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...With Anyone But Me
Date: 9/16/2015, Categories: Flash Erotica, Author: adagio_sabadicus, Rating: 5, Source: LushStories
Those who have read me, will know that I am not prone to exaggeration. So with that, I will begin. Every word printed below is the truth, as I see it. If one lives long enough, there are two things that are certain. One: you will get cataracts, and two: your expiration date will expire. Recently, I have started stroking the weasel by looking at abs and inflated bosoms in magazines. Just yesterday, I tied my balls to a Boston Rocker (non chair) at a nearby lounge, giving up the chariot of virginity as I swallowed his seed, while under the influence alcohol. Now, as part-time writer and instigator of words, I sat down in my evening chair and scribbled: "Weeping willows spread their branches, as if caressing beautiful breasts. Sycamore trees, wild wilderness berries and thyme. The scent of you, Oh, be mine, and butterflies float in air." From my window, my eyes dawdled, as I saw shadows dancing out on the quadrangle - shadows morphing in a Renaissance. They appeared, from a distance, to be moths caterwauling around the gas lamps. The ones that aligned the walkways on the campus. I was in my final year at Dartmouth and had developed a taste for Absinthe, known as "La Fee Verte" (the green fairy). You can sip it or pamper it with sugar and water. I use it to titillate my words when writing. It's supposedly the libation of artists, madmen and poets. I crave the per-fumy aromatic of Absinthe over (Mother's Ruin) Gin. Rumors have it that Mrs. O'Leary was obliging her ruination by ...