Fall into me ….

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Fall into me

Into my laughter

And become my joy

Fall into me

Into my peace

And feel my warmth

Fall into me

Into my heart

And just try to understand

Fall into me

Into my mind

And feel my fears

Fall into me

Into this turmoil

And make it still

She began to live again



She began to live again.

As her fingers skimmed the skin of her lover, touching, teasing.

The gentle touch of her lips on her lovers skin turning a key that had been long shut.

Her tongue trailing, outlining, tasting the woman beneath her.

The soft tremble of her lover, the quiet gasps and the quickening of her breath.

She felt it then, the awakening of her own skin, every touch, brush of skin on skin feeling electric.

Every part of her crying out to be touched as her fingers danced and moved on her lover.

Her soul awoke and her time would come once more.

Some write the music.. others write the words

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words and music

Image thanks to Lushquotes.com

Some write the music … others write the words … some dance…others just listen.

Being different people with different ways of feeling and expressing emotion is one of the most beautiful things about being human. When we are open to our hearts music and poetry are the most popular way of expressing emotion and occasionally we hear a song that stirs our heart and evokes a long hidden feeling or memory or we see words on a page that speak to us, or speak for us.

Life is very much like a beautiful song that we all want to sing … sometimes we go off tune, sometimes we forget the words, but it doesn’t really matter as every song will have a meaning to us, what we decide to do with the middle bit is up to us … learn the words, change the words, add a score, slow it down… it is our choice.

Sometimes we hear a beautiful rhythm but cannot get our words to fit no matter how we try .. in the end if we try too hard we either  lose part of the beauty of the music .. or the meaning of the words.

Nothing should be forced, rhythms should come together naturally, but with music and with rhyme, if it doesn’t then we need to accept that and carry on searching.

The beat goes on……..

The Butterfly Wing

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The Butterfly Wing

 I will always be grateful to the beautiful butterfly,

that rested on my shoulder today.

I felt the breeze from her wing, delicate and soft.

A beautiful soul giving peace to a troubled mind.

A moment of magic and I felt tears sting my eyes,

not for what I have lost but what I have gained.

The beginning of the end ….

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It was the knee that got me first .. right in the face.   I wasn’t expecting it, it caught me off guard.  I felt my lip burst, the pain shooting to the back of my brain, the unexpected blow shocking me.

I tasted the blood, I felt it trickle down my chin.

I felt the pull on my hair, was I going to be scalped?   Then the nails, digging into me, like burning needles.

My eyes squeezed shut in pain, all other senses disappearing.

“Sorry” she gasped .. “I’ve never come that hard before”

I knew she really wasn’t sorry.    The smile on her face belied her apology.

She was happy.

I was bleeding.

I grabbed the nearest thing to me, which happened to be her fake silk knickers and held them to my mouth to stop the blood from dripping on my clean sheets.

“what are you doing” she yelled “those are new”.

“um bleedin” I mumbled from behind the knickers “you kneed me in the fathe”

I could feel my lip swelling as I balanced on my knees.  All feeling of passion had gone, stopped in a split second.  I doubted I would ever be able to have sex again.

“Oh quit moaning” she said as she grabbed her knickers out of my hand.

“Look at these, they are ruined” staring at me with those cool blue eyes that I been fascinated by earlier that night, but the flick of a smile at the sides of her mouth confirmed my suspicion that I had already been forgiven.

“I thaid I wath thorry” I tried, but she was already on her feet, pulling on her jeans, getting ready to leave.

She smiled at me.  “It’s late, I have to be up early for work tomorrow, or I would stay”

I looked into those eyes again and my stomach flipped again “tho .. can I thee you again” I said in my most seductive (if strangely lisping voice).

“I suppose so” she said   “how about Tuesday?”

I grabbed my phone to check my diary, “yup Tuethday ith fine, where thall we meet”

A slow smile spread across her face “how about I just come round here again, you can make pizza and we can have sex again… but hold the pizza… oh!  and I hope your mouth is better by then”

I grinned as I rolled off the bed, probably not the best thing to do when your lip is split, but I grinned anyway.

