Round Twenty-One

[Tricia]

Congratulations to the Wench!

And faster than a speeding bullet the words came flying in!
Everybody DUCK!

Here they are:

[glow=green,2,300]factoid

capricious

eclectic

extraneous

masturbate

wanderlust

squishy[/glow]



Deadline is Thursday April 14th at 10 pm.

God, I hope we get some stories!
God I hope I can write!

God... I hope I win!

See you then!

[ThatWickedWench]

Did anyone else besides me notice that I submitted seven (7) words?

If anyone at all is concerned WHY I submitted seven (7) words instead of the standard six (6), you may refer to Saturday's Entry from my blog.

Yup. Maybe that does explain it.. I find this very humorous.

[RedneckDiva]

Not only do I find it hilarious that you posted while drunk, I find you particularly EVIL at the choice of words! Girl, those are worse than the ones I chose!!! Of course, what's a wench if she isn't a tad evil, correct?

I'm leaving town this weekend but am taking my notebook and am going to try to write a story entirely in long hand, like with an actual pencil on paper. Wish me luck! My hand may not know what to do - it's so used to doing other things.... like [glow=red,2,300]typing[/glow], you perverts!

[ThatWickedWench]

Oh honey, I had more than just alcohol in me when I posted those words. Trust me. Read the damn post I linked to! LMAO
And read all the ones before that... I'm going through a pretty shitty time right now. I hope I can hammer out a freakin story this week!

[Tricia]

I was afraid maybe you were counting on your fingers after a bad logging accident... er... or something.

Frickin' drunk LOL!

[Chaos]

I was writing this story, and it was good...or, at least, it was gonna be good...but now I've LOST it! I've looked absolutely everywhere I can think to look, and it is g...o...n...e.

I am not asking for an extension...but I wouldn't object to one. If anyone else wanted to actually *ask* for one, I wouldn't have anything derogatory to say about them at all. I promise.

*Chaos Queen zips her lip and sits in the corner, hoping for salvation...

[ThatWickedWench]

I am seriously thinking about changing my name from 'ThatWickedWench' to 'TheFutureRoomateofallthatisChaotic'.
See, what had happened was.. I started to write this kickass story.. and then I looked at the words.
I was like What the F*CK? Who chose these horrible little bastards?
Oh.
It's coming back to me now.
*steps away slowly*

And I can't get more than half a sentence on paper before I'm like.. 'uhh no, Wench, that just won't do.'
And I have no inner monologue.
Anyway, I won't object to an extension either... oh wait, let me go one step further:

PLEASE OH PLEASE GIVE US AN EXTENSION!!!!

I don't know who I'm begging.. Tricia won't check back in for at least another week...

*smirk*

[Tricia]

Yeah right!

Smartass!

I was going to give you an extension, but seeing how SOME people just don't appreciate me at all...

*wipes tear from eye*

Fine!
Be that way!

I still have a flogger and don't you forget it missy!

I am here, just awaitin'.

The very picture of patience.

But my patience grows thin!

Extension until Sunday night you lazy lazy writers you!
Oh and me too... yeah I know... at least you write.

Well I am writing too.

I'm writing drunk because the words were chosen drunk... I thought I might be able to 'relate' better.

Now give me back my tequila and hand me my writing pad!
*hiccup*

See ya Sunday!

[jenn]

js1

Spring is in the air, spring the time of rebirth when the cold hibernating world becomes new once more. The birds sing, the flowers bloom, and the rain falls washing away the dust and dirt of a long winter. I love the rain, walking through the grass barefoot, coming to a puddle of mud, and jumping in. I love the way it is squishy between your toes, and the smell, like everything is clean again. I want to be clean again; I want my soul to be new and fresh, reborn, like the earth after a rainstorm in the spring. I look out the window longing to escape my prison, the prison I have created for myself, and all the extraneous sights blur my mind creating a fog around the world in which I live. I long to walk in the sun, see exotic places, taste forbidden fruits, and mostly just go anywhere but here. Wanderlust takes hold almost violently in the spring. I know I cannot be Capricious and rise from my desk, grab my keys and just go where the world takes me that would be irresponsible of me. I don’t have the luxury of being irresponsible anymore, that time ended with the birth of my first child, but I still have the desires to be that way once again, and my dreams. My eclectic thoughts about how it would be to see Pairs or Italy, to make love to a stranger on the beach of some foreign land, to sit quietly on the rocky cliffs of Dover watching the wave’s crash against the rocks below. Like the factoid's on the cover of a tabloid are real to little old women in retirement homes, my dreams are real to me. My dreams keep me sane in the spring, they make it possible for me to stay where I am. I use my thoughts to escape the same way some people use theirs to masturbate, I use them to travel the would without really leaving. Spring is in the air again, oh how I hate spring, and what it does to me.

