Sommer Marsden's Blog, page 117

Wanderlust part 17 "It's Ms."

Morning, morning, TGIF! I am READY for tomorrow. I am ready for ten hours of sleep, trust me. Not sure about posting this weekend. I am truly going to try. And now that I've posted that there's a chance I *won't* it's probably a done deal that I *will*. I like to contradict myself, don't ya know.

I'm almost done my zombie sequel and of course I'm keeping good track of Johnny and Really. Plus a short or two. And a doc's appointment for a kid today and...there's something else but I need more coffee to remember what it is. If I see you tomorrow, then have a great Friday. If I don't see you 'til Monday, have a rocking good weekend!

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust

Part 17

By Sommer Marsden

"Ms. Blake!" the teller said and gave me her patented professional smile. That was the thing about a dad who had his hand in everyone's pocket—at least the folks who mattered—everyone knew your name. My father was well known, well respected…well feared.

"It's Mrs." I said just to fuck with her. If she'd have said Mrs. I would have corrected her to Ms. I'm cruel like that.

"Sorry, Mrs…um, but it's still Blake. Isn't it?"

"I want to make a withdrawal," I said, ignoring the chit chat. Johnny was out in the car and the snow was really starting to fall. My mind was racing and the young girl who lived in me, the one who always felt left out and abandoned, feared he would turn the car on and leave me here.

"Oh, no problem. Just write down how much you'd like."

"First, I'd like a balance," I said, watching myself on the monitor. I was too thin. I was black and white and washed out. I was in a man's flannel shirt and a tee, faded jeans and flats. My feet were still cold, my hair was a style one could only describe as bed head. Twin spots—even on the grainy film—stood out on my cheeks where I was flushed from just having been fucked. And my ass throbbed.

In short, I looked gorgeous. Something I rarely, if ever, allow myself to think.

She slid a piece of paper across the high counter and I saw the number in my personal account. $28,925 and change.

All of it? Some of it? Half of it? I had my ATM card, I could withdraw funds anywhere I wanted. But I didn't want my father and my husband tracking me. I didn't want anyone tracking me at all. Not even my bank. But the idea of trying to cart that much money around was staggering.

"And how long will you be gone, anyhow?" I mumbled.

"I'm sorry?" She was pert and perky and watching me the way a bird of prey observes a mouse. Trying to seem nonchalant but taking everything in. Every goddamn detailed, because…I searched and found her shiny gold nametag. Anita. Because Anita smelled a rat. And she wanted to make sure she could be ever so helpful once the time came.

"Nothing. Planning an upcoming vacation in my head. Can I have a slip?"

She slid a blank blue withdrawal slip across the counter to me and I filled in the date and my account number, still pondering the amount. Finally, I settled on a number and pushed the paper back.

Her eyebrows went up. "A withdrawal of this size means I have to call over the manager."

"That's fine."

She pushed a button, a silent bell I assumed, and turned to her neat little rows of slips and papers and coin jackets.

He bustled up—short, fat and bald. He was the kind of man who (as my mother would have said) always looked like he smelled shit. I almost laughed.

"Mrs. Blake!" he said, clapping his pudgy hands with glee.

"It's Miss," I said and Anita shot me a look. I almost laughed again but chewed my lip instead.

"Right. Is everything okay?"

"Fine, is everything okay with you?"

"It's just a large withdrawal," he said. "That's all."

"It's only ten thousand dollars. It's not even half the account. If you prefer, Mr…" I leaned in. "Frederick, I can go ahead and close the account."

Which is probably what you should do and you know it.

"No, no! No problem at all. We just like to check these things. Make sure they're not…" He craned his neck and looked outside to Johnny in the Chevy. Exhaust curled from the tailpipe. Johnny was smoking a cigarette. "Under duress."

Then I did laugh. I put my head down, my long hair shielding me from their prying eyes. I laughed until tears rolled down my face. "Um. No. Not under duress," I said. "That's just the guy I'm sleeping with. No worries."

They both looked like they might swallow their tongues and that made me laugh even harder. "Now," I said, clearing my throat. "My money?"

He typed in his super secret banker code and nodded to Anita who proceeded to open her money drawer. "Would you prefer—"

"Hundred, fifties and twenties mostly," I said.

She nodded, counting the dirty green paper out so fast it was a blur. Mr. Frederick waddled back to his area and took a phone off the wall. He punched in a number and turned his back to the bank lobby.

Gee, I wonder who he's calling?

No I didn't. My father would know about this before Johnny and I left the parking lot. Big investment banker didn't cover it. Philanthroper didn't cover it. Powerful man who can crush you like a bug didn't cover it. Everyone knew my father and those who didn't wanted to.

Anita put my money in several envelopes, which forced me to then stand there, extract it, count it and then try to replace it. She smirked at me the whole time.

