.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
11-04-2015, 01:03 PM
|
SHIDA
Hold on to your eyeballs sugar. You’re about to get a mouthful. I see him across the pond; This big burly head case (or at least that’s how I imagine him). It’s much more fun for the objects of my sexual daydreams to be psychologically fucked up. Deep down, the answer a shrink would probably give is that I feel more comfortable around head cases because of my own traumatic upbringing, or that I fantasize about big burly men because I’m repressing thoughts of my Da. But you know what? Who the dick even cares where this shit comes from? I know what gets me going, and that’s that. Fuck psychobabble. I do what I want. And right now, I want that. I hear his call, and I smirk. Ain’t no rush sugar. I think, but part of me does want to rush. But let’s be real here – I ain’t no thoroughbred. Ain’t nothin’ dainty about me or the way I run. Something tells me he isn’t lookin’ for dainty, but even so. No need to put my flaws on display. And it’s hot as tits out here anyways – things will get sweaty soon enough. No need for a pre-lather. Something tells me that we’re gonna do enough lathering, rinsing, and repeating that there’s no need to start on my own. So I slink on over. Princess is at my heels, entirely unhappy about this entire charade, but keeps quiet. I take in his slate grey eyes, batting my own baby-blues in a way that seems entirely unfitting coming from a girl with such voluptuous curves and obvious attitude. I ain’t no wall flower, never have been. And in my humble opinion, there ain’t nothing wrong with a girl who knows what she’s lookin’ for in life, and who ain’t afraid to get some. I raise my tail slightly, slapping it against my tan cheeks. I have my back slightly to the Oasis when suddenly-- [INSERT DRAMATIC GUITAR SOLO ACCOMPANIED BY EXPLOSIONS SOUNDS HERE] -- that happens. The water explodes upwards in an arc, causing faux-rain to fall and shooting clumps of sand and water in a wide radius. There’s a dangerous come hither shimmer in my eyes, and a shit-eating grin plastered on my pink lips. "Looks like you missed a spot-" I smirk, slinking forward. I try to casually knock my left shoulder into his in passing. Nothing like a little woopsy daisy to get the juices flowing. And if I perhaps leaned into him a little harder than a casual miss-step, what of it? If he were to be off balanced by the sudden explosion, water in his eyes, sand in his cracks and whatnot, and happened to stumble in the sand, so what? I'll tell you so what. Nothin' riles a big guy like this up, like a little fuck you in the morning. I know his type (I've had enough repressed sexual fantasies to know what I'm doing here); boys like this don't want small talk. They aren't about the, haven't seen you around here before pretense. They're about getting down to business. And what says down to f- more than a playful explosion and physical assault? I apologize to everyone in the word. WC: 531 Attack: 1/3  |
