name: amber
age: 22
location: new orleans
aim: sapgirly mail work
November 06, 2003
Ah well here's an incredibly long post and something I just wrote, you know, for fun. I wish I could write erotic literature. It'd kill me but I'd write it.
September 27
He crashed into the room, slamming the door behind him. Breathing heavily, pressed up against the door, he waited for the footsteps to come rushing down the hall. When they did, he held his breath for as long as he could. When the hall had been silent for a sufficient enough time, he released his breath and gasped for air. It would only be a matter of minutes before they realized who he was and came directly to him. He had but a few moments.
Rushing to the closet to retrieve his suitcase, he smiled a preemptory victory smile. First into the suitcase went the contents of his pockets – several packs of hundred dollar bills. Three, four, five he took out of his pockets and a sixth from his pants. He hurriedly shoved his clothes into the suitcase, his wallet, any traces of himself into the bag.
Almost laughing now, he ran to the door, flung it open, into a police officer pointing a gun.
September 29
“Jaaaaaack!” screamed a young girl, maybe seven, her hair neatly braided down the two sides of her head. A little boy bearing a great resemblance to her was running around the room, shouting. “Jack, cut it out! I’m going to tell Mom!”
The girl swung her legs back and forth on the edge of the bed, frustrated at the immaturity of her brother. She grabbed the remote control and turned the television on, cartoons, to calm him down. It worked immediately and he took a spot on the bed beside her, curling his legs underneath him. “Angela, where are Mommy and Daddy?”
“They’re downstairs.”
“What are they doing?”
“I don’t know.”
There was a knock on the door. Angela crept on her strange-at-the-door toes to look through the peephole but it was too high. “Room service,” a voice offered from the other side of the door. She pulled it open. A man in a red jacket with gold trim and a funny squarish hat came into the room and started pulling metal covers off plates of food. “Here you go!” he said then stood for a few minutes. Figuring no tip was coming from the children, he left the room.
“Mmm, chicken,” cooed Jack as he got off the bed to inspect the food.
“Eat the vegetables, too,” Angela warned in her most motherly voice.
“You can’t make me do anything!” he offered. This was true so Angela let him be. They had dinner, watched some more cartoons and decided to go to bed.
September 30
By morning, their parents had still not arrived. Angela woke up first and looked out the window onto the city. Her mother and father had left for “just a minute” the night before several hours before the room service had arrived. The tray, emptied of its delicacies, remained in the middle of the room.
There was a knock on the door. Angela opened it up right away this time, expecting breakfast. Instead, a policeman stood in front of her, his suit neatly ironed. “Hello Angela,” he said in a friendly voice. He knelt down to talk to her, though she had been old enough for quite some time to comfortably look an adult in the face. He took ahold of her arms. Disturbed by this sudden contact with a stranger, however much of a policeman he might be, she took a step back. “Honey, I need to talk to you for a minute,” the officer said. “My name is Sergeant Mike. Are you doing okay?” Angela nodded, confused. Where were her parents? “I’m going to take you guys down to the front desk and get you some breakfast, alright?” He was talking to her as though she were a child.
Sergeant Mike woke up Jack and helped them gather their suitcases and those of their parents. He had brought up a dolly. He carried all the suitcases to the dolly. When everything was out of the room, he shut the door definitively.
October 2
Dianne came so hard she thought her brain was going to explode. She arched her back as far as it would go and leaned her head into the motion. Waves of passion and pleasure ran through her body. Her abdomen clenched up and she was forced to release some of the arch in her back. She was only half aware of her new husband writhing under her, exploding himself into her wet pulses. Several seconds later, they were both done and she collapsed onto him, his seed spilling out of her. They breathed heavily, both thoroughly exhausted after their sixth time that day.
“Ah, Jesus, I love you,” he breathed into her ear. She smiled and turned her head to face him. They kissed deeply and then she climbed off him, heading for the shower. He listened to her open the door, turn the sink on, slap some water on her face, shut it off, use the toilet, and then turn on the shower water. He raised himself up out of bed with much difficulty and dragged himself in after her.
When they got out, he cleaned up the cover and they put in the corner. They went to sleep in each other’s arms.
October 3
“Alright, Harold, but just for an hour. I don’t want to miss Amy’s shower.”
“I know.” He picked up his wallet from the dresser.
“Why don’t you leave that with me? Take the hundred and leave the rest here.”
“Why are you always getting on my case about this?”
“Because I… I know you.”
“I’m taking my whole damn wallet. It’s my money and I’m taking it. I’m not going to spend it. I’m not going to gamble it all away! For Christ’s sake. I’m not a child.”
“Of course not, but if you leave it here you won’t be tempted to—“
“Woman!”
Suzanne sighed and saw her husband’s anger turn into disgust. “Fine. I’m sorry. Have fun, honey.”
He dodged her kiss and allowed her to plant it on his cheek. He just stopped himself from slamming the door on his way out.
She paced for the first fifteen minutes he was gone. He was carrying their credit cards, bank cards, everything. They had not yet purchased tickets home – her best friend Amy had begged them to stay for a few days extra at her place – just not until the shower was over and she could get everything cleaned up. They were only here one night. Please, please, please she pounded in her head over and over again in beat with her footsteps.
For the next fifteen minutes, she tried to calm herself down by watching television. She flipped the channels mindlessly, searching for the perfect show to take her mind off her husband. He had only been out of his meetings for a year now. It had only been five years since he lost it big time – since he spent it all. Every hotel in this damn city had a casino under it.
Then she left. Fifteen minutes later, she returned, with a diet soda. She was so agitated that it barely went down her throat.
For another fifteen minutes, she paced again, brewing all the things she would say to him when he walked in the door. She wrung her hands and her knuckles whitened. She heard his key in the door and when he opened it, she ran at him, hitting him, punching him, so overcome with anger and frustration. He pushed her off him, violently. “Are you crazy!” he screamed.
“Well?” she asked, her eyes full of fear and premonition.
“Eight hundred.” Her soul dropped. “I won, you faithless bitch. Now let’s get to your damn shower.”
October 12
The maid walked into the room and gathered up the cover. It was washing day.
I know there's no way anyone read that whole thing. I haven't even checked it for spelling and grammar errors. But I wrote something so I posted it. It's not done or anything. Or like... any good. Ha.
This Much I Know Is True by Wally Lamb
World-famous Oprah author of She's Come Undone, Wally Lamb once again manages to write his characters horrible flaws and then forgive them. Rape and murderous thoughts and all kinds of horribleness and then at the end, everything just kinda works out (denoument if I ever saw it -- on both books). This particularly work is NINE HUNDRED PAGES LONG. It's worth it if you have nothing else to do. But then again, you could read like... Moby Dick or something. Entertaining but ultimately worthless. B-
Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel
Whiny as anything. Boring, too. C-
Postcards from the Edge by Carrie Fischer
Also whiny. And also boring. D
