Hey CV

[bg23]

I dare you to try and get your name listed as "last user posted" on every thread on the front page.

 

[Guest]

He strokes the shaft of his dick and she watches, biting her lip.

'Like this?' he asks.

'However you want. Just make yourself come.'

'It would be easier if you helped me, darling.'

'I'm sure it would.'

 

[bg23]

Eh, I forgot to check back. Did you make it?

 

[carsonshepherd]

Eh, I forgot to check back. Did you make it?

He finished too soon. As usual.

 

[bg23]

He finished too soon. As usual.

The boy needs to get more stamina.

 

[Guest]

Observe how Eros works his magic spells,
And how all love-sick mortals he compels.
He quickens their desire and gives it might,
And teaches them to wrestle in the night.
He cheapens gold, to blemish he gives charm.
And to the weakling lends a warrior's arm;
He makes the coward dare, the sluggard race,
The awkward he endows with every grace.
Love made Rotocritos to hold his ground
And to defy the ten who gathered round.

 

[carsonshepherd]

That doesn't suck.

You wish you wrote it.

 

[bg23]

Give me alcohol -
I can't sleep -
Pounding head -
Too much coffee -
Just knock me out.

*shrug* I never said I was deep.

 

[Virtual_Burlesque]

Beneath Nuit



Hot Stuff & ChilledVodka

Wouldn't that get us Freeze-Dried Vodka

 

[Guest]

BETRAYAL
Anonymous Folk Song (Early 19th century)
Translated by Philip Sherpard


Night it was, dear, when we kissed:
Who could have seen us?
It was the night and dawn that saw,
It was the moon and stars.
A star leant down and told the sea,
The sea, it told the oar,
The oar spoke to the sailor, and
The sailor went and sang it
At the window of his love.

THE KISS by Nikiphoros Lytras.
1875.
Oil on canvas.
National Gallery, Alexandros Soutzos Museum, Athens.
Collection Euripides Koutlidis

 

[carsonshepherd]

Oh.

19th century poetry makes me so hot.

 

[Guest]

Re: Oh.

19th century poetry makes me so hot.

Shurrup, I think it was lovely.

 

[carsonshepherd]

Re: Re: Oh.

Shurrup, I think it was lovely.

You must think I was kidding.

 

[Guest]

I just like to post to CV threads so he doesn't forget me.

Perdita

 

[Guest]

Re: Re: Re: Oh.

You must think I was kidding.

Ah, yes, I read it as sarcasm.

Apologies.

 

[carsonshepherd]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Oh.

Ah, yes, I read it as sarcasm.

Apologies.

Sarcasm? Me?

What would give you such an idea.

Not this time though.

 

[neonlyte]

I just like to post to CV threads so he doesn't forget me.

Perdita

Have you read his latest, very bleak, very CV. Unfotunately there is no way we can tell him what we think, he's disabled all communication.

 

[Guest]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Oh.

Sarcasm? Me?

What would give you such an idea.

Not this time though.

 

[OhMissScarlett]

Have you read his latest, very bleak, very CV. Unfotunately there is no way we can tell him what we think, he's disabled all communication.

I sent him a smoke signal and he answered back from a tin can on a string.

 

[Virtual_Burlesque]

Re: Oh.

19th century poetry makes me so hot.

CURFEW MUST NOT RING TONIGHT
by Rose Hartwick Thorpe (1850-1939)


Slowly England's sun was setting oe'r the hilltops far away,
Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day;
And its last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,--
He with steps so slow and weary; she with sunny, floating hair;
He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful, she, with lips all cold and white,
Struggling to keep back the murmur, "Curfew must not ring to-night!"

"Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old,
With its walls tall and gloomy, moss-grown walls dark, damp and cold,--
"I've a lover in the prison, doomed this very night to die
At the ringing of the curfew, and no earthly help is nigh.
Cromwell will not come till sunset;" and her lips grew strangely white,
As she spoke in husky whispers, "Curfew must not ring to-night!"

"Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton (every word pierced her young heart
Like a gleaming death-winged arrow, like a deadly poisoned dart),
"Long, long years I've rung the curfew from that gloomy, shadowed tower;
Every evening, just at sunset, it has tolled the twilight hour.
I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right:
Now I'm old, I will not miss it. Curfew bell must ring to-night!"

Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow,
As within her secret bosom, Bessie made a solemn vow.
She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh,
"At the ringing of the curfew, Basil Underwood must "die.
And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright;
One low murmur, faintly spoken. "Curfew must not ring to-night!"

She with quick step bounded forward, sprang within the old church-door,
Left the old man coming slowly, paths he'd trod so oft before.
Not one moment paused the maiden, But with eye and cheek aglow,
Staggered up the gloomy tower, Where the bell swung to and fro;
As she climbed the slimy ladder, On which fell no ray of light,
Upward still, her pale lips saying, "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"

She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her hangs the great dark bell;
Awful is the gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell.
See! the ponderous tongue is swinging; 'tis the hour of curfew now,
And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath, and paled her brow.
Shall she let it ring? No, never! Her eyes flash with sudden light,
As she springs, and grasps it firmly: "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"

Out she swung,-- far out. The city Seemed a speck of light below,--
There twixt heaven and earth suspended, As the bell swung to and fro.
And the sexton at the bell-rope, old and deaf, heard not the bell,
Sadly thought that twilight curfew rang young Basil's funeral knell.
"Still the maiden, clinging firmly, quivering lip and fair face white,
Stilled her frightened heart's wild throbbing: "Curfew shall not ring tonight!"

It was o'er, the bell ceased swaying; and the maiden stepped once more
Firmly on the damp old ladder, where, for hundred years before,
Human foot had not been planted. The brave deed that she had done
Should be told long ages after. As the rays of setting sun
Light the sky with golden beauty, aged sires, with heads of white,
Tell the children why the curfew did not ring that one sad night.

O'er the distant hills comes Cromwell. Bessie sees him; and her brow,
Lately white with sickening horror, has no anxious traces now.
At his feet she tells her story, shows her hands, all bruised and torn;
And her sweet young face, still haggard, with the anguish it had worn,
Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light.
"Go! your lover lives," said Cromwell. "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"

Wide they flung the massive portals, led the prisoner forth to die,
All his bright young life before him. Neath the darkening English sky,
Bessie came, with flying footsteps, eyes aglow with lovelight sweet;
Kneeling on the turf beside him, laid his pardon at his feet.
In his brave, strong arms he clasped her, kissed the face upturned and white,
Whispered, "Darling, you have saved me, curfew will not ring to-night."



From Ringing ballads, including Curfew must not ring tonight, Rose Hartwick Thorpe, 1887

This poem was the inspiration for a song by the Chad Mitchell Trio entitled, Hang On The Bell, Nellie!.

In this version, the last thing the listener learns is that: “Man, she learned its FUN to swing!”

 

[carsonshepherd]

Have you read his latest, very bleak, very CV. Unfotunately there is no way we can tell him what we think, he's disabled all communication.

CV, get back on your meds, love.


Good story though.

 

[ChilledVodka III]

I just like to post to CV threads so he doesn't forget me.

Perdita

Sorry, babe.
The real CV's pished in love.

Besides, you are all nicked!
(insider )

 

[carsonshepherd]

Sorry, babe.
The real CV's pished in love.

Sigh. Again?

 

[fifty5]

Besides, you are all nicked!
(insider )

Oh gord, not again...

Eff

 

[carsonshepherd]

Oh gord, not again...

Doesn't that make twice this week?

Or was that last week?