untitled_20201103 – mature content.

(1169 words. 24minutes writing time)

A couple of shaky breaths is all I can muster before I am pacing the length of the hallway again. I rub my hands over my face, trying to soothe myself with the touch, but it doesn’t help. I shake my head in disbelieve. My hands reach for my face again, but this time, they run across my eyes, over the forehead, and through my hair. I contemplate pulling at the long strands, but that wouldn’t help the issue either. The nervous energy in me is trying to bring me down; my entire body is buzzing. And then you appear from nowhere, really. You put your hand on my arm, but I have to shake it off. I cannot be touched right now, or I will fall apart. But you know me too well. You know exactly what I need.
“Stop!” you order. I want to move, but I know this tone in your voice. Usually, you reserve it for the bedroom, but it seems to work outside too. I shake my head and look at you with pleading eyes. I want you to stop this, to make this go away. You step closer, invading my private space. I feel like running, like running away. It’s not because of you, but I am afraid to be touched. I am searching for an exit, for a way to get out of this situation; at the same time, I want you to help me; I need you to make this go away. You put your hands on my shoulders, fixing my eyes with a glare. I see understanding and something stern – you will not tolerate any of my weird antics. You would never hurt me; I know that, but you have a way to calm me down that always works. Your hands run down my arms until you are holding my wrists. You tighten your grip. It is not painful, it just stops me from moving, and my mind is not racing because it is focused on your hands around my wrists and how that feels. It feels warm. And tight. Pulled together. The skin on your hands is rough and calloused because of your day job—manual labor.
“Breathe!” you order. Part of me wants to defy you and hold my breath; the other part of me is grateful for the guidance. But I don’t comply. I am overthinking until your right hand tightens and releases its grip around my wrist. You raise an eyebrow, and I begin to panic. Please don’t let me go, I want to say, but there are no words. There are too many thoughts in my head.
“Breathe!” you order again. And I do. I take a deep breath, so deep that it almost makes me dizzy. You nod your head once, and it is all the encouragement I need to exhale and inhale again. I know the breathing techniques, but when I am in an agitated state like this, I cannot remember them. I focus on one of the letters imprinted on your t-shirt and repeat my breathing. I am calmer now; my heart isn’t racing or burning in my chest. But I feel fragile and foolish.
When you tug at me, I follow you without taking note of where we are going. I stopped thinking. We enter a room, and I hear the lock click behind us; no one will disturb us here.
There is a painting on the wall, abstract with squares in different shades of blue and purple. And as I am trying to understand the piece of art in front of me, I feel your lips on my neck. I sigh and turn my head to give you better access. Your hands find my breasts, massaging them through the layers of clothes. I bite my lip to silence the moan that wants to escape my throat. One of your hands wanders further down. And I like where this is going. I can feel not only my own arousal growing but yours too. For a brief moment, I wonder if having sex now is a good idea, and it makes me chuckle – there is only one answer to that question. We make short process of pushing the hindering clothes down and aside. You grip my wrists behind my back and push me against the wall next to the painting I inspected moments ago.
“Palms flat against the wall!” you order. With a grin, I oblige. I am too far gone now. Everything I feel is too intense and not intense enough. With one hand, you hold me in place, and with the other, you enter me. The position and our pants around our ankles make moving a bit weird, but you still reach the most important places in me. I am afraid to be too loud again and bite my arm. It’s the only place I can reach to stifle my moans. You fill me deeply. In and out. Faster and faster. Harder with every thrust. Our thighs slap against each other, creating an obscene soundtrack, and I can’t stop moaning and smiling. You are sucking my neck, breathing heavily, all the while, you keep my hands pinned above my head, and the rhythm of your hips drives me nearly insane. I feel you growing inside of me, and I hear your breath changing. You swallow your moans while I let my out freely now. “Cum with me!” you order. But this time I can’t comply. I cannot orgasm like this. Not in this position. I think about faking it, but then I am surprised with your own orgasm filling me. Your grip around my wrists becomes almost painful, and Your legs are trembling. A strangled noise leaves your lips as you withdraw from me. You urge me to turn around, and the moment I face you, you attack my mouth with a kiss.
The end of the kiss sobers me. We separate enough to pull our pants back up, and once my belt is in place, the overthinking begins again.
“Don’t,” you say, and I am not sure what you are referring to; too many options. Having sex in a stranger’s office is highly inappropriate.
“Better?” you ask, and I nod because I am.
“The divorce is through?” you ask, and I reply with an unsteady “Yes.”
“Hey babe, look at me!” I raise my eyes to his. “You are free to do whatever you want and to love whoever you want. But I will not leave you. Got it?” I don’t know what to say, because being free is scary. Being left or abandoning is scary too.
“Okay,” I reply nonetheless.
“Ready for the walk of shame?” you ask, and I cannot keep the laughter inside.
“I am,” I say, and he unlocks the door.
As I walk down the steps of the court, watching the man walking in front of me, I realise that he is right. For the first time in my life, I am free.

