Smut for the Proper
The streets of London shimmered with mist, the gaslights casting halos against the cobblestones. Eleanor waited by the wrought-iron gate of the square, her gloved fingers brushing and adjusting the satin hem of her gown. Though the velvet cloak draped around her shoulders spoke of elegance, and grace instead of the simpleton “Lady of the Night” that she was.
Seven pence, she thought. Just enough to see her through another week.
When William approached, she straightened, her practiced smile softening her features. He was taller than most, his coat finely tailored, his stride confident yet unhurried. A gentleman, Eleanor knew, and the air between them hummed with unspoken intent.
Should he offer the seven, she’d take him to heaven.
“Good evening, sir,” she said, her voice smooth and warm in contrast to the chilly night.
His gaze lingered on hers. “Eleanor, isn’t it?” he asked, the richness of his voice sending a shiver down her spine. “I’ve heard whispers of your … talents.”
She inclined her head, the flicker of a smile on her lips. “You’ve heard correctly. Seven pence for an evening you won’t soon forget.”
Without another word, he extended his hand, and she took it, allowing him to lead her into a nearby alley.
It was dark and cold, but their bodies would keep them warm and fight off the chill. The gas lamp’s flickering firelight playing across the face of Eleanor as she unbuttoned her petticoat.
Eleanor pushed the dress to the side with the grace of a queen, William’s eyes darkened as he stepped closer, his gloved fingers brushing the bare skin of her collarbone.
“You deserve more than seven pence,” he murmured, his voice low.
“And yet, seven is all I ask,” she replied, her lips curving into a smirk.
He moved with deliberate care, unbuttoning his coat as though unveiling something sacred. When he leaned in to kiss her, his lips were warm and searching, a curious mix of hunger and restraint. She allowed herself to respond, her hands sliding to his shoulders, feeling the strength beneath the fabric.
As his touch deepened, trailing over her arm and down her side, she felt her professional poise slip, replaced by a surprising warmth. When he lowered himself to taste his prize. He murmured under his breath about beautiful and delicate rose petals. His hands moved with reverence, exploring her curves as though she were a rare and precious artifact.
For a moment, Eleanor forgot about her price, the dreary streets, and the heavy weight of her reality. Here, in this fleeting moment, she was not a lady of the night but a woman cherished, her body and soul ignited by his touch.
The moments passed in whispers and sighs, her practiced art meeting his genuine anticipation.
After the milk had been added and mixed with her honey, he stood, buttoned his trousers and withdrew and placed the coins in her palm. But as moved toward the entrance to the alley, William paused, his fingers brushing her cheek.
“Perhaps next time, it will be more than seven pence,” he said softly, before disappearing into the morning mist.
Eleanor stared back, her lips tingling and her heart inexplicably lighter. It had been seven pence well earned. Now she was starving and with the seven pence in hand she would go in search for a different type of sausage. One to fill her belly rather than the area betwixt her nethers.
The struggle of being trans in a world that doesn’t give a damn
Two years
It's been two years
and you still don't use my name
Two years
It's been two years
and you still call me a girl to my face
Two years
It's been two years
and you still think its a fucking choice
Two years
It's been two years
and I still don't have a voice
Past Lovers
Who do you think we were before this life? Were you the woman and I the man? Was your skin peanut butter pigmented and mines milky? Was your hair still the color of fire? Did our children share your eyes? Did I have to wait for you to return from a great war? Did you come back? When did our eyes first meet? Will I ever even ask you all this? Or is this crush an optical illusion? A figment of my min? A secret I should keep? do you even like me?
The Search For the Answers to Life’s Biggest Questions
Isn't most of life a matter of perspective? For example, for some a good, firm spanking is a reasonable punishment for bad behavior. For others a good, firm spanking is a reasonable reward and the perfect way to end a Saturday night.
Do grizzly bears see camping tents the way we see the plastic wrapper on a microwavable burrito? Oh sure they can be a bit of a pain to open, but the warm, high calorie yumminess on the inside is worth the trouble. Although there is one small drawback. No one ever includes a packet of Tapatio sauce inside the package to add a little spiciness to the overall eating experience.
