Chelsea – 2


(Continued from Chelsea)

The sliver of moon had slipped past the window, leaving only a dull gray glow over the room. Gennie roused beside him with a snuffle and rolled into his chest. He slipped his arm behind her head to make a space to snuggle.

“You awake?” he whispered.

She murmured something that could have been yes, no or maybe so. He settled back into his pillow happy to close his eyes and let sleep take him back down. Until he felt her hand slide over his thigh. It fell there not by chance but with a purpose, moving slowly up to his cock which, more awake than he, rose eagerly to meet her. She took him in hand slowly feeling him grow. He rolled toward her gently pushing her over with his shoulder.

He licked at her neck then left his tongue’s glistening trail down her body following the receding blanket. Full of her heady night smell he added his tongue to her own lubrication. She responded with a soft moan and drew her legs to her chest. In the quiet almost clandestine manner of midnight sex he pushed her further backward and slid into her all at once and completely, answered by a hiss rather than a daylight moan.

“Try to be quiet”, she said folded up on herself.

“Why?” he asked, sliding out then back in wet, easy motion.

“I feel bad. Chelsea doesn’t have anyone right now.” He kissed her lightly, for a moment taken by her sweetness and consideration. Then his kisses became deeper, harder mimicking the push of his cock into her. She thought she was being quiet-would have liked to have been quieter, she truly would have. She whimpered into his shoulder, biting instead of moaning…she was doing the best she could.

In her room, where the moon still shone brightly, Chelsea rolled onto her side. Their lovemaking hadn’t awakened her, but she was awake, if barely. Eyes closed she slipped her hand into the loose waist band of the cut off sweats she wore for pajamas. She drew her legs up and found herself easily in the damp folds. Exhaling softly, she rubbed gently to the rhythms coming from down the hall.



tumblr_ol9mmiWP171qbb77eo1_540 - Copy

(Continued from Geneva – 12)

It was an odd fall, he thought watching the trees as he pulled into the driveway. No hard frost yet, but no rain. The leaves that were changing and falling seemed to be doing it out of exhaustion more than anything. They knew their time was done, even if the weather didn’t.

Approaching the house, he turned down the old Waylon tune that had popped up on his shuffle. No, he wasn’t feeling generally lonesome, ornery and mean but, seeing someone sitting on his porch, he did feel a prickle on the back of his neck. He rested his hand on the console top, ready to snap it open, then recognized who it was.

He turned off the truck and got out. He’d only seen Chelsea twice before in his life, but he could see she had made an effort to look attractive this time. Not flirty or showy but beyond presentable-and it didn’t take much. Her hair, no longer a tied-up mess stuck to the side of her head, hung loose and wavy, framing her face. She had dusted lightly with make-up that accented rather than concealed her freckles and her thin lips glistened pink. The dark eye liner might have been overdone but it fit the picture. She had a slight bump on the bridge of her nose that probably came with a story and her lanky frame looked comfortable in worn denim and long-sleeved cotton jersey that pulled slightly across her breasts.

“Geneva’s not here”, he said simply.

“I know. She’s at the Battery picking up a few things. We texted.”

“She know you’re here?”

“No. She thinks I’m at work.”

He leaned against one of the rough-hewn porch columns and noticed a small duffle beside her.

“No cigarette today?” She winced and pointed to her purse.  “Who smokes in a stranger’s house without permission?” he asked.

“I was trying to show you I couldn’t be intimidated. I didn’t care about you.”

“How’d that work out?”

“Burned my fingers and ruined a good beer.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t spank you too.”

“Oh Jesus, I thought you were! When you said that to Gennie I thought…I almost puked I was so nervous.”

“You know what happened to Gennie, right?”

“She’s my best friend-even if I’m not really hers.” She shrugged lightly allowing her voice to tail a bit.  “We talk or text every day”. She reached for her purse, took out a pack of Salem 100’s. “Do you mind?”

“Light one for me”, he said.

She patted two out of the pack and put them in her mouth. She snapped a battered Zippo and lit them both. He took one, smudged with pink frost at the end.

“I knew she was reaching out to someone.”

“You never asked?”

“Not my business.” He inhaled his first cigarette in a month and watched it burn for a moment.  “Also none of my business but I’m going to ask anyway. Are you two lovers?” Chelsea took a deep puff and exhaled luxuriously-seeming to conjure the answer in the smoke. He was in no hurry, content to let her chew, hoping for the truest and not the quickest answer.

