Rose Red, Snow White

-Memories-

As we pulled up to the recently finished garage, memories of moments past flickered. Kassidy’s halfhearted faith in my DIY endeavors to build the added garage. My time to come out to work on it. The time with Zion playing as I labored away, Kassidy gently rocking to the playful sound of his laughter while on the porch listening to whatever the radio could pick up. The family gathered around a campfire by the lake as we set entertaining Zion’s imagination with our rendition of classic fairy tales. The time away from our parental responsibility to selfishly feed into one another’s starved sex. “Nostalgia at its finest,” I thought to myself, placing the car in park and cutting the engine. Back when it was all so simple, so sweet, before we had to “find” the time for one another. Before… Before I… I… I looked over at Kassidy as she was wrapping up the conversation with her parents. A staggering pain came creeping. I could hear Kassidy cut her mom in mid-conversation to ask if I was okay,

  “Yea, Baby, I’m fine. Just a sudden migraine.” I assured her.

“You sure?” The pain must have been affecting my vision because I was sure there was a small crack where the good doctor worked his magic. I closed my eyes to see if I could reset what I was seeing.

“Yea, long drive and thin air, I just need to stretch out.”  stepping out of the car, I could hear Kassidy rumbling in her purse. “Hold on, Mom,” I could hear the slight rattle of the pills in the bottle as she reached for them. “Babe, I’m fine,”

“Mhm, and you’re better after you take these.” Kassidy leaned over, handing me four ibuprofen. Unenthusiastic, I took the pills while grabbing the water I had left in my bottle. I tossed the pills back and chased them with the remaining water. I waited a few minutes before moving, and sure enough, the pain faded while Kassidy returned to the conversation with her mom. Knowing these two, it was going to take a little minute, and there was plenty of stuff that needed unloading. 

The cabin door closed with a heavy click behind me. Sitting the last of the lugged at my feet just out of the way of the steps. Looking around the living room’s rustic decor, I thought the cabin always looked so different in daylight. It just always seems to capture the daylight in just the right way that lights up the whole living room and kitchen. More upsurges of that warm nostalgia blew over me as I looked into the kitchen. The wall that once stood separating the two areas had long been knocked away for an L-shaped kitchen breakfast bar counter, with the counter being a Sugar Maple natural edge top. All I could do was admire the many times I sat Kassidy on top of that counter, drinking that sweet body wine from her fleshy chalice and passionately loving her until we conceived Zion. The countertop matched the inside stone stairs and fireplace. The steps knurled tree-growth stair rails that lead upstairs to the second floor.

  I gave the place a quick inspection, paid to have a cleaning service come out to tidy up the place, and I like to ensure I’m getting my money’s worth. The cleaners came out and had the whole place spick and span, with not a bit of dust in sight. I marveled around at all the fond memories. The paper mâché stars and moon we made the first night here with Zion hung from the ceiling. I smile, coasting down memory lane. The only thing that stained the quaintness of the cabin was the painting that hung over the fireplace. An animal of some kind cleaved in two, I believe this is what those artist types called an “Expression” piece. Kassidy bought it, but due to its terrifying image, I didn’t want it in the house when Zion came around. “Animal mutilation isn’t kid-friendly if you asked me,” I thought aloud. I don’t know what possessed her to buy such a thing without consulting me first, but Kassidy really wanted it, and it was already bought, so what could I do now but let her keep it. We both agree that hanging here, away from young, innocent minds, would be better. Although, honestly, I would have felt a lot better if it were somewhere in the garbage.

Soft hands snaked up my back and then cuffed around my neck.

“Finished talking with the People?”

“Uh huh, so what’s on your mind?” my ears tickled at the lax whisper of her warm breath.

“Memories… Just memories.” I replied, reaching behind with my hands full of her voluptuous ass.

“Feel like making more?” Kassidy asked, licking the sensitive spot behind my ear; my knees would buckle every time without a hitch. I turned, taking hold of her hips, pulling Kassidy into breathing space. No words were needed, just action; our lips braced one another with intense passion.

