My cleavage has received all the compliments I never have.
Pretty. Beautiful. Perfect. Ideal.
Their shape, size, component ratio, sensitivity and overall appearance have garnered them praises of a luxury car.
When given the drunken opportunity to look at, touch, and otherwise enjoy them, people, generally male, treat me like a princess. In utter awe of these orbs adorning my chest, I am a goddess. However, in the sober light of day, nipples tucked away behind clothing, I am not the girl one asks out.
If I lean over just enough during the course of a night, I have no problem picking a gentleman up, in any manner of speaking. But that's not the kind of thing one builds a relationship on.
A house needs a solid foundation to stand on, or else, it will fall, like a kid on roller blades. And while my boobs are delightfully firm, they are not strong enough to support a relationship.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Ten Dollar Word, Reminiscence
The vodka you'd been downing made you slur:
"Let's consummate this commiseration. Then we won't be lonely anymore".
and I said that'd be satisfactory; I didn't want the evening to terminate with me going to bed in solitary, not after all I'd been through.
So we kissed our way to oral copulation, in a clandestine rendezvous, the secret adding just as much thrill as the actions themselves.
"Let's consummate this commiseration. Then we won't be lonely anymore".
and I said that'd be satisfactory; I didn't want the evening to terminate with me going to bed in solitary, not after all I'd been through.
So we kissed our way to oral copulation, in a clandestine rendezvous, the secret adding just as much thrill as the actions themselves.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Message in a Bottle III
This is the 3rd in a series of message in a bottle stories (Renee, Brad, Ophelia). Complete series will be posted soon! (*note, use of Ophelia here is for creative purposes not reporting of actual events)
Ophelia screwed the plastic cap back on her coke bottle, then shook the slip of paper inside down to the bottom. Next, she wound a length of duct tape around it to secure the seal. She closed her eyes and threw the bottle into Lake Michigan. When she opened them again, she saw a man down the path doing what appeared to be the same. The cellphone in her pocket began to buzz. A number she didn't recognize. She answered it.
"Hey, Ophelia. It's Oliver. Are you down by the lake?"
"Yes, in fact I am."
The figure she'd seen was walking towards her, hand at his ear. They each hung up as they met.
"Guess we had the same idea." he said.
The note Ophelia had put in the bottle and thrown into the water was a wish list. The first item, just above finding a job, was true love. Could it possibly have worked so quickly?
"I guess so."
They walked down the path to a bench and sat together.
"I missed you." Oliver said.
"I missed you too."
He leaned over to kiss her. And Ophelia's musings were confirmed in the hot amethyst passion she felt fill her body as his lips pressed against hers.
(to be continued)
Ophelia screwed the plastic cap back on her coke bottle, then shook the slip of paper inside down to the bottom. Next, she wound a length of duct tape around it to secure the seal. She closed her eyes and threw the bottle into Lake Michigan. When she opened them again, she saw a man down the path doing what appeared to be the same. The cellphone in her pocket began to buzz. A number she didn't recognize. She answered it.
"Hey, Ophelia. It's Oliver. Are you down by the lake?"
"Yes, in fact I am."
The figure she'd seen was walking towards her, hand at his ear. They each hung up as they met.
"Guess we had the same idea." he said.
The note Ophelia had put in the bottle and thrown into the water was a wish list. The first item, just above finding a job, was true love. Could it possibly have worked so quickly?
"I guess so."
They walked down the path to a bench and sat together.
"I missed you." Oliver said.
"I missed you too."
He leaned over to kiss her. And Ophelia's musings were confirmed in the hot amethyst passion she felt fill her body as his lips pressed against hers.
(to be continued)
Saturday, July 17, 2010
in progress
I'd trade this belt buckle skeleton key
for your heart's password, any day.
unloved ain't so glamorous now, is it, kiddo?
did you really think
she'd take the sting away?
is she just killing time,
you're taking away the fun
of that victimless crime.
I miss your lips,
damn it.
I miss the way your hands felt
on my back; and pulling down my jeans.
I miss the way your eyes looked in the dark
reflecting the flame from your lighter.
Have I told you? I'm quitting smoking.
Funny how things change.
for your heart's password, any day.
unloved ain't so glamorous now, is it, kiddo?
did you really think
she'd take the sting away?
is she just killing time,
you're taking away the fun
of that victimless crime.
I miss your lips,
damn it.
I miss the way your hands felt
on my back; and pulling down my jeans.
I miss the way your eyes looked in the dark
reflecting the flame from your lighter.
Have I told you? I'm quitting smoking.
Funny how things change.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
novel excerpt
“Janie, what’s wrong?” Kurt asked, putting down his glass of wine.
“I… I feel like I’m not doing enough to help these kids.”
Kurt got up and put his arms around her.
“Janie, you live three blocks away from campus, in an apartment you can’t afford so that you can run over if any of them need you. What more can you do?”
“You know what Carter said to me today?”
“What?”
“I asked him if he’d eaten anything, he said he had a couple of screwdrivers before noon.”
“He’s in college. They drink.”
“Kurt, he’s been making breakfast cocktails since he was thirteen. “
“You can’t fix them all. Jesus, half those kids shouldn’t even be in school. They need the kind of help you can’t give them in an hour or two a week.”
