Butt Stuff Preview

Hello, much neglected masses...or rather the two people that read my creative writing blog.

I'm currently working on a short story for Kinky.com.  Recently, I had stayed up in San Fransisco where I luckily got to scratch an itch I've had for a long time.  That itch was for butt stuff. 

See what I did there?

Lucky for my readers who don't come here for the hanky panky, I'm not going to wax poetic on my marvelous experiences with butts.  However, I must warn you folks that the short story I'm working on does include butt stuff.  Not too much of it.  And no worries, the butts are all tastefully discussed.  I'm using this story was a way to push my limits as a writer, as I have never written a short story.  Also, I'm using this project as the vehicle through which I could touch on certain aspects of sexual realities. 


Enjoy this sneak peak of "Butt Stuff:  A Love Story"

The completed story will be posted on Kinky.com.

Mia

Meet and Greet

So it's about time I shittily keep my word.  Internet eons ago (months really) I made a promise to fans that I would host a meet and greet once I reached 10k followers.  And then I reached 10k followers, but a date was hastily set without much forethought.  With the burden of not having planned, the date came and went.  Shitty Mia, being shitty.  To lower my shit stock, I planned ahead and made sure that every calendar I had had allocated time just for this meet and greet.

At long last, the Mia Li Meet and Greet will happen on Thursday August 14.  Prepare to be underwhelmed.  Seriously though, this is my excuse to picnic at a beautiful park in San Diego.  I just have to sit about for two hours playing my ukulele contemplating what the hell I'm going to do if I have x amount of sandwiches left over.

Please come by.  Say hi.  And chill for a wee bit.  If you wanna talk books, I'm your gal.

I'll be pic-a-nicking on the West side of the Botanical Building from 3-5pm.  I trust you folks know how to read a map.

Love,
Mia Li

Update

Whoops... Where did June go?

June was a rather eventful month for the porn biz.  Politics yet again threaten the industry that is home to thousands of happy performers and other biz workers.  In case you missed it, check out Kinky.com's coverage of AB1576.  Fingers crossed that this nonsense ends and we can kinda sorta breath easy a little while longer before another politician tries to rubs us out...in a bad way that is.  This past month I attended of a few meetings with several other adult performer advocates to hopefully create enough momentum, something to help curb this madness.  I've been rather apolitical most of my life because of the lack of actual importance in the common man's beliefs, plights, what have you.  The AB1576 debacle from my standpoint reaffirms that certain politicians clearly don't give a damn.

Moving on from the dark to the mildly awesome.  June has been a month butt-stuffed with radio shows and bush growing hijinks.  I've popped on LATalk Radio for Inside the Industry hosted by the kind James Bartholet.  Vivid Sirius XM Radio has been pretty sweet having me on Dana Dearmond's Dirty Nerdy and the Christy Canyon show.  Also, Vivid SXM has offered me a sweet opportunity, which you folks may be able to get in on.

On July 18 at 1pm PST, I will get to host one hour on Vivid Radio 102 SXM with the topics of my choosing.  In total transparency, the topics I choose were kind of on the spot and hurried, but I don't think you'll be disappointed.  For the first half hour I'll be chatting about Erotic Fanfiction; the third quarter is about Foot Fetishes; the remainder of the show will cover the Switch role in BDSM. 

When I was exploring the world (a.k.a the Internet) as a youth looking for fap material, I didn't really turn at all to video porn.  Sure there was that one brilliant sex tape, but often I didn't care to wank it to vid content because my imagination was so much better.  Instead, I ate up a ghastly amount of erotic fan fiction.  The universes, characters, and settings that I loved from literature, movies, and television were presented to me doing things too devious for original.  Why not enjoy some ridiculous pairings like Luna Lovegood and the Weasley twins on a rainy night on the floor of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?  Do not even get me started on the original characters fan fiction writers create.  Well written or not, these original fan created fictions made my nethers go a tingle.

