Don’t Lose Yourself In the Expectation of Others

Don’t Lose Yourself In the Expectation of Others
One of the easiest things in the world is to allow the weight of expectations to leave a permanent imprint on your life. You can want so badly to do right by everyone else that you forget what makes you happy and even worse, maybe you never knew what made you happy in the first place.

For me it’s always been writing, it’s always come so natural to me that I don’t believe I appreciated it like I should have. Over the past couple years money has become the motivation and I will be the first to tell you. Every cliché quote you’ve ever heard about doing something for love vs. doing it for money is true.

When I was writing for love, writing for Facebook likes and blog likes and just wanting people to absorb my words, I could write all night. I could barely sleep because I was so excited just to wake up and put words on this computer screen. Once it became an obligation, once putting words on this computer screen became contracts and deadlines, I wasn’t so anxious to get up and write anymore.

What I had to learn, what I’m still learning is that I have to make time for the passion. I have to close the screens that I’m obligated to and open the screens I need. And if that isn’t a microcosm of life I don’t know what is.

It’s okay to take a break from your obligations and feed your soul.

I plan on doing a lot more of that in the year of 2019.

 

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Finding Motivation Is Key

I haven’t been writing a lot in 2018 on a personal level because I decided to focus more on the business side of writing. Though that wasn’t the only reason. I also felt like I’d run out of things to say. So often as creatives and writers especially you get your motivation from real life, I look at like a battery. The more you charge it, the more powerful it becomes. For me 2018 was a year of growth and learning. Taking in moments as opposed to sharing them.

I’ve become a father and when I tell you it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt, I’m not even sure that does it justice. Just holding him and looking at him and realizing that he’s a part of me is something that changes who you are as a man. Not just your priorities but I’ve never felt love like I feel love when I look at him.

I thought it would gross me out to change diapers or get spit up on but I find myself excited when he takes a poop because I know it means he isn’t constipated or gassy. When he spits up and looks at me and smiles, it’s because I know he got a good burp in or he ate too much and now he’s relieved. I’ll be driving to work and laugh at something he did and it brings joy to my life. Being a father is amazing and he can’t even play outside yet. I can just imagine what it’ll be like when he’s walking and running.

Having my son and living life has given me stories to write about, stories to focus on. Not just when it comes to my blog but when it comes to novels and scripts. Sitting back and watching, listening, ingesting the world around me.

I once saw this meme that said, “Be careful what you say around me, I’m a writer and anything you say or do may be used in a story.”

I have never related to anything so much in my life. 2018 pushed a button inside of me, a button which reminded me that life isn’t as short or long as we think it is. Life is just life. You live in the moment, you live in the day and before you know it, years have went by. What did you do with those years? What did you create? Who did you help? What did you inspire?

I’m sitting in my office writing this on a Saturday morning and before I know it it’ll be February and before I know it, it’ll be August. 2018 will be my last year viewing the world from the sidelines. I’m tired of playing it safe. I want to take risk and try new things. Write new genres and push myself professionally.

Being unhappy or unmotivated for the sake of it isn’t the move anymore. Make this last month of 2018 count.

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Dear Little Black Boy and Girl; You’re Perfect Just the Way You Are

o-BLACK-CHILDREN-facebook Dear Little Black Boy and Girl; You’re Perfect Just the Way You Are
I read this week about a prominent teacher in Chicago telling little black boys they had a greater chance at success in life if they conformed. Cut their hair, have names that are more pronounceable, be more humble. If you do these things you’ll get people to like you more; give you more opportunities. You know what I’ve learned, stop asking people for opportunities and start taking them.

I grew up going to the largest African American school district in the country. North Forest ISD located on the Northeast side of Houston, TX. All my teachers were black, the parents, the students, the coaches. Demez felt like a normal name. It wasn’t until I started applying for colleges that I realized it wasn’t so normal. It wasn’t until my first summer interning for an engineering company and everyone wanted to call me D that I started to notice, “maybe my name is different.”

