Sexual Vs Sensual: Part 2

She was in the elevator….. she regretted her decision immediately.

He wanted sex.

She couldn’t give him that.

He might just take it.

It would be be understandable if he just took it.

She hadn’t thought this thorough.

She braced herself for anything. If anything, she’d have empty sex and it would last till the next train.

She’d leave her body. In terror.

But she would come back. At least a part of her would come back.

The part that felt nothing. The part dissociated with the deepest part of herself.

She reached his floor.

The elevator opened.

Part of herself had already left the building.

There she was, at his door.

She knocked.


She knocked again.

The door opened.

His eyes were kind. And deep.

Maybe he was like she thought. It would be rare.

She remembered her last boyfriend. He held a knife to her throat.

“I didn’t think you’d come”.

Her subconsciousness took on a life of its own.

“Is this okay?”

He opened the door wide.

“Of course. Come in.”

She did.

It was a suite. He had money. Or someone did and was paying for it.

“Are you hungry?”

He seemed sincere. She didn’t have a concrete reason not to trust him. If there was doubt it was her, not him.

She dropped her bag on the loveseat and turned to face him.

He smiled.

She was disarmed.

“I’m good. Unless you were going to order food…”

He sat down on the loveseat.

“Nah, I’m good. I was hoping you’d come.”

There was a desk with a chair toward the back of the room.

“Remember what we talked about?”

She walked over to the desk and moved the chair backwards and sat down.

“Yes. It’s interesting. I’ve never thought about that before.”

She gripped the middle of the chair with her hands and widened her legs.

“What do you think?” she asked

“It’s up to you.” he said

She got up and stood in front of him.

He turned to face her.

“Put your hands back.”

He extended his hands on the back of the loveseat, palms out.

She took her shirt off to reveal a black lace bra.

“I can’t have sex with you. But I think I can pleasure you.”

She unbuttoned her jeans.

“Remember what I said. I can leave my body at anytime.”

“I remember.”

He was relaxed as she slipped out of her jeans.



Sensual vs Sexual: a narrative story Part 1

She took her time walking through midtown. It was already 1:30 AM. The last train had left the station at 1:15.

She’d been working at the club.

She’d made a connection with a customer and gotten lost in his eyes.

Normally she’d give herself a good amount of time to transform into her everyday self.

No makeup, jeans, t shirt.

This time, she didn’t.

She felt the two versions of herself as one. She’d leave as her hyper sexual alter ego.

The one that turned her back on the customers and danced provocatively for herself.

There was a mirrored wall on the back of the stage.

She’d never found herself more beautiful. Or sensual.

She’d move her hips to the music. Run her hands up and down her torso, and when the time was right, unclasp her bra.

At that point, she’d turn around and let the men admire her.

She loved it.

That was huge since she hadn’t ever had consensual sex without a debilitating flashback that rendered her a small terrified child.

Just when it was getting good.

She got to grand central and considered sitting on the ground outside the main entrance till the trains started running at 5:30. She’d done it before.

It was cold. She wasn’t completely prepared for it.

She reached into her coat pocket and found a slip of paper.

Hyatt Grand Central Rm 206.

She remembered his eyes.

Kind. Deep.

“If you want, come and see me. We’ll talk.”

That’s what he’d said at the end of the lap dance she’d given him.

They’d talked for a good hour at the bar before that.

More than what she should’ve according to her employer and bartenders.

There was just something about him.

Like he saw her.

Really saw her.

She made a decision….

Part 2 coming soon…

Hot Flash

As a woman I’ve often heard about hot flashes.

These are things that happen to older women and they’re often met with an eye roll.

Like they’re not really happening and should just be shrugged off.

I admit, as a young woman, whenever an older woman complained about a hot flash, I thought she was over exaggerating.

This is the product of women diminished.

Especially women over 40.

I, 46, have been experiencing hot flashes lately.

They’re nothing like I thought. It’s physical not mental. Guess what, I can think and function during a hot flash. I can even make informed decisions.

You’re hot if you’re in a full tuxedo in July, in New York, upstate, in a tent, for so many hours.

The heat is from the outside in. It can be changed by the temperature changing.

A hot flash, is opposite.

It’s like your bones are radiators and the heat is coming from within. I’ve never been so uncomfortable.

I just hope,going forward that my co workers are sensitive to this.

Not that I was ever sensitive to the ones before me.

It’s just not a thing, but I hope it can be.

At the moment,anyone that thinks it’s not, will have to deal with my very reasonable wrath.

Just trying to live my best life. Just trying.

Seriously, I’m sorry for all the women that came before me, going through menopause and I didn’t understand.

Give yourself a gift and recognize a gift

Radio City Christmas Tree, brighter than I remember.

Everyday I judge myself for the things I haven’t done.

I don’t have kids.

I don’t own a business.

I haven’t changed the world as a whole.

What if, helping an older lady up the stairs on the subway platform was enough.

What if deciding to be positive today was enough.

What if saying, excuse me,when I bump into someone was enough.

That would be in fact enough.

It’s the little things accumulated that turn into enough.

My day is lifted by politeness.

By holiday lights.

By a smize behind the mask.

By people wearing masks.

I went into Manhattan today on Christmas Eve and I was uplifted by how many people gave me the respect of wearing masks and bumping into me and saying excuse me.

That doesn’t always happen.

Happy holidays!!

Another man’s trash: Why You should mindful of want you say

We don’t all understand what the other has been through. What they’ve experienced throughout their lives.

What upsets one may not upset the other.

What is wonderful to one is triggering to another.

Let’s talk about the word “triggering.“

Some may think it means to gently annoy.

Or to make someone roll their eyes or upset to the point of rolling their eyes.

Not true.

It’s actually a professional term.

It means to evoke strong feelings that overtake.

If you are someone with an anxiety disorder, it stops you in your tracks.

If you are someone who has PTSD, it stops you in a different way.

You hear the trigger. It could be anything that reminds you.

You shut down slowly by coasting over any feeling.

But you are slowing down. You are slowly dissociating.

By slowly, I mean minutes, hours or days.

You are moving away from the present to oblivion.

Oblivion turns out to be a place you’ve been before.

When you were helpless.

When no one would hear you.

But you’re not there yet.

You have to work in the meantime.

Excellence is expected.

But you’re off.

You’re in the past but you’re also in the present.

It’s an impossible situation and you’re set up to fail.

Like you felt you failed in the past, no matter how old you were, and any criticism cuts like a knife.

Because you’re a failure.

It’s a headspace that you’re physically unable to release yourself from.

This is different from direct re trauma.

Like, your trauma stems from a civilian explosion in your house, you hear a loud noise in the distance, and you instinctively put your head between your knees.

Conversely, This is pervasive.

It can start with an idea.

It’s a real thing and it’s devastating.

It’s also basically invisible to the naked eye of anyone not experiencing these things.

Therefore it doesn’t really exist to most.

This makes it so much worse for the experiencer.

I appreciate those who talk openly about mental health.

About things that most would like to ignore.

Because no one wants to be vulnerable.

And for some, vulnerability has devastating consequences.


Hello menopause, we’ve been waiting for you. Here’s where my mind goes in this process.

46, looking down the barrel of 47

Getting older is hard. Especially for a woman. Appearance wise I mean.

As women,our worth is often tied to how desirable we are to men.

Perky breasts, bright eyes, supple skin.

All of that is maintained by hormones. Hormones that rely on you bleeding every month. Hormones that rely on you being of child bearing capability.

That’s what’s really attractive isn’t it?

That you can have children.

Often mistaken for “looking good”. Often mistaken historically for “a woman’s purpose.”

If that were true, anyone with the wrong chromosome, would be obsolete at age 40.

As a result, women over age 40 are seen as obsolete. That’s what my experience tells me. I’m 46, looking down the barrel of 47.

History is to blame.

You see, the importance of hunting,because it’s in your face and immediate, has stood the test of time.

Childbirth, taking time, 9 months to be exact, is a slow burn and less noticeable than something that’s immediate.

