denial is not just a river in Egypt - guess the writer challenge

[Guest]

deadline for guesses is noon GMT on monday.

can we have guesses only on this thread please.

you're welcome to have fun and chat and go crazy in the other thread

authors are listed below and there's one wild card

Feeeriek
Glynndah
CarolinaHeat
buxxxom
Lady_Kit
CrimsonMaiden
Salvor-Hardon
scheherazade_79
neonlyte
ABSTRUSE
nirvanadragones
Tarakin
drksideofthemoon
chilledvodkaiv

thanks to everyone who participated. youre all fabulous

 

[Guest]

1

“Hi, you’ve reached Adam and Patricia. Please leave a message and one of us will get back to you as soon as possible.” BEEP.

“Oh honey, you really should change that message,” Marion said as she walked over to the counter and turned the volume down on the machine.

“Why should I?”

A frown pursed Marion’s lips, and she turned and stared hard at her daughter. “Now Patricia, don’t start that again.”

“Start what?”

“You know perfectly well what.”

“I haven’t the slightest.”

Marion’s shoulders rose and fell as she inhaled sharply and blew the breath out her nose. “He’s not coming back.”

Patricia jumped from her seat so fast the chair slammed backward onto the gleaming hardwood floor. “Don’t say that!”

“It’s been six months.”

“He’s coming back. He will. I know it.”

“Honey, he can’t come back.”

“Don’t, Mom. Just. Don’t.”

“Patricia…”

“Don’t say it!”

“You know he can’t come back.”

“Don’t!”

“Honey, he’s dead.”

 

[Guest]

2

“Denial,” murmured Lisa as she tightened the restraints, “is not just a river in Egypt.” She stepped back to admire her handiwork, and allowed her eyes to roam down the length of her lover’s body. Her voice may have been calm, but her heart was racing – the way it always did when She was around.

“Please…” whispered the girl writhing slowly on the sheets.

A draft caught the flame of the candle, causing it to splutter and throw a momentary ray of light across the girl’s inner thighs. Lisa noticed how they were glistening, and caught her breath as she mustered every ounce of self-control. She had to stay in control. Either that, or allow the wall she’d taken years to build around her to crumble in less than a second.

“Please what?” she purred.

It was all part of the game. The slow build-up, the bondage, the teasing, and the very act of denying her lover until the last possible moment. It was something that had been going on for months. Something that happened every time they saw each other. Something that was necessary to safeguard herself from her lover’s electric touch. And at the end of the day, if she could control her lover’s desires, then surely she’d stand a much better chance of controlling her own.

The girl groaned as Lisa’s finger traced a lazy pattern along her wetness. Her breath was coming in short gasps, and she watched, lips slightly parted as the finger disappeared into Lisa’s mouth.

“Please, Lisa…”

Her head still spinning from the taste of her lover, Lisa opened her eyes and looked at the girl once more. “Please what?”

What would she ask for? The flogger? The nipple clamps? An old-fashioned spanking? Object insertion? Lisa went through their repertoire as the silence grew.

“Well?”

The girl was breathing almost normally now. She was terrified, but determined at the same time.

“Please stop pretending, and let’s make love.”

For the first time since they’d known one another, they found themselves looking into each other’s eyes.

“You go on about denial,” continued the girl. “And you’re right – it isn’t just a river in Egypt. It’s the sea in which you’re drowning us both.”

 

[Guest]

3

The Ancient Egyptians developed a process to preserve the body after death. The first step in this process was to remove the organs. The brain was drawn out through the nostrils, and the intestines through a small incision in the side.

She was fascinated. Next, she learnt, the body was soaked in an alkaline bath, and dried in the sun, smeared with fat, and filled with bitumen. Bandages treated with resin were carefully wrapped around the body. The heart was the only organ that was left in place, as it was considered the seat of the conscience. A ceramic scarab was placed over the heart – its purpose, to prevent the dead from saying too much on Osiris’s judgement day, and thus keeping them from committing themselves to hell and damnation, through a sudden urge to confess all their earthly sins.

