Desultory and Impulsive
- Thread starter y=mx+b
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y=mx+b
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I get a kick out of myself
...but I am by-and-large supremely frustrated and disappointed with--and in--myself.
This afternoon my wife and I took a walk around the farm as we usually do. And as she usually does she's talking about her hopes, dreams, and goals about the place and all that
Which... is all great. And practical. Just as she is.
All the while she's doing that... I'm looking around just as I do
Thinking thoughts just as I do
Seeing things...
Everything--sexually.
My dream for the place? A discrete mid-western sanctuary of bondage/discipline and sadomasochism. A highly exclusive center for training and reprogramming. A place where executives and their ilk could escape to and be treated as they wish to be--free of the burden of having to make any descisions. A place where their thoughts and in-put mean nothing. A place where they--as individuals--have no value.
And that is the foundation my thoughts stand upon so when we go for walks I... well I think things. But I don't just think them. I live them out in my imagination. And it's fucking amazing.
It is also pointless
Stupid
Impractical
Worthless
Not one single thought in my fucking head serves a purpose beyond that of entertaining myself
It's so goddamn frustrating because my wife, my friends... they plan things, they do things, the thoughts they have lead to progressive practical curiosity--and they learn. Their lives--become fulfilled.
Whereas I... I'm stuck in this bullshit opium den of my mind being circle-jerked by my own goddamn imagination. Accomplishing nothing.
It fucking blows. It honestly seriously does and I want the fuck out of this den. I keep thinking that if I write it all down--I'll get it out of me. But it's like picking a scab to stop the bleeding.
It doesn't happen.
There is no end.
We were walking by the barn
My wife got to talking about cattle
With cattle come black biting flies
My solution to this problem would be to secure some visiting guests to serve as fly paper. Some would be coated in honey. Others would be simply naked. One... one would be wrapped in industrial cellophane plastic with only her nipples and genitals exposed for the flies to satiate themselves.
Such was my thought
When my wife asked--as she often does--what my thoughts were on the matter.
And as usual I said--that all sounds good to me.
...but I am by-and-large supremely frustrated and disappointed with--and in--myself.
This afternoon my wife and I took a walk around the farm as we usually do. And as she usually does she's talking about her hopes, dreams, and goals about the place and all that
Which... is all great. And practical. Just as she is.
All the while she's doing that... I'm looking around just as I do
Thinking thoughts just as I do
Seeing things...
Everything--sexually.
My dream for the place? A discrete mid-western sanctuary of bondage/discipline and sadomasochism. A highly exclusive center for training and reprogramming. A place where executives and their ilk could escape to and be treated as they wish to be--free of the burden of having to make any descisions. A place where their thoughts and in-put mean nothing. A place where they--as individuals--have no value.
And that is the foundation my thoughts stand upon so when we go for walks I... well I think things. But I don't just think them. I live them out in my imagination. And it's fucking amazing.
It is also pointless
Stupid
Impractical
Worthless
Not one single thought in my fucking head serves a purpose beyond that of entertaining myself
It's so goddamn frustrating because my wife, my friends... they plan things, they do things, the thoughts they have lead to progressive practical curiosity--and they learn. Their lives--become fulfilled.
Whereas I... I'm stuck in this bullshit opium den of my mind being circle-jerked by my own goddamn imagination. Accomplishing nothing.
It fucking blows. It honestly seriously does and I want the fuck out of this den. I keep thinking that if I write it all down--I'll get it out of me. But it's like picking a scab to stop the bleeding.
It doesn't happen.
There is no end.
We were walking by the barn
My wife got to talking about cattle
With cattle come black biting flies
My solution to this problem would be to secure some visiting guests to serve as fly paper. Some would be coated in honey. Others would be simply naked. One... one would be wrapped in industrial cellophane plastic with only her nipples and genitals exposed for the flies to satiate themselves.
Such was my thought
When my wife asked--as she often does--what my thoughts were on the matter.
And as usual I said--that all sounds good to me.
y=mx+b
___________
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- Jul 1, 2003
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she wanted to ask him if he loved her
But she knew the answer
They met at the strip club for fuck sake
He looked good
He felt good
But she was nothing new to him
And he really wasn't anything new to her
She tried to remember when she last skipped a stone across the water
All she ended up doing was remembering a lot of things she wished she had forgotten which made her wish she had done a number of things differently
Not due to regret
But rather because
...because she was a stripper
Because she was a thing
A novelty
Something open for fucking
She wondered how many stones could be shoved up into her vagina
And how they all would feel pressing up against her bladder as she laid face down with a cock pounding her hard in the ass.
She found herself really wanting to feel that
The weight of it all
And the feeling of being so... full
She turned her head to look at her boyfriend as he slept
She knew that she could ask him and that he would be game
Just as much as she knew he wouldn't understand
She knew that it wouldn't be... intimate.
Her mind wandered...
He was so particular about which stones he picked up to skip.
No... "particular" isn't the correct word. Selective?
No. That wasn't correct either.
She didn't know what it was
Because it wasn't like he put much thought into which stone he picked up
He just picked up whatever was there on the ground
It was what he did after he picked them up
He studied them
Well... he didn't study them
But his fingers did
It was so... intricate
And tactile
His thumb
Rubbed off whatever dirt clung to the surface of the stone
His other fingers rolled the stone around
And it was all finger work
Never once would the rock meet the center of his palm
With each turn of the stone
His fingers
Took note of it's topography
She was no longer looking at her boyfriend
Her eyes were closed
And she found herself
Falling asleep
With a part of her
Hoping
That she would stay that way.
But she knew the answer
They met at the strip club for fuck sake
He looked good
He felt good
But she was nothing new to him
And he really wasn't anything new to her
She tried to remember when she last skipped a stone across the water
All she ended up doing was remembering a lot of things she wished she had forgotten which made her wish she had done a number of things differently
Not due to regret
But rather because
...because she was a stripper
Because she was a thing
A novelty
Something open for fucking
She wondered how many stones could be shoved up into her vagina
And how they all would feel pressing up against her bladder as she laid face down with a cock pounding her hard in the ass.
She found herself really wanting to feel that
The weight of it all
And the feeling of being so... full
She turned her head to look at her boyfriend as he slept
She knew that she could ask him and that he would be game
Just as much as she knew he wouldn't understand
She knew that it wouldn't be... intimate.
Her mind wandered...
He was so particular about which stones he picked up to skip.
No... "particular" isn't the correct word. Selective?
No. That wasn't correct either.
She didn't know what it was
Because it wasn't like he put much thought into which stone he picked up
He just picked up whatever was there on the ground
It was what he did after he picked them up
He studied them
Well... he didn't study them
But his fingers did
It was so... intricate
And tactile
His thumb
Rubbed off whatever dirt clung to the surface of the stone
His other fingers rolled the stone around
And it was all finger work
Never once would the rock meet the center of his palm
With each turn of the stone
His fingers
Took note of it's topography
She was no longer looking at her boyfriend
Her eyes were closed
And she found herself
Falling asleep
With a part of her
Hoping
That she would stay that way.
y=mx+b
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- Jul 1, 2003
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That is quite the find!
I'm now questioning if a drill would have enough RPM's
I may need a starter motor.
y=mx+b
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Yeah.
y=mx+b
___________
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Because I feel it to be under represented across the world. At least here in the U.S.
Everything is always Sydney or Melbourne.
y=mx+b
___________
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Fictional cities created by the Australian Board of Tourism and Demise.
Perth
Sydney
Melbourne
That's it.
y=mx+b
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He sat at the edge of the water and thought--
I'm on the back burner of her life
The place were I knew I belonged
And wish I would have stayed
A place where I tried to stay...
A stone caught his eye
A smooth oval of a stone that felt good in his hand
The kind of stone you wanted to pocket
And touch through out the day
To feel grounded
Humbled knowing that you
--you are simply passing through
...but it is what it is
He drew his arm back in one swift motion--
And it was...
--knowing that once he let go
He would never
Ever see it again.
...what it was.
I'm on the back burner of her life
The place were I knew I belonged
And wish I would have stayed
A place where I tried to stay...
A stone caught his eye
A smooth oval of a stone that felt good in his hand
The kind of stone you wanted to pocket
And touch through out the day
To feel grounded
Humbled knowing that you
--you are simply passing through
...but it is what it is
He drew his arm back in one swift motion--
And it was...
--knowing that once he let go
He would never
Ever see it again.
...what it was.
y=mx+b
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While I got your attention... if you are a woman, I am of the opinion that you should go out and randomly flash an unsuspecting man. Someone that looks as though he's just trying to do what he can to be the best that he can.
I've maybe been flashedited once in my life. It's been a really long time. Today would be a good day for that to happen to me.
This isn't to say that I would be that man
But I like the thought that I could be
And I like the thought of a guy like me
Having his day been made absolutely perfect.
I've maybe been flashedited once in my life. It's been a really long time. Today would be a good day for that to happen to me.
