wondering how many people remember their last orgasm before the big four-oh...
guess I just had mine, sadly solo...
on a totally unrelated note there is a cucumber scare here in Germany...
Showing posts with label age. Show all posts
Showing posts with label age. Show all posts
01 June 2011
15 August 2010
I'm afraid that I will die spending time with someone I don't like
Yes, I am talking to you. Look at you, you sprawl there on the sofa. Sprawl doesn't begin to cover it, you slump, you spill, you slouch. You are a sibilant sloven. Your feet up on the furniture, resting on the rubbish, remains of letters, magazines, chocolate wrappers.
You sag. You age.
It's not langour, it's way beyond that, it's a life draining laziness beyond comprehension. Why would anyone choose to live like that? Why do you choose to live like that? Oh, you don't choose it? You just can't be bothered to change it.
Billowing flesh, pale and pasty pink. Hide it under the throw, pretend it isn't there as you reach for the next packet of crisps, the next gulp of alcohol.
The German word for lazy is "faul" and you know you are.
Sluggish? That doesn't sound too bad, a slow pulse but basically everything under control. Slug-like is more like it. Fat, seeping, sliding through life at the pace of a snail without even the excuse of your house on your shoulders.
No wonder no-one comes around. No wonder there is no-one who wants to probe your fleshy crevices, touch your pallid swollen skin. And you know being so fat makes those folds fleshier and deeper, the journey into your cunt a longer route to pleasure, but no-one else wants to know that now. Hell, most of the time even you don't fucking bother.
Get up off the sofa and go look in the mirror. Not via the fridge again! Go see yourself. Really see yourself, not glance and see the memory of the girl you once were. She was 20 years ago and is lost to you now. Look at yourself, see what you really look like. Nice eyes, yeah, but how many chins? Your tiny mouth looks even smaller against the expanse of your cheeks, unhealthily flushed.
Will you do something about it this time? Will you? Or will you just wonder absently where the gym card is, or whether your swimming costume would still fit? And make a half hearted resolution to go into town and buy some newer bigger clothes?
My face in the mirror, I wonder vaguely what it would be like to finish it, to put an end to it, to kill this person that I don't like, even if it means I die with her. But I know I won't do it, too much effort...
Thanks to SSF for the great writing prompt, click here to see story at SSF
You sag. You age.
It's not langour, it's way beyond that, it's a life draining laziness beyond comprehension. Why would anyone choose to live like that? Why do you choose to live like that? Oh, you don't choose it? You just can't be bothered to change it.
Billowing flesh, pale and pasty pink. Hide it under the throw, pretend it isn't there as you reach for the next packet of crisps, the next gulp of alcohol.
The German word for lazy is "faul" and you know you are.
Sluggish? That doesn't sound too bad, a slow pulse but basically everything under control. Slug-like is more like it. Fat, seeping, sliding through life at the pace of a snail without even the excuse of your house on your shoulders.
No wonder no-one comes around. No wonder there is no-one who wants to probe your fleshy crevices, touch your pallid swollen skin. And you know being so fat makes those folds fleshier and deeper, the journey into your cunt a longer route to pleasure, but no-one else wants to know that now. Hell, most of the time even you don't fucking bother.
Get up off the sofa and go look in the mirror. Not via the fridge again! Go see yourself. Really see yourself, not glance and see the memory of the girl you once were. She was 20 years ago and is lost to you now. Look at yourself, see what you really look like. Nice eyes, yeah, but how many chins? Your tiny mouth looks even smaller against the expanse of your cheeks, unhealthily flushed.
Will you do something about it this time? Will you? Or will you just wonder absently where the gym card is, or whether your swimming costume would still fit? And make a half hearted resolution to go into town and buy some newer bigger clothes?
My face in the mirror, I wonder vaguely what it would be like to finish it, to put an end to it, to kill this person that I don't like, even if it means I die with her. But I know I won't do it, too much effort...
Thanks to SSF for the great writing prompt, click here to see story at SSF
18 April 2010
The next married man...
He wants to smell my fingers
after I have dragged them from my slit,
and he wants to taste them too.
Second hand cunnilingus.
He wants me to bend my head to his
peel back the skin and push my tongue into his slit.
Suck him to the point of no return while
he is sucking at my fingers.
I think I won't do it, he is a bit too old
and set in his ways. He thinks that as long as his cock
isn't pushed up in me then it is not really
cheating. His heart won't unfold.
But, I am not a ripe fruit,
they are not juices but secretions, more sluggish
and oh I want to stay damp as I age,
I don't want to be dried out.
Whoever I take into me next will
always suffer by comparison, no, not to the wide
necked wine bottle by the bed but to
"the ex", I want him still...
The old guy texts again, "Lets meet,"
I am bored and scared of life without sex, without
an admirer, someone to flirt with and
be naughty but occasionally sweet.
We walk on the heath and into the trees
He is tall and sturdily built, and I hope his cock is too.
He is not getting away with just being blown,
I want him to betray his life. "Please,"
he says, groans as he lies on the ground.
Trusting me to hold him in my mouth and only do as he
wants me to do, wrinkled balls but smooth
skinned shaft, my lips slide round.
Suck, pull him towards my throat
grazing his head on the inside of my cheek, teeth slide
and suppressing gag reflex. His hips move
jerkily, I push him back on the coat.
My hand under my skirt, rubbing.
"I'm touching myself so you can taste me," I'm powerful
as I move up to kiss him, see if he likes his
taste. "God I was nearly coming!"
Move the gusset across to the side
dabble, then thrust my fingers under his nose, press my thumb
into his mouth, he likes being dominated. Then
straddling him, I slide his cock inside.
Afterwards I pretend, that
his cry was only ecstasy, it contained no loss, he
wanted it just as much as I did but,
seeping spunk, I feel flat.
Also published at SSF here
after I have dragged them from my slit,
and he wants to taste them too.
Second hand cunnilingus.
He wants me to bend my head to his
peel back the skin and push my tongue into his slit.
Suck him to the point of no return while
he is sucking at my fingers.
I think I won't do it, he is a bit too old
and set in his ways. He thinks that as long as his cock
isn't pushed up in me then it is not really
cheating. His heart won't unfold.
But, I am not a ripe fruit,
they are not juices but secretions, more sluggish
and oh I want to stay damp as I age,
I don't want to be dried out.
Whoever I take into me next will
always suffer by comparison, no, not to the wide
necked wine bottle by the bed but to
"the ex", I want him still...
The old guy texts again, "Lets meet,"
I am bored and scared of life without sex, without
an admirer, someone to flirt with and
be naughty but occasionally sweet.
We walk on the heath and into the trees
He is tall and sturdily built, and I hope his cock is too.
He is not getting away with just being blown,
I want him to betray his life. "Please,"
he says, groans as he lies on the ground.
Trusting me to hold him in my mouth and only do as he
wants me to do, wrinkled balls but smooth
skinned shaft, my lips slide round.
Suck, pull him towards my throat
grazing his head on the inside of my cheek, teeth slide
and suppressing gag reflex. His hips move
jerkily, I push him back on the coat.
My hand under my skirt, rubbing.
"I'm touching myself so you can taste me," I'm powerful
as I move up to kiss him, see if he likes his
taste. "God I was nearly coming!"
Move the gusset across to the side
dabble, then thrust my fingers under his nose, press my thumb
into his mouth, he likes being dominated. Then
straddling him, I slide his cock inside.
Afterwards I pretend, that
his cry was only ecstasy, it contained no loss, he
wanted it just as much as I did but,
seeping spunk, I feel flat.
Also published at SSF here
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