Pacific Mist

[Caristiona]

– the diary of Caristiona: drifter, seeker, lover

Note: This story will be written more or less like a diary that mixes realspace experiences and fantasy and to protect myself and others I will never reveal which is which, here or in Achat, so plz don't ask. There's going to be a lot of thoughts, people, experiences, ruminations all mixed and not all about sex, so if you want a quick turn-on, a strong plot or stuff like that, you might have to look elsewhere. I hope some of you would like to comment on the diary's events and experiences, and I hope I will find the time to do the same for you, if you have a story up. Mods: Anything I need to know – let me know. I want to learn and not break any rules, okay? So without further ado … welcome to Pacific Mist, entry 1

20 March

Karima was totally naked when I opened the door, pearls of water glistening off her black skin. Our 10 sq feet girl's room cubicle was like a steam bath. It felt like she must have been in there for hours. I just came home and wanted to kill for a shower, so I didn't really think to check anything, and Karima never locks the door, so I just flung it open and there she was.

“Hi Caristiona … had a rough day at work?”

She pulled a towel back and forth over her back, so each of her arms were out to the sides, holding one end of the towel each and shielding nothing, and she appeared to be as cool about it as if I had just surprised her in the office, going through today's paperwork, all in uniform or whatever.

Not that our little two-roomer had any office, or much else for that matter. We had moved here after a couple of months at that boarding house by the sea, where I met her and her father, and when he got that gov job and a chest of money to go with it, he gave her the break she needed to find a place on her own. And I went with her, because we had become friends and I didn't like that boarding house much anyway. Long story and I know it sounds odd, but I'll tell you more later, okay?

Anyway, on a day like this I almost regretted it, that I hadn't just stayed where I was.

“It was okay – at work, I mean,” I said.

I proceeded to pilfer with some of my make-up, then toothbrush, then brush, then some lotion, all stacked on the two little shelves between the toilet and the sink. Karima dried herself more slowly and turned against me, almost as if I had a magnetic attraction or something on her.

Perhaps I had.

I knew from the very beginning that she was lesbian but I had never figured that would mean anything. We were friends that was that. And even if I wasn't so straight I would have to be mindwiped and reprogammed by those two aliens from the Simpsons to ever become a lesbian, I would probably not have digged her anyway. She was much too boyish, I figured, although there was something elegant as well over her long lean body, the small breasts, the short hair.

“It's a pity you have to work for so long at that restaurant,” she said and threw the towel on the toilet and took my brush from me and began on her own short hair, which was ridiculous, since it almost never needed any brushing, whereas my long blonde locks almost went to war with me every morning …

“It's money,” I said and put down the toothbrush, and then took up a lipstick from the make-up box because I didn't really know what else to fumble with while I waited for her to bloody finish.

“You going out tonight?” she asked and wiped the mirror over the sink with one hand so she could better see her mock hair-brushing attempts or whatever.

“It's Thursday and I've been run over by a truck, what do you think?” I was beginning to get annoyed. She was standing so close to me – what the hell was she trying to pull?

“I … make you uncomfortable?” she asked.

“You don't.”

“Good. I don't want to … “

She never finished her sentence. It was like she finally fathomed that the joke or whatever she had played on me wasn't funny. She took her towel again and pulled it around herself.

But had she made a genuine pass at me? Or had she really not thought about it – about covering up when I came in? Was this some women-only-secret-Pakistani-culture-intimacy-is-okay-thing I didn't get? Or had she just been overplaying some gay stereotype-shit for … what? Or didn't she want to appear overly modest, because that would in some crazy way make her come off as much too conscious about her nakedness??

I was at a loss – and tired like hell. I just grabbed a fresh towel from the hanger and pulled at the shower curtain.

“Do you mind?” I said.

She shook her head.

