As I thought about the topic for today's blog, I compared all the things I do, my routine, work, housework (few and far between here), and fixing meals, I'm in a rut.
In fact, I began noticing a devastating pattern. Here's an example. My guy comes home at lunch and the first thing out of his mouth, normally after saying hi and how was your morning, is, "show met that sexy body" or "come here and slap a kiss on me" or "wiggle that fine ass at me" or "lift your shirt and let me see your breasts." He's my inspiration in some of my sex scenes come from him, and 99.999% of the time my answer is "I'm busy."
In fact, I get miffed over being distracted. I shut down, glare at him to back off, but he just teases me more, something that doesn't bother me unless I'm cooking or working at the computer.
I've taken a look back at the times he's come up behind me, wrapped his arms around me just for a hug, a kiss, a nibble on my ear while I'm cooking, and I go off on him. (Not get off).
Or he'll back me into a corner and hold me hostage until I acknowledge him, give into his playfulness, and the entire time I'm huffing, not in a good way, and whining about him letting me finish my work.
Wow. I mean I was completely shocked. Don't get me wrong our love life is still great. I'm a very passionate woman. Always have been. It's a good thing my guy is just as hot because some ordinary man who'd rather watch sports than...grind groins wouldn't have been around long. But, I realized, in my mind at least, I schedule him in.
The more I realized I was not the spontaneous, fun loving person everyone thought I was. I became upset. Not so upset that I've done something drastic, like cut my hair short and dye it pink, (my son's suggestion), or ditch my Camry for a two set roadster, (my personal preference) or even put my husband, oh, I mean house up for sale and live out of an RV, (my oldest step-daughter's suggestion).
Now that I know, I really can't be spontaneous. I mean, I'm planning little activities to just be in the moment. So, I'm stuck in a rut until I can stop worrying about this tiny problem and then I'll do something off the wall.
I'll keep you up to date.
So what brought this upheaval in my life along? Jacy. I'm writing a scene where she's trying to let go and be spontaneous. And it's blowing. I mean she's so rigid, thinking if she has just a little fun, she'll be labeled wild, slut, etc. And she's worried Trace is only after a woman who is exactly the opposite of her.
Talk about a reality check.
Here's a scene. It's still a wip.
“He can’t be serious.” Jacy gawped at the text. ‘u me swimin hole snday’. His promise to contact her the next day had been in the form of a text message, asking her to meet him at the cabin. He couldn’t be that lame, could he? She had shot off a ‘no’, adding ‘sign the contract’.
There wasn’t anything she could say or do to deter Trace from pursuing her. Every day for the last week she received some kind of text. ‘hey beautiful how about dinner’, ‘darlin’ talk 2 me’; he’d added, ‘i won’t bite, less u want me 2’, which had Jacy’s nipples turning to hard beads and her pussy growing wet and needy. She’d typed out a reply, other than her standard ‘sign the contract’ before she knew it. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to delete the message. That one she felt it was safer to ignore than to reply.
In all fairness to Trace, other messages he’d asked about her. The sweetest one, ‘tll me bout ur drms, baby’, played through her head for days. Still, she couldn’t cave. Once they got to know one another, he’d find some flaw in her like Dale had and take off without a word.
Jacy knew that had been a fluke, but sometimes her insecurity where men were concerned reared its ugly head.