21 June 2014

We are moving ...


Greetings ... this blog is moving over to

http://phoenixkellywrites.blogspot.com/ see you over there ... as we explore more ...


Some women burn in the fire ... and some women are forged of it!

20 March 2014

I Knew Exactly Who It Was!


When the phone rang at two in the morning, I knew exactly who it was … it was him and all he said was “I’m coming home. I need you” and then he was gone … the phone clicked off.

Instantly my body came alive and I craved his touch, his mouth … he was coming home.

Heath had been away for a month, well 28 days and 17 hours to be exact … but who was counting. 
  
He came home from work one bright autumn afternoon, to the apartment we shared - I had paint on my cheek - he told me he had resigned and needed to get away. 

My initial reaction was WTF? But I took a long, slow, deep, breath and instantly realized, this had nothing to do with me and even less to do with us.

He left the next day with cash, his phone, his passport and a back-pack.

The night before, he had made love to me all night, filled with passion and tenderness that silently begged for permission to leave and demanded I remember his touch.  He held me at the door for a long moment, I could hear his heart pounding but I knew he had to leave … and I had to let him, to quench this thirst that was drowning him. 

I held him close and he clung to me, torn between staying and searching. He held me tight and finally spoke “this has nothing to do with you, you know that - right?” it came out almost as a plea.

“Yes” I said simply … quietly

“I will come home – I love you, I need you” he said. I believed him. “I just need to find some space”
“ok” I said

He drew back and cupped my face between his hands and searched my eyes for understanding. I got it. He needed this. I was ok.

He dipped his head and clawed at my lips with his mouth. Desperate, to remember every twist and tender turn, every contour. He kissed me so deeply, I felt it within. Finally we parted lips, breathless, but our connection was kept as our foreheads couldn’t let go.

“My phone will remain on all the time and you can find me using the locator on our phones.” He added almost desperately 

“Heath” I said calmly, quietly “I am fine … go … search … find … and then … come home”

Again he pulled me into a tight embrace and then before he changed his mind … he left, grabbed his bag and escaping through the front-door. 

That was 28 days and 17 hours ago …

I looked down at my phone to trace where he was coming home from and he was on the other end of the world … it would take a while, I smiled. 

I tossed and turned as sleep eluded me … my mind and body ached for Heath.  My mind raced around how he would feel, how he would taste, how he would touch and my body came alive with sensation … I lay there for a while considering the options but eventually I got up to watch the dawn gradually fan out across the Manhattan skyline.

He was coming home … I was excited. I was more than excited. What had he seen? Where had he gone? Was his thirst quenched? Would home be enough now?

I was drawing up to the sketch board, creativity had exploded through my body since I learned of Heath’s return, when I heard the key in the door and his bag slump to the floor … I felt him before I saw him. His heat, his presence.

For a moment I stood very still, not even finishing my sketch stroke, just trying to galvanize this moment in my mind.  He was home.  I closed my eyes and drank in his presence behind me.

I hadn’t turned but I could feel him smiling and a smile pulled at my lips as my body came alive with an overwhelming need and heat.

From behind, his hands curled around my waist and he pulled me into his warm hard body. I melted and wanted to whip around to feel him, see him, taste him but he held me tighter for a moment, stopping my turn – holding me right up against his body.

Eventually his hands moved slowly up my curves and cupped my straining breasts; my nipples hard, screaming for his touch,  fire exploded through me … Oh Yes!  I Knew Exactly Who It Was!


You don’t know me … But you want to …

Fiction, Flirtation and Fantasy … Writing by C. Kelly

06 January 2014

Grand Gestures!


“We are going to lunch” you exclaimed, less so a request, more of a proclamation!  I smile.

I look up from my paperwork and see the man I had been dancing around for 5 years.  For 5 years we have been intimately circling each other politely, our thoughts less so polite, resisting each other, making sure we never get stuck in a lift together … alone.  In flops Jarrod Sterling, taking the chair and indeed my office by surprise.

“Are we now?” I ask, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.  We had never done lunch before, well never at his insistence.  It feels ominous; some kind of statement, my heart sinks as the options buzz through my mind.

“Why?” I ask cautiously, not trusting this announcement.

