34 posts in this topic

oOo5rcG.gif YOU COME CRASH INTO ME... A ND I COME INTO Y OU
As the clock turns past midnight, heralding New Year's Day, so would beckon club Sirens' new 'Angel' to a quietly awestruck sea of patrons, waiting and watching on with bated breath amidst the shipwreck inspired decor. Illuminated by the faint glow of the bulbs tracing her backstage vanity, Emma De Angelo runs a brush dipped in frosty pale eye shadow across her primed lids, framing her rich honey brown tints. Her eyes were two portraits, painting in broad but detailed strokes the allure of a woman filled with unbridled lust, longing, fire and passion, but hiding a cynicism for the world she now inhabits. She knew, in great detail, that this life could be cruel. However, she refused to allow herself to fall prey. She since thrust herself into the role of a lioness, if not primarily for her cub, whom was gently laid to rest at home with a trusted caregiver. Her role was a protector and a provider. And in order to protect and provide, she had to dedicate herself to this new craft, built around her beauty—a craft she initially rejected, but has come to value and take pride in... for it gives her strength and power.

The echo of her assigned song soaks through the walls of the backstage area; its beat pulsing and throbbing like a vigorous, lecherous heart. But the sound is muffled as she nervously takes one last look at her maternal motivation, pictured with her at the beach. Removing the photo from her vanity, she tucks it into her make up bag. Thereafter, she slowly makes her way to the stage on transparent platform 'pleaser' stilettos, with a deep sigh and cleared mind, preparing herself for night two of her new life.

The bold, vibrant neon hues bleed over Emma De Angelo's dewy, radiant skin like watercolors, as she leisurely strides from behind the curtain onto the Sirens tribune. To the slow, grinding, steady beat, she sways her hips, each curve of her tantalizing, sultry body drawing peaks and valleys, delicately crafted by nature. Her sensuous physique remains guarded by lacy, white lingerie, like a gate barricading the path to a heaven, the patrons in a rapture and feeling their consciousness exit from their bodies through parted lips, in thick but silent heaves. She was a marvel—a sight not seen before, so desirable it'd implicate sin contrary to her angelic costume. And the heat emitting from their agape mouths ignite her, setting loose all inhibitions. With white feathers cascading around her, she serpentines one silken leg around the frosty steel pole, her immaculate feminine figure becoming a ribbon which entwines itself in a spell-binding acrobatic display. Then, with one more turn, she's unable to avoid locking leers with an arriving man and his friend, both foreign to her. His jaw is cut from marble, and his rippling muscles suffocate against his skin tight, black long sleeve shirt, screaming to be freed for air. His ocean blue irises appear satiating in its casing; an aphrodisiac which drives an insatiable hunger, so sudden in its arrival. He was a vision of ecstasy, like herself to the onlookers. He was a temptation.

Emma's brows furrow and eyes tighten with projected desire, intensely climaxing with each progressive chord of the song which steadily took hold of her... but the stranger looks away, as though the tension was becoming too much to surmount. She makes slow catlike movements across the stage, closing the distance between the man and herself, then begins to christen a new rod of metal while removing her corset to uncage her lush, ample bosoms. Her nipples stand erect before she swivels once more, the tumescent skin of one of them edging against the cold, shiny pole. Its cool sensation force chills to rush over her body, leading a trail down her abdomen, to the ripened meeting place of her two thighs—the reveal of which she teases with the waist band of her panties, beneath her garter.

She slinks to the stage floor and lays on her back, writhing to the rhythm and caressing her flesh erotically, before whipping herself over on her torso. Slowly, she bends into the position of a feline, the small of her back arched inward and her round, tight ass pointed high, as the diaphanous fabric veiling her treasure burrows deep between each satiny cheek. It's then the man returns to stare upon her with a subtly inviting smirk, aligned beneath his look of hypnosis which unites with a gaze of her own.
MONTY
 
@Maxim
5 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
6dT0AB4.gif SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL
Holidays proved an especially grueling time for Bobby Carter, perhaps more so than usual. While many enjoyed time off and the chance to repose, he threw himself deeper into his freelance work and his intense fitness regimen, hoping to distract himself from the loneliness and anger he felt. Having to power through his deceased father's favorite time of year felt taxing, mentally; a feeling he wanted his body to overpower and overrule. But with the season finally winding down, it was perhaps his time to wind down as well, convinced by his friend to venture out into the night to see what the New Year might bring.

Not that the gimmick of ‘New Year’s’ had ever appealed to him before. Touting vapid promises of correction as mechanism to cope with the reality of one’s shitty existence always just felt like such a farce, never mind the idea of it being laughable and illogical. He doesn't consider it pessimism, or wouldn't use as colorless a term as considering himself a "realist". He just has a firm understanding of where his life is at the moment, and doesn’t do much to upset that balance; all of his indiscretions and indulgences viewed as key components that dictate his day-to-day existence. This would explain how he’s found himself at what he considers a place of refuge—his preferred strip joint. Drew coined the term, “gentlemen’s club” at some point during their comradely partnership, as he’d considered Bobby’s verbiage crass and “lacking in any refinement”, but they entered the place through a hole in the wall (he knew a guy) in the back alley of an admittedly seedy part of town, and he’s pretty sure he had once passed along blow to the working girls at some point. So yeah, strip joint.

Being bathed in the deep plum lighting once more was like his own personal solace. But the comfort and familiarity of their warm, soft glow soon transitions to brighter neons as he hit the bar up for his regular gin and tonic; the very moment she graces the stage, surrounded by falling plumes in a dreamlike display. Bobby had never seen her before; not here, not ever in his life. Nor had he seen anyone like her. Against the backdrop of a beat that registered to him only vaguely, he observes the way she slinks and glides across much of the stage—somehow managing to completely envelope the platform, despite being about an eighth of its size. She utilizes every corner with a routine distinct and likely choreographed, but steps with such a natural stride boastful of passion and cool confidence; with such a vague expression with amatory, he notes. Bobby takes into account the way her silky, golden hair sweeps and sails against the music with almost as much precision as she does. He then allows himself the indulgence of noticing how the lacy white get-up she’s wearing complements her glitter-adorned, dewy cream skin; the way it supports an ample and perfectly proportionate chest; the way it frames the subtle curve of her hips and runs down the length of toned and seemingly hand-crafted legs. Her beauty is astonishing.

