Archive for the ‘society sm’ Category

Oversexed Body

Friday, December 14th, 2007

She uttered and nearly inaudible cry, one of anguish, possibly
pain, maybe one of passion. But her struggles to extricate
herself diminished slightly. Actually, they had only served to
enflame both of them up to that time. When she ceased her
struggles, Jim seemed to take over.

Gradually her snuggled closer to her. Her loose, flowing dress
allowed him to force his knees between her legs and apart a
little ways. The bulging mass between his legs desperately
searching for a safe haven.

Finally the kiss became too much. As they broke to allow the
breath of life to return, he slid down, quickly unbuttoning her
blouse. She was slow to recover and did not realize his actions
were more than a clumsy attempt to paw her breasts. Before she
knew it he had slipped open her blouse and had cupped each
luscious breast in his hands. His fingers searching for the
crown of beauty atop each lovely full breast. Her nipples were
unashamedly reaching out for him. As she tried to reach up to
grab his arms he slipped his hands underneath her bra and lifted
it above her full, ripe breasts. She clutched his wrists in
desperation and pulled them down, but this only allowed him to
firmly set his hot passionate mouth on one crown.

Sun Is Hot

Thursday, September 6th, 2007

I expect nothing. The sun is hot, the light ugly. I walk, when
I can, in the shade of shopfronts. My face is tight. I hope for
nothing. I see women whose money has made them old. Bright scarves
shame their skin, creamy powder clogs their eyes’ fine wrinkles, heavy
earrings, chokers, bend down their necks. Sweat drips from my fingers, and
am I like them? I see men whose eyes make me old. Taut, vicious boys in
suits glance at me once, but not again. Slow, dreamy blacks with
deep-creased hands hold my gaze, and their faces don’t change at all.
When shoulders brush my shoulders I feel bruised. The lunch hour crowd
returning from work in its good, painful shoes nearly crushes me, could
have trampled me on the pavement. Assholes with ponytails and twittering
shopgirls clatter up behind me and past, busy, sexless and quick. I
stop walking. I didn’t see him. Sure, who would want to? Filthy bum.
Smiling. Things in his mustache. Why look at a thing like that?
Why look at a thing like me? (more…)