Kassidy bit my bottom lip while reaching down and stroking my growing member through the constricting denim.

“Tell me, Baby…” With my hand caressing the side of her tender cheek, I stared into her glinting brown eyes. “I love you…” I said, sounding like a starving man. Kassidy just chuckled as she placed a finger on my lips. “No more words…” Kassidy was right. The time for talk was over the moment the front door shut with a heavy click from the world. This was the time for us to make love, fuck, or whatever our sexual desires were. This was for us.

Rose Red, Snow White

“You Don’t Know“

“When a star falls, it becomes a light in the night,
When a star falls, it ignites so bright,
When a star falls, Oh, what a blazing sight,
When a star falls, even the animal’s awe at its delight,
But when a star falls… it is because Death has ferried a life.”

My ringtone for Kass, Alicia Keys, “You Don’t Know My Name,” woke me sometime later. My head felt two sizes too small as I stumbled out of a dreadful dream— or was it a memory? Dragons, Claire… the accident was all I could piece together, bits and fragments blended with a groggy headache.

“It’s your fault….” the wind whispered.

Seized with fear, I shot up from the floor, looking around in confusion. Looking around for Sullivan. I remember him touching my shoulder like Father Knox, then a prick in my neck.

Getting to my feet, I noticed the cabin was dark and colder as I called out to Kass in a loud whisper. I wasn’t sure where “He” was; Sullivan could be anywhere in the shadows or around the corner. The air was stagnant and smelled of damp wood. It took a moment to take in my surroundings. This was not our cabin; Sullivan had brought me to the abandoned witches’ house to do only God knows what. Kassidy was nowhere to be seen or answering my calls, but my cellphone played Kassidy’s ringtone somewhere in the old home. Maybe she got away, calling to find out where her husband was. The boarded-up windows let in just enough moonlight so I could make out the dust-covered furniture. It was quiet outside. “Had the storm passed?” I thought.

Again, Alicia was singing from somewhere in this abandoned place, “But you don’t know my name,” Walking around the home felt like I was in another dream as I followed the song. I should’ve never opened that door. “No feat of Kindness goes unpunished,” Father Knox used to preach, placing his on my shoulder. The way the Father’s hand would rest on my shoulder when giving a lesson was the same when Sullivan injected me with whatever it was to put me out. The pain in my neck, the headache, you didn’t notice those details in dreams, not even nightmares. It felt like Sullivan was somewhere and everywhere in the shadows, an evil hunting me, like Pennywise, the clown. “Round and ’round and ’round we go, will you ever know?”

The cabin was two levels, and the architecture resembled ours, albeit for the more aged furnishings and the still-hanging family photos caked in a film of dust. I wade through the dark, the music leading me to the kitchen’s back door. It was already slightly open,

“I’m sayin’, he don’t even know what he’s doin’ to me
Got me feelin’ all crazy inside
I’m feelin like, “Oww!” (Ooh, ooh, ooh).”

When I opened that door, an entirely made snowman stood with Jasmyne severed arms and head. My cell phone lit up, singing in her hand.

“It feels like, ooh
But you don’t know my name,
And I swear it, baby, it feels like, ooh Ooh, ooh, ooh
But you don’t know my name
‘Round and ’round and ’round we go, will you ever know?” I was overcome with a primal fear. The wind whispered, “It’s your fault….”

I stumbled back in disbelief, tripping over a floorboard that had buckled with time and neglect. I couldn’t even bring myself to scream. Scrambling across the floor and out the open door, I tripped again, not looking where I was going, my gaze unable to leave Jasmyne’s frozen face.