Bitch

To calm myself I pictured me draped across that claw-footed tub, naked, shaving his head. Straddling him after, lowering myself onto him. Moving. Didn't matter if there was water or not. He'd have a smooth head and we'd be on smooth porcelain and he'd be fucking me.

"Ten thousand," I said and put my five envelopes in my purse.

"Thanks so much, Anita," I said.

She nodded at me, deferential because she knew it was part of her job. "You're very welcome."

"Tell my father I said hi," I said and walked out the door.

The snow was heavier and thicker and much wetter. My feet slid on the slush that had gathered on the pavement. "Boots, "I said to myself. "I'll definitely need some boots."

I opened the door and Johnny grinned at me. "Snowflake," he said and lit two cigarettes with his lighter.

He handed me one and I figured what the hell. I'd smoke it.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yep."

We pulled back out onto Belair and fell in line with traffic. The nose of the Chevy was pointed toward the church and his apartment. I watched its mottled gray hood lead the way.

"So I was thinking while you were in the bank."

"Yeah. About what?"

"Where are we going. North? South?"

I didn't even let him finish. I turned to him so fast my hair flew around my face. "West," I said.

He grinned at me. "Now how did I know you were gonna say that?"

"You must be psychic."

"Must be." His firm hand settled on my thigh and I felt a flicker of want in my body.

I sat back in my seat and watched the world roll by.

STAY TUNED...
*Photo credit is moi this winter. One of our snowfalls. For some reason I love that pic :)

the raindrops will hide my teardrops, and no one will know that I've been crying...

Because I am a Motown girl at heart, always and forever. And so is Really. Enjoy.

XOXO
S

Wanderlust Part 16 "Lie"

Morning, morning. Here we go. It's raining and I'm tired and all I want to do at the moment (thanks to the Top Chef finale last night) is sleep. But instead, here I am, clutching my coffee cup in hand and putting up the latest bit of Really and Johnny. Oh yeah, and I fed the kids too. They made me...

XOXO
S

Wanderlust

Part 16

By Sommer Marsden

That was the thing. They wouldn't consider me gone. Just one of Really's hiding out times—gone for a day or two and then she comes back, tail between her legs, wondering how she could have even thought to walk away.

But now I thought to walk away. I thought to walk away and go far and wide and see what I could see. Not running from anything, this time—no. This time it felt like I might be running to something. Or at least into something.

"You in there?"

"I am."

"Change your mind?"

I smiled. "Nope." I watched the Kingsville landscape rush past. The car slid a bit on the road and Johnny casually adjusted the wheel so that car righted. The snow melted easily, but it sure was pretty, dotting the cars and the buildings and some winter-bare trees.

"Where are we going, Snowflake?"

"Bank. There's one up past the library when we're back toward town. I want to run in and get some money."

"I have a few things I need to toss in the car at home," he said.

My mind went to the box. The box was what he meant. I was willing to wager that as long as he had that box, the rest of a duffle bag or suitcase would be nothing but some clothes and toiletries. Johnny Rose seemed like a tumbleweed kind of guy. He could pull up his nonexistent roots and roll whenever need be.

"No problem, I'm in no hurry. I'm an adult and I'm not tethered. It's not as if anyone can stop me, Johnny."

He stared at me.

"What?" I asked, feeling over-examined. I felt giddy, maybe I sounded it.

"Nothing." But he grinned as he turned away.

I smacked his arm. "What?"" I demanded.

"You've barely used my name is all. Could it be Aurelia Blake that I am becoming real to you? An actual person worthy of you naming me aloud?"

Did I do that—blank people out? Was he right?

I opened and closed my mouth several times and then I said "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You are who you are, Really. You have your baggage. Fuck me, don't we all?" He turned off the winding road back onto Belair Road. A truck whizzed past carrying farm equipment and a yellow dog with its long nose stuck out the window. "Stop trying to shoe-horn yourself into someone else's idea of you."

I ran my fingers over his scalp as he drove. The quiet growl of stubble under my fingers filled my ears, bled into my fingertips. "You need a cleanup," I said, changing the subject.

"Are you volunteering?"

A burst of excitement flared in the pit of my stomach and I had to wonder at myself and my fixation with his damn scalp. "God, yes," I whispered.

"All right—bank and my place and a naked head."

"Good deal," I said, quoting my father. Then I shook my head. "Sounds like a plan."

"You'll need clothes. Stuff."

"Before we head out, we can stop and grab me some jeans and other things. I don't need much."

"You sure about that? You're a fancy kind of girl."

He was teasing me but it stung a bit. I didn't particularly care for being a fancy kind of girl. "Not my fault."

"There's no fault in it."

"Okay, it's not my choice."

He turned into the bank and put the car into gear. The radio spat out a Motown tune that always made my heart twist in my chest. A song about love lost and rain.

"Before you go in there, two things. It might save us some time. You might change your mind."

Here it was. Here is where he changed his mind and kicked me to the curb. Here is where he decided that I was too much work, too precious, too something.

"Go on," I said, faking bravado.

