(I've had many requests for the Coast Diaries blog content that was posted before I was yanked unceremoniously off my storytelling high by Caleb's threats and since these entries were already posted, here you go. You're all perverts and I love you for that.
If you have absolutely no idea what in the heck I'm talking about just enjoy some early true fairytales. And one horror story, because good things don't come cheap and all words come covered with cheese.)
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Seven
It was a night that began on an emotional high. A night where he took her from her lover in a defiant display of wrath, his envy for what his enemy held evident in his eyes. And so he took what he wanted, again and again.
The air was heavy with the cloying smell of sweat and incense, the sultry heat of the summer night invasive, welcome. Her skin glistened with moisture, her waves recoiling into wild curls in defense of the suffocating warmth.
He tangled his fingers into her hair and pulled her head back gently until she was at his mercy. She smiled up at him willingly, breathing quietly, waiting for him to express his admiration for her body, which she had given him moments before, a tangle of sins fulfilled, lust, avarice and gluttony all brawling for first place in a night that saw a three way tie and plans for a rematch after some rest, after the heat relinquished it's grasp and invited a cool morning.
You are infinitely fuckable.
With one compliment he edified her the reverence with which he held for her form, his insatiability for her and thus introduced yet another deadly sin into their room that night. Pride. The one iniquity that would serve to wage a never-ending war against grace for the rest of their lives.
But not tonight.
The remainder of tonight would see sloth fulfilled as they slept deeply, the heat releasing them at long last, the oppressive tentacles retreating under the promise of a cloud-filled day.
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Warmth
He pulled the blanket around them both, and kissed her bare shoulder. She watched his expression as his eyes rose to meet her own. He traced her collarbone. She waited for him to speak, not daring to break the spell of the moment.
Stay with me.
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Muse
One finger slid from her hairline on the back of her neck slowly down, gliding over silken, alabaster skin until it met the tiny indentation at the base of her spine. She shivered with delight. Her head reeled with the effects of the wine they had shared, in a single glass.
She was sitting in the center of his bed wrapped in baby blue cotton sheets and smiling down at her hands as he whispered to her. She couldn't make out his words and so she tried to turn to face him but he stopped her, taking her shoulders in his hands and holding her still. He resumed his solitary exploration of her flesh and she imagined what it would feel like if he simply enveloped her into his arms, the chemistry between them so intense that she had become obsessed with him. As he had with her.
When he asked her if he could paint her she agreed, having played the muse once before, knowing her role well, noting humorously that they were both aware that his colorful Hofmann-inspired dabblings had nothing to do with the human form. She agreed simply to be with him. To breathe his air and coexist in his headspace. And when he laughed and suggested on a whim that she should be nude for the piece she turned herself inside out, taking her clothes off as of they were aflame. He passed the sheet to her and looked around for a chair but he didn't like the coldness of it and so he suggested she find a comfortable seat on the bed.
This exercise served not in order to produce a work of art but to solidify his promise to her that she could trust him and she was demonstrating that she did.
His fingers left her skin hesitantly and he stood with effort, tearing his eyes from her curves and storming back to his blank canvas, which rested on the floor, mocking him. Three square feet of rough white textures that implored him to create.
She asked him if he was inspired by her.
He said yes, but not to paint.
And she smiled again.
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Cold Comfort
She sat on the tailgate, sipping hot chocolate from a thermos, snowboard propped up against the bank, boots dangling a foot off the ground. She had removed her jacket and left her elfish hat and bibfront snowpants on, preparing to finish her quick break and head back up the hill for more punishment.
Just then he walked around the side of the truck and grinned from ear to ear.
You having fun?
It's a blast. You?
Best day of the season. You the only one here?
Yup. I can see most of them waiting at the lift.
Oh yeah, okay, I see them.
We're just fast.
Or very very slow.
They laughed together and he sat down beside her. She offered him a sip of her chocolate but he refused, pressing his forehead to hers instead. She could feel his cool breath on her mouth, minty from gum, slightly sour from physical exertion. His hair was damp, his eyes sparkled, set off by the snow, a blue she could drown in.
He leaned in and kissed her softly.
She pulled away, standing up, looking around for her gloves and jacket. He stood up and closed the distance between them, taking her face into his hands and holding it firmly as he kissed her a second time, letting his bottom lip slip over hers slowly.
Her knees were so weak she started to drop and he grabbed her arms to steady them both. She started to speak and he smiled.
I know.
Oh god.
Next year we're going out west and we're going to have our own room and I'm going to make love to you the whole trip and we won't even board.