Foot fetishists fascinate me.  Although I am not terribly opposed to having my tootsies, soles, and arches worshipped, I am not a foot fetishist.  What is it about feet that drive the folks crazy?  Spread toes, wrinkled soles, and high arches are enough to send blood rushing down under for those who adore feet.  Tell me all about how this fetish developed in your sexual appetites.  Regale me with some deliciously naughty stories of foot lovin.

The last topic that will be covered will be a discussion on the switch bdsm scene role.  Being switch opens one up to both ends of the BDSM spectrum as well as all the dispositions between.  Switches have the ability to be dominant as well as submission.  Frankly it's a double the pleasure, double the fun situation.  Personally, some of my favorite Dommes are switches.  As a switch the dominance and submission play is more dynamic in my experience.  Dom/Dommes, subs, and switches are welcomed to discuss this delightful scene role.  Of course, everyone is invited to call in.

I am really fucking excited to have this opportunity.  Tune in and call in!  Info is below.

Vivid Radio Sirius XM Channel 102

Vivid Virgins--July 18 at 1pm PST

http://www.siriusxm.com/vividradio

Call in at 855-998-4843

Brenda and Howard: Labor Day

Note to the Reader:  I hadn't realized that the next installation of the Brenda and Howard series has just been sitting in my blog folder waiting to be edited. Huzzah!  I have done just that.  If I had my way and in an alternate reality where I was a writer of sorts, I'd frame the Brenda and Howard series to track the entire pregnancy of Brenda.  As it stands, I decided to skip ahead.

If you haven't read the previous Brenda and Howard bits here are the links.

1.  Pabst Blue Ribbon and Smiling Mustard

2.  Meet Brenda Part 1

3.  Meet Brenda Part 2

4.  I hear you breathing when you sleep

Labor Day

There were enough mylar balloons at Brenda and Howard's baby shower to stock a clown convention.  None of them were blue or pink.  Brenda had decided that she didn't want to find out the gender of the baby.  She didn't want to fill the soon-to-be nursery with a gender polarized color scheme.  The wrapping paper that protruded from the recycling bin at Howard's in-laws were all neutral yellows, greens, and purples. 

As Howard walked the bin to the curb, he sighed in relief that the shower was long over and that they had one more night left with Brenda's family.  The trees that lined the sidewalk were clinging to the vibrancy of summer, but the creeping hands of autumn leeched out the green.  The leaves weren't quite crunchy yet, but the chill of Labor Day evening was enough to raise the hairs on Howard's arm. 

The close proximity to Brenda's parents brought on another chill.

Upon their arrival days earlier, it seemed that her father was finally able to put away his disproval of Howard.  Despite Howard's success as an attorney, and his well-dressed, well-mannered ways, her father radiated a subtle dislike or irritability toward Howard.  The man's lips always pinched into a severe line of neutrality whenever Howard was around.  The severity of line deepened when Howard and he were alone.  This hidden-apparent disdain made Howard pucker for fear that this man could see through him.  Howard feared that Brenda's father knew that their relationship was a bullshit farce for a man too chicken shit to out himself.  The man's own stoic attitude toward his own marriage brought on Howard's suspicions. 

That could be me in a few decades. 

However, when he saw Howard flit around like a nervous hummingbird at Brenda's beck and call, the tension between the two men eased.  The subversively irate nature with which he addressed Howard appeared to have dissipated.  The noose Howard felt around his neck finally loosened.

Luckily enough, Brenda's mother begged off from joining the expecting couple for dinner.  Naturally, her father followed suit.  The excuse to do the whole visiting not visiting thing relieved a knot between Howard's shoulder blades.  It was bad enough pantomiming a romantic relationship with Brenda without an audience.  They left on foot into town for dinner.

"Just like when we first started dating."

"Hrm?" Howard was lost in his own thoughts when Brenda broke the comfortable silence.

"We used to walk everywhere when we started going out."  She smiled up at him as she said this.  Reflexively he smiled and wrapped his arm around her.

"Well, I couldn't help but want to show you off," Howard admonished.  It was the damned truth.  He hid his frown behind her as he shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders.  Howard did this without prompting thinking as he had on all the walks to the dates they had in that town.

It's what boyfriends do.

