons he says “It appears we are going to live here together now, I open myself to what you can teach me.” As he says this, all the demons leave, except for one. The largest & fiercest of them all. Unwavering the Yogi walks over to the demon and tells him, “You may kill me or eat me whole if that is your intent” & places his head in the creatures mouth. And with that said the demon disappears. 

All spiritual paths start with a choice to change by stepping into the unknown to seek spiritual truth. Once you release your fears you will not carry your decisions as burdens.

Enjoy the story! 

Kisses, m.

Decision

(2-9-2011)

Charles St. Matthews was a man without certainty but on that Tuesday after working at his 9 to 5 job he knew one thing with absolute certainty…

“I’m leaving my wife today,” is what he confidently came to conclude at exactly 12:15 pm. An epiphany had struck him after a moment of sheer release that involved his secretary, Lola helping him with his dictation and so much more.
Although his outlandish exclaim made her smile Lola said nothing about his epiphany as she knew like other women know about the epiphanies men often have when they lose themselves in such moments. Yet, she watched Charles continue to think it as she put her clothes back on.

Charles St. Matthews wasn’t a firm man. He never knew what he wanted and it mattered very little to him until recently. Recently when he began a regular lunch time dictation with his new secretary, Lola. Until Lola, Charles had spent his days in the same routine with the same woman for nearly thirteen years. And he now was certain he’d been spending his entire life with the wrong woman. The thought slowly unfolded from his tongue as Lola quietly re-buttoned her blouse and pressed the wrinkles out of her skirt saying nothing but smiling. When at last she spoke it was softly to remind him of his wife’s birthday and discreetly exit his office.

Charles heard Lola say it but knew what that reminder meant. It was meant to acknowledge his lack of commitment to her. The uncertain nature of his entire personality reflected back at him and stung like an arrow tipped with poison. But she was right. The day would not be appropriate for such actions. Eleanor would not want a divorce for dinner conversation just as she would have despised serving lamb or veal instead of chicken. A change in routine would not do for this evening that would end exactly like any other promptly at eleven. And despite the delight of the occasion there would be no passion for the celebration. As any nudity even in the bedroom wouldn’t be proper; even on such occasions Eleanor would see such things as crass.

The sheer thought of continuing this way sent him spinning. Charles had never done anything fully resolved  in his life. Leaving every decision that mattered to the fates. Someone else will know what to do if you do not. It had been his father’s motto and his father’s and so on. Only it wasn’t working for Charles anymore. He wanted to do something with certainty and commitment instead of letting somebody else call the shots. He wanted lamb for dinner instead of chicken. He wanted to stay up past eleven. He wanted passion without reasons or occasions. He wanted to walk naked in his bedroom, his living room and maybe even the kitchen and he didn’t care if Eleanor disagreed.

For the following four and a half hours in his otherwise dreary work day Charles spent them preparing his certain speech. With it’s certain words and certain flair. And he was absolutely certain of how it was going to happen. He would drop by the florists and get a dozen roses to celebrate his departure from Eleanor. She would receive them without gratitude thinking it was a cheap attempt at sympathy for overlooking the date and seethe angrily at his tardiness. And when the time was right he would give her the last thing she ever expected to receive on her birthday; his goodbye. The expectation he had in his mind was all he could imagine.

Eleanor was ready for him when he got home, same as always. Through the door by 6:30 and already she’d managed to pick out that something was different about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it but Charles was behaving out of the ordinary. The look in his eyes was that of a scared lamb ready for sacrifice. It wasn’t like him to arrive late without any warn especially with a dozen red roses. And of all days, he had picked her birthday to pull such a stunt. She had managed to put off preparing dinner in her irritation but decided to greet him with a smile and poured herself a Scotch.

Charles had never seen Eleanor in such an unusual mood. She’d never postponed dinner for any occasion, or drank in the daytime, certainly never on her birthday. And the sheer shock of her greeting him and taking his coat with pleasantries sent his mind thinking recklessly. Eleanor further surprised when she offered him a drink. He instantly wondered if she knew about Lola when she poured him a Scotch. Could Eleanor truly read his mind and know what he was about to say? When she sipped her drink he wondered if she would try to stop him from leaving when he told her. After she handed him a glass of Scotch he begin imagining her with red eyes and a screeching howl. It was a frightening thought. Nonetheless it didn’t stop him from wanting to leave.

As Charles watches Eleanor put the roses in water he knew there would never be a better time than now. He takes swallow of liquid courage to calm his nerves. While he thinks the taste to be a bit sour in his dry mouth he ignores it as no more than the acid of a nervous stomach. Nerves sent spinning over a resolute decision. Charles had typically been a man without a backbone when it came to Eleanor. What she wanted was the law in their life together. There were no ifs, ands or buts when it came to decisions. Even the decision to have a drink seemed thrust upon him by Eleanor. And Charles felt in that moment was time that he made a few decisions on his own.