“Because you are wonderful and I don’t tell you often enough”.  Jarrod is playful today, it’s sweet to see, it’s not a side you reveal very often, it makes me smile.  Jarrod and I work in the Newsroom of the local independent television station.  It’s pressurized, fast-paced, gritty and erratic and we are all absolute adrenalin junkies, the thrill of the chase.  News makes for late nights, sudden business trips and a lot of telephone messages - a breeding ground for suspicion and doubt.  But not Jarrod and I, we have always returned home to our waiting families, drawn together by the attraction, released to return home only to be pulled together again sometime in the future.  It gets harder to fight but we keep it all very platonic, helping each other through various kid and family crisis’s after another, denying it to others and ourselves, under the delusion of friendship.

“Bless, and as much as that is completely accurate, and I would love to” and I would just like to spend 10 minutes of discrete time with him, instead of one of our phones paging us back to the Newsroom, “But I’m slammed with paperwork and I am researching Friday nights story” I lie.
Uncharacteristically he stands up abruptly, making a grand gesture, towering over me, leaning over my desk and I, clamping my hands down over the papers on my desk saying … “check your calendar baby because it is happening, this week or next week … pencil me in!  Releasing me equally as quickly, he is gone.

What on earth was that about, I wonder?  My mind reverts to the options.  Mild panic arrests my thoughts for a few moments as I re-surface to a ringing phone.

~0~

Jarrod persisted and persisted, which I found odd but endearing, he even went public with the request so I scheduled a time and he collected me downstairs for lunch.  It was a rare thrill to be getting out of the office during the day and the weather was beautiful!  I was really looking forward to lunch until he collected me on his motorbike.  I hadn’t ridden in years.  I considered refusing when Jarrod said “come on, you tell me all the time how much you love to ride” with that wicked grin and innuendo dripping.

The trill of the moment exhilarated me, as I got on the back of the bike and Jarrod carefully placed my helmet, taking care to make sure I was clipped in securely.  Jarrod was always physically gentle with me.  I was aware of a few questioning faces, wondering what we were doing and why.  I pretended not to notice.  Jarrod read my mind and smiled again saying “let’s keep them guessing” he giggled as he pulled on his helmet.

The last time I was on the back of a bike was before my children were born and I felt 18 again.  Completely immersing myself in the moment, Jarrod started the engine, which roared its vibration below us, it made my skin tingle.  He looked around to check and then roared off down the street, loudly and too fast! I screamed into my helmet and held him tightly and felt his chest chuckling by my reaction.  My fingers were holding onto a t-shirt laced over rock-hard abs, which I wanted to explore in detail.  This man knew what to do to drive me crazy, in every way.  How else was he going to find a perfectly acceptable scenario where I would be forced to trust him completely and hold onto him tightly, even if it was only for 9 torturous minutes.  The speed was thrilling and it made me hold on tighter, a clever plan.  The engine thrummed between our legs and I was becoming more wet by the exhilaration of it all, my body was in complete over-stimulus and I held on tighter.  

We arrived at the restaurant, the choice of which surprised me.  It was a fancy, up-scale, high-end, to be seen at Vegetarian Restaurant, the chef was currently on everyone’s lips with high praise.  I started to tense, and butterflies circled again.  We were politely seated in a corner, a table for two, alone, away from the maddening crowd and the conversation bobbed awkwardly around work issues.  Feeling a change and to make light, I started teasing Jarrod.  I loved to tease him, he was always so much fun to tease but the winds suddenly changed and he became defensive and difficult … our dance was going array, we were stepping on each other’s toes.  Had this become too real?  Was the fantasy fading?  Was the reality difficult and awkward?  Jarrod became more serious and his body-language leaned away from me.  I was grateful when the food arrived and we were forced into silence for the munching.  I offered you something that I wasn’t sure you would eat, you rather determinedly said no, something I had always been able to cajole you into before.  Something had changed, he doesn’t trust me.  I sat upright, uneasy and that initial ominous feeling returned.

We fell silent to eat, I became hyper-aware of the music in the restaurant, that t-shirt stretched over you, the noises from the kitchen, the cool of the air-conditioning, the condensation on the side of my glass filled with ice, the annoying waiter who wouldn’t leave us alone, happy voices laughing outside, we weren’t laughing.  I wanted us to laugh.

“What are you thinking?” he asked me gently.

My brow furrowed, I tried to make light “how much you love vegetables” I teased.

“I do eat vegetables!” you pouted “just not all of them.  And that was not what you were thinking.”  I smiled, you were stubborn and clever.

We finished our lunch, the air had changed.  Your phone rang.  You look up at me.  Our eyes connect, our eyes know … it was over.