There isn’t one meeting I walk into or one email I send where someone doesn’t ask how to pronounce my name. Even though we live in a global society where Africans, Asians, Hispanics all have names that aren’t “traditional American.” Though yet and still my name is “unique.”

I learned early on something that has stayed with me every day since. People will look for reasons not to like you, not to give you the job, not to want to be impressed by you. I don’t care if you cut your dreads or change Demez White to D. White. I don’t care if you come to work on time every day and never make a mistake. You can’t conform or blend in enough. The only way they respect you is to be impressive. Is for you to wear your confidence, to know what you’re doing. To be professional and to not back down from ignorance but to face it head on.

The first time I sent my novel to a publisher they told me it was really good. In the next paragraph they told me that if I changed writing name to D. White or David White I could get more of a readership. At that moment I thought, “I’m going to have a son one day and I want to take his little hand and take him to Barnes and Noble or sit him on my lap while we’re online. I want to show him the books his father wrote and I don’t want to have to explain to him why my name isn’t on those books.” Our little black boys and girls are different from how we were but different styles, different lingo, it shouldn’t take away from how amazing they are. If only we nurture them and stop trying to teach them to fall in line.

You can be whoever you want to be. No matter your size, height, color, hair style or financial upbringing. You can get into the college you want to get into no matter your name, no matter your hairstyle, you just have to want to work for it. There are going to be people that look like you and people that look like complete strangers that will tell you otherwise. Don’t listen to them. Let your creativity flourish and let it mold you to be everything I believe you can be.

I thought I was a bright child. I never got in trouble, made great grades. When I was in the 9th grade I remember staying up late watching a Chris Rock stand up special. I’ll never forget what he said in a joke, “If you have a name where people have to double take to ask you how to pronounce it, you’re ghetto. If you call your grandma mama, you’re ghetto. If you can’t call your daddy on the phone because you don’t know his number, you’re ghetto.” I remembered laughing and then I remembered I fell into all three of those categories. I didn’t feel ghetto, I didn’t feel like I didn’t belong but in that moment I felt sad that I didn’t have a regular name. That I didn’t go on summer vacations with my mom and dad.

My name is Demez, I’m the product of an 18 year old mother, no father. I was raised by my grandparents and went to one of the worst high schools in the State of Texas. I failed out of college my first year and almost failed out of Community College. I allowed people to call me D when I first started working because I thought Demez was ghetto. I didn’t have a bank account until I was 21 and my credit was in ruins by the time I was 24. I didn’t remotely get my life together or start being proud of where I came from or who I am until I was almost 30. I tell you this because if I can’t make the mistakes I made and come from where I came from at this age. Then I know you can at 15, 16, 18. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that your name or hairstyle or origins make you less than. Don’t ever believe that you’ve messed up so much, that you can’t come back from that. I promise you; you can.

Demez White

A Life Long Battle With Depression

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Last Night In Paradise

Depression can be a taboo word, a word associated with weakness or uncertainty. I often wonder are my thoughts just in my head or figments of my imagination. In a couple of weeks I’ll be 33 years old and I’ve been fighting depression my entire life. I suppose I used to be ashamed of it and maybe a part of me still is but I always told myself, “As long as you have more good days than bad days, you’ll be okay.”

There haven’t been a lot of good days as of late and that scares me.

My favorite show is the Game of Thrones and one of my favorite characters is Jamie Lannister. There’s a scene where he’s talking to his father and his father says, “You’re going to need all the help you can get. A one handed man with no family and no friends.” Sometimes I feel that way, like I’m a one handed man with no friends and family.

The solitude I feel, the loneliness, the emptiness, I’ve always thought it made me a better writer. The thing is though, what’s the point of being a better writer if the rest of me is in shambles?

It’s 5:00am and here I sit, at this computer, a glass in my hand, the world in slumber waiting for the weekend. It’s 5:00am and I’m worried that I will lose this battle one day.

Believe You’re Worth Everything You Desire

  Comfort. 

