I've been walking around in a daze since Saturday night. Just floating along on a silken cloud of unreality, through a lovely fog of an opium dream.
At least, that's what this feels like. I can't concentrate on the most simple tasks, like folding laundry, or brushing my teeth, or remembering to check the mail. I do all these things, but I'll catch myself almost leaving the house without my car keys, and arriving to work with no memory of getting in the car, starting the car, and driving to work. It's unnerving...
I've gotta snap out of it. Part of the reason for all this is that I have welcomed it. I've flung myself into the welcoming distraction of John with open arms. It's like the fictional river of Lethe; I waded in its blissful dark waters at first, then decided to swim around in it a while.
I was pretty upset when I went to John's on Saturday night. We both had a rare weekend night off from work, and I was nervous as hell. I must have tried on ten different outfits before deciding on a pair of cute denim shorts, a snug tee shirt and a pair of fashionable Converse shoes, and some light makeup. I wanted to look very casual, in case he thought I was pathetic and thought this was a date!
I was worried about the guy who had chased me, plus I had had some strange and unsettling dreams since that night, which I'll disclose another time.
I arrived there hot and sweaty; my air conditioner doesn't work that well, and it was so damn hot that night. He looked delectable in a grayish t-shirt and jeans, and his shaggy light brown hair was freshly-washed and still damp. He hugged me at the door, and I breathed in the clean masculine scent of him: soap and shampoo and a light whiff of his sweat, which smelled good not icky, all which combined to make quite an aphrodisiac. I thought I was going to swoon!
His apartment was nice, and it was in an expensive building, so he or his family must have money. I marveled at how neat it was for a bachelor apartment. He came back with two beers, and then he popped in a movie.
We started talking, and eventually lost interest in the movie. After another beer, he moved closer to me on the couch, and I propped my legs up in his lap. I kept wondering why I was there, and if he just wanted an easy piece of ass while his girlfriend was away. But I knew better; it's almost impossible for people to fool me, and I could feel his guilt over his feelings for me, which ran deeper that just physical attraction.
We started to kiss, and I lay back on the couch, wrapping my arms around him, and blotting out any more thoughts of boyfriends, girlfriends, guilt, and dead bodies.
He was a great kisser; they were the kind of kisses that you feel way down in the pit of your stomach. I rubbed my hands through his hair, and boldly raised my hips into the hardness that I could feel pressing against me.
He pulled away, and sat up. I knew what he was feeling, and what he was going to say. He told me he was going to break up with his girlfriend, and he didn't think it was right to start something with me until he had taken care of that; he didn't want things to begin under any sleazy circumstances, because he liked me a lot. I was warmed by his declaration, but I was also a little disappointed. I was fiercely turned on, and I knew I would have let things go further.
A twinge of anger coursed through me, and I asked him why he even asked me over here if that was the case. I was mad, and worked up, and the events of the past couple of weeks had come to a head, so I grabbed my purse to storm out. He held my arms so I wouldn't leave, and then he hugged me to him. I could feel hot tears threatening to pour out my eyes, but held back; I hate to cry, especially in front of people. He said he was sorry, that he just wanted to see me. I couldn't be angry with him, after all I knew the situation too, and why had I come if not for the same reasons. Suddenly, he grabbed the rest of the beer, "Follow me."
It was dark outside, but still hot as six shades of hell. We walked to his building's pool, and seeing that no one was around, stripped down to our underwear and dove into the inviting blue water. It was deliciously cool; the moonlight glittered on the dark blue water as he peeled off my panties, my legs wrapped snugly around his hips. When he touched me between my legs, I felt the heat radiate out; hot against the deep cool water. We kissed and touched and rubbed and licked until our skin started to prune, and then we heard drunken laughter as people made their way to the pool for a night swim.
Covering up with towels, we quickly relinquished our pool to the intruders. Back in the apartment, I just took off the wet bra and panties, dried off and got dressed, stowing my undies in my purse. Before I left, he made arrangements to take me on a "real date" when he got back into town (some family-related trip or something).
I drove home elated, feeling naughty at the thought of my bra and panties in my purse. My body was still tingling from pleasure and excitement. I had never felt this way about anyone, and I'd do anything to keep the high going.
I can feel myself getting in deeper every second, like wading into the deep cold end of the pool without knowing it, and remembering that you're not the best swimmer.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Strangers in the Night
Up until dawn crept across the sky; I was a small child the last time I watched the sun come up over the bayou: the delicate darkness of the sky painted with swatches of glorious violent smears of red and gold, as the sun rose in a blazing wash of fiery orange.
As the sun began to rise, already hot and near-unbearable, I pulled down the shades, drew the curtains and went to sleep.
I didn't intend to stay up all night... After my shift at work, I and some other people from work walked down to a bar near the coffeehouse for a few beers. John (see previous post!) came with us, and we sat beside each other, having our own private conversation as the others talked and laughed, their words becoming louder and more boisterous as the empty beer bottles piled up on the sticky table.
