lustforlife74
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Sep 13, 2002
- Posts
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Copywrite: Lustforlife74
Lust for the River
I ain’t done nothing wrong, but been a’cused. – A drunk at bar in Georgia.
You ain’t breakin’ me, you makin’ me. - Suspect on Cops TV
Chapter 1
This is a book for anyone who’s dreamed to fly, live, to escape. If you are looking for hope, cheer, and boat drinks shut this book now and never look back. If on other hand the elusive dream freedom has slipped through your grasp you are in the right place. Life is a dirty, ugly, messy, business, but it has its moments. These are the moments.
Memories kill you faster then dreams. Dreams just kill you slowly eating away at your heart and soul until you are rotting away six feet under. This moment, this second is all any of us really have.
As I sat in the airport bar, taking long deep drags from my Marlboro Red, I felt the freest I had ever been. I wanted to escape the small Ohio town of my youth. To fly to dream to die unencumbered by the regrets of old age, to live like I’d never lived before, all that bull you get from reading too much Henry Miller and Kerouac. Young and innocent, yes. Free, no, just running from nothing, hopefully to something. As I found later, there is no place to run or to hide. Everybody and everything looked clear that day the world was right for the first time.
Sitting in that airport bar, an announcement came over that British Airways flight 788 was boarding, my flight. Downing my beer and picking up my carry-on, I made my way to the ticket counter with a little buzz. It’s kind of funny, but they never card in the International Departure areas of airports. The women at the counter had on a stupid looking hat that only the British could come up with. Take those bird’s nests that the Buckingham Palace guards wear. The British know how to drink, but this sailor’s son can drink them under the table. Anyway where was I, Oh yea, boarding the plane with a little buzz. I greeted the ticket lady a little too cheerfully, as you do when you have good little buzz going. Even with the stupid hat she looked good and found myself thinking of how she would look just wearing that hat. How she made love...”Here are your tickets, sir.” Another fantasy, dashed by reality.
The woman I want is not a slave; one who lies there doing nothing. But one who feels the passion in herself and fucks like an animal. A dick of steel that’s what I want. So I can fuck that beautiful lady until she can take no more. In this simple prose there is honesty. Death and love nothing else really matters in this life. I forget sometimes how beautiful each can be. Without death there would be no beauty. Without love there would be no life. Forget the pain or embrace the pain and produce something beautiful out of it. The end is nil. We will go on playing our silly games until the species goes extinct. Then something else will rise above this ugliness and beauty to claim our spot as masters of this world. Today, today, the dieing gasp of man touches the beauty, but can’t embrace it. My dick is there to create life, my mind is there to analyze and interpret. Creation or analyzation? Both.
So there I am on the plane, sucking down free gin and tonics eight or nine...I don’t remember. After the lights went down and most of the other passengers were asleep, A guy, who looked like a used car salesman from Duluth greasy hair and all, a wide shit brown tie and suit that smelled like mothballs over the whiskey breath, came from across the plane, and sat next to me, and said
“Mr. Ed”
“What?”
“You know the horse. They stuck carrots up his ass.”
“Alright, I’ll bite”
“No, I was just telling you that they stuck carrots up Mister Ed’s ass.”
“Why?”, even though I didn’t need to ask.
“So, he’d move his mouth on cue.”
“Did they make him eat them afterwards?”
“I don’t know, any sick bastard that would stick carrots up a horses ass may just make him eat them.”
I knew right there I liked this drunk SOB from Duluth.
The greasy guy from Duluth finally passed out. After a long drunken rant signifying nothing. So there I am sitting alone with my thoughts to keep me company. It is something I always fall back on. It is the one thing that society can’t steal with its’ boybands, Britany Spears, and CNN. Sometimes life turns out better then you expect.
So I get off the plane in Heathrow for the first time. Enchanted, not by the Limeys, but by the fact that I was in another country where I could drink. No one knew me so I could be who I wanted to be, not who I was. Who you want to be and who you are a different story. And I will tell you that European women know how to dress and be feminine without losing a bit of strength. Unlike their American counterparts, who seem to feel that they have to be like men to be strong. Just following the legs and asses made me content. Women are women the world over and men will be stupid for their love.
