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From: JohnnyD@cryogen.com (Johnny D.)
Subject: REPOST: Party Thoughts (ff over-metaphorical garbage)
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Thought I might as well repost this while I was at it. It's more rubbish,
but hey, why not? There's better stuff (though not much) on my website at
http://www.cryogen.com/JohnnyD/.
Oh yeah, and if you're under 18, go and read rec.arts.disney, or something.
Whatever, you *SHOULDN'T* read this story!
Nighttime, Daytime Thoughts
===========================
by Johnny D. (johnnyd@cryogen.com)
I can see you!
Over there, standing by the window. I can see you. Can you see me?
Do you know what I'm thinking?
Not unless you're telepathic; I hope not.
I hope so.
I'm thinking how handsome you look, how tall and divine. I'm glad that
the sun isn't shining, because then you would be silhouetted against the
window and I wouldn't be able to see the wonderous textures of your clothes
over your skin, how your hair falls about your face, or the gentle demarcation
of your nose from your cheek.
In the twilight, you seem to glow from within, the last red rays of
sunlight lending your clothes a satanic aura. From your collar to your
trousers, a red-gold tinge. Something dangerous.
I wonder if you're wearing any underwear.
I wonder if you wonder if I'm wearing any underwear.
I nervously smooth my skirt over my knees, momentarily squirming in my
panties at those thoughts. Ah, that kills the romance dead; I wear
underwear, thick and concealing; not sexy lingerie to excite a lover but
practical garments to keep important bits warm.
Do you wonder?
Do you even notice me, sitting on that dining chair, huddled in the
corner, sipping a cocktail, making nervous moves with my hands. Fingering
my drink, scratching my ear, smoothing my long skirt across my lap.
Would you mind?
Would you mind me wearing practical underwear?
Or would you rejoice in it, in the game of unwrapping? I think you
would. I can picture you now; a small squeal of delight as you slip my
blouse off my shoulders and see my breasts still encased firmly in my bra.
Oh, you can make short work of that, your nimble fingers unclasping the
clasp with no problem, no fumble. But you pull the garment away slowly,
wanting to prolong the suspense, the agony, the excitement. And finally it
is gone from my body and you toss it over your shoulder, useless rag that
it has become.
Now you can see my breasts.
You run your fingers over them lightly, almost tickling the nipples,
yet I gasp because they are so sensitive. Then you descend on them, gently
taking one between your lips. Your sweet, tender lips; wrapped around my
breast in a loving embrace, while your gentle tongue strokes over the
nipple, caressing around it.
I am in ecstasy.
And then, I can see you moving away. Lower. I lost my skirt already,
but my thick panties prevent you from even glimpsing my womanhood.
So you take them off, gently tugging them down my legs an inch at a
time. So tantalising, only when they have fallen off my feet do you look
where they were.
Gaze upon me.
You sigh; I know you do. Would. You sigh as you lean forwards towards
my nest. You nestle there. A quick kiss at first; a quick kiss placed
upon my clitoris, causing it to spasm. To squirm. To scream. Soon, the
gentle probings of your tongue replace your lips and I am in heaven.
I am the stars, I am the moon. I am the planets, the comets, the
constellations above.
At some point you must have left my clitoris, delved within my
womanhood, tenderly exploring my innards. I can feel it. Yet I can feel
you still at my love charm, my clitoris, urging me onwards and onwards,
upwards and upwards, towards nirvana. Maybe you use your fingers; maybe
you have two tongues. From this distance I cannot tell.
I am a meteor burning up in the sky. Around me the atmosphere streaks
red, golden, then yellowing to white. The heat and the fire without fill my
soul and course my veins. I see white, yellowing to golden, to red.
The last red rays of the sun lend your clothes a satanic aura. I
wonder; do you notice me, flushed of face and skittish of hands? Squirming
on that dining chair, huddled in the corner.
Thank God for thick panties.
Someone is talking to you now. Kara. My coison. It's her party. She's
mingling.
She tells a joke.
God, are you beautiful when you laugh.
She says talk to you later, Julia, must circulate some more.
Julia.
Julia Julia Julia.
What a beautiful name.
***********
COPYRIGHT NOTICE: This story remains at all times the exclusive copyright of
the author known as Johnny D. You, the reader, is hereby granted permission
to keep a private copy of this story, and to make paper copies for your
own personal use only; however, my authorship and this warning must NOT be
removed from the manuscript. You may show this story to other people
individually. You may NOT distribute the story publically without my
permission. This includes (but is not limited to): placing the story on a web
site, FTP site, mailserver; posting in to a mailing list or newsgroup; putting
it on a CD-ROM. Do any of these without my say so and I will be very angry.
In other words, if you want to use this story for anything, you have to ask me
first.
[ Note to Eli the Bearded: you still have my permission to archvie this
story in perpetuity. ]
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