NAUGHTIE SCRIBE

Dichotomy - Installment 01- He's No Lady

2011-08-29T04:12:02Z

Jordaen dodged the second punch and countered with a side chop to the youth's Adam’s apple. With a sharp knee to the groin followed by a swift kick to the center of his chest, Jordaen drove one attacker into another, and watched as both rebounded off the rough concrete wall in a battered heap onto the ground. No time to think, nor hope for assistance from the crowd that gathered behind the gym, Jordaen relieved a hesitant youth of his lead pipe before returning to the embattled Were.

Fights between the races didn't happen anymore, at least not that anyone admitted. Nor, so public. Though the Tepes War ended over a century ago, many pursued old feuds, like a lost love returned home for the weekend. Even the unnerving hour dampened the gasps and laughter of those gathered. As a shared awareness of past atrocities, passed through the DNA, rose with the sun to flood the alley in pink rays of uncertainty.

A quick dash around the industrial sized dumpster, and Jordaen's own anxiety clicked up a notch. Three youths lay unconscious at the Were's feet, another cowered against a rear exit that refused to cooperate. Worse, four stories above an exhausted boy clung to the edge of a gutter, while an angry lycan in mid shift eagerly awaited his fall.

“It's over, wolf. Their beaten. If that boy falls the Council won't go easy on you.”

“You took out three, the smart one ran, and I've dealt with five more. By my count citizen, I'm two over the legal number for justifiable homicide.”

“Damn, if you shift into a lawyer, I really will piss my pants.”

Of course, the wolf was right. In spite of a handful of chuckles, genuine dread filled the wide alley. Everyone knew the magic number for self defense set by the Council was seven. In their eagerness to join in the fun, each boy placed himself at the mercy of their target.

Intent made Jordaen nauseous. Had the young wolf merely stated fact, or declared his rationale for the unspeakable. No way to know, too much at risk.

“When logic speaks, let mercy shout”, Jordaen challenged. “Is that not a cardinal law of the pack?”

“In case you missed it, we have a shortage of law abiding citizens at present.”

“I know of at least one, possibly two.”

“Your aid not withstanding, female. I'm within my rights.”

Out of his mouth came the opportunity Jordaen needed. Time, slim at best, remained on the side of the righteous. “You are only within your rights, if your reason is above reproach.”

“On what basis, ma'am, do you challenge my rationale?”

“On what basis, wolf, do you refer to me as female?”

“A slip of the tongue, citizen. It means nothing.”

Sheer will repressed the smirk that threatened Jordaen's composure. The wolf was trapped and they both knew it. Yet, caution remained the prudent path.

“Ah, twice you've called me citizen, wolf. Why is that?”

“Respect, something few humans value.”

“Does the pack not demand that before a kill your reasoning must be clear?'

“Hmph!”

“Aren't all wolves taught the true path to reasoning is through vigorous development of your senses?”

“You wanna wrap this up?”

“Cool. I'm human, I've fought by your side, and you don't know what I am. If your senses are jacked, your judgment is suspect. You may be on solid ground under Council law, but how sturdy is your footing under Pack's?”

No time for a response. Within a second the young wolf shifted to battle stance, the boy fell three stories, and Jordaen backed slowly through the gym's rear exit. Caution proved the prudent path, as the door closed to the roar of a frustrated young lycan, and the grateful cries of his would be attacker.

My Dad - Roosevelt Washington

2011-07-15T17:25:01Z

Dear Reader:

It is with heavy heart that I announce the passing of my father, Roosevelt Washington. He went quietly this morning (7/15/11), surrounded by loved ones and pastor. I ask only that you continue to keep my family in your prayers.

Sincerely,

Liz Washington
aka
Naughtie Scribe

*********************

Dear Reader:

It's been a while since I last posted. A lot has been going on that has delayed my updating this site. Some reasons are really great, "Naughtie Notions" and "Pay the Piper", my first ebooks will be published in a few months.

Unfortunately, the more poignant delay involves my dad, Roosevelt Washington. To put it bluntly, he's dying of lung cancer.

I've just returned (2:00 a.m.) this morning from a second trip to Bamberg, South Carolina. My sister, brother, mother, and self were advised by his doctors to come see him this weekend, while he was still lucid enough to recognize us.

Over the last few days I've watched my father go from highly aware and active (as much as a bedridden patient can be), to increasing lapses of awareness and bouts of anxiety. I've had to follow behind the ambulance as he was returned to the same hospital that released him to home hospice care, in the hopes that his final moments could be in relative comfort.

At present, my father, Roosevelt Washington is not expected to live to the end of the week. Part of me has accepted what I must, the other part is falling apart.

I ask that you be patient a little longer. I'm working on a new writing schedule that I will post and keep faithfully. I do appreciate your support and constructive comments. I depend on them to help me realize my dream of becoming a full time writer.

Until next we chat, please view and share the below video. It can express more than I'm capable of saying.

Roosevelt Washington & Pastor

New Body, New Me - 9 Month Update

2011-01-26T19:56:00Z

September 2009 - 359lbs

Take me for granted, you're proven unworthy

January 16, 2011 - 234lbs

Take me for stupid, you're proven clueless.

Birth of Strength

2010-11-13T21:59:00Z

Clarity can be painful,
reality a necessity.
When the two collide heartbreak results,
and true strength is born.

