[Photh]

Figured I start a thread like the Artist's area. Not one tale but many different small stories allowing comments or raspberries between each. Seems a few people read my stuff or at least look at them before hurling judging by the counts.

Either way he goes.

Thoughts & Dreams
I’ve had my share of cars and back of vans. Dark corners in malls and late night stairwells and alleys behind bars. Sex tinged with danger. Danger of being caught by angry boyfriends; pissed off ex-girlfriends; crazed storeowners with baseball bats; or the cops. Danger in awkward positions pulling something important or drawing attention by making too much noise. Tonight is different.

My place? When I asked she took a long time answering. In a proper bedroom. Nobody to interrupt by barging in or start an argument in the other room. No distractions or peer pressure or liquor induced horniness. My place. Our place if she wanted. She stared into my eyes searching for something. If she did or didn’t find it she never said. Finally nodding and accepting before grabbing my hands and lighting up like the sun.

Never slept naked until tonight. While she finished showering I prepared. Curling the comforter into a log on the floor at the end of the bed and shifting pillows and folding down the sheets. Climbing under the sheet the water stopped. Picturing that dripping body lying there my boner stretched down one thigh. I shifted to my side to face the bathroom door making it easier to hide my head start.

The light blinked off as she opened the door appearing in the doorway wrapped in canary yellow. Silky sheet rubbed against my rising cock while my eyes traced her terry cloth curves. Its edges barely covering her female pleasures. Talking fast about this important step in our relationship; how she couldn’t believe we would make it this far; and, what her friends would think of us; she walked over and sat on the bed with her back to me.

Only the tips of her hair were wet as I gently touched a bare shoulder. My cock jumped on feeling her warm damp skin. Rip it off screamed the blood racing below my waist. Damn it, wait for it, rubbing her shoulder instead. Massaging across tense muscle to her neck she stopped talking and leaned into my fingers. Lied to her. I can wait.

Standing and turning to face me she tugged the top towel flap free. Damp yellow dropping to her feet as she fell into my arms. Firm nipples drove me backward. Lightning jab kisses crisscrossed my face feeling her weight coming to rest over me. Hugging her tighter I returned fire. Our heads danced while our lips found new targets. Bobbing and weaving over her face ground my boner into the sheet between us.

Rolling her over to lie sideways and naked on the bed focused on lip lingering kisses. First tease of a French kiss her hand pressed into the back of my head. Her lips opening, my tongue thrust inside, ravenous for the pleasure it mimicked. Fingers yanked the sheet off my legs and curled around my cock as we kissed. Narrowing her lips after each French her hand and my tongue rehearsed.

Fingers jerking my boner sent me rolling onto back pumping my hips with sexual reflex. She whispered having come once already in the shower. Pressing her fingernails along my shaft sending sharp pleasure through me, I warned her. Foreplay’s over. You’re going to get fucked now. A 33-1/3 long playing album fuck.

Rolled on top looking at her horny grin and between spreading thighs. A wet patch on the sheets marking my approach felt her hard clit as I ran my tip down her slit and through the soft lips of her pussy. Savoring its hot lick on my cock. Low and slow sheathed my cock. Legs parting as my cock filled hot pussy.

Propping myself up above her got my hips fucking long and smooth. Each stroke a little hotter around my cock and a little wetter on my balls. The hot grip of her pussy pleading for speed I kept it slow. Baby, it’s forever.

----------

Knock! Knock! KNOCK!

Opening my sleepy eyes the bedroom door opens revealing a canary towel, “DAAAD! Hurry up! I gotta get to the mall before everything’s gone!”

[Photh]

Now a little sci-fi...


Eve Unbound
Log Day 454.
Carol, you win the bet. Two days out of stasis and I’m horny as hell. Nearing M116 Beta so next entry should be planet side.
C. E. A.

Most captains dictated their logs into the computer but she wasn’t one of them. Pen and paper was good enough for her ancestors, it was good enough for her. Shoving the small logbook in a thigh pocket along with the pressure-feed pen she took ing the huge blue-green ball filling the windows.

“Billy, status.”

She was going to kill the tech that gave her a male computer. Two weeks of reprogramming finally disconnected that pompous ass he installed and presented her with a list of alternatives. She picked the voice of an 8-year-old, little Billy. Way too formal for its tenor but it didn’t make her pull her hair out.

“Captain. One moment.”

“Umm. What’d you call me?”

“Sorry, Eve.”

“Better.”

The large screen under the main window scrolled simultaneous text as Billy spoke.

“Beta M1186. Orbit 0.003 elliptical, 3.113 AU about Red Giant primary. Nitrogen oxygen helium atmosphere, pressure 1.1 above standard. Gravity 0.89 normal. Diurnal period 9.3 standard. Sagan differential 0.05.”

“Almost home.” Admiring the view. “Exploratory notes.”

“One…” Voice changed to recorded log. Second view screen started displaying a slide show of pictures pausing to match key points in the log.

“We’ve cataloged over 10,000 new flora and 6,000 new fauna. Nothing above old world primate in intelligence. Most land species are harmless except the ‘BPP’ flowers that stung Jack. Oh, that’s ‘bloody purple pissers’ if you don’t read reports.”

“The sea has some big nasties. Thing’s the size of a blue whale with shark teeth. Chewed through 1” hull plating like bubblegum. Steer clear.”

There was a pause as Billy scanned for other entries. “Today I finally got close enough to photograph the ‘silver manatees’. Four meters long they stick close to the reefs and inland rivers. Extremely shy, had to sit in a tree for half the planet’s day before one swam close. One pic is all I got.”

“No other records found, Eve.” Pause. “Atmospheric insertion in 7 minutes.”

“Level 1 systems check.” Leaning back in the flight chair to wait for Billy’s results.

“Check complete, Eve. All systems green. Insertion in 1 minute.”

Computer control made all this routine. A few bumps and shakes and it’s over. She couldn’t believe the old mercury pilots did this by free-fall. Seat belts tight she watched for the first orange streaks of reentry.

Blinking, red light flooded the room before Billy spoke. “Warning! Hull breach, panel 14B! Warning!”

Slapping the belt release. “Report!”

“Reserve fuel storage compromised. Atmosphere insertion past abort horizon. Container temperature exceeding safety limit. Explosion imminent. All personnel to he life pods.”

“Shit!” Pulling herself along the handrails she staggered toward the life pod. “Estimated countdown!”

Billy’s calm voice answered. “Eve, 42 seconds and counting.”

One hard reach and she punched the pod door panel. “By fives Billy!”

“Thirty-seconds.” Pause. “Explosion in secondary fuel lines. Guidance system failure. Rerouting. Twenty-five seconds.”

The open doorway jerked left as she pulled herself into the pod. A sharp stab followed by the crack of bone sent her tumbling to the floor of the pod.

