Cumming Awake

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But in the meantime, rest well. And dream of large women.

The Man in Black (aka Westley) ~ The Princess Bride

Somewhere between my sleep-heavy lids and the cushioning lull of the mattress, I enter a machine jungle. Wandering through an ever-more-enclosed space, the gleaming Bridgeport chrome label on perfectly-preserved ancient mills bolted into cement floors guide my narrow way into a…

Library? Mills and lathes line an aisle spearheaded by a rusted green drill press taller than me; the checkered aluminum walls behind the machinery contain shelves lined with books, and the shelves themselves are bookended with…

Women. Two large women. Ruben would have considered them overfed. I just consider them.

Cartoonishly round, alienly white.

Facial features indiscernible except for a slash of red on each face — one matte and pouty, the other glossy and smiling (without teeth?), both telegraphing confused intent.

I see no more than a shock of white-blonde, tresses moving with inhuman Pixar animation, before they are…

On me. Surrounding me. Huge and round-bellied and heavy-breastedly unnatural in their naked weightlessness, they smoosh me between them but I feel no pressure or suffocation; instead, their accosting has split me into two versions of myself: one watching from outside the tableau, the other being strangely absorbed into it.

Outside-Me watches as Absorbed-Me uses her teeth on the fat flesh protruding from between the glossy-red woman’s thighs. Biting hard enough to leave marks on the dream-being’s labia, there is no feeling of tegument against my mouth. It is like biting into un-wet water. Textureless paper. This woman – is it a woman? – is made of air and imagination. A solid form of nothingness.

I dig my fingers into matte-red’s thighs, press my thumbs against glossy-red’s un-real-ly white flesh…

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A-to-Z Challenge: How To Do It (Better)

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Last year, I wrote a lengthy reflective piece about my experience with the April A-to-Z Blogging Challenge when the event was over. You can read the entirety here (if you’re interested), but the gist of it (in 2018) was:

  • This event took place while I was dealing with some serious stress in my personal life.
  • I expected this event to be a new-community-building exercise and for the organizers to be active commenters/participants. Neither was true.
  • The people who showed their support during my A-to-Z marathon were the same people who show their support for everything else I do: i.e., MY PEOPLE (my existing community).

I took those things into consideration before starting the A-to-Z this year, as well as making note of the fact that my regular readers just plain can’t keep up when I post on a speed schedule in April, and tailored my approach to the 2019 challenge accordingly. While in 2018 I wrote fairly extensively/intensively, including for memes, I chose in 2019 to limit my meme participation and my writing intensiveness in favor of more lighthearted, fun-with-Feve type infotainment.

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A Most Confounding Female

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Cassie Jo Beaumont Montaigne had long confounded people.

She’d confounded her kindergarten teacher when she’d used her fingerpaints to draw designs on little Bobby Lee Montgomery’s face the day he’d told her he wanted to marry her when he grew up. She’d confounded her freshman biology teacher when, at age 14, she’d given a presentation on animal husbandry that included instructions for “how to bite like a stallion while mounting your filly.” (Mr Horace had to revise his oral presentation instructions on the syllabus the following year; while Cassie Jo hadn’t done anything wrong, per se, she also hadn’t quite done the assignment right. And while he had to admit it’d been entertaining, he also admitted he was too close to retirement to risk the heart strain or the potential loss of his pension that another such ‘demonstration’ from future students might bring.)

Yes, Cassie Jo Beaumont Montaigne was a confouder.

For years she’d confounded the Jehovah Witnesses who came to her door by offering them lemonade, served with ice and a straw in lidded plastic portable cups, then sending them on their merry way without a single word of kingdoms or condemnations spoken.

She’d confounded the town — Aloicious, IL: Population 1,347 — when she’d up and married the interim Anglican preacher from Rockaway and convinced him (on their honeymoon) to take up badminton so they could play as a team in the annual Mason County Fourth of July Extravaganza Celebration & Festival. (They won, too. Every year. But nobody held it against them, seeing as they always raffled off whatever prize they’d won — dinner for two at Bubba’s Bar & Grill, an all-day trail ride for a group of 10 at Canyon Creek, a 27-lb turkey, free passes to midnight bowling at Lou’s — and donated the raffle money to the food bank.)

Yes, Cassie Jo was a most confounding female.

Today, she’s been confounding the neighbors. Because for no apparent reason she’s decided to plant petunias in her front yard…

Wearing a plaid mini skirt.

A mini skirt that shows, when she bends forward on her knees to dig with her fuchsia-handled trowel, a barely-there white strip _just_ covering…

Well. “Her hoo-ha,” is what Eunice Wilkins had exclaimed in a stunned whisper-shout when she’d telephoned Hornecia Adamson about ‘that confounding Cassie Jo’. “Them there panties jest barely cover her hoo-ha!”

The snooping septuagenarians had both hung up their respective telephones but stayed in their windows, watching from behind moth-lace curtains, when Cassie Jo’s preacher husband pulled up in his two ton pickup.

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Soxxxy

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view of woman's legs, upturned laying face down, clad in argyle socks

An outtake from my March adventures in argyle, a session which also netted the inspiration for the beginning of my A-to-Z Challenge this year.

🙂

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Sinful Sunday