Do you remember your first love?

I think I was 13 when I first fell in love with Allen. He was my 15-year-old next-door neighbor and had the most soulful deep brown eyes and golden blond hair. He played all the sports, had tons of friends, and went to the ‘big’ school, lol. And for the longest time, I didn’t think he even knew I existed.
Way back then, I went to a catholic school in New Brunswick, New Jersey. I was in the middle school, and he was a FRESHMAN in the bigger building just next door. The students over there always looked like they were having so much fun . So, I loved him from afar for a year and a half, and he never knew.
Then came the summer before my freshman year.
Suddenly, he’d stop in front of my house if I was out there or say hello through the window if we happened to catch each other’s eye. Gradually, he began to walk ‘down-street’ with me or come up on the porch to sit and talk for a while at night.
I was beside myself. This Adonis I’d been lusting after for almost two years had finally noticed I was alive. Unfortunately, I became ‘one of the guys’ to him. We hung out all the time, went everywhere together, but he never gave me even the tiniest indication that I was more than a pal. *sigh* Still, you never heard me complain, lol.
August came, and I was really excited about finally going to the ‘big’ school, a freshman. YEAH!

Whoa!! Put on the brakes, missy. Not so fast.
My mother came into my room and dropped the bomb that was sure to decimate my life. “We are moving to Vermont.”
VERMONT?!? Are you effin kidding me? We’re leaving this great city, all my friends, and ALLEN for some hick town in some long forgotten state? Really?

Life was over as I knew it. I was heartbroken, crushed, destroyed, distraught, devastated and any other adjective you can think of. I may have even been a little MAD!
The day we left, I sat in the doorframe of my mother’s VW bus (his name was Willie, but that’s another story), waiting for her to finish up inside the house—okay fine, I may have been sulking—when across the back lawn saunters Allen in all his golden glory. I swear, he always had a golden aura surrounding him. Oh, why am I being punished so greatly?
“So, this is it, huh?” he states with all the esteemed knowledge of the older man he was.
“Yup. It sucks,” I reply. I so don’t want to talk about this with him because I know I’ll start bawling like a baby.
And here it comes folks…
Since I’m here writing this, I obviously didn’t die…but I damn near did. And as I’m remembering all this and jotting it down, the butterflies are swarming in my tummy and my chest is constricting. I shit you not; the memory still gets to me. Wow.
“It sure does suck, Debbie,” he replies. “But I’ll always love you, and I’m gonna miss you forever.”
Before his words even registered in my foggy little brain, he leaned in and planted a 90 second kiss on my lips, came up for air, and goes in again. At this point, I know I’ve transported to some other realm of reality, because when his lips touched mine this time, his hands cradled my head and his tongue begged for permission to enter.
PERMISSION GRANTED, HELLLOO.
The kiss must have lasted for hours—okay well, until we couldn’t breathe any more. Then he just turned and walked away. (Not the last time that happened to me, but alas that’s another story as well.)
WHAT??? I mean, come on! He loved me? Just kissed me like I’ve never been kissed before or since and now he’s gone and I’m leaving for some god forsaken cold-ass country backwoods state and I’ll never see him again? Did it even happen? I touch my hand to my mouth and the moistness remains. Hell yeah it happened.
NOT FAIR I TELL YOU!!
And so began the story of my life. Yes, I am happily married, and yes, I survived the heartbreak (that one and the others to follow) though I don’t know how. But I will never forget my golden boy neighbor and the irony that was our relationship.
As an aside, the following summer I went to the Jersey shore to visit a friend and her family for a couple of weeks. The day before I was to leave, I saw Allen’s sisters on the beach. (Oh, did I forget to mention he had sisters?) Anyway, I asked them if he was there and they said he was working and wouldn’t make it to the beach till the following night. UGGHH!!
I have so often wondered where he is now, what he’s doing, and who the lucky woman is that grabbed his heart. But I like to tell myself I was the first one who had it. Ah, well.
So, who was your first love?