I inhale deeply looking off into the distance to give you some privacy.  You got up and walked away.  That hurt.  And while you were off having an animated conversation with your phone … it slowly dawned on me!  This was good-bye.

The public place, insisting we do it, refusing me – you rarely refused me, the change in behaviour and vibe … this was your farewell, our good-bye.  Our dance was over.

I tried to mask my awareness as you returned to the table “I have to run” you said “sorry, really sorry, can you get a taxi back to the office?  I’m really sorry about this.  It can’t be helped.”  You motioned for the bill.

I was trying to breathe calmly as I said “sure” as nonchalantly as I could “I’ll be fine! So fine!”  In that tone that the locals adopt for each other.  “You go sort out your world.”  I smiled at that statement.  

That was what we did.  We connected briefly, scared each other by the opportunity and then one of us would pull away to behind the gold-band line.  It was safe there, torture but safe.  

It was what we did and it worked but it felt different this time.  You paid, you got up apologizing again for running, you kissed me on the cheek lingering for a moment, and you ran from the Vegetarian Restaurant.  

I watched you as you glided down the stairs, grabbing your sunglasses, keys and making sure you had your phone.  

I watched you place all of your items, but you had left one behind … our dance was over … and you never looked back!


You don’t know me … But you want to …


Fiction, Flirtation and Fantasy … Writing by C. Kelly

10 November 2013

Surrendering To The Moment …

There are a million things on my mind, as I sip coffee and make yet another list of things to get done today.  I must fetch stationery for the kids, hubby’s shirts from the dry cleaner, I must reply to that international order and schedule those meetings with Canada, dinner … what will that be today?  I’ll figure it out before the end of the day.  I must nip to the bank and the post office and I mustn’t forget to get that card for thingy’s birthday, anything else … as I look out across the blur of faces in the hotel coffee shop, out towards the beautiful city view.  As I finally put a few more items on my list, I thoughtfully put my pen down and looking out across the city again, this time the faces in the coffee shop coming into focus and I realize that I am looking slap bang into the smirking green eyes of Dean Anderson.  Oh my word, Dean Anderson!  Dean was the gorgeous, devilish guy I danced every night of that summer I au paired in Europe with, that fantastic year between high school and university.
Putting my cup down slowly, Dean was already striding over to me in that manner that used to make my toes curl.  It still did.
“Hey Beautiful, long time no see” he said in that sultry voice that sounded like ticklish velvet to my ears, leaning in kissing me on the cheek, lingering a moment too long.  Oh this man smells so good, spicy, manly and erotic.  Memories flood my mind.
“My word, Dean Anderson … what brings you to town?” I say sitting back in my chair, taking in the new view, absentmindedly playing with the curve of my coffee cup, eternally grateful I am not sitting here in sweats but in soft cashmere instead.
“A bit of business, a bit of pleasure” he answers in a wicked tone
“I just bet” I returned with a sceptical eyebrow … those eyes could be my undoing … again …
“Time has been kind to you Eva, you look amazing.  What has it been … 15 years since that summer?” he asked, tilting his head intently to one side.
“12, I’m blessed with good genes” I smile, trying not to sound defensive “you have kept well yourself” I return the compliment.  I wanted to say hot but well would do for now.
