Thursday, September 1, 2011
what'll it be...what'll it be...
I cannot for the life of me tell if this poll will work. LOL. But if it is magically there when I click PUBLISH POST it will stay up for a week. If not...I'll come up with plan B.
Today is September 1....know what that means? In three short months I shall be the big 4-0. Me. OMG. I must come up with a birthday gift to give out on my birthday. I'll get right on that. I smell a birthday contest coming on...
The Garden Gate
By Cassie Exline
Friday night, Molly was late getting off work, and her friends had left with the new guy before she’d had a chance to meet him. She made her way across the empty parking lot. A piece of paper fluttered under her wiper blade.
Straight ahead, I’m waiting at the Garden Gate. Can’t wait to know you better.
She followed the directions, hurrying toward the alley. The wind picked up as she entered the alley, turning it into a wind tunnel. Her curls danced in the breeze and her skirt flew high. Raindrops splashed. Thunder echoed. She walked faster. Ahead she saw the gate between two buildings. The wind whipped. A drenching rain poured down.
Head down, she hurried on until she reached the gate. Her fingers slipped on the wet latch. Thunder pounded. Lightning streaked, illuminating a tiny garden beyond.
“Allow me,” said a male voice. He wore a dark cloak, and when she was through the gate, he drew her in. “I’ll keep you dry,” he said.
Beneath the cloak, aromas of musk and sex filled Molly’s nostrils. She huddled closer to the man’s warmth. Her belly felt the brush of his bulge. He moaned. He pressed her against the wooden slats of the gate and claimed her lips. His fingers explored. He lifted her skirt and with a growl ripped away her panties. His zipper snicked. Her heart thudded. She wrapped a leg around his waist. He entered her hard. His hands cupped her bare bottom, lifted, and his thrusts went deeper. She gasped. The gate creaked and groaned as he slammed into her.
The storm continued to rage. Her orgasm took her breath away. He continued to fuck her. She clung to him, feeling the power of his embrace. His breathing was raspy and erratic. She sucked his earlobe and he exploded. Warmth flooded her.
“That was so good,” she murmured. “You’re so good, even if you didn’t keep me dry.”
He chuckled beneath the cloak, then drew it off and kissed her hard. “I’m so glad I decided to use the back way tonight.”
“And I’m glad you left me the note.” Her fingers glided across his hardening cock. “But where are the others?”
“From the office. They said I had to meet the new guy. Your note said to meet at the garden gate.”
“The Garden Gate is a new club that just opened. I put flyers everywhere.”
“Flyer? But it read like a letter.”
“Instead of the usual rhetoric, I used a personal spin.” His full lips smiled. “I’m glad it worked.”
“But... So you’re not the new guy?”
“I’m your new guy.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said. Her fingers wrapped around his dick. She stroked.
His fingers entered her pussy and pumped. “Bend over,” he said, “I want inside you.” He held her hips and pounded against her butt.
She gripped the posts and shoved backward. He moaned. She groaned. Their climax rattled down the gate.
Reunited by Kiki Howell
A worn gate called to Alina like a siren. In avoidance, her gaze traveled to where the sun glistened off the rust-colored bricks and white paint of the two buildings framing the passageway. The air was thick with the promise of the energy contained there. A place memory awaited her.
Being an empath, these residual hauntings were a way of life. She felt compelled to touch the chipping gray paint, so what happened on this spot some time ago would play for her like a movie clip. She gave in, if only to stop the sensation of being choked, of her very life being in peril if she didn’t.
As her trembling fingers caressed the decorative post cap, waves of energy washed over her, overwhelming her with emotions and images. In her vision, the rain beat down, creating a small river over the cobbled ground, lapping at the feet of the couple who stood before her.
“We have so little time,” whispered the woman, who looked so much like Alina she could’ve been a sister save for the period clothing.
“We’ve discussed this much. They’re coming for me. There’s no sense running, my love. Men, death will part us.”
“Why won’t you let me use my magick to save you? Please,” she begged. While her tears were invisible with the rain on her face, Alina felt each one being shed.
No magick! This is my fate. I fear for my family should I alter it.”
He hushed her by crushing his lips against hers as he pulled her to his body. Alina felt the weight of him and of his passion, along with the sensation of dying from a loss which hadn’t even happened yet.
He pushed the woman up against the wet bricks, lifting her skirt. With her garters exposed, Alina’s eyes were drawn to the tan of his hand juxtaposed to the creamy-white of her thigh. His fingers dug into her flesh for a second. Fiddling with his own garments, she saw his heavy erection spring free and abruptly enter the woman’s folds.
Alina’s inner walls pulsed. The woman chanted and cried out. The man’s pants fell. His hard, rounded ass clenched and released.
“Stop the spell now!” he yelled, still trusting. He lifted her leg higher, and Alina could see his balls against her ass, he was buried so far inside her.
