If you are here, you are part of a strange and loving community. I am grateful that you confide in me. This is a safe place. You are accepted just the way you are. Even if you’ve never commented, I want you to know that I count myself lucky to have you. You have saved me.
You may already know that last week, my dear friend died unexpectedly. Gina brought so much life to everyone she touched – always so present and generous. She wore herself out giving. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. I can’t keep living and not give as much of myself as she believed I can. I will be the best version of myself I can be, but I will also forgive myself for not being perfect. I hope you’ll join me.
Take every opportunity to be kind and generous, even if it’s just a compliment, a smile, or a facebook “like.” Tell people you love them. Don’t take yourself too seriously. Laugh out loud. Play music. Dance. Make love. That includes making love to yourself. Yes, that’s love, too.
I’ve been working on Book 3 of the Lilith series for a long time, struggling with the Impostor Syndrome way longer than I should have. I’m giving myself a kick in the ass by posting my drafts in password-protected entries for subscribers to my May Ling List. Chapter One of Lilith: Beyond the Deluge is Sisters. I hope you enjoy it. I would truly appreciate it if you leave me feedback in the comments section to help me shape the final draft.
I went to an all-girls nun-run Catholic high school in the Philippines, very strict and narrow-minded. I was a good student but something as trivial as my asymmetric hairstyle got their granny panties in a bunch. What made high school life worth living was Gina. She and I connected on an artistic and literary level. She was a huge The Cure fan, so I drew her a portrait of Robert Smith. She wrote me a fantasy article for Town & Country magazine, in which I am a fabulous art curator and married to Johnny Depp. We talked endlessly about ideas for stories we wanted to write someday and we talked about sex. Sure, we had no experience whatsoever, but we were teenagers. Sex was an obsession.
In college she went to UP and I went to Ateneo. She partied hard with her sorority sisters. I got sucked into music and theatre. She invited me to an Upsilon event once. I felt out of place. Our paths divided for the time being.
She tracked me down in the mid-90s when I was in New York. I was performing Off and Off-Off-Broadway. She was a young single mom, making it as a writer and editor in Manila. She found out I made my own body products so she asked me to write an article for her fledgling magazine, Earthian. It was granola and green long before it was a thing. I accepted. It was my first published piece.
In the mid-2000s she discovered an obscure anonymous blog I was writing about my pregnancy and home birth. She asked if she could publish it on Working Mom magazine. How could I say no to celebrating my infant’s birth on the pages of a glossy magazine? Gina made me feel like royalty or at least like a celebrity.
When she found out about my porn, she stayed on my side all the way. She defended me against attacks behind my back from people we went to high school with and if you knew her, you’d know she unleashed a fury on anyone who crossed her or her loved ones. I flew to San Diego to catch up with her when she visited in 2010. We were regulars at her pub, Fred’s Revolucion in Cubao X in 2012. A few years later, she and her family were guests in our old farmhouse in Maine. We shared stories, beer, and laughter indoors while our kids ages 11 and 12 built a bonfire in the backyard because that’s the kind of parents we were and that’s the kind of kickass kids we raised.
She roped me in to write for Agam, the book of photos by her husband, photojournalist Jose Enrique Soriano. As executive editor, she included me among 24 contributing writers – accomplished poets, journalists, anthropologists, scientists, and artists from the Philippines. I felt like the black sheep among those luminaries, but Gina was my champion. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. She autographed my copy of the book: Will always be your friend, fan, and supporter – living vicariously through your groundbreaking work. Love you.
Tuesday night I got a message from her husband. Gina was in a coma in St. Luke’s ER. No one saw it coming. He asked for prayers. When an atheist asks an agnostic to pray for a Catholic, you know it’s serious. I prayed. I used all my mental energy to summon her back. “Come back, Gina,” I commented on a recent Facebook post in which she had tagged me. Come back, Gina, I thought constantly day and night. Come back to us. Thursday around 5 in the morning I woke up with a cramp in my chest. It pinched everytime I breathed. My heart literally hurt. I messaged her husband, “Tell me something, anything.”
She’s gone.
“She loved you and we were looking forward to visiting again.”
I had a difficult loud ugly cry by myself until Jay came out of his studio and held me and we cried together. I am so glad he got to know her. I’m glad I have somebody to grieve with and celebrate her life with.