Comfort is a great word. When I think of comfort I think of a pair of boxers fresh out the dryer after a hot shower, a cold beer, my couch and a good game. For some comfort is a pint of Blue Bell, thick fuzzy socks and stalking their favorite people on Instagram. Comfort can be an amazing thing but it can also be dangerous to growth, success and passion. 

When you become comfortable at a job or in a relationship it’s human nature to take your foot off the gas. It becomes the most logical thing in the world to believe you are we’re you’re supposed to be. That’s where belief has to come in; the belief that you can soar past your station in life. No one can believe in us like we can believe in us. Like we have to believe in us. 

Social media leads so many into a false sense of accomplishment. I’ve had hundreds or likes on a post or hundreds of shares on a blog and it’s a good feeling knowing people follow you but it no where near compare to the feeling of receiving a check. Of having that belief that if I stop giving away my services for free; that people will still buy into me. If you desire greatness in life there’s no formula that allows you to jump the line. Invest in yourself, put time into your talent, support others and network and just work your tail off! 

At the age of 32 there are days where I feel like I haven’t accomplished a thing. Days where my confidence and aggression and sense of hope feel like they’re fading. Then there are days where I see the horizon. I see the progress. I see the company and writing growing and evolving. Either way on either day I’m never losing the belief that I can get where I want to get. I’m never going to doubt that God has a plan for me and that plan includes any struggles and missteps I might endure. 

In every great man or woman’s life there has come a point where they decided the risk was worth the reward. Some sacrificed steady jobs, some the loves of their lives and some their piece of mind. That’s a decision you’ll have to make on your own. 
Demez F. White 

A Letter to My Father

Dear Father,

A man isn’t a father because he gets a woman pregnant; he isn’t a father because he gives the child his last name. You have to earn the right to be called a father and you never earned that right, to be honest I don’t think you ever wanted it. When I was younger there were nights I would sit up and wonder if I would ever get to know you.

Even as an adult there are times where I imagine us having a beer and talking. Me learning about who you are, what made you the way you are? Maybe developing a friendship to make up for the father son relationship we never had. Then I think about who I am and who you are and I realize I’ve learned so much more by not having you in my life then I ever could by talking to you. Everything you’re not makes me everything I am.

I value my reputation. I work hard and I’m well spoken and dependable because I don’t ever want to be compared to you. When I’m drinking and I’m afraid I might be having one too many I think about you and I stop. When there’s a woman that looks amazing and all I want is her but I know I don’t need her, I stop.

I have 13, 14 brothers and sisters out there that I’ll probably never know because you couldn’t simply introduce us. Not pay child support or take us to the park but just introduce us? How hard would that have been? What type of man couldn’t do that for the children he brought into this world?

Do you know I wreck every relationship I have because I’m not ever sure if I have it in me to be a good father? I worry that I have your DNA inside of me. I worry that I’ll be too much like you and end up ruining some child’s life. I wish this was bullshit but it’s true, I have all these great qualities, all this love to give and every time I get close to someone I fall back because I don’t want to disappoint them like you’ve disappointed me. What if that’s genetic?

I’ll never hate you because you helped my mother give me life but I can never love you. I can never respect you or feel sympathy for you. All I can do is watch you exist, watch you kill yourself slowly. I’m 31 and I’ve never actually had a real conversation with you. I’m 31 and I’ve never been in a room with you while you were sober.

One day I’ll overcome these demons I have. I won’t let the blood of yours that’s in me allow me to be anything like you. I’m educated, I’ve never spent a night in prison, an hour. As I type this I’m at work running construction projects. I’m a published author. There isn’t a child on this earth that can say I’m his or her father because I wouldn’t do that to a child or a woman. I’ll be a great husband and I’m becoming a great man all because of what you taught me not to do. One day I’ll find someone and fall in love and my children will never know you exist. When you die, your legacy will die.

I said earlier I feel nothing for you but the truth is I feel sorry for you because you had an opportunity to be so much more and instead you settled for being nothing.

