Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.Parenting for Sex Addicts1 year ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
Parenting for Sex Addicts - Daddy DayDaddy DayParenting for Sex Addicts - Daddy Day1 year ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It's difficult to gauge how traumatized Kayla was after walking in on her mom and I. The neighbors, however, are far more readable. I waved at Thomas on my way out the door and the little brat burst into tears. All he saw was my butt. I mean, if my butt ruins the kid's perfect existence, it's safe to say the boy's got it pretty good.
His father. Morgan or Maury... one of those... he didn't return my smile. He looked at me like he'd just swallowed something bad. And that's not my fault. There are much greater problems in this world than my wife and I having a physical relationship.
If the kitchen sink's the issue, it's not like we've ever prepared them a meal or anything. Neither of us have used much other than a microwave since Jami, our oldest, was born. We rinse dishes in the sink... and occasionally, I guess, ourselves. Whatever? I'm over it... and that had to be more awkward for me, right? Nobody has nightmares of being the only one with clothes, I'm pretty
Coming Back on a Day of ReturningComing Back on a Day of Returning2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It's amazing how wind can clear your perspective on life.
Walking out on my wife had been hard, but only because I couldn't take my daughter with me. I remember that I had to live in my truck until I got my next paycheck, and even then all I had was enough money to get a rented room. I still had to provide for my wife and child, and I had pay the mortgage on their house. I couldn't afford a place big enough for myself and Kelsey. And I'd lose a custody battle anyway.
I had sworn to myself that I wouldn't let the separation between me and Diane create a separation between me and Kelsey. But with two sets of living expenses to pay, I had to take every ounce of overtime I could get. Three months ago the foreman's position opened up. I took it because it meant a steady salary that kept me in the black, but the hours were long.
This week marked one year that I'd been out of the house, and I have been working like crazy
Mo (1,315w) The first time they met, Mo smiled. In her head, the girl knew that smile was one that the world would call “ugly”; however, she was still a child so her heart was bigger. Her heart smiled back.Mo (1,315w)10 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was a wintry Friday in February. Beth was almost thirteen—possibly the worst almost in a girl’s process of growing up, the almost of never catching a break from her own mirror and wishing her body would just make up its mind already. She poked at her soggy corn flakes and plucked at the itchy new strap of her bra. Wished her breasts were either big enough to actually make some shape, or small enough that she wouldn’t have to bother. Her parents lounged their way into a late morning with black coffee and yesterday’s crossword puzzles. This was a typical family snow day: nothing out of the ordinary was supposed to happen in t
IronmanHear me read itIronman2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
My friends used to call William "Ironman" because the first time we kissed he got a nosebleed and the taste of his blood haunted me for a long time after it. We'd only been twelve years old and apparently the anxiety spiked his blood pressure to the point of combustion... I remember that when we were forced to take sex ed a few years later we were divided into separate classes for boys and girls, in case a diagram of an ovary was too risqué and we became animalistic and started clawing at each other in our seats, but nonetheless when our teacher Ms Jacobs had explained to us what an erection was in my mind all I could picture was the blood rushing to his nose and then the slash of cranberry across my blouse.
With the idea planted in his mind it didn't take long for William's hands to start wandering, but the image persisted. Every time I thought about just letting it happen I wondered what would happen if he got too excite
Love Is...Love isLove Is...6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
The stroke of a soft cheek.
The sound of anothers heart beat.
The feeling of their hair in your hands.
The brush of fingers against their back.
The telling of secrets and stories.
The apology of a hidden lie.
The pair of lips pressed against a scar.
The sight of watching them sleep.
The softness of their voice.
The warmth of being held close
The sharing of an ice cream cone.
The quilt around two cold bodies.
The caring of their aching cough.
The confession of ones feelings.
The shakiness as they kneel.
The box with the ring inside.
A Wonderful PoemTwas the night before this oneA Wonderful Poem3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
But me and my mouse
A page here and a page there
Away I did click
Searching for pictures
Of adorable chicks
I wanted some pictures
Just one or two
But quickly the numbers rose
And that still would not do
I scowered Sankaku
Looking left and right
I could look for hours
I could stay up all night!
But slowly I grew weary
As the hentai did rise
It rose higher and higher
It coated my eyes
With pictures of cute girls
Most barely dressed
I found them adorable
I thought them the best!
But still I saved more
Putting them in a folder
To send them to friends
Getting bolder and bolder
Occasionally I found
Something cute on my screen
And that too I saved
Loving them to smithereens!
And as all the ecchi
Slowly filled my hard drive
I thought to myself
"It's great to be alive"
Because with all these cute girls
I could want nothing more
I love them so much
I want them galore!
Over one hundred pictures
I did soon acquir
Those Songs Make Sense Because of YouYou're the one that got away.Those Songs Make Sense Because of You3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
You're the girl I cry about
When I'm one drink away
From sweet oblivion.
