Working for It

Wanting it and working for it were two completely different things.

Lorna realized this mid-strike, bringing the hammer down more ferociously than normal as she thought about how bad she wanted it, and how little she worked for it.

It was pure laziness, she thought as she checked the edge of the plywood, made sure it was connected snuggly.

She wanted to be gone today. She wanted to leave and hide out in her mind, in the dark recesses she only visits on her own. Her mind was welcoming and screaming, her thoughts both beckoned and angered her. She wanted to feel safe, alone, happy, sad, she wanted to get away and get out all at once.

The only way she could work all this out was with physical work. So she hammered and rehammered and took the nails out forcefully and hammered them back in again. The rhythm of the angry strokes was soothing, musically warm to her ears.

She was breathtakingly fucked with this project.

She looked down at her handy work. It was shit.

The whole idea was shit.

So she kept hammering the sides and ruining the symmetry of the project, she worked and worked and worked until she noticed the day was gone and the night had been here for quite some time.

She wanted it bad, she wanted to work for it.

But it was, in all reality, complete shit.

-D.R Breshears

 

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The Darkest Darkness.

I hadn’t thought about death in a long time.

Yet it crept up on me silently that night. The thoughts, not the inevitable Act itself. Though it may be nice to see the Act himself, to watch his cloak drift into her living room.

The feeling of the night itself was cloaked in darkness.

It was like looking up at a pepper black night’s sky, with no salty stars dotting the horizon.

It always hit like this when the weather was changing. Things got darker much quicker during these cold months, and she was never fully prepared.

This time was different, though. This time was more still than most. It was almost peaceful, welcoming.

This kind of dark only came around maybe once or twice a year. This was the darkest darkness.

Have you ever tried opening your eyes extra wide in the dead of the night, willing yourself to see what you don’t actually want to see, what you are terrified of the most?

That’s what that night was.

-D.R Breshears 

A Weak Windshield.

The news was tragic.

The crash was more than she could take.

Her heart shattered like the windshield, suddenly and violently.

It had been raining.

The kids were dead.

Her kids were dead.

Both of them.

Gone.

She couldn’t take it.

The police told her to spend the night with family, not to stay home alone.

She slammed the door.

She walked upstairs and remembered the time Jenny tripped over the third step’s carpet bump, managing somehow to break her leg.

She was the most coordinated person she knew.

As she passed through the hallway she glanced in Jimmy’s room.

It felt like someone was choking her.

It was messy in there.

The bathroom floor was littered with too many outfits, Jenny couldn’t decide this morning.

Jimmy left the toilet seat up.

She reached into the medicine cabinet and saw Jimmy’s first razor, he insisted on getting it once his first chin hair popped up.

She moved it aside and found the pill bottle.

Once Jenny took two thinking they would ‘get her high’. She slept 15 hours straight that day.

Soon she would be sleeping too.

Soon she would be with them again, to tuft Jimmy’s hair and scold him about the damn toilet seat, to keep a watchful eye on Jenny during these trying teenage years.

She swallowed as many as she could, the choking feeling real this time, physically real.

The lights were flickering in her brain, and sleep settled in as suddenly and violently as the windshield.

D.R Breshears 

Good Sex

I do believe I posted this before, but I am currently going back and reworking these chapters so any feedback would be great! Sex scenes aren’t really my strong suit, so this is a pretty rough draft.

Enjoy!

-D.R Breshears



Chapter – Good Sex

The sex before and after the box was much different.

Before he was always a more aggressive lover, to say the least, but that was the way she liked it.

They would have sex at least every other day, sometimes twice a day, sometimes three times a day. They had the things they both liked but would get a little more adventurous at least once a week, it seemed. Nothing really ever seemed to be too far for Lorna, and nothing ever seemed to be unappealing to James.

The sex was never insane though.

Lorna had been with a couple guys who had made her evenings interesting, to say the least. Once Lorna was with a guy who had a fetish for sticking anything he could find up any orifice he could find. She didn’t quite walk right for those adventurous couple of weeks, but she didn’t hate it either.She wasn’t fully comfortable with him, though.

She definitely felt comfortable with James every night,  it never got that far or that weird.

She remembered her favorite time with James so far, that afternoon when they both played hooky from work after lunch and went to a bar on the edge of the state. It’s not like they cared so much that they would be caught, it was just more fun to pretend you’re doing something wrong sometimes. Luckily the edge of the state was only an hour away, and the city in question was dead midday on a Wednesday.

Lorna had luckily dressed up that day, a summer dress showing her glistening tan long legs and her lipstick matching her earrings. James looked gruff and smelled like oil, she couldn’t quite keep her hands off of his arm or leg or knee during the ride to the bar.

James pulled out her seat at the bar, ordered two heavy drinks, and sat down promptly with his hand in between her dress, underneath the table but not hidden at the same time. She felt oddly turned on by the simple forceful act, and she couldn’t help but part her lips slightly to let an almost silent moan escape when he started exploring underneath her favorite cotton panties, as he took what he clearly thought was his, not caring who was around.

There weren’t very many people around, one nosy older gentleman in the booth to their right and the younger male bartender who pretended to wash the same glass three times in a row.

Lorna could tell they both were watching from the corners of their eyes, and she never felt more turned on.

James watched her closely as she climaxed, he took his time and listened to her breathing toward the end. He lit a cigarette, took a puff, handed it to her, and asked the bartender for a shot.

Lorna blushed as the bartender sat down two in front of her, one in front of James, with a smile on his face.

They left after the shots, James with a clear erection the entire walk out, and never made it out of the parking lot.

It was only 5pm and the traffic was bad. It was glaringly bright outside, and their car didn’t have much room to hide anything.