Sincerely Yours,

Your Son… Demez
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Writing and Morning Motivation….

I wasn’t a coffee drinker, no matter how much cream or sugar I put in it I just couldn’t get with the taste. Her on the other hand, standing at my office door, a blanket wrapped around her naked body. The smoking mug in her hands like it was freezing outside instead of eighty five. This was our ritual, me up before the sun writing. No music playing, blackberry off, just the sounds of my fingertips hitting the keyboard.

“You do know how much I hate waking up to an empty bed right? It’s not like I’m over here every night, you could make an exception once or twice a week.”

I didn’t have to look back to know she wasn’t serious, I could hear the joking in her voice. She walked over and sat the mug on my mousepad. I could smell and feel the heat and moistness from her skin, she must have just gotten out the shower.

Sitting on my lap, she adjusted the blanket so that it was covering both of us. She was cradled in my lap like a child, her legs and thighs falling over my very worn suede swivel chair. Her lips found the nook of my neck and I could smell the coffee beans that were soaked in her tongue.

“You know I’m having a very hard time writing with your tongue on my neck.”

Her body shifted again, this time her chest was facing mine. Her mouth moved down and found my nipple, her hand reached inside my striped pajama bottoms and found the head of my dick. I loved the fact that she wasn’t playful, didn’t giggle or laugh. It was all focus, all lust in her eyes.

“I just started a new position, I don’t have time for these marathons you like to run. I need you to cum rather quickly this morning and if you can do that… I can promise you I’ll swallow every drop after work. Can you do that?”

When she put it inside all typing ceased and it took me a minute to gather myself because the feeling of bliss was the same every damn time.

“I don’t…. ummmmm…. I don’t know if that’s possible because between last night and this morning I doubt I have a drop left.” Gripping her hips, her body sweaty from the shower and the humidity coming from the open window in my office.

“I’m pretty positive we’ll manage to get a drop or two out of you this morning and this evening, he’s a trooper, he’s standing tall now isn’t he and from what I can tall, he’s at full attention.” She leaned in and bit my lip, gave me a mock salute.

I reached around and played with her ass while she started to grind harder. “I’m cumming baby, just stay…. Just….. just…. Cum with me please! Please!”

And like that I could feel the eruption building, the sweat falling from my hairline, the glow on her face. The smell of coffee replaced with the smell of sensuality. She stood up, my babies leaking down her thigh. My pants ruined, my energy sapped, her energy on a thousand.

“Asshole! I’m going to need another shower now. I’ll call you when I make it to work.” She smiled and fast walked out the room, her ass bouncing and my dick wanting to chase her to that shower but I pushed him down and told him to chill.

This was a weekday and morning sex was only good once a day. After that it was call into work sex.

Writers Block…

“What’s the matter with you? You were sitting at this computer when I left for work this morning, you were sitting here when I got home and you were sitting here when I left for my jog. All you have is ten pages? Let me read them?”

Her shirt was soaked and her sweats were hugging her hips and sweaty too but I got up anyway and let her sit down. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been sitting here until she brought it to my attention, my stomach reminded me.

“Are you going to stand over me while I read, go get something to eat. I hear your stomach growling. As a matter of fact, you need to get out this house before you drive yourself crazy. I’ll order from that Thai place down the street, take a drive. Get a bottle of wine, clear you head.”

She was always talking a mile a minute after she came back from jogging but she was right. Writers block wasn’t something I was used to and it came up on me with a vengeance. For whatever reason the first chapters were always the hardest for me, after I got past them it would flow like the Nile.

“Alright, I’ll be back, you want anything else?” She stood up and kissed me, sweaty and all.

“Yes… I want you to cheer up!” She shook my arms and kissed me again.

Running my errands all I could think is, ‘What if it’s gone?’ My mind was my greatest gift, my creativity, my ability to tell a story on the drop of a dime. And whenever I would struggle to get those first couple of chapters down that doubt would start to creep in.

