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My Blog

Ari-Wood

Welcome to Ari-Wood. Step right up and see the sights. To your left, you will see the delicate fragility of fairy land. On the right, watch out for the fiery dragons. For your safety, we recommend you stay on the path and don't stray into the netherworlds of risk and chance. Alternatively, perhaps you like the benefits that go along with taking that chance..........

All rights to the poetry and stories in Ari-Wood
belong exclusively to the author.
That which is not mine,
That which is not good,
That which is not altruistic....
Is requested to leave.

******

The stories and poems encased in this crystal blog are written from my own imagination and in no way are intended to be viewed as written to any specific person unless I specifically state that it is.

My heart is a book which you leaf through as simply as the pages of this blog..

Antiqued an worn
The words bleed
From a hidden place
Deep within my chapters
Where only one can see
And whispering spirits tarry

Frayed are my edges
Yet my gliding
Remains beautiful
Not a mere ornament
But a testament to the tooling
Which has geared my life

Sown tightly is my binding
I have weathered the years
I shine with wisdom an character
Like no other book
Yet my cover bares the marks
Of ordinary use

Turn my pages lightly
And you shall read
My hued memories
Of dreams and dreaminess
Of times and timelessness
Of lives and liveliness

Upon my inner pages
Are scribbled
Achromatic dreams
My love
My hopes
My life

You are such a treasured book
All my love, Sister of my heart
(Written by a special sister of my heart...MsAlchemy2...a special gift...I wanted to share.)

