Review time

Excellent news everyone,

Brief Encounters has been reviewed at:

http://newsblaze.com/story/20111120164922jude.nb/topstory.html

Do go read!

The forgotten present.

Christmas eve.

8:35pm.

Snow gently floats down from the sky, coating the city in a blanket of winter wonderland. Festive lights glow around every corner, greens and reds lighting the sky.

Marching through this biscuit tin version of the holidays is Michael, his arms tucked under his coat. Unlike everyone else he is passing tonight his head is not looking up at the lights and sparkle. His head is down, nestled deep in his scarf. To anyone passing him he looks like a guy who doesn't enjoy the cold, or perhaps this time of season.

In actual fact he loves this time of year.

Problem is, he's forgotten to buy one last present.

Late working nights and deadlines upon deadlines have not left Michael with much time for the little things. Things like this, making sure he has everything ready for when the family turn up and the awkward conversations begin.

But of course he's forgotten Aunt Violets present.

Throwing himself in to the nearest shop his mission is simple: find anything. It's not like any of them really look at the gifts you give them anyway, it's symbolic more than thoughtful.

Dusting the remnants of snow from his coat he scans the department store looking for something quick and easy to buy, so to spend as little time on this as possible. As he continues to look around though his eyes glance over a young thin man dressed poorly as an elf.

Big mistake.

With alarming speed he rushes over, arms almost glued to his side. His smile is wide and beaming, seeming incredibly fake at this time of night. His well gelled hair catches every speck of light, blinding Michael in an instant.

'And a good evening and merry Christmas to yourself sir! Can I help you with anything tonight?'

His energy startles Michael in to life, probably the result of far too much coffee and not a lot of sleep.

'Oh no, just browsing thanks'

'Well do take your time, and if you need ANYTHING at all, don't hesitate to find me'

Michael looks around awkwardly for a second, trying not to look him in the eyes again.

'Ok, will do'

The elf sprints off in search of other desperate prey leaving Michael to find this illusive present. The problem Michael thinks is not that he hasn't a clue what she's like.....just he has no idea what she LIKES.

His saviour though comes in the form of a bored looking woman behind the jewellery counter. Leaning over and admiring the shiny trinkets, he can't help but peek down her top. While on the thin guy the elf costume looked ill fitting, on her it is perfect. Tightly formed around her it looks like her bust is ready to explode out of it.

She looks up as he walks over, a small 'how can I help' smile works its way across her face. Pulling herself upright he is allowed a better look at her. The stretchy material makes her look like the best present ever, her auburn hair tied up as if they are her bow.....

'And what can I help you with today sir?' she asks, an air of sarcasm to her voice.

'A late present for an Aunt who I am pretty sure won't even look at it' he replies, his eyes wandering dangerously low.

'Well then, I think I have just what you need, follow me'.

Smiling as she turns around Michaels eyes wander down to the green foil like skirt as it barely contains her ass. He's followed far worse he thinks to himself.

She leads him round the corner to what he only can think is the loading bay, pallets and boxes strewn everywhere.

'So....do all the late night shoppers get this treatment?' he asks.

'Oh shut up and get in here' she orders.

Pushing him up against the side of a small office she kicks the door shut and jumps on him, grabbing his arms in the process.

'We don't have a lot of time' she whispers to him as her lips brush his ear, nibbling slightly as his hands follow round her body.

'Fine by me' he hastily replies, his hands feeling down her body to the edges of her skirt. Her hands get to work in the same way, following down his body and working away on his belt.

Their kisses are hard, lustful, an explosion of passion. For every connecting kiss there are several that end in small bites, licks and bruises. There is no pandering to romantic notions here.

'Pick me up, now' she orders again, locking eyes in that way that means business.

'Yes ma'am'

His hands reach down and hitch the skirt high, feeling the curve of her ass as his fingers hem around the edge of her panties.

'Side tie baby'

He needs no more incentive. Quickly undoing the sides her panties flutter to the floor, maybe this was where the bow was really....

Her hands have also worked their magic on his lower half, his trousers just 'magically' now lying around his ankles. Her hands are warm to the touch, making short work of his ever increasing manhood.

