325- 30 Day Picture Challenge -- Day 1

1. Doesn't like tomatoes but loves ketchup.


2. Awkward but covers it up with a dry sense of humor


3.  Sings and dances while driving solo. 

15 Facts

4. Tends to...well, collect people's hats, glasses, and jackets when drinking.  

5. Has atrocious handwriting.


6. Loves anything that goes fast


7. Has little to no patience.


8. Total Aries
 

9. Not a morning person


10. Can't do accents.


11.  Mint Chocolate Junkie


12.Prefers Batman 

13.  Obsessed with Jessica Simpson's Collection. 

14. Gets injured in highly creative ways...


15. Loves to sleep when its raining.

327- 10 Facts You Didn't Know (Probably)

Currently Reading: The Definite Book of Body Language by Allan and Barbara Pease



1. If a man is avoiding look at your breast, he'll make groping hand gestures...

2. We learn to shake our head no at infancy when we avoid taking more milk from our mother's breast.

3. The Palm Down is an authoritative motion. 

Nonverbal Domination

4. Don't say Cheese to take a picture. Your smile muscles will contract but not the ones around your eyes. You will come of as insincere and awkward. 



5. Men who say a woman has a good sense of humor are usually saying that those women find the man funny- not that he finds her funny.

6. If dealing with the Japanese, they bow when greeting. And they inspect your shoes while they do so. 

Nice Air Jordan's.

7. The V sign with palm facing inwards is an insult in England. It originated when archers in medieval England would be captured and would lose their two forefingers instead of their lives. When two armies met on the field, archers would goad the other army by displaying their intact fingers. 

8. People who display their thumbs in their pockets are usually displaying their high status clothes. 

That's now what you think it means...

9. When you lie, chemicals are released that cause your nose tissue to internally swell. This causes an itching sensation which you will scratch. It is known as the Pinocchio Effect.  

10.A penis also swells when a man lies...

328- Stir Some Up

330- Letter To Self

Inspired by a passing comment overheard at a local Starbucks.

      "My shrink said I should stop talking to other people about my breakup and start talking to myself about it."

Dear Self,

       As you know, it is has been four months since the breakup. I would like to take this opportunity to express my deep condolences. I know it was a deep loss. Please accept my well wishes as you take this time to grieve.

         However. After four months of self pity, painful memories, and wishful thinking, I would also like to take this time and tell you to move the fuck on with your life. Really, it's not acceptable for a thirty something old woman to be so hung up on a single man. Pardon the cliche, but there are other fish in the sea. Sure they might not be as attractive or lack that charming sense of compassion that can make you smile after a bad day but if you stop being so god darn picky, you may be pleasantly surprised!

            Please don't misunderstand and run off with the next creep that winks at you in the bar or the "straight" guy who wants to go to the dance production of Cats next weekend. I wouldn't be able to associate with you anymore in that case and you don't want to become one of those women. 

       Stop checking your text messages and his twitter account religiously. That's borderline stalking. If you want a hobby, take up Zumba or volunteer at a pet adoption facility. In fact, take a vacation from social media all together and get back to you. I understand that  its easier to hide in the Ben and Jerry pint than go out alone on a Tuesday night- but please. Think of that new dress that you have waiting in the closest. It's not its fault that you have no where to wear it to. Don't punish the dress.

        And please stop kidding yourself about you guys being friends still. You cannot love a man, live with him for a year, have sex in the back of his pickup at the abandoned drive in under a full moon and be friends with him right after you both decide to take some time and see other people. I say this as your closest possible friend- there's no way you can want to see other people if you really love each other. You both knew it wasn't meant to be and you both wanted to spare the other as much pain as possible. Perhaps in a year or so you can salvage a friendship.

         But for now, he's moved on. For good. And not just that spring fling with the blond from Washington. You know the one who looks like she doesn't know how to multiply but is actually the Swiss Ambassador's Personal Assistant with a background in Political Sciences from Oxford? Yea. And you thought he ended that because he wasn't over you yet.

Ha.

           Don't start crying again, babe. You've yo-yo-ed enough over this whole situation and I personally cannot believe you sent him a card for what would have been your third year anniversary. I mean, come on. You don't say the love word for two years and you think you can send it in a card three months after you break up? Seriously?