Home life of late has totally sucked. The 18 year old is out to prove me wrong when I told the other two he was the good one. They always told me to beware of the quiet one. Turns out they were right. My 26 year old daughter is reveling in the fact that she is now the good one.
Work has been a bear. Everyone seems to be on vacation at the same time, putting extra work on those who are left. Now everyone is stressing that we are going to be open on Sunday. With all the nurses combined it turns out to be about 2-3 Sundays a year each nurse will have to work. Come on now, I may not like it, but I can handle it. I’d rather do that than stand in the unemployment line.
The husband…good Lord where do I start. He works with his father and brother in a family business. To say he’s been stressed is an understatement. I’m waiting for the guy to pop an artery and stroke out. He has a permanent scowl line on his forehead, his face is always red. If the bags under his eyes sag any further, he’s going to have to lift them up to eat.
His shoulders always look so tense and he blows up at the slightest provocation. One morning he’d left before me as he always does and when I went but the small country store in our town 20 minutes later, his truck was there. On our way out of town to drive to Florida that night I mentioned him still being at the store this morning, just as a conversation started, since I don’t ask how his day was anymore.
Well holy shit, you’d think I’d accused him of robbing a bank. He blew up. Yelling at me about all the stops he’d had to make that morning and how he’d stopped to get coffee. WHOA NELLY. Back up the fucking bus. I told him I would turn around, take him back home and go to Florida by myself. The stress level in the house had taken its toll. Frankly, I was seriously considering not coming back from Florida.
Well, he settled down and apologized, and off we went. We drove the 24 hour trip straight through and got to my daughters house 7:30 the next night. We were unpacking the truck when this guy brought my suitcase into my room.
Whooowee. Handsome, strong broad shoulders and the most welcoming smile I’d seen in a long time. No scowl, no frown lines, this guy looked like he could be a lot of fun. And boy was he. The sex was hot and frequent. Quiet walks on the beach. Fun moments at the water park. Damn I like this guy.
Vacation ended. We had gone to Florida to pick up my 4 year old grandson because my daughter is deploying to Afghanistan for 8 months. The drive home was no big deal. We did stop overnight this time because we had Jadin with us, but the kid travels like a seasoned traveler. He’s very used to it; he’s been doing it since he was 9 months old.
Well it appears I brought that strange man home with me. He walks through the door at night with a smile on his face and appears to have left all the stressors of working with family behind at the shop.
Now I think this has a lot to do with Jadin being here. The boy brightens everybody’s day just by smiling. Could be all the flirting and other fun stuff we did on vacation. But whatever the reason, I’m so very glad that the man I met on vacation didn’t disappear when we got back home. Here’s hoping it’ll last.

Or Dating in the New Millenium

Yep-I’m back to my irreverent self it seems. The pity party got old, the tsk tsk from former friends got irritating and the heavy handed ex got….well…too heavy handed so I bailed. Yep. Jumped ship and did not leave a forwarding address-literally. I’m snug as a horny bug in my little one room apartment with my new queen size bed that has been thoroughly broken in…ahem….. I’ve dipped my toe into the dating pool on the internet and what a difference 20 years makes. I shouldn’t be surprised I suppose. Ipod is on it’s what… seventh generation in ten years of existence so why wouldn’t the dating game have gone thru a few changes as well. And my goodness what wonderful changes. Not only do the posters offer to show you what they have but how they intend to use it-no worries about false advertising. They also have little boxes that you check off in their profile that asks what you are looking for in another person. To my surprise and JOY the one site has a box that says “Fuck Buddy only- no emotional attachment wanted at this time”. My eyes misted over, the clouds parted, the angels sang. I plopped my fat ass down and filled in that profile-heaven was only a few keystrokes away. Accidentally gave myself five inches and aged myself 6 months in my haste to get my profile on line, but what the heck. What’s a few extra inches between two consenting adults.