You've ruined my favourite song,
But I'll always belong
You could strangle me,
And I would just be grateful
To be touched by you
One last time.
I thought I'd moved on.
Of course not.
A star never forgets
And you are the sort
Of supernova lover
That can never be
She told me -
Our friend -
That you weren't just
You'd told her
That you had loved me too.
So what did I do?
I shot vodka through
And fell to a baseline beat
By my favourite band.
And all of those songs
When I realised our fling
Had been more than
It's false pretence.
I loved you,
But it isn't past tense.
We could have had it all.
And if you're reading this,
I hope you know it's for you,
And how much I regret
'I love you too'.
Real MenThere ain't no real men anymore. I remember when men looked like men. They had the hair on their chest and they weren't afraid of it. These days men wax like pansies and all the girlies go chasing after the hairless fairies. Ha! My girl, she likes me the way I am, she likes the way I never use any of that sissy deodorant and come home smelling manly.Real Men5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I think Dwight might be leaving me for a man. He keeps going off on these rants about real men, and I've caught him looking at my vintage Playgirls a few times. And he keeps mentioning this bodybuilder guy Barry, who apparently is the epitome of a "real man." I don't think I'm masculine enough. I think I read somewhere that scrawny men like Dwane like masculine women.
I kept thinking this old geezer was gonna make a pass at me, the way he was staring. Then he tells me his wife started lifting weights. But chicks ain't supposed to do that! And then she stopped shaving her legs. I tell ya, the days of real women are long gone. Now th
BabydollPropping my daughter against the towel on my shoulder, I rhythmically pat her back. Nevaeh's just had her second bottle of the day, and try as I might, I still can't get her to burp. Today is no different, and in the end I give up, wipe her small round mouth, and pop her in the bouncer for a while. It's the electric kind, with a soft lullaby and swinging motion, so I know she'll be entertained while I get on with the mountain of washing that needs to be folded.Babydoll8 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You wouldn't think just two people could make so much washing, but ever since her dad had left me, it seemed like the washing pile had grown larger instead of smaller. Despite the lullaby, I make conversation with her as I fold - it seems to me that it's the best way to develop her speech, for her to hear it. She's such a good, quiet baby, I often wonder how long until she starts making more noise.
By the time I've reduced "mount fold-me" to a mere foothill, she's asleep, so I leave her in the bouncer and dash out to check the m
CaptivesThey use zip ties now, the cops. This is different from the last time I was cuffed. I was expecting the cold metal bite of a cuff always a little too tight. These were worse, tighter, and the thin plastic pinched and felt like ligature wire against the bone.Captives8 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
They read me my rights, too. The woman cop, a head shorter than me with dull hair pulling the skin of her face tight against her skull. Her eyes looked dead, sunken. Shadowed by the shiny brim of her smart little hat.
She gripped my arm like I was trying to get away. My flight was over, if it had ever begun. What did I have to run from?
“Get in the car, Ma’am,” she said. “Watch your head.” Her hand shoved my head roughly under the doorway. I felt tears, but I refused to give her the satisfaction.
“You have one phone call, Ma’am,” they said when we got to the station. “Do you have anyone to call before we book you in?”
I took it. I called the only person I needed to t
here's to losing youhey, wow,here's to losing you1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
great! you do!
are you happy?
no, but here, have my
see me turn myself
upside down when we run
into each other.
while you are shaking hands
and kissing babies
still smiling for smiling's sake,
I've seen the real you
crying into wine. I've felt you
stain my shirt black-streaked
with hidden away things
creased things, folded
and in the process, you
soaked my soul in
spooning your vulnerability
was better than
in one blind night,
better than the electric jolts
you sent burning up my arms
when you grabbed my hand
one day, out of the clear blue,
better than that first kiss
when both our tensions
dissolved into each other
like butter in a hot pan.
nothing has quite matched the night
when I saw you naked, saw you
emotionally undress for the first time:
Cell DivisionI. ProphaseCell Division2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Mom’s heels hit the tile floor like gunshots. Dad saunters from the opposite direction. As they come into view, meeting at the kitchen doorway, they robotically move together as a single unit, as if to assure us that they are still sleeping in the same room. They split at the table. Dad sits at his place, grunts into his newspaper, and spoon-feeds cereal into his half-open mouth. He hides his forearms under the paper to cover up his goose bumps. Mom, in her unraveling, tacky, autumn sweater stops short, pausing to stare out the window. Her shoulders run perpendicular to her husband. The face on her cheeks is pulled tight enough to blend in with the October clouds and fog. She’s cold enough to melt into the glass and fade into the sky.
Nobody notices that breakfast was already on the table.
“Nice weather we’re having,” Dad lies.
