Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/F/FRANC.TXT

Text File | 1994-01-22 | 12.7 KB | 221 lines

    FRANCAIS, I II III
    ------------------

         The floor, the little square tiles that made up the floor.  Over
    to the window; the cords for the blinds and the layer of dust on the
    sill.  The relatively featureless door, a knob and toe marks.  That
    desk wasn't the same as the others; gray Formica instead of brown.

         "Shit," I thought as I griped my way into the first meeting of
    French class.  Another light hangover, for a change.  The tiny room
    filled slowly with old friends, a couple of new faces momentarily
    passed, talked about Christmas break.  Same old thing, I said, same old
    routine.  Lots of partying and 60 hour work weeks.  Yea.  No, I didn't,
    but I sure as hell tried.  Oh well.  Sang was back, another me-neither.

         The girl's jacket wasn't hanging right on her chair; the left arm
    touched the floor under the radiator.  Uh, yea, je sais la question,
    wish the professor would leave me alone.  The index fingernail is
    broken off; shorter than the other ones.  A dark green folder and a
    ballpoint pen.

         She walked in after the professor began, sweats and jacket and
    hair pulled back in a pony tail.  Blond, that goldish brownish blond I
    like, held back tease.  We'll begin with lesson 14 this week, 15 next.
    Intense blue eyes.  Couldn't get them on film, like a sunset that looks
    lame on a 5 x 7 Polariod.  Probably 17, 18, couldn't be 19.  21?  Hah!

         Glance.

         Damn, she looked up as I stared her down.  But those eyes.  She
    looked sad, maybe, bored, tired?  Her eyes sank to the floor, drifted
    over to the window for a while, over to the door.  Hair followed the
    motion, caressed the neck, teased the cheeks.  Light freckles.  Again
    she was staring without looking, the chair in front, the jacket hanging
    crooked.  Sixteen-to-one teacher/student ratio, and she was the one he
    picked, not the other fifteen, "How do you say 'I know the question'?"
    Ballpoint pen in the mouth, light red lips surrounding it, caressing.

         "Je sais la question."

         Two weeks of distance, hers mental and mine physical.  I caught an
    occasional furtive glance, a splash of intense blue on my retinas, an
    image to fall to sleep by that evening.  How to dissolve this distance?
    I sat helpless, her breasts shared the intensity of her eyes and I
    could see the nipples fight for recognition from behind a bra, T-shirt
    and sweater.  They were succeeding.  I am consuming my life for an
    image, an idea of her, an entire person created from the outside in.

         Band, music, shadows, noise.  The bass reverberates in my chest,
    makes me feel the music.  Yea, I think she is, definitely.  Orange
    carpet, cigarette burns and beer stains all over it.  Beer is getting
    warm, tastes sticky fuzzy.  Is that him?  Damn, can't see.

         Saw her at the campus bar.  Surrounded by five or six others, all
    weaving themselves in an animated conversation, jumping and startling
    each other with words; she smiled and returned her gaze to the floor.
    Normal weight, two pounds over, thin neck and small feet.  The texture
    of her jeans under my fingers, the curve of the thigh, her shiver as I
    traced the inner curve, images conjured from across the room taking
    over my physical senses.  She reached for the pitcher; squinted in my
    direction.  More to sleep by that night.

         *Adrenalin!* Oh, shit, heart pounding, did he see me?  Tall, thin,
    hands strong, scarred here and there.  Nice stretch, *god* what a
    stomach.  *Adrenalin!* he looked again.  Hair, jacket, T-shirt okay.
    Smile, nice legs come here, Hi how are you?  Yea, were you there?
    Sure, okay; today?  Well, um.  Little brown dog skitters across the
    lawn after a frisbee.  Uh, yea, sure.  Eight.  Okay.  *Adrenalin!*

         January sun beat down, Sang talked about his car.  Yea, mine was
    screwed too.  Trannie went to hell in the Venture parking lot.  Drove
    home in second gear, worked on it until two this morning with a
    flashlight.  Tired.  Stretch, look around.  *Adrenalin!* there she is.
    Look, gotta go, have something to do before I go crazy.  Okay, later.
    The sun hit her hair, brought out the gold color as she reached up to
    tug on the barette.  Hi, what's up?  Weren't you at the Rat last night?
    Yea; listen, um, would you like *Adrenalin!* to go get something to
    eat?  Are you busy tonight?  Her smile fades into another distant
    stare, she looks out across the campus.  Blue eyes re-ignite, the smile
    faces upward, "Yea, sure."  Eight?  Meet you at the Rat?