Gina recently posted a fabulous profile picture across all her social media channels and even more fabulous photos of her and her kids at a kiki ball. Just last weekend her kids thanked her for giving them “a rich uncommon childhood.” She said she won the “lotto of life.” Her latest piece, my favorite yet, the crass and soulful Patricio, was published online on Esquire posthumously. I joked to Jay that it was a memorial-worthy social media presence, one to aspire to. He asked me not to die until my profile pictures got really old and ugly.
I got out a bottle of beer from the fridge, spilled some in her honor, and drank to my friend. Gina had a sharp wit and a fiery nature. She was a fierce mother and a fierce friend. She burned brilliantly, my friend for life. Gina burned fast, but she burned exceptionally bright.
Hi, everyone! What better time to play Caption This than on Halloween? Got any sexy nun puns? You better say your prayers and comment the best caption for this photo by the end of Sunday, November 4. Adults only please. I will pick the winner who will get a week-long MAYCAM pass. Can I get an “Amen?”
I awoke to darkness. It took me a while to realize that I was indeed awake, that this darkness was not a dream, that I was bound and blindfolded in a bed. The smell of burnt wood brought me back to the moment before I fell asleep. Or did I die?
I was engulfed in flames, surrounded by kindling that burst quickly. The fire took my breath away, but before it did, I remember it turning my clothes instantly into ash. I remember standing in the fire, naked, looking out at the crowd gathered to watch me burn. I saw the fire dance in their eyes. I saw their collective lust flicker as I writhed in my inferno. I heard the words spat into the air I struggled to breathe.
Witch!!! Witch!!! Witch!!!
I felt hands spreading my thighs wide. Fingers crept deep between my legs and pushed digits into my cunt. I gasped. For the first time since I awoke I realized that I was breathing. I wiggled my toes, struggled against my restraints, took deep breaths. This body is alive, awake, and ready.
MAYCAM 💋 is resurrected. It is alive with hundreds of years worth of real life stories, photos, and movies to capture your immortal soul in that deep dark place between my legs. Come. Find out the true story behind this photo. Read about deception, vulnerability, intimacy with strangers. Watch the video clip. I promise it is more fantastic than the fiction I wrote above.
My favorite month of the year! Except it always feels like it goes too fast. Like today. I wasted the entire day doing boring business in the morning, because it’s a Monday and the first of the month and the furnace was acting up and furnace-things need to be dealt with before winter comes so I can keep prancing around my house in skimpy clothes they way I like to. Aside from the most amazing seafood bun (pronounce boon) I had for lunch, during which time seemed to stop, the rest of the day flew by so quickly. I stopped in at a thrift shop, flirted with a big black man who started out a promising prospect before he started talking about his wife and made a hasty exit, so all I came home with was a parasol. Now it’s the end of the 1st and the beginning of the 2nd. Slow down, October!
I know the rest of the month will be just as swift. My birthday is in 5 days. I can’t wait to pose for my annual birthday nude 👀. I’m in excellent shape. I’ve been hiking and climbing mountains lately. I plan on hiking some more before it gets too cold. The leaves have started to turn. Pretty soon everything will be red and orange. I love the changing seasons. It’s like being surrounded by flames just before everything turns to ice.
Oktoberfest is also going on through the end of the week. The end of last week had me crying in my beer 🍺 at the end of the day, but a hike over the weekend and spending time at the top of a mountain looking out at the Atlantic Ocean revived me. I still like beer, do you?
Of course I can’t write about October without the climax of the month, Halloween. I haven’t yet decided what I’m going to dress up as, have you? What do you plan to be on Halloween?
I’ve been fostering a pregnant cat that some heartless people abandoned at the shelter. She’s a scared little thing, so confused about what’s happening to her body and untrusting of any human. I don’t blame her. You fuck real good once and you’re in trouble forever. Can you imagine being kicked out of your home just when you need one the most? She’s been under the couch most of the time. Once in a while I coax her out with kitty treats. She gently takes it from the tip of my fingers with her tiny teeth. So cute!
Lately she started lounging out in the open, but darted back under the couch as soon as anyone moved. On Autumn Equinox this weekend she spent the entire day and night under the couch. Around ten o’clock, while I was troubleshooting the Raspberry Pi I set up, I heard peeps from under the couch. Kittens!
snapchat: maylingsu
She came out later, her crotch wet so I knew for sure she had given birth. Kitty Mama cleaned herself, drank and ate a lot, then relaxed on her bed. I took the opportunity to take a peek under the couch. One tiny baby kitten.
