People?
Sometimes, I get really good spam.
I taunt the porn-seekers in my tags, and I get really good spam.
Check it out . . .
They sat on a park bench together. He held a crumpled bag of popcorn, leftovers from the movie they had just seen. She reached in to grab a handful and toss it for the pigeons and squirrels. The frenzy of the small animals as they fought for kernels made her laugh, and she took advantage of the moment to scoot a bit closer to him. She reached to gather her long hair and tie it in a messy knot at the nape of her neck.
As she brought her hands down, she considered for just a second and then decided. She left her right hand resting on the bench behind him. She reached across her body with her other hand to grab another handful of the popcorn. She threw the popcorn.
She waited.
The squirrels and the pigeons squabbled and hopped about at their feet.
He was aware of her closeness. Of course he was. He was aware of her hand behind his head, and he wanted more than anything in the world to lean back into that touch. He wanted to turn to her and bring her lips to his. He wanted her.
He closed his eyes for a minute.
He closed his eyes and his wanting swam before him.
She stood naked before the bathroom sink. She brushed her teeth. Rinsed. Spit.
She looked up and her eyes greeted his in the mirror’s reflection. She smiled.
He lay a hand against her bare shoulder, his fingers sweeping aside the silken gloss of her hair so that his lips might press against her skin. He lingered and then ran his tongue from her shoulder up her neck, stopping just behind her ear to whisper incoherent words of wanting. His fingers tightened in her hair as she leaned her head back into his desire.
He met her upturned face with his own, seeking her lips with his own, his hands still tangled in her hair. Every time, this moment caught in his throat. Every time she yielded, every time she gave herself to him, every time.
Every time, this moment caught in his throat.
She was his.
His mouth to hers, his hand in her hair, his heart in his throat, he pulled her closer. His free hand pressed into the softness of her stomach, pulling her closer. His hand moved lower, exploring and teasing. She moaned into his kiss, turning now to wrap her arms around his neck. To pull him closer.
They moved to the bed. She reached to pull him closer.
To pull him into her.
Every time, this moment caught in his throat. Every time she yielded, every time she gave herself to him, every time. He moved with her and they were one.
Every time, this moment caught in his throat.
She was his.
An intense rush of emotion . . . of gratitude and love and satisfaction . . . that it could be like this.
Every time.
Except that one time.
The scent of stale popcorn filled his nostrils as his head cleared.
His head cleared and he remembered another moment.
A moment when all was much as it had been in his first remembered vision, except he stood in the doorway. Watching. Not so different a moment, but a moment that had changed everything.
And then so many words and apologies and explanations. So many conversations.
So many words.
So many unwanted messages.
So much unwanted.
He shook the bag of popcorn so that it emptied onto the sidewalk. He shook his head. He stood. He faced her.
She was beautiful. Her eyes met his and she smiled.
Would it always be like this?
Would her smile always catch in his throat? A reminder of that time she yielded to someone else? Gave herself to someone else? Would he never be able to see past that moment?
Every time, that moment caught in his throat.
She was not his.
She reached out a hand and smiled again, a plea in her eyes and her words, “We can fix this.”
He shook his head, “No. And even if that were true, it would always be a thing fixed. No.”
And he walked away from her.
Better to be empty-handed than empty.
People?
I get good spam.
I should share some one of these days.
Ahem.
Man, that spammer totally scooped me. I was just about to tell that story.
Hee hee!
What exactly is this SPAMMER selling? This concerns me. Greatly.
Penis enlargement.
Duh.
My innocent EYES! They are a-flame!
What? You don’t get that sort of spam?
I get some doozies.
So fun.
Color me confused. You got THAT as spam???
Silly you.
You’re a crafty one, you….and then there is that whole “talent” thing.
Let’s not forget that.
Not that I could.
Why are you so GOOD?
Love you.
Love you as well.
Snort!
I am not at all crafty.
My words and rhythms are always mine, even in a darkened box.
Hee hee!
You are crafty. While I knew it was you, the set-up could lead less obsessed, errr I mean familiar, readers into a false sense of would-be spammy genius…
Hence, craftiness. Storytelling Crafter McWeavingPants.
I am . . . Storytelling Crafter McWeavingPants?
So much giggling.
I love that.
Rolls right off the tongue, no?
It’s like liquid poetry.
It flows.
Happy sighs.
You get me.
And my poetic genius. What?
You are a genius, you know.
You so are.
sooo the lady on the park bench is her but he is not the guy with the popcorn….or is he him and she is not her????
i will just say i miss you on Saturdays (and not that you need my approval or anything but) i totally get it!
You got confused?
There are only two people in this story, except for that one moment in which an interloper appeared.
I miss you on Saturdays as well.
But they have been good for me, those days away.
Love you!
I so knew this was you. One cannot forge one’s own writing. What? Now I am going to go back and really read it instead of getting caught up in the rhythm and cadence. Very cool.
You know what?
I considered trying to actually change the style of my writing.
But where’s the fun in that?
These are my words so I write as me.
I didn’t really expect anyone to be fooled.
No one who reads me regularly, anyway.
Then I am a fool. So many funny things went through my head: This is Kris’ writing! Is someone trying to…. Maybe she is mentoring someone? Yeah that’s it. Hmmm, she owns this place. What is going on? And I raced to the end. Sooo, yeah.