Death isn’t anything new to me, but terrifying nonetheless. Speeding along the wood lines of the lake to our cabin, I reflected on the last time I had laid eyes on Jasmyne’s. It was a year ago after the funeral in the back of the Mustang coupe at a nearby Walgreens parking lot, “What is another sin to a sinner?” I thought back then. She came, I came, and I took her home with only the music playing, no words needed. “IT’S YOUR FAULT!” I could still hear Kassidy’s Father’s broken-hearted screams ringing in my ear during service. His fist collided with my jaw sending me flying back on my ass. Although for a man well into his senior years, Kassidy’s Father still hit like he was in the army.

Eventually, I found my way parked at the parking lot of McDonald’s adjacent to the expressway, where the accident happened. A half-full bottle of warm Hennessy Black tucked between my legs, the smell of fresh sin still lingers, and I lit a blunt to try and ease my mind.

Back to the night, Kass caught me red-handed with another woman, Nevaeh.

Nevaeh was the type of woman to send a video of herself teasing at work using her middle and ring finger so you could see that 14K Rose Gold wedding band. The comment, “Don’t mind the ring,” headlined the next tease with the demon face emoji as she hand-modeled the aftermath like some new-age hand cream. That is if she found you tempting enough to risk her marriage of twenty years. Nevaeh needed more than looks or status to make her step out. I remember her telling me how she flew to the Bahamas on her husband’s dime, citing it as a personal retreat while he toured England overseeing a few restaurants opening. Nevaeh spent a four-day weekend with the Jamaican twins, Ini and Irie, male dancers with dwarfism, not because of their dance moves but because she’s never enjoyed dwarfs before.

When I asked her what it was about me, she told me it was the wild, unique look in my eyes. Tom Bodeck, my director, retried after 15 years of service to the Health Department. Nevaeh soon became my director but was submissive to my needs behind boardroom doors.

I’m still determining how it started at the department, but I’ll never forget how it ended. Blood and Death… somewhere in the distance, fireworks were going off to celebrate Juneteenth. The air was lively and sunny, with a gentle breeze; pillows of grey and white clouds served as shade from the southern sun. The wind carried the collective aroma of grilled delicacies and diverse music, all in celebration of the emancipation of enslaved African Americans.

While others gathered to relish this Juneteenth, I stood in a funeral parlor looking at my six-year-old son, Zion Evan Lawton. Family and friends all show up to support the broken parents.

I stood next to an easel with a portrait of Zion smiling gleefully with remnants of birthday cake on his cheeks. It was the best day of his life. Kassidy was the one who put it all together, and I just made sure to do the grunt work. I chuckled at the memory; Kassidy was a great mother, and selfishly I robbed her of that.

As they came one after another, I was given “My condolence” twenty or more times. “He will be greatly missed,” and the typical “I’m so sorry for your loss.” probably over a dozen. I lost count after a while, but the phrase that tickled me the most was, “God works in mysterious ways.” I damn near wanted to laugh hysterically in their faces. Right, “God’s mysterious ways” to better humanity. Give a mother cancer, “God works in mysterious ways.” A girl hangs herself, “God works in mysterious ways.” A woman out in a bad storm with their six-year-old to find her husband in the house of another woman when he was supposed to have been working late at the office. Emotional hurt, she speeds home and God-willed a homeless woman pushing a shopping cart in the worst storm on record in her way. The woman swerves and crashes into the guardrail. Just “God’s mysterious ways.”

Zion’s hands neatly rested on his tiny chest. He was peacefully lying in a fire engine red coffin in his two-piece suit. I didn’t want to be here at this moment. I tried to breathe fresh air instead of choking on the filtered air of Death and mourning. I wanted to be home with my wife, who couldn’t bear the sight of me, let alone touch me.

When Kass’s Father and mother got to me, He couldn’t bear to look at his grandson in a tiny box, and instead, he stared at the man that caused all this in the eyes. Before I could apologize, Kassidy’s Father’s fist connected with my jaw screaming, “It’s your fault,”

“Honey, don’t… “Kassidy’s mother pulled his shaken fist, but Kassidy’s Father was stern and waited for me to stand back up so he could knock me right back on my ass. Deep down, I wanted to get up and take that beating as often until he found some form of satisfaction, or I was in hell, where I belonged. But it was already taken everything in me to stand there in the first place. “It should be you in a box,” Kassidy’s Father said, being led away.