And, as I was waiting for everything to be approved to be put up on the bulletin board as one of the new fish I had a few random thoughts float thru my lust filled brain. Should I go buy a pair of those false advertising 501 button fly jeans? A little window dressing couldn’t hurt. And maybe I should go get one of those waxes Blake told me about at the convention. Nothing turns a top on more than a smooth bottomed bottom…..uhm….not too sure about that one…might have to revisit it later. We do happen to have an A&F so maybe if I just ran down and took a few notes on what the brainless hotties behind the counter were wearing I might at least look the part of a lonely hottie in need of a pair of strong arms and broad shoulders. Stop shaking your head….I can pout with the best of ‘em! I can look hopelessly lost amongst all the brightly colored boxers. I can shake my head and sigh morosely when confronted with one of those new fangled hangers that won’t hold onto the pants. I can drop something forty times in fifteen minutes so I have to bend over so everyone can get a good look at my ass…..Then again they might mistake me for an A&F sales boy.

Stay tuned for Part Two of Dating in the New Millenium where I’ll go into detail about my first nooner experience.

TTFN

Aeryn

A coworker was teasing me earlier this evening about this being my default answer to anything lately.  This being notable because I, while not being a technical member of management due to my university-dictated availability, am treated as management by the other managers.  So for me to be answering every query with a shrug and an “I don’t know” is highly unusual.  In this case, it’s not because I don’t care – it’s just, my brain is dead.  I genuinely don’t know the answer to a lot of this stuff! 

Why is my brain dead, you may ask? Well, I did just reach the end of a semester, during which time I juggled four writing-intensive courses, two full-fledged research projects for psychology, and a part time job, plus over 82,500 words of fiction.  (Two short stories, half a novella, and a novel.)  And people wonder why I don’t have time to have a girlfriend.

The semester just ended – in fact, Monday was my last exam, plus the due date on the 16+ page APA-style paper for one of the research projects – and I just wrapped up and submitted the novel today.  The others were already bought and will be out in June.

So yeah, my brain is total mush and dribbling out my ears lately.  This, however, does not stop me from attempting to bring you the dirty dregs of my mind that are still hanging around inside the abandoned cavity in my cranium.

So that novel I just finished… I’ll be sure to chat about it more when I have a release date, etc., but the point is, there’s this contrast.  There are two couples in the book–one in 1957, the other in 2007; two stories for the price of one!–and they both gave me fits.  My 1957 couple couldn’t stay out of bed.  The only way I got through one of their chapters without them ending up taking a tumble together was to separate them for the entire chapter.  If they were in arm’s reach, they were going to find a way to have sex.  My other couple?  I couldn’t pay them to have sex until the last couple of chapters.  *facepalms*

And okay, I just spent the last forty minutes getting distracted while trying to find the picture of the model-slash-artist who was the physical inspiration for one half of the modern-day couple in that novel… So for those of you who get around to reading it ever, this particular shot of Jordan Carlyle was the direct basis for my sweet, oblivious little RN, Liam Brooks.

I wonder if I should actually be giving away secrets like that… haha.  Anyway, yes.  He of the pretty brown eyes and sensitive mouth.

Oh, speaking of pretty!  Funny story from work tonight.  (In case you ever wanted to know, yes, all Starbucks baristas are incurable perverts.  At least those of us who work at my store.)  One of my coworkers – and very good friends – is dating a girl who is, let’s say, significantly on the younger side.  She’s legal.  Barely.  So she has a lot of high school friends.  Now, mind, my running joke is that I didn’t figure out I was gay until I was in college because I can’t stand high school girls.

So the gf’s friends were in the store, and one of them walked right up to my friend and said, “Hey, pretty boy.”

I may have snorted my coffee.  My other friend, an extremely handsome young man with the sort of musculature that makes me want to strip him down and take pictures — I’m lesbian, not blind — starting giggling.  And spent the rest of the evening tacking on “pretty boy” to every sentence just for the fact that it made our friend sort of violent.  The part where I couldn’t stop giggling was when there were dishes being brought back to the sink to be washed…

“Looking for some place to put that? Give it to me, pretty bo…”

And they both went sort of pale, looked at each other, and started making noises of protest while I did my damnedest to catch my breath from laughing so hard.

Ah, boys.  Endless sources of amusement.