Title View |

Finding Faith	Feb 10, 2008 8:49 pm 712 Views
So…faith….a belief that she was walking a path in life; how was that path chosen? Was it chosen for her? Did she choose it for herself? How did she end up alive on this planet in the first place? A lot of reading over the next couple of weeks, book after book about the afterlife, every possible idea she could find. Some ideas made more sense to her than others, but she still wasn’t sure what she thought. The thought of heaven…a place all in white with soft classical music and everyone smiling…made her want to vomit. That was certainly not a place she wanted to go. She wanted a place where she continued to learn and grow. Why bother to do anything if it wasn’t going to be expanded on later on? She wanted a place where people you loved continued to walk…to share in your eternal path. But, although some of the books she’d read hinted at something like that…she just hadn’t found anything she could embrace as a belief. Each night, she went to bed praying…”Please show me what it is I need to know. What is the purpose for our living? What am I here for?” During the day she began to make small changes in her lifestyle. She began to buy fruit and vegetables again and remembered how much she had always loved the rich, juicy flavors. She purchased lotions for her skin and began to experiment with them. Her skin tended to be oily and lotions often sat on the surface of it so it took her awhile to find one that actually soaked into the skin. Slowly her skin began to glow with health and care again; not perfectly, still her diet was not adequate nor was her exercise; but slowly, she could see small improvements in her skin. She was beginning to wonder if her simple prayers were just another waste of her time. Nothing seemed to happen, no story seemed logical to her. It was beginning to appear that perhaps there really was nothing more and she was spitting at the moon to hope it could be. Clearly prayers were never answered…at least for her. A day of shopping bought her an entire cosmetics collection. She had almost forgotten how to use makeup and some articles were new to her. How was one to use concealer to hide the circles under one’s eyes? What the heck was mousse and gel and how were they used? A visit to a recommended hairstylist had her hair glowing with its natural colors and a style she loved. It was an eye-opening experience to see how her appearance changed with something so simple as a different cut. Hair swirling in loose waves around her face, she could see some semblance of the woman she knew had to still be inside her. A quick stop at the mall and a visit to Barnes and Noble and the book fell into her hands. She had no clue who Sylvia Browne was, but the story she told of what comes after….for the first time…began to make sense to her. The idea that she chose the life she would live, the lessons she would learn; that someday she would be reunited with those she loved most, that she would move forward to other lessons onward and onward until…. It fit exactly what she had been hypothesizing and in the book she found the second part of what she had been looking for. The book spoke about God…but still she was not comfortable with what she was reading and so she continued her search. There was no book that came to her hands to explain what she believed, but through many nights of praying to be shown what she needed to know, she came to believe that there was indeed a “higher power”…a God, of sorts…who loved her and wanted her to grow into the best person she could be. She began to believe that life was not meant to be lived in pain and anger, but in love and joy. Each step of the beliefs she put in place led her to the next step…and the next…and the next….and she knew she would never again be what others termed “Christian”. Research showed her that every major religion had periods of heinous crimes against humanity. History taught that every major church had participated in putting down “heretics” or disbelievers. Missionaries had forced whole tribes of people to become “Christian” in order to be acceptable…allowed to live…given assistance. She had little respect for the history she was reading and began to explore older religions. In time she came to see that most truly pagan religions were so similar that the only real difference between them was that of interpretation. Amongst people who had no way to communicate with one another….halfway across the globe from one another; the beliefs were so similar it amazed her. She knew that she had found a place she could call home…a belief in many faces of God; a belief in a God that she would always call the Lord and Lady because she believed one could never be complete without the other. Just as people cannot be complete alone, but need succor from the opposite sex, so too did she believe that any God would choose to have a partner…to have love…to have the input of the opposite sex. After all, if God created man in his/her image…..wouldn’t they create man to be just as the God’s? Why would a God choose to give man a mate…when he had no experience of mates? That was an illogical conclusion. And in time….the structure of what she could believe was in place. The comfort she took from that belief was so immense it lit her world up in ways it had never before been. For all the years of being the toy someone else played with, the handful of dreams she had used to free herself from the pain…the secret hiding place in her mind…had always been a mist-filled forest dripping with moss and rich with the scent of earth and something….deeper…something…older. The forest had centered around an ancient waterfall that spilled onto moss-covered stones where she could sit and pretend this was the real her; what happened to her body was something separate, something not allowed in this pristine and glowing place of soft light and mist draped trees. The Lady who lived in this place…who had always brought her comfort and gently held her close as she cried….was a simple step into her faith. Was it that she was building a spiritual belief around her past salvation or had she found a faith that could incorporate what she deep-down believed? Did it matter? Her belief was that her path would lead her to a gentler, more loving lifestyle…and if this belief would help her to dig a foundation into the soil, it could harm none. Harm none. Truly, that was the goal of religion, to teach each person to harm none, including themselves. Examine the ten commandments…and the core of them is….harm none. If she learned to love, to give, to live a full and healthy life….it mattered little to her what anyone thought of her personal beliefs.
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Questioning Faith	Feb 10, 2008 7:44 pm 701 Views