If Bobby was as green as he was about 10 years ago, he’s almost certain he might’ve lost himself in some embarrassing premature bullshit right then and there. But as she locks her gaze squarely with his, he wonders vaguely if he’s ever before felt sexual desire so raw, so explicit. Where a weaker guy might’ve probably already folded under her intense gaze, he eyed her down just as intensely; with about as much hunger and fervor as he could feel radiating just a few short feet beyond him—finding himself goading her even, with a lazy, lascivious smirk of his own. He’s only slightly broken from his reverie at a subtle, but intent nudge to his shoulder from his left.
MONTY
 
@Cooksie
5 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif in a boy's dream

As bright and obvious as the violet hues illuminating the stage was the twinkle in Bobby's eye, as his close confidant, Andrew, bore witness to the cold war raging on between his buddy and a stranger that had fully occupied his gaze; a young, luscious woman to which the pair had yet to encounter at Sirens, the gentlemen's club the two had been known to frequent. While new talent filing in and out wasn't particularly noteworthy, it was the presence of this girl, the description the most resonant in Drew's mind upon laying eyes on the dancer, much closer to their age than any of the more senior performers they'd seen many times before. She was new, she was young, but boy, could she move. And was she ever, so brazenly displaying her body with calculated glances towards his boy's direction, a gesture that Bobby, and any man with eyes, appreciated. He felt himself stationed in the psychological trenches, juxtaposed against Bobby in the latter's war with the beautiful stranger to not make the first move; to not compromise the invisible wall and indicate obtuse desire beyond the rules of the game. Bobby could look, but he couldn't touch, but through Drew's eyes, he wasn't quite sure if the dancer was fighting fair.

Her natural blessings were a sight to behold, as an incredulous Andrew would raise an eyebrow and scoff, amazed after his initial reaction of arousal and captivation had broken off, something that his friend was having a hard time in doing himself, entirely enamored with the art of seduction manifesting before them. Nudging a playful elbow into his friend's arm, Andrew would court the elephant in the room. "I don't know who's starin' harder, you or her," he'd say, a snicker escaping between his teeth, excitement and disbelief coursing through his body for his friend, as the certified stunner continued to dance with salacious intent.

"What do you think? If I rolled out a scoreboard for every time she looked back at you compared to every other dude in this room since this song started, what are we talkin' here? Red Sox '50 or White Sox '55?" He grinned, maybe even moreso knowing it was yet another obscure baseball trivia reference Bobby wouldn't pick up on. "And to think... you didn't even wanna come out tonight, hehehe! I guess the saying's true... every wingman has his day," he'd tease, as the aforementioned title had been hotly contested between the two as to whom it belonged to more. Continuing to keep a careful eye on the gorgeous dancer before them, his protruding ears would stay alert, curious for his captivated comrade's input.

MONTY

@Maxim

5 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
6dT0AB4.gif SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL
“Fuck off, man,” Bobby jests as he gives a firm backhand to Andrew’s chest, a move to effectively silence his insipid diatribe. “You can’t convince me you haven’t been eyeing her down since she came through them curtains, too,” he shot back at his accomplice in a cool, soft tone, never once having taken his eyes off of the entrancing figure directly beyond him. His eyes glide with the swaying motion of her faultless, mesmerizing hips, then trace up her torso to the pointed center of her bare, generous breasts.

“This a new bird here, or am I crazy?” Andrew would begin to query in reference to the blonde dancer, gesturing in her direction with a raised chin as her attention turns back to entertaining her mesmerized audience. Redirecting the focus of his attention to the jeering man to his left, he continues. “You know anything about her? Actually... you know what, forget about that. Time I spend here talking, me and Miss America could already be halfway back to my place,” he sniggers, before squinting his eyes as he fell into a momentary pause for thought, his penchant for mischief slowly bleeding forth. “Ha, matter of fact: for all that wingman talk, I bet you a solid hundred bones you couldn’t even get her name. Or any real conversation, at that,” he teases as he lifts his tightened glutes from his seat and reaches for his thick leather wallet in his back pocket, exhaling upon regaining his comfort. “Nah, forreal,” he chuckles again while counting through his cash. “I challenge you. I’ll put it up right now: one hundred in cash.” With the wager wedged between his two fingers, he delivers a firm pat to the back of Andrew before he connects both of his palms at the back of his head and stretches back slightly.
MONTY
 
@Cooksie
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif in a boy's dream

Andrew would roll his eyes, rising to stand apart from Bobby's bold wager.

"Bro, only a hundred?" He'd tease, his brow furrowing. "That's how much Miss America is worth to you? Or is that how much you're willing to cough up knowing that I'd easily take her off your hands, or out of your eyes, for that matter?" Andrew would retort back, a sly grin on his face. "You were half right. I, as a red-blooded, American male, was definitely attracted to Tiny Dancer over there when she came out. But you didn't see me, tail between my legs, droolin' over her like a dog looks at steak! You wanna know why, partner? Because I'm the master. I'm with that steak from purchase to preparation and when it's all said and done, I'm the one that gets to feast at the dinner table, while man's best friend looks on all sad-like at my feet!"  he'd say, mockingly pouting as he continued to prod his friend. "But, if you insist, fine. I'll put you out of your misery, puppy dog. Though I think those big ones might be better suited for buying you porno magazines if your current plan is just to throw all the tail my way! Or were you thinking of something a bit more economic? Like you wackin' off while you hear us goin' at it in the next room?!" Andrew would chuck at his own vulgarity, cutting in again before Bobby could properly retort. "No worries, bud. You keep that out, 'cause I'll be right back. Or maybe I won't?"

A wink to Bobby was his departing gesture, as he'd turn on his heel, approaching deeper into Sirens, the neon lights shrouding his face in a blue and purple hue. He'd watch carefully as the gorgeous newcomer would reach the closing moments of her set, noticing Bobby's eyes had immediately darted to her as she turned around, her bottom being the apple of his eye. They then made eye contact, as Andrew anticipated, chuckling as Bobby flipped him off from afar. Andrew would take a seat in a lounge chair in an area he knew the performers would generally congregate with patrons. He'd attempt to blend into the atmosphere, making small talk with a dancer that briefly approached him, but ultimately remaining in his element. His bravado was his pastiche of his father, an impenetrable ruse of unbridled machismo and something he knew women couldn't see resist; not even a vexing beauty like the petite blonde knockout he'd saw on stage, who had finally  emerged onto the floor, as he'd expected. He'd offer his eyes immediately, knowing anything physical would be too obtrusive, and soon enough, their eyes would meet. He'd meet her with a warm smile while remaining seated, knowing his dimples were as good as magnets.

"Happy New Year, sweetheart," he'd say, raising two fingers and an extended thumb as a wave.

MONTY

@Mariah.