Macabre Petite - Homecoming

2010-11-01T05:00:00Z

My baby still loved me. I could see it in her eyes. Even through the tomato bisque and chunks of ham salad I spewed all over the window, she still loved me.

The date lived up to its reputation, Friday the 13th, and everything went wrong. The moving company fired the girl who initially booked our reservation for a 30-foot trailer and a six-man crew. Her temporary replacement, the owner's mother, instead sent two teenage boys with a pickup truck and a utility van. As if that weren't enough, the realtor misplaced the keys and security code to our new home on the opposite coast, and I had to wait four days before she could overnight another set.

My wife and I had argued all morning. When I saw the cruiser pull up in front of our house, I knew one of the neighbors had enough. I never expected to see my Rachel Elaine, “mercy help me”, I hoped never to see her again.

Over a year had passed since I last saw my daughter. In February on Friday the 13^th, her instability first became apparent. While at the dinner table, she confessed to pretend dissections of her little brother as he slept-- with a very real butcher knife. Of course, she was adamant that these were practice runs so she didn't need to open him up, yet. In June of the same year, again on Friday the 13th, Dr. Loomis an expert in child psychology agreed to examine my daughter. After only an hour interview, Dr. Loomis quit her case. He told us she reminded him too much of another patient he treated in Haddonfield. With that, he promptly rushed out the door, and to my knowledge, no one has heard from him again.

10 months later, on the same blasted Friday, my wife and I admitted our daughter to a facility for severely disturbed juveniles. I promised Rachel Elaine that if she were a good girl and did as she was told I'd make sure she'd be home for her ninth birthday. I knew for the sake of my family that I could never keep that promise. Not after the next door neighbor's missing pit bull, and countless cats were found behind a dumpster at the local park. All with jagged cuts made in the same pattern, just a few short feet from the monkey bars, our favorite spot.

Yet in spite of it all, I still loved my daughter and a part of me couldn’t leave her in such a sterile cold place without some hope. I should've known better. Rachel Elaine always managed to get around me when she really wanted something.

Today, bloody Friday the 13th, my daughter found her way home.

********

I stared into the grey mist eyes of my psychotic daughter, felt her overwhelming joy radiate off her petite frame like the sweltering heat from a midsummer sun. My Rachel Elaine sat so proud and straight in the passenger seat of the cruiser. And for a moment, I saw a phantom of the little lady I’d always thought her to be. That’s when I checked out.

Awareness seeped back into me one horrific frame at a time. Much like having watched the first half of a really awful B Movie. No matter how much it sucks, you kinda have to see it through to the end.

First came the soul piercing wail of my youngest child, Bobby. After that fateful dinner, I’d spent many restless nights reassuring him it was okay to sleep again. Then came the smell of gun oil, and a strong reassuring presence that held my head off the ground with roughened hands. My eyes were the last to breach my mental sanctuary. They flew open onto a sunny clear August day, with the promise of family picnics, trips to the beach, and endless chatter over Hollywood’s current slate of special effects. All of it lies. Never again could my family enjoy such ordinary pleasures without looking over our collective shoulders.

Damn consciousness and responsibility, I wanted to stay in la-la land.

“Sir, my name is Officer Matthews. Can you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Robert Edward Patterson.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Outside my home?”

“Can you tell me what today is?”

“Yes, the day my family slipped back into hell.”

“Sir, I believe you may have a concussion.”

“One can only hope.”

After a bit more back and forth, and several assurances I would make an appointment with my doctor, Officer Matthews assisted me to my feet. To my credit I managed to stay upright, and even walked the few steps from the curb to the mailbox at the end of my walkway. The further I got from the cruiser, the more steel returned to my spine. I had a wife and son to care for and protect. Another day, soon perhaps, I’d allow myself to indulge in a complete breakdown. At the moment, the only thing that mattered, was keeping the family I had left safe. Which meant making sure my little girl remained locked away for the rest of her unnatural life.

********

In the time it took me to recount the past nightmarish year for Officer Matthews, my wife had managed to swallow her own fears, calm our son, and hand me a bucket of soapy water with rags. “Clean the car first, then take care of the rest of this mess.”

I turned back toward the cruiser in time to see Officer Matthews placing plastic restraints on Rachel Elaine’s tiny wrists. With the practice of a seasoned lawman, he placed his large hand on top of her head, and aided my daughter into the backseat of his police car.

“What’s happened, Officer?”

“A report was called into my station.”

“The facility reported Rachelle Elaine’s disappearance?”

“No, they reported finding the body of one of their janitors.”

“I don’t understand, what has that to do with my daughter?”

“The man was last seen alive in the company of a juvenile fitting your daughter’s description.”

“It’s a mental facility for children. There have to be tons of little girls that look similar to my daughter.”

“Mr. Patterson, I asked Rachelle if she knew anything about what might have happened to the janitor.”

“And?!”

“She said he was a bad man, that did bad things with little girls. So it was okay to give him 13 licks with a hammer. It’s her birthday after all.“

My vision became spotted, but I refused to pass out, again. I simply refused. I had to focus on the bucket in my hand, had to keep the water from spilling. The handle felt firm and real in my grip. Nothing else mattered. I had to keep from dropping the bucket or spilling the water. “Please God, let me be able to do this much.“

“Mr. Patterson, I’ll have to take your daughter in for questioning. Considering her age you might want to ride along.”

“No, actually I don’t.”

