Trepidation and Her Sisters

The oldest daughter, Trepidation, often found herself lingering on the landing between two floors — success was on the ground floor, an attainable and well lived-in space, while failure could be found on the floor above, bearing a lack-luster appearance that was unappealing and without grace. Trepidation's curiosity led her often to the attic, a dark place, which was home to forgotten promises and childhood clutter; kept hidden from judgmental eyes for the daughters' sake. In the corner of that neglected room, sat a trunk filled with memories and potential magic, known only to the girls as their hope chest. Their mother, Discerning, would quietly creep up the stairs to add to the chest when she knew her daughters were done playing with life's moments, and once they had been tucked away, the girls would heal from the wounds those moments had left behind. While Trepidation continued to waffle over ascending the stairs, her sisters, Bold and Daring, mocked their baby sister, Complacency, who seemed to be content to gaze from the picture window on failure's second floor. Curious about her stagnant behavior, all the girls joined Complacency at the window and soon became engulfed in nature's offering with a view that was amazing, and on this, all the young women could agree... but the chest would beckon them to open it soon, and the rest may very well be, written history.

Pearl Necklace

He drove away from his picturesque Nantucket dream and smiled with distinct pleasure as he watched the moon dance across her nubile chest. Her arm was draped across his lap, intimately positioned to signal a hunger that he was prepared to quell, like a geared up captain who had navigated rough seas to his advantage and won the regatta.

As a business owner he answered to no one, and played often, well away from the perimeter of his picket fence.

She was nothing like his wife — who was beautiful but with expectations that had grown stale — instead she had a devoid nature that pleased him, as she wore no ring of despair.

He quickly pulled over and stopped on the deserted beach road when she proclaimed geographic perfection for their midnight romp in the surf.

He was careful to lock the glove compartment that contained the recently purchased pearl necklace and earrings before he got out... after all, it would be his 12th anniversary tomorrow and pearls were the perfect modern gift for what he perceived as the perfectly modern relationship.

Up To No Good in 1984

Barreling down the highway in a black Trans Am, we were hell bent on a frolicking good time tubing down the Bogue Chitto River. My 78 Firebird was sporting a lack luster frown but with the roof panels removed all the girls were ready to ride. Successive live oak and cypress trees flashed across our speedy landscape as the breeze blew their hair those teen dreams all felt like prom queens. Summer days seemed endless when you were floating downstream housed in a rubber cocoon sipping on Natural Light. The scenery was second to none as I was surrounded by bronzed beauties with smooth skin, unblemished by the curse of time; glistening in the sun due to a coating of Tropicana oil that left a coconut scent wafting through the air. Rebel was along for the ride too, barking bubbles... courtesy of Hubba Bubba.

Easter and Pasties

He was dripping doo-wop style complete with a finely placed fedora on this evening of yet another matrimonial occasion with which he could twirl me on his finger and teach me to box step. I was his brown eyed girl with dark tendrils cascading down my shoulders and together we gingerly shimmied through time until the pace quickened and I chose to trade in my petticoats for prom dresses. Years after, self-sufficiency saw me as the black sheep of the family...only not to the man who was now older and wiser, but still with eyes of grey and a heart of gold. We sat soaking in the sun of a lovely spring afternoon among all the plastic and paper carnage that Easter chocolate brings as he in his casual best says. “ So, are you still a Go Go dancer?” With a mouthful full of gumbo I hesitated to reply, and he said, “I thought so, you always had a little bit of wild in you”

Picked to Perfection

He was like kissed by the sun perfection lazily leaning on the car cradling an acoustic guitar while gently holding a pick where I longed to be- between his lips. He was a tamer of freely fornicating fillies and I knew that trouble regularly rested on his knee... but still I wanted to be broken. His demeanor was casual as he switched to strumming flamenco while the mouth that once was occupied by a pick now held a cigarette as plumes of smoke clouded his eyes and gave me a moment to breathe, just breathe. Not long after, I was caught inhaling his sex just as the smoke cleared and now we both knew that I would be a willing participant to his every intentions. The notes were clear and plucked with resonate emotion causing my heart to feel weak and my innermost legs to be wet. As dusk fell into night, for the first time I knew these hormones stewing inside me would be satiated by something other than my own hands.

She Misplaced Her Morals At Bourbon and Iberville

Never did Clare imagine that life's twist and turns would see her holding court scantily clad among the soft blues and pinks of in-house Fred Astaire stage lighting.

Like Cinderella before the ball she was a young rogue girl in cut-off jeans and a haphazard ponytail applying the signature smokey eye with precision, dabbing blush and blotting lips with a bit of wild child grace while the stylist rolled and coiffed her hair to make sure her alter ego was ready for the evening's suitors.

A last look in the mirror as she buckled her patent leather Mary Jane heels and headed downstairs to a bustling crowd of beautiful boys who were caught up in bachelor revelry and impatient men wanting to relive the adolescent effervescence that was deeply sedate in their loins.

Night after night she mixed and mingled with clients whose hands were dressed with pretty cocktails as dancer and guest were cloistered together in a dimly lit room that was heavily soaked with idle chatter; all cleverly designed to make your character questionable and the wallet a bit loose.

They put her on a pedestal... for five minutes at a time, where she shook her ass for senators and pretended to listen to the lonely. Good girls get lost all the time they would say... her soul was outside, left on the street, deluged in regret and in search of a viable savior.

I'll Have What He's Having

She decided she would be Evangeline today, Clare mused to herself, as she pulled the chord in the dimly lit street car to request to get off at stop #27 and head toward the river, just a block and a half away from St. Charles Avenue to La Crêpe Nanou - her favorite romantic bistro, which sat quietly close to the corners of Prytania and Robert Streets.

Once she exited, thoughts ran rampant in her cool and calculating mind as she gingerly strolled and perfected her evening's strategy, intent on using her bag of tricks for all matters involved in that night's seduction of her childhood love that she hoped would save her.

She laid out a mental picture of how the events should transpire: he would be there waiting for her, having pre-ordered cocktails that she would in turn acknowledge with appreciation and a cat-shy glance that teased and whispered, favors will be bestowed in the boudoir after dinner for a pre-requisite to desert.

Casual conversation would then lead them through breadsticks and strawberries swimming in fondue as she planned to affix his glance downwards with the haphazard and continuous crossing and re-crossing of her legs, and when he can take no more, the main course should arrive, and as they devoured the cleverly ordered Moules Mariniéres she hoped of reminding him of a texture he longs to taste.

After the table has been cleared of their pre-feast, she would excuse herself momentarily and disappear as his eyes would follow her every move, and with the gentle but hypnotic sway of her hips, she could lure him into her web; indenturing him to her power and graces thus proving to him that the attention she hoped to draw from the masses would be obsolete as he would then see himself as the lucky suitor whose been picked from a pool of powerful potentials.

The opening of the door to the bistro carried her back to the present, and as she passed through the red velvet drapes that hung across the entrance, it was like a curtain rising on the opening act of a play and when the petite frenchman who played the accordion most nights swayed to the left she instantly recognized the face at the bar... when handed the menu of digestifs and cocktails, she knew that it would be in vain — for she knew without a doubt what he would be having....