Before she came alone I never shared that doubt with anyone. It was easy to be confident, arrogant, that’s what people like to see. Before she came alone I never let anyone read what I wrote before it was a finished product. Little did I know while I was in the shower or sleeping she would be up reading and critiquing.

It was annoying as hell at first but she wouldn’t back down. “You need a woman’s point of view and I’m going to give you that. Just listen and if people don’t like it. You can always ignore me.” She smiled and I agreed only to shut her up. But when people read the new product they loved it and I loved her.

Coming up the elevator with the food in one hand, the wine in the other my stomach was really growling now. “How long had it been since I’ve eaten?” I asked myself. When I walked thru the door I could see she’d printed out the ten pages and had them spread on the couch with that red pen of hers in her mouth.

No matter how many times I saw it I couldn’t help but laugh at that red pen. Wearing a black Conversations Between Adults t-shirt and her hair in a ponytail she was sitting Indian Style with Adele on in the background.

“What are you laughing about?” I didn’t know how I felt about her laughing, I wasn’t exactly writing a comedy.

“I’m laughing at your female characters. They all sound exactly alike, they all sound like me. I’m flattered but baby, you have to diversify them.” I took out some plates and wine glasses and tried to remember if they sounded like her.

“They don’t all sound like you…”

“Really, they don’t? You change the hair color and try and switch up their appeal but it’s the details you attach to all of them. The music they like, the way they sit or walk, it’s all here and it’s flattering babe but you have to switch it up. Think about old girlfriends or actresses.” She sat the sheets on the table and walked behind me, swiping an egg roll.

“I know you’re crazy about me, after your last couple of dedications the whole world knows.” She bit the back of my neck.

“But you’re writing block comes from you lacking the proper motivation. Go sit at your desk in front of your computer.” It was a loft so it was basically one big open space with the bedroom upstairs.

“We’re going to roll play tonight, as of this moment you’ve never touched, licked or even seen this before. So be your creative self and let me help you get past this hump! But before that, pass me that bottle of wine… ”

Role Play…

“Let me see it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive!”

I could see the look in her eyes, her mouth was damn near watering. I knew she was drunk and probably not in her right frame of mind but I was horny so all of my gentlemanly traits were out the window.

“You do know that once it comes out it just may change your life right?”

“I know that you’re doing a lot of talking right now instead of showing me what’s up!”

I took a step back and started to pull my shirt out my pants, I unbuttoned a couple to get comfortable. She was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, all her clothes on, her right hand inside her skirt.

“Don’t be scared, I won’t bite.”

Watching her hand move inside her t-shirt was like having someone jack me off at 3am. I pulled it out and she gasped, I smiled. I held it in my hand casually, comfortably.

“Is it what you expected?”

She opened her legs wider, her panties came off and she hit me in the face with them. I sniffed them and put them in my pocket without missing a beat with my motion.

“It’s…. “better” than what I expected. But just because you have the tools doesn’t mean you know how to use them!”

She stood up and walked towards me, her heels tapping on the hardwood floors. I could see her juices on her fingers, she put them to my mouth. I licked them, she moved my hand and took control of my dick.

“It’s nice, thick, pretty.”

I closed my eyes, she kissed my neck and started to rub harder! Faster! I gripped her neck.

“Kiss it! Kiss it!”

“You would like that wouldn’t you, you seem to be enjoying this.” Her hand felt amazing, I didn’t want to cum like this, I had no idea how much longer I could hold out.

My thighs were tight, my legs were shaking, I was biting my bottom lip. She was working my stick like it was a Mrs. Pac Man game. I was losing control, I was pass losing control!

“I don’t want to cum like this! I want to cum in you!”

“Say please….”

“Please!”

She stopped jacking me off but didn’t let go of it, she pulled me to the couch and pushed me down. She sat on top of me, all her clothes up minus panties and I felt Heaven in-between those legs.

“You said you want to cum in me, so cum!”

Her riding and motion was something any jockey would be proud of, the squishy sound has me gripping her ass, her hands were around my neck.