“He’s right,” I thought, downing the cognac. No parent should have to bury their children because of a mysterious plan or unfaithfulness, and it should’ve been me in that box, not Zion, not my boy. Reaching the glove compartment, I pulled out a Smith & Wesson M&P shield 9-millimeter.

What was that line from that old book “Beyond Good and Evil”? Father Knox gave it to me back when I first got to the academy. “If you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”

Rose Red, Snow White

Prologue

I Love her…

            Frosty stillness suffocates the mountain noise. This moment is calm, honest, and peaceful. The winter storm that extended our romantic getaway had longed passed. The valley now was shrouded in a glistening white silence. Our beautiful snow-clad cabin and the lake reflect the coming morning glow. If it were not for the blood and the bodies, this would have been a soothing setting instead of something out of a horror novel.

“My Charming…” Kassidy would whisperer while falling asleep in one another’s arms after a blissful spell of lovemaking. Reminiscences and reality overlying each other. Moans of pleasure, mixed with the now fading pain of anguish…

     The storm tried to bury secrets, but blood is hard to get out, even in memories. It pulls, calling out for attention, shimmering in the morning light.

            Snow white is stained in a deep seething red. Heated tears fell the length of my face mixing with the blood and dirt. It was the only bit of warmth I could feel. “U-unforgivable…” the word struggles to fall from my lips; a white mist of exhaustion leaves instead.

A blanket of frost had settled perfectly still around me. My cold hands were a filthy mix of red, sweat, and brown. Kassidy, my beautiful darling wife, appears frozen as I look over at her sweet face, now stained in blood. Red, Kassidy moaning while lips suckle her neck.

She was not frozen by the chill whisper of the wind but by time. I wanted to refuse the truth; I encased Kass in a snow globe, but reality had done more than shake; it quaked from prolonged exposure to the harsh weather.

            These lasting thoughts strobed with red and white like filters. White, Kassidy smiled in a heavenly glow while we stood at the altar holding hands, and she said, “I do.” Red, Kassidy, and I in the passion of our love. White, our cabin was the home away from home, rebuilt with wholesome memories giving any husband or father a sense of pride. Red, loud cries in the rain were now turning to icy echoes. White, Zion playing in Queens Lake without a care in the world. In his amazement when we discovered a white rose near the only neighboring building miles from these woods. An abandoned place where Kass would spin tales of witches, good and evil-red, deep thrust, Kassidy’s mouth uncontrollably screams as he buried himself deeper into her. The reality shook me, “I killed him… I killed him; I killed him.”

            Kassidy “Jo” Lawton, My Heart. My Wife. My Queen. Her stare showed no peace or reset as the sticky red fluid pooled in the snow, further soiling its lush, pure beauty.

Sullivan Grey, though unscripted, played his part in all of this. Sullivan’s face was fixated on me with mismatched eyes of brown and blue. Heterochromia is a rare trait for this strange man; if only I saw through those dreadful eyes long ago for what they were, lethargic with self-satisfaction. Sullivan Salazar Grey was the man to disrupt all of this, to shatter our love for his needs, playing games with those lasting words still cracking what I desperately want to preserve.

“What does a liar do when he’s dead?”

What pleasure did he truly experience as the illustrator of this drawn-out novella of love and catastrophe? I gravely wanted to blame him, but it wouldn’t be the actuality, just me running from the truth again, right, Kass? This was long written in scarlet. Finally, we made it to the irrevocable end of it all, the closing curtain.

              When I see her with fading life, I see our son; he inherited Kass’s brown eyes. Reflecting the truth, their silence answered louder than anything they could voice. The if onlys, maybes, and questions are ephemeral concepts now. Yet, I wanted to believe it could have been different. There was a part of me that wanted to have faith in that. The naïve part. The dreamer. “I could give you many excuses, but the truth is, we are victims of our vices.”