I heard the door open and close again as she continued through the small – very small – hallway that separated our rooms and, I hoped, just into her own. But she stayed in the very small hallway, while I got undressed. I hesitated with the bra for a second – then shook my head and pulled it off. And the rest of it, and went into the shower, let the already warm water help me come back to some semblance of life.

“You're not mad at me?” she asked from the outside.

“No.”

“I don't want to be … you know,” she started again.

“I know, “I just said.

“I hope you have time to go out this weekend,” she continued.

She meant energy, but I got it.

“I will,” I yelled and let the water run red hot over my body, my nipples stiffening immediately as the rays brushed them.

“It was a nice guy you had home last weekend,” she said. “He appeared to be … nice.”

“Yeah,well,” I said, soaping in my hair, “he was okay.”

I had just been horny, and I don't think I'm ever going to ask him home again. I even think I forgot his phone number. Erased it from my mind. I hope he had erased mine as well.

“I'd like to go out this weekend to – try to see if somebody's around.”

By that she meant getting a date. Karima was hopelessly romantic, I had found out, behind that tomboy-I-can-take-care-of-myself-exterior. I began to loosen up in my shoulders, perhaps even feel a twang of guilty conscience. I was tired. I made mistakes. She had just been … I dunno … Karima. There was nothing in it, as ludicrous as I know it will sound to you. I trusted her.

“I hope you find someone,” I said and finished with the hair. God, I should consider a cut, like hers. It'll take forever to dry. But I would probably never recognize myself with short hair, so it'll have to be a fantasy, like everything else.

“I hope you do, too,” she said and finally went into her room. And left me to wonder again what she'd thought about my moaning and moving about as Will had fucked me senseless last Sat night. I had thought she wasn't home, so that sure did wonders for my libido when I was so close to letting him fuck me in a certain place and then I heard her moving around in the kitchen.

You should have been there, would have been a good laugh. On me.

So, I know this is kinda like a joke and may sound like a soft-porn novel or whatever, and have to say: I'm sorry, that's my life. I was – am – a college dropout. I try to write stuff but never get around to try to publish it. I've got thousands of files and notes that never amount to anything like my life, and it may sound good but it really isn't. And here I am trying again. And before that there was Jeremy and our fucked up-relationship, my sojourn across the States from Florida and almost getting beaten to death by some bikers in a little town-god-knows-where, because I kind of pissed them off or whatever.  No really. And I'm not gonna suddenly go lesbian and go down on Karima, even if she really wanted it, no matter how many drinks I get. I stay with her because I can't afford anything else right now, not in alocation like this … and because I actually really like her – as a friend – and we have had some good long talks about scars, real and imagined, and I feel I know her from some past life or whatever. And I want to find a good man, who can help me un-know Jeremy, whenever I get the courage and the peace of mind. Somebody who is not just an 'I want to forget myself'-fuck.  And a better job. And maybe publish one day. Preferably with some of my drawings – another alternate future that also came to nothing because I did stupid shit in the past.

So this might sound like another predictable 'god-maybe-i-want-to-be-lesbo' story, but it isn't and it won't be. It is what it is: An example of how messed up my life really is and how uncertain I am how to un-mess it. It could have been a great soft-porn-story, but it won't be, because I'm like … I can't even get that right, haha.

So that's it for the first entry in my diary. I stayed in that shower for almost as long as Karima, I think, and when I didn't care anymore I took off the shower-head and began to use it more creatively, thinking about Will and trying to give him a real soul or more, not just hardened muscles all over and nice stubbles and a good ass and all the things you make do with, because it is good when you need it.

I almost succeeded.

[Brandybee]

Interesting first day. Nice set up. I like how you are writing it as a diary and I look forward to reading more.
The rules are pretty simple in the Erotic Story section. No under 18 and No animal sexual activity.

Of course, you can consider yourself recruited I hope for our erotic story contest  …  Here's the details so you can look in to it and hopefully enter a story.

