shadysmurfette
Gifted&Black;)
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Smiles and feels the tingles again.....
Bits and pieces
- Thread starter y=mx+b
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AG82
Literotica Guru
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- Jul 6, 2011
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In any other context that pic would make me think axe murderer! But somehow all I can think in this case is 'gosh, what a lovely firm grip'!
theapproachingcurve
Shameless Flirt
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- Apr 13, 2009
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- 8,823
I've always wanted a stacked pile of wood in my front entryway! You'll be moving it for me, right?
y=mx+b
___________
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- Jul 1, 2003
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In any other context that pic would make me think axe murderer! But somehow all I can think in this case is 'gosh, what a lovely firm grip'!
and that's my left hand.
AG82
Literotica Guru
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*swoon*
y=mx+b
___________
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all I need is an address. a truck would be nice, but I can do without provided you let me jerk off in your bathroom... or on your chest.
theapproachingcurve
Shameless Flirt
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- Apr 13, 2009
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If we negotiate you working shirtless into the mix, you may have yourself a deal..
Vixxennn
Literotica Guru
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I could use some of your... wood.
y=mx+b
___________
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The only way you'll get me to work shirtless is if you agree to wear my shirt and nothing else all the while I am working.
y=mx+b
___________
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I'll set some of the more harder pieces aside for you to pick up at your leisure.
shadysmurfette
Gifted&Black;)
- Joined
- Apr 12, 2010
- Posts
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Welcome back.
Stop being such a fucking sexy beast
I can't think straight.....just swoons
y=mx+b
___________
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- Jul 1, 2003
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- 25,394
Welcome back.
Stop being such a fucking sexy beast
I can't think straight.....just swoons
I am not back
I will never be fully back
Not like I used to be.
I tried, but there always seems to be a rogue group of woman into whatever it is that I do that it's become too taxing. This isn't to say I'm giving up. You all will find me repulsive at some point.
Dionysian Beast
Literotica Guru
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- Nov 2, 2003
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That's fucking brilliant.
y=mx+b
___________
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no. fucking brilliant is bringing you with to help me with the wood and fucking the fuck out of her to the point of never wanting to be fucked like that ever again.
theapproachingcurve
Shameless Flirt
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- Apr 13, 2009
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- 8,823
The only way you'll get me to wear your shirt and nothing else is if you work entirely in the buff. Watch out for splinters, dear.
You would..
Perhaps you don't realize how much I would enjoy that..but then again, perhaps you do. Challenge accepted.
Vixxennn
Literotica Guru
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Consider this my leisure. Where's the hard wood?
Dionysian Beast
Literotica Guru
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You would..
Perhaps you don't realize how much I would enjoy that..but then again, perhaps you do. Challenge accepted.
Funny you would mention that... I was actually gonna suggest my involvement, as well.
I believe that'd be an excellent deal all around.
sweetguava
sexpot
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- Mar 13, 2012
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y=mx+b
___________
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I don't want to be raped
Some time ago
I think perhaps it was during my mid-to-late teens
I got to thinking about rape.
Not prison rape
Not pedophile rape
Not Priest rape
But the kind of rape
That is experienced when a man rapes a woman.
I think what started me thinking about this is how during that age (and even now) I'd hear some dumb-ass or group of dumb-asses say some stupid shit about how awesome it would be to be raped by a woman/women.
Yeah...
I get it.
It'd be awesome because men like sex
And the more often it happens the better
And the more people involved (of opposite sex of course) even better.
Hell... I'll sign up for that shit.
But here's the thing.
That's not rape.
The sum total of all the ideas my peers always cooked up never even came close to rape.
It never even came close to exiting the gravitational pull of a wet dream.
Still doesn't.
Never will.
So I got to thinking
As I do
About rape
About how many women it would take to rape me
No drugs
No weapons
Just the physical force of hands and feet, arms and legs.
All out.
