Carys Weldon Blog
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
G'mornin' everybody. Top of it, to ya.
I can't sleep. I wanted to sleep in. But couldn't. Ever have one of those days?
I think it's because my husband planted his big ass in the middle of the bed like he owned the whole damn thing. (Okay, he DOES.) And okay, he has a tight little ass, but you know what i mean. His butt was there.
He's like a rock in his sleep. I tossed and turned around him, thinking about waking him up. You know, to get him to move. Maybe to have sex. But the nicer woman inside me wanted to let the man sleep. But here I am, even an hour out of bed, and thinking about going back to pounce him.
Which brings me to the question...am I the only woman on the planet that thinks about sex...a lot? Wanting more?
It doesn't matter how much I get. I'm greedy. I think it's all HIS fault. He's told me (many a time) that you can't ever catch up on sex you miss. Like, when the day is over, if you didn't get it, you lost the opportunity. (Yeah, that's how he coaxes me sometimes.) And he's right, ya know.
You can have sex fourteen times in one day. (Okay, if you're She-ra or Debbie in Dallas, maybe--or, wait, one of my werewolves. ;) ) But, the day before that, when you didn't get any, is still a day you remember back to wanting it most, and not getting it.
That in mind, I'll give you another taste of John Cherry Pimp, the rock star vampire in my Jule novella. Here goes:
“I…I’m not staying.” Jule felt obligated to say that. She needed to gather her shit and get.
That’s how auditions worked. Those who stayed appeared like groupies and they never got the jobs.
“I want to talk.”
“I’m not sleeping with you. I’m looking for work and my body isn’t part of the deal.” There. She’d said it. How many times had she put that line on the table? And been sent packing?
But then again, it had bought her a few gigs. Honesty was the one thing Jule treasured above all else.
He seemed amused. His lips did some kind of smirky thing. He let the silence between them stretch until she was uncomfortable and then he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. With a direct stare, he said, “Jule, I said I wanted to talk, not fuck.”
She felt stupid. And she felt like walking out. But she found herself removing her coat. Something to do. She cleared her throat. She almost flipped “Well, you know what’s on my mind” out at him, but she refrained. Instead, she folded her coat, set it aside and faced him with, “So, John Cherry Pimp, talk. I’m listening.”
She’d listen until the sun came up if it got her the job. Jule tipped her head sideways and waited with her eyebrows up.
But his gaze, and amusement at her expense, had her readjusting pretty quick, and straightening her back and folding her arms over her chest. Over her Rob Zombie, I’ve seen better days, t-shirt. His attention went from her face to key in on that. He asked, “You like Rob?”
Jumping right to it, he asked, “You like me?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Why is that?”
Jule countered with, “Don’t judge me by my t-shirt.”
“I got this in a charity bin, thank you very much.” She pursed her lips and groused, “Yours don’t turn up in those much.”
“Not worth paying full dollar for, though. Eh?”
She looked at his shirt. “You don’t even wear your own shirts.”
“This is mine.”
“I bet you don’t even own a John Cherry Pimp shirt.” The taunt came out without thinking and Jule realized that her tongue was running in front of her brain. Just going back and forth without a single thought to consequence.
He laughed out loud and leaned back. “You’d be wrong. I happen to have a nice one, with all the old band on it.”
“John’s hoes.” She didn’t know why she said it, especially since she was hoping to be one of them. Wasn’t she?
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”
She shrugged. “Maybe it is.”
“It’s better than being a zombie lover.”
Jule refused to defend her damn shirt again. In fact, she uncrossed her arms, and leaned back a little, propping herself up with her hands. “I guess that’s a matter of opinion.”
“You have a tongue on you.”
“The better to sing you to sleep.”
He looked at her mouth. She lifted her chin and pursed her lips, doing her best to swallow normally.
“Your lullaby was horrible.”
That cut to the bone. She flinched, but resisted the urge to fold her arms again, or to put on her coat and run. She said, “I didn’t see you singing anything sweeter.”
“I wasn’t singing tonight.”
It was her turn to lean forward. She asked him, “What are we doing here? Foreplay?”
“On what you consider great sex.”
She blinked. “You want me to talk dirty to you?” She sat up straight again.
He considered that, and her for some time. And she returned the perusal. What was it about him that had her tense, but wanting? That had her bitchy and begging, all at the same time?
He countered, finally, with a soft, very quiet, “Do you want to talk dirty to me?”
Her moment of truth. The answer, of course, was yes. Without a doubt. Could she be that honest? Up to that point, it had all been banter.
She asked, “You want me to lie to you?”
“Lie to me or lie with me. Your choice.”
Ah. So, he’d read her right. He knew the answer. But could she voice it?
Jule ran a hand through her hair. “Is that how you hire all your band members? Have you already been with a drummer and a keyboard player tonight?”
Her mind leaped to the transvestite. She glanced toward the door.
So, ya think you'd like to read more on this?
Posted by CarysWeldonblog ::
4:33 AM ::
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Quick and snappy, I like that! Yes, please post more?
Can't wait to read more. I like the vamp rock star idea.
Some movie had a vamp that was a musician through time. Classical pianist in the 16th century, rock star in the 20th. I can't remember which movie.
Where did you come up with John's name, the Cherry Pimp part?
oh yeah, in response to the first part, no you're not the only woman that thinks about sex all the time. I've been known to wake a fellow up out of a very sound sleep to fulfill my greed self-centered needs. They never seem to mind.
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