5 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif YOU COME CRASH INTO ME... A ND I COME INTO Y OU
A thin coat of sweat glazes Emma before she swaggers down the stage steps toward the lounging area, avoiding eye contact with the plethora of interested guests on her short journey over. A negligee—hidden by the side of the stage—barely veils her bare naked torso as she fastens it over her delectable body, the ostrich feathers bordering the collar and sleeves lightly bouncing with each leg forward and casual rock of her hips. Her eyes would glance back over toward the gentleman who unrelentingly held her interest and fantasy, the petals of her flower seeking water to bloom. But a deep voice interrupts her salacious subconscious, belonging to someone almost as enticing, revealed as she turned her head toward him. She instantly recognizes him as the comrade of her object of desire and thereafter decides only to reply, as the club soundtrack advances.

"Happy New Year," Emma breathes with a warm stare and a polite smirk, taking a moment to absorb his presentation now that she was able to focus beyond her intense, instant crush. Her mouth becomes slightly agape on careful observation. The man before held a jawline more prominent, sturdy and sharp, capable of drawing blood, and his thick brows decorate bottomless, passionate brown irises. His lips are full and wet, and his smile is utterly irresistible, punctuated by adorable indents on his cheeks. Yet she's still able to resist, only wanting his friend, who from the corner of her line of sight she notices shuffling in his seat, seemingly flushed with a very mild jealousy. If the distant stranger was interested and invested, why wouldn't he, himself, approach? Why would he allow his mate? Was this a game; a jousting of male ego? She briefly looks down toward the floor as she feels herself blushing, then decides to play as well, never to be outwitted. Maybe her prize needed the extra push.

Closing the little space between herself and the greeter by sitting on the arm of his seat, Emma begins to purr while putting out her dainty hand for the planting of his aforementioned full lips. "It's 'Angel'. Around here, at least. But if you can keep a secret from your buddy back over there, my real name is Emma." Forward as her job would require, she initiates touch, delicately adjusting the spiked hair of the accompanying stranger. She drips with confidence, only slightly thrown once she looks over at the other man again. "Speaking of tight lips: I'm hoping you didn't miss your New Year's kiss staring at me after the ball drop. Well, actually... it probably wouldn't be so bad if you were still toting a glass slipper."
MONTY
 
@Cooksie
5 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif in a boy's dream

Chuckling in turn, Andrew's face would warm at the woman-- Emma's-- charm. Her energy deviated from his anticipated challenge. He expected a guarding wall, playing the right notes to trickle out the information that was at the center of his gentleman's wager. But, she'd been no stranger. She had a welcoming, warm aura that was enticing to him beyond titillation. With nothing more at stake, the opportunity for actual connection felt... odd. Welcomed, but now under new pretenses.

"I'm a size 11. Baby oil couldn't slip a shoe off my foot," he'd joke, continuing an eye contact that felt disarming. "To be honest with you, no, I haven't, but you're not the one to blame. Matter of fact? I think New Year's kisses are a little overrated. Like there's a morbid understanding that the people who get 'em when the ball drops are praying to still have someone to kiss by the time the next new year rolls around! I'm in no rush, honey. I've got a whole 'nother three hundred and sixty four days to go," he'd say, tongue-in-cheek as he sat up more in his seat, hoping to appeal more earnestly to the enchanting beauty he'd been acquainted with. "I'm Andrew. My friends call me Drew, but you can call me anytime... and that would be the line I'd use had I, one, not already read you to not be the type for cheesy... and two, had we not been placed under government surveillance," he'd say, motioning over to Bobby, who watched from afar but skillfully evaded the two's gaze upon reference. "Nice to meet you. And I really mean that, not just making conversation. I... we," he'd correct, knowing his ultimate goal was to re-direct the woman back towards Bobby's corner. "...have never seen a girl dance like that here before. You've got a gift! Though I'm sure I'm not breakin' any news,"  he'd snicker, shrugging. "You got any plans for the night? Other than being on the clock, of course?" Andrew would test, biting his lip as he began to cross the theoretical bridge.  "I promise you, my friend's not as brooding and reserved after a few whiskey shots. Though I will say his staring problem is significantly more advanced than mine. Maybe even bordering on severe."

MONTY

@Mariah.

5 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif YOU COME CRASH INTO ME... A ND I COME INTO Y OU
Caught by Andrew's geniality, Emma drops her sport of a seduction, if only for the moment. Although Andrew was enticing, he was still not who she coveted, as expressed prior. And he who she coveted seemed to have clenched into the bait faster than anticipated, if the wandering gazes would imply such.

She lifts her caramel eyes back over to her acquaintance's desirable friend and continues to quietly observe him as Andrew's speech folds into inaudible murmurs, Emma sinking deeper into her reverie. The craving was only growing in intensity the longer she sat studious; her eyes archiving the sight of his lips and tongue molding around the melting cube of ice he'd toy with to distract himself. His pulsing physique tightening and coming undone with every breath. Finally, she musters up a response, though one not direct to Andrew's query. "What's the story with your friend, anyway? I feel like everyone who walks through here has some kinda tale to tell," she'd pause, still markedly coquettish. "I mean... not that it's my business or anything. I am, after all, just an amazing dancer. And yes, I'm also still on the clock. But in the short time I've been working here—let's just say you two are the first of your kind that I've seen," she titters.
MONTY
 
@Cooksie
5 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif in a boy's dream

Andrew would peer inquisitively, a smirk on his face. There were a litany of things that could apply exclusively to he and Bobby alone, but instead of trying to decode the dancer's message, he realized the greater goal: speaking in a language that Emma could understand, seeing that his larger overture before had gone on somewhat deaf ears. 

"He's a little bit of a loner, I'll give him that," he'd say, glancing over towards him only briefly, to not make it obvious the tremendous solid he was doing him. "Shit, what do you wanna know? I mean, there's some nitty, gritty details about him that I'm sure he could tell you himself, but the basics? Uh, he's a dick. Always takes my fries when we're out at lunch. He's nocturnal, by all means, hence why we like to come here or to that little dive bar on the corner of 5th and Grigio. You know the one?" he'd ask, hesitation being the response. "Nevermind. But, uh, yeah! Bobby doesn't bite. Least not towards beautiful women. If he made as much eye contact as he has with you with a dude, though, I'd be worried for that guy's safety," Andrew would joke. "But what about you? Hm?"  he'd raise an eyebrow, a mischievous grin forming. "For someone as beautiful as you are, I can't imagine you to be the shy type. I can give you a sales pitch 'til daylight if you want, dude's my best friend. But that won't get you any closer to him."

Inching closer to her, Andrew's eyes would leer, his breath becoming heavier as he whispered directly in her ear, neck angling into the nape of hers.  "Go up to him. 'Cause I speak with experience when I say this: you can't fuck someone with just your eyes."

MONTY

@Mariah.

