EmilyEngland
Virgin
- Joined
- Sep 7, 2006
- Posts
- 12
Okay, lets get the confession out of the way first:
I have a warped and tangental sense of humour. I’m always finding the curve in the straight ball, you might say. With this in mind, read on:
I got to thinking the other day whilst wasting more precious time pretending to write my first novel/children’s story/erotic play/shopping list that it seemed that role-players on-line predicated towards massively hung, 6’4” tall Adonis types and the girls; sexually voracious, ample breasted movie starlets.
Now then there is nothing wrong with this (that a little insecurity counselling wouldn’t fix) and playing a character on-line gives one the opportunity to…. lets say, Photoshop the blemishes? After all I myself, in real life, am a flaxen haired beauty with inner thigh strength that could crush a man’s skull. Yet I digress:
I pondered on what ‘larks’ it might be to try something a little ‘eventual’. See what you think of this and feel free to leap right in:
The setting: A small room with a circle of chairs arranged facing inward. In the corner a small table upon which some plastic cups and a jug full of weak lemon juice have been placed.
The scene: The First weekly meeting of the P.T.S.W.B.U.T.H. (People That Should Wear a Bag Upon Their Head).
The players: This is you, should you be brave enough. Just walk in, take a seat and introduce yourself to the rest of the group.
Me?: I’m the facilitator and will start the ball rolling.
Lets see where this goes:
At the head of the circle of chairs sits Annette, she speaks;
‘Hello everybody, my name is Ms. Annette Boolien-String, your facilitator.’ Her voice is the sound of wet gravel sliding down a wet slate roof on a wet night in winter.
‘I’d like to welcome you to this first meeting of the PTS.’ She is 37 years old but could pass for 57 in good light. She has a nose the shape and size of a super sonic plane crafted in collaboration by the French and the British.
‘It is here that we will, over the next few weeks, learn to love ourselves and discover the beauty that lies within each of us.’ When she speaks, spittle from between her protruding upper teeth, liberally sprays an area approximately 3 feet to her left.
“First of all let me apologise for my Boss-eyed condition, it can be distracting at times. But please feel free to stare.’ She is dressed in a loose fitting garment of unknown fabric and origin; it is ditch water green and has a similar aroma.
‘Now then, who’d like to go first?’ She sits expectantly, over-large hands clutched together on her knees, her fingers drumming a nervous beat on the knee of her artificial leg .
I have a warped and tangental sense of humour. I’m always finding the curve in the straight ball, you might say. With this in mind, read on:
I got to thinking the other day whilst wasting more precious time pretending to write my first novel/children’s story/erotic play/shopping list that it seemed that role-players on-line predicated towards massively hung, 6’4” tall Adonis types and the girls; sexually voracious, ample breasted movie starlets.
Now then there is nothing wrong with this (that a little insecurity counselling wouldn’t fix) and playing a character on-line gives one the opportunity to…. lets say, Photoshop the blemishes? After all I myself, in real life, am a flaxen haired beauty with inner thigh strength that could crush a man’s skull. Yet I digress:
I pondered on what ‘larks’ it might be to try something a little ‘eventual’. See what you think of this and feel free to leap right in:
The setting: A small room with a circle of chairs arranged facing inward. In the corner a small table upon which some plastic cups and a jug full of weak lemon juice have been placed.
The scene: The First weekly meeting of the P.T.S.W.B.U.T.H. (People That Should Wear a Bag Upon Their Head).
The players: This is you, should you be brave enough. Just walk in, take a seat and introduce yourself to the rest of the group.
Me?: I’m the facilitator and will start the ball rolling.
Lets see where this goes:
At the head of the circle of chairs sits Annette, she speaks;
‘Hello everybody, my name is Ms. Annette Boolien-String, your facilitator.’ Her voice is the sound of wet gravel sliding down a wet slate roof on a wet night in winter.
‘I’d like to welcome you to this first meeting of the PTS.’ She is 37 years old but could pass for 57 in good light. She has a nose the shape and size of a super sonic plane crafted in collaboration by the French and the British.
‘It is here that we will, over the next few weeks, learn to love ourselves and discover the beauty that lies within each of us.’ When she speaks, spittle from between her protruding upper teeth, liberally sprays an area approximately 3 feet to her left.
“First of all let me apologise for my Boss-eyed condition, it can be distracting at times. But please feel free to stare.’ She is dressed in a loose fitting garment of unknown fabric and origin; it is ditch water green and has a similar aroma.
‘Now then, who’d like to go first?’ She sits expectantly, over-large hands clutched together on her knees, her fingers drumming a nervous beat on the knee of her artificial leg .
