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    5 word challenge – Waiting

    It is hard to accept that you refuse to give me a chance.  How can you know that you won't like me.  I know we live in a world of pseudo-women with everything fake from top to bottom but I don't want to join them.  Just for a minute, I want to be liked for who I am.  Me.

    I'm smart and I'm funny, and I won't desert you like the others.  I am the one who will be there.  I'm the one who will give you my shoulder to cry on and wipe every tear.  But you don't see.  You can't see.

    Every time I see you, it reopens the gaping wound in my heart, but I won't give up.  I'll still be here.  Waiting.  Waiting to pick up the pieces when she breaks your heart again.  Hoping against all hope that you'll finally see what's been in front of you this whole time.

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    5 word challenge – RIP good life

    How does one return to the normalcy of "regular" life after four years of turpitude?  Spilling blood, sweat and tears every day at work and partying like the proverbial rock star every night.  Drinking all night, getting two hours of sleep and still being chipper at breakfast, talking to the parents of the children that will drive you insane as you sweat out vodka.  How?

    Who has the fortitude, testicular or otherwise, to let people know that it IS a real job.  Say it loud and say it proud.  You're on vacation, I'm not.  Oh, and by the way, at your "real job", you won't work 6 days a week from 8 am until well past midnight.  Yeah, the location is great, but the pay is awful and people like you make talking to the guests suck!

    What replaces the raillery that you used to share with so many friends?  One word could be shouted out and ten people knew exactly what you meant by just that one word.  Soemtimes it wasn't even a word, but a look or a gesture.  What happens at the office water cooler cannot replace what you've experienced.  You're slowly dying inside because you can no longer shoot from the hip.  Tongues are held because Big Brother (or Corporate America) is watching.

    When do you fess up to the misinterpretation of another language?  Do you hold on to it so that you can grab your dictionary later or do you just blurt it out?  Do you giggle to yourself only to get busted?  Are you sitting at dinner at a table where you're the only one who doesn't speak French but you still do your best to follow the conversation?  Do you lean over to your acquaintance to ask what a particular word means that you keep hearing only to mispronounce it and blush to the roots of your soul when you find out what you've said?  Do you want to, on this lovely summer evening, throw yourself off the terrace and onto the jagged rocks below when your acquaintance shares your mishap with the entire table (that includes his parents and aunt and uncle)?  Do you finally know the difference between partout – the word being said that means 'everywhere' and partouse, which means ORGY?

    Where else in the world will you find the congruency of people like you've met in the last four years?  United Nations be damned, this is where people come together.  Morocco, Columbia, Argentina, Mexico, Canada, France, Australia, Tunisia, the US.  It just didn't matter.  We all came together like some big-ass Transformer and formed GO Team and we were unstoppable.  Unstoppable.

    RIP Sandpiper.  RIP Ixtapa (all three times). RIP Turks.  RIP Crested.  RIP Nabeul.  Long live the memories. 

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    5 Word Challenge – Cliche

    CAUTION:  Adult Content!  It’s downright dirty.  You’ve been warned.

    For the ninth day in a row, the mercury has topped 100.  It's damn near unbearable.  I'm sticking to myself and the sheets are sticking to me.  Fucking satin.

    As I lay here in bed, I contemplate what to do today.  Actually, I contemplate whether or not to even get out of bed.  You can't put a price on comfort and that's why no expense was spared in decorating my sanctuary.  I love to roll myself into a ball and surround myself in baby-bottom soft sheets and my down comforter.  They keep me warm against the icy blasts of the air conditioner, but that's working overtime and still not doing its job.

    I throw the sheets and comforter off to the side and let the chilled air from the AC wash over me.  The air's cold hands trace their way up my legs, giving me goosebumps.  They continue their journey to my unprotected inner thighs where they seem to linger a moment before plunging into the depth of me.  A slight squeal escapes from me as I take in this new and wonderful sensation, so strange and yet so familiar.  Almost as if not to make me too happy, cold fingers make their way up my flat tummy to my naked breasts.  The cool touch caresses my nipples and the girls come to attention, aching, yearning for more.  And they said a boob job would be a bad idea.  Fools.  Fully enveloped in the cold air, I lie still until I can stand the cold no more.

