Your Best Sentence:

[Guest]

Octavian, that was a truly marvellous paragraph. I will look up the rest soon. The parenthetical bit was perfect, then the last sentence made me go back to the beginning as I had not read it as sexually metaphorical. Very fine indeed.

Perdita

 

[Colleen Thomas]

Finding any great sentences in my work is hard, if I were being fair I would pick one where I hadn'tmangled the grammat too badly

She was old now, nearing her fifty-first birthday, but still striking, body lush and curvy, the legs still well toned in their black stockings. Her white silk blouse did little to hide a bust that had been called the highest peaks in county Mayo when she was young. Her face was lined now, but the small wrinkles gave her an air of dignity and elegance, as did the silver crown of hair. Her green eyes were beautiful and vibrant, although today they had a far away quality.


-Colly

 

[Guest]

She was old now, nearing her fifty-first birthday, ...

Dear, dear Colly. You know I admire your writing, and you. Your sentences above are finely written. But--

Look at my AV. I turned 57 last November.

Perdita

 

[Octavian]

old? 51!!

I was also going to make the same point.

It might have been better to have expressed it thus, 'She was, perhaps, past her prime at 51


Octavian

 

[Guest]

Thanks, Octavian, but I happen to be in my latest prime. They seem to occur about every ten years; however the first did not arrive until I was 37.

Perdita

 

[Colleen Thomas]

Dear, dear Colly. You know I admire your writing, and you. Your sentences above are finely written. But--

Look at my AV. I turned 57 last November.

Perdita

If you read the story dear Dita you will find she is feeling old. She has returned to Ireland to keep a date made 30 years ago. By the end of the story you will find she is not so old as she was feeling

In all honesty I got several nasty feedbacks on this work with people telling me they didn't want to read about old women. It was kind of a shock to realize the stroke crowd think people quit having sex when they get the first wrinkle. The sexiest woman I ever knew had just turned 53 when I met her, I was all of 23. Of course it is one of my earliest works and was written before the real strokers learned my works are all a waste of their valuable jerk off time

-Colly

 

[Octavian]

Perdita

Please note the judicious use of the word, 'perhaps'. I would not dream of implying you might be past yours.

Octavian

 

[oggbashan]

Longer

Plugging it again - my longest sentence, or at least I think it is.

How NOT to do it...

The roseate Sun, Phoebus’ orb, was glinting in the puddles and dappling the fallen leaves of the ancient forest as Joan made her way along the footpath leading from her rustic rose-entwined cottage, so beloved of tourists and her infrequent visitors from the city who left as soon as they reasonably could because the cottage lacked the basic amenities than any twenty-first century city dweller expected as of right such as satellite television and even running hot and cold water both of which were lacking, towards the steeple crowned hill on which the Parish Church sat as it had done for more than a thousand years surveying the expanding and contracting village in the valley beneath and perhaps regretting the earlier centuries when it had been filled to capacity by local residents each in their proper place and order according to the standards of the time, but Joan diverted from the direct route to the Church at a junction and was now heading in the direction of the Evening Star, the planet Venus known as Aphrodite to the Greeks but whether Greek or Roman was the personification of sexual desire, which sexual desire Joan was expecting to assuage once she reached her destination but in the meantime she was diverted by the interplay of light and shade from the evening sun as it sank lower on the horizon turning the landscape to a darkening ruddy hue which darkened further as she walked wondering whether she would reach her destination and assignation before Phoebus’ chariot had passed beyond her view but even if she did not her path was clear because she was accustomed to walking in the direction of the Evening Star every evening that she had free from her avocation of breeder of large and hairy dogs that bore a faint resemblance to The Hound of The Baskervilles and at times she would take one of the so-called breed with her on her perambulation which would certainly deter any evil minded loiterers upon her way but unfortunately also frequently prevented the consummation of her assignation by refusing to leave her side and repulsing her intended with ferocious barking and frenzied attacks barely held in check by the strong leash essential for such savage dogs but this time she was without a canine companion and therefore she hoped that the consummation would be forthcoming without let or hindrance as she continued to walk alongside the nearly dark woodlands before emerging on a slight eminence whence she could see her goal of another rose-entwined cottage from the chimney of which a wisp of smoke was arising promising warmth in both the physical, mental and sexual encounter which Joan would shortly enjoy.

