The Red Door

Tell me a story my love, one that I
so love to hear. Fill my mind with your rhyme
Spin death as an endless illusion - lie
Your voice always eases my fear of time

Tell me a story my love, my shaman
Of light, or light's creations in your mind
From the darkest well of your soul, woman
Where the lioness stalks the helpless hind

Tell me a story my love, my dreamer
Whisper belladonna, into my ears
Be my little Cinderella - schemer
Wetting my face with all your tasty tears

Lie down with me on this rapturous shore
Open your red, and ripe, rapacious door


(Word shifter... Thought mixer... Erratically insane dyspeptic
thinker... Post- modern humanist poet novelist)

(NOW... Back to Rene on the river:)

If you remember, from previous posts about the Red Door, Rene
went from fantastic orgasm into near death seizure. She flat
lined, her heart stopped, she wasn't breathing. They were way
out in the woods, two miles from the nearest hard road, thirty
miles from the nearest hospital. Cell phones don't ever work out
there. No damn signal. If a life-flight helicopter could have
located them, the pilot would still have to land at least a mile
away In a cow pasture,  and that would be tricky. They were
literally on their own. Well maybe you don't remember all that -
but now you know.

At first, when she stopped moaning and groaning and gasping
breathless nasties, It felt god awful good, hitting it hard -
together. Both their bodies tensed and trembled spasmodically.
Him throbbing in her, and her pulsating
round him - squeezing him rapaciously. After several moments
of rock-rigid, rapturous ecstasy, he collapsed in utter exhaustion,
his face against her neck, kissing her ear tenderly, softly
moaning her name, sobbing, slobbering - big little boy tears.  
Crying, over and over and over - Rene, Rene, Rene!

But she did not relax,  instead she went into a violent convulsion.
That startled the shit out of him. He rolled over quickly onto his
knees beside her.

One glance at her face and he knew she was having a terribly
bad seizure. Her eyelids and lips were shut tight and pinkish
foam was oozing out of both corners of her mouth. She was
biting her tongue. Her arms and legs began jerking violently,
spasmodically. Her fists were clenched. She started pounding
the back of her head with tremendous force upon the ground.
He counted the long agonizing seconds, watching helplessly,
waiting for the violent thrashing to end.

After sixty torturous eternal seconds, the convulsions stopped.
She froze, every muscle in her body unbelievably tense and
tight, her teeth still clinching her bleeding tongue. She did not
relax. She would not breath.

He remembered everything she had told him to do, just in case.   
And he did everything - but nothing worked.

He touched her urgently all over, caressing her body, massaging
her rigid muscles. He talked to her as calmly as he could,
desperately trying to talk her down, to bring her back.  But she
was drifting away, leaving him alone - tragically, desperately,
fearfully - alone!

"Rene, sweetie, I'm right here,  breath honey,  come on, relax
baby! Oh My God! Rene! Rene! Breath goddammit BREATH!

He suddenly stopped screaming and quickly tried to open her
mouth to begin CPR.  Her jaws were locked tight. His fingers
trembled on her bloody lips. He quickly changed positions and
tried to stiff arm her abdomen.  That didn't work - nothing worked.

A nauseating flash of fear went through him like an icy hot sick
stinging violent wind.

He snatched her up in his arms, screaming obscenities to God,
he ran for the black ancient waters of the river. He plunged her
into a spring hole, where the waters are cool, deep, and silent -
even in the long, hot, dog days and nights of hellish summer.

(To be Continued:)

(Thursday October 18, 2007 - 01:55pm)


"Just got two words.....JUMPIN' JEHOSHAPHAT!

"i feel you pain My friend."

"Dang...leaving us hanging again....to be continued... Jesus
Flipping Christ!"

"Ummm and just when are you going to finish this story?


Dear Reader,

I don't really know when I'll finish this story. I have been working
on it in my mind for a long time. The real red head is still alive
and well - as far as I know.  
She never calls anymore. And I'm too damned stubborn (or
scared) to call her.

Rene, the woman in my mind, continues to haunt my dreams.
She wants to chain me to the mast of the "Southern Witch".  I'll
probably let her - after all, the captain always goes down with the
ship.  He has to face the beastie.  Or at least that is what Captain
Jack Sparrow told me.

Just between you and me, my redheaded cowgirl friend, Rene
really scares me shit-less, sometimes. I am beginning to wonder
who created who? I'll keep working on it. Right now, I got to put a
new battery in the jeep. Going to South Carolina to get the
Medicine Horse. He will be able to straiten me out on a lot of this
stuff.  He is ten times smarter than I. Latter!  LOVE:)


(Sunday January 20, 2008. Old Plank Road.)

(Back to Rene on the river:)

Beneath a beautiful moon rise down on the river, on a white sand
bar, a small, smoky, driftwood fire burned slowly - keeping most
of the bugs away. A little ways from the fire, two horses were tied
to a low branch of a huge water oak hanging out over the sand
bar and the black water.

Both horses heads were down, and each had one back leg
crooked - they had been standing there awhile, sleeping. It was
the hottest night in August.

Their riders, a man and woman, were laying in each others arms,
still fully clothed, breathing hard and sweating copiously, while a
million chirping insects serenaded their (attempted) love making
in the soft sub-tropical night. They were on a saddle blanket, but
it didn't help much. Wet sticky sand clung to her dark red hair
and her pretty freckled face.