“I’m cumming girl! I’m cumming! I think I’m ready to write!”

“I bet you are but we’re not thru just yet…”   

 

 

Candy Canes, Mistletoe and Freaky Things… (Explicit Content)

I walked thru the door and to say I was drunk was an understatement, the plane ride from Chicago was like two and a half hours and I hated flying. The only way I made it with my sanity was to get wasted! I was supposed to be home at like eight but my publisher wanted to take me for a drink once the car picked me up so I went. Didn’t want to be a spoiled author even though it was like two days before Christmas. Now walking inside my home, my tie undone, my luggage leaning against the kitchen wall. I was wondering where the hell my wife was?

She wasn’t in the den, I walked to the upstairs lounge room, she wasn’t in there.

“ERICA! ERICA!”

Where the hell was she, both out cars were in the garage and I talked to her when I got off the plane, she wasn’t the happiest person in the world that I’d went for that drink. I walked to everywhere except where I probably should have started…. The Master Bedroom.

I opened the door and she was standing by the window, a glass of eggnog on the dresser. A candy cane in her mouth; red suede boots, a Santa hat and a red silk robe. I was instantly sober and instantly ready to make my son or daughter, it really didn’t matter. Walking towards her, stumbling slightly, I could tell she was pouting, she was spoiled. It was my fault.

She grabbed my tie and pushed me in the chest.

“I MADE YOU!”

She was loud and obviously drunk but sexy as hell!

“HOW THE FUCK DID YOU MAKE ME?!”

I was loud and drunk, horny as hell!

“BEFORE ME, WHAT WERE YOU WRITING ABOUT?”

I tried to wrap my arms around her but she jumped on top of the bed and started moving her body to the Christmas music, this woman could dance to anything. I swear she was a stripper in a past life.

“I DON’T KNOW, I WAS WRITING ABOUT LIFE, LOVE…”

“WRONG DEMEZ! YOU WERE WRITING ABOUT SHIT NO ONE CARED ABOUT! I BROUGHT PASSION TO YOUR WORDS, EXCITEMENT TO YOUR STORYLINES! I GAVE YOU THE DRAMA YOU WANTED SO DESPERATELY!”

So me cursing her out, hitting her ex in the head with a bottle, having angry sex in the backseat of cars… That motivated my writing?

“SO BECAUSE YOU’RE CONSTANTLY FUCKING WITH MY EMOTIONS AND LYING TO ME, YOU’RE TAKING CREDIT FOR MY BOOK SALES!?”

She just looked at me and unwrapped the candy cane.

“IF YOU WANT TO PUT IT LIKE THAT, YES!”

“THAT’S BULLSHIT AND YOU KNOW IT! MAYBE YOU WERE THE INSPIRATION BEHIND A STORY OR TWO BUT THAT’S WHERE IT ENDS…”

“BOY PLEASE! I DON’T HAVE TO WRITE THE STORY, I PROVIDE THE IDEAS! THAT’S WHY YOU’RE STILL HERE BECAUSE YOU KNOW NO ONE IS GOING TO MOTIVATE YOU THE WAY I DO! NO ONE IS GOING TO PUSH YOU TO THE BRINK THE WAY I DO! YOU’RE NOT LIKE REGULAR GUYS; YOU DON’T SUCCEED WHEN

 YOU’RE HAPPY! YOU DO YOUR BEST WORK WHEN YOU’RE PISSED OR STRESSED OR HURT! I BRING OUT ALL THOSE EMOTIONS IN YOU, UNINTENTIONALLY OF COURSE.

She smiled and stepped off the bed, I could see her nipples poking thru the silk, her thighs peeking thru the small, thin robe.

“I’M NOT GOING TO KEEP HAVING THIS CONVERSATION WITH YOU, KISS ME!”

I wrapped my arms around her again, we were loud! And drunk!

“WHY SHOULD I KISS YOU?! YOU WON’T EVEN GIVE ME CREDIT FOR YOUR SUCCESS.”