He smiled knowing what I meant and ran his hands through his dark blonde curls “thank you” the air crackled with tension.
The next minute we are in Dean’s hotel room, he has pushed me up against the closed room door and he is nuzzling my neck in that hypnotic manner that makes my knees struggle to obey.  I had forgotten what a great kisser he was, he kissed with reverence which turned into demand.
Running a trail of kisses from my mouth, up to my ear and down my neck, across my collar bone, my cashmere was becoming a barrier.  As I returned his kisses with urgency and heady delight, everything else fled my mind … but this man.  Dean had been the secret intruder of many a fantasy of mine … and here he was …
Tugging at his golf shirt, our lips parted for a moment as Dean pulled off his shirt and slowly pulled my jersey over my head, carefully pulling my long red hair through it … only to then irreverently drop it to the floor.
Again passionately pushing me up against the wall, his hands start to re-trail familiar territory, as he runs his hands across my collar bone to my shoulders, down my arms, coming up to cup both of my breasts, quickly he unhooks my lace bra and discards of it equally irreverently, his mouth dives in for one of my hard aching nipples.  Taking my breath away and arching my back into his mouth – oh yes, I remember this!  His mouth moist and hot, sucking hungrily and then nipping me as he moves on to the other nipple.  I’m gasping at air and starting to worry if my legs will keep me up. 
As if reading my thoughts, Dean removes his mouth from my nipple and I whimper in protest.
He smiles knowingly as I look up at him.  “Still so beautiful Eva” he says brushing my lips with the gentlest kiss.
Leaving me panting, I start pulling at his buckle to release his belt and I can feel his erection beneath his trouser zip, straining.  Oh my word, I had never forgotten that cock.  Slowly I start pulling down his zip but he stops me half way.
Dean reaches down and undoes the zipper on my skirt, which falls effortlessly to the floor.  Standing there in nothing but my lace thong, he admires the moment and then suddenly pulls - hard - on the thong, snapping the delicate material, smiling broadly.  Dean then pushes me gently back onto the bed and I fall back, surrendering to the moment.
“Spread your legs for me Eva … you know you want to” I can hear his smile, as lust drips from his lips
I know exactly what his plan is and he doesn’t have to ask me twice.
Dean slowly runs his hands up the outside of my legs until he gets to my knees and then gently places the softest kiss on the inside of each thigh.  I’m biting my lip to stifle my moaning.
Slowly he trails his tongue up the inside of my left thigh and pulls back.
“Wider” he says commandingly “open wider for me Eva”
Unconsciously I obey.
I can feel his breath as his mouth comes down on me and he runs his tongue up and down my slit, rimming my opening.  I’m clawing at the bedding unable to stop the noises of absolute pleasure.
Dean’s tongue darts in and out and eventually he settles on my clit and goes to work, within moments I am grinding into his tongue and running my hands through his hair, keeping his head in play.
The crest of the wave is gaining in momentum and suddenly my back arches and I can hear bells and see stars … I can hear bells, more like buzzing really, annoying buzzing, what is that?
As I release and my body shatters into an explosive illicit orgasm, I realize that Dean is indeed a fantasy, as I sadly return and realize that I have woken myself up with my orgasm … Oh my god that was a dream.  Breathless.  Panting.  No fucking ways, as I hold my breath in an attempt to control it, Bruce stirs next to me in bed to the annoying buzzing of our early morning alarm clock.
“Morning” Bruce smiles sleepily

I try to compose my breathing some more.

 
“Sleep well?” Bruce asks me throwing his legs off the bed with his back to me  
“I dreamt a lot” I blushed …
 
 
You don’t know me … But you want to …
Fiction, Flirtation and Fantasy … Writing by C. Kelly

 

08 September 2013

Feeling is Believing!

There is nothing as cold as an art studio in the middle of winter!  All of those beautiful lines that attract you to the space in the warm glow of the sun;  high ceilings, large windows that allow in the natural light, silent open spaces, seem to unsympathetically chill you to the bone in the dead of winter.  But nothing would keep me from my Wednesday night art class.  Nothing!  Not even my inability to draw.  Regardless, here I am … dressed in 6 unsexy layers of warm clothing, enduring the freeze – not even the cold anymore – to allow this flame to be nurtured and to see … him.  Mason Steward - my art lecturer and the man that I have secretly loved for so long.

I’ve been told everyone can be taught to paint, I am challenging that theory!  I started art classes 6 years ago as my initial escape from my terminal marriage.  One evening a week, that I could escape for 2 or 3 hours and immerse myself in something that I’m terrible at, an exhilarating uncomfortable space – I never felt more alive!
I can’t draw to save my life or anyone else’s for that matter, but I love colour and acrylics and the richness of the textures and I’m observant and even though I know my talents lie elsewhere, I felt inexplicably directed to this class… even before I met the lecturer.  Adult education evening-classes bring together the most wonderful assortment of eccentric people and personalities, people you would never normally meet in like-minded places.  So for the first time in years, I was excited about starting art classes.  I had invested in the required utensils and stepped into my first class.
I was early, so me, but I wanted to immerse myself in every aspect of this first little step to my freedom (and maybe I might have wanted to get out of the house before Steve got home from work).  It was early evening at the start of summer and the large open space was bright with white-wash and large windows.  The room was set-up for eight easels, with a small table next to each easel, with a larger tea & coffee table set-up against the wall.  Three students had already arrived and they were speaking to a tall, dark-haired man, who had his back to the door.  Tentatively taking a deep breath, I entered the room and Mason turned around giving me his full attention.  I stopped abruptly and realized I wasn’t breathing.  Moments passed and eventually my brain kicked in.  Breathe!  Mason walked towards the door and extended his hand to take my art-bag.  As he took the bag from me, we unintentionally touched, which sent sensation recoiling through both my hand and Mason’s arm.  We felt it.  He had my attention!  “Come inside” he said slowly, I was absentmindedly rubbing my hand where the sensation entered my body.  This man was attractive - to say the least - but there was more, he was mid to late 30’s, dressed semi-casually in chinos and a golf-shirt that covered the expanse of his broad chest and shoulders.  He wore a Tag watch, Italian tan shoes and he was about 5 or so inches taller than me.  He had warm green eyes and hair that used to be jet black in his youth but now there were one or two grey hairs at his temples that showed, together with the slightest lines at the corners of his eyes, that life had had her way with him. 
That was 6 years ago.  And over those 6 years we had been restrained, controlled, polite, particularly Mason at my attempts at art, we had chatted and drunk a few cups of coffee after class, learned about each other, we had celebrated 6 birthday’s and 6 Christmas’ together – with the rest of the class and a few more other memorable events with the other occupants of the class, but mainly we had worked really hard at skirting the attraction that was palpable when Mason and I were together.  Mason was married to a powerful business woman who kept him in Italian shoes and fed his art habits but left him regularly in pursuit of the next deal.  I divorced 4 years ago and for a moment I entertained the pity party … not any more.
This evening, its cold and we are working with watercolours which I loathe, because they are all drawing and technique – both of which I am terrible at - but compared to that first year … I am getting better… barely.  Because my art project isn’t speaking to me, my eyes watch Mason with the other students, kind, tutorial, generous and gorgeous, as he talks perspective and proportion.  I smile as I realize his words are lost on me and yet I’m still here, in the cold with not even a kiss once in those 6 years.  But I have heard and remember every word he has ever said to me, and I could listen to him read the phone book, as I listen to the sadness in his words that tugs at my chest.  He is smiling now at Agnes our 83 year old gusto-granny who finally got to art class when she turned 80.  Mason is kind with her and again the ache in my chest tugs.  He moves onto Gerald, Gerald is our accountant that is indulging his secret passion and they get into a beautiful discussion around technique and brush strokes.  I better get back to my landscape.  Trying to encourage my landscape to appear horizontally instead of vertically I am willing the colour onto the paper.
I can feel him before I hear him.  Silently Mason stands behind me observing me.  I can’t turn round.  The pull between us is physical, as Mason stands just a little too close to me to observe the landscape.  I can hear his heart beating and feel his breath on my neck playing with a loose strand of my blonde hair that tumbles down my neck.  I can’t move.  I’m just enjoying this moment and he smells so good, I can smell his fragrant scent, something strong, spicy and manly.  Just for a moment I thought I could feel his hand on my hip as he gently moves me over and I move to the left under the insinuation of his hand.
“Beautiful as always Christy” Mason says quietly, just to me – I’m not sure anyone in the class can hear him.
I try to control an uncontrollable need to laugh, realizing he must be inebriated.  I turn to look up at him with disbelief in my eyes, realizing he isn’t looking at the landscape.  I catch my breath and blush.
Enjoying the moment, a wicked smile creeps across my face as I cock my head to one side and coyly ask “do you think I am getting better?” looking up at Mason with big eyes.
Now unable to stop, he smiles broadly and flashes me that beautiful smile, that I don’t see often enough “without a doubt, money well spent all of these years Christy” he says turning his head to try to find my landscapes best side.
“You lie badly Mason” I say laughing
“I wasn’t lying about the beauty” he suddenly says seriously.
I think my heart has stopped … and I don’t know what to say to that, so I turn to the painting to plan my next stroke.
Again I can feel his breath on my neck and for a moment I am lost in that sensation, feeling the heat coming off his long hard body, too close to me.
“Can you feel it” he whispers into my ear “the power, the pull?”
“Yes” I say mesmerized and my cheeks flush
Moving right up against me, pressing his hard body against me so he can lean over me to take my right hand holding the brush into his right hand to guide a slow and purposeful stroke that changes the scene on paper and in a moment and a sentence all of the landscape is changed as he whispers “I am not sure how much longer I can deny this”.

 

You can call me Eva!  You don’t know me … But you want to …

Fiction, Flirtation and Fantasy … by C. Kelly