“Sir, you do understand the seriousness of her situation?”

“Yes, I finally do.”

I turned toward my front door, as Officer Matthews slid back into the driver’s seat of his police car. I carefully placed the bucket on the front stoop, as I heard the siren blare to life. Without a backward glance I shut the door and threw the lock, while I pretended not to hear Rachelle Elaine’s pleadings as the cruiser drove off.

I found my wife in the dinning room and sat next her at the table. She handed me her leather bound date planner. My wife never felt comfortable allowing technology to keep track of her life. I noted all the dates she’d marked off over the past year. All the ones marked in red, Rachelle Elaine’s favorite color, fell on the 13^th of the month. She flipped the pages four years ahead and pointed to another date in August marked in red.

My heart finally broke under the significance of the date. Rachelle Elaine would be 13 years old on that day. I knew with the certainty of the condemned, that on another Friday the 13^th, my daughter would find her way home, again.

Macabre Petite

New Body, New Me? - 6 Month Update

2010-10-31T08:00:00Z

            March 2010                                 October 2010
          357lbs                                           252 lbs
          Dress Size: 32W                       Dress Size 20W

                                             105 lbs Total Loss
                                      Stay tuned, more to come.

Between My Thighs

2010-09-29T14:44:00Z

What lies between my thighs isn’t mere paradise,

Some vague reward for deeds unattainable

What lies between my thighs is more than creation,

Glorious nations were birthed from these loins

What lies between my thighs transcends common desire,

Nameless playmates consumed by abandon climaxing toward loneliness

What lies between my thighs is greater than a lover, husband, or friend,

It’s all I’ve ever wanted and will ever need

What lies between my thighs is you

Pajama Party @ Omega Room

2010-09-07T02:51:56Z

In the DMV area? Come party with Naughtie (Naw-T)
Advance Tickets $20.00/More at the door
Ages 25 & Older
Suggested Attire: Sleepwear but not mandatory
Music by: DJ Ezzy, Pumpin Archie, DJ Frisco
Photos by Chauncey the CameraMan
Free Set-Ups, Free Buffet (while supplies last)
BYOB (bring your own bottle)
Prizes: Sexiest Sleepwear Contest, 50/50 Raffle
For tickets contact Naughtie_Ness@yahoo.com (subject tickets)

It's My Birthday

2010-08-23T05:11:00Z

I'm 44 today. I look back and see many accomplishments, a few regrets, and so much more to look forward too. I'm truly blessed.

Preview Fellatio: Why Men Really Get Off When You Swallow - Part II of VI

2010-08-21T03:17:00Z

Four Sense Stimulation (FSS) - Sound, Sight, Smell, and Touch

Yes dear reader it has been a while, as some of you know I've recently gone through some major changes. However her naughtiness is back and ready to pick up where we left off. I hope this sounds good to you because sound is the first subject we take in hand.

Baum chika wa wa-in the late sixties and early seventies some genius associated this snippet with some of the most popular and high grossing porn films made in the United States. This snatch (pun not entirely intended) of music is so ingrained in the public psyche that over 30 years later it's used in an international commercial for men's body wash (Axe). What's the relevancy, that sound plays a major role in the enjoyment or lack thereof when it comes to intimacy.

Slurping, gasping, moaning are only a few audios every man plays on his inner soundtrack. It translates like this-she can't get enough of my taste (slurping). I'm almost too big for her to handle (gasping). She loves the way I feel in her mouth (moaning). These are but a sampling. I haven’t even broached humming, lip smacking, or gagging.

Oh, really. Yeah I heard that, and no smarty I don’t have one (unless you count the strap-on, subject for another article).

Fellatio: Why Men Really Get Off If You Swallow - Part I of VI

Preview - Macabre Petite Homecoming

2010-08-18T00:57:00Z

My baby still loved me. I could see it in her eyes. Even through the tomato bisque and chunks of ham salad I spewed all over the window, she still loved me.

The date lived up to its reputation, Friday the 13th, and everything went wrong. The moving company fired the girl who booked our reservation for a 30-foot trailer and a six-man crew. Her temporary replacement, the owner's mother, sent two teenage boys with a pickup truck and utility van. As if that weren't enough, the realtor misplaced the keys and security code to our new home on the opposite coast, and I had to wait four days before she could overnight another set.

Today, bloody Friday the 13th, my daughter found her way home.

Macabre Petite 　

New Body, New Me? - May 2010

2010-08-07T02:31:50Z

Have you ever shouted a request (“Bring me a glass of water, please.”) from the comfort of your bed/sofa to a child or partner? Have you ever kicked an article of clothing or snack wrapper under a piece of furniture while cleaning? Have you ever had to cancel a night out with friends because you didn’t do laundry? If you’ve answered yes to even one of these scenarios, you have an intimate relationship with laziness.

Yeah, I know. But I had surgery so I get a temporary pass. Besides, my kids love doing little favors for mommy. Really, they do.

My point (yes there is one) is that there’s nothing easy about gastric bypass, especially when you consider the post op mandates.

Multi Vitamin – one tablet three times a day – For Life
Calcium + Vitamin D – two tablets three times a day – For Life
Biotin – one pill everyday – For Life
Iron - one pill everyday – For Life
B-12 – one pill three times a week – For Life
Prevacid – one capsule daily – For Life

It usually takes me a few minutes to remember where I put the To-Do List of errands I’m supposed to run after work. Now I have to keep a schedule of pills I must take several times a day, or lose my hair and teeth, become hospitalized, or die. Yeah, that last one’s a hoot, and a definite possibility.