Heart of Stone

Heart of Stone… I am procrastinating to keep editing this story. It is available for free on Wattpad. The response has been quite nice. Here are a couple of comments from the last chapter:

So far, I added one chapter and edited more or less 80% of the existing story, adding paragraphs and taking other unimportant stuff out. I believe that I have something good on my hands. And although I am sparse with praise for myself, I think that this novel is worth every reader’s time (even in its unedited state).

Here is a link: https://my.w.tt/mahOoc4VpZ

If you are inclined to read, please do. I am grateful for every comment and encouragement I can get. Sometimes, comments help in the editing process; asking questions and clarifications make me see where the story is not clear or where more words are necessary. There are parts that seem logical to me, but that’s because my mind fills the gaps that exist. I know the characters and their flaws because they are in my head and in my imagination – it is not the same for a reader who has a healthier distance to these characters.

As always, thank you for your support.

Have a nice weekend.

Cathy

The lost stories…

Sometimes I wish there was something in my head to record and store thoughts and ideas for later use. (A brain maybe?!) For instance, I was brushing my teeth, and I had a vision of a first scene for a novel. I formulated sentences and all. When I spat the toothpaste out and rinsed my mouth, I took my phone to write it down, but my mind was blank. It happened before, and it will happen again, I know. But I wonder if I will forget the next bestseller this way.

It was something like this…

He closed the door with the heel of his foot and took off his mask. He shuffled a few steps to the fridge, took out a can of beer and made his way to the couch. It had seen better days; he had too. With a sigh and a groan he fell down and closed his eyes, assessing his body after today’s job. One of his ribs hurt, his left eye was swollen, and his feet hurt. He bent over to take off the tight boots and let them fall down on the floor. He wiggled his toes; freedom. His cape got stuck when he sat back again. Cursing, he got rid of the piece of cloth. He tried to throw it across the room to his boots, but it refused to fly. Just his luck. He was tired of his job, and it dawned on him – it was time to retire as a superhero. After two decades of saving humans from their own stupidity and not once facing an evil counterpart, it was time to stop. Being a superhero was annoying, but what else was he supposed to do?

There was a knock at his door; he didn’t get up. He had earned a couple of hours of rest. But the slip of paper being pushed under his door spiked his curiosity. It was an odd thing to happen. Mysterious.

(…)

Does this happen to you too? Do you imagine a story but before you can write it down, it has faded from your memory? I call them lost stories. 🙂

Have a great Sunday and an amazing new week.

Cathy

Throwback poem

Leaves dancing in the rain
Sun licking the morning dew;
Reflections in the window pane
Grey skies turning blue.

Behind a concealing mask
Feelings are an uncomfortable mess,
To understand is an unbearable task
And it’s easier to leave than to stay, I guess.

Toxic thoughts and actions;
Driving so-called friends away
Understanding their reactions
But missing them forever and a day.

More light in the dark
More tears in an ocean
Another life’s mark
Overcome by emotion.