“Tuethday it ith then”  I said, being as cool and coy as I could be with a bleeding lip, standing totally naked in front of a woman I had only met earlier that night.

Again she stared at me, whether it was out of attraction or pity I wasn’t sure …but she stared at me anyway.

She reached out and softly touched my neck “Sorry for the love bites, babe.. I couldn’t help myself”

I turned and looked in the mirror.

“Jeezuth, what have you done to me!!” as I stood and stared at my own naked reflection.

“I look like I have a therious thkin problem”

She laughed .. “you will be the envy of your friends after pulling me”

She was right, it was a small price to pay, my friends would be jealous, I could show my badges of a successful pulling night off with pride.  Even if I would have to wear a polo neck for the next week.

She was dressed now.  Ready to go.

She kissed me on the cheek and whispered “thank you” in my ear.

“until Tuesday then” she said with a half smile that melted me and scared me at the same time.

I was still standing there contemplating at the bruises and the split lip.   “ok” I said, “thee you then”

She turned when she reached the door.

“I’m Kay” she said  “Nice to meet you”

I smiled again “I’m CJ… Nithe to meet you too”

…and so it began.

The rock

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I am the  rock.

Facing the waves.

Gasping for air.

As they crash on me, around me.

They may pound me.

Reshape me.

Eventually wear me down to sand.

But they will never break me.

I will wait on the storm to pass.

Until the soft kiss of the tide

surrounds me once more.



I am one of those women who decided to change trades whilst in the army.  I ended up in the Signals as a DTG but back in the early 80’s I was working in stores at Bicester.   During this time they decided to make a new “emergency” shift that worked nights and I was in the first lot of women to be part of this.

Working on this shift was a bit of a laugh .. two storewomen and a driver on each shift (if my memory serves me right!) .. and our main duties were to check if any telexes came in, check location on the fabulously old microfiche system and then head off to which ever site and shed the item was located in.

We actually had a really interesting time of it, from loading tyres for Northern Ireland, ropes, that we skipped up the aisles with until we realised they were actually Funeral cords (sorry!), various engines, oh all sorts of things large and small that was needed urgently.    Sometimes our driver couldn’t fit items onto the 4 tonner we had, so it was my responsibility to sort out alternative transport by ringing the RCT.

One night we had a telex come in for  Tent Marquee P x 4 … and being an organised and responsible sort *cough* I decided I should ring the RCT in advance and book one of those really long lorries to fit these Marquee posts in .. which I duly did.

Off we went to the sheds (stopping at another shed to pick up an additional forklift that one of the gals drove over to the shed we needed to be at) and started looking for our marquee posts.   Outside the ordered lorry stood waiting, two of us on forklifts driving round this huge shed (if you can imagine an aircraft hanger with shelving!) .. until we found the correct area and shelf.

It was then we found out that the Tent Marquee P x 4 actually meant 4 Tent marquee pins … Oops!

It probably wouldnt have been so bad but a couple of nights earlier we had phoned the MOD police to report an intruder in a shed .. (we could hear his foot stops) which turned out to be the drips coming off the leaky roof…

Or perhaps if Sue our driver hadn’t stopped so quick the Rolls Royce engine in the back of her 4 tonner hadn’t fallen through the floor of her truck …

Or maybe if we hadn’t lost Debbie one night (she was practicing hanging onto the rope of the back of the 4 tonner and fell off!) …

All I know is that the wee Scottish Sergeant Major was not very happy with me … Can’t for the world of me think why!!


Monday night .. means?

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Lost .. me .. never!


Oh how I hated them at the time .. not realising just how much fun cleaning was with a bunch of gals!

At Bicester the sound of Bilitis verbarated around the corridors .. (for you young un’s Bilitis was a lesbian film and EVERYONE had the sound track!)

I remember Jackie Murphy and Sue Carline best for handing out the rota for cleaning the block .. my favourite (for some reason!) was cleaning the bathrooms .. I still like a sparkling bathroom now!

