Madame Butterfly

The Summer breeze is gone

The Friendly Neighbor has Turned on the Heat and Closed the Windows

It's Rude to Stare Anyways

My Door is Halfway Open

The Cold Winter is approaching

Approaching is the Guilt

Approachng is the Fear

Approaching is the Holidays spent Alone

Approaching is the Still Outside

No causee for "Alarm"

The Devils is giving Handouts this Fall

The Cold Bed Awaiting

everynight

The Tears of Another Birthday Passing

It will pour down

The Soul ages as the Body Decomposes

Interrupting yourself in a City that has no Meaning

Desperately waiting for Sleep

Endless Sleep

Starring across a frozen River

A River Filled with Lost Memories

Don't pity a Soul that is Over-Grown and Lost

Take a Picture

Just to Burn it all over again

Weddings

Funerals

Births

Crying

Laughing

Smiling

Drunken Nights

Stupid Texts

Idiotic Calls to your Desperate Mother

Cancer Sticks in the Snow

Colds

Hospitals

Cancer

Op

Funerals

Be ready for the Fall

Its waiting for You

These are the Secrets on My Pillow.....

"Its 12 days before Christmas. Visions of chestnuts roasting on an open Fire, of sleigh bells glistening, of furtive kisses under the mistletoe are dancing through my head. But I am home in Chicago, alone, facing the prospect of spending the holidays in cold weather with a blanket and a special no one. Just when I resign myself to the West of Chicago, an overseas phone call from Her brings tidings of comfort and joy and.. alas..an invitation to share the season's festivities with Dear friends, Italian style. Before anyone can change her mind, I am on a plane to bell'Italia, gloating over my good fortune amid fawning flight attendants with Mediterranean accents and names like Marco, Aldo, Ettore, and Luca. Traveling sola, I have never had it so good. The magazines piled on the empty seat next to me go undisturbed and forgotten, as the boys of flight 268 entertain me with their antics- slipping me slices of sweet panettone from first class, puffing up one more pillow behind my head- and with stories of their lives in Rome, Piacenza, Verona. I, in turn, talk about my year spend in Brussels.
"Why don't you move to Italy?" one of them asks, after listening to me longing for extended national holidays, buffalo, motz, and public displays of uncensored passion.
"Ah, but what would I do?" I say.
His response, instantaneous: "Fai principessa." Be a princess.
The Italian Male's charms and attentions are nothing new to me. I know that the simple fact that I am unaccompanied young woman impels every Italian male, who feels obliged by hormones and national honor, to shower me with admiration usually reserved for the modern Diva. But all the awareness in the world, and all my experience with men, can't make me immune to their designs. I lower my head to conceal my blush but keep in my line of vision two sets of eyes, one the color of warm walnut, the other a combustible smoky gray. By now, I've got a permanent pair of companions- the flight attendant foursome taking turns in a mid-cap flight game of Let us Entertain You- occupying the empty space behind my seat, which is positioned just in front of the aircraft's midsection emergency exit. First Mario and Luca, then Mario and Ettore, now Luca and Aldo with their lounging limbs strewn out around my head, by my side, atop my armrest.
"Like a sneaky Fox."
Goose bumps are springing up on my arms. Goose bumps!
I feel my cheeks burn. It's a surge of blood that comes less out of embarrassment than from the fire smoldering between my legs. I have lost my knack for repartee and find myself uncharacteristically without words, coming to an unspoken understanding as I hold Luca's suggestive stare, just before he breaks away to business class. The air underneath the blanket spread across my lap feels hot. Luca's hand is acting like a branding iron sizzling through my skirt. My row companion, the woman who occupied the aisle seat upon takeoff, moved to the back of the plane hours ago to join her friend. From the window seat, Luca has shifted his torso to face me, melting in the middle seat. I catch a sudden whiff of his cologne. Intoxicated by his smell, I kiss him full on the mouth. His tongue presses hard against mine, then slides across it, over and under, over and under in a slow, rhythmic dance that makes my cunt contract. He takes my lower lip in between his teeth and I feel my clit twitter out of control. I squirm in my seat, hoping the movement will drive His hand up to my nest. In a flash, his hand is there, his first, middle, and thumb hooks itself onto my waistband and tugs down. I am hoping her notices what I forgot to place under that skirt this morning. Silly me.
I take his face in my hands, pressing his cheeks so that his lips become round and full between mine. He pushes his fingers down to me and into the wet of me. I suck hard on his tongue. He sucks his fingers and then lets me take a turn on them. We are all mouth and face and fingers, lapping, inhaling, nipping, gnawing.........


The Door is Open...To be continued