Old 05-14-2010, 02:07 AM   #1
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Driphoney's Romance Bingo Thread

Hit me Stella!

Okay, so maybe just a gentle stinging slap in the appropriate place.
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Old 05-22-2010, 12:25 AM   #2
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Hi darling, sorry I'm so late to the party
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An essay for BDSM Newbies; Top, bottom, dominant, submissive-- and the differences thereof Now rewritten with extra sparkle!
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Old 05-22-2010, 01:10 AM   #3
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My grid

A1 A2 A3 A4 A5
B1 B2 B3 B4 B5
C1 C2 C3 C4 C5
D1D2 D3 D4 D5
E1 E2 E3 E4 E5

Last edited by driphoney : 07-05-2010 at 05:00 PM.
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Old 05-25-2010, 01:12 AM   #4
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Moan

*****


Who wants this more? I can't tell because your mouth is hard against mine and the taste of cock on my tongue is giving way to lingering bourbon.

Callused fingers squeeze my nipple and I moan. Another finger trails up my inner thigh and I groan.

Pulling away from your mouth, I'm gasping for breath.

Those lower fingers are almost there and I tremble. I need to feel your touch.

"C'mon." I whisper. "Touch me."

My breath catches as a single finger reaches up between my legs and flicks against the wet lace, a tease. One more and I exhale.

God.

Then that finger pushes the barrier aside and the whole universe narrows to its wandering path over and around and through the rise and fall of my folds, before sliding up to my swollen nub. Just a touch, and I'm sure sweet death is imminent.

"More, you bastard!" But my curse comes out as a whimper as muscles clinch tight at the emptiness and I feel a burst of moisture between my lower lips. Is this the price I pay for making you wait? Not giving you instant pleasure?

Before my mind can register it, your palm grinds against me and grabs a fistful of dainty pink lace, jerking it down. Helping, I'm determined to make sure panties will not slow us down and vow to never wear them again.

The warm, rasping finger is gone, replaced by lurching manhood as my legs come up to grip your hips.

Smiling, my softness accepts your deep thrust. Home.

Miss me?

Not at all.
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Old 05-25-2010, 02:17 AM   #5
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Hehehe . . now that wasn't so hard was it.
Bad choice of words, replace hard with difficult and contiune.


ps lucky you didnt sign up for a kink card
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Old 05-26-2010, 08:52 AM   #6
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Strangers


*****
Whitney sat staring at the red Deutchebahn Regio Sudostbayern train as the December night air seeped through her coat. She had no idea what all those words said, but she had them forever imprinted on her brain, having been staring at them for the last thirty minutes. One thing she did know: this was not her train. Her train would leave at midnight.

Yesterday afternoon she had been racing to St. Louis after work to catch an evening flight to Frankfurt. This morning she had boarded the train, and now, hypothermia was setting in, she was sure, as she waited in the open-ended cavern of the Munich station. She was exhausted and still had two hours to wait for her sleeper train to Budapest.

Whitney had used up her daily spending allowance on coffee and a meal, oh, and the restroom. Having to pay to pee had not been factored into her tight travel budget, not to mention the hard reality of a sinking dollar against the euro. She had been optimistic in her planning. Looking longingly at the pay showers earlier, she had decided to wait until the train. Surely her first class sleeper would have a shower, even Amtrak had showers, and everyone knew how bad Amtrak compared to the European trains.

When she had booked her flight and arranged the train tickets, this had all seemed like a brilliant idea. Long ago, in another life when fantasies seemed like probabilities and all life was an adventure, she had majored in medieval history and believed in fairy tales and Prince Charming.

But that was then. Now was a reality as harsh as the German cold cutting through her coat. The fairy tale turned into a nine to five accounts receivable job buried deep inside a warehouse and Prince Charming was a guy named Terry who left her three months ago for an older woman. Some prince. Some fairy tale.

When she had seen the $400 roundtrip deal to Frankfurt, complete with a photo of Cologne Cathedal, she couldn’t resist. Her romantic spirit, not quite dead, had leaped in her chest and pretty soon cathedrals had led her to castles and castles, with the aid of googlearth, led her to rivers, the Rhine and Danube, to be specific, and that led right to her current predicament of freezing her tail off in a strange country.

