Posted by Sage on 10/22/2002, 8:09 pm ==================================== Once she walks out the door she turns to the left and walks around the building along the street. At the corner she turns left again, starting to relax, but no where near completly yet. About half a block down the road, the buildings stop to be replaced with a wall of hedges dense as a thiket. A little further down, the road turns into a short bridge over the small creek which flows through the tiny area of undeveloped land in the middle of Dallas. Imagine the picture she paints as she walks down the street. About 5' 8" tall, with flowing blondish brown hair and green eyes which dont like staying just green, but prefer to experiment with other colors sometimes. Sweet sensual lips and a slightly small build. She doesnt work out much, but she's not particularly unhealthy either. As she walks, her sense of style becomes obvious. What I mean by this "style" is not so much a dress sense, but more a style of motion. A way of holding her body as she moves so that every image is art. A subconsious understanding of beauty, of art, which comes out in the way she sits, in the way she moves, in the way she talks, in the way she walks, and even in the way she thinks. She is wearing a skirt which goes down to her knees and a stylish shirt which goes with it. She half walks, half runs down the road. When she reaches the bridge, she quickly looks over her shoulder to make sure that the alley-like road was still deserted, then she jumps down into the woods through the opening for the creek. Once she's inside, the dense thicket become cavernous forestland and its only a short walk to her secret spot. Right on the edge of the water sits a small pile of large stones. There is plenty of room to lay on them where the sun shines down through a patch in the trees and sunbathe and listen to the birds and the sound of the rushing water. If you get too hot, you can drop down into the water, and if someone comes you have plenty of time to drop into the space between the bolders. In less then a second she is at and then on top of the pile of rocks. Allowing her craving to circulate through her body like electricity she takes two deep breaths and then slowly, teasing herself with the idea, she pulls out the package of full flavored cigerettes from her pocket. For just an instant she pauses and studies the way the pack looks half wrapped in celephane, a beautiful, slightly curious, pondering, lost in thought look flittering across her delecate face. Her eyes take on the colors of her moods as several thoughts flash through her mind in a quick minute. You can see first the daring green light of excitement in her eyes, followed by the deeper green of purest lust as she tastes the teasing-intensified longing as though it were some physical being, alive in its own right. For a brief moment her eyes flash a quick and mysterious glance of longing dispair. Then its gone, replaced by the orange glowing reflection of her lighter, produced from her other pocket in a flash as soon as her fingers could find it. She holds the cigerette in her hand like a joint, between her forefinger and thumb while she brings the flame of the lighter gently to the end of the cigerette. As it touches the tip she can hear the sound of the tobacco burning and she pulls the smoke densly in to her lungs. Her thoughts flit from topic to topic, brushing briefly upon imaginings of the sexual experiences she wished she could have. All of her thoughts when she smoked were of a sexual nature but they only flitted upon actual sexual experiences. Mostly it was simply a difference of perception and a slight difference in her outlook on life. When she smoked, for some reason, she found herself flirting with the world. Her posture as she sat on the rocks flirted with their dry smoothness. Her teasing looks flirted with the water like narcissus. She even made a few flirting calls to the birds sitting above her in the trees. Even when she thought to herself, she did so in a slightly flirtatious manner. Understand that this was not flirting in the sense of any overt sexual connotation. This was also not flirting in the clumsy pathetic sense that usually occurs whenever two humans engage in conversation attempting to lure each other into bed. This was more of a flirtatious outlook on life. Nonetheless this particular afternoon as she contemplats life with the flirting fire burning in her playful eyes, now sitting stably on a pure grey, she does think of desire, and of sex - but only briefly. And as she thinks, she absently brushes her hand between her legs for just a second. A tickle runs through her body and for another second she holds the thought of that sweet fantasy in her mind, before letting it go for lack of evidence. It would never happen anyway, and the thought is gone. She pulls her hand up for another drag on the cigerette, this one the third or fourth all ready. Slowly she feels the seductive poison filling her mouth and some of her lungs and then she opens her mouth slowly and sucks just enough air in to move all the smoke deep inside to the pit of her beautiful craving. Well, so beautiful a craving that justifies such pleasure, to be sure. She holds the smoke inside and lays back on the rock and closes her eyes. Her full and sensual lips part slowly and the smoke trickles out. The perfect passion of that "bad girl" smoke sliding gently out of her lips, wisping in the wind and blowing away, gives her another flush of that sweet excitement, and gently brings her free hand up and rests it just between her legs. After a brief pause she pulls the cigerette up to her lips, and enjoying her total aloneness, she moves her hand across her slightly moist skin and inhales slowly and deeply for maximum effect. Again, as she slowly blows the smoke out a tingling rush of excitement circles her body, focused and intensified by her gently moving fingers, carefully describing circles on her moist underwear from under her short dress. She moves her legs further apart and then a little back togethor again to further her enjoyment and a brief and nearly imagined tiny moan escapes from her perfect lips. She withdraws her hand up to her breast and closes her legs completly while she takes another hit. As she does she hears a voice and sits up startled, opening her eyes. A man, not at all unhandsome, was evidently walking through the woods when he wandered into this place. She cant tell right off if he was watching her the whole time but he doesnt seem frightened or startled. And he doesnt seem too wierd, either. Not dangerous at least.
Message modified by board administrator 10/24/2002, 8:40 am
This is my first post to any message board, but I like the innovation of the format so this is where I decided to try my hand at writing first. I found the SF presence on the net about 4 years ago when I was a sophmore in high school and I always had the feeling that made me probably one of the youngest people here. This isnt my best writing either. I threw this togethor in 30 min and I have been smoking weed in the Free Town of Denmark (I am currently travelling) all day. I tend to write better sober. But here goes. Lets see if anyone likes this. Oh, and its intentionally vague in many places to leave for a variety of responces and room in the imaginations of the people reading the story. Some of the details had to be a certian way of course. 
She walks quickly past them, out the door. Her eyes look straight ahead and her arms point stiffly down by her sides, as though she were trying to hard to look as nonchelant as possible. She absently brushes her hand against the rectangular mound in her right jean pocket, and a tingle of excitement rushes through her. They dont even look up as she passes.
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