We had a lovely wee Scottish Sgt Major in Bicester, for the life of me I can’t remember her name – but she was a very fair, decent woman, who had survived my attempts at sabotage when I was seconded to the troop office after hurting my arm.  I spent weeks pouring over the big sheets with everyone’s name on it .. I think they were for rations .. I really have no idea (I was a storewoman not a clerk!) .. anyway .. her favourite saying at that time was “Private Johnson .. a nice wee cup of tea would be lovely” .. I hate making tea .. so .. after a week or two I was really fed up with it.   I decided (in my great wisdom) to sabotage tea making.   The next time I heard the “a nice wee cup of tea would be lovely” I made my move … 12 teabags in a wee teapot .. honestly you could have painted with the walls with the tea that came out .. so.. very pleased with my very clever idea .. I smugly dropped it down in front of her.

She took a sip … paused … took another sip .. then said “Private Johnson, thats the best cup of tea I’ve had in a long time”

My flabber was gasted .. my dirty evil plan had failed …  although looking back .. I think she was just too damn clever for me!

I did however extract a wee bit revenge at the next in night.   I had in my possession (I can’t remember why!) a plastic dog poo .. now this SM liked to bring her wee cute dog round the block on in nights … so I waited .. until she had checked our room and moved on to the next .. and quietly placed the poo in the middle of the corridor.

The gasp was audible from the other end of the corridor … she turned red, was apologising profusely and telling her wee dog off … then she looked again … stared a bit harder … then it came … from the souls of her boots … “PRIVATE JOHNSON .. .GET OUT HERE NOW” ….   how she knew it was me, I have no idea .. but thankfully she seen the funny side of it.. or maybe she was feeling sorry for me as I still had my arm in a sling ….

…ah .. the sling … I had actually been told by the medics that I could take my sling off .. BUT we had a big parade coming up the next day and I couldn’t be bothered bulling my boots.   One of my roomies .. Joanne Hawker .. very kindly offered to bull my boots for me … I was sitting on my bed (with the sling off as I told her I could give it a wee rest out of the sling now and again) when she flung a cigarette over to me .. I grabbed it in mid air .. with my “bad” arm ..

The boots followed through the air a couple of seconds later ….



WRAC – Im the one with no jacket on

I have lots of memories of my time in the WRAC and some lovely friends that stretch way way back!

I joined up in March 1980, really because I had no idea what to do with my life and joining the army seemed like a good idea and would allow me to carry on playing hockey!

Initially I was a storewoman but later changed trades to join the Royal Signals as a Data Telegraphist (hence why I can type today!)

One of my favourite memories is of a time when I was serving with 233 signals in Northern Ireland.  During my tour it was decided that a group of us would be sent across to Faslane on the West Coast of Scotland for a week of adventure training.

That week was probably one of the funniest weeks in my whole life.

It started on the ferry over .. the sea was pretty rough and you have never in your life seen so many green looking women in one place at the same time.  A few dragged themselves up on board to share their breakfast with the creatures of the deep.  The rest of us just sat below and groaned and rolled with the ferry.

Our accommodation was not actually in Faslane camp, it was up on top of a hill in old metal nissan huts, the round corrugated iron type, rustic wasn’t the word .. but it was reasonably dry and clean and the eight of us with the WRAC settled in to our temporary accommodation.

We were surrounded by sheep, which initially we thought was cute .. our thoughts did change when one morning we couldn’t open our door (it opened outwards).  One of the sheep had died during the night right outside .. we were trapped .. 8 serving army women, trapped by one dead sheep.  Eventually we did manage to get out, I have vague memories of someone skinny squeezing out the door and pulling the dead sheep away so we could escape.

But is this the end of the sheep story .. oh no .. not by far.

Blod, to make us laugh, decided it would be really funny to grab a clump of its wool and stick it down her knickers giving her a woollen merkin of giant proportions.  Oh how we laughed.

Oh how we laughed even more when it transpired that Blod had managed to get sheep ticks in her “floo floo” and had to spend an hour in the bath, legs over each side, with tweezers pulling them out … it probably didn’t help that most of us were hanging over the top of the bathroom partition taking photographs of the scene.  Poor Blod, she didn’t live that down for ages .. and will probably kill me for posting this on here!