“YOU REALLY WANT TO TAKE CREDIT FOR MY SUCCESS, WHAT DO YOU WANT BABY, I PLAQUE?”

“I DON’T NEED ALL THAT, THERE’S NO ONE IN THIS ROOM… BUT ME, YOU AND SANTA. WITH HIM AS OUR WITNESS, I WANT YOU TO SAY I MADE YOU?”

Her lips were inches from my face, her breath smelt like peppermint; my hands were on her ass. It was so soft.

“THAT’S WHAT I NEED TO SAY TO GET A KISS?”

“THAT’S WHAT YOU NEED TO SAY TO GET A KISS…”

“WHAT IF I TOLD YOU I JUST DON’T WANT A KISS THAT BAD?”

 “I WOULD TELL YOU THAT YOU’RE A LIAR BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T STOPPED LOOKING AT ME SINCE YOU GOT HOME!”

She was looking thru me, I couldn’t lie to her, I could never lie to her. I was about to explode but I couldn’t give in that easily.

“OKAY… BETWEEN YOU, ME AND SANTA… YOU HAD A BIG IMPACT ON MY WRITING.”

“THAT’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH PAPI… CHU HAVE TU DO BETTA! IF YOU WANT WHAT’S UNDER THIS MISTLETOE YOU’LL SAY WHAT YOU NEED TO SAY SILLY.”

She spoke fluent Spanish and she would break out the accent whenever she was feeling freaky, kinky.

“BEFORE YOU, I WAS LACKING THE PROPER MOTIVATION. YOU MADE ME A BETTER WRITER, MY BOOK WOULDN’T BE WHAT IT IS IF IT WASN’T FOR YOU.”

I was trying to sweet talk her, my lips were on her ear, my right hand was on her nipple. I knew she could feel me thru my pants.

“OKAY… OKAY… WE’RE GETTING CLOSE, FOR THAT YOU GET A KISS. COME HERE…”

Her tongue almost made me scream, the way it rolled around in my mouth, the way her lips sucked just right. She used her teeth to tease, not to bite. I was weak for this chick.

“NOW, YOU LIKED THAT DIDN’T YOU? YOU WANT MORE BABY?”

“YOU KNOW I DO.”

“WELL SAY IT, “ERICA, YOU MADE ME.”

I couldn’t say it! I couldn’t give her that kind of control over me!

“IS THIS SORT OF DOMINATION THING FOR YOU?”

“I’M DRESSED IN A SANTA HAT, RED SUEDE BOOTS AND A SHEER RED ROBE. MAYBE I’M WEARING PANTIES, MAYBE I’M NOT, YOU WON’T FIND OUT UNTIL YOU TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO HEAR DEMEZ.”

She was raising her robe just enough for me to see her upper thigh, just enough for me to want to put my fingers in. I loved how hot she got, how wet she got. GOD! I missed that so much. I pulled the box out of my pocket, it was a sunflower shaped diamond on a thin platinum chain. It cost me a fortune but she was worth it.

“I GOT YOU SOMETHING.”

Her eyes lit up.

“OH MY GOD! THAT IS BEAUTIFUL! WHERE DID YOU GET IT?!”

“FROM THIS JEWELRY SHOP IN CHICAGO, THEY IMPORT EVERYTHING FROM SPAIN; IT’S A ONE OF A KIND NECKLACE.”

“PUT IT ON! PUT IT ON!”

She turned around, her back was facing me. The back of her neck, her ass, her legs, it took everything in me not to bend her over and take it right then and there!

“I CAN’T DO THAT BABY GIRL, NOT WHILE YOU’RE STILL WEARING THAT ROBE. SO WE HAVE A PROBLEM, I CAN’T TELL YOU YOU MADE ME AND YOU WON’T GIVE ME WHAT I’VE BEEN CRAVING SINCE I GOT OFF THE PLANE BECAUSE I WON’T SAY IT. SO WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?”