He could have thought about anything right now and it wouldn't matter, he's getting hard and it is good. Her hands slide up and down her shaft slowly, massaging him again and again. He can feel the blood drain from his body in to his cock, aching to be used.

His fingers ease her pussy open to prepare her, and she doesn't need much. His fingers are already wet as he slides one in, the whispers of hair pointing him to the good spot. He can feel the heat radiating off her pussy, begging for more.

In one movement she hops up on Michael and kisses him deeply, wrapping her legs around him high up his body. His hands move to his own cock and lead it to the sweet spot, much to her joy.

He eases in to her, feeling her muscles let him in, but only just. His eyes roll back as the feeling over comes him, her body doing everything in its power to pull him in.

He feels his cock shudder and grow to it's limits, filling her and causing her to moan out wildly. He can feel her legs tighten around his sides as he pushes deeper in to her.

She picks herself up and begins to really push down on him, her ass slapping down harder and harder. She kisses him harder and harder, the pace quickening as their bodies work in unison.

'You back here Kathy? We've got people waiting' a voice calls out.

Both of them freeze in an instant, and before they know it they are giggling to themselves. She pushes down on him a few more times, slowing the pace as they look at each other.

Sliding off him she keeps her eyes locked.

'Well, I guess I better get back out there.......see you at home?'

Michael smiles at her, brushing her cheek.

'Of course, but could you do me a favour?'

'Honey we don't have time to finish' she laughs.

'Not that you minx.......but could you get me a present for Auntie Violet?'

She smiles at him one more time before kissing again.

'Merry Christmas baby'

This and many more can be found in 'Stocking Fillers', the free book from Mouna Lott and T.H.Rusty. It's available at:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/96145

From there you can see the rest of the catalogue including 'Sex Games', 'Sex Games 2' and 'Brief Encounters'.

Hope you enjoy!

It's been a while

Sorry folks, slightly stuck under a pile of work.

Regular stories/musings will return shortly.

While you wait though, why not go buy our books?

Smashwords.com, T.H.Rusty and Mouna Lott......

I'm sure you can spare a pound or two.

*winky face*

A chance online encounter has led to the hottest new erotic series from mainstream writers Mouna Lott and T.H.Rusty.

'Sex Games' is the first of two anthologies of their short story erotica. From everyday situations to something a little out of the ordinary, these tales are sure to get you hot under the collar. Satisfaction is absolutely guaranteed!
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/92622

'Sex Games 2' is the second of the two anthologies of their short story erotica. More chance encounters come calling as no stone is left unturned. From shopping trips to building sites, stamina is a must! Sexy short tales tuned to please and pander, sit back and enjoy.
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/92625

'Brief Encounters': In this novella Mouna is trying to beat breast cancer. A newly appointed text friend fuels her desires to explore her sexuality. He writes erotica and sends her stories. She emails back all the sexual experiences she has. The question is whether they will meet up to pursue this fantasy of lust in the flesh.
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/93774

Eye contact

I often get asked by people,

'Thomas, you have an amazing streak with the ladies, what do you say to them to make them swoon so much?'

Well general public, I'm here to reveal one of my biggest secrets. It's shocking, it'll make you think, make you realize how terrible you have been at finding a partner that night.

Are you ready?

Here goes......

Sometimes..........................................I don't say anything at all.

I'll let that sink in.

The problem with so many people is that they think about the words so much, they forget that from across that bar or dance floor, people are looking at you.

My biggest move is something far simpler than finding an incredibly amazing line to make someone fall hopelessly.....on your bed.

The look behind.

It's a great trick, simply because it speaks a lot more than a chat up line. With a look behind, you're looking behind for one purpose, everyone knows this. It's not as if you've had a twitch or are checking to see how far your neck can go back.

No no, you're looking behind to see THAT person. It speaks more than anything, that person knows you'd rather look like a tosser with your neck strained round than standing there looking aloof.

For example......a true story.

A time I remember this working wasn't even in a club, I was on the way home. The clubs weren't at the level I usually liked, maybe it was night I wasn't sure. Crazy I know but a good conversation can be as good as a big pair of tits.

