Bits and pieces

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you wear your jeans well. Maybe your genes as well.... either case...either case.....
 
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oh never mind. I gotta get off this well-beaten path. **** lol.

Have a good one.

it took me around 20-25 years of living for the 10 or so minutes to write it... 4 of which were spent feeling it, 3 of which were used to think of how to go about putting the words down, 2 of which were needed to physically type it, and around 1 or so minutes spent contemplating whether or not I should actually post it.

that's a rough break-down anyway... and the minutes weren't all used in a sequential type of order. I mean I didn't sit here for 4 minutes first feeling it and taking it from there. It was all pretty much a syncretic use of time.
 
Hey you! You're still spouting gibberish, I see. :p Carry on! ;)
p.s. you're still sexy ;)
pps. wow, you are on page 170... nearly 200 pages of gibberish and rants! *gasp* :D
 
song or sigh

the older I get
the more I get to wishing
I was a mountain man.

the wilderness
the scenery
the solitude.

unplugged from the world
where my mind can consume itself
into the madness needed
for its own resurrection.

with only the birds to bear witness
and carry with them the event
locked away behind their cold black eyes
never to be touched by song or sigh.

just the flapping of startled wings
caught up and carried
from one tree to the next.

where it will die it's death again
warmed under wing.

"I left the woods for as good a reason as I went there. Perhaps it seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare any more time for that one. It is remarkable how easily and insensibly we fall into a particular route, and make a beaten track for ourselves... The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men; and so with the paths which the mind travels. How worn and dusty, then, must be the Highways of the world, how deep the ruts of tradition and conformity! I did not wish to take a cabin passage, but rather to go before the mast and on the deck of the world, for there I could best see the moonlight amid the mountains. I do not wish to go below now." -Thoreau, Walden
 
Hot off the top of my head, never to be finished, and unedited as usual.

Part I

She didn't want to admit it; at least, not out loud
but sometimes she'd think thoughts that she felt should be thought that she really enjoyed thinking about behind the curtain of her physical exterior.

She had one of those thoughts driving home the other day.

You see... her commute was rather long. On some days it was downright annoyingly long. But on most days it was alright. She found the time to be quite therapeutic after a long day at work. And if it was raining? All the better.

It was raining the other day. A cold rain. The kind of rain that hated the time of season itself and would have much rather rained on a spring day or a summer day or even a fall day... any day for that matter. As long as it didn't fall between the seasons.

She didn't really think much of the walk between the office complex and her car that day. At the time she just wanted to get into some place where it wasn't raining, reasonably less cold, and could get her the fuck out of the place where she was and into an even warmer place preferably one where she could draw a bath, sip some wine all while deeply entrenched into in the sordid tryst shared between two lovers (one profoundly ignored and undersexed and the other highly attentive and over eager... both of which know better but simply cannot deny the fates that had drawn them together... of course.) found between the pages of the kind of book one could care less about dropping in the bath for "inexplicable" reasons.

In hindsight, this want of hers was probably the reason why she didn't think twice about actually stopping at the rest stop along the highway... the one she usually passes regardless of how badly she had to piss due to the creep-factor it used to give her growing up, "jet-setting"from the cabin up north in the back of her parents slate grey Dodge Intrepid. As it was then, the choice of forgoing relief in favor of possibly wetting herself felt the better option. Of course as one ages, one becomes more practical... and less able to distract ones mind from the distinct sensation of a very full bladder to which the rain pattering upon the shell of her four-wheeled womb of comfort and security didn't help any... nor did her mind by referring her car as a womb. So a-clip-clop came the sound of her heels as she hastily made her way into the womans side of the public toilet.

It was actually a reasonably nice little area. Still creepy as fuck, but with how the elements were outside it kinda reminded her of the forts she and her brother used to make back in the woods. It was this memory she would return to after she completed the necessary use-of-public-toilet safety ritual of the laying down of toilet paper around the seat that would magically protect her delicate backside of all things bad including the ones yet to be discovered.

