Tommie and June

The timing could not have been more perfect and he could not have been more unaware of how so. She had been feeling that itch the one that builds under her skin and wells up from between her legs. the itch that carries her from her bed late at night to write incomplete, incoherent thoughts down in a blind half slumber. the feeling that makes her eye up every cock on the street and wonder if their wife fucked them last night and if they made them feel like they were the only man on the planet. the feeling that made her look at her children and her husband with a subtle discontent and dislike that disturbed her to the bone.

June was lonley in a world surrounded by friends and PTO's, and 3 car garages. she was lonley because though she had so many friends that loved her and children that needed her and a husband that adored her she was lonley because she could see them all for who they really were. she could tell them things about themselves that they chose to ignore and when they talked to her she heard what they really meant. she could see a huge world that stretched out before her and yet she could not move from here, she could not breathe here and while they all thrived in the falsehoods of there quaint existances she scratched at her skin and clawed at the insides of her head. she needed someone, someone that could understand the need to leave the place you are in, the need that you should be somewhere else, anywhere else. she needed someone to see her.

Thomas Zane, a writer from another world, was a man that lived in the place of yesterdays for her. He was the perfect mad painting that was projected straight out of some storyline of hers. He wrote what he felt from his balls and made no apologies to the people he sucked dry in the process. A man that appeared to live on the edge of experiences that gave him the high to let his fingers fly. But to the people he called family and though there were many that new Zane there were few he called family; to those people he was just Tommie. Zane was a whore for followers looking for any and all to read his written word and have it mean something, have it piss someone off or make them want to cum, it didn't matter as long as they read it and stroked his ego in the end. And so when he came across her timid post, the one that asked in a way that caught his eye "hey there, would love for someone to check out my words" she typed; he did. but it wasn't her words that he checked out it was her pics and her big green eyes that seemed to say a thousand things in them and her long blonde hair, well that is what interested Zane and that is how we got here. Zane's cock and his ego that is what led us to this place the one where two worlds meet and shift to accomadate the rotation of the other.

he could not possibly have known that when he sent that request, clicked on that button that he would be walking through her door, through a door already doused with lighter fluid and only needed him to ignite it.

she read his words first, as she had no idea who this wild eyed dark haired, slim hipped man was, she could feel right where they were written from, as if she had written them herself. She understood his junky need to get it all down and out of his head and scream at the world to "wake the fuck up" before it passes you all by. The drowning choking feeling he probably gets when the words won't come, which is likely not often. The need to stimulate that place that drives the words forth, to stroke it and make love to it always ready to come forth and spew out over the pages and fill the blankness with prose that scream out from behind his eyes. this she could understand and her stomach lept at the thought that at last in the vastness of this place we call home she could find someone that might, just might...see her. June needed him so much more than he could have ever known, so much more than he was ever capable of giving.

She knew then that the fire had been lit and that the pull of that, was more than the need of her babies or the love of her husband. he was her heroin and the junky that had laid sleeping for so many years was awake now and ready.

Their conversations were easy, not that they hadn't been easy with others before him but they t never quite fit the bill, but these were just a bit different they weren't just easy she could feel him, she could see him as he filled the pages of cyber chat and she could walk around inside his head and he in hers. they had known one another for a day, then two, then two weeks, two months and they were old friends, the kind that understood one another on a level that was unspoken. this is how she would keep him interested. there were no shortage of girls lining up and spreading for him, he had danced in there eyes and put on his great twisted writer performance and they would bow and bend over just to have any amount of him inside them. but she, she held his interest, she could write and he, could see where she wrote from. from between her legs, from some pit in her stomach that is never filled and likely never will be. he too could see inside her head and feel her through the sterile light of the computer screen as she stroked the keys and this, this, kept him interested...for now.


the weeks moved on and though there would be days without his attention she could always feel him there through the silence and when they did talk it was for hours, entire days lost in the words of one another. Every pore ached in June's body to touch him to see him and watch the veil that made Zane fall and see Tommie in his eyes. It wasn't until his schedule turned in a queer bit of fate, making there meeting a possibility, a trip to NY was in the future for them both and like the red sun on the horizon the need burned from inside them.