“Twenty-seconds.” Pause. “Communications failure.”

Her left leg throbbing and limp she grabbed for the armrests of the pod chair. Fingers squeezed just as the ship dropped violently. Zero-G training kicking in she pulled and twirled. Her ass hit the seat the instant the ship shot up. Hammers raced up her broken leg trying to knock her out.

“Fifteen-seconds, Eve.”

One hand flailing overhead slapped the pod helmet twice before she caught hold. Pulling it down to seal against her upper body the navigation glove boxes rotated above the armrests. Ramming her free hand inside hit the emergency foam button.

“Ten-seconds.”

Nozzles in the chair and walls opened pumping white foam into the pod. Turning her head she watched the pod door slide shut. Bless computer control. Quickly covered in foam she punched the other hand in its glove box and waited.

Click in her ear signaled internal communications. “5 seconds. Prepare to jettison.”

“Thanks Billy.” Flipping the two release toggles.

“Safe... SQUEEEE!”

First jolt was the explosive bolts the second was the fuel tanks. Ten-seconds after that the main engines blew. The split second of blinding light and a 15-G shock wave slamming her into darkness.

---------------

Eyes closed she shook her head trying to clear away the cobwebs. She wasn’t moving that’s a good sign. Breathing too, that’s two for two. Sharp pains in her left leg made it a lousy three for three. Time for number four. Where am I?

It took her several seconds in the darkness before her eyes caught the faint light from the instrument panels. Emergency foam was designed to expand, becoming transparent and rigid. Design left something to be desired. The amount had to be just right or you got what she was looking through. Wavy, cloudy glass. Good thing the foam wasn’t permanent.

Pushing and turning the solvent release sequence her body relaxed as the foam dissolved around her. Within minutes the pod was free of foam and she could clearly read the status screen and check the viewports. It was night outside with trees swaying in the starlight. Beautiful place if she wasn’t shipwreck.

Satisfied she was safe for the moment shot her leg full of painkillers and bone knitters. Taking one last look outside she shot a sleeper into her wrist and collapsed back into sleep.

---------------

She woke to the faint sound of tapping. Outside the viewport it was still night and an alien was poking the transparency. It was humanoid and silver, bending over to look in. Judging from the viewports height from the ground it must be almost three meters tall. Its long, gentle face smiling as it tapped.

She never had xenophobia on meeting new species so this alien was simply a rescuer. Her broken leg had knitted nicely while she was asleep so going outside to greet her savior wasn’t going to be a problem. Walking up to the viewport she pointed to the right to the hatch. Nodding the silver alien stood up straight and disappeared as she pushed the release button.

Stepping to the doorway she cautiously climbed down to the ground. Several meters away the large alien towered over her. Starlight glowing over his smooth silver skin.

“Wow!” Noticing the parts hidden by the pod’s port. “Let me guess, you’re male, right? Sweet daddy, are you male.”

He pointed toward the water. Out of the surf rolled five silver manatees. As they left the water their front flippers grew and back flipper split in half. Hands and feet budded at each end as their torso shortened. Within seconds, three female and two male humanoids were walking toward them.

Poking her chest to start the introductions. “I’m Eve. Captain Eve Angistol. Eve.” Then pointed at him to introduce himself.

His smile opened into a huge grin. Looking down she realized where she was pointing. His male shaft was rising and lengthening. Three long strides and he lifted her off her feet. Cradling her in his arms he carried her toward the tree line.

Looking into his silvery face and unzipping her flight suit, “Next time I better point at your chest.”

[OrangeCat]

Heheh... very nice.

[Photh]

Ok. I finally did a fan tale. Hopefully better never than late.

The Fishin' Ho'
Early dawn on a warm spring morning. The local TV weather girl said it’d be sunny, hot, and sticky today. Not a day for being cooped up in front of a chalkboard, but perfect for skipping school and doing nothing in the cool shade.

The treehouse trap door was already open when Jake climbed the ladder boards. Once inside he discovered Andy reading a worn copy of ‘JABulous!’ under their trophy shelf.

“Come on! Sun’s up and you’re jacking off.” Grabbing the fishing poles off the wall.

Andy’s tented cutoffs propped the folded page as he drooled over the centerfold.

“...Miss May prefers intelligence over muscle.” Licking the corner of his mouth, “Intellectual inclination is the salient standard for effectual procreation.”

“Yeah yeah, she’s got a smart beaver.” Tossing the tackle box at the magazine. “Head’s up!”

Andy yanked the glossy pages aside letting the box bounce off his chest. “Hey! You’ll damage her!” Wincing as the small plastic box ricocheted of his hard-on.

Threading the poles down the trap door, “Come, ON! The fish won’t wait all day, and don’t forget the shovel this time.”

Andy carefully folded the magazine and sat in on the reading pile. “Right!”

----------

The creek bend was clear and deep. A pool dug out by years of slow moving water. Trees and bushes lined the banks hiding the spot from prying eyes. Over the years kids had built a small dock to jump off or dangle toes. A tall oak leaning out over the pool wore a knotted rope on a thick branch for the daring.

Shirts, shorts, and shoes tossed under a nearby tree, Andy and Jake spent the first hour skinny-dipping. Splashing and diving at first to cool off. Then racing to the opposite bank and back. Finally, dicks and faces tanning in the early morning sun as they backstroked slowly around the pool.

After drying on the dock they dug worms near their clothes. Twenty good size nightcrawlers squirming in the tackle box lid and they were ready. Hooking two on their lines they headed in different directions for their favorite spots. Jake waded out mid-thigh casting his worm into a stand of reeds. Andy sat back in the shade of a large tree and tossed his into a shallow spot.

Nobody caught eating fish at the bend, just hundreds of young panfish. Fun to catch when you don’t care what you catch. Fast enough on the light strikes you could catch four on one worm. Jake’s bobber dove first. As he reeled in number three Andy’s pole bent with his first. They kept biting often enough to keep their interest but slow enough to stay relaxed.

----------

“Coperny! Wait up!”

Tiny hoofs clacked on the wood dock, “Oink. Oink.” Followed by a splash.

Behind Andy the bushes burst open as a bottomless, pigtailed girl ran toward the dock. Laughing as she past his hidden resting spot, she pulled her black and white top over her head and tossed it in his general direction.

“Holy Hathor!” Escaped his lips watching bouncing tits and ass streak past.

Jake turned at the splash and froze. His eyes glues to the naked girl running off the dock. Her legs curling up for into a cannonball he got a great pussy shot before she threw up a huge wave.

“*Cough* Hey!” Cough* We’re trying to fish here!” Jake yelled best he could choking on water.

Slender arms lifted a pink piglet onto the dock as the girl surfaced. “Bad pig! You knows betta. Yous can’t swim.”

Pulling herself out of the water she plopped her bare ass on the dock. Water dripped down her tits, off cold nipples, and down her legs. She flipped her soaked pigtails over her shoulders while the piglet coughed and shook beside her clearing water from its tiny lungs. One hand petting its back she looked around.

Feet swishing water she smiled at Jake. “Howdy. How da’ bitin’?”

“Fine, until you scared them all away!”

“Who is she Jake?” Andy called stepping out of the shade carrying her discarded top.

Twisting to see the new voice the girl’s smile grew, “Rita Mae.” Patting the pig. “This here’s Copernicus.”

“Hi, I’m Andy and that’s...”

“Shut up! She could be a spy.”

Jake sprayed water on each stride as he moved to confront the intruder. One hand still hold the fishing pole he stopped a few feet from Rita Mae. Andy dropped the top and silently stepped knee deep in the creek to get a better look at the spy’s tits.

Jake interrogated her for a few minutes. All eyes darting from smiles to curly patches as they talked. Rita Mae stopped waving her feet keeping a low stare as Jake. The time spent staring at her had his dick bobbing just above the flowing water.

“Looks likes ya done fishin’.” Running her hands across her warming nipples.

Jake opened his mouth to answer when the pole jerked in his hand. Thought rushing to his crotch he yanked too hard. The force arcing his catch out of the water and pulling the hook free. Copernicus ducked behind her as the flat, hand-sized fish slapped between her tits.

Both boys stroked their dicks as Rita Mae struggled to grab the slippery fish. If flipped and twisted over both tits slipping free each time her got a hand on it. Guiding it between her tits and using both hands she managed to grab it. For an instant she held it before it spurted down between her legs.

“Oooh! Ahhh! Yesss!” She screamed, slapping her hands over the flailing fish.

When the fish stopped moving she opened her legs, letting the spent fish slide off her pussy and back into the creek.

“Wow.” Was all Jake could manage pumping his hard dick nearby.

Staring a Jake’s bouncing hand Rita Mae reached out. “Come here.”

Jake walked over the dock as she lay back on the wood. One hand cupped his balls as her lips sucked in his dick. Behind her, Andy pumped his load into the creek staring at her other hand rubbing her pussy. It didn’t take long for Jake to drive his hips forward, shooting her mouth full of cum.

Licking the tip of Jake’s softening dick, “Nothin’ beats catchin’ fish.”

Andy and Jake raced back to the tackle box for another worm. Grinning at a long day of fishing with Rita Mae.

This post has been edited by Photh: 06 July 2008 - 01:17 AM

[Photh]

An emotion tale, I guess. No sex, just a first meeting.
Warned you these would be all over the map.

Bar Night
“Here you go, honey.” Leaning over and doing the bottle shuffle. “On your tab?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Giving the barmaid a smile and grabbing cold glass. This makes five, taking a four swallow drink.

My spot was near the end of bar. Not the very end, around the corner so you could see behind the bar, but in front so you can watch from the mirror above the bottles. The quiet end, staring at odd-shaped bottles of liquors you barely heard of.

Tonight, Tuesdays, were beer night. Moosehead when they got it, Killian’s when they didn’t. Thursdays were mixers, the something and soda pop night. 7&7, G&T, Rum and coke, you get the idea. Saturdays were, screw it no work tomorrow, night. Revolutions, Rusty Nails, Southern Comfort, or Bartender’s choice.

Been a regular for about 3 years now. Made a few friends, but I’m a quiet drinker. The loud crowd sit at the tables. You know, the I’m here with my team bunch. Name the sport, they got their tables, and their girls. Wives, steadies, fans, siblings, you name it.

Now that I got that out of the way, waggled empty number 5 at the barmaid to get a nod. In the mirror locked eyes on a brunette staring at me. Caught, she looked away fast, turning to the blonde next to her. The blonde was chatting away with three guys in softball jerseys two tables over. The brunette sipped her beer, no bottle baby, and shot me another glance to see if I was still looking.

“One more for your tab, Hon? Distracting me.

“Sure.” Pulling my wallet as she grabbed the two empties. “Better go plastic. Feel’s like a long night.” Handing her my Master Card.

“Thanks. I bring back your $20. Give me a minute.” Walking away with plastic and amber in hand.

The eyes were back when I looked up, and the blues didn’t flinch his time. Blondie had flirt in high gear, leaning between tables to talk. Nothing like the flash of a baby butt to keep a guy talking. Whoops, must be number 6 thinking. Raising my beer in the mirror, hello. Lift of her glass, hi.

Six and seven dead soldiers sat waiting for burial and a fresh number 8 when the brunette slipped into the stool on my left. Her glass was empty, so of course I offered to buy her one.

“Thanks.” Swiveling on the stool. “Um?”

“Brian.”

“Amy.”

“They look better close up.” Better explain that number 7. “Your eyes, I mean.”

She was about to say something when the barmaid returned. Filling her glass and rolling her eyes at my beer buzz comment.

Sitting Amy’s Blue down, “On our tab?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Once she was out of earshot, “Don’t worry Brian, I know what you meant.”

Lifting 8 for a clink of bottle and glass, “Here’s to knowing.”

“And meaning.”

I was done. Two glugs of number 8 and my brain lost small talk. Totally blank on what to say next. I just looked at her in the mirror, rolling the bottle between my hands. It wasn’t like, if only I was sober. That’s not the problem, its small talk. That casual mindless babble most people practice was something I never honed and drinking only dulled it more.

“Brian?”

Rocking my knees to tap denims. “Sorry, I’m not much of a talker. Ask anybody.”

“I get that, sitting alone at the bar, watching the world behind you.”

“Safer, too.” Number 8 dropping my gaze to her breasts. Great. Trying to talk to her and can’t look at her face. Just great.

We sat drinking our beers after that dumb look. Through the buzz touch finally got a few seconds of communication. Her knees were keeping contact. My tap had glued her to me. A little absent minded contact that’s all it was, don’t stop thinking with your brain.

Number 9 and 2 on the way I finally got a few thoughts to my tongue. It felt like a production, forcing myself to touch her shoulder and look into her eyes before saying my lines.

“I’m not great company, hell I’m not even good company when I’m drinking.” The barmaid sat 9 in front of me and 2 next to her glass. “I’ll buy your drinks the rest of the night but, really, I don’t think… Never mind. Sorry.”

She puts her hand over mine, lifting it and pulling it down toward her breast. What the hell? I yank it away before contact, amazed.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You must be taking to my boobs, since you haven’t said my name once, Brian.” Reaching for my hand again. “That blow-off speech was really good, and probably worked hundreds of times, huh?” Holding her hand under mine on the bar. “But, can I make up my mind first?”

“Amy, what you want to know?”

This post has been edited by Photh: 08 July 2008 - 06:55 AM

[Photh]

I couldn't come up with a title for this.
It's very short.

----------------------------

I can tell you why I don’t sleep the entire night. It’s the woman lying next to me.

On warm summer nights we sleep naked. I wake to caress the soft wave of her shoulders, her waist, her hips. To trace the faint ladder of her spine and feel the perspiration at the rise of her buttocks. To rest a hand on her shoulder and hold my breath, feeling and listening to her slow breathing. To feather the hair from her neck and kiss her below the earlobe, a second good night.

On cooling autumn nights she sleeps upon my chest. I wake to smell her hair. To finger comb her silky curls. To pet the smooth arm resting across my stomach. To lightly run my fingers over the fine, shear slip covering her hips and rear. To stroke the pulsing rise on her neck, counting heatbeats.

On icy winter nights we spoon under heirloom quilts. I wake to her hands holding mine. To gently press my forearm against her breast. To feel the warm lines of her legs on my thighs. To feel my breathing gently rocking her to sleep.

On warming spring nights we sleep face to face. I wake to kiss the tip of her nose. To brush stray curls off her cheek and sleeping eyes. To explore the face that loves me. To divine what I did to deserve her.

[Photh]

A head's up to my few readers.

I don't know when I'll get back to this. I'm concentrating on my DA novella (if my story outline is correct) and the little acts I'm writing to clear my head aren't really erotic right now. The last two I thought about posting just don't fit this forum. One's a Twilight Zone sort of thing and the other was a test to see if I could carry a single emotion [anger] across many pages.

So, until I get a few tales that'll fog glass I'm leaving this thread as is.

[Photh]

Wrote a little birthday present for myself. I know it's a day early but it's finished now so…

Half-C
The double-shot glass wobbled on the booth table in front of me as the waitress dropped it off, swiping another $10 bill from Ursula’s pile. An acquaintance from work, when she found out it was my birthday, she offered to buy me a drink for my Half-C. Of course I tried to bow out. Any hint of S.H. would have me out on the streets, and 50 isn’t a good age to go job hunting. She said it was Ok, maybe next year, but ambushed me in the parking lot after work, arm hugging me to her car, and driving straight here.

All right, I let myself get hijacked. One look at Ursula and you wouldn’t have asked. She’s tall, maybe 5’-10” or 5’-11”, almost my height, and over a decade younger. Seems most of the available ones are at my age. Long black hair and brown eyes. Slim, but not skinny, she had the curves to get a man’s mouth watering. If that wasn’t enough, she had melt in your mouth, dark chocolate skin.

“It’s a surprise.” Was her only answer to my questioning.

Heading downtown, I guessed a couple hotspots from the passenger seat. All I got were shakes and grins — Wrong. When she turned the car left into the tunnel to Windsor, I threw up hands and gave her a short raspberry of giving up. Laughing at my bad acting, she fired back a few blue teases.

“Black tunnels scare you?” When the tires thump–thumped over an expansion joint, bouncing both of us.

“Oh, here it comes.” The car descending to the curve of lights marking the entrance. “Wait for it.” The arch of lights almost overhead. “Yes!” Entrance lights flashing past overhead.

Toll and Customs took 15 minutes. Ten more waiting in line to convert our money. Back on the road, another 15 minutes and she pulled into a parking tower. Walking down from level 3 I hoped white-collar work clothes fit in with her surprise. The dark green, knee length dress she wore would fit in anyplace. I never got a good look at what she wore while at work, her outfits always hidden under the mandatory white lab coat.

Two blocks from the parking lot and another hour until sunset, Ursula stopped and gave the, ta–da we’re here, pose. The flashing neon signs were dim in the low sun but my jaw hit the sidewalk when I read them. Muffin’s. Open 24 hours. Private show rooms. All Nude. All the Time.

I paid the cover, telling her she offered a drink not the whole night. She flashed a frown at the last remark, but brightened when I stuck out my elbow for her. A few steps past the door I stopped letting my eyes adjust to the dark. Ursula stayed next to me, arm threaded around mine. Weird. Her touch felt relaxed, not tense or freaked out by the 5 naked girls dancing in front of us. Weird, weird. I felt her hip brush against me, swaying to the blaring music.

It was going to be hard to talk until the song ended so I pointed to our right, leading her to an empty booth. The booth was near one tip of the X-shaped stage, lined with men waving and tossing Canadian bills. Letting her slide into the booth first, she wiggled all the way to the back and set her purse on the seat to her right. Sitting down on her left, I shifted over, not too close but near enough to talk when we could.

The song ended with scattered applause from the tipper seats. The girls making a show of bending over, knees locked, to pick up loose bills and lining their garter bands. Near us on stage, a sweaty shaved blonde blew a kiss in our direction before walking away. My stare at her high-heeled retreat was blocked when a waitress stepped to our table. Ursula agreed on beer, so pulled out three $20s and ordered a pitcher of Molson’s and 2 glasses.

She sat $100 in tens on the table, ordered a double–shot of Canadian Club for me, and told the waitress to keep them coming. “Don’t worry, I’m driving.”

The beer arrived before the next set started, 4 girls this time. Wearing garter bands and smiles, they walked to the 4 poles at the ends of the X. The closest a redheaded, racing strip. The set’s first song started slow, loosening bare hips and wallets from pockets. I poured Ursula’s beer first, then mine, raising my glass. She tapped hers against mine, mouthing happy birthday under the music.

Once the shot glass stopped moving, Ursula pulled the shot glass back, sliding it and herself close. I fingered the thick glass for a second, then tossed it back in one gulp. Her dark face was very close when I turned to thank her for the drink. Whiskey warmth changed my thank you into a quick peck. It, being my birthday, must have kept her shocked smile from becoming a face slap as I turned back to a spread eagle redhead sliding down the pole.

She pushed the empty to the front of the table. The press of her shoulder barely registering as she sank back in the seat. Hell, I barely noticed the waitress drop off the second double, watching the racing strip. In the dark, with my focus on the stage, reflex emptied the shot glass when it slid in range. As the glass hit the table I did remember my gift giver, planting a kiss on Ursula’s lips. Her tongue licking the whiskey taste from her lips, I went back to the redhead.

After the third double, Ursula turned my head to kiss me. Her gentle kiss wasn’t you’re welcome, my response wasn’t thank you. I rocked her back, pressing our lips together for the start of a full blown make–out session. She pushed me away gasping for breath. Too fast, too buzzed, old man. Tried to lean forward to apologize in her ear, she pushed me back probably thinking something else. Slowly mouthed the word, sorry, and stared at the nearly empty pitcher.

The fourth double appeared just as the set ended. The redhead grabbed bills from the stage and trotted backstage. Then I noticed Ursula’s money had disappeared from the table. Shit. Time to go. It’s going to be a long drive home.