***

They had dinner at a diner.  Red vinyl booths and that greasy spoon smell filled the place.  Brenda's cheeks were blushed from the cold and pregnant vitality.  A grin split her face when a kid ran over to pop quarters into the archaic juke box by the bar, where it had always been since she started going there.  This was where Howard first took her out to dinner.  This was where Howard first kissed her.  This was the diner where Howard proposed and where she promptly choked on Coke and gurgled yes.

"Don't you-" her question was cut off by an angry buzzing in Howard's coat pocket.

He held out his hand to have her pass the phone.

"Don't I?..."  His eyes were for the phone's screen, but hers were trained on his face. 

"Don't you remember all of the memories we have here?"

"Of course, darling."  His fingers moved deftly over the tiny screen, texting. Howard threw a radiant smile her way. 

Brenda rubbed her foot leisurely on Howard's calf.  Her lips curved lovingly as he worked on his phone.  She understood that his job was demanding in regard to the constant communication with clients and coworkers. 

Absentminded you may be, Mr. Howard, I adore you.

Unbeknownst to Brenda, Howard was managing his affair.  Ten texts into the baby shower earlier made him decide to end things with SPIN CLASS. 

By the time his unsweetened ice tea and her Sprite came, the torrid affair was ended. 

Throwback Thursday

Hello dear readers!

In honor of throwback Thursday, which is apparently a thing, I'm posting a piece I had written in college.  Back in those days circa Fall 2011-Spring 2012 I joined the staff of the college newspaper.  I didn't and still don't see myself as a news reporter or journalist at all, but rather an English major who simply wanted to write something.  Eventually after several articles that had nothing to do with on or off campus current events I gained the title Evergreen Queen.  Typically my writings erred on the side of general and random topics as a means to have a witty-ish title.

With that, I present to you:

How to Take a Dump

Throughout the course of one’s love life, a little heartbreak is inevitable. Some may never have to weather the storm of post-relationship depression, anger and tempestuous revenge-hunger, but for those of you that will have to and have had to…here’s some advice about how to take a dump:

Take a dump with friends: Being dumped is a tough, and often isolating, experience. Return to your social roots, your friends before Sam, Amanda or Charlie. They are the ones that knew you with all your quirks, habits, and impromptu celebrity impersonations. They will tolerate your wet works and then backhand slap you back to reality and self-worth. Friends are unafraid to tell you how simultaneously insane, awesome and obnoxious you are.

Take a dump with distractions: Losing what you thought was your other half is a disorienting thing. You begin to wonder if the things you loved were really the things you loved because the, one you loved, loved them. Thus you find yourself without the person that wrote up your itinerary for fun. Pick up new hobbies that will stimulate your mind and draw attention away from the gaping chasm in your chest, where your heart once was. These distractions may be fleeting hobby fads or something that leads you to your new lease on life. The point is to find things you like to do. Stalking your ex  and making hate collages with old photos are not viable options.

Take a dump with confidence: So you’ve just been dumped and this could easily send you into a downward spiral of Häagen Daz ice cream and self-loathing. Don’t give in. Embrace yourself in your epicness. For x amount of time you’ve identified yourself with that other person to the point that he/she is another facet of you. Sure there’s a vacancy in your bed and/or social life, but there shouldn’t be an all-consuming loss of what makes you, you. Celebrate the fact that you are now a free spirit and that you are free to eat an entire pint of caramel cone Häagen Daz motivated by cravings and not by break up blues.



Here’s some advice about how not to take a dump:

Do not take a dump vocally: It’s fine and dandy to weep and rage to your inner circle of friends. However, tweeting, blogging, and ranting through a social media outlet will garner bad attention. You may win some sympathetic, empathetic comments and likes. But don’t dwell on the negative. If you must status-update, tweet or whatever, do so by focusing on the positive. Here’s an example status update, “Wow, I didn’t know how much room my tiny extra long twin bed had until last week. WIN!” or “So this is what it’s like not dipping into my roll-over points come Tuesday. Weird!”