She fleetingly wondered how the little beetle would achieve this, as she absent-mindedly stroked her new brooch. A scarab of imitation gold, a little souvenir from her travels, which she had by chance pinned on her left breast that morning - over the organ of her conscience.

“I’m ready to leave here,” she had said the day before. “I miss everything …”

A pregnant pause echoed over the phone as she was expected to continue her thought. She didn’t.

“Do you mean you miss your country?” she furrowed her eyebrows at the unfamiliar plaintive note in the voice. “Or more specifically your home?”

"My country and my home." She said the words too fast. Almost as if they escaped before she could stop them.

And you, my love. That was what she was expected to say. But she could not force the words over her knotted tongue.

She became aware of a painful throbbing in her hands, as blood flowed openly from the bandaged wounds on her wrists. She looked down helplessly at her shirt, stained by the red liquid.

“You’re bleeding!” exclaimed the flight attendant as she started dabbing at the woman’s shirt with paper towels. “Let’s get you nearer to the first aid kit” She undid the woman’s seatbelt and accompanied her sympathetically towards the back of the plane.

“I’m ready to go back, “the woman nodded determinedly an hour later, as she wiped her teary face and pulled her mouth into something that she hoped would resemble a smile.

“I’m going home.” she said as she walked down the isle towards her empty seat. Intensely aware of the other passenger’s inquisitive eyes. she felt deeply self-conscious over such an extraordinary public scene.

And you, my love. She muttered to calm herself. And you, my love.

Only once she was seated, and the plane had started its decent, did she realise that the golden beetle was no longer pinned to her chest. Her heart beat without protection – as defenceless as her mouth.

 

[Guest]

4

It wasn't on any maps, not any more. Silver had been discovered in 1898, the town sprang forth from the desert in a matter of a few short weeks. By 1901 the silver vein had petered out, and the town died as the residents moved on to the next big strike.

Not much was left. Some rusted machinery lay strewn about where the entrance of the mine had stood. The remnants of a few foundations were visible among the creosote bush and sagebrush. In its heyday, most of the buildings would have been little more than tents, or at best, hastily constructed ramshackle buildings. A few hundred yards of rusted track once carried the ore from the mine to the mill.

It had once boasted two newspapers, and a French restaurant that served fresh oysters shipped in from San Francisco. Six saloons and four brothels ran twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week As many as seven thousand people may have called this place home at one time. Sparkling like diamonds, pieces of broken glass shone from the ground in places where presumably the saloons once stood.

There was no sound, no man made sound out here. Just the sounds of the wind and the rustling of the brush. He looked from the side of the hill where the now closed entrance of the mine stood, down to where the town had sat and tried to imagine this place in its brief period of glory. In his mind, he could hear the ghostly echoes of the past. The sounds of the mine, the roar, and din of the mill. Men’s voices shouting back and forth as they toiled, the sound of steel on rock, the muffled booms as explosive charges were set off underground. The songs from the pianos wafted out from the saloons, and the gay laughter of the girls as they plied their trade with the miners.

A small cemetery, long over grown with weeds contained seven lonely headstones. The names were nearly impossible to make out, the constant wind and occasional rain had almost worn the names on the grave markers completely away. He knelt by the first one, and used water from his canteen to make the engraving more visible. It was the name he had been hoping to find.

Denialle McClintock, Born November 13 1897 Died March 2 1900.

He stared at the name until the wind evaporated the water away. A sense of sadness overcame him as he thought of a young life ending too soon. He wondered if her parents had a sense of regret when they left and had to leave their daughter behind.

The man who had discovered the silver, Angus Mclintock, had named the town. He had named the town after his infant daughter, but the telegraph line had gone dead. The last two letters of the message had been lost to eternity.

He knew he was in the place he had been searching for, he was in Denial.