He brushed the sand away from one corner of her pouty lips and
kissed her long and slow, parting her lips with his tongue,
breathing into her mouth, touching her teeth, tasting her tongue,
and the post embedded it - biting it softly. But she really did not
kiss him back. She held her breath for a long time. He stopped
kissing her and whispered in her ear,

"Breath Baby, I want you to breath. Breath inside of me - be
inside of me."

While saying that, he took her hand and placed it on his
pounding heart, and put his free hand between her heaving
breast, looking into her wide brown eyes for a long moment,

" I want to be inside of you, and I want you, to be inside of me."

She went silent and still, looking up into the stars, thinking for
several seconds. It seemed like a long time to him before she
finally sighed, and said in her low, sexy, (kinda like Lauren
BaCall) voice,

"Do you now?"

(Excuse me dear reader, but (hey, don't roll your eyes) you know
there is always a but. Life is full of buts.  So get used to it.  OK!)

I Don't know if I can tell you this story the way it should be told.
But, I am going to do my best. It is the happiest, saddest, most
gut-wrenching story I have ever attempted to put into words.
That's how I feel about it. Don't know what anyone else will think.
Don't really care.

At this moment in my life, I really don't give a damn about much
of anything - except - Well, If you hear the story, then you will
know. If you don't want to know, then don't read the damn thing!

Sorry! That was rude. Please forgive me.

OK, once I get started I'll settle down, maybe my guts will stop
churning, and I wont feel like puking, and we can get through
this together.

You know, I lived over fifty years of my life without entering the
red door. Never had any reason to, never really wanted to.  Well,
thats not exactly true. But this is a work of fiction, so it doesn't
have to be exactly true - does it? No, it don't.

Most romantic novels are fanciful lies, embellished memories of
romantic frustration and (woman-frustrated) sensual lust, and
most are written by women. Don't know why that is, but it is.

I'll let that be my disclaimer, along with the standard;

"This writing is a work of fiction. The characters in it may (or may
not) resemble real people, but they are not real people. OK?"

(back to Rene on the river:)

She suddenly rolled over on top of him and pinned his arms in
the sand.

"Stupid boy."

She smiled when she said that, and it sounded real sexy, but
she meant it. He could see everything in her woman soul (even
in that dim firelight) reflected in her dark seductive eyes.

"Don't move."

She demanded, and he obeyed. He lay there and watched with
wanting fascination as she stood over him and stripped. Her
body was beautiful above him. An angel demon in the smoky
starlight and flickering flames. He wanted her more than he'd
ever wanted any woman - at that moment.

Sweat and sand rained down on him as she took off everything,
tossing each piece aside - except for her panties.  She dropped
them on his face - laughing softly.

He blew her sheer, musky thong off his nose,  grinning like a kid
getting away with something, and began to unbutton his shirt.

"Hey ass whole!"

She yelled, giggling and screaming like a banshee, as she
pinned him again, with her wet thighs round his belly, grabbing
his hands.

"I told you not to move."

She laughed way down in her throat.

He relaxed as she quickly undid his shirt and belt, jumped up
and snatched off his boots and jeans, and was back on him
again like a determined wrestler, breathing hard and sweating

Then she took a deep calming breath, looked long and hard into
his eyes, and spoke in her most serious
(you better listen, you

"Tomorrow...  This never happened!  I don't - DO - MEN!
You got that - SLICK?"

He said nothing. He reached up with both hands, slipped his
fingers into her wet, sandy, coppery hair, and pulled her face
down hard against his face. He groaned into her lips, kissing her
like he was going under a huge crushing, killer wave that would
never let him come up again
(never again ass whole). He was
aching in his chest. Part of him wanted to struggle to the surface,
to breath deep, and live. Some other (crazy, sick) part wanted
him to die right there in her wet sticky, sandy arms.

This time she kissed him back. He could feel her body trembling
and her heart pounding against his chest.  In one eternal, supper
sensual moment, he was inside of her, and she was inside of

She could hear his voice calling her name over and over again,
Rene, Rene, Rene. It sounded faint and distant and full of fear.
She wanted to answer but she could not. Her body, and soul,
was ridged with cold, icy fire - drifting away
into absolute darkness. There was a bitter, metallic taste in her
mouth, she could feel the bubbles of saliva gurgling from her
lips, she was nauseated to the core of her being, death like
pain settled into the marrow of her bones. She wasn't dead -
but she flirted with death. She flat-lined.  Hideous laughter
echoed inside her head, her own voice mocked her,

"Oh my God! I'm cumming, and dying!  And having a fucking

(To be continued:)

(10/11/2007; Mid morning conversation with the real red head,
she is standing behind me, nearly naked, as I am trying to edit
some of this crap on my PC. She sarcastically reads the
following paragraph out loud, then goes into ballistic bitch

"Most romantic novels are fanciful lies, embellished memories of
romantic frustration and (woman-frustrated) sensual lust.  And,
most are written by women. Don't know why that is, but it is. "

"Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! You are so frigging FUCKING

"Baby!  BABY!  That is such an ugly word to be coming from
such a beautiful mouth."