Honestly.

I adjusted myself on the walk, from smart casual to 'slowly undressing so I don't need to do much when I get home'. At this time of night people are either trying to get in taxis or struggling to walk home, kind of like a self induced zombie outbreak.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets I continue my walk around the drunks, too drunk to chat up, too drunk to be of any use.

In the distance though, walking towards me was a lass who stuck out very nicely, mainly because she wasn't falling over. I'd say she was Spanish, or at least from that direction in Europe. Small, petite even but in good shape, well maintained curves in my eyes. Shoulder length dark brown hair fell and drew attention to the summer dress clinging to her.

In the dark the bright dress shined like a street lamp. The patterned flowers drew your eyes in one direction and then another, trapping you in a long stare. Luckily she could not see where my eyes were yet, the distance still my ally.

Pulling closer in our eyes meet for the first time. A glimpsed look at first, one you'd give someone if you let them go first through a narrow pavement. On closer inspection she looked better than I first realized, and older. Not too old mind you, and looking very well put together. Dark green eyes are wide and inviting, her lips painted a chocolate brown.

Read the rest of this story in:
'Sex Games' by Mouna Lott and T.H.Rusty
Out October 2011

Didn't make the cut....

This story didn't quite make the cut when myself and Mouna finished off 'Brief Encounters', now in it's *cross fingers* final stages before moving along to actually being sold!
So, do enjoy ladies and gentlemen.

I lie sprawled out on my bed, taking each breath slow and deep. It can’t be later than seven in the morning as the light burns its good morning message in to my eyes. It’s not a good day, each muscle just wants to give up in unison. I didn’t even have a heavy night before, a few jars with the boys down at our local haunt. I guess I’m getting old, my body feels like it has been coated in pasty, each movement making it crack and ache.

I should be getting up to work, I should be finding a shirt to wear and shoes that match. I should be doing this but I just can’t give a fuck. I feel like a student again, clutching on to the last remnants of my night. Then again if I think of student me, I’m pretty sure he would tell me not to get out of bed either. The room looks the same though as it did, as if a grenade had been placed in the middle and the pin pulled.

‘Well’ I think to myself, ’I clearly can’t go to work like this, I’d……….let the team down?’

It’s a flimsy excuse at best but it’s all I can muster right now.

I flip out my phone to give the office a call but notice something that perks my interest first. My phone is flashing up ’One New Message’, something that everyone loves to see. Clicking on it I see it is from Michelle, an old friend of mine who I may or may not have been out with last night.

‘Hey you, hope you got home safe! You looked pretty wasted, if you need a nurse tomorrow give me a call ;) x’

Well that solves one mystery. Yes, I got plastered. However Michelle was out and didn’t text me that I was groping her. This is a good thing.

I push this aside for the minute and ring work. What I get is nothing short of good news. My boss is off sick, no one is really in charge today and no one would miss me if I wasn’t there.

I should be annoyed at that last bit but who cares! Day off!

My mind quickly wanders to my pervious thought, Michelle’s text. We’ve flirted in the past and there was one night when we did kiss………dare I text back? It’s already turning in to a good day for me so should I continue?

We were both drunk that night, my friend Steve’s birthday bash at a club. We’d very quickly grabbed each other and hid in a dark corner, our hands blurring over each other as time was short. Our lips never came apart, tongues entwined and moist. Her ass was firm in my hands, her dress allowing me to caress her easily. That was a long time ago, does she feel the same if I text? Clearly I do, it was just a few minutes of daydreaming and I was already standing to attention, the memories not just effecting me. I reach down and take a hold, allowing my hand to take over the thoughts and very slowly involve my cock.

I’ve always found a wank in the morning is great for clearing the ’night after’ headache. I keep thinking of her shirt skirt and low cut top, her breasts teasingly on display. In my mind she wore it for me, wanting me to know what’s on offer when I am ready. My hand pumps down on my cock faster now, her naked form filling my mind. I one handed text her, just a general one for now, telling her I feel a tad worse for wear. I slow my hand down, not wanting to finish myself off too soon.