“Naw. I wish…I mean we were-before Brittany. Little and short. But sweet. We hooked up before we really knew each other. If I had known her better, I’d have taken better care of her. It. The relationship. We never really had one till now. Friends you know. “

“So, Chelsea, what brings you here to my porch on a day when your friend isn’t here?”

“I’m a direct person. People either hate that or like that about me, but it’s the only way I can be. I’m on short hours at work-can’t afford to get a place of my own right now. Living with Brittany without Geneva as a buffer is impossible…”

“For being a direct person you sure are taking a wide path…”

“I want to move in.”

“That’s direct.” It was his turn to read the smoke after a long exhale. “I can’t open a boarding house for everyone that doesn’t want to live with Brittany anymore.”

“You’d do a great business”, she said smiling wryly. “I’m just looking for a place to fall out a bit. Like I thought Gennie was looking for. Now I’m not so sure…” She waited for him to jump in, not yet knowing that it wasn’t his way. “Anyway, one thing you should know though, if I move in here? I’m one hundred percent a girl gal. I let Jimmy Wilson take me to the Christmas Dance in seventh grade, but that was it for boys. No dicks for me.”

“And you’re telling me this because….”

“Well, with you and Gennie-… she kinds of goes which way the wind blows…”

He frowned. “Don’t put it that way. It makes her seem…frivolous…flighty, somehow. Is that how you meant it?”

“No. No. Of course not. I’m sorry. It’s just that…I’m gay, and I wanted you to know that. That’s all.”

“OK, I get it. No offense taken.” Happy to finish that part of the conversation he sat in the chair beside hers, separated by a small table.

“I could be helpful around here.”

“How’s that?”

“I have a CDL. And can handle a fork lift…landscaping…” her prepared speech was trailing off and she took another, quick and nervous, drag. “I can handle any machine you have up here.”

“I imagine that could be helpful…”

He waited for the rest. There had to be something more, the way she was scanning the surrounding hills for clues. “There is another thing…” she started slowly, then stopped. Puffed the last of her smoke, then put it out in a flower pot after holding it above the dirt and having him nod the OK.  She reached for her purse to get another.

“Don’t”, he said, again simply. “You know what you’re going to say. Just say it.”

She sighed deeply and surrendered, “If I’m living here and I fuck up-or do something you don’t want me to be doing-and you need to spank me? I’m OK with that.”

“You are, are you?”

“Not looking for it. Not hoping for it. Not. Been there done that, a long time ago. But if you thought it was necessary, I’d be OK with it. Not OK, you know? Don’t know how much I could handle these days-especially from a guy…But…if you had to…”

“I get it”, he said letting her off the hook though he would have been happy to while away the afternoon listening to her talk about spanking.  Just hearing a woman he barely knew use the word… Nothing in his outward nonchalance betrayed him. He looked at the bag. “Did you and Gennie already work this out?”

“No. This is on me. I didn’t want to put this on her. Figured this was between you and me.”

“What if I’d have said no?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know Gennie.”



Geneva – 12


Uncredited Tumblr find

(Continued from Geneva – 11)

His eyes locked on hers as she moved slowly toward him. It wasn’t far, but every step of the foot-dragging-journey seemed to take forever. She broke first, dropping her gaze to the floor. She wasn’t afraid, exactly. At least she didn’t think so-but she sure felt something. She remembered learning about the flight or fight response in psychology. That must be what she was feeling-but she was doing neither. She was submitting. Her response was to acquiesce. Maybe that’s what frightened her.

She stopped when she saw his feet and knees in front of her. As if reading her mind, he asked softly, but in the same stern tone, “Do you trust me?” She said nothing for a breath then nodded meekly as the word ‘yes’ fell stillborn to the floor.

Done talking he reached out and unsnapped, then opened, her jeans. He pulled them down with none of the attendant gentleness that would come with undressing a lover. Her hands, having nothing to do, dangled. He guided her, shuffling, to his side before pulling her panties down to lie with her jeans in a bundle at her feet.