"Fuck you. What the hell do you know? Ever have a fucking
seizure? NO - HELL NO! And you don't know SHIT about a
woman's orgasm either.  Believe me Slick - you don't."

"SO - I'm wrong - OK.  Why don't you teach me?"

"HA! HA! HA! You just don't get it - do you? Shit no - You'll
never get it.  Why would I want too?  I don't need you!  OK!

"I love you, you lying little bitch.  If you don't want, need, or love,
me, why do you keep coming over here?  And why do you get so
damn wet between the legs when I touch you - anywhere? Can
you at least explain that?"

(Groaning, head in hands.  Groaning, as only a frustrated
woman can groan. Then, a calm, quite, rational, emotion-less

OK.  I love you.  So fucking what? What does that crap mean? I
love you?  It don't mean shit! It didn't happen!  It won't happen

(Grunt - insensitive, sarcastic, Neanderthal grunt as only a man
can grunt.)

"You are right, my sweet, hot, sexy lover,  my heart-friend.  What
did not happen, can not, happen again."

She was up and out the door in a blurring flash, slamming the
door so hard that a bunch of crap hit the floor.  A picture of her
lay in shattered glass, busted by a heavy box of rifle shells from
the wall gun rack. The damn rifle even moved - but luckily didn't
fall. Now, HE was pissed. On the porch, watching her swishing
her lovely ass down the sand road, he yelled loud enough for all
the neighbors to hear,


Without turning, she flung both hands up in the air [touch down]
flipping him a double Birdie; without missing a step, swishing her
pretty ass through the pecan grove to her Daddy's house,
disappearing inside - and slamming that door too.

He stood on his porch for a while looking at the closed door
across the way. He knew she wouldn't come back out - not for a
while anyway.  But he wanted her to. Crazy huh? Well, maybe
not, after all, wasn't his life just so damn rutty, rotten boring -
before she came to live next door.

Wait just a damn minute now. What the hell happened at the
river that night when Rene went from sensational orgasm into
near death seizure? Well, I'm getting around to that.  Please be
patient. I want this to be right.

I don't want to screw this up.  I really want you to understand,
really, understand. I want this to get inside your guts they way
it's gotten inside My guts. I want you to feel it, not just read it - if
that makes any sense to you?

But right now I got to take a break. This is a lot of work, and I
am kinda lazy. There are more than thirty Canadian geese out
on the pond.  Can hear them honking up a storm, having a blast
in Florida - here for the winter.

(sings in the key of D with exaggerated Willy Nielsen twang.)

"Sweet summer time is over... Wild geese are flying round... We
don't do much living... In the Cold... Cold... Ground."

One more thing, then I'm outa here, at least until tomorrow. Just
a little question for yous guys, especially, you silent men. Why
are you scarred shit-less? I know, I know,  you ain't scared of
nothing. Right. OK.  So jump right in here and tell us how you
feel (we don't give a shit how you think) not right now.  We
already know that, at least I do, I'm a man. So, I do solemnly
swear, man to man. This ain't gonna be a romance novel from
hell, not if I can help it. It ain't gonna be the mother of all sex-
sick romantic comedies. Forget the flipping logic, just give us
the emotions, if you got any left.

OK, now I'm gonna stroll around the pond and harass the
frigging Canadians.  The dogs love to chase their silly asses, it
don't hurt them at all. They just fly around in a big circles -
honking stupid geese profanities. They always come back.

And why the hell do I keep coming back to the red door? Lust,
love, passion, sex, addictive death wish, emotional starvation,
mortal fear? Who really knows for sure? Right now, your
emotions are just as good (maybe even better) than mine. So
dump the logic - Please!

I'll be back latter, LOVE:)

(To be continued:)


(10/11/2007; Late night.)

"He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any woman - at
that moment."

I have been thinking about that line all afternoon - honestly.
Sounds trite, kinda cliché', almost stereotypical. Almost, but not
quite. Why add, "at that moment"? This qualifies the statement,
of course, to a specific moment in time. Is this honest overkill?
Too much truth? If he had said that to her, how would he have
worded it? Something on this order perhaps;

"I want you, right now, more than I have ever wanted any

Would she have laughed in his face? Maybe, maybe not.
Actually, you can read that line (or one very similar) in most
every romance novel ever written.

Consider this version;

"I want you Scarlett, more than I have ever wanted any woman."

--- Rhett Butler, speaking to Scarlett after the death of her
second husband. Margret Mitchell's "Gone With The Wind".

Or, how about this, more wordy, but same meaning;

"... And the lips he so desperately wanted to kiss, and had for
almost four years.... The same lips brushed his cheek as he
congratulated her again, and for an instant, just an instant, he
felt her hold him close, and it almost took his breath away."

---Harry's thoughts, and gut feelings, at Tan's graduation. "Full
Circle" Danielle Steel. Incidentally, Harry never did make love to
Tan. Every man (most every man) who ever reads that book will
think (or feel in his guts), that was as big mistake - Danielle!

Or one of My favorite...

"Toward morning, he raised himself slightly and said, looking
straight into her eyes, 'This is why I'm here on this planet, at this
time, Francesca. Not to travel or make pictures, but to love you.
I know that now. I have been falling from the rim of a great, high
place, somewhere back in time, for many more years than I
have lived in this life. And for all those years, I have been falling
toward you'."