The Deadline for submitting your story is THURSDAY  30 APRIL 2015. ( 7pm UK Time )

Forum Home Page > Announcements > Forum News  > EROTIC STORY CONTEST 9 – OUT OF THIS WORLD.
https://funnyadultgamesplay.com/forum/index.php/topic,3565.0.html

Forum Home Page > Organizations & Events > Contests > EROTIC STORY CONTEST RULES.
https://funnyadultgamesplay.com/forum/index.php/topic,2509.0.html

[Anonymous]

Thanks, Brandybee – lots of stuff has already happened that I want to share in the next entry — when I get the time and courage!!

As regards the competition, I am very tempted since I like much scifi … but it feels kinda odd writing an erotic story in one of my fav universes. Hmm … but I will definitely consider it. Thanks for reminding me and giving me some weird thoughts when I go to wait tables tomorrow, haha.

Hugs,

C

[Anonymous]

March 23

What makes a girl smile a wicked smile? It's when things turn around in just one weekend from bad to promising.

They didn't start promising, though …

Friday night I went out and met this young guy and, well, the less you know of it the better. But I was really down, and a bit drunk and I guess I took kinda pity on him. He followed me almost all night, you know, but like a shy animal or something.

However, the next day it always becomes less bright and shiny, doesn't it? I was waiting tables and all of a sudden I hated myself. I was a dumb slut. Or just dumb, wasn't I? How could I deserve any better?

Luckily I have a good poker-face, and I would need it too – with two jobs to earn the daily bread – both of them involving lots of annoying humans. I wonder what would have become of it if I had pushed on becoming a pro-writer or artist or whatever I dreamed about in teen-hood?

Would I have hated myself so much then? Made the same mistakes?

Anyway, I came home Saturday afternoon, totally beat, and things went from bad to worse. Karima had a girl-friend over, a redhead with a snake tattoo on her right arm, and in the kitchen she assured me 'not to worry, Cari – she is totally straight ' and I went 'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' and we had the row that had been building for some weeks now and the roof almost lifted.

(I didn't see the redhead afterwards, I guess she snuck out or something. I don't blame her.)

Well, it turns out that the 'bathroom -episode' was really quite deliberate, childish and very raw – emotion-wise. She hadn't been thinking – Karima, flaunting herself like that. She had been angry. Or rather jealous. Because I had had Will over last weekend and we had fucked like rabbits …

And stupid me went: “But he's a guy … “

And Karima almost slapped me and went: “It doesn't matter if he is a Martian, Cari – I want some of that too. I want … I need … “

What? Sex? Love? Both?

Whatever the case, it's a bit hard I guess for a girl who got a lot of the skin on her arms burned badly while she still lived in Pakistan. I didn't tell you that yesterday? Why should I have – you would just have judged her … like I almost did the first time I saw her, when she showed me her arms at that ice cream parlor of all places.

I tried to smooth things and told her that Will was not really … you know. We had just fucked. And I was very much in doubt if I wanted to see him again. He was nice, but no more.

That helped a bit but I think it only did because she could see I was trying hard to make it appear as if it hadn't mattered much – for her sake. Then we got drunk on some of that stale red wine her dad had left last time he visited (I guess conversion to Christianity should have some perks! And we watched movies.

And Sunday I felt a bit better about myself when I woke up, but not so much still … at least not until I saw: Him.

Oh, yes – Him with a capital 'H'.

Okay, okay – I have NO idea if it is 'him' or whatever, but god he looked nice. Apparently a new tenant from just across the road. I saw him Sunday morning cleaning his four-wheeler and I knew he had to be the guy who owned all the boxes that other truck had given birth to on Thursday (when I hadn't seen him).

Nice tan, small beard, definitely well-trained … dark hair, an ass that made itself seen in all the good ways through his jeans, leather west. Oh yeah … I like darker guys, especially when they look like he did.

My heart skipped several beats, and then Karima came into the kitchen and she was in a good mood, and we scrambled some eggs and I dared ask if she had seen him too.

