Carys Weldon Blog

Tuesday, March 28, 2006


I've deleted some of the past archives/emails on the newsletter list, hoping to free up some email space. Please try posting again.

And bear with me, if you will. I really want to see new comments. I'm trying to get the hang of managing the emails, etc. by myself. It's slow going.

I'm the girl who squints at the remote control and asks, "Which button changes the channel?" and "This thing works everything but the toaster? Then why doesn't it read my mind, too, and just make things happen the way I like?"

That's what I'm waiting for. You know, the one that'll replicate (like Star Trek), read my mind, anticipate my needs, kiss my butt, and lick my wounds, too. Not to mention, gimme a foot rub while it's at it.

And, heck, while I'm dreaming...let me post another piece of Mira Starks' story. But, before you read it, let me ask you this...what's your idea of a real hero, or a man worth having?

Mira's having a little trouble figuring that out. And Rick, the guy to die for in her story, is turning every which way, including up to figure it out. Damn, wouldn't it be nice if guys in real life bent over backward for us?

Feel free to post an example of real life coolness by your guy. We can't hear too much about that, can we? We need proof that chivalry is not dead, that love at first sight does exist, and that fantasies can come true. Don't we?

Here ya go:

Mira opened her eyes, leaned her head up and asked, “What is this game you’re playing? Is this some sort of fantasy you’re putting in my head? Did you really knock me out and I’m in a coma or something? Am I gonna wake up in a hospital?
“Do you want to?”
“Stop answering my questions with questions. I want some answers.”
“There are only two questions that matter.” He took her chin in his hand and pushed her back, kissing her. He drank from her soul again. She knew that. And he fed hers.
One more time, she felt defenseless against his attentions. Not that she wanted to fight it. It felt good to be made love to. He was an excellent kisser. Highly skilled in the art of love making. She wanted him to move downward, to keep going until….
He stopped kissing her. “Until what, Mira?”
She admitted, “The oral sex—earlier—it was good.”
“I have never had the best of that, believe it or not.”
“I offered it,” she said belligerently, opening her eyes and looking at him, finally. That’s when it hit her. He didn’t, quite, trust her.
She accused him of it, silently. You don’t trust me?
“Women are fickle. They love you one moment; they call you the devil the next.” His fingertips flicked over her nipple, making it pucker all the more.
Mira pushed hand away. “Stop that. Quit trying to distract me.” She sat up, making him back up. “This isn’t about me, and what my choices are, is it? I mean,” she reached up and tossed her hair back. The ends were wet, still, from sitting in the water. And she looked around the sunken seating area they were in. Like inside the Genie’s bottle. “What is this,” she asked, “A mirage?”
Gaining momentum. She demanded, “You think I’ll only like you if you have money? Or pretty things?”
“The vision of the true hero, from your mind…Mira. You want more. What do you want from me?” His frustration was evident. “I gave you raw emotion. You wanted physical attention. I gave you that, you wanted…what? To be saved. I saved you how many times, and you said I still didn’t fit the bill of hero. I take you…to a place where anything you want can be given, and you’re turning it on me as if it were a crime.”
Rick got up. “I don’t know how to be the kind of man you want. I don’t think you know what you want.”
Heatedly, she said, “I never wanted a man, or a hero, or…or…any of this.” They were too much trouble and heartache. They were too dangerous.
She wanted to be left alone, didn’t she? Mira felt something in her heart break away. Ice around it? Or was it her heart, itself? She hadn’t secretly wanted that, had she? To be left alone…?
Maybe. Maybe I do want to be left alone.
He put a hand to his chest as if she’d staked him. And he looked hurt—just for a moment, until he turned his back.

Posted by CarysWeldonblog :: 3:46 PM :: 0 Comments:

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