He thinks that I am something, because of the numbers. He thinks that because I have a lot of numbers I am a connoisseur. He thinks that piling one on top of the other makes the difference, that the numbers mean something more than experience, something like popularity.
He must be confusing arithmetics and athletics. He thinks that the experience is more than hours filled, holes filled, he thinks that each number collected means something adds up in me and I become greater. He thinks that I have known so much and still I stay with him and that must mean that he is something. I try not to think of accumulators.
He wants to think that some of my numerical greatness transfers to him when we fuck, but it isn't a game of conkers, he doesn't gain all my numbers plus one if he breaks me, if we break apart and he adjudges himself the winner.
Showing posts with label size matters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label size matters. Show all posts
07 December 2010
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
16 May 2010
Measure for measure
She sat down at the computer to wait for his e-mail to feed the latest obsession the explicit and horny sexy e-mail conversations with a stranger she had read his writing and he hers and they had looked at and liked each others blogs and now each night for the last three nights they had exchanged flurries of mails in linear and forked conversation strands and played with words and she had played with herself as he told her about playing with himself.
While she waited she played the damn facebook games that she had been so enthusiastic about the week before in the absence of the fucking talk she robbed properties and did jobs for dons and fought yakuza and sent virtual gifts for virtual chop shops and weapons depots and when she had run out of energy and stamina and had to wait for time to refill those she went to the farm and planted tomatoes and helped virtual friends raise barns and fed their non-existent chickens.
While she waited she recalled the mails and the mood from the day before OMFG to use one of his acronyms but the words moved her beyond heat she loved the way his words made her feel and the way her words did too and in some ways she didn't really care that she would probably never meet this stranger especially as this stranger might not be the same as the picture of the stranger she had in her head from reading his blog he might be a completely different virtual stranger.
And OMFG his mail came in and the conversation started again and when he typed how much he wanted to ram his thick fat cock into her she felt herself responding and typing back that she wanted him to she wanted to feel this lust rising she wanted to feel the strangers lust wanted to feel that there really was a person at the other end who wanted to turn her onto her stomach and pull her arse cheeks apart and dip his fingers into her juices and spread her legs apart and work his enormous cock deeper into her and she slides her own fingers into her folds and feels the stringy wetness and thinks of him sat at his desk at work with his hand in his pants too.
Oh she is warm and wet now and needs more more stimulation needs to feel the push of something inside her and as she types about his thick cock stretching her walls she finds the wine bottle is empty how did that happen but its good and in a quick break from the screen she rinses the bottle and pulls her trousers and knickers down and places a towel on the chair underneath her and rejoins the one handed typing as the wine bottle takes the place of her fingers down there she tells him where she is at the conversation forks again one half still in fantasy and the other half describing what she is doing feeling and are both strands fantasy for him or is one of them real and she has to stop typing and finish herself off.
And after she is done he types that he is not yet so she asks him to tell her about his thick cock again and then the new obsession is kicked off for he believes in driving a specific bargain and tells her his cock is 6.5" in girth and at first she cannot imagine how big this is then she finds a tape measure and makes a loop with it to see how big it is but a loop isn't very easy to imagine pushing at you so she measures the wine bottle and fucking hell 6.5" is way bigger than the neck of that even though it wasn't a champagne bottle it was only 3.5" around and though there was a little room for manoeuvre she thinks double that size is really too big so she looks around for more objects to measure.
In her bathroom she finds the deodorant stick, short and stubby but at it's widest only 5" although an interesting shape she sees the travel shampoo but no don't bother with that it is no wider than the wine bottle the shower gel looks huge but it is only 5.5" it looks as big as she imagines she could take and it is nowhere near the 6.5" she can't imagine how fat the strangers cock must be there is the bath foam but that is eye wateringly big and and there is no way that would fit her.
She imagines wandering up and down the supermarket aisles with her tape measure inspecting the various bottles and jars on display looking for the perfect fit and the shop assistant watching as she wraps the tape measure around them but she measures the bath foam and that is still only 6" and she measured it even though she thought it was too big and now she is a little sad for if she did ever meet the strangers cock it would not fit her the owner of the cock with his fantasies is too big for her she has an inadequate cunt she is too small for something that size although then she thinks maybe because if she met the stranger his cock would be flesh and blood and filled with blood and therefore flexible and not the planar smooth unyielding surface of a bath foam bottle and maybe it would work.
