My pleasure is gone._Benediction_Suffrage_With You, Always
Catalog Guide:
My pleasure is gone.
"Pleasure is a gypsy- one night she is there, then the next day she is gone, and my anxiety and my worst nightmare is waking up knowing that she is gone forever."-Roy the DudderMy relationship with pleasure is an unusual one. I hold her hand, and I love her all together, but she is lethal, very sharp to the touch, never able to cuddle for too long, and on occasion, she draws blood, but that doesn't bother me none, its just a scratch; very superficial. And its all worth it in the end, for the prize and the end of her exitance is pleasure.She smells likes roses and is satisfying. She is life, a ...
Benediction
“Can you believe this bullshit?” Commander Michael Allen burst into the office and tossed a handful of papers on Tim’s desk. Tim sat back in his chair, feet up on his desk and spinning his Akubra hat around his finger. He raised a lazy eyebrow at his boss and said in his laconic drawl, “I make it a habit to not believe in bullshit.” “Adrian Naughton,” Allen said, hefting up the pants that kept slipping over his round belly. “Asshole got off.” This had Tim’s feet off his desk and picking up the paper, “You’re jokin’?” The constant buzzing of conversations in the open plan office immediately qui...
Suffrage
It was a bad sign when they gathered us sixth-grade girls in one classroom. Something embarrassing must be coming. What grossness of impending womanhood were they going to spring on us this time? We were missing out on a chance to play softball on this beautiful fall day, and the boys got to go outside without us. what a lousy deal. Mrs. Lamm, the Health teacher, wearing her trademark shirtwaist dress, a string of pearls and a whistle on a long chain, paced in the front by Mr. Anderson’s desk. Mrs. Lamm twitched. She was always jumpy around us ever since Shar Phillips, who was rumored to ...
With You, Always
With Ywww.onedoor.ccou, AlwaysThe corner shop with fading light green walls and an aluminum foil for the roof seemed old enough. As I cross the road, I draw my shoulder bag closer although it seemed to want to nest in my forearm. The lamp post light turned on as I stepped in front of the shop, putting me in the orange-ish spotlight. Is this a sign? I wonder. Maybe this is it.“Do you have Bittoo Toffees?”, I ask, not even trying to mask the desperation in my voice.“Huh?” says the man in a white vest and dark brown pants, without breaking the stare with the TV.“Bittoo Toffees? Do you have them?”, I repeat whi...