About Marian Green

My mind is a crazy tangled place. Here I let my mind unwind, the thoughts pour.

To Be Titled

It’s been a long time since I had a first kiss. Longer still since I’ve been with two men with only a few hours of separation. And I can barely remember the last time I fucked in a truck. But on an evening a few nights ago I experienced all three.

From a distance he could almost pass for Ian. The height, build, close cropped dark hair, slightly crooked smile… they all have a close resemblance to the Australian. Except for the eyes. Where Ian’s twinkled blue, Joe’s are a deep brown. Almost black.

This is not a new revelation. I knew Joe before I met the Australian. And after, when our paths crossed, I couldn’t help but notice the similarity.

When we met almost a decade ago he was in the middle of a separation and I in a committed relationship. But there was a spark, a rich undercurrent, the velvety tease of desire. Witty banter lead to flirting laced with thick innuendo which gave way to long looks and intentional unnecessary brushes of skin.  Continue reading

Why Does He Still Make Me Ache

With my Apple Music playing on the Soft Pop station (don’t judge, it was background music while I was working) I pecked away at several projects with urgent deadlines. Work was foremost in my mind. And then the rich crooning of Roberta Flack comes through the tiny speaker…
The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the endless skies
The first time ever I kissed your mouth
I felt the earth move in my hand
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command my love
And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last till the end of time my love
The first time ever I saw your face
Your face, your face
It was as if I was instantly transported to that moment over five years ago when I met HIM. The first time ever I saw HIS face. The one I fell for totally and completely almost instantly. The one whose face I will never again see. Will he always make me ache? When I’m a very old woman, who has lived a full, meaningful life, will part of me still pine? I don’t understand it. But tonight I’m feeding it. Roberta Flack is on repeat.

Stream of Buzzed Consciousness 

Hold me. Steal me. Kiss me. Penetrate me. Own me. Overwhelm me. 

Cherish me. 

Make time for me. 

Flirt with me. 

Touch me. 

Watch me. Crave me. Respect me. Try to resist me. And fail. 

Part me. Challenge me. Fill me. 

Excite me. 

But instead you love me and ignore me. Two sides of a complacent coin. My currency. My choice. 

The Solo Ride

I exited the train, strode down the wooden platform and saw him standing just past the turnstiles. Tall and handsome in a grey sweater, tan jodhpurs and brown riding boots, he was unmistakably my guide for the day.

“Hello,” I said to him in his native tongue. The five days prior in this European country had perfected my accent.

“Hello,” he replied, a look of slight surprise on his face.

We walked out towards his car in tandem and in silence.

“How are you?” I asked, nearing the limits of my recently acquired skill in his language.

“I’m very good,” he replied, a crooked smile alighting his face, “And you?”

“Very good.”

“You speak my language?” he asked.

“No, not well,” I said, reverting to English, “I do try though.”

“What you know is very good.”

“I have a good ear, but limited vocabulary.”

He glanced over at me as he opened the door to his car, a ghost of his first surprise still haunting his features.

“I hope I haven’t kept the rest of the group waiting,” I said, referring to my slightly late arrival.

“There is no one else,” he said.

“What?” I replied, confused. I thought I had scheduled this village and countryside ride along with a group of other horse enthusiasts.

“There is just you, so no one is waiting,” he confirmed. Continue reading

Hi Y’all

Turns out I’m not dead after all. I confess I have felt that way, at least sexually for a while. A sexual zombie. That is what I’ve been. But I’m waking up. Slowly. It’s like coming out of a very thick fog. One where what’s ahead could be anything. But you don’t know. And don’t care.

I’m not sure how much I care yet. But at least I’m waking up.

Feels Like a First Date Continued

Old friend from high school needs a name. From here on out I’ll call him Jake. Not in the least because he could be Jake Gyllenhaal’s brother they look so much alike. 

That evening we lingered over drinks. Then we lingered over dinner. Finally we lingered over dessert, still talking. Still sharing mutual memories but from our different perspectives. Brief touches on hands, arms, shoulders were scattered throughout. When the server came by a third time and asked if we needed anything else we exchanged sheepish grins. 

“I suppose we should leave,” I said. 

“I’m getting that feeling,” he said wryly.  

Neither of us moved. I took a deep breath. 

