Okay, many of my readers are, like me, not part of the NASCAR demographic. Some of you were constitutionally unable to write a snippet of NASCAR smut. Because I am a compassionate soul, I hereby offer a few alternative writing assignments. Choose one of the following scenarios:
1. Good lovin' with a thinking woman's man (or woman, if you are so inclined); examples include Charlie Rose, Paul Krugman, Hendrik Hertzberg, Bill Clinton, but you are encouraged to pick your own intellectual hottie.
2. Good lovin' in an academic or professional setting.
3. Totally hedonistic realization of all your fantasies.
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There is a pool table. Not just any pool table, but one in the water. It isn't just any water; it is a pool. Yes, there is a pool table in a swimming pool with splendid views of azure Caribbean waters.
This special pool table is covered with balls, but not of the solid or stripe variety. There are also many sticks and many pockets sharing that pool table in the sun with the splendid view of azure Caribbean waters.
This delicious pool table is located in the pictures of Hedonism II in Jamaica. I want to play on that pool table.
I want to go with someone dark and baby faced. Someone I've met. Someone who is kind and funny and very cute. I wander off, looking for a bathroom, as the party swirls on in the great room. I find one, and as I walk back out of it, I nearly bump into him, passing in the hall. We blush and mutter apologies. We are standing too close, and it begins to feel awkward. He looks as if he might step away, but instead I lean into him and press my lips to his--so smooth and sweet they are. He parts them, and never has anything felt more welcoming--a light kiss turns deep and passionate; my hands perch awkwardly on his chest, hardly considered. We pull apart, shakily and blink at each other. He begins to apologize--I am married, after all. I shake my head, smiling, and tell him it was fantastic. I run my hand down the side of his face and he closes his eyes, breathing in deeply. My fingers pause at his lips and he reaches for them, curling them into his own and pulling me close for another kiss. This time we stumble into a dark room and settle into a couch, making out like teenagers--groping and frenching and giggling. the end.
I think I started accomplishing number 2 on your list with my post today (Administrator/Alley). I didn't get to the sex part yet, that's another post....
Good lovin' in an academic or professional setting:
An excerpt from The History of Sexuality, Volume Four: A Novel
Adina Louche-Jones glanced across the seminar table at Henry Stanton, a dark-eyed Marxist with a penchant for Classic Coke. His tight-fitting black turtleneck revealed firm nipples standing at attention and, admiring his aura of intellectual boredom and masculinity tinged with a safe degree of androgyny, Adina imagined climbing across the table and straddling his lanky form. “I hope you’ve read Discipline and Punish,” she’d say, her voice husky with desire. “Twice,” he’d reply, tearing open the front of her button-down blouse to reveal her black cotton underwire. “That brassiere is so sexy,” he’d whisper, “but it looks really comfortable.” “It is comfortable,” she’d assure him, thrusting the twin globes of her surgically unenhanced breasts toward his waiting mouth. As his soft, sensitive lips parted to take in her stiff left nipple, she would guide his mouth over to her right nipple with a moan of anticipation, “the pierced one, the pierced one is better…”
I don't suppose a story of being rubbed until you fall asleep in new flannel sheets would fit here?
I don't have a problem with flannel porn.
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