Some seriously fantatic tits.

My whole life I have loved words. Without them we would be lost inside ourselves. We think in them, we talk in them, we write in them, we ingest them in every which way and they are fantastic enhancers of our lives as humans. I love reading a good book or blog and knowing that only that individual could have strung those words together in that order, and that it is this order that can make me feel a certain way inside my own mind. It keeps us connected to the people we love and connects us with people who may never know us.

So as I go about my day to day life I like to write, about almost anything really. What I’ve found is that I’m pretty good at 3 things. 1 – coming up with an overall concept for a story. 2 – starting a story. 3 – ending a story. What I’m useless at is this – actually putting the 3 of these together. Kind of vital. I only seem to be able to create the beginning of a story, literally a page or 2 at most, and then I’m stumped what to do with it from there. Or, if I have a great overall concept for a story, I automatically start at the end and work my way backwards. Have you ever tried writing backwards? No wonder I’m not getting anywhere.

So what I thought I’d share today (and as you’ll find I tend to start a lot of my sentences with the word ‘so’. Let’s just call this a quirk of my character and not a flaw in my English, I prefer to think of it that way) was what I wrote on the way to work. I enjoy challenging myself in this way, to write of things that would never be within the realms of my own reality. This is the joy I find in writing – living vicariously through the people I find in my own imagination.

I don’t name my work, so for now ‘some seriously fantastic tits’ will do.

If there was one thing Kara Elling had going for her, it’s what my brother so subtly referred to as ‘some seriously fantastic tits’.
You know the kind. The kind that married men take mental pictures of for when their wives turn the lights out at night.
The kind that make little old ladies lift a hand to fan their blushing faces when they bounce by.
The kind that truly seem to be crafted by the hand of the Almighty himself.
Yeah, you know the kind.
And for the last 3 1/2 years those seriously fantastic tits have been all mine. Three Hail Mary’s and an Hallelujah.
So when Kara first brought up the topic of Clint, right before sex with those tits resting casually on my forearm as she traced a forefinger around my self-diagnosed less impressive tits, I couldn’t help but think just how well she knew me. Damn it, of course I was going to listen to her. Well that’s not entirely true – the way her finger was moving around I was mostly likely just going to agree so I could get that pretty little mouth concentrating on other things.

And then I got off the train and needed to concentrate on my feet. Given I write with pen and paper, I’m almost grateful the train was packed and I had to stand with my back against the door to write that. I kind of like where this is going though, at least I feel like I could get another 500 words or so out of it. I’ll see what else I can do with it.