rmplimoOh, the new day. I feel her roll in on the first light of day.

I stretch my toes to the end of the bed and my hands to the mirrored headboard. Tight calves and thighs, the concave of my waistline accentuated in the stretch of my body into the light.  I curl to the side and in one leap to the left, my feet anchor to the coldness of the hardwood,  warming quickly to the rag rug on on the floor.

It’s another day. Reinvention is possible? Though I’ve resurrected myself so many times before? Yes.

I open the bag of coffee and stick my nose deep inside and inhale the tobacco smell of the ground kona bean. I scoop out the measured precision of java and set the brew to go.  The lawn is covered with snow. The red cardinal has perched on the line. The sun hits the pane at the same time as I look up into her rays.

It’s another day. The world keeps turning. There are conversations to be had.

Plans to be made.

Lovers to be lost. And found.

And days left to feed my mind and my head and my story line. But no hearts to hold on the horizon. No hands to hold in the dark. No souls to feed the worms of stale regret.

No matter.

The shell of me is more than most will consume in a lifetime. I am strong and capable, broken-sure,  but not like all the rest. I function fine, rise up and cum upon demand. But more critical, I learn and explore, absorb and accept, hold and cherish.

And when I fall, where I land, I know the earth will be forgiving and my mind fed and my heart content.

Heated rows always made her seethe. And learn. And repent, if only for a moment. And then he wisely gathered her up in his strong arms and stroked her hair and kissed her lips and tucked her into his beautiful bed and crawled in beside her to show her his lust did not wane, and her mouth was still his and her choices were still hers to make.  She knew the door remained unlocked, his car running with driver at-ready, and the ticket home to Baton Rouge one way.

#for Reticent Mental Property  


rmpmofgeishacoverLook into my soul?

Such privilege~  I cannot even find her under the layers.

Think you have me figured out and can play my emotion into your hands with soft words and a glass of wine and your touch?

My skin sears your hand with my distaste and castrates upon your entry. Wine, she is an aphrodisiac for my dreams and a smoke jumper on your lustful flame.

Do you know my heart? Does it need tenderness or taking?

Wrong options.  It isn’t waiting for your salve.  It’s on the prowl feeding on the s/he in the alley and toking the smoke of fantasy.  My heart is a pole dancer in the center of the church as much as it is a virgin bride on the eve of an orgy.

She doesn’t wear black or red or white for him.  She wears the grey silk and a smile and diamonds. And sometimes, she smiles the smile of self- mastery and reaches for the toy with the most batteries and cries herself to sleep. 

#for Reticent Mental Property.



Wishing I had the time to sit, to compose, to draft and re-draft.

But today, all time is not mine. And this reminds me, it never is. And to use what I have been given

and what I give,


with care and a little crazy,  to those who appreciate me as I am, see me for who I am.

Do not wish me changed, but wish me inflated, and copied, and set in reserve,

so when I am not there,

I can be pulled off the shelf,

and a piece of me placed nearby,

until my presence effortlessly fills the room

and my laughter finds the ceiling.


Carry on, then.

#for Reticent Mental Property


Same thing, Different day

RMPeyesearsI typed in my password without thinking.  Same as I’ve done a hundred times before.


Access denied

Havenorespect again

Access denied

What is it again? Sheesh.


Access denied


Entre vous, Madame. 


His voice played back in her head. She could hear his drawl and feel his breath on the nape of her neck, “Keep doing the same things, gurl.  Expectin’ different results?” 

#for Reticent Mental Property

Her Friday

RMPvibesToday was supposed to be her Friday.  Arrangements had been made, attire selected, various and sundry items purchased for a bit of added pleasure.  Directions were shared, key location verified and plans to slip inside the door at noon were getting her through this week’s meetings and time in the gym.

“Something’s come up. Next week, darling.”

7am workout and a nice extra hip flex-or stretch from the trainer to realign her back.  Oh mercy.  She did not dare open her eyes when he stood between her legs and pressed her knee with his palm to release the muscles of her lower back. She knew better than to look him in the eye when she shifted her weight to get her hips closer to the edge for a better stretch.  So good. 

Coffee with friends at 9 bells, with the ones who wear pretty underthings, high heels Monday through Thursday, and know how to take it up a notch on the weekends.

10:30 am pedi with no guilt at all for paying that young man with strong hands a big fat tip for the way he rubbed the arches of her feet and cradled her heel in his hand while kneading out the soreness in her left, then her right calf. She pushes away the urge to up the service level and move to the massage table.

12Noon summer rolls with peanut dipping sauce and a little bit of white and the last chapter of Amor Towles’ The Rules of Civility. Wipe a tear, ponder why books and spa appointments and time with friends and lovers must end.

1:22 pm. Jangle of keys and a short walk down the street, up one flight of stairs and she raises her hand to rap twice on the red door of his summer place.  It’s been a few weeks. She cannot remember where his schedule has him this morning.  Philly for a new case with an old client. Ah, yes.  She remembers now.  The week before,  Miami and then gulf side for a bit of a getaway and before that it was the Chicago conference.   She lets herself in,  closes the door and leans the small of her back into the panel, palms flat, fingers outstretched to ground herself to the heavy wood until she hears the lock settle into place. She inhales deeply, one of those that takes the energy she needs deeply inside, almost to the depth he takes, and lets herself want more hours in a day.

Oh, beautiful giver:  take heart,  I believe a text has just come in.  Yes, it’s your Tuesday.  He’s confirming now. 

#for Reticent Mental Property.

Some do

RMPheelspantiesHeels and Panties. Extremely sexy. Do women still wear these?

Good Evening,

I just wanted to assuage your concerns…Yes, some do.

And we look lovely, though you may not always be privy to the reclined pose posted in this ad, we wear this daily, hiding it (sadly) under our day to day wardrobe of responsibility and appropriate attire.

The shoes however, they speak for themselves, and sometimes, require a steady arm when we dare to wear them out of the bedroom and into the melee.


She had the shoes. She had the panties. She had so much more. 

#for Reticent Mental Property.

After the Awards

RMPkatharineRossStepfordWivesSusie: (hug) Just wanted to thank you for letting him do this for us. I mean, you give up a lot of family hours so he can work with these guys and I know how it is.  My husband was in the military. He was in Iraq for over a year.  That was hard with kids at home.

Myra: (hug back) Well,  I don’t “let” him do anything.  He really enjoys this.   He doesn’t need to ask my permission to put time into what is important to him.

Claire:  Ladies, a happy husband is a happy wife.

Myra:  Has nothing else to say,  is thinking.  Suddenly, the urge to run resurfaces. There’s a niggling frustration she’s glossing over,  one she shoves to back of her throat before it becomes a sob.  It’s an old movie- the wives are cleaning beautiful homes while wearing pretty heels,  have lovely waistlines and pretty upturned mouths.  Everyone is so pleasant. And the husbands all so smug.  And the women are so happy… to vacuum.   She looks at the other wives.  She looks at her husband. She is not smiling.

Oh, Myra.  Come to me. 

 #for Reticent Mental Property- Photo credit,  1975; The Stepford Wives.