Survival Instinct

No, this won’t go in the Annethology, but it’s one of my favorites, written on the eve of my birthday, which is not tomorrow, but in June – in the heat of the summer … well, a few days before the official start of summer. June is my favorite month – not too hot or cold, just right. (That’s me Goldilocks … err, Burgundilocks? I can make them golden if you want.) Too bad it’s February. Hold on!



Breathe. Yes, now. Keep breathing.

When the mirror crystallized back into view, I found myself back in my familiar body, albeit flushed and sweaty, but still panting.

I couldn’t stop panting.

A drop from my chin splashed between my breasts. Was that sweat, or had I been drooling?

I rolled off my calves, which stung as blood returned to them. Pain, sweet agony! Sweet bliss!


The tips of burgundy hair around my ears dripped with sweat. I must have been at it a long time. I couldn’t read the clock reversed in the mirror, but I was too exhausted to turn my head, too tired to wash my slimy right hand, too depressed to blow out the candles, even though there were only four of them, one for each point of the compass.

I was alone in my circle, still struggling for breath after making love with my reflection.

How long had I held my breath? It’s something I do when I get close, and when I get close to getting close, and maybe even getting close to getting close to getting close to a false alarm. A minute, two? Then relax and try again. Gulp some air. Go for it. Gulp and try again. How long? How many times?

Dizziness usually accompanies the bliss, and I can’t reach that height with a man. They have no stamina. Probably not with a woman either, but I wouldn’t know. If they’re like me, they wouldn’t have the patience. How long?

Deep breath now.

I wiped my hand on my chest and spun my legs around in front of me. I wished there was more and that it didn’t dry so quickly. Corn oil never quite did it for me. I can feel them again, every inch, and the intensity of sensation matches the pain. Every muscle aches with exquisite agony – both of me, but my reflection is left-handed.

Wipe that grin off your face.

I couldn’t help it. I used to do it all the time, but I’ve limited myself to once a month in a circle at the time of the full moon. Only the Goddess could watch me then. Abstain and then do it right for the most intense pleasure. Take an hour or two. Lick your fingers. Well, I don’t always do that, but sometimes I dribble saliva down the front of me and pretend it’s his … yes … his … mmm.

Pepper. That’s the smell of my sweat, but not like after a run. Athletic sweat smell is more like ammonia. Post-coital sweat is peppery, like a pepper sauce on a lean sirloin.

I’ve stopped thinking of him on nights such as tonight. It happened too quickly. Besides, why should I waste my passion on such a loser? Now I take my time and think of my own pleasure. That’s where the mirror comes in. I keep myself to myself. Yes, that’s selfish, but I’ve been by myself for long enough. Why not share? Share myself with myself.

At the height of oxygen deprivation, it is almost as if I inhabit both my body and my left-handed reflection. My instincts will take over if I go too far.


I occasionally pass out, but not tonight. That’s a survival mechanism, automatic to my body, almost as necessary as what I’m doing for my soul on this night.


I couldn’t live without love, even if it was self-love. Yes, people love me, my family, my friends. I even have several admirers. They all seem to want to chat over the internet – I’m so virtually beautiful and so good in that invisible virtual bed. I do have real admirers, too. One, I think, even loves me.

I don’t think he would understand. I don’t think many would. It’s a sin in their Christian world. In my Catholic world? I don’t know what I believe any more. The Pope and I don’t see eye to eye at this moment in time, and the last one wasn’t any better. Dare I wait for another to come around to my way of thinking?

Instinct. That is why I have to do it.

I’ve stopped smiling. It’s because I’ve started to think of the outside world. That’s so depressing and why I drew this circle around me. I’m here in the world of my own making, performing an act of love, sitting in my own fluids, on my floor of my spare bedroom in the house that I own.

I’d start over … but that’s not allowed. I’ll pencil my next date into the calendar in my head.

There’s the smile, cheeky girl … cheeky girl with the long thin legs and tiny breasts. He always wished my eyes were blue, but I’ll take the hazel I was given. They change with the light, my surroundings, my mood, and not unlike my hair, but that comes in a bottle. Gemini live for change. Hey, what day is it? Tuesday! Tomorrow’s my birthday. Thanks for the lovely present, Reflection.

Cake? No. I’ll have a lean sirloin with a pepper sauce. It will remind me of you, of tonight, and of the next full moon.


Caught in the Mirror

shot out of bed
like a bullet
when the alarm sang
can’t stop to think
no, not of…

I’ll regress
brush my teeth and hair
nightgown off

caught by my reflection
in the mirror he put up

I dreamt of him again last night
still feel his warmth, his love
his skin, still soft and young
after all these years
his heart mine

got to keep moving
before I’m compos mentos
must be on the road

caught by reflection
thinking of him

I’m useless with tools
so he put it up
the right tool for the right job,
he said
which one did I lack?

warm, no tights today
just t-shirt and sexy shorts
maybe he’ll see me

caught reflecting
lost in myself

I run to forget sometimes
to forget him
but my dreams bring him back
every time
but not in daylight

hot, sweaty back home
take it off, take it all off
cleanse myself, purge him

caught reflecting
remembering him

I remember him next to me
in the shower
where I do my best thinking
and my worst
he’s not there

start my day
must get to my work
don’t daydream

caught dreaming
of his reflection

it’s one of those days
I wait until the last possible moment
to put clothes on, but I relent
blue sweatshirt, jeans
all I need to work at home

apple breasts shown best
he always liked me in that
followed me up stairs

caught in my dream
of his touches

greated by his email
my heart leaps, always does
it’s a drug, almost like sex
enough to make me whole
at least until I go to bed tonight

dream of him again
always of him next to me
naked as a babe

caught in a reflection
lying next to my dream