---Kincaid, after making love to Francesca all night long in her
bed room in that little farm house in Iowa, while the moths
fluttered on the screens, eager to reach the flames, and the
green corn grew full and ripe in the hot August night. "The
Bridges of Madison County", Robert James Waller.

OK. So whats My point? Actually I have many, but will only make
one, maybe two, because its late as hell and I got to get my tired
lonely ass to bed.

Is there one educated Neanderthal on this planet who hasn't
read, or heard, that line - and used it? What ever works, right!
But why does it work? Is there one honest amorous woman on
this planet who does not want to hear it, need to hear it, way
down in her guts, some where down around her g-spot. Doesn't
she really believe it, just for a moment, even though she knows
he just wants a piece of ass - at that moment?

What exactly does She want - at that moment? Be honest ladies!

I promise I'll get back to Rene on the river, maybe tomorrow,
maybe today - when I wake up.

(To be continued:)

(Wednesday October 10, 2007 - 01:54pm)

(Blogger Comments);

"You are very twisted, senor...but I like it. So what does that say
about me? Hmmm? Please continue"

"Well, I see you've found something creative to fill your time
with. That's a good thing... I can't read it because anything hot
and steamy just makes me terribly frustrated, and I just hates
that! I's ornery!"

"This is real good, Stephen! It just might set My puter on FIRE!!  
Tell me more...."

"OK the "slick" part was a little scary..."He wanted her more
than he'd ever wanted any woman... At that moment."
ROFLMAOOOO......go figure...sorry, *sits back to listen to the
rest of the story*"

" ya stole the words out of My mouth "At that moment"....Typical
male.I smiled when I read it....made me remember some of My
youth, and one man in particular that said those very words..
Want, is one of those things I rarely give in to...It just brings
heartache, and If ya love em..even more...I never knew the
word Love could hurt as much as it does At times... Tis why I
remain alone.... easier. less painful. The story's good...makes
me long for someone to feel that way about myself, but I know
better..lol...ahh youth.

"He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any woman... At
that moment." When you add "At that moment" it lost the
romance, the purity of their love, and instead became lustful
and erotic instead of hmmm fairy tale? it was just to damn
honest. A woman wants that pure love, and no At that moment
she doesn't want to think it's only to get in her pants. She is still
a little girl inside wanting to believe in that fairy tale of her
knight or prince. Who wants to be lied to? If it's just a means to
and end...say so. Oh wait, because it doesn't sell? Then again
maybe it's the difference in porn and romance?"

"Jumpin' Jehoshaphat, Amigo...I'm ready for that cold shower
now, lol. I'm the chronic romantic, Stephen...yes, I want to hear
it...yes, I need to hear it...them lyin' hussies out there who try to
deny that an orgasm between them and the man they are
madly in love with and who is madly in love with them is the
ultimate lifetime experience...well, they're just lyin' hussies, lol.
There just ain't no denying it...it's the strongest drive in the
universe...love, sex, love. You're a passionate man who's not
too chicken shit to let it show... :) Okay, now get busy with the
next scene...lol ~hugs~"

(Email to reader)

Dear Lady,  I do know exactly how you feel, and a lot of how you
think. You are an honest woman - I read your blog. Not as often
as I want, right now, been working on this "reality romance"
forever it seems. That's how I think of the Red Door, and it pisses
me off. Really!

It pisses me off because I sometimes feel so - inadequate, and
stupid, and helpless. I really don't know if I can do this.

It is not porn. But it is not a Cinderella story. It has to be gut
wrenching reality because that's what it was - IS!

Money is not important, it doesn't have to sell, and it's being
published as its written.  So none of that worries me. What really
bothers me is simply this.

Am I going to finish this, or crash and burn, in my own life/time
twisted mind?

Wish me luck...LOVE:)

(flashback memory not in sync with the rest of RD story. In fact,
this happened before the river incident - I think.)

"Why the hell do you have to analyze every damn thing! Whats
the frigging difference! Don't!  Just shut the fuck up! OK! For
once in your stupid life - just stop it! Why don't you analyze

(Jerks up her tank-top, unhooks her front-hook bra and exposes
her breasts {of course they are very nice} She leans forward and
lifts them up in the palm of her hands, her eyebrows raised, her
eyes wide with the exaggerated, silliness of that question)

"Or this?"

(grabs the crotch of her too tight shorts like a baseball catcher
signaling the pitcher when the count is three balls, two strikes -
every idiot Neanderthal knows what that means)

"Or maybe even this!"

(Turns around and scratches her pretty ass while defiantly
walking off the field like a quarterback who has been sacked for
the third time in the last quarter of a loosing game.

He silently watches her go, analyzing everything, saying

(Continue email to reader:)

Inside Rene there is a innocent little girl who still wants her
knight in shining armor to rescue her, love protect and nurture
her - forever and ever. AND, inside Rene is a vicious, heartless,
amazon who wants to castrate that bastard as soon as SHE gets
HER rocks off.

That is my dilemma, my shameless, hopeless, wonderful,
passionate struggle, within that reality where I have created
Rene - literally and figuratively.  BUT,
she is not completely fantasy  - AND thats the scary part.