“HOW ABOUT I SHOW YOU WHAT SANTA HAS FOR YOU IF YOU DO WHAT I SAY AND BE A GOOD BOY.”

The robe opened and there were no panties, no bra, just skin and music. She had a piece of mistletoe in her robe pocket, she took it out and held it in her hand, over my heaven.

“THAT’S NOT FAIR.”

“WHY ISN’T IT FAIR DEMEZ, NO ONE TOLD YOU TO DO ALL THAT DRINKING ON THE PLANE? NO ONE TOLD YOU TO MARRY SOMEONE THAT COULD GET THIS WET. THAT COULD DO AMAZING THINGS WITH CANDY CANES. DO YOU WANT TO TASTE THIS CANDY CANE HUSBAND? DO YOU WANT TO KISS UNDER THE MISTLETOE?”

She was sticking the candy cane in and out of her, putting it in her mouth and back inside of her. I fell to my knees in the middle of the floor.

“I WANT TO TASTE THAT CANDY CANE, I WANT TO TASTE YOU, I KNEW YOU WEREN’T WEARING PANTIES BY THE WAY.”

“DID YOU REALLY KNOW THAT?”

“I HAD A GOOD FEELING.”

“JUST SAY IT AND YOU CAN HAVE WHATEVER YOU LIKE IN WHATEVER PLACE YOU LIKE. WATCH THE CANDY CANE DEMEZ, THIS COULD BE YOU.”

She was doing amazing things with the candy cane, my mouth was watering.

“THIS NECKLACE COST A SMALL FORTUNE, YOU COULD HAVE IT.”

I held it up like it was a gold medal at the Olympics.

“WE BOTH KNOW I’M GOING TO GET THE NECKLACE ANYWAY AND WE BOTH KNOW YOU’RE GOING TO GET TO PUT YOUR MOUTH HERE ANYWAY. BUT WHAT WE DON’T KNOW IS WHETHER OR NOT THAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN TONIGHT?”

“DO I REALLY NEED TO SAY IT?”

“YOU’VE BEEN ON THIS BOOK TOUR FOR TWO WEEKS, YOU’VE FORCED ME TO TOUCH MYSELF AND PLAY WITH TOYS WHILE YOU WERE AWAY! YOU’VE BEEN FLIRTING WITH THOSE GEEKY BOOK BITCHES AND YOU PROBABLY HAD A DRINK OR TWO WITH THEM. SO YES, IN ORDER TO TASTE HEAVEN, I NEED YOU TO SAY IT TO BABY.”

Her eyes were full of confidence, she knew she had me. I knew she had me. I wanted to be that candy cane so bad.

“YOU’RE ARROGANT, YOU KNOW THAT?”

“BUT YOU LOVE MY WET, SEXY, FINE, ARROGANT ASS!”

“YOU MADE ME ERICA. BEFORE YOU MY LIFE WAS PRETTY BORING, AFTER YOU… I’M COMING HOME TO A WOMAN STICKING A CANDY CANE IN HER VAGINA.”

I said it, fuck it, I sacrificed my self respect to get in-between those legs. Was I weak? Probably…

“THAT’S ALL YOU HAD TO SAY MR. NEW YORK TIMES BEST SELLING AUTHOR… COME HERE!”

 Before her I was a good writer, after her I am a GREAT WRITER!

I took off my jacket, my tie, my shirt, my pants… She laid back on the bed looking at me, smiling at me.

“Come put it in baby, claim what’s yours.”

“What do you want in your stomach, a boy or a girl?”

“Let’s work on a boy tonight, you’ll have to hit it from the back for that baby. At least that’s what I heard.”

She threw her robe on the floor, bent over on our California King, her Santa hat on, the red suede boots on the bed. I licked my fingers, I could taste the peppermint. I placed them inside, she was so warm, so wet. I wanted to taste her but I needed to be inside her, I slid in smooth, she flinched, tightened up. I loved that feeling of first entering, there was nothing like it.

 “Merry Christmas Demez.”