"He's lit my fire" she said to herself.

Og

PS. Ignoring the last short sentence which I couldn't resist:

Words 450
Sentences 1
Reading Ease 0
Grade Level 12.0

 

[Carl East]

I always did like this opening to one of my series, called 'Time Loop' it's the first paragraph of the trilogy.

Jake knew he was about to die, as the lorry in front of him ploughed into the tanker. But he wasn't ready yet; he saw the tanker hit the post and the electric wiring land on top, setting the fire that created the fireball. He was doing eighty-mph when it happened, with no way of avoiding the carnage ahead. Just before the fireball hit he could have sworn he saw his own car up ahead, then blackness. He suddenly found himself back at his desk, looking into the computer screen in front of him.


Carl

 

[Octavian]

Being serious for one moment.

I am posting a new story chapter by chapter.
I quite like this, from chapter 6, which is not yet posted.

Quote

I suppose a professional such as Greg would have been pleased at the composition of the shot. A very pretty naked woman was holding a large, and it has to be said rather photogenic, cock against her lips. Her naked bust and elongated nipples provided additional interest. And if that weren’t enough the backdrop was the palm-fringed Caribbean, the shallow water now assuming a turquoise hue.

End quote

Octavian

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

Thirty-five posts in less than three hours. That may be a Literotica posting record. Notice, I said nothing, nothing, about ego-tripping. This is a serious literary discussion.

There's no doubt about my best sentence, even if it's a fragment:

THE END

Rumple Foreskin

 

[Colleen Thomas]

Thirty-five posts in less than three hours. That may be a Literotica posting record. Notice, I said nothing, nothing, about ego-tripping. This is a serious literary discussion.

There's no doubt about my best sentence, even if it's a fragment:

THE END

Rumple Foreskin

LOL,

Liar. But a loveable one

-Colly

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[grumpymann]

Not erotic but....

I just can’t seem to get past the story I just finished. It’s more romantic (Yes men CAN be romantic) than erotic. Here is my best sentence from it.

The African like beat intertwined with the wailing, and Peter Gariel’s oh so European voice seem to be a perfect fit with the mingling of my black skin on her white body.



Best paragraph.

My reprieve is broken as I feel a hand on my shoulder; I turn my head in a flash to look at the owner of the hand only to stare into the eyes of someone I would have never expected to see in a place like this. And in those eyes I see the look that put a gulf between us that it seemed nothing could span, not even Love. It was a look of fear. It was a look I have become familiar with. I see it almost every day. Coming around the corner, when the elevator doors open, any time I startle anyone, they don’t see me a man like any other, just passing, like the hundreds they have passed that day, how can they? All they see is a six foot; shaven headed, black man, ear-rings studding his ears, coal dark eyes hovering over a perpetual scowl. In short how can they see me past the thing that stands out amongst all the other things I am? How can they see the man past the buck?

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[Wills]

Apologies for the length, from the book I am writing.

Another time, years later, I drove that way with Madeleine. It was winter, a few days before Christmas, we had a notion that retracing our footsteps might open our eyes and had flown to Madrid, hiring a car to drive on into Portugal. We lay over-night in Salamanca taking the Ciudad Rodrigo road early the next morning. It is an isolated and barren region, vast walled estates bordering the road, a few cork or olives trees the only relief. Bitterly cold outside the car and despite the heating our breath misted as we spoke. We didn’t speak much, silent for mile upon mile, taking in the vast freedom around us, a release after the intensity of London life. A hoar frost painted the landscape a ghostly white adding to the flatness of the high plain. We descended into a river valley, the road wound down off the plain the hillside lined with stunted cork oaks gradually descending into a mist. Sancti Spiritus announced itself with a frost coated road sign through the fog. Moisture laden air had coated everything with a layer of ice, each blade of grass, each twig encased in a thick coating that hung brushing the highway like translucent skeletal fingers seeking to ensnare the unwary.