Therefore, men seem to be more impressive than women. More important.

The day to day things that keep us going are not as impressive.

I think of peacocks. The males have this flashy plumage to attract females.

But, in human culture, females are the ones with the plumage. Artificial of course, so can’t really hold any respect or power. makeup, push up bra’s, high heels….ect.

I wonder who decided this was a thing? probably a very loud voice.

Males are better and more respectable than females.

Could it be competition? Females can do something males can never do? Bear a child? Notice details?

Could it be the ideas of a loud group somewhere in time? IE, the Bible?

Perception is everything. An entire industry was built on that. Marketing.

I think the press on females has definitely improved, but I see the difference every time I venture out into the world.

Every time I work.

I’m a manager, but if there’s a male who’s also a manager, eyes and confidence go immediately to him. People are different in front of him.

I have to instill confidence to the point of annoyance. Some might roll their eyes.


I know I’m capable. I know I won’t have a child. But I can be instrumental. Even if it’s not recognized.

The Phoenix from the flames

We’ve all been through hell.

We’ve all thought about what we want.

What we need.

What we’re willing to accept for a paycheck.

We’ve been there. We’ve been absolute in our findings.

We’ve re entered society.

We’ve found our approach different.

We’ve tried to adhere to our knew findings.

It’s worked to a point.

Work is work.

Capitalism is capitalism.

I tried.

I tried to look after myself spiritually but then reality grabbed me by the neck.

I need to pay rent. I need money to survive.

I need to bend my beliefs to survive.

I forgot.

It’s been so long that I forgot.

I forgot my beliefs could be blended.

I forgot my beliefs could change based on what I need. Right now.

I forgot how dire my situation was.

If I don’t earn a paycheck this week, I’m fucked.

During the pandemic, I learned so much about what I need. So much about what I want.

I could be so happy but then reality set in.

I need to remember what I need. What I want.

Then, I’m back to square one.

Cat Zoom Call: Overlooked for a job


Sammy is upset but playing it cool, and calling Belle.


Hey Sammy. I got your text. What’s the 911?

I’ve thrown myself into this pillow. I’m so upset!!


I’m listening…


I threw myself on a different pillow because I was just grossly overlooked!


Go on.


Well, my male human, the one that hasn’t been home, is apparently opening a bar. Clearly he needs a capable mouser! He hasn’t asked me once to take the position!


Wow. Just wow.


I mean, he knows I’m from the streets! I pulled a mouse carcass from a hole in his first apartment and dropped it at his feet! He was like “what’s that smell?” It’s a fucking dead mouse bitch! Here it is!


Humans can be so ungrateful.


Yes. They can. It took a while to dig that carcass out. It wasn’t a confirmed kill but an excavation which actually is harder!


You’re perfect for the mouser position. Who knows what his problem is. I certainly DID NOT send my resume to him.


Wait. What?


I mean, I definitely didn’t send a PDF file of my confirmed kills to him…or anyone! I got your back girl!


A PD-what?


Nothing! Absolutely nothing!


Anyway, thanks for listening. He came home after so many nights like he was so stressed out and it pissed me off. I know from Harry who grew up in a bar that there are mice. And they need to be taken care of. Just thought that job was mine cause we have history you know?


Yes, yes, of course. You see I’m not emailing a PDF of my resume, just sitting on a magazine. Keep me posted.

NYC, Determined to make your out of borough commute a nightmare Pt. 2

25 minutes later, we got in our Uber and inched downtown on 5th Avenue towards Union square.

We caught every light, and almost collided with a speeding car when the driver ran a red light.

It would’ve gone right through us if our driver didn’t have that automatic break feature.

We cared for about two minutes.

It was nice to see all the high end department stores lit up with mannequins dripping in jewels and couture right off the runway.

We got to our destination, said goodnight, and I headed down to the Q train.

3 minutes later, the train came. Unheard of for early AM Sunday morning.

Everything’s coming up roses!

“This train…..on the bridge…..not Brighton beach.”

I did what every New Yorker does when there’s an announcement in the subway.