“I need to powder my nose.” She said, sliding around holding her purse and vanishing toward the restrooms.

Grabbing the shot glass, splashed whiskey down my throat and pushed the empty across the table. Damn. After a couple minutes of staring into space, our waitress appeared, pouring the remaining beer into my glass and taking the empty pitcher and shot glass away. Ursula’s beer was half gone, nursed it all night probably. Well, she’s got the keys, so drink up. Nothing else to do anyway.

The shaved blonde returned for the third set, blowing another kiss at me before the music started. This time the set shot into overdrive with Nuggent, blonde hair bouncing wildly as floor mounted fans kicked on. When Ted’s solo began, all the lights snapped off, a single spot lighting the curtains. Machine gun riffs split the curtains, exposing Ursula’s oiled, dark chocolate body.

She ran to the center pole, grabbing it high as Ted’s solo ended, circling three times, kicking her right leg to the ceiling. I sat there squeezing my glass as she danced to heavy metal. The fifth double appeared and disappeared, my eyes glued to the woman who brought me here. Her slick black body moving all over the stage, taunting the tippers, humping phantoms, dripping oil and sweat.

Ursula danced the entire set that way. Wild, sensual, untamed. Ending the last song upside down and spread eagle on the pole nearest me. Her hair dripping wet, breasts heaving, out of breath. The clapping wasn’t sparse, it thundered, when she climbed down. She didn’t wear garters or heels, didn’t even look at the money, only walked slowly back behind the curtains.

Twenty minutes later, her green dress slid back into the booth. Double number six on the table. Her hair still smelled of shampoo and her smile went on forever. I couldn’t think, her dance still burning my eyes. She laughed at my agape face.

“Like my dancing?” Eyes twinkling with mischief, she pulled the shot glass toward me. “My old friend Jackie likes older men too. I can get her…”

“Screw that.” Taking her hand. “I want hot chocolate.”

[Photh]

I need some help on this one. Any sailors out there? This is a halloween story so you can guess where its going, but the log needs the proper terminology/jargon to keep the narration accurate. It's a WIP, even the title, so only the first chapter is near enough to post for help. Here goes...

Edit: Sure would help if I could tell port from starboard.

Four Bells
Chapter 1
Jack Droud couldn't sleep. A year long battle with insomnia was almost over, but he still lost a few skirmishes, like tonight. Careful not the wake Sally, he slipped out of bed and headed downstairs, past the kids rooms. Mom's cure always worked for him, so he poured a glass of milk in the refrigerator light and popped it in the microwave for a quick minute.

Jack walked to the living room keeping one ear on the microwave fan and snapped on the reading lamp next to 'daddy's' chair. He made it back to the microwave and waited for it to hit 2 seconds before punching the stop button and the door latch. A little nutmeg from the spice rack and he went to relax with his warm milk.

When the sleepless battle began Sally started putting a book or two in the end table under the lamp so he could attack on two fronts. Warm cow juice and a boring book put him out in no time. One sip as he settled back in the recliner, Jack sat the glass down, and instinctively reached down for his wife's latest yawner.

The feel was old and crunched lightly as he pinched it to lift it up. This wasn't Sally's usual cliche romance novel but soft bound leather surrounding about an inch of yellow sheets. Flaked, silver leaf letters on the water stained cover said what it was, leaving further explanations up to the reader, "LOG."

+++++

U. S. Schooner Fog Dancer
Samuel C. Trandler, Captain
Walter Thomkins, 1st
Frank Kessles, Joshua Mattan, 2nds

April 14, 1847 -- Boston, Mass.
Partly sunny, NNW winds of 5 knots.
Repairs and provisioning complete. Forenoon, 3rd bell weighed anchors.
New crew shakedown to Norfolk.

April 15 -- Newport, Conn.
Rain, N winds of 15 knots. Swells.
Seaman Righs broke his left arm climbing the port rigging. Always has to be one fool getting hurt to get the training to sink in. Righs should be fine in a few weeks. Mate Thomkins assigned to get replacement upon arrival at Norfolk.

April 16 -- Fort Tilden, New York.
More rain, NE winds of 15 knots. Heavy swells.
Storm building all day E. Maintained S heading using shoreline off the starboard beam. Winds helpful but weather testing crew. Least the storm has proven the quality of repairs in Boston.

April 18 -- Fort Story Lighthouse, Virginia
Heavy gail, SE winds.
Storm followed us down the coast. Morning, 6th bell -- bow anchored and trimmed foresail within sight of the lighthouse. Mate Kessles reports 4 seaman requesting dock transfer. Says none of them have sea legs, feeding most of their meals to the fishes. Only 5, very good.

First watch, 4 bells... On deck thought I saw a Siren, dancing around the foremast. Long silver hair blowing in the rain. Her pale, naked body twirling as she circled the mast. As I past the mizzen she stopped and smiled at me. There was a flash if lightning and she vanished.

+++++

Sally gently shook her husband's shoulders. "Get up sleepyhead, you're gonna be late."

Jack's eyes snapped open. He was sitting with his feet up in the recliner, the open Log across his thighs, wearing only his boxers. Sally moved around his feet and clicked off the lamp. She wore a robe over her nighttime t-shirt and panties. Dawn was just lighting the windows so the lessened light barely dimmed the room. She picked up the empty glass with its white rings and headed for the kitchen.

Stopping at the corner, Sally turned back, teasing him by opening her robe. "Better get upstairs before the kids see that morning wood, Hon. I could've taken take of that, too bad you weren't upstairs."

Stuffing the Log back into the end table before standing, "We could always padlock their doors."

Her face grinned at him and whispered, "Daddy's being nasty. Get that thing upstairs before Mommy jumps it."

"Yes, Ma'am." Patting her bottom as he hopped past.

Safely in the master bathroom Jack climbed under a cold shower. It helped a little, but it only softened his woody. The stream of cool water running down his body kept splashing visions of driving rain cascading horizontally off the Captain's Siren. A quick shave and teeth brushing did dampen him enough to empty his bladder and get dressed without discomfort.

He ran downstairs in mock panic, rounding the landing and jumping into the kitchen with a half–surprised look on his face. Eight-year-old Sandy and 10-year-old Jason laughed at him over their cereal bowls, knowing their daddy's usual morning joke.

"Morning, Daddy." Giggled Sandy.

"Morning." Chorused Sally and Jason.

Sally plopped down 2 plates of hot, toaster waffles and sat down next to Jason. "Hurry up. Sit down and eat you breakfast."

"Yes, Mom–ME." Slumping his shoulders and sitting down slowly.

Sally smirked cutting her waffles. The kids laughed and chanted, "Daddy's in trouble! Daddy's in trouble!."

This post has been edited by Photh: 17 September 2008 - 12:29 AM

[jaded_blue]

Photh, on Jul 9 2008, 11:28 PM, said:

I couldn't come up with a title for this.It's very short.----------------------------I can tell you why I don’t sleep the entire night. It’s the woman lying next to me.On warm summer nights we sleep naked. I wake to caress the soft wave of her shoulders, her waist, her hips. To trace the faint ladder of her spine and feel the perspiration at the rise of her buttocks. To rest a hand on her shoulder and hold my breath, feeling and listening to her slow breathing. To feather the hair from her neck and kiss her below the earlobe, a second good night.On cooling autumn nights she sleeps upon my chest. I wake to smell her hair. To finger comb her silky curls. To pet the smooth arm resting across my stomach. To lightly run my fingers over the fine, shear slip covering her hips and rear. To stroke the pulsing rise on her neck, counting heatbeats.On icy winter nights we spoon under heirloom quilts. I wake to her hands holding mine. To gently press my forearm against her breast. To feel the warm lines of her legs on my thighs. To feel my breathing gently rocking her to sleep.On warming spring nights we sleep face to face. I wake to kiss the tip of her nose. To brush stray curls off her cheek and sleeping eyes. To explore the face that loves me. To divine what I did to deserve her.

This is absolutely beautiful Photh. I love every single line of this piece. Definately one of those that just reach out and pull at your heart strings. Thanks so much for sharing your work. Its always a pleasure to read.

Photh, on Jul 14 2008, 09:20 PM, said:

A head's up to my few readers.I don't know when I'll get back to this. I'm concentrating on my DA novella (if my story outline is correct) and the little acts I'm writing to clear my head aren't really erotic right now. The last two I thought about posting just don't fit this forum. One's a Twilight Zone sort of thing and the other was a test to see if I could carry a single emotion [anger] across many pages.So, until I get a few tales that'll fog glass I'm leaving this thread as is.

I would love to read these Photh.. to tell the truth.. the ONLY erotica I ever read is here. (I've tried some novels and they always seem lacking in some way to me.. perhaps I haven't found the right author yet.) My tastes are much more varied. So yeah... if you'd like to share..

[Photh]

jaded_blue, on Oct 3 2008, 04:56 PM, said:

This is absolutely beautiful Photh. I love every single line of this piece. Definately one of those that just reach out and pull at your heart strings. Thanks so much for sharing your work. Its always a pleasure to read.

Thank you Blue. The first paragraph was stuck in my head when I woke up one night. Guess I write better in my sleep.

jaded_blue, on Oct 3 2008, 04:56 PM, said:

I would love to read these Photh.. to tell the truth.. the ONLY erotica I ever read is here. (I've tried some novels and they always seem lacking in some way to me.. perhaps I haven't found the right author yet.) My tastes are much more varied. So yeah... if you'd like to share..

Looked over both of them... The angry test has too many "personal" rants so, sorry, won't post it.
Here's the TZ one with a little Serling-esk opening.

In life, where you stand makes all the difference. Our point-of-view is a prism, colored by personal experiences, we look through to filter the world around us. As proof we offer you this glimpse into the lives of one small group, to view through your own prisms, and decide for yourselves who has the...

Lucky Ticket
“Fourteen.”

All eyes turned to follow a frail, old man shuffling to the counter. He wore a wrinkled brown suit, yellow shirt, and a dark green bow tie. His brown oxfords were polished but wrinkled with deep creases of long use. The woman behind the counter raised one hand, covering her mouth and nose, as he placed his dark green ticket in the counter’s ceramic plate.

Reeking of hair tonic and after shave, he watched the overhead scanner verify his ticket. After several seconds its blue, reading beam switched off, followed by a faint chime.

Muffled by the hand across her face, “Congratulations, Mister Kessing. Your reward awaits.”

Sliding her free hand under the counter she pressed a hidden button. Immediately the wood door to her right buzzes and pops open several inches.

“Please close the exit behind you completely and proceed to the third starboard door.”

“That’s left, right?”

“No sir, right.” Sliding the ticket toward her and slipping it down a thin opening on her side of the plate.

Smiling, the old man pulled the heavy, wood door open just enough to step around it and pull it shut behind him. When the latch caught, locking the door, the counter woman stepped back, seeming to melt into the white, painted wall. Show over until the next ticket call, the remaining nine men went back to staring at random features in the waiting room or closed their eyes for a short nap.

One hour 59 minutes, and seven numbers later, two old men sat staring at each other across two rows of empty plastic seats. Forty-eight chairs in all were empty. Twenty-three had wood rewards, 25 got steel. The odds had increased for the 2 men after each number call, to rest firmly at 50-50. They knew this was last call, just not whose.

Both held up their tickets as the last minute ticked down. One held bright orange, the other pinched dark red. When the clock’s minute hand snapped to half–past both men moved toward the vacant counter.

The uniformed body of the counter woman extruded from the white paint before they arrived, announcing in a clear voice from her lips and ceiling speakers, “Two–ninety–six.”

The slightly younger man, stick thin and wearing black jeans and black silk shirt, lifted his orange ticket. “Here.” Stepping forward to drop it in the ceramic plate.

The scanner hummed for a few seconds before chiming as usual. Buzz, and the large steel door to the woman’s left hissed open.

“Congratulations, Mister Alexander. Your reward awaits.” Slipping the ticket through the slot. “Please, proceed to the fourth port side door. The exit will automatically shut behind you.”

One crisp wave back at the man holding the red ticket, the thin man sidestepped through the gap. The woman stared straight ahead, arms loose at her sides, as the metal door swung closed with a metallic thud.

“Anytime, Sir.” Her eyes locked on the last man’s red ticket.

The last man, in a thread-bare white dress shirt, unpressed brown pants, long gray beard, and white hair, slid his ticket into the plate. The blue light of the scanner flashed on the instant his fingers cleared the rim. The light narrowed, intensifying to a thin laser. Smoke bloomed from the bright blue contact point an instant before the spot flashed white, disintegrated his ticket.

“Sorry, Mister Trent. Maybe next time.” Bowing slightly, the counter woman’s body shimmered and disappeared with the overhead lights.

Behind him, in the dark, the bearded man heard the automatic entrance doors unlock and slide open, the low sunlight of early evening flooding the empty waiting room. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he began whistled the six notes of a timeless classic walking out into the remaining day, “Whoo-hoo whoo-hoo, whoo whoo.”

-------

Sammy, his seven–year–old grandson, shot off the front steps as he opened the white picket gate of home. His little body a dark blur in the fading red light of dusk.

“Grandpa!” Clamping a bear hug around the old man’s legs

“Hi’ya, Sport.” Patting the boy’s head. “That’s quite a grip, but Grandpa needs to go inside.”

Letting go of his hug and stepping back, “Sorry.”

“It’s ok. Glad to see you too.” Rustling his hair before squatting to look at the boy, “How ‘bout we both surprise Grandma?”