In honor of, have a poem I wrote long time ago.  I may not want boysex for myself most of the time, but it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy reading or writing it.

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Yes, I’ve effed up the calendar. Where the fuck does the damned time go anyway? It keeps getting away from me like a greased pig at the county fair. Not a pretty visual is it? I’ll work on the calendar tonight for all you FAB authors and readers.

Now, since I effed up and should have posted yesterday, I will give you a taste of something I posted at Z.A. Maxfield’s group this week. Also, just for being good flirty bitches, since it’s a Humpday, I’ll give you Hotties at the end of this post. Never let it be said that I can’t apologize properly with half naked hunks.

Over at ZAM’s, Jules told us about flirting with a co-worker that she wasn’t interested in sexually. The way she described him, I think most of the group was interested in him sexually though. HEH. I know he at least fired up my imagination. He did something flirty to her one day and she told us about it. We all thought it was really hot… and flirty. I said I should use it in a book. Someone (prolly Maurya) said they wanted to see that! So I showed em.

What I did was create a scene with the three main characters from a book that is only plotted and has no title. In fact, this is the first scene I’ve written for it. The book is one of the Twisted Tales and it’s a twist on Rapunzel starring a twisted version of my friend Becky from Midnight Cliff. If you don’t know Becky you should visit her blog because you are in for a treat. She goes by hellohahanarf across the blogosphere and she’s very flirty and fun. She does Half-Naked Thursday and shows off her boobs including nipples. She has great boobs too.

Anyway, here’s the flirty scene I wrote:

Well, shoot! It’s my blog time? What the heck should I write about? Everyone here has such great posts and then I come along-LOL! So, I’ve been thinking on it. Should I bitch??? Should I be flirty??? Should I simply shut up now??? No? What the hell is wrong with you people? You actually want to hear what I have to say!?! *mutters in disbelief*

Okay, okay…I guess I will come up with something. Well, I could bitch. I’ve been doing that online a lot lately. The whole Amazon ‘glitch’ thing and of course, my RA problem. For those who don’t know (and I can’t imagine who you would be since I spent quite a bit of time on groups bitching about this) I saw my doctor on Friday. I’ve been in nearly constant pain for the last 8 months. I suspected it was arthritis and had that confirmed. My doctor is 99% sure I have Rheumatoid Arthritis. I have to wait for the blood test to come back to confirm this. No cure and treatments are not fun. It was hard news for me even though I had suspected it. So I went on line and whined about it. But hey…who wants to listen to more whining! Not me!!!

So then what…flirting? Actually, yes. I’ve been down in the dumps after finding this out. My family understands but not really. I have been somewhat depressed. Sunday, after church, the kids and I stopped and got donuts. Then we headed over to my favorite place in the world…Starbucks! Where else can I get that heavenly chocolate/coffee combination? (No…not there…or there!) So I go in. It’s Easter and I’m tired and hurting and basically feeling sorry for myself. *I promise…this isn’t about griping*

Inside, three of my favorite guys are working. Now it’s not that I dislike the ladies who work there, not at all. But when these guys are working together, they are so much fun. The manager, Garrett, and baristas, Scott and Jeremy. Let me tell you a little bit about them.

Garrett is married to a middle school special ed teacher. They are buying their first house. Garrett starts right in when he sees me. Teasing me about them being out of coffee. Like I’m going to believe that! He keeps it up even as he is fixing about 8 drinks for a group of people before me. I’m teasing him back about his lack of lying skills.

Scott is in college and has these really cool ear gauges. He’s working the drive thru but grins at me and does this eyebrow thing that always make me laugh. As soon as he can he comes over and jokes around with both Garrett and me. His facial expressions are making me laugh.

Jeremy comes out of the back and sees me. Immediately he rolls his eyes at me. He and I are always teasing each other… I blame him for the store being out of coffee. He claims to have drank it all to wake himself up that morning.
I notice that he hasn’t shaved his head and comment on it. Then I notice that all three haven’t shaved their beards so I start teasing them about a new Starbuck’s policy of beards. They tease back and by the time I leave there I’m smiling and in a great mood. Was I flirting? Oh yeah! Were they flirting? Yep! It made me feel so much better. Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I’m laughing and smiling. Did my pain stop…no. But instead of focusing on it I was focused on flirting with those guys. I walked out of there feeling great!

So my moral here? Flirt more rather than bitch more. You’ll feel better!

I need help flirting…okay so I don’t need help flirting. I’m happily married and well hmmm did I say…yeah okay, happily married and DH would probably frown upon me heading out to the bars and flirting with every hot young stud out there. Silly man won’t let me have any fun, but I digress.

As we’ve discuss, flirting seems to be a dying art form. Why?? It’s so much fun. The casual looks across the room, then quickly looking away or giggling with a girl friend. Then, the sustained eye contact. The type where you try to telepathically tell the object of your affection how attracted to him/her you are. Eyes can say so many things without ever a word having been spoken.

But what happens when he actually comes over to you and buys you a drink. Okay, thank you is a good start, but where do you go from there? Do you rely on the man to lead the conversation? If it were me, hell yeah. I have absolutely no idea what to say to the opposite sex, especially when I’m attracted to him. I stutter, talk about the weather, talk about my kids (yeah, how sexy am I).

And is it really fair to leave it all up to the other person, be it male or female. You should be able to hold your own in a conversation. What would you and a girlfriend talk about? Well okay you don’t need to tell him what a nice package he has after saying thank you for the drink. All flirting would be out the door along with you and Mr. Hefty. Out to the pick up for a quick BJ and a thank you ma’am. Where the hell does that leave you?

I think you need to know more about the world than what is in your tiny little circle so you have things to talk about. Music, art, books, movies…even if you don’t go see all the movies or read the latest books, how long does it take to read the reviews.

I think more expectations are put on a person flirting in public, than flirting like we do here on the posts. Obviously here we all know the score; we’re just looking for some fun conversation and a release of tension. So why can’t we do that in person without the other half expecting to get laid within the hour. And hey, nothing wrong with that type of release either, but that’s not flirting. That’s a whole nuther discussion. Maybe one for LEX, Sex without the quilt.

What was I saying…oh yeah, so read up on current events, practice conversations with the mirror, do what you gotta do so the next time this ridiculously hot human being walks ups to you and says “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” You can come right back with “Did you know the Dow fell 3 points today?” Wait no that’s wrong… how about “Have you seen the latest slasher flick, all that blood and guts really gets my motor revving.” Hmmm, that’s not quite right either. Maybe “Oh, I’ve never seen eye’s the same color as swamp mud.” No? Well how about…..

PS: Oh Mr. Brady…cum out cum out wherever you are.

Okay, so this may hurt a little. It’s my blog cherry being popped after all. I just hope, the only thing hurt is my head as I try to come up with something witty to say and not your eyes when you read said witty blog.

Anyway, so when Lex and I talked about setting up this blog, it got me thinking. Is flirting a lost–or soon to be extinct–art? It seems every day, fewer and fewer people, especially those of the younger generations, devote their time to flirt with the object of their lust. Or maybe I hang out with the wrong kind of crowd.

But I can’t help but notice that flirting–good, witty, I-wanna-cream-my-panties flirting–can nowadays mainly be found in movies and books. “Hey do you want to dance?” and “Hey, can I have your phone number?” don’t count. Is it because there’s no thrill anymore? No anticipation for the first kiss, the fist date, the first time you have sex…I dunno. Everything has become so easy that maybe people have stopped trying to impress the opposite (or same) sex. Women and men just lay it out there and if the other person doesn’t bite, hell, the next one will. Why go to the trouble of finding something clever and sexy to say?

Yes, some people are innately flirtatious, but they don’t count. It’s in their blood, they don’t strive for it.

That’s why when I come across someone who knows what he’s talking about–whether he’s a fictitious character or a flesh and blood person–I can’t help but be dazzled by his comebacks. I admit it, if I were a Southerne belle, I’d swoon.