The next day we set off on a 24 hour march .. with an overnight stay in tents halfway.   The picture above is our group finishing the end of the march… sore feet and a bit smelly .. me particularly so … the reason will become apparent below.

When our group of 4 set off we initially had all our kit in rucksacks and they weighed a ton … off we set .. uphill .. it was a killer, everytime we thought we were reaching the top there was another high bit behind it.   We stopped for a quick water break and rest.  Being of the highest intelligence <cough>  I decided instead of taking my rucksack off I would rest it on a gate post.  Great idea.  Well… it would have been if the gate post hadn’t given way and I ended up on my back arms and legs flailing like a stuck tortoise!  .. luckily the girls helped me up (after falling about laughing) and off we set once again.

Very soon we came to a high level flat moor .. easy walking .. I was walking alongside Blod, she was on the path, I was walking across the moor grass at the side of the path, when suddenly I sank, right up to my knees in this smelly quagmire that stank… Blod helped me out (again after laughing) and I turned round (while walking backwards) to shout to the girls behind about what had happened to me .. suddenly I sank again .. this time right up to my waist.. if it hadn’t been for the rucksack I would have probably gone right under …

This time it took the other 3 girls and our instructor to pull me out and I was stinking … really really stinking … no-one would walk beside me <lip quivering at the memory> .. and I had to endure the wet slimy clothes for the rest of the walk until we reached camp.

When we did reach there I was ordered to walk into the loch and stay there until I was clean .. so not only did I have to suffer being stinky, I then had to freeze!

Thankfully it worked.. and my clothes dried quickly by the campfire, which we gathered round to cook our rations of baked potatoes and beans.

Blod and I took our dinner back to our tent and ate it there.

In the morning I was awoken by Blod calling me all the names under the sun with the words “dirty bastard” flung in there too .. “what is it” I mumbled … “YOU” she shouted “have shit just outside the tent door”    “No I didn’t” I spluttered back, as I looked out the door …. and there lay the burnt potato skins of the previous night ..

Slowly, softly


Slowly, softly

Under our leaf canopy the still of the forest surround us, the sound of the rain against the leaves locking us in our natural hideaway, giving us our own secret world, both of us sensing the smell and the feel of the forest around us.

I kiss your lips slowly, softly.  Pressing your body against the damp bark of the tree.   I feel your teeth on my lips, gentle, your tongue lazily flicking mine.

I drop my mouth to your neck, my tongue tipping the length of you, slowly, softly. Trailing to your shoulder, small nibbles, soft, but felt, making your breathing start that little bit faster.

I raise my head to look into your eyes as my fingers start unbuttoning your shirt.

Your eyes are heavy, I see surrender in your face as I drop my head to let my lips run over every piece of skin that becomes exposed as I slowly free your body to the warm, damp air.

Slowly, softly I flick my tongue against your nipple, rolling it gently against my teeth, first one, then the other until they stand proud and erect, damp from my mouth and the trickle of rain that drips from the leaves onto your skin.

My tongue trails down you, along your stomach, my teeth gently nibbling. My mouth sucking, slowly, softly until I hear your gentle cry.  Your hands on the back of my head urging, holding, as I gently slip your jeans down your legs, trailing my tongue down your inner thighs.  Softly, slowly.

Once more you lean back, your naked body against the damp rough bark, your hips forward, pulling me to you as the tip of my tongue slides along you, stopping briefly for gentle blows of air against you, my fingers probing, pushing in.  Slowly, softly.

You push my head harder against you, opening your legs wider, it is urgent now.  My speed quickens, fingers pushing harder and deeper into you, my lips sucking on you, then a sudden slide of my tongue along the length of you to join my fingers, unexpected, electrifying.

Quicker and harder I push, suck and slide.  The wetness of you no longer caused by the rain, the sound of the rain drained out by your urgent cries, until …

..a soft, deep moan from the depth of your soul, a rush of heat on my fingers and my face tells me that the storm is over ..

I rise, kissing you once more.   Our lips mingling with the taste of you.

Slowly, softly.

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