Do not draw out a dumping with denial: You know when you’re being dumped. You may get dumped via email, text, tweet, Facebook message or even old fashioned face-to-face dumping. Do not pretend that you weren’t dumped and hold your breathe for the next four months waiting for the dumper to realize his/her wrong. This is a very painful way to take a dump. Take your dump as cleanly and maturely as possible. Don’t deny the dump because it’s real and the relationship is dead all the same, even if you pretend it isn’t. Accept what’s happening and move on.

Remember that taking a dump is a messy, painful, and, at times, stressful process.   However, in the end you will come out whole, happy, and free.


- See more at: Original Source

Linkstorm

Hello, darling readers.

A few things that I've been up to have popped up on the internet, and I thought it would be best to share with you folks.

Some of these may be older than others, but it's still all Mia Li goodness for you guys to enjoy.  As more SFW things pop up online, I'll be sure to compile them in other Linkstorm installations on The Euphemistic Minister.

SimplySxy Interview

Skeet Society Interview

Behind Kink US Interview

AB1576: The Exodus of an Industry

And... a video that I made in college just because I can:  Innocence

Below you'll find an interview I recently did with AVN Live.  Check it out and retweet the love.

Hope you like it!

Love,

Mia Li

Because Eargasms Are a Thing

Because Eargasms Are a Thing

The only concerts that I have been to are choir and band high school concerts I have performed in and Toto in sixth grade.  I went with my dad and his chums to see Toto rock out.  Luckily, this past weekend through the generosity of the band Our Last Night I was able to really experience live music.  I attended their tour concert with Chiodoos and other bands at SOMA down in San Diego. 

Our Last Night according to Wikipedia is a post-hardcore band with five members.  Trevor Wentworth (vocals), Matt Wentworth (guitar, vocals), Alex "Woody" Woodrow (bass), and Tim Molloy (drums).  They were briefly signed with Epitaph records, but are currently independent.  Although the band has been around since 2007, I discovered them via a Spiked Nation upload of their Adele "Skyfall" cover.  Compelled by their rock transformation of the epic James Bond theme, their covers found a comfortable place on my workout playlist.  This past fall they released their album Oak Island, which is definitely worth a good listen with your car windows rolled up because listening to it will prompt you to drum violently on your steering wheel.  I can say this from experience. 

Although I haven't attended many live concerts outside of orchestral music, I have heard many recorded live performances.  Many of these can unfortunately sound so far from the studio recording, that it's rather off putting.  This couldn't be further from the case with Our Last Night. 

They were spot on. 

All the members of the band proved that, not only do they convey that they are bloody passionate about what they do, they are really really true to form live.  Throughout the concert, I would find myself closing my eyes just letting the music roll over me and really recognize that they don't bullshit around.  The sound live as they are recorded.

How the shit can a person sing so well while traipsing around stage like an acrobat tethered to a mike?  I know not.  The members of the band were animated despite the at times so-so San Diego crowd.  I love seeing the non-vocals oriented members of the band singing with their bandmates even if there isn't a mike pressed to their mouth.  The comfort and pleasure that the members had in performing with one another was evident in their interactions on and off stage. 

Fortunately, the band had more time than anticipated in their set, which allowed them to play more off of Oak Island, their previous records, and a cover.  Their Katy Perry cover of "Dark Horse" certainly livened up be crowd.  Truly amazing how they took a very pop song and translated it to suit their unique music and performance style.  

I don't particularly know the tech terms for music and stage mumbo jumbo, but the balance of their vocals, guitars, and percussion were extremely well executed.  You could hear all aspects of the band clearly and appreciate everything the each individual brought to the stage. 

The sheer physical force of the actual performance was a tactile experience in itself.  Speakers that broadcast the plucking of strings, vibration of vocal chords, and striking of drums penetrated each person in the crowd.  Live music, when done right, is a whore that flits through the bodies of a mass and leaves everyone satiated. 

That awe and glow a person experiences after a good O is certainly comparable to what you'll experience once their set wrapped.  You're not quite sure what happened, but it was bloody good and you want more.  Hell, even your ears ring in both scenarios. 