I am filled with giggles!
I love you.
Better to be empty-handed than empty.
Isn’t that the truth?
I know.
Exactly.
Also?
You could totally write some kick ass romance novels.
Hee hee!
Ack.
Hee hee!
But . . . ack!
And?
Now I really want some popcorn.
With no way to get any.
*sad face*
Thanks.
I still have some of that Buttered Puffcorn Mark bought the other day.
It tastes like packing peanuts coated in cheese dust.
Want some?
Hmm..
Cheesy packing peanuts?
Can I just suck the cheese off of them?
No, sadly.
I tried, but they insist on dissolving nastily in your mouth.
Not good.
Stupid puffy popcorn.
I have to share this with you because it might make you giggle…
Last night Randall looks at me and says, “I really think you’re pregnant.”
“Why??”
“Because I am craving some crazy stuff. Like right now? I want frosted shredded wheat covered in whipped cream. No milk. Just a bowl full of shredded wheat and whipped cream.”
“Yeah. That totally sounds nasty. I’ll take some whipped cream though.”
I giggled all night.
Snorty giggles!
Get the test.
Hee hee!
don’t knock it. I hear it pays well. and most of the authors don’t use their own names so why should you? Or that is, they use different names* for different levels of ‘romance’. Either way, it means you get to save your real name ‘brand’ for more respectable shit, like Pretty All True.
*My mom’s name is the same as a pen name for a Harlequin Blaze author. Her friend’s think it’s a great joke to buy her copies of these slightly, very slightly, racy novelettes that have her name in large print over the photo of the half undressed couple.
You know what, though?
I have no faith in my ability to craft a longer story.
I am best at vignettes . . . small moments that may hang together with other moments I have crafted, but which do not rely on the other moments for their expression.
I am not a novelist.
Is Harlequin in the market for sexy vignettes?
I would kick ass at those.
“It would always be a thing fixed.” Love.
Thank you, babe.
You know, since moving to WordPress, I’ve been nearly duped by several spammers (and I work in web development, I’m really used to spam), but this would have had me: hook, line & sinker. Damn.
Oooh . . . I hooked you?
I do like that.
You didn’t know you hooked me a long time ago? I’m disappointed in you :-p
Hee hee!
You are just more deeply hooked now.
Yay!
So I was going to say that its awesome that your spammers share your love of words. Then I realized this couldn’t be spam. Not one misspelled words. Then I sat back and enjoyed you awesome words yet again.
Isn’t that the truth?
I do get some lovely spam, but there a lot of misspellings.
Just so you know? I might not be able to keep myself from fixing those errors if I were to reproduce the messages here.
Ahem.
Wow. So I had to read it again. The first time I skimmed it. I wanted to give you some comment love before my break ended. So I went back and read again and wow. I have been that guy. I have lived that scenario.
Although more the last part than the first part. The first part? Alluring, sensual, lustful, desire are all words that come to mind.
Thanks for sharing this!
Russell -
Thanks so much for coming back to read again!
I am glad you liked this post . . . A departure from my usual fare in that it is only based in truth, and is not an actual story from my life.
But since it’s spam?
I figured that didn’t matter as much.
What?
I agree. I can’t get any that isn’t full of misspellings and entreaties from women with the kind of names that no one would pursue no matter what they said. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten one longer than two paragraphs. Some people have all the luck.
I have always been lucky, babe.
You know this about me.
I am giggling to myself that some of your readers think that was spam.
If that was my porn spam? I am so buying whatever they are selling.
Enlarge my penis? Yes please.
I am all happy giggles.
Yes . . . if my spammers really spoke to me like this?
I would be putty in their hands.
Wow that was good. That is all I have to say.
Thank you!
That is more than enough.
Yeah I pretty much knew immediately there was no way this was legitimately penis enlargement spam.
I get penis enlargement spam.
(I do not know what about my internet habits screams I AM ACTUALLY A MAN IN NEED OF A BIGGER PENIS… but apparently there is something.)
Nobody would ever market to a man like this.
I’ll never forget the subject line of one of the messages I got.
“BAM! A ROCKING COCK BALLER IN YOUR PANTS!”
THAT is how they market to men.
Also? You are a genius. This is a story I know all too well and you captured it perfectly.
Haven -
I know . . . I keep telling them that it is actually a clitoris and that it is supposed to be relatively small.
But my spammers all seem to think that what I am is enormously under-endowed.
Snort!
And the actual penis enlargement spam? It is as hilarious as you describe.
Love that.
And finally?
Thank you, babe.
Wowza, now I want some sex and some popcorn. Perhaps not at the same time. Depends if the Canucks win the game tonight. I will get the popcorn either way though.
Very nice Kris, big love for it….
Theresa -
Popcorn during sex would be problematic and itchy.
First one and then the other.
And is there a game tonight?
What sort of game?
Hee hee!
My husband calls it “hockey”, but I tend to refer to it as that shitty game that ruins my life and makes it so I must put the children to bed all by myself.
Although, it does give my all the marital capital I need to watch the Bachelor or any derivative of.
Hockey?
Ack.
Not even.
I thought I got good spam (as I seem to have lots of toilet humor), but your spam is A League.
Ummmm . . . yeah.
Ahem.