As much as she and her brother fought, they got along. She missed him, and found herself missing him all the more sheltered as she was from the outside. There was this one memory of hers; it was the kind of memory one forgets, but will forever remember during particular moments, and it will always be welcome. It was a cold rainy day and they went out into the woods like they usually did regardless of the elements. The rain picked up... and she got cold... so he built a little fort out of pine bows and branches. It wasn't much... but it was still impressive in that it kept the rain out... but largely in that he built it for her.

They laid their jackets down on the ground and borrowed in. Some jabs were exchanged as they settled and stopped after shortly after. Sometime shortly thereafter while watching the rain fall and hearing it rustle it's way to the ground she was over come with a pulling sensation somewhere behind her eyes and down along her spine and backs of her thighs. It was a familiar sensation... one she's had before... but she was always alone. And reasons unknown she felt herself back her way up and against her brother who turned into her in kind, thread his arm under hers and up along her stomach where it found her hand to hold... and they just laid there in the fresh cold of outside, falling into each others warm sleep.
 
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my wife... she's to blame.

she fucks the stories right out of me. when she's done... everything I manage to make up in my head pales in comparison to what actually happened. Even the more fucked up kinky shit that's best left to the imagination pours flat.

The woman is amazing.
 
she fucks the stories right out of me. when she's done... everything I manage to make up in my head pales in comparison to what actually happened. Even the more fucked up kinky shit that's best left to the imagination pours flat.

The woman is amazing.

Mmm I would also say she has very good taste. ;)
 
she fucks the stories right out of me. when she's done... everything I manage to make up in my head pales in comparison to what actually happened. Even the more fucked up kinky shit that's best left to the imagination pours flat.

The woman is amazing.

you make me want to be the kid in your bed.... and that's twisted lol

fuck you both
 
Where the fuck are you?

Do something hot dammit. :mad:

wE Are sORry ThE ThreAd yOu aRe TrYing tO rEvIve hAs bEen cAst aSidE bY y=mx+b PleAse tRy aNotheR thReAd oR hiT RefreSh fOr tHe nexT aVaIlaBle cOnTribUtor. y=mx+b Is nOT AvaIlabLe aT tHis Time PleAse tRy aNotheR thReAd oR hiT RefreSh fOr tHe nexT aVaIlaBle cOnTribUtor. ********MeSsAge 01189726389********
 
My favorite post of the day... week... month?

wE Are sORry ThE ThreAd yOu aRe TrYing tO rEvIve hAs bEen cAst aSidE bY y=mx+b PleAse tRy aNotheR thReAd oR hiT RefreSh fOr tHe nexT aVaIlaBle cOnTribUtor. y=mx+b Is nOT AvaIlabLe aT tHis Time PleAse tRy aNotheR thReAd oR hiT RefreSh fOr tHe nexT aVaIlaBle cOnTribUtor. ********MeSsAge 01189726389********
 
DeepRedLips = sexy and saucy and DAMN RIGHT:rose::rose::rose:

wE Are sORry ThE ThreAd yOu aRe TrYing tO rEvIve hAs bEen cAst aSidE bY y=mx+b PleAse tRy aNotheR thReAd oR hiT RefreSh fOr tHe nexT aVaIlaBle cOnTribUtor. y=mx+b Is nOT AvaIlabLe aT tHis Time PleAse tRy aNotheR thReAd oR hiT RefreSh fOr tHe nexT aVaIlaBle cOnTribUtor. ********MeSsAge 01189726389********
 
wE Are sORry ThE ThreAd yOu aRe TrYing tO rEvIve hAs bEen cAst aSidE bY y=mx+b PleAse tRy aNotheR thReAd oR hiT RefreSh fOr tHe nexT aVaIlaBle cOnTribUtor. y=mx+b Is nOT AvaIlabLe aT tHis Time PleAse tRy aNotheR thReAd oR hiT RefreSh fOr tHe nexT aVaIlaBle cOnTribUtor. ********MeSsAge 01189726389********

FUCK THAT NOISE!

