Sunday, January 20, 2013

The Painter's Canvas

I'm happy to say that the interest and support for "Glass Goddesses, Concrete Walls" hasn't died down. I still have loyal readers that are even getting copies for their friends and families. I thank you all and want you to know that it really does mean a lot to me. 

For those who still haven't read the book...here's another sample taken from the chapter titled "The Painter's Canvas"


“What will it cost me?” she asked softly, her lips slightly touching my chin as she spoke.
“Everything,” I answered before she could say anything that might murder the moment, grabbed her by the back of her head and kissed her until she was breathless. When I let her breathe again, she staggered backwards and I had to reach forward to catch her in my arms.
“But Miguel could come home anytime now,” she started to say.
“Fuck Miguel!” I answered.
“But I love him.”
“Good. I’m glad that you love him. Love him tomorrow, love him next week, next year. Shit, love him later on tonight if you like. That’s still not going to stop me from fucking you right here, right now.”
“What makes you think I plan on going that far with you? Who says I want to fuck you?” she asked. That’s when I slipped my hand under her nightgown, up her leg and into her panties. She sighed as her thighs parted to let me.
“This says,” I answered as I pulled my had out to show her my fingers, slick and glistening with her own wetness.
“If he comes home and catches us he’ll kill you,” she warned me.
“He won’t and he can’t kill me,” I answered boldly while fondling her breasts. She put her hand over my hand as her nipples stiffened at my touch.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because right now…I’m a god and he’s just a man,” I told her before I dragged her panties down to her ankles. She stepped out of them and I tossed them across the room. The next move was hers. It was her last opportunity to stop what was about to happen. I waited to see what it was going to be. I watched as she pulled her nightgown up over her head and stood there completely naked. I had my answer. In that moment, right before we crossed over the line that we could never uncross, Alice stood above me as more than a woman. She was a goddess and the energy that passed between us felt like we were about to split the sky wide open. 

Feel free to leave comments and feedback. If you'd like to read the entire novel:



Saturday, January 12, 2013

Diana and the Gun Part 9

Here is another sample of "Glass Goddesses, Concrete Walls" for those who haven't read the book yet.