    -----

         Mirror, brush, pull.  No, damn, no.  Spray toss brush.  Yea,
    finally.  Terrycloth bath towel feels good rubbing my skin.  Okay, just
    a second, I'm hurrying!  Jill's studying.  Poor girl.  What the hell to
    wear?  Tube top, t-shirt, blue, skirt, faded jeans, might as well be
    comfortable.  Faded jeans, the tight ones; white T-shirt, black leather
    jacket.  501 button 1.  501 button 2.  Hike up pants.  Ugh!  501 button
    3; 501 button *ugh* 4.  Finally.  Bye Jill, okay I will, yea.  Smile.

         The eight cylinders coughed black into the atmosphere and
    complained until the car wash.  50 cents wash, 50 cents rinse, would
    she even notice?  Her girlish smile wafts through my head, those upward
    glances she makes to the teacher.  Two blue eyes for dinner.  She
    doesn't drink just one brand of cola.  Squirt Windex squirt squirt.
    Pepsi one day.  Damn streaks.  Diet Coke another.  Decide, would you?
    Else how can I imitate you?  Make like a bandit to the Rat, pick her up
    and don't let her down.

         Dark, smoky.  Green light shades look like ones at Torrie's Pizza
    back home.  Nervious disappearing, funny conversation.  Hair okay?
    Salt shaker, six sides, little holes plugged up.  High cheekbones,
    maybe American Indian roots, masculine face.  Nice smile.  Sure,
    pepperoni's fine.  Beer, beer, beer, shut up mind, yea, large Coke.
    Girl next table has great earrings, round gold danglies with Chinese
    pattern, maybe Korean?

         The ground escaped my reach, I walked without remembering my body
    next to Her.  Conversation came in gasps, words sticking to roof of my
    mouth, making sure intelligence not betrayed by stupidity.  Pause.
    Salt shaker.  Topic search, school, home, music, interrupted with words
    flowing from two pale red lips, follow conversation.  She takes long
    drink with Coke, chest pronouncing and receeding with breaths.  Blue
    eyes, blue eyes reflecting person inside.  Did personalities have
    colors?  Hers does.  Intelligent blue, open friendly gold.

         Cold between legs, pants moist?  Chair, floor, armrest, nowhere to
    hold Coke while eating popcorn, between legs *Cold* ugh.  Done, cup cup
    to floor, dark theater.  Glance, he likes movie, arms crossed.  Cross
    arms, metal part of armrest cold.

         She pushed him down to the elegant bed as the sun blazed across
    the Parisien hotel room and hid under the 18th century dresser, running
    her hands furiously across his strong chest under the cotton of his
    T-shirt, kissing him with renewed vigor as the birds outside flew
    North.  Damn good film.  I looked at her without moving eyes from the
    screen, looked at her with all senses, felt her arms cross, fingers
    near the armrest.  Simulated caffeine overdose as heart lost slow
    rhythm, fingers began mile-long journey towards hers, towards physical
    contact with Intelligent blue, friendly gold; tactile conversation.

         Did he?  Accident?  Heart racing.  Watch movie.  Try.  Did he
    again?  Move finger, stretch, scratch upholstery, dissimulate.  Again?
    Squirm, straighten out pants, brush off shirt, cross arms, cold metal
    part of armrest.  Finger!  He enlaces with fingers.  Warmth.  Soft,
    relatively, long.  Red again?  Dark movie.  Driving down street near
    Eiffel Tower, old buildings flowering trees bright signs his hand.

         Desire to tension to quest to accomplishment, her hand in mine,
    part of that smooth softness lending itself to my emotions, linking
    itself to me psychically.  Pants restrict, body focuses upon hand and
    reaction.  Her hand isn't enough, need to touch her, tease her, put arm
    around her and feel sexuality vibrate through skin, push forth through
    T-shirt and leather jacket and mingle with my sensibility, my sense of
    reality.