The sunlight illuminated her glowing white skin and he, with difficulty, ignored the luxurious tangle of fur standing within easy reach. His eyes lingered though, when he caught her sweet scent in the light breeze coming through the door. “Lay over”, he said with difficulty, his tongue, like hers, slow and dry. Avoiding his eyes and flushing a deep pink, she bent and leaned her hands first on his legs, then on the chair beside him and finally, as she settled over his lap, onto the rough floor, mortified that her bare backside was pointing into the yard.

He cupped her bottom once to push her higher and she wriggled into a better position and waited nervously feeling the heat of the fall sun on her skin. He resisted the urge to touch her-wanting this moment to stand singularly from any other where he might fondle or caress her bare bottom.

“I don’t want this”, she said to the floor. “I hate this. But I’m still sorry for what I did…I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” He patted her soft bum once, then again, tenderly. “And I forgive you. Now let’s get this out of the way. Don’t tense-that will make it worse.” With that he raised his arm and brought his hand with a loud “SMACK!” onto her creamy right cheek. As anyone reacting to their first spanking, every swat was met with a verbal response. Gennie yelped “OUCH”, then “OWW” then “OUCH” again as he spanked first one side then the other then back again.

His blows weren’t as hard as they could be but certainly not light. She allowed herself to begin crying at around the seventh or eighth swat and once she opened the gate, all the afternoon’s tension and her fear of being sent away flew through her and out, driven by his heavy hand on her backside. Her crying filled the workshop punctuated by “OOOO’s” and “OWWW’s” which became louder as he quickened the pace of the blows at the same time reducing their severity. She began to kick and squirm.

“Lie still”, he commanded pausing.

“I’m trying”, she sniffed.

He concentrated his smacks on the void at the bottom of her bottom where her cheeks met the tops of her legs so every echoing swat reverberated between her legs. As her bottom numbed to his spanks, her flower awoke to the reverberations.

“Here”, he said, “Let me move you…” He spread her legs slightly so that in delivering the final light swats he could cup her cheeks and allow his fingers to linger in the softness between.  After a pause, he said “I think you’re done”. His hand rested at the top of her leg kneading slowly.

“Thank God!” she said, lifting one hand then the other to wipe her eyes. But she didn’t move to rise as his fingers explored between and below her pink-spattered mounds. After a moment, she felt his hardness poking at her belly.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“I’ve had worse times”, he said sliding his finger deftly across her moist labia. “You?”

“Great” she said sarcastically but made no move as he rubbed.

“You want me to stop?” he asked pausing and seemingly ready to pull his hand out. She pushed her bottom back to stay engaged.

“Don’t be hasty. Really, it’s the least you could do.”

“You are in a pretty vulnerable position to be a smartass.”

She didn’t push it, nor did she move, save for the slow undulating dance of her hips against his prodding finger.  She was pushing backward off the floor wriggling against his growing cock. “Hold on”, she said. “As much as I hate to move, I have to tend to that.”

She stood quickly and, marching in place, hurriedly stomped her pants and underwear off. She pushed him hard back onto the chair when he began to stand and reached for his belt. She yanked it roughly as he tore her T-shirt toward himself, up her back and over her head leaving her completely naked but for the tears on her cheeks and the blush on her bottom. She barely noticed, hungrily pulling his jeans and underwear down.

He pulled her in and closed his lips over one small taut breast, then the other, and nibbled softly, squeezing her warm bottom. She growled lowly, throwing a leg over and straddling him. Reaching down she grabbed him firmly, placed him, then gently impaled herself in one long sure move. She settled, wriggled-kissed him hard-then lifted slightly-to fall back down. Then lifted higher-almost out. Then sat hard again. Then again. Her grunting exertions accompanied the soft squishing sound that became louder and louder as she as she pumped and jumped faster and faster working her burning thighs to the loud slap-slap-slap of his bare ass on the hard, wooden chair.

“I…shouldn’t…be….doing…this…after…the way…….spanked…me…”, she gasped.

“If you stop now, you’ll get another one”, he growled, his hands on her bouncing butt.

“Come dammit-COME!” she barked as she began to shudder bucking hard in his lap. He didn’t need the direction lifting his ass off the hard wood and squeezing her tightly-his hands slipping along her damp back.  She rode him hard, bucking into a shudder then crying out something that might have been words as she came loudly just at the moment he coughed and spurted deeply up into her.

He collapsed hard onto the chair as they, still coupled, shrunk into one another like balloons after a party. Her slick body glistened in the sun as he slid his hands over her. Was it only 15 minutes ago that she worried about someone seeing her bare butt out the door?