How many would I knock out keeping them from doing so
How many arms would I break
How many broken jaws
How many dislocated joints
How many women would it take for my inner voice to say "Oh Fuck."
How many women
would it take
to strike the same kind of fear
one woman feels
when she finds herself alone
at night
during the day
unable to shake herself
away from that one guy
20
10
5 paces behind her.
I do not know.
Probably never will.
All I know
Is knowing of it.
As the unknown male
At night
Turning the corner
Walking down the block
Seeing the woman long before she sees me
Seeing her see me
smart.
a type of intelligence I have the luxury to go without.
Some time ago
I think perhaps it was during my mid-to-late teens
I got to thinking about rape.
Not prison rape
Not pedophile rape
Not Priest rape
But the kind of rape
That is experienced when a man rapes a woman.
I think what started me thinking about this is how during that age (and even now) I'd hear some dumb-ass or group of dumb-asses say some stupid shit about how awesome it would be to be raped by a woman/women.
Yeah...
I get it.
It'd be awesome because men like sex
And the more often it happens the better
And the more people involved (of opposite sex of course) even better.
Hell... I'll sign up for that shit.
But here's the thing.
That's not rape.
The sum total of all the ideas my peers always cooked up never even came close to rape.
It never even came close to exiting the gravitational pull of a wet dream.
Still doesn't.
Never will.
So I got to thinking
As I do
About rape
About how many women it would take to rape me
No drugs
No weapons
Just the physical force of hands and feet, arms and legs.
All out.
How many would I knock out keeping them from doing so
How many arms would I break
How many broken jaws
How many dislocated joints
How many women would it take for my inner voice to say "Oh Fuck."
How many women
would it take
to strike the same kind of fear
one woman feels
when she finds herself alone
at night
during the day
unable to shake herself
away from that one guy
20
10
5 paces behind her.
I do not know.
Probably never will.
All I know
Is knowing of it.
As the unknown male
At night
Turning the corner
Walking down the block
Seeing the woman long before she sees me
Seeing her see me
and crossing to the other side
knuckling her keys
waking up her sleeping cellphone.
smart.
a type of intelligence I have the luxury to go without.
y=mx+b
___________
- Joined
- Jul 1, 2003
- Posts
- 25,394
The Shrinkage Factor
In a not too distant long time ago I realized I have a small dick.
Flaccid that is.
I cannot fully recount the kind of relationship a man has with his dick... and I'm sure it's different for all of us... but I will try my best. For the sake of legalese and to avoid any possible infraction I will start at the age of 18. Prior to that really isn't all that interesting. A good analogy of the years leading up to 18 would be having a new kid move into your neighborhood and always knocking on your door wanting to do something but never really coming up with any plans so you both kinda just sit around and play video games or jump your bikes off a plank of wood propped up by a cinderblock.
So the area around 18 rolls around and you've concluded that this guy is not going away anytime soon. Not only that but he more or less begins to show up right after he's drank a cup of cocaine and spent the morning snorting lines of espresso off the chest of a Starbucks barista. Which is actually quite alright because he makes for interesting times when it's just him and you (which is most of the time).
So every morning, noon, night, and all times in between, you step up to the toilet, urinal, or into the shower, unzip, undress, unwhatever and WHOA! there he is! And you are like... "fuck we are awesome. why aren't we famous yet?" And he's like "I... I don't know!"
And that's the routine day in and day out to the point of becoming boring
Blah blah blah 30-mid-30's come around and one day you wake up, step up to the toilet, step out of the shower, look down and happen to catch your friend walk by and you are like "WHAT THE FUCK DUDE!" And he's like... "too many baristas... can't... maintain.... the moderate level of readiness... too much... must rest... maybe too late." And you are like "NO!!!!!!!" And you think about it... and think about it... and your memory flashes back to the locker rooms of all the various fitness facilities you've been a member of and seeing the things you can't unsee... all the old men having lost all sense of modesty walking around... nuts and raisins wibble wobbling about... and how they all made you feel good about yourself... never once really questioning why you've not yet seen any of them sporting a thigh thumping softy like the one quickly coming to life as all the stories you've read on lit about older men weave their tails of envy and admiration of watching younger men fuck their wives... and the memory of the such serves up a hot cup of wanting to blow your load like back in the day with your friend but he's all like "seriously... I need a pull start."