5 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif YOU COME CRASH INTO ME... A ND I COME INTO Y OU
Both amused and bemused, Emma turns her face to Andrew's and hums back, her amorous armor returning to shield her. "See, I'm definitely not shy. Just... cautious. Confident, but cautious. Maybe you should head over and give your friend that helpful little tip, then report back to me."

She scans Andrew up and down slowly, her eyes then once again shifting over to his friend and back. Perhaps this really was a game of chess? But in a sea of kings, rooks, bishops and knights, it's the queen that would always conquer. What there was to conquer was uncertain, however. With just exchanged stares, Emma could gather the stranger was a labyrinth and that Andrew was its keeper of sorts; the only person who was granted the opportunity to venture in. But in spite of the gravitational pull of the friend, she couldn't let her intrigue and curiosity get the best of her. Tempting as it may, she swore off complicated men some time ago, and she could already tell how easily she'd lose herself in him. Her focus needed to remain with her work, for the sake of her child. In the haze of smoke that rises in Sirens', however, focus is easily lost. So instead? Perhaps a distraction, if her attraction to the stray male would afford her one. She bites onto her bottom lip to conceal her grin, then glosses her teeth with the tip of her tongue. The air was tense but sparse between their two, closely distanced mouths, but Emma, as predicted, wasn't one to waver. "That is unless you wanted to take your own advice... 'Drew'?"
MONTY
 
@Cooksie
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif in a boy's dream

Hearkened breath escaped Andrew's lips, a smile creeping onto his face. His bid for 'friend of the millennium' had seemingly been reversed on him by the universe. No matter the sell, he was the one in Emma's, or rather Angel's, grasp, descending slowly into the spell and ignoring the obvious magnetism his friend and the woman had shared before. 

"So, is that what I am? A safe bet?" he'd inquire, blinking as he looked into her eyes. "I'll take that. And since you're so cautious, I'll give you a word of advice," he'd prod. "If you're so worried about my pal, I wouldn't be climbin' up this beanstalk. One go at me and you'll forget he even exists. Guarantee you." 

Her perfume flooded his nostrils, the aroma intoxicating, as was the sight of her alone. Hesitation clouded his conscience as he felt his friend's gaze, even from across the club, but in all fairness, he'd more than won the game. It was a grand slam. Her alias was known, the attraction established and her ivory skin at his hand's reach, not Bobby's. It'd be a crime to question the gods that had already spoken. "If you're down, we can, uh, take it somewhere a little quieter," he said, his tone lowering, as he broke the seal, daring a caressing touch up her thinly-veiled thigh. "And you can show me how daring you really are."

MONTY

@Mariah.

5 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif YOU COME CRASH INTO ME... A ND I COME INTO Y OU
"I'll tell you what," Emma coos as she climbs atop Andrew to straddle him and leans in close, wary of the envious onlookers. Her bow shaped mouth begins to massage the soft, sensitive skin just beneath Andrew's sharp jawline, and its there she breathes hot air onto the dampened surface, while slowly grinding against him as she feels his length harden between her thighs. Checkmate. "I'm off in about an hour and a half, at which point I can come over your place. I'd really like a head start on you, though. I'm sure you already know this, but there's private rooms upstairs, only they're not gonna let us in unless you drop thirty bucks to the doorman and pay me per song. It's just a formality. The real countdown will be up before you know it and this time, you'll get your kiss... anywhere you'd like. What do you say?"

Emma's robe comes undone with Andrew's guided hands, drawn apart just enough to give her suitor a taste of what awaited him. She could sense his carefulness as she next leads his finger to her mouth and begins to suck onto it with a devilish grin, and eyes which burn through him. Her intentions were clear, but what of her motivation?
MONTY
 
@Cooksie
5 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif in a boy's dream

Heart racing as breath struggled to escape, Andrew's conscience would kick back in, guiding him through the heightened escalation of the situation. His eyebrow twitched, as did another party of his anatomy, at the offer, one he was keen to take up.

"I'm down," he'd put rather bluntly, turning his head as he exhaled sharply. "Just uh... just give me a second, if you don't mind?" he'd stall, airing out his collar. "Need to freshen up a bit!" 

Andrew would flash his killer smile, the pearly whites illuminating the way for a smooth escape (or as much as one could in his current state of panic and arousal). He'd maneuvered it well, or so he hoped, as a sudden rush of dread that had filled his mind's chambers accelerated his movement through Sirens once he was sure Emma couldn't see him anymore. Andrew's generosity had come to be his own worst enemy; in tipping the girls he'd interacted with earlier in the night when he and Bobby had first arrived, he had forgotten to re-stock on cash. His now destined encounter with Emma had seemingly become ill-fated, all at his own folly. "Idiot," he'd mumble to himself, as he descended closer to the entrance of the club to use the ATM machine, hoping to make his time away from his beautiful new acquaintance brief.

MONTY
@Maxim
5 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
6dT0AB4.gif SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL
Idiot,” Bobby muttered aloud, begrudging witness to the blundering exchange some well feet away from where he was seated. He hadn’t heard a word of dialogue between the charismatic coquette and his right hand; hadn’t needed to, seeing as he was abreast on just about every aspect of Andrew’s quirkiness and intermittent absent-mindedness, to know when he was about to fumble. Rule of thumb: keep your eye on the ball. As he watched Andrew make a ‘discreet’ attempt towards the entrance, patting his pockets in conspicuous pursuit of his—Bobby’s sure—otherwise barren wallet, he slides out of his seat in one suave swoop, with about as much finesse as Donald Knaack on his famed percussion. At that point, the blonde beauty had casually slipped to a more secluded corner of the establishment, perched atop the counter top engaged in what seemed to be playful banter with the bartender. Bobby took another moment to drink in the sight of the vixen that was still but a vision to him. Sat atop the counter, one leg crossed over the other, still adorned in her lacy white ensemble, her gleaming silhouette looked powerful against the dank and tenebrous backdrop—imparting an illusion of a pure angel in a realm of death, uncorrupted by sin and malfeasance. As she shared another joke with the bartender, Bobby slips on to the barstool at her back, seemingly without detection.

Looking past the woman, beckoning to the bartender that had, at some point, slipped away to tend to other patrons, Bobby starts, “They say you don’t fill yourself up on the appetizer—and with such a small serving, at that. I brought you something to wash it down, anyway."
MONTY
@Mariah.
 
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif YOU COME CRASH INTO ME... A ND I COME INTO Y OU
Emma's lashes flick down as she attempts to conceal her brief moment of relief, her cheeks painted pink. She takes a moment to exhale, hoping to remain cool and composed, but her heart patters ahead of her. Never had a man given her this sensation, holding this immediate power over her full consciousness. Not since she met the father of her child, at least. It was threatening and intimidating... but she couldn't help but to keep venturing on. His beguiling presence made her feel secure along the path, Emma slowly losing concern over whether she would find her way back.