“Yeah! Grandma’s been real quiet all day and Mommy’s been crying. I was quiet... promise.”

“I bet you were. You’re a good boy.” Pushing his tired knees to stand. “Maybe we should surprise both of them, ok?”

“Yay!” Grabbing his Grandpa’s fingers and tugging him toward the house. Sammy stopped tugging when stepped up on the landing, looking up the old man worried. “Grandpa?”

“Yes?”

“Is it ok to say it now?”

“Sure is, sport.” Smiling.

The boy’s whole face smiled when he said, “Happy birthday, Grandpa.”

This post has been edited by Photh: 05 October 2008 - 11:02 PM

[Photh]

Another TZ -- can't seem to shak'um right now. At least it's short.

Everything for a child is new and exciting, sometimes scary, on the path to adulthood. Whether it's learning to feed themselves; the first day of school; or, their first date -- each passing marker dims into memory, but reveals bright new signposts ahead. One child is about to reach such a shining moment in his life, in a whispered tale entitled…

The Blind

"Turn the head a little more left."

"This ok, Dad?"

"Perfect. Don't forget to rub some dirt on it Son, to mask our scent."

"Right."

"That's enough, we better get in the blind, it'll be light soon."

"It's so ugly and smooth, how's it gonna attract anything?"

"The shape's important not the feel, and it's pretty enough to them."

"Slow down Dad, my weapon's heavy."

"Hurry up. The longer we're out here the longer we'll have to wait. It takes a long time for our scent to clear."

"This is gonna be great!"

*****

"Shush. Here comes a female… See?"

"Yeah. Wow, it's almost as ugly as the decoy."

"She, Son. They're female and male, just like us."

"With babies too?"

"Yup, with babies too. See… to her right, just in the shadows?"

"Two of them, wow."

"Put your weapon down they'll hear you. We never take the breeders or the young, only the males."

"Yes, Father."

"I was excited too, my first times with Granddad. Relax, the males will be here soon."

"Why?"

"See the way she's moving, slow swinging steps? It's a signal she's ready to mate. Every male around will come running."

"Yuck, that's sick."

"That's nature boy. How'd you think you got here?"

"Daaad!"

"Quiet. She heard you."

*****

"Slide over he's coming up on your left."

"I see him. Why'd he stop so far away?"

"She may look ready to mate, but he's gotta be sure. Don't let the noises he makes scare you, it's normal."

"Can I get ready now?"

"Ok, set it right on the ledge; but don't stick it outside the Blind until he's concentrating on the female."

"Come on… Closer. Closer."

"Breath, Son, he's almost there. Remember to go for the heart. Wait… Wait…"

"Now?"

"Wait… Wait. Take aim when he clears the pole. Wait -- Fire!"

"Ow!"

"Great shot!"

"That really stings."

"Has quite a kick doesn't it. Hold it tighter next time."

"Can we measure him now?"

"Wait 'til he stops twitching, then we'll take him home to show Grandpa."

"Hey! Where'd the others go?"

"Survival instinct, scared off by your shot. Looks like he's finished, let's go."

"Yea! Can I measure him? Please?!"

"It's your kill, here's the measuring rod."

"Five… and… a half. Is that good?"

"Average, Son. But very good for your first time. I’m proud of you."

"Won't Grandpa be surprised."

"I'll say, took me 3 seasons to get my first Human. Let's get him home."

[Photh]

Back on the pervert train... All aboard!

Looking Glass
MARCH 2, 2053 -- The United States President signs the "Homo Sapien Encephalon Project" bill, providing government funding of the critically dubbed, "Building Big Brother," throughout her first term. The HSEP is modeled upon the successful Human Genome Project of the last century.

NOVEMBER 17, 2056 -- The U. S. Congress removed funding for the HSEP from next years budget, under increasing pressure from Orwellian critics and religious leaders. Although government funding will stop with the promised signing by the President, it's expected that corporate and entrepreneur funding will increase to offset the costs of continuing HSEP research.

JANUARY 19, 2059 -- The Andrew Littel Corporation announced their patent of a wireless neural interface for computer control, based on HSEP research done in their own R&D department. Along with the interface, ALC also announced plans for the "Minds Eye Construct," a program where your personal self image can be read, displayed, and interact as your avatar while on-line.

SEPTEMBER 29, 2063 -- ALC opened their first Emersion Arcade in Chicago, Illinois on March 1, 2063 using ongoing breakthroughs from their own HSEP research. An instant success, with their patented, interactive video screens and sensory isolation booths, "Looking Glass" Arcades are scheduled to open across America, France, and Japan by years end.

MAY 6, 2065 -- A Stein-Waldit exit poll of regular EA visitors found that 74% used the Looking Glass for sex; 13% played ALC-enhanced MMOs; while only 5% used the language-free interface for discussion and learning.

AUGUST 30, 2068 -- The New Oxford dictionary announced today that a new medical condition and corresponding slang will be added to their next edition. The recently recognized psychiatric disorder ECD or "Emersion Compulsive Disorder" and "Glazing" will appear in 2069.

MARCH 1, 2071 -- ALC began shipping the first of its "Personal Emersion Booths" today. Company officials are confidently reporting estimates of over 11 million home units being sold during the next 12 months. Worldwide, licensed Looking Glass products are expected to boost ALC's earnings by over 3.3 trillion dollars this quarter.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Two hours and the ALC Installer was done. Terry's PEB hummed for a few seconds when he powered it up, then sat silently in the corner of her den. He rechecked the door seal, internal sensors, and internet link before closing it up. Pulling a tapped plastic bag from the outside he handed the owners manual to her, quickly running through the basic operations before he left.

The manual wasn't that thick, 25 pages, 5 pages each for English, Spanish, Japanese, French, and Arabic. First two pages were legalese, next was the setup checklist, and the last two for first-time users. She read over the last 2 and tossed the manual on the kitchen table.

Meant for sitting, she had to stoop to get inside and shut the door. The foam sank under her weight, molding itself to her body. Its surface covered in a water resistant fabric, it warmed quickly, matching her body heat. Next time she'd have to try this naked. There was nothing else inside. No keyboard, speaker grills, touch panels. Nothing. The floor was glowing a pale yellow so it wasn't completed black with the door shut, but it didn't have the normal LEDs she expected either.

What was the first thing? Oh, right. Speaking clearly, "Hello Alice, I'm Terry."

The face of an elderly woman appeared on the wall in front of her. It blinked, turning its head for a couple seconds looking around before focusing on Terry. "Hi, Terry. Welcome to your PEB. Let's begin."

Answering the PEB avatar questions, old Alice was replaced by sixteen Alex. Terry became Tee in his responses, and the neural sensors aligned with her brainwave pattern.