           Take my advice. I know you love him and you would do anything if it could just work out. But here's the sad truth- things like this don't just work out. If people are supposed to be together, they would find a way- not drag it out in an attempt to save the other person from themselves. Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't be the first one to be thrilled if it worked out between you two, but I also know you had your issues while together and you can't change a man. Despite what all your happily married friends say- their husbands didn't quit smoking, going to strip clubs, and spending too much money on electronics. You and I both know that.

             So, take a breath, stop looking in the mirror and seeing an aging soon to be cat woman staring back at you. You barely look thirty and you don't like cats so at best you'll just be the cool lady next door who has an awesome collection of vintage records. And maybe it'll be a while before the next man comes into your life, but don't worry too much about that. You don't need a man to valdiate you. Just do what you do at the parking garage downtown- smile, use that southern charm routinue, and if all else fails put down the twenty dollars to get out of the damn thing.

           What I'm trying to say is that you are completely fine alone. No one thinks less of you and - although you might not realize it-you don't think less of yourself either. You're just lonely and little things like a cold side of the bed next to you and a silent apartment aren't the worse things that are going to happen to you. You could get bitten in the face by a dog or something random like that.


              You'll get through this but you need to snap out of it sooner rather than later. It's been long enough and we're all kind of sick of hearing about it. Sure you do a good job of keeping a stiff upper lip but your acting sucks and we totally know you're depressed all the time. Depressed people aren't fun to deal with. No one likes a sad clown. No one likes clowns period so sad clowns are particularly bad.

            Again, sorry about the break up.


                      With Warmest Regards,
                                            You


PS: Stop biting your nails. It's gross.

332- Quotation Station

 Because dreaming is easy and life is hard. Because when you dream, you make your own rules, but when you try to do something, the rules are made for you by the limitations of your own nature and the shape of the world you live in. Because no matter how much you win in your dreams, your gains are illusory, and you always come away empty-handed. But in life, whether you win or lose, you’ve always got something to show for it-even if it’s only a scar or a painful memory.
-Dream Girl- Elmer Rice


One of my all time favorite monologues from a play- this reached out and smacked me in the face on day and I haven't let it go since. Throughout my life, I've been a dreamer. And not like Martin Luther King or John Lennon. They dreamed of change and progress and peace.
                                    (And if they didn't then I've misunderstood a LOT. )

My dreaming is more of an avoidance technique. For example, let's say I just worked 8 long hours on a Friday with the express knowledge that not only do I have to be back Saturday and Sunday bright and early- but that I can't go out that night since I have to responsible and get up at 5 a.m. And the nightlife scene in an hour away and an hour back. So, any going out is a three hour process.

There's so much I could do to change this. I could get another job, I could say screw fiancial security and just move out of my rent free home and get my own place or I could just go and deal with exhaustion in the morning.

I need a job. I can't take such a gamble with my savings when I have a very comfortable opportunity to save money up. And I would never give less than 100% to my team.

So, where does that leave me on a Friday night? Well. Borderline depressive, curled up in bed, lights on, and falling in and out of consciousness. It's that light sleep where you don't know if you're asleep or awake and when things that you are thinking of wrap you up in them and twist them and pull them and make the odd feel familiar. Such as the drive to work turning into a road trip. Or going out with people turning into me leading a karoke band. (By the way, my Van Halen was fine but I totally butchered Jesse's Girl....)

See, avoidance.

I didn't want to deal with the pain and confusion and the loneliness that comes from my current situation- I was tired of hearing that I should give it more time and I feel absolutely and completely one hundred percent trapped by my own fears, desires, and emotional fragility.

My quote is never far from my mind....That life isn't fair and that my nature limits my reality just as much as the world does. And so I can escape into my dream world where I have absolutely 0 control or I can fantasize as I stand staring over a desk and just imagine people's stories and make up silly stories of what could happen in everyday situations and then just end up back at home at the end of the day with that sinking, crushing, very odd feeling that I did this to myself.

So, I dream and I wake up. And all the gains in my little fantasy world are gone, leaving me with that odd feeling of having lost something. But when I lose in real life, there's a gaping hole, a ragged cut, or a mental bruise that seems to stick with me, shadowing me like a determined ghoul. The difference is knowing you lost something as opposed to thinking you may have...