Too spent to lift her head, her lips tickled his collarbone.

“The most confusing orgasm ever”, she breathed.

“If it was easy, everyone would do it.”


“Maggie Brown!”


280(Continued from “You better hurry…”)

Maggie Brown was showered, dried and had fought her hair to a standstill. It was easier to deal with a decade ago when it had been thick enough to hold a comb right out of the shower. Now she had to tease, blow, and layer to pull off what she thought of as cute and young but was only set that way to cover the fact that it was thinning pretty quickly. The way some woman put off getting glasses until they were almost walking into things, Maggie had avoided wigs and weaves. Can’t do it anymore she thought, looking into the mirror from where she stood ironing her blouse in the nude.

Morning coffee made her sweat so rather than give it up,  this ritual was born years ago; shower, dry, hair and then spend as much time as possible naked in a hotel room chilly enough to hang meat. As usually happened her eyes slid down from her hair to her breasts which neither stood as straight nor pointed in exactly the same direction as they once had. But they were fine. They remained fine-the bonus for the small-breasted woman of the world.

Her stomach was still flat and would stay that way.  Being naked, she couldn’t see the tiny rolls that would gather at her beltline but it didn’t matter, she knew they were there even if nobody else did. She turned to look at her backside first over her left shoulder, then over her right. Reaching back she lifted her right cheek and watched it fall back into place. Passable. Of course there wasn’t any excess flab back there but she had to be constantly vigilant. Also, of course, there were times she wondered why she bothered.

As she went back to ironing, a 40 year old episode of the original Hawaii-Five-O played in the background to avoid any morning news casts-even her own station. Years ago she had diligently watched all the morning news shows, sizing up the competition, as it were. Watching the anchors, the reporters, trying to steal what she could but mostly trying to divine what they knew that she didn’t. She had been mired in Eastern Ohio and Western Pennsylvania for what amounted to a career waiting for the break-for that thing-that would bounce her out of here and to the network. She had seemed to be on the cusp a few times but nothing. Weekend anchor if everyone was on vacation and “features” reporter. Which is how she came to be up the river in East Bumfuck, PA covering an overgrown fireman’s fair. The perfect start for an intrepid newcomer but a signal to her that her star wasn’t fading as much as burned out.

Her hotel was about ten minutes to the carnival grounds so she waited till the last possible moment to leave the cool darkness of her room and venture over. She wanted to leave enough time to let Jimmy set up the camera on the rise he had found yesterday where the river and the amazingly chintzy Ferris Wheel could be in the same shot. She parked up in the front of what was still a pretty empty parking lot and headed for the spot where she knew her cameraman would be a full half-hour before her stand-up report at eleven.

“Hey Jimmy”, she greeted the young man who was setting his camera on the tripod. He was a youngster, fully a decade younger than she (14 years if she wanted to be honest and she didn’t). His work uniform of cargo shorts, hiking boots and a Pittsburgh Pirates jersey made him seem even younger.

“Hi Maggie! It’s a beautiful morning on the river…”

“It is actually”, she conceded as she scanned the water already counting a couple dozen boats of all descriptions cutting wakes in the green water that perfected reflected the hills all around. “Is that breakfast?” she nodded at the half-eaten funnel cake on a grease stained paper plate at his feet.

“More of a public service…they had to make sure the oil in the fryer was hot enough…”

“Always there to pitch in.”

“It’s good. You want me to get you one?” It was a joke. Maggie Brown was more likely to get on her hands and knees and eat sand than a funnel cake.

“Thanks-I’ll pass…”

“Your water is right there…” he nodded to a small cooler that she knew would be full of ice and bottled water.

“Thanks-what’s our time like?”

He looked at his watch. “We have twenty two minutes…”

“OK, great…I’m going to grab a….”

“In the bag next to the cooler.”

“Thanks Jimmy.”

She went over and picked the fresh pack of cigarettes out of the bag. Jimmy had opened it and there was a single filter tip sticking above the rest. She pulled it out and took it, along with the red throwaway lighter, off of the rise to the relative seclusion of the Port-a-John line. The little blue shit houses cut the view from the carnival grounds and the trees hid her from the river. She wasn’t a big smoker but why advertise? She liked one in the morning to tamp her appetite and give her a little nicotine edge.