The first step in any healing process is recognition. It is not only recognition of the need to heal, but of the need for change, and the cause of the situation. None of us choose to live within a well of pain, but there are occasions in life when that well becomes so deep that we have no inkling of how to climb out of it. There are times when we drown in our own vomit of self-disgust. Recognizing the need for change in her life, she began to evaluate exactly how she was living. A brief search through the cupboard revealed nothing unusual although she had very few fresh fruits and vegetables. The books piled beside her chair and bed bore testament to the amount of exercise she was failing to get. Every spare minute was spent reading another book. Had the books been of some value, perhaps she’d have felt better about it, but many of them were murder mysteries, spiritual tracts, poetry….very few contained anything educational. The pile of fabric at her sewing table was immense. She’d purchased all the bright colors with the best of intents, but had failed to sit down and actually make the clothes she’d wanted. She stopped to think of what had once been a brilliant young woman setting out on a broad path of self-discovery and achievement. What had she achieved in the years of her life? So many things she had started and never completed. Once she had been the brightest student in any class she attended; once she had been sought after as an employee of the highest work ethics; once she had accomplished so much that people stopped to catch their breath watching her move through her life. Who was she now? When had she written her last story; her last poem? When had she last done any of the things she most loved in life? When had she last visited with a friend? Where were her friends? The stark reality facing her was that she had failed. How did one fail at living and remain alive? Was it possible to fail? A swift review of her recent thoughts showed her that it was. She might still be drawing breath, but she had become one of the sheep; the people who follow through life without making any waves in the pond of life. She did not actively participate in any extraneous life activities, she did not pursue any self-improvement projects, she simply….did…nothing. And in the end…she might as well have died all those years before. She thought back on her life events and wondered how it was that one life could be so filled with anger, pain, and hatred. She wondered if there was a God; and if there was, how he could allow anyone to live in pain for so many years. Why did bad things happen to people who had never done a thing to earn them? Why had she even been born? Was she supposed to have done something differently early in her life that would have set her on a different path? Path…the word felt…right. A path through life; could it possibly be so simple? Of course it wasn’t. Her faith had been strong as a child, but it was a faith driven into her with the rulers carried by nuns and priests in the schools she had attended. One obeyed what one was afraid of. Many strokes of the long wooden ruler across the palms of her hands had caused her to wonder why God would allow his representatives to hurt children, but she was hushed with another stroke if she dared to question. Long hours of writing out apologies for speaking in Mass had led her to rebel by writing that she did not understand why she should apologize for what she did not do…which led to more hours of writing out apologies. A fighter; she had always been a fighter. When had she learned not to fight? When had she given up….given in? As a teenager her faith had taken some major hits when she realized what her life truly was. It was her belief that no God would allow a child to hurt so she could not believe in the Gods of the churches she had attended. Their God wanted to make people stronger; gave them lessons to learn from. Their Gods punished the wicked. But the wicked in her life were never punished. They thrived and grew and had greater power over her. What was there for her to believe in? Was it only herself she could depend on? She was only one simple woman who could not fight all of the injustices she could face over the course of a lifetime. Hadn’t she already proven that she was weak over and over again? Long years of hiding from one person after another; her only safety being in those times when she was not seen…had led her to master the art of becoming invisible. If a person loved looking at and stroking long hair, she would cut hers off. If a person loved soft voices and gentleness, she became harsh and grating. Anything she ever received a compliment for became an immediate reason for her to change that part of herself so that it was not admirable; would not attract attention from anyone. Faith seemed to be a crutch people leaned on when they felt too weak to help themselves. But no one had ever helped her out of any of the places she had been; regardless of her prayers, her devotion, her attention to studying the bible…no one had ever saved her. She could not believe in this God. She would not use a crutch; she would free herself. What could she believe in? Was there anything more or was this all there was? She knew this sidestep onto a different track was not necessarily conducive to any part of her healing, but she needed to understand what she could believe in. A review of all the religious texts she had gathered in her life told her once again that she simply could not believe in the Gods represented to her. If these Gods were not…logical to her mind, what did make sense? Could she believe there was a purpose behind her life or was she meant to always believe that every event, every pain, every love, every moment of joy was a mere accident. It could have happened to anyone…she had just happened to be at the right place at the right time? Was it possible that man was born, lived his 60 to 80 years, and died…and was no more? Why bother to learn? Why bother to care? Why bother to grow and change the world? It was so illogical to believe you were put into the ground and never knew again. If that were true, why would anyone make any effort to be more than the animals in the forests? Surely there was something more; surely there was a purpose to life and living; surely there was something beyond this life. Did the fact that there must be something beyond this life mean that there must be a higher power of some kind? Perhaps not, but if not, what lay beyond the veil of death? Why would anyone live if not to grow, to become something more? What would you work towards becoming…at the cost of living a possibly horrible life? Why would you choose to be born only to die within minutes? Why would a God allow a parent to beat a child? The only reason that made sense to her was that she was indeed learning a lesson, but what were these lessons meant to teach her? Would they make the rest of her life simple and wonderful? Well so far they hadn’t. Would they make her a better person? Well, so far they hadn’t. Would they make her more lovable, more acceptable, more anything? She couldn’t see what the final outcome would be, but she also couldn’t see the circumstances where the lessons she had been taught would be helpful. What then? Unless…perhaps…she was learning a lesson that would help her beyond this life? Perhaps….she was here exactly for that reason…to learn…. And how could that play into her thoughts and the events of her life?
	3 Comments

