It’s been over two months since I’ve published my one and only creative writing piece, so I figured it was time for another.

The following, though, is one of very few compositions of mine intended for a mature audience.

Her heels resonate over the tile of the floor and I found myself in absolute anticipation.

I was sprawled on the sofa that faced the city’s gleaming lights. Unlike most outdoor seating arrangements, this one faced inward allowing for views of what was inside as well as what was outside.

A soft “hello” could be heard from the door where she stood in her see-through gown that beckoned for attention. I replied in my best Joey tone of voice, “How you doing?” A smile crossed her face and she walked out and stood before me, graciously sitting on my lap and kissing me ever so gently on the forehead. We then shared the moment, partaking of the beautiful view that was there for our taking.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said and kissed me again before walking inside; the breeze suddenly caught her dress and managed to offer a glimpse of what was to come.

I sat there for a few moments, trying to get myself together after imagining how great it would be to partake of her. I stepped inside and phoned the guys to let them know I wouldn’t be hanging out this evening. It had become routine almost, so they were knew they probably wouldn’t be seeing me since she was in town.

I found her sitting on the side of the bed, massaging her legs with the hot oil we had purchased together when we ventured into a nice little shop downtown. I couldn’t help but stare, my eyes following her hands as they move up and down and all around. I regained my composure and slipped out of my black boxer-briefs. She tried to act as if she didn’t see me standing there, but I noticed a smile come over her face. Instead of joining her on the bed, I stood there in amazement and admired the beautiful scenery.

Rather than dab a little bit of the white cream onto her hand, she held the bottle to her leg and left a streak of it up to her thigh. She beckoned me to come close and I assumed that she wanted me to rub it in. I began to, doing so ever so gently, wrapping my hands around her ankles and forming tiny circular motions as I moved higher. I glanced up and noticed the smirk on her face because she knew she had me.

She squatted alongside the bed and rested her head on my knee for a moment. She didn’t move at first, perhaps beholding what would soon find its way inside her in just a matter of seconds. She snapped out of her trance and quickly filled her mouth with me.

It took absolutely everything I had not to grab the back of her head. I began to tremble. Compared to the chill of the room, a mild 70 degrees, her mouth was hot and wet. I leaned back in ecstasy and could hear nothing but the sounds she loved to make and the sounds I loved to hear. I lay back and enjoy every moment of this experience; my toes began to curl.

After a while she lifts her head and I can’t do anything but look down at her panting. She appeared to be proud of herself; she definitely should be. She pushed me so that my back was flat on the bed and somehow managed to plant herself right at my lips. As my tongue went to work, she lay there on top of me, planting kisses on the very top of my head, mostly concentrating, though, on what was going on between her legs. I began to caress her, wrapping my arms around her waist so that when she starts writhing and squirming, my tongue doesn’t miss a stroke. Although her thighs cover my ears, I heard her every moan especially when I hit her spot and she screamed out in sheer bliss. I started all over again, even though she beckoned me with a soft “wait”. I disregarded her request and before long she’s shaking again tasting utterly sweet.

She climbed off me and onto the bed, giving me a sly grin. I turned off the few lights on before I climbed in next to her. The light from the patio still flowed through and provided us with a few shadows to use. We snuggled close and soon thereafter I slid into her, our legs intertwined. I thrusted ever so gently, eliciting a sharp gasp every now and then. I toyed with her hair and even traced her face with my fingers. Somehow one of my fingers managed to find itself inside her mouth, and she began to lick my finger, twirling her tongue all around.

At that moment, all I could think was, “I hope this never ends…”

Post Title Download
Joe – “The Love Scene” (M4A) from All That I Am

During Interim 2005, I spent much of my time with special education teacher Gwen Hill. Mrs. Hill and I worked with a number of students who had special needs. I continued to volunteer with her even after the class ended. The following is a profile piece on Mrs. Hill I composed for my EH204: Writing for the Print Media class.

It takes a special person to teach special education. Gwendolyn Hill is such a person. She demands confidence of her students and offers them encouragement, while respecting the individuality, uniqueness and ability of each child.

Hill has been teaching special education for 30 years. Looking at her, you’d never know it.

Her youthful appearance and calm disposition have not been tainted by the years or the usual worn-out feeling that most educators experience after a number of years in the field. Her face shows not a single wrinkle, and a true professional, she dresses in generally conservative attire that she makes herself.

After graduating from Ullman High School in Birmingham in 1970, Hill enrolled in Lawson State Junior College. She admits that she did not want to do so. “I wanted to travel,” she said in a recent interview with me. “I thought about joining the army,” she continued, “but my parents basically forced me to go to school.”

Although she was initially interested in pediatric nursing, Hill volunteered at the local recreational center to tutor students in remedial subjects in grades ranging from kindergarten to eighth grade. Comprised of both general education and special education students, this opportunity piqued Hill’s interest in special education because no one else wanted to work with the special needs students.