She held the menthol smoke in her lungs and slowly exhaled through her nose, the way she had watched her dad do it years before. She wasn’t thinking about him, or remembering him particularly, it was just one of his many tics and that she had over time absorbed into her being. Her eyes scanned the water without really seeing the boats and water skiers. It was so early and this busy already. What would the afternoon be like?

Her eyes settled on the bridge downstream and were about to move on when a sudden movement froze her. She blinked hard-quickly-and gasped. Someone had just jumped off the bridge! She watched the body fall, not flailing, but seemingly directed-straight down. Not even waiting for it to hit the water she tossed the cigarette aside and scrambled up the rise.

“Jimmy!” she cried, “Grab the camera….”



Turtle Heart


Took this a few hours before this guy became a base for an interesting spaghetti sauce. Because soup would have been too much of a cliche. From the period in my life when I had to eat things.

An hour after it’s been shot between the eyes-

Beheaded, hung to drain and gutted-

The snapping  turtle’s heart will still beat.

Cut from its carcass and left on the cutting board,

It will beat, regular and strong-

pumping nothing-

but air.

Until finally, frustrated with nothing to do, it stops.

Doesn’t quit;


Old timers-Turtle Hunters- reach into holes along the mud banks of rivers,

Happy that snappers crawl up into their lairs


But all could tell the tale of the contrary turtle that backed in-

Catching the contrary bastard that made a habit of reaching into

Holes in mud banks.

Turtles don’t let go.

They can be caught on a hunk of rope if they’re pissed off enough to bite on it

And be hauled into the boat.

Splayed in their mud cave, they can’t be pulled out.

Shovels are brought and mud banks are torn down to rescue the hand;

Sometimes minus the thumb or finger. But rescued.

And the turtle is still soup.

The brain that makes men reach into turtle holes

Is the same that makes them go into the mines.

Because their daddy did.

Because someone has to.

Because everyone else is afraid to.

Because we’re convinced that peace must be bought

With suffering.



Geneva – 11

(Continued from Geneva – 10)

He stepped into the open door of the workshop as the PT Cruiser drove past. Chelsea, in the passenger seat, was looking away and Brittany was pointedly facing straight ahead steering with her right hand flipping him the bird as firmly as possible with her left. His grin was hard enough to cut stone.

Gennie came running out the door and down the steps before the car had left the yard. She hit the workshop breathless.

“I’m SO SORRY!” she cried wiping at the tears that seemed to run unbidden down her face. “I didn’t mean to invite them over-I REALLY DIDN’T! Brittany just kept calling and calling and telling me I was kidnapped…brainwashed…She was killing me!”

“What do you care what she said or what she has to say?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know…but it was just going on and on for days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it if it was bothering you that much?”

“I didn’t want it to be your problem.”

“Those girls in my house are certainly my problem. How did that happen?”

“I…I finally just told her she would quit about all that if she came to see us…How we were together. And one thing led to another.”

“And you invited her up. Sent her the GPS and brought her to my living room.”

“Please don’t make me leave. When you asked if I was packed I thought you were going to make me leave with them. I almost had a heart attack. Please, please don’t let me fuck this up.”

Moved, he stepped to her and wrapped her in his arms pulling her teary face into his chest. “You made a mistake. We’ll work it out. Your place is here as long as you want it to be.” She calmed down at that and hugged him hard. He held on as long as she wanted, then let her pull slightly back.

“That other thing, you said”, she said.


“The spanking. You’re not really going to spank me are you?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She searched his eyes looking for the joke. “That’s not…I mean…”

“My house, my rules”, he stated simply.

She backed away from him and moved toward the door. She needed more air-was having trouble breathing.

“But what if I don’t want you to?”

“You lost that choice when you disobeyed me.”

“But I didn’t know that you would…we never talked about spanking!”

“Would that have changed what you did? Do I have to lay out the penalties for disobeying me-for breaking rules that we agreed on?”

“We never talked about this.” She shook her head. “This isn’t normal.”

“So I’ve heard. But again, my house my rules.”

Surprising them both she stomped the ground. “You realize I’m an adult don’t you?”

“She said, while stomping her foot”, he said modulating and remaining calm.

“I don’t want this! What if I just say no?”

“They’re probably not far down the road. They’d be happy to take you home with them.”