"I don't want your money."

"Good, because you can't have it," I said, trying to joke away the fear that had taken up residence in my gut.

"And I suck at the good guy thing. I am not a monastic, loving, partner man-type. I don't do monogamy well, Really. I'm not taking you off to marry you."

"I'm married," I said, swallowing hard.

He shook his head and rolled his eyes dramatically. It was an odd thing to see such a big man do and it made me laugh. I suspected that's why he did it. "You know what I mean. I tend to crush everything I touch if I care about it."

I nodded.

"So I try not to."

"Not to crush it or not to care?"

"Yes."

I cleared my throat. "Right. Well, this will be fun. Right? I don't want you to marry me. I don't want you to save me."

Lie

I barreled on. "I want to hit the road and leave this shit and see what there is to see and eat crappy truck stop food. I want to fuck my way 'cross country and know that at the very least I'm with a big guy who can kick ass should the need arise."

"I can do that."

"Someone who likes rock and roll."

"Done."

"And dirty floors."

"Done."

"And dirty sex."

"Check," he whispered, taking my hand.

"I'm not a princess. I don't need to be rescued."

Lie

"It's all good." I finished.

"I just wanted you to know. I don't want any tears. I like you, Snowflake. I wanted it all up front and as translucent as a window pane."

"And it is," I said, opening the door. I grabbed my purse, my hands shaking just a bit. It was like getting the break-up talk without the break-up. I don't know why I was rattled. I hadn't expected a god damn thing from him that didn't include dick, anyway.

Lie.

At least I didn't want to.

"I'll be right back."

"I'll be right here. And then you owe me a shave."

That made me smile for real. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

This would be good. This would be what I needed. A big open world and a long winding road and someone who was just along for the ride. Someone who liked me. Someone who apparently didn't want to hurt me.

Did it get any better than that?

STAY TUNED...

*photo credit: moi!*

For Aisling's mind-melting challenge...

More details on that at her blog.

Here is my offering for Aisling's Weekend Writer challenge. 500 word flash fiction. I must clarify that the face to me was a theatrical mask. I could be wrong. But that is the reference I used. It was that or an alien and I went with the first thing I thought of when I saw it. Beyond that, the rest of the items are self-explanatory!

Wherever You Like

By Sommer Marsden

500 words

　

It was easy to imagine trolls under the bridge, Friday thought. She smiled and when he turned suddenly, crowding her, she stopped short.

"Here," he said.

"This is where you're taking me?" she laughed.

Todd had said he wanted to take her somewhere special. This was it? The rickety bridge that connected on half of campus to the other.

"Did you expect a hot air balloon?" he teased.

"As if you could get me up in one of those monstrosities." Friday rolled her eyes.

His hands settled on her waist and she felt that ripple of excitement that always traveled through her whenever Todd touched her.

"Were you expecting a fountain and swans? Maybe a violinist?" He traced her lips with his fingertip and she heard a soft pop as she let her mouth open.

"I hate swans. They scare me," she said.

He leaned in to kiss her and the lust she felt for him left footprints up her spine. Her need bled like an ink stain under her skin.

"A movie maybe? A play? Comedy or tragedy or a chick flick—perish the thought." He grinned.

Todd pushed his hands into her hair and tugged her head back for a proper kiss. His lips were warm and soft and his tongue pushed gently into her mouth. She opened for him. When he released her, she was breathing hard. Her vision narrowed and sharpened and she saw as small greenish-brown turtle meandering below the bridge.

She turned her back to him and he leaned against her. His body pressed hard to the back of hers. His arousal evident.

"No. No movie," she said and her voice was shaky. "And I hate tragedies."

"As much as swans?"

"Almost," she laughed.

"What time is it?" Todd asked over her shoulder. He cinched his arms around her waist, holding her tight.

Friday reveled in the feel of a moment and then checked her watch. "Four o'clock."

"Count it with me," he said. He turned her and she saw a sly happiness in his green eyes. As always she noted the hazel ring around the very center that she so loved. If eyes were windows to the soul, then Todd's soul was a gorgeous and wild thing.

"Count what?" But she watched him measure each second that ticked past. At 4:01 he said, "Happy official birth-minute, Friday."

She grinned at him. "Thank you, sweet man."

"Welcome to the special place."

"I still don't get it."

"This," he swept his hand grandly as if he were in a drama or a tragedy, "is the place where I tell you for the first time how very much I love you. More than all the world. Forever."

She swallowed hard. "I love you, too." She said it because she did.

Todd kissed her again. "And now," he chuckled, "I can take you wherever you like."

She leaned against him and let him wrap his arms around her. "Let's just stay here. Just for a bit longer."[image error]

lyric whore strikes again...

I am so hooked on this song at the moment. For various reasons.

Wanderlust Part 15 "Gone"

Here we are, dear readers, with part 15. Oddly enough, Wanderlust has hit almost 18K. We're creeping up on roughly a third of a standard length novel. Freaky deaky, yes?