“They don’t have a choice! This school is the best thing that’s ever happened to most of these kids. Their parents don’t give a fuck. They tell them to grow up and get over themselves.”
“Well, maybe that’s what some of them need to do.”
Janie slammed her fork on the table and shook off Kurt’s arms.
“Go fuck yourself. That’s what my parents told me to do.”
“And you did.”
“Yeah, with the help of the people doing my job now.”
“I’m sure there are kids that do need your help, but I’m also willing to bet that a lot of them are looking for attention. They read about all the ‘artists’ that came before them, and the issues they claimed to have. You read all that celebrity paparazzi garbage; half of it’s publicity stunts, Janie.”
“I’ve got 25 kids directly in my care. I’ve got 25 more on an outpatient level. Of those 50 kids; maybe two are exaggerating, which is why they’re outpatient. The fact that they feel the need to exaggerate, indicates underlying issues, which means they need to be treated anyway.”
“Look, I’m not trying to trivialize your job. But you’re kidding yourself if you think that all those kids need saving.”
“Get out. And don’t come back.” Janie said, getting up from the table and walking to the front door.
“Janie, come on.”
“Get the hell out of my apartment, Kurt.”
“Fine,” he walked to the door, “you’re just as needy as your students and I really can’t take it anymore.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to leave.”
Kurt walked out the door and Janie slammed it shut behind him.
“I… I feel like I’m not doing enough to help these kids.”
Kurt got up and put his arms around her.
“Janie, you live three blocks away from campus, in an apartment you can’t afford so that you can run over if any of them need you. What more can you do?”
“You know what Carter said to me today?”
“What?”
“I asked him if he’d eaten anything, he said he had a couple of screwdrivers before noon.”
“He’s in college. They drink.”
“Kurt, he’s been making breakfast cocktails since he was thirteen. “
“You can’t fix them all. Jesus, half those kids shouldn’t even be in school. They need the kind of help you can’t give them in an hour or two a week.”
“They don’t have a choice! This school is the best thing that’s ever happened to most of these kids. Their parents don’t give a fuck. They tell them to grow up and get over themselves.”
“Well, maybe that’s what some of them need to do.”
Janie slammed her fork on the table and shook off Kurt’s arms.
“Go fuck yourself. That’s what my parents told me to do.”
“And you did.”
“Yeah, with the help of the people doing my job now.”
“I’m sure there are kids that do need your help, but I’m also willing to bet that a lot of them are looking for attention. They read about all the ‘artists’ that came before them, and the issues they claimed to have. You read all that celebrity paparazzi garbage; half of it’s publicity stunts, Janie.”
“I’ve got 25 kids directly in my care. I’ve got 25 more on an outpatient level. Of those 50 kids; maybe two are exaggerating, which is why they’re outpatient. The fact that they feel the need to exaggerate, indicates underlying issues, which means they need to be treated anyway.”
“Look, I’m not trying to trivialize your job. But you’re kidding yourself if you think that all those kids need saving.”
“Get out. And don’t come back.” Janie said, getting up from the table and walking to the front door.
“Janie, come on.”
“Get the hell out of my apartment, Kurt.”
“Fine,” he walked to the door, “you’re just as needy as your students and I really can’t take it anymore.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to leave.”
Kurt walked out the door and Janie slammed it shut behind him.
Half Glass (extended metaphor-- monologue)
Half Glass
A juice glass.
A martini glass.
A shot glass.
Maybe you were pouring your morning orange juice when the phone rang.
Maybe there was only half a shot left in the whiskey bottle when you got home from work.
Maybe you only finished half your cosmo when you started puking.
"Did you eat breakfast this morning?"
"I had a couple screwdrivers before noon, does that count?"
Is the glass half full, or half empty?
It's one of those questions that's supposed to gauge your outlook on life.
Are you content because that glass is half full? Or depressed because it's half empty?
Are you half way there? Or are you half way gone?
A juice glass.
A martini glass.
A shot glass.
Maybe you were pouring your morning orange juice when the phone rang.
Maybe there was only half a shot left in the whiskey bottle when you got home from work.
Maybe you only finished half your cosmo when you started puking.
"Did you eat breakfast this morning?"
"I had a couple screwdrivers before noon, does that count?"
Is the glass half full, or half empty?
It's one of those questions that's supposed to gauge your outlook on life.
Are you content because that glass is half full? Or depressed because it's half empty?
Are you half way there? Or are you half way gone?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Emily Gets a Job (Half Glass Scene)
Emily is sitting at the coffee table with a handle of whiskey. Travis enters the apartment.
TRAVIS
Whoa there, are we celebrating or forgetting?
EMILY
Celebrating. I got a job.
TRAVIS
Awesome. Doing what?
EMILY
Afternoons and evenings in the cafeteria at the hospital.
TRAVIS
That sounds perfect for you, congratulations, Em.
EMILY
Thank you. Now come do a shot so I know you mean it.
TRAVIS
Of course.
TRAVIS
Whoa there, are we celebrating or forgetting?
EMILY
Celebrating. I got a job.
TRAVIS
Awesome. Doing what?
EMILY
Afternoons and evenings in the cafeteria at the hospital.
TRAVIS
That sounds perfect for you, congratulations, Em.
EMILY
Thank you. Now come do a shot so I know you mean it.
TRAVIS
Of course.
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