She peaked through the window and said 'oh him' and smiled a bit as if everything was okay, and my shoulders  relaxed.

I went out shopping and looked for him, while the sun gave way to more of the mist coming in from the ocean like it always does here, making everything seem slightly dreamy. Just like I felt.

But he didn't come back. Not that day at least. He had gone off to somewhere in the 4W. Maybe to his cool job at Google or to his farm with purebred horses or … something.

I tried to make myself un-fantasize about him all day, and then in the evening I couldn't anymore and locked myself in my room and was very quiet about it so Karima wouldn't hear. But I didn't come. All of a sudden it didn't seem important. It was crazy. It was not going to be. He couldn't possibly be someone for me – or vice versa. And yet, what if he was?

Then Will called, of course.

And we talked a long time and I remembered why I had invited him home last weekend. One of the most modest guys I've ever met, and able to make you feel like you are the most important thing in his world. Maybe I was. We weren't soulmates or anything. We probably would never be. But I began to understand that maybe it hadn't been so bad last weekend. Maybe he had been there for me in a way that was good and right even if it was just a fling. Maybe I needed to see guys more like that. Maybe I needed to, er, practice if I was ever going to be able to see a guy for real after Jeremy. And god, this guy next door … he was on the top of my list.

So we met downtown (I made some lame excuse to Karima) and then … well, it was nice. Very nice. And the best thing of all … it didn't feel like a substitution, or a cover-up for something I couldn't handle, or just being so horny and drunk I behaved like a whore. It felt right and as something I did out of joy. Nothing more.

Maybe that's what being in love does to you?

Even if it's with another guy.

Even if it may not be love at all – how would I know??

Even if that is probably the strangest and most far-out attempt at rationalization I've done in  while.

Even if I felt a pang of guilt about Karima, until I remembered her smile in the kitchen and that we were friends and that she could just possibly have the potential to be my best friend ever.

So … nothing out of this world happened here. And I'm not even going to go graphic. I'm still floating too much right now – and in a good way, and soon I have to get up and go to work with too little sleep, as usual.

But with the memory of spring sunlight through that mist.

[Anonymous]

I'm enjoying your diary story very much. 
I will be following it from now on.  Thank you for taking the time to publish it for us.

Looking forward for more.

Thank you so much for the encouragement – and for following!

Even though, as stated in the disclaimer, I am obviously not gonna tell the 'real truth' about everything, I still become extremely nervous every time I write this. And I haven't even come to the (graphic) sex yet, haha.

But I might overcome that small hurdle in the next entry …

[Brandybee]

We are waiting with baited breath. 

Keep up the good work. 

[Sam_Hawke]

Awesome writing, Ms. Carisatonia.

[Anonymous]

Aw, you are so sweet! (And I am SO glad you like it!!) 

Hugs,

C

[Anonymous]

Note: We go a few days back to begin … 'cuz a LOT of sh*t has happened since last entry – and too much for just one new post … but here is the start. Read on – if you dare.

March 25

I have an admission.

I like black cock.

Oh, yes I do.

Not like an over-sized monster Lexington Steele-like black cock.

Just a good, thick, veiny black dick – beautiful and perfect in size and shape. And I like the man who has it. Especially if his muscles feel hard beneath his smooth ebony skin.

Especially if his skin is like polished dark wood. Especially if there is a bright, slightly mischievous smile to go with it all, and some eyes that promise to show you just how far the Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti, as the song goes.

Or eyes that admire you over the top of the wine glass on a summer's day at the harbor front, when the rest of him is in the perfect suit  – casual but still stylish, including the T-shirt beneath his white jacket, just tight enough to show off the landscape below of hard, packed curves you can run your hand over again and again.

Oh, god I love all that.

So it's no wonder that I found myself getting fucked so hard the other night by just such a wonder of the world, wasn't it?