She turns her head, clears her throat, then musters up a reply, drizzled in a soft, sweet and sultry voice to match the man's own. "Well, what else do you do when the main course is late," she teases back while reluctantly taking hold of the drink and dipping her tongue into it, preparing her mouth for a strength she wasn't accustomed to as a non-regular drinker. "Besides. I'm a business woman, so the truth is I was just doing my job. Your friend is really cute, but I'm not really interested."
MONTY
@Maxim
 
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
6dT0AB4.gif SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL
“Ssss, ouch,” Bobby wittingly made a show of having been burned on behalf of his accomplice. The bartender gives a nod of acknowledgment in his direction, and Bobby shifts his attention to the beer cooler with a nod of his own, motioning to the tall brown bottle labelled ‘Bud Dry’. “Good luck breaking that to that ass wipe. I promise you he already had where you’d be honeymooning and the gender of your three kids mapped out, all before you even gave him a name." Sending another nod of gratitude before the bartender strode off again, Bobby took to cracking the cap off of the bottle with the sheer strength of his teeth alone—a habit that he’s been told time and time again was ultimately damaging, but always got the job done—and took two hefty swigs before shifting his attention back to the soft-faced stunner.

“A name it’d seemed that I don’t have the same privilege of knowing?”
MONTY
@Mariah.
 
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif YOU COME CRASH INTO ME... A ND I COME INTO Y OU
His unctuous demeanor continued to heave the siren Emma through the waters, reeled far beyond her area of comfort. He was drenched with a unique charm and a sex appeal; a natural seduction that rivaled her own. The real bait, however, was what seemed to lurk behind his bright blue irises as she sank into them. There was something more to him, she felt; both disarming and dangerous. Both protecting and threatening. Both light and dark. He was—it seemed—a story yet to be told. A moment was necessary to catch her breath as she tries to coyly examine her suitor again, feeling more security at his shallow, surface level. Her eyes graze his bicep muscles as they force against its casing, flexing instinctively with each movement, then the same for his granite solid chest. "Fuck me," she respires beneath her breath with muggy skin, hoping her Freudian slip wasn't caught. A sheepish titter through her lips signal it was time to return back on guard.

"Look, I only have like an hour left in my shift, so I really should get back to working the floor so I can squeeze in a few more private dances. I have food to put on the table, babe."
MONTY
@Maxim
 
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
6dT0AB4.gif SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL
Knowing well enough to perceive a signal when he was being sent one, Bobby downs the rest of his Bud in a single gulp, and spared her a hard, calculating look. He figured he knew the angle being played, but wanted to gauge her expressions and body language carefully to avoid a big miscommunication, which proved to be ultimately fruitless for him. The mask of schooled indifference revealed virtually nothing, to the point that he’d begun to believe that perhaps he was just ideating signs that weren’t there, and that there was a possibility that he was being blown off, rather than beguiled. It was only after she arose and gave him a soft touch on the shoulder that seemed to linger, coupled with a perfunctory bid of ‘goodbye’ that seemed to translate more to ‘don’t be too long’, had Bobby felt he had found the affirmative he’d been seeking out. Politely grasping on to her hand before she’d completely disengaged from his person, he brought her movement to a halt and had commanded her attention once more, although in this instance she’d refused to meet his gaze and her focus trained directly ahead of her.

Deciding to persist with the little game of cat-and-mouse that they’d devised between them, and as stone-faced as he’d been given just a few moments prior, Bobby expresses, “So where am I telling good ol’ Andrew he can find you when he gets back?”
MONTY
@Mariah.
 
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif YOU COME CRASH INTO ME... A ND I COME INTO Y OU
Emma's body jerks back with the effortless grip onto her arm, leading her body to fall into her suitor upon rotation, light and delicate as a plume. The temptation continued to dangle before her like a ripened fruit, but her resistance remained, wavering in increments as the sensation of their touch ignited embers through her core. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to explore, despite how murky the path seemed? Perhaps it wasn't so murky, after all; or if it were, he'd be her guide? As it were now, however, she wanted to maintain the lead; to convince herself she could retain her control and discipline, and hold her values sturdy with a man like this. Convince herself that she still held power with any man to enter her life, even if the entry were brief. To his slick final remark, she'd quip back with a wry, devilish smirk, "I'm sure you'll know... considering you haven't taken your eyes off me your entire night here."
MONTY
@Maxim
 
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
6dT0AB4.gif SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL
It almost seemed as if she was breathing into him rather than speaking; every word permeating through his skin, punctuated by a bout of desire and seduction, but also a cleverly suppressed, but detectable bit of resistance, as well—which was slightly disconcerting for Bobby. He would’ve loved to probe a bit more to extirpate the root of all of the apprehension, but his own trustworthy instinct told him that it was likely nothing personal, and had more to do with exercising general caution, rather than a perceived lack of interest. At some point, he'd turned around completely to face her head-on and look her dead in the eye.

"Well, you'd have had to have been watchin' me just as long to know that, huh?”

If Bobby hadn’t spent the last ten minutes taking note of intricate attention to every inconsequential detail on the blonde babe’s face, it’s likely that he wouldn’t have caught the slight tint of carmine colored across the expanse of her face, coupled with the ghost of a smirk that threatened to bloom into something he’s not sure the beauty was ready to confront right now. Not sparing her room for a proper verbal response, he stood up with a start, still looking her dead in the eye. “Tell you what. For whatever reason, the guilt of keeping you away from your bread and butter is practically eating me alive,” he started with a snort, “least I can do is fork over some change for being the biggest pain in the ass right now. How's say two hundred? Three? We don’t even have to do nothin’—I’m not some desperate dickweed asking you to bust out the knee pads or anything. But right now, a bit of your time seems to be worth every penny. Plus, it looks like it’d clear the conscience of ol’ baby blue eyes over there,” he pointed in the direction of the ever-present bartender with a thumb, who cast his eyes downward to the wine glass that he’d been shining, in a fruitless attempt at making it seem as if he hadn’t been completely engrossed in their exchange, albeit with eyes of scrutiny. “I dunno; maybe it’s kind of presumptuous of me, but it looks like you could use some company tonight—even if it’s just to talk. It’d keep you from having to suck off any shitheads tonight, too. Bonus! I mean, unless that’s your groove…” he'd jest.
MONTY
@Mariah.
 
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif YOU COME CRASH INTO ME... A ND I COME INTO Y OU
"Cute, but I'm a stripper not a prostitute," Emma scoffs with a twist of her eyes and a suppressed laugh, unable to help being caught by the man's roguish charm.

"Bobby, right?" she suddenly recalls before allowing her intense interest and desire to overtake her reservations, conceding to Bobby's request for solitude. "I'm Angel around these parts, but I'll let you call me by my real name Emma for an extra fifty on that three hundred... That was me joking, by the way. I wouldn't take advantage of anyone's generosity, especially since in my short time here, I've noticed that's a very, very rare trait." Pausing briefly to maintain her poker face, she would weave her tiny hand with his, feeling an immediate jolt of electricity rush through the veins of her arm. He was like heroin; one intake and it was already difficult—impossible—to pull away. There they'd stand still, the pair then glancing down at their prolonged touch, Bobby licking his lips and Emma skipping a breath in reaction to their chemical reaction. 

"Follow me this way," she announces before leading him along to the private area, her grip becoming tighter as she feels her palm begin to slip by virtue of its fine varnish of sweat. Bravely, she cuts through the hurricane that was her potent fantasies of him, all whisking in and out of reality as the walls blur beside them. The path to the private rooms felt as though it had become a hallucination, the lust-starved pair being the only thing tangible. With their arrival at their first point of entry, marked by a satin curtain, she releases him and turns, colliding chests as they did moments earlier. Her composure regained, she runs down the details. "You can pay me upfront once we settle in a room, but you have to give the doorman his thirty bucks for entry. New club policy."
MONTY
@Maxim
 
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
6dT0AB4.gif SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL
Give the doorman his thirty? What, we planning bank heists in there?” Bobby jeers, but he was half serious about the hefty fee. “Ha, privacy is some serious shit to you guys now, huh?” Keeping tight on her heels as she guides them beyond the curtain, through the surprisingly labyrinthine establishment, he uses the time to appreciate the fine form of nebulous stunner, now known to him as Emma, but as conservatively as he can, being mindful of a few of the watchful gazes and wary of being characterized as some kind of predatory pig, before it dawned on him that he wouldn’t really give a shit, anyway. They rounded a corner into a short, narrow hallway, of about three doors on each side, that lead to the very daunting silhouette of what Bobby can only imagine to be a man and not a house. So, the ‘doorman’ then. He can’t quite measure the expression in the man’s eyes, guarded by thick, dark sunglasses that can’t at all be practical in his secluded, poorly-lit position, but he registers the glaring sneer that the walking ham pointedly directs at him, and can’t help but chuckle. Intimidation technique, but Bobby isn’t at all fazed. He’s still, in fact, more peeved at the thirty bucks he shoves begrudgingly into the hands of the fully-loaded SUV.

Walking into the compact room, he immediately notes the deep purple, comfortable, plush, velvet-y fixtures, and low lighting set to a one, all having been renovated since his last visit. Realistically, it does call to practically every ‘champagne room’ in a strip club that you’ve likely seen on film. But it’s elevated far beyond that of the silver screen, due to the awe-inspiring leading lady gracing his presence.
MONTY
@Mariah.
 
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif YOU COME CRASH INTO ME... A ND I COME INTO Y OU
In the thick of silent tension, Emma takes hold of Bobby’s strong hand and positions him to rest on the dark colored, cushion filled seat. Then, after taking another swig of her alcohol with a hard wince and setting it down, she pulls the sliding room door closed and sits beside him, immediately melting into his refreshing icy blue eyes once more, without uttering a single word. Her own ogling growing in intensity, she rubs her garter and stocking dressed legs against each other as the fever she has for him burns within her confines, threatening to torch the fine fabric that barely masked her glowing, fleshy, naked breasts. "“So,”" she interrupts her growing hunger, maintaining her self control and tightening her robe, "“Tell me about yourself. Like, what’s your backstory, if you don’t mind me asking? Better yet, start with what do you do for a living and how you’re able to just drop three hundred dollars so easily, on a stranger at that?”" Perhaps even the question posed a certain danger for the young dancer, for knowing Bobby intimately could only breed some form of connection...

‘No regrets’ she advises herself. ‘You can manage yourself. You can handle whatever is thrown your way. You’ll be fine.’
MONTY
@Maxim
 
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
6dT0AB4.gif SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL
The entire panoramic looked almost picturesque from Bobby’s point of view. The portrait Emma was painting against the sombre backdrop, bathed in the gleaming glow of smoldering ecstasy, threatened to ignite its own flame in Bobby himself. He wouldn’t consider himself a man sexually repressed—far from it; perhaps not as indulgent as he was in his late teens (Drew swears he’s full of shit), but he’s active enough to the point where he can keep his libido strong. Never once has he ever been at risk of blowing his load too early, however, so he’s very cognizant of the precarious position he’s found himself in. Nonetheless, he’d assured himself that that would hardly be an issue for him. Rather, the relevant dilemma he was facing was what to do with this hands in this current scenario. He wholly understood the implications of what he was faced with—the plush room, the hefty fee, the fucking stripper. Yes, he was ready to completely immerse himself with whatever came, but he also chose to be mindful of the fact that she was a thinking, functioning person outside of her work first off; one that was seemingly adverse to fellowship, but wasn’t so uncommunicative when it came to expressing her interests and establishing whatever it was she wanted to be made known, and it had only took the very brief time that he'd known her to deduce this.

“Ain’t really much to me, to be honest,” Bobby started, at some point having had settled on linking his hands behind his head and resting it on his arms. “Just a guy hustling, doing what I can.” He had all intent of just leaving it there, willing to devote this full attention on the current thread of entertainment near his lap, but he figured the woman might’ve been largely unimpressed by the ‘brushed-off’ answer, and judging by the interpreted petulant shift of her eyebrow, he’d deduced that she was largely unimpressed by the brushed-off answer. “Uh, Bobby Carter,” he started again. “Boston boy. Short form: single," he lifted his eyebrows. "Got my own trade set up in business as a handyman, doing a lil’ touch of pretty much everything, essentially. So it takes care of me. Long form: Only child, C student, drank my first beer at 13, took my first hit at 15, bust my first nut at 16, left home and went out on my own at 18, and it’s been all me ever since,” he said. Of course there was much more dimension to Bobby’s arc than he was willing to share—partly out of mental repression, partly out of skepticism over who he’s sharing with. Above all, digging through those kinds of buried bones essentially undoes everything Bobby sought to gain when he landed in California, seeking a relatively new existence free of pity, trauma and preconceived judgement. None of it had any relevance to his life in its current form and to unearth it would be having to approach things Bobby’s not sure he’s ever really confronted fully.

Bobby abruptly takes note of how consumed he was becoming in his thoughts, and hoped that it wasn’t conspicuous enough for Emma to start asking more questions. Creating a necessary out, he posed to her, “What about you, Miss America? When did life start gripping you by the nutsack? Not tryin’ to cast aspersions or anything, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard any yell out ‘erotic dancer!’ back when the teacher was probing us on what we wanted to do in life.”
MONTY
@Mariah.
 