I stayed up late with my Kitty Mama, rubbing her body and telling her she did good. She was so hungry for affection, the sweet thing. Before going to bed, I peeked at the baby again. It wasn’t moving. I got scared. What if it’s dead? I reached out and touched it. It squeaked. It was warm. I was relieved, but only slightly. What if the Mama rejects it now that I’d touched it? I dream worried dreams now. A little lifeless kitten, kittens running amok, my rat terrier getting in through the French doors and eating the little kitten. Moms… Moms worry.
Prior to this I’d been having frustrating dreams. Dreams that ended before they began. I dreamed about my first lover. The first boy I ever fell in love with growing up in the Philippines. We were hanging out with other people, not speaking to each other, just there, trying to keep it cool but wanting so badly to reach out and touch him. Finally we were alone but before we could say one thing the dream was over. I was awake. What a cruel trick awakening is!
Another time I dreamed about my high school best friend and me walking by a beach in the Philippines with a couple of boys I don’t believe I’ve met in real life. She ripped her clothes off and jumped in the water. The boys undressed and followed. I fumbled for the buttons on my shirt. I wanted to go skinny dipping, too, but the buttons seemed to take forever to undo. I woke up before I could get my shirt off.
I have someone who tells me constantly that he dreams about me. He says he wakes up hard as a rock and has to get himself off in the bathroom.
It’s 20 days till my birthday and those of you who’ve known me for at least over a year know what that means. Every year on my birthday I take a nude photo to celebrate being born naked, yes, but also it’s a record of how my body has changed through the years. This year will be my 19th annual birthday nude. 19!!! Some of you weren’t even born yet when I started taking these nudes.
If you want to send me a present (I love presents!) I’m going to add items to my wishlist on Amazon daily to give you an idea of what makes me smile. The presents I added today have something to do with this little anecdote I’m about to share with you, so go take a peek at my wishlist, then come back for the rest of this post.
Did you see it? Alright, here goes…
I was driving a long winding road in the White Mountains and singing along to The Breeders – All Nerve turned up really loud.
I won’t stop! I will run you down!
Suddenly a red fox crossed the road right in front of me, waving its pretty white tail. My heart slowed, then sped up, then pounded hard. The fox stopped to look back at me before it disappeared into the woods past the other side of the road, oblivious to how awestruck I was by its wild beauty.
My giddiness ended abruptly when I saw police lights in my rearview mirror. Shit. I turned The Breeders down. I stopped, reached for my registration out of the glove compartment, my license out of my purse. The cop was at my window faster than I expected him to be.
“Hi, officer! Did you see that fox?” I handed him my documents.
“Yeah!” He smiled, looked over my license and registration. He looked pretty good himself. Young country cop, sexy navy blue uniform, bright ginger hair.
“I’ve never seen a fox in broad daylight before,” I kept talking, spread my legs nonchalantly, gave the cop a view of my smooth creamy thighs, black lacy panties peeking out of a black miniskirt printed with little yellow sunflowers. “Have you, officer?” I looked up at him expectantly.
He grinned. “No, not like this one.”
There was nothing on either side of the road but forests. There wasn’t a house for miles. I felt vulnerable, excited, scared. I think he did, too. He didn’t look like the type of cop who would routinely abuse his power. He seemed like a model citizen, with his high school sweetheart wife and 2.5 kids, a house with a white picket fence. The kind of guy who goes to his small town church on Sundays. Also the kind of guy who may not get a chance to act out his basest fantasies, ever, much less with an experienced woman of exotic origin.
I wondered what it would be like to suck his cock. Was it pink like his cheeks? Was he waiting for me to make a bolder move? Or would I scare him the way a bold move may scare a wild animal? How would he react to fear? Is it worth it to find out?
His gun sat silently in its holster.
“Slow down on these roads a bit, okay?” He handed my documents back and was gone as quickly as he showed up at my car window.
Sometimes life only gives us a chance to connect in the briefest of moments. In big cities we brush up against so many people, overwhelm our senses with music and food and media, and grow numb. Out there on a lonely road in the middle of the woods, my nerves tingled.
This photo was taken at Ground Zero of what remains of the World Trade Center. On September 14, three days after the planes crashed and burned the Twin Towers, it rained. By nightfall the rain ceased and dust settled in the city. It was time to go to the funeral.
I headed for East Village. St. Mark’s Place was bustling. People were in shock but in good spirits, a camaraderie that graciously emerges when tough times unite a group of people. I had Japanese noodles at a hole in a wall so crowded it felt like the end of the world. We all slurped our noodle soups like it was. After that I knew I was ready for my pilgrimage downtown.