I went through and tweaked some of yesterday. I read it last night and was LMAO from some of the typos. I'd either lacked sufficient coffee or accidentally ingested some crack because I had about a dozen when all was said and done. Good thing I'm learning how to let stuff like that roll off my back (read as am *trying* to learn).

Anyway, I hope I did better today! And thanks for showing up to read. For some reason when I post my piece of the puzzle and then y'all show up to read I feel...Well, as Jamie Oliver says "then you're smiling!". I am. I am smiling :)

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
Part 15
by Sommer Marsden

I moved faster, holding on, my fingers plucking at him and the sweeping up to hover just above him. I was kinetic energy. I was chaos. I was desperate.

He pulled my face back, trapping my head between his big hands. He cut off all sound but for the slight ringing in my ears from adrenaline and his voice.

"Tell me, Aurelia."

Snowflake

"Tell you what?" But I knew. As soon as he said it, I knew and I swallowed hard, warding off the lump of emotion clogging my throat.

"Tell me," he said again. He refused to clarify, he refused to help me. He stared me down, my head trapped in his grip, his cock nestled deep inside me. I felt his heart galloping under my fingers.

I had to.

I said it.

I blurted it out like a woman ripping a bandage from tender skin.

"Hurt me," I said. "Please."

And there it was. The thing I had never been able to say to Jackson. The thing I had found ways to imply, subtle and clever intimations with strangers. Presenting a white pristine ass cheek. Yanking someone else's hair hoping for reciprocation. Leaving lavender rings of teeth marks on lovers in order to provoke the same. I had showed my wants and demanded them silently and coerced it from many, many lovers, but never—never—had I asked.

"Get in the back," Johnny said. His voice was almost softer than the falling snow and it made every nerve ending in me send an alarm. It also caused my pussy to grip tight to him and he smiled.

"I—I'm bare from the waist down."

He was already moving me, though. He had no intention of me getting out. My open flannel pilfered from his closet flapping in the wind like plaid wings. Nope. He was a smart man who looked for the quickest route from point A to point B. He moved swiftly, with economy in the small space and flipped me over the middle point of the seat. I did a dive into the backseat, sliding crazily between the two headrests.

My palms hit the back seat with a thud and I gave a small cry, a bellow of giddy laughter, but then he was forcing his door open and coming around to the back.

Fear, excitement, arousal—I was full of it. I felt like one big pulse point, my blood a taboo rhythm in my veins. Entering the car quickly, he came at me, frightful and huge and I opened my legs for him before he was even had the door shut.

"Turn over," he growled and the back door slammed behind him.

He flipped me on my belly even as he said it and hiked me up by the waist. He hauled my body higher so that my ass arched into the air and I turned my face to watch him over my shoulder. I manged "What are you—" and that was it.

The first blow fell.

His hand, from my angle, looked as big as a catcher's mitt. It felt like stone, though. A hard unyielding force that met with the pale skin of my ass. The crack was deafening, the pain intense. A swarm of stinging bites of pain that coalesced into a warm ball of agony and then…bled into a pure glow of pleasure.

I hung my head and I moaned. This was what I needed. This was what I craved. This is what Johnny Rose could give me because for whatever reason…I had trusted him to know.

He didn't speak. He didn't make a sound. He simply let his hands fall as they willed. Sparkling smacks rained down on my bottom. Left cheek, right cheek, left, then right. He stilled for a moment and I heard my own harsh breathing. I panted like a dog, my long hair ticking the edge of the hideously upholstered back seat. The wind buffeted the car and just when my heart started to regulate itself, he pressed a fingertip to the now tender flesh on my ass.

That pressure was almost unbearable. Like licking a razor blade. Like kissing an iron. I shivered and he laughed softly and a small sob flew out of me.

I caught him in my peripheral vision nodding, like that was the only sign he needed, and then he gave me four more.

I was weeping openly then. A sound that hurt my own heart to hear it and he pressed his open palms—gently—to my hot, hot skin.

"Open your legs a bit more," he said softly. His voice was the voice of a man in a church. A person who is humbled.

I did it.

The tip of his cock nudged me, parted me—damn near split me, it felt like—and he was in. keeping those open palms on my blushing flesh, the heat from his own hands adding to the blaze on my skin.

I didn't barely have to move. He barely had to fuck me. He entered me, gripped me tight, thrust and said "You were so good, Snowflake."

And I came again. That orgasm I had demanded, it arrived.

He let me have mine. Let me get each flicker and jitter and jolt out of my release and then he grasped my hips in strong fingers and fucked me harder. I pressed my forehead to the shiny chrome release latch, opening myself to him. And Johnny came. I raised my eyes to the metal and caught our beautiful distorted image in the shine.

"Road trip?" His voice was a snapping twig in a quite forest. It startled me out of studying our odd tableau in the reflection.

"Road trip," I said.