Thanks, Our Last Night, for convincing me that live music is definitely a good good thing.  I can only hope that you, dear reader, will get an opportunity to listen to these fine folks live.  If you do attend one of their concerts, stick around and say hullo because they are extremely receptive and appreciative of their fans.

Definitely check out Our Last Night's YouTube channel, but for now enjoy their cover of Katy Perry's "Dark Horse."

Where Are You Going? Where Have You Been?

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One #RelationshipCreeper: Dessert things or dinner things

A Note to the Readers:  I know that Brenda and Howard need some loving, but I'm currently stumped.  Tonight I went out to eat as I'm want to do.  A friend, who was my dinnermate tonight, suggested The Cheesecake Factory.  The restaurant has the alternate name of The Place Where Relationships Go to Hell.

I live tweeted some of the events to what I suspect will become a Twitter series and The Euphemistic Minister blog things.  Take into consideration I had a lovely friend who shouldn't have been neglected in favor of eavesdropping.  There are lapses in the story because I don't know the whole story.  This is because the story is wrought from creeping.

In the future I hope this grows into something I could recruit comic drawers, flash artists, and other folk from my community to collaborate on.  However, I don't want to go into details because once I put it to word I feel like an asshole for not following through.  I'm the sort that tries to keep her word.

Enjoy the first rough draft of installation One #RelationshipCreeper!
Mia

"Dessert things or dinner things?"

I was intrigued by this couple because they appeared well matched.  Both young, Asian, and with enough vitality to sport cat eye makeup and that socal college dude haircut respectively.  After just catching random bits of their conversation early on, the dissonance was apparent. 

It didn't start smoothly.  Onset conversation revealed that he had invited her to the Cheesecake Factory because he believed it was a special restaurant.  It's later confirmed that tonight was their first date.  Her words, "First and last date."  The choice in restaurant and her displeasure was quite the show of force for a first date meal thing. 

Unfortunately he misstepped by admonishing that he had eaten already at work before their rendezvous.  Her claws are unsheathed at this point.  She interrogates him on his thought process of picking such a restaurant for them.  Pissed that she might be the only one eating, she grills with the pattern of "Why did you...We could have..."

Let's pretend their server found an opening to get their drink order.  Thereafter their bubble of greasy silence grows.  The Cheesecake Factory is fucking noisy.  There are absolutely no TVs in this joint to dissuade the patrons from passive-actively ignoring each other in favor of HD stimuli.  You actually hear people's voices in this restaurant and not the echoed droning of whatever sport.

And yet.  Their bubble grew and stretched until it was lanced by her angst.  She remarks that they could have just gotten fast food.

"This place [Fashion Valley] doesn't even have KFC...or Taco Bell.  We could have just had KFC."

She certainly wasn't expecting a dessert thing or dinner thing sort of date.  And further, she isn't at all amused that he ate dinner at work because, "why come here if you ate already?"

I lost track of things here because a cell phone was launched to the floor at the foot of my dinnermate.  We returned the phone to its owner. 

And this is where we break because something was happening at the phone launcher's table. 

(Intermission)

This couple started their The Cheesecake Factory experience by having their server  check the balance on their The Cheesecake Factory gift card.  The man in white returned confessing that the card wasn't reading in their machine, but he could get a manager on it to check the card in the system in the back against the official The Cheesecake Factory intelligence grid.

It sounded very promising.  Over the Hill Ken, the man half of the couple beside us, was clearly pissed.

He and his wife with the feathered blond bob fell into a heated and semi-whispered conversation turn debate turn whisper shout off. 

I'd like to pretend that it was over soap opera-esque domestic tensions.  Maybe they're in a crisis over an empty nest.  Perhaps they were facing the music of being the only two meat sacks in a once burgeoning household.

It was really over calming Ken down after the gift card conundrum.  He was that pissed.

They weren't in focus for much of my relationship creeping, so their shouted whispers and heated argument wasn't too decipherable.  I know it escalated to the point that feathered bob refused to make eye contact with old Ken.  Her eyes were glued to her phone where she was fervently texting.  Their chatter was very aggressive white noise compared to the clarity of the Asian couple on the other side.

