Some old slightly toyed with fixshun
I'm consolidating some of my archives and figured I'd post some stuff mainly so I won't lose it.
I'll make the cuts seperate for ease of reading. These are mostly short-shorts. Not booty shorts. Feel free to comment.
If there are questions please save them until the end and i will answer forthwith.
Startlet-
She lies on the floor, sobbing. The noises coming out of her throat are less human and more sound guy gone insane. . Horrible wet gagging noises. Her once pretty face mashed into the carpet, her skirt hiked up to show sad sagging panties, worn out looking thighs, fabric bunched to slide into her crack at any moment. You can't not look. She's a one-woman bombshell of a trainwreck. Somehow freakily more beautiful in her descent than ever on her way to the top. Of course someone in the background is shouting about someone helping her.
As if that's going to happen.
Eyes shift, feet shuffle, someone coughs. Nobody wants to say anything. What do you say, "excuse me, ma'am. Could you please move your breakdown to another area of the room? Maybe yank those drawers out of your ass and head to the ladies?" No. That'd be cruel. As I've heard many old ladies say, "God don't love ugly." And to break into her melt down would be ugly. Like kick a hippie ugly.
So instead we all just gawk and try to look appropriately concerned. Although, I can see the gleam in the freshly implanted red heads eye. That devilish glee that some women express when witnessing the fall of a rival. That guy over there is trying to hide a hard on. Her agent has a look on his face that makes me wonder if he's got dysentery and is afraid to take a step for fear of staining his Calvins.
And what am I doing? I'm sitting in my chair here in the corner. A bottle of Trazidone in my pocket, a glass of cheap nasty smelling wine in my hand, waiting patiently for my cue. For the moment she'll lift her tragically puffed up face, snot streaming from her nose, mascara and cake eyeliner spreading around her eyes, her big pretty mouth all screwed up and then the gesture. It's a tiny thing, nobody else will notice. As her diamond-crusted fist smacks the ground, her little finger on the other hand will waggle.
I am a super hero in that instant. Always. I run in to the rescue, nobody else has noticed me. I scoop her into my arms, cuddling her against my sagging breasts, coo at her and palm a Trazidone into her mouth as I swipe snot and tears and make up from her face. She'll cleave to me, turning her back on our audience. I'll smooth her rucked up skirt over her bony saggy deflated ass.
I'll feed her a sip of the fetid wine, pat her lips with my sleeve. Kiss her forehead and shoot my, "die motherfuckers die" sort of look at the assembled spectators. She and I will dance clumsily to our feet. I say something catty and evil to all those gathered. I like a righteous, "how dare you not help her?" sort of thing.
Then I really get into it. Pointing and hissing like some hellspawn dressed in last seasons Chanel. Teetering on my knock off Gucci heels. Holding up my starlet while she floats away in sedated bliss. For those few minutes I'm the starlet.
And I'm on in five, four, three, two;
~
Thirty Seconds
Twenty seconds. He turns to say hello. She smiles up at him. Her lips look like they could give a perfect kiss. A movie kiss. The kind the girl gives the hero before he goes off to save the world.
Fifteen seconds. She says hello back. Her eyes beckon. He can't believe she's looking at him like that. So soft, a wanting there. He just knows this is it.
Ten seconds. They join hands. The light changes. They step off of the curb together into the future. A future never so bright as this moment.
Five seconds. Together they pause in the middle of the street. The light urging them on but, they pay no heed to the blinking red hand. Slow motion descends as their lips touch.
Three seconds. A kiss to end all kisses. Passion and hope dancing with hot tongues.
Two seconds. Their lips part. The now and forever lovers smile happily at each other.
One second. She whispers goodbye and walks away. In that moment his heart broken and the car hits him going forty miles an hour. He dies heart broken and alone.
Afterwards the girl is gone as is the boy. Blood and glass litter the pavement where they stood. And the world goes on just as it had before. Not a single ripple in the pond.