 

[Guest]

5

Terry met her with beautiful flowers
right under the town-churches towers
then fell to his knee
"Will you marry me?
I beg you, by all my love's powers!“

But the girl of his heart was just spoiled
so his entire plannings were foiled
she had high reaching dreams
going up to extremes
so in vain his knee he had soiled.

“Good lord, I just have to deny
your proposal, and not cause I'm shy
You should try to get rich
then my opinion will switch
next time gold would be something to try!“

So she laughed and did send him away
along with the bridal bouquet
a nice but poor man
was just not her can
it was money that caused her to stay

Like a princess of egypt of old
she wanted to live, that she told
on the banks of the nile
being rich she would smile
but for much less her cherry was sold

For on a street in Delaware's Dover,
lay a gold ring, for which she bend over.
When her skirt went high,
exposing her thigh,
she was seen by an old and fat rover.

When that tramp went over the street,
he saw her, bend over, so sweet.
Her skirt in the air,
so he thought it was fair,
to give her a taste of his meat.

So he lifted her expensive skirt
to give her a nice little squirt
in the midst of the town
her panties came down
and fell right into street's mud and dirt

The spoiled girl just could not move
while she felt her garments remove
she was totally shocked
her thinking just blocked
and her situation was not to improve

His meat was so juicy and big
and already hard like a stick
inserting his cock
Gave her the next shock
While he grunted the same as a pig

He fucked her in midst of the crowd,
and was thereby noisy and loud.
Her cherry popped
but he never stopped
until she was thoroughly plowed.

Later on she awoke from her trance
and looked at the ring found by chance
there were signs on the ring
and she read on the thing
„I'm just plastic and was made in France“

So that was how she lost her cherry
they all knew it and she couldn't marry
her dreams of the nile
had made her just vile
so she hadn't earned herself sweet Terry.

So take care when you plan to deny
a poor but loveable guy
and think of it, honey,
there's more then just money
that tempts the wandering eye!

 

[Guest]

6

Betsy looked at her watch for the third time in as many minutes. She hoped the therapist would get here soon. Jim didn’t like it when dinner was late. Jim didn’t like it when she deviated from the schedule he gave her each day. When she was a young bride, she didn’t understand this and things had been a bit rough. But now, she knew Jim’s way was the way things should be. He was a loving husband and a good father. He was well within his rights to expect things to be done his way. She pulled the sweater back over her watch, hiding the yellowing bruises ringing her wrist.

Her son Zack slouched on the edge of the chair, his feet clad in chained and studded motorcycle boots on the glass-topped table. He clicked the switchblade open and closed, occasionally flicking it into the floor at her feet. The knife came very close to her toes once, but she was sure that was just an accident. She tucked her feet closer to the chair. Zack just grinned at her. He was such a good boy. She was sure he hadn’t meant to break that kindergartener’s arm . He was just high spirited. And that girl… Well, she’d been asking for it, just like he said. It was those other boys who stole that car and beat up that old man. Her baby would never do such things. The police just picked on him. It was probably all those swastika tattoos and that website. They didn’t understand that he was just expressing himself.

Janie, her daughter, had worried her last year, all that Goth makeup and practically no friends. But she guessed that was to be expected with thirteen year olds. This year she’d turned her life around. She was dressing much more appropriate for her age. She looked so young and wholesome, practically virginal in her pleated plaid skirt and knee socks. Janie was making many new friends at her job. Why, boys were calling her night and day. Of course, Betsy didn’t have to worry about paying for those phone calls because Janie had her own cell phone and pager. Betsy wasn’t sure where she worked, but it certainly paid well. It kept her busy, too. Why, last night she didn’t get home until almost three o’clock in the morning. If it wasn’t for her new friend, that nice young man with the expensive car, giving her rides, she might be worried about her staying out so late. City traffic could be so dangerous.


Betsy looked up at the sound of the therapist’s arrival. One glance at her watch and she relaxed. Jim would never know.

“Good morning! What seems to be the problem here?” The therapist took her seat behind the desk.