I walked around the barricades to make my way closer to the ruins. Even in shattered pieces, the World Trade Center was impossibly huge. First responders worked round the clock. I took a good look and got out of their way. I bought an American flag off a vendor and tucked it into my bag as I walked away. The subway smelled of Lysol and burnt flesh. Firefighters off their shift slumped in their seats on the train. They stared dead ahead of them in between nods at people who thanked them for their service.
I had a ticket for Rocky Horror Picture Show on Broadway in my pocket, purchased weeks prior. The show was going on that night and I wasn’t about to miss it. Dick Cavett was the Narrator. He talked about life and death and life going on. Each one of us with beating hearts do our part to keep life going.
Back then, New Yorkers were in it together, regardless of race, religion, or political affiliation. How did that same event that united a city become the catalyst to a war with no end in sight?
To wander in the fields of flowers,
pull the thorns from your own heart.
– Rumi
I have demons in my closet and they speak to me. They speak truths so true they wedge thorns so deep in my heart I reach longingly for rope. I huddle under hanging clothes and bury my head between my knees. I am worse than worthless. I am the destructor of all potential, the black cloud that sucks the marrow out of joy, the hand that turns gold into shit. I hide from you because I am ugly. No one wants to see me. If I don’t breathe… If I don’t make a sound… If I could un-exist without fanfare, without drama, without ultimate harm on the people I love.
Out of all the painful truths, there is that toxic lie: that I am alone in this world, that no one cares, that I can swallow up all my demons and destroy them by destroying me. If you understand what I’m going through, then you must recognize that lie woven into the truths.
This is me coming out of my closet. I am airing it out. These demons will have to speak to me in the light of day just as well as they speak to me in the dark. These thorns in my heart, I don’t know how to pull them out yet, but I will let pain teach me compassion.
Join me. Let’s not be alone together. You are needed.
Uncle Tim came home with a dead deer in the back of his truck. There was already one hanging upside down in his barn, but it was his brother’s. Uncle Tim is the man when it comes to field dressing deer. I remember a few Thanksgivings back when he bagged a hermaphrodite deer. He called it “queer deer” (pronounced kwee’ yah dee’ yah around these parts). I took photos, asked questions, no judgement. Uncle Tim seemed to enjoy my company. He entertained my questions and didn’t mind me taking pictures. I’d been in the family a long time but I know I’ll always be foreign to him.
A 14-year-old niece asked my advice on modeling, photography, and how to get her swollen lip to go down. She had gotten a piercing above the left side of her lip. Last summer she also asked my advice on eyebrow issues; first when she had shaved them off, drawn them on with a pencil, and given her face a surprised look; then when she had drawn them so thick they looked sharpied on. She may have found a happy medium with the eyebrows since then. Or maybe I didn’t notice on account of her fat lip.
“I brought my homemade mini pumpkin pies. Gluten-free!” I offered her. I made a batch every year.
“Oh my god, I love you!” She hugged me as she stuffed one in her mouth.
16-year-old Dylan also came up for a hug. He had grown from a chubby boy with Freddie Mercury teeth to a young man with short blonde hair, braces, and a hot bod! Call me a perv, but his good looks are not lost on me. The hug felt good. I walked right into his arms. He wrapped them around my back and squeezed.
“Auntie May, would you like to see my football videos?” he asked.
I glanced at his mother, an overweight blonde woman a few years younger than me but looking haggard. She sat on the other side of the room, clutching at her yappy little pomeranian, while she sobbed about her dog that died last summer. Her pomeranian upchucked a piece of turkey right onto one of the guests. A ruckus of cleaning up and apologies ensued.
“Sure!” I sat on the couch next to him as he pulled up junior varsity football game videos on his laptop. I became self-conscious of my minidress being a tad too short. His fingers tapped on his muscled thighs, dangerously close to mine. We watched his videos together. I heaped praise on his moves and watched him blush.
I’m aware of my “sexy aunt” status. Being asian and married to a white man makes me an “other” in his family; a hot exotic creature they can fix their fantasies on without feeling incestuous. I kinda like it. It feels good to be desired. And when I’m alone with my man I tell him I’m going to hire Dylan to mow our lawn this summer. I’m going to watch him peel his sweaty shirt off as he pushes the lawnmower around our backyard. I tell him I’m going out in a sheer little sundress, no bra, no panties, to bring the boy an ice cold lemonade. I whisper all the many naughty things I’m going to do. Whether I actually do it or not is beside the point. It makes my man hard to hear about it. It’s our connection together on a fantasy so immediate and so naughty that matters.