    -----

         Dark room, six windows on two walls.  Shades up no-one can see in
    sixth floor.  Cool breeze on T-shirt.  Pretty brown eyes.  He takes
    drag on Camel, face lights up red.  Short hair, really short.  Eyebrows
    together, nose, rough lips.  Moon nearly full shines on bed.

         Hair has begun gradual escape from her black bow, relaxing formal
    posture, tickling neck.  Feel at ease but tense, sensing the last
    vestiges of inhibition escape as silence between two becomes medium of
    expression for both.  Position deforms 501s, shiny button peeks forth,
    tempting my glance, simple metal attempting to surpass beauty of two
    blue eyes now begging for my proximity.  Attempt grace while slowly
    closing physical space, ease arm to beltline watching face for signs,
    smoke drifts through moonlight.

         Smell of leather, smoke, him.  Lips, tongue feel nice, tickle.
    Thin waist, straight back, legs mix with mine.  Open eyes.  Arm, tan,
    long.  Close eyes.  Please, please, yes, shift body, cool breeze on
    bare back.  *Aaah* arms up no bra.  Large, strong hands.  Mmmm.

         World ceases existance, goes on without me, without us, bodies
    writhe without prompting.  Tactile response heightens as shirts join
    carpet in quick cascade; hands search indefinitely, her nails teasing,
    breasts brush, rub my chest, golden hair intermingles with brown.  Leg
    beckons hand, knee, ankle, knee, texture and warmth; trace lines asking
    for permission, for request, tactile senses reading favorable reaction.
    Warmth transforms into moisture, intensity, reflection of my state.
    Long fingernail scratches reflection of emotion down my pants, blood
    rushes to reaction.

         *Stomach* like a washboard, chest good not huge.  Smooth, no hair,
    warm, man smell.  Closer, closer, push on it, rub it, jeans panties me!
    Breeze smells like spring.  Belt buckle.  Fingernails tingle when I
    scratch down his legs, tingle at the roots.  Button.  Turn head, kiss
    deeper, pull.  Zipper, slowly, tease.

         501 button 4, pause while century occurs, 501 button 3, pause, 501
    button 2.  Finger roams near forbidden region, wanders in quest of
    umbilical nerves, tickle and feel her body castigate me as it removes
    itself briefly from mine.  How do you feel?  Smile, eyes half-closed
    with emotion.  Playground, smooth panties, 501 button 1 and top one
    with one deft motion.  Hips shift satisfying request of jeans, another
    shift leaves panties similarly situated.  Slim feminine fingers read my
    emotions and the spring breeze cools my pent up energy.

         Tall body hovers over mine, investigates it, kisses it.  Breasts
    tingle when rough face touches.  Ceiling.  Fingers tantalize me, roam
    near and stray far.  Emotions beckon for those fingers, touch me
    inside, let me feel your desire, push me, yes, yes.

         Golden hair lays scattered on pillow, blue eyes shout her emotions
    in large words, into hushed silence of our world comes I want to feel
    you in me, mind rejecting sexuality of it as again 'in me' pierces air.
    Hard focuses toward soft, dry and ready screams for moist and
    beckoning, mind and body become one upon initial brush.  Two bodies
    writhe together against an invisible current, moon provides modicum of
    visual stimulation, join and retract, bond and disengage, connect and
    leave, minds become machines reacting only to tactile barrage.

         Stretching me, pushing my walls.  Oh yes.  Stomach against mine,
    hot body against my nipples.  Shift hips *ooh* *yes* just right, leave
    and return.  Fills me completely, pushes me out.  Ummm.  Rhythms match,
    push me, yes, oh, he tenses.  Warm turns to hot, feel upward spurts,
    slowing rhythm, sweat drops to forehead.

         Room slowly regains composure, face, pillow, bodies spent and
    entwined, bed, six windows, breeze rustling golden hair and startling
    sweat drops scurrying across smooth bare flesh.  Smiles of exhaustion
    cross, slight hug, warm thoughts to sleep by for an eternity.

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