…Perhaps we were only mildly entertained. Regardless, please enjoy! If you are looking for Kaylia's official Website please visit KayliaMetcalfeWriter

Inspiration from '80s Flash Back Night

I find myself thinking more and more often about Warren.

He was the tall farm boy from my first survey anthropology class all those years ago. I know I could have had him, or rather, I know I could have let him have me. The thought is no less tantalizing today as it was the first time I had the realization… a casual touch, a movement of the mouth, and suddenly as bright as a neon sign I knew that there was potential for all sorts of naughty fun to be had with this able and willing man.

I find myself at odd moments thinking about him, remembering the way he laughed, the sound his keys made as they swung against his leg as they dangled from his belt or the look of his handwriting as he wrote his name on his blue book before our final exam. I wonder where he is now. What is he doing? Did he major in AJ like he was planning? Where did he end up transferring to? Even more often, I think about the potential of what was. Who knows if it would have ever gone past the physical and I am not sitting here wondering what our kids would have looked like or if he his hair has started to turn white. No, what I think about, what I wonder about more than anything… is if he ever thinks of me.

How self centered is that? But it is a very honest, and very human thing I think to want to affect people’s lives, especially those who have affected ours. It seems only fair. In a vain way, I want people to wonder about me… the girl they once knew or never got the change to really know or whatever. The concept of wanting to be remembered is what leads people to tag, to write “So and So was here” or eve “K +W 4 Ever” etc. We all want to leave our mark on not only the world… but more importantly, on the people in it.

The concept of wanting to affect people, wanting to leave a lasting mark on their memories is very potent. What an interesting concept to link… if we all carry around emotional scars or marks that others have left on us, then don’t we also all walk around on some level trying to mark (scar?) other people? Not a very romantic idea… but oddly fascinating nonetheless.

Dear Lover,
I don’t know how long we will be together. In the back of my mind I don’t believe in soul mates of love lasting forever. I know out “day in the sun” will most likely find dusk at some point. Even though I will not hasten the end, I have come to terms with the eventuality of it. Having said that, however, I would like to very clearly, very distinctly very deeply mark you. I want the impression I leave on your body and soul to be long lasting. I want you to remember me.

On a similar note, the notion of marking can be viewed as a territorial thing as well as the physical manifestation of the above desire. I bite you and leave a mark. You bite me, suck on my skin, and I carry that with me. Anyone who sees a love bite or hickey knows instantly what it is and what it took to get there. Some people like to be marked for this exact reason… some of us just like the physical sensation… a few even find erotic thrills in the idea of ownership or being marked as a sign of submission. Whatever the motivating factor in either marking or letting oneself be marked, the symbolic meaning is still there… you have been marked and even though that mark will fade, it is there as a reminder of some sort of intimate act.

In today’s world where things come and go so fast, where we meet and forget more people in a week than our grandparents probably knew in their whole lives, where the number of casual dates or fling type relationships can become so large that we start to forget names and faces of past relationships is it any wonder that we seek to be remembered?

Of course, more importantly than if we are remembered, and by whom, is the question of how we are remembered… and why.

Remember yesterday – walking hand in hand
Love letters in the sand – I remember you
Though the sleepless nights and every endless day
I’d wanna hear you say – I remember you

(Skid Row, I Remember You)

Something lighter

So, I watched a really horrible movie recently. My Super Ex Girlfriend. There were many reasons it was horrible.

Silly, Lame, Plot Holes, Bad Acting, Horrible Costumes, Worst Use of Eddie Izzard, Overly Cliché’ (and not in the good or funny way), Badly Written Dialogue, Sight Gags that were Unsightly,… the list goes on.

(According to IMDB there was someone actually cast in the role of “Scary Dude” which is hilarious considering that he was a mugger and thus could just as easily been cast as “Mugger”, but I digress)

Want to know one of the biggest reasons that this movie makes it onto my top “Gah, I hate this” list?

/Kaylia climbs up on her familiar Post Modern Feminist Body Image soap box and clears her throat/

The thing that really bugs me was one of those little aesthetic things. In the movie a meteorite crashes to earth (totally unnoticed by any law enforcement agencies of course) and by touching it Jenny gets infused with super powers. During the metamorphosis from geeky teen to hot super teen some of the following transitions happen.