I place my hand on the small of Abby’s back and shuffle her into a chair. She’s only ten, but she knows be
The Paupers Who Saw the World It was fifty feet tall, and appeared to be made entirely out of smoke. When it spoke, it was with a voice of thunder. "You will bring me the Minotaurs of Doom," it said.The Paupers Who Saw the World3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The two humans standing before it had heard this before. The smoke-creature had made the same demand earlier. "I already told you," shouted one of the humans. "One of the Minotaurs disappeared twenty-five years ago. The other one alone won't do you any good!"
"You two are time-travellers. Yes, I know these things. You will fetch both Minotaurs and bring them to me."
"What happens if we don't?"
"I have extended my... I do not know the word in English."
"Arms?" asked one of the humans.
"Tentacles?" suggested the other.
"No!" shouted the smoke-creature, lightning flashing angrily within it.
"Lightning! I have extended my lightning a
i'm not going to lie and say she was perfect.her skin was spotted with what she passed off as freckles,i'm not going to lie and say she was perfect.6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
but what were really scars from a thousand summer suns
as she ran about outside,
climbing trees and treading rivers,
pretending to be an american bomber
in the midst of WWII.
she kept crimson stains on pearl pink lips,
which always had the habit of getting on her teeth
because she put on make-up after dressing in her car
and ordering coffee in every way she hated it
as she drove to the record store three times a day,
ignoring her job downtown.
she owned four and a half hairbrushes exactly,
i took count on the first night i stepped into that whirl-wind room,
though her lopsided up-dos of messy blonde hair revealed just how much her fingers
never broke the dust.
she had these lovely fragile hands
that showed each and every vein and bone,
the type of hands made for tearing boys like me apart.
how could i have even expected to survive,
a paper poet
held against a reckless flame?
A letter to people from my pastYou just can't go back,A letter to people from my past2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
even to the times you once thought were the greatest.
It's like the playground you played on as a child.
You have endearing memories of the unique mixture of warm mulch and cool metal,
but when you return to it years later,
it's not quite how you remember.
The once large play area now seems small compared to the large cities you've explored.
The slide that once seemed to go on for miles
is nothing compared to the walks and runs and car rides you've been on:
the thousands of miles you've conquered.
The swing that once made you feel like a bird high in the sky hardly gets you off the ground-
(maybe it's due to the weight time has put on your shoulders,
or maybe you no longer need a swing set to fly).
Yes, you can go back, but you can't have what you had.
Keep the memories fond, and carry them forward.
And if the people from your past are aware of this,
you'll see them in the road ahead.
There's one way to go,
and that's forward.
Hope to see you ther
How to Be a Smoker I fucking hate the rain. Some people like how it sounds and that’s nice, and some people say it cleans up the streets. All I know is that my shoes are dirty enough without having mud on the inside, too.How to Be a Smoker1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Students are already filing out the door when I figure that it’s been another hour of class wasted wondering how nasty my socks are now. The rain is pounding against the thin roof of the lecture hall and as I head toward the doors, sidewalk outside soaked already with footprints and puddles, I realize that I don’t own a fucking umbrella. It’s the beginning of the fucking rain season and all we’ve got to show for it are two hoodies and the jacket Pierre eats in, sleeps in, and probably shits in. And before I know it, I’m bumping into the girl to the right of me with the bright yellow umbrella still tucked into her backpack. Her books spill out of her hands and I motion towards them, picking up a couple an
Twelve Moments In The Dead Of Summer1. The sunlight glistens on her wet skin as she's walking towards the beach. He has never seen anything so beautiful in his life and even if the words seem to dry up in his throat, he knows what he is going to do next.Twelve Moments In The Dead Of Summer6 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
2. It hasn't rained for months now so it only takes a small spark from the cigarette to set the undergrowth on fire. On the first sign of fire they panic and run, never to look back but to remember years later, in nightmares, the crazy old man who lived in the shack nearby and was never seen since.
3. They lay together on the grass, watching the sun slowly go down behind the treeline. He takes her hand, old, wrinkled and frail into his, and whispers: "I would give up everything I have for one more summer like this". She responds: "Darling, you already did that years ago". They burst into giggles, just like the one he was supposed to take her dancing for the first time and got lost on the way, and it seems that all these years haven't changed anything at all.
4. The thorn
claritydecember, decemberclarity3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
on a cold high, imperishable
a truce, i call, with a red flag
white is for winter, after
all, and is an echo the best
we can do?
the frost sings kerouac blues.
too cold for baptism, we are only
in summer, haunting birthplaces
but in the dark half of the year
we hunt queens, running cluttered
corpse favours in the dead
of winter we've got
months to go. clutch
your cinder crucifix. the nights
are getting longer in every sense
of the phrase. and now! they
re a c h o u t
as far as you can without breaking.
here, it is dark. here, it is cold. here,
we are small and bright
by necessity. a few hours yet, and
there. the home stretch, longer
than the path here,
drenched in autumn.
the leaves have fallen. the nights
have reached their zenith.
o, ye of little faith! see--
the light comes back now.
the sun ha