“I AM HOME!” She stomped again then half turned with her hands across her chest. Her eyes were leaking again but there was a tiny flame of defiance glowing in them along with something else. Suddenly unsure in the battle of words, he decided to disengage and get on with it. As she watched, he grabbed a stout wooden chair from the shadows with one hand and placed it determinedly between them in the sunshine. He sat on it-hands on his thighs.

“Get over here.”

She wanted to stop crying, but the tears continued to roll unabated. She stole a glance toward the house as if considering an escape. She wanted to be able to take a deep breath. She wanted to swallow. She wanted her knees to stop shaking. She wanted to turn her back on him and walk away. Instead, she did the last thing she thought she wanted to do. She turned and walked toward him.


Geneva – 10



Storm clouds rolling in…

(Continued from Geneva – 9)

“I’m not going anywhere”, she said strongly.

“Good”, he turned on Brittany again. “She’s been into town since she been here. Has free access to my car and truck. Maybe you can ask her why she never stopped by to see you. Or made sure you weren’t home when we stopped to get her things.” Brittany stared darts at Gennie. “She wouldn’t see you at your place but was happy to invite you here behind my back. Right Geneva?”

Geneva had no answer. Just stared at the floor.

“No. Not silence. I want to check-to verify-that I have this down. Is what I said correct?”

With every word he spoke to her in this new stern voice she seemed to press further back into the couch cushion. “Yes”, she said in a small voice. “That is…the way it happened.”

“You let him talk to you this way? Is this the way he talks to you?”

“Go ahead Geneva, tell her. Is this the way I normally speak to you? Tell her.”

Geneva, trying to stay out of the line of fire as much as possible just said, “No.”

“No”, he verified. “I’m speaking to her this way because this is the first time that she did something I specifically asked her not to do.”

“He speaks to you like he owns you!” she spat.

“Brittany, please don’t make it worse than it already is.”

“I just want to understand what you’ve gotten yourself into here.”

“What she got herself into was all about getting away from you.” Out of the corner of his eyes he swore that Chelsea dropped her head to hide a quick smile. “And the last couple of weeks have been good. At least for me. Have they been good for you Geneva?”

“Yes”, she said wishing he would go back to calling her Gennie. She had nothing else to add caught up as she was watching someone speak to Brittany in a way that she had never heard before. And for the fact of it, she looked a bit cowed. As she should probably because he was looming a bit; nothing obvious but Gennie never saw him use his size before which he was doing subtly with the pitch of his shoulders.

“I don’t know you”, he told Brittany, “And I don’t particularly want to. But I watched you pretty closely over the course of eight hours a couple of weeks ago and never once did I see you being anything other than a bitch. Everyone was having a great time and never once did you smile. Never once did I see you speak nicely to anyone. I venture to guess if it wasn’t for Geneva’s personality and…what’s your name sweetheart?”

“Chelsea”, said the strawberry blonde.

“…and Chelsea’s dope, you might have ruined the day for everyone. When Geneva told me that she needed to spend some time away from home and I found out that YOU were home I understood and was happy to open my door to her.”

“I bet the door isn’t the only thing you opened to her…”

Finally the blonde spoke up, “Give it a break, Britt…”

“AND”, he continued, “The door is open, she can leave anytime she likes or stay as long as she likes. Isn’t that right Geneva?”

She was starting to get a bad feeling about the ‘Geneva’ thing. He wasn’t even changing his tone when he spoke to her. “Right”, she answered noticing that his look wasn’t typically warm.

“You, on the other hand”, he turned back to Brittany “Are not welcome here.”

“She invited me!”

“Yes, I understand that. But it wasn’t her invitation to give. My house-my rules. She went against my wishes, against an agreement we had and for that she’ll be spanked.”

“Spanked?!” said Brittany and Geneva almost as one. He noticed Chelsea drop her gaze and try to make herself smaller.

“He spanks you?”

“You can’t spank her”, Brittany said. “She’s not your…child.” She pivoted huffily to Geneva. “What’s he do to you?”

“Nothing! No! He’s never laid a hand on me.” But a quick look told her that while that had been true, it wasn’t going to be for much longer. He spoke directly to her. “You’ve never given me cause Geneva. Now you have. You’ll learn from this.”