Recognition	Feb 10, 2008 11:37 am 709 Views
Healing from the miscarriage was a very slow process. Her body had been through a great deal in a very short time and her recuperative powers had been stretched. Physically, the healing occurred much more swiftly than did the emotional healing. She had taught herself well how to take on guilt that was not truly hers and this was no exception. Finding herself responsible for the loss of the baby, she tried and convicted herself for heinous crimes against humanity. As strong as she often seemed, her greatest weakness was her ability to punish herself. There were few methods she could employ to show her hatred for herself. Already she did nothing to enhance herself, now she had to convince everyone that she was a worthless piece of human refuse. Lost in her solitary confinement, she paid little attention to the choices she was making until once again she found her meager wardrobe unable to fit her expanding form. A look in the mirror she had ignored for so long was astonishing. Her body horrified her, but she had no difficulty recognizing that she truly was a worthless human. Only look at her; see the fat wrapped around her face. No one would ever find her attractive again. With a lopsided sense of satisfaction at her accomplishment, she turned away from the mirror and vowed that she would never again look in it. She would keep that promise for several years. It was a photograph that brought her to her senses. She had participated in a local event and her photograph appeared in the newspaper. She did not recognize the woman in the photograph until she saw her name beneath it. A second look at the picture displayed all that she had done to herself in the intervening years; fat and tired, the woman she looked at appeared to have given up on life. She recognized the emotion as one she had seen on many faces around her and she wondered how many women and men she knew had similarly given up on life. Were they all simply a different class of people who had allowed life to beat them down until they entered a nebulous grey world in which they half-lived; participated only in those actions which maintained actual life without the threat of living? In her heart she knew that she had lived in the shadows for many years without consciously caring if she lived or died. Hot, brutal tears slashed her face as whips of fire and she cried for the woman who had died in the rape. No, not died; given up, committed suicide when her innocence was stolen so harshly. Change does not come upon us in an explosion, it comes with a whisper. While the explosion may give us the insight to understand just how necessary change is, the process of changing is slow and accomplished with much introspection and review. Her moment of epiphany may have occurred as she looked at her own picture, but it would take an extended period for the changes to occur. Before any change could be accomplished she had to accept what she had allowed to take place. Having realized that she did not know the woman in the photograph, her first step was to become reacquainted with her; to examine all that she had done or not done in the intervening time. Stepping into the bathroom, she removed her clothes and, for the first time in an extended period, she looked into the mirror. The only traces of the woman she had once been lingered in the fine scars from childhood injuries and surgery. Nothing beyond that held any memories or recognition. The body she had once taken such pride in no longer inspired anything but a sense of failure. When had she reached this point? Her breasts were heavy with the excess fat she had put on and her waist was barely recognizable. Long hair pulled back in a ponytail contained so much gray that its true color was only distinguishable in the hints of darkness that lingered under it and the tiny flashes of fire that lit from the occasional strand of red. Her eyes were exhausted and the once fine skin was gray with they toxic thoughts she had carried so long and the effects of poor eating and exercise habits. The shadows under her beautiful eyes had become blackened circles that gave her the appearance of one who had been struck viciously. She attempted to smile but the look of bitterness and pain on her reflection turned it into a grimace swiftly. There were no smiles within this woman.
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Does it ever end?	Feb 9, 2008 7:10 pm 733 Views
Unaware as she was, it was more than two months later that she realized she was pregnant. Her heart clenched at the thought and she wondered how she could survive seeing his child every day for the rest of her life. The doctor had no knowledge of her circumstances but told her that if she wanted to “do anything about it”, she had only one week to decide. After that one week she would be too far along to have any alternatives. It was a devastating blow to a woman already clinging to the bottom fibers of the shredding rope. Curled up in her chair that night, she sipped cautiously at a glass of wine, the first she had allowed herself since the rape. She had shied away from any opportunity to lose her inhibitions; to be placed at any kind of risk. The dry, fruity taste of the wine tickled her tongue with delight as she remembered how much she enjoyed an occasional glass. She wondered briefly if her glass of wine would bring harm to the baby but pushed that thought away in anger. Why should she care what harm she brought to the baby? She had not asked to be pregnant. How dare this baby force itself onto her? She did not want to have another child; her life was moving along slowly and she had grown comfortable in her tiny rut. The time for bearing children was long past and this time did not accommodate her life. Pulling a soft blanket around her, she sat and considered her options. She could abort the baby. It was warranted. The baby would be a hideous reminder of that night for the remainder of her life. Surely no one would blame her for that choice. Surely no one would find her at fault. A baby was not a life until it breathed. A baby was a rare and beautiful gift. There were so many women who would give everything to have this unwanted baby, she would have the baby and give it up for adoption to a family who wanted it. How could she be sure it would go to a strong and loving family? She would never allow the child to be raised in her own pain. How could she ensure that would never happen? Perhaps she would have the baby and raise it. She had always wanted more children, did it matter how it was conceived? She could love this baby all its life and ensure it never knew of the pain its very conception had caused her. She was so confused. How dare this man continue to intrude on her life? Hadn’t he taken enough from her? Leaning her head back against her chair, she closed her eyes and attempted to rest her mind. She did not want to think about any of it. If she closed her eyes, it would all go away. It was mere moments for her to fall asleep. The dream came upon her swiftly as her dreams usually did. She dreamt of a snowy day, so much snow that one only wanted to burrow deeper in one’s coat and huddle away from the frigid air. She was walking up a sidewalk to the porch of a house. It was a nondescript house with a nondescript door; simply a house in a busy neighborhood. A man walked at her side; tall, strong, holding her arm carefully to keep her from falling. They stepped upon the porch and opened the front door. In the hallway inside, a young woman knelt dressing a tiny boy in a blue snowsuit. “He’ll be ready in a minute, Mom. He’s such a good baby. You are so lucky.” Her head jerked and she awoke knowing that the child she carried would be a boy. She had always wanted a boy, but that had been years ago before her daughter was born. She had given up the idea of additional children when she failed to conceive during all the intervening years. Her hand covered her stomach protectively. A son; her son rested within her body and she had thought of having an abortion. She would never be a good parent to this child. Surely she must give him up and allow him to be loved by a family who wanted a small child. But the dream; how could she reconcile the dream of her daughter dressing her two year old son with the idea of giving him up? Was she being given a message that she was to keep this baby? What was she thinking? Why would she keep this baby? Why would she go through so many more months carrying this baby, knowing that her body was not built to have children? Would she choose to take any risks with her health? Her daughter’s birth had resulted in serious injuries to her body and the doctors had advised that she was unlikely to successfully carry another child. Even if she did manage to carry the baby to term, she knew that her only option was for the baby to be surgically removed. Why was she even considering any option that included risks to her own health? The dream; it all came down to the dream. Early the next morning, she called her doctor and scheduled the abortion. Her mind was conflicted between the concept that she would give up the baby she had wanted for so long and the idea that she would look upon her rapist’s face all the days of her life. The appointment was set for two days from then. When she awoke the following day, she called the doctor and cancelled the abortion having decided that she could not choose to harm her own baby. What would come would come and she would face it one day at a time. At work later that day she fell down a flight of stairs when the lights were turned off momentarily. She spraining her ankle and miscarried the baby. The questions she had tormented herself with no longer mattered but in her heart she wondered if her choices had caused her to lose this baby. And again she found it was her fault.
	5 Comments

