Monthly Archives: October 2018

Blogging My Murder; chapter six, part three

Chapter Six; Part Three

“Hey, Megan. How’re you doing?”

“fine. well, no, not really. i left work early today because i couldn’t stand being there.” I fill him in on my day, and he’s properly sympathetic to my woes. He tells me about the house shoot he did today and how his client was a pain in the ass. Mrs. Decker made him move a lamp five times before ordering him to put it back where it first was. Then, she was unhappy with his prices, even though she had agreed to them before he’d even started. Then, she tried to seduce him in lieu of payment, and he had a difficult time getting her to take no for an answer. As she’s in her sixties, gaunt, and wouldn’t know a smile if it hit her in the face, he wanted nothing to do with her.

“have you ever slept with a client?” I ask curiously. “no judgement—just wondering.”

“I did. Once. It did not end well.” With that, Rembrandt tells me the story.

 

“So, you’re a photographer.” The curvy brunette placed a red-tipped talon on Rembrandt’s arm and trails it down to his hand. She pressed her boobs against his arm while snaking her arm around his waist. Rembrandt was glad he worked from home because he wouldn’t want to have to deal with this in an office full of people. “I’m getting married in two months, and I’m interviewing photographers.”

“Is this part of the interview process?” Rembrandt asked, arching his eyebrow at her.

“For you, yes it is.” The brunette planted a kiss on Rembrandt’s lips, slipping her tongue into his mouth.

 

“Wait a minute. She hit on you while asking you to be her wedding photographer?” We’ve switched to phone, which makes talking about the story much easier.

“Yup.”

 

“What are you doing?” Rembrandt’s voice was ragged, and his cock was rock hard.

“I’m trying to get in your pants. Is it working?” Kimberly—by now he knew her name—asked, her voice husky. “You’re going to be my last fling before my wedding. I think I’ve earned it.”

“Kimberly, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Rembrandt pulled back, but not completely. He had recently broken up with his girlfriend, and he hadn’t felt a tit in two months.

“I know it’s not, but I don’t care,” Kimberly said bluntly. She grabbed Rembrandt’s hand and placed it on her tit under her tank top. Rembrandt swallowed hard at the warm flesh under his fingers. It was not augmented, which was just how he liked it. He instinctively squeezed, and he shivered when her nipple tightened under his touch.

“Fuck it.” Rembrandt grabbed her face in both his hands and kissed her hard.

“Meow?” Ginger rubbed against Rembrandt’s legs while simultaneously glaring at Kimberly.

“Not now, Ginger.” Rembrandt brushed Ginger aside and returned to kissing Kimberly. He guided her towards his bedroom, closing the door on Ginger’s face. “Come here.” Rembrandt gently pushed Kimberly on the bed and climbed on top of her.

“Fuck me,” Kimberly gasped, pulling Rembrandt down hard. After they kissed for several minutes, Rembrandt rolled off Kimberly so she could sit up and pull off her top. Her tits bounced out, and Rembrandt was all over them in a hot second. He sucked one into his mouth and was gratified to hear Kimberly’s moans. “Oh, god. I need this so bad.” They both quickly disrobed before continuing to make out. Rembrandt went down on Kimberly, eating her out until she came. She returned the favor, but he stopped her before he came because he knew he would be one and done. “Do you have any condoms?”

“Yes.” Rembrandt opened the drawer in his nightstand and pulled out a condom. He rolled it on his cock, which was harder than it had been in quite some time. Kimberly lay back on the bed and spread her legs. Rembrandt was between them and in her in a flash.

 

“So this was less than a year ago?” I ask, cutting into his recitation. I’m having a hard time keeping the timeline straight, so I need to clarify the details.

“Yeah. It was about six months ago.” Rembrandt’s voice is filled with guilt, and he continues his story.

Continue Reading

Blogging My Murder; chapter six, part two

“I’m going out for a while, but I should be home before too late.” I kiss Onyx and Jet on their heads before leaving, ignoring their cries as I do. I drive to South Minneapolis where my sister lives and sit in the car after parking. I steel myself for the encounter, taking several smooth, slow breaths. I always have trouble interacting with normies, and my brother-in-law is definitely a normie. He does something in marketing, and he’ll drone on and on about it for hours if you let him. Coral is a pleasant woman who greatly resembles her mother, and she has the strong will as well. She has marched in Black Lives Matter protests for the past year and a half, much to her father’s dismay. She and her husband, Jamal Harrington, are prominent figures in the local chapter. Jamal is a teacher in an alternative high school, and despite being built like a linebacker, he never played sports as a kid. He’s a crack hand at chess, though. We’ve played it a few times, and he’s whupped my ass every time.

