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justsomestuffilike:
“this image reminds me of something from my formative years…
i recall in vivid detail (well, as vivid as possible after years of trying to destroy my brain with useless facts, booze and sleep deprivation) a picture i saw at an...

justsomestuffilike:

this image reminds me of something from my formative years…

i recall in vivid detail (well, as vivid as possible after years of trying to destroy my brain with useless facts, booze and sleep deprivation) a picture i saw at an impressionable age.  it was in Playboy, most likely an issue from the late 70’s.   it showed a woman leaning against a wall (as in this picture), talking on the phone (again, just like this) and she had her pants (a patchwork pair of bellbottoms if my hazy memory serves) unzipped and peeled back to reveal her fuzzy ladyparts.  in an equally brazen manner she had her free hand up under the fabric of her top (ladies always wear tops, not shirts. men never wear “tops”) fondling her breast while she chatted on the phone in the most carefree manner possible.  

i remember seeing this picture (and most likely masturbating to it) and thinking “Women DO this kind of thing?  they just get half-naked and touch themselves while they are talking on the phone?  I wonder if any of the girls I’ve talked to on the phone had their pants down?”

clearly this was before I understood the Jedi-like powers of Playboy photographers, who could make the most ridiculously staged scene seem plausible [to a horny teenager].  but, still, that picture made an impression on me, and not an impression devoid of reality.  it said that women had a sex drive…that women could have dirty minds…that women were sexual beings, capable of lust and even talking on the phone naked.  it was misleading, but only partially.

(i would actually like to see that picture again…i have no idea how to find it.  i’ve searched to no avail.  if anybody has a link i’d very much like to see it again and compare my Memorex to the reality.)

delectabledeviants:

He was the other man. The one she knew was completely wrong for her. There was no future in them together, of that she was certain.

He was obsessed with sex, arrogant - but the time her resolve had dissipated, he’d made her cum harder than she’d ever known before.

For all his bluster, as he peeled off her clothes, there was a quiet intensity about the way he spread his attention to making all of her shiver and melt simultaneously.

Spontaneous contrasts of nails and touch. He made her want him with a primal need. His tongue only vexed that further. His cock was demanding . Her hair was pulled. Her entire being buckled against the way he moved inside her.

He was the wrong man. Entirely the wrong man.

But memories and mischief are devious bedfellows. She knows she shouldn’t call him, but she can’t help herself. Her hands wander almost of their own accord, until the lip biting realisation that her fingers have smoothed between her thighs and she’s teasing softly. Imagining all the ways he’d foxed her. 

Wondering if he’ll pick up .. !

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