So, Mr. Elmer Rice- I know I should understand that the point is to love and lose than to never love at all. And to put yourself out there so you can grow and not just escape and stagnate in a dream world. And I agree with you....

Because once I won, I won big. I changed, matured, grew. Sometimes I wish it was a dream, and the scars of that time would fade away just as sleep does. Sometimes I trace the scars and just indulge in memory.

 Scars has such a nasty connotation but think of them more like symbols of adulthood. Many cultures mark significant rituals by scarring their members- a constant reminder of what they have achieved. Mine of course aren't skin deep but some people see them when they look me right in the eyes.  I've never been good at hiding them.

So, I'll treat them like I treat the dog bite scar, the keyloid scar on my shoulder, or the acne scars. With a little bit of a pride, a little bit of embarrassment, and a whole lot of going forward. There's so many more things that can scar me in this lifetime both good and bad. So, maybe I have to get through these times to endure worse ones.

Or maybe to better appreciate the scars that I have.

333- Anger Issues

I may have been watching too many spy shows at this time... rough and fast. I abandoned it but I think it has a few good oneliners. 

B: Didn’t think you’d make it back.

A: Didn’t think or didn’t hope?

B Jesus, Alex, you’re flattering yourself. When I put someone in a death trap, I expect them to die. Not stroll into my apartment mere hours later. I do appreciate the fact that you look like death though; it soothes my ego a bit.

A: Really, Bailey. Can’t you just admit you’re glad to see me?

B: Glad? You must be kidding. I didn’t spend the time or money on that little escapade just to be glad to have you manage to burn my facility to the ground, most likely kill if not maim some of my best men, and stroll into my apartment and leave size fourteen foot prints all over my carpet. Glad- is not the word I would use in this situation. Now get up off my sofa and move-- very slowly—to the window.

A: I don’t think that’s going to happen.

B: And why not?

A: Because I have your entire apartment wired with about ten different incendiary devices. I’ll give you a clue- One’s in the microwave. Now. Do you still want me to go admire the view?

B: I want you dead, you chauvinistic-

A: Stop showing off your fancy education, Bails, and put down the gun.

B: I’ll put down the gun when you are properly dead.

A: Looks heavy. You sure you can hold it that long? As I recall, your aim was good, but your stamina was lacking.

B: The same could be said of you.

A: How original. You always were fixated on sex. They say those who are the most insecure are the ones you drag it up whenever they can…

B: Goodbye Alex.

C: Put the gun down, Bailey.                          

B: Cameron. I suppose that’s how Alex here managed to find me. Very contrived, boys. I suppose I actually over estimated you, Alex. I didn’t think you’d stoop so low as to have a double agent in my bedroom.

A: Well, he wasn’t cheap if it makes you feel any better.

C: Gun, Bailey.

B: So, you bought the stud, wired the apartment, and stole the jewel. Busy boy.

A: You started this, Bails. I never would have taken it this far-

B: Bullshit. You would have taken everything farther if I hadn’t stopped it when I did. I walked away. I was the one who saw what was going to happen and I left before you did it to me-

A: I would never have tried to frame you for armed robbery, I was just-

B: You were just covering your ass. And I was the red herring of the month.

C: I will shoot you. Put the gun down. Slowly. Now kick it towards Alex.

B: Oh, like he needs another weapon.

A: God damnit, woman-

B: Don’t you call me that-

A: It was nothing personal-

B: It was completely personal! You don’t use a woman just to frame her for theft. Even Denzel knows that-

A: The fuck he does-

C: Shut it, both of you or I will kill you both right here. Bailey, if your pretty hand moves one inch closer to the dagger in your corset, I will shoot you. And Alex, if you do not shut the goddamn fuck up, I’ll shoot you just for silence.

B: You started this, Alex. I just made sure I could finish it.

A: You are quite a woman, Bailey…and that’s the reason I’m going to walk out of here without killing you. We’re going to go our own ways now. You and me and Cam over there are all going to leave this apartment. Its going to blow up- yes all your precious clothes and shoes and modern appliances are going to be in flames by the time Denzel even knows you left me to die in that warehouse- and you are not go ever- contact him again. You are to take the money you have stashed away and you are to disappear. Do I make myself clear?

