Wow, how has it been over a week already? Time flies when you’re stressy and a little bit messy.
With 1 assignment down, I have 1 to go before Christmas, and even though I’m wearing wooly jumpers and forcing joyful music onto myself, I’m unmotivated and sleepy.
So, what did I do to cure this mood of mine? I procastinated of course!
So much so, that when a friend tagged me in an article about sex writing, I decided to have a go. Basically, I took a line from each story and wrote on from there.
Be warned, this is not for the faint hearted.
(Side note: I wanted to credit the article, the journalist and the original sex stories, but the link has broken and I can’t find it.)
So, without further ado,
1. “Empty my tanks,” she begged breathlessly, as once more she began drawing me deep inside her pleasure cave. I’d never met a mermaid before, so her statement surprised me. They were obviously a lot more forward than us mere humans. I slipped my fingers into her wet tank, the darkness of her cave swallowing us. I freed the fish from the tank inwhich she had trapped them, and watched them swim free. ‘Fuck’ she whimpered as I left. The evil bitch.
2. ‘Cum inside me.’
‘Cum inside me’
‘Cum inside me’
As much as I tried to ignore the haunted house and its incorrect grammar, I had to, indeed, come inside it.
3. He drops the bra to the floor.
‘You little shit.’ She says. ‘How many times must I remind you to put the washing away and not on the floor?’
4. There was nothing I could do to make it stop. If it continued, I worried, I would be completely emptied out.
Yuzu slept deeply through it all without making a sound, her breathing even. I wish she could stop this.
I scream and I pant as he devours me. My crumbs fall onto his beard. My dust covers his fingers and he licks them, one at a time, before moaning: ‘I love Wotsits.’
5. She shuffles her head closer to his cock. ‘Cockadoodle-fucking-do’ She whispers as she raises her cleaver and cuts of it’s head. ‘That’s for waking me up.’ She frowns and turns to Dave. ‘Keep your birds under control.’
6. I had imagined what they would feel like, read about them, seen them represented on toilet walls and magazines. I almost felt giddy as I lightly stroked the Devil’s horns. I asked permission before moving onto his tail. ‘I can’t beleieve you look just like your cartoon.’ I say. He shrugs his boney shoulders. ‘Still watching cartoons as an adult, Sandra? No wonder you’re in hell.’
7. He wanted to cry like a baby. He felt helpless, as though his body had come undone. So many men had experienced that same pain, the one that comes with being kicked in the balls.
So, there you have it. That’s how I avoided writing (by writing?)
I’m sorry I don’t have more to say this week, but I’m genuinely surprised I’m still alive.