She cried, “Only ensuring…our spirits will meet again…in another life…until then…I will miss you…”
His growl echoed hers. Their bodies shuttered, and their dual climax stole Alina’s breath until she felt faint.
A voice came from behind her, “Excuse me.”
Sun replaced rain as she turned, the fire raging through her stomach searing her lungs.
“You alright?” said a man who looked like the twin brother of the man she’d watched fuck her look-a-like. Only, he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt tight enough to show the hills and valleys of his chest.
“Do I know you?” he whispered.
The Alley . . . the Gate
by W. S. Peters, Sr.
The gate stood before me. Like so many gates i have encountered in my life time it stood between me and the visa, the passage which i wished to enter . . . the alley. When i close my eyes and apply this metaphor begging for life i clearly get it. Her name . . . did not matter, but she had gates, plenty of them. There were some which were Mental, some spiritual, but gates just the same. The one i concerned my self with was that which stood betwixt me and what i imagined lie beyond such inhibiting characteristics she embodied. Yes, i wanted to go beyond that gateway of her panties. I wanted to make holly passage into her alley where here secretive passions secreted flavors of the unknown which beckoned me forth. Should i use force? . . . nah. Should i employ my wit? Was there a lock. What type was it . . . was it keyed or a combination. Either way i would not be deterred, for what lay beyond intrigued me. My imagination began to run away with my rationale. I became consumed by the denial. I imagined her Silken Gate moist at the crotch and i became unhinged. My simple thoughts were to reach forth and caress the spaces in places that would entice her gate to open of it’s own volition. Finger now coated with the juices of wantonness, i oiled her hinges . . . that was it. The gate finally gave way, and i nobly pushed forth, and entered that sacred alley of my desires . . . beyond the silken gate. The Alley . . .the Gate
Taylor rolled her over onto her back on the rug on a cold, grey day in Suburbia. He held her wrists by her side and dropped his head to her sternum and she was struck with the sudden memory of the time he had lowered her into a square of sunlight that had heated the bare boards of his first apartment.
He'd lain her down in that patch of warmth and light and kissed her neck, and kissed her lips and she had looked into the sun with her eyes closed against its glare and all of the inside of her had lit up, flared red-orange and glowed.
She wriggled an arm free and slid her fingers into his hair as he reached her nipples, cradled his head. His hand slid up her skirt, moving inside her panties. When he stroked her and pushed his fingers into her heat, she knew the gold light was blooming behind his closed eyes again too.
And slowly, on the wall outside their front room, a golden square bloomed, filled up, as if illuminated by the couple and their coupling, inside.
“May I sit down?” Her breath fogged in the winter afternoon as she gestured to the snow-crusted bench.
“Sure.” What else could I say?
She sat down, but said nothing. She opened a lunch bag, pulled out a sandwich, and ate in silence.
I drank the soup from my thermos and stared into the tiny gap between two buildings on the far side of the street.
She left without a word, but came back the next day. It wasn't until Thursday that she introduced herself. “Caitlin.”
Then, no other conversation for a week until... “What are you doing?” She gestured to the garden I stare at every lunch. “What's down there?”
“You don't want to know. You'll think I'm a pervert.”
“I already do,” she smiled.
I didn't answer for another week, the first of February. “Last August, I was walking down the street and I saw...” I gestured to the trapezoid of sunlight streaming through a two-story brownstone at the corner of the block. “And... I saw the shadow of a woman with the most perfect breasts in the world.”
Caitlin didn't come back the next day.
“May I sit down?” It was May and the rain drizzled off Caitlin's umbrella.
Completely surprised, I nodded and made room. She sat down in the middle and pulled out her lunch.
“How are they perfect?”
I knew what she was talking about, but I couldn't answer until Tuesday. “She had tiny nipples on the two sweetest mounds begging for attention.”
“Do you want to bite them?”
“I didn't know,” I lied since I thought about it daily.
She repeated her question the next day and I finally answered. “Yes, I want to nip right on the tip, then circle around with my tongue.”
A day of silence.
“Think she likes them being smacked?”
“I wouldn't hit her!”
“No, playful smack. Just a bat?”
I never thought about it. By Monday, it was part of my fantasies. “Yes.”
“I bet she likes to be spanked,” she murmured.
By Thursday, I desperately wanted to spank the mystery woman.
It went like that for months. By June, we spent our lunches like that. We came up with erotic things I wanted to do to her. Suck on her, fuck her, spank her. Two semi-strangers bonding over my fantasies of a woman I never met.
“Want an ice cream?” She pointed to an musical truck down the street. “My treat.” She patted her side, then frowned. “Oh, I forgot my purse. Let me get it.”
She got up and crossed the street, leaving her lunch behind. I watched as she walked up to the brownstone of my obsessions. I turned to the garden wall with desperate hope and anticipation. A second later, I saw her. The woman with perfect breasts silhouetted on the bricks as she picked up her purse.