“Fahren sie zeinem zug?”

Whitney’s head jerked up as she realized those strange words were meant for her.

He was looking at her with expectation and her frozen brain struggled to recall the hastily memorized phrase. Berlitz was letting her down. Or maybe her sluggish brain was letting her down. In any case, she was doing her bit to maintain the image of the ignorant, language-starved American. Four years of high school Spanish in the hands of Mrs. McNelly ten years ago was now exposed as the pathetic joke it was.

Noting her look of confusion, the sexiest man who had ever directly spoken to her switched to English. “Are you taking this train?” His word choice was impeccable, but his accent had the sharp bite of German and his ‘th’ came out as ‘d’.

Herr Abercrombe & Finch cocked a perfectly arched eyebrow and waited as Whitney blinked into his gorgeous green eyes. A lock of hair fell over his brow and he shoved it away while shifting his stance. Damn, even his fingers were sexy.

“No . . . no,” Whitney stammered, sounding unsure. She was, not of her train, but herself, he was decidedly disconcerting.

“Where are you going?”

“Um, Budapest,” she continued to stammer, knowing she was starting to sound like a twit, but when did male super-models ever talk to her? Hell, if Mr. Sexy here ever walked down Main Street in Springfield, traffic would stop and Bertha Jones, the editor of The Bee, would do a front page write-up.

“You are not sure?” Before she could reply he went on, “What is your train number? When is it supposed to leave? Here, let me see your ticket.”

All this was rocketing at her and Whitney drew her coat tight, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“It’s okay,” she snapped. “I’m at the right place, just early.”

“Let me check it just to be sure.” Clearly he doubted her competency.

Pulling out the ticket from her backpack, she replied defensively, “I’m going to Budapest on the midnight sleeper train.”

“Yes, it says here, this is for a regular first class seat on the sleeper train.”

“Cabin. I bought a first class cabin.”

“That is not what this ticket is for. You think you buy a first class sleeping room?”

“Yes! That’s what I just said.”

With that he threw his head back and laughed to the rafters. “You Americans really should just stay home, you know? It’s not safe for you.”

Shock turned to anger and Whitney decided Mr. Sexy was really Mr. Asshole.

Grabbing her ticket from his hand, she sank back onto the cold bench letting her head flop back and her eyes close. Stupid German prick. “Damn,” she muttered under her breath, exhaustion flooding over her. The thought of being forced to sleep upright one more night nearly brought tears to her eyes. Rubbing her hand over her face she noticed her mocker was watching her intently.

“How long have you been here?”

“I flew in this morning.”

“From the States?”

“Yes.”

“It is more difficult to fly from that direction. You must be very tired, yes?” He paused, but she didn’t reply.

“I think I can help you. I am making a sleeping room, yes?” His perfected English was slipping. His ‘think’ was ‘sink’, and the verbs were degrading. Curious. “But I am traveling alone, so you can use the other bed.”

She looked up in surprise and he held up his hands in defense. “You will be perfectly safe.”

“No, that’s alright. We Americans fumble around, but we always take care of ourselves.”

“Not so well, from how it looks. Don’t be stupid. Take the bed. Trust me, I have no interest. You will be safe, as I said.”

Whitney glowered at him, thrust her frozen hands into her coat pockets and turned her head away. Tomorrow she would be in Budapest, maybe Hungarians were friendlier.

“Hey.”

She refused to look at him. She’d gotten two hours of restless sleep in the last twenty-four, and she didn’t need this shit. She ignored him.

“Hey.” He was showing persistence, she’d give him that.

“Just go away. Shoo!” Keeping her head averted, Whitney pulled her hand, pink and chaffing from the cold, out her pocket and flicked it as if carelessly batting away a fly.

Black leather square-toed shoes, scuffed just so, stepped into her line-of-sight. God, even his shoes gave off just the right hint of sexy, cool-guy arrogance that made things tingle and not from the cold. Letting her eyes drift from his shoes, up his Euro-fit jeans-clad legs, she noted how they accented a nice, um, bulge. Flushing, her eyes jerked to his, then looked away, but not before she caught his smirk of awareness.