"I can take you home to get—"

"I don't want to go home. I'll get what we need new. I have money."

He chuckled, dropped down onto me for a moment. The bigness of him crushing me flat to my belly under his bulk. I let the air puff out of me comically and then we both laughed. My sobs were gone for the moment, tears drying on my face. My soul felt clean at the moment. Something I was pretty sure I'd never experienced—not since childhood. Not since my mother was alive. There seemed to be no taint in me for this breath of time.

"I know you have money."

"And I love to drive."

"I know that, too." His lips found my ear and he kissed it. My hair rustled between my cheek and his stubble. I liked the wild feel of his heart pounding my shoulder blade. My cheek mashed to the ugly plaid seat upholstery.

"I just love traveling," I blurted.

Little spots were appearing in front of my eyes. I would need a deep breath soon, but I put it off. Content to feel Johnny Rose crushing me, pinning me, keeping me safe.

"You love sanctioned travel. Hotels and umbrella-ed drinks and itineraries. This is rogue travel," he ground out against the curve of my ear. "Dingy motels and truck stop food and middle of the night visits to the rest stops that make rich women cringe."

I grinned. "I can take it."

"Dirty floors."

"Got it."

"Bad food."

"Sounds perfect."

"Eighteen-wheelers flying by and guys named Buck who try to pinch your ass when you're heading out to pay."

"I'll kick his ass," I wheezed.

"I do not doubt it." He levered up off me and I sucked in a great breath of sweet air. Johnny ran his fingertips lightly over the pounding, thrumming flesh of my ass cheeks. All of my skin studded with goose bumps. I shivered and he said, "You should see them. They're pretty. Already turning a nice shade of purple under the red."

I wanted to see. I wanted to admire. We needed to go home so I could look in the mirror. There was so much to do, we needed to go to his place. To the bank. We needed to get all the things we needed to get so we could get…gone.

Gone.

The word was sweet.

:)

April 13th, get schooled.

Wanderlust Part 14 "...what the falling would feel like."

Wanderlust
Part 14
by Sommer Marsden

Belair road runs through the belly of Baltimore city and up into the county where, for long stretches, there's nothing to see but windy roads and a few horses in an open field.

Johnny turned his ugly car onto Belair and I sipped from a travel mug of hot coffee.

"How did things go with the husband?"

"As good as can be expected."

On the radio, Cat Stevens sang about a father and son. The song made my throat feel tight so I blocked it out.

"That good?"

"That fucking good."

He put his hand on my leg and the feel of it was nice. There was no sexual tension in that touch. Just a comforting kind of kinship that made my belly feel calm and my mind feel clean and white. I lived with a constant chatter of shoulds. I should leave Jackson. I should leave town. I should tell off my father. I should invest the money my mother allocated for me before she died. I should be a wife, a mother, a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker. I should be perfect. I should get drunk. I should say fuck it all and go into hiding.

"What's going on in there?" he asked, heading straight out toward the overpass that crossed over the branch of Gunpowder State Park where I often hiked when I wanted to run off for the day.

"Too much to fucking comprehend," I laughed.

"Smokes are in the glove compartment, "he said.

"No thinks. Only when I drink.:"

"Want a drink?" He chuckled.

"Soon," I said, but I was joking.

I watched the populated stretch of road bleed into gorgeous desolation in spots. He drove in silence, letting the radio sounds fill the car. It was a comfortable silence—something I wasn't used to. I was accustomed to silences pregnant with discomfort, anger and discontent.

I was not accustomed to silences that I sank into and reveled in. But that's what I did with this silence. When he put his hand on my thigh again, I covered it with mine.

Johnny passed a small convenience store that was the last stop-off before things got really sparse. I watched it whiz past, a small spike-haired woman climbing into a jacked-up Jeep was my last sight as the road opened up a bit wider.

"Wanna see a horse?" he said. He cocked his head to this window.

"Or four," I said.

"Five. There's a stray in the back."

I saw it finally, a gray mare with white spots. She looked like a toy horse from my perspective. Like I could stick her in my purse. The Chevy hurtled down road, gulping down faded yellow lines.

"I spied with my little eye, five horses."

It had started to snow-big fat flakes that flew like kamikazes at the windshield. I rolled down the window and stuck my hand out, the cold wafers of snow melting on my skin.

"You like the road," he said. It wasn't a question.

"I do. I like to drive. I like to ride. I like the way the car feels speeding down an open road. Especially this car. Damn, it's ugly but it really is like a sofa on wheels."

He smiled, nodding. "That's pretty accurate."

"But yes. My favorite thing when I feel all tight and claustrophobic and panicky is drive. It's freedom," I said.

"Ever think of just going?"

"Going where?" We had come full circle to this question from the night before. It must be something he saw in me, or smelled on me. A secret he could read off of my skin like invisible script.

"Going." Johnny shrugged.l

"I think the thought of considering that is too big for me."

"You've never had the urge to just keep driving? Go as far as you could go and stop somewhere and bed down for the night?"