    My mind forces my body into an upright position and my feet find the marble of the floor.  The floor – the one thing the AC has managed to keep freezing cold.  The shock of that cold slab on my feet sends me sprinting to the bathroom and the welcoming warmth of the shower.  I resist the temptation to stay in the shower until I turn myself into a prune, but only because I know how hot it is outside and I don't need that feeling in the house.  I stay in just long enough to wash, with a little extra time spent on the naughty bits, rinse and hop out.

    I've decided that today will be good for nothing more than lounging by the pool, so after drying off, I slink into my favorite iridescent blue bikini, gather up my pool supplies and head downstairs.  It's a weekday, so I'm not expecting much company in the pool area.  Oddly enough, it could be packed full of people and still be church quiet (not southern Baptist church of course) since no one here talks to anyone else.  I've lived in this building for almost two years and I still don't know anyone.

    Upon arrival to the pool, I start scoping out the best area.  Away a little from the pool and certainly away from anyone else but in a position to see if anyone of interest arrives.  My typical perfect spot is available so I scoop it up and arrange my shit.  It's amazing that I don't need a wheelbarrow to get my crap up and down the elevators.  WIth everything perfectly arranged, I'm ready to relax because getting out of bed and showering have really taken it out of me.  I grab a bottle of water out of my mini-cooler and my trashy novel of the day and finally, I'm ready to get into doing nothing.

    While my mind and my eyes are deeply engrossed in the garbage that I'm reading, my sixth and seventh senses (spidey and pussy) start to tingle.  My nose picks up the faint scent of a damned good smelling man.  Concentration on the book is slowly slipping away as a shadow slowly falls over me.  I look up and I have to blink several times because either my vision is hazy or standing before me is the most perfect male specimen I've seen to date.  Of medium height, shaved bald, mustache, goatee, and he's just flashed me the most brilliant smile that damn near made me shiver.  I've never seen this man before, but I hope to myself that I get to see a lot more of him.

    In the moments that pass, we don't speak.  He stands, I lay, and we just look at each other.  Taking each other in.  Playing cat and mouse.  Seeing who goes first.  The silence stretches on for an eternity and the tension between us grows exponentially by the moment.  His eyes are on me like hot hands and more than anything, I suddenly want to strip this man down and do to him every nasty thing I can think of.  But I don't.  I sit, calmly awaiting something from him.

    Finally, I win.  He extends his hand to me, not in greeting, but as an assist to remove me from my comfortable position.  Curiosity gets the best of me and I place my hand in his.  He helps me up from my chair but doesn't release my hand.  Instead, he takes the opportunity to pull me in close to him.  He bows his head a little and I can feel his breath on my neck.  Without a word, he has succeeded in not only giving me the chills, but arousing me to the point that I can feel the wetness in my bikini bottom.  As we stand, pressed against each other, I start to let myself melt into this stranger. 

    With one hand still entwined in his, I push in closer.  I move so that my boobs are quite friendly with his chest.  Slowly, deliberate
    ly, gently, I grind my crotch into his.  I'm not surprised to feel his cock, hard and ready to go.  As we stand, I suddenly become aware of what this must look like, but I quickly release those thoughts as his free hand has slid to the small of my back and he gives me a little press closer to him.  I sneak a quick look up at him and I bust him staring down at me with a hungry look in his eye.  Eyes locked, he takes a step away from me and I am disappointed until I feel a slight pull at my hand.  A slight nod of his head is all it takes for me to realize that he wants me to come with him and that is exactly what I hope to do.

    He leads me back to the building and to the elevator.  Once inside, he pulls me close once again and tilts my head up to him.  His lips are soft and electric as they brush mine.  I want this man so badly it aches and I want him now.  I wonder if I said it out loud because no sooner did the thought cross my mind, a broad smile spread across his face.  The elevator doors open and he leads me out.  We stop in front of his door and he hesitates, whether to give me a chance to think again or just to make sure I know where he lives I don't know.  I give him a seductive smile as I look up at him through lowered lashes and he needs no other invitation.

    Once inside, I don't even have an opportunity to take in my surroundings.  I know it's clean and it smells good but that's as far as I get before he has me against the door and is exploring my mouth with a quite skilled tongue.  He kisses like no one I've ever kissed before.  This new style, unknown to me, new and exciting, almost brings me to an orgasm.  Little moans are escaping me as he makes love to my mouth.  Just as I think my legs are about to give out on me, he sweeps me up in his arms and carries me to his bed where he deposits me.

    He stands at the foot of the bed, staring intently at me.  He makes a gesture that I take to be a request to 'make myself more comfortable'.  Never am I more thankful for those pole dancing lessons than right now.  I scoot myself to the edge of the bed and stand, out of arms reach, and lower my head in my best submissive pose.  As I untie the top of my bikini, it falls down to expose my tits.  Faster than I knew anyone could move, he is in front of me, licking and sucking my already rock hard nipples.  Good God this man is good with his mouth!

    Somehow, I manage to tear myself away from his mouth.  He looks at me with wonder and I sit back down on the bed.  He starts to come to me but I put up a hand for him to stay where he is.  I lie back on the bed and slowly raise my legs toward the ceiling.  As I start a super-slow bicycle with my legs, I also start to sway my hips back and forth.  When I'm certain that I have his full attention, and his cock bulging in his shorts says I do, I slowly start to slide my bikini up my raised legs, giving him a full view of my wet pussy.

    Now it's his turn to gasp as I toss my bikini aside and tease two fingers down my legs and plunge them into the hot wetness that waits.  I can see in his eyes that he won't wait much longer, can't.  Keeping my eyes locked on his, I sit up and lick one of my fingers that I just pulled out.  A literal fire starts in his eyes and just before he starts to move towards me, I offer him the other finger.  He takes it into his mouth and hungrily sucks it clean.

    I’ve managed to put myself in perfect position to finally get up close and personal with his most treasured of areas.  I lean my head forward and put my mouth on his cock.  I breathe heavily so he can feel the heat through his shorts.  I look up with one eye to see that he is in a state of sheer bliss which only makes me want to add to it.  Now is the time to make him mine.  I wrap my arms around his hips and start to slide his shorts down and out of the way.  His cock springs out at me, begging for attention which I am more than happy to give.  The scent of him fills my nostrils and makes me wet all over again.  I try to take him all into my mouth but he’s just too big.  He doesn’t seem to mind that it won’t all fit, nor do I.  I continue to tease him, to flick the head of his cock with my tongue and lick the rest up and down like a lolly.  Random moans escape him and more for me than for him, I stop because I need to feel him filling me up.

    He seems more than willing to oblige, stepping the rest of the way out of his shorts and nudging me onto the bed proper.  Tense with anticipation, it’s all I can do to stay somewhat still as I lay watching him.  He’s hovering over me and giving me a moment to take in the definition in his arms, the strength of his abs, the hips that will pump me like priming a well.  Lost in his body, I’m slightly surprised when he gently kisses me on the forehead and leaves a trail of kisses all the way down to paradise.

    To not know my body, he certainly knows exactly what to do to drive me crazy.  I’m already on the edge of an orgasm and so my first one arrives rather quickly.    He went to work on my clit, licking it in long, hard strokes and alternating that with sucking.  Because spoken words are beyond my present capabilities, I can only push my hips toward him in a gesture I hope he understands to mean that my pussy needs some loving.  Very bright he is since he takes the hint right away.  With one deft move, he slides two fingers into me and finds THE spot and my body responds with one of the better orgasms that I’ve ever had.  Now that the first one is out of the way, I can relax a bit and really enjoy what’s going on. 

    He gives me a brief respite before going back to work.  My clit, already swollen and sensitive, receives another tongue lashing while he finger paints the walls of my pussy.  The pressure is so intense, amazing, that I want to call out his name.  I don’t know what it is.  I settle for reaching out and stroking his head as he treats my pussy like they’ve been best friends forever.  The combination of manual and oral dexterity don’t just push me over the edge, they throw me and when I hit the bottom, the power of it all forces out everything that I was holding back.  With a scream and a squirt, I soak him in my cum.  My entire body is literally humming and jumps up an octave when he finally drills me with his long, thick cock. 

    We bump and grind and pump and thrust with reckless abandon.  The smell of sweat and sex fills the room and permeates my nostrils.  I reach down to rub my clit and my pussy tenses in response.  A grunt from him as I squeeze his cock nice and tight with my pussy.  I’m rubbing my clit with a fervor reserved for a situation such as this.  As my pussy pulsates with the energy of a fantastic fuck, I whisper to him that I’m going to cum again.  He drives his cock deeper and deeper into me and the promised orgasm ensues.  A glance up at him tells me that it is his time as well and my calculations are correct.  Seconds later he pulls out and strokes his cock, still glistening with all of my wetness, until he shoots his load all over my belly.

