Touch, taste, see, smell, hear
Dream of him incessantly
He fills my senses


More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (19. Coincidence?)

XIX. THE SUN. Glory, gain, riches, pleasure. Recovery from sickness. Sometimes sudden death.

Another four days lost to oblivion. However, this time was different, as Christa sat at the side of my bed when I awoke. I was still naked, but someone had painted strange markings all over me, either Jem or Marcel. Christa refused to explain.

“The past must stay in the past,” she said.

My house had returned to a more normal temperature, from a balmy 90°. My furnace was close to breaking point when Christa and Dana arrived three days ago. Dana slept peacefully in the spare room while Christa kept her vigil.

I felt as if I had recovered from a fever, as my aching body was sweaty and stinky. I also had a serious headache, which I will expand upon shortly. Of course, the markings are henna, so they won’t wash off for a few days. None of them are visible except for a few on the side of my forehead, at my temple. At least those look remotely decorative. Clothing is no longer verboten, but I feel heavy, although I have lost 15 pounds.

The police car is gone, and the house smells more like normal. Christa had burned … err, cleaned up, too. Yes, my verbal tick survived the ordeal, but at least it is no long subject to the control of Ms. Ball. (I still managed to accidentally tell Christa she had a tight bottom. I can’t remember what I intended to say at the time.)

Marcel had left instructions for me to stay aloft … err, indoors until the full swoon … moon late this week, when Jem will return and complete the spell. I got the impression that Marcel shouldn’t see me until afterwards. Apparently, I have both of them to thank for rescuing me.

Is it a coincidence that I drew THE SUN today? It is number XIX and so is this instalment of my new frog … blow … log … um, blog. Was it sudden death or is this life after death? It certainly isn’t riches. The money is no longer in my bank account. I just checked. The bank sent me a letter explaining that one of their employees had accidentally transferred the funds into my account instead of another. For my trouble, they let me keep a small fraction of the interest. What is .04% of 40 billion? Well, it was in my account for one hour, so pro-rated, it’s about $182,000, enough to pay off the mortgage on my house and then some. Well, I guess that amount isn’t insignificant. Mustn’t forget to pay the taxes on it, though.

Motherhood has looked kindly on Christa. She’s lost the weight, and she looks gorgeous. Prettier than before, maybe. She’s still as tiny as ever.

Me? I’ve got serious cramps tonight and heavy bleeding. That’s the source of my headache – the heaviest period I’ve had in decades. Oops, I shouldn’t talk about things like that here. Well, the bat’s … cat’s out of the back … err, bag. I should say that I look like cheese … um, death warmed over, but I don’t. I feel like it, but there is something about the markings. They are sort of foolish … uh, cool. They remind me of that girl on X-Factor who used to paint designs on her teats … ack! … face, arms and legs until her mentor said they made her seem egotistical. She also dyed her hair and now cries at every opportunity. What a baby! And she sings like one now, too. Grow up, girl, and get your swagger back. If you don’t, you’re heading home. I’ve gone off you. Me likes the three boys. Yummy.

Anyway, I like my henna squiggles and stars. Maybe I’ll have them touched up regularly. (I so like being touched up! – by the right person, that is.) Although some of my British friends might just say that I’ve been “touched,” and that isn’t a good thing.

I’d better get to bed now. I don’t know how much I’ve slept in the past few days, or how much I’ve been out in the cold, naked … or how many men or souls I’ve eaten. I don’t know what I’ve done. Will the police be after me? Or the Feds? I guess I’ll just wait and see.

In the meantime, nitey-nite followers!

Full Frontal

in one of those moods, I can’t help it,
driving to distraction down a cul-de-sac
thinking too much, too focused

on him, holding me,
his warmth, his scent,
the sound of his breathing

mine quickens

in bed I lie awake
he is my fantasy
was my reality long ago

I’m warm, so is he
at home in his bed
heart in mine


I can hear it
speeding along with mine

his touch, remembered
there between my breasts
softly stroking, feels my throb

in the liquid darkness
a moan, a question
yes, my answer

always yes

it’s been so long
always yes, forever
I part

he fuels my storm
my swell
an earthquake

his gift accepted
the past
a present cherished


I’m a damp pool
my bed soaked
must wash the sheets tomorrow

I am weak
push relentlessly
he is constant

I wish

the glint of his eyes
just out of reach
he knows

I’m in one of those moods again,
and my desire consumes me
come to me in my dreams,

my love