Needless to say after a month I found it extremely difficult to maintain this regimen. I also got tired of crushing pills into a nasty powder, and opted for a vitamin compound (also not covered by insurance). True I pay $20.oo more a month. However, I take fewer capsules, they are easier to swallow, and the schedule doesn’t require a degree in metaphysics (take three with every meal – yeah I can remember that).

It’s a compromise I can live with (literally), much like the demon Lovenox.

What’s Love-nox got to do with it? Not a damn thing. Lovenox is a blood thinner that I was required to administer to myself twice a day for thirty days.

Let me clarify:

Hatred of Needles = Me
Lovenox Administered Via Syringe = Like Hell
Giving Myself Sixty Injections for a Month = Two Prayers Short of a Miracle
Dying of a Possible Blood Clot = I’ll Take the Dang Shots (Coerced Practicality)

Funny what hang-ups you’ll get over when death goes from a theoretical possibility to a bad internet hookup. Yet not everything is gloom and doom. There are some amusing aspects to gastric bypass. Face-Farts are hilarious (to everyone but you).

Face-Farts, I’m coining a phrase here. It’s when air explodes out of your mouth in a series of rapid fire bursts. Face-farts should not be confused with burps (or the occasional vurp). Burps are commonly caused by a build up of gas due to a food item consumed. Face-farts are unexpected expulsions of air cased by your surgeon pumping your innards full of oxygen to make sure they plugged all the leaks.

Of course no one tells you that it takes days, or in my case two weeks, before all the air work it’s way out. And before you ask, the back door wasn’t fully operational at that time, which is why I was passing gas from the northern region of my anatomy to the delight of my family and friends.

Trust me; loved ones will roll on the floor laughing (rofl) at your discomfort. Especially when in the middle of a conversation you suddenly puff up like a bull frog and blow out invisible candles like a sub air-machine gun.

So as you can see “laziness” really isn’t a good adjective to describe a gastric bypass patient. “Stick-to-it-tiveness”, now that’s a word that has numerous applications, and the subject of my next post.

Pre Op Weight (March 4, 2010) - 357 lbs
Post Op Weight (May 13, 2010) - 312 lbs
Net Loss - 45 lbs

New Body, New Me? - April 2010

NO MERCY GENERAL: Installment #10

2010-07-05T03:07:00Z

Who knew doing laps had such ball builder properties? It would explain a lot about the Olympic Swimmers from the West Block. Think about it. From birth, only children with great form, endurance, and aggression made the cut. Fast forward a few years, and the lucky few who’d survived multiple injuries, emotional overload, and immeasurable hours of physical conditioning are rewarded with a spot in the world‘s arena.

Why do it?

The layman would answer “for victory, bragging rights, or endorsements. “ True, though a very small part of it. An athlete with a lifetime of training behind him might answer, “To prove while loosing may be inevitable, defeat is never an option.”

Even money bet, Scotch did a lot of laps after hours.

For a moment it seemed the partly shifted Were had accepted his loss, and more grudgingly Ryland’s dominance. Except for his elongated canines, and the tawny peach fuzz that covered the decadence of his chestnut skin, Scotch appeared to focus the remainder of his strength on the simple task of breathing.

It’s all he should have been able to do, after the last blow Ryland delivered. Yet, with every heave of his broad chest, the level of primal energy ramped up, and charged the air around us with static electricity.

I didn’t know what to make of the sudden show of force, unlike my leopardess who envisioned several lascivious outcomes. For her nothing was ever too complicated. Defiance meant strength, strength meant a good mate, and a good mate meant lots of sex until little ones arrived. Startled at first, my inner alley cat became very aroused, and I knew if I weren‘t careful she‘d find a way to make a three-way a real possibility.

I summoned a bit of my own primal energy and prepared to douse the trifling pussy with a bucket of psychic cold water. Just then Scotch spoke, in a baritone that bottomed out to the undersides of his toes, and triggered a familiar throb south of my border.

"I swear Ry, if you did this, I'll fuck you up."

"Operative word is, IF, asshole. Now earn your damn paycheck and order a sweep of the entire facility.”

“Finally, for real this time, we’re back on track”, I thought. My relief unfortunately was short lived. For in a flash, my leopardess turned on me, with a smug snarl and psychic garden hose set to full blast.

To be continued...

NO MERCY GENERAL: Installment #9

No Mercy General - Intallment #10 Preview

2010-07-04T05:34:00Z

NO MERCY GENERAL: Installment #9

2010-06-27T23:20:11Z

Sometimes a single moment reveals too much. Like an intimate touch between my fiancé and best friend at a dinner party. Or the glimpse of a gun butt in the waistband of a colleague I passed on the way to grab a Chia Latte. In the spans of a few seconds, I knew absolute clarity, and with it came an undeniable truth. Ryland Hynes was indeed a killer.

I no longer heard the water lap against the sides of the pool, nor the constant whir of jets from the four hot tubs. Only the thunder of my pulse, lodged in my throat, registered to my ears like a B-Movie soundtrack. Even my eyes soured at the seascape, so painstakingly hand brushed, in pale blues and corals onto the massive walls. This room constructed for gentle healing, forever tainted in my eyes, and the current insanity threatened to diminish it further.