As the Stephen King types would say,

"If this Rene bitch is a real woman, I would like to meet her - in
the daylight first of course."

Thanks Hon...keep telling me...exactly how you feel/think. I love
it/you! LOVE:)

(Comment to another blogger/reader:)

Thanks Dear,  I have been struggling with the Red Door for a
long time {mostly in my mind but also in real life} actually for
many years.

Only recently, My love/lust for another red head has inspired me
to write it - or attempt to write it. I warned her about this (the real
red head). More than one woman has contributed to the creation
of Rene.

(running out of space so I'll blog the rest of this on my blog.
Hope you won't mind reading there...thanks Sweetie...have a
wonderful day...LOVE:)

Now that I am mostly retired again (no more horse ranch to
manage), maybe I can work it out, and get it down. Some days I
just stare At the PC monitor and drift... Thinking...
Remembering... Trying to decide what to write - not to write. It is
so much easier just to remember, and drift-dream, than it is to

Thank you for reading honey. I love you. I love all my readers, of
course - even those who I'll never know.  But, those who take the
time to communicate their honest thoughts and feelings, as you
do, have a special place in my heart and soul.  I even love all
'them guys' who think all this is 'a bunch a silly sappy shit'.

My life is writing, At this moment, my readers are my lovers. That
may scare the crap out of some of them.  It sure as hell scares
the crap out of me, sometimes - until I remember, "I ain't scared
of nothing, except God, and some women."  AND;  "I am a
highwayman... I am a peregrine... I am the soul of every sailor
who ever went to sea." --- roughly translated from "The Bridges
of Madison County", by Waller.

He actually wrote it this way,  "I am the highway, and a
peregrine, and all the sails that ever went to sea."  I like the
poetry of Waller's writing, especially in that line.  But, I disagree
with some of his Thinking. So I wrote it my way, as a humanist
who actually believes in the ultimate goodness of Mankind. I
refuse to believe (as Waller seems to) that the male genetic line
which produced the "last of the cowboys" is of necessity
destined for extinction, "a dead end evolutionary line". We are
men, plain and simple - yet complicated and dangerous.

All living creatures are intricately complicated and innately
dangerous - even a mindless virus. However, we men are not
technological tyrannosaurs Rex's seeking to devour and destroy
the pristine beauty of earthly creation - a ridiculous concept to
me, as a man.

We are men who love women, and we want women to love us.
Whatever else we are, that simple truth has always been {for the
majority of us men} reality. Think about that honestly.

I am not knocking Waller as an artist, I enjoy reading his work,
even though we fundamentally disagree on some things. Most
men or not lousy lovers for most of their lives. Neither are most
women. Come on! If that were even remotely true, how in the hell
did we get six and a half billion people on this planet?

We are naturally, normally, very damn good At this sex, love,
passion, romance stuff  -  the evidence is undeniable.

(now back to Rene on the river)

Suddenly she wanted to breath, but she could not breath. She
felt herself being plunged under water, held under water, black,
dark, cold, dangerous and deadly water.

She panicked.  She struggled and fought with all her strength.  
Scratching, kicking, clawing, needing, aching, and wanting
desperately to get back to the surface - to breath again.

But he held her under for a long time, snatching her out only At
the very last minute - when he saw the bubbles, and felt her start
to give up. Then, and only then, did he quickly pull her up and
out of the water onto the sand bar.

He rolled her over onto her belly and held her head as she
began to retch, convulsively, and puke on the sand. After a time
she stopped shaking and puking. She turned around in his arms
and looked up At him with wide, scared and angry eyes.  At that
moment, she loved him more than she had ever loved any man
or woman, wanted him more than she had ever wanted any man
or woman.  But, she said, in a weak, weary, rasping voice,

"You Goddamn bastard! Who the fuck are you?  GOD! I hate
you! I really fucking hate you! You stupid bastard."

He smiled At her, relieved. He knew she had been one breath
away from nothing, a millisecond away from absolute oblivion.
He could not, would not, let her go. Not now, not ever! Still
smiling, he kissed her lips and tasted her sour puke-putrid

"I hate your guts too, Rene!  And right now, At this frigging
moment of this frigging fucked-up eternity, I love you.  Only you."

He lifted her up in his arms and carried her closer to the fire still
smoldering on the bank. The night air was still August hot and
humid. They sat next to each other on the horsey, damp, sandy
blanket, exhausted. They leaned their naked bodies together,
quietly staring into the fire - Thinking.

Thousands of incessant insects and hundreds of slimy
amphibians sang their ancient amorous songs beside the black
water, between the white sand banks, in the dark subtropical
forests, under the black velvet sky. The bright, brilliant stars, so
damn old and far away that they don't even exist anymore,
sparkled above them - just out of reach.

The horses heads were still down, slouching, sleeping on their
feet - oblivious to the seemingly futile and outrages human
passion play.

After a thousand silent moments, she stopped hugging her
knees, reached over and took his hand.  Holding it palm up, she
traced the rough, calloused lines gently with her aching finger

She began to hum a familiar tune, while studying his hand. Then
she sang the words softly,

"Someone saved... Someone saved... Someone saved my life

She suddenly gasped in exasperation.

"Damn!  I broke off two nails."

She checked her other hand,

"Damn it!  Five!  Five frigging broken nails - shit!"