Old Ken's angry tone was hot gravel under your feet after soaking ocean too long.  It seethed and left impressions that made it hard to carry on.  She reacted with a violent gesticulation that launched her Samsung Note Mini to the floor. 

I didn't consciously confirm that they were fighting until after the phone was returned. 

I think she started crying at a point because when I looked over a ways into my complimentary bread, he pulled her close and her face was wrenched from the heartstrings. 

Her mouth and face creases were pulled in a way that make your mirror neurons ache around your heart.  At this point I looked away.  I didn't want my empathy to color my meal sad even though it made my gravy taste a little blander.  I felt badly for the woman.  She had ordered the shrimp scampi. I didn't feel bad because of her order.  It's just that I remember is how horrible it is to eat while you're crying. 

Sadness bleaches the vibrancy of flavor.  

To be continued...

Brenda and Howard: I hear you breathing when you sleep

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Brenda and Howard Series: Meet Brenda Part 2

Hello Readers!

What do you mean you have no idea what the devil you're doing at my blog?  Surely you're here to read the next installation of my Brenda and Howard series!  If you have no bloody clue who Brenda or Howard is, do yourself a favor and read the beginning of the series here.  If you want to read the part 1 to this part 2, by all means click this sweet fucker.

So for those of you who have been on board since Howard killed Brenda (that was a misdirect for the new readers), I've tweaked the last entry's last paragraph a wee bit.  Nothing too crazy, but you may want to catch up as I have in my neglect to thoroughly edit that last paragraph.  Here is photograph of your smug blogger to make up for it.

Iron Man all day.

Enjoy the blog!
Hermia

Meet Brenda Part 2

Relief.  That was all Brenda felt when Howard pulled into the driveway.  She resisted the urge to call him all day as anticipation gnawed at her gut.  Around six her resolve broke and she phoned his office.  His secretary told her that he had left the office a bit early, vomited in the a.m. she said.  This was no comfort.  Concern polluted Brenda's anticipation, but didn't dim it.  However as the light faded, worry and night darkened her mood.

Although they had discussed ad nauseam to stop her birth control months ago, the actualization of their dreams would certain require adjustment.  She hadn't slept the evening before save for semi-conscious tossing and turning as light began to silhouette the curtains.  After hours of contemplation she decided to break the news coyly by making the mundane into a miraculous message

We are indeed pregnant! was the original words.  The indeed was cut to curb theatricality.  The we are joined in a conjunction that cut the message to two succinct words.  

We're pregnant 

She had covertly scrawled the words while Howard showered that morning.  Brenda knew that Howard would appreciate the execution.  Well, had Howard not fallen ill so suddenly, he would have appreciated it, schemed all day as he does to execute a wonderfully romantic dinner with lots of wine. 

By eight o' six on the fast kitchen clock, Brenda realized either one of two things occurred:  Howard got into an automotive accident and was occupied, or Howard was stubborn stupid and went to his spin class in spite of his early cookie tossage.

Her relief eclipsed her excitement when her arms were able to verify her husband was in one piece, albeit severely pale and clammy.  Poor love.  Brenda voiced the obvious from years of caring for sick Howards--he hadn't even looked at lunch, as even the sight of food would have risen a wave of nausea.  Thus, she thought to herself, he still doesn't know.

The game is on. 

Brenda had yet another opportunity to sharpen her coyness to tell Howard the news.  She smiled secretly to herself after nudging her naked husband into the shower.  News could wait, Brenda resolved to reschedule the talk until after his recuperation.

 First, soup.

Brenda and Howard: Meet Brenda Part 1

*Updated on January 22, 2014 because I failed to edit the original last paragraph that probably read as random...I mean, there was no mention of going out to dinner.  In the next installation they're staying in.  Whoops.  Spoiler alert.*

Hey there readers,

I hope that those of you that celebrated the holidays had a fabulous time and didn't have too many regretful New Years Eve trysts.  If you did, I hope it was worth it.  For the last twoish weeks I've been contemplating the direction of the Brenda and Howard series.  Am I just going to write through Howard's perspective?  Whose story is this really?  How is Brenda going to fit into this story?