B: Just shoot me, Cameron, before I have to actually acknowledge his audacity.

C: He’s offering you a way out of this life.

B: Do not try to reason with me. You fucked me on that very bar last night with the act of being a honest man-

C: It wasn’t love-

B: If it was love, Denzel would have killed you months ago. It was fucking, Cam. Primal, animalistic fucking. You got off. I pretended to get off. We just fucked. So do not aim that colt at me and pretend you give a damn what happens to me after tonight- because I sure the hell don’t care what happens to you.

A: You’ve certainly changed Bails.

B: Do not. Call me that. Do not. You lost that right when you planted my dna and fingerprints at your crime scene and then used a stripper named Sugar Floss as your alibi. It was bad enough realizing what you had done then having to face that plastic Barbie on the stand as she explained her signature flossing move to everyone in the courtroom-

A: It was a job. You were the con.

B: I was. Exactly. Now both of you get the fuck out of my apartment before I kill you.

A: Cameron, everything ready?

C: Almost.

A: What do you mean almost?

C: Well. I may not have found the things that you were looking for but I managed to secure the c4 and clear out the safe.

B: You bastard, my mother’s pearls? Your going to steal my mother’s pearls?

A: I always told you how much I admired pearls around your throat, Bails. Perhaps it was just the pearls.

B: I hope they drag you to the bottom of the river you-

A: Cameron, pleasure doing business with you. The money from Ellie will arrive before midnight in your eastern account- cash it and close it and disappear. Denzel will come looking sooner rather than later.

C: Got it. You can handle her?

A: I’ve been handling you both. Now go.

A: Bailey, you were never supposed to be more than a con-

B: Don’t. I was in jail for three months before Denzel proved I was innocent. I owed my innocence to the very crime lord I used to crusade against. I learned that the good guys aren’t always wearing white. So thank you for that very expensive lesson. But I would rather blow both of us up then listen to you try and rationalize what you did.

A: Then I’ll be on my way. But I’m offering you a way out too. Take the bag on the table and disappear.

B: You disappear.

A: I am sorry. It wasn’t supposed to get emotional-

B: The hell it wasn’t. At least the boys in black are open about what they’re doing. If they want me, they tell me. We fuck. I get what I want, they get what they want. They don’t tell me about how they got the scar on their chest when they were four or bring me chocolate chip pancakes in bed or help me bury the mouse that was living in the cabinet. They don’t do that.

A: Goodbye Bailey.

B: Alex.

B: The next time I see you. I will kill you.

A: Or I’ll kill you.

B: Well then. I’ll be seeing you.

334- Natla Releases Cover Art for New CD

  
Oh yea, you want to pre-order this.
Or you know make your own...


1 - Go to wikipedia and hit random. The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band. 
2 - Go to quotationspage.com and hit random. The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album. 
3 - Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”. Third picture no matter what ......it is, will be your album cover. 
4 - Use photoshop or similar (picnik.com is a free online photo editor) to put it all together.
5 - Post it

335- Playing Catchup

Sharing some things that I'm currently obsessed with:

Adele- Rolling In The Deep
I was previously a fan of Chasing Pavements and I found this. I also recommend watching her in the Tiny Desk Concert. If you didn't like her before, you can't help but like her after that. But I kind of dig the ridiculous symbolism of this video. I'm just sayin, I understand the whole egg symbolism of Gaga but this is a little less. Just a little less.

Speaking of Grammys....

Cee Lo Green- Forget You
I have F*ck You and I'm a fan of the whole thing. Especially the music video for the song. But this man wore a Elton John homage outfit and sang with Muppets and also nodded to Gwyneth Paltrow by having her join him. Plus you can just tell they didn't rehearse this to perfection and I love when he decides he no longer wants to sit and just play piano and gets up leaving Gwyn Palt laying awkwardly on the piano. She of course gets into it and stands on top of the piano in color block stilettos from hell. But did you notice the muppets??

Give 'Em Sass Dress
        As soon as this comes back in stock, I am going to buy it. No more stalling. I want to be this person on Wednesdays.