I looked around to see if anyone looked like they understood what the fuck it was he was mumbling about.

One short spikey haired bleach blonde woman did.

We all looked at her. She did her job.

“It’s going across the bridge but it’s not going on the Q line.”

“What the fuck!”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Of course!”

We all went into New York City underground crisis mode.

We were no longer strangers. We were now a squadron. Car 63, Stillwell avenue bound Q.

“Is it going to Atlantic Barclays!?” A guy asked our leader.

“It has too. It’s probably switching to the R, but the R stops there.”

She was good. Much better than me scaring the shit out of my Jersey bound co worker.

“…..water on the tracks….. not Dekalb…”

“He said there’s water on the tracks, so we’re skipping Dekalb Avenue.”

The squadron commiserated.

“Awwww, is thewe watew on the twacks!?”

“Fucking BULLSHIT!”

“This shit wouldn’t happen in Manhattan!”

This ride was turning into a shit show but actually kind of nice now that we had all United.

We got to Atlantic Barclays and broke formation.

I stayed behind hoping it was a mistake and the conductor would say he was kidding and the next stop would be mine.

I stepped out to see what was going on on the platform.

There was a pre pandemic rush hour amount of people, looking around, disoriented, some had formed there own squads, studying subway maps and looking things up on there phones.

I found the only remainder of mine, maskless but I didn’t care, I just wanted to go home.

“They’re saying the Q is on another track!”

I looked around and realized we were in fact on the R track, and the Q was across the terminal.

I pointed him toward the stairs and we made our way there with countless others.

About 7 minutes later, we got to the Q platform. There was an announcement.

“The Q train is running on the D line due to water on the tracks”

I couldn’t take it anymore so I walked toward the Long Island Railroad platform/Exit.

Now, 2AM, I climbed three staircases, alone.

I got to the deserted Long Island railroad platform . Deserted except for the man passed out on the floor.

I moved quickly past him, sure he would wake up any second and push me onto the track.

He didn’t and I followed the many exit signs until I finally came across the actual exit.

That was about 5 or 10 minutes of sheer panic.

When I got outside it was of course raining.

I couldn’t make out any street signs. Unlike Manhattan, Brooklyn is not a grid. It’s many short or colliding streets. This one becomes that with no warning.

I called an Uber. $44.00, normally $17.00 or less, but fuck it!

My GPS said I was on Felix and Hanson. Never heard of them. Had no idea what was up or down.

I had no idea if my GPS was correct.

My Uber was 5 minutes away. The wind was picking up, so was the rain.

I got a message that he had arrived. Where? No idea. They’ll only wait a few minutes if that.

My phone was at 33%. Hopefully enough to call him.

“Hi, where are you?”

“Atlantic Terminal.”

I looked across the street. Atlantic Terminal. I looked down the street. Atlantic Terminal. I looked up the street. Atlantic Terminal Barclays Center.

“I’m in front of, Buffalo Bills Wild Wings and Men’s warehouse?”

“Ummm.. I’m at Atlantic Terminal.”

I heard horns honking. He must’ve been blocking traffic.

“Do you hear me honking?”

“I hear it through my phone.”

I moved toward Atlantic Barclays and stopped in front of Citibank and Chucky Cheese.

“I’m at Citibank and Chucky Cheese.”

“Citibank? I’m at Citibank. Do you see me?”

I looked around, nothing.

“Oh God! There’s multiple Citibank’s!”

“Atlantic Barclays?”

“Yes! YES! I’m going toward Atlantic Barclays!”

I was actually running toward it.

“Do you see me? I’m flashing the lights.”

I saw him! I started flailing my arms.

“Do you see me? I’m waving! I’m by a big truck!”

“I see.”

“Thank you! Thank you!!!”

I got in and on we went, deeper into sheets and sheets of rain water, multiple flashing lights, and cop cars blocking the entrance to the Verrazano bridge to Staten Island.

I thought of the woman at 96th in her $200 Uber only to find the best way home for was blocked.

30 minutes later of a normally 10 minute ride, I made it home.


And I’m never leaving again!

%d bloggers like this: