Scribbles on Scrap Paper....

[coffeelover5]

Makes cumming home so worth your while after a long day at work...

Sweet and sexy lady you would have to push me out of the house to go to work, my hunger for you is insatiable you know that

 

[JustEl]

Mmmmm..... I so know that very well...

 

[respeito]

hi, JustEl. just fluttering by to tell you that i enjoyed your "scribbles". i'll try to post something soon.

be golden.

 

[JustEl]

Good morning, respeito... I look forward to your little notes as always... My hopes are to have a length of free time this weekend to do them justice...

 

[coffeelover5]

Mmmmm..... I so know that very well...

the torture of you reclined and me seeing but not able to touch
my mind travels to you over the miles
you left the door unlocked curtains pulled open
sunlight shines on you, your body radiates

 

[JustEl]

Your words tell a lovely story of that picture I just posted... I try to keep them purrrrfectly balanced of what to teasingly show and what not to show...

 

[coffeelover5]

and E, your photos are amazing at doing just that

 

[JustEl]

Oodles of kisses my sweet coffee...

Purrrhaps that's why I enjoy burlesque more than the average strip show.... The girl that teases me more gets more of my bucks...

 

[coffeelover5]

Oodles of kisses my sweet coffee...

Purrrhaps that's why I enjoy burlesque more than the average strip show.... The girl that teases me more gets more of my bucks...

we need to go to that show together some day

 

[JustEl]

It's a date...

 

[coffeelover5]

It's a date...

meet me in Vegas?

 

[dearc]

It's a date...

You're going to date someone else! I'm crushed.

 

[JustEl]

meet me in Vegas?

Maybe in the spring...

You're going to date someone else! I'm crushed.

Oh dearc... You know you are my hole in one, my favorite little putter..

 

[JustEl]

Now I must be off... Have a wonderful day and don't ogle that picture to much...

 

[coffeelover5]

Now I must be off... Have a wonderful day and don't ogle that picture to much...

now who would do that?

 

[JustEl]

Scarlet is not
the color of desire.
Desire is the color
of her eyes
when she gets that look.


Wanton they smolder...
Putting him ablaze...
He can feel his blood heat...
As she lowers those big brown eyes...


There is a time and a place
to say the right thing.
There is the right thing to say,
no matter what time or place.
I choose to say nothing
in this time and place,
let my mouth do other things.
Let our eyes tell the story.
An epic novel,
erotic of course,
where the guy gets the girl.
Or is it one where the girl
get the guy?


Soft caresses from her lips fill this paragraph...
Her warm breath the punctuation as the lingering kisses fade...
Moving gently over his skin the plot begins to form...
Each wanton glance reads a thousand words...
Her page full of desire only leads to the next....
Will he get the girl or will she get him can't be answered till the end...


Do you feel jaded
when you foreshadow
how the story ends?
I don't,
if the story is told in words
synonomous with elegance
and grace.
Elegant as silk sliding
across her leg.
Graceful as her walk,
from room to room,
clothed or not.
Even if I've read the story
many times,
many places,
I still find mystery.
Desire.
Words rapped around my passion.
Passion wrapped around each phrase.


To be reread.
How they dance and waltz like lustful savages,
As my mind underlines them in red...
Bookmarked are those favorite passages...
Each click of a key the passion does flow,
The pages fill leaving footprints to follow...
Marking it's path with the way to go,
A deep breath and a swallow...
The direction set in stone,
Many years before,
By travelers that are unknown...
So alluringly it begs for this mere mortal to explore....

 

[JustEl]

.....spirited kisses from lips that speak my name in a thousand whispers: sing me into your embrace.
sultry sounds among thrashing and squirming call to the distant stars.
bodies - no longer needy, now exhausted, limbs outstretched and moments measured in enchantment......

For the lovely respeito....



As his lips met hers for the first time, she could not have imagined this feeling that rushed over her. Her heart raced like a spirited mustang set free across a grassy plain. His warm breathe lingered over her rosy lips taking him into her as she breathed. Every kiss whispered of his desire a thousand times fold. Lifting them to heaven on a song of embrace, they bodies weightless. Calling out to distant stars to take them higher, she pleaded.....

http://www.paintingsalley.com/data/thumbnails/992/ma_Parkes_Savitri.jpg
​

Title: Savitri
Michael Parkes​

 

[The_Fool]

Scarlet is not
the color of desire.
Desire is the color
of her eyes
when she gets that look.


Wanton they smolder...
Putting him ablaze...
He can feel his blood heat...
As she lowers those big brown eyes...


There is a time and a place
to say the right thing.
There is the right thing to say,
no matter what time or place.
I choose to say nothing
in this time and place,
let my mouth do other things.
Let our eyes tell the story.
An epic novel,
erotic of course,
where the guy gets the girl.
Or is it one where the girl
get the guy?


Soft caresses from her lips fill this paragraph...
Her warm breath the punctuation as the lingering kisses fade...
Moving gently over his skin the plot begins to form...
Each wanton glance reads a thousand words...
Her page full of desire only leads to the next....
Will he get the girl or will she get him can't be answered till the end...


Do you feel jaded
when you foreshadow
how the story ends?
I don't,
if the story is told in words
synonomous with elegance
and grace.
Elegant as silk sliding
across her leg.
Graceful as her walk,
from room to room,
clothed or not.
Even if I've read the story
many times,
many places,
I still find mystery.
Desire.
Words rapped around my passion.
Passion wrapped around each phrase.


To be reread.
How they dance and waltz like lustful savages,
As my mind underlines them in red...
Bookmarked are those favorite passages...
Each click of a key the passion does flow,
The pages fill leaving footprints to follow...
Marking it's path with the way to go,
A deep breath and a swallow...
The direction set in stone,
Many years before,
By travelers that are unknown...
So alluringly it begs for this mere mortal to explore....


So we travel in words,
written with fingers
on bare skin.
Bare skin irridesces
in candlelight.
Red
candles offer a warm hue
as if need more heat
than that radiating
from our bodies.
Dancing in our skin
as partners
in a more romantic venue
than a waltz,
more passionate vogue
than a tango,
that leaves us breathless.
Entranced I watch your breast
sway
until I touch them,
cup them,
pull them to my lips,
taste them.
Travel with me tonight
as our journey takes us
everywhere
and nowhere,
fast and slow,
rhythmic and dissonant,
in measured time
and timeless.

 

[Twlightdreamer]

My scribbles I have on my desk tend to be of the darker type-- Half remembered nightmares written with hurried fingers. You've been warned. Here's the lightest one I could find. I don't spell check or grammar check, just try to write it out of my head so I can sleep peacefully later.



I break through the lucid haze of drugs and wake for the first time in days. Or is it months? Years? Hours? Minutes? I’m not sure anymore. The ceiling above me is still nine tiles by nine tiles, there’s still three chairs close to my bed, and a recliner by the window. Each seat is occupied with a different family member. Each time I wake, they’re here if only in different seats. I wish they weren’t. Each time I wake, I sense their pain and frustration. I know I didn’t cause it, but at the same time, I feel that I have. It’s a disease- hereditary they called it. 1 in 100,000,000 people may have it. I’m a study case for the doctors. Something for them to get an award or recognition on later, nothing more. It’s a job. I don’t blame them. The beeping of the heart monitor barely registers to my ears, a high pitched droning sound drowns out everything else. I want to die. And then I see Mom and Dad huddled by the window and my Husband holding my hand in his. Why I can’t I feel it? It’s from the drugs, perhaps, or the seizures. I see them and I want to live... I wish they’d go away. It’d be much easier to die than live through this. The damn heart monitor beeps too fast and they all look at me, surround my bed and stare down at me. Their lips move but nothing reaches me save the looks on their faces– scared, hopeful, and loved. That’s what their faces tell me. Damn it, now I have to fight. Wait... It’s getting harder to think, my eyes are closing of their own accord. I’ll forget this, I know I will. It’s starting all over again. The drugs are quick.

 

[JustEl]

My scribbles I have on my desk tend to be of the darker type-- Half remembered nightmares written with hurried fingers. You've been warned. Here's the lightest one I could find. I don't spell check or grammar check, just try to write it out of my head so I can sleep peacefully later.



I break through the lucid haze of drugs and wake for the first time in days. Or is it months? Years? Hours? Minutes? I’m not sure anymore. The ceiling above me is still nine tiles by nine tiles, there’s still three chairs close to my bed, and a recliner by the window. Each seat is occupied with a different family member. Each time I wake, they’re here if only in different seats. I wish they weren’t. Each time I wake, I sense their pain and frustration. I know I didn’t cause it, but at the same time, I feel that I have. It’s a disease- hereditary they called it. 1 in 100,000,000 people may have it. I’m a study case for the doctors. Something for them to get an award or recognition on later, nothing more. It’s a job. I don’t blame them. The beeping of the heart monitor barely registers to my ears, a high pitched droning sound drowns out everything else. I want to die. And then I see Mom and Dad huddled by the window and my Husband holding my hand in his. Why I can’t I feel it? It’s from the drugs, perhaps, or the seizures. I see them and I want to live... I wish they’d go away. It’d be much easier to die than live through this. The damn heart monitor beeps too fast and they all look at me, surround my bed and stare down at me. Their lips move but nothing reaches me save the looks on their faces– scared, hopeful, and loved. That’s what their faces tell me. Damn it, now I have to fight. Wait... It’s getting harder to think, my eyes are closing of their own accord. I’ll forget this, I know I will. It’s starting all over again. The drugs are quick.

I enjoyed your read.... It would make a really good long story or maybe even a novel.....

 

[Twlightdreamer]

I enjoyed your read.... It would make a really good long story or maybe even a novel.....

Thanks, hon.

 

[Twlightdreamer]

I can't seem to let this thread die... Sorry!

http://media.otakuzone.com/store/user/165879/T1303535240847a7dde9451f1cf950b02ee81d1de8a80.jpg

Run. Run. Just keep running. Can’t stop. Keep going.

The stitch in my side screams for me to stop. Tree roots and vines in the underbrush grab at my feet. I stumble, but keep moving forward.

Another step. That’s it, now take another and another. Count with the steps 1-2-3-4, breath in 2-3-4-, out 2-3-4... That’s it. Keep it up.

Light from the full moon streaks through the tree canopy to illuminate my way. Water droplets pelt my exposed skin from the recent rain. It was supposed to be cloudy, pitch black for the run, but plans change. He said run, I ran. We’re only a day from the other camp. He said we could make it. The sound of military vehicles crunching through the underbrush- that’s what I woke up to. When was that? An hour ago? A few minutes? I’m not sure. He screamed run, I ran. The others... I didn’t wait for them.

Everything is jumbled in my mind. Nothing makes sense. Now isn’t the time for thinking.

Count 1-2-3-4. Step, step, step, breath.

Thump. A mortar being shot. Where? Another goes off and another still. I can’t hear where they’re landing at, there’s no explosion. Gas?

Fuckin’ A...

I pick up the pace, starting to run full out, jumping over what obstacles the moonlight reveals. A branch snags my foot and I fall hard to my knees, my hands barely catching myself before I go face first into the leaf litter. The moisture from the rain soaked leaves soaks through my shirt and pants quickly. My hands tighten into fists as I force myself back up, taking a shaky step forward.

A crashing sound comes through the canopy somewhere to my right, I turn to look for it, willing my eyes to see what it is. I can’t make out anything for a moment, then the fog starts to rise from the area.

Gas.

My heart slams against my rib cage harder than before. I start moving again, faster. I stumble and end up in a heap after a few more steps. The gas is quick and it surrounds me before I have a chance to right myself again. I pull my shirt up over my nose and mouth, trying to take only small breaths. The burning starts. . .

My skin feels as though molten metal is being poured on it, a thousand needles going into every pour of my skin. I try not but can’t help it- I scream. I curl into myself, trying to shelter my chest, stomach, and face, but it does no good. The burning increases. I scream again and again and again... The burning starts to fade just as quickly as it came on, numbness following in its wake. I stop screaming and start to uncurl my body, but I can’t. Nothing moves. I will my hands to clench, but I can’t feel it, I can’t even move my head to see if the skinny digits are working.

The crunching of underbrush and the sound of loud voices reaches my ears. Oh, god. . .