Did you have a sexy aunt when you were growing up? What fantasies did you have of her? Tell Auntie May all about it.
A cruel late autumn wind hit the man on his cheek like a slap on the face. The day had been warm and sunny when he and his wife began the hike up to the top of the mountain. He carried a picnic basket on his back gaily while she prattled along the trail ahead of him. As they approached the sheer cliff of the summit, the wind had its way with the couple. Sparse trees swayed and shook. Red leaves barely holding on finally let go in a swirl.
At the edge of the clearing, a girl sat in a swing that hung from a maple branch. The couple beheld the sight of her dark silhouette suspended from twin ropes. An exorbitant amount of ribbons, ruffles, and bows made her seem out of place in the wild outdoors. She would have made more sense in a Victorian doll house.
Photo by May Ling Su, Model: Naomi Roberts
The couple looked at each other in disbelief. The man wondered if they were looking at an art installation or a fashion mannequin. The woman looked around for any other people within the vicinity. They were alone.
The girl turned and focused her piercing blue eyes on each of the hikers, assessing whether they were friends or foes. The woman was quick to speak.
“Hello! We’re here for a picnic! Would you like to join us? We have food!” The woman motioned to her husband to take the contents of their picnic basket out.
“Right, right, food!” The husband busied himself setting up a blanket on a patch of grass. He took out apples, grapes, bread, cheese, and salami.
The girl smiled. “I’d love to!” In one swift motion, she leapt from the swing. Her dress ballooned open like an umbrella, giving them both a half-second glimpse of her thigh-high stockings and her panties. She folded herself readily on the picnic blanket, every pleat perfect over her black lace-up boots. She devoured the food as if she hadn’t eaten in days, entirely uncharacteristic of her formal attire. The couple watched as fruit entered her mouth, moistening her red lips.
The woman took a sip from her water bottle. “What’s your name, dear?”
The girl attempted to answer but decided to keep eating instead. The couple watched as the girl ate every single morsel of food they had packed for their picnic. When their basket was empty, the girl seemed self-conscious.
“I’m sorry I ate all of your food. But I thank you. I was really hungry.” She leaned over to the man and gave him a tight warm hug.
The man chuckled, “We’re glad to feed you. No harm done.”
The wife watched the man put his hands around the girl’s delicate waist. She watched his cheeks turn a rosy hue, his eyes sparkle, his smile spread giddily from ear to ear. She knew that look. It was a look that until then was only reserved for her. A look that she had not seen on him in a long time. She knew what he was thinking. What a perv!
“What’s your name again?” the wife asked.
“I’m Elenora,” the girl replied after she peeled herself off the man. She stood radiant. Her skin was impossibly translucent. Her hair shone like a beacon. For the first time that afternoon, it became apparent to both the man and his wife that the girl was a blossoming woman.
The sun dipped the bottom tip of its rays into the lake. The man pulled his scarf up over his face and exhaled to warm it up. He shivered.
“Aren’t you cold?” he asked the girl. He took his scarf off his neck and wrapped it around her nape. His fingers brushed her smooth sweet skin. He felt his toes tingle. He tried to push away the thought of cradling her exquisite neck in his hand and tasting her juicy lips. He had an overwhelming desire to wrap his body around hers, to protect her fragile beauty from the harsh wilderness.
“Are you here with anyone?” the wife wanted to know.
“Yes,” Elenora answered.
“Where?” The woman looked around. She could have sworn there was no one else there but the three of them, but that in itself was odd.
“They’ll be here,” Elenora assured.
The man’s blush turned pale. He felt nervous. They? Who are they?
“It’s going to be dark soon,” the wife warned. “Maybe we should look for them. I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you here by yourself.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Elenora said wanly. “They’ll find me. They always do.”
The wife felt uneasy. Something was amiss. She shook the crumbs off the picnic blanket, wondering in the back of her mind why it was so quiet. Where were the birds or crickets? Where were the chipmunks that usually come after the food? She dismissed the thought, folded up the picnic blanket, and stuffed it into the basket. All she knew was that she wanted to leave. She wanted to get away from the girl, but she felt guilty about abandoning her at the top of the mountain at dusk. She was torn.
