#WednesdayFreeWrite – FOUR IN THE MORNING (for Miv)



It’s four in the morning. The hour when Madame Angst knits large black sweaters, and blood sugar goes downstairs to putter around in the basement.

The perfect time for all kinds of mischief and madness.

I drum my nails on the marble countertop, the black tips click-clacking to some random rhythm I’m neither in tune with nor paying attention to because I’m much more interested in the hum of her blood. Which isn’t really a hum at all but more of an uh-uh uh-uh uh-uh as her heart pushes it through that chamber of life, out to her fingertips and toenails and everywhere in between.

She glances up from her reading and smiles, totally unaware of my wicked thoughts, my hunger, my need. Oblivious to the fact I could kill her with one bite. Only certain that she loves me and especially loves the fact I have no problem staying awake, up until all hours of the night while she writes and reads and edits, then writes some more until her eyes close under the extreme weight of her exhaustion and I am able to slip into the remaining minutes of darkness and hunt.

But tonight and that smile and that flash of something in her eye makes me think I should put out this cigarette, slip from my bar stool, and crawl onto her lap, which is exactly what I do. She is shocked but silent as I carefully take her notes and her pen and place them on the table next to her coffee and her smokes, then lean close and run my breath along her throat, my lips so close to her warm skin and yet, not close enough.

Uh-uh uh-uh uh-uh, her blood calls to me as she wraps her fingers around my arms and sighs and arches into my touch. “Please,” she whispers and I relent and press a kiss here and then there and then a little higher until our lips find each other and our tongues slash and tangle and uh-uh uh-uh uh-uh, her blood is singing to me, calling me, taunting me, and it happens.

Fangs escape hiding places while hands are teasing nipples and fingers are stroking thighs and bodies are pressing against each other in desperate need and I’m lost in her taste and my hunger and our fire and before I can stop it her tongue finds my secret and everything stops.

Her shirt is open and her hair is wild and her lips are swollen and she is breathing hard as the wheels in her head spin and evaluate and analyze and fucking god she’s sexy when she’s all introspective and shit. And I know that even though I am not what she ever anticipated or expected, I fucking pray I am what she wants, my breasts and lips and smile and wit and fingers and fangs.

Long eternal silent minutes pass.

Uh-uh uh-uh uh-uh, her blood sings, calls, taunts. And I stand on the cliff with my toes hanging over ready to jump into the river of her rejection and swallow my tears and continue my endless life of loneliness and solitude because of course someone like me should never expect anything beyond loneliness and solitude, when she reaches out and grasps me behind my neck and pulls me close, her breath warm on my mouth, her fingers tangled in my hair.

“All those four in the mornings and you never once…,” she trails off, her voice full of longing and desire and wonder.

“I always wanted to but I never once dared,” I agreed, “because more than life itself, I love you and all of your four in the mornings.”

My #WednesdayFreeWrite series is based on what I write during the 10 minutes allotted my writing group’s Wednesday Prompt. This week’s prompt is extra special because it honors one of my fellow Muses, Miv London, and her daughter Sarah, who might have passed but shares her spirit with us everyday. It’s wonderful being gifted Sarah’s words and I only hope and pray Miv likes what’s on the page. I told myself I would not use the word “fuck” because this feels so sacred, the gift of Sarah’s prompt, and then lo and behold, there she is in all her F and U and C and K glory. And for a second I paused, because could I really use fuck in my piece, but then I laughed and remembered that Miv always loves when I bring the sexy. So hopefully this fuck is just kind of extra special.

As always, this piece is  unedited and unscripted and just super loose and probably my favorite ten minutes of the week. It’s perfect in its imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

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