Both men went unnervingly still, as if a breath would tip their fragile truce, a thing made up of slim hope and faint sensibility. One man lay partly sprawled across the floor, his massive biceps and well-honed forearms, trembled with the effort to keep upright. The other man, down on one knee in a predatory crouch, prepared to strike with the slightest provocation. At a distance, the two combatants resembled a piece of classical art. Each figure cold and unyielding, suspended between recklessness and reprieve. From a few feet away, cracks in their facade began to appear, as the atmosphere around them crackled with finality.

Ryland maintained the hydraulic grip on the downed hyena's throat. His left hand scored by purple veins, flexed with lethal intensity, while agitated fingers danced in Morse code over the jugular of a once good friend. Even his well-tailored suit shimmered with an energy Kenneth Cole never intended, as his six-foot frame debulked to its pre-battle form.

Maybe the loss of Eric Prentice, the wrongness of the fight, or a cramp developed in his hand as well as his conscience. It really did not matter; Ryland acted out of character, and offered a compromise of sorts. Though a wisp of uncertainty troubled his hardened features, Ryland’s eyes remained amber fury. After less than a heartbeat to reconsider, he retracted the talon, and eased his grip by a fraction.

It was enough for Scotch. He began to breathe deeply of air fragrant with chlorine and death. Labored at first, each exchange became easier, as his chest moved with rhythm and purpose.

“Finally”, I thought, “they’re done with this crap.” Until another spike of primal energy prickled my skin.

To be continued…(yes next week)

NO MERCY GENERAL: Installment 8

No Mercy General - Installment 9 Preview

2010-06-22T12:52:00Z

Comment:

Judie: The next three installments are being written and reviewed. Installment #9 goes up on Sunday, June 27th at midnight. Here's a preview just for you.

Sometimes a single moment reveals too much. Like an intimate touch between my fiancé and best friend at a dinner party. Or the glimpse of a gun butt in the waistband of a colleague I passed on my way to grab a Chia Latte. In the spans of a few seconds I knew absolute clarity, and with it came an undeniable truth. Ryland Hynes was a killer.

Macabre Petite

2010-06-09T03:09:00Z

When I first told my family about becoming a vampire, they didn’t believe me. Okay, I sometimes had friends that were reality-based challenged. And I got into a little trouble at school. Hey, I was seven, what kid my age hadn’t gotten into trouble? Honestly, did that mean I was making it up?

Mom gave me one of her “yes-dear-I-know” smiles. Then she whooshed, back into the kitchen leaving the funk of garlic and onions behind. How’s that for a blatant diss?

Dad tweaked my nose, “soooo first grade," and headed upstairs to change out of his work clothes.

The mistake - otherwise known as my little brother Bobby - flat-out called me a fibber before racing for the dinner table. That boy’s enough to make me go postal, seriously.

Mom made spaghetti with smoked sausages, French loaf dripping with garlic butter, and tropical punch Kool-Aid. Plus my all-time favorite dessert, banana cream cheesecake, loaded with real bananas and tubs of Cool Whip. As a fledgling vampire I realized this wouldn’t be my typical diet, but I managed to force it down. Unlike my parents who weren’t swallowing a word I said.

“Rachelle Elaine Patterson! I told you, no pretend playing at the table."

“I’m not pretending. I’m really becoming a vampire. Even my friends think so.”

“Watch your tone young lady, or we’ll see what your friends think of no dessert.”

“Hey Mom! Does that mean I can have two slices?" Bobby asked.

Upset by Mom’s obvious cruelty, I folded my arms across my chest, and slammed back against the chair hard enough to make it rock. We would see who got what. Just then, Mr. Can’t-we-all-get-along a.k.a. my Dad, chimed in. Guess he wanted to avoid another night hearing about his fatherly screw-ups.

“Rach, honey, you don’t want to be a vampire. Vampires are monsters, monsters are bad, and bad people don’t get into heaven. You want to be able to get into heaven, right honey? Besides, a good girl would never wanna drink anything as gross as blood.”

Dad was my all time favorite parent. He was tall like the elm in our front yard. He could make me laugh, even when I was mad, kept that woman I’m not speaking to happy and off my case, most of the time. He also had the prettiest browny-orange eyes in the entire world. But sometimes, like now, he was dumb as dishwater.

“Daddy, once a month we go to church to drink blood, and that’s supposed to make us good people. So how come vampires aren’t even more ‘gooder’ for drinking it every night?”

He turned to Mom and did that parent thing. You’ve seen it; they get this funny look on their faces, and then all of a sudden your dad knows what to say, because your mom put the answer directly into his head. Sometimes my parents were real freaks.

“Rach…hon, what makes you think you’re becoming a vampire?”

“Because, at night when everyone is really asleep; I go into the kitchen and get the big butcher’s knife. Then I sneak into Bobby’s room and practice cutting his throat without waking everyone. I really wanna see if his blood tastes the same as it does in church. But the really important part is I’m doing an experiment. I wanna find out if Bobby’s insides are warm and sticky like the neighbor’s puppy.”

Bobby threw up in his plate and ran to Mom. My parents went Casper pale and did that look thing again. Dad walked a little funny before he scooped me up, and gave me a big hug. Normally I loved my dad’s hugs, but his chest kept doing this shivering thing. It struck me then, “how stupid could I be.”