"I think I have. That irrational urge to just move forward at all costs. Like the thoughts I have when I hold a sharp knife," I said softly. I had never admitted this to anyone in my life before. Had never spoken the words aloud. "Sometimes when I hold them I wonder what it would be like if I ran my finger along the edge. Or if I ran the blade along my skin."

He nodded. Not judging me and seeming to understand. It made me feel warm all over, the look on his face.

"Or the urge sometimes when I'm on something high. The top of a staircase, a roof of a building, an escalator at the mall, a cliff when I go hiking. That urge to just see what would happen if…" I shook my head. Afraid he'd turn the car around, take me back. Maybe drive me to the fucking psych ward.

"If you just stepped off? Jumped? What the falling would feel like?"

I nodded. "Yes, what the falling would feel like."

He pulled over onto the shoulder of the road so we were nose-in to an old leaning wooden fence. In the field beyond, two white horses nuzzled each other and then tossed their unkempt manes in the wind.

Johnny pulled me in, I slid across the bench seat with very little resistance. He turned my face up to his and kissed me. It was a boyfriend kiss. Gentle and kind and unassuming. Until I parted my lips and let his tongue slide into my mouth. I was the one to turn the kiss by putting my hand on his jeans, squeezing his cock gently in my hand. I wanted him all over again. It seemed I fucking always wanted him.

"Do you want to fall with me, Really?" he growled against my throat.

I undid my jeans and moved away from him. shimmying my hips, I got them down but the oversized tails of his flannel that I still wore shielded me.

"Yes," I muttered, working his belt. He helped me patiently—his hands calm where my were hurried "I want to."

"Just get in this ugly car and go? Go wherever. Follow the road and the snow and the horses until there are other things to see and do."

I climbed into his lap, facing him as I had the night before. This time, though, he was bare under me. His cock hard and ready, his face sober and intent.

"Yes." I bit his lower lip and he seized my hips in his hands. My wet opening was pressed to the hard ridge of his sex and I moved just enough to hear his heart speed up under my palm that I kept pressed to his chest to feel the life in him.

"Diners and hotels and roadside attractions," he said, nipping me back.

"Yes," I said, putting him in me, holding his hard length straight and true and sinking down onto him so slowly that I thought I might scream and I was the one in control. My thighs shook, my hands too. I anchored myself to him by gripping his shoulder. He held my hips and thrust up hard and filled me.

We both stilled, eye to eye. I could see his pulse jumping at his throat. I was sure he could see mine. Snow had started to cover the windshield—had started to gray out the world beyond. Big wet lacy bits of it clung to the side windows. I could hear that mysterious hushed hiss that always came with snow.

"Fall with me," I said this time. I was the one to ask it. "Will you run your finger over the blade?"

"You know it, Snowflake," he said. And then he started to move. I was on top but he was in control, pulling me down even as he moved up under me. His teeth, sharp and even, sliding along my collar bone so that I shivered with the possible pain he could inflict. He released my hips for just a second to cup my breasts. He lulled me in with the warmth of his palms and when I leaned into him, he pinched my nipples through my tee. The pain that shot through me was sudden and perfect and I came, my cunt gripping up around him making the friction almost unbearable, his cock stretching me, filling me up..

"Again," I said.

So he hauled me in by my shirt collar and kissed me, his hips still thrusting up forcefully beneath me, his cock plunging deep every time. "You want to come again?

"Yes."

"Let's see what we can do about that."

Wanderlust Part 13 "Broken"

Forgive this formatting, dear reader, if it's ALL HOSED UP. It has realigned itself three times so far this morning. So any issues that are not urgent are staying. Because if I get it up (heh) straight, it's staying up (heh again).

Today is the last day in the BIG DAY PARADE that started last week. Tomorrow, I put my head down and do four days of writing. I've managed 1-2K each day these past few, but in my head I have a lot more than that to process. So you know where I'll be tomorrow. Ass in seat, banging out Johnny, zombies, and I think a haunting story. Ole!

Happy Monday. More coffee, please!

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
Part 13
by Sommer Marsden

Johnny gave me a brief nod. He seemed satisfied that I wouldn't provoke him or pick at the wound he'd inadvertently inflicted. After all, looking at him, couldn't I assume a lot of things that might not be true? He'd simply done the same.

I ate the rest of my food but to a degree it had lost its taste.

"What do you want today, Snowflake? Stay in? Go out? Do an instant replay of yesterday?"

"Yes, yes, and yes," I said. My purse started to ring and we both froze. It was the sound of our bubble of make believe being popped.

In my mind we were safely tucked away from the world. My cell phone was a pin bursting that balloon. The little bit of real life puncturing his upper floor apartment and the lazy morning light and the food eaten at small breakfast nooks under cheap lighting.

"I don't want to answer that," I said.

"You have to deal," he said. "Very few good things come from avoiding what needs to be dealt with." He kissed the top of my head and said "I have to go make the bed."

