so, i bought a phone today. finally moving more fully into the digital age.
i hate phones.
and this one is smarter then me. it sends e-mail, connects to the net, recognizes me voice... and takes pictures. which means that as soon as i figure out how to work it you unfortunate souls will get to witness the horror that is me.
be afraid.
in the meanwhile, i give you the first assignment from my creative writing class. the focus is realistic fiction, and this first assignment was simply to write two people doing something. yeah, this is kind of cliched, but then i thought drugs or sex might raise questions i really did not want to answer...
The Kiss
Breath, soft and warm upon my lips. The almost sense of touch you feel when you are so close to another person. That brief moment of tension that results in a heightened tactile awareness. Where every cell can just feel the charge, the energy, the life pouring from every fiber of her being.
Contact.
Her lips are moist and tender, with the faint taste of something medicinal. Lip balm. Or perhaps chap stick. A faint sense of friction as the dry, roughened skin of my lips brushes gently, oh so gently, against the smooth, pliancy of her own.
The scent of her envelops me, filling me with that foreign yet alluring feminine smell. Pheromones and soap. Perfume and sweat. All uniquely her, all essentially female.
Pressure.
That faintest of initial contacts gives way to a more forceful encounter. Rough on soft, dry on wet, hard on pliant: all forgotten as the flesh presses and mingles and joins. My own lips moisten, stealing the sticky wet coating of... whatever from her lips.
Blood vessels bruise and burst. Lips redden and swell from the sudden influx of life giving fluid. The pain of such destruction is never even noticed, never even suspected, as overloaded neural tissue finds itself far too preoccupied coping with passion and want.
Pause.
She pulls back slightly, a fractional motion that does not even manage to completely sever the strange seal of waxy paste and wet spittle that joins our flesh. She parts her lips against mine, extending the tip of a tiny, pink muscle to probe softly, gently, cautiously against my swollen, tender mouth. I give in to her questing tongue, allowing her access to the warm darkness that is the focus of so much of our interaction.
The taste of her floods my mouth. The foreign metallic taste of her saliva. The melange of subtle flavours that make up what she has consumed and imbibed in the course of her day. For a moment it is all I can sense, and then the taste of her begins to blend with the taste of my own mouth. Flavours that I had grown so accustomed to that I failed to notice them stand out briefly before fading into the greater whole that is her taste and mine. Our flavour.
Her tongue continues its cautious prodding. Testing and touching my teeth, my gums, my own tongue. I respond, equally cautious at first, growing bolder and more forceful together as we accept and enjoy this union. Once more the pressure, the passion, the urgency of our actions rises.
And then they plateau.
We reach that point where there is no taste but ours. No touch but ours. No sense but ours. Our beings become focused on but one action. All thought process is devoted to but one idea. We our not just sharing an action, or a thought, we are sharing all that we are. All that we wish. All that we desire.
Time stops, useless and unnecessary in this place.
After an eternity, I feel her questing tongue pull back. For but a moment more we are one, and then the moment is gone. She pulls her mouth from mine, lips sticking together, parting with a sound more felt then heard. We are connected by one tenuous strand of fluid. One last conjoining of ourselves, and then we are two.
With a smile, she leaves me. One become two again.
i hate phones.
and this one is smarter then me. it sends e-mail, connects to the net, recognizes me voice... and takes pictures. which means that as soon as i figure out how to work it you unfortunate souls will get to witness the horror that is me.
be afraid.
in the meanwhile, i give you the first assignment from my creative writing class. the focus is realistic fiction, and this first assignment was simply to write two people doing something. yeah, this is kind of cliched, but then i thought drugs or sex might raise questions i really did not want to answer...
The Kiss
Breath, soft and warm upon my lips. The almost sense of touch you feel when you are so close to another person. That brief moment of tension that results in a heightened tactile awareness. Where every cell can just feel the charge, the energy, the life pouring from every fiber of her being.
Contact.
Her lips are moist and tender, with the faint taste of something medicinal. Lip balm. Or perhaps chap stick. A faint sense of friction as the dry, roughened skin of my lips brushes gently, oh so gently, against the smooth, pliancy of her own.
The scent of her envelops me, filling me with that foreign yet alluring feminine smell. Pheromones and soap. Perfume and sweat. All uniquely her, all essentially female.
Pressure.
That faintest of initial contacts gives way to a more forceful encounter. Rough on soft, dry on wet, hard on pliant: all forgotten as the flesh presses and mingles and joins. My own lips moisten, stealing the sticky wet coating of... whatever from her lips.
Blood vessels bruise and burst. Lips redden and swell from the sudden influx of life giving fluid. The pain of such destruction is never even noticed, never even suspected, as overloaded neural tissue finds itself far too preoccupied coping with passion and want.
Pause.
She pulls back slightly, a fractional motion that does not even manage to completely sever the strange seal of waxy paste and wet spittle that joins our flesh. She parts her lips against mine, extending the tip of a tiny, pink muscle to probe softly, gently, cautiously against my swollen, tender mouth. I give in to her questing tongue, allowing her access to the warm darkness that is the focus of so much of our interaction.
The taste of her floods my mouth. The foreign metallic taste of her saliva. The melange of subtle flavours that make up what she has consumed and imbibed in the course of her day. For a moment it is all I can sense, and then the taste of her begins to blend with the taste of my own mouth. Flavours that I had grown so accustomed to that I failed to notice them stand out briefly before fading into the greater whole that is her taste and mine. Our flavour.
Her tongue continues its cautious prodding. Testing and touching my teeth, my gums, my own tongue. I respond, equally cautious at first, growing bolder and more forceful together as we accept and enjoy this union. Once more the pressure, the passion, the urgency of our actions rises.
And then they plateau.
We reach that point where there is no taste but ours. No touch but ours. No sense but ours. Our beings become focused on but one action. All thought process is devoted to but one idea. We our not just sharing an action, or a thought, we are sharing all that we are. All that we wish. All that we desire.
Time stops, useless and unnecessary in this place.
After an eternity, I feel her questing tongue pull back. For but a moment more we are one, and then the moment is gone. She pulls her mouth from mine, lips sticking together, parting with a sound more felt then heard. We are connected by one tenuous strand of fluid. One last conjoining of ourselves, and then we are two.
With a smile, she leaves me. One become two again.
kealli:
YUM 