I am not really sure how I got here. I woke up this morning and realized that my world had begun to revolve around these rituals I felt compelled to perform. I made my coffee, ate a bowl of cereal, greeted the family, and then sat down at my desk and logged in. I can't say that I am unhappy with my life, it's just that it's not what I pictured when I was younger. I wanted my life to mean something, to be too exciting for words! Now, I am just happy if excitement gets bored waiting for me to log off and finds someone else's life to rearrange. Still, in those quiet moments when the world is sleeping I dream.
I dream of being the shy sexy vixen who with a simple look can make you melt. The one who says nothing but speaks volumes. Who never appeared frumpy or shabby, every hair in place. But I was anything but that. I was a housewife, mom, aunt, friend. One would not take a second look at me, I mix with the background I am in, not bold enough to be the one to stand out. But oh if I could. If I had the chutzpa to tell that guy in the grocery store the things I would do to him if we were alone. How I could taste his body on my tongue and make him want to not stop. I could see it all in my dreams. I could feel the words roll off my tongue. I could see him standing before me as my mouth opened, and nothing came out. I stood there in reality looking like an absolute idiot.
Where did the girl of my youth go?? What good was an open marriage if I didn't have the confidence in myself to think I could find someone. Oh it was easy enough to say we had one, but actually acting on it was a whole other ball game. So instead she wrote. Just like in her youth when her mind spilled onto paper all of the things she could envision. Where her hair fell like honey from the hive over golden hued shoulders. Where her waist was wasp thin and her boobs and her ass were equally looked upon with lust.
Tropical jungle scenes, waterfalls or simple hotel hook ups all came pouring forth from her fingertips. She could make others squirm in their seats with anticipation. Make them hang on her every word. Every consonant placed exactly where it needs to be to lure the reader into the fantasy with her. Where she was every woman and every woman was her. If the stories were on audio someone could close their eyes and be there in their minds. She had heard that all too often. But making her fantasies a reality was a foreign concept.
The ringing of the phone brought her back to reality. The cursor on the blank page blinking harshly at her, her coffee still steaming on the desk. Answering the phone she began typing. Her fingers instinctively knowing what to write despite the other interruptions. They flowed as she nodded and laughed listening to the person on the other end of the phone line. Finishing the piece she signed her trade name to the bottom and clicked submit. Looking at the clock she saw it was only 8:30 am and she already had her first submission done. Rising from her seat she crawled back into her bed, pulling covers over her head and falling quickly to sleep. To dream once more.
I dream of being the shy sexy vixen who with a simple look can make you melt. The one who says nothing but speaks volumes. Who never appeared frumpy or shabby, every hair in place. But I was anything but that. I was a housewife, mom, aunt, friend. One would not take a second look at me, I mix with the background I am in, not bold enough to be the one to stand out. But oh if I could. If I had the chutzpa to tell that guy in the grocery store the things I would do to him if we were alone. How I could taste his body on my tongue and make him want to not stop. I could see it all in my dreams. I could feel the words roll off my tongue. I could see him standing before me as my mouth opened, and nothing came out. I stood there in reality looking like an absolute idiot.
Where did the girl of my youth go?? What good was an open marriage if I didn't have the confidence in myself to think I could find someone. Oh it was easy enough to say we had one, but actually acting on it was a whole other ball game. So instead she wrote. Just like in her youth when her mind spilled onto paper all of the things she could envision. Where her hair fell like honey from the hive over golden hued shoulders. Where her waist was wasp thin and her boobs and her ass were equally looked upon with lust.
Tropical jungle scenes, waterfalls or simple hotel hook ups all came pouring forth from her fingertips. She could make others squirm in their seats with anticipation. Make them hang on her every word. Every consonant placed exactly where it needs to be to lure the reader into the fantasy with her. Where she was every woman and every woman was her. If the stories were on audio someone could close their eyes and be there in their minds. She had heard that all too often. But making her fantasies a reality was a foreign concept.
The ringing of the phone brought her back to reality. The cursor on the blank page blinking harshly at her, her coffee still steaming on the desk. Answering the phone she began typing. Her fingers instinctively knowing what to write despite the other interruptions. They flowed as she nodded and laughed listening to the person on the other end of the phone line. Finishing the piece she signed her trade name to the bottom and clicked submit. Looking at the clock she saw it was only 8:30 am and she already had her first submission done. Rising from her seat she crawled back into her bed, pulling covers over her head and falling quickly to sleep. To dream once more.