He was lying. The bed was made. I had made it myself after we got out of the shower while he had put away the few clean clothes in the basket.

It had been an odd domestic scene that I had refused to really focus my attention on, because under all the amusement I felt over it, I also felt a strange rightness. And I didn't like that.

Somewhere in me, I denied my right to happiness and it felt like he did the same. We were simpatico that way. One broken person spotting another.

But I didn't like to admit that I knew I was broken. Even to myself.

I knew who it would be, of course I did, but my hands still shook as I pushed the button to accept the call

"Yes?"

"Are you coming home, Really?" Jackson didn't sound angry. He sounded confused and mildly stunned. That made it worse, I could have rallied my own angry had he been mad at me.

"I don't know. But not now. Right now I'm not."

"You're father called to say he wanted to lunch with us. I'm not even at the office yet and—"

"Just tell him I'm sick," I said. I dumped the debris from my breakfast into the bin and then did Johnny's plate too.

Look at me, world. Look at me being domestic…

"He'll call you and—"

"Then I'll tell him I'm sick," I sighed. And I was feeling sick. Sick with a life that had felt like an ill fit for years. Sick with the weight of trying to be someone I wasn't on the surface so I created a pretty image for the people who felt it was their right to look at my life like a god damn painting.

"Like a god damn painting," I said.

"What?" Jackson snapped. "Are you drunk? You're not making sense."

"Not drunk," I said. "Not at all. Wide awake, I'm not sleeping," I laughed.

He didn't get the music reference and it made me shake my head. Jackson had never been one for music beyond whatever was on the radio when he pushed the button. Sometimes he couldn't even be bothered to change the station if he didn't like what was on.

"Just tell me where you are and I'll come get you if you can't drive," he barreled on.

"Jackson!"

He wasn't silent, but I could feel his trepidation and confusion over the phone.

"What, Really?"

Snowflake

"I'm not drunk. And I'm not coming home. You can tell him I'm sick. You can tell him I left. You can tell him I'm selling myself in the alley down on Baltimore Sreet for a hit of cheap wine and a five dollar bill—"

"Aurelia!"

I smiled at the old-maid tone in his voice. I loved Jackson on some level. The same way you love a good dog or a favorite teacher or someone who is kind to you and at least tries to understand you. But I did not love-love Jackson. He did not quicken my blood or flutter my belly or make me wet between the legs just by looking at me.

He didn't stun me with his words or a single touch or the feel of his lips.

I loved him the way I loved my favorite vintage boots or my best friend Marie from fifth grade or my cat Sheba who died when I was seven.

I loved the idea of loving him more than I did, but had never quite managed it.

"Because you can't fake that shit." I said it aloud startling even myself.

"Look, something is definitely wrong with you—" I could hear the concern in his voice and I felt guilty. But not guilty enough to go home.

"You're right. What's wrong with me is too much doing everything but what I want to do. I won't be home, Jackson. I don't know when I will be back or if I ever will. Feel free to tell daddy whatever you like. And if you call this number again—"

"Really," he breathed.

"If you call it again, I won't answer. Okay?"

"Really, whatever is wrong we can fix it," he said.

"Jackson—"

"Whatever is the matter, we can work it out. We can fix it," he said again.

"Oh, honey," I said. I think it was the most gentle tone I'd ever used with him. I usually resented him for a myriad of sins that were not his own. "I am fixing it," I said and disconnected the phone.

One tiny sob escaped me and I allowed myself that pain. It came mostly from guilt and also—interestingly enough—from a sense of freedom.

"You okay, Snowflake?" he asked from the doorway, making no move to crowd me.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm fine."

"Good. Anything I can do?"

I cocked my head, looking at his rugged face, wishing he would come over and kiss me. I was ready to not be standing in his kitchen by myself.

He read my mind, or maybe my face. He walked in and tugged me to him by the waistband of my jeans. His lips were soft and I could still taste coffee on his mouth.

Finally, I answered. "Yeah. You can. You can take me for a ride. I want to go for a ride. Some long and winding road. Somewhere where there's not much to see but what there is to see."

He smiled. "I can do that."

Wanderlust Part 12 "Please."

Morning, all! I'm off to the store soon to get stuff for tomorrow night's big dinner. Then home to bake a cake. I swear, Tuesday I'm going to sleep allllllll day. It's been a busy week, but then again it's been nothing but good stuff, so I really can't complain now can I?

Happy Sunday. Why not have a cuppa, put your feet up and read installment 12?

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
Part 12
by Sommer Marsden

Normally, I'd have let him fuck me. If he had it in his mind to fuck me, that is. It seemed he did. But there was something else. Something that might squash the worry that had risen up my chest this morning. I lurked on the periphery of my mind until I decided to pay attention to it.

I'm not one for blow jobs. Not normally. I see them as a means to an end. An appetizer to a good meal or an amuse bouche before the feast. I never really got the whole blow job thing or women who had sudden urges to do that for their men. Until Johnny.

