Contemporaneous Measures

6 min readNov 29, 2020

I wasn’t expecting to spend the day with him. What he said in the car, I thought then, really touched me. But what I feel now, the strongest blow through my chest.
As always, Queen is tranquil. A brilliant breath from God within a miscreant heart and broken beauty. Her smile is adorable and infectious, ringing from ear to ear when natural. Being her big sister is fucking hard. She cooked a phenomenal Thanksgiving as always. There is no strife in that statement. I am a phenomenally built woman, so it takes a phenomenally prepared meal to satisfy me. She did it with poise, precision, and character. I can’t cook, I recently fractured my shin, and I’m just a dirty girl. I promised her I would FaceTime her once dinner is cooked, and everyone is ready to be served. I then bit my self in the process of saying, “Just call me once you get there; I wanna watch you prepare it.” My favorite part of this experience is knowing that I meant that word for word. My phone vibrated, Queen disappeared, and my waist rested solemnly on my hips while my flower bloomed.
“Yea, we can hang out for a while, then later I have to go see my daughter.” The text read in my mind with his voice. I cut Queen off, sending excitement for tomorrow and the gravity of nothing now. Confused, she sent her love forward, we disconnected, and I got undressed.
Although he said 20 minutes, 30 minutes later, he texted me, declaring his arrival. Boot on, I walked in anticipation. Blissfully buckling up as soon as I got in, then kissed his cheek. His playlist bumped past the collective light arrangement paraded alongside us. Wrapping around trees, alongside street lights, like a theatre squad assembly. Soon after, we arrived at his home, and once inside, I undressed and comfortably planted myself on his big blue couch. For a few days, I hated this couch because of all the feathers. Still, then I figured out if my ass is planted in the cushion and my upper body is laid across him, the night will get warmer by the minute. To this day, the only thing that fails me is his horrible timing. He goes into his room before we get comfy, and I sit freezing on the couch until he makes his appearance again. I enjoy the music, though; if only it was a perpetuated soul commiseration, I would be warmer. I started yoga just to preserve the strength to massage his neck and rub his back. I never noticed how sensual this is. Especially when we get the organic shea butter. The hastening sensation always warms me from inside out. I take just enough of the shea butter to rub evenly across my hands. From the bottom, the conditioning strength I harbored from the seated split stretches guided my hands upward bound his waist: gliding, recognition to the shea butter’s nutrients, and in every stretch, I control my breathing to not incite attention. My fingers reach his neck, caressing its length, and soothe to his shoulders, where much of the stress built into a ball near his cervical and lumbar spine. Shortly after, we cuddle, blaze, and watch Deadpool. I often drifted from the movie and wonder why his wife divorced him or why he divorced her. Then I remembered how frantic I get when I wander so far from moments like these. I slide my hand down his shaft and stroke him vigorously.

Captured By: 0-o

I love how much control he has. I focus back on the movie, as indicated by his affirmation of my demanding touch. It was worth it; he holds me so effortlessly. I hear songs from my mom’s generation, where men promise to do this. It sounds good when their deep, sensuous voices sing it, but damn, it feels so much better. When the movie ended, he wagered, staying awake and watching the second one. However, I was influenced in the opposite direction. His hands, still and yet so warm, encouraged the night to start.
I always feel wild and at liberty with the lights off. His shades are always up in his home, and the lighting from the streets reflects on my best curves. I love an audience, and I like to imagine I am galloping when I ride him. I think I do well, but one of his best qualities is also his worst. His hands swivel between my waist and ass so much I lose focus, and the rhythm gets lost. He never yells, just switch positions, and I am reminded that he is a king and established his kingdom. Any wanders or insecurities of infidelity vanquishes, and I inhale exceedingly, stealing his vehemence as I reach the highest tilt. Exhaling vast, in retreat for breath, I lay motionless and satisfied.
“The Office” theme song brightens the room, opening my eyes to a small brush of the sun between the cloud. Queen was calling, and I declined. I turned my body, stretching myself over him. I love the way he smells and laugh at the mask he wears for his deep sleep. “How did he know my fixation with Anakin Skywalker?” I thought.
My phone rings again, and he gets impatient, “Get it,” he grudges. I grab it and silence the ring. I kiss his back and rush to the bathroom.
We spent the day watching comedy stand-ups until I was hungry. He then cooked, which I solemnly regret because I did not watch him. The thought did come to mind once he went into the kitchen, but assumptions arose, and I concluded I would be in the way. He prepared polenta and wild chanterelle. I loved it so much I hated him. Ugh, his food shut the only opportunity I had to escape his dynamism. It’s dark, I can’t see anything. Then I remember, love is blinding.
On the way to my house, I stared out the window, not so much at the lights anymore, but into them. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing. What we were doing. These past few weeks, I’ve been able to avoid the questions and observations. But after that meal, I realized I either need to hire him or keep fucking him. Either way, I need him.
“Babe, what do you think about us?” I asked, recognizing I never called him babe before. But I call everyone babe.
Focused on the road, he answered, “What do you mean?” My head swung irritated in his direction. “Like, “the sex is great” or “I like our conversation,” I illustrated with overwhelming animation. Seeing my frustration, he explained blatantly, “I don’t give affirmation, honey. I show in my actions how I feel. I do what I say. If you want affirmation, you have to find that somewhere else.” The soldier responded, and the atmosphere structured itself. Again, I wasn’t expecting to spend the day with him, and what he said in the car, I thought then, really swept me. But what I feel now, the strongest blow through my chest. I looked at my phone; Queen called me 6 times. I would make the 7TH once I got home.
My dad answered her phone and propped the camera up facing their Monopoly game. “Hey,” everybody shouted, and my heart warmed. My dad’s smile was huge, and my sister’s apartment looked astounding. Like I said, poise and character. It was lit beautifully, with LED bulbs and hand made sunflower propped up properly against the pale and serene wall. Watching and laughing, I couldn’t help but still find myself appreciating my first Holiday with a smooth criminal. I guess Queen can blame him for stealing me this Thanksgiving. I will continue to hold him accountable for stealing my heart.




Recently relocated to Seattle, I inspire to experience creation.