    He collapses on the bed next to me, breathing heavily.  I excuse myself to his bathroom and discreetly manage to drag my bikini along with me.  Once in his bathroom, I clean myself up and put my bikini back on.  I know it’s wrong, but I just can’t help myself.  I can’t feel any sort of attachment to this stranger, so as he lies in his bed, in an afterglow of sweaty sex, I quietly let myself out his door and head back to the pool.

    It’s too damn hot out here for me now, especially considering the workout that I just went through.  I gather up my things and head back to the cool quiet of my air conditioned apartment and wonder if I’ll ever see my no-named lover again.

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    5 word challenge – Ten Hut!

    The year is 1990.  The location: Happy Valley, PA, otherwise known as the home of Penn State University.  Our main character is sixteen years young, away from home for the first time, somewhat naive in the workings of the military, and generally a nervous wreck.

    It's official.  I am a member of the Air Force Reserve Officer Training Corp (AFROTC).  Today is the first day of many days of sheer torture.  There is a war going on, and in my naivety, I worry that somehow, I might get sent overseas to fight for our country.  Yes, that's right, I think that the 16 year-old college freshman who has no military training is going to be sent to war.  I told you I was naive.

    I've received my uniform and been given brief instructions on how to care for it.  On some people, it looks good.  Me, I just look like a stewardess.  I think it's because I'm short and dressed in navy blue from head to toe.  By the way, why isn't there a color called Air Force blue for the AF to wear?  I don't think the navy even wears blue.

    History has never been interesting to me, so when I found out that I had to take a class weekly about the history of the Air Force, I was less than thrilled.  Nevertheless, I suffer through because it is only one day a week.  That day of the week is long indeed for I have to wear my uniform all day.  Yes, all day.  To every class, to lunch, to dinner.  And it's uncomfortable.  And I haven't quite gotten used to whom I need to salute and whom I can just say hi to.  Every exchange with a fellow ROTC-er is awkward to say the least, whether it be Army, Navy, Air Force or Marines.

    I must admit that I love a challenge and I will certainly cut off my nose to spite my face.  That is how I ended up pledging the drill team.  Someone mentioned it and I believe, immediately thereafter said something to the effect of 'it wouldn't be for me'.  Well, right there, the gauntlet was laid down.  Little did I know what I was in for.

    The first week didn't seem so bad.  Sure there were extra things to attend and tidbits to learn, but it would be worth it, right?  Sure.  Unfortunately, things didn't stay so bright and cheery.  You don't just join the drill team, you pledge it, as in a fraternity or sorority.  And just like a frat or sorority, there's hazing and plenty of it.  We were given bright yellow "manuals" that could be seen from a mile away full of sometimes useless information.  And these little factoids were the enemy.  Any current member of the drill team could stop a pledge at any time to quiz us on said material.  If that weren't enough, we were not allowed to use contractions in speaking and we had to make sure that we would always see the DTM (drill team members) before they saw us so that we could "greet" them.  If a DTM saw you first, they could and would dole out demerits to be marked down in your manual.  You could work them off, but it was easier just not to get them.  Oh, did I mention that when we were in any of the many cafeterias (where you could always find at least one DTM), we had to ask for permission to eat before sitting down to actually eat.  This led to several of us losing a few pounds as we would just avoid the dining rooms.

    Nothing curdles the blood like hearing "PLEDGE!  TAKE ONE!" from across the quad.  The DTM were sneaky bastards.  I swear they popped out of dark corners like ninjas.  Some of them were just jerks.  There was one DTM, we'll call him GR who was just ridiculously cocky about lording his DT membership over us, the lowly pledges.  Once, he was walking across the quad with a female friend and he happened to see a pledge before the pledge say him.  Apparently, he thought it would be funny to have his lady friend just repeat his name over and over to alert the pledge of his presence.  Okay, the pledge was me.  I'm stubborn.  I ignored them both.  I paid for it in push ups.

    Were you aware that there's no greater pleasure than a freshly polished ugly black shoe?  You weren't?  That's because shining shoes sucks.  You'd best better believe that DTMs could see their vindictive faces in those shoes though.  Those same vindictive faces that would get shoved into pledges unsuspecting faces.  Better not flinch.  Your entire body had better stay as rigid as an overly-starched shirt.  Kind of like the ones we wore.