It's no wonder that I went down on him, like 5 minutes after we had closed the door to the hotel room he just happened to have rented before we met at the bar.

It's not surprising that I let him push me, almost too hard, onto the bed, grab my legs, pull him towards me and just …

With all that warm, dark, power that hit all the right spots and made me squeal and moan and beg – for more.

It's not unexpected that I would ride him like I was obsessed, clenching at his chest, his arms, trying to get a grip when I really could not and needed not because he had me gripped tight around the hips and just thrust deep. So deep.

And I screamed. I came.

I let him pull out, push me down on the floor, grab my long hair, pull my head over, then explode in my face like the dirtiest, most desperate slut out there and just … all of it. I took all of it.

And he growled like one of those animals that you don't know if you want to be afraid of or admire.

And it was all over. I thought.

Because it had never really been. It was just made up.

…

I had been alone home all Tuesday night, having the beginnings of a cold, feeling miserable. Our so-attractive-it-almost-hurt new guy next door had not shown himself since the other day, I almost believed he had never existed. Not one glimpse of those dark intense eyes, that self-assured and yet modest smile, those strong tanned arms, or any other of those dreamy hints that he had just come down from looking after his horses up in the mountains or wherever. Nothing. He might as well have been a dream. Maybe he was.

Karima was out, perhaps finally having some fun. I was trying to relax with mindless TV.

Then mum called and we had a long talk about how long my step-father was going to be in the hospital this time and how much time his liver had before it had no more.

Afterwards, it was all chaos in my head and I did what I often do these days instead of going for that cheap whisky. I went to my room and took very much care of myself.

And why not a date with Mr. Black? He had done the job before, hadn't he? Good fantasy, very good indeed. Enough to get me out of reality for a good hour or so. I can be very inventive, even when I am alone …

And Karima wasn't there, so I could squeal and moan and scream as loud as I wanted to while pushing a certain very thick and shapely thing into all the right places.

And of course I felt completely hollow after I had come.

The only redeeming part of it all, I thought, as I lay sweating on my totally messed up sheets, was that I had not actually gone out to find a guy like that. In the old days I would have. I had kinda done that Friday but it was, well, not the same.

So I slept, and then after a visit to oblivion I got up, found a T-shirt and a clean pair of panties, curled a blanket around me and sat with my back against the wall just staring out into the darkness for a while.

The mist and the dark had come to our little neighborhood and covered it gently, while I was busy fucking myself out of this world. And now it was early morning but it was not going away anytime soon.

And then I almost cried as I took my laptop and typed this and tried to mix all the anger, and frustration and, well, sex into a coherent whole.

Tried to wonder if it would have made a good novel at some point, not just some dirty diary. Hell, why didn't I try to be E.L. James. I am good, I could do it.

But no, I am not good. That's the problem. I don't believe I am. Not deep down.

And that's why everything will be a fantasy, everything good anyway. Especially that beautiful man who just moved in next door and who seems not really to be home that often. Maybe never, really. Serves me right.

And it serves fate right to fuck with my head and heart just when I am at my most pathetic, talking to myself like that.

Because just then I heard a four wheeler in a drive way across the road.

His drive way. 

[Anonymous]

April 4

I was going to lie to you.

I was going to write that I put on my clothes and tip-toed over to my beautiful neighbor's drive way and found some excuse to get to talk to him, now that he was finally home. Or maybe just watch him. (A little creepy perhaps, I know, but I think this crush is slowly becoming serious … and when it becomes serious like that it also becomes a form of madness, right?)

But I was stuck. On my bed. In my room. My heart was hammering like it wanted to escape my chest and I couldn't move and so I didn't. And an hour or so later when I did 'happen' to pass by his drive way, taking out our garbage, then I saw that the four wheeler had gone again and everything was dark inside his apartment, blinds down.