Before you know it, there you both are looking at each other in the mirror going "you are awesome..." "no, YOU are awesome!" and you are like "wait a fucking second..." and you go and find the roll of measuring tape your wife keeps in one of her many catch-all bags/cubbies/drawers of sewing and knitting shit and see if your friend still measures up in his more active state... and sure as shit he does. And he's like "you doubted?" and you are like "fuck you." and he's like "fuck YOU!" and you beat the shit out of each other until both of you are exhausted and pass the fuck out.
In the haze of your post orgasmic sleep you recall your younger self... the half-cocked 20-something looking around and having your surroundings validate the bullshit you've been spoon-fed and have come to believe. You look down and laugh in sheer amazement at just how assumptive and stupid youth really is... something you knew when you were balls deep in it but dismissed just as one dismisses an unlit light on the switchboard sitting right in front of them.
I love it when the light switches on. I love looking back at the footage of me sitting at the switchboard and seeing all the lights; lit, unlit, blinking. They are all there. I love looking back and seeing how the persistent need for validation blinds us, skews the base ability of statistical reasoning to fool us into believing something momentarily convenient.
And I laugh.
Because I see it now.
I was staring at nuts and raisins
In the middle of an oak savanna.
In a not too distant long time ago I realized I have a small dick.
Flaccid that is.
I cannot fully recount the kind of relationship a man has with his dick... and I'm sure it's different for all of us... but I will try my best. For the sake of legalese and to avoid any possible infraction I will start at the age of 18. Prior to that really isn't all that interesting. A good analogy of the years leading up to 18 would be having a new kid move into your neighborhood and always knocking on your door wanting to do something but never really coming up with any plans so you both kinda just sit around and play video games or jump your bikes off a plank of wood propped up by a cinderblock.
So the area around 18 rolls around and you've concluded that this guy is not going away anytime soon. Not only that but he more or less begins to show up right after he's drank a cup of cocaine and spent the morning snorting lines of espresso off the chest of a Starbucks barista. Which is actually quite alright because he makes for interesting times when it's just him and you (which is most of the time).
So every morning, noon, night, and all times in between, you step up to the toilet, urinal, or into the shower, unzip, undress, unwhatever and WHOA! there he is! And you are like... "fuck we are awesome. why aren't we famous yet?" And he's like "I... I don't know!"
And that's the routine day in and day out to the point of becoming boring
Blah blah blah 30-mid-30's come around and one day you wake up, step up to the toilet, step out of the shower, look down and happen to catch your friend walk by and you are like "WHAT THE FUCK DUDE!" And he's like... "too many baristas... can't... maintain.... the moderate level of readiness... too much... must rest... maybe too late." And you are like "NO!!!!!!!" And you think about it... and think about it... and your memory flashes back to the locker rooms of all the various fitness facilities you've been a member of and seeing the things you can't unsee... all the old men having lost all sense of modesty walking around... nuts and raisins wibble wobbling about... and how they all made you feel good about yourself... never once really questioning why you've not yet seen any of them sporting a thigh thumping softy like the one quickly coming to life as all the stories you've read on lit about older men weave their tails of envy and admiration of watching younger men fuck their wives... and the memory of the such serves up a hot cup of wanting to blow your load like back in the day with your friend but he's all like "seriously... I need a pull start."
Before you know it, there you both are looking at each other in the mirror going "you are awesome..." "no, YOU are awesome!" and you are like "wait a fucking second..." and you go and find the roll of measuring tape your wife keeps in one of her many catch-all bags/cubbies/drawers of sewing and knitting shit and see if your friend still measures up in his more active state... and sure as shit he does. And he's like "you doubted?" and you are like "fuck you." and he's like "fuck YOU!" and you beat the shit out of each other until both of you are exhausted and pass the fuck out.