As we talked about all the things we liked--movies music, books, hobbies--I was surprised at how much we had in common. After four expensive, stout beers, I was buzzing and giddy with alcohol and adrenaline and hormones, and I knew I needed to slow down if I was going to drive home. The bar was getting too noisy and smoky and crowded, and through the beer haze, I could still pick up on people's feelings. Kellie, for instance: I could feel her hate and anger for me.
She has a huge crush on John, hell most of the girls do, and she had pretty much marked him as "hers" from the moment he was hired. But I knew he had no interest in her, which was confusing, because she is very pretty, albeit shallow and mean. What really confused me was why he was interested in me. I could feel his guilt over it, because of his girlfriend, but there is this connection and pull between us, and it's like nothing else matters.
Anyway, he asked me to come over on Saturday night to watch a movie, an "we're just friends and coworkers" invitation, and I said, sure why not.
It was getting late, so I said goodnight to everyone since I was getting drunk. John paid for my beers and walked me to my car.
As I was getting into my car, I could feel that he wanted to say or do something to prolong the moment, but he didn't, and I was too stubborn to say anything either, so we simply said goodnight and I drove away, not looking forward to the long drive on the dark road, cautiously looking out for those New Orleans drunk drivers.
I was so wound up when I got home; I drank some water and popped two Tylenol. I got undressed, washed my face, and changed into my gauzy white chemise, so light and comfy and cool.
I sat on the wide front porch, smoking a cigarette, and I searched for something to take my mind off John.
The girl's body that was found has still not been identified, or the police are not releasing the information. They questioned me about how I had found her, and that took all night, what with all the milling around and questions. I told them the truth, and the detective said he would be in touch if and when they needed me again. My mom was upset and worried for me, and my dad has hired some security people to patrol our property occasionally. So, I eventually started to feel pretty safe, what with my brothers huddling around me protectively.
I put on some flip-flops and walked down to the little house where she was found.
I relished the smells and sounds all around me; the night was alive, and the moon bathed the world with its bright silvery glow. I've always loved the night, and my body is so much more alive and aware than in the daytime.
I twirled and spun around like a wild wood nymph, intoxicated from the moonlight and magic. I wanted to be naked and roll in the moist grass, as steam rose from the ground, creating a fairy mist.
I lay under the huge oak tress, looking at the gray Spanish moss hanging from the branches like witches' mossy hair. I took off the short thin gown, and I laughed, deliciously naked and belonging to the night and the trees and grass and bayou. Images of pagan altars, and dripping thick woods where trees were worshiped and orgies were held under the full moon; wicked thoughts of him on top of me, sweaty and hard, sliding deep and sweet...
I moaned with ecstasy, adding soft cries and moans with the night sounds: a mad chorus of lust and whispers and abandon.
A noise tore me out of my fantasy; I sat up and dressed. I knew I had heard something, coming from the direction of the abandoned Cajun house where the girl was found dead.
I was terrified suddenly; something deep inside me was telling me to run, that whoever was there was dangerous--and had been watching me.
I ran barefoot, gripping my shoes in my hand. I prayed I wouldn't trip and fall, like those dumb unfortunate women in the horror movies. I heard footsteps behind me, quickly closing the distance.
I saw the light of our porch and gasped with relief as I saw my brother pulling into the gravel driveway. I stood trying to catch my breath, standing out of my brother's line of sight under the trees. I didn't hear anything; whoever had been there was gone.
I decided not to call the police, after all, what could be done?
I know that I have to figure out who this girl was, and why that person wanted to come after me. I could feel...something. Not anything like a normal person, but more like a presence of nothingness, as if he was just a shell devoid of feelings of love and hate. Blank.
I showered, letting the cool water beat down my neck and back; even after I had crawled under my soft sheets, I couldn't find sleep. Too much had happened, and I was still worked up, so I read a book until dawn peeped out of the dark sky.
I got about nine hours of sleep, so I feel much better. I have to go: I'm working tonight, and the last thing I need is to be alone with my thoughts.
Still, I told my dad that I thought I heard someone snooping around last night; I don't want my family to get hurt, and he knows people who can keep a collective eye on things.
I'm off...
As the sun began to rise, already hot and near-unbearable, I pulled down the shades, drew the curtains and went to sleep.
I didn't intend to stay up all night... After my shift at work, I and some other people from work walked down to a bar near the coffeehouse for a few beers. John (see previous post!) came with us, and we sat beside each other, having our own private conversation as the others talked and laughed, their words becoming louder and more boisterous as the empty beer bottles piled up on the sticky table.