He laughed,

"Shit yes, I know it.  You broke them off in my back, and neck,
my sweet little honey-bitch."

Saying that, he lifted up her hands with her broken nails, and
laid down on his back in the cool sand, his head in her naked
lap, getting comfortable, snuggling down. The sweaty-sweet,
musky, sexy smell of her was delicious.

"If I could only get the smell of you in a bottle - damn, I'd be rich

He sighed contentedly - kissing the inside of her thigh.

"Stop it, you sick puppy, that tickles"

She absentmindedly began to twist and curl the hair on his chest
between her fingers, staring At the embers of the small fire,
watching the ghostly smoke spiraling, dancing, silently,
seductively upwards into the velvety, blissful blackness.
(Ring! Ring! RING!)

(The frigging phone don't ring for days.  But it always will when
your right in the middle of some really good shit.  Looking At the
caller ID - its her. (no not Rene, that's impossible, I think) Its the
real red head. Wonder want she wants?)

"Hello honey-love...what-ya want? "

(Long pause... Sound of heavy angry flustered breathing)

"Nothing, you ass-whole, been reading your blog.  If you say
(write) 'At that moment' just one more frigging time, I'm gonna
come over there and kick your ass!"

(Longer pause... I'm smiling)

"Did you hear that?  Huh, Slick?  You there?"

(longer pause...  I'm smiling bigger)

"OK, sugar-babe, I hear you, come on down, right now - At
THIS damn moment!"

"Hell no!  Your crazy!  You've lost your flipping mind, and you
don't seem to care who knows it.  In fact, you seem to enjoy
flaunting your freaking insanity. Besides - I can't come over, not
now, don't have time. Are you OK? For real, tell me the truth,
PLEASE, no lies."

"Fine, busy, writing, love you - latter."

(real... Long... Silence)

"Love you too.  Latter."

(Click... busssss... Crack... Shit... Dropped the damn phone...
Grab it up... Slam it into cradle... Pulling up PC calender... First
time that sugar-honey-bitch has called in two weeks... Oh well...
Back to work.)

To be continued:

Monday October 15, 2007 - 03:39pm



"I think there is a little "Rene" in all of us and I hope a little bit of
you in some of the guys out there! I'll be waiting for

"Thin line between love and hate, huh? Give 'im hell, Honey,
"Ummm ok yeah I think there is a thin line between love and
hate and I've been in some of those love/hate relationships but
I'd have to draw the line about now. Tried to drown me!! Nope
I'm afraid once I caught My breath he'd have to die!! But if she
walked away across the field how the heck did they end up At
the water and him drowning her?? I'm confused and lost I

(REPLY from stephen; 08/10/2015

Sam, honey! I didn't try to drown her! I spontaneously,
instinctively, I gave her a cold water shock treatment... She had
given up, she wanted to die, she was sick of the pain and
suffering.... I could not, would not let her go.... It worked, but,
she came back a different person on that wondrously terrifying
August night so many years ago.  Although I felt it in my guts, a
tremendous sadness, a feeling absolute final loss, I refused to
even think about those feelings.... After all, she was alive, and I
was holding her in my arms.  

We never again made love, we never again were intimate
lovers, we never again shared the true secrets of our hearts,
souls, or minds.

Robin Rene has an inoperable brain tumor. She is suffering
through extensive and sickening chemo therapy.  I only know
this because her Father keeps me informed.  I am the last
person on Earth that she would want to see. She does not say
any of this, but I know her, and I will not, no, not ever again for
any reason, will I interfere in her life.
All of this makes my heart ache all over and over again.... It is
very painful to remember all of this; and I struggle and argue
with my self about editing and writing any of this down.  
Sometimes I'm tempted (almost compelled) to deleted the
whole sad, gut-wrenching love/hate story. But I cannot do that.  
Don't ask me why; I do not know any whys, anymore. Certainly
none about why love lives on, even when lovers die - mentally,
physically, and spiritually.


"Writers...AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH....the suspense is terrible...
damnit , why did she have to call right then??? Stephen I'm
lovin it so far...keep up the great work! Keep those words rollin!


"People are alone in this world. That's what is so dreadful.

'Is there a living man on the plain' cries the Russian legendary

I, too, echo the same cry, but no one answers.

They say the sun brings life to the universe. The sun will rise -
look At it. Isn't it dead?

Everything is dead. Dead men are everywhere.

There are only people in the world, and all around them is
silence - that's what the earth is!

'Men love one another!' - who said that? Whose commandment
is it?

The pendulum is ticking away unfeelingly, dismally.

Two o'clock in the morning. Her dear little boots stand by her
little bed, as though waiting for her.

... No, seriously, when they take her away tomorrow, what's to
become of me?"

From the last page of "A Gentle Creature... A Fantastic Story"
by Fyodor Dostoevsky.


Friday August 31, 2007 - 07:54am

What Is Truth.... Another piece of the red door...

"What is truth... A butterfly on Shine's left arm... The arm closest
to her heart... And why does she shine... Because the world is
dark half the time... And someone told her long ago... Before
the beginning... That she is a star... And she believes... And that
is all there is to truth..."

Rene sat on the gleaming white porcelain commode in
mommy's bathroom. It was always super clean because
momma demanded that she scrub it every day - with an old
tooth brush and bleach...

"Get the god damn dirt out them cracks honey."

Momma meant it, and Rene done it, and she hated it.
Sometimes she hated momma. But not always. Sometimes she
loved her... Because momma could be so nice... When she
wasn't the meanest bitch in the frigging world.

She was only twelve, and scared shit-less because she was
bleeding in mommy's sacred throne and didn't know why. Her
little heart was pounding in her chest. She felt like she couldn't
breath. Her breast were swollen and getting bigger and it
bothered her. They had always been little... Not anymore. They
felt different... Tender and touchy... And that bothered her even
more... Those strange feelings inside that she had never had

She was sobbing and gasping as quietly as she could - she
didn't want momma to hear - salty tears running down her
freckled cheeks and bright red blood pouring from her young
body. She thought she was going to die. She knew she would
die... If momma found her like this... Before she could figure out
how to stop the bleeding and clean up the mess. Blood had
trickled down her legs and spattered the white tile floor. She
could smell the bleach, and the ivory soap, and the blood, and
mommas red door perfume. It made her sick in her guts.

She nearly jumped out of her skin At the banging on the door.

"Get your ass out of there... Rene... Why is the door locked...
We are late... Jesus Friggin Christ... Is this blood on my carpet...
RENE... Open the damned door... NOW!"

She stared in horror At the shaking door knob. Her hand was
shaking as she leaned forward... Trying to reach it... But not
really wanting to. She would rather bleed to death than open
that door. But she finally stood up, reached out, and twisted the

When the lock clicked momma snatched the door open with her
meanest 'I'm gonna kill you' look on her face. What she saw
made her freeze, her mouth dropped open.

"Oh my god... Honey... Baby... Its alright... Every thing's gonna
be OK... Momma's not mad at You."

She grabbed Rene and hugged her tight... Kissing the top of
her head and cooing to her... She gently caressed her Back.

"You are going to be fine, sugar, don't worry... Momma will fix

Rene stood there naked in that gleaming white bathroom, her
mamma's arms squeezing her... Smelling the blood running
down her trembling legs, and the ivory soap, and the bleach
and the fucking red door perfume... Sobbing, and wondering...
Why momma could not always be this way?




Still Working on The Red Door...and its getting scary...
Jodie (the mother of my children) said,

"All you got on your blogs are women"

I thought,

"Wait just a damn minuet... I got Barry and Jack... And they
have been with me since the beginning... And they are real
men like me... Ain't scared of nothing... Except God... And some
women. Right? Right!"

You guys help me out here... And back me up... LOL!

"And I got Sam... She thinks like a man... Sometimes...
Although she is really one hell of a woman... Kinda like that hell-
bitch Rene... Not exactly, but similar."

Which reminds me...

Rene was standing there waiting for me... With my baby girl on
her hip. Her long curly coppery red hair shinning in the sun, and
freckles popped out all over her angry face... Her beautiful blue
eyes glinting like cold murderous steel. 'I have seen eyes like
that over the barrel of a pistol'... Just like Rhett Butler saw them
(or ones just like them).

I was late for work. She was standing by the guard shack at the
gate with a paper in her hands, and that...'You are gonna listen
to me ass-whole attitude' all over her sexy body... Which to this
day... Makes me cringe in side my guts.

My baby girl's big blue eyes (so much like her mothers) were
smiling at me.


She was glad to see me.

"Hi sweetie... Daddies late for work... I love you."

I continued toward the gate... But Rene got in my face, and I
had to stop. I backed up one step - a big mistake.

Rene suddenly smiled her big fake 'fuck you' smile and said in
her smoothest sexy voice,

"All I want you to do is sign these papers today... Honey."

The 'honey' was dripping with sarcasm.

"I ain't signing Noth...."

Before I got the nothing out of my mouth, she dropped-kicked
me in the nuts and I hit the ground like a bag of shit... Shit that
hurts... And I gaged, sick to my stomach... Wanting to throw
up... But couldn't. I got to one knee, thinking...

"If I can only get up, I'm gonna kill that bitch."

My daughter, still on her mamma's hip, was crying. The rent-a-
cop guard was walking over with his cell phone stuck in his ear
- guess he was calling for back-up. At that moment one of my
best buddies drove up looking for a parking space. He rolled
the window down, and with a slight grin on his face,

"Hey man... You praying... Or what?"

I managed to groan,

"That bitch kicked me in the goddamn nuts!"

"Again?" He chuckled, looked at Rene and smiled real big...

"Hey sweetie... How are you?"

She flipped him the bird.

He looked back at me... Still grinning...

" OK... Well I got to find a parking spot... You know you're late
for work again..."

I didn't say anything, but thought...

"Thanks a lot Joel, you are a fine friend."

The guard finally spoke...

"What's going on here?"

"Fuck you pig!"

Rene shot at him, as she walked to her car cooing to the baby...

"Don't cry honey... Its alright... Mommies only mad at daddy."

I finally made it to my feet as she strapped the baby in her car
seat. She turned around and looked at me then with the
saddest look on her face, her big blue eyes full of tears, she

"Sorry, I just lost my temper, you really piss me off!"

She got in her car and left... My baby girl was looking out the
side window at me with love and fear in her eyes... That picture
of her will stay in my mind forever. I really felt like holly crap...
And then, I limped on in to work....

Really, don't we all, just limp on in to work, for most of our lives,
no matter what?  Yes, of course we do. Why? Because 'if you
do not work, you do not eat'... Not the things you really want to
eat, and sometimes have an uncontrollable desire to eat, Like,
Rene's...... Hell no, I ain't ever gonna admit that anymore, not
ever again in this life.
Am I crazy, have I lost my friggin flippin mind?

To be continued:

REMEMBER... This is a work of fiction... Any resemblance of
theses characters to real people is coincidental.

GEEESZE.... Whats wrong with yahoo... Can't edit on yahoo no
more.... Why don't you guys get your shit together... What
happened... Did MS, GOOGLE, or those FBB'S just flip you all
over!!! Or what???

Oh well... We'll just edit on our own awhile

back to story;

"Sweet Jesus Christ... Rene... Honey... I know you love me...
No one is such a good damn actor that they can fake that crap
all the time... Or maybe you are just a great little sexy bitch
actor like 'sex in the city bimbos'... And you ought to be in
Hollywood... Hollywood or anywhere except here... In my face.

One question... And one question only,

How can you love me... And hate me... And want to hurt me
(really hurt me) at the same time? Oh hell yes you do... When it
clicks in your mind, you go for blood... You ain't playing...

What is that? Natural female survival intelligence... 'Don't
think... Just do it. No matter the consequences... '

You are not a dumb broad... You're sharp as a tack... And you
really are sorry... Latter, after the fact... But sorry doesn't stop
you. Never has... Never will."

I wish Trixie would help me out... Maybe if I beg... I ain't above
begging you know... No honest Neanderthal is... But finding
one more than half honest (survival instinct) is ever more
difficult to do.

Trixie is the gal in "god-shaped hole". She is supper smart and
she could figure all this out fast... Super fast... And tell me
exactly, how to handle Rene.

I used to think...

"How would Holden Caulfield (created by J.D. Salinger) handle
this? How would he get all this schmuck down on paper... And
really make sense out of it?"

Now I think...

"How would Tiffanie DeBartolo handle this? (That's Trixie's
other name and I know this is getting too damn complicated -
just bare with me - please)"

Tiffanie needs to publish another book... I really need/want to
read more. I hope she is not the kinda woman who despises
needy men. Some women do... Although they will love/hate
them passionately, at times, kinda Like Rene... No matter what
she says.

But Trixie ain't like that... After all... Ain't all us human beings
'needy' from time to time. And don't really supper smart
successful and intelligent women, like Trixie, don't they know
how to handle needy men... I mean with out castrating them?

Sure she does... I'm sure... Maybe.

And all you macho doodahs out there... Just go ahead and tell
me how you would go through the red door kicking ass, and
taking no prisoners... Yea... I'm listening.

Going through the red door can kill you... Literally cut your
flippin guts out.

"are you quite prepared to die... Don't go around tonight... Its
bound to take your life... There's a bad moon on the rise" ... Just
like John Fogerty said... That's the red damn door.

OHKAY.... Got to get back to work...

Actually... If I could find someone here in florida...someone
sharp like you, Trixie...(my hero... Literally and literature-Ly)
who I could trust just a little farther than I could throw'em...that
would be nice.

cybernote from Trixie;

> ha. what the hell was that?
> i liked it.
> cool.

My response;

a blog-novel that never ends...LOL...or so it seems.
You are cool.

Tech note; One call to Yahoo and we got it straight. It wasn't
their shit...it was my shit...really evil bad-ass cyberbug...but IT
has been sapped. Sorry Yahoo...and thanks. SW.

latter mi loves:)


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Comments(2 total) Post a CommentMOONS…  Offline A writer
extraordinaire! I truly must make time to come here each new
post...and read. Your work takes me away from all thoughts...
engulfs me and it's over the rainbow I go! If only I had your gift....
I would write many books! Blessings sent to you and yours my

Sunday July 13, 2008 - 03:34pm (CDT) Remove Comment
Steph…  Offline Thanks Linda love! The only GOOD writer is
the source...the eternal source...and I try to connect with that
(as all we humans do, admittedly or not) and write the way I
naturally think and speak - in short choppy sentences. Which
revels my literary neanderthal-ism...LOL...But I keep on keeping
on...and eventually (the source willing) the Red Door will be
completed. Thanks again my friend, you are a great
encouragement to me...I love it...really...when you guys wade
through the bits and pieces of my erratic writing, and respond. I
love Yous Guys! :)
The Red Door
by Stephen Wayne -- Medicine Horse
Dear Reader,
 Welcome to my blog novelette. I do appreciate all who
come here. However, I must with good conscience warn
you: this work is intended for adult human beings only.
Preferably healthy, happy, secure people (real people, not
AI's) who are mentally, physically, and spiritually mature.

 This is a work of fiction; however, I have drawn from real
life personal experiences as much truth as my limited talent
and imperfect intellect could manage.

This was originally written on my Yahoo 360 blog, over
several months in 2007and 2008. Original comments and
responses are mostly unedited.

This is a work still in progress; last edited 08/10/2015
copyright sunshinedixieland.com 2015
For Robin Rene, and all my readers.