Drunk and depressed
- Thread starter TheEarl
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He recently had his 20th birthday, Mack. He's a lad, trust me. P.McKenna said:
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Jeezus, he corrupted ME ages ago. P.McKenna said:Can we corrupt Gauche when we're done here?
Description:
He's done it again, and he doesn't even know it. It was the way he looked out on the playing field all sweaty, playing rough and tumble. I wanted to welcome him off the field like a returning warrior, rip his clothes off take him then and there -or let him take me. But I didn't, because he isn't mine, and I'm not his.
But I do have the option of fantasy, which I indulge in. I let my hand skim over my breast in a touch that is almost accidental. My nipples tighten, my heart flutters, and a tingling begins between my legs. I lay with my back against the headboard as I let my hand carress over my breasts again, this time stopping to gently pinch and tease the nipple. My toes curl automatically at the pleasurable sensation as my thighs begin to quiver.
In my mind, you are touching me, your hand large and calloused as you touch my skin, skin softer than anything else you've touched. My body responds and I lean into you, placing the weight of one breast into the palm of your hand as I raise my face to yours, my lips in search of your lips.
I slide my hand down over my abdomen; I am aching, I want to touch, but I know if I prolong the moment the ecstacy will be that much sweeter. I wait, I dream of your lips against mine, your hand traveling over my body in an awakening caress. I moan softly, beseechingly; the dampness between my legs coats my thighs, and still I refrain from touching.
....(part two to follow, later on. )
He's done it again, and he doesn't even know it. It was the way he looked out on the playing field all sweaty, playing rough and tumble. I wanted to welcome him off the field like a returning warrior, rip his clothes off take him then and there -or let him take me. But I didn't, because he isn't mine, and I'm not his.
But I do have the option of fantasy, which I indulge in. I let my hand skim over my breast in a touch that is almost accidental. My nipples tighten, my heart flutters, and a tingling begins between my legs. I lay with my back against the headboard as I let my hand carress over my breasts again, this time stopping to gently pinch and tease the nipple. My toes curl automatically at the pleasurable sensation as my thighs begin to quiver.
In my mind, you are touching me, your hand large and calloused as you touch my skin, skin softer than anything else you've touched. My body responds and I lean into you, placing the weight of one breast into the palm of your hand as I raise my face to yours, my lips in search of your lips.
I slide my hand down over my abdomen; I am aching, I want to touch, but I know if I prolong the moment the ecstacy will be that much sweeter. I wait, I dream of your lips against mine, your hand traveling over my body in an awakening caress. I moan softly, beseechingly; the dampness between my legs coats my thighs, and still I refrain from touching.
....(part two to follow, later on.
)
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TheEarl said:
It's easy to be "over-adviced", isn't it? Good intentions - we really just want to help.
(Actually, Mac's doing a pretty good job of bringing a smile to my face this evening!)
Huckleman2000
It was something I ate.
- Joined
- Aug 3, 2004
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oggbashan said:
Reminds me of the Porter's speech in Macbeth. A role I played in my early twenties, but I looked older. I was already well on my way to baldness. Or is it baldity? No matter. Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, son. That's from Animal House; and if you're depressed, Animal House is a lot better to watch than Macbeth. I don't know how it is in Britain, though.
Vodka is pretty rough. I much prefer Gin, slightly below the freezing point of water, with an olive (evening) or a twist (for morning). As a mentor once told me, there's nothing quite like the way a lemon rind, twisted in the morning sun, sprays across the rim of a glass. Unfortunately, gin knocks me cold before I realize what hit me. If only I was happy with just one martini. Okay, maybe two...
As for depression, people tell me that quitting drinking would help. Maybe so, but what could I do to get fucked-up? Sorry, Effexor doesn't get me buzzed - I want something that's going to zone me out in the evening, let me fall asleep without tossing and turning, and let me have fantastical dreams. And doesn't punish me in the morning, or kill me over time.
The sad fact is, sometimes the world DOES suck. That's the reality. Lucky people can ignore it, or distract themselves, or talk to a friend, and the reality goes away. Me? I need mind-altering chemicals.
BigAndTall
goodbye
- Joined
- Mar 31, 2003
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- 3,352
Re: Description:
er....or is that more to come?
McKenna said:
....(part two to follow, later on.
er....or is that more to come?
Part Two, for The Earl:
In my mind it is you who plays my body like a harp, eliciting moans and sighs of appreciation with your expertise. I am writhing now, begging for your touch to complete me as I know it will.
My hand dips between my outspread thighs and I close my eyes in bliss. One finger slips inside my dripping passage in parody of the action your body would take filling me. The left hand comes up to rub just above my clitoris, hard, quick circles as the fingers of the right one slide in and out.
It is you, my lover, who takes me, even if it is my hands who complete the action. Your thrusts are slowly getting harder as you work us to a frenzy. I buck my hips against yours, holding on to your waist as you push within me deeply, so deep I gasp, and bite your shoulder as sensastions more powerful than I know how to deal with wrack my body.
You are the warrior, your battlefield this bed. You wield your weapon forcefully but with control. I feel your lips against my neck, now on the tops of my breasts, and finally latching on to a nipple and suckling. It is the the impetus I need to push me over the edge, I buck against you, freeze, then let the sensation wash over me as you continue pounding into me.
I'm floating on a sea of bliss, a victory you have brought me. I encourage you to join me with soft words and pliant hands. With one last thrust I feel your seed empty into me, filling me to capacity and over. You collapse against me. I kiss your neck, I soothe your brow; you are my warrior, and you are victorious.
In my mind it is you who plays my body like a harp, eliciting moans and sighs of appreciation with your expertise. I am writhing now, begging for your touch to complete me as I know it will.
My hand dips between my outspread thighs and I close my eyes in bliss. One finger slips inside my dripping passage in parody of the action your body would take filling me. The left hand comes up to rub just above my clitoris, hard, quick circles as the fingers of the right one slide in and out.
It is you, my lover, who takes me, even if it is my hands who complete the action. Your thrusts are slowly getting harder as you work us to a frenzy. I buck my hips against yours, holding on to your waist as you push within me deeply, so deep I gasp, and bite your shoulder as sensastions more powerful than I know how to deal with wrack my body.
You are the warrior, your battlefield this bed. You wield your weapon forcefully but with control. I feel your lips against my neck, now on the tops of my breasts, and finally latching on to a nipple and suckling. It is the the impetus I need to push me over the edge, I buck against you, freeze, then let the sensation wash over me as you continue pounding into me.
I'm floating on a sea of bliss, a victory you have brought me. I encourage you to join me with soft words and pliant hands. With one last thrust I feel your seed empty into me, filling me to capacity and over. You collapse against me. I kiss your neck, I soothe your brow; you are my warrior, and you are victorious.
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