 

 Psych: Season 3

 I want to be friends with the people who write the dialogue between Gus and Shawn. I watch this show because of the ridiculous and easy banter between the two actors and the enjoyment they have in the every throw away little moment. The supporter characters aren't my favorite...and the stories are borderline crazy. However, it's all about Shawn Spencer. If you want ridiculous dry humor, aka you miss me- you should try Psych. Start wherever- so far it hasn't been necessary to watch in any sort of order.

Skunk Duster
I own this. I dust with this. I ENJOY THIS.

 

336- Mickey Blue Eyes Review

Just don't.



Oh fine. I'll be a little more detailed. Let's just say I got distracted watching clips of Basic Instinct halfway through when I realized that was the same chick. Just with a better haircut. And with still horrible taste in men.

Of course you had the same actors who would go on to play in the Sopranos (which I never saw so perhaps if I was more familiar with them I would have enjoyed their earlier comedic roles more) and traditional dry British jokes croaked by a "aren't I adorably dim witted" Hugh Grant as he fumbles through the mafia ties of his hopefully soon to be fiance.

Of course, I never was fond of Hugh Grant but I thought the title had some promise if it was going to seek to turn English prat into possible mobster. They called it a comedy of errors- it was more one big giant error. The only good part was watching an FBI agent go from agent to gay flowershop owner to English best man, etc. etc.

Other than that it was a painful joke after joke of English embrassment, and did I really need to hear Grant try to speak mobster? Or watch Hugh Grant try and distract his girl by strip teasing awkardly in his office and rubbing his bum?

I would have turned away. Well, I would never have let it get that far. Nor would I have gotten that haircut so maybe I'm not the target audience of this particular piece.

So, as it's about to plummet off your Netflix queue, please don't fret. It's not really a big deal. You won't miss any performance, scenery, cinematography, or even costume design that would make you less of a person. In fact, unless a crime mobster decides to take the name Kansas City Little Big Mickey Blue Eyes and goes on a crime spree, you are completely fine with not even realizing this is a movie.

Or unless you're an English prat who wants to learn how NOT to become a mobster.

But really, just don't.

337- The Elevator Shaft

WARNING: 
This was written for someone who requested for me to try and write a sex scene. The location was suggested by a completely different person and I figured hey, if two people wanted to see what I could do- I could at least try. 
You probably shouldn't read this if you are going to take it seriously or are offended by porn, romance novels, or find one night stands offensive.
But hey, no one reads this anyways, so-
Happy Valentine's Day- you filthy animals.

                 It had all started very innocently, really. She had been already been running late when the classroom door flew open, releasing a group of students avidly quizzing each other on the pop quiz. 

                “What is superego again?” One girl asked, her face buried into her textbook so that her right elbow slammed into Nasreen’s side. Losing a grip on the large folders she had been balancing, Nasreen lurched to her left only to run straight into another member of the unprepared and completely obtuse group who was far too busy staring at superego’s assets than where he was going. With her balance completely thrown, Nasreen made the instinctive decision to throw her arm out to break her fall which unfortunately meant releasing her precocious grip on her materials. 

                The heavy binders hit the floor with a dull thud, spilling white pieces of paper crammed with printed text and bent, dog-eared college lined notebook paper fluttering upwards and everywhere. 

                “Shit!” Nasreen cursed, dropping to her knees and beginning to gather up the papers, just as the zombie patrol opened the main door to Anderson Hall, letting in the fall weather and the prevailing north wind. The strong gale of late November picked up the strewn pages and fluttered them to even further corners of the hall, mixing with students and professors rushing out to get to their respective destinations. A few laughed watching as the frantic young woman tried to grab any research from escaping the hall while others handed her pages stuck together, shoe prints now covering the doodles she had aimlessly drawn in upper corners. 

                After what felt like an hour scrambling to retrieve her wayward papers, Nasreen clutched the giant pile to her chest only to see a few pieces still scattered underneath the couches and chairs A frat boy with crimson and gold letters portrayed proudly on his chest was happily making airplanes out of what looked like her last research paper and the environmental science majors were tossing her note cards into the recycling bin completely unaware that it had taken her five days to make the damn things. 

