Author: Charlie

About me sections give me writer's block. I never know what to say without sounding mechanical. I see myself as a regular sort of man. I am not into sports, so maybe I am a tad irregular in that regard. I love bookstores and libraries. Ever since my mom taught me to read and write I took both very seriously, and I have always had a love affair with the pen and pad. I was studying psychology online but recently I realized that my passion for writing outweighed counseling, so I dropped out. My goal is to get some of my best poems and short stories published. What inspires me? Life baby, life... I can write a short love story that hits home, I can write a poem that knocks around in your dome. I like challenging myself when I write. I strive to be different--I try to be real in sharing a bit of my worldview with the world. Stay tuned--my blog, SpKn (pronounced "Spoken") has a good deal in store, and hopefully it will move you.

Parent Teacher Conferences

Parent Teacher Conferences
The Steele Chronicles; Pt 1

Carla could not keep her hands off her husband, Dean. This was not unusual, as they shared a passionate bond that made their friends jealous. However; tonight, was parent teacher conferences and then they were off to dinner at one of their favorite upscale restaurants, and then a weekend in the mountains. It had been too long since they got away from their two teenage children.
“Come here,” Dean leaned over the console and met his bride halfway. Lips met and parted with a ferociousness that made him lightheaded. Her lips were thick, soft, and succulent. He was powerless against the rush of sexual energy racing from his lips to his manhood, where an almost painful erection begged to be free. Her mouth tasted sweet, like cherries, and the scent of her perfume—something he bought her, but he couldn’t pinpoint the fragrance molested his nostrils with a gentle whiff. Their eyes opened as tongues tickled one another—and Carla’s breath caught in her throat. Her husband’s hand reached up to touch her bare shoulder, then slowly slid down to her face, neck, then—Carla had to act fast, if he touched her breast they would not make it out of the car, so she playfully slapped his hand away, and broke the kiss. “Nope! Come on or we’ll be late!” she said jumping out of the car.
Walking the halls of her old high school brought back so many salacious memories. “It says here we have to meet with Dr. Kara, room 117,” Dean said as his hand grabbed a handful of Carla’s derriere. She turned around in front of him, almost making them both fall, peck kissed him and grabbed his package. “Hmm, or, you could just let me have a meeting with this,” she grinned.
“Hi neighbors!” The couple both made annoyed faces. Their neighbor, Kate, whose four bratty children also attended Joshtown High, stood in the hallway, gawking at what she considered to be inappropriate behavior. “Well Carla, you look awfully saucy this evening? I didn’t know architects could dress so—” she searched for the right word, but before finding it, Dean cut in. “She looks absolutely fabulous, doesn’t she?”20130914_193033 (2)3604573660549900812..jpg
“Oh, yes right! Of course, she does! Well you two go on your merry way now! I guess I should be getting on to my kids’ next teacher.”
Dean and Carla rolled their eyes as the continued flirting down the hall. Neither of them could stand Kate. She was a jealous woman who loved to start gossip. She was especially jealous of the Steele’s. Carla was a big name in the architect industry, holding two master’s degrees, she was highly sought after. Her husband was ex-military, and now he was a State Trooper, quickly working his way up the ranks. Rumor had it that Kate even hated how respectful and well behaved their children were.
Once inside room 117, Carla and Dean began to make out while waiting for their child’s teacher to come back. Dean wasted no time sliding a hand up his wife’s short dress, she gasped loudly. “Shhh!” Dean joked as his mouth nuzzled her ear then assaulted her neck.
The door creaked open and both parents jumped. “Ahem!” Dr. Kara was a little surprised to catch to adults making out in her classroom, but a quick once over and she understood. “I can see you two are anxious to get out of here, so I’ll make this quick.”
Carla squeezed her legs together as the meeting wore on. The heat radiating from between her thighs was making her uncomfortably horny. She could see her husband, sitting so erect, like something else in his pants. He was trying to keep his eyes away from her, but he kept glancing over, devouring her, making her hot and moist.
The bell rung sounding it was time for them to move on to the next classroom. Carla had other plans. She grabbed Dean’s hand and rushed down the hallway, knocking past the other parents who looked at the couple in bewilderment. They practically knocked Kate over as Carla led them to the teacher’s lounge, where she knew there was a restroom that would give them some privacy.
Once inside, they let their inhibitions go. Their hands groped with passionate hunger through clothes until they found the parts they so desperately needed. Carla freed her husband’s erection as he expertly removed her thong. He picked her up and sat her on the sink counter as she guided his heavy cock to her opening, filling her, stretching her. “Oooohhh gawd! Dean you feel so good!” Dean finally got to get his hands on his wife’s breast, kneading her nipples, squeezing just enough to make her wince, as he began to thrust. She wrapped her long brown legs around him, forcing him to impale her with every inch. Their mouths wrestled with one another; her hands gripped his ass as he began to drill her violently.
Dean couldn’t believe how wet Carla was. It took every bit of concentration not to explode. Even after two children, his wife was as tight as ever. Dean pulled out abruptly, turned Carla around and bent her over the sink counter. Her hands up on the mirror, he pushed back inside of her with a grunt. He pulled her dress up revealing her tattoo20190622_1153054571101334995578002.jpg which drove him wild, and he did a thing that caused her to squirt. Amid being pounded, Carla felt pressure on her asshole. Not that she wanted to protest, but before she knew it, a finger was inserted. To keep from screaming she used one hand to cover her mouth, but she was unable to control the orgasm that took over her body. His knees buckled and she dropped to the floor as her flower gushed.
During their frenzied fucking, they forgot to close the bathroom door, giving Kate a free peep show. Neither noticed until Dean came hard in Carla’s mouth. Kate gasped causing the couple to stare in disbelief. Kate had caught them before on multiple occasions, but never outside of their home. In fact, it was their belief that she spied on them.
Carla winked up at her husband, turned to Kate, and stuck her tongue out, showing her the contents.
Dean threw his head back and laughed as she stormed out. “Fuck! We I think we missed Mr. Hawthorne’s class! We better get cleaned—” Dean looked down at his trousers, “We better go.” They laughed as they ran from the building, hand in hand, off to fuck again in the restaurant parking lot as they waited for their table to be called.