This isn't to say that I would be that man
But I like the thought that I could be
And I like the thought of a guy like me
Having his day been made absolutely perfect.
y=mx+b
___________
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- Jul 1, 2003
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Damp
Damp dark
Damp dark dreary sleep
At a nocturnal night
Where day you read your dreams to sleep
On a slit throat knife edge kissing fuck
An orgasm
Wet as rain
Dripping out sweat on sheets
Sheets so soft
Like seeded speed
On blacktop thoughts
Cracking across backs
Bruised by beatings
With notes of throttle thrust
Cutting torch slag
Seeping sizzling hot slutfuck
That's all I got
I was laying in bed drifting off to sleep
Thinking about the next portion of the skipping stone story I seem to have going on
I'm not sure how much of it I'm going to manage to tell
It goes and goes and I love it because it's all so sweet and sad at the same time
And I kinda want to keep it all to myself because they are so very real to me and there is so much that is lost when I attempt to translate it all into words to be read.
I am by no means an author of any kind but I can't help but to think of the saying so many arrogant literate assholes say when a book is turned into a movie... You know... how the book is so much better than the movie.
Stop and imagine for a moment how much better the story is inside of the head of your favorite author.
Every story you read... From It to Outlander has been ripped apart and watered down for you to consume and comprehend more readily.
Imagine all the fuck-all awesome shit your imagination will never know about.
Damp dark
Damp dark dreary sleep
At a nocturnal night
Where day you read your dreams to sleep
On a slit throat knife edge kissing fuck
An orgasm
Wet as rain
Dripping out sweat on sheets
Sheets so soft
Like seeded speed
On blacktop thoughts
Cracking across backs
Bruised by beatings
With notes of throttle thrust
Cutting torch slag
Seeping sizzling hot slutfuck
That's all I got
I was laying in bed drifting off to sleep
Thinking about the next portion of the skipping stone story I seem to have going on
I'm not sure how much of it I'm going to manage to tell
It goes and goes and I love it because it's all so sweet and sad at the same time
And I kinda want to keep it all to myself because they are so very real to me and there is so much that is lost when I attempt to translate it all into words to be read.
I am by no means an author of any kind but I can't help but to think of the saying so many arrogant literate assholes say when a book is turned into a movie... You know... how the book is so much better than the movie.
Stop and imagine for a moment how much better the story is inside of the head of your favorite author.
Every story you read... From It to Outlander has been ripped apart and watered down for you to consume and comprehend more readily.
Imagine all the fuck-all awesome shit your imagination will never know about.
y=mx+b
___________
- Joined
- Jul 1, 2003
- Posts
- 25,630
As well you should!
Because the motive behind the flashing is respectively different between the genders. Women flash because they are with friends and are feeling good about themselves. Men flash/send unsolicited dick pics because they want to feel good about themselves. It's an act of a desparate animal and desparate animals are a threat to the safety of whoever's attention they are trying to get.
Aphro
Femme du monde
- Joined
- Jan 30, 2013
- Posts
- 8,493
Interesting. I've never thought about it like that.
As a person who routinely posts nude/semi nude photos on this forum, I've always felt unfit to judge others who enjoy indulging in a bit of exhibitionism. However, I would never foist myself onto someone without knowing beforehand that they are interested in seeing. It's a big part of why I never embed my photos in my posts. It necessitates the viewer to click the link and make a conscious decision to view the photo. I'd never want to assault the sensibilities of an unsuspecting viewer.
I've never been flashed in rral life, but have been on the receiving end of a fair number of unsolicited dick pics. I'm not sure that guys understand that random, disembodied erections belonging to unknown males are not particularly arousing in the least to me.
As a person who routinely posts nude/semi nude photos on this forum, I've always felt unfit to judge others who enjoy indulging in a bit of exhibitionism. However, I would never foist myself onto someone without knowing beforehand that they are interested in seeing. It's a big part of why I never embed my photos in my posts. It necessitates the viewer to click the link and make a conscious decision to view the photo. I'd never want to assault the sensibilities of an unsuspecting viewer.
I've never been flashed in rral life, but have been on the receiving end of a fair number of unsolicited dick pics. I'm not sure that guys understand that random, disembodied erections belonging to unknown males are not particularly arousing in the least to me.
Icy1
Wandering through.
- Joined
- Jul 30, 2014
- Posts
- 17,381
I don't feel the same with embedding pictures into threads Aphro but I never assume a person wants to be flashed by me in real life.
Actually I've been flashed on two seperate occasions and it was scary both times.
One was in a supermarket. The other was on a beach in winter. He and I were the only two on the beach. I've never left a beach so fast and he watched me the whole way.
Y, I wonder if they wanted to scare me? If that's what they got out of it. Feeling power from making a woman feel vulnerable and afraid.
Actually I've been flashed on two seperate occasions and it was scary both times.
One was in a supermarket. The other was on a beach in winter. He and I were the only two on the beach. I've never left a beach so fast and he watched me the whole way.
Y, I wonder if they wanted to scare me? If that's what they got out of it. Feeling power from making a woman feel vulnerable and afraid.
