Based on actual events...A man sits in a chair, notebook open in his lap. Sunlight pours through a window, it is late morning. He drinks some coffee and stares at the blank pages.Behind the chair a cat sleeps. Heavily. He drinks more coffee and then taps the notebook's spiral with his pen. Inspiration doesn’t hear him.He reaches for the remote, channel surfing to a Point Break rerun. "After the beach football scene..." he promises himself.Later, it is the sound of his wife's car in the driveway, home from work, which will wake both man and cat.
We stretch out, sliding skintogether. Soft bedsheets, softerlight, slowly giving wayto our delicious purpose.Our fingers trace our lust as we lead each other along the relief maps of our sex, trading sarcasmfor kisses, for fucking.A hawk perched atop paprika-colored rock suddenly takes flight,stretches to the sky, arching gently before streaking back to eartheager for its prey.Amidst the cacophony of beasts on this planet, your lips find mine. Your sweat invades my cheek. Mutualprey. In the moment of comfortwe share, I concern myself only withmy tongue, your breast
Baby I got the Dutch Oven farts tonight! Yeah, I know I said that last night too. But tonight it ain't no joke. It is on. Up in here, my ass IS a weapon of mass destruction. It's a foul wind blowin' baby. Hell, I wouldn't even try sleepin' in here tonight if I was you. What? Hold up. Me, out on the sofa? Hell no, c'mon baby girl, you know how my back ain't got no love for the sofa. Have you lost your ever lovin' mind girl?
How many days can one lazy ass "writer" fall behind? That's at the heart of things here apparently. All these random nouns and verbs, phrases separated by commas or perhaps a semicolon - they all blur together as I struggle to keep up and get back on track. Even more worrisome is the fact that I have run out of things to say. I'm halfway through my first month and I'm tapped out. And it's only a 100 word a day commitment. This is really sad. If only I had any clue really.
Water cascaded down Dylan's beautiful mug. This shower was taking way too long. Damn, he thought, I just fucked Kelly Taylor. Just the thought of her name brought him to half mast. This is crazy.No, check that, Brenda is crazy. She is going to kill them both when she finds out. And she will find out. There is no way he and Kelly will be able to keep this a secret. Dylan is already plotting the next time he can see Kelly and her naughty bits. One summer...
Ever since the Silvers and Taylors joined together freaky Brady-styley living near Kelly has been tough for David. Like that time he caught her full frontal as she was getting out of the shower (carpet indeed matches the drapes). Anyway, after enduring all that only to be forced to see her running around, sneaking off with McKay like that is enough to send David over the edge. Who the fuck does she think she is, lecturing him on the virtues of fidelity all the while pulling that shit? His knowledge should be worth something, right?
She had relatively few requirements when dating guys. Most of her "rules" centered around good hygiene. She figured that with any quote-unquote serious sociopathic behaviors like stalking, molestation, murder, etc. her natural instincts and intuitions would help her identify and weed out the crazies. She had been on this planet over thirty years and so far so good. Score one for instinct and intuition.However, there was one thing she could not abide by, one quality that was related neither to hygiene nor anti-social behavior she had no truck with: sweater vests.