I'm still tackling many questions, but that's part of the fun in writing.  I have a general direction, so it's time that I wrote that way and see where it goes.  For those of you who comment, please let me know what you think of Howard and the story so far.  There isn't too much yet on Brenda, however I promise you will see more in the pieces to follow.

Best regards,
Hermia

P.S. Enjoy!


Note:  Please read the first installation of the Brenda and Howard series here.

Meet Brenda Part 1

Luckily the break room at Howard's work had an usual variety of Cliff bars, a Keurig, and some left over celebratory whiskey in the freezer.  His lunch tasted like a blueberry hangover.  The Cliff bar and Irish coffee he had were dancing a pagan ritual to god of Saturn deep in his abdomen.  Each pulsing drumbeat matched the throbbing over Howard's right temple, which was neatly framed by his immaculate hairline.  With fumbling hands, he dug in his briefcase for anything minty.  His endeavors encounter stray wrappers of long consumed cough drops, adventurous paper clips, and a tin mints Brenda snuck into that particular pocket.  The mints were as stale as his marriage.

Apparently the time they had spent together really melted the boundaries of personal space and ownership of briefcases to a point of intimacy.  The color of the post its in his desk drawer were chosen by her.  The vast majority of her flats were chosen by him.  They had met at a pep rally in Brenda's senior year in high school.  She had a vague, post-romantic relationship to the remnants of his old clique.  He was a freshman in a far away college visiting his alma mater.  Although he told himself he would never visit home, he found himself looking for something familiar as a reprieve from collegiate experimentation.  She was a go-getting star senior already accepted into her reach schools and looking for an adult romance.

Sitting at his desk rather unproductively, he flung rubber bands at a framed photograph that stood sentinel by his computer monitor.  Brenda and Howard were dancing closely in the shot from a college friend's wedding.  He recalled being genuinely happy playing at an ingenuine relationship.  Anger and nausea rose like waves while he reminisced on his secret trysts, his missed opportunities, and his relationship with Brenda.  One of his rubber ring missiles knocked it's adversary to the ground.  A call from his secretary distracted him from replacing it. 

Due to a strangely awkward spin class, Howard didn't get home until 8pm.  As he pulled into the driveway, the front door of their raised ranch house flew open.  When he saw Brenda standing in the front doorway silhouetted against the lights from within, he realized that he hadn't called or texted her to confirm and celebrate their new situation.  In truth he left his cell in his car all day, still plugged in and currently playing Moby.

Fuuuuuuuck

Brenda launch herself from the stoop at Howard.  From the lack of light to perceive her facial expression, he tensed as her robe clad arms snaked their way around him.  He registered this as affection and not an attempt to squeeze him in contempt.

"I thought there was an accident," Howard heard from the wavy bob smothered against his chest.  A long rambling lost itself in muffled expressions of distress and explanations that his secretary told her he had been sick.  Just when he was starting to believe that her head couldn't get further buried from worry into his chest, Brenda looked up.  Her arms were still belted around his waist.

"If you were sick, I'm assuming you didn't eat lunch.  I know how food upsets your tummy when you're unwell." Howard's ears perked at the all too ready alibi for his lack of celebratory flowers and enthusiasm for the news he allegedly hadn't received.  How best to twist this turn of luck?  With a pseudo contemplative kiss to her fringed forehead, he conveniently and romantically suggested a dinner out because the night was too beautiful to not enjoy.  Luckily the sky was clear enough to kinda-sorta see the stars.

Brenda didn't bring up the pregnancy as she flitted between the kitchen, where she was working on soup for him, and the bedroom, where he semi collapsed on the bed still in his gym clothes.  She rambled on about the end of the year faculty meeting and proposed goals to improve next year as she ushered him into the bathroom to coax him into the shower.  He smiled as she walked away on silent feet clad in flats he chose for her.  There was no mention of maternity leave or plans.  Surely she would drop that news soon enough? Her uterus bomb won't go off for at least another seven months.  Seven months was plenty of time for Howard to evacuate ground zero.