When Eleanor asked him what he wanted for dinner he interrupted her to begin his speech.

Charles told her that he wasn’t hungry before she could react. Then explained “there’s something I want to tell you.” Until then she had wanted to tell him about the drink but stopped short when he begin to ramble out things that involved a decision that he’d made without her. Charles had made the decision to leave her for a life that involved his unimportant secretary. Eleanor sat and listened to his well rehearsed words and realized that she hadn’t ever contemplated him choosing to leave on his own accord.

Charles swallows gulp after gulp of the dark Scotch. He is simply parched after telling Eleanor the news that he came to decide at 12:15 that day. The temperature of his skin begins to feel warm and his hands clammy in the middle of his speech. After he tells her of money that will no longer be there, the rising heat in the room makes him loosen his tie. When he’s simply overheated the thought of continuing without more to drink stops him in his words. So he drinks the last bit of it. Eleanor quietly sips her drink and looks at him. There are no red eyes or screaming howls released at the news of his departure. Charles thinks she’s gotten the gist of it and decides to pour himself another glass. Drinking a quick swallow he concludes that there is no more to say. Without a word and a wipe of his brow, Charles tumbles downward.

Down. Down. Down.

Eleanor wanted to run over and toss the roses upside his head out of anger. She wanted to be angry but it didn’t matter after he finished his drink. The simple wimbling man with his dramatic excuses didn’t even want to know what she was thinking as he rambled on and on through his treacherous speech. She thought his rehearsed speech to be a bit overdone and listened while watching him swallow the Scotch. Initially Eleanor wondered if he knew what she had planned for him when he arrived home late. But she knew that to be incorrect as he took drink after drink between starting and stopping his speech. The Scotch couldn’t have hidden the strong taste of the poison but he kept drinking it down before he went down.

Charles feverishly lay twitching on the floor; his arms and legs no longer responsive to his commands. Unable to speak as his throat constricts further into a tightness. Sweat beads off his forehead with a brand new epiphany born deep within the interior of his mind. Eleanor had poisoned him with the Scotch and he kept wondering how she had done it. Wondering why when it didn’t matter any longer. He thought she’d been drinking from the same bottle, but realized that he hadn’t seen her pour the same Scotch in her glass before his. He continues to wonder about things of no consequence while Eleanor stands over him watching like a spider with a fly caught in her web.  There in the web, his mind attempts to make his flawed thinking seem rational. Had it been his lateness for dinner? The flowers? Or had she known about Lola all along? Eleanor speaks her final peace before he succumbs further to the effects of the poison.

“You’re right darling. You are leaving me today.”

And with absolute certainty Charles St. Matthews left his wife that Tuesday.

Revisiting The D Chronicles - (Men): Plans

Wayne Hadley - tylershields.com

Sometimes life doesn't go the way you plan. In fact plans are often some of the worse ways we can lie to ourselves. Do we change what we planned because of this? I don't think so. You see, I never planned to pick up the pen and produce fiction again. I was done with the writing and can't explain why I'm compelled to start again, only that there's words and emotions where only emptiness was. The hardest part was making the choice to change my mind. Ask anyone who's come to confront something they didn't think was possible to ever want again... and then deciding that it's more possible than not. Anyhow, here's a story about changing plans and being surprised that you actually don't mind changing them. 

Enjoy if you've never read! You can buy the whole ebook of the D men here.

Kisses, m.

Drive                                                                                                             

(4-1-2011)

Tristan Allan wasn’t going anywhere for fun, at least that’s what he thought when he left the house exactly at 6pm for Sacramento. He didn’t want to drive to Sacramento after work that Thursday evening. No not at all. In fact Tristan much preferred to spend his evenings getting lost in a book with a nice tall glass of water. But on this particular evening his presence was required in the Northern California city for an appointment that had little to do with him. It had to do with a small request that had been made by his mother. And although at times he found her to be tiresome, Tristan often found it more difficult to refuse any of his mother’s requests. This time he was to pick up her newest Curio doll from the vendor arriving at Gate 20 of the Sacramento International Airport promptly at 12am. As ridiculous as it sounded he indulged her nonetheless.

Tristan Allan had always liked books. Especially how the endings were already predestined to occur. The timings of things involved happened in a set order. It was comforting to know how it all ended made sense. Especially since things that happened in life, like a change in routine, rarely made sense.

As a creature of habit and a man of pressing routine, Tristan rarely changed his habits but when he did so it was a matter of occasion. If it was a bit out of his ordinary it just wouldn’t do. But on this occasion when he so desperately preferred to stay in he went against the grain and changed his routine. Tristan thought to himself that the drive wouldn’t be so bad. He had often admired the cool colors of sunset that danced with the shadows of the landscape and with a little bit of music and a small bottle of water he set out for a drive.

