July 7

7

His hand slid gently over the marking on her upper thigh. Slowly he traced the darker of the reddish-brown lines with his fingertip and whispered quietly, as if talking to himself rather than to her. “So beautiful…” Moving his hand outward to trace the fainter lines, he watched his fingertip gliding over her smooth skin with a nearly captivated gaze. He loved the way her skin felt so soft and after a moment allowed his lips to curve into a small smile of satisfaction. She belonged to him, and the mark he traced on her thigh was evidence of that.

July 6

6
One man stood at the end of the bar, his presence unnoticed by most of those in the club.

With his back against the wall, he watched the pathetic excuses for men swaggering into the club and the women wearing fewer clothes than any self-respecting whore on the street would wear prissing about on display. Dear God, he needed a drink if he was going to make it through the night.

He made a gesture to the bartender and tossed several folded bills to the top of the bar, then tossed more down when his regular order arrived within minutes.

July 5

5
Slowly he crawled onto the bed. Using his hands, Maximillian gently spread the girl’s slender legs, his lips twitching with the hint of a smile when he felt her tremble. He looked down at her and positioned himself between her legs, then looked into her eyes.

“It’s alright, kitten. I won’t hurt you.”

The girl whimpered and Max smiled reassuringly.

“I know, kitten. You’re afraid. It’s going to be alright. Everything will be just fine. I won’t hurt you.” He stretched out on the bed between her trembling legs and turned his head to nuzzle at her creamy bare thigh.

July 4

A cold mist formed suddenly and swallowed the forest, but the pair pressed on. They walked hand in hand with fingers entwined, each drawing from the other the strength and courage to go on. Both man and woman harbored deep fears but neither gave voice to what was in their minds as they moved carefully through the chilling mist. Voicing those fears aloud would make them come to life and nobody wanted that.

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I’ve got nothing more on that scene. I saw a picture and this sprang to mind. I’ve poked at it many times recently but little changes.

July 3

Her blood ran like ice through her veins and she stood perfectly still, barely daring to even breathe. Even the slightest move from her and Alex would be gutted like a fish on the docks.

Ophelia’s gaze shifted slowly and she studied what little of the darkened stone room she could still see. Finally she released a slow sigh. She didn’t see anything that she could use. That crazy bastard thought of everything, she thought to herself.

Hearing something to her left, she turned her head slightly and narrowed her gaze intently… and then smiled a wicked smile. “Almost everything…”

July 2

The withered old man sat on the park bench, huddled against the whipping wind. He watched the world passing by with squinted eyes. His vision had faded years ago but his vanity kept him from seeing a doctor about glasses. Even so, he could still see things other failed to see. Or refused to see.

The autumn wind turned bitter as the sun sank on the horizon, and the old man could smell snow on the biting wind. Squinted eyes shifted back and forth, searching for one person in particular. Pulling his jackets tighter around him, the old man shivered.

July 1

Almost a year ago someone recommended the book Walking On Alligators A Book of Meditation for Writers by Susan Shaughnessy to me. I was told it was motivating.

It took a while for me to order the book. After it finally arrived it sat on my desk near the bottom of the tower of books that is my “to read” stack.

Last week my desk attacked me. During the chaos and cleaning that followed, I found the above mentioned book. Since then, I’ve been reading a page a day. I have to say, I am glad I have said book.