And the Bitch is gone....an exercise in writing.
- Thread starter ABSTRUSE
- Start date
G
Guest
Guest
South, to the ocean
Decisions, decisions. I’ve never been very good with decisions but having already been to the North and its frigid climb, I am in need of something a bit more inviting. I don’t want a bustling city or a deserted town, but rather something more relaxing. South, it is then. I am headed to the ocean.
She fell into a soft sleep as her girlfriend drove in a southerly direction. It never ceased to amaze her that she could instantly become a narcoleptic as soon as she sat in the passenger side of any car. Her quiet snoring was something like white noise to her girlfriend.
It had been some time since she had been on vacation and though this trip would sap her savings, it would be worth it if only for the relaxation she so badly needed. As if being close to the water would rejuvenate her tired soul.
The smell of the water, tangy and sweet, awakened her. She stretched languorously, reveling in the heat of the sun’s rays as they spilled into the car windows and over her warmed skin. A small smile of appreciation skipped across her lips as she took in the sight of the sparkling azure sea and the flight of the awkward seagulls in soaring above it.
In the distance she watched as small, white, billows of sails skidded across the sea, seemingly impervious to the swelling waves. How her heart swelled with emotion she just couldn’t put words to.
Her slight hand inched across the seat to hold the hand of her girlfriend. A return squeeze of her hand held the promise of excitement. She had come home.
Decisions, decisions. I’ve never been very good with decisions but having already been to the North and its frigid climb, I am in need of something a bit more inviting. I don’t want a bustling city or a deserted town, but rather something more relaxing. South, it is then. I am headed to the ocean.
She fell into a soft sleep as her girlfriend drove in a southerly direction. It never ceased to amaze her that she could instantly become a narcoleptic as soon as she sat in the passenger side of any car. Her quiet snoring was something like white noise to her girlfriend.
It had been some time since she had been on vacation and though this trip would sap her savings, it would be worth it if only for the relaxation she so badly needed. As if being close to the water would rejuvenate her tired soul.
The smell of the water, tangy and sweet, awakened her. She stretched languorously, reveling in the heat of the sun’s rays as they spilled into the car windows and over her warmed skin. A small smile of appreciation skipped across her lips as she took in the sight of the sparkling azure sea and the flight of the awkward seagulls in soaring above it.
In the distance she watched as small, white, billows of sails skidded across the sea, seemingly impervious to the swelling waves. How her heart swelled with emotion she just couldn’t put words to.
Her slight hand inched across the seat to hold the hand of her girlfriend. A return squeeze of her hand held the promise of excitement. She had come home.
doormouse
Seductively Sweet
- Joined
- Apr 11, 2004
- Posts
- 4,407
South
Squeaky Beach. Appropriately named by its glistening pure white sands that squeak as you step upon their smooth, clean surface.
Here, even the gentle lapping of the waves upon its unspoiled shores can take you to Heaven. Clear blue waters reflect the hazy morning sun as you can barely hear any other sounds apart from the soft squeaking from the sands beneath your toes, and the soft waves, or the occasional cry from a solitary seagull. There is no other place on earth as beautiful as here.
Laying back on the sand with the warm sun daring you to close your eyes, you breathe in the clean, fresh smells of the ocean.
Thanks Abs, going to Melbourne today, so now I'm planning on a trip to Squeaky Beach while i'm there lol
Squeaky Beach. Appropriately named by its glistening pure white sands that squeak as you step upon their smooth, clean surface.
Here, even the gentle lapping of the waves upon its unspoiled shores can take you to Heaven. Clear blue waters reflect the hazy morning sun as you can barely hear any other sounds apart from the soft squeaking from the sands beneath your toes, and the soft waves, or the occasional cry from a solitary seagull. There is no other place on earth as beautiful as here.
Laying back on the sand with the warm sun daring you to close your eyes, you breathe in the clean, fresh smells of the ocean.
Thanks Abs, going to Melbourne today, so now I'm planning on a trip to Squeaky Beach while i'm there lol
woodnymph_O
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Nov 18, 2004
- Posts
- 976
Re: Re: And the Bitch is gone....an exercise in writing.
cloudy that was so beautiful I don't know what to say. I envy your talent.
Nymphy
cloudy said:
cloudy that was so beautiful I don't know what to say. I envy your talent.
Nymphy
Lucifer_Carroll
GOATS!!!
- Joined
- May 4, 2004
- Posts
- 3,319
North-west.
The darkness comes slowly when I enter, else I would dared not venture. But slowly it had become darkness. There are different types of darkness. From the weakest type whose job is to merely make light visible and delineable from other light to the darkness one can't possibly describe in human words. The one whose closest parallel is void.
This darkness was worse. I could feel it on my skin, tarnishing away all hope of color from my skin.
It would never know light again.
I staggered through it, though it choked my senses like a noxious mist. My nose hairs crackled and sizzled away in the overpowering yet embracing power. There was a smell beyond all smells, but to my pathetic human senses it was merely pain. I could feel neurons whir, clinging to life as it faded away.
My legs felt light as a feather. They probably weren't there anymore. They were probably darkness.
And then slowly, I was north-west.
I was darkness.
And my last thought hanging sadly on my last neuron was:
I should have gone South.
The darkness comes slowly when I enter, else I would dared not venture. But slowly it had become darkness. There are different types of darkness. From the weakest type whose job is to merely make light visible and delineable from other light to the darkness one can't possibly describe in human words. The one whose closest parallel is void.
This darkness was worse. I could feel it on my skin, tarnishing away all hope of color from my skin.
It would never know light again.
I staggered through it, though it choked my senses like a noxious mist. My nose hairs crackled and sizzled away in the overpowering yet embracing power. There was a smell beyond all smells, but to my pathetic human senses it was merely pain. I could feel neurons whir, clinging to life as it faded away.
My legs felt light as a feather. They probably weren't there anymore. They were probably darkness.
And then slowly, I was north-west.
I was darkness.
And my last thought hanging sadly on my last neuron was:
I should have gone South.
shereads
Sloganless
- Joined
- Jun 6, 2003
- Posts
- 19,242
A Walker's Guide to the Gulf Stream
This time, when I get to the edge of the ocean I don't turn aside and I don't stop walking. Edges, like crossroads, are an illusion. Barriers are set-dressing in our shared dream of order.
I don't test the waters this time. I don't break my stride. Seafoam teases my toes. I keep walking. Ankle-deep, the ocean is warm as bathwater. Up to my knees, I keep walking. The hem of my skirt, sodden and heavy; I keep walking. Thighs, hips, waist, breasts, the depression at the base of my throat are immersed. My chin, my lips. Deeper, forward. The sensitive place just behind my ear, where you tease me with baby-kisses, accepts a wetter kiss and a deeper caress. I keep walking.
Down here, my eyes adjust to the near-shore murk. Shadowy shapes drift past. I'm at 60 feet when I reach the Gulf Stream, river of clarity and life slashing through the haze. I recognize the distant blue boulders as brain coral. I smile as I enter the garden, remembering how it used to look through bubbles and how, when I haunted such places as a diver, the loudest noise in the Atlantic Ocean was the sound of my excited breathing. (He said, the first time I stood with a 40-pound tank strapped to a 105-pound frame, "You look like a junebug with a jellybean on its back." Compliments were never his strong suit, but I found one in there someplace.) The rippled white sand burps up a stingray and I'm reminded to shuffle my feet. A school of silversides parts as I approach. For a moment, they surround me, thousands of them, coin-sized and gleaming; I'm buried in treasure. Parrotfish, buck-toothed, gnawing at the coral, make a soft scraping sound. "They eat coral and shit sand," he said. Building future beaches, one teaspoonful at a time.
Always on those weekend dives, I was too thrilled to be down here and breathed too fast. I'd use up a tank in no time, even at these modest depths. It doesn't matter now, because I'm walking and there's no stopping me. Has there ever been a more sensible way to get around? Will other illusions give way this easily?
He said, "You need to control your buoyancy." As if I didn't know that. As if I ever could.
This time, when I get to the edge of the ocean I don't turn aside and I don't stop walking. Edges, like crossroads, are an illusion. Barriers are set-dressing in our shared dream of order.
I don't test the waters this time. I don't break my stride. Seafoam teases my toes. I keep walking. Ankle-deep, the ocean is warm as bathwater. Up to my knees, I keep walking. The hem of my skirt, sodden and heavy; I keep walking. Thighs, hips, waist, breasts, the depression at the base of my throat are immersed. My chin, my lips. Deeper, forward. The sensitive place just behind my ear, where you tease me with baby-kisses, accepts a wetter kiss and a deeper caress. I keep walking.
Down here, my eyes adjust to the near-shore murk. Shadowy shapes drift past. I'm at 60 feet when I reach the Gulf Stream, river of clarity and life slashing through the haze. I recognize the distant blue boulders as brain coral. I smile as I enter the garden, remembering how it used to look through bubbles and how, when I haunted such places as a diver, the loudest noise in the Atlantic Ocean was the sound of my excited breathing. (He said, the first time I stood with a 40-pound tank strapped to a 105-pound frame, "You look like a junebug with a jellybean on its back." Compliments were never his strong suit, but I found one in there someplace.) The rippled white sand burps up a stingray and I'm reminded to shuffle my feet. A school of silversides parts as I approach. For a moment, they surround me, thousands of them, coin-sized and gleaming; I'm buried in treasure. Parrotfish, buck-toothed, gnawing at the coral, make a soft scraping sound. "They eat coral and shit sand," he said. Building future beaches, one teaspoonful at a time.
Always on those weekend dives, I was too thrilled to be down here and breathed too fast. I'd use up a tank in no time, even at these modest depths. It doesn't matter now, because I'm walking and there's no stopping me. Has there ever been a more sensible way to get around? Will other illusions give way this easily?
He said, "You need to control your buoyancy." As if I didn't know that. As if I ever could.
Last edited:
minsue
Gosling
- Joined
- Apr 27, 2002
- Posts
- 22,062
Westish
Not quite what you asked for, but when have I ever followed instructions well.
It was like looking at life through a plate glass window gone milky with age, everything dingy and grey. As she walked down Cherry Street, Andie marveled at how different the town looked now and yet how remarkably the same. The empty street echoed the voices past. There, on the corner. That's the one. That was once her favorite bookstore. How many afternoons had she spent in that store, reading the books she couldn't afford to buy and charming the clerks to get away with it? She couldn't recall. They all blended but for one. Andie remembered everything about the day Kathleen walked in that door.
Buffeted by emotion, Andie turned from the store and let her gaze slide over what was left of the town. It was no use. There was nothing here that didn't speak to her of Kathleen. The tree Andie had leaned upon when she stole her first kiss from Kathleen's startled lips still stood in the square. Older now and far more majestic, but she had now doubt it was the same. Across the mall stood the theater, the only one in town, where they'd seen the same movie seventeen nights in a row just to giggle at how pathetic this little burg was.
Andie wondered if the little house was still there. It was already showing its age when she had left and she could still envision the sagging porch and peeling paint. It would only be a short walk two blocks over, but she couldn't bring herself to take another step. If this abandonded street echoes with the past, surely the one bedroom bungalow would shriek with it. No, there would be no reliving the sounds of that house. It was bad enough to remember the songs Kathleen would hum while she cooked, her cries of ecstasy, her ready laughter, and her satisfied sighs. And worse to think on Andie's own keening sobs after Kathleen walked out the door and never looked back.
No, Andie would stick to Cherry Street. She continued down the abandonded street lost in memories. Oblivious to the vibrant city she passed through as life moved on without her.
Not quite what you asked for, but when have I ever followed instructions well.
It was like looking at life through a plate glass window gone milky with age, everything dingy and grey. As she walked down Cherry Street, Andie marveled at how different the town looked now and yet how remarkably the same. The empty street echoed the voices past. There, on the corner. That's the one. That was once her favorite bookstore. How many afternoons had she spent in that store, reading the books she couldn't afford to buy and charming the clerks to get away with it? She couldn't recall. They all blended but for one. Andie remembered everything about the day Kathleen walked in that door.
Buffeted by emotion, Andie turned from the store and let her gaze slide over what was left of the town. It was no use. There was nothing here that didn't speak to her of Kathleen. The tree Andie had leaned upon when she stole her first kiss from Kathleen's startled lips still stood in the square. Older now and far more majestic, but she had now doubt it was the same. Across the mall stood the theater, the only one in town, where they'd seen the same movie seventeen nights in a row just to giggle at how pathetic this little burg was.
Andie wondered if the little house was still there. It was already showing its age when she had left and she could still envision the sagging porch and peeling paint. It would only be a short walk two blocks over, but she couldn't bring herself to take another step. If this abandonded street echoes with the past, surely the one bedroom bungalow would shriek with it. No, there would be no reliving the sounds of that house. It was bad enough to remember the songs Kathleen would hum while she cooked, her cries of ecstasy, her ready laughter, and her satisfied sighs. And worse to think on Andie's own keening sobs after Kathleen walked out the door and never looked back.
No, Andie would stick to Cherry Street. She continued down the abandonded street lost in memories. Oblivious to the vibrant city she passed through as life moved on without her.
impressive
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Sep 11, 2003
- Posts
- 27,372
ABSTRUSE said:
No plucking allowed!
Colleen Thomas
Ultrafemme
- Joined
- Feb 11, 2002
- Posts
- 21,545
A wind comes up from the suth, carrying on it a fresh, clean sea smell. Even as I set my fet to the path, I can hear the gulls calling. The rough forrest path gives way to soft hite sand and as the trees thin, I can see the gleam of the sun on the water.
I haven't traveled far or used much time, but the wind changes, bringing with it a briny smell and making the friendly call of the gulls mournlful somehow.
The tide is going out, leaving a brown stain in the white sand, to mark whre it has been. Shells, seaweed and other less defineable things remain as well. the detrius of the mighty waves that broke here only hours ago.
Ahead of me, slowly approaching is a woman. Her tanned legs and arms are a contrast to the white suit she wears. some kind of gosamer wrap billows out behind her in the stiff breeze. Closer still and I can see her eyes, watching me with a mixture of amusement and longing. She is close now, I can feel her heartbeat or perhaps it is my own heartbeat in my chest.
A wave rises, taller than the others and when it crashes, my vision is obscured by the harsh glare of the yellow sun. When it clears, she is gone.
High above a goose calls, heading out to sea. Alone in the blue sky, her form diminishes by the second. I watch until she is only a black speck on the horizon and gets lost among the clouds.
I haven't traveled far or used much time, but the wind changes, bringing with it a briny smell and making the friendly call of the gulls mournlful somehow.
The tide is going out, leaving a brown stain in the white sand, to mark whre it has been. Shells, seaweed and other less defineable things remain as well. the detrius of the mighty waves that broke here only hours ago.
Ahead of me, slowly approaching is a woman. Her tanned legs and arms are a contrast to the white suit she wears. some kind of gosamer wrap billows out behind her in the stiff breeze. Closer still and I can see her eyes, watching me with a mixture of amusement and longing. She is close now, I can feel her heartbeat or perhaps it is my own heartbeat in my chest.
A wave rises, taller than the others and when it crashes, my vision is obscured by the harsh glare of the yellow sun. When it clears, she is gone.
High above a goose calls, heading out to sea. Alone in the blue sky, her form diminishes by the second. I watch until she is only a black speck on the horizon and gets lost among the clouds.
RebeccaLeah
Path
- Joined
- Aug 9, 2003
- Posts
- 9,922
My apologies Abs, I have no freakin’ clue where this went, but it doesn't quite fit the guidelines anymore. *shrug* Anyway.....
East to the city.
She’s there, waiting for me, nerves twisting my stomach into knots. My hands are trembling slightly and I hadn’t even noticed until I raised one to hail the cab coming towards me. Letting the cabby take care of my suitcase I slide in the backseat, pulling the door closed behind me. He climbs back in the front and looks at me in the review mirror, raising an eyebrow. “21 South 17th St please,” I say. Remarkably calm, not even a waver in my voice to give away the tumultuousness within. A nod is my only answer, he knows his city and knows where I’m going, does he realize what I’m doing there? Do I know what I’ll be doing there? My stomach flips, I fight hard to stop fidgeting only to find that I’m bouncing my foot and swinging my leg. Clasping my hands together, I press them hard to still the shaking. Waves of irrational fears crash through my mind, a whirlwind of anxiety, self depreciation, answerless questions. My heartbeat is skipping along merrily with the potholes in the road. Ba bum, ba bum, a heavy thud, a pause, ba bum, long pause. My pulse follows along, playing the melody while my lungs can’t decide whether or not they still work. A shallow breath, then nothing, a huge gasp as I realize a need of oxygen is making my head spin faster and further out of gravity’s range.
My blind eyes staring out the window see none of the buildings or rat race people that I fly by. It’s ok though, they don’t notice me either, a young women in their midst, they don’t guess that I don’t belong here. I don’t fit, I’m here for her and for her alone. I will be gone again in three days, back to normal in three days, back to my ‘place’ in three days, back to the magnificent spectacle of a performance. “Bravo!” they should call, “Amazing, Encore!” “Four stars” and “Thumbs up.” My critics should rave, the world should applaud, my fans should blow kisses and send dozens upon dozens of roses.
But for now. Just passing through, thank you. If I could borrow your anonymousness, your unwatching eyes, your all-encompassing shadow please? I promise I’ll return them as good as new.
East to the city.
She’s there, waiting for me, nerves twisting my stomach into knots. My hands are trembling slightly and I hadn’t even noticed until I raised one to hail the cab coming towards me. Letting the cabby take care of my suitcase I slide in the backseat, pulling the door closed behind me. He climbs back in the front and looks at me in the review mirror, raising an eyebrow. “21 South 17th St please,” I say. Remarkably calm, not even a waver in my voice to give away the tumultuousness within. A nod is my only answer, he knows his city and knows where I’m going, does he realize what I’m doing there? Do I know what I’ll be doing there? My stomach flips, I fight hard to stop fidgeting only to find that I’m bouncing my foot and swinging my leg. Clasping my hands together, I press them hard to still the shaking. Waves of irrational fears crash through my mind, a whirlwind of anxiety, self depreciation, answerless questions. My heartbeat is skipping along merrily with the potholes in the road. Ba bum, ba bum, a heavy thud, a pause, ba bum, long pause. My pulse follows along, playing the melody while my lungs can’t decide whether or not they still work. A shallow breath, then nothing, a huge gasp as I realize a need of oxygen is making my head spin faster and further out of gravity’s range.
My blind eyes staring out the window see none of the buildings or rat race people that I fly by. It’s ok though, they don’t notice me either, a young women in their midst, they don’t guess that I don’t belong here. I don’t fit, I’m here for her and for her alone. I will be gone again in three days, back to normal in three days, back to my ‘place’ in three days, back to the magnificent spectacle of a performance. “Bravo!” they should call, “Amazing, Encore!” “Four stars” and “Thumbs up.” My critics should rave, the world should applaud, my fans should blow kisses and send dozens upon dozens of roses.
But for now. Just passing through, thank you. If I could borrow your anonymousness, your unwatching eyes, your all-encompassing shadow please? I promise I’ll return them as good as new.
cloudy
Alabama Slammer
- Joined
- Mar 23, 2004
- Posts
- 37,997
ABSTRUSE said:Again...I'm disappointed. No new challengers since I was last here....damn I thought this was fun.
It is, but it's hell to try to write something when your monitor keeps blinking on and off like some sort of strobe light gone ballistic.
*sigh*
Maybe it'll settle down later on.....but I doubt it.
Similar threads
