Worry Box

I filled the box with my concerns.  Each written carefully on neatly lined paper.  My fears, my anxieties, my worries.  Spelled out before me in black letters.

I put them in the Worry Box and invited you to put yours there too.

Then we closed the Box and ran away together.

We rode 900 miles to escape our Worries.

But mine were never farther than the back pocket of my jeans, a denim cage that stretched taut across my ass as I straddled the seat of your motorcycle.  My Worries followed me – dogged every step of my foot through the mossy, tree-lined paradise we explored together.

I forgot them often – transported as I was by your smile, the sunshine on my face, and the laughter we shared.  The playful exchange of jokes, gentle barbs and tender kisses all provided me respite from those Worries.

But they were never really forgotten.

They would escape their cage and climb upon my shoulder, whispering in my ear as the landscape blurred past.  As the bike leaned through curves, they would dig in – holding fast to me and making sure they did not fall to the roadway as I desperately wished they would.

Fucking tenacious Worries.

You and I shared some beautiful moments over those three days.  Tranquility, companionship, intimacy.  I fearlessly drove my tongue into your most intimate spaces.  I savored your taste and smell, drinking you in and memorizing each moment. The gentle pressure of your hand reaching back to stroke my knee while riding.  The way your face looked bathed in glow from the campfire.  Watching you laugh and try not to choke on a mouthful of molten marshmallow and chocolate.  The sweep of your lips across my forehead as I rested in my snuggle spot.

In the back of my mind the refrain played over and over, “I will miss this.”

I said nothing but the words were there – gushed  across sheets, reflected in my eyes as I gazed up at you from my knees.  Clinging to the fingers that reached over as we walked and wound through yours.  I love you. Of that, there is no doubt.

In the shadow of that love I sense the pain coming at me.  Like a sharp S-curve that will tilt my world.  I don’t know how to avoid it.  I can’t seem to find a way to lessen the sting.  For all the armor I wear, I know it cannot protect me from it.  I am going to feel it.  Deep and hard.

And there is no way a box full of paper is going to save me.



Filed under Erotica

8 responses to “Worry Box

  1. emmilywrites

    Beautiful and heartbreaking imagery here. Nice work 🙂

    • Thank you. This one was hard to write. But it needed to be.

      • emmilywrites

        Following your blog, CJ. I really enjoy your writing! Your sexy stories are arousing and you have a clear and natural narrative voice. It’s refreshing to read believable vignettes. Looking forward to more exploration 🙂

      • I am truly flattered. Thank you! I am glad you are enjoying it. I have been away for a long time, out living my life and experiencing all the upswings and downturns life has to offer. Maybe now is a good time to share a few of those (mis)adventures here. 🙂

  2. Beautiful and universal in a way. There’s no escaping feeling the downside of everything. I have a feeling it just means that you ( general “you) can feel so much on the upswing. I don’t think I’d want anything less. That upswing is just too grand.

    • Silversun PIckups have a song that says it best:

      Who knows how this feeling grows?
      Was it truly worth
      Truly worth the starting?
      Who knows why the engine’s blown
      hope it’s truly worth
      Truly worth the parting

      The upswing may be grand, Dear Jayne, but the downside of that is what this post is really about. 🙂

      As always, I love to read your comments. They make me think and, for a flickering moment, forget my cynicism.

      • Many times, I suspend cynicism while I type comments. There’s always a down side unless you stay on flat land. Everything ends, spectacular or forgettable. I think the trick is to eat the fruit of each kind of experience when it’s fresh but eventually our human faults, personal weaknesses or fears just stir the pot.

      • A sweetly cynical, yet astute observation. In the words of a friend, “true story.”

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