*flips table*

Riot started. That's what you get.
 
wE Are sORry ThE ThreAd yOu aRe TrYing tO rEvIve hAs bEen cAst aSidE bY y=mx+b PleAse tRy aNotheR thReAd oR hiT RefreSh fOr tHe nexT aVaIlaBle cOnTribUtor. y=mx+b Is nOT AvaIlabLe aT tHis Time PleAse tRy aNotheR thReAd oR hiT RefreSh fOr tHe nexT aVaIlaBle cOnTribUtor. ********MeSsAge 01189726389********

Whispers: you wouldn't like me when I am slightly angry *cues walking away music from the TV show...*

:mad:
 
...​

"Fuck that noise!" she said rising from her chair taking swift hold of the table causing it and most of it's contents to fly across the room and come crashing down hard upon the floor.

Most of it's contents.

I of course saved my glass of wine. As fortunes would have it, the degree of force caused it to fly in a proper trajectory into the air along with the rest of the shit I couldn't care any less about. The wine was vintage. Something I procured from a Frenchman that owed me a favor around the 1900's. Unfortunately; for him, his hand was rather attached to it at the time. It's in a box packed in rock salt somewhere... probably one of the rooms on the third floor below ground as that's where most of such things seem to end up.

The wine itself ended up as my choice beverage for the night and I found it rather important for me as the procuring of it was my last shift beyond my control. Nevertheless I still have moments and I get the impression the woman before me is hip to the fact... pressing me more and more against the door to a room very few have come back to me after I've opened it for them.

Sometimes it's a great parlor trick for one-night-stands in a town of a life I know I'll never comeback to again. But pushing me in my own home? That merits a special kind of action... one that I've come to master since the Frenchman.

I think this as I take a sip of my wine and revel in my heightened awareness... or rather beautiful awareness. One where my time slows and everything becomes clear, sharp, and well within reach should I wish to do so.

She's yet to finish speaking her intention to fuck noise. A knife is suspended in mid-air and I see the reflection of a candle I lit earlier in the eveing extinguish itself during it's loft. A perfect stream of poppy-red molten wax begins to coagulate into partially separated droplets in midair; still hot enough to splatter across the floor, fusing to it and making it near difficult to fully scrape off. With any luck it will spare the oriental rug. But I'm not holding any hope for it.

The thing about those fortunate enough to have been spared the fate of what I feel; and those like me, is their rabid desire to witness, to experience an existence in the raw. A swift accurate action; the marriage dance of raw emotion and movement based on instinct rather than logic. To look into the eyes of a man and see the last gasp of absolute fear give way to all the sorrow for what's been done and no less will continue to be done given the correct conditions and lapse of control. All of it happening with an awareness and presence of mind. Bound like a ghost in the machine; cowering deep in the darkness of my scull, forced to look out the eyeholes of a mask to observe grabbing throats of the broken bloodied torn up faces of the yet-to-be dead... hearing the echoing screams of hells horror, the sound of blouses, and bodices being torn off bodies over-wrought in fear until some physical force outside of perception stops you. A farmers scythe slicing through rib and lung, a superstitious fool's silver bullet into your gut... now those were the days. Painful as it was, it was a good way to get some quick scratch when finances were a bit tight.

But no, never no mind to any of that... I am done.

Werewolf/dog/whatever. There is no longer any were. I am now pure. I have mastered perfect Therianthropy and live comfortably in both forms. Shifting as I see fit.

Yes... the room to nightmares is still very much there. But now, a door. A door this black haired, red lipped entity of elegance has me pressed up against, inside the frame of a heightened sense that has slowed down her movements making her all the more... sensual.

The fury in her eyes is honest but the passionate fuck-lust desire of her heart is as obvious to me as the increasing heat between her legs. Her brain; the fleshy tissue inside her head, bathes in budding bouquet of chemistry too complex to note in cognition but will come to full attention the very moment I have her by the throat and up against the wall, looking into her eyes and feeling the pulse of her neck in a panic before I have it sync with my own.

The moment will be in a flash. And right now... this wine... I have time to study her. I have time to take note of the scent of her hair and muse at the silky sense it has dancing with the air of her commotion. Her breasts of which my lips will meet already anticipate the onslaught. The beauty of her face; smart, strong, very strong in wit and in academia... with a biting tongue behind those flush lips of hers... all making it difficult to control the chemistry percolating about within my own skull.

Such a dark dark want...
but her's...
one more second...
let the table fall upon it's surface.

And the moment everything stops...
I start.

My fingers care not about the glass of wine my memory once savored. It slips slowly downward and out of safety as the hand of my mind turns the key.