Help me. . .

 

[JustEl]

Scarlet is not
the color of desire.
Desire is the color
of her eyes
when she gets that look.


Wanton they smolder...
Putting him ablaze...
He can feel his blood heat...
As she lowers those big brown eyes...


There is a time and a place
to say the right thing.
There is the right thing to say,
no matter what time or place.
I choose to say nothing
in this time and place,
let my mouth do other things.
Let our eyes tell the story.
An epic novel,
erotic of course,
where the guy gets the girl.
Or is it one where the girl
get the guy?


Soft caresses from her lips fill this paragraph...
Her warm breath the punctuation as the lingering kisses fade...
Moving gently over his skin the plot begins to form...
Each wanton glance reads a thousand words...
Her page full of desire only leads to the next....
Will he get the girl or will she get him can't be answered till the end...


Do you feel jaded
when you foreshadow
how the story ends?
I don't,
if the story is told in words
synonomous with elegance
and grace.
Elegant as silk sliding
across her leg.
Graceful as her walk,
from room to room,
clothed or not.
Even if I've read the story
many times,
many places,
I still find mystery.
Desire.
Words rapped around my passion.
Passion wrapped around each phrase.


To be reread.
How they dance and waltz like lustful savages,
As my mind underlines them in red...
Bookmarked are those favorite passages...
Each click of a key the passion does flow,
The pages fill leaving footprints to follow...
Marking it's path with the way to go,
A deep breath and a swallow...
The direction set in stone,
Many years before,
By travelers that are unknown...
So alluringly it begs for this mere mortal to explore....


So we travel in words,
written with fingers
on bare skin.
Bare skin irridesces
in candlelight.
Red
candles offer a warm hue
as if need more heat
than that radiating
from our bodies.
Dancing in our skin
as partners
in a more romantic venue
than a waltz,
more passionate vogue
than a tango,
that leaves us breathless.
Entranced I watch your breast
sway
until I touch them,
cup them,
pull them to my lips,
taste them.
Travel with me tonight
as our journey takes us
everywhere
and nowhere,
fast and slow,
rhythmic and dissonant,
in measured time
and timeless.

The book lay pages face down...
Summer's night breeze the only sound....
Her finger travels the rim of her glass...
As the hands on the clock pass....
Her mind reminisces of him...
The candles flicker dim....
His words read so strong....
Has it been to long???
Picking up the book....
She lust for another look....
Eyes roam and search...
A gentle sigh as she moves to perch....
Another sip of wine.....
Moving on to the next line.....

 

[The_Fool]

The book lay pages face down...
Summer's night breeze the only sound....
Her finger travels the rim of her glass...
As the hands on the clock pass....
Her mind reminisces of him...
The candles flicker dim....
His words read so strong....
Has it been to long???
Picking up the book....
She lust for another look....
Eyes roam and search...
A gentle sigh as she moves to perch....
Another sip of wine.....
Moving on to the next line.....

Words without meaning:
I sometimes falter in what I say.
Meaning without words:
her touch, her smile
offer solace,
offer affirmation.
I must not forget,
too often I forget,
to place the words into context
with caresses
and kisses.
The tactile taste of desire
offers color to words,
often trite,
sometimes overused,
but evoke meaning
beyond that simple phrase.

 

[JustEl]

Words without meaning:
I sometimes falter in what I say.
Meaning without words:
her touch, her smile
offer solace,
offer affirmation.
I must not forget,
too often I forget,
to place the words into context
with caresses
and kisses.
The tactile taste of desire
offers color to words,
often trite,
sometimes overused,
but evoke meaning
beyond that simple phrase.

My body an alter stands before you...
My desire a chalice empty...
Longs to be filled by the wine you bestow...
Subtle, flowery in bouquet,
slightly sweet in it's flavor...
Is this happenstance or coincidence?
Perhaps even chaos?
One look from my eyes tells you, No....
With a glisten of sexual evolution,
felt between a man and a woman.
They call out...
Fill me up,
to drink it down...
And kiss the taste from my lips...


And lick the taste from my lips...


I couldn't decide which I liked better.... KISS or LICK..... So my dearest Fool..... I leave it for you to choose....