She twirled her longer hair round her fingers while she checked her phone with one hand like a natural text-aholic. Her digital clock read 2.21am, and she was slightly irate by the casual proposal. Nothing good ever happens after 2am. 

Her lips curled at a distant memory. 

It had started with a text. An impromptu preposition of some sort. Some call it an indecent proposal. 

A relay of messages followed fixing the little details of a rendezvous. 

She picked up a young bottle of Red Muscato that corresponded with her lightened mood. 

When he had arrived, she was inebriated while he was shivering slightly partly from the cool wind and partly because of circumstantial boundaries. 

Curfews, sneaking out and parents bring an obscene imbalance to the equation for the liberated female. She laughed at her own ambivalent desperation and most importantly how under any other instance, it would have been a complete turn off. 

She remembered his washboard stomach as in quivered against her lips as she made her way downwards. She had been hungry in every sense until upon his first thrust, she gasped. 

She was utterly bewildered at how negligible his member was. Frustrated at her own frustrations. To make things worst, flipping sides didn't help but merely escalated her dissatisfactions. 

It seemed to go on forever. At least he had decent stamina she mused to herself as she thought of every lover that she's ever had. If things could have not gone worse, he whispered every dirty thought he had in her ear. 

"Are we there yet?" she enthused. It was like riding a donkey to China, with a dildo up your ass. At the end of the porn star performance, she bid him good-bye, rolled over and had her good night's rest. 

Nothing good ever happens after 2am.

Inspired by Felix across the north borders.

On the MRT on the way home, I spot a girl smiling to herself as she checks out her phone. Makes you kinda wonder what is going through her mind. 

Mental masturbation - where she clutches the train handles tightly as she grits her teeth like a scene in a japanese hentai, she blushes a deep shade of pink as she is crossing and uncrossing her thighs trying to forget the moistness and throbbing between her legs. Resisting the urge to touch herself in public, she gulps and almost lets out a small moan as the blood rushes to her head giving herself a mini orgasm. 

A joke of some sort between 2 co-workers that involve impaling a common super(visor) starting with stapling her eyelids shut. 

An old wives tale that was passed on from mother to daughter about a marriage of a village girl to a horse. Her mother swears it happened. She laughs of the thought of her mother finding bestiality porn. Seems that it was already fashionable then. 

The promises of a lovesick over-zealous admirer who'd promise her anything she'd ever wish for. 

So much had ran through her thoughts. And yet ... The one thing that truly tickled her for the duration of that journey was watching an elder couple that she estimated to be 2 generations older. The old lady's head rested upon the frail shoulders of her partner, her palm encased in his. 

The observer took out her mobile to take a picture and then decided against it in fear of trespassing on such a personal moment. She looked hard at them again, as if to make a mental photograph and decided that the image would burn in her mind as the sort of happiness that she would aspire to have for herself to last her lifetime. 

Short stop

By request I was asked/tasked/challenged to do something worthy of  a porn script. I will however think about it and with enough inspiration get to it as soon as i get a new muse. 

I'm making a personal resolution to make any moves on a guy and wait till he makes them. Just like its meant to be. Until then I will fill all my days with enriching healthy activities.

S tried to ring me but I didn't pick up his call. I didn't want to be dependent on him. At the back of my mind, I think its because I'm friends with his boss's wife. Karma is a bitch. Besides, it was good to know there are other people I can count on for support even if they're a 12 hour time difference away. 

The wingman got gf liao. My advise works better on others than it does myself. I should charge for therapy sessions. After which i use that money to seek therapy myself. 

My secondary schoolmate's micro blog about his coming bundle of joy here. It was always been a private joke for us that his kid would inherit 4 dimples from both parents. Talk about good genes. Their kids would probably be blessed with Mom's good looks and Dad's good brains (hopefully not his tiny eyes LOL). 

Fiction - inspired by friends

Philosophie says: (2:30:58 PM)

Give me a setting and occupation

wayne.rée says: (2:31:19 PM)

uh... why?

Philosophie says: (2:33:20 PM)

just give me one

wayne.rée says: (2:33:43 PM)

the desert and accountant

Philosophie says: (2:34:06 PM)

y accountant?

wayne.rée says: (2:34:29 PM)

because it's the last job you'd expect of someone in the desert

wayne.rée says: (2:34:35 PM)

is this some weird fiction exercise?

Philosophie says: (2:34:38 PM)

yah

wayne.rée says: (2:35:35 PM)

thank yeh

Philosophie says: (2:36:33 PM)

the desert thing is so turn off-ish

Philosophie says: (2:36:40 PM)

coz i was thinking of something kinky

Philosophie says: (2:36:48 PM)

but she might get sand in her ...

Philosophie says: (2:37:10 PM)

and he might get abrasions

wayne.rée says: (2:37:19 PM)

so, essentially you just want to write an erotica and needed a main character and a setting. how is that even an exercise in fiction?! 

Philosophie says: (2:37:47 PM)

i'm flexing my creative muscles here

Philosophie says: (2:37:53 PM)

do not question my methodology

Philosophie says: (2:38:20 PM)

its going to be a porn script

wayne.rée says: (2:38:28 PM)

and yet you're not happy with the setting. see, you're just pretending to be exercising, when actually you're slacking off in a corner of a gym.

wayne.rée says: (2:38:55 PM)

oooooooooh, i wanna write a porn script!! i haven't done sex stories in years!! plus, if it gets made, i get my name on the credits!!

Philosophie says: (2:39:06 PM)

copycat

Philosophie says: (2:39:27 PM)

i'll slap u with a used rubber dildo from desker

wayne.rée says: (2:39:27 PM)

i was thinking of co-writing with you, but fiiiiiiine. be selfish.

He sat by the café window thinking about the soiree that had occurred the night before. His 3 shot espresso latte had hardly stirred him from the undead he was stirring into.

“At least I feel free. I am free,” he reassured himself. His thoughts shifted to Amanda the accountant. If that was even her name or profession, one could never be sure from a one-night stand.

They had met at a bar in the central business district. She was with some colleagues when he had chatted her up, she already had a drink in hand. It was an uninspiring cosmopolitan. If there was one thing he had picked up, girls with cosmos were definitely more agreeable. Strip her off her expensive vintage Chanel suit, what he saw was a lonely soul who resonates with too much Sex and the City.

Like a tiger on the prowl executed his moves. By the time she had downed her 7th cocktail for the night, she was begging him to take her home, allowed him to grope her in inappropriate places in full view of the public and skillfully taken off her knickers and placed them in his pants pocket.

Her apartment was sparsely furnished. The first thing that caught his eye in her zen inspired apartment was a 3 by 3 sandbox.

The body that encased in the suit that he peeled off was nothing short of amazing, he lapped her up like a mirage in a desert. (Insert 3 different sex positions in graphic detail - you may get as creative or kinky as you want here. I know y'all have filthy minds)

And that was the story of Amanda the accountant. 

All are welcome to provide input on the anti climatic ending, I'm down with a fever and bad throat, can't think of anything that inspiring in that department. So note away ... 

Recycled Texts / Fiction inspired by "real people" - How I met Chuckles

The story would begin with a maze and lots of doors, after following a leprechaun down a rabbit hole and mistaking him for a midget (Watching the mini-me sex tape has somewhat influenced this story in a life altering horrific way *shudder*)

Distracted I hadn't noticed that I had stepped on a huge pile of manure. Like water buffalo poop not elephant.

The said excretion turned out not to be just any pile of shit but a talking turd that granted me 3 wishes. While trying to wipe off bits of the talking turd on the soles of my shoes, I thought long and hard and before I could open my mouth to say it out loud *poof* I was transported to a huge fair with cool rides around me and a change of shoes. I soaked up the atmosphere and sniffed the air that was a mad mix of popcorn, fresh cotton candy and grilled hotdogs.

When I looked straight ahead and there was this strange guy wearing a sarong and an Ah Pek singlet standing by the carousel, in his hands were a bunch of red balloons and a box of chocolates. Hi! My name is Chuckles he said to me. And that was how I would have met you.

Fiction: Inspired by best friends.

She found me kneeling by the doorway of my house. I was crouching foward and my stomach churned.

“Fuck, what have you done Sandy?” her eyebrows furrowed in a worrisome expression - the one she did when I fucked up most of the time.

"I cut myself. Then I rang him ... I didn't want to but he came over and we fought. I yelled and it was as if he couldn't hear me ... So I cut him. Over and over again," I said trailing off.

“Oh baby you’ve got beads of blood on your face,” she skillfully licked some kitchen paper and rubbed hard to get the spots of dried blood off my chin. The blood came off but bits of my skin where she rubbed too hard turned pink.

I stared at my bloody arms, the maroon crusts and fresh scarlet gashes that painted pretty cobwebs on my arms. I had felt no pain. I feel no pain just light headed-ness from the blood loss and nauseated by his face. It was the same face I fell for over and over.

The antiseptic stung my wounds like his lies that cut my soul. He had the face of an angel but he was such a horrible person.

"What did u say Sandy?"

"Bad, bad, bad," I repeated. He was a horribly bad person.

She wrapped the bandages around them and sealed my bow with a little kiss to take the pain away. I felt like one of the kids in her classes. And for a flash moment, the stinging did go away.

When she was done, she stood up, straightened my top, looked straight into my eyes and said as a matter-of-factly, “Good riddance love. Now lets get rid of the body.”