Using Sex to Cope with Grief

Nathan lost a parent this weekend. Suddenly. Unexpectedly.

The call came in the blackest part of the night. We had hours if there was to be a final goodbye. Bags were quickly packed. Work arrangements made. And off we drove into the dark towards rural America.

Dawn broke and the worry showed across his face. Half way there the phone call came. There was no need to rush any longer.

Trembling, with tears pouring he kept driving. “Pull over,” I whispered. He did. I held him against me and we wept. The utter sense of helplessness and loss was overwhelming. I couldn’t fix it. There was nothing we could do.

We are retracing our steps back home now, after a weekend of family, funeral planning, and grieving. Two-lane roads cut through farmland; the sun warms earth. There aren’t as many tears today. Those will come again later. For now there is just calm. And sadness.

I was surprised to feel Nathan’s hand on my inner thigh as we cruised along. Instinctively I spread my legs. The fingers of his right hand went higher while the left one stayed on the steering wheel.

“You’re wet,” he said.

“Mmmhmm. A little bit.”

His fingers moved my panties aside and began teasing my pearl. I could see his cock beginning to strain against his shorts. I cupped his hardness in my hand and moaned. Faster and faster went his strumming fingers. Until I came in the passenger seat.

I looked into his eyes and smiled. Still hungry.

“You aren’t done are you?” he asked.

“I don’t have to be,” I said eying his crotch.

“You want me to fuck you,” he said.

I nodded. A few minutes later he turned his fancy car off the blacktop and onto a rutted dirt road. He drove far enough down it that we weren’t easily visible.

“Now what?” he asked.

I was already getting in the back seat and removing my panties out from under my skirt.

“Ohhh…” he quickly understood.

I knelt on the seat and watched as he unfastened his shorts and slid them down. My mouth sought out his erection. I lapped noisily as his middle finger delved into my channel.

I raised my head and kissed Nathan’s delicious mouth. Our tongues played as I shifted positions and straddled his lap. His hard, straight cock slid in easily and, gripping the head rest, I began rocking my hips against his.

My cries as I orgasmed filled the confined space. He came with me, moaning deeply.

I dismounted and took in the image before me. My man, sitting with his cock dripping with white cum, head leaned back, eyes closed, a content smile on his face.

For a little while the pleasure my body could offer him blocked the grief. For a little while he wasn’t mourning. For a little while…

I’m Always a Woman

I was deboning chicken when Billy Joel’s “She Always a Woman” began playing. My hips began to sway and the lyrics seemed louder than usual.

She can kill with a smile
She can wound with her eyes
She can ruin your faith with her casual lies
And she only reveals what she wants you to see
She hides like a child
But she’s always a woman to me
I do this. I lie. I use my eyes and my smile like weapons. I distract. I put on a mask daily.
She can lead you to love
She can take you or leave you
She can ask for the truth
But she’ll never believe
And she’ll take what you give her as long as it’s free
Yeah, she steals like a thief
But she’s always a woman to me
I don’t ever want to be the one who is “in love” the most. It’s too out of control for me. It’s scary. It hurts.
Oh, she takes care of herself
She can wait if she wants
She’s ahead of her time
Oh, and she never gives out
And she never gives in
She just changes her mind
When I heard that line as a young girl, it resonated with me. I didn’t have to be wrong. I could just change my mind. And I do. Sometimes to the detriment of those around me.
She will promise you more
Than the Garden of Eden
Then she’ll carelessly cut you
And laugh while you’re bleedin’
But she’ll bring out the best
And the worst you can be
Blame it all on yourself
Cause she’s always a woman to me
These lines give me the most pause. They are the most unflattering. But yes. I have been guilty of this as well. The problem is… when I’m promising the Garden of Eden, I truly believe in what I’m promising. I do. But I just have a difficult time delivering. Even worse, sometimes I promise carelessly. Not really aware of how my words and actions are taken. As I’ve gotten older thankfully I’ve become more aware. But I still cut. A friend told me once that I wield a power I have to be careful with. So I try. But I do fail.
Oh, she takes care of herself
She can wait if she wants
She’s ahead of her time
Oh, and she never gives out
And she never gives in
She just changes her mind

She is frequently kind
And she’s suddenly cruel
She can do as she pleases
She’s nobody’s fool
But she can’t be convicted
She’s earned her degree
And the most she will do
Is throw shadows at you
But she’s always a woman to me

I don’t know what it means to throw shadows. That line has puzzled me for a long time. If anyone has any ideas to its meaning I would love to be enlightened.