The bartender took the trash out twice before they were done.

She came three times before the afternoon was over.

The sex after the box, however, was much different.

James still took what he wanted but he didn’t pay attention to her breathing anymore, he didn’t carefully help her climax

Driving Around

Excerpt from a forgotten chapter. – D.R Breshears


‘He wasn’t even in the car with me anymore, he was just sitting by himself outside the driver’s side door with his hands on his head and his pants around his ankles’, the crackling voice on the other line laughed as she took another drag off of her freshly lit cigarette.

‘Fuck, how do you even get yourself into these situations, Liz? It’s almost like you just sit around town looking for the most fucked in the head guys and invite them into your pants, I mean life,’ Lorna said half condescendingly, half enviously.

‘Aren’t they the same thing? I mean if you think about it, Lorna, you as a human female have needs, whether you think of them chemically, like that guy you fucked at the concert last year because you said ‘he was looking at you like that’, emotionally, like your last infamous 1-year boy toy who ‘made love just the right way’, or biblically, like that of the role of women you were taught in church, you know, baby making and what not. Whatever way you look at it, Lorna, your pants and what you choose to put in them or not put in them are 100% your life in a nutshell’.

‘That’s such bullshit and you know it, you just need an excuse to fuck Cody the Creep again’, they both laughed at this one.

Sometimes she wished she were more like Liz, a tad more uninhibited and unconcerned about how others felt about her. Hell who was she kidding, she would trade places with Liz in a heartbeat, just to feel that completely reckless, stupid, intense passion she was sure she felt at least every other night, just once in her life.

Lorna was practicing her usual afternoon routine as she talked about nothing in particular yet everything essential all at once to Liz: pick up her nephew from school, pick up her sister from work, pick up dinner for them all, and pick up party favors for herself later that night. While she wasn’t the most adventurous person in this small beat-up town, she certainly was the most habitually . . . relaxed.

She didn’t mind helping her sister out, she herself was constantly in and out of relationships, either living with the guy or living with her sister, so they have always sort of counted on each other in that aspect.

Her nephew was six years old and possibly the most adorable boy she had ever had the pleasure of meeting, and not just in the ‘oh, he’s family, of course he’s cute’ way. Though, she had to admit, being a mixed boy in his small class in this small town was never an easy thing to deal with. He didn’t care about the comments as much as she did, she always thought one of those little biggot kids could use a good kick in the ass.

Racism is alive and well, and if you can’t find it you aren’t looking in the right small towns across America. She hated the people in her city, yet, obviously, she never left.

Her sister herself was 29 and stunningly gorgeous, one of those faces that never age and those bodies that never soften. Lorna was always jealous of her sisters looks as a kid, she was just one of those voluptuous girls that was always wanted by somebody, even way back in middle school (she still hadn’t gotten over her first crush, Tommy, asking her sister to the 8th grade dance even though he was only in 6th grade).

Lately, however, Lorna had come to accept her own unique sexuality, a sort of dark and smokey sexy thing that she hasn’t had any trouble attracting her own sort of guy with throughout her mid-twenties, though lately her well had been a bit dry, she would admit.

As Lorna went to turn left on Engineer Street near her nephew’s school she heard a loud pop and hissing from underneath her hood, something she definitely didn’t know enough about to try to make it up the street with.

She and her car had been mortal enemies since 2005, and she knew better than pushing her luck with an engine malfunction (flashback to her engine fire fiasco three years ago).

After a quick call to the school explaining she would be late, then to her overly dramatic sister with the same, not as well received information, she called a tow truck with her free AAA card (one tow a year my ass, this was her 4th) and told him to take her to his opinion on the best mechanic in town.

‘That would be Johnson’s, I’ll take you to James downtown.’ he gruffed at her.


 

Brave Enough to Be Angry

 …because even as a teenager I knew implicitly that pandering for male approval was a woman’s most effective currency.

I have felt every spectrum of beliefs on feminism and women in our society, my beliefs ranging from at one point hating men for making women feel so shitty about their looks (don’t get mad, guys, that was teenage brain), to hating women for hating men for everything anymore.

This article though…I like it. I like what she says, though I have kept my mouth shut about the #metoo movement. I do think it is important to shed light on those who do harm to women in society, that’s not the issue, I just don’t like the sudden moral support that has been missing for so long when it was truly needed, if that makes sense.

A good read though, for anyone!

Bad Habits

The whole not-smoking cigarettes thing is going fairly well, with the exception of a couple slip-ups each week the past two weeks. However, my brain has this bad habit of trying to kick all bad habits at once, so I am on a major health craze kick now.

I talk about it too often, but I lost 100 pounds in the past, and the maintaining the loss hasn’t been that hard until recently, which I realize is due to the fact that I have COMPLETELY thrown all my healthy habit training away.

Time to get back to basics! (We’ll tackle the weekend drinking next!)

Visual Motivation: 34

Sleepwalking

An older favorite of mine to share for National Authors Day.

throughdanielleseyes

Another shot from my week of visual vacation posts and a short piece I put together today. The image and the story do match each other, if you stretch your imagination a little further than it’s been stretched today, that is.

Stay curious, friends.

20161213_230123_picmonkeyed.jpg


Sleepwalking

She felt cold. She felt cold and maybe a little damp.

Most definitely damp.

She began to open her eyes.

Do you know that awkwardly comforting feeling when you first wake up, when your eyelids are the heaviest not simply because of sleep, but also because of that fine layer of goop keeping your eyes pried together? She always liked that feeling, that almost disgusting sound of forcing your eyes open, yet today she didn’t feel it, they didn’t open.

She tried and she tried to will her eyes open, to exert any and all physical force into the act of fluttering even one eye…

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