Boobs, Language, Sociology, and Why They All Matter

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So…

I tend to remind people, constantly, and usually during arguments about social issues, that my bachelor’s degree and general interests lie in sociology, and that I have about ten years of social work experience working with people from all walks of life.

This isn’t me JUST feeling myself and parading around my credentials whenever I want. It’s partially that, but it’s also my attempt to remind people that reading about, studying, analyzing and dissecting social behavior is life. And I think, often, when we discuss politics, media, language, and even economics, we take sociology and social sciences for granted. Specifically with articles like this one.

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Anastasiia: Marco’s Assignment

She had not been an easy assignment. A party girl in her own right, she was the reason for Marco’s sleepless nights.

For the first few weeks she’d barely noticed him at all, but one mistake and her attention honed into him like a torpedo. He thought about that night so many times after, over and over, trying to find a way he could have avoided falling in love with her, but there was nothing he could do to change it.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

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Cherchez La Femme

I’ve been participating in some writer challenges lately. Last year I joined the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge and joined again this year. This is my first round submission. It’s highly competitive, but I have to say, I had a lot of fun writing it.

The Prompt:

Genre: Suspense

Location: A plastic surgery center

Object: A tire iron

Synopsis: Kathleen wants to catch her husband red-handed, but has she thought about what he wants? Read more…

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Steel Graves

I’ve been participating in some writer challenges lately. Last year I joined the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge and plan to participate this year. This is the second and last story from 2015. 

The Prompt: 

Genre: Mystery
Location: A junkyard
Object: A coupon

Synopsis: A man is missing and Richard Moore knows more than he is telling the police. But will he solve the mystery before they do?

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For Headache, Add Tequila

I’ve been participating in some writer challenges lately. Last year I joined the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge and plan to participate this year. This is the first story from 2015. 

The Prompt: 
Genre: Comedy
Location: Martial Arts Studio
Object: Paint Can

Synopsis: What happens when you mix a martial arts gym and an unlimited amount of alcohol in one night of celebration? For Carl, it’s a headache, that’s what.
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Stolen Moments

She rummages through old photographs while I stand over the stove, making dinner because she swears she can’t cook, so I cook instead.

“I can barely make white rice,” she claims all the time, a dammed lie we both know she loves to repeat. “It either comes out soggy or smoky. You don’t need that kind of instability in your life.”

The kitchen is hot and humid, and she swears she can feel her hair frizzing as we stand there. Still, she keeps coming back to talk to me, holding old pictures in one hand and a joint still burning in the other. I don’t complain, not caring that the smoke is going to set off the detectors again. In turn I keep asking her questions from a distance so that I can see her in front of me, not in pictures online.

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More

I don’t just like writing about the bad things. So here’s a little erotica to finish off your Monday. 

This one, however, got a little away from me as I was writing it. Started out as Library, and turned into an erotic ode to Poe. 

Quoth the Raven, oh well, you know. 

(WARNING: Sexually explicit material below and not for children under 18 years of age)

“Baby,” she whispers in the dark. I reach out to her and feel a breast, and she groans.

I push myself off the bed half-asleep and climb between her. She’s spread-eagled and ready, almost in the same position I first saw her in at the library long ago.

My dick hardens at the memory. As I rub my cockhead against her warm slit I can almost picture her perfectly, kneeling on that old carpeted floor, perfectly round ass facing me, almost as if it was trying to escape her pants below.

I could see her red thong.

I dip my dick inside her a little and she moans. Her pussy is tight and I know she’s sore. We’ve been fucking all night, napping to catch our breaths and napping again, never getting enough. And she wants more.

I remember how I could have stared at thong forever, and then she turned to look at me and I was done.

I start to fuck her. She lets go of her knees and pulls me closer to her, pulling me low.

Oh that smile. That smile. That smile that told me she knew exactly what I was thinking, that she knew exactly where I was looking, like she’d been waiting for me all along.

I can remember that smile forever ever, even after everything is gone.

I start to fuck her slowly. My face is in the pillow and her tongue is on my throat. If I had died without touching her, I would have been happy to be reincarnated into that flower-printed carpeted floor.

Oh, but she surprised me. Stood right in front of me and handed me a book. Said, “For you, Loverboy,” and walked out the door.

The Kama Sutra, of course.

I was shocked into stone. It was months before I saw her. For weeks I thought about her. Wondered if I had imagined her, if I had scared her off.

And then one day she stood behind me at the grocery store.

I thought I had gone insane. I asked her her name. She cackled and said, “Lenore.”

I grabbed her hand and brought her home. I held her close to me and slammed the door. And then I peeled her clothes and dropped them to the floor.

And then I fucked her, on the bed, in the kitchen, in the shower, more and more.

I thought I was dreaming, held her face and kissed her, begged her to never go. She nodded and said, “Of course.”

And now inside her, warm and tight and and hot like fire, I’m ready to burst once more.

And I will let go of her, nevermore.