Wish I Could Sleep

It’s about 3:20a.m here in Philadelphia, and yet here I am drinking a cup of coffee. I can feel the weight of sleep on my eye lids, but my mind has other plans.

I am on paternity leave again. My wife, daughter and I welcomed our son just last Wednesday. I swear this little bundle of joy was going to set a record for how much formula a new born could stomch–seemed like ever hour since about 12 he was crying to be fed.

I am writing merely to say I wrote. Recently i posted about a work in progress, a story I am currently working on; however,there hasn’t been much progress lately. But this project I am working on is something bigger than just another erotic story I post on my blog. It holds the potential to be something more, so I will view it as a goal, a deep desire to make it more than just a blog post.

I am always a little bit leary to post photos of my kids, but as a proud dad, I just cannot help myself, so here goes

Letter to My Daughter

Dear Naomi,

Today, your brother Manny will be born. Mommy and Daddy are really excited to meet him and to see how you two will get along. My prayer has been that you will share a strong, endearing bond.

I apologize for not writing to you more often. I’ve wanted to-and not to make excuses but, Daddy has been very tired and very busy these last few months.

I always wonder when you read these letters will you ask yourself, “Why did Dad always say he loves me?” Maybe you will, maybe you won’t, but just in case, I’ll tell you. A father’s love and affection towards his daughter is vital in her young age. It helps to build confidence and self worth. I want you to know what real love is, it’s not just a feeling, its putting those feelings into action.

When we found out you were a girl, I spent the rest of your mother’s pregnancy planning to shower you with hugs, kisses, and compliments.

Naomi, always remember this: Daddy loves you no matter what. You will disappoint me, even make me angry, but I will still love you. Most importantly my dear, you can never escape the love and compassion of Jesus. He loves you more than I ever could!

You are currently two and a half years old, but when you read this understand something: today, Emmanuel James Still will be born. He will not replace the love I have for you in my heart, he is not your competition. I love you both deeply, it is a love you cannot understand until you have children of your own. You will always be my Pretty Lil’ Brown skin Baby, and my heart is big enough to love you and your brother.

So while today may not be about you, just know that you are still on my mind, and hold a special place in my heart.

Love you to the moon and back

-Dad

Work in Progress

So this morning I finally sat down and began to work on something that may or may not be bigger than what I initially intended. I do not get to write/post the way I would like, but my mind is always coming up with new things to jot down.

Once I have gotten the main idea of this current piece I’m working on, I will share it with you all! Take care until then!

Persistence

Let the chips
Fall where chance
And gravity willed
His love for her
Was warm and persistent, cool
And kind like a beverage chilled
Forbidden by time and
Circumstance,
He confessed heartfelt emotions
Amidst so much commotion, and
Though slowed down, his love
Lumbered with locomotion.
-SpKn

Inconspicuous

Tears welled up
Behind copacetic eyes
All smiles and high fives
Yet inside there’s a man who
Just wants to cry and hide
From these ugly dark things, he
Can’t help but feel
Are they made up or can it be
These emotions are real?
Is all love lost, or with effort can
His heart be healed?
Tears stay stuck behind those battered
Eyes
His heart yells silently, stuck here
He knows he’ll die violently.
-SpkN

Eloquent Kisses

Ever so eloquent you stand with your back to me
Quick as a kitten, silent as a whisper
I entangle you in a warm embrace, my lips attack your neck
You push against me, melting into the strength of my arms.
My lips finish their gentle assault and softly
I say, “I love you.”