4 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
oOo5rcG.gif YOU COME CRASH INTO ME... A ND I COME INTO Y OU
The petals of the wilted sunflower, Emma De Angelo, begin to perish whilst she stood rooted beneath the colorless, stormy clouds, called upon by the nickname Bobby coined. ‘Miss America’, likely flattering in its intent, carried more of a story with just two words than a sequence of novels, hearkening back to the young woman’s woeful, ruinous past. Though she was resilient, brave and strong, her pain still lined her cells—her being—threatening to deteriorate her. She didn’t place blame on Bobby, for he had not the slightest hint of what his comments unearthed. Furthermore, his willingness to uncover at least a taste of who he was commendable, allowing her a small sense of safety and security in his midst. But her demeanor still changed, noticeably, against the suddenly quiet air. And then she finally spoke, showing herself for all her rawness and vulnerability, for the first time in a long time. Bobby’s innate ability to undo her defenses was simply too powerful to overcome.

“I left home at a young age and was forced to fend for own ever since, after several people failed themselves or failed me. I started off being abused and treated like a show dog on the pageant scene until my mother... she, um,” Emma’s voice weakens and rattles, but she draws her nose to repress tears, remaining stoic and poised. “Well my mother got really shitfaced drunk one night and after my father made a move on me, she thought I was nothing but a whore trying to screw her guy, because that was the reputation I was getting around the neighborhood: the girl all the boys and men wanted and could get. It was years of smothered jealousy toward an innocent, naive little girl that all boiled over; a little girl who she was supposed to nurture and love and guide through the world. At that point, all the money her rich, businessman husband threw at us to keep us happy didn’t matter anymore. She showed herself for what she truly was: a deluded, psychotic bitch. And the disgusting scum she made her vows to is exactly who she deserves to die with, sooner rather than later. Not that I’d know it happened, anyway.”

Her eyes having wandered off into the distant space and her vocals gone flat, she returns to looking at a visibly moved Bobby. “Sorry if this isn’t sexy or turning you on, but it’s who I am. No, I lied. It’s who I was. These days, when I look in the mirror, I force myself to see a fighter. That's why I’m here. Just trying to fight through school and provide for…” Emma refrains once more as the love of her life re-enters her thoughts, shining beams of sunlight through her storm. Recalling the day she gave birth to her son—the brightest day of her life—her eyes gloss, but she refuses to share that chapter with her acquaintance out of her desire to protect both her offspring and herself. She already found herself falling too deep. Provide for those I care about and who care about me. As for my ‘beauty’, as it once was my weakness, I now consider it my weapon.”

As time had evaded the pair and the slinking production of the current track seeps into the previous, its sound slithering across their skin, Emma comes out of her moment of reflection and starts to become restless. “Okay, this was a bad idea. Look, you can take back your money and find another girl, if you want—”
MONTY
@Maxim
 
5 people like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!


Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.


Sign In Now

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.

  • Similar Content

    • Firestarter
      By Maxim
      .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 200px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } I'm the trouble starter Coming off of the heels of an increasingly stressful week, made markedly better by a reunion with whom he was quickly blossoming feelings for, Bobby decided that he needed a forum to decompress and de-stress. Retreating to his faithful steed, an olive green pickup sitting on 18”—his stallion—he sets off towards a part of town that most justifiably avoided, especially if you weren’t a familiar face. Despite having not been born or raised there, or anywhere even in the vicinity of the state, he knew Marshall’s Point like the back of his hand. The roads beneath his rubber wheels were practically cracked and ground into dust, while graffiti served as birth markings to distinguish the worn buildings. Fences were patched with scraps of steel, and larger chunks of steel in the form of broken down cars garnished the centerpieces of it all, them being the gang members, drug dealers and prostitutes scattered onto every corner. It wasn’t luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, and proved to contradict his efforts to escape his past life, but it was here Bobby would find his nirvana—‘Sweatbox’ Boxing Gym. Occupying old warehouse space and standing three stories tall, a handful of natives would use the property to stay in shape and unleash pent up anger, both being avenues the former marine enjoyed practicing through his most favorite hobby. And with his usual partner in crime, Andrew, temporarily out of commission, he arranged a meet up with a familiar who he often teased could benefit from some toughening up.

      Pulling up along the sidewalk just out front, Bobby marches toward the metal side door with his gym bag in tow, the window guarded by a cage of steel and the mahogany paint peeling from the body in strips. Swinging it open and swaggering in with his signature cockiness/bravado, he tosses his bag in his designated locker, then peels off his t-shirt to allow the sunlight pouring through the windows to contour the muscles of his already impeccable physique; every peak, every valley, just above his startlingly low hanging jeans and Calvins. He was a show off, to say the least.

      He took to the sink closest to the showers to wash a handful of water over his face, both as a means of waking himself up and rinsing away some of the grime and grease from his skin, afterward taking the time to properly observe himself completely in the modest-sized mirror. Despite his occasional tendency of playful haughtiness and swanking, Bobby actually didn’t consider himself overly conceited or anything of the sort. Confident, absolutely, but not at all shallow or superficial. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t take the time out to admire his fruits of hard labor every now and then. He runs his hands down the surface of the deep tinted bronze skin, letting his fingers graze over every shift, every cut and crevice, with appropriate admiration for his objectively well-built frame. Every once in a while, he’d stumble over the harsh texture of a deep rigid scar or the sensitive tissue of a, since-repaired, once-near critical wound, and it’s as if he can recall every dismal memory that accompanies the individual mark. Bobby shifts his frame slightly to the side before returning face-front, giving his body a complete once-over. Battle-tested, he’d definitely call himself. He was a warrior in every sense of the word, for better or worse. But most times he has to improvise without a sword or shield. Bobby doesn’t regret many things in his life—rather, he treats every situation as a catalyst for growth. That said, he’s also abreast of the fact that every action forges reaction; that every cause has a consequence. The grate of the steel door dragging agonizingly on the cold tiled floor is enough to break him from his reverie, before he changes into his boxing shorts and packs his few belongings into the cramped locker space, then heads back out the centerfold.

      Aching to emit the steam confined in his hard head, Bobby climbs a heavy punching bag like an animal, wraps his legs around its circumference, then begins his sit ups to warm himself, whilst hanging off. His bare core muscles tighten, each of his many abs taking full iron form as his top half comes parallel with the heavy bag, and falls back to a ‘resting’ position. His endurance and his strength was on full display, almost as though it were a masterful performance to less skilled onlookers. But he thought nothing of it, his focus squarely on his fitness—his one area of strict discipline. With the background track boosting his adrenaline, his action is continuous and fast, drawing heavy sweat from his pores with ease. It's suddenly he’s interrupted by a tap on his dampened shoulder. Transitioning into a handstand, then rotating back to his feet, he catches his breath, stands tall and greets his special guest. “Yo, Auggie! My man!” he roars with a wide grin, offering a patent handshake, then pulling his casual friend in for a noogie.