“It’s our dog,” Betsy said, gesturing to the small brown dog sitting in the corner. “He won’t stop barking.”

 

[Guest]

7

I’ve suspected the truth about her for a long time. There were hints along the way, small things that I noticed. She frequently asks me to help her finish a project after hours; she makes little remarks about my lack of a social life; she compliments the cut of my trousers or the stretch of my shirt across my chest or the after shave I’ve put on in the morning.

Why have I not put two and two together, to get four? It’s easier, I guess, to stick to the status quo. I have a job I like, that pays well, and has good benefits. Opportunity for advancement, well, that’s another story. The opportunity’s there, and for the taking, I just have to offer myself as a whipping boy to get it. I never should have mentioned seeing her photo on the dominatrix webpage I visit. Never.

There’s a reason for holding back, there has to be. It’s a damn good one, too. I know myself. Once I cross that line, that invisible boundary, there will be no turning back. I haven’t wanted to admit it. Let’s face it, how many men do you know want their ass whipped with a flogger? How many men of your acquaintance want to crawl to their boss and beg for mercy on their knees?

Who am I kidding? I know, for a fact, at the next opportunity, the next all-nighter , the next late evening, there will be a point where she’ll ask me something, tell me something and my reply will be, “Yes, Mistress.” It’s calculated; I’ve planned my response. No denying it now, I want to be her submissive.

 

[Guest]

8

She told me the story of how she lost her husband: We were both at the kitchen sink doing the dishes. He suddenly fell over backwards, like a tree falling, and that was it. He was dead.

After so many years it was just a story. It didn't evoke any pain that I could see. No misty eyes, no gazing into the distance. Just something that happened.

I couldn't help but feel that she was lucky. That he was lucky. Here one minute, gone the next. Left to mourn as you should. Angry and pleading and all that, not because they'd gone but because you've been abandoned. That's what it comes down to. Mourning isn't about who's gone, it's about who's left behind. It's about adjusting yourself to a new life.

When the telephone handset is in the fridge or her purse is in the oven, it's just forgetfulness. She laughs about it herself. Just old age creeping up. When you get past forty it's always just old age creeping up.
Three pairs of knickers at once and two pairs of socks is just keeping warm. Old age creeping up. The second bra on top of the first is just forgetting what you're doing. Just old age creeping up.
Getting out of bed three times in one night is just too much to drink earlier. Bladder problems can be a sign of old age creeping up.
Everybody forgets the word they want. Sometimes we can't work our tongues fast enough to say what we mean. That's not even old age creeping up.
Hopping from one subject to another is the sign of an agile mind. Doing it in the middle of a sentence is quicker thinking than even I'm capable of.

I'm reasonably certain that she thought the water wasn't as hot as it was. And she does like her cauliflower crunchy.

And of course she's bound to make a mess at that time of morning, vacuuming and glossing the paintwork and ironing. All the little jobs that she didn't have time for during the day.

As you get older you don't need as much sleep do you? And the new little game where she pretends she doesn't know me is just a game. Isn't it?

 

[Guest]

9

The evening air is warm and comforting, quite a contradiction to the stuffiness of the party going on inside. I take another drag from my cigarette and lean against the cool wall. The sky is clear and full of bright stars. It would be a beautiful evening for a romantic walk.

I’ve never thought much of business parties, but watching you work a room has been enlightening. People respond to you. Then again, why shouldn’t they? You have it all: beauty, charm, playful personality, intelligence, and so much more.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath as images from earlier come rushing back to me. I can still see the passion in your eyes as our bodies moved together as one. My lips quiver longing to once again return to your neck, down your body, and into paradise. My fingertips tingle as if they were still gliding over your smooth skin, slowly caressing as they memorize every inch. I can hear your moans of pleasure still echoing through my head.