The Aftemath	Feb 9, 2008 6:33 pm 707 Views
Psychologists generally spend more time with victims of rape and abuse working through the guilt phase of the victimization. She knew that a psychologist could help her to realize that the rape was not her fault, but she also knew that she needed to hold some semblance of guilt to her for a time in order to move on. If she allowed herself to focus on the reality of what had been done, she would have the burning need inside her to punish this man; to make him pay in ways that he would never forget. She knew that if she pursued any action against him, the person who would most pay was herself. The dream she had held so close was shattered. She could not attend the meeting the next day. Although the others would see the truth reflected in her injuries, she knew that they badly needed to believe that she had earned what she had received. If even one of them accepted the reality of her abuse, they would have to admit to their own guilt in the matter. The lies they had told about her had brought on the assault. Not one of the other members had sufficient moral character to face the responsibility for the part their words had played. In the end, she knew that she would creep away. We think that time has a way of diminishing our pain, but it cannot diminish it, only give it distance. When we internalize pain, we give it great control over our lives and our responses to the circumstances that come our way. It was a long time before she could see her own body in the mirror without seeing the marks of his teeth upon her. It was longer before she began to feel any semblance of cleanliness. Scrubbing away at her skin each night as she cried her rage and frustration, she attempted to remove the memories that clung to her. Even after several months she could still smell his scent upon her. The scrubbing had no impact on her emotional well-being. Slowly she began to bury the memories of that night until it was only allowed to haunt her dreams. She wondered often if the dreams would ever stop, if the pain would ever fade. She was not aware of the changes she made to ensure no man would ever look at her with that level of interest again. Her hair was always clean but unkempt. She brushed it back from her face and allowed it to fall in uncontrolled waves down her back. It was not a style that suited her, but she was unaware of her own appearance having given up looking at herself. Her skin was clean but uncared for. She did not make an effort to improve her appearance with cosmetics; the exhaustion she felt was clearly visible in her pale skin and deeply shadowed eyes. Her clothes were neat, but chosen for the absolute lack of attractiveness. She did not want to draw attention to herself in any way. She chose to become invisible. Invisibility helped, but still the fear remained that some man would one day see beneath the surface of her disguise. No man was welcome into her world; she did not allow them to touch her in any way. Her male co-workers barely knew she was there so silently did she go about her tasks. Silence was an important element in her invisibility. If ever she spoke, someone might want to hear her soft voice; someone might want to know a modicum of her thoughts. She was unwilling to share any aspect of herself. And soon enough, the day came when she realized that she had all unawares allowed herself to gain enough weight that she could no longer wear the beautiful clothes she had once favored. A rainbow-filled closet mocked her as she opened it each morning, so she collected boxes and packaged them away. Out of sight was truly out of mind and she mindlessly went about her world without a single glance at herself in a mirror.
	4 Comments