A head full of spinning thoughts
Cowering in the corner of my mind
To unfurl their knots.
Once again, I am left behind.

A soap bubble of for never
Floating up to the clouds
A memory to stay forever
Hidden from the crowds.

I am the shadow in my light
I am the hope in my despair
But after my lastest sleepless night
I can say that I am still there.

101 things I dislike

Throwback to 2016 when I wrote this list. It’s been a long time, and I updated it somewhat — not a lot.

Can you relate?

Without fear of being judged (read: with near panic like fear of being judged) I will try to come up with 101 things I don’t like.

1. The colour orange

2. Flying

3. The cold weather

4. Snow

5. Chocolate

6. Ketchup

7. Christmas songs and decorations in November

8. Waiting

9. Being ordered around

10. People who don’t say thank you

11. Rude people

12. Unanswered questions

13. Lemon

14. birds

15. Feathers

16. The sound of my alarm clock

17. Being tickled

18. Being taken for granted

19. Negative people

20. Emotional vampires

21. Instruments that are out of tune

22. Cocky people

23. Jealousy

24. Drivers not setting the turn signal

25. Wondering if my English is good enough and if others understand what I am trying to say

26. Doubting myself

27. People who make lots of noise when they are eating (!! Important one)

28. Fruit

29. Killing animals – even flies

30. Not being taken seriously

31. People who aren’t getting the job done right

32. Belching

33. The smell of vomit

34. Touching door handles in public spaces

35. Not seeing anything at a concert

36. Payment declined – for no reason

37. Forgetting my pin code

38. Water touching my ears (anything touching my ears)

39. Swimming

40. Crowds

41. Ignorance

42. The smell of cold smoke

43. Sprite or any sweet beverage

44. Anything bitter

45. Having a stuffed nose

46. Being surprised

47. Offering presents

48. Shopping for clothes

49. Animals

50. Meat

51. Saying goodbye

52. Deadlines

53. Gory horror movies

54. Going to church

55. Thinking about negative things

56. Mess left by the kids after eating nuts or grains

57. Jazz

58. Musicals

59. Long fingernails

60. Not having enough sleep

61. Chanel no 5

62. Visiting a home for disabled people

63. The sound of chalk on a blackboard

64. Expensive rents or mortgages

65. Working in a garden

66. Sketching, drawing, painting

67. Pens that aren’t working

68. Coffee with sugar

69. My double chin

70. Milk

71. Hairy feet

72. Star wars

73. Harry Potter

74. Lord of the rings

75. The way eyes itch from allergies

76. Almonds and nuts

77. Bread (with the exception of French baguette)

78. No toilet paper when I am on the loo

79. Autocorrect

80. Forgetting to save my work when I just wrote 500+ words

81. 0 likes on stories or poems I thought turned out great; 21 likes on mediocre poems or stories

82. Questions with obvious answers

83. Gossip

84. Talking bad behind someone’s back

85. Losing track of people who once were an important part of my life

86. Wasting time (mine and the time of others too)

87. Forgetting things

88. Broken promises

89. Being unable to speak straight sentences lately (stuttering, not finding the right words)

90. Dentists

91. Being late (me or people being late)

92. Being intense

93. Migraines

94. Fishing for more things I dislike

95. No network or wifi

96. Social media knows everything about us (bye bye Facebook)

97. Being watched while crying

98. Being stared at

99. Not knowing how other people are seeing me

100. Oranges

101. That I found 100 things I dislike…

Are you surprised? Why? Now, what do you think?

cold coffee

I pushed the door open with my foot, startling you. Your eyes were filled with sleep; mine were full of mischief. I came to your room with the intention to wake you up with the smell of coffee, but seeing you like this; naked, hard, embarrassed; it did things to me.

You were a guest in my house. A friend. The polite thing would have been to apologise and leave. But I couldn’t. I was hungry. Starving. And not for food. You looked at your erection, then at me. I licked my lips and tried to find a safe place for that cup of coffee in my hand.