Has anyone actually seen someone buy one of the 5 pound fruitcake bricks sold at Costco during the holidays? I've always imagined that after the holidays they get shipped by the ton to small developing countries to be used as hurricane proof building materials.
Why don't funeral homes offer funny t shirts as a clothing option for the deceased? For example:
-Wanna See My Stiffy?
-Yesterday Was The Last Day Of The Rest Of My Life
-AHHHHH WHO DECOMPOSED? Somebody Light A Fucking Match!
I've Been To The Mortuary, Was Embalmed, And All I Got Was This Lousy Fucking T Shirt
-I Left My Entire Fortune To My Favorite High Priced Prostitute
-My Last Wish Is That During Cremation, Blue Oyster Cult's, "I'm Burning For You" Gets Played In The Background For Mood Music.
Travel Tip: The only music stations you get on the highway to hell play nonstop country music and at the end of every off ramp is a Walmart, Taco Bell, and your in-law's house.
Why do they call it Social Media when it makes me want to fake my own death, move to a small hut in the forest, and disappear from society in favor of making friends with woodland creatures?
Those who claim to be Christians...Have they READ their instruction manual? Because from what I've seen they collectively missed all those chapters on loving their neighbors, not judging, and giving to those in need.
Should I keep what I'd do for a Klondike Bar to myself because I think it could result in criminal prosecution?
Is it just me or are the most incapable, stupid, completely devoid of common sense, and most given to fucking things up for everyone people the most fertile?
Shifting
I went for a walk today. It was a pleasant ND 49 degrees. Just like today I can always tell when Fall is around the corner. Maybe it's something passed down through the mist ages of my ancestors who relied upon the Equinoxes and Solstices. The breeze blows a certain way or my skin feels the temp at just the right moment. It's like a woman's fingertips touching my soul.
Swelter
Clarence scoped the Ohio landscape. The sun was rich and luxurious over his chest as he tossed his blue broadcloth button down over an outcrop of rock.
Cluster, like any town, for miles, was as flat as an empty palm. It had vestiges amid those fruited plains where trees perched instead of corn, and deer could hide. Half a dozen acre parcels in these parts that were an oasis for wild life, even the human kind. Day or night.
When they'd been teenagers, he'd been one to sneak over, evenings, with a girl like Rhonda or Jacqueline. He slid his hands in reverse into his back jeans patch pockets and arched into the sunset.
Good times.
Ssnapk!
His carnal remembrances of chortling brunettes shut by the crack of a stiff twig. Clarence twisted his head sharply to the left. He was a free man now, but guilty conscience still had him on the run. Unsettled business.
It was a woman. Young.
She was three yards off and hadn't seen him. He smiled at her lack of caution. No natural instinct. Funny he hadn't heard her approaching sooner. He furrowed his smooth tanned brow. She'd been crying. Blonde, petite, and a stormy kind of carriage.
His kind of weather.
He liked them kind of bovine. Passionate and dumb. She stumbled forward, eyes downcast, heading towards the edge where he now reclined, back against a slim sweet gum. The heel of his right boot digging into the delicate trunk.
"Well, hullo there."
She started a bit. Eyes forest green. She did the involuntary lip lick, taking him in and he stifled a smirk, making a show of glancing at his wristwatch. He could have her panties off in three moves, he thought to himself, with the right words. Could make a sport of it. See how long it would take.
He could hear her breathing in the unnatural silence cutting through the woods.
Suddenly, he recognized her. The colored feature section, the business column, community service, portrait shot; the Cell Tower mogul with his arm charmingly around the shoulders of his daughter.
Play his cards right, with reserve, and she could be useful for several fronts. A ticket back into civilization, as it were.
The wind changed direction. Clouds rolling in offering reprieve.
He ran his tongue through his cheek, trying to cover his delight.
"You from round here?"