“Listen. I think we started off badly. You’re very cold, let me buy you a coffee and try to remember that my mother taught me to be always nice to strangers.”

Her eyes darted to his and bounced away as she worked her jaw.

“Bitte.” He held out his hand and waited. Please.

“Alright.”

“Danke.” His good manners were starting to make her feel ashamed of her continued pouting. Sucking in her breath she reached out and placed her fingers in his hand.

I might continue on with this couple.

Last edited by driphoney : 06-14-2010 at 03:06 AM. Reason: tense issue and typos galore!
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Old 05-29-2010, 10:34 AM   #7
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Garden

*****


Becca plunged the little spade into the brown fertile loam as the sun warmed her back. Pulling out a shovelful, she deposited it next to the new hole and pushed the sharp metal back into the earth.

In a flash, her world went black and she jerked suddenly in surprise as fingers covered her eyes.

“Guess who,” someone rasped in her ear.

Becca giggled. There was no guessing. During stolen, and all too brief, hours those lean, sure fingers had skillfully played along her body bringing rising heat and ecstasy that even now created an instant tingle at the memory.

“Dan!”

His fingers left her eyes and feathered down her face skimming tender, apple-plump breasts to mold his hands over the swollen belly that, for a time, allowed him to hold both his lover and his child.

His lips touched her silken strands of hair, hot from the summer sun, and swore he could lose himself in its richness. Dark as the earth and warm and soft, the quiet unvarnished tresses fell in a thick rope down her back, a visual testimony, for all who might have insight, of the woman herself.

“Where’s your hat, Ellie-May?” He couldn’t resist his old insult-turned-pet-name for her. Rising, he came around and grabbing both hands, helped her up, noting the wince under her smile. Her pelvis was softening, preparing for delivery.

“It’s inside somewhere.”

“Don’t forget it next time.”

“Yes, sir, doctor, sir. Did they let you out of surgery rotation just so you could catch your number one patient without a hat?”

Dan was into his second year of residency and their moments together seemed to be just that, moments. Pulling her against him, his craggy face bent in a crooked smile.

“I was hoping to get lucky and catch you in the shower with a lot less than that on.”

“Is that so? Well, you know how dirty gardening makes me.”

“Is that what does it? Lordy be, Ellie-May, we need to get you back to the farm!”

“You’re asking for it, you know that?”

“Oh, honey, I’m begging for it.”

Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he turned them towards the little clapboard rental they called home. He knew he wouldn’t be getting ‘it’ for a while, but he was okay with that. Today he had something a little different planned, something involving scented oils and hands, soft sighs and rest, and love. Mostly love.
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Old 05-31-2010, 10:00 AM   #8
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Cunning

*****

Cunning
how he left
her there,

Holding
the bag,
the evidence of his crime,
now hers.
They glare down
with condemnation.

Holding
the baggage,
inner evidence of his crime,
now hers.
She stares down
with contemplation.

Her heart,
the smashed, unseen plunder
of a one-sided,
naive
love.



Okay, so I'm not a poet.
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Old 05-31-2010, 10:04 AM   #9
Tio_Narratore
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I don't know...Sylvia Plath it's not, but still I rather like it...its imagery and its visual and literary structure have a certain appeal...

soon you'll be shouting "Bingo!"
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Last edited by Tio_Narratore : 05-31-2010 at 10:11 AM.
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Old 05-31-2010, 11:35 AM   #10
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Thank you, Tio.

Hopefully my less-than-Plath poetry indicates a more-than-Plath future.
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Old 06-01-2010, 12:32 PM   #11
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Quote:
Originally Posted by driphoney View Post
Thank you, Tio.