“I want you to invite me to come over to your place. And I want us to have one more drink there and keep talking. I’m not ready for this to be over,” I said.  Continue reading

Feels Like A First Date

When I last left you I was sipping a drink waiting on an old friend from high school to arrive for an evening of catching up. Would you like me to paint you a picture? I need to. I’ve been burying myself in work for ages. Even now I have windows open that are explaining some new social media tips and tricks that I can use to get my business to the next level. But that’s not why you’re here reading…  Continue reading

Choices We Make 

I glimpsed soul mate love. It’s fleeting glory touched my lips briefly and passed. Passion. Fire. Thunder. All these things touching me. And then gone. 

But I found a new path. A new way to be happy. He is steady. He is safe. And he loves me. 

And I love him. 

He is a good man. 

But sometimes I see the passion I glimpsed in others. And I miss it. 

This song plays as I help Nathan wash my car. 

“She lies and says she’s in love with him, can’t find a better man

She dreams in colour, she dreams in red, can’t find a better man

Can’t find a better man

Can’t find a better man

Talkin’ to herself, there’s no one else who needs to know

She tells herself, oh

Memories back when she was bold and strong

And waiting for the world to come along

Swears she knew it, now she swears he’s gone

She lies and says she’s in love with him, can’t find a better man

She dreams in colour, she dreams in red, can’t find a better man

She lies and says she still loves him, can’t find a better man

She dreams in colour, she dreams in red, can’t find a better man

Can’t find a better man”

And I know that’s true. I won’t find a better man. Maybe the passion will come. I see hints of it sometimes. 

So it comes down to choices. And I choose to stay with this good, better man. 

Packing 

I’m packing a carry-on bag for an upcoming trip  and realized that I am taking more bras than shoes. 

The plunge black one for the low cut cocktail dress. The nude one for under my casual white tee shirt. The black and violet lace bra for the square necklined dress. The white strapless one for the strapless sundress. And finally the sports bra for the yoga class I plan to attend. 

That’s five bras. FIVE! For a three day trip! 

And for those wondering… I’m only taking three pairs of shoes. 

Xoxo 

In the Absence of Plans 

Tonight I try an experiment. I have no plan. Well. That is a lie. I have a plan to have no plan. The idea is to simply begin writing and see what happens. 

I know. It’s an old trick. But I’m still curious. The title of the post just came to me. The Absence of Plans. Funny… On the surface I can appear to go with the flow. And that is perhaps because depending on the situation I often do. Why fight a current if it will take you where you’re headed anyway. 

But often I have deep and well laid plans. Ones I tell no one about. Ones where I have visualed the many paths that can lead to where I want to end up. 

I rehearse conversations. It’s something I’ve done ever since I was a child. Suppose Ashley says X, how will you respond, I would ask myself. And then if you say that, she could retort with X,Y, or Z, the train of thought would continue until I had bounced around how I would respond to a tangle of conversation. All this in a matter of moments. 

I wonder if all that bouncing around in my brain at such a young age developed stronger links throughout regions in my brain, making diplomacy and thinking on my feet second nature. 

Why do people call it second nature? If it’s natural enough to be second, isn’t it really first nature? I digress. 

But I suppose that was the plan all along. 

But oh yes. This is supposed to be a somewhat sexy blog. And I’ve been letting you all down of late. 

No. You will not go reread what you’ve written while you dream up something sexy to write. It just has to flow. 

-pause while I ignore my own instruction and reread- 

Is feeling centered and happy the absence of sexual angst? I ask because that feeling of being on edge, that terrifying delight of almost out of control, is absent. 

Sex is an almost daily (sometimes thrice daily) event. Sometimes it’s quick. Other times it goes on for ages… foreplay to coupling and back again multiple times. But I’m slowly fumbling at something here. 

I’m. Not. Lonely. Every night I share my bed with this man who is figuring out how to show me he adores me. I am happy. 

There is a fine line between pleasure and pain. And not just in the physical sense. Love is like that too. Take it to the very edge… The brink… And it fucking hurts. It’s not happy anymore. 

So maybe I don’t love him as passionately as I have loved in the past. That doesn’t mean it isn’t love. 

He’s fondling my breast now. Perhaps in his sleep… Or not. I will put my phone away and find out.