She also had the opportunity to work with high school students who were deficient in their reading and math skills.

“I was really amazed to find out there were students in grades 3-12 reading below grade level with two or more grade levels being deficient.”

Hill said this experience was enough to spark her interest in pursuing a career in the education field, with a specialization in special education.

After becoming certified to teach in 1975, Hill began working at Fort Rucker in Dale County, Alabama, as a special education teacher for grades kindergarten through fifth grades.

Unable to recall any obstacles during her first year as a teacher, Hill said, “Just having the opportunity to see a smiling face gleam because a skill had been learned, a book had been read or a math problem had been solved may have blinded any obstacles that I may have incurred.”

Times have changed dramatically in the past 30 years, and the education and special education fields are no exception. Hill informed me of two very important changes that have occurred since she entered the field.

Classification of students has now been removed from student records. This means that special education teachers are no longer able to view the particular diseases or learning disabilities that a child may possess. Instead, teachers are only allowed to know the problems these diseases and disabilities cause. For example, one of the students Hill works with has Down’s syndrome and is unable to perform mathematic computations. However, the IEP (Individualized Education Program), only lists that mathematic computations cannot be performed, which means the child’s teachers are left guessing as to why.

An IEP is a mandated requirement for any student in the public school system who meets the federal or state requirements for special education and related services. It generally outlines the student’s current performance level, necessary accommodations in class, subject areas impacted by the student’s disability, goals and objectives to be achieved during the course of the IEP, in addition to other pertinent information found to be beneficial to the success of the student.

Special education students are expected to master skills with less instruction and are no longer being “pulled” into classes away from the general education environment. This means that special needs students are able to interact and compete with their peers in regards to core subject study and are also able to participate in extra-curricular activities with other students from their age group.

Hill’s thoughts on President Bush’s historic, bipartisan education reform effort, ’No Child Left Behind,’ do not consist of both positives and negatives. She said, “The ‘No Child Left Behind’ program did not consider the special needs or the struggling child in the public education setting. There were no considerations to the students who learn differently (and) it appears to dictate the learning style or learning capacity to be only successful if one set method or technique is used for all.”

One of the primary components of ‘No Child Left Behind’ is stronger accountability for results. This level of accountability entails additional paperwork for state and federal education agencies. Hill explained ruefully that finding time during the day to complete tons of paperwork and teach is the hardest part of her job. “I spend a great deal of my time doing paper work at home,” she said, “because I have a very hard time sitting at my desk doing paperwork when I have a student in need of assistance with his or her academic assignment.”

Hill noted the reduction of paperwork as one thing she would like to see changed in the education field. Hill would also like more resources to be dedicated for the inclusive (open to all children, and that ensure that all children learn and participate) and resource settings that special needs students utilize. The curriculum for special needs students is based on the needs and abilities of the individual child and should reflect those individual needs and abilities.

Although times have changed since she first entered the education field, Hill said she enjoys what she does. She also enjoys spending time with her husband, two children and two grandchildren. When she’s not completing paperwork, she likes to read and sew.

For aspiring educators, Hill offered this advice: “Make sure that this is what you want to do. Enjoy it and be patient. Be caring and sympathetic, but not so much that you allow the child’s disability to impede the learning process.” She added that it helps to find the best way to teach each child by being creative, as she hands a pencil to a student with limited ability of her hands to use to type on the computer keyboard.

Time waits for no one
Is what we’ve been told
The time we’ve spent together
Is worth more than gold

Our journey has finally reached its end
What a trip it has been

Laughing and crying
Smiling and sighing
All emotions we’ve had our fair share
But for each other, we’ve always been there

Disappointments as well as disagreement have appeared
Sadness and death have also been near

The conductor has opened the door
And on the train we will ride no more
Now the time has come for us to depart
And from this departure to make a new start

But from beginning to end
Friends we’ve always been
Traveling down these tracks
Only to never go back again
(Dedicated to the Class of 2002)

About six years ago I began working on a book.

I never finished.

In fact, after only a few chapters, I deleted everything I had written because I’m critical (perhaps, overly so) of my work.

Over the past five years, though, writing has become a very cathartic experience for me. I used to keep a notebook and I’d jot down random thoughts throughout the day. Every now and then I’d sit down and write something worthy of keeping. Turns out, those pieces were usually inspired by a certain female in my life at the time: my muse, if you will. The following, titled “Backseat Love”, is such a composition and I’m proud to share it with you for your review.

For whatever reason, I chose to take public transportation. The bus was sparsely crowded and I headed straight for the back. Although she only glanced up momentarily as I walked past her, I found an empty seat two rows behind the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. As I took my seat I noticed she pretended to look for something in her purse so she could get another good glance at yours truly. I didn’t mind, not in the least. If anything, I was hoping she’d completely turn around so I could partake of that face once more. She offered a smile and I returned the same silent pleasantry. I pulled out my iPod and shuffled to find the song that summed up this moment in time: Prince’s “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World”. There I was with earbuds in ear, silently singing a song to her that she would never hear.

