Stores were packed the Saturday after Christmas, with every imaginable gimmick in play to make a quick buck off those of us who didn't quite get what we wanted, or didn't get it in the right size, or who just wanted to window shop for deals. I was out and about grabbing dog food and some other necessities, and I gritted my teeth as I walked into yet another store packed to the gills with a pulsing mass of shoppers.
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I got your e-mail. You said you voted me a five. You were so sweet I wanted to meet you and thank you Tammy style. I was going to be home in Indiana for Thanksgiving, you suggested a meeting place. I showed up at the Radison Hotel in Chicago as you had arranged. You said "You look just like your picture"
I giggled and said, "You were kind. I look nothing like my picture." I was sure you recognized me from my chest whoppers.
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Valerie Templeton was a beautiful woman. Every time Tommy went to his friend Mike's house he loved to watch her. The way she moved, the open way she talked, and of course, the wonderful way she smelled as she walked passed him. Mike and Tommy were on the front porch just making plans for the weekend when Mrs. T pulled in the driveway. Mike kept talking about where they would go and who they would meet, but Tommy was no longer listening.
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“Gentleman, you have never, ever seen a magic trick like this. Porn meets illusion.”
Fuck David Blaine. And the over-hyped, under-achieving shit that he peddles as magic. Sure, the street magic stuff is okay, but there’s no fucking magic in standing on a pole. Or in a freakin’ box. For Christ’s sake.
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"When a person does not give up on sex, sex does not give up on the person." (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
Tania sat on an air mattress beneath the old apricot tree that was one of the trees that constituted the orchard part of the garden. Beyond the orchard and screened from her sight by a high brush fence was the swimming pool from which emanated the cries, squeals and laughter of the young people, Peter, her son's friends.
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I love dirty talk. It is a super aphrodisiac for me. When a man whispers nasty things in my ear I get all hot and bothered. He can take me from a standing start to full speed in nothing flat, leaving a streak of metaphorical rubber smoking on the metaphorical pavement.
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He knew how to use his body to intimidate and that's precisely what he was doing now. Each subtle movement he made stated inarguably, "I am the one in control. I am allowing you to move."
He began by lifting one of his immense legs off the back of her thighs. She lay beneath him on her stomach, her body tense with aggravation and anger. She felt him begin to rise from their prone position on the floor and sought to follow, but made the mistake of moving up too quickly. As she scrambled to get on her hands and knees her back came into direct, hard contact with his chest.
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Dana Lee Pruitt finished pulling her long, silky, blonde hair off of her face and tied it in a high ponytail near the top of her head. She was dressed in a pale blue bikini top that matched her eyes. It did a better job of revealing her firm, champagne glass tits than it did of hiding them. She owned a matching thong to go with the top but currently wore a pair of skin tight, black, Lycra bicycle shorts instead of the thong.
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Money had been tight for some time now and at 35 Jamie felt helpless in fending off the bill collectors calling each day. Her husband Tom had lost a good job some time back and was now skimming along on a mediocre wage with a smaller company.
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I'm a modern dance instructor, and a few weeks ago a couple showed up at my modern dance class. They were the absolute picture of ski slopes fitness, the sorts who set the pace at resorts such as Aspen and Vail. I soon learned that they were both in fact competitive skiers and were taking my advanced dance class as part of their regimen to get in shape for the rigors of the upcoming winter ski season.
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