Her Fault	Feb 9, 2008 3:09 pm 767 Views
“You may fail, but I will not.” The words were spoken with determination as he pulled her back into his arms. His kiss was cruel and her lips were bruised and he forced her to submit to him. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other grasped at her breast. In desperation she jerked her knee upward toward his groin but he anticipated the move and shifted before she could connect. He slapped her hard, knocking her to the floor. Panting, he glared down at her and muttered, “We can do this the hard way, or we can do it the easy way. Your choice.” Her fingers covered the red splotch on her cheek where he had hit her. She looked up at him with shocked eyes. This was in no way the man she had known. “If you think I’m going to make it easy for you to rape me, you must have lost your last marble.” Beginning to rise, she was horrified when he grunted, “Fine.” and kicked her in the ribs. The rape was brutal and seemingly unending. Each story the man had heard whispered about was expounded on and he forced her to perform for him even more than others had claimed she had performed for them. Resistance was a faint dream for her; each time she refused an act or turned away from him, he was swift to capture her long hair and hold her hostage as he beat her. It took only a short time for her to understand that nothing less than complete submission would allow her to walk away from his home. Submissive was not a word that described her well. Cut, bruised, beaten, bleeding from places she had never realized were sexual outlets, she drove her car slowly home. She thought about reporting the rape but knew the man was well-respected in the community and she was not the most believable victim. It was all too common for women to be brandished a liar and a whore when they were known to dress the way she had done until recently. Entering her small apartment, she crept silently to the bathroom and disrobed. Her appearance was appalling. Her hair hung in lank and tattered clumps around her face which was battered to the point she could not recognize herself. Swollen lips were split in several places from the severity of his use and her breasts were covered in bite marks. The colors wrapping her ribs made it appear she was still clothed. Blood and semen dripped down her legs and swathed the inside of her clothing. Disgusted with herself at her inability to prevent the violent abuse, she filled the tub with water so hot it scalded her skin and sank deeply into it. She winced as the hot water saturated her injuries, but still scrubbed at her battered skin harshly with a washcloth. She could not bear to allow a single memory of his touch upon her skin. Disconnected from her own thought processes, her movements were jerky and mechanical as she scrubbed away his scent. Tears flowed down her cheeks, but she was unaware of them, lost in the web of his treachery and deceit. More than any other factor, the one memory that taunted her most was of her own failing to listen to her subconscious. It was all her fault. She knew better. She had been aware that something was wrong and walked into the setting. She had allowed him to rape her. Beyond that, her mind focused on the concept that she had submitted to him. The abuse had been terrifying, still she should have fought harder, have resisted until he killed her. She had allowed him to rape her. Her fault, her fault, her fault…and in her heart she ground those words until they were a part of her. Her fault…..
	15 Comments