“I can do this.” I turn off the car, lock the door, and knock on the door to Jasmine’s house.

“Megan, come on in.” Jasmine grabs me in a hug, nearly taking my breath away.

“Auntie Meg! Come play.” Michelle and Ing-wen fly at me, nearly knocking me over in their enthusiasm to hug me. They’re wearing matching dresses, red for Michelle and orange for Ing-wen. They both have matching bows in their curls, and they look too cute for words.

“Hi, girls. How’re my babies doing?” I hug them with difficulty as they squirm in my embrace.

“Come play with us! We brought our Legos!” They pull at my hand, but Jasmine shoos them away.

“Girls, let her say hi to everyone else.” Jasmine leads me into the living room where her husband, Bob, is sitting on the recliner, and Coral and Jamal are on the couch. Bob’s black hair is slicked back, and he has a grimace on his face as Jamal and Coral chat with each other.

“Aunt Meg!” Coral springs up and hugs me. “It’s been too long!” She squeeze my hand. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Coral. You’re looking great!” I look her up and down with a critical eye. She’s lost some weight while still retaining her voluptuous figure. Her curly hair is pinned up in a sloppy bun which suits her Madonna figure, and she’s wearing a brilliant red pantsuit which guarantees she’ll draw every eye in the room. “Your girls are lovely, too.” I look around for Smoochie, Jasmine’s calico cat, but she’s nowhere to be seen. She’s thirteen, has a touch of arthritis, and the only people she like are her immediate family, so I rarely see her.

“They are the best of me and Jamal, that’s for sure!” Coral leads me to the couch, and Jamal rises to greet me.

“Ms. Liang. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Jamal extends his hand and engulfs mine in his.

“Megan. Please. It’s good to see you, too.” I eye Jamal covertly, not letting on how attractive I find him. He’s six-feet four inches of solid muscle, his dark brown skin looking deliciously edible. His dreads fall halfway down his back, and his tailored suit is just itching to be ripped off. “How’re you doing, Jamal?”

“Just fine, Megan.” Jamal says with an easy smile. “My kids this year are riled up about Phil Castilo’s shooting, so I’ve had my hands full with them.”

“That was such bull—crap,” I say, changing the word at the last moment. I’m keenly aware of my two grandnieces hanging on our every word, and I don’t want to be the one to corrupt them. Granted, they are playing with their ‘Legos’ (Duplos) on the floor and don’t appear to be paying attention, but I know better. The last time I saw them, I said something was shit, and the girls suddenly looked up from their plushies and said shit loudly and in unison.

Continue Reading

Blogging My Murder; chapter six, part one

Chapter Six; Part One

“Megan! How are you? I heard about your friend, and I’m so sorry.” Sara pulls me into a hug, catching me unaware.

“I’m fine,” I say sharply, placing my hands on her shoulders and pushing her away. I do not like being touched without my permission, especially by someone I don’t like.

“It must be so awful! Her being murdered like that!” Sara’s eyes are fastened on mine, and I get the uncomfortable feeling that she’s getting a kick out of this. There are people who thrive on misery, and she might be one of them.

“Yes. It’s not great.” I sit at my desk and turn on my computer. I pointedly keep my back to Sara so she might take the hint. Alas, she does not.

“I know you’re grieving right now. If there’s anything you need, I would be more than happy to help you. Anything at all!” Sara materializes in front of me, her hands clasped in front of her breasts. I can’t help but notice she’s wearing a black dress that is very out of character with her love for pastels. Her eyes are moist, and I look askance at her. I hate people who absorb the misery of others, ,and she would appear to be one of those people.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I drop my eyes as my computer starts chugging. I just want her to go away, but she stubbornly refuses to take the hint.

“Would you like to have dinner tonight?” Sara clasps my arm, and I glare at the offending appendage. I know it’s time to put my foot down, hard. I glance into Sara’s hopeful eyes, and I steel myself for the unpleasant task at hand.

“No, Sara, I do not want to have dinner tonight. I do not want to have dinner with you any night. We are colleagues. Nothing more. I want to keep it at that.” I remove her hand from my arm and let it drop to her side. She immediately bursts into tears.