The sliding glass door opens interrupting my thoughts. I watch your date’s arm tighten around your waist while he shows you off to his co-workers. Your eyes briefly gaze across the room and meet mine as I walk back inside. A soft smile crosses your lips, but you look away before someone notices. I should probably be mad, but I know you’re not ready to accept who you are yet.

The crowd begins to thin out and it’s time to leave. Your date escorts you toward the door hand-in-hand. If he only knew those same fingers were entwined with mine only hours ago.

You pause to say goodnight while your date continues on to retrieve your jacket. Our eyes lock, my heart skips a beat, and my breath catches in my throat. I can see the fear in your eyes. You don’t want people to know you’ve fallen in love with a woman, so your actions are calculated and guarded. I won’t make this harder for you, so just say, “good night” and add a quick wink.

One day, you’ll be ready to face your demons and be true to yourself. After all, Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt. It’s a self-made prison, only you possess the key. Just open up the door, come out, and set yourself free.

 

[Guest]

10

We had been chatting for a while, getting to know each other, our likes, dislikes. One of the things she discovered about me, was that I wanted to test my boundaries, push myself as it were. Towards the end of our morning chat, just before I had to leave for work, she told me I would be receiving an email within the next couple of days. It would contain very specific instructions that I was to follow to the letter. She then wished me a good day and logged out of chat.

Oh great, I thought. Now what have I gotten myself into, yeah I know I said this is what I wanted. Sigh, I am so not ready for this. Fuck. I hope I don't have to wait to long, patience is definitely not
my middle name.

It was going to be a long day, maybe two. Work was exceptionally slow which wasn't going to help
things. That would just give me more time to wonder and worry about what she wanted me to do.
I hated slow days at work, they gave me too much time to think, besides I never was one for just standing around chatting.

The message was waiting for me when I got home the next night. One word was in the subject line,
BOUNDARIES. It had finally arrived, the email I had been both anticipating and dreading. My heart raced, part of me wanted to just right click delete, without even reading. No, I couldn't do that, well not without feeling like I let her down. Yes I could tell her I had read it, even complied. She would have taken my word. That is one thing I could not do. If nothing else our relationship was built on honesty and trust. That was something I would not betray.

I wonder how long i can put off opening this. Might as well get it over with, the longer I wait the more anxious. It has already been two days of nail biting. Hell I don't have any left to bite.

*CLICK*

It begins with her usual greeting, “hey babe”, that is the only thing usual about the email. My first reaction as I am reading is, she is nuts. There is no frickin way I can do this. Damn, she is going to be disappointed when I tell her. Maybe she will understand, I hope.

I guess I should reply.

Hi beautiful

As you can see I got your email. I am sorry, I can't. I hope you understand. Maybe one day I will be able, not yet, I am not ready.

*CLICK SEND*

 

[Guest]

11

I could try to claim it wasn’t real.
Swear an oath to a pantheon of gods
That it was just a fantasy, pure make believe.
But denying it doesn’t make it any less true.

I could hold myself in check.
Rein in the field of wild horses that are my urges
That snort and bray and buck to be let free.
But denying them doesn’t make them go away.

I could run away, so far far away.
Avoiding the temptations and the enticements
That call to me like a siren’s song to the rocks.
But avoiding them doesn’t make them less compelling.

I could curse the weakness that I am.
Flagellating my back to exorcise the lusts
That burn inside me, boiling my very blood.
But driving them out doesn’t make them stay away.

I could try, I could do my very best.
Erasing the images and words I’ve woven in my head
That have been seared into my soul and heart.
But blotting them out cannot make them illegible.

So truth, painful aching glorious wonderful truth
Is Beauty, and Beauty is in the heart of the Holder.

 

[Guest]

12

“You want me.”

“I don’t. You know I don’t lean that way.”

One soft hand reached out to gently cup a full breast, giving it a little squeeze for effect. The owner of the breast moaned softly, making her words a lie.

“You need me.”

“I don’t, I get everything I need from Eric.”

“You don’t!” Amanda whispered as she pulled Emily close and kissed her passionately.

Emily struggled against Amanda and her own desires. Then, with a sound that was part resignation, part relief she let loose her inhibitions. Finally, her hands touched the soft skin that haunted her dreams and waking thoughts.

“Yes!” Amanda cried against her mouth. “Touch me Baby, let me feel your hands on me.”

With small sounds and quick fingers they shed their clothes. Silk and lace fell unheeded to the floor to lay in colorful piles around their feet. As each garment was shed, heated kisses covered the newly revealed skin, teeth nipped and bit, stimulating nipples and teasing the most tender of female flesh.

A crash signaled the clearing of the black granite desk at the center of the room. Amanda, pushed Emily back, delighting in the contrast between pale skin touched by a hint of pink and the dark stone surface.

Emily lay on her back, lids half closed, desire making her blue eyes a smoldering grey. She felt wanton, freer than ever before, and yet uncertain. With Eric she knew what was expected, spread her legs and accept his thrusting presence between them. As she looked to Amanda, Emily knew this was something more.

Amanda placed her hands on Emilys knees and slowly pushed apart her legs. She sighed. “Beautiful, just as I imagined you would be…” a rose tipped finger traced the glistening slit at the juncture of Emilys thighs and transferred the moisture to Amandas mouth. “mmmm…and so sweet.” She licked her lips in anticipation, loving the way the motion brought a shiver to Emily.

“What do I do?” A throaty whisper asked in the silence.

“Enjoy.” Amanda replied and climbed atop the desk to press herself full length against Emily, their nude bodies fitting together as if formed only for that purpose. They kissed, tongues mingling and sharing the flavor of desire before Amanda moved lower to pause at the dark pink rose of Emilys sex.

“Next time, we’ll go slower,” she promised then pressed her lips home, and thrust her tongue into the hot channel she’d waited so long to claim.

A scream tore from Emily at the invasion; her body tensed as a new kind of desire went through her like a bolt of lightening. Amanda would have cried out as well, had her mouth not been planted firmly against the hot wet lips of Emilys pussy. With tongue and fingers Amanda drove Emily closer and closer to the peak of desire until finally she felt the clenching shudders of her lovers orgasm begin.

Moments later Emily felt the first giggle begin to escape.

“Whats so funny?”

“The thought of Erics reaction when I tell him that he no longer satisfies.”

“He won’t believe you, they never do.”

“True. But, you know what they say “denial is not just a river in Egypt.”

 

[Guest]

13

There were times when necrophilia seemed an option. Not many I admit, but my duties, such as they were, were confined to preparing the deceased for transition from this world to the next… and my role rendered me a social outcast, tainted by the cloak of death. I didn’t start out as Portal Keeper.

My parent, a third tier administrator, respectable, sufficiently affluent to afford sole occupancy of a habitat room in a complex some thirty minutes shuttle ride from New Cairo, scrimped and saved for my education. Eighteen ten minute sessions that impressed everything I would need to manipulate if I were to achieve the fourth tier level, and with that, access to the lottery to acquire the tenancy of a two roomed shared apartment in New Cairo City. The apartment was a question of mathematical probability, so many candidates, so many apartments… so many deaths. The lottery balanced the equation; luck took care of the rest. A rival sibling would have starved its self to have my opportunity, it wouldn’t have screwed up, it wouldn’t have betrayed its parent.

I was declassified following the encounter. Demoted, expunged from administration records, reduced to the ‘meat trade’, a body handler cleaning, preparing bodies for portal transmission. We always shipped them naked; clothing could be recycled. We received a few credits per thousand kilos for the clothing, just sufficient, by mathematical probability, to ward off starvation

Some vestige of my expensive education remained, sufficient for me to organise the workforce, to establish order and a fair system of distributing payment. I became Portal Keeper; not an official title, just honour between renegades. No longer did I have to touch the dead, just inspect them prior to shipment. In nakedness, and in death, little distinguished individuals; they were all of an age… a few beats each side of norm. Death was a mathematical probability, a bell curve of certainty.