Before Prince had a chance to get to his spoken verse, I had moved up a bit to one seat behind her, but on the opposite side. I’m not sure if she noticed the relocation or not. She continued to look down at whatever it was that was keeping her preoccupied. An older lady in the seat in front of me did notice my move, however. She looked over at the young lady and looked back at me and gave me a look that offered both permission and anticipation for what was about to happen next.

I leaned up a bit to see around the seat to find her writing. It wasn’t that it was illegible so much as I was just absolutely taken by her handwriting that I was unable to decipher the composition. I leaned back in the seat attempting to rid my mind of all the possible outcomes that would include me walking away with my tail between my legs. This was all new to me. I’ve never been one to approach a stranger; I’ve always been the one being approached. That’s the way I like it. I give a semblance of interest and she takes it from there. That’s the way it’s always been. But this time was different. This time I had to get this thing started.

By the time I was finally ready to make my move, I noticed the bus was coming to a stop and she had begun to pack her things. If I were gonna make a move, it had to be now. Just as I was about to commence conversation about some relatively inane subject in an attempt to at least get her name, her cell phone rang. She answered with a soft, sweet voice that would have sounded even better had I been on the other end of that call. She stood up exhibiting her petite frame and proceeded to head for the door. I guess whomever it was on the phone was someone she really wanted to talk to because I noticed she had placed both her pen and pad on the seat and had completely forgotten about them by the time she was ready to get off the bus.

This had to have been a sign from above so I grabbed the two and the older lady let out a chuckle as I hopped off the bus. I glanced up the street and saw her walking toward the Hawthorn Gallery on 29th Ave. It was either that or the restaurant, Grenadine’s, next to it. Still on the phone, she walked just like I thought she would; she had a sort of no-nonsense air about her from what I discerned of her trot. I decided to steal a peek at her writing pad and the heading at the top really caught my attention: “Backseat Love”. I perused the lines that followed and realized that it was a written account of the things that had transpired since I set foot on the bus. A smile came over my face and I began to run toward her. By now, the phone call was over and she was about to open the door to Grenadine’s. I yelled “Allow me” a yard or two away and she turned around to see her mystery door-opener. A smile covered her face as she thanked me and I ushered her in. She must have been so awe-struck at that, she didn’t even notice her pen and pad in my hand. She sat at a table toward the back, near the restrooms and I decided to sit closer to the front…at least for the time being.

She opened her handbag and I noticed a look of antipathy on her face. “She must have just noticed she left her things,” I thought to myself. I stood up and strolled toward her, pen and pad hidden behind my back. “Looking for something?” I asked. She replied, “I must have lost it.” I inquired as to what “it” was and she said that it was something she was working on. I think she knew I had them, but wanted to continue to play this game. I didn’t mind…as long as I won. “It must have been pretty important to have you burrowing through that bag like a rabbit.” She laughed and I pulled them out from behind my back and handed them to her. She graciously thanked me and offered me a seat. I obliged and did as I was told. I introduced myself and she responded, “Pleasure to meet you, Jeff. I’m Hasanna.” Curious about the etymology of that, I asked her what it meant. She replied that it was the female form of the Arabic name, Hasan. “It means ‘good’ or ‘beautiful,’” she continued. That she certainly was.

We sat there in Grenadine’s getting to know each other. Within fifteen minutes I knew all I needed to know about her. Her name was Hasanna and she was twenty-two years old, two years older than I. She didn’t seem to mind, unlike that foolish girl who no longer deserves to be referred to by name, who, back in high school, was convinced I was too young for her, although we both had feelings for each other.

Hasanna was an upcoming senior who was majoring in international studies with a minor in African studies. In fact, she had recently returned from Ghana where she spent three weeks during a summer program. I was interested to hear of her travels, but she was more interested in what I had to say. “Tell me about yourself,” she demanded.

Just then my phone rang in the most awkward of times. I didn’t want to not answer for fear that she would think there was a significant other on the other end, but I also didn’t want to seem rude. She said “By all means,” and I excused myself, stepped outside and continued my phone call.

It was who I figured it was: Kesha. She *67′d me just as I had done her earlier when I called to wish her a happy twenty-first birthday. She was just calling to thank me for her gift. I’m not a phone person, so I was even shorter than normal with her knowing that I had much more left to do back inside.

I sat down and Hasanna asked “Girlfriend?” I replied, “No, friend.”

“I bet you have a lot of friends,” she continued.

“Not many.”

I pulled out my phone and opened the phone book and handed her the phone and told her to scroll through the contacts. She looked at me and smiled when she realized she had gone through them all and had only noticed a few female names.

“Who is that with the heart by their name?”

“That’s my mom,” I replied, prior to that smile growing even wider.