I dropped to my knees in his shower—noting in that odd OCD way of mine that it was extremely clean for a bachelor—and he twisted a finger into my bangs.

"Hey, there. Why don't you—"

I hushed him once again and his mouth shut and he cocked head watching me. He was hard already. Cocks have a way of assessing the situation and rising to the occasion despite the gut feelings of their owners, I think.

"I want to," I said. And I did. The knowledge was startling, but I would examine it later. I could wait to probe my own psyche until I had done what I intended to do.

I licked the shower water from his skin. Tasting heat and salt and warm male skin. Tasting—still—the dark and spicy scent of myself on him— our coupling. I licked up the back of his cock and he pressed one big hand to the black and white tile to steady himself. The water rushed down over me—a lukewarm baptism. I sucked harder, cupping his balls in my hand, squeezing just enough that I felt him grow tenser. His breath caught in his throat.

Pulling back, I kissed his hipbones, tracing my tongue along the hard ridges of bone under flesh. I kissed above his pelvis where the dark hair curled the thickest and his palms settled on my hair. He kept his hands on my head, neither pushing nor pulling, simply touching my wet locks. It was a priestly gesture and I wondered if in some odd way, Johnny Rose was blessing me. Giving me a new beginning—a fresh start. Absolving me of my sins.

He didn't try to argue with me but he did try to tug me up again and I felt a smile split my face. It was almost like I was fighting him to allow me the pleasure of sucking his cock.

He caught the smile. "What?" he growled.

"Nothing. Let me, though," I whispered, barely audible above the hiss and pop of the water falling all around us. "Please."

"Snowflake—"

I got it. He wanted to fuck me. He thought I was fragile or broken or…something. He figured the blow jobs could hold off until I was less so. But he was wrong.

"Please," I said and he heard it in my voice then. Because I did, too. The naked plea to just fucking let me. Let me do it.

He nodded and pushed both hands to the wall this time. When I sucked him in, he propelled his hips forward just a touch so that he drove down into my throat. I made a noise in my chest. There was no pretense or let's pretend. I was not trying to sound sexy or turn him on. I was simply doing something I had an overwhelming urge to do for him, for me. And that was the sound that came out of me. It was a blatantly honest sound—almost embarrassing.

Johnny started to thrust with a little more force, so that he filled me and cut off all my worry and most of my air. I held his thighs in my hands, the water turning cooler and raising goose bumps on my back. I sucked him hard and then soft and then hard again and he fucked my throat, breathing like a man on the edge.

When my hands found his balls again and I stroked him, cupped him, simply touched the warm skin under my fingers, he came with a grunt. His fingers flexing on the tile, grasping nothing but water and whiteness.

I surprised myself when I sat back on my haunches, water streaming all around my eyes so I had to keep blinking. I surprised myself big time when I looked at him and licked my lips and said "Thank you."

*****

He cooked me eggs and sausage while I toasted English muffins.

"I think you killed them," he laughed. He looked manly and safe in his faded Levi's and work boots. A black tee advertising some bar in St. Louis and a fresh plaid flannel, this time a green plaid.

"I like them crispy," I said.

He grabbed a half and banged it on the counter where it tap-tap-tapped loud enough to make me grin. "Crisp?"

"Seriously. Try it. Put a shit ton of butter on there and eat it and tell me it is not the best way to eat it," I argued. I did just that and when I bit into the English muffin I groaned. It was almost as good as an orgasm.

"Shit ton?"

"Hunh?"

"Shit ton? Just a surprising phrase from someone like you."

The bread got wedged in my throat and I tried mightily to swallow it. "Someone like me? What am I like?"

He shook his head, his blue eyes darting away from me. He realized his mistake. He realized the wound he had just inflicted and I almost felt sorry for him.

"I mean someone who has come from your background. I know that your daddy and his money and all that is not you, Really. I know you are you. Don't pick a fight because I didn't say the right word."

Well, that shut me up. Usually, I was capable of picking apart a man's words and nailing him to the wall with them. It was one of my many talents and something I found a sick amount of comfort in—being able to call someone on a verbal technicality.

But he'd shut me down. Which oddly made me want him that much more. His ability to extinguish my fiery rages before they even started. Talented man.

He pulled me toward him by the front of his own flannel—that I had, okay, let's call a spade a spade—stolen. He kissed me, licking a small bit of butter off my lip. "Don't do what you do so well to me, Snowflake. Be real with me."

Damn.

I shook my head, looked away. "Right. Shit ton. Something I heard from college peers. Something that I like to say. Something that means a lot, indicating a large amount," I said, trying to laugh.

I wanted to ask him about the pictures. I wanted to ask him about the little sneakers and the little box of treasured things that he'd hidden from me. But I'd just gotten here, hadn't I? I was new and an intruder and probably just a good lay for a few days.

I wanted to ask him, but I didn't…