“Daddy, you’re right, I’m not becoming a vampire!”

He made the funniest noise, and his eyes were all red and watery. Dad even had a ridiculous smile on his face as he rubbed my back. Mom kept thanking someone…who, I couldn’t be sure; she was hiccupping too much. Bobby just clung to her like a baby chimp at the zoo.

“Vampires don’t eat flesh. I’m becoming a zombie!” I was so glad I’d figured it out before I embarrassed myself or something.

“And that's how I ended up at this hospital for the criminally insane. See it’s just a big misunderstanding. So doctor, when are my parents coming?“

New Body, New Me? - April 2010

2010-05-05T04:42:00Z

Gastric bypass is an easy out for weak willed individuals too lazy to exercise.

Really?

Let's see. Two weeks before surgery, my diet consisted of clear broth, V8 Splash, Ocean Spray Light, Crystal Light, meal replacement shakes, and lots of water.

Two days before surgery I had to prep my bowels. This required the ingestion of three doses of Milk of Magnesia taken an hour apart. Thus the inaugural "Two Second Potty Dash" commenced. I qualified for first string.

One day before surgery, I was allowed to consume all the water I wanted (and NOTHING ELSE) before midnight.

The day of surgery I was stretched across a narrow plank of wood, strapped down by a posse of masked kind-eyed assailants, and pumped full of drugs until I passed out. I awoke six hours later with an elevated heart rate and hives (thanks to the antibiotics), and difficulty breathing. Funny what can happen with the removal of a breathing tube? Who could have known my tonsils, uvula, and air passage would have become irritated and swollen.

All things considered, I don't believe "weak willed" is the appropriate label for a gastric bypass survivor. Just tossing it out there.

Oh, did I forget to mention the PAIN. Or the bedside procedure to start a new IV, through my groin. All made partially bearable by drugs, really good drugs.

After a few extra days in the hospital, I was finally released and sent home.

"Weak willed", I guess everyone is entitled to their opinion. It doesn't have to bear any semblance to reality or rational thought. Oh, well.

On the other hand "lazy, oh hell naw." This is an argument I'm ready to have. See you next post when we do this thing.

Pre Op Weight (March 4, 2010) - 357 lbs
Post Op Weight (April 22, 2010) - 326 lbs
Net Loss - 31 lbs

New Body, New Me? - March 2010

2010-03-10T18:18:00Z

I am known by many names: Rubenesque, Pleasingly Plump, BBW, Large & Lovely, Thick Chick, Giantess, Full Figured, and of course Obese. All my life I've lived at one end of the overweight spectrum or another. In little more than two weeks my life, literally my life, as I've always lived it, will change.

Until two years ago, living as a sensual woman of size was the norm. After years of dieting, exercise programs (when work and energy permitted), and being a single-working mother (translation - making time for everyone and thing except me), I'd learned to accept myself and reaffirm my worth. Admittedly, this wasn't too hard in my geographical area (plenty of men that "Love 'Em Large"). For the most part I've lived an active and full life. Family and a small clique of great friends have always infused me with love, acceptance, and support. So what happened to change my life this drastically? My health.

Over the last two years I've developed painful arthritis in my knees, suffered from chronic lower back pain, been diagnosed with high blood pressure, and learned I am pre-diabetic. For the last several months I went from being pretty healthy but needing to lose some weight, to developing severe medical issues that can and may well degrade my quality of life (if not shorten it - at any time). Needless to say, fear can be a great motivator.

So for the last nine months I've been enrolled in an extensive bariatric program that culminates with gastric-bypass surgery (Roux-en-y Gastric Bypass). This process has entailed:

Primary Physician Recommendation
Mental Health Clearance
Dietician Consultations
Medically Monitored Gym Appointments
EKG
EDG
Sleep Study
Cardio Clearance
Ultra Sounds
Chest X-rays
Insurance Approval
And Endless Lab Work

Only now that I'm within days of surgery has it hit me. Everything is going to change. The way I've self identified will change.

Will I like me anymore?

Being a large person is more than hoping you'll fit into the airplane seat, or being presumed lazy. It's an attitude (armor) developed over time that helps you deal with the negatives that go along with the pounds, and the safe environment needed to build your self esteem.

In forty-three years my armor became stronger than iron and fit like a second skin. I have a helmet made of self worth and accomplishments that protected me from lethal doses of self loathing. My chest-plate deflected countless slings and arrows, and gave me the space needed to love and be loved. Arm and leg plates along with a shield that stretches from head-to-toe, granted me the confidence needed to plot my own course and plow through those who stood in the way. My armor has served me well; I don't know that I'm ready or willing to put it aside.

I'm not accustomed to letting fear dictate my actions, and I'm willing to face myself head-on, and with your consent I'll take you along for the ride. Over the next twelve months I will document my successes and failures with monthly posts and pictures.

I won't shield either of us from the fallout, nor withhold any of the victories. I hope at the end of this first year you'll still be with me, and together we become stronger.

New Body, New Me? - April 2010

The Dangers of Internet Dating

2010-02-16T00:30:00Z

Anxiously waiting, Charles ran his palehand through his short, dark brown hair and exhaled slowly. Hestretched his thick palm across his nose to rid himself of an itch,then mumbled to himself softly, “This is it. This is finally it.After years of talking through emails and online messengers, we'regoing to finally meet.” He exhaled again, shook out his fingers asif warming them up before pressing them against his old whitekeyboard. The keys were thick, clunky and hard to press down, but itworked for everything Charles needed it for. Typing.