And things didn't become less messy during breakfast, when I found Karima in the kitchen chatting away on the phone and then hanging up and saying “I love you too” quickly, when I finally dragged myself in there to get something to eat before I starved.

Without thinking, I went: “Now. who was that?”. And Karima went: 'Oh … you remember the girl from the other day?'

“The redhead?”

'Her name's Amy.”

And she said she thought they might begin dating. Karima and Amy. Her first real date.

And words just tripped out of my mouth: “But I thought you said she was straight?”

And Karima looked at me like she couldn't decide if it was a bit pathetic or not that I couldn't understand a big public secret, or something like that, something which – to Karima's eyes- seemed to have been right there, in plain sight all along.

“She is open-minded, Cari,” Karima said with added patience. “She wants to see if it's something for her.”

“I don't understand,” I blurted.

“People don't always fit into boxes like 'straight' or 'gay' or 'bisexual',” Karima continued, and now I couldn't tell if she was really annoyed with me, or embarrassed, or some indefinable in-between.

“Oh,” I just said and began pouring milk on my cornflakes.

“Have you never just thought – just a little – about what … it would be like?” Karima asked, looking at me like she had to be ready to duck from something I would throw her way, any second now.

I didn't. I just shook my head.

“No, I've never wondered what 'it would be like'. No offense.”

She smiled nervously: “Well, Amy does – and we're really … I mean, we really have so much in common. I think this could be for real, Cari!”

And then I just felt ice in my stomach and couldn't take my eyes from her scars on the arms.

“Karima – are you sure … she is serious? I … don't want you to … “

“What?” she snapped back. “Are you afraid it's some 'I'm desperate because of my ruined skin' – ” she waved her left arm demonstratively at me ” – and that Amy is just going to break my heart or something to fulfill a little fantasy of hers?”

“Something like that … ” I looked down and the cornflakes looked back at me and I felt absolutely no appetite.

“Well, I wouldn't say you are exactly an expert on women-to-women relationships, are you now?” Karima said while getting up and pushing in the chair hard against the small table.

And by the time I had formulated a semblance of an answer, she had already gone to her room, and didn't want to press it, although I was also a bit angry with her for mistrusting me like that.

Hell, I was concerned about her … and about this Amy-character who was straight one day and “open-minded” the other day. What the hell was she going to do with my best friend? How come I had never heard of her before the other day? If she left Karima even more insecure and down than she already was at times, I felt like hunting her – Amy – down and throwing her into the Bay or something. Sleep with the fishes, baby – see how they like your need for a little fling because you suddenly feel oh-so “open-minded” …

And then I went to work and went home and went out in the evening. Usual Cari tactics to distract herself from what he doesn't really have the courage to do.

*

Later in the week I went out again, and even if it was just an ordinary boring weekday on both occasions I easily snatched into my net what I thought I needed.

I had tried to call Will, but he had gone undercover somewhere, so I figured that relieved me of any obligation. Although I did miss him and hoped he would be back. If he would then apparently, like Mr. Mysterious next door, it would not be anytime soon. So I had to take care of myself. And I did.

The first guy was from Australia, actually an exchange student, perhaps with a bit of aboriginal in his blood. Very dark and handsome. We talked a lot about how much I really wanted to go to Australia and then we went home to his dorm room and he did me so well, I felt I was on a cloud for the next two days. Like I had had some really good booze that didn't give me a headache – almost. He did give me his phone number, too, but didn't answer my calls later on. That was kind of … unsettling.

And so when I got afraid that maybe the headache would come I threw out my net again, and this time it was just a nice guy – Asian in fact – who I happened to chat up, at a bar near the harbor front; a place I really hadn't counted on hanging out for long, much less find anyone I would take a liking to. But he was very much the gentleman, I kid you not, and I let myself fall for it and I didn't regret it – at least not right away.