First, her braces pop off/out. Because… okay… she is super and perfect now and so are her teeth. I can buy this.

She no longer needs her glasses. Agh, yes now that she is pretty and such she doesn’t need them… but again maybe this has more to do with her perfect body being, perfect… so bad eyesight doesn’t fit in.. okay I can (gulp) accept that too.

She gets taller. … Fine, whatever.

Her hair turns blond. Umm ok… not really sure why, but I guess blond = perfect? (Later another girl –already blond- gets infused with the same space juice and her hair turns red. This makes me wonder if the real thing about becoming perfect is that you have to change … )

The last thing to change: her boobs get bigger. Yup, Its true. Big boobs = perfection.


Maybe I am being too cynical. Its possible that her bigger boobs are there to help with her balance. Maybe it is so that the emblem on her chest will be more visible. Maybe they are magic boobs with the power to hypnotize evil doe-ers.

Or maybe we are obsessed with boobs and like them big, shapely, and shown off via tight clothing.

Not that I would ever….

Ok, well maybe just this one time I fell victim to the pressure of society and flaunted my….

Ok, so maybe it was more than once..

Ok, so, umm maybe its not as much a “that one time” but more of a “every chance I get” kind of thing…


/Kaylia slinks off the Post Modern Feminist Body Image soap box and adjusts her bra./

Final Assignment

The woman at table nine was crying. Trails of thick black mascara ran down her full cheeks despite her half-hearted attempts to wipe them away. Throaty half-sobs competed with the soft piano music that attempted to fill the restaurant with atmosphere. Her table-mate was looking a tad weepy himself. Whether it was because of her disgusting display of emotion or the incident itself that had caused such an outpour of salty tears, I was not quite sure.

I had noticed them upon entering the dining room. They were hard to miss. I let my eyes linger on them for a moment as I situated myself at the small corner table I had requested and with the aid of a nice incentive to the maitre’d, had received. I pushed the chair a little farther into the corner and placed the candle/flower arrangement in the center for better coverage of my face. I did this while glancing at my menu with a careless attitude; it wouldn’t do to be noticed.

Thank you for reading this teaser. For more information regarding this, or any other work of fiction, please contact Kay at

Coffee Date

We meet under the marquee downtown, 6pm on the dot. I have been waiting in the Starbucks across the way for an hour, alternating between watching the time with occasional furtive glances at my cell phone and the people getting on and off the train through the smudgy window near my table. At 5:58 I collect my notebook, my pens (three, just in case), my almost empty coffee cup, and my purse. I wrap my scarf back around my neck feeling instantly safer, and push my way through the people waiting in line. Outside the air is crisp and cold, but the sky above is clear as I walk over to the front of the theater ignoring the pounding of my heart.

I glance at my phone and then almost without realizing it I look up and I am looking at him. He is walking towards me from Pitching St, baseball hat shadowing his face, hands thrust into the pockets of an unfamiliar coat, dodging around college kids and loud angry men in boy’s clothing. I watch him sidestep a woman talking on her cell phone, oblivious to the world as she runs by giving the whole street and her unfortunate listener the frantic play by play as she tries to catch the train. Our eyes meet and he smiles.

Thank you for reading this teaser. For more information regarding this, or any other work of fiction, please contact Kay at


The cold wind swept up some loose papers from an overflowing garbage can and made them do a queer little dance as they were born down Main Street. In the partial shelter of an empty bus stop, a young girl crouched. She rubbed her nose on her frayed coat and surveyed the puddles in the street. Her hair was dirty, grime filled, and plastered to her head from the misty light but oh so damp rain that blew in off the river. The icy wind blew again, and she shivered patting her little pocket again to reassure herself that the precious coins were still there. Mamma would be angry if they got lost. Mamma had said she may go, but only if she hurried. Otherwise Mamma would be very angry. The thought of Mamma being angry made her shiver again before she pulled her coat up tighter around her slight frame in a desperate and futile plea for warmth.

With a forlorn little sigh she plunged back into the rainy street. She moved nimbly over the old and dirty snow weaving in and out of small groups of people whoall seemed to be hurrying the other direction. Everyone was cold, everyone was damp, everyone had somewhere else more important to be. As she passed under it, the streetlight at the corner of Parker Rd lit up instantly plunging the rest of the street into shadows. She glanced at the street light and then pushed on, running now and breathing hard. The wind picked up as high above the clouds, somewhere the sun prepared to go to bed.

