Sunday, January 10, 2016


Wow... seems like almost a week since I last wrote anything.  It doesn't take much to trip me up.  Looking back at this last week I play detective... It was a go back to work after two weeks of Christmas vacation.  I look back further... I had felt the itch to write about a week after the first day of that vacation.  Is it work?

Work... oh my god work.  How do I describe work.  I work at a public school specializing in a very specific population... those children who's particular set of behaviors are too violent to be managed in any other school setting.  Only those students.

I carry a radio.  When there is a crisis... and there is always three, four or five crises going on at any single moment I get that call.... "Come help."  And it is my job to go... and try my best to help. 

So every single young person I work with has the potential to attack... Each and every child is a unique puzzle.  How did they get here?  What are their triggers?  What interventions help keep them calm?  What interventions can calm them down?

Each of them comes to us with a laundry list of traumas.  Biological damages... ADHD, depression or some other more obscure form of mental illness, exposure to drugs before they are born... or after they are born... autism in all its myriad forms.  Social damage... broken chaotic families, poverty... homelessness... abuse... foster care.  It goes on and on.  It breaks my heart every day. 

When they rage on me, I cannot really even blame them.  They have so much to be angry about.  And I am a very safe target.  I can absorb it and, gently, carefully keep them safe until they are back in some kind of control.  I will not get angry back.  I will wrap them up in my arms and hold them until they can breathe again, think again.  I strive to reflect back how much I care about them.  And it breaks my heart every day.

But if you could be a fly on the wall... and outsider without understanding what you would see would be a kid... sometimes small,  a tiny five year old; sometimes big, a sixth grader who could have been on the football team if he hadn't somehow ended up so angry... An angry out of control young human being, doing his or her damnedest to hurt me and everyone around them, physically or emotionally.  Rage filled angry words thrown along with punches, kicks, bites, spits.  Tears, sobbing, screaming... You would see me grabbing, wrapping my arms around this bundle of rage, holding on tight as they scream and fight to escape.  You would see me calm, controlled and if you did not know... did not realize they brought the rage into the room with them... hurting them.  They scream that I am hurting them.  And they are in pain.  If you use every ounce of your strength against an implacable, unmovable object your muscles will protest and ache and burn and eventually scream with agony.  So in a way I am hurting them.  I don't like it.  It hurts me too.  I want nothing more than to let them go.    

It is a balancing act... how many times to I let them hit me, kick me?  Will they stop or do I need to restrain them?  Why are they so angry right now?  Could we have done something different to have prevented this particular crisis?  Could anyone have prevented this?  (God, teachers hate it when I suggest that somehow we could have prevented it... that they could have done something different.  Teachers mandated to repeatedly try to jam those little square pegs into round holes.)

So there it is... my work.  Heartbreak.  Heartbroken children, held close, almost crushed against my heart, absorbing their pain... coming home physically and emotionally battered. 

And I wonder... could this have something do do with that itch to write.   

Saturday, January 2, 2016

Jigsaw Puzzle Girl: Chapter 10: Exploration

Chapter 10: Exploration

David cooked dinner that night and after the dishes were clean and drying in the drainer, David pulled her to his chest, “Pretty girl, how do you want this to go?” 

Monica paused and whispered against his chest, “This?”

“Us making love, do you want candles and music, a Cinderella night?  Or would that make you nervous?” 

Just the words made a little rush of nervous excitement run through her.  “Um… Cinderella?” 

He began his slow silent waltz, spinning her slowly around the room to the rhythms in his head, “Okay, Cinderella, do you want a special night out on the town, or a private night all alone with your wise and gentle king?”

“Oh, most definitely alone, I want a special night alone with my champion.” 

Slowly rocking and leading her around the room, his arms and hands holding her close and warm.  “So will your birth control be in effect tomorrow?”

Monica counted backwards in her head, “No.  That would be the next day.”

She wondered how he could keep such perfect rhythm, and why the mere act of turning her whole body over to him to lead and guide in their silent dance seemed so perfect.  She felt completely relaxed, her face against his chest, her eyes half closed, listening to his heart beat.  It seemed like his voice came through the wall of his chest straight into her ear.  It was a soft deep drawl, “Pretty girl, if it would be alright with you, I want to wait until then.”

Her voice was almost inaudible.  “Okay.”

He paused and lifted her face to look into her eyes, “Okay?”

“I guess so.  I just don’t know why.”

David looked a little pained, “Well, pretty girl, I just am not all that sure about the whole condom thing.  I, um, have never used one before and while I understand the concept and mechanics, I just don’t want to have to deal with that now.”

Monica tried not to giggle, “Yeah, they are kind of weird.”

“And that will give me some time.”


“Time, Pretty Girl, time to plan.”


David gave her a mysterious smile, “Will you let me surprise you?  Will you trust me?”

Monica giggled and nodded.  “I love surprises.  Just not sudden surprises, just don’t sneak up on me.  I always loved Christmas because I knew it was coming.”

David nodded solemnly, “Pretty Girl, it is important for you to know that at any time, tonight, tomorrow, for the next thirty seven years, if you start feeling afraid or need to slow down or stop, all you have to do is say the word.  I was just going to figure out a nice evening here together, some nice music, some good food, just some little things to make our honeymoon memories extra special.  If I get too carried away, all you have to do is say whoa.”

Smiling impishly, she could not help saying it again, “Okay,” and was rewarded with a tickle. 

“You are impossible.”


This time he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, but instead of throwing her on the bed and standing over her he turned around and fell backwards, holding her tightly.  He made a small, “ooof” as her weight came down on top of him.  He lay there under her, his eyes sparkling and staring up at her, daring her to do her worst.  Monica lay on top of him, her eyes alight with excitement and then she grabbed his head on either side and gave him a fierce kiss.  It had started out as some kind of silly, clumsy gesture of triumph but in seconds his arms came up around her, his hands tangling in her hair; his mouth opening and she found herself drowning in the kiss.

Gently he rolled her over until he was laying beside her, cradling her with one arm, his lips not once leaving hers.  Monica wrapped her arms around his neck and made a happy, “mmm.”  She did not know how long she lay there melded to him.  There was no sense of urgency, no tension, just perfect luxurious endless kisses, soft, deep and warm.  Finally he pulled away and lay gazing down at her face, his voice soft and just slightly breathless, “Pretty girl, will you let me see you?  Will you let me touch you?”

Her hand was just slightly shaky and she reached up and touched his face.  Her eyes were large and she nodded.  There was no question what he meant.  Her voice vibrated with a mixture of nervousness and pent up excitement.  “Okay.”

Sitting up, she awkwardly pulled off her shirt and sat facing him in her little white bra.  Reaching behind she unhooked the back and let it slide down her arms.  Still feeling a little nervous she avoided looking at him and stared down at her slender torso, deliberately looking past the tracery of scars, looking at her bare chest.  Self consciously she covered her tiny breasts with her hands and whispered, “They are pretty little.”

David covered her hands with his larger warm hands.  “I have always thought you were beautiful, Pretty Girl.  Your breasts are small, but they are very pretty.  Show me.”  Gently he pulled her hands away.  Monica finally looked up at his face and was a little surprised by the wonder in his face.  His eyes glanced up at hers and his smile warmed, “Yes very pretty.”  Again he dropped his eyes to look again and reached to touch.  His finger was feather light as he gently stroked it across her skin and an involuntary shiver shook through her and she felt goose bumps chase across her skin and her nipples began to tingle as they slowly tightened into hard little nubs.  His voice was preoccupied, “You know I called Bob the other day and he said that he couldn’t tell me anything about how to make love to you.  He said I had to ask you.  He said that the only person who can really tell me what feels right, what you want, is you.  Will you do that for me?  Will you teach me how to touch you?”

This time she covered his hand with hers, pressing his palms against her chest more firmly.  “Pressing flat like this feels good, just steady pressure but if you are sliding across, it should be lighter.”  She lifted his palms and let the smooth skin brush lightly across her hardening nipples.  Another little shiver shook her.  Her voice quivered, “That feels good.  My nipples are pretty sensitive but all the skin on my chest feels good.  It feels good to be lightly petted or even stroked hard.”  Still holding his hand she demonstrated as she spoke.   “You can kind of, um… hold my nipples between your fingers and massage them a little, kind of roll them back and forth, or even pull on them really gently.” 

As he tentatively, experimentally tugged one of the tiny pink tips, a soft gasp left Monica’s lips and he let go.  “Did I hurt you?”