You sat up and reached for the sheets to cover yourself. I shook my head. “Don’t, ” I croaked. You rose an eyebrow, probably intensely aware of the situation too. I kept my eyes on you, avoiding to see myself ungracefully join you on the mattress through the mirror on the wall.

“Hi, ” you said as if you were seeing me for the first time. Your hand was already in my hair, pulling my head; my lips, to yours.

Outside, rain was joining the wind that had been up all night. Inside, we were joining too.

Everything fit. Profoundly. Almost overwhelmingly. The natural flow of things didn’t take us aback. It didn’t leave room for doubts or vanities. Every touch meant something. Every time I felt your tongue on my heated skin, it felt as if I was becoming a part of you. Your hands explored my body as if they had never done anything else. The weight of you on my tongue was exactly right, and your taste made me swallow you as often as I could. I was drowning in our lust.

When you finally penetrated me, it only took a moment before the world exploded for me. Shivering, sweating, swearing, I encouraged you to keep moving. But you didn’t. You lay on top of me; your hands were caressing my hair, your eyes were searching my face for something that I couldn’t pretend wasn’t there. A smile appeared on your lips. Proud of yourself and how you had undone me, you kissed me. You were pulsating inside of me, but not moving. Heavenly torture. I begged for more, gyrated my hips underneath you, but you were stubborn. And too close to be consumed by our lust too.

Two micro moves later, you stopped breathing. Your sweat was dripping down on me from the tip of your nose; your eyes were closed. A strangled noise left your lips just before you started to breathe again.

I had seen you. I had felt you. And it left me breathless; and not only because your full weight was on my body now. The beauty and surprise of us in this situation was overwhelming. You kissed my temple and rolled off me with a loud groan and a chuckle. Your arm covered your eyes, and your hand was running up and down your stomach. The most handsome man who I had ever been with.

I put my head on your chest, your heartbeat sang a song for me, while I retraced the pattern of the tattoos on your skin. Your eyes were filled with sleep again. I covered us with the crumbled sheet, making sure that the wet spot we left was covering me and not you.

In a while, I would worry about the meaning of it all, but right then I decided to go with the flow and let it happen.

Only the coffee had grown cold.

Growing older…

Just the way we all do, I am growing older and older. Am I becoming wiser? I am not sure. I am becoming more me though. If my depression taught me something, it is that I am okay the way I am. I am far from being perfect. I am not the most intelligent, the most interesting, the most beautiful woman on Earth, but I am unique and I am me.

My emotions take a strong hold on me. Too strong. I love too deeply. I don’t regret and I don’t hate.

Everyone looking at me sees someone different.

Today, I am 35,5 years old and holding on. I am breathing. I am existing. I am me.

Unquiet Minds and Writing Notes

It’s me again… your favourite poet. Today I shipped 10 copies of Unquiet Minds and two of Writing Notes all around the globe.
Unquiet Minds – amazon               Writing Notes – amazon

Notice the different names… one is my real name, the other is my alias and the name of this blog too.

I offer signed copies of my books. Shipping in Europe is 2,90€. Shipping to the rest of the world is 4,10€. Payment should be made with PayPal.

I am still in the early days of this all and I am figuring it out as I am progressing. Learning by doing, it’s called, isn’t it.

When I stood in line at the post-office this afternoon, I had a thought that isn’t leaving me ever since: Evidence of my existence is being spread across the world right now. Isn’t that weird? My book will be in the hands of a reader in Brazil. His friends might be curious about the cover and even if they are not… if he doesn’t throw the book away, if it is not destroyed or sold into a different country, there will be a copy of my book in Brazil. It is such a humbling feeling. Exciting too.

Today, I shipped out to New South Wales (Australia), Brazil, Colorado (US), Texas (US), Manchester (UK), 2x London (UK), New York (US), Canada, Greece, Luxembourg. All these people will receive their signed copy of my book with a personal note inside.