New York loomed in the near distance and as it approached he gave it little thought other than who to hook up with on his stay, and readings of his work that he would have to give at the literary conference that he would have to wear his Thomas Zane suite to. Until night when it was quiet and he lay down in bed and his thoughts as usual, were not quiet and loomed heavily over his bed. the smallest fears crept in and lay in his stomach. what if she did not see the man she cast in her tale, the man that made her write with passion and lust and desire, what if she saw Tommie and not Zane...the two were so much a part of his one now that he could not feel them apart any longer. Would he see disappointment in her eyes, would he see himself staring back, in her round green eyes, she could see him through the protective web of words between them and now to stand naked in the true light of day, what would she see staring back at her?

June's thoughts grew anxious and lay like acid in her stomach the deceit the lies she would have to tell just to get high on him for a day. to come face to face with herself, the self that would have been had she not chosen another, safer, path. Her life here was a contented one, the problem being just that, June didn't do content and while it was something that many, most strived for she did not like that feeling and longed for the thrill of the experiences that Zane embodied and this is why he was dangerous to her. this is why he threatened all she had come to know, everything that she was supposed to want.

she worried not just about what it was that she stood to loose, but more veinly about what if, the woman he met was not at all the picture he had drawn into mind. the image of the blond with hair loosely pulled up and cigarette in hand, leg curled up under her as she typed her sweet words to him. the woman that was less mother and more porn star. but the fact remained that she is a mother and she doesn't type with cigarette in hand she has to leave her home and hide in the corner of the house to light up so not to disrupt the perfect world she has built for her little ones. the fact is that she has had and nursed five babies and held them close to her warm body at night keeping them safe from the shadows in her own mind. her body had a road map of scars to prove it. she did write with her hair pulled up loosely from her neck and her leg tucked in under her and with a blind fury beneath her finger tips that excited him so, but would he still see that? who would meet her there in NY who would she see staring back at her. the gentle, polite, sweet Tommie or Thomas Zane the writer, artist man-child, who wanted to just bend her over and fuck the words right out of her?

the day was cold and and gray as most winter days in NY and NJ are nothing out of the ordinary other than the story book of lies she needed to tell to escape suburbia today. and though every pore in her body screamed with excitement and the fear of loosing it all she made her way through the day without even the slightest of hints at what may be coming for her later in the day. She made peanut butter and jelly and chatted with friends about there woes and cleaned up countless messes and met the needs of everyone around her today, knowing that the little girl that was locked up oh so long ago would be let out to play today.


It was Zane that had nothing to loose no reason to worry, no fear, no life to go up in dust and be lost to the wind, to meet her and see if perhaps he had met his match or maybe just maybe would she really see him, straight through to him to that empty place that longs to be filled...nothing more than curiosity, and perhaps disappointment. Tommie had an idea of what it was she could loose by standing there with him but Zane did not care.

dear diary

we've all got a story to tell some past that bit us in the ass and took a chunk out just enough to leave you who you are now, here, with me.
we all have shadows that go bump in the night and tug at our soul.
but some of us, some of us need to bleed instead of cry and some of us dance with the shadows that linger in the night.
for some the story never ended it never healed over to form a callous so deep that nothing else can get in. it never left your room or kissed you good night with a long deep sigh.
for some of us we can drive down the street and go to work and wear the skin that keeps one foot hold in the here and now for some of us we can get into our fuel efficient sub compacts and play the role and sleep soundly and not need to wake to empty the contents of your brain before it tears through you on its way out.
most of us can move through the day with the shadows at bay
but some, you and i, we dance here in the shadow we get high and sit quietly with them and find it hard to make our way back out to day.