jinnysub
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Nov 15, 2001
- Posts
- 652
It's been a long time since I last visited these boards. Longer than by alterego in the story has been alone. Is there a femalewho would like to join me in this thread? There may be room later for other men, other women, but I'd like to try to get back to writing here by just working with one woman for a while.
Please PM me if you're interested.
Morning. Gray, hint of snow. The tip of a tip of a branch scraped and tapped her window in the light wind.
Throwing back the covers, she lay back and thought of the past summer and the fall, now almost past. She thought of opportunities she had declined, possible partners she had put off until they no longer came by or called.
She looked over at the the top of her dresser and the sight of Bee, her toy, depressed her even more deeply. She no longer even knew whether the batteries were viable or were, like her life, worn out and stale.
The novels on her bookshelf lay dusty and unappealing. Unopened since ... May? June?
Her fingers wandered to her breasts, circling her nipples, pinching but feeling no connections to her brain, to her inner self. No warmth, no hint of warmth.
Almost clinically, her fingers strayed to either side of the exclamation point she left when she shaved. A fleeting thought crossed her mind -- "Why did I bother?" -- as she found no response within her, no desire, not even desire for desire.
With a sigh, she arose, stepped to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She set it as hot as she could stand, stepped in, and realized that she wasn't even reacting this morning to normal bodily needs and functions. With no more thought, she peed there, in the shower, something she hadn't done in ... again? how long?
The hot needles of water did no more than provide physical warmth as she shampooed, conditioned, washed, rinsed the conditioner out of her hair, turned off the shower and dried herself.
Going to her dresser, she looked at herself in the mirror and wondered if she would remember how to smile. Still looking at her image, her right hand went to her lingerie draw and drew out the first pair of panties it encountered.
For the first time that day, a hint of amusement flashed on her face. Gabe, so long ago, had gotten her that pair of split crotch panties more as a joke than anything else. A dare she made him one evening in the mall, to enter the lingerie store, engage a clerk, and ask to be shown a pair of panties that were no impediment -- she insisted that he use that word when he talked to the clerk.
She began to put them aside but chose instead to slip them on. She turned to her closet and found her kneelength "safari" skirt -- plain khaki -- and the burgundy blouse with the epaulettes. Half slip, blouse, skirt. She was dressed, as dressed as she would be for the day.
The blouse was rough against her nipples, and sensations that were earlier absent were fleeting, on and off, as she moved and the fabric encountered her bare skin.
Determined now, she grabbed her keys, purse, and jacket and went out to her car, gasping at the sensations of the cold breeze as it swirled up her skirt. When had she last even worn a skirt? She wasn't sure, but she was sure that the wind was not as cold -- nor as direct.
She drove to her favorite little coffee bar and sat in the corner, sipping her black Sumatra Mandhelig and wondering what the day would bring.
A woman walked in, strode purposefully to the counter and, too, ordered Sumatra, 20 ounce, paid her money and turned to survey the occupants of the room. Her eye caught Jinny's, swept past, and returned.
Her smile was warm, natural. It fit her as well as did the worn jeans and the soft loden sweater she wore with no coat, only a scarf thrown casually over her shoulder.
Please PM me if you're interested.
Morning. Gray, hint of snow. The tip of a tip of a branch scraped and tapped her window in the light wind.
Throwing back the covers, she lay back and thought of the past summer and the fall, now almost past. She thought of opportunities she had declined, possible partners she had put off until they no longer came by or called.
She looked over at the the top of her dresser and the sight of Bee, her toy, depressed her even more deeply. She no longer even knew whether the batteries were viable or were, like her life, worn out and stale.
The novels on her bookshelf lay dusty and unappealing. Unopened since ... May? June?
Her fingers wandered to her breasts, circling her nipples, pinching but feeling no connections to her brain, to her inner self. No warmth, no hint of warmth.
Almost clinically, her fingers strayed to either side of the exclamation point she left when she shaved. A fleeting thought crossed her mind -- "Why did I bother?" -- as she found no response within her, no desire, not even desire for desire.
With a sigh, she arose, stepped to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She set it as hot as she could stand, stepped in, and realized that she wasn't even reacting this morning to normal bodily needs and functions. With no more thought, she peed there, in the shower, something she hadn't done in ... again? how long?
The hot needles of water did no more than provide physical warmth as she shampooed, conditioned, washed, rinsed the conditioner out of her hair, turned off the shower and dried herself.
Going to her dresser, she looked at herself in the mirror and wondered if she would remember how to smile. Still looking at her image, her right hand went to her lingerie draw and drew out the first pair of panties it encountered.
For the first time that day, a hint of amusement flashed on her face. Gabe, so long ago, had gotten her that pair of split crotch panties more as a joke than anything else. A dare she made him one evening in the mall, to enter the lingerie store, engage a clerk, and ask to be shown a pair of panties that were no impediment -- she insisted that he use that word when he talked to the clerk.
She began to put them aside but chose instead to slip them on. She turned to her closet and found her kneelength "safari" skirt -- plain khaki -- and the burgundy blouse with the epaulettes. Half slip, blouse, skirt. She was dressed, as dressed as she would be for the day.
The blouse was rough against her nipples, and sensations that were earlier absent were fleeting, on and off, as she moved and the fabric encountered her bare skin.
Determined now, she grabbed her keys, purse, and jacket and went out to her car, gasping at the sensations of the cold breeze as it swirled up her skirt. When had she last even worn a skirt? She wasn't sure, but she was sure that the wind was not as cold -- nor as direct.
She drove to her favorite little coffee bar and sat in the corner, sipping her black Sumatra Mandhelig and wondering what the day would bring.
A woman walked in, strode purposefully to the counter and, too, ordered Sumatra, 20 ounce, paid her money and turned to survey the occupants of the room. Her eye caught Jinny's, swept past, and returned.
Her smile was warm, natural. It fit her as well as did the worn jeans and the soft loden sweater she wore with no coat, only a scarf thrown casually over her shoulder.