Lifting his hand and putting it back to her breast she shook her head, her voice slightly husky, “No, it didn’t hurt.  It was just so sharply sweet, like an electric shock, only a good one.”  Her voice quavered as he once again gently began to toy with her nipples.  Each gentle pinch and tug sent sharp pangs directly down to her belly, making the folds of her vagina ache and throb. 

“I, um… like to have them kissed too, kissed, sucked on, even little gentle bites, nibbles.  Gentle at first but,  um… as I get more… um… turned on, excited I like it a little harder, more intense?”  Her words seemed to surge and jerk as he leaned close and his eyes looking up at hers, took a nipple between his lips.  His kiss was feather light, and her voice gurgled a little as she prompted him, “You can do that a little harder, suck a little harder.”  And as she felt the firm tug pulling her deeper into his warm mouth, she felt her breath catch as she tried to say, “Yes, like that.”  The words caught and came out as a soft pleading whimper.

His voice was husky, “Like that?”

Monica realized she had shut her eyes and blinked looking down at his eyes.  She wondered at his calm, his control.  His hands were on her, holding her steady and catching his hands in hers she pressed them hard against her chest and took a deep shuddering breath.   Her eyes met his, “I, um… need to go to the bathroom for a little bit.”

His expression was serious, “Okay.”

Reluctantly she slid back away from him and walked to the bathroom.  In the mirror her face was flushed and she smiled a tremulous smile.  Sliding her jeans and panties down and off she looked at the sanitary napkin critically.  It was unstained and she quickly threw it away and washed herself carefully.  Standing up she looked at herself in the full length mirror.  Almost in awe she cupped her hands over her breasts.  His touch, his kisses had felt so amazingly good.  She brushed her hair and took a deep breath and looked one last time in the mirror.  Softly she admonished herself, “Remember what Junie said.  It is not about orgasms, it is about feeling good.  New lovers need to take time to get to know each other’s touch.  Don’t go back in there expecting anything of yourself or him.   Let it happen, don’t make it happen.”

David’s voice came from outside the bathroom door.  “Who are you talking to in there?”

“Me, myself and I.”

“Are you okay?”

Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stood before him nude.  “Yes.”

His eyes widened and, to Monica’s surprise and a sudden rush of love, he blushed.  His voice dropped an octave, “Oh, you are so beautiful.”  He reached down and took her hands and gently pulled her toward the bed and sat on the edge.  He put his hands on her waist and drank her in with his eyes.  Slowly he turned her a little right and then a little left and then pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his cheek against her belly. 

Monica stood transfixed, her fingers gently stroking the soft fringe of short brown hair on the back of his head.  There were so many little random thoughts that ran through her head.  His face against her belly was warm and just a little scratchy from his five o’clock shadow and sent a sharp quiver through her core.  She could feel an unexpected surge of warm dampness moisten the folds between her legs.  His hair under her hand felt so soft, she thought that his hair must have been very fine and soft like hers.  Her eyes looked down, sliding past the spider’s web of scars that veiled her torso, taking in the smooth brown skin that was the bald top of his head, his broad shoulders.  She wondered that he was still completely dressed; he had only pulled off his boots and was in his stocking feet and for now, for this thing, it felt right.  And most of all she realized that she did not feel the slightest bit embarrassed or awkward.  Instead she felt strangely protective, attentive, even spellbound.   It lasted only a few seconds but it was timeless.

His face against her belly turned and he tenderly pressed his lips against her skin, his fingertips lightly sliding along the bumps of her spine.  A sudden cascade of tingles made her shudder involuntarily.  David pulled back and looked up at her face, gauging, “Is that okay?”

Monica could not keep from a tiny giggle at the repeated use of the word, “Yes, okay.  In fact it felt really good.”  Then as her fingers continued to touch his hair she spoke, “Sometimes the feelings, the good feelings make me tremble like that.”

He smiled and nodded, “Okay.”

“Okay?  Who is being impossible now?”  But he ignored her bantering words and had turned his gaze lower.  Monica followed his eyes and looked down at the nest of golden curls that crowned her pubis.   Tentatively she reached down and ran a finger down one of the scars that led to that tender place.  Her voice was just slightly tense, “I… I am not really sure about this.  We just… um… have to figure this out together.  Can I lie down?”  David nodded wordlessly and loosened his arms around her, not quite letting go.

Curling up a little on her side she took his hand in hers and brought it to her lips and murmured, “You remember how I had said that since my attack that I haven’t um… touched myself down there at all?”