“Why do you have to be so mean to me? I like you so much, and you hate me!” Sara runs from the room, loudly sobbing. I get the feeling I’m supposed to chase after her, but I don’t move. I’m unhappy that her little scenes are getting more and more frequent, but I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t want to go to my supervisor because Sara hasn’t done anything egregiously wrong. I don’t want her to be fired; I just want her to leave me alone.

“She’s a soul-sucker, isn’t she?” Lynnette whispers as she passes my desk. She’s a comely redhead in her thirties, and I like the way she livens up the place. “She tried to do the same thing to me a month ago, but I shut her down right fast.”

“I went to lunch with her once,” I say, keeping my voice low as well. “I think that was probably a big mistake.”

Continue Reading

Blogging My Murder; chapter five, part two

Chapter Five; Part Two

Speaking of Tessa, my phone rings her ring. I glance at my phone and remind myself that I need to block her number. I didn’t after I first caught her because I was in shock, and then inertia took its course. Her calls came less and less, and I hadn’t heard from her in the past four days—a record. I wait for her text to come through. It says, “Megan! I heard about Julianna! You poor, poor baby. You must be hurting so much. Call me!” I erase it, then another comes through. “Patricia is gone for the week. Call me.” I snort and erase that one as well. If she thought she could seduce me into a tryst after what she did to me, she didn’t know me at all. I toy with the idea of pretending to go along with her and then rejecting her just as we’re about to fuck, but I decide I’m going to be better than that. A third text, “I am so, so, so sorry I cheated on you, Megs. I miss you.” The use of her pet name for me brings tears to my eyes. I can’t help but remember the times we walked on Stone Arch Bridge, late at night, holding hands and laughing unrestrainedly. Teddy Bear, her black chow, trotted between us, his blue tongue lolling out of his mouth. He adored Tessa, liked me well enough, and tolerated Patricia. It makes me meanly glad that Teddy never truly warmed up to Patricia, despite her being his walker. “Megan, you need someone in your time of need.” I block Tessa’s number, suddenly tired of her pestering. Almost immediately, I get an email from her, so I block her there as well. Next, Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. Blocked, blocked, blocked. I want her out of my life, and I never want to think about her again.

“Fuck that.” I turn over on the couch, thumping the cushions in anger. I hate thinking about Tessa because it messes up my brain. Any time I resolve to calm down, I get riled up again. I’ve tried slow, smooth breathing; I’ve tried meditation; I’ve tried imagining that I’m stabbing her with a sword. None of it makes me feel better, so I hope that the proverbial time will heal this particular wound. I pull a pillow over my head, and then I feel a cat ass sitting on it. A small one, so it’s Onyx. I reach up and remove her, setting her to the side of the pillow. Two minutes later, I feel the thump again. This time, she burrows her ass down firmly, as if that’ll stop me from removing her. I don’t mind her being so clingy, but not if it means a cat ass on my face. Even if my face is covered with a pillow. “Quit it, Onyx!” I say crossly, my voice muffled by pillow and ass. I move her again, this time turning on my side so she can’t repeat her trick again. She mews crossly at me before hopping up on the side of my ribs. She stiff-legs her way down my hip and settles on the side of my knee. That’s tolerable, so I allow it. Two minutes later, I feel a heavier body bumping against the small of my back. Jet in his usual spot, I presume. His warm, comforting bulk soothes some of my agitation, and I drift off to sleep.

Julianna’s mutilated body weaves in and out of my dream, showing gaps in her skin. A blood-drenched ribbon passes through the gaps, making a grotesque tapestry out of my friend’s body. There is some classical music playing in the background. Bach, Beethoven, Brahms. One of the Bs, though I’m not sure which one. It’s as soft and seductive as a siren’s song. Little bits of flesh crumble off her body as she floats, and there’s a rictus smile on her face. I’m in the dream as well, trying in vain to capture her with a large butterfly net. She keeps slipping through it, and I’m crying as I run.

“Goddamn it!” I sit straight up, clutching the pillow to my heart. I have shifted sometime in my sleep, and Onyx and Jet are snuggled in a ball at my feet. I race to the bathroom, dry-heaving into the toilet. I keep gagging, even though nothing comes up. Onyx and Jet join me, meowing anxiously at my feet. Once I’m done, I crawl over to the counter and pull myself up with difficulty. I fill a glass with water and gulp down several mouthfuls of water. It starts roiling in my stomach, and I lean over the toilet again. The water comes back up, and my stomach hurts from all the retching. I flop down on the floor, not wanting to move. I close my eyes, thinking how easy it would be just to go to sleep and never wake up. I don’t want to live in a world without my Julianna, anyway, so why not just let it all go?