Charles, known to many as a great guy,incredibly charming and fun to be around was a little over weight.Almost 60 pounds, but he considered himself a plump, lovable man,someone any real woman would take interest in. Unfortunately, as hediscovered, that was not generally true. His weight had cost himseveral relationships, mainly because he was competing against thoseother guys. The guys that work out more than they are around, theones who are so focused on themselves they barely think about theirrelationship. Why should they though, if their relationship ended,they could find another girl, even though they were total ass holes.It was just that easy.

Not for Charles, however. His luckwith women had run dry several years ago as he began to gain weight.Once, he was an athlete too, a top class runner, one who competitorswished they were. That was before his injury. He was fine now, ofcourse, but pulling a hamstring to the point where he could barelywalk for a year set him down a path of laziness. He regretted notbeing able to force himself to get back into the groove of workingout everyday. He sighed, then brushed away the negative thoughts ofhis past and focused on the joys the next week would bring.

He typed fantastically to Joan, thewoman he had been trying to meet for the last several years. It beganthrough simple emails from an internet dating site, a place ofrefuge, somewhere single people can mingle, yet ignore responses ifthe person does not catch his or her interest. It was the perfectplace to try to get to know someone, specifically before having toworry about appearance, which is significant.

“Hey Hon!” His fingers clankedagainst the keys with haste, “How was your day? I missed you, asalways!” After a moment of silence his messenger flashed and Joan'swords appeared across his screen.

“Hi Charles. I'm good, I missed youtoo. How was your day?”

“I'm great. Work dragged out alittle longer than I would have hoped, but that's okay, you're herenow, *smile*” Clank, his fingers smashed against the return key.

“*Smile*”

“So, I'll be leaving tomorrowmorning at 6am and should arrive there around 8:30. I'm reallylooking forward to seeing you, finally.”

“*Smile*I'm looking forward to it too, Charles. It's been a long time coming,that's for sure. It will be nice to finally be able to talk to myfriends and family about the great guy I met too.”

“For sure. Iknow how you feel about online dating, but I would have thought youwould have told them about us by now, honestly.”

“I know, butit's just awkward for me, knowing that they all frown on onlinedating, I wanted them to have a chance to meet you in person before Itold them how we met. I'm sorry.”

“Ahhh, it'sokay hon, I understand, I just wish it wasn't an issue, but it won'tbe after tomorrow, right!?”

“Yes, they willknow about us in a few days for sure, when we go to meet them. Ipromise.”

“I understand,that sounds great then hon! I'm really excited! It will be very nicethat they will finally know about us. Will you be at the airport whenI arrive or will you be there a little later?”

“I'll be thereright on time. Unless traffic slows me down, of course. I shouldn'tbe too late, even in the worse case scenario. For all you know, Imight be waiting on you. *smile*.”

“Hah, that isso true. Hopefully my flight won't have any delays and we'll be ineach others arms before lunch!” Charles ran his hands through hishair again, then loosened his navy blue tie from around his neck andunbuttoned the top three buttons of his vanilla colored shirt, dashedwith a small amount of mustard, unintentionally, from the days lunch.

He rubbed hishands together and let out a long sigh. “Hey, listen hon, I have tofinish packing still and write up this report for work , plus getmyself some dinner. I should probably take off so I can be ready togo in the morning and then we have all of next week to ourselves!”

“*giggle* OkayCharles. I should probably finish cleaning anyway! Have a gooddinner, a safe flight and I will see you tomorrow!”

“Okay hon. I amso excited, I cannot even tell you! I love you and will see youtomorrow, Joan!”

“I love you too!”

Charles pushed away from his desk, rolling backwards in his black leather chair,then spun around to stand up. The room was small, but clean. A couch was behind him on one wall and he had two lamps, one on each side ofthe couch, which lit up the room. The lamp shades were removed sothat more light would brighten the otherwise dark and bland area. Thewalls were painted with a shade of green comparable to the middle hue in camouflage.

He stretched,arms reaching above his head towards the white and prickly seascapeof a ceiling. Charles yawned and then walked to his right and intohis room to pickup his suitcase, tossing it onto the perfectly madebed with a slight bounce as it landed.

Charles thenwalked over to his dresser, dark brown and rustic looking with agiant mirror lining the back of it. The dresser only went up to hiswaist, but it was long with three drawers across and stacked two highfor a total of six drawers. The top was for accessories, such assocks, underwear, specifically boxer-briefs, and the third drawer forhis ties. The bottom row was for shirts, pants and pajamas.

Without muchthought, Charles opened the drawers and started filling his suitcase with the necessary clothing for his trip to see Joan. A few t-shirts,some dress shirts, pants, jeans and multiple socks as well as multiple pairs of navy blue boxer-briefs. “Everything needs to beperfect,” he said softly, turning around from the dresser to make sure he had enough of everything in the case.

Charles'seyebrows rose as the thought of what was missing perpetrated histhoughts. He quickly turned around, opened up the drawer for socksagain and pulled out a box of her pleasure condoms and tossed theminto the suitcase. “Just in case,” he said with a grin beforere-examining the contents of his suitcase one last time. “Perfect.”