~
Gasp
I gasp when you touch me. Even after all these years. When your fingertips brush my forearm while I drive while you leaning in to change the radio station, or when you walk by me sitting curled on the couch and your fingers tangle for a moment in my hair. It’s less sound than it is breath. Involuntary as a blink.
Looking at you now, the gray at your temples, lines crinkling around your eyes. It’s all I can do not to rub myself against you like a cat. Rub my gasp into your skin until you can taste nothing but my breath. You catch me looking and I blush. But I don’t look away.
How bold you’ve made me after so long. Do you remember? When I’d look at you this way, wanton and needy. Do you remember how I’d blush and squirm? How I’d drag my eyes off of you and sigh, look down at my hands. Do you remember how shy I was? Afraid that when I reached for you, when I slid trembling fingers across your cheek or into the waistband of your pants how I’d pause for just a second and gasp.
But no more. No after all these years I come to take you when I want you. Like now. I want you now so badly I gasp. Squirm. Feel my panties grow sodden with desire. After all these years just a look from you, brow cocked just so, rakish smile tugging your lip, you remind me that at the core I am a woman.
You remind me of the most sacred parts of myself. Without a touch you send me reeling into wet velvet dreams of your mouth and your fingers. Hands that whether loving me expertly or fumbling with impatience never cease to draw from my core briny wetness. Never cease to bring from my lips a gasp.
You make me want in a way I never thought possible. I hurt I want you so bad but, the hurt is not the heartbreaking hurt of lusting after the impossible. No, it’s the ache of memory. The ache of my throbbing cunt feeling empty without you. The ache of my nipples wanting your lips and teeth. The ache of my hands to venture across your skin. The deep wanting of a lover who is only satisfied by dipping into you and drinking of you until I can take no more.
I love you.
I want you.
When you look up again you smile. Giving me that look. You know me so well. As I know you. Move into my arms. Take me again.
Make me gasp.
Please baby; make me gasp.
Okay that's it for now. Most of this stuff is fairly old so it's up here for safe keeping. I'll probably be posting more of the like as I find them.
Homo out
PS I added little demarcations (~) where one story ends and the other begins and titles. Watch me go. Cause yeah that would help no?
I'll make the cuts seperate for ease of reading. These are mostly short-shorts. Not booty shorts. Feel free to comment.
If there are questions please save them until the end and i will answer forthwith.
Startlet-
She lies on the floor, sobbing. The noises coming out of her throat are less human and more sound guy gone insane. . Horrible wet gagging noises. Her once pretty face mashed into the carpet, her skirt hiked up to show sad sagging panties, worn out looking thighs, fabric bunched to slide into her crack at any moment. You can't not look. She's a one-woman bombshell of a trainwreck. Somehow freakily more beautiful in her descent than ever on her way to the top. Of course someone in the background is shouting about someone helping her.
As if that's going to happen.
Eyes shift, feet shuffle, someone coughs. Nobody wants to say anything. What do you say, "excuse me, ma'am. Could you please move your breakdown to another area of the room? Maybe yank those drawers out of your ass and head to the ladies?" No. That'd be cruel. As I've heard many old ladies say, "God don't love ugly." And to break into her melt down would be ugly. Like kick a hippie ugly.
So instead we all just gawk and try to look appropriately concerned. Although, I can see the gleam in the freshly implanted red heads eye. That devilish glee that some women express when witnessing the fall of a rival. That guy over there is trying to hide a hard on. Her agent has a look on his face that makes me wonder if he's got dysentery and is afraid to take a step for fear of staining his Calvins.
And what am I doing? I'm sitting in my chair here in the corner. A bottle of Trazidone in my pocket, a glass of cheap nasty smelling wine in my hand, waiting patiently for my cue. For the moment she'll lift her tragically puffed up face, snot streaming from her nose, mascara and cake eyeliner spreading around her eyes, her big pretty mouth all screwed up and then the gesture. It's a tiny thing, nobody else will notice. As her diamond-crusted fist smacks the ground, her little finger on the other hand will waggle.