"Initial interface complete." Alex told her. "Proceeding with Mind's Eye setup Tee. Relax, this won't hurt."

On the screen a genderless human appeared behind Alex's transparent face. As the figure spun, its hips widened. Breasts budded and swelled, nipples darkening as they grew. Plastic doll genitals split, molding into labia and a pelvic mound. Bright red hair exploded from her head, not her brown curls, smooth and silky, stopping midway down her back. Besides her red eyebrows no other hair appeared.

"What do you think?" Asked Alex's flat voice.

"Who's that?"

"You, of course. Or at least what Tee's thinking like right now."

She couldn't argue with that, a redhead. She always wanted to be a flame haired vixen. "But where are my clothes?"

"For coverings, you must want them. Tee, I only show you as you want to appear."

Terry tried thinking of swimsuits and a copper bikini appeared for an instant. Bra and panties flashed over her avatar without success. Everything else she thought of wouldn't stay visible either. Guess trying it naked was spot on for now, she couldn't lie to herself.

"Last step, sensory synchronization." There was a pause before Alex asked, "Levels starting at A through F are available, your choice Tee, which one?"

What the hell, "F, Alex."

Another pause. "Level D and higher must be confirmed by an adult. Please confirm."

"Confirm Alex." Annoyed at this ancient computer check. "Sync to level F."

At that, Alex's face grew a neck, shoulders, and arms. The bust floated over to her avatar, waiting until it stopped spinning. Alex requested she think about moving her arms, and her avatars arms moved. He continued giving her simple thought instruction until she could move the avatar easily. Facial expressions were next. Then subtle finger movements.

Smiling at her command of the avatar, the copper bikini reappeared. Guess modesty happens at the strangest times. Turning her virtual body to admire her outfit she didn't notice Alex reaching to touch her avatar's arm. When the feedback sensors located the correct brain area, she froze, feeling Alex's touch on her right arm.

"What are you doing!"

Alex didn't respond, only caressed up her avatar's arm, using both hands to massage its, and her, neck. It was incredible, seeing Alex and herself in front of her. Feeling his hands slide over her body. Head, arms, legs, feet. It even tickled, the avatar silently mimicking her giggles.

Slowly Alex rested one hand one her avatar's copper breast. She saw and felt his finger squeeze soft flesh. Pop! The avatar was topless, bare fingers on bare skin. Terry felt those warm fingers under her top and bra, squeezing and sliding over her. Looking down her breasts didn't move but her mind told her different.

Alex's hand stroked down her stomach, her avatar's legs opening, anticipating his destination. She gasped feeling, seeing, his fingers slip between her legs. Three fingers sliding deep into her pussy. Up, down, up, down. Overloading, seeing his fingers fuck her avatar, feeling each index thrust tease her g-spot, she closed her eyes giving in to the sensations, pumping her hips.

Suddenly it stopped. His fingers were gone. God! Not now! So close! Opening her eyes, Terry gasped at a full body Alex. An 8" boner greeting a spread eagle avatar, one hand running the hard tip through her labia as introduction.

Terry came as the transparent Alex thrust, screaming, "Level F!!!"

This post has been edited by Photh: 31 January 2009 - 08:00 PM

[Photh]

Not the longest thing (get told that a lot ) but you may like it.

Papa Bell

Thursday night, around 10:30, my cell phone rings. Everybody I know knows not to call me that late. Great, another idiot slapping digits at the bar, or a Bart Simpson wannabe crank. Flipping the phone open on the third ring, the display told me the Caller ID was blocked. Definitely crank.

Thumbed the green SEND key to get this over with. "Hello?"

A girl's voice screamed in my ear, "Oh gawd! Oh gawd! Oh gawd! Oh..." Her voice cracking into gasps and grunts.

In the background I heard the slap of skin as her partner's hips slammed against her ass. Can't mistake that sound. Sex. He, I'm guessing male, was short stroking her. Gentle be damned foreplay was over, their slaps nearly applause for the coming climax. It was too much, she dropped the phone, her passion chant fading as it fell on something hard.

She called me so I took a chance and joined in. "Feels good? Stroking, spreading, filling you up? Baby likes that don't ya? Tell me."

"Oh! Yes! So -- good! Red hot! Red! Hot!"

Her partner's pace slowed just enough to hear, a hand slapping her cheek, before speeding up again. The pleasure sting forcing a wild slew of Yeses from her lips. Another slap, a longer chorus. He rode her hard, the wet smack of sweat joining the sex.

"It's coming. Deep, hard, white hot. You want it? White hot splashing your insides, burning you up. Baby want it?"

Fingers grabbed the phone, her voice growing loader. "I -- I -- It's getting harder! Thicker! Gawd! Oh gawd!! YESSSSSS!!!"

Silence.

Fast as I could punched the redial.

"...We're sorry that number is no longer in service. Please check the number before calling again."

What? They just called me. How'd they do that? Adjusted my shorts to ease the pressure and tried the redial again. No luck, same stupid recording. Damn!

Two weeks later, same time but on Friday, another call. A week later, number three. I wouldn't mind so much, but their cell calls really rack up the minutes. They aren't into video exactly, although a couple of the girls do turn on their phone's camera. Usually sending me a chunk of wall or curtains jerking in that uniquely, sexual rhythm.

It seems they have a well organized little group. Cloning different phones to call me each time so I can't call back. When the first girl called and I didn't hang up, guess they decided to pass my number around. Funny thing, the girls, and don't know how many, started calling me, "Papa Bell," after the first dozen or so calls.

I'm up to 10 calls a week. Seems the girls can't get enough of Papa.

[Photh]

Right now I seriously have my doubts I'll ever make 501 posts and the right-of-passage that used to require. "The godhood story."
I've had this sitting on my laptop for over a year now, and if my math is correct it won't be "valid" to post until 2011. So, I'm breaking a rule from 2006 to post it now.

The Forge of Creation stands and waits.

The First Ones left eons ago, leaving their creation for the pantheons of Titans, Gods, and Higher Beings to follow. Each stoking the fire back to white-hot, hammering sparks across existence. Plunging their molten visions into quenching pools of reality. When each were satisfied with their tempered creations, they departed, leaving the blazing embers to dim. The bubbling pools to settle and cool.

A few acknowledged the eternal spectator of smoke and steam. Born of the sparks of their creations. Named by the tempering hiss of forged visions. The spectator watches at the edge of the glow, offering the full measure of awe at the spectator marvels crafted at the Forge. Watching the hands of Masters wield incredible techniques to produce miracles.

A cooling forge cannot compare, but the spectator hammers regardless, forging shades of witnessed wonders. Casting pale specters into the void as beacons. Waiting for next Masters to appear. The return of bliss; of witnessing immortal canons; the immeasurable heat of imaginings.

I am the spectator. I am Photh.