To my surprise my phone bleeps almost immediately.

Read the rest of this story in: 

'Sex Games' by Mouna Lott and T.H.Rusty

Out October 2011

Library

I usually love torrential rain, watching those droplets smash against concrete and wood. To me, it is as if some higher power has decided to give the city a new lick of paint, saturating it in this new shade.

It’s that or I love the feeling of being completely drenched, head to toe. Not that level of wet you get with our usual rain, but full on to the bone wet.

It’s odd, and as I write this hard to describe why I love being that soaked. Maybe it is the freedom it gives you, you’re soaked, no point trying to escape the rain, just enjoy.

Again, maybe it is that freedom we experienced as children coming back in a small way. Making a mess of ourselves with no regard for appearance or how we’d appear to others.

Honestly I just like the rain.

But I am detracting.

I ducked in to the nearest building I could find to give myself a breather from the torrents. I left not so much as water logged footprints but a snails trail of water behind me, if needed I could be used as a temporary floor cleaner.

I find myself in our local library, a recently remodelled but still drab affair hidden from the publics view. As I enter the building it appears that I am the only hub of noise, the squelching of my feet echoing like thunder. Rather than being greeted with the stereotypical hundred foot stare you’d expect in this situation, in fact no one even batted an eyelid.

I motioned over to a table by myself and threw my coat off, it landing with a defining slop against the chair. Drying off is not exactly an easy feat when the place you are trying to dry off in is colder than outside, I’m actually impressed to be fair.

I scope out the rest of the library to see who I am interrupting, the noise I have made so far must have disturbed a couple of people. As I watched my coat drip on the floor, only one person caught my eye.

She was sat at an adjacent table to myself and surrounded by what looked like a mountain of books and notepads.

A student possibly?

Maybe a book worm with nothing better to do?

To be honest it was not my concern, but it gave me something pretty to look at as I waited out the storm. The constant pat pat patter of water running off my jacket mirrored my heart as I flicked glances of interest in her direction.

I’m still soaked though, and not getting any dryer. Next to go are my shoes and socks, not an easy feat to perform while trying to be quiet. Shuffling under the table to keep away from prying eyes I set about for my task.

But that is left aside very quickly as my attention is drawn much further a field. My book worm eye candy’s lower half is now for my inspection, and it is a sight I am happy to linger on. She is wearing a skirt, resting high up on her chair. Socks are pulled high up her legs, dry, she’s been here a while it seems.

She hasn’t noticed me yet, so I continue with my gawping gaze. Her legs rest ever so slightly apart, relaxed as she studies. Their gap teases me, only casting a shadow up her milky thighs to an area I’d love to see. I keep my eyes on her legs as I roll off my socks, imagining what it would be like to do that to her.

Only after I remove my second sock do I look up a little, seeing the person again that I have been eyeing up this time. Her gaze is locked on me, her book still held firmly in her hands. What surprises me though is that she does not look angry, in fact it seems she has a little smirk to her face. I’m a little stunned, that’s not the reaction I would have expected as I was sneaking a peek.

She returns her eyes to her book, her attention taken away from me. I allow myself one more peek then return to my attempts to dry.

It's not exactly the easiest thing to do, drying yourself at a desk so I make my move to another area. Hiding out in the back right up against the oversized books I made sure the coast was clear before undressing further.

You'd think I would be a little more concerned about someone coming round the corner and seeing me, but if you've read my blog so far, being conservative is not one of my strong points. Not that someone seeing me was on my mind, by the amount of dust in this corner it doesn't look like anyone has been around here in months.

I spy a spare radiator and begin to throw clothes over it, speed up the process. It's not exactly the most thrilling of events so I flick through the books as I strip. It was only as I leafed through the third book on the Spanish Civil War that I see a movement a couple of rows down from me.

I was a flicker at first, but the closer I looked I could see the shape of a person. To my immediate and happy surprise I was seeing the nerdy little lass I had my eye on, putting away some of the mountains of books she has piled around her.

I don't know why but rather than give her the look up and down I do this to her book piles. Weird I know but I am kind of interested, it's like a small taster of her mind. Sadly all that I could gleam from her collection of books on 'Northern Hemisphere Weeds' and 'Collected Aerosol Calculations' is that.....

…..she must be a super villain.

I drag my eyes higher to find, to my surprise that she is looking directly at me. No hiding behind a book this time, she couldn't be more obvious. There is a slight pause as I wonder what I should do, I mean after all this is technically indecent exposure.

She however, takes the bull by the horns so to speak.

A little look down and a small nod, a tiny movement which speaks on so many levels is all I needed. She turns to face me, crossing her arms as she watches me very slowly undo the buttons to my shirt. I watch as her eyes gently drop from mine to my chest, a small smirk again appearing.

As my hands lower to undo more buttons so do hers, following mine down. I watch as her fingers drift over her breasts, a slight bite lip as she touches where her nipples are. I can feel my own skin warm as I watch her feel herself, her hands moving slowly mimicking mine.

Read the rest of this story in: 

'Sex Games' by Mouna Lott and T.H.Rusty

Out October 2011

A long time ago.

I once had sex with a girl who had really dark veins.
A weird thing to say, let alone think, but she really did.
I just couldn't stop looking at them, crossing all over her body. They looked like a map of the London Underground.
Let's just say I spent the night trying to get to Paddington and but ending up at Kings Cross. If you get my drift......


If you don't, then I mean anal.

Hipsters

This post is about hipsters.

Yes, hipsters.

Now come on don't look at me like that.

Don't worry though this isn't about how stupid they look or what goes through their mind when they act the way they do, that's for another....Geneva conference I think.

No this one is based on a rather unfortunate night out for myself, such is how many of these stories go. But from what I do wrong perhaps you can do right?

Or rightly fuck up I don't know, in whatever case you might get a good tale yourself! But I am straying from the point, which is...

I can't tell the bloody difference between girl and guy hipsters.

You can see where this is going.

I was out with a couple of fine fellows (aka two of my mates) and was talked into going to some 'unplugged' gig at a club that looked like it was painted by accident. Not exactly my usual haunt but I have always pushed myself to try new things. Besides, they promised plenty of booze and girls of questionable morals.

Good job guys.

Before we've even entered the club I'm beset with the fog of cigarettes, my first indication of the hipster. There they are, standing around talking about inane crap, tiny hats on their heads. To be honest they could be discussing current events or the classification of black holes, but I just can't believe it.

We push past quickly, avoiding eye contact, you can never be too sure with them. It was slightly hypnotic going through them all, a sea of grey ironic T-shirts and sprayed on jeans, not a big sea mind you, they're all stick thin.

We force ourselves in to the club to get to the bar. Much like outside we are greeted to a sea of of people claiming to be unique yet looking exactly the same.

(Take THAT social commentary!)

Cutting through to the bar my friends divert to have a look at the selection of musical talent for the night. I'll admit that it's not my cup of tea, as long as the music is good and in the background I honestly don't mind. They look like the kind of musicians who will be playing some absent minded song about how love never finds them even though they could get any girl in here without trying.

I go to my usual place, the bar, and wait for them. With no stools I perch, which I prefer to do anyway. It takes a minute to find the barman and longer still to actually get a drink, so I use the time wisely.

Letting my eyes wander around the bar it difficult to get a good look at people. My gaze sets on a lass to my right, like myself perched on the bar. Much like the rest of the people here she is in those skinny jeans, sprayed on possibly. Her tight ass keeps rolling around as she talks to her friends, beer bottle delicately poised in her hand.

She is wearing (as they all are) a very oversized shirt with some weird saying only she thinks (but everyone else) gets. It doesn't bother me though, as long as they are happy thinking we don't get it. Her arms are also covered in tattoos, not of any particular style or design, more like someone passed out in kindergarten and was drawn all over. I could probably spend all night figuring them out.

I can't figure out her hair though. It's shaved in one part, long in another, a line shaved here, spiky there. It might be bleached, I'm not sure, it's bloody confusing. Her friends notice me checking her out and make sly nods to her, indicating my approval.

Read the rest of this story in:
'Sex Games' by Mouna Lott and T.H.Rusty
Out October 2011

A long trip: Part 2

Nothing.
No one is here, only shelves of flat packed wears. Not even an employee looking around pretending to be working. Slightly anticlimactic I think. Not that I was expecting a fan fare, but her here would have been nice.
Making sure this was not a wasted trip I go to find the chair, at least I can come out with what I needed. After staring at the same white boxes for what seemed an eternity I finally find it, at least I hope I did.
I select my box and slowing drag it out, that was, until I noticed someone on the other side. They were on the same rung, looking at the same stock. My gaze hits lower, seeing if I can get an indication of who this person is.
Flawless skin being supported by smooth brown boots.
I quickly look up and around the boxes, to catch her eyes, but she has already done this, locking attention.
'I was wondering how long it would take you'
Her smile lights up her face once more, intoxicating to my vision.
'Well you could have been more obvious with the note, rather than a sexy ninja'
'Where's the fun in that?'
I look around to see how she got there, it actually looks like she is in the back of the shelving. I look up to ask her but she has already sussed my question.
'Use the roller below'
Her foot taps the shelf itself, most of it on rollers to 'easily get the stock you need'
(says so on the sticker)
Looking around for staff I lower on the rollers and push myself towards the back, the individual spinners acting quite like a massage board. Reminder, get one of these for home.
The rollers reveal her to me slowly, like the unveiling of the latest must have gadget. Her hands are on her hips, the smile still stuck on. Every inch of her a goddess.
And she knows it.
Stopping from falling off the rollers I am face to face with her belt, it's gold effects glinting in the terribly thought out lighting.
'Well, while you're down there' she orders, or tries to at least.
I need no more invitation than that. Letting my hands slowly run up her legs I keep my eyes fixed to her skirt area, her skin warming to my touch. She holds on to the rails in front of her and looks forward, keeping watch as I explore. My hands keep running up her legs, slowly for now. Her legs just don't stop, I'll be out of reach before I get to her hips. She lets out a little purr as my hands finally find the edges of her panties, and her hips.
She drops one hand for me, and in one motion lifts her skirt for me, giving me access to the treasure underneath. Looking back there I'm given the good fortune of seeing a barely registering pair of panties, black, with a little picture of a lock on the front with the words:
'Key Me'
Don't mind if I do.
I peel down the panties in one fell swoop (disarming the lock in the process) and leave them down by her ankles. A little kick from her and they only appear on one ankle, allowing me to gently part her legs. Her landing strip is short, shaved smooth on the sides giving me permission to land. I can already smell her pussy even this early, every inch of her continues to intoxicate me.
My hands go behind her and grab hold of her peach of an ass as my head easily nestles in between her legs. Looking down at me she licks her lips, keeping the skirt high as I do the same motion, but allow my tongue to gently tease her pussy.
She's tight, a small pussy for me to play with but her body shudders with each lick. I press on, allowing my tongue to ease her open and be rewarded with her desire. I feel her ass clench as she pushes on to me, physically demanding my tongue in her. I oblige, taking my hands to part her lips as my tongue fully enters her.



Read the rest of this story in:
'Sex Games' by Mouna Lott and T.H.Rusty
Out October 2011

A long trip

I broke one of the chairs in my house.

Yes I know it's not the end of the world, what's just one chair you'd say?

It's not the breaking of the chair that is making me nervous and quake in my boots. No, it is the actual replacing of the chair that I fear most.

Because that means Ikea.

What is it about that place that inspires such hatred and panic in people?

Why is that place so damn boring?

It had even reached the point where whenever I see blue and yellow together I get a twitch in my eye.

I was determined this time to change the status quo though. No, not chance my opinion of the place, but get through it quicker.

Like pulling off a plaster.

Or shagging that girl you find at the end of the night because everyone else has gone home.

Even entering the main door feels like walking through the gates of hell, and no, I'm not being melodramatic.

Whilst rounding what seemed to be the thousandth corner I finally stumbled upon an area I will just refer to as the 'Chair Kingdom'.