[Chaos]

Why, Wench! I love your new name idea...it's kind of like free advertising for me. Product placement, if you will. Cool!
---------------------------------------------------
Oh, Mighty Queen of the Underworld...how we worship and love three, er, thee. We only make jabs at you because we love you so very much and we are so jealous of the precious little time you deign to spend among us, your pitiful devoted servants. Humbly and truly, we thank you for the extension.

(It's gettin' deep, ya'll, I know...just try to understand...sometimes good and effective co-management requires a bit of ass-kissing. Welcome to the Real World, boys and girls.)
----------------------------------------------------
And Jenn...way to go, chica!! I really like what you wrote...kind of a stream-of-consciousness rant, and all the words flowed through it like they were just meant to be...kicked ass, girl, for real. (This part ISN'T ass-kissing, ya'll...just in case you were wondering...) I related to it, except for me, it's Fall that twists the knife and tweaks me out.

[Tricia]

Did I say extension til Sunday night?
What I meant to say was monday night.

I won't be here sunday night.

Nice ass kissing Chaos... I almost believed you were worshipping me like you should!

[ThatWickedWench]

Oh wonderful Queen of the dark and knotted underwire underwear UNDERWORLD, thank you.

I for one have a pretty full Sunday planned, so Monday is great for me.
So long as it's sometime around 9-10pm Eastern time... (I don't make it home from worky til @8pm)

[ThatWickedWench]

Wench1


The house lights are lowered to a dim glow that shines through the haze of tobacco smoke and artificial fog that is suspended in the air. Air. Funny this atmosphere should be called air- it is thick with the pungent stench of cigars, sweet liquor, stale beer and sweat (occasionally heavy perfume or the musky odor of squishy, wet pussy) and is hardly fit to breathe.

A long legged girl swishes though a curtain from an unseen room behind the bar. Fresh make-up, carefully applied. Hair straightened, cascades over ivory skinned shoulders. A simple black bikini supports full breasts and she wears a thong. Stack-heeled thigh high 'fuck me' boots are form-fitted to her shapely calves. A sequined garter sparkles enticingly as it hugs a luscious thigh.

She walks, hips swaying, tits bouncing, past seats occupied by men already drunk, brought in off the streets by random wanderlust. Saturated in liquor, drowning their problems, forgetting their fears and families for a few hours of timeless, stress-free pleasure.

Ignoring the lurid stares, she strides with purpose, past a variety of other similarly clad vixens (none so striking as she) sitting with this most primal race of human. Dispensing useless factoids- unintelligible small talk. These men will say anything- DO whatever to be allowed so near these barely dressed women. To see what's underneath it all.

And these women.. well they will listen to the extraneous bullshit because it pays the bills.

But now she's on stage and when the lights are on her, she's free. She's Marilyn. She's Betty. She's everything they want. All eyes are on her now. The eyes. Hungry and ecstatic and wanting this body that is her, yet not her.

She tosses back a full mane of vibrant chestnut hair as she undulates with the throbbing beat of the music from the overhead speakers. The first few tips later, she works the bikini off and, tossing it to the side, squeezes her rosey nipples firmly to plump them into existence. Her left hand slides expertly down over her tight tummy and into her thong as her hips buck rhythmically, legs spead wide for her audience. She struts confidently across the stage to collect the next tip. It never ceases to amaze her how well simulating masturbation can pay.

It's all worth it however, isn't it? The stench of the bar and the grubby, pudgy fingers pawing and the garrulous laughter of the business men and their perverted fantasies.

At the end of the night, as the sun peeks over the tops of the city buildings, the nightlife shuts down. After she has exchanged her slinky, black costume for a sweatshirt and jeans, she drives home through the early morning dew. Eclectic thoughts traversing her mind as her french manicured fingers drum the steering wheel. How many more nights will she have to do this?

Climbing the steep stairwell to her modest little apartment- feet aching as she turns the key in the lock, weary. Dropping the fat wad of bills on the table by the door, and, kicking off her shoes, quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping form of the sitter on the sofa, she makes her way into the little bedroom. A room lit only by the glow of an Eeyore nightlight.

She gazes down into the toddler bed at her little, blonde miracle. Pulling her long, red hair back with one hand, she bends down to try and kiss the little girl's cheek without waking her.. but bright blue eyes pop open instantly.

"Mommy!"

"Shhh.. Hi Munchkin. Go back to sleep now.. Mommy loves you." She smiles at her capricious little angel.

"Okay, Mommy." The toddler's eyes flutter shut and she asks in a sleepy little voice, "did you dance Mommy? Were you pretty?"

And, sighing, she smiles again down at her daughter, this picture of perfect innocence. A few moments later she will remark upon her own reflection in the mirror, the picture of innocence lost. But no matter.

"Yes baby. I danced just for you."

[Tricia]

I think one more extension is required.

I haven't finished my story yet.
I got distracted by z.

So Friday night!
Yayyyy!!!!!!!!!!

[Jenn]

Ok I officially declare this round over. If anyone wants to have a round 22 speak now or forever hold you peace!