“I hear your footsteps down the hall, you’re home again and safe. The burdens of the day are lifted, and all the night noises… are music to my ears.”

A painting with that poem hung for years at my grandparents’ house. I remember the first time I stopped to read the words, probably when I was about nine years old. The lines had a rhythm I liked. They tripped over my tongue almost like music. Then I absorbed the meaning.

As I child I felt safer, more secure, when both my parents were at home. And even more so when a house full of family descended on my grandparents’ home. I love a full house. It’s where I feel at home again. And safe.

Funny how that poem popped into my head just now. The memory carries the bittersweet taste nostalgia often has. But he is coming home to me. And making all the night noises music to my ears.

Velvet Night

The sky is velvet tonight. A mix of browns, purples and mauves mingle on the hazy cloud cover that rests seemingly just above my head. The air, thick with humidity wraps around me, soaking into my pores. It’s a lovers’ night—a night where I should be surrounded by love in Nathan’s arms the same way the fog is enveloping my quaint cottage. I’m experiencing the strange sort of torture it is to find love, and then to have it go away again and again.

But just a few days ago, love was here. In my home. In my bed.


Nathan had an event to attend in town and asked me a couple of weeks ago to be his plus one for the evening. I readily agreed while mentally rifling though my closet attempting to answer the question every woman asks herself on occasions such as this, “What on earth am I going to wear?”

The day of the event I left work early to allow for ample primping time. Nathan’s flight from god-knows-where landed in the early afternoon. So, as I lounged across my bed after my shower in a flower printed nighty, flipping though a fashion magazine, getting ideas for how to do my makeup, I wasn’t surprised to hear the creak of the screen door open as he inserted his key in the lock and let himself in. The now-familiar thrum thrum thrum of his suitcase wheels as they rolled across the hardwood floors and down the hall to the bedroom told me he knew where I’d be.

“Don’t get up,” he said, just as I was marking my place and turning to greet him.

He walked over to the bed and kissed me gently on the lips before unceremoniously flopping down beside me. With arms linked behind his head, he watched the ceiling fan spin its slow, never-ending circle and let out a long, tired sigh. Magazine set aside, I nuzzled against him, taking in his scent mixed with the stale aftertaste of pressurized air that always  clings after hours spent in a flying aluminum can. The steady sound of his breathing, that comforting whoosh of inhale and exhale, the audible verification that another human occupied the room, soothed my lonely soul.

When he rose to get a drink of water, I went back to my magazine, slipping into the easy take-each-other-for-granted vibe we both lapse into. I think perhaps it’s our way of pretending we aren’t apart so often. So I was surprised to feel his hands on my ankles, simultaneously flipping me over and pulling me around so that my edge of my rear met the edge of the bed. Lean fingers ran up the outside of my thighs, over my hips and up to my waist, grasping the nude panties and pulling them off efficiently.

I grinned up at him, watching as he unbuckled his belt, unfastened his pants, unzipped his zipper and released the hard member causing his trousers to tent. Cock in hand he stepped between my parted legs and, with its tip, teased at my entrance, testing my level of readiness. Slippery labia opened willingly, and we coupled, and moved as one, two parts making a whole.

My first orgasm rolled in on us quickly, the clenching of my hands on the white sheets mimicking the clenching of my channel. Nathan moaned as my hips arched toward him, meeting each thrust. He leaned over me, pulling a breast out of the delicate nighty, taking the nipple into his mouth, sucking the already hard point. I moaned. The tempo of his pistoning increased. The sound of his balls slapping hard against my ass put me over the edge for a second orgasm, this one multiplying the wetness of my well.

He slowed, savoring the moment, keeping us balanced on the precipice of ecstasy. Deep inside me he drove, until our very bones kept him from going any further. His body pressed down on mine, his arms encircling my breasts and hands gripping them as if they could save him from drowning. I could feel his cock swell, my cue that he was close.

“Fill me darling,” I whispered.

And he did, just as I reached further within and released a final climax of my own.


The fog has given way to the rain now, it’s job as harbinger complete. The velvet sky opens, and from great heights it cries down the cleansing deluge. Thunder and lighting blink in the distance, getting ever closer. I’m experiencing a cleansing of my own, and am braving the storm of loneliness in the process.

Housekeeping and Confessions

Dear, darling, wonderful Readers,

It’s a darn good thing I’m not a writer for a television series. I absolutely stink at sticking to one story line. I know I’ve been remiss in my posting. I know I’ve started stories and left them unfinished. I know I’ve been horrid at commenting on other folks’ fine blogs (even though I’ve been reading). I’m sorry.

In this post I’ll attempt to clean up my mess a little bit. And do some confessing.

Clean Up One:
The long drawn-out tale of me and the Australian is on hold because I think I have the makings of a publishable novella and I hear many publishers won’t look at a manuscript if it’s been floating around on the internet. So to give you the quick and dirty ending (which I’ll probably fictionalize and make a bit happier in the book) the Australian and I made wonderful passionate love that night. He told me he loved me. We had a connection that defied all rational reason. He took me to the airport the next morning and kissed me in the lobby like no one was watching. He sent me a bouquet of flowers on Valentine’s Day that would break your heart. White flowers with boxwood. Because he remembered they were my favorite. That night I booked a flight back to the port city where he still was. I had to make sure what I had experienced was real. I called in sick to work on my way to the airport. We had two glorious days and two wonderful nights together. It was real. It’s still unexplainable. I will never forget it. And I will likely never see him again.

Clean Up Two:
The man I call Lover still lives five minutes away. I stopped by for some lovin’ in early October, but that was the first time I’d been in his arms since mid June when we simply cuddled. I expect I’ll see him again sometime… but that story line has fizzled out.

Clean Up Three:
My high school love, with whom I reconnected with in a deeply emotional and physical way this summer, lives too far away for us to begin a full fledged affair. He knows me better than anyone and loves me anyway. And for that I’m so thankful. We text at least once a week, keeping the connection alive.

Clean Up Four:
Nathan, my out-of-town friend, is the man I’m the most involved with at the moment. He is in town on a regular basis. And our friendship has deepened to a level I can comfortably describe as love. We’re practically a… pause for effect… couple. It’s sort of crept up on me and it’s so out of character for the blog that I haven’t been sure how to go about writing it. So I’ve just avoided the story line all together.

Clean Up Five (and confession):
Any of you who’ve read The Office Games series in its entirety may have wondered why there was an eleven month sabbatical in the action. And perhaps why I still haven’t finished writing about our business trip adventure. I skirted around the truth when writing about Jack, and even lied in one of the comments when I was asked directly. You see, Jack is married. I didn’t want the judgement that comes from dallying with a married man, but wanted to share the fun flirting, sexy banter and night of passion with you all. But for the relationship to make sense I can’t keep that very important fact behind the curtain any longer. And that’s why I’ve had such a hard time finishing the last part of the business trip story. So now you know.

Clean Up Six:
The Ex Boss and I are in a state of limbo. He lives across the country. And keeps asking me to come see him. Actually, he has asked me to come live with him. But for all the passion and incredible sex we have (he’s the only man who has ever come close to dominating me), he isn’t tender. And I must have the tender too. So I don’t know what is going on there. Everything and nothing, I suppose.

I think this concludes the tying up of loose ends and runaway thoughts that have peppered my blog over the last year or so. But if I’ve forgotten anything, please just ask and I’ll do my best to chase down those threads as well.

Love and cheers,

Killer Wasps

We were standing in my kitchen, Nathan, my out-of-town friend, and me. As I watched him add the boiling water to my French press coffee pot and the grounds mixed with the liquid like a miniature swirling storm it all came rushing back to me.

“I had a nightmare last night,” I told him.

He was quiet as he stirred the grounds with a long wooden spoon. His task completed he looked at me and smiled tenderly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “What was it about? Killer bees?”

My eyebrows shot up, “No, but you’re close enough. Killer wasps,” I said.

He walked across the tile floor and kissed me gently on the forehead.

“You were there,” I continued, “And my father. And several other people I know. We were strolling along a sidewalk, me with a walking stick in my hand, when someone stepped on a wasp. That sent out some type of homing beacon to the hive. They came in droves and we were running, dodging them as we went. I thought we were getting away but when I turned to look over my shoulder, you, my dad, and everyone else was on the ground in the fetal position covering your heads as the wasps swarmed, stinging you over and over. I ran back and used my walking stick to swipe them off, helping you all to your feet, urging everyone to run. We set out and once again, I thought we had made it, but when I looked back you all were curled on the ground like before. I ran back and drove the wasps away a second time. This repeated three times in my dream before I finally woke up, so relieved that it had all just been a nightmare.”

Nathan pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and caressed the curve of my face.

“So the wasps never stung you?” he asked.

“No, they didn’t. They just attacked everyone else.”

Nathan didn’t say anything else about the nightmare. He just wrapped his arms around me and kissed me deeply on the lips, wiping away the residual fear that came from remembering.