The Admirer

Before, she would sit around on Friday nights cruising the Craigslist personals, perpetually on the lookout for her next conquest. In one hand would be a tumbler of whisky——which never had the chance to get empty——and she would take sip after sip just waiting for the epiphanic moment when it hit and allowed every muscle in her body to relax and find peace.

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The Fingerbang (rough)

This new job allowed for mingling with strapped, suited cuties who were really only cute because of their suits. After work parties allowed for these suited studs to come out and let loose a little and this was your favourite fantasy. A casual acting, well-dressed man with a loose libido and an eye for you. There were enough of them at the office job you'd landed so you had your pick, but the one who caught your attention was the middle-aged one who could've been classmates with your father. He wasn't a looker, but when he sported a little scruff and the lights were low, he was passable for a babe in your eyes. You knew he had eyes for you too as was obvious with the extended amount of time he spent around you and how he always followed you outside when you went for a smoke, even though he didn't smoke. You decided he would be the the one.

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The Lovetoy; Or, Death of a Ladies’ Man (rough)

From the moment he watched her step off the streetcar clad in that flowing polka dot dress with her dark hair fluttering about her shoulders and her red tinted lips curved up in a smile, he knew he had to have her. His cock began stirring at the simple sight of her walking his way in a cloud of innocence and he wanted nothing more than to extinguish that innocence as soon as possible.

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The Quickie (very rough)

“It’s windy as fuck out there,” says she, shedding her coat in a pile on the floor.

“Oh yeah?” says he, taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom.

Shutting the door, he sidles up behind and wraps his arms around her, groping her hefty breasts which feel like they were moulded for his hands alone. She leans into him and grinds her ass into his crotch, her arms snaked around his head. He kisses her neck, pausing to bite and nibble a little the way he knows she likes. She grins and moans happily feeling herself let go of everything she came in with and succumbing to the moments.

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Stronzo (rough)

When he started talking about how men should be the heads of the household and women should cater to their every whim, the staunch feminist in you cringed, but you didn’t get up and walk out on him as you would have on any other man because no other man is as beautiful as this creature. This Italian stallion with green eyes and black hair who hailed from Naples and talked of love and sex as mundane facts of life. This Adonis of a man who would have been too perfect for reality had he not one single snaggletooth that demoted him to the ranks of mere mortals. His ego was wild and his self confidence intimidating, but you were glued to your seat feeling like a traitor to your suffragette sisters as you eagerly nodded in agreement with all his outdated and chauvinistic comments.

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The Scars (rough)

Her arms were covered in scars. Those jagged, furious little reminders of melancholia which inevitably began remind him of his own unhappiness, the same unhappiness he had been working so hard to ignore lately. She lay under him with her arms reaching up and clutching the headboard, unaware or unconcerned that her wounds were exposed. He wondered how she could be so unashamed of them.

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The Face

His tongue buzzed over her clit like a live vibrator and in front of her tightly shut eyes was the face. The face of the man to whom her heart belonged while her body made the rounds among the men she deemed lesser than her love. She allowed these creatures to use her body in order to satisfy her own human carnal pleasures, but the whole time her mind wandered to glorious memories and fantasies of him — the one whose face she could never forget.

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Portrait Of A Writer I Once Met

He was a writer; so, he did lots of writerly things like read foreign books on the terrace of cafes or on Oscar Wilde’s grave, teach plebeians about the complexities of the English language and enter into devastating love affairs which inspired his work. He came from a world of cotillions and debutantes, but fancied himself an accidental lowlife who valiantly turned the other cheek when he ought to have hated the world.

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The Betrayal

She was wound up tight and she needed a fix. She could feel the sadness clouding in on her and she knew the one sure fire way to keep it at bay, at least for a few more days. A good fuck was always the solution. It was the solution to so many of life’s problems and she utilized this natural medicine as much as she could. It never failed her.

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The Interruption (very rough)

When she asked to meet in a little coin operated laundromat I was skeptical at first, but then my intrigue took over. We had been chatting online for a few days and she ha already hooked me with her knockout looks and sexual liberation, so she could’ve asked me to meet in an abandoned slaughterhouse and I’d have eventually agreed. The laundromat was tiny and consisted of no more than five washers and three dryers which all stayed mute as I entered the join at our appointed time. I checked my watch nervously and for a split second considered the idea that I had been set up for some childish joke until the door opened behind me and she walked in, filling the room with an intoxicating scent of jasmine.

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The Parasite (rough)

I should’ve gotten my tubes tied, you think as you sit in the doctor’s waiting room. The plushy chair and easy rock flowing from the radio are supposed to be comforting but instead they annoy you and make you uncomfortable, so you fidget. You bounce your knee maniacally, a life long nervous habit you’ve refused to kick because if you don’t bounce your knee and let some of that anxiety out, you will positively burst.

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Summary of a Suicide

Today, I planned my death. I will mix my sleeping pills into the mickey of Jack Daniel’s that I always carry around and I will finally allow myself to fall into that coveted eternal sleep of which I’ve been speaking for years. I will choose a time when I’ve no obligations and I will take swig after swig of that drugged whisky until I cannot keep my eyes open. Then I will fall asleep and finally be rewarded with everlasting peace.

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Enablers (very rough)

Her weapon of choice was a steak knife and his his own fingernails. While she restricted the use of the knife to the privacy of her own home, his fingernail travelled with him where ever he went like a portable relief system. Ironically, it was she who openly and proudly displayed her scars while he hid his from the public. When they first met for their date, he immediately notched her arms covered in neat rows of blood red scars and pulled his sweater sleeve down over his knuckles to further hide his own marks.

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The Fuck Buddy (rough)

You keep fucking the same person and you’ll learn some things about yourself. Where at first you may have been timid and nervous, you eventually get used to it and practice does make perfect. The insecurities you had about whether or not you were moving your hips right, groping just hard enough to be pleasant or using your mouth adequately all wash away as you learn to fall into rhythm with each other. Where you once felt you failed as a lover you now feel as if you were Casanova incarnate.

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