                “Great.” She mumbled frustration and humiliation burning the back of her eyes and forcing her to look upwards at the overhead lighting. “Great,” she repeated. Nasreen stuffed the mismatched and crumbled papers back into the largest binder and stuffed the other one marked Calc 1 into her shoulder bag. “Just great.” 

                And with that, Nasreen shouldered her bag, took a firmer grip on the notebook and headed back towards the elevator. The clock over the elevator read a quarter past eight and while it had been still relatively light outside when she had gone up to meet with Professor Barnes on her thesis of urbanization in suburban areas, her adventure with her escaped papers had taken almost over twenty minutes. She could try and catch him before he left for the night but Anderson’s hall upper levels were mostly professor offices and unlike its main hall were often deserted past five. Professor Barnes did say he was staying until eight but it was very possible she had missed him. 

                Striding back to the elevator, Nasreen pressed the up button, watching it light up green and let her eyes wander back up to the clock. She noticed the elevator to her left was coming from downstairs which was the classics department. She had taken her mythology course down there last semester and had gotten completely lost in the maze of the guts of the old building. Students had labeled it the Minotaur’s Maze years ago and it had stuck. She fished into her pocket for her cell phone and idly flicked through.

                The green light died and the elevator door slid open. Glancing down at her cell phone whose bars flickered weakly in and out of service; Nasreen stepped on to the elevator, almost straight into someone.

                “Sorry!” She yelped, throwing up her right hand in surprise. Her dark eyes met the bemused grey eyes of her fellow passenger as the doors began to slide shut and Nasreen felt her face flush slightly and turned away to jab at the number twelve on the dash only to find it already highlighted. “Sorry,” she repeated, turning back to the guy who has slid over a few feet to give her some space. He nodded at her before turning his attention back to the doors. 

                Nasreen bit her lower lip in her classic nervous habit and resettled her shoulder bag more firmly on her shoulder, allowing the cell phone to slide into her pocket as her arm returned to her side. The elevators in Anderson Hall clanked methodically upwards. The metal door threw an odd mirror image back at them and Nasreen felt herself studying the boy next to her through its warped reflection. 

                Shaking herself, she ran her free hand through her hair, combing out the knots from the earlier maniacal wind gust and chewing herself out silently for not putting on some eyeliner before she headed out the door that afternoon.  Pushing her hair back behind her ear, Nasreen saw the stranger watching her from the corner of his eye and she smiled shyly back before looking back at the door. 

                ‘Second Floor’ chimed the elevator dully.

                “I always wonder when this thing is going to give up and just stop working,” and Nasreen found herself looking up at the low, rough voice and found herself staring into grey eyes’ gaze. She swallowed.

                “Um- yea, I usually take the stairs but I felt like being lazy today,” Nasreen replied evenly, glancing back at the safe area that was the sliding door.

                “And why’s that?” Grey eyes asked, and Nasreen could feel the blood surfacing in her cheeks. The elevator felt ten times hotter with him just staring at her like that and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to keep looking at her with that grin on his face or to look away. “Cause this is the slowest elevator in what could very likely be the history of the world?” he joked.

                “Just felt like the thing to do,” she laughed back, shrugging her shoulders animatedly- which was the wrong thing to do as the shoulder strap slipped off her shoulder and the over heavy calculus notebook once again escaped to the floor.

                ‘Third Floor’ chimed the elevator but neither party heard it as both bent to pick up the few determined papers which had once again escaped their bindings.

                Nasreen felt his hand close over hers on the paper a second before she realized he had bent down to retrieve the papers as well. His palm was square and large and easily dwarfed her smaller grip. It was slightly callused with short nails but the heat that radiated from it caused her a moment’s pause.

                He was staring at her, those grey eyes starting to turn steel colored as his firm gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth and then dragged themselves as if forced back to her incredulous stare. She slowly began to straighten and he rose with her, until she found herself looking up at him, heart pounding and face practically on fire.

                ‘Fourth Floor’ toned the automatic voice and Nasreen felt her gaze slide from his to the panel before sliding back to him. Her tongue darted out and soothed the spot she had earlier worried with her teeth.

                She didn’t know if she had taken the first step or if he had but the next moment, Nasreen found herself pressed up against the panel of the elevator, her skirt tangled around her knees as his thigh pushed between hers and pinned her to the wall. She had her hands pushed up into his short dark hair as he bent his head to hers.

                She could barely think she was so drawn to him, she pressed forward against him, unconsciously rolling her hips against his in an age old plea. His sharp intake of breath was his only response as he took her mouth. His lips were thin but determined as they slanted over hers and his tongue pushed boldly forward to taste her mouth. She reciprocated by sucking on it, swirling her own tongue around it.

 Nasreen dimly wondered if he would taste the peppermint mocha from earlier or the vanilla from her lip gloss before she felt his hand caress the side of her throat. She leaned into it, pressing her lips against his and sliding her tongue into his mouth, tasting the hotness that was devouring her from within. Her boldness seemed to encourage him and he pressed her harder.

            

     His fingers were tracing her neck and his mouth was following. Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, feeling the tense energy he was radiating. His teeth nicked a particularly sensitive spot where her shoulder met her throat and she gasped, low and shocked. His grey eyes flickered up at her in amusement before returning to the spot and repeating the action.

               Nasreen felt her hands slip lower down to his biceps, feeling the muscles in the strength of his grip as well in the round bulge of the muscle itself. She lightly drew her fingernails down his bare arm, his t-shirt riding up slightly. He returned the sensory experience by returning his mouth to hers, hungry as she was as his exploring fingers descended to her hip.

                ‘Fifth Floor” barely registered in her ears as the no longer stranger swept his fingers over the curve of her breast to take a hold of her hip. She felt him lift her slightly and she followed, wrapping her left leg around his back, feeling the jeans underneath her bare leg. His tongue stroked hers for a moment before she leaned forward, intensifying the kiss and pressing her center to his and feeling his now obvious desire against her inner thigh.

                He groaned a bit and Nasreen couldn’t help but smile against his lips at her point. Because this was quickly developing into a game of whom could out seduce whom and he was obviously winning. Nasreen had never felt quite so turned on in her life and the grainy mirrored image of the two of them over his shoulder was only intensifying the experience.

                “God, you are so hot,” he mumbled into her neck as his fingers slid up her thigh and underneath her skirt. Instinctively, Nasreen jerked away, only to find him watching her, eyes the color of granite and burning intensely. Unable to look away, she whimpered in surrender, tilting her hips back towards his hand.

                His long fingers slowly traced the lace waistband before slowly slipping underneath and finding her hot and wet. Nasreen mewed against his shoulder, rolling her hips in silent invitation.

                ‘Sixth Floor’ was barely a murmur over the ringing in her ears as his talented fingers slowly stroked upwards.

                He caressed the lips of her center before finding that certain spot. She wiggled and moaned her approval, his finger trapped between her and the lace underwear. He slowly withdrew his hand and slid down, until he knelt before her, grinning wickedly up at her before disappearing underneath the flowered skirt.

                Seeing his dark head bent, Nasreen felt a rush of warmth, the pulse in her lower stomach beginning to beat rapidly until she felt his breath over the lace.

                “Oh god,” she breathed, trying to remember to inhale.

                “Zach, actually,” said the rough voice, before she practically screamed as his mouth closed over her through the lace. Soft but firm strokes of his tongue swirled around her in a perfect clockwork circle and she felt her legs begin to shake wildly underneath her.

                A dark chuckle was her only warning before she felt his fingers join his talented tongue and begin to tease her even higher, his mouth departed as the finger slipped pushed aside the lace and began a slow, tortuous pattern, taking her almost there before reverting to a new pattern.

                “Seventh Floor’ was announced and Nasreen gasped.

                “What if- oh god don’t stop- what if someone- someone comes-“

                “Believe me,” Zach said, standing back up, keeping his fingers adroitly performing their dedicated role- “Someone’s going to come-“and took her mouth back before she could respond to the stupidity of the comment.

                She could taste herself, hot and musky but not entirely unpleasant when mixed with his own unique taste. She felt her body spinning as his free hand began to caress her breast, and she felt like she was frozen against the wall. Her whole body was shaking and her brain seemed to have switched off completely- running off instinct.

                Her left hand tentatively reached out to rub the front of his denim jeans and he groaned into her mouth. He was hot through the denim and his hand left her breast to quickly fumble open the belt and fly before returning to her chest.

                It was a bit hard considering the way he was toying with her to carefully free him from his boxer briefs but finally she had him in the palm of her hand- and the silk skin was practically burning her hand. She rolled her thumb over the weeping tip, the smooth mushroom shaped head jerking slightly with her touch, inducing the soft smile to curve over her lips.

                Zach flicked upwards and Nasreen felt herself lean forward desperation coloring her vision, her curious fingers still stroking him nerveless as he led her to her climax.

                “Eight Floor”

                She felt it, the pressure building, warmth cascading upwards in a slow spiral before her hips jerked on their own and she felt herself cry out and clutch his shoulder as he brought her to the shattering conclusion. Her eyes slammed shut as the primal rush flowed through her body bringing her to the very edge of blissful pain.

                “Yes, yes----yes yesyes oh god!” She whimpered as she felt the waves slowly leave, his hand still tracing circles into her and causing a sensitively overload.

                She could still feel him heavy in her palm and as she caught her breath, eyes clenched shut, she could feel him watching. Cracking her eye at him, she slowly kneeled down until she was before him.

                She let her gaze fall over the length of him, he was thick and her small hand barely could full wrap itself comfortably around his shaft but she curled her fingers around him and gave a soft caress. His head tilted backwards in silent approval and she allowed herself a soft smirk as she leaned in.

                He jerked as her breath hit his head but it was nothing to the shuddering moan he let out when she took him into her mouth. He was hot, so deviously hot and smooth and he tasted like sweat and silk. She bobbed her head and barely could contain the moan that escaped her throat, vibrating him in her mouth.

                “So fucking hot,” he supplied weakly, his eyes finding hers as she glanced up.

                “Ninth Floor”

                She rolled her tongue under the sensitive spot beneath his head and her hand snaked up to roll the skin of his sack lightly between her fingers, her mouth inching up to meet the down stroke of her hand before repeating. She took her mouth off him, and exhaled warm hot air. He stiffened as her mouth moved to take in the sack between his legs, her hands going over his hips to knead his butt through the layers of jean and 

boxers and pressing him closer to her mouth.

                “God, I could do this for hours,” Nasreen whispered against his thigh, returning her hand to stroking him with a soft twist towards the head, rubbing her saliva into his skin and watching the head swell and respond to every caress, every stroke, every teasing brush of her hair.

                “Tenth Floor”

                She pressed her mouth back to the tip and began to slowly lick in a spiraling circle, the sated feeling beginning to disperse as she felt herself getting wetter with his soft breaths and the way he was responding. Nasreen couldn’t help but meet his eyes as she swallowed him whole and bobbed her head to the unspoken rhythm that his hips effortlessly began to match. He threw his head back as his fists clenched into her hair and she felt him tighten his legs before he exploded into her mouth.

                “Eleventh Floor”

                As Nasreen tried to discreetly and politely disperse of the evidence, she felt him stroke her hair back from her face. She smiled up at him as she tucked him back in. He offered her his hand and raised her up. They stood there facing each other- breathing heavily, sated and almost burning alive from the internal and external heat they had produced, still half dressed and completely silent.

                “Twelfth Floor” chimed the now familiar voice as the doors slid open revealing a dark hallway- a dim light from around the far corner the only sign of any inhabitants. Zach was watching her, his eyes fading from their steel intensity back to the sky grey of earlier and Nasreen couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

                “I’m Nasreen by the way,” she offered, holding out her hand, the same hand that had moments ago been holding him rather intimately.

                “Nice to meet you, Nasreen,” Zach smiled down at her. She felt a small warmth curl higher inside her chest and neither of them made a move to get out of the elevator. The doors began to slow grind shut but neither looked away from the other.

                The elevator sat still for a moment before slowly beginning its descent.  And as the floors disappeared and the silence grew, Nasreen began to realize the full extent of what had just happened. She had basically had just had public sex with a complete stranger in an elevator that as ancient as it was could possibly have a camera. The stranger Zach could be a complete psychopath who was going to blackmail her or kill her as soon as the elevator opened back into the main lobby. He could-

                “Care to go again?” Interrupted the now familiar, sly voice and Nasreen didn’t bother with words. She pushed him against the closest wall and gave in to it all over again.