Because in the morning, when I came home there was a strange emptiness in my mind, just like that damn driveway of my neighbor's, and just like that grey nothing  above the ocean that couldn't decide if it wanted to show clouds or sunshine or the sky above or a combination of it all. It was just grey and dull like so often, like the mist that usually curls along the coastline had decided to smear itself permanently over the dome of heaven blanking everything else out.

Just like I blanked everything else out … everything that I couldn't quite handle yet. So I got off the bus a few miles from our road and went to a view point that I quite liked and just sat there in the damp grass, trying to get my thoughts together.

I needed to think about what I really wanted to do – no, who I really wanted to be.

I liked the guys. I liked a good roll in the hay.

But I also felt grey inside, like that sky. I felt I needed something more – someone more …

Would it be the guy next door?

No. He was  – he couldn't be anything else than – fantasy. Just my disturbed mind going round in circles and coming back to him.

So who did I want to meet? A man who was so much better than my ex? Of course. But what was 'better'? Did I really have any idea anymore? I had spent the last three years just fucking everything male with a pulse and pretending it was so liberating. And sometimes it was – like with Will. But it was never quite enough.

And then some asshole like Jeremy came along and snared me into his net, and I fell for it, and had the scars and bruises to prove it. And I go right back to chasing guys I don't have to relate to for more than one night.

The safe course.

So why was I so concerned about Karima? I should be bloody concerned about myself. I was the one who didn't take chances … with my heart.

What kind of man could I possibly do that with?

I didn't know anymore and the blank, grey sky above didn't feel like showing me any guiding stars tonight. It would be like this, a dull overcast, until night fell.

[Brandybee]

Enjoying it so far, keep it coming.

[Anonymous]

Thanks so much! These past weeks have been a MESS, but I'll have a new – extended – diary up in a week or so I reckon. Prepare for More Shocking Developments  – esp. about who the hell is straight and who isn't!!

-C

[Anonymous]

I didn't go out and find Mr. Right after that soul-searching. But Mr. Hunky-mysterious-neighbor managed to be there when I went to work the day after. Changing a tire on his four-wheeler.

And almost making me change my body for someone else's. My heart stopped, didn't beat for some seconds, then decided it had better get on with it or …

I went past him at first and acted as if nothing was going on. I was just heading for the bus stop. He was just, well, up early. Changing that tire. Only wearing a T-shirt that hadn't been made to hide how rugged and muscular his back and arms were – and, you know, all the rest.

Okay, okay – he was wearing pants, too. (grin). Don't let your dirty mind get away with you. I wouldn't

And really, nothing much happened. It was a complete anti-climax.

Even though we actually talked.

Yes, we did.

You see, when I went past him he said: “Good morning, m'am.”

And I was like: 'Who's the “ma'm”? I thought …

From the country, the guy. I knew it. We don't say that in Frisco. We just don't. Or anywhere else I've been for that matter.

So … I decided: 'What the hell'. And missed the bus.

But it was good – to finally chat with him. Even if my heart bounced around and nothing much came of it.

I'm not sure he is my type after all. I think … maybe it was just fantasy. I wanted my type to be into that body. Damn …

But he was nice – and from Colorado. And he worked as a mechanic, the odd job. And part of the season he rode horses – of course he did. Got them trained and from A to B and the whole thing out of a movie that I had dreamed about and it was all very real, and I should have died and gone to heaven right there. Or when he told me that he'd be staying in this flat – opposite ours – for the next 6 weeks. A borrow from some friend who had to go work elsewhere. And he had some other jobs down south of the city, and this was near the freeway and everything made so good sense.

And I didn't even hear it when I finally got to work and my boss gave me an earful – friendly but firm, as Mrs. N usually does it. I was thinking.

The gears grinding …

Oh, I'd love for him to come over and just push me down on the bed, take of that T-shirt – no, tear it off, haha. And then press himself against me kiss me, light a thousand little fires in me while kissing me on the neck and … further down. And then finally – relief – filling me with all his power and beauty. And after we had made love all night I would cum so hard that Karima would move out (even though she now appears to have got it together with that Amy-type), never speak to me again and the neighbors would complain and whisper behind my back when I went to work and I wouldn't …

Give. A.Damn.

