Results tagged “passions” from Overlooked
Against all odds, there is a new man in my life. I cannot believe it's true, but each moment spent with him is like another day in paradise!
I remember the day we first met. I was running late to court, ready to testify for a case involving a crime of passion (it's always important to hear both sides of the story, you know), when all of a sudden, two hearts collided.
Isn't it crazy how strangers like me and my love could just randomly cross paths one day? I was running one way and he was running another. Quick as I knew it, we ran into each other and I was knocked to the ground.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" he spluttered, bewilderment sullying his handsome face and showing me his true colors.
"Is that the least you can do?" I asked with a wink and indicated for him to help me up. He happily obliged, and I could tell by his eyes that he would find a way to my heart no matter what. Even though I was somewhat scared--just who was this angelic creature to whom I was already pledged all of my life?--I remember thinking, "That's just the way it is," and surrendering utterly. Separate lives were thereby linked forever.
After that first encounter, as we said hello, goodbye, he called over his shoulder to me, "Don't lose my number." (Do you remember, darling?) Perish the thought!
Since then, it's been nothing but magic. I just can't stop loving you, Phil Collins. Just can't stop loving you.
Tod Lockwood immortalizes Stephen Colbert.
Since it is the glorious day of my birth, I do not want to besmirch this holy day with more sarcastic ranting of idiot males—ahem, I mean, our Hunk Fridays, but rather, I will write of a man about whom I am truly passionate. Tall, dark and handsome with those oh so shiny thin-rimmed, metal glasses and beautiful wrinkles of laughter and wisdom. That dashing dark, perfectly-cut power suit that shows off your hard pecs and chiseled biceps. More handsome than Gandhi, more humble than Mandela, more conservative than O’Reilly (Papa Bear). My simple, delicate heartbeats turn into incessant pounding every Monday through Thursday night, 11:30 pm. Yes, Stephen Colbert, it is you. It has always been you. And it will always be you and only you.
There is no better time than now, this sacred day of my birth, for us to finally stop these shenanigans once in for all and declare our love for each other. The only thing dividing our epic love is, no, not your wife, but that wench, Jane Fonda. How dare she lay her old, flappy, protesting lips on your delicate cherry ones. How dare she praise your supple, passionate lips, those that should be mine and only mine. Oh woe is me to know that there is evidence of this heinous indiscretion online for all to see and know that you are still not mine (the May 9, 2007 show).
How could you, Jane Fonda? HOW COULD YOU? You already have your fitness empire, your movie tankers with Lindsay Lohan and JLo and even a song dedicated to you and the raunchiness you inspire in Mickey Avalon, aptly titled “Jane Fonda”. Please, Jane Fonda, go back to your Excessive Machine from Barbarella.
So Stephen, please, end this silliness so the two of us can begin our path together. Once we are united, there truly is nothing that can stop our love.
Graham waved goodbye to the mailman and then rushed inside and up the stairs. It had arrived! It had finally, finally arrived! Ever since his wife Melinda had turned 39, she had been sulking around the house, overly conscious of the fact that she would shortly be turning 40 and thus entering "middle age". Graham, of course, thought she was absolutely insane: to him, she would always be that wiry 16-year old he had met on his first day at his new high school. Even as white-hot rage flashed in her eyes (following his customary attack of clumsiness and knocking all of her French books out of her arms), he thought she was the most perfect creature he had ever seen.
He had just known he'd have to do something to help lift her spirits - something bold, something romantic, something that would let her know exactly how much she still meant to him after all these years. Graham knew he wasn't the most suave or debonair of men, and so he had enlisted the help of Arnie, his best friend. Surely, Graham thought, surely Arnie would have an idea - Arnie was an ideas guy. He'd been to Vegas. He knew things.
Oh Arnie knew things all right. He had, without a word, pointed Graham to an online store, then left to go meet his latest squeeze at the corner bar. Graham barely noticed he'd left; he sat spellbound, numbly watching the images wash over him. Within moments, he was sure - everything here would be absolutely perfect for Melinda; he needed only to enter his credit card number.