He returned tothe computer room and went into the next adjacent room. The kitchenwas small, but had ample counter space for him to prepare food andcook up his own meals. Charles opened the fridge and skirmishedthrough it quickly to find some eggs, bacon, green peppers and cherrytomatoes.

He turned on thetop of his gas stove and threw a small pan on it to warm it up. Heprepared himself an omelet, the scent tickling his nostrils as itcooked. He put the ingredients back into the fridge and then ate hisdelicious meal.

“All right,let's get this damn report done for work so I can shower, shave andgo see my potential bride to be tomorrow!” His stomach swirled inexcitement and anticipation. He went back to his computer and openedup a black briefcase, pulled out some paperwork and started to skimthrough it, using his finger as a guide to search through informationand pages of data so that he could prepare a report for his boss.With a quick click, Excel opened up and he began to enter numbersinto a spread sheet. Once the numbers were entered he opened up Wordand wrote a brief summary of what the data meant. Click, save, close.From there he opened up his email account and sent the report andsummary to his boss. “DONE!” He exclaimed.

Before Charlesknew it, hours had passed by and it was nearing bed time. He openedup an email from Joan with her picture attached before stepping awayfrom his desk. She was beautiful, with soft caramel colored skin,shoulder length dark brown hair, brown eyes and a wide, straighttoothed smile that pushed her cheeks out, creating dimples that anyman would adore. Joan was relatively thin, certainly not overweight,and she was full of life.

He looked at herpicture, exhaled, and said to himself, “How the hell does a fatfuck like me get such a beautiful, amazing woman to like me. I'mreally lucky, that's for damn sure.” He put his pointer and middlefingers together, kissed them and then pressed them to Joan's photo.“I love you and will see you tomorrow morning Joan!”

Charles moved tohis bedroom again and undressed, walking into the bathroom to shaveand shower immediately after. “A nice hot shower sounds so niceright now and will help me sleep, hopefully.” He turned on the hotwater in the shower and then the sink, used his shaving cream andbegan to shave slowly.

After he finishedshaving he got into the shower, glass doors steamy from the heat, andscrubbed himself clean. Once he finished cleaning himself he stood inthe shower a little longer, closed his eyes and thought of Joan somemore. His mind raced to thought of them talking, sitting next to eachother on a couch, similar to his own, and kissing. He smiled andopened his eyes.

Charles steppedout of the shower and grabbed a towel from the rack directly in frontof him and dried off. He hung the towel back up on the rack andrushed to his bed, setting his small black alarm clock to 4:00am toensure he made his flight. He lifted up his covers and slid into bed,his nakedness meeting the soft feel of his cotton sheets. His headmet his pillow and his eyes closed immediately after.

MEEEP, MEEEP,MEEEEEP! Charles jolted upright as his alarm blared. He tossed thecovers off of him and stumbled out of bed, reaching for the alarmclock, knocking it to the floor. He picked it up and struggled toturn it off while the weight of his sleep still hung on his eyelids.He finally managed to turn it off and rushed to take another showerto remove the nights sleep and help wake him up.

His stomachtwisted into knots. He let out a loud sigh, “Here goes nothing.”He finished showering, rushed to brush his teeth, got dressed,grabbed his suitcase and then hopped into his car, a plumb coloredSaturn Aura. He managed to get to the airport without any problemsand got onto his flight.

After listeningto the instructions on how to use the seat belt, oxygen mask andnoting the exits, the plane was finally off. No one was sitting nextto Charles, so he was able to close his eyes and sleep through mostof the flight. He didn't open his eyes until he heard the captainspeaking, “Please Fasten your seat belts as we prepare to land.”

Charles smiledand adjusted his seat belt as the plane got closer to itsdestination. It landed and came to a stop. A muffled voice came fromthe speakers,“At this time you may turn on any cell phone orelectronic devices. We will be able to get off momentarily, so pleasebe patient and thank you for flying with us.” Charles turned on hiscell phone and called Joan.

“Hi, this isJoan, leave me a message and I'll get back with you as soon as Ican!”

“Hi Joan! It'sme! I'm here, but on the plane still, hopefully you'll be here soon!I love you and will see you shortly!”

The sound ofCharles's special ring tone went off, but the phone had fell onto thepassenger side seat floor as Joan was driving down the freeway so shecouldn't answer. The phone beeped to signify there was a newvoice-mail. Joan looked towards the passenger side floor and saw thephone laying in about the middle.

“I shouldreally let him know I am running late. If I could just reach theblasted phone.” She kept her feet steady, traveling at roughly 70miles per hour down the freeway and reaching for the phone could bedifficult. She looked ahead to make sure there weren't any vehiclesin front of her, then unbuckled her seat belt, leaned over towardsthe passenger side seat and stretched her arm out to try to grab thephone. It was just out of reach.

She forcedherself to lean further towards the phone and managed to flick itwith her fingers, putting it within range of her hand. “Ah hah! GOTIT!”

She looked up tosee a semi pulling in front of her from an off-ramp as she smashedinto it, spinning her vehicle wildly, flipping it over and over. Thewindshield shattered, Joan was tossed from the vehicle, her phoneclenched tightly in her grasp as she screamed and flew towards theasphalt below. Her head hit the ground, knocking her unconscious andthe phone went flying, breaking across the road as she slid down thefreeway until pieces of it lay strewn alongside her breathless body.

Written by Kevin Numerick: Life, As I write it.