The problem was … I wasn't sure he was the guy for me. In the long run. Another Will maybe? Another … somebody else. With a bod to die for and then some. Charm. Nice attitude. A warm and eager tongue. Caressing in all the right places. Hugging me when I need it. And …

But I wasn't sure it was him. He could be just another fantasy.

So should I try to get to know him more or … just give in to my so called hunch and hide away in my cave, playing adult games on the net or just surfing, escaping, like all the other times I …

Hell no. I would do something about this!

I have a plan.

I really do.

It's gonna be good.

Cari is going to get it all together.

Trust me.

…

[Anonymous]

Apr 26

Nothing ever works out as planned. At least not in my life.

This was a day with sun, unlike most other days. Karima and I were sitting in the small garden plot outside our little bit of home. Folding chairs and a couple of beers.

We would've looked so lesbian, except that we didn't.

And I didn't mention what kind of thoughts I had actually had about that – in the recent weeks. It didn't matter. We were not an item. We were friends.

But we did talk about Amy, and all the doubts – did she just want Karima as a distraction from her own problems? As an experiment that she could end any time? As a funny diversion from who-knows-what?

Karima's doubts were as deep as the scars on her arms. And they would probably never go away – the doubts or the scars. She got the latter when she crawled out of that burning house in Pakistan that the Taleban set fire to, because her father programmed computers for some local base that was a bit too cozy with US personel, coming in from across the border. Or just because. Who knows what goes on in the minds of madmen?

I didn't even know what went on in my own mind and I didn't care any longer. Not this afternoon in the sun. Not when the mist seemed so far away over the ocean.

Not even when Mr. Nice from next door came home to his own for a change and stopped, got out of the car and nodded our way. Maybe he was a vet? He looked the part. Just as he looked like a cowboy. He couldn've been anyone, really, and wouldn't it have been a twist of irony if the war somehow had made peace with itself on our doorstep. Now all we needed was some terrorist retiree in one of the other condos and it would be a crazy movie. Just like the ones that sometimes show up on TV and are called news.

I didn't care a lot about war and terrorism or fantasies about men, I hardly knew. Not any more. But I did care about scars – and we talked a lot that afternoon, and Karima asked me why I didn't take guys home anymore, as if 3 weeks counted for a lifetime …

I told her that I was probably lesbian and we laughed and opened another beer. Then she asked about my stepfather, and my jobs, and if I was all right because I had been locking myself quite a lot in my room these past many evenings.

And I said I just needed to think. That was all. Let's talk about Amy. Or the future. Or if it would be nice to go to the beach soon.

You see, we live in Montara, as if you had not already guessed. Here the mist lives with us, but some days are bright and clear.

And I saw one thing clearly that afternoon: I didn't need to have sex all the time with all kinds of guys. I didn't need to do it with girls, either – hell no. Even if you can't help wondering what it would be like when you live with Karima and hear her war-stories all the time … from the city, from the bars of loneliness.

I didn't even need to be online all the time.

I didn't need to pretend I was a lost writer who had this diary-project that everybody should swoon over. Say: 'Oh my gosh – you are so good. You can still make it!'

I don't think I can make it. Or maybe I can.

And maybe I can find a good man.

But I need to curl up somewhere and … try to decide who he is, and then who I am.

Otherwise – how are we ever going to find each other?

And have all the mindboggling, passionate, out-of-this-world, so-good-you-could-cry SEX that this story can never be about … because I don't have that in my life …

… yet.

***

Home–home! Where is that land?
For, when I dream it found, the old hungering cry
Aches in the soul, drives me from all I planned,
And sets my sail to seek another sky.

Alfred Noyes: Memories Of The Pacific Coast

[Author]

Posts