As we talked about all the things we liked--movies music, books, hobbies--I was surprised at how much we had in common. After four expensive, stout beers, I was buzzing and giddy with alcohol and adrenaline and hormones, and I knew I needed to slow down if I was going to drive home. The bar was getting too noisy and smoky and crowded, and through the beer haze, I could still pick up on people's feelings. Kellie, for instance: I could feel her hate and anger for me.
She has a huge crush on John, hell most of the girls do, and she had pretty much marked him as "hers" from the moment he was hired. But I knew he had no interest in her, which was confusing, because she is very pretty, albeit shallow and mean. What really confused me was why he was interested in me. I could feel his guilt over it, because of his girlfriend, but there is this connection and pull between us, and it's like nothing else matters.
Anyway, he asked me to come over on Saturday night to watch a movie, an "we're just friends and coworkers" invitation, and I said, sure why not.
It was getting late, so I said goodnight to everyone since I was getting drunk. John paid for my beers and walked me to my car.
As I was getting into my car, I could feel that he wanted to say or do something to prolong the moment, but he didn't, and I was too stubborn to say anything either, so we simply said goodnight and I drove away, not looking forward to the long drive on the dark road, cautiously looking out for those New Orleans drunk drivers.
I was so wound up when I got home; I drank some water and popped two Tylenol. I got undressed, washed my face, and changed into my gauzy white chemise, so light and comfy and cool.
I sat on the wide front porch, smoking a cigarette, and I searched for something to take my mind off John.
The girl's body that was found has still not been identified, or the police are not releasing the information. They questioned me about how I had found her, and that took all night, what with all the milling around and questions. I told them the truth, and the detective said he would be in touch if and when they needed me again. My mom was upset and worried for me, and my dad has hired some security people to patrol our property occasionally. So, I eventually started to feel pretty safe, what with my brothers huddling around me protectively.
I put on some flip-flops and walked down to the little house where she was found.
I relished the smells and sounds all around me; the night was alive, and the moon bathed the world with its bright silvery glow. I've always loved the night, and my body is so much more alive and aware than in the daytime.
I twirled and spun around like a wild wood nymph, intoxicated from the moonlight and magic. I wanted to be naked and roll in the moist grass, as steam rose from the ground, creating a fairy mist.
I lay under the huge oak tress, looking at the gray Spanish moss hanging from the branches like witches' mossy hair. I took off the short thin gown, and I laughed, deliciously naked and belonging to the night and the trees and grass and bayou. Images of pagan altars, and dripping thick woods where trees were worshiped and orgies were held under the full moon; wicked thoughts of him on top of me, sweaty and hard, sliding deep and sweet...
I moaned with ecstasy, adding soft cries and moans with the night sounds: a mad chorus of lust and whispers and abandon.
A noise tore me out of my fantasy; I sat up and dressed. I knew I had heard something, coming from the direction of the abandoned Cajun house where the girl was found dead.
I was terrified suddenly; something deep inside me was telling me to run, that whoever was there was dangerous--and had been watching me.
I ran barefoot, gripping my shoes in my hand. I prayed I wouldn't trip and fall, like those dumb unfortunate women in the horror movies. I heard footsteps behind me, quickly closing the distance.
I saw the light of our porch and gasped with relief as I saw my brother pulling into the gravel driveway. I stood trying to catch my breath, standing out of my brother's line of sight under the trees. I didn't hear anything; whoever had been there was gone.
I decided not to call the police, after all, what could be done?
I know that I have to figure out who this girl was, and why that person wanted to come after me. I could feel...something. Not anything like a normal person, but more like a presence of nothingness, as if he was just a shell devoid of feelings of love and hate. Blank.
I showered, letting the cool water beat down my neck and back; even after I had crawled under my soft sheets, I couldn't find sleep. Too much had happened, and I was still worked up, so I read a book until dawn peeped out of the dark sky.
I got about nine hours of sleep, so I feel much better. I have to go: I'm working tonight, and the last thing I need is to be alone with my thoughts.
Still, I told my dad that I thought I heard someone snooping around last night; I don't want my family to get hurt, and he knows people who can keep a collective eye on things.
I'm off...
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Of Lust and Lattes
I'll fill you in on what happened with the discovery of the body, but first I want to talk about a jolt of seismic proportions in my love life.
Okay, the thing is, I have a boyfriend; he works for a great company, and he's nice and handsome, but I'm not in love with him anymore. I started feeling this way about a year ago, and I just don't know how to break it off with him. Worse, he's pressuring me about marriage, and I've held him at bay by telling him I want to be done with school and have a stable career first, and that's partially true. But I realized I don't want to get married to him--now or ever.
I haven't been to visit him since I came home for the summer--he lives in New Orleans--or called him. The last time I spoke with him on the phone, he tried to get me to stay with him for a month in New Orleans. I told him in a tentative voice that I wanted to spend my summer alone, just relaxing with my family, and maybe find some piddly summer job. I thought that would be a big hint, since I just don't have the stones to break it off with him.
