billfriday.com

fictionary… 8 megapixel artist… bloody awful poet.

Archive for the tag “sex”

Open My Mouth

open my mouth PNG

“Open my mouth with yours”,

he whispered,

before her lips parted,

and she slid her soul inside him.

“I have a dirty mouth”,

she whispered in return.

“Then there will always be truth in your kisses”,

he answered.

Before the distance between them was no more.

 

Worlds colliding. 

Stars born then dying. 

Lights fading. 

Fears abating.

Hunger raging.

Salivating.

Lives in need,

Culminating.

Insanity dissipating.

No more anticipating.

Each the other’s cure.       

 

“Open my mouth with yours”,

she whispered,

before their lips parted,

and their souls were at home inside each other. 

“You have a dirty mouth”,

he whispered in return. 

“Then there will always be truth in my kisses”,

she answered. 

Before the distance between them was no more.

 

© 2017 William S. Friday

Love You

modern times TWO WALKING png

It’s not about who you want to love.  Love is very much like lust in that way.  If you could fuck a hundred, you could love a hundred.  And if a hundred fucks, or a hundred loves, there must be a hundred reasons to love the one of them who could love you.

Will she keep you honest when you’re having that asshole moment, when you don’t yet know how stupid you are in those thirty seconds between your idiot words and when you speak the words that tell her you’re sorry?  And for those thirty seconds, will she still keep her hand on your cock, and look you straight in the eyes, waiting, because her love for you will not wane, even when it hurts her soul?  And more important than that, will she tell you, right then, in that moment?  Because you’re a fool sometimes, and you don’t want her to just get over it, you want her to share her disappointment or sadness or grief, even if, especially if, you are the one who caused it.  Because that’s the only way you will learn how to love. 

Because only the insanity should be temporary.

It’s not about who you want to love.  It’s about who wants to love you.  And if a hundred fucks, or one.  A hundred loves, or one.  A hundred reasons, or one.  

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Baby Face Chinaski

baby fade chinaski

I don’t have time for your shit,

you post-pubescent misanthrope. 

Once upon a time,

when your ironic alter-ego roamed the streets,

and haunted the bars of dirty L.A.

like a piss-stained ghost,

you were yet a regret in your

bitch of a mother’s misbegotten womb. 

Although I don’t think I blame her

for how you turned out,

given how you beg for the teat

in every Facebook post of yours

I have ever read. 

Maybe I’ll listen to you

when you can grow a mustache

thicker than a row of pubes. 

Until then,

I will simply shake my head,

and comment less and less,

because the only two things you are listening to

in these last days of your misspent youth

are your own mewling laments of growing up too fast,

and the hollow sympathies of girls your own age,

who would sooner court the clap

than give you what you think will make it all better

for just one night,

before the sun rises in your sunken child-eyes,

and you post online once more.         

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Apt Title

men without women FINISHED png

There is a new book.

I haven’t read it yet, but I’m sure I’ll get around to it, eventually.  I get around to everything, eventually.  It’s a book about men, choosing to live their lives without the company of women.  Yes…straight men, dumbass.  I hear it’s a very good book, as are all the author’s other books.  I even have one of his books lying on my couch, still waiting to be finished, right where I left off reading it almost two years ago.  That was the last time I…

Anyway, I hear the book is about a growing number of men in the world who would rather do without the company of women, than risk the possibility of disappointment, hurt, or sadness that eventually comes with coupling.  For all the good a good woman can bring to a man, there is always the looming probability that with the good comes an even worse bad.  And so, after years of experiencing more bad than good, these men just say no to it all.

I understand completely.

Think of it this way.

When you’re a young man, after a fairly ordinary childhood and adolescence, and an even less remarkable bunch of teen years, you, with little to no experience in life, accept what you, at the time, believe is a most remarkable job.  In your mind, you think it’s the best job you will ever have.  You also believe that you need to sign onto this job just as quick as you can, because you are convinced by the smiling person who wants to hire you, that you will never find another job like this job, anywhere, ever again.  So you snap up that job, reminding yourself every day just how lucky you are to have it.  And while you don’t have much experience with other jobs in your young life, you believe this job will only get better through the years, because, more than any other job in the whole wide world, this job is a keeper.

