Fat Bottom Girl Said What

It's not about the ass, it's about the attitude!

Announcement

Wanted to share a little news with you all.  No, I’m not pregnant. That would be a physical impossibility at this point in my life, for numerous reasons.

I submitted a poem, which I posted here on my blog, to elephant journal, and they have accepted it for publication.  I was quite excited, since this was the first time I had ever submitted anything, anywhere. Thankfully they were kind enough not to make me wait too long, until they responded.

I will post the link when it’s published, and I hope you will take time to check out my poem, if you haven’t already, and elephant journal.  I’ve fallen in love with elephant journal over the last few months, and I hope you do too!

Leave Now

“Leave now,” she said, “before I grow accustomed to your voice saying my name.”

“Leave now,” she said, “before I miss the weight of you in the bed and your hand upon my hip.”

“Leave now,” she said, “before we have a song we always dance to in the kitchen when it comes on the radio.”

“Leave now,” she said, “before I miss the feel of your lips upon mine and the smell of you upon my skin.”

“Leave now,” she said, “before we have jokes between us that no one else understands, and shared secrets.”

“Leave now,” she said, “before you make me believe in love and possibilities and tomorrows.”

“Leave now,” she said, “before you break my heart.”

Steps

Last Sunday I stepped on to a plane mourning being separated from my son once again.  I stepped off the plane to a different kind of mourning–the death of my step-brother.

Step-families are a totally other dimension.  I can’t say I’m overly close to any of my step-siblings, even after 30 years, but my step-brother was by far, my favorite.

He was more like a cool party buddy.  I tried to avoid family functions if he wasn’t going to be there, because he was the only thing that made them fun.  He and my brother and I would sit around and talk about his youngest sister, because none of us liked her.  She’s a bossy busybody, who thinks the world should revolve around her.  Which, she has once again proven by sending out a group text asking everyone to bring birthday cards for her 26 year old son because obviously, her brother had the gall to die and have his funeral on her son’s birthday. What. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck.

I told my step-brother in my head that he will have to help me bite my tongue when I’m around her.  And my brother and I joked that it was just the sort of bullshit that all of us would be laughing about if we were sitting around drinking together on another occasion.

But none of this changes the fact my step-mother has lost her son, and my niece has lost her father, and her children have lost their grandpa. On Monday, I will lift my glass to him because he’s the only one who ever made me feel like I was ever a part of that family. And I will miss him, and I will thank the universe I still have my brother.

 

 

The Seas of You

I try to draw a breath
but my lungs won’t expand
to allow it

A wet veil has been
placed about my head
and it threatens to cut off
the life force of air

Swimming in your seas
has left me with a fear of drowning

“Test the waters you fool,” says my chastising voice. “Never dive in head first. When are you going to learn your lesson?”

But all is lost in the abyss
my ears are covered with water
and blackness begins to swirl around me

Skin Hunger

Like a blind person
I want to explore every inch of your skin
and commit it to memory
I want to taste your tattoos with my tongue
and bury my nose in your neck
so I can inhale the scent of you
and feel the goosebumps my lips create
as I brush them down your back
fingertips feather light
following the trail my lips make
grazing your ass with my hands
stopping only to grip your thighs
and feel the cord of muscle within
completing my journey
by pressing my nakedness
against yours
absorbing the rhythms of your body
through osmosis
so I can carry the song of you with me
wherever I go

False Gods

I gave you too much of my truth
I presented you my soul stripped bare
like a communion wafer
laid upon your tongue
so you could devour
the very essence of me

And you chewed me up
and spit me out
and picked your teeth
with my bones

What gave you the right
to preach your gospel
while I tossed
my coins of devotion
into your collection plate
only to have you
lay waste to me
as I knelt down before you

You are the worst kind of deity
a devil in disguise
and I refuse to worship you

Sex Lube and Fine Dining

Kiwi-Strawberry, Passionfruit, Sweet Cherry, Tropical Punch. None of those flavors gets me in the mood, and they actually make me feel like someone might yell out “Hey Kool-Aid” and a giant pitcher is going to come busting through the wall, so who in the hell ever thought fruit flavored sex lube was a good idea?

I like pina coladas, but I don’t want one slathered on my cooter, and I certainly don’t want to have to lick it off some dude’s meat sword!

My mouth may spew expletives and be crass, but I have a rather refined palette. I like good food and drinks.  I want taste explosions in my mouth.  I want my culinary experiences to be as pleasurable as sex, so that got me to thinking.

Why not combine the two?

I think lube should start coming in flavors like filet mignon, or merlot, or chocolate mousse,or maybe Texas BBQ brisket flavor, which would come with a bonus of Lonestar flavored edible undies.

Or maybe hot beef sandwich flavor, or apple pie, or cinnamon roll.

Or maybe even a sushi flavored one. (Lord help you if you don’t need a lube to attain that particular flavor!)

Pretty sure I need to get a patent for this stuff.  Seriously.  This could be the next big thing.

Just think about it.

When was the last time you saw your man tear into anything fruity?  You want your man lusting after you like he lusts after a T-bone and a shot of whiskey.

And guys, can you think of a better way to get your woman to orally pleasure you than to rub some lube flavored like chocolate salted caramel on your weiner?

That’s what I thought.

If you need me I’ll be at the patent office.

P.S. I’m taking applications from men who’d like to help me taste test.

A PSA from Me and The TSA

Next weekend I’m taking a short trip to Nashville.  I’ve finally decided it’s time for me to dive in and really start experiencing some of the things this country has to offer, but I will be packing a little differently for this trip than I did the last one.

If you all remember, last November I flew to Toronto to visit the now ex-boyfriend. That is such a long story, and one I’m not quite ready to tell, so we’ll just let it go at that, but being who I am, I was hoping to “have some fun” i.e. “get laid”, while in Toronto.

Sometimes, one would like to use “additional items” for sexual encounters, so I packed a small vibrator.  It was like travel size.  I even bought it in the travel size section of the adult toy store–travel size vibrators, travel size lube.  To me, travel size=fun size!  But, I digress.

It had been awhile since I’d flown, but didn’t think much about going through security, as I didn’t figure they would find anything too suspicious in there.  Little did I know, my loose face powder was going to set off some sort of “search that bitch’s bag” alert.  No big deal–until I remember I’ve got that damn vibrator in there!!  And who’s going to search my bag? Not one of the four women standing around there, but the one guy on duty.  Fucking fantastic.

“Pleasedon’tfindthevibratorpleasedon’tfindthevibratorpleasedontfindthevibrator”

I keep chanting over and over in my head, as I feel a sheen of sweat form on my upper lip.

He gets his gloves on and starts digging, setting items in Ziploc bags out on the table for everyone to see, and telling me when he finds the powder, that he’s sure that’s what has set off the sensor.

“Oh, but you can’t take this on the plane,” he says, as my heart drops into my gut, and he holds up. . . . a small bottle of hairspray.

You thought I was going to say the vibrator, didn’t you?  Thank the god of dildos and sex toys, the guy did not ask to see what was in the little zebra striped bag, and informed me I could load my makeup and clothing back into the suitcase.

Going through customs in Toronto I was worried I would have to go through that scenario all over again, as they pulled my bag aside to search it.

“Mam, you can’t have the wine.  If you want to take the wine you have to check the bag.”

“Fuck that, I’ll stand right here and drink it, because there’s no way I’m letting you bastards get drunk on my Canadian wine and pleasure yourselves with my vibrator!!”

Needless to say, the vibrator is staying home this time because TSA is not partying on my dime! Those toys are expensive!

Missing Pieces

I want the scent of you to linger
on the pillow
long after the warmth of you has faded
from the sheets

Why must I be the one you run to
And she be the one you call home

The soft spot on the inside of my thigh
where you place kisses and your beard tickles me
isn’t enough to keep you rooted inside the core of me
that space you know so well which no one else has ever seen
or had the desire to

How I wish your hand
which so easily traces paths of longing across my skin
could so easily intertwine with mine in the public market
and make a proclamation of your love for me

Remains of Betrayal

As I sit here
in my puddle of bourbon and tears
disassembling the life I’d created
for us in my head
I’m sure that for you
life goes on
Nothing has changed
because there’s someone there
to fill my ruby slippers
and to carry on my
legacy
of ego stroking and ball licking

Haunted by what is reality
and the harshness of it
I curse you out loud
all the while knowing the connection
we experienced is something rare

In a world of relationships
littered with demons
and the scars I carry
from the talons they’ve dragged across my heart
the good things you brought to me
in comparison
were a downy feather
brushed against my cheek

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