    Outside of learning such gems as "The Ballad of Snoopy", we also picked up "High Flight" and every verse of "The Star-Spangled Banner".  And eventually, since we were pledging the Drill Team, we got to throw some rifles around.  The hand-batterer rifle of choice was the Remington M1903 Springfield rifle.  They weren't so heavy and they were actually pretty fun to spin, even to throw.  Catching, well, that's a different story.

    There were 12 of us, we called ourselves the dirty dozen. Original, no?  I'd be hard-pressed to name all twelve now.  9 guys and 3 girls.  Typically, when it came drill time, the guys worked together as did the girls.  This is where the problems came in.  For being as small as I was – I don't think I'd hit 100 pounds yet – I was a tough cookie.  The other two girls were bigger than me, but not always so tough.  It really was only a problem when it was time to throw something called a single back.  Let me backtrack.  A 'single to yourself' is rather self-explanatory.  You take your rifle and chuck it up into the air, making sure that it makes one rotation, and then you catch it.  Done and done.  A single back, on the other hand, is where one person stands approximately 8 feet in front of the victim catcher and then tosses the rifle backwards, blindly at that, making one rotation for the person behind to catch.  The bottom line is that my fellow female pledges couldn't make that throw.  And guess what?  Don't even think about moving.  You'd better catch it, no matter what, or you could count on some extra push-ups after practice.  That's how I ended up with bruised and bloodied knuckles, not to mention a hand that refused to function properly since all of its fingers had been bent into ridiculous positions.

    With so much drama in the ROTC, it's kinda hard being, well, a pledge.  It was demanding, even grueling at times, but overall, I suppose it was worth it.  I made some great friends (that I no longer keep in touch with), learned some nifty stuff (it's amazing what you can make your body do), and best of all, I got an idea for the Vox 5 word challenge!

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    5 word challenge – Backstage

    Nervous?  Me?  Nope.  Maybe the first time, but not now.  Besides, I'm 3 drinks into a long drinking evening.  Those of us who aren't in the first scene chat idly about whose costume is getting too small and who's sleeping with whom this week.  Back here, in the dressing room, it's no-holds-barred.  Nothing is taboo and besides, no one back here has even one ounce of couth.

    We're all whipped.  Putting in a full day in the sun and having practically no rest will do that to you.  It doesn't matter though, we're fueled on goldfish crackers and liquor.  A duel between cast members has broken out with the props but no one bothers to even attempt to stop it.  Everyone has been in this show long enough to know when it's time to get out on stage.  Speaking of which, it's my time.

    We try to be quiet as we step up into our "jail" cell.  Almost every time someone trips and almost busts her ass since there's no light back here.  Tonight we all make it safely into the cell and we strike a sexy pose as we wait for our music to cue up.  In case you're interested, we're performing "Cell Block Tango".  It isn't exact but the costumes are similar as are many of the dance steps.

     

    Occasionally, someone in the booth gets a little crazy with the Cheese Whiz.  No wait, gets crazy with the smoke machine.  Tonight is one of those nights.  Not just clouds of smoke, but literal pillows of smoke burp out of that antiquated monster.  We're trying not to cough up a storm; we are on stage after all, but good gravy!  What the hell can the audience see through this cloud?!?!  Only bonus points are that I'm not first out of the cell so it will have cleared by the time it's my turn.

    Pop, six, squish, uh uh, Cisero, Lipschitz!  I'm squish. He ran into my knife.  He ran into my knife ten times.  So what if I'm screwing the milkman!  My partner in this dance is also my good friend.  9 times out of 10 that we do this show, we end up laughing so hard that we're shaking.  I've got to keep my composure!  Maybe I shouldn't have had that last drink.  The fabric unrolls (this makes more sense if you watch the video), I wrap a leg around, and call me drunk, or call the floor slippery, but I just damn near busted my ass in front of 300 guests.  Luckily, I recovered quickly, but what starts immediately after my recovery?  Fits of giggles.  Not just me and my partner, but everyone else who was on stage.  Now, do I think the audience noticed it?  Nope.  They don't know what they're looking for.  They love it.  They tell me after shows that I should consider a career on stage because I always look so happy and like I'm having so much fun.  That's ALCOHOL people!  Unfortunately, my stage career never took off and now I'm a paper-pusher with a considerably healthier liver. 

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