            White, Kassidy was lying exhausted but smiling in a hospital bed, holding our sweet boy. Although this was the eventual end, for someone like me, the cold bloody winter backdrop with the cabin in the wood scene is all intended as the closing chapter, right, Claire? This was meant to happen from the moment we lost you; it was inevitable.

            Forgive, never forget… but there are some things you merely cannot forgive nor forget. “You hurt me because I’ve hurt you, but why this?” Here I am, again, asking a question I knew the answer to or at the very least understood that I wrote it all. The Smith & Wesson MP gunmetal felt heavier than ever; no need to check… “Last one.”

            How many times have I held the polymer of that Smith & Wesson M&P? How many hours at the range, practicing proficiently to protect my family, my home? Never did I imagine it would be used like this. Divorce was never a possibility, only death, a sin for a sin.

            Red. I will suffer hell’s penance for the sin of killing the ones I love. A single 9-millimeter round is a final period as the thought crosses my mind.

            Unforgivable. Unforgivable, it was all so damn “UNFORGIVABLE!” The December winds replied with a sudden swarm of snowflake white bees. White. Us. Red. Red. Them. RED. Black. Unforgivable. A hush, as the morning came, the muzzle of the Smith & Wesson flashed a brilliant white as it echoed with a final

“Bang.”

Cozy Christmas Beats 🎄 Lofi Hiphop Mix: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dpgO44UQuRc&t=1s

Rating: 1 out of 5.

Welcome

 

Welcome to Sex with Luna.  Please be advised that this site contains sexually explicit content for the grown and sexy. Also, I would like to mention that not everything here is sexual but a gateway into my mind as I take you down the rabbit hole of my wonderland. If you are still interested please sit back, relax and scroll on through to begin your journey into an erotic world of the sexual venture.

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Issa Snack (Pt. I)

For a while now, we’ve been playing these games with one another. Flirting and sexting, the occasional late-night freak talk of all the things we would do to one another.

All this did for me was manifest an insatiable hunger for you, yes, you. The one that had been the cause of all my erotic fantasies and wettest dreams. I had a craving that couldn’t be filled by ordinary means, and tonight, I wanted to change that. I needed to satisfy this carnal deprivation.

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I called you over for a little Netflix, chill, and a home cooked meal that was carefully prepared by yours truly.

The night went smoothly, the sexual tension was overwhelming. We couldn’t keep our hands or lips off one another. It was finally time to turn all our words into reality. Taking you by your soft hand, I guided you up the stairs into the bathroom. I ran the shower until just about every reflective surface were fogged up.

 

We undressed one another slowly, carefully. As I peeled off each article of clothing, I felt that childish anticipation of Christmas morning. I felt the same excitement of ripping the wrapping off the gifts. We bathed in the sight of each other’s glory. You bit your bottom lip and I damp mines. We moved to the shower and gently cleansed each other in detail, in preparation.

I stood close to you with your back to the shower wall, kissing and licking your neck as the heat of the water rained down on us. My kisses descended lower and lower, making a stop at your fully erect nipples. Taking time with each one in my mouth, teasing them with the soft nibble of my teeth and the swirl of my tongue. Traveling lower, I dropped to my knees, pulling your passion fruit towards my awaiting mouth. You arched your back and moaned when you felt my lips and tongue press on your sweet tasting yoni.  Without hesitation, your legs open wide to the feel of my tongue; you placed one foot on the edge of the tub; opening your universe to me. I inched closer, cradling your hips in my hands so I can dive my face deeper into your tunnel of love.

Part II

Part III

Lunar petal 26 : Déjà vu

I had a dream about you last night,

in a place where time and space could not touch us

I remembered how your smile was so simple and bright,

I’ve tasted those honey suckle lips

deliberately fell deep into the chasm of those eyes

My hands traced the detail of those hips so intimately

I knew you before I even met you,

This must be what they call déjà vu.

