Archive for June, 2009

The Coming Storm

Tuesday, June 30th, 2009

It was hot that day, like dog’s breath in your
ear. The sun sat squarely above us as we walked
hand in hand down the dirt road that bordered
Hank’s field. Off to the west came the distant
rumblings of an approaching storm. “How much
further is it?” I panted. We’d been walking for
nearly an hour and I was ready to drop. “We’re
almost there shooga,” she replied. This girl was
something else, country born and country bred.
Her yellow halter top and cutoff shorts did
everything but hide the luscious body under them.
I had to have her, I was hopelessly in love.

She stopped beneath the overhanging limbs of an
old live oak and sat on one of the drooping branches.
I sat next to her and felt her slide ever so slightly
in my direction. Sherry was her name and she was truly
fine. Beautiful through and through with a gorgeous
personality to match that incredible figure. I watched
her pull up her hair and fan her neck. A little drop
of sweat tiptoed down her neck and stood just above
that first hint of cleavage. Another joined it and then
another until together they ran into that moist valley
beneath her top. She saw me staring and giggled, goosebumps
rising from her flawless skin. “It’s just around the
corner shooga, why the fuss?” “I’m so hot,” I spat, “let’s
get the hell outta here and go swimmin’, O.K.?”

She stood up and stretched, then pulled the denim shorts
away from her thighs. Without a word she walked on without me.
Where she got this energy I’ll never know but all it did was
make me love her more. The storm rumbled again closer now.
Maybe it would cool things off. I followed her down that
dusty road toward a distant grove of trees.

I’d been seeing her now for about a month. We had a lot
of things in common and our sex life was coming along
nicely although we hadn’t yet gone all the way. She was
a paradox. So eager to get things going, so passionate
and warm at first and then suddenly cold like the cold
wind before a storm. My hands knew her every curve and
my lips knew her secret places. I could only hope that
I wouldn’t have to wait much longer. As it came nearer,
so it faded away.

She reached the trees long before I did and by the time
I stumbled into the shadows she was undressed. Her skin
…End of the part1. To be continued..

Archive-name Miscellcompattst

Monday, June 22nd, 2009

Archive-title: Compatibility Test

Found the following test for tantric partner compatability. Basicly
the two partners are supposed to take copies of the test separately, then
exchange papers and study the results, followed by discussion. It is
supposed to give you insight into your partner’s sexual attitudes and
such. I thought I would pass the test on:

1. When I see a sexually attractive person I am
a) aroused b) interested c) cool.

2. I try to find out that person’s reaction to me
a) right away b) in the course of our first meeting
c) at some future time.

3. If the person is interested I
a) deliberately engineer our next meeting
b) hope our next meeting will occur soon
c) wouldn’t go out of my way to find out when we might next meet.

4. When we do meet again I
a) make a strong play b) make my continued interest apparent
but not obvious c) play it cool

5. To keep a person interested in me sexually I keep the sexual
motif in dress, conversation and gestures
a) strong b) subtle but constant c) underplayed.

6. Friendship between a man and a woman
a) always has a sexual base b) is usually sexual but may be platonic
c) becomes sexual only if one of the two gives it a sexual bias.

7. If a peron of the opposite sex made a tactful, but obvious, sexual
proposition I would be
a) flattered b) flustered c) insulted.

8. I can have a satisfying sexual relationship
a) without love b) only if I pretend that I am in love
c) only if I am in love with my sexual partner.

9. Even though my physical capability may decrease with age I
believe that my sexual interest will
a) increase b) remain roughly what it is now c) diminish.

10. When I look back at my teen years I
a) feel I’m far more sexually alive now b) know I have still
…End of the part1. To be continued..

Archive-name Miscellcolortxt

Saturday, June 20th, 2009

Archive-title: Your Favorite Color is the Key to your Sexual Life

RED Tend to be tigers in the sack. They are easily aroused and
enjoy sex in every way imaginable. Once the sexual spark is
lighted, it may take hours to extinguish. When two Reds get
together, the ensuing erotica could make Lady Chatterley blush.
Lovers of Red tend to be the aggressors and weaker colors should

YELLOW If you tend to favor Yellow your sexual drivers are
complex and lean toward the adaptable. The favorite color of
homosexuals is Yellow! No don’t panic – not everyone who wears
Yellow is gay. In most cases the person will acquiesce to the
stronger partner’s desires in a passive manner. You will never
enjoy sex to the fullest, but you will never turn down an
invitation from someone you enjoy or admire.

PURPLE Lovers of the color Purple frequently consider
themselves too regal for a fun romp in the sack. Women sometimes
are the type who hate to muss their hair. Men are business-like
in their approach to lovemaking. In both sexes, Purple partners
are more concerned with their fulfillment than anyone else’s

BLACK Black color preferences point to Black sex. These people
are the misfits of the sex world and seek out each other in
kinship. They tend to prefer perverted sex and are usually
masochistic or sadistic in nature. They are moody people and
often perform at their peak when under stress or during unhappy
times. Police psychiatrists claim that many sex offenders prefer
the color Black. And it is no coincidence that the uniform of
mobsters and teenaged gangs is Black attire.

GREEN Those who prefer Green are fresh and innocent in their
approach to sex. Women who love Green will make love like
virgins all of their life. And a man may always be a trifle
clumsy and awkward, but in a charming and endearing sort of way.
Green lovers are gentle, but not passionate. If chosen as a
mate, one will never need worry about infidelity.

PINK Persons who like Pink show a reluctance to mature in
sexual matters. Women tend to tease; to promise more than they
intend to deliver. In some cases, they flaunt their femininity -
but because they secretly hate men. A great percentage of
prostitutes boast entire lingerie wardrobes in Pink. Men who
like Pink are philanderers and flirts. They are the type who
will take three dates for the same evening and not keep one;
…End of the part1. To be continued..

Archive-name Miscellcarpentrtxt

Tuesday, June 16th, 2009

Archive-author: Neil Bernstein
Archive-title: John the Carpenter’s Tale

(c) Neil Bernstein 1993

One Sunday, driving Dolores’ truck back from a provisioning
trip, Pete stopped along the riverbank to watch a crew of panting
scullers labor their way against the current. Their slender craft
slipped around chunks of floating ice smoothly as a ballbearing
sliding down a greased track. Got all the time they need to do
that, he thought bitterly. Men who could go home to adoring wives
and get up the next morning to go to work.
In Lombard’s General Store he met old John buying feed for his
three geldings. The man’s belly nearly split his overalls as he
carried the sacks out to his car. Pete hid a chuckle.
“You come back for coffee now,” John bellowed.
Pete could see no reason to refuse him. He followed John’s
rusty truck up a series of gravel paths, shook hands with his
pretty wife. John eased himself into a great armchair. He bade
her serve them their coffee and an endless succession of snacks:
toast, honey, ham sandwiches, spiced drumsticks, maple candies,
pear cobbler…
When she was done serving she settled back on a kitchen stool
and nursed her baby. Pete watched her play with the suckling,
bouncing him gently on her knee. He knew, feeling the certainty
only the superstitious know, that it could not be John’s child.
John had been a carpenter for twenty years. One morning he
found the work too exerting and gave it up violently, pitching his
toolbox through the window of the house he was building. He tried
a variety of jobs after that, settling on delivering the Weekly
Argus. He sat long hours alone at the head of his kitchen table,
playing solitaire late into the night, gaining ten pounds a year.
He always left a half-finished puzzle set up in the living room.
Pete remembered the last time he’d been out to John’s house.
A selectman was giving Grandpa Goosehair some problems, badmouthing
him in town meeting. The old man wanted Pete to see if John could
dig up any incriminating tax information. John looked over
everyone’s tax forms, considered it his neighborly duty. He got so
he could do the arithmetic so quickly that everyone brought him
their crumpled forms: farmers who could only read with a certain
pair of spectacles they’d lost years and years ago, folks who could
read Latin but couldn’t be bothered with figures.
Pete’d got himself lost on nameless gravel tracks and had
arrived very late. The ex-carpenter’s wife had just finished
showering and now stood before a full-length mirror. Her hips were
swathed in fine linen, her arms left half-bare by a silk-finished
nightgown. She braided her hair and rubbed fine powder and oil
into her tremulous neck. John knelt on the parlor floor, his
…End of the part1. To be continued..

Bus Driving Experience

Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009

In my last year of high school, I was a school bus driver. I didn’t drive
in the morning, but our high school let out at 2:30, so I drove junior
high kids home when they got out at 3. For most of the year, it was just
a job, but I had some fun, too.

In addition to being a normal, sex-crazed teenage male, some of the young
ladies who rode my bus sent my mind in a whirl. Because I was small for my
age, most of the ninth-grade girls, with their wide hips and flashing eyes
seemed kind of threatening to me. They sometimes tried to come on to me,
but it only emphasized how they thought I was their age.

I tended to fantasize more about the younger girls, to whom I apparently
appeared to be more a “grown-up.” I got a kick out of these younger
girls’ giggly flirting, especially because I was too shy to ask out
girls my own age. And I sometimes got a hard-on from glancing in my
rear-view mirror as they squirmed to talk to their friends and gave
me an unimpeded view of the well-filled panties underneath their
little-girl skirts. little-girl skirts.

One girl whom I remember was simply exceptional. Her name was Angie.
A seventh-grader, she was small for her age, too, without only a hint
of swelling in the front of her blouse or tee-shirt. From the very
first day, she always sat on the front seat, to the driver’s right. I
dropped her off at one of my last stops before taking the bus back to
the high school parking lot.

I tried to speak to all the kids as they got on and off the bus, but,
because she sat beside me, Angie and I chatted often. I found out her
father had moved to town for a one-year assignment, so she had few
friends at school. Besides, she said, they would be moving away again
as soon as school was over. In addition, Angie had gone to some kind
of advanced program where she lived before, so she was only twelve,
a year younger than the other seventh-graders.

Throughout the nine months I drove her, Angie and I talked about all
kinds of things — what we got for Christmas, local events, favorite
television shows. We talked a lot about our futures and interests.

Angie wanted to be a model and a dancer. She had the elfin build
and pixie features that would have made her a terrific model. Her
dark-blonde hair was cut with bangs in front and was long in the
back. She sometimes wore it in some kind of fancy braid, but mostly
in a simple pony tail. Because she liked wearing short skirts, I
was able to tell her she had great legs for her prospective dancing
career. Whenever I said something personal like that, she smiled
and blushed.

…End of the part1. To be continued..