So what do you think? Is flirting really out or do I just live in the wrong country?

However, here it goes! So, since this is my first post ever, and the blog is Flirty author bitches, let me address every one of those words.

First, flirty. I love to flirt. It makes me feel good. I mean, to have some guy(or woman) say they want you. Want to do the nasty to you, gets my juices flowing, and who doesn’t like their juices flowing, lol. None of us(I’m pretty certain) are married to cover models here, or the kind of alpha males from our books. So, we need a reason to…relax and unwind. To pretend we’re desirable goddesses and not…not.

Author: Well, self-explanotory, lol. Where I haven’t produced a ton of novels, I love to write, and really, isn’t that what an author really is? I mean, I know many of the authors here are going to hit it big someday, and li’l ol’ me will be left in the dust, but we are all authors who like to write and are fairly good at what we do. Maybe EVERYBODY doesn’t like our stories, but we do write good stuff!

Bitches! Oh baby can I be a bitch. Especially when people attack my friends. I do not like hearing my friends being bashed. When Lex told me that someone got in her face, I was way pissed. Anyway, don’t nobody mess with my friends. You won’t like me if you do. Not ever!

So to all you fabulous Flirty author bitches. Keep on being flirty, being fabulous, and being bitches! (and authors!) lol

I’m Lex. As you can tell, it rhymes with sex. I’ve been called Sexy Lexy. I’ve also been called the Blow Job Queen. I’m a cougar. I can’t write a story that doesn’t have some sexual element to it. I’m not obsessed. Really. Well, I am but not with sex… with the promise of sex. That is a whole other thing.

See, the promise of the best sex of your life is what I sell. If you buy my books (other than any dark tale I might write) what you’re buying is the promise of the best sex of your life with the man who spins your wheels faster than a funny car in finals and topped off with a happy ending that has promises that go on forever. It’s a fantasy and a really hot one at that. Who doesn’t want a dream that makes you feel that good? And who wouldn’t want a reality like that? Sure life sucks ass, but you can still dream and hope and flirt! And the dreaming, hoping, and flirting make you feel good and make life bearable.

I have an issue with people who are too serious all the time. They suck the life outta me. You only have this one life (unless you believe in reincarnation like my pal Mary Winter) so why the hell would you waste that one shot by being serious all the time? You can talk about a serious subject in a humorous way. It is certainly one way to get a reader’s attention. Why do you think all motivational speakers start out with some kind of humorous remark or story? Because it feels good to laugh and smile and whoever makes you do those things then commands your attention.

Recently, I got slapped at on a group for being flirty. My comment, which actually wasn’t a flirty comment but a kinda gross one, was in response to the real flirty comment. Someone made a remark about it and basically said he didn’t like how all the topics turned flirty and sexual. He though it was CHILDISH. Now, first of all, children don’t have sex. Adults do. So how can being sexual be childish? (Yes, I know I’m kinda arguing semantics there but that’s a post for another day.) Second, the man obviously didn’t pay any attention to what I actually said or didn’t understand it, because if he had he would have realized that my remark was actually an EWWW moment. And third, if he was going to complain about anything he could have complained about serious writer discussions being derailed by humorous remarks and banter that took the group off topic. THAT would have been a legitimate beef.

Yet, I keep coming back to the flirty and sexual being called childish in what seemed to clearly be a derogative tone to me. It pissed me off. It made me wonder if the man even liked sex. It made me wonder if he was some old grandpa who couldn’t get it up anymore. Or some closet fetish freak who never got to indulge and had become a crankbutt because he’d never known true pleasure.

So I suppose my question regarding the whole thing is this, what the fuck is wrong with having fun? With being flirty? With being amusing or using humor to get your point across? And why the hell do some people thing that things have no value if they’ve been couched in flirty or humorous terms? Why do they think that the only thing that’s worth anything in a writer’s group are the stolid, boring, serious posts that I for one, click delete on instantly? (If it doesn’t grab my attention, if it makes me start going zzzzz, DELETE.)

Tell me why you flirt. What do YOU get out of it?