David’s voice was so soft as to be almost inaudible, “Yes.”

“Well, let’s start out with what I know, what I remember from before.  Like my chest, all the skin on my belly, thighs and bottom are sensitive.  It feels good to be stroked and petted.  I liked the way your face felt when you put it against my stomach, kissed me there.”  Contorting a little, she parted her legs a little, looking at her vagina closely for the first time since the attack.  Under her blond pubic hair she could see the scars, her labia were not symmetrical.  Like the scar on her face, things seemed pulled just a little askew.  And as she ran her fingers over the soft tissues, she could feel the ridges and bumps of the scar tissue. 

For just a moment she just wanted to curl up in a ball, to forget about this.  Looking at his face she thought about pleading that she couldn’t do this, that it was just too hard.  But again the awe and wonder in his face stopped her, calmed her.  She could tell he did not once see the scars.  Her voice was soft, almost clinical, “Um… all this stuff is called labia, there are the outside ones,” she pointed at the fatter outer pubic hair covered lips, “and these ones in between are um… minor ones?  In the middle here, is where most of the nerves are, the clitoris.”  Monica could not help feel a little self conscious as she pulled the folds apart, showing him as she spoke.   Twisting a little she spread her legs a little wider, “The actual opening is lower.  There are not as many nerve endings inside as there are outside, up where the labia and clitoris are, that is where I like the touches more.  But very gentle touches at first.  I really don’t know how it will feel.”

            Monica was feeling increasingly nervous and reluctant and instinctively closed her legs.   David gently began to stroke her shining curls on her pubic mound she caught his hand and stopped him.  His eyes met hers and she whispered, “Whoa.” 

            His voice was soft and a little hoarse, “Too much?”

            Her eyes were filled with disappointed tears, “Sort of, it was all starting to feel a little too forced, mechanical.  It was just getting weird.  Could you just hold me for a little while, hold me and kiss me?”

            As he pulled her to his chest she felt the first sob rise up and she protested, angrily fighting the tears, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

            He held her tight, rocking her nude body, softly hushing her, “Shhh, Pretty Girl, shhh, it is all right, it will be all right.”

            “I swore I wouldn’t cry.”

            His next words took her by surprise, “When?”

            Sniffing, and taking a shuddering breath, she choked out, “When what?”

            “When did you swear not to cry?”

            Somehow this question knocked down all the walls and she melted down, sobbing uncontrollably.  Her words were disjointed and confused, “Um… um… I… don’t know.”  Somehow his gentle laugh felt right, vibrating through his chest, reassuring her that he was not upset or disturbed by her emotional breakdown.  Monica didn’t know how long she huddled against him, letting the sobs pour out.  When she had finally ran down, he continued to hold her, swaying gently.  Taking a deep shuddering breath, she rubbed her wet face, wiping her nose on his shirt.  “I’m sorry.”

            “I’m not.  Seems to me you have been trying not to cry for a long time now.  Sure, you cloud up, I see your eyes fill up with tears, your lips quiver, but then you take hold of yourself and shove it all down inside.  You wouldn’t let it go.”

            Her voice was muffled against his chest, “It’s funny, but you are right.  I can’t remember when, but somehow it seemed if I let myself cry, really cry, it was only going to make things worse.  It didn’t feel safe, there was this sort of undefined fear that if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop.  If I did it at the therapist’s office, I would maybe end up in some kind of mental hospital.  And I knew that momma couldn’t handle it.”  She sniffed again and pulled back, looking up at him, “I got your shirt all wet.”

            Gently he smoothed her hair back, “I will survive.  Did it make things worse?”

            Her giggle was a little hoarse and damp, “No.”  Still held snug up against him, half of her felt hot, damp and sweaty, but the parts of her not up against him felt chilled and she shivered.  “But I feel kind of empty and a little cold.”

            “Would you like to take a warm bath?”

            The idea of a bath seemed magical but she hated the idea of leaving the shelter of his arms, “I don’t want you to let me go.”

            His chuckle was soft and reassuring, “And I don’t want to let you go.  But, Pretty Girl, that bathtub has plenty of room for two.”  He grunted softly as he stood up, cradling her against his chest and carried her into the bathroom.  Carefully balancing her in his lap, he sat down on the edge of the tub and reached over and turned on the water.  “So am I going to get in with my clothes on or are you going to help me figure out how to undress?”