Negotiations	Feb 9, 2008 2:08 pm 539 Views
His house was in a small neighborhood of homes carefully arranged to provide maximum privacy for each occupant. She admired the layout as she drove into the community; smiling as she thought of taking long walks within the small forested areas. The house itself was secluded, surrounded by trees which screened out the sounds of traffic from outside the property. He was solicitous of her as he brought her into the house; taking her long coat and carefully hanging it in a closet and offering her a drink. She did not often drink and was a bit surprised that he would include alcohol in their discussion but decided that it would perhaps help her to relax in this unfamiliar setting. It did not take long for her to feel comfortable and relaxed as they sat in his living room and went over their plans for the next day. She felt their friendship had been growing for some time and was pleased to see that he seemed quite at ease with her. The discussion was lengthy and complex and her agile mind twisted around the specifics of the plan. She enjoyed thinking abstractly and was allowing her thoughts to wander to the dreams she had long harbored for the future. He excused himself to freshen their drinks and she leaned back in her chair, idly imagining what the next day would bring. Standing, she walked over to the fireplace and gazed down into it. She did not turn when she heard his footsteps re-enter the room, neither did she comment as he placed her drink on the table by her chair. The softly whispered, “Are you ready for tomorrow?” surprised her and she spun to find him standing immediately behind her. His hands wrapped gently around her arms as he leaned down to kiss her. Already comfortable with his presence, she allowed the kiss and began to respond to it until he pulled her closer and molded her hips to his. She was not ready for the relationship to change and had never considered that he would be interested in this manner. Confused, she shook her hair back and looked up at him. “I don’t think this is the right step for us to take right now?” she murmured softly. “You want my support, don’t you? I want you. It’s not as if it’s something new, you’ve slept with everyone else there.” She felt as if he had slapped her. “I’ve slept with no one there.” “I know all about how adept your lovely lips are. Tonight you’re going to show me just how talented you really are.” “I don’t think so. I have no interest in this. I can’t believe you would lend any credence to those stories about me. Have I given you any reason to believe I would sleep with any of you?” “Guys don’t lie about that.” “I think I need to leave now. This conversation is going nowhere.” She turned to leave but was stopped when he grabbed her arm harshly and spun her about to face him once again. “Are you willing to give up everything you’ve fought so hard to gain? I can take you to the top. I can offer you everything you’ve ever wanted. Is it so much to ask that you show me a little appreciation for all I’m willing to do for you?” “Is it so much to ask that you offer your support for the right reasons….that I deserve your support? So this is what it comes down to…either I sleep with you…or I fail?” “If that’s how you choose to see it.” “Then I suppose I’ll have to fail.”
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Lending Support	Feb 9, 2008 1:44 pm 494 Views
Frustration led her words to be harsh and grating. None took her seriously for they were accustomed to seeing her as they saw her. Although she wrapped her body in clothes that concealed, all knew what was hidden beneath the fabric and still they focused on the question of when she would remove the clothes and once again reveal the flesh they longed to touch. That none had touched her was a poorly known fact for many would boast that they had possessed her at one time or another, dropping her at their whim when she ceased to perform in the manner of their choosing. Many would speak of her secret talents for pleasing them, yet none were willing to admit that their comments were mere speculation; each was more afraid than the one before to admit he had never been able to persuade her to slip into his bed and allow him to sample her delights. As she heard the myriad stories of her sexual exploits her anger grew until it knew no limits. How dare these brazen juvenile men claim that each had been with her repeatedly? How dare they speak of her lasciviousness as if she were nothing more than a willing repository for their seed? Temperamentally she began to change, becoming more aggressive. Anger colored her words until they were so vivid with disdain that none would listen to her. Her frustrations grew as she realized that she had created the situation herself and the solution would not be so simple as to pretend to have changed her persona. In the depths of her frustration, she became quite vulnerable to the first man who appeared to sympathize with her. He whispered words of love and support into her ears and assured her that he would stand behind her, lending weight to her arguments. Desperately needing to believe that she could turn the situation around with his backing, she allowed herself to be lulled into a sense of false security. No longer would