Thank you for reading this teaser. For more information regarding this, or any other work of fiction, please contact Kay at

Bringing Up Baby

Recently I brought the man I have been dating home to meet my parents. Well, actually I went to my parent’s house to pick up a pie and he came with me. Regardless, my mother was thrilled with what I had “brought home” and while that is all well and good, it made me remember all the things I have “brought home” over the years that did not meet with excitement and approval. Things like broken glasses, notes from teachers admonishing my parents for teaching me such a “diverse and adult vocabulary”, report cards with the dreaded Cs, the chicken pox, bruises from fighting, kittens, a few inappropriate boys, hickeys, Sweet Valley High books, …

This of course got me thinking about the things I secretly brought home… and that led me to remember the movie Air Force One

I grew up in a home without TV. Its true; we didn’t have a TV, we didn’t even have a monitor… we didn’t have anything TV related. At this point in time, computers didn’t play movies. At this point in time the internet was a vague thing and no one was using it for much of anything in common daily life, including using it to watch movies.

One summer, my grandparents parked their RV on the slab of cement in my parent’s back yard. It was always cool and nice in there, smelling faintly of oatmeal,… and there was a TV! Oh Joy! Oh Rapture! It only got two channels, there was a fair bit of static, but miracle of miracles… it had a VHS Video Tape Player. –collective sigh--

At one point during the summer my grandparents were out of town (sans RV) and my parents took my sisters to the ranch for the weekend. I stayed behind because even at the age of –somewhere in my teens- I had a job and couldn’t afford to take time off. I was ecstatic to be left alone for a few days… and thrilled to have free run of the TV and a chance to use the VHS Tape Player without the mindful attention of my grandparents. (Their meager of Disney movies had already been exhausted.)

Against my parent’s admonishing, I called up the boy I had a crush on and invited him over for the evening. Then, it was time to head up to El Passeo… I had seen the Hollywood video store there and I knew people routinely rented movies. This was my plan: Walk the 2 miles to the video store, rent a movie,(something adult and romantic) walk home, make or order dinner, entertain the boy in style and class, end the evening by inviting him out to the RV for some relaxing... I imagined myself looking cool and confident, suave and refined. I was going to win his heart and the first step was to bring home the perfect movie.

An eternity of blistering sidewalks later, I dragged my sorry rear end into the Hollywood video store. It had been a very long and very hot 2 mile trek… I think it was around 95 degrees and I wasn’t really used to walking at this point in my life. I was gross, covered in sweat, trying to maintain faith in my plan.

I walked (stumbled, panted,) into the very cool and very dark video store and waited for my eyes to adjust. As soon as they did, I saw what appeared to be the most attractive male on the entire planet. He wasn’t just cute, not merely good looking or handsome, those words would be too light, too dairy free whipped topping for this man. He was walk off the rack magazine movie star type of good looking… the kind you accept as real in fiction and on the big screen… but not standing behind the counter of a video store.

He smiles. I almost fall over.

“Hey, can I help you find something?” Oh sweet angels cry, his voice is thick and sweet and had a slight drawl… in the next moment he is going to come out from behind that counter, sweep me off my feet and carry me to the back room where we would…. Oh. Wait.

I suddenly remember that I am standing in a sweat puddle the size of a small town. My hair is plastered to my head, I am sporting horribly frumpy red shorts and my tank top proudly bears the remnants of last night’s spaghetti sauce in the area slightly south of my left nipple. How had I not realized how horrible I was dressed before I left the house? Oh, right, because I thought this was going to be a quick and easy trip… the vision of myself renting a movie and thus entering the secret realm of the adult world sort of started with me locking the front door of the house, arriving at the door of the store, and picked up again later at home, little bag in hand as I archly invite the boy out to the RV… Oh right. The boy

Back in the moment, I am still standing there, totally blocking the door, and he is still standing over there breaking the hearts of every female country western singer Ever. Except now he looks concerned, slightly confused,

“Can I help you?”

Ahhh still the voice is sweet and I swallow preparing to talk. My mouth opens… nothing but air… I try again, a sigh, a stammer, not really making human noises yet.

“Are you okay?” He leans forward revealing a flash of perfect collarbone.

