A Cabin in the Rain

I take my girlfriend Kate to a secluded cabin for the weekend to score, but when four strangers burst in during a rainstorm, plans change quickly.
It was a dark and stormy night. The generator was spluttering away outside the cabin as the rain lashed against the roof. Inside, the warm glow of a few table lamps and a small warm fire bathed the single large room. Near the far wall was an old warm looking four poster bed draped in soft old red covers. The other half of the small cabin was dedicated to a cozy living room. A few old sofas lay in the flickering light around a large shaggy carpet spread in front of the stone fireplace. With the logs crackling and the flames dancing it would warm everything with in reach. The cabin was a great place to escape to from a busy life in the city. I had brought my new girlfriend Kate up here for a long weekend hoping to score. The walking in the woods, the quiet seclusion, plus a bottle of red wine or two, usually has the desired effect and ends up with the old bed creaking and shaking as I impale myself gloriously into some hot young wet nymph. The storm had rolled in quite suddenly while we were out on a walk to the lake. Kate had been going on about something to do with her work while I followed her up a hill admiring the way her ass muscles flexed and relaxed as her feet navigated the unsteady terrain ahead of her. With her tight 5ft 4in. body and long blonde hair she looked like some sort of woodland elf out here except that her generous C-cup breasts made her instead into the most delicious sexual object known to man.
All I had thought about since first meeting Kate was what she would look like straddling my lap as she bounced herself up and down upon my swollen shaft. Luckily we were not too far from the cabin when the rain started but no amount of running was going to stop us from getting a soaking. We jogged back together laughing in the rain, splashing in little puddles that were beginning to form. Kate's shirt was getting increasingly wet and was sticking tightly to her voluptuous body. While I had managed not to stare thus far it was getting harder and harder as her bulging erotic outline became more clearly defined. We were only a minute or two away from the cabin when the air started to get much cooler and quite quickly. The rain then came in earnest and started dropping thousands of fat cold rain drops onto us. In the darkening light we could see the warm glow of the cabin lights in the clearing just up ahead and ran full speed toward it as the storm unleashed onto us. Crashing through the door laughing I turned to catch Kate as she came laughing in behind me, briefly feeling the press of her body against mine, the slight twitch between my legs noting it too. Turning back I pushed the door closed against the rain and wind which was now whipping up outside. As I turned back around …time seemed to fall into slow motion. Dripping wet from head to toe and gently wringing out her hair was an apparition of beauty. Her soaked t-shirt was slightly see through and clung to those perfect breasts. Her nipples looked like they were piercing the very fabric of her shirt as her chest heaved, catching breath. Bathed in the soft light of the cabin she was a sight to behold. "Ahem?" she coughed.

Fan Flirtation

The fan itself may not be as old as time, but flirtation certainly must be.
Was Adam enticed to eat the apple when Eve's flirtatious eyes fluttered above
a palm frond, gently wafting a cooling breeze in the sunlit Garden of Eden?
Practical, ceremonial or decorative - fans were in use more than 3000 years
ago and the form has changed, but surprisingly little, over those thousands
of years. Fans of a simple design were discovered in 1922 inside Tutankhamen's
tomb. A fixed palmate screen fan, mounted on a long handle and wafted by
Cleopatra's slaves, an ancient Chinese hand fan made of beaten gold, an
extravagant peacock feather fan from Asia 500 years BC - all would be instantly
recognisable as symbols of luxury and rank but with a practical purpose too.'
~ Henry Gillard Glindoni (1852 - 1913 ) British

Riding on a Carrousel

Riding on a Carrousel, face towards the wind ... going 'round in circles,
coming back again. Grabbing for the brass ring, just when it's in sight...
lights are shinning all around ... maybe some too bright.
Sometimes as you feel in life, going 'round and 'round for like this happy
Carrousel it has it's ups and downs. The music plays so gaily, sometimes it's
way too loud, enjoying the excitement... you're caught up in the crowd.
You've come again full circle, you think you have returned ...now in search
of another ticket ....more lessons to be learned.
You hope this ride will last forever, you know it never will ... too soon
your time is over ... the motion ever still. The music quickly ceases, so
silent as the night, your vision slowly dims .....the lights are not so bright.
You look within your pocket, no ticket to be found...with sadness, slowly
walk away .. as quiet as it's sound.
In life just like the Carrousel..... there's not another ride ... never is
in black and white, real life and dreams collide. You turn to take, just one
last look ...to ride it one last time. The lights are on for others now...
you understand this rhyme?
You had your fun, you rode it well ..... you know it's now their turn. The
music comes alive again ....the lights now brightly burn.
You thought you had the brass ring ..... held tightly in your hand but it
no longer glimmers ....will never shine again.
It now is realized what you've learned .... the lessons you have found in
life there's many ups and downs ....but only one go round. ~ Ms. Isabella

Theory of Imprisonment

'A human being is a part of the whole, called by us Universe,
a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his
thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest-a kind
of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind
of prison, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection
for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free from this
prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living
creatures and the whole nature in its beauty.' ~ Albert Einstein

A Sheltered Life

You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book ('Lady Chatterley's Lover', for instance), or you take a trip, or you talk with Richard, and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness.
The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. . . ~ Anaïs Nin

To Be a Writer . . .

'Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments.
I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous.
I want to be a writer who reminds others that these moments exist;
I want to prove that there is infinite space, infinite meaning,
infinite dimension. But I am not always in what I call a state of grace.
I have days of illuminations and fevers. I have days when the music
in my head stops. Then I mend socks, prune trees, can fruits, polish
furniture. But while I am doing this I feel I am not living.' ~ Anaïs Nin

Man & Woman

The man is the highest of creatures.
The woman is the most sublime ideals.
God made to man a throne for the woman an altar.
The throne emphasizes, the altar sanctifies.
The man is the brain. The woman's heart.
The brain, heart, light factory produces love.
The light is wonderful, love revives.
The man is strong for reason.
The woman is invincible to tears.
The reason is convincing, moving tears.
The man is capable of all the superheroics.
The Queen of all martyrs.
Ennobling heroism, martyrdom sublimates.
The man has the supremacy.
The woman preference.
Supremacy means strength;
represents the right preference.
The man is a genius. The woman an Angel.
The genius is immeasurable;
the Angel indefinable.
The aspiration of man is the Supreme glory.
The aspiration of the woman is virtue.
The glory makes it all great; virtue makes everything divine.
The man is a code. The woman a Gospel.
The code fixes, the Gospel perfects.
The man thinks. The woman is dreaming.
Think you have a larva's skull;
dream is having on his forehead a Halo.
The man is an ocean. The woman a lake.
The Ocean has the Pearl that adorns;
the Lake poetry that dazzles.
The man is the Eagle that flies.
The woman is the Nightingale that sings.
Flying is dominating the space.
sing is conquer your soul.
The man is a temple. The Lady shrine.
Before the temple we discover;
in front of the shrine we bow. Finally:
man is the end of the Earth,
the woman where the sky begins.

~ Victor Hugo