But if even the strangers cock was flexible it was still 0.5" bigger than the bath foam bottle then she was still too tight for the strangers cock even if she was hot and wet and yes in theory she knew they were capable of expanding to the size of a babies head but how much work would that take and maybe the stranger had exaggerated his size after all men do that all the time she wondered if there was a graded scale by which men did exaggerate so that if the stranger said 6.5" then she could look at the penis girth exaggeration (PEG) scale and know that he would really be (in the norms of statistical distribution) somewhere between 4.75" and 5.5" and then having a tight wet cunt would not be so much of a disadvantage after all.
Sometimes she wished she had majored in something other than Mathematics.
Also published here
While she waited she played the damn facebook games that she had been so enthusiastic about the week before in the absence of the fucking talk she robbed properties and did jobs for dons and fought yakuza and sent virtual gifts for virtual chop shops and weapons depots and when she had run out of energy and stamina and had to wait for time to refill those she went to the farm and planted tomatoes and helped virtual friends raise barns and fed their non-existent chickens.
While she waited she recalled the mails and the mood from the day before OMFG to use one of his acronyms but the words moved her beyond heat she loved the way his words made her feel and the way her words did too and in some ways she didn't really care that she would probably never meet this stranger especially as this stranger might not be the same as the picture of the stranger she had in her head from reading his blog he might be a completely different virtual stranger.
And OMFG his mail came in and the conversation started again and when he typed how much he wanted to ram his thick fat cock into her she felt herself responding and typing back that she wanted him to she wanted to feel this lust rising she wanted to feel the strangers lust wanted to feel that there really was a person at the other end who wanted to turn her onto her stomach and pull her arse cheeks apart and dip his fingers into her juices and spread her legs apart and work his enormous cock deeper into her and she slides her own fingers into her folds and feels the stringy wetness and thinks of him sat at his desk at work with his hand in his pants too.
Oh she is warm and wet now and needs more more stimulation needs to feel the push of something inside her and as she types about his thick cock stretching her walls she finds the wine bottle is empty how did that happen but its good and in a quick break from the screen she rinses the bottle and pulls her trousers and knickers down and places a towel on the chair underneath her and rejoins the one handed typing as the wine bottle takes the place of her fingers down there she tells him where she is at the conversation forks again one half still in fantasy and the other half describing what she is doing feeling and are both strands fantasy for him or is one of them real and she has to stop typing and finish herself off.
And after she is done he types that he is not yet so she asks him to tell her about his thick cock again and then the new obsession is kicked off for he believes in driving a specific bargain and tells her his cock is 6.5" in girth and at first she cannot imagine how big this is then she finds a tape measure and makes a loop with it to see how big it is but a loop isn't very easy to imagine pushing at you so she measures the wine bottle and fucking hell 6.5" is way bigger than the neck of that even though it wasn't a champagne bottle it was only 3.5" around and though there was a little room for manoeuvre she thinks double that size is really too big so she looks around for more objects to measure.
In her bathroom she finds the deodorant stick, short and stubby but at it's widest only 5" although an interesting shape she sees the travel shampoo but no don't bother with that it is no wider than the wine bottle the shower gel looks huge but it is only 5.5" it looks as big as she imagines she could take and it is nowhere near the 6.5" she can't imagine how fat the strangers cock must be there is the bath foam but that is eye wateringly big and and there is no way that would fit her.
She imagines wandering up and down the supermarket aisles with her tape measure inspecting the various bottles and jars on display looking for the perfect fit and the shop assistant watching as she wraps the tape measure around them but she measures the bath foam and that is still only 6" and she measured it even though she thought it was too big and now she is a little sad for if she did ever meet the strangers cock it would not fit her the owner of the cock with his fantasies is too big for her she has an inadequate cunt she is too small for something that size although then she thinks maybe because if she met the stranger his cock would be flesh and blood and filled with blood and therefore flexible and not the planar smooth unyielding surface of a bath foam bottle and maybe it would work.
But if even the strangers cock was flexible it was still 0.5" bigger than the bath foam bottle then she was still too tight for the strangers cock even if she was hot and wet and yes in theory she knew they were capable of expanding to the size of a babies head but how much work would that take and maybe the stranger had exaggerated his size after all men do that all the time she wondered if there was a graded scale by which men did exaggerate so that if the stranger said 6.5" then she could look at the penis girth exaggeration (PEG) scale and know that he would really be (in the norms of statistical distribution) somewhere between 4.75" and 5.5" and then having a tight wet cunt would not be so much of a disadvantage after all.
Sometimes she wished she had majored in something other than Mathematics.
Also published here
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)