      “It’s been too fucking long; how you been, buddy? Ha, hey don’t look so scared to be here, you’re gonna embarrass me,” he adds on to tease. MONTY
      @ris
    • Doll Parts
      By Queen of Hens
      .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 150px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } I FAKE IT SO REAL, I A M BEYOND FAKE New Year's had been a total bust for the irresistible Jessica Taylor, despite the grand nature of the event she had managed to throw together. Spending hours solely trying to entertain herself with constant dancing, playful flirting, and nonstop drinking, it proved to be a fruitless task for the young socialite as the night went on. As a result, she quickly grew tired of the fruitless endeavor, unable to find a way to make things work for her tastes. Her complete and utter boredom almost forced her to go back to darker times in her life, though Jess knew better, especially in such a public setting as tonight. All eyes were on her, even if she wanted them or not, including those of her intimidating lover. He didn't like it when she got high, and she didn't want to upset him. Sitting alone in the luxurious lobby of the rented out hotel, she takes a small sip from her bubbly champagne, watching with disinterested eyes as guests began to slowly trickle out. Occasionally waving goodbye or flashing a warm smile to her 'friends', she mostly keeps her attention on the growing sea of bodies that shuffle out the doors, never looking up unless she was approached.

      As the last of the attendees make their way out, Jessica rises from her seat, grateful that the night's events had finally come to an end. Brushing off her glittering silver gown, she carefully walks over to the front desk, sweeping her flowing brown locks behind her bare shoulder. Setting her now empty crystal glass on the marble counter, she lets out a sigh of relief. Meeting the dull and wrinkled eyes of the uptight hotel manager, Jess flashes him a provocative smile, her glossy lips catching the warm light of the dimly lit room. "Thank you for having us tonight. I'll make sure the cleaning crew leaves the ballroom better than we found it." Adjusting the older man's tie, she finishes her final statement with a purr. "I'll be sure to leave a good word with Mr. White about the evening's events. Expect us back real soon." Perking up, he thankfully nods at the young woman, helping her into her white fur as she heads toward the exit. Gracefully making her way to the front of the hotel, she waves the man off, prepared to return home for the night.

      Meeting the cool Olympian air with reluctance, Jessica finds herself in a world far more familiar to her: one of cold and bitter loneliness. Clinging onto her fur for warmth, she solemnly makes her way down the luxurious roads of Ida Hills, which gradually transition into the deep and dark recesses of Erebus Square. Her extravagant attire attracts the leering eyes of many, inciting fear within the young woman despite the familiarity of the road. This wasn't the first such trip for her, and wouldn't be the last either. Up until now, no one had made a move on her, tried to strip her bare of the many riches she sported, though that fear always lingered in the back of her mind. Just as her anxiety was soaring to neurotic levels, she suddenly arrives at her usual spot in the concrete jungle, bright yellow vehicles speeding all around her. Taking a deep breath, she struggles to flag one of them down, many of the beaten taxis already carrying inebriated passengers back to their homes. Walking up and down the lonely sidewalks, she almost laughs in relief as a vehicle comes to a halt. Running to its side, she thankfully reaches for the door handle, only to come into contact with a hand similar to her own. Looking up, she meets the eyes of a young woman, who also seems eager to escape the unsettling night. Frowning in disappointment, she shoots the girl a friendly smile, pulling her hand away. "I'm sorry. I thought I managed to flag him down." MONTY @Mariah.
    • The Chemicals Between Us
      By Mariah.
      .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 9px; letter-spacing: 9px; width: 200px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } THE CHEMICALS BETWEEN US, THE WALLS THAT LIE BETWEEN US A wide array of boxes act as bricks forming a second set of walls, standing tall around an exhausted Emma De Angelo. Dressed in low-rise, cut off short shorts and a white midriff bearing blouse, tied above her belly ring and over her ample breasts, she stares out her large, paneled window, down to the city below. Cars race by in bold patterns, filled with strangers with seemingly no real purpose—nothing to live for beyond their excess. But her purpose for living sat joyously behind her; no care in the world, and lacking the knowledge of how cruel it could be. It was he: Lucas De Angelo, her one true love.

      She’d never allow Lucas to see the world for what it truly was, for as long as she could. She was his protector; his provider. But there were times that she longed for help. Someone who loved her five year old and was willing to protect him as much as she was. Someone to help ease the load she felt weighing down on her petite frame, wearing out every bone. Her thoughts cycle briefly to Lucas’ deceased father and his final moments before the chemicals in his system consumed him, an apology for failing her and their son stuttering through a cold, trembling mouth. Every time the memory is replayed, her heart broke into pieces, for she didn’t believe her nor Lucas would find love like that again.

      “Lucas, baby, don’t break that please! I need you to quiet down and relax for five minutes; mommy is on the phone,” Emma begs her toddler before returning to speak to her landlord on the other end of the line, her frustration mounting. It had been several days now since the move in, but it appeared that likewise with her losing a babysitter, everything was coming apart at the seams. Her apartment, in particular, was literal. “Listen carefully. Your contractor was supposed to be here a fucking hour ago and I’m paying you too much money for rent to be sitting around waiting. My pipes are broken, my cabinet doors are falling from their hinges, drawers are getting stuck, and that's not even everything wrong with this place. And on top of all the renovations needed: I've barely unpacked, I have a million other errands to run, I have to call my boss to get the weekend off, I’ve missed out on my first week of classes. Please. I don’t need this process to be any harder. If you could just page him again or something. Or just give me his cell number and I'll reach out myself.” She runs her clawed hand through her hair, combing and tugging it back, then waits as the landlord runs through his rehearsed reply. “Okay, fine. I’ll give it twenty more minutes,” she concludes before slapping the flip phone closed and letting a gust of air escape her glossed lips.

      Quietly reciting the mantra routinely used to ease her stress, Emma refused to allow the walls to cave in on her. Resilience was her greatest strength, and it was too premature to renounce the new life she had set path toward. “Lucas, what did I—” she begins to scold as she redirects her attention back to her son, soon after interrupted by a knock on her door. “Listen, we'll talk about it later. Go get one of your coloring books and sit still while I answer the door, please and thanks my love.” 

      She adjusts her appearance to a palatable state, then finally marches toward the door and turns the lock to slowly open. MONTY
      @Maxim