Nobody knew romance like the Marquis de Sade
Hands shaking with anticipation of Melinda's inevitably delighted reaction, Graham tore open the cardboard shipping box and pulled out the delicately-wrapped package. Gift in hand, he tore down the stairs and ran into the darkened room in which his wife was watching her stories. She cocked her head slightly in recognition of his presence. "Pumpkin," Graham breathed, trying to contain his giddiness, "I have a gift for you."
"Huh." Melinda's eyes were still glued to the screen.
"Well, aren't you going to open it?" he asked, dangling the package in front of her face. She grabbed at in annoyance and started picking at it when the commercials came on. "Honey, I remember how much you loved studying French in high school, how much you wanted to go to the City of Lights, to Paris, France. Well today, Sugar, I brought a little of Paris, France to you!"
Melinda had gotten through the wrapping paper and was staring blankly at her gift.
"Sweetie, that there is an eye mask with the words of the Marquis de Sade on it," Graham said triumphantly. "He was French!"
What happened next was a blur, but when Graham came to, he had a black eye and the eye mask proclaiming the words of Sade, "Treat me like the whore that I know I am" shoved in his mouth. Melinda was nowhere to be found.
She's got The Look
The bass pounds away all inhibition. Sweating dancers moving to the same heartbeat. A massive social display plays out, the subtle intricacies of courtship and communication like an infinite puzzle.
She danced up on me. I noticed her jeans. I placed my hands on her hips and felt them sway under the smooth yet durable fabric. My fingers played along the solidly stitched belt loops, tugging at them playfully, testing them. The back pockets fit her more than ample form immaculately, yet had room to spare even with my hands in them. I teased out of her back pockets and around to the button-fly, I could feel her grinning against my neck. I got down on my knees as she writhed against me, like thick heavy oil on deep dark water. I ran my hands along the hem, then up along the double stitched inseam. I caressed the faded denim front of her thighs with my palms. I stood up and pressed my lips against her ear:
"You're ugly as hell but those are some really hot jeans."
From Brooklyn with Love
Hi Scott. It's me, lengli.
I know it's been a long time since my brother used to make fun of me for singing along with the "Charles in Charge" theme song, but I want you to know that I haven't stopped thinking about you. You've stuck in my head just as well as that catchy pop song did. In fact, I even moved near your hometown of Bay Ridge in tribute. I swear the fact that they filmed "Saturday Night Fever" there didn't even cross my mind. John Tra-who-ta?
Every time I look at the Verrazano Bridge, I think about how you once looked at the very same view. What were you thinking about, Scott? Did you ever dream of who you would become? Could you possibly have imagined how things ultimately played out? I so long to understand your thoughts.
Well Scott, I have to be going now. My friend Alissa and I have looked up all the Baios in the area and we're going on a walking tour. When we walk by your old high school, I'll be sure to wave for you.
From now on, I'll be in charge of your days and your nights, of your wrongs and your rights. And you'll see. You'll want me in charge of you.
♥,
lengli
Georgie's genorisity was leaps and bounds greater than that of Millie's other nephews!
Millicent used to lie around the house all day, only energetic enough to watch soap operas (her "stories", as she called them) and to fetch the occasional snack of fried Spam, lovingly prepared by her nephew, Georgie, on his days off from work at the factory. It was a simple life, and hardly the one for which she was made, but she had always had a weak abdomen that did not allow her the freedom of movement she so desperately craved.
For in her heart, Millicent was a dancer. She used to gaze longingly at the whirling dervish of dancing bodies on the commercials during her favorite show, "Passions": so fascinating, so admirable...so out of reach.
Until one day.
On that fateful day, the doe-eyed Georgie gave her the surprise of her life. Tortured by his aunt's condition, he had called in favors with some of his co-workers. With Georgie's brains and their brawn, they welded an amazing creation to not only support Millicent's fragile core, but to give her the unparalleled gift of living out her dream of unrestricted motion.
Thanks to the folks at Better Life Health Care, however, you don't have to wait for Georgie and his magnificent talent to come to you. With the Sunny 40" Rebounder Trampoline and Support Bar, you too can have the same luxury as the now-spry Millicent, all in the comfort of your own home!
Thanks to our friends at Quickshop.co.uk for the inspiration!