Diana & the Gun – PART 9




They say that you only live once but I felt as if I’d lived a thousand lives. The sad part was that so many of them weren’t good. Too many of them mirrored the ugly parts of the places I had been. According to my birth certificate, I was born in Brooklyn but I’ve never felt like I was necessarily from this planet at times. I wasn’t comfortable in a world where magazine columnists, television program directors, comedians, talk-show hosts, therapists, psychologists and so-called relationship experts all tried to feed us their theories on what would make us happy. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I was really from Mars. That would explain why I enjoyed my frequent visits to Venus, even though they often ended unpleasantly. I stopped counting my scars and lost track of the ones I’d left on other people.
      “You are so strange and complicated,” Diana told me.
“How so?” I asked even though I didn’t disagree. I just wanted to hear what she had to say.
“You can be so cold but you have the heart and soul of a poet. You write all of these beautiful things, filled with deep, powerfully moving emotions. I’ve cried reading some of it. How come you never speak these things? It’s like I have to read your writing to see how you’re feeling. Why is that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been much of a talker. I express myself better when I write things down,” I answered. That would explain why there were so many situations I’d walked away from without giving a proper explanation for my actions. Whenever I tried to express myself to women I was involved with, they usually misinterpreted my meaning or twisted my honesty in ways that led to heated arguments. The pen just always felt more natural for me and once I’d written down my thoughts, how could anyone dispute them. I probably should have written them all notes. It would have saved me from lots of grief.
“I’m thirsty,” she said. Then, without warning, she got up from her seat and grabbed my bottle of rum off the dresser. Of course the gun never left her hand so she had to open it by using her free hand to steady it while her mouth twisted the cap. She sat down bravely on the bed next to me. I should have fought her for the gun while she was distracted.
“You want a glass for that?” I asked. She answered by rolling her eyes at me, putting the bottle to her lips and guzzling down a good amount of rum, which I knew had to set her chest on fire. She coughed and fanned herself right after. Then she turned and studied my face as if it was the last time she would see it and needed to commit my features to memory.
“I tried but I never understood you. You’re so strange. You’re passionate and love like the lyrics in a love song but fuck like a total savage. I’ve often wondered if there were two different versions of you living inside that body. Move over,” she croaked, her voice raspy from the alcohol that just burned her throat. She had obviously felt that my eyes had lingered too long on her pistol.
“Fine,” I answered and moved over to the opposite side of the bed, putting more distance between us. She relaxed but I didn’t. To her delight, I was too far away to reach for the gun without getting shot. To my dismay, I was still in range for her aim to be pretty damn accurate.
“Before I met you, I was so sure that the last man I would ever love in life would be my husband. Now, I care for him a little less than I used to. I never expected to meet someone like you. I wonder all the time if it wouldn’t have been better if I never met you. I might have preferred that instead of going through the motions every day, missing you. That just feels like slow death.”
“I understand.”
“Do you really? There was a time when I could never sit across from you like this without you wanting me. Tell me, do you want me now?” she asked, rubbing the barrel of the gun suggestively across her lips.
If Diana was referring to my desire before the first time we had sex, she would have been right but just like most things, the act itself was a pale shadow of the anticipation that had built up. Fantasy usually outshines reality. In bed, she was very timid which had been frustrating. It was obvious that she had grown accustomed to boring, routine, conventional, married sex with her husband. She was shy about everything, so much so that I had to break her out of her shell. She loved the things that I taught her and tried her best to keep up. She grew wilder over time but it never felt natural. I was always the aggressor. As the sex became more intense she would give in to my will too easily. A woman that was as sexually strong and adventurous as I was is what I really desired. Most of the times we’d been intimate, Diana wasn’t that at all.
“Things are different now.”
“I know that more than anyone else. Trust me.”
“It’s different between us and I’m pretty sure it can never be what it was. Not after what I did and not after what you’re doing right now.”
“I haven’t done anything…yet,” she said after she gulped down another mouthful of white rum. She looked like she was about to breathe fire the way her face contorted. She was either trying to get drunk enough to stop herself from killing me or, she needed liquid courage to go through with it.
“At least you can go back to your husband. You can go back to your life and eventually you’ll forget me.”
“Oh, just like that huh? You think so?” she asked before she passed me the open bottle of rum. She took off her jacket and I was shocked by the grotesque black and purple bruise on her arm.
“Who did that to you?”
“Oh, this?” she asked, wincing as she poked it with her finger. “My husband did this when I told him about us. He wasn’t pleased to say the least. This is nothing. You should see the bruises on my ribs and on my back. I guess I’m lucky that he didn’t touch my face, even though, that also means that it wasn’t just blind rage that made him beat me. He was certainly calculating and careful about where he hit me hard enough to leave marks. I did cough up a lot of blood though.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“He physically hurt me but this is your fault too. I haven’t decided which one of you to blame for all my injuries.”
“Why would you do something like that? Why would you even think about blaming me?”
“How else am I going to explain to the police that I shot you in self-defense?” she asked and I began to face the serious reality that I wasn’t going to survive the night. I wished she had just shot her husband instead even though, everything that was happening to me served me right for interfering in their lives. “Oh, for the first time tonight I can see in your face that you fully understand that I didn’t come here to play,” she said smugly.
“You didn’t kill your husband for beating you. Maybe you won’t kill me.”
“Don’t bet on it. I can promise you that you’re going to get shot. As for not killing my hubby…well, even though he put hands on me, I understand why he did it. For a while I thought he was going to kill me. He cried like a baby when he was done working me over. He might have ended my life if I hadn’t lied to him and said that you and I had only been together once. I guess that made it easier for him to cope with what I’d done,” she said.
“There’s always a difference between getting caught and confessing. There’s also a difference between a fling, a one-time thing and a full-blown affair.”
“Should I have told him about every time I lied to him about where I really was when I wouldn’t answer my phone? Or, would it have been the honorable thing to do if I told him that I let you fuck me every chance I got a chance to see you? I can see in your eyes that you’re judging me because I told a little white lie” she complained.
“No, I’m not. You saved his pride and probably your own life with that lie.”
“It’s possible to love two people at the same time isn’t it?” she asked and passed me the bottle. I took a sip of the rum before I answered.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been able to.”
There was another reason why I had never been able to give her my all. Prior to meeting Diana, there had been a woman that had come and gone out of my life that still held sway over my heart. Even though that woman was probably lost to me, I still held onto hope because she was the only one who seemed to be made specifically for me. I had spent my whole life trying to find the proper places for odd pieces but she fit right where she was supposed to. I was waiting patiently for what I believed was meant to be. That was probably why I got involved in a dead-end relationship with a married woman. I knew that Diana and I couldn’t last and I didn’t want us to. The woman I was obsessed with easily eclipsed all of the others that came before her. I would have waited forever. We men may fall in love less often than women but I’ve often said that when we do, we fall harder.

***I hope you enjoyed the sample. As always, feel free to leave comments.***

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