So, over the course of several decades, with a few random highs mixed in with a seemingly endless stream of lows, you work hard at the job, mostly because, you remind yourself daily, that you committed yourself to the job, come hell or high water, to the end.  Never mind that no one told you going in that the job you thought was your job for life was a job scrubbing toilets and mopping bathroom floors sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, with no opportunity for promotions or raises, or even one day, retirement.  All of that must have been in the fine print somewhere at the bottom of the last page of the contract you signed all those years ago.

Now I know what you’re thinking.  What kind of a job does this to someone?  And what kind of loyalty to such a shitty job could anyone possibly have in a world where there must be better jobs than this?   And if you weren’t thinking that, because you’re a smart reader,  because you were paying attention, and you remember the introduction to what you started reading about 500 or so words ago, you know that this little allegory was not about a job, but about a relationship.  A relationship that conditioned you for all your future jobs… I mean relationships… wherein you would repeat the same patterns and habits you learned the first time around.

Lather, relation, repeat.

Until one day, you tell yourself that it would be better to go without than to repeat the same mistakes and sorrows, again and again, until death you depart this life.

And so you quit trying, because quitting is less painful than losing.

What?  You thought this post would have a happy ending?  And I thought you were paying attention.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

The Unemployment Compensation

lotus position

When I was twelve years old, I found a worn, black paperback book in my dad’s sock drawer.  Yes, THAT kind of book.  And being twelve years old, a lot of it didn’t make sense at the time. 

But, eventually it did.

That’s the way of it with most things we aren’t ready for yet.  We try to understand it the best we can, but until it’s actually our time, no amount of pre-adolescent want to is going to help move that sort of understanding along any faster than the universe deems fit.

However, in all my hindsight is 20/20 understanding of that paperback book, there were a few phrases my twelve-year-old self remembered better than others.  One of those was a sub-chapter called, “The Unemployment Compensation”.  Without going into much detail from the book, The Unemployment Compensation was the name given to one particularly unhurried tantric posture, best utilized by those who had nowhere to be, and were in even less of a hurry to get there.  In other words, if all you have is time, you might as well spend that time doing something you love.

Well, I’m not twelve years old anymore.  And a lot of things, in that book… and out… are a been there, done that proposition.  But some things that once held only a single meaning can, when the time of understanding is right, take on a whole new meaning when it’s your time to understand. 

Case in point, The Unemployment Compensation.

Four weeks from today I will, voluntarily, join the ranks of the unemployed.  And while the idea of leisurely tantric activities can still make me react like a precocious twelve year old boy, the idea of suddenly having the time…the precious time… to occupy myself in the free pursuit of something I love is even more exciting.

Over the last couple of years, I’ve written two books, while working an average of 60 to 70 hours a week.  Four weeks from today, I get 70 hours a week back in my life to do something I love.

And just so you know, like with all really good things, I’m taking a risk with this one.  I have no new job lined up, no golden parachute retirement package, no Sugar Mama.  I barely have any plans at all.  I guess what I’m doing, in the truest spirit of the phrase is, trusting the knowing universe for the compensation.  This doesn’t make me brilliant, and it doesn’t make me some brave pioneer.  What it makes me is a scared shitless creative, hoping that the compensation is worth the adventure.

And a lot of it still doesn’t make sense.

But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to share that adventure with everyone.

So keep reading.  I’ll keep writing.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Absolution

graveyard png

She said…

Baby,

I wanna make you feel all better.

Be absolution for the blame.

 

I said…

I appreciate that,

lover.

But I no longer play the game. 

I won’t give myself that freely now,

or ever be the same. 

I don’t let my guard down,

because you haven’t earned my pain. 

And there is no absolution

for the blame.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Echoes

Happy Birthday

happy-birthday-jpg

Happy Birthday,

Baby! 

I thought of you,

today. 

I surprised myself,

because I even got the date right. 

I pictured you having a good time,

then,

I pictured you

fucking some guy

I will never know the name of. 

Finally,

I thought,

you deserve it.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

One of These Things

photo credit uvalaw.typepad.com

photo credit uvalaw.typepad.com

Johnny Cash covers

will never be better than

covers sung by Johnny Cash.

 

A home run watched

from the fifth deck at Dodger Stadium

will always be better than

listening to Charley Steiner

call a home run

on my car radio

no offense Charley

you’re not Vin Scully.

 

Sex without love

makes you common

love without sex

makes you a fool

sex and love together

makes you a porn star.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2014 Bill Friday

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: