To do list

I'm going to ask her today.

I'm so excited, I can hardly wait. I know she'll say yes, there's no doubt about that. Perhaps there's a point-two percent chance she'll say no. But that's such slim odds I'm not even going to bother giving it any thought. No, she's definitely going to say yes.

I'm looking at the ring now, holding it up to the light. It's stunning, gorgeous. It's a silver band with over two carats of diamond nestled in the center framed by tiny blue sapphire gems. It's just... wow. I've been saving this for years for her. I knew I wanted to marry the moment we met, but... these things take time now. It's not the done thing to sweep someone of their feet and marry them within a month of meeting. It makes people think it's not going to last because it was so impulsive. But I knew. I'm almost 100 percent sure she knows now too.

Shower next. The hot water cascades down my body and when the steam dissipates, so does the tension in my muscles. I rub soap into my chest. The hair there is becoming matted in the foamy lather. She always loves playing with those hairs. I rub soap into my neck, massaging the base with my fingers, feeling the strong tendons loosen with my insistent touch. When I start to clean my flaccid member, I'm tempted to liven it up a little and relieve myself. But I remember tonight, and decide I want to save everything for her.

I'm clean, smelling of aftershave and now what to wear. I pick khaki twilled jeans with a black shirt under a light blue v-neck. I probably looks a mess; she'll probably think so anyway. Not that it matters. Both of us know clothes aren't my strong point. I'm trying to be discerning about what I wear for tonight, but really there isn't much point in trying.

I put on my socks, watch and shoes. Dressed now. Time to get the food. I head out of my apartment and down to the street. I stop by my local fish-mongers on the way to M&S and pick up the live clams. They're in season now, so I know they'll be at their finest. At the supermarket, I pick up shallots, chillies, garlic, cream and coriander. I know she loves those flavours and they'll go well with the clams. I'm going to prepare her something luxurious, yet simple. Next stop is a bakers that sells the most intensely chocolaty cheesecake either of us have had. I got her one for her birthday a year or two back and she's been hinting at getting it again ever since. The price is prohibitive though, as much as I want to shower her with money and gifts, £250 is a little excessive for a dessert. But tonight, who cares about price. I also buy some crusty french stick to go with the clams.

Now alcohol. What sort of proposal dinner is complete without fine champagne? I head to a specialist store close to her flat that has the biggest variety of alcohol imaginable in the UK. I choose a delicate white to simmer the clams in and a bottle of champagne I can't afford. I'm nearly set now.

I arrive at her flat and ring the door. I'm not nervous. I'm not afraid. I'm so sure she'll say yes, I can just relax and prepare this delicious meal and laugh and chat with her. She answers the door. She's so lovely when she smiles, her auburn hair falls about her pretty face alluringly and I go in to kiss her lips lightly. They're so soft. I can feel my body respond to her with arousal and I try to contain myself - not yet.

I walk into her scented flat. It's homey and cosy, cushions scattered over the sofa, soft lighting and rugs and throws wherever possible. I like walking into her space. I can sense some of her warmth here. She takes my bags and squeals when she peeks into them. Yes, I'm telling her, I'm planning on treating her like the queen she is tonight. She stops her trek into the kitchen to smile gently at me. Then she walks to me and kisses me again, a little more passion in her actions. I get the impressions she's finding it hard to stay focused on food too.

I wrap my arms around her slim waist and nuzzle her neck while she chatters at me and washes the clams. I breathe her in. So sweet. I rarely smile these days, not without her around. But with her it's all I can do not to smile. I ask her if there's anything pretty she can wear, not that she needs it. I bought a new dress last week, she tells me, should I put that on? I don't really want her to go, I just want an excuse to get everything ready and I know she spends an age and a half getting ready. I nod at her and tell her to take her time.

She does just that. By the time she arrives, I've chopped the shallots, garlic, chillies and coriander and fried them for a few minutes. I've thrown in the clams, some of the white wine and cooked them for a few minutes more. I've laid the table with her best crockery and warmed the bread up. I've added the cream to the clams and served it in bowls, steaming hot. The champagne is chilled too.

She walks in with a stunning shimmering purple number that accentuates every curve of her body. Her face is prettily made up and her hair swept from her face to a complicated knot. She's wearing pearls around her neck and ears. She looks sensational. I say something to her and she giggles, blushing slightly. I can feel my hard-on pushing its agenda to me. Not yet! I tell myself and beckon for her to sit down.

She talks about her work while we eat. I try not to think about how much I want to drag her to her room and - not yet! I top up her champagne glass. We've now moved onto holidays and where we'll go this year. I've never been to Japan, I tell her and she rolls her eyes. Okay I've never been to Greece, I lie, and she flashes me a grin. We went last year, but it seems that's where she'd like to go again. It's the last thing on my mind, holidays. I clear our plates away and bring out that desert. She looks at it longingly and gobbles her piece up before I've even served mine. I look up at her with a look of disbelief and there is an awkward silence between us. She also has a chocolate streak down her chin which she discreetly tries to wipe off. It's too much for me and I burst out laughing. She follows suit and for a while we amuse ourselves with impressions of her rapacious appetite. She has tears in her eyes and so do I. Oh shush! She tells me giggling, you should see what you're like with pork scratchings!

Finally, while we eat our third portion of the chocolate cheesecake, I decide it is time to ask her. The light of the room caresses her magnificently. She's just lovely. I feel myself overwhelmed with so much longing for her. I can barely contain my excitement. And my arousal. I slip off my chair and get down on one knee. She tilts her head and peers at me questioningly. Then her eyes light up and she simply stares at me. I take her hand in mine and I say those words, all the while reaching into my pocket for th- NO! I forgot the ring...

Yue'Vanir : Xarisha's Tale

I'll start with something that I've had pressing on my mind enough to begin writing it. This is the beginning of a far wider arch of stories that I've been messing around with with my fiancee (he's a writing mug too!) By the way, there's something very wrong with the way blogger.com handles space bars and enter keys. Anyway here it is.

Xarisha's Tale

Darkness. It permeated every rock, every pore.

Xarisha walked with careful, measured steps, one hand gripping tight to her father’s and the other running along the cool smooth wall of rock that guided her. Blackcap did not grow on this sort of surface and had long stopped sprouting and showing her their path. Instead utter pitch black covered her eyes like a heavy blanket blots out all trace of the moon. Xarisha dared not speak. She knew she was her father’s guide on his final journey and therefore, must act with dignity. She knew that, by and by, they would reach those sacred waters and with that, her blind father’s doom. She bit her lip and tightened her grip on her father’s hand, which he reassuringly squeezed back.

Her fingers came to feel empty, cool air and she halted. Now her feet would guide her. Feeling ahead carefully with her toes, she stepped forward. Icy water met her naked feet and she hissed her breath in to stop herself from crying out with shock. This was her first time here. ‘We are here father,’ she whispered, her voice multiplied many times its volume in the eerie cavern. ‘Lead me into the water child,’ her father replied, his voice coming strong and wise, all the more magnified by the strange echoes in the place. She carefully guided him past her and held on tightly to his arm as his entire weight dropped into the waters and then buoyed him back briefly.

‘Father!’ She cried out, abandoned panic choking her. He soothed her, ‘Shh, hush child, I will remain a moment longer’. His rich voice bounced with each echo and grew stronger. She could no longer control herself and let out terrified, grief-stricken sobs. She sank low so her face was level with his. He gently stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. ‘Easy child,’ he murmured with loving affection, ‘save those precious tears for mourning the next child born into our poor, mutilated clan. For me? For me rejoice! I go to join those that have gone ahead of me and finally I leave this cursed existence.’ Xarisha bit her tongue and attempted to regain some form of self-control, ‘Forgive me father,’ she whispered, her voice still catching, ‘I will celebrate this moment with you as is appropriate.’ She stroked his cheek with the tender affection of a daughter and tried to remember every line, every contour of his aged face.

He was becoming heavier and loosening his grip on her moment by moment. ‘Daughter,’ he whispered in the pitch dark, ‘it is time I passed on. But one final gift and one terrible burden must I lay upon your back.’ He clawed a locket about his neck, splashing Xarisha with icy water as he did so. She flinched and tried to hold him up, but found the waters drag him down slowly. He finally removed the locket and with trembling hands, placed it over Xarisha’s head. ‘This is the key to the fall of those that keep us in eternal darkness. Escape these caverns and guard it with all you are until the time is right to bring armies against our cruel masters.' He sunk deeper, the water now closing over his neck. 'There is a way out, my dearest child, return the way we came, feel the smooth face of stone until you see Blackcap light your path once more. But do not take it-' Xarisha finally lost her grip on him and let out a horrified scream. He began to struggle blindly against the water and shouted the last words at her desperately, 'do not take the lighted path! Instead seek a crack in the rock and sink into it. Crawl this way until you see light. Sweet light! G-go my daughter redeem us all!" She was sobbing, trying to keep the grief from making her loose all sense of direction, but she stepped backwards and reached back until she felt the solid face of the rock. She waited, quietly crying, as his gasps and splutters came and went with the splashes of those cold, icy waters until she heard nothing more. 

Shakily, she caressed the cave's wall for guidance and walked on. She tried to sing a hymn of exuberance to honour her father's passing, but the words came hollow and rang strained. 'Oh father..', she whispered in the darkness, 'father.. father..'', shaking her head and crying. They had warned her the journey back would feel like the longest, most arduous of your life, but words were nothing to the deep despair that swallowed Xarisha in that pitch black. Yet she continued. Her father's words echoed in her mind, 'Where the Blackcap lights the way, seek the crack on the rock...'

Xarisha finally saw the dim, opal gleam of Blackcap in the distance of the narrow passage and she hurried to it, thinking of home and comfort first, but then halted, struck by her father's command. She walked on, hesitantly now, afraid of this 'burden' that had been laid on her. And yet.. Light... Real Light... She hurried on, reaching the line where the humble fungus grew and created a path back to her people. She scanned the area carefully, the vague light offered by the bright mushrooms made her eyes strain. And then she saw it, the crack. Easily missed by many because of the great concentration of the mushroom that grew there. She fell to her knees and clawed, scraped and dug the mushrooms out, wincing a little, remembering this was sacred ground, but finally the pitch black of a cave within a cave revealed itself. Xarisha did not hesitate, not even to gawp at such a wonder, she edged herself in.

She crawled on her hands and knees, sneezing at the stale air and taking one or two gulps of breath before sinking deeper into the tunnel. It was stifling. This was the smallest space she had ever crawled in and she felt the weight of the earth above and around her oppress her being. Yet her heart did not thump with fear, no. Excited anticipation welled up within her. Light.. sweet Light! She felt her father's locket stick to her sweaty skin as she clambered up along the earthy tunnel. It was hard to breathe now, hard to think, all she could do was keep on forward. The rock below her began to feel grittier, softer and the stench of stale earth hit her nose. She coughed and sneezed again, eyes streaming, but kept on forward. Finally her head smacked on hard earth.

She recoiled, and then dug with her hands, dug with her beating, thumping heart full with the fervour of promise. It was harder to breathe, ever harder to continue dislodging earth from earth, and at a point of giving up she felt great clomps of dusty soil fall on her. She rubbed her eyes, shook her head and sneezed, again. Then she saw it. Light. Pure, white light graced her eyes for the first time in her young life. A splash of it poured in, piercing the darkness below and illuminating her pale face. She squinted at the strength of it and protected her eyes with her hand. 'Oh sweet father you were right.' Xarisha whispered in the gloom, her closed eyes roving over the stream of brightness hungrily.

Though I know the above is part of a wider story arch, I think it stands quite nicely on its own.

Introduction

I read somewhere, Writer's monthly or something, that 'if you're a person full of ideas, it doesn't meant you're creative it means you're lazy.' Harsh right? Mostly harsh if you're constantly going: HOLY MOLY I JUST HAD TEH MOST AMAZING STORY IDEA OF A BUG TAHT BECOMES A TREE AND THEN HE MARRIES A FREAKING DOG WOWOWOWOW!

I may have just started to imagine what the above story might be like and what sort of sub-text it might imply and... I need help.

Anyway, I'm a 'lots of ideas ALL THE TIME' person. Which is great because it makes me feel special and like talent could lurk somewhere in the grey smush I call a brain (and I don't care blogger.com it's G R E Y not G R A Y. Your spellchecker can squiggle red lines at me all it wants). Having said that I am notoriously lazy and spend all my time in my head. Or in WoW. Mostly in WoW. In fact the only times I'm not in WoW is when I'm sleeping or unable to access the game. So as a way to challenge myself and stop being such a waste of space, I decided I'd try to post one story per week. At least one. Even if it's just,

"The cat sat on the mat. The man sat on the cat. The cat shat on the man. The man sat on the shat. And then they all lived happily ever after. The End."

I will do my very best to stick to the one-story-a-week thing. Let's see what I can pull of eh?

Oh, I should also probably do something along the lines of:

****DISCLAIMER**** All the crap I write is my own, not lifted from anyone else. Please don't nick it. And if you think I nicked yours, I'm very sorry, this is done unintentionally and I always site my sources if sources have been used.