the men laugh at her when she stood tall before them with this well-respected member of the organization standing at her side. They began to meet more and more frequently in order to discuss the methodology they would employ to initiate the changes. Subconsciously she was well aware that their meetings began to occur in less populated areas and at later hours, but her conscious mind ridiculed her doubts; surely this man would never harm her. Surely they were only meeting in such distant locales in order to mitigate any risk of being seen together, of being overheard as they plotted to gain her the position she needed to attain. He must have thought her impossibly naïve as he persuaded her to go to greater and greater lengths to meet him. He knew that he risked much by prolonging the timeframe; at any moment she could realize that nothing had been accomplished and she would begin to question. He could not risk her questioning, not of him, not of those around him. He asked her to meet him at his home in order to make the final arrangements. No one would ever see her there and it would come as a complete surprise when she stood up the next day in the meeting and presented her arguments with his full support. She agreed to meet him, knowing that it was important that each agree to the exact phraseology they would use in order to gain the support of the other members. He was not married so she would not be intruding upon his family time, and they had been meeting for a protracted period so she felt secure in the idea that she was safe alone with him. Her mind continued to rail at her, whispering that something was not right in the situation, but her need to accomplish more, to step forward on the path she had chosen, was so great that she shouted down the whispers and refused to give them credence.
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Gaining Entry	Feb 9, 2008 1:24 pm 440 Views
And in the brashness of her tone many lost the import of the words she shared. The message was no less vital, the meaning no less clear; but the messenger was rendered ineffective by people’s perception of her. She did not appear well educated, nor did she make any effort to alter the floozy-like appearance. The point made should be able to support itself upon its own weight; and yet it could not for perception is truth. She felt no shame in her appearance; her slim body had always drawn admiration, her large chest had gained attention. It allowed her to enter into circles which might have been closed to her had she not played upon her assets. The low cut blouse revealed a cleavage that other women would have killed for; the short skirt showed off well muscled legs that most men imagined wrapped around their waists. She was neither proud nor arrogant; rather she had learned to put herself on display in order to gain any trace of advantage. She felt she had so few. As the years progressed, however, she began to understand that her appearance would not be sufficient to continue granting her the access she needed. Neither would utilizing her appearance gain her the respectability that came from well chosen arguments, logical debate. In fact, she began to find that her appearance could be a liability to her. It is a near impossibility for a man to pay attention to the words a woman speaks when he is engrossed upon imagining himself buried deep inside her. Although his eyes may be upon her, his mind is visualizing the reaction on her face as he takes her, his ears are hearing her cries of passion, his thoughts are so distracted that he cannot focus on anything she says. She had begun to recognize the glazed look that entered men’s eyes as they were drawn directly to her breasts, to the hem of the skirt that barely covered her slim hips. She had begun to resent that men looked upon her as a doll, a toy to be played with and then set aside when more important matters were to be discussed. She had a mind; a quite brilliant mind that could be employed to advantage if they would only stop to listen. And so she had learned to use the tools that gained her access to the venues she needed to be heard in; now she must learn to set aside those tools and utilize the tools that would help her to convey the message.
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A New Beginning	Feb 8, 2008 9:36 pm 471 Views
Nothing in life ever ends. Endings are as much a new beginning as the ending of what has gone before. Friendships do not end, they merely shift to a different level. They can be allowed to slip away into the dimly remembered mists of the past or they can be allowed to thrive and grow into something rich and beautiful. May all your friendships grow into the most beautiful plants. May you water them frequently with shared tears, feed them with the laughter you enjoy together, and grow them in love. May the gift of joy in your lover's eyes be the first sight to greet you each day....may the look of passion on their face be your last view as you drift away. May each day be filled with that which is new and exciting...and may each year drive roots deeper into a foundation of love and giving. I wish you all that you could ever wish yourself...and I wish you more. I love you.
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