And it wasn’t so bad until the need for gasoline registered on the dash. Long after the cool colors of sunset had faded, somewhere outside of Modesto the light flicked on while there were No Surprises from Radiohead coming out of the radio. With less than two hours until reaching his final destination, Tristan pulled off the highway.

The lights of the station were bright and blinding when he pulled in. Figuring it would be a quick stop he needlessly left the keys in the switch and the radio playing while he pumped the gas. Everything around him on the island was blanketed in a white hue. In the blackness across the lot a small glint of light reflected from the small unlit headlamp of a broke-down Coupe Deville with a burnt out interior. While looking at this something inside of Tristan grew uneasy but he resisted the feeling to finish pumping the gas.

Uneasiness never quite passes with the effortlessness that it arrives. And Tristan Allan had more than a slight reason to be nervous because what happened next happened faster than he could react. A long cool woman with quickness in her step came forward out of the dark. Three. Two. One. The cool steel of a revolver finds itself face to face with his deadpan stare. Behind the revolver she insists that he get back into the car and…

 “Drive.” She says

And Tristan Allan likes the way she says it. There is a sound of authority in her voice that makes him want to do what she says. It’s not that he likes to be controlled but there was definitely something about her that was completely different. And he didn’t seem to mind.

It didn’t matter that she wore a sidearm and kept the revolver between her legs cocked and pointed at him. In fact the way she stayed cool and collected when she originally made her demands had put him at ease. As he drove the car his head remained focused on the road while the corner of his eye watched her carefully.

She sat neatly with her black dress lifted just up to the top of her thighs and Tristan wanted to imagine what it would be like if she moved it back further. He felt little concern about the weapon resting there when he thought it. He wasn’t himself when he thought this as Tristan would never allow his mind to wander to these dark places. She was like a book of mystery sitting next to him but despite his efforts Tristan couldn’t read her.

Somewhere outside of Lodi heading further north towards his destined appointment Tristan realized that he’d strayed far outside of his normal routine leaving behind his scheduled itinerary and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. By this time he should have already changed the music to the third disc in his collection and been listening to track twelve on repeat for the third time. Instead he was preoccupied by the woman in his passenger seat who continued to insist him forward into the night and the music had long ago ceased from playing.

Tristan liked when the mysterious woman talked to him. She spoke with a slight force in her voice. It wasn’t the sound of anger exactly, but there was no mistaking that she was firm in her intent. She kept telling him about the direction of the road and calmly motioning him to change lanes while increasing or decreasing speed. Occasionally when she spoke he would turn and nod his head. He was insistent on making eye contact with the woman. In the hopes that she would reveal more than her instructions with a glance he looked over. Again… and again.

Although it seemed like they’d spoke volumes to each other they had not. The woman never revealed the actions of her evening and life before sitting next to him, and she never listened to the words that didn’t come out of his mouth. The words that he’d never spoke but only thought to say to her filled his mind. When truly the only thing he said to her was “Do what you want” when she had asked about lowering the windows.

With twenty-minutes away from his original destination, the woman tells Tristan to pull over. Tristan can barely understand what it means when she doesn’t want to continue. He follows her orders and thinks that he would rather continue than stop. Stopping could mean something new and he had barely grown accustomed to company in the car. When the car ceased and the dust cleared in the darkness surrounding the beacons of light from the headlamps, she said to Tristan slow and surely. “Stay or go?”

The revolver cocks once again and she waits for answer. Although Tristan thinks, “This is no way to get an answer out of anyone” he sits and lets her stay in control to explain. She tells him if he stays they need to keep driving until she reaches Oregon before leaving this car behind. If he stays for the ride she’ll let him go with his car then. Tristan wants to tell her about his prearranged moment at Gate 20 when she speaks but all he does is nod and listen until she stops.

Some place near mile marker 34, when she stops talking it’s his turn to be in control. Tristan Allan looks over at the beautiful woman and wanted to wonder why she picked him when it didn’t matter anymore.

It’s Tristan’s turn to reverse the roles and become the character who speaks with a firm tone. A resolved decision must come from a choice that changes the end of his story.

Unlike the book the mysterious woman had not been predestined to go with Tristan. Their meeting had been up to chance and had he gone to another gas station or stopped in another town, she wouldn’t be with him. Here before him sat the most fun his life had seen outside of a book and he hadn’t planned or found comfort in knowing about it ahead of time. This woman had been the one thing out of his routine and he hadn’t realized before this instant that she’d distracted him from worrying how it all fit into a routine.

No matter how close they sat to the airport, the clock in the dashboard flashed 12:33 am and just like that Tristan realized that his tiresome mother and her Curio Doll wouldn’t be waiting anymore, but the Oregon border would be. While thinking of all this Tristan Allan came to a decision that would change his life forever and when he looked into the woman’s eyes once again somehow he didn’t mind that his choice wasn’t predestined or part of a pressing routine. And with that Tristan Allan decided to... Drive.