            Monica giggled, “Um… that does seem to be a problem.”  Unwinding her arms from around his neck, she began to unbutton his shirt.  “I think I am going to have to let you go for at least a second or two.”  Sliding out of his lap, she pulled his shirt off and then tugged his undershirt off over his head.  David sat on the ledge, passively letting her undress him, his eyes on her body.  He helped her with his belt, and lifted his hips, allowing her to pull them down and off.  For an instant she stopped, her face inches from his penis, looking back.  He was only half hard, hanging down and slightly to one side.  Monica felt a tiny shiver, and she could not be sure if it was fear or excitement.  Once he was nude, she stepped back, and stared at him.  Their eyes met and both of them smiled.

            His voice was slightly husky, “You okay?”

            For once at a loss of words she nodded.  She reached for some bubble bath and poured it into the tub, leaning over and stirring the water around with her hand, inhaling the soothing scent of lavender.  His hand touched her back and another shiver shook through her.  “Could we turn off the light?”  She did not turn to look at him, but sensed his movement and the soft click as he flipped the switch.  A lamp was on in the bedroom, but the indirect light barely lit the bathroom and the darkness felt right.  Monica stood, looking out the picture window, her eyes adjusting to the darkness.  She could see ragged clouds racing across the sky, their edges lit by the moon, and as she watched it broke free, fat and almost completely round, it lit up the ocean waves far below.  Her breath caught and she exclaimed softly, “Oh look!”

            His arms came around her from behind, his voice low, “It will be full tomorrow.”  Then he turned her to face him, pulling her against him, pressing against the length of her, his skin hot against hers.  He was taller than her, her head rested against his chest; his cock, harder now, pressed against her belly.  Again she felt herself shiver.  “Let’s get in the tub, Pretty Girl.”

            She found herself once again cradled in his arms, buoyed up by the deep, warm water, leaning back against his supporting arms, still gazing up out the window, watching as the clouds would cover and then reveal the moon as they chased across the sky.  Her voice was soft, “If you want to touch me; that would be okay.”

            He did not speak, and at first he only touched her face, gently stroking her hair back and watching her face as the moonlight would light up her features.  Finally she took his hand and brought it down into the water, pressing it against her breast and sighing as the sensation spread through her.  Gently she reached up and pulled his face down to hers, their lips meeting and parting, seeking the warmth and softness within.  When they parted she sighed again and murmured, “This is nice.  I like this.”

His response was soft, “Mmm hmmm.”  His hand remained on her breast, his fingertip rubbing across her nipple sending soft shocks through her, making her breathing hesitate and quiver.  She could feel it clear down, deep in her belly, a sweet, sharp almost painful ache and throb.  Keeping her eyes locked on the scudding clouds she took his hand and traced it down lower and pressed it against her pubic mound.  A long deep shudder shook through her and she pressed it harder, subtly moving it in slightly circular motion.  The deep pressure and movement made her belly muscles spasm and jerk.  His hand was still trapped under hers, their fingers intermeshed, tentatively she let her finger tip slide down through her folds, finding her clitoris and let the continued gentle gyrations communicate to the very center of her.  It felt good, very good. 

Her voice was low, a little hoarse, and seemed to throb in time to the slow movement of the joined hands, “Are you okay?”

Again his voice was soft, “Mmm hmmm, you?”

“Very okay, could you kiss me?”

They had to contort, Monica tipping her head back and the kiss was brief but intense.  Impatient with the position, she pulled his hand away and twisted around in his lap, the water splashing slightly.  Lying on his chest she pressed her full length against him, taking his mouth in hers again, for the first time humming a soft moan as she ground her belly against his erection.  His hands on her back were tense, pulling her down against him, rubbing himself against her skin.  Monica moaned into his mouth again, writhing against him.  His kiss was deep, his tongue moving in her mouth in time to the sensual undulations of their bodies.  He made a soft grating grunt as he ejaculated; his come slippery between their bodies. 

Monica had to consciously stop her body’s continued undulations.  Part of her wanted to continue but part of her was reluctant to struggle.  Somehow she knew it was there, that eventually it would happen and that was enough.  Softly she touched his face, her voice still slightly hoarse, “That was nice, thank you.”

His voice was gentle, “Did you have an orgasm?”

“No, but it was very nice.  I liked it.  That is enough for now.”