500 WAD Challenge #3

Switzerland, Panorama, Mountains, Landscape, Sunrise

I skipped yesterday(This was actually handwritten last week. In fact it was written last Saturday.  I am just typing it up now) and well on my way to skipping today’s 500 word challenge.  Facebook.  Tumblr porn.  Checking email.  What is it about this constant need to check all of these things.  Things.  It is a terrible word.  But they are things.  Social media is what they are often termed.  And there is media there and socializing.  But it is more.  There is a draw-a need-to continuously check and re-check to see if anyone has commented, or liked, or shared your post.

For the longest time I didn’t have a smart phone.  And when I was on the computer social media sites weren’t where I hung out.  I didn’t understand people’s obsession with checking Facebook, or Tumblr, or what have you.  I was smug, certain I would never be so foolish.  For it seemed so foolish.  I smartly kept my smugness to myself.

I find myself craving likes, re-blogs, follows, and shares.  I find myself checking, and rechecking, and wondering why someone I tagged hasn’t liked my post.  No ha ha face or LMAO!.  Where’s my adoration?!?  My followers have you left me? At long last have you found decency and a life?

Before the smart phone, I could sleep; I could read.  I could read three books in as many days.  I could even squeeze in some writing in between moments  of angst, work, depression, and napping-with an occasional Godzilla, or Kung Fu movie thrown in.(I still check USA Network to see if they have brought back Kung Fu Theatre.  They haven’t yet, but El Rey Network has brought it back, at least two days a week.  Thank you El Rey Network.)

Part of it is I can’t just jack-off and be with it for awhile-clean the system out as it were.  Nope.  I live with my parents and it’s difficult to tug out a load, whenever. Instead I just Tumblr porn which builds up anxiety and presumably sperm count, all with no release.

Right now I’m tugged by a desire to check my phone.  Has anyone contacted me?  How are my posts doing?

I flirt with way too many people on Tumblr and often I will blast contacts with smiley faces on phone list and Tumblr, and on FB I will tag one, or two people.  And wait-anxiously.  Wait for contact, for a message.  I want to flirt-coyly, nastily.  Flirt with me.  I want to fantasy about us.  I’m alone with my thoughts, my hand, and the phone and remote.  What a terrible existence!

I wake up wanting to change. But I love to send nasty, flirty texts too much.  I want to see my favorite AV models. I want to dream of lying in bed with her, or him, or trans her. Some dreams we are a couple; other times, we are a slithering mass of limbs, and tongues, and bites, and growls.

I want to brush your golden hued torso with my lips.  I dream to caress your oh so tanned legs. And kiss behind your knees. I wish to lazily dram hearts on your arm and back, with my finger tip.  I desire to leave a wet trail with my tongue, down your back-to cleft of your booty.  And then down into the canyon rimmed by those browned, sun kissed, cheeks.  I want to bury my face into you, to breath you.  The funk of you lingers. I want to breath the gorgeous of you, your perfumed parts and your stank places.  Lay here.

Lay here-as I explore your glamorous self with kisses, and touches.  I close my eyes, so my other senses can take in our coming together.  I want to hear our bodies meet.  I want to taste our lusty spirits, our crashing together.

I’m the beach, let your waves wash over me.  Throw your spray into the air.  Your scent covers my nostrils.  I never want to smell anything else.  I want you to sweat and cum on my bed covers.

Later I want to open the door to my house and only smell you. Us.

The phone is in my hand.  I’m swiping up, looking for us.

500 WAD Challenge #2

So I want to run a food cart.  I must be crazy.  Long Hours. So much work to do-prep, cook, clean, wait, smile.  Problems.  So many problems-money flying out the door to landlord, government entities, suppliers.

Daily people show up wanting more.  Promising to fix my problems.  They show up at lunch time. Do people not realize lunch time is a busy time?  You want my biz come back later.  Call before lunch.  Set-up a time for after lunch.

Yogurt, Fruits, Blackberries, Currants

You want to help solve my problems?  Help me get revenue coming in quickly, so I can pay everyone. I can pay them without cashing in savings, or putting it on my credit cards.  I appreciate the hustle but I am probably not interested, in whatever solution you are peddling.  I need revenue-to pay bills, buy supplies.  I want to work for myself, not work this as a side hustle and still work for someone else.

It’s scary.  Open the doors and will the customers materialize?  I’ve done my homework, put up flyers, outreach in the community, social media presence and blitz.  I am in a good pod and the recipes are tasty.  The food looks scrumptious.  Scrumptious!

We eat with our eyes first.  I’ve got beautiful pictures of finished dishes.  The food was primped and polished-like a super model.  Airbrushed-like a porn star.  Leaving behind a perfect image of what could be possible, of what we will come close to producing for you.

Yep my food porn pics adorn my cart. They call out, seductively to hungry tummies, searching through hungry eyes.  Look!  These pics will seduce you.  Come closer.  The smell tickles your nostrils.  Come.  You are almost there.  Take my food.  Coyingly, I offer my efforts to you.

My pictures of food look like made up tarts.  Choose.  My efforts on all fronts whisper to you.  I’ve slipped my camisole off my shoulder as it were.  Come take me to your heart, your mouth.  Devour me.  Attack me with teeth and lips and hungry eyes.  Let me survive another day.

Gorge upon my offerings and regurgitate your love of me, to friends, acquaintances, and lovers.  I am not jealous.  I feed all.  I am an equal opportunity pleaser. Let me seduce you.  Let me survive another day.

Step right up.  You won’t believe your nose.  Your eyes devour my offerings, my sandwiches, my tall cool drinks.  Touch me.  Fondle my offerings.  Allow me to survive another day.

Come join my table.  I will sustain you.  Comfort you.  Seduce you.  Your mouth closes upon my offerings and loves me already.  Tingling.  Exotic. I offer you my all, my throat in sandwich form.  Devour me.  Love me.  Allow me to survive another day.

500 Words a Day-A New Attempt

I’ve let this go.  I’ve avoided it for months now.

At first, it was exciting, like a new love.  Tingles every morning.  Excitement raced through fingers.  It was striking into the unknown.  Discovery was around the corner.  There!  A new character.  An unexpected line.

Ideas came rushing in before I sat, before I even picked up a pen.

Yet, I lose them.  I lose so many ideas.  Replaced by distraction.  Dogs bark at shadows.  They sit in windows. Staring. Staring at the street, at the cul-de-sac.  Where little happens, but if a leaf moves, a plant titters in the breeze, the alarm is raised.  A racket, a ruckus, noise and fury signifying less-than-nothing breaks out.

Perhaps it’s too quiet for the dogs.  They bark, grunt, or howl to show they are alive.  Yet it distracts.

The noise pieces my skull.  It’s painful.  It angers me.  I’m working here you scamp.  You rascal, full of rascalisum.

That’s what you are.  What they are.  For there are four of them. All rescues.  All rascals.

Perhaps they could be a cartoon series: The Rescue Rascals.  Or a band: The Rascals of Rescue.  Pundits with a book: Rescuing History’s Rascals:The unorthodox Trouble Makers Who Made the World Better (or made the world worse).  Or added humor to the world.  Or upset the hierarchy which sucks now if you aren’t in the upper echelon.

Then the other distractions pile on, some my own doing.  Anxiety over writing.  Will it be good enough?  No.  The answer is always no.  Followed by the command go eat.  Because I don’t chew tobacco any more.  God I miss it. So I eat now.  And nothing tastes good, or sounds good.  So I eat everything.  I taste it all.  Then my mother needs help.  She has Parkinson’s and needs assistance.  Run things down the stairs, baskets of clothes. Or boxes of extra food.  Empty boxes for clean clothes.  Or bring things up.  Help hook up bra.  Carry heavy items.  Well they aren’t very heavy, but if more than a couple of pounds I need to carry.  I need to cook something or she will eat ice cream sandwiches. Yes my step-dad helps but often he is gone to meetings, or what have you.  And she will ask “Can you make more coffee?”  Or sun tea.  Can I take her shopping.  And I do.  And I will again.

But let me sit a minute, for that feeling may come.  It may take me again. Tingle once again in my finger.  The sluggishness in my brain is banished for a moment.  Let me sit a moment in my other worlds.  Worlds where rights are not harmed (at least for long).  Good deeds are rewarded.  Nefarious men get their commupence.  Women like my mother get equal pay, are respected for their work, and are promoted.  And those bosses, and people who do other than the right thing are ridiculed, punished, shunned, shamed and mocked.  Diseases are conquered.  My mother’s pain doesn’t exist.  Nor does anyone elses’.

Give me a moment there.  So I can come back here and face down the day’s pain and distracting things.  Let me sit, enjoying a bully getting bullied. I’m tired of getting bullied.  But I am scared to stand up.  I’m brave in this other world, even as I sit and watch.  I am brave.  I feel it.  I know it.  I will always do the right thing, here in this other place.  While in the real world, I do what I can, as I quake with terror.