We drove past a few isolated ruins on the outskirts of the town driving into white mist rising in voluminous clouds off the steel grey waters of the Gavilanes where the river met the road. I slowed the car to a crawl barely able to see through the mist, marvelling at the ice landscape waving at our passage. Silently we drove through Sancti Spiritus, not a soul to be seen, everything shuttered against the cold mist; a muffled church bell tolling the hour, the normally grubby dwellings cleansed by their coating of frost. On the outskirts of the village we started up the other side of the valley, hauling ourselves out of the mist. In a clearing by the edge of the road, hung a pig suspended from the thick black branch of an ancient cork oak. A knife glinted in the weak silver sunlight as it was brought down splitting the beast’s stomach, eager hands of black shrouded women easing intestines into a terracotta basin as a cloud of steam from the body cavity and spilled guts rose into the frosty air. The visage came upon us so quickly as we emerged from the fog and yet played out in slow motion before our eyes. A scene repeated from before the Middle Ages, the Matança, the ritual festive slaughter, we merely spectators from another time and place. I laughed and reached across rubbing Madeleine’s thigh.

“Do you remember the first time I came to your house? You were making chorizo with another girl, both of you sat splayed legged, skirts pulled up your thighs forcing meat into intestines, working it up and down with your hands. I’m sure you had no idea just how erotic that was, your hands slippery from the marinated meat sliding up and down firming the sausage, hair falling across your face. God you looked so sexy to me.”

“I was happy then.” She said.

 

[CharleyH]

Well - well - what can I say - I sometimes look at certain things and say, "Fuck did I write that?" Of course my faves are not necessarily anyone elses, but here's a few of my picks . . . HEY How vain is this thread - REALLY lol

1. The crushed velvet of her recently trimmed lips, the slippery satin from where she opened, across her folds, to the hard lacquered feel of her clit pulsing against my tongue.

2. It was as if she were marble in the tool of my imagination.

3. Jason crawls over her back to the other side of the bed, and massaging her with his other hand gently smiles, “Aren’t you lucky to be woken like this every morning.”

That’s when the day breaks.

The sun smashes through the window, and the Apollonian glare stiffens her body.


4. Added only to please a particular someone who 'tingled'

I pushed my hips forward, my hands into her ass, pulling her and waving the strap-on against her sopping pussy, her cum pressing and soaking into my suit.


ok so that's what I like about my own writing. Perfect moments for me.

 

[Black Tulip]

McKenna,

Your question triggered something unexpected. I knew exactly where to find a sentence I like. In a story not posted, well not in the original language. I translated in Dutch and posted it in Non-English. It is my lowest rating story so far.

Guess what, I'm posting the original in English as well. I can't wait to find out if it will be doing just as bad.

I picked two pieces:

The beach is almost luminescent in the tropical night and the moon paints a path of silver on the waves that are gently licking the land.

The sun colors the ocean a soft pink, then comes up in a blaze of red turning into the hot white of another tropical day. Water, swishing back and forth over the sands, makes a soft sound. A soft breeze rustles the fronds of the palm trees and every now and then a coconut drops in the sand with a dull thud.

Off to post.

 

[NoJo]

"when repeated, becomes one of my favorite sentences", when repeated, becomes one of my favorite sentences.

Allez oup! - I go now -

 

[Carl East]

I also like this one, it's from 'The Making of a friendship.'

"If friendship is all that I can gain from this meeting, then I take it with open heart and thankfulness that I have a friend such as you," he said taking a break, "It would be an honour to befriend such a beautiful lady as yourself, I hope in my heart that you will forever be my closest companion and confidante."

Carl

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[Guest]

McKenna, I just want to give you some huge hugs, and thanks, for not only starting up this thread, but also for taking the time to read through each post and give some comprehensive comments.

Thanks for what you said about my piece, I really appreciate it.

You're a star!

Lou

 

[Colleen Thomas]

I'm with Lou, thanks for the thread and the comments Mckenna

 

[Guest]

"when repeated, becomes one of my favorite sentences",
"when repeated, becomes one of my favorite sentences",
"when repeated, becomes one of my favorite sentences",
Thanks, Mack
"when repeated, becomes one of my favorite sentences",
"when repeated, becomes one of my favorite sentences",
"when repeated, becomes one of my favorite sentences",
Help!
"when repeated, becomes one of my favorite sentences",

 

[McKenna]

.