Oh god.
Yes, it will be like that, I think.
I think if they saw us I'm dead.
No one saw us. No one is watching us.
God watches us.
God has bigger fish to fry.
Then kiss me again so I have something to keep.
He pulled us in close again and she could feel the stubble of his beard scraping against her nose, the woolly softness warming her face as he opened his mouth and put the gentlest of kisses on her lips. He pulled back with a smile that did little to cover the quiet discord in his expression.
They returned to the lift with our gear and got a chair to the top once again, talking about everything save for stolen kisses and future plans. They lived from one heartache to the next. Cold, to match the day.
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Blinded
No!
Shh, just let me.
I don't....
Shhhh, baby. Trust me.
With that exchange he covered my eyes. And then I was functionally blind and deaf, resorting to a darkened world of taste, smell and touch. I could feel his thigh muscles as they contracted, regular, flexing at exactly half the beats of my heart as it pounded, my knees buckled onto the floor as my body failed to maintain enough strength under his assault to even stay upright. He ignored it and kept going and I searched around inside my brain for a way to somehow partner the way in which the sensory isolation brought forth the remaining senses in a remarkable way with the uncomfortable unfamiliarity of his actions.
I let go of my hesitation and as my reward he bit through the skin on my shoulder as he came in a violent explosion of sweat and strength.
But the blindfold remained. He shifted his hand enough so that when he flipped me onto my back again I was still in a black room, and he fought his way back in while I pushed against him and tried to block his approach with what little strength remained in my limbs, which were twisted and pulled and exhausted from a night of experimenting with new and old.
He began a fresh onslaught and I tasted blood. In my efforts to internalize his touch I had bitten my cheek and not noticed. I asked him to stop and he refused. My shoulder was now bleeding as well, I could feel it and smell the iron-heaviness in the air and I begged him to let me up.
He refused.
When he finally fell asleep I extricated myself from his arms and went to do a damage report. Two puncture wounds which stood out from my pale flesh like marks from the impaler. I was victim to a vampire, a monster that should only be found in storybooks and scary movies, not in your own room.
I squeezed my eyes and returned to bed, once again blind, not to the moment but to the knowledge, the confirmation that he was my own monster and that he was real.
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Dunes
He pressed her against the weathered grey wood of the fence, wishing away their visibility to the outside world until they were hidden, far away from anyone who might happen to stray away from the boardwalk. Hidden in the dunes he had the perfect place in which to steal a kiss, and to make his need for her known only to her, the way it should be.
The way it was every Thursday afternoon when she would shyly wait for him there.
She smiled up at him, squinting through the sun, the glare off the white sand and his throat was full with his heart. Her hair whipped around her face in a golden halo and her eyes were full of mirth. He took her face in his hands and kissed her softly once, then harder, leaving her throat and lips streaked with a path of glittering sand from his swim. She could feel the cool ocean brought to her as a gift from him on his cold lips, a salty, gritty taste infused with his love for her.
Her favorite taste in the world.
She put her arms around him, sharing the remaining seawater that rolled off his broad shoulders in constant rivulets. He slid his hands down her back and into her bikini bottoms and pushed her into him so that she would know she was wanted, that he could have her at that moment if he wanted. She replied in kind by moving away slightly and touching him through his swim trunks. Her expression turned to frustration and he refused to acknowledge that life existed outside their hidden meeting place, instead sliding his thumbs once again into the sides of her bottoms, and he pulled them down just a little. She cried out for him to stop because they might be seen. He ignored her.
He fell to his knees and kissed down her belly, browned by the sun, and stopped where it met the white of skin that must be covered in public. Her tan lines made him crazy for her. She was covered with sand, damp and refreshed by the swim he had brought with him out of the ocean. She was dizzy with her own desire for him and weighed down with a guilt she didn't want to think of right now.
He inched the bottoms down a little more and she pushed his head away, modest in their sudden risks. So he changed direction because he wasn't ready to let go of her, not just yet and so he stood and instead wrapped his arms around her, kissing her deeply, reaching his tongue down her throat briefly in an effort to taste her soul. She pressed her body against him hoping that he would find her soul inside and take it with him when he left. He ended with a gentle kiss and then he turned and walked away, head down, not looking back as she watched him go, the wind enveloping him in a relentless voyage, drying the salt into his skin in a film that he would wear for the remainder of that day.
And she put her fingers up to her lips to shelter them from the ocean breezes, so that the heartless wind could never take his kiss away again.
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