“Maybe you should come home with us,” the man spoke up suddenly.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. They might be worried about you if you come along with us without asking their permission,” the wife argued.
The man felt the heat rise to his head. “They! Who the hell are they? Do you even know who they are?” he yelled at his wife.
Elenora was visibly startled by the man’s outburst.
The man checked himself. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just… who are these people that you’re with? Are they your family?”
Elenora shook her head. “No, they’re not.”
“You see!” the husband turned to his wife.
“But I guess they do protect me,” Elenora added.
“Who? Who protects you?” the man pried. He didn’t know why he felt threatened by them.
“I don’t care at this point,” the wife piped in impatiently. “It’s going to be dark soon and I want to be home before then. I’m going to find them, whoever they are, and make sure Elenora is back safe with them. Then I’m going home. I’m going to take a nice long bath and sleep in my own bed. And you better come with me if you know what’s good for you.”
The man wanted to be home before dark just as much as his wife did. Maybe even more so, because he did not want to find them and he did not want to wait for them to find Elenora. He wanted the three of them to leave the mountain at that moment.
“Woman, you will do no such thing,” the man ordered his wife firmly but calmly. He did not want to scare Elenora any more than he had. “Let’s all go home together. We’ll call them on the phone after we’re safe at home and have had a nice dinner.”
“NOOOO!!!” The wife tore madly through the woods, screaming at the top of her lungs. “HEY!!! HELLLLOOOOO! YOOOHOOO! You better get your girl back now ’cause I don’t want to leave her here by herself!!!”
The man shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Elenora. I’ve never seen my wife act this rudely before. That woman gets hangry on an empty stomach, I tell you. Let me get her back and we can all go home.”
The man took after his wife, following the sound of her shrieks through the trees. When he finally caught up with her, she was teetering at the edge of a sheer cliff. He grabbed her. She struggled to get away from him and fell.
The woman hung by her fingertips an arm’s length down the cliff. Several hundreds of feet underneath her, jagged rocks dotted the bank of the lake.
The man got down on the ground and reached for his wife. “Take my hand!”
The wife shook her head. Dust clung to the sweat and tears on her face.
“Come on, baby. Take my hand!”
The wife looked deep into her man’s face. She saw his determination to bring her home. She saw his infatuation with the girl, the lust in his eyes, his desire for what the wife was long unable to give him. Youth, excitement, newness. She saw her own jealousy and insecurity. She saw that she was on the brink of falling to her death, and for what? She put all of her weight on her left hand and reached for her husband with her right.
A scream echoed through the mountain.
The man’s eyes wavered from his wife. They had the girl! His wife’s left hand was slipping. He imagined her broken lifeless body on the rocks below. He yanked his wife up by her outstretched hand with all his might.
The man and wife ran back to the clearing to find the swing barren. The man’s scarf draped lonely over the seat. He snatched the scarf quickly.
“ELENORA!!!” he called, ready to run through the woods again, this time in search for the girl.
It was the wife’s turn to rescue the man from the edge of insanity. She clutched tightly at her man. “Let’s go home, please. Please. Come home with me. They’ve got her now, darling. Let’s go home.”
“ELENORA!!!” the man kept screaming, looking wild-eyed from tree to tree hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl. The wife held him tight and pulled him all the way down the mountain. A loon cackled as the sun dove deep into the dark lake.
I’ve been working on Book 3 of the Lilith series for a long time, struggling with the Impostor Syndrome way longer than I should have. I’m giving myself a kick in the ass by posting my drafts in password-protected entries for subscribers to my May Ling List. Chapter One of Lilith: Beyond the Deluge is Sisters. I hope you enjoy it. I would truly appreciate it if you leave me feedback in the comments section to help me shape the final draft.
I reached out and touched it. It squeaked. It was warm. I was relieved, but only slightly. What if the Mama rejects it now that I’d touched it? I dream worried dreams now. A little lifeless kitten, kittens running amok, my rat terrier getting in through the French doors and eating the little kitten. Moms… Moms worry.
This photo was taken at Ground Zero of what remains of the World Trade Center. On September 14, three days after the planes crashed and burned the Twin Towers, it rained. By nightfall the rain ceased and dust settled in the city. It was time to go to the funeral.
16-year-old Dylan also came up for a hug. He had grown from a chubby boy with Freddie Mercury teeth to a young man with short blonde hair, braces, and a hot bod! Call me a perv, but his good looks are not lost on me. The hug felt good. I walked right into his arms. He wrapped them around my back and squeezed.