I am a super hero in that instant. Always. I run in to the rescue, nobody else has noticed me. I scoop her into my arms, cuddling her against my sagging breasts, coo at her and palm a Trazidone into her mouth as I swipe snot and tears and make up from her face. She'll cleave to me, turning her back on our audience. I'll smooth her rucked up skirt over her bony saggy deflated ass.
I'll feed her a sip of the fetid wine, pat her lips with my sleeve. Kiss her forehead and shoot my, "die motherfuckers die" sort of look at the assembled spectators. She and I will dance clumsily to our feet. I say something catty and evil to all those gathered. I like a righteous, "how dare you not help her?" sort of thing.
Then I really get into it. Pointing and hissing like some hellspawn dressed in last seasons Chanel. Teetering on my knock off Gucci heels. Holding up my starlet while she floats away in sedated bliss. For those few minutes I'm the starlet.
And I'm on in five, four, three, two;
~
Thirty Seconds
Twenty seconds. He turns to say hello. She smiles up at him. Her lips look like they could give a perfect kiss. A movie kiss. The kind the girl gives the hero before he goes off to save the world.
Fifteen seconds. She says hello back. Her eyes beckon. He can't believe she's looking at him like that. So soft, a wanting there. He just knows this is it.
Ten seconds. They join hands. The light changes. They step off of the curb together into the future. A future never so bright as this moment.
Five seconds. Together they pause in the middle of the street. The light urging them on but, they pay no heed to the blinking red hand. Slow motion descends as their lips touch.
Three seconds. A kiss to end all kisses. Passion and hope dancing with hot tongues.
Two seconds. Their lips part. The now and forever lovers smile happily at each other.
One second. She whispers goodbye and walks away. In that moment his heart broken and the car hits him going forty miles an hour. He dies heart broken and alone.
Afterwards the girl is gone as is the boy. Blood and glass litter the pavement where they stood. And the world goes on just as it had before. Not a single ripple in the pond.
~
Gasp
I gasp when you touch me. Even after all these years. When your fingertips brush my forearm while I drive while you leaning in to change the radio station, or when you walk by me sitting curled on the couch and your fingers tangle for a moment in my hair. It’s less sound than it is breath. Involuntary as a blink.
Looking at you now, the gray at your temples, lines crinkling around your eyes. It’s all I can do not to rub myself against you like a cat. Rub my gasp into your skin until you can taste nothing but my breath. You catch me looking and I blush. But I don’t look away.
How bold you’ve made me after so long. Do you remember? When I’d look at you this way, wanton and needy. Do you remember how I’d blush and squirm? How I’d drag my eyes off of you and sigh, look down at my hands. Do you remember how shy I was? Afraid that when I reached for you, when I slid trembling fingers across your cheek or into the waistband of your pants how I’d pause for just a second and gasp.
But no more. No after all these years I come to take you when I want you. Like now. I want you now so badly I gasp. Squirm. Feel my panties grow sodden with desire. After all these years just a look from you, brow cocked just so, rakish smile tugging your lip, you remind me that at the core I am a woman.
You remind me of the most sacred parts of myself. Without a touch you send me reeling into wet velvet dreams of your mouth and your fingers. Hands that whether loving me expertly or fumbling with impatience never cease to draw from my core briny wetness. Never cease to bring from my lips a gasp.
You make me want in a way I never thought possible. I hurt I want you so bad but, the hurt is not the heartbreaking hurt of lusting after the impossible. No, it’s the ache of memory. The ache of my throbbing cunt feeling empty without you. The ache of my nipples wanting your lips and teeth. The ache of my hands to venture across your skin. The deep wanting of a lover who is only satisfied by dipping into you and drinking of you until I can take no more.
I love you.
I want you.
When you look up again you smile. Giving me that look. You know me so well. As I know you. Move into my arms. Take me again.
Make me gasp.
Please baby; make me gasp.
Okay that's it for now. Most of this stuff is fairly old so it's up here for safe keeping. I'll probably be posting more of the like as I find them.
Homo out
PS I added little demarcations (~) where one story ends and the other begins and titles. Watch me go. Cause yeah that would help no?