If you want one too, get in touch… and we will make it happen.

I was approached to pay 100$ for 4 reviews… I declined. I know that I need publicity for my books, but I would rather have genuine reviews from people who willingly emerge themselves in my poetry than any other review.

Also, I finally dared to share the book with my family and friends on FB. The support was surprising. A member of our regional council offered to sell Unquiet Minds at our town hall in support of the local arts. Apparently, I am only one of two published authors in my municipality. We’ll see where that leads.

And, I have to admit that I am a huge coward though… My neighbour offered to sell my book to friends and whoever enters her bar. I don’t know her well. Only drank twice with her, lol. I didn’t dare to bring her the copies she asked for. I feel weird doing it, although I also know that her offer is genuine. Just the act of ringing the bell at a neighbour’s who you don’t know all that well and asking for such a huge favour… it’s not in my nature. So, if you would like to help me out here, be my guest. I am one of those who stands in her own ways too many times. But, whatever… this is not one of those posts.

Remember, shipping worldwide. Signed if you want to. Or simply order on amazon. It is good contemporary poetry. Give it a try.

Thank you, Cathy

Demons

I tried to kill my demons in different ways. I drank them to sleep. I cut them out of my skin. I drowned them out with loud music. I silenced them with words I read. Nothing helped. This demons are pestering little buggers. They will not leave. Once in a while their voices are quiet. But never for long. They like to torment me. Do you want to know what they say?

  • You’re ugly and fat
  • No one likes you
  • You want too much of everyone. No wonder they all run.
  • Untalented
  • Shut up, no one cares
  • Why should they?
  • Stop whining
  • You will never be good enough
  • You deserve this
  • Suck it up

This is just a sample, but these fuckers (“you swear too much”) never give up. There are days when I shrug it off, flip them off and go my own way. But doubt – man, doubt is a powerful thing. Once the seed is planted every good thing happening that very moment turns into something rotten. Why should anyone want to spend time with me? I should leave these people and their lives alone. And by spending time with me, I seldom mean real face to face encounters. Truth is, I dread meeting people. I hate to pick out clothes and shoes and do something with my hair. No matter what I am wearing, I am afraid too be judged. And after the judgment comes the rejection. At least that’s how my mind works. And I can’t handle rejection. I frightens me. It makes room for doubt. (Even the smallest and most unintentional form of of rejection does.) For the longest time, I thought I was alone in this. Maybe I was naive or something, but I couldn’t grasp the idea that other people are suffering too. I mean, apart from me, everyone is perfect. Their lives are perfect. It’s horse shit, of course, I know that. But that is not how my mind works. The grass is always greener on the other side. That’s my mind. Not seeing a tree while standing in a forest. That’s my mind too. And I hate to look vulnerable. I am already eccentric enough as it is. I keep my coffee in the fridge.

After I wrote that last sentence, a demon reared its head again. Why do you write stuff like this? No one will read it. You don’t matter. No one cares. Maybe that is true. Maybe no one cares, but maybe it makes people feel less alone. We all have our battles. Some days I wish I were a normal person. Some days I wish my mind wouldn’t play these tricks on me. Some days I wish I could see what other people see when they look at me. But it never happens. I have to deal with this. And I do it mostly on my own. I cannot find the words to speak about it. I cannot stand the look of pity in the people’s eyes who know. I cannot be a public failure. I cannot let them see… But I am here… Failing at life in plain sight. Failing. But also succeeding. And I have the scars to prove it. I have thousands of poems to prove it. I have laughing lines around my eyes to prove it. I am not failing every day. Some days, I am succeeding. Some days the demons are quiet. Those are the good days. They happen too. For no reason. Because I am learning that things happen for no reason. If I could only think less. Or maybe, keep thinking the same amount, but with more thoughts in favour of myself.

Because, truth be told, despite being trapped in a tunnel with only slight rays of light, I am an awesome woman. Maybe not awesome, but worthy. Worthy of time, understanding, and care.

Thank you