Brittany turned to face her, “Gennie-you have to come with us now!”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m staying here.” Was she just being stubborn? Was she afraid to leave or afraid to stay? ‘you’ll learn from this…’ he’d said. She didn’t know she had anything to learn. “Please…” she said, her eyes wide and shining. She wasn’t pleading not to be spanked. That seemed to be a fait accompli, as it were. No, what she mouthed was, “Not in front of them…please.”


Geneva – 9

(Continued from Geneva – 8)

There was an old PT Cruiser parked in front of his house when he pulled up. It was clean and waxed, the windows spotless, but it had seen some hard miles; originally gold but now decorated with rust, putty and a rainbow bumper sticker. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see it. Knew it was just a matter of time. It had been fun while it lasted, that’s for sure.

He had considered many ways to play this out when it happened but still wasn’t entirely sure what was best. He’d just react to what he found, he thought. It’s what he always did. He pulled beside the Cruiser faster than he needed to, tossing a little gravel to announce his arrival. He hopped out of the truck, strode up the steps and stepped confidently into the house.

Geneva, looking like she had swallowed something bitter, was sitting at one end of the long couch wishing it were longer. At the other end of the couch sat Brittany-erect and challenging- wearing the same miserable face she had all day at the concert. His new lover’s green eyes had none of the light and sparkle that he found so captivating.

He caught the acrid whiff of cigarette smoke. Sitting in the chair-his chair-was the pot-head from the show. A not-quite-pretty but definitely-interesting looking lanky strawberry blonde. Her frizzed out hair was tied on top in a bun that looked like a wind-ruined bird’s nest. She had pulled herself to attention for him but what she hoped would be a defiant puff on a cigarette came off as nervous and contrived.

“No smoking in the house”, he said, opting for stern.

Red-faced, she apologized quickly and, having no ashtray, licked two fingers and squeezed it out dropping the butt into an almost empty beer can that she must have brought with her. He liked her quick action.

“So, this is a nice little get-together” he said, scanning the room. Hearing a tone she had never heard from him, Geneva’s eyes went from leaden dead to panicked darting. She glanced at his face but looked quickly away trying to judge his level of anger without really getting caught head-on in it. She looked at her two friends as if to verify they were really there. “I didn’t know you were coming home so soon.”

“Obviously. You didn’t know I was going to be here so you invited some people over that we specifically talked about you not doing, right?”

Brittany chose her opening to speak about him directly to Gennie. “See? Is this normal? He keeps you a prisoner here and won’t let you see your friends.”

Ignoring her, he addressed Geneva only. “Are you packed?”

“Packed? Why?”

“Didn’t they come to get you?”

“To get…? No! I’m not going anywhere.” Then wide-eyed, “Am I?”

“That’s up to you”, he said.



Geneva – 8


(Continued from Geneva – 7)

As unashamedly smitten as he’d been with Geneva from the moment she wandered across his blanket it had never really occurred to him that she might actually be useful in his daily life. He winced recalling the thought, not only because of where it placed him on the evolutionary scale, but because there she was, in the bed of his pickup, guiding, then securing with straps and ratchets, the Barton’s 800-pound mantle that he was lowering from his forklift.

His first hint of her utilitarian side was when they picked up her things. Expecting-and not being disappointed by-the stylish, if small wardrobe, the thongs, the lacy things, there were also work boots, gloves and jeans torn by function rather than fashion.

She jumped into the passenger seat. “You want to check the straps?”

“They good?” he asked.

“They’re good.”

“Let’s go then”, he pulled out slowly respecting the weight in the bed. It was a short drive.

“So, these folks…”

“The Barton’s…friends for a few years.”

“Knew your wife, right?”

“Yep. They didn’t too much like her. Which made it difficult at times…but it was fine.”

“They were your friends first?”

“No”, he grinned at the inquisition. “It was a good match life-style wise, but not any other wise.”

“Life style….?”

“That’s an onion best peeled slowly”, he said, ending the conversation as they pulled off the road onto a long ribbon of black paved driveway.

Duke Barton stood in the middle of the circular driveway waving them around to the back. It was a sprawling rambler that looked more modest than it was. Driving around to the back the house seemed as deep as it was wide and the patio, where they were delivering the mantel, had a bigger footprint than Gennie’s childhood home. Duke was in his forties-slim and sandy-haired but he was moving too quickly for her to get a good read.