I believe there are parts of this song that speak to all women. Because at our core… no matter what else we may also be… we are women. And as my friend said, there is power in that. I hope to use it wisely. And to be forgiven when I don’t.

It’s Too Late

You were my favorite. And I yours. This we both knew. And didn’t hide it.

Do you remember making sure I had two, even three umbrellas in my Shirley Temple so my dolls wouldn’t have to share? I do. You made me feel like a princess.

You don’t know how bouncy I would be at holidays. Not waiting for the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus, but for you. The big man with the gentle smile who looked like every drawing I had ever seen of Jesus.

Your hugs smelled of spearmint and cologne. And a hint of smoke. You’d pick me up and swing me around. And I would laugh and laugh.

I eventually got too big to toss in the air. But I would still be anxious for your visits. How we must have looked, the raven haired man with the fair preteen. Heads together over what ever game I wanted to play.

Your fingers showed the first signs. Twisting until they looked like gnarled branches. The limping came later as your knees followed your hands.

Visits were less frequent. And as the years passed there was less man and more bone under your loose shirt. Had I been aware I would have known.

It wasn’t until your secret was found out and the family knew that it made sense. The black in your smile.

Ashamed, you withdrew. I would ask about you. But the family would just shake sad heads and say they hadn’t heard much. So I left it alone. I didn’t try to find you. I left you on the fringes.

I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that the last time I saw you… Was it five years ago? I can’t remember. But I didn’t know it would be the last.

And now it’s too late. You’ve gone to sleep. Never to wake in this world again. And my heart is breaking. Because I didn’t tell you.

I let you die without you knowing that your shame didn’t matter to me. That I loved you anyway. And for that I will never forgive myself.

Sweet dreams, cousin. I am so sorry I was not the kind, gentle princess you always believed me to be.

The Arrogant Jut of His Penis

I read that line in a Sandra Brown novel and wish I could claim it as my own. It jumped off the page at me. In six simple words she had accurately and deliberately described what a penis does.

In that moment I thought of Nathan’s penis. He is not large in build. Five foot eight with a runner’s body. So the first time I felt his erection pressed against me I was surprised. Not because he had one, but because he was larger than I expected.

Most mornings I wake to the jut of it against my ass, his salute to the day offered up for my pleasure. Arrogantly it defies our schedules, baiting me to indulge rather that make it to work on time.

Most mornings I do. “Get inside me,” I moan. And he does. Rocking me awake with the strong thrust of the arrogant jut of his penis.

Freedom Loving Tits

Right this moment I’m lounging across my bed, a view of the sea, palm trees, hammocks and thatched roofs out my window. Nursing a bottle of champagne. Reading a Danielle Steele novel. Wearing nothing but a bra and haram pants.

Except that I was a little careless in the sun today. And the bra straps are touching my freshly pinked skin. So now I’m in only the haram pants.

//// a little while later ////

Half the champagne is gone. I slip on an apricot hued tee shirt, refill my glass and adjourn to the balcony. My nipples are clearly visible through the sheer fabric. I relax on the deck chair with my book and bubbly. Not oblivious to the glances I get from the staff setting up for the poolside dinner below.

But I don’t care. They can stare at my freedom loving tits.


Yesterday was my blogging anniversary. I wouldn’t have known if WordPress hadn’t told me. I’ve been disconnected from this world.

But as life would have it, I find myself in an airport, heading to a lovely place, with a delayed flight. So I sit at the airport bar and sip my white wine and nibble on a house salad.

And thinking.

I chatted with the blogger I met in New York last night. It’s been just over a year since that trip. Which seems strange. I feel I have changed a great deal since then. And not just on the outside.

I’m more successful than I have ever been in my career. I am focused. I am not searching. Well, not searching as much.

Nathan grounds me. But a times it’s like a weight. I asked him in a moment of anger several days ago, “What is it like to be you? What is it like to never be emotional?!!”

He replied, calmly and in complete control, “I have emotions. I just don’t allow them to run away with me.”

In scheduling the travel that I do I am in some ways running away. I just don’t know from what. Reality perhaps?

When texting with an old flame recently I told him to “tell me something good.” Meaning that I wanted to hear about something good going on in his life. But the message I received back read, “You’re beautiful, thought of (constantly), and wanted (badly)”

My heart skipped. I felt very alive. And for a moment, not so disconnected.