In the haze of your post orgasmic sleep you recall your younger self... the half-cocked 20-something looking around and having your surroundings validate the bullshit you've been spoon-fed and have come to believe. You look down and laugh in sheer amazement at just how assumptive and stupid youth really is... something you knew when you were balls deep in it but dismissed just as one dismisses an unlit light on the switchboard sitting right in front of them.
I love it when the light switches on. I love looking back at the footage of me sitting at the switchboard and seeing all the lights; lit, unlit, blinking. They are all there. I love looking back and seeing how the persistent need for validation blinds us, skews the base ability of statistical reasoning to fool us into believing something momentarily convenient.
And I laugh.
Because I see it now.
I was staring at nuts and raisins
In the middle of an oak savanna.
MsMuffet
Rebel With a Pause
- Joined
- Apr 15, 2002
- Posts
- 14,730
shadysmurfette
Gifted&Black;)
- Joined
- Apr 12, 2010
- Posts
- 12,265
You are provocative in more ways than one...
Honestly, I think repulse is a strong word. Hmmmm rogue women? Interesting choice of words. LOL.
Honestly, I think repulse is a strong word. Hmmmm rogue women? Interesting choice of words. LOL.
y=mx+b
___________
- Joined
- Jul 1, 2003
- Posts
- 25,394
the image... or maybe it was a thought? no matter. for some reason or another my mind conjured up a visual of a woman having her face pushed down sideways into a shallow mud puddle between two cars by an unknown man.
it was weird with nothing behind it.
if I were a believer in clairvoyance or remote viewing or anything along those lines I'd be concerned for someone I didn't know.
if some other area of my mind was turned on by the brief image I'd be concerned for myself.
I recall a time when I used to be/believe I was both. Thinking "this means something... something is happening somewhere..." or "my God... why do I think this shit up?"
But the occasional and sometimes repetitive onslaught of situational perception has reduced said experience to a triviality to me. something happens somewhere all the time and none of it is close to exactly being what I observed in my head, and "I" do not think any of this shit up. It's an erratic. A misfiring of chemicals that touch off an electrical pulse across a strata of brain tissue for my awareness to pick up and keep... or drop.
Though I've come to drop shit more than keep it
It keeps happening
And it's exhausting
Because zero of it makes sense
Again...
Vignettes of vignettes
I am finding myself no longer wanting to write this post anymore
And I know the more I try
The less likely it will be that I'll post it
And it will fall in with all the others you've never read and I've long since forgotten about. So without further delay...
it was weird with nothing behind it.
if I were a believer in clairvoyance or remote viewing or anything along those lines I'd be concerned for someone I didn't know.
if some other area of my mind was turned on by the brief image I'd be concerned for myself.
I recall a time when I used to be/believe I was both. Thinking "this means something... something is happening somewhere..." or "my God... why do I think this shit up?"
But the occasional and sometimes repetitive onslaught of situational perception has reduced said experience to a triviality to me. something happens somewhere all the time and none of it is close to exactly being what I observed in my head, and "I" do not think any of this shit up. It's an erratic. A misfiring of chemicals that touch off an electrical pulse across a strata of brain tissue for my awareness to pick up and keep... or drop.
Though I've come to drop shit more than keep it
It keeps happening
And it's exhausting
Because zero of it makes sense
Again...
Vignettes of vignettes
I am finding myself no longer wanting to write this post anymore
And I know the more I try
The less likely it will be that I'll post it
And it will fall in with all the others you've never read and I've long since forgotten about. So without further delay...
shadysmurfette
Gifted&Black;)
- Joined
- Apr 12, 2010
- Posts
- 12,265
Random and sexy.
Never a dull moment.
Never a dull moment.
- Status