There is no creaking of hinges.
No turning of doorknobs
The door simply evaporates into the darkness behind it... and behind me.

There is zero.
No sound
No sensation
No man
No animal.

For a second
I am free.

The calm...


pupils dilate
and I get hot
but no sweat
just the push of blood though my body
circulating
making every vein visible
up my neck
down my arms
backs of my fingers

...along the shaft of my cock.


and like clock work my hand finds the soft flesh of her throat.
two of my steps and she off the ground and up against the wall.

the flicker of fury in her eyes becomes aware that's all it was and all it will ever be as it's sucked into the light swallowing blackness of mine.

I feel her windpipe give under my grasp and her pulse race against the spanning junction between my thumb and forefinger. I send it a message. A counter pulse to inform her I am exactly what I am and to reassure her I am human... I am inside. And with it comes a quieted pulse of her understanding my knowledge of her base desires and intentions to fill them... which her awareness acknowledged and made itself known to me in the form of spit upon my face.

Her action was felt beyond what I've experienced before. Elegant, respectful, sexual, sensual, and full of fight. There would be no submitting from her. No point of "Okay... this is fun but I seriously want your cock in me so I'm going to let up now..." But I wondered... would curiosity change her disposition if at some point during the ripping off of her clothes I were to shift?
 
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...​


I loosened my grip around her throat but never broke contact and let her slide down the wall and back to her feet. I closed my eyes to wipe her spit off my face. While doing so I palmed the bottom of her chin. The length of my fingers followed along her jaw line… each ridge of each fingertip took note of the delicate fabric of her skin tracing it’s history and it’s anticipation. They stopped dead center of her face, my middle finger softly touched the tip of her nose while the other found peace on either side of it. Pressing upward against her chin with the butt of my palm her head had little choice but to tilt back again against the wall.

She did indeed have a lot of fight and her resolve was solid but her faults in such a circumstance were glaring. First; she is human, and humans have concepts of the supernatural most of which are nothing but fanciful projections of themselves. Secondly; she is a woman. Not a fault in any other circumstance where they are oft woefully underestimated by their insipid arrogant counterparts… but in such situations where there is a high probability of a violent and painful end to their being comes about the madness of panic. It is best observed when pitted against each other in a bout of physical discord. When left uninterrupted there is no beauty; there is no mercy, and when the panic ends with the life of the other, madness beds the victor until she too is put down by society or herself.

I feel her panic set in as the space between my fingers and her nose begin to close. I feel the muscles of her neck and face tighten as she tries to open her mouth to catch a breath but she cannot and her attempt to rise upon her toes to escape my hold only worsens her situation as my grasp of her face tightens.

I open my eyes once again. Though my gaze is downward I can see the straining pulse of that beautiful artery running up the length of her neck. If I was something other than what was it would be rather difficult to resist. I had a half thought of calling Eagan… But I owe him no favors and he none to me therefore the necessity for us both to exist in the same space bears no reason.

The feeling of her panic increase as the level of oxygen saturation coursing though that strained artery of hers decrease. Her mind is next to gone but the organ itself is very much alive and all it knows how to do is flail… and so she does.

As joyful as it is to observe, her anemic strikes and blind grabs to free herself do little for me. A combination of snot spit and tears emit from her face as I relax my grasp. Her lungs kick in before all else and her starve platelets deepen their hue. The electrical current of her heart charge and dump all at once. Each muscle fiber surrounding the proper chamber synchronize and fire accordingly in one huge push as she exhales out of her mouth in uncontrollable coughs coating my fingers and hand in thick spit.
 
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I got to thinking. I'm going to make a concerted effort not to involve or make mention of any form of spit or saliva when I get to working on the next installment of this whatever it is I'm coming up with.

also. A bit dismayed. For the amount of time it takes to come up with and write it all down it seems like there should be more.

No matter...
 
I got to thinking. I'm going to make a concerted effort not to involve or make mention of any form of spit or saliva when I get to working on the next installment of this whatever it is I'm coming up with.

also. A bit dismayed. For the amount of time it takes to come up with and write it all down it seems like there should be more.

No matter...

I think it's perfect..
 
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