Lust for the River
I ain’t done nothing wrong, but been a’cused. – A drunk at bar in Georgia.
You ain’t breakin’ me, you makin’ me. - Suspect on Cops TV
Chapter 1
This is a book for anyone who’s dreamed to fly, live, to escape. If you are looking for hope, cheer, and boat drinks shut this book now and never look back. If on other hand the elusive dream freedom has slipped through your grasp you are in the right place. Life is a dirty, ugly, messy, business, but it has its moments. These are the moments.
Memories kill you faster then dreams. Dreams just kill you slowly eating away at your heart and soul until you are rotting away six feet under. This moment, this second is all any of us really have.
As I sat in the airport bar, taking long deep drags from my Marlboro Red, I felt the freest I had ever been. I wanted to escape the small Ohio town of my youth. To fly to dream to die unencumbered by the regrets of old age, to live like I’d never lived before, all that bull you get from reading too much Henry Miller and Kerouac. Young and innocent, yes. Free, no, just running from nothing, hopefully to something. As I found later, there is no place to run or to hide. Everybody and everything looked clear that day the world was right for the first time.
Sitting in that airport bar, an announcement came over that British Airways flight 788 was boarding, my flight. Downing my beer and picking up my carry-on, I made my way to the ticket counter with a little buzz. It’s kind of funny, but they never card in the International Departure areas of airports. The women at the counter had on a stupid looking hat that only the British could come up with. Take those bird’s nests that the Buckingham Palace guards wear. The British know how to drink, but this sailor’s son can drink them under the table. Anyway where was I, Oh yea, boarding the plane with a little buzz. I greeted the ticket lady a little too cheerfully, as you do when you have good little buzz going. Even with the stupid hat she looked good and found myself thinking of how she would look just wearing that hat. How she made love...”Here are your tickets, sir.” Another fantasy, dashed by reality.
The woman I want is not a slave; one who lies there doing nothing. But one who feels the passion in herself and fucks like an animal. A dick of steel that’s what I want. So I can fuck that beautiful lady until she can take no more. In this simple prose there is honesty. Death and love nothing else really matters in this life. I forget sometimes how beautiful each can be. Without death there would be no beauty. Without love there would be no life. Forget the pain or embrace the pain and produce something beautiful out of it. The end is nil. We will go on playing our silly games until the species goes extinct. Then something else will rise above this ugliness and beauty to claim our spot as masters of this world. Today, today, the dieing gasp of man touches the beauty, but can’t embrace it. My dick is there to create life, my mind is there to analyze and interpret. Creation or analyzation? Both.
So there I am on the plane, sucking down free gin and tonics eight or nine...I don’t remember. After the lights went down and most of the other passengers were asleep, A guy, who looked like a used car salesman from Duluth greasy hair and all, a wide shit brown tie and suit that smelled like mothballs over the whiskey breath, came from across the plane, and sat next to me, and said
“Mr. Ed”
“What?”
“You know the horse. They stuck carrots up his ass.”
“Alright, I’ll bite”
“No, I was just telling you that they stuck carrots up Mister Ed’s ass.”
“Why?”, even though I didn’t need to ask.
“So, he’d move his mouth on cue.”
“Did they make him eat them afterwards?”
“I don’t know, any sick bastard that would stick carrots up a horses ass may just make him eat them.”
I knew right there I liked this drunk SOB from Duluth.
The greasy guy from Duluth finally passed out. After a long drunken rant signifying nothing. So there I am sitting alone with my thoughts to keep me company. It is something I always fall back on. It is the one thing that society can’t steal with its’ boybands, Britany Spears, and CNN. Sometimes life turns out better then you expect.
So I get off the plane in Heathrow for the first time. Enchanted, not by the Limeys, but by the fact that I was in another country where I could drink. No one knew me so I could be who I wanted to be, not who I was. Who you want to be and who you are a different story. And I will tell you that European women know how to dress and be feminine without losing a bit of strength. Unlike their American counterparts, who seem to feel that they have to be like men to be strong. Just following the legs and asses made me content. Women are women the world over and men will be stupid for their love.
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