We were drunk, my best friend Liz and I. No, we were beyond drunk. We were completely shit-faced, to use the vernacular. We sprawled side by side on the sofa in my apartment giggling at nothing.
“Do you remember that little pinch faced girl that wanted you so bad our last semester?” Liz asked me. He face was flushed and tears leaked from her eyes as she laughed harder. “The one who looked like she had just sucked a green persimmon?”
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I was standing in front of my tiny, jumbled closet looking in vain for suitable clothes to take to New Orleans. It had been sooo easy down in the Caribbean because all I needed was a couple pieces of floss to wear over my itty bitty titties and Brazilian waxed coochie. Rich, poor, who knew when you're half naked and dripping wet?
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I started or ended many of the next few days looking at the photos or examining some aspect of the video I found particularly arousing. I will confess, I made several trips to the ladies' room to tease my clit into climax recalling our activities that night.
The pink shirt situation was little different. The warmer weather was starting to see some more colorful golf shirts come out of people's closets.
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It was one of those typical Saturday afternoons - Terri and I were sitting in her kitchen talking about girl stuff. We had been best friends for about a year. Our husbands worked at the same advertising agency. They were off golfing and her and I were catching up.
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Hi, my name is Amy; I am a happily married woman, with a fully grown daughter. But lately with me and my husband both turning 60 years old, I feel unfulfilled; my husband tells me he is just too old for sex and that we are old enough to give it up. But I couldn't, if he wants to stop, it is his choice, and I will not force him, so to get what I needed I just masturbated when I felt like it, which was almost every night.
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I was really not looking forward to Julia's daughter coming to stay with us. Mike's sister Julia has always been what I consider a slut and every time we have been to visit them, I have gotten the same impression from her daughter. It turns out that what I consider a slut may be a little harsh.
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When the Black Death swept through her village in central Germany, Brigette didn't really understand the changes it would bring to her life. Indeed, no one was prepared for the chaos that arose from nearly half the village not being able to work – and then beginning to die. Suddenly it seemed that everyone was sick and everyone huddled in their homes, afraid of human contact. But it came home to her when her mother and older brother came down with it, and then both her younger sisters the next day.
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When I write my stories, I am concerned with one an only one thing - trying to create a mood of tenderness and longing. Sometimes I probably over do it.
And I end up getting into such heightened state, I get really worked-up - and I write most of the really "haunted" love stuff when I am right on the edge. When I re-read my stories, I can tell that parts were created in that shaky mind space.
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The woman sat in the semi darkness of the living room. She softly replaced the phone in the cradle, and sighed. Her husband was on the road. He was a long haul trucker, who was on another long haul. She made her way down the hallway, which was lit by a small night light in case the kids had to get up in the night. She peered into the first room, and saw the small figure of a young boy snuggled down in his blankets.
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Sandra sat at her desk and read the email over again. "My dear Sandra, I had such a good time with you last night that I wanted to send you a little thank you note. Your company was wonderful, and well, after, well, I have to say that I have never been with such a kinky, and generous woman before. You are truly amazing....... Leanne."
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