He disappeared into what looked to be a four-car garage and came steaming out in a compact green tractor with a bucket. Does everyone out here have construction equipment she wondered? The bucket had chains stacked inside which Duke jumped out and rigged to lift, noticing her for the first time.

“Hello there!” he said over the hum of both vehicles holding out a gloved hand. Gennie shook firmly. “Geneva”, she said quickly apparently caught up in Duke’s kinetic energy field. “Pleased”, she said then pulled on her own gloves and hopped up onto the truck bed. Duke glanced at him and he smiled with a half-shrug and pointed at her palms up in a ‘she’s got it’ gesture.

Their relationship had changed over the past week as he knew it would, one way or the other. She had become less a girl hiding out at his place and more of a partner in what he was doing-curious, helpful but not intrusive. Plus they had slept together every night since. His third-floor studio was going unused and he didn’t mind a bit. Now he smiled watching Gennie hustle, rig chains, hop up onto the side of the truck-bed to steady the mantel as Duke lifted it clear. He loved that she was showing off but wasn’t sure if it was for him or for Duke. Either way, it was a good look. A very good look.

“It’s finally here…” cried a voice coming from behind her.

She followed the men’s eyes to settle, as everyone’s did, on the formidable breasts of Bethany Barton. She was doing nothing to show them off-they just were. Supremely casual in corduroys and flannel with long dark hair she wore the ‘lady of the manor’ air with aplomb.

“Just when I said it would be…” he countered.

Bethany pulled up beside Gennie, “Who is this green-eyed wonder?”

“Geneva”, she said removing her glove and holding out her hand. Bethany took it lightly, as if catching a butterfly, and slid close.

“Geneva”, she purred. “Wonderful to meet you.”

“Gennie, is fine…”

“So, Geneva”, she asked with an appraising gaze, “Are you a good girl or a naughty girl?”

“Uhh…” Geneva said tentatively.

“Please Beth”, said her husband.

“I’m only asking dear, because that one usually falls toward the naughty girls…”

“We’re still trying to decide that”, he called over.

“Hard to tell”, Bethany said smiling. “With these eyes she can go either way.”

“She’s only just had her first spanking.”

“Really honey?” she asked with arched eyebrows, “Your first?”

Gennie shot him a look- like REALLY?

“Oh, dear. I envy you that.” Bethany gushed closing her eyes in theatrical ecstasy.

“The fear, the confusion, embarrassment, humiliation. You are never as naked as you are over a strong man’s knee, are you dear?”

“Then the pain-there is that-the first shock of it, then the spreading of the warmth-providing he was using his hand and not one of the oak paddles he’s so fond of making, the brute!” She winked at him and he could do nothing but smile and shake his head.

“Then, after the pain, the heat, then the warmth, there is the release-the mind reels at the release-never have I seen the world so clearly as upside down over a lap. Then after the release, the tenderness…how sweet and soft the hands that could be so hard and punishing.”

Finally Duke stepped in.

“Easy Bethany. You don’t want to tell this girl all of your secrets right away.”

The woman smiled at Geneva and leaned close-reaching to touch her blushing cheek. “I think she already knows, don’t you dear?”

They were there just long enough to complete the transaction and ensure the mantel was secured in storage. Duke still had work to do before placing it and he was happily moving rocks before they were out of sight. Bethany had walked them to the truck and given Gennie a little peck on the cheek.

She was quiet until they got onto the two-lane.

“Which is she?”


“Is she a good girl? Or a naughty girl.”

“Very naughty.”

Gennie smiled and watched the hills pass the window. Here and there spatters of gold were appearing.

“You ready to pack?”, he asked.

“Definitely not.”



But Why?


I want to gasp as you bump your fingers slowly over your handiwork.

I love to hiss at the cool burn when you drizzle the lotion over me.

I want to remember this all day.

I want to feel you all day.

When you’re gone,

I want to feel the tiny buzz when running my own fingers over the tight ridges.

I want to feel them wriggling below when sitting later.

To pause anytime and see a reminder of what we did this morning.

I want to reach back anytime and feel them.

Touch them.

Then make myself feel something more.

There was a time when the memory of your smile-of your hand in mine-was enough;

A long time ago.

Sometimes I wish you weren’t-but

You are too gentle to leave bruises so I could see them for days.

But you’ll be back soon-

To again, scribe your signature,

On me.


If you enjoyed, see Corduroy