Anyway, he got quiet, and then muttered something under his breath about how I should look him up when I can squeeze him into my busy schedule.
Since then, I have gotten loads of e-mails about how much he misses me, and how he's going to come visit me this week (unfortunately, he knows where I live). So it looks as if I'm going to have to just break up with him by e-mail. I know that's horrible relationship etiquette, but if i try to do it face-to-face, I'll wimp out. Dammit. I hate him for making me have to do this; why can't he read between the lines?
He's about ten years older than I; I never date a guy who is "my age", I always date men who are older. In fact, I dated a guy once who was 40, not a big deal, except I was 20 at the time! I've always preferred older men for all the reasons a younger woman would: maturity, self-control, success, money, culture, a sense of accomplishment and goals, and more sexual experience. But it seems like I always end up rejecting some of them for being too patriarchal or too ready to settle down, which is twisted, because that's why I seek them out in the first place! I'm not blind to the fact that I have father-figure issues; my dad loves me, but he wasn't around much during my formative years, and I was always a Daddy's girl.
But I don't blame him or my mother for anything, they were just kids themselves when they had me and my brothers.
Anyway, I started working at this little coffeehouse in New Orleans a couple of weeks ago; just a part-time gig, mainly because I hate to just sit around with nothing to do all day. It's a great place, and I love working there. There's a guy that works there, who is also a college student h0me for the summer. I really like him, and I know he feels the same for me. We both started to talk and laugh and connect with each other whilst schlepping soy lattes and frothy cappuccinos to seemingly oh-so cool poseurs too busy to look up from their laptops.
However, there are several complicating elements: he has a girlfriend; I have a boyfriend; he's only 21; oh, and he's only 21!!
I know that's only 7 years difference, but still I feel weird about going out with someone who's so much younger. I've never really dated a guy that young!
But I am soooo wildly attracted to him. His girlfriend is off in dental school or something, and he's going to law school or med school (can't remember which one!) in a year or so. Every time I see him at work, I become more and more drawn to him. Of course he has that young man clueless immaturity and silliness , but that's to be expected. But he totally lacks any young man narcissism and meanness. I really want to sleep with him; the other day I "accidentally" brushed up against him, and a current of lust zinged through me, making me hyper aware of the texture of my panties against my hot skin; I suddenly started squirming, and felt like I might have to go "take care" of myself in the bathroom.
I keep having dreams about the two of us sleeping together: blurry sensual pictures and textures of his twinkling dark blue eyes, and a flash of white teeth under shapely lips, and of sweaty limbs entangled in a feverish embrace.
I'm actually looking forward to being off for the next two days and not seeing him: this is torture! This enslavement to the slightest smoldering glance, or the way his shaggy hair lays against his masculine-shaped neck, or the way his hips stand at a certain angle. It's like I can't concentrate on the everyday ordinary tasks.
I've gone on for longer than I wanted about this, but next post I promise to bring you up to date on the mayhem of the dead body and all that I've found out so far.
Okay, the thing is, I have a boyfriend; he works for a great company, and he's nice and handsome, but I'm not in love with him anymore. I started feeling this way about a year ago, and I just don't know how to break it off with him. Worse, he's pressuring me about marriage, and I've held him at bay by telling him I want to be done with school and have a stable career first, and that's partially true. But I realized I don't want to get married to him--now or ever.
I haven't been to visit him since I came home for the summer--he lives in New Orleans--or called him. The last time I spoke with him on the phone, he tried to get me to stay with him for a month in New Orleans. I told him in a tentative voice that I wanted to spend my summer alone, just relaxing with my family, and maybe find some piddly summer job. I thought that would be a big hint, since I just don't have the stones to break it off with him.
Anyway, he got quiet, and then muttered something under his breath about how I should look him up when I can squeeze him into my busy schedule.
Since then, I have gotten loads of e-mails about how much he misses me, and how he's going to come visit me this week (unfortunately, he knows where I live). So it looks as if I'm going to have to just break up with him by e-mail. I know that's horrible relationship etiquette, but if i try to do it face-to-face, I'll wimp out. Dammit. I hate him for making me have to do this; why can't he read between the lines?
He's about ten years older than I; I never date a guy who is "my age", I always date men who are older. In fact, I dated a guy once who was 40, not a big deal, except I was 20 at the time! I've always preferred older men for all the reasons a younger woman would: maturity, self-control, success, money, culture, a sense of accomplishment and goals, and more sexual experience. But it seems like I always end up rejecting some of them for being too patriarchal or too ready to settle down, which is twisted, because that's why I seek them out in the first place! I'm not blind to the fact that I have father-figure issues; my dad loves me, but he wasn't around much during my formative years, and I was always a Daddy's girl.
But I don't blame him or my mother for anything, they were just kids themselves when they had me and my brothers.
Anyway, I started working at this little coffeehouse in New Orleans a couple of weeks ago; just a part-time gig, mainly because I hate to just sit around with nothing to do all day. It's a great place, and I love working there. There's a guy that works there, who is also a college student h0me for the summer. I really like him, and I know he feels the same for me. We both started to talk and laugh and connect with each other whilst schlepping soy lattes and frothy cappuccinos to seemingly oh-so cool poseurs too busy to look up from their laptops.
However, there are several complicating elements: he has a girlfriend; I have a boyfriend; he's only 21; oh, and he's only 21!!
I know that's only 7 years difference, but still I feel weird about going out with someone who's so much younger. I've never really dated a guy that young!
But I am soooo wildly attracted to him. His girlfriend is off in dental school or something, and he's going to law school or med school (can't remember which one!) in a year or so. Every time I see him at work, I become more and more drawn to him. Of course he has that young man clueless immaturity and silliness , but that's to be expected. But he totally lacks any young man narcissism and meanness. I really want to sleep with him; the other day I "accidentally" brushed up against him, and a current of lust zinged through me, making me hyper aware of the texture of my panties against my hot skin; I suddenly started squirming, and felt like I might have to go "take care" of myself in the bathroom.
I keep having dreams about the two of us sleeping together: blurry sensual pictures and textures of his twinkling dark blue eyes, and a flash of white teeth under shapely lips, and of sweaty limbs entangled in a feverish embrace.
I'm actually looking forward to being off for the next two days and not seeing him: this is torture! This enslavement to the slightest smoldering glance, or the way his shaggy hair lays against his masculine-shaped neck, or the way his hips stand at a certain angle. It's like I can't concentrate on the everyday ordinary tasks.
I've gone on for longer than I wanted about this, but next post I promise to bring you up to date on the mayhem of the dead body and all that I've found out so far.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Coffee and Mojo
Sitting in the Mojo Coffee House, which I like because it's just a skip away from the Garden District, plus they have Wi-Fi.
As I sit here pecking away on my laptop, I remember how I used to think people who typed on their laptops in public were self-important posers. Now, I admit that some of them probably need to escape to a semi-quiet dark place to escape from everything.
Today I made the not-too-far drive here to New Orleans because I had to get away from all the questions and the looks and the whispers. I hail from a beautiful tiny rural town, and I love it, but like most small sedentary villages, it's filled with suspicion and rumors and fear. So I figured the trip into the city would do me good.
I've done some shopping; bought some clothes at the little glitzy touristy boutiques in the Vieux Carre; some used books, and candles and trinkets. I also took a walk through the Garden District, soaking up the beauty of the majestic stately homes, and wishing I had the money to buy the former Anne Rice mansion, which is the most beautiful home of all. I have to say, sometimes I hate it that every two-bit Goth or wannabe vampire treks to New Orleans thinking they're going to dig up some witches or get bitten by a vampire. But, her descriptions of the Garden District are so marvelous and lovely: it's a leafy paradise, so quiet and genteel with its street cars and cobbled streets.
Anyway, I promise not to tarry too long between my next entry, and I will fill you in on all the events that have taken place.
As I sit here pecking away on my laptop, I remember how I used to think people who typed on their laptops in public were self-important posers. Now, I admit that some of them probably need to escape to a semi-quiet dark place to escape from everything.
Today I made the not-too-far drive here to New Orleans because I had to get away from all the questions and the looks and the whispers. I hail from a beautiful tiny rural town, and I love it, but like most small sedentary villages, it's filled with suspicion and rumors and fear. So I figured the trip into the city would do me good.
I've done some shopping; bought some clothes at the little glitzy touristy boutiques in the Vieux Carre; some used books, and candles and trinkets. I also took a walk through the Garden District, soaking up the beauty of the majestic stately homes, and wishing I had the money to buy the former Anne Rice mansion, which is the most beautiful home of all. I have to say, sometimes I hate it that every two-bit Goth or wannabe vampire treks to New Orleans thinking they're going to dig up some witches or get bitten by a vampire. But, her descriptions of the Garden District are so marvelous and lovely: it's a leafy paradise, so quiet and genteel with its street cars and cobbled streets.
Anyway, I promise not to tarry too long between my next entry, and I will fill you in on all the events that have taken place.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Bad Juju in the Swamps
Eerie events happening, which is why it's taken me so long to write a post. This steamy summer is shaping up to be a hot swirl of spookiness and danger.
I had been forced to go to church on this particular Sunday. The little wooden church building with its white-washed walls, is not air conditioned, just a couple of fans strategically placed. The preacher is a very round jowly bald man, with a pink sweaty face, who reminds me of a sunburned pig.
He has the most disturbing hands: they are dainty and soft, like a womans, and the nails are always manicured and shiny, and I swear he powders them. Anyway, he was spewing the usual mess of hell and sin and how we are living in the Last Days, and my hand was tired from waving the paper fan across my face; add to that a numb ass from the hard pew. I looked over at my mother, who still looked fresh and calm and pretty, barely even breaking a ladylike sweat (or "glow" as she calls sweat), and wished I could be as patient and good as she.
Finally, everyone rose for the last hymn, and with a quick murmur to my mother that I would see her at home, I was gone in a flash ( I was wise enough to drive in my own car!).
After shedding my church clothes for more natural shorts and tank, and a leisurely Sunday dinner of fried chicken, homemade biscuits, mashed potatoes and greens, followed by my mom's delicious peach cobbler, I set out for a walk around our property, with a joint tucked snugly into my pocket.
There are massive oak trees draped with Spanish moss, willow trees and pecan trees, and lovely Cypress trees near the bayou
There are still some old buildings and slave quarters left on the property; many of the buildings that used to house the mills and blacksmith quarters are gone, but this old plantation used to be its own citadel.
Supposedly, my great great great great great grandmother (not positive about the number of greats) learned some voodoo from many of the slaves when she was a girl, and she passed her stories and knowledge down to her daughter, and she passed it to hers, and so on and so on.
I walked about a mile from my home to an abandoned Cajun-style cabin that's been empty for as long as I can remember, and would be very pretty if someone would restore. I marveled at the outside stairs, and wide front porch, as I always do, and sat on the front porch. I was just about to light up, when I had a strong urge to go into the house.
It was oppressively hot; the walls had stored up the years of heat. I realized I had been in a daze, and as I stood there with sweat pouring out of me, soaking my clothes, it dawned on me that I had been led here. It happens to me sometimes: I will sort of "trance out", and it's as if some other part of me has taken over and in control.
Whenever this happens, it means I'm about to see some vision or premonition, but this time I knew I was coming upon something I didn't want to see, not "see" in my mind, but see with my eyes. But I was helpless to stop and run away; I had to look.
I saw evidence that people had been squatting here: dusty liquor bottles scattered about, a chewed-up smelly blanket crumpled up in the corner of the front room, and an lone stained sock.
I glided into the back room, which was probably the master bedroom once upon a time. The smell was cloying, a smell detected by my mind more so than my nose; it was a dead body. I stared, terrified and exilerated at the same time, sweat trickling from my stomach down to my legs, and my hair was plastered to my skull with moisture, like I had been swimming.
There was no way to tell if the mutilated body was a male or female, but I knew it was a woman, and that she had been murdered.
I wondered if I knelt down next to her and touched her, if perhaps I would get a sense of who she was. But better not to touch her; if my fingerprints were to show up, they would wonder what kind of person would want to touch a dead body.
I turned and ran out of the house, mostly because I was afraid I would melt into a pile of goop if I stayed inside that house any longer.
I dug my cell phone out of my pocket, and called the police. I thought about going to a pay phone and making an anonymous call, so I wouldn't have to answer questions. But, I wanted to know who the woman was, and why I had been led to her.
I told the operator I would be at my house waiting for them, and so I walked back to tell my family what was about to happen, because the house was so close to our property, they would hear and see the cops roll by our home. Plus, it's such a small town, everyone would know by nightfall that I had found a dead body in an abandoned Cajun house
I hid the joint in my room, and told my parents what had happened. There were a lot of questions and gasps and exclamations;I grabbed an ice-cold beer from my dad's cooler, sat on the porch and waited for all hell to break loose.
More later...
I had been forced to go to church on this particular Sunday. The little wooden church building with its white-washed walls, is not air conditioned, just a couple of fans strategically placed. The preacher is a very round jowly bald man, with a pink sweaty face, who reminds me of a sunburned pig.
He has the most disturbing hands: they are dainty and soft, like a womans, and the nails are always manicured and shiny, and I swear he powders them. Anyway, he was spewing the usual mess of hell and sin and how we are living in the Last Days, and my hand was tired from waving the paper fan across my face; add to that a numb ass from the hard pew. I looked over at my mother, who still looked fresh and calm and pretty, barely even breaking a ladylike sweat (or "glow" as she calls sweat), and wished I could be as patient and good as she.
Finally, everyone rose for the last hymn, and with a quick murmur to my mother that I would see her at home, I was gone in a flash ( I was wise enough to drive in my own car!).
After shedding my church clothes for more natural shorts and tank, and a leisurely Sunday dinner of fried chicken, homemade biscuits, mashed potatoes and greens, followed by my mom's delicious peach cobbler, I set out for a walk around our property, with a joint tucked snugly into my pocket.
There are massive oak trees draped with Spanish moss, willow trees and pecan trees, and lovely Cypress trees near the bayou
There are still some old buildings and slave quarters left on the property; many of the buildings that used to house the mills and blacksmith quarters are gone, but this old plantation used to be its own citadel.
Supposedly, my great great great great great grandmother (not positive about the number of greats) learned some voodoo from many of the slaves when she was a girl, and she passed her stories and knowledge down to her daughter, and she passed it to hers, and so on and so on.
I walked about a mile from my home to an abandoned Cajun-style cabin that's been empty for as long as I can remember, and would be very pretty if someone would restore. I marveled at the outside stairs, and wide front porch, as I always do, and sat on the front porch. I was just about to light up, when I had a strong urge to go into the house.
It was oppressively hot; the walls had stored up the years of heat. I realized I had been in a daze, and as I stood there with sweat pouring out of me, soaking my clothes, it dawned on me that I had been led here. It happens to me sometimes: I will sort of "trance out", and it's as if some other part of me has taken over and in control.
Whenever this happens, it means I'm about to see some vision or premonition, but this time I knew I was coming upon something I didn't want to see, not "see" in my mind, but see with my eyes. But I was helpless to stop and run away; I had to look.
I saw evidence that people had been squatting here: dusty liquor bottles scattered about, a chewed-up smelly blanket crumpled up in the corner of the front room, and an lone stained sock.
I glided into the back room, which was probably the master bedroom once upon a time. The smell was cloying, a smell detected by my mind more so than my nose; it was a dead body. I stared, terrified and exilerated at the same time, sweat trickling from my stomach down to my legs, and my hair was plastered to my skull with moisture, like I had been swimming.
There was no way to tell if the mutilated body was a male or female, but I knew it was a woman, and that she had been murdered.
I wondered if I knelt down next to her and touched her, if perhaps I would get a sense of who she was. But better not to touch her; if my fingerprints were to show up, they would wonder what kind of person would want to touch a dead body.
I turned and ran out of the house, mostly because I was afraid I would melt into a pile of goop if I stayed inside that house any longer.
I dug my cell phone out of my pocket, and called the police. I thought about going to a pay phone and making an anonymous call, so I wouldn't have to answer questions. But, I wanted to know who the woman was, and why I had been led to her.
I told the operator I would be at my house waiting for them, and so I walked back to tell my family what was about to happen, because the house was so close to our property, they would hear and see the cops roll by our home. Plus, it's such a small town, everyone would know by nightfall that I had found a dead body in an abandoned Cajun house
I hid the joint in my room, and told my parents what had happened. There were a lot of questions and gasps and exclamations;I grabbed an ice-cold beer from my dad's cooler, sat on the porch and waited for all hell to break loose.
More later...
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Home for the summer
I just graduated from college, so let the summer officially start!
Arrived home today, and I swear when I drove up our old dirt and gravel driveway (I won't let Daddy pave it) I felt like my heart was gonna swell and burst with excitement.
I've been away at college in another state for 4 years, coming back for the summer in between when I could, so I really missed my home, and I even missed my sleepy little parish.
My family has a huge old antebellum home; it's been in our family since before the Civil War, and it's the most beautiful place on earth. There are big white columns, deep galleries, huge windows that span from the ceiling to the floors, and lots of antiques and ornate furnishings, and a breathtaking elliptical staircase, which winds up three floors.
Surrounding the house is a large expanse of lush green farmland, and the placid beauty of the swamp.
As soon as I got home, I slung my bags on the floor, took a cool shower, and slid under the soft sheets for a glorious nap. I miss my bed when I'm gone; it's a huge antique four-poster bed, with a thick down filled mattress. I almost need a ladder to reach it, but it's like sleeping on a pile of clouds. Before I fell asleep, I wondered if my diploma would arrive soon; it's nice to have that written documentation of your Bachelor's degree on your wall!
My mother called me to supper a couple hours later, and I glided down the steps, breathing the delicious smells of juicy meats and sweet cornbread. My two brothers were there, so it was nice to have the whole family together for supper.
I sat on the porch watching the sun set, and listening to the night sounds, and decide to take a drive to a little bar a few miles away.
I put on a tank top and a light silky skirt that hit the tops of my knees, and paired these with my favorite battered Frye boots. With the windows rolled down and the radio blasting, I put a beer between my legs, relishing the way the ice-cold bottle felt against my hot thighs.
It was a popular haunt for the locals; a dirt parking lot with lots of big trucks with those huge lights on the hoods. The music was loud and thumping, balls smacked and clicked off each other on the pool tables, and a thick blue-white layer of smoke hovered over the bar.
As soon as I sat down and ordered a beer, James came over and sat next to me. He's a boy I went to school with, and as we sipped our beers, I wondered if he had always been so cute. He was wearing jeans, a tee-shirt, and a ball cap. And he was muscled and fit from working on a road crew, or something.
I wondered if I'd just been surrounded by pale pseudo-intellectual Yankees too long, because he looked so yummy.
We ended up on a secluded spot on my property at about 1 am. Under the bright moon, naked in the humid air, the grass was dewy and soft, and it was so sexy; just being naked under the stars and the night sky, surrounded by grass and trees and the sounds of the bayou creatures.
It was okay: I had to coach him on a few things. I had to show him how to gently use his fingers, and once he slipped inside me, I gripped him with my legs, and whispered in his ear to do it hard and fast, which was what I wanted that night.
I dressed and told him to go, saying I had to get up early. As soon as he was gone I crept inside the house and slipped quietly into my house. I had to shower and visualize washing off Jame's "energy" or essence or whatever, because I could feel how much he used to like me, and his resentment for me as well.
It's hard for me to be around people, because I have an ability that makes me hyper aware of everyone's feelings and thoughts--their"vibes"I guess. I only recently read that a person who has this ability is called an Empath. I have to be careful to keep a "bubble" up around myself, otherwise the person's thoughts and feelings will transfer to me, and many times that's very bad for me. But, I can read people so well that I can absorb their energies and makes them do my bidding. Also, I can see things that are going to happen in my dreams. I suppose I inherited it; my mother has a touch of it, but she says her mother was a psychic as well as a medium, and her mother's mother, and so on, hallelujah.
That's right, I come from a long line of psychics and dabblers in witchcraft.
It's going to be a fun summer.
Arrived home today, and I swear when I drove up our old dirt and gravel driveway (I won't let Daddy pave it) I felt like my heart was gonna swell and burst with excitement.
I've been away at college in another state for 4 years, coming back for the summer in between when I could, so I really missed my home, and I even missed my sleepy little parish.
My family has a huge old antebellum home; it's been in our family since before the Civil War, and it's the most beautiful place on earth. There are big white columns, deep galleries, huge windows that span from the ceiling to the floors, and lots of antiques and ornate furnishings, and a breathtaking elliptical staircase, which winds up three floors.
Surrounding the house is a large expanse of lush green farmland, and the placid beauty of the swamp.
As soon as I got home, I slung my bags on the floor, took a cool shower, and slid under the soft sheets for a glorious nap. I miss my bed when I'm gone; it's a huge antique four-poster bed, with a thick down filled mattress. I almost need a ladder to reach it, but it's like sleeping on a pile of clouds. Before I fell asleep, I wondered if my diploma would arrive soon; it's nice to have that written documentation of your Bachelor's degree on your wall!
My mother called me to supper a couple hours later, and I glided down the steps, breathing the delicious smells of juicy meats and sweet cornbread. My two brothers were there, so it was nice to have the whole family together for supper.
I sat on the porch watching the sun set, and listening to the night sounds, and decide to take a drive to a little bar a few miles away.
I put on a tank top and a light silky skirt that hit the tops of my knees, and paired these with my favorite battered Frye boots. With the windows rolled down and the radio blasting, I put a beer between my legs, relishing the way the ice-cold bottle felt against my hot thighs.
It was a popular haunt for the locals; a dirt parking lot with lots of big trucks with those huge lights on the hoods. The music was loud and thumping, balls smacked and clicked off each other on the pool tables, and a thick blue-white layer of smoke hovered over the bar.
As soon as I sat down and ordered a beer, James came over and sat next to me. He's a boy I went to school with, and as we sipped our beers, I wondered if he had always been so cute. He was wearing jeans, a tee-shirt, and a ball cap. And he was muscled and fit from working on a road crew, or something.
I wondered if I'd just been surrounded by pale pseudo-intellectual Yankees too long, because he looked so yummy.
We ended up on a secluded spot on my property at about 1 am. Under the bright moon, naked in the humid air, the grass was dewy and soft, and it was so sexy; just being naked under the stars and the night sky, surrounded by grass and trees and the sounds of the bayou creatures.
It was okay: I had to coach him on a few things. I had to show him how to gently use his fingers, and once he slipped inside me, I gripped him with my legs, and whispered in his ear to do it hard and fast, which was what I wanted that night.
I dressed and told him to go, saying I had to get up early. As soon as he was gone I crept inside the house and slipped quietly into my house. I had to shower and visualize washing off Jame's "energy" or essence or whatever, because I could feel how much he used to like me, and his resentment for me as well.
It's hard for me to be around people, because I have an ability that makes me hyper aware of everyone's feelings and thoughts--their"vibes"I guess. I only recently read that a person who has this ability is called an Empath. I have to be careful to keep a "bubble" up around myself, otherwise the person's thoughts and feelings will transfer to me, and many times that's very bad for me. But, I can read people so well that I can absorb their energies and makes them do my bidding. Also, I can see things that are going to happen in my dreams. I suppose I inherited it; my mother has a touch of it, but she says her mother was a psychic as well as a medium, and her mother's mother, and so on, hallelujah.
That's right, I come from a long line of psychics and dabblers in witchcraft.
It's going to be a fun summer.
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