 

Prolgue

I Love her…

Soft, white silence suffocates the mountain noise, a moment calm, honest, and seamless. Snow white stained in a deep seething red.

A blanket of ice settled perfectly still around me. My hands crimson with the ink of blood, she was frozen. Not by the icy winter wind but by time. She was forever captured in these last fleeting moments of this tragic stage.

My Heart, my Wife, my Queen, she held a penetrating stare to my gaze as the sticky red fluid pooled into the snow soiling it lush pure beauty.

Standing there fixated on this twisted tragedy was Him. Watching with smugness through those damn beady eyes of black pebble. His face snow pale with a grin made of stones sculpted a crossed its chilly surface. His twig thin arms up in celebration for the condemning of my soul.

He did all of this, from the moment I uncovered his secret and failed to save an innocent, he has played as the author and illustrator of this long drawn out novella of retribution.

Now, this winter stage serves as the climax as the curtains are drawn. As the lights dim a faint whisper could be heard

    I’ll suffer hell’s penance for the sins of killing the one I love.

 

HeartBeat Melody

Can we dance underneath the stars,
Just you and me
With nothing playing but the rhythm of our heartbeats,
It plays my favorite tune as we groove and stride to that sweetheart melody

Let me hold you in the spotlight of the moon,
Just me and you,
Vibing to the perfect volume that resonates so sweetly with the beautiful wilds of the night as I see the wonder of God design in your eyes,
Damn I love that kind of rushing feelings

I just want to chill and vibe,
You and me,
rocking side to side underneath a star-filled sky
With no why’s rhyme or reason,

I miss dancing like that
You and me
Vibing to the beat of that Heartbeat Melody,
I count the moments when we can rewind it back
But I see you’re already onto the next track

Freedoms Fine Print by Amir

Every day I pray for the next generations minds,

I can’t breathe…

A generation of social influencers

Slaves of a new kind,

I can’t breathe…

Let the media tell it

We are lead to believe we are free,

Freedom of speech
Freedom of religion
Freedom of self

I can’t breathe…

But those born with a flesh like mines that’s just an illusion to make us comply,

I can’t breathe…

They bind our hands and rest their knees on our neck then say we are resisting arrest

I can’t breathe…

Open your eyes for these devils do not rest,

Black Mother’s and Father are laying to rest their young,

I can’t breathe…

Black Son’s and Daughters are losing their Mothers and Fathers

Death from natural causes –
Fear,  Hate, and sickness of the mind

I can’t breathe…

Another Son struck down by those sworn to protect and serve for committing the crime E.W.B (Existing While Black)

I can’t breathe…

Facts watered down and sugar-coated,

I can’t breathe…

You see my independence started on the 19th of June 1865, that’s 89 years after the 4th of July,

History is told by the winners, the losers are silenced because the dead don’t speak,

American History but not my ancestor’s story,

28 days out the year to speak on Black culture

400+ years yes, plus years because it’s still thriving,

I can’t breathe…

We take to the streets and parade for Justice and Peace but the cries of the oppressed fall on deaf ears,

So we burn and riot, your buildings can be replaced but Black lives can not

All lives matter some conditions apply, all men are created equal but lady liberty isn’t blind

I can’t breathe…

Take a knee during the national anthem and you holla it’s unamerican,

Take a knee on the neck of black Americans Mr Policeman we can’t breathe, please please let us up we can’t breathe…

Slip knot around the neck get the camera phones out,

We can’t breathe…
We can’t breathe…
I… Can’t breathe…

The Sweetpea — My Screaming Twenties

https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?visual=true&url=https%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F650498348&show_artwork=true&maxwidth=500&maxheight=750&dnt=1

Your lessons in abandonment have finally come into use as I forget each day to water the sweetpea hanging from the tree and watch it crisp beneath the sun’s heat, yellowing like teeth. I wonder if you did this too every time you dug your heels in deep and saw her before me, refusing to […]

via The Sweetpea — My Screaming Twenties