Hopefully my less-than-Plath poetry indicates a more-than-Plath future.
That would be a good plan, Honey...
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Old 07-05-2010, 04:43 PM   #12
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Rain

****

Dee stood at the water-soaked window and listened past the pelting rain. It was faint, but there. Her ears tugged at the sound, pulling it from the sky, separating the mechanical rumble from its watery soundproofing. A C-5A. Yeah, it had to be, or maybe a 747 landing over at Pope Air Force Base, bringing joyful but weary troops home. Just not her troop. She heard them day and night shuttling troops and supplies to and from the war. Sometimes, like today, a faint hollowness opened inside. She felt the unwanted longing to fly swell and wash over her with the intensity of a mourned loved one. Other times, the longing was only for him. Always, there was that longing.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning

*****

The rise and fall of the smooth chest under her cheek was barely discernible, but Deonne kept counting the breaths. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Each one whispered life; each one cherished.

She watched as her hand moved across the satin warmth of his muscled stomach and ribcage, the ebony canvas of his skin filling her vision with its richness and depth. An index finger found and played along a short pink-toned ridge, then dipped into a tiny indention, then another.

Deep breath in; slow breath out.

These were the war wounds that would never let them forget how the flesh tore at this very spot and the bone splintered and cracked, the lung collapsed. He wasn’t so tough; he was just a man, made of water and some minerals. Just like her. She wanted him tough. He was always the hard one. He was her shelter and wall, where she could run and hide; gain strength. He was a place she didn’t have to be the strong professional, a modern woman. Her bond was elemental, pure, a place no one could see, or judge. Safe. Just him and her. Together. Why hadn’t she ever told him how she felt? Let him know? Why had they wasted so much time and played those fucking games? But now, her dear, strong Kevin was battered, weak, and lost. The outside was a physical testimony of the crying, angry, aching inside.

Inhale; exhale. Her thin, pale hand flattened over the healed impact wounds.

She had to be tough. And not that mamby-pamby pretend tough she could fake with the best of them. Not that Naval Academy tough. Not female-in-a-male world fighter-pilot tough. If she couldn’t do this for him, for both of them, she didn’t deserve him. The breathing changed rhythm and his shoulder shifted.

“You have great skin.” It was just a whisper, she always had trouble intruding into the silence of the morning.

His chest rocked her head with a short burst of laughter.

“Let me make love to you.”

Silence.

“I love you.”

More silence.

He hadn’t let her touch him. Not there.

“I want you just the same. Nothing’s changed, Kev. I miss us so badly.”

More silence and she waited, hoping.

“Please. Don’t keep yourself from me.”

She sighed; he did nothing. He seemed not to be breathing.

“Kev ... what we do is physical, but when I’m making love with you, I’m fucking you, not just your body ... though it’s nice,“ Deonne smiled briefly. “Is that all I am to you? Is it just my physical self you want? These tits? This pussy? Do you need it to look like this? That’s all I am to you? Just a body?”

“No.”

God, it was a small word. C’mon Kev, give me more!



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




Relationships

****

Deonne watched from the bedroom door in stunned silence.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me! You promised!” Rage and hurt fought a hard war inside and left her shaking, her stomach nauseous. “You said you’d never give up on us!”

Kevin’s head jerked up at that, but he said nothing, just turned back to packing.

“Yeah. Play Mr. Silent while I get to look like a fucking shrew. You’ll get to tell everyone, ‘It didn’t work out. Deonne just couldn’t handle the pressure of having a cripple for a lover.' But I’m not the one not dealing here, Kev.”

“Stop.”

“I never thought of you as a quitter. You’re nothing but a coward. If you can’t work out how to much better off you are with me, you’re not going to figure out any of the rest of it either.”

“Just leave, Dee, while I do this. Make it easier on both of us.”

“I don’t want to make it easier! I want you to stay here and work this out. Fight through this with me.”

Deonne wiped her eyes with her fingers, trying to calm herself. “Why don’t you let me help you? Why don’t you let me fight this thing with you?


With me?” he smirked. “You can’t possibly know what I’m going through, how I feel, and I can try to describe it until I’m blue in the face, but you’re never going to understand. And I nearly fucking hit you in there! It’s different now. I’m different, and this isn’t going to work.”



Screw that whole 'less is more' crap, I'll edit later. If I manage to get enough of these tid-bits, I might get my chapter complete.

Last edited by driphoney : 07-05-2010 at 06:32 PM.
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