Continue Reading

Blogging My Murder; chapter five, part one

Chapter Five; Part One

“Mrreow!” I bolt awake to the sight of Onyx’s face inches from mine. Her eyes are small slits, and her fangs are showing.

“Do not do that!” I push Onyx’s face away from mine, wincing as her breath hits my face. It stinks of salmon and kibbles, and I push it further to the side. She eludes my hand and bonks her head against my face. Jet is standing to the side of me, watching his sister with something akin to amusement on his face. I glance at the clock and note that it’s four-fifteen in the morning. I sigh and snuggle down into my pillow, but I’m wide awake. I check the comments on my latest post, and I’m warmed by how enthusiastic people are in response to the post. Several say that they’d love to meet my best friend, with one or two saying more cheekily that they’d like to date her. It’s funny as I don’t mention describe what she looks like or post her picture, but her personality shines through, even on paper. I frown at QueenBee’s comment as she acerbically writes, “All bark and no bite. You can tell she’s got no substance, and her voice is ugly, too. I don’t know what you see in her. She was a waste of space.” I frown as this is the second time she’s said something negative about Julianna. I dismiss it from my mind, then promptly fall back asleep for another hour. I’m not feeling refreshed when I wake up, but it’ll have to do.

“How are my little boops?” I ask, rubbing first Onyx’s nose and then Jet’s. They both nuzzle against me before nudging at my shoulders. It’s clear that they want me to get up and feed them, so I begrudgingly comply. Getting out of bed is my least-favorite activity, and it happens with depressing frequency. I drag myself over to my closet and quickly pick out an outfit. After I feed the cats and eat a bagel with peanut butter, I’m out the door. I arrive early to work, so I allow myself a minute to hop online (on my phone) and check the news. When I open the Strib website, I get the shock of my life. There’s Julianna’s face staring back at mine, on her bed, with her throat slashed. I gag and cry out, quickly stifling it. The next thing I see is that her tongue is cut out, and there’s copious amounts of blood surrounding her. That’s when I lose it—stumbling away from my desk. I make it to the bathroom just in time to puke out the contents of my stomach into the toilet. I keep gagging long after I’ve thrown everything up. I sag onto the floor and begin weeping uncontrollably. How could this be happening to me? How could Julianna be dead? Also, who could have done that to her tongue? Who hated her that much?

I fumble with my purse, pulling out my phone. There’s the Star Tribune website and Julianna’s destroyed face is looking back at me. I quickly close out the tab before plugging Julianna Araki into Google. The first five hits are about the murder, and I cautiously open them in new windows. None of them have pictures, for which I’m grateful. I learn that Julianna was killed at about four in the morning, the same time Onyx had awoken me from my sleep. Remorse overcomes me. If only I had called her, texted her, or something. Maybe I could have saved her. I check my phone to see if I have any messages. I do—a text from her at around 3:45 a.m. I stare at the phone, not believing my eyes. This is a text from Julianna, and it might be the last thing she said before she was—I finally check the text, my heart in my mouth. I don’t want to read it, but I know I must.

“Hey, Liang. I just got the fucking of a lifetime. You should try it! It’s good for what ails you. I’m ready for another round, but Ramona had to go home, damn it. Wanna come over and lend me a hand? Just kidding. Love you, girl. Thank you for the Dong Yuan. Talk to you soon.”

“Oh, Araki. How could you do this to me?” I cradle my phone to my chest, rocking back and forth as I weep. What am I going to do without my best friend, and who could have done this to her? Ramona? Simon? A disgruntled ex? I don’t know, and all I can do is weep.

“Megan? Are you OK?” Tania Smith, one of my coworkers, stares at me, her mouth agape and her hazel eyes wide. She pushes a hank of greasy brown hair from her brow, but it falls back in place.

“I’m fine.” I choke back my sobs and gather my things. I pull myself up off the floor and brush by her to wash my face. I rinse my mouth before turning off the faucet. “I think I might have a stomach bug. I’m going home. Tell Cara I’m taking the rest of the day off.” I sweep out of the bathroom, keeping my head held high. I don’t crumble until I reach my car, and then I burst into sobs again. Somehow, I manage to make it home in one piece before collapsing on the couch. I start weeping as if I’ll never stop. Onyx and Jet hop onto the couch, Onyx on my stomach and Jet on the cushion squished next to my thigh, and they’re both staring at me in consternation. I try to placate them with a smile, but all I can do is howl. I can’t live without my Julianna; I just can’t bear it.

Continue Reading