Occasionally a young body passed through our hands, it was a source of wonder, we’d gather and pass comment, wonder what had transpired to cause termination and on those rare occasions I remembered the Nubian.

I’d been sent to the settlement on administration business, it lay not far from New Victoria. From the settlement, I could smell the falls; I could hear the thunderous roar of the Nile, primitive, exotic, intoxicating. The Nubian assigned to assist me un-nerved me by her presence. Her skin had a lustrous sheen, her perfume stimulated me, and her voice scraped the lining of my stomach until I came adrift. I was an easy mark though she the grace to pretended otherwise. I can’t deny that she overwhelmed me no more than I can deny the instinct of penetration. She took me by the falls, the birthplace of the Nile, and as the pale stain seeped from ebony lips of the sex I’d breached, she laughed and told me ‘the Nile was not the only river in Egypt’.

 

[drksideofthemoon]

My Mostly Incorrect Guesses

1.chilledvodkaiv
2. scheherazade_79
3. CarolinaHeat
4. drksideofthemoon
5. Lady_Kit
6. Glynndah
7. feerieek
8. CrimsonMaiden
9. buxxxom
10. neonlyte
11. SalvorHardon
12. Nirvanadragones
13. Tarakin

Wildcard =Abstruse

 

[Nirvanadragones]

1. Glynndah
2. Zade
3. Vana
4. CV 4
5. Buxxom
6. Crim
7. Tarakin
8. Dark
9. Caro
10. Feee
11. Sal
12. Lady Kit
13. Neon

 

[glynndah]

These are just wild guesses I’ve pulled from the ether. I have no idea who wrote most of these. Unless, of course, I serendipitously happen to get one or more of them right by some miracle. Then it’s another sterling example of my finely tuned insight into the human psyche. (If I were you, I’d place big money on the former, rather than the latter.)

1. chilledvodkaiv
2. CarolinaHeat
3. neonlyte
4. drksideofthemoon
5. nirvanadragones
6. glynndah
7.ABSTRUSE
8. Lady_Kit
9. scheherazade_79
10. buxxxom
11. Feeeriek
12. Salvor-Hardon
13. Tarakin
Wild card: CrimsonMaiden

 

[Guest]

love the entries everyone. thanks for doing this jessi.

1. tarakin
2. zade
3. vana
4. drksideofthemoon
5. neon
6. glynndah
7. sal
8. crim
9. abs
10. feee
11. lady_kit
12. chilledvodkaiv
13. buxxxom

 

[feeeriek]

1.the good little witch
2.zade
3.vana
4.drksideofthemoon
5.neonlyte
6.buxxxom
7.the infamous thumb man
8.chilledvodkaiv
9.caro
10.feee
11.tarakin
12.crim
13.lady kit

wild card absy

 

[Tarakin]

1. Feeeriek
2. Carolina Heat
3. Scheherazade_79
4. drksideofthemoon
5. buxxxom
6. Abstruse
7. Lady Kit
8. Crimson Maiden
9. Glynndah
10. Neonlyte
11. Salvor Hardon
12. Nirvanadragones
13. chilledvodkaiv

 

[Salvor-Hardon]

1. Tarakin
2. chilledvodkaiv
3. Scheherazade_79
4. Crimson Maiden
5. Lady Kit
6. Glynndah
7. Feeeriek
8. Abstruse
9. buxxxom
10. Carolina Heat
11. Salvor Hardon
12. Nirvanadragones
13. drksideofthemoon

Wildcard Neonlyte

 

[feeeriek]

bump

 

[Guest]

bump

 

[Stella_Omega]

I am not going to pretend to guess writers because I've done so little reading in these past months.

But-- I do want to congratulate all of the writers who entered. Some of these stories have taken my breath away

 

[neonlyte]

Ooww - I've read them all... twice. Haven't got a clue. I shall vote tomorrow before noon.