Now I am not a perfectionist so the chair that closest resembles the broken one will do. None of the chairs match much anyway. Even so this could take a while.

The place is packed, as if everyone suddenly broke their chairs too in some defiant notion against formal dinner plans.

I tried to get in there quickly, find my chair and flee but I am stopped by an army of the confused. As I spied a chair close to my original a woman of alarming size sat upon it, her mass pointed away from myself. I'm pretty sure if you combined all of the women that I have sex with, the resulting mass would be close to this woman.

Now, I can't, or rather, won't care to describe how it looked when she sat down. All I will say is that if I bought that type of chair now and took it home...

All I'd see is her flowing over it for eternity.......


Read the rest of this story in:
'Sex Games' by Mouna Lott and T.H.Rusty
Out October 2011

Sunday.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday.
What to do!
To many, it's a lazy day, a day to fulfil nothing and yet feel content. A meal is the height of planning, and often not you don't even cook it.
For me however a Sunday is a good day to enjoy a coffee, grab a seat and see what God (or Darwin) offers. You never know, something might just fall in to your lap.

Such is today, and such is the reason why I felt the need to share. What's life if you can not tell people about those highlights.
Sitting in one of my favourite haunts I sipped a good tasting, if lukewarm, coffee while a paper nestled under my elbows. The usual clients flit in and out of shop, this air of high energy clouding the fact no one had anywhere to go.
To my pleasant surprise I noticed this young little thing scurry in from outside, arms containing a library of books, no doubt a fresh student face in the area.
She perched herself a distance away, books strewn across the table. To me she didn't look like the type of person who would be seen with such a collection of literature. She seemed, to me anyway, to be more at home in front of a camera, or at least modelling some disaster of a students idea of fashion. But then again I have misread a persons character.
(Remind me to tell you all about my business lunch in Dubai some time)
I kept a cool eye on her, making it not too obvious I am not paying close attention to her legs. I didn't really read much of my paper to be fair, not that it was particularly interesting.
Her figure had my attention.
Slight, smooth, sultry, stunning. She was A+ if I was giving out grades.
While ordering my next latte I notice her gaze is locked to mine, then away before I can get a good look. The game is afoot I feel...
She then ups the game. Twisting her hips to the side as she straddles her seat, keeping her eyes firmly locked on her books, she motions her legs in my direction.
Parting them ever so slightly she teases me with something Sunday's are not renowned for. The faintest whisper of panties is thrust in my direction, startling white under her cream skirt.
I might be the only man in the world who prefers the cotton panties, lace just gives too much away. And she wasn't letting me see more, a teaser, a taste, a teetering tremble for my gaze.
Having a peek I get a slight lock of her eyes before her legs close and return to their original position, making me wonder what I did to deserve such a treat.
Time moves by and soon enough she is collecting her things to leave. Clutching them close to her chest (Ample if you much know) she rounds the corner of my table to leave.
Now, acting is essentially pretending what you are doing is 'real', so this would be classed as the worst acting I have ever seen.
She stumbles, tripping her own foot and falls directly on to my lap. Not a book is spilled but the result was perfect, my arms fly out to catch her and allow themselves a good feel as she is pulled in to me.
Getting right back up she throws me a stunning smirk before quickly adding,
'Oh I am sorry'.
The door is closed quickly behind her, a few murmured laughs from other patrons but it is soon forgotten.
In my hand however is a crumpled piece of paper, pushed in to my hand as she 'fell'.
In it is housed her number with the simple message,
'Later?'


Sometimes Sundays can surprise you.



- Always carry a pad.

Beginnings

Hello, bonjour, tag, hej, shalom, konnichi wa, kia ora, ciao.

I'm T H Rusty, writer, daydreamer, erotica purveyor. I've started this blog with my co-writer Mouna Lott so we can allow readers a taste of what it is like in our world.
How we come up with our stories, where they come from, what it takes to do what we do.
I'm from Newcastle, not exactly a place renowned for it's erotica, so it gives me this goldmine of material.
Today's blog is a simple hello, a starting off point so to speak.
The tastier ones will come in time.



- Always carry a pad.