Oh God, would his virtues ever cease? I force myself to nod. Good. I take a step in. Better. I have achieved control over my body… I am now confident in my ability to communicate.

“…movie.. want .. a movie…” My voice is high pitched, slightly wheezy but hot damn there were words. The small victory gives me strength. I continue, “just a movie, a Video..”

He relaxes back, leaning casually on the counter, “Well you came to the right place,” He waves his hand towards his right, “Let me know if you need help finding something specific.”

He smiles again. Heart pounding, I tear my eyes away and stumble behind a rack of glossy packaged Videos.

For the next several moments I am in a blind panic… These are movies, these are videos… These are a lot more expensive than I thought they would be. I can’t quite figure out the order... and suddenly I can’t remember any titles of anything. Seconds drag on as I pace the aisle he had pointed me into again and again.

“Miss, you finding what you’re looking for?” Agh! He is calling out to me from behind the counter. What a dolt I am, taking my time. A truly mature woman would have known exactly what to get. She wouldn’t have spent wasteful moments fanning herself and smoothing down her errant hair in preparation for seeing him again. I grab the movie in front of me Air Force One, clamp my arm across my chest to hide the spaghetti stain, and scurry out of the aisle. I drop the tape on the counter in front of him and smile what I hoped is something breezy and calm. “Yes, thanks. This one.”

He rings me up, soft smile on his lips, soft gentle full lips, a tiny scar on his chin adding to his mystique and his charm. I am staring and I can’t stop. He gives me my total and even though I inwardly cringe and mentally chuck the idea of ordering pizza for dinner, I smile up at him and hand over my wad of bills. He counts out my pitiful change and slips the VHS Tape into a smooth plastic bag. He slids it across the counter and with another heart stopping smile wishes me a good day.

Was I imagining it? Did his hand linger on the bag as I took it from him? Perhaps he has noticed me staring, perhaps he had decided to look past the sweat and the frumpy clothes….I flip the bag around my wrist, give him a flirty smile and head for the door.. I plan out a saucy backwards finger wave before I leave this cool sanctuary, my mind already hearing the witty things I will say when I bring the movie back. I will thank him for pointing me to the right section, I will tell him how much I had liked the movie, I will ask him to recommend something else… I will come in the morning before it was too hot and wear something low cut and cool, maybe a skirt. He will remember me, be blown away by the transformation from hot and sticky into smooth and suave. He won’t stand a chance.

I turn at the door and as I raise my hand to wave a thought occurs. He hadn’t told me when it was due back. Perhaps he HAD been distracted, perhaps he had wanted me to have to ask him, perhaps he was jut looking for an excuse to keep me in the store just a wee bit longer…

“Oh,” I say, hand on hip, playful smile on my lips,. “You never told me your name…”

He glances up, (is that a blush on his cheeks?) “Joshua, I’m Joshua.”

“Well, Joshua,” another smile, I have managed to turn this whole thing around, he is goodness personified, his beauty eclipses my own dowdiness and he is nice enough to look past the sweat, he is charming and I am smitten, “Joshua, you forgot to tell me when I should come back.”

“Come back?”

How coy the boys in this world can be… who says its just girls who play these games? I roll my eyes a tad bit and wiggle the bag in my hand, “Yeah, to bring back the Video.”

His brows furrow, a frown (oh hateful frown) darkens his countenance… “You don’t have to bring it back, you just bought it.”

There is a moment of hesitation before I realize my mistake, a moment of still blissful ignorance before the store spins a tad on its axis and I am running, running out the door and into the blinding light, running across the sidewalk past the huge colorful signs proclaiming “Buy Previously Viewed Movies Here” running with my hair falling down my back in clumpy chunks and my frumpy shorts slipping and my spaghetti stain bouncing along alerting the whole world that this is not a smooth sophisticated young woman… this is a silly sweaty girl running down a sidewalk carrying a Video that she now owns forever, a Video that she will have to hide in her underwear drawer so as not to get into trouble, a Video for a movie that she has never heard of, that she didn’t want for an evening of imagined maturity that she is only now realizing she can’t really have...

Four years later I took that movie with me to college, still unwrapped in its plastic, the receipt stuck to it. When my dorm mate bailed on the whole “higher education” experience to enjoy instead just the “experience of being high” and stole most of my things, she took it with her.

It was almost a relief to know that I wouldn’t ever have to bring it home again.