Rushing to Write

I have put so much pressure on myself to blog/write. I wanted to be one of those bloggers with like 1,500 followers, tons of likes and comments as a way of saying, “Dude, you’re a great writer!” But, I’m not a “great” writer, just a cook who loves to write about any and everything.

There is/are something(s) lacking in my writing. For one, vision. What is my end game here? It’s hard to sit and be consistent when your day starts at 3:45am and you have a toddler and a baby on the way. So I am forced to ask myself, am I writing as a form of escape and the world (30+ followers) is traveling along with me? Or am I building up to something bigger?

I have seen some of the pages I follow discuss different awards they have received and I ask myself, what would that take for me to achieve that level of coolness? Truth be told, I do not submit my work for peer reviews for a few reasons, one is actually an excuse (I haven’t copyrighted my work), the other is that I am so used to folks saying, “Oh, that’s really good!” And that’s as far as it goes, and then finally, fear… fear that my writing isn’t as good as I think it is.

The other issue I find in my writing is my lack of reading. I usually fall asleep with books opened on my face and my wife has to put them away losing my page (lol). My lack of reading has grotesquely affected my vocabulary. When I was younger, you couldn’t pay NOT to read. Now, as a full time cook, dad, and husband, I hardly have time to breathe. I need to read both fiction and non fiction. I need to study the Bible, and read other world views not neccessary in search of a new world view, but understanding how mine lines up along with others. I need to distance my reality from what I write, learn to put the reader in a world not mine or theirs.

Lastly. My writing needs time and patience. I tend to write something, and BOOM! I think it’s a masterpiece. I need to go back, edit, rethink, retool, and possibly rewrite, maybe scratch the whole project and start again. But I need to learn not to rush… even as I type this, i am hurrying so I can get the little one up and start our day.

So I will end with this; to my followers and to whomever else may stumble upon this here blog, feel free to leave some critiques, be real, in spite of my fears, I will take the meat and leave the bone.

-SpKn

9:47P.M

I should be getting ready for bed, after all, I have to wake up at 3:45. The reality is, for weeks I have wanted to write, wanted to type, something, anything, just to escape all the hustle and excitement of the holidays and what not.

This is the first time in a very long time that I could sit and thus so far, not be interrupted. So, I’ll leave it there, I had the ability to type-and though this is boring, at least I can say I did it!

A Kiss Like Lightening

He sat in the diner sipping his coffee. He could not help but notice the waitress at the door with the green tee-shirt and tight jeans. She was dark brown, cute with high cheek bones, smooth skin, and eyes that flashed seductively.
“Can I get you anything?” Her voice sang to him through an imaginary fog. He held her gaze briefly before responding, “More coffee—please.” She smiled and as she walked away her thick hips swayed with an intoxicating rhythm.
She was perfect—not too thick, not too thin. His thoughts raced with controversy. Was it wrong to desire this woman? Even if it was only for the night?
His gaze lingered out the window of the diner as the rain swam through the night—lightening flashed, and thunder rumbled.
“Your coffee, sir.” She smiled, and her teeth shone like a thousand pearls.
“May I ask you your name?” He asked as she took the liberty to sit across from him.
“Tanya, with an ‘A’.” She never bothered to ask him his name. She merely sat, enjoying the mysteriousness of this gentleman.
Deep down, she too felt a conviction for wanting him, but—for some odd reason, she felt a strange sense of pity for this man as well.
The diner was well lit and slightly noisy. There was no room for privacy. He had conflicting thoughts and feelings running through him. Now that I know her name, where do I go from here.
“What happened to your arm?” She asked referring to the bandage he was wearing. He explained about the accident he had at work three days ago.
“Your eyes—they are absolutely stunning!” She said as she took his hand and led him away from the table and towards the door.
There was an electric vibe coursing between the two, something neither had felt before.
Standing at his car they shared a kiss full of passion—like the lightening flashing around them. Tanya slipped her number into his hand.
He let go as his convictions began to fade, but a sadness remained. She saw it in his eyes that he was going home to an empty bed. Explains the pity she thought. Poor thing must be aggravating.
He felt confused. He felt free, he felt ashamed—relieved and burdened. Being a young widower, his heart still ached for his beloved—but his body craved release. Every face belonged to her, every caress gave him flashbacks of the vivid love they once shared.
“The coffee is on me,” she sang through the rain. She sauntered back into the diner as lightening burst through the dark sky and thunder hollered over the rain.