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The kissing pose I like best believe it or not is an action during the Lap Dance pose. It is an act initiated by the woman. SHe straddles the man's lap and kisses him. I think it is very sweet/tender. I would love Achat to simply come up with a Kissing Pose like that with different actions….kiss neck, hands on back, etc. I would love to spend an evening just kissing the heck out of my Awife like that.
Aggreeing with Brandy here. Ive been on for a while here and although i love getting to spend time with people, the options for not only poses but clothing and surroundings is minimal at best when compared wih other sites. (Which will remain nameless). Although I appreciate the work that the AChat staff does to support the site, I do believe that a few upgrades are n order. More poses, yes. Not even Sex ones actually if one takes into consideration my terrible need to snuggle the hell out of my spouse. Clothing, hairstyles, eye colors, etc would also be a good addition. Or perhaps a room where more than 2-3 people can actually have a conversation. Just a few suggestions.
I went to bed last night tired but smiling. Alone but warmed by her love. I slid into a bed that was once so lonely warmed only by blankets. Now she is with me. Perhaps not physically. I have not been blessed by that…yet. But I feel here there. Her body close against mine. Her thoughts with me. Her heart beating within my chest. Her soul mingled with mine. Three precious hours we were together tonight. And in those three precious hours she had loved me and spoiled me. Filled my heart and mind with her caring and with her passion. Shown me a world of wonderful possibilities and dreams which I still feel I will never deserve. She caressed me with her words. Lifted me up and drained me. I keep telling her how she is mine and mine alone. Yet with every precious night we spend together I grow more and more her own. She knows this and it binds her to me even more.
We live in a strange world here on Achat. A world where we reach out from our own lives out of curiosity, or loneliness, or simply a need we cannot explain ourselves. Whatever the reason, something is missing and here we reach out to find it. Sometimes it is simple as having someone to pass the time with or simply for a few hours being the person you secretly want to be. Free. Open. Sexual. You meet people, you talk, you make friends, and sometimes – and this is a very rare and magical sometimes – you meet someone that you cannot forget. Not for a day. Not for a second. Someone you have dreamed of all your life. Someone who you feel inside you. Someone you would give the world to touch, to kiss, to hold for the briefest of moments and forever. And – even more rare and even more magical – that one special person feels the same about you. You are with them. And despite all the world and what the mirror tells you, you are intelligent and sexy and wonderful. That is how I feel now.
If this was your lover or your wife you would come home with flowers, opera tickets, perfumes, stuffed animals, serve her breakfast in bed, rub her shoulders… a thousand simple ways to tell her how wonderful she is. But we are here. There are no flowers to send. Just words. Words that have been used and wrung out and used again. Words she has heard before by lovers, liars, gypsies and thieves. (You know who you are.) How in the world do you show her what she means to you? How you feel yourself flying through your day. That you cannot stop thinking of her. Her lips. Her legs. Her fingers in your hair. Her body pressed mercilessly under yours. All you have is your words and somehow they are never enough. She tells you that you give her all she needs and more. But it is not enough. You are a man, and that is how she makes you feel. You should be keeping her warm, throwing yourself in front of bullets, laying the world at her feet, moving furniture. Spending every moment making her feel to be filled with roses and adoration as you do everything a frail and flawed mortal man can do to make her feel like a woman, a queen, a goddess, a wife.
But you are here. And all you can give her are words.
My Baby helps me with my jacket, slapping off the lint I can't see and looking for the stains I can never spot. She is smiling. Her eyes green and bright. Her soft, red lips a perfect match for mine. For a moment I consider not going to the party. Instead to stay home with this woman that I have come to care for so very much and spend the rest of the night caressing her, discovering again how I came to need her so very much. She sees the look in my eyes and knows my mind. I am easy for her to read. Her eyes answering mine with heat and desire and wonderful promises. She takes my hand, her warm lips brushing across my fingers. Later. Go have fun now. She will be waiting for me when I return. Her whispers fall into my ears and I feel my body moaning silently for her. Each sultry word lighting a fire deep within me, melting my heart, making me want her so badly. To touch her. To hold her. To feel her tender skin on mine. My hands slide down, cupping her ass in my hands and lifting her up to my lips. Her kiss is warm and eager, her mouth melting into mine, her body melting into my arms, molding itself along my body. So easy. So wonderful.
She pushes me away laughing, composing herself as she holds me at arms length. Go. Now. Have fun. Later. She hands me my fedora and pushes me out the door. At the end of the driveway I cast a look back for her. She is framed in the doorway, peach tank top and yoga pants her hair down around her shoulders. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She takes my breath away even now. The door closes slowly. The last thing I see is her smile. As the door closes the night falls upon me. I lean back onto the GTO and wonder how I got so lucky.
When I finally get to the bar, the place is already jumping. Brandybee is up on stage singing as others are milling about or dancing to the rythym. I look about for Tangoracer, the wrapped bottle of scotch in my hand complete with massive red bow. He is at the bar now. He seems to be busy right now with a tall blonde woman wrapped around him, the woman looking incredible in a short, checkered dress. I call over to Stone and order a shot of Patron Silver. Leaning back against the bar I toast my glass to Brandybee and wish silently that my Baby were here with me. I settle in on my seat and toss my hat up on the bar. I fit in. My tie is a checkered racer I found in the village at a vintage place that I stop at. Relaxed, finally, my eyes cast about the room. Each woman here is amazing in her own way. Each one dressed in skin tight clothes showing every curve, long legs bare and lovely. Again I think of her and smile to myself wondering.
Finally after a long while, Racer seems to have a moment to spare. I take this chance to walk on over extending the paper-wrapped bottle and handing Racer a shot of Patron, taking my own from the bar.
“Happy Birthday, Racer. May your year be warm and filled with the joy of loved ones and may we all be here and smiling on the next.”
Thank you. er. Lover.
Hello everyone – I have just finished the first draft of my story here and am proofreading it for my horrible typing. Something not even Microsoft can fix it seems. I will be posting it tonight….soon as I figure out where and I hope you all like it. I dont know Ifit is to long or short or following the rules and don't expect anything from this …just hoping that you see it as a decent first try.
A small series of groans fills the far side of the bar as Satoire pins Pafe down for the count. Slamming my shot-glass down with a triumphant smile, I hold out my hand as three other patrons slap twenties into my waiting palm. I tap out my pipe as I wave for Stone's attention and point at my empty glass. He smiles as he sees the wad of twenties hit the bar knowing it will all make its way into the cash drawer by the end of the night. Overall the night has been a good one. For me, peaceful even with the pudding flying at the other end of the bar and the cheers of the crowd. I come here for peace, quiet, perhaps even the solitude I find at this end of the bar. This morning she slapped my shoulder with a smile and told me that I just came here to gawk at gorgeous women. Should I tell her about the pudding? She would just love that. I can see her laughing now as she tossed a towel at me and called me a voyeur.
For a moment I try to think of her covered in pudding and smile to myself as I decide to pass the market on the way home.I could still feel the tightness down below from Brandee's performance. I have to find out where she got that outfit. Could just see presenting it to my woman at home. I know she would wear it for me. Not that she needed that sort of thing to turn me on. Just the thought of her in a tank top and shorts made me hard and horny as a stone toad.
But, hell, I am still a guy and the sight of beautiful women dressed in little else but pudding and strings of cloth still do the same for me. Generally make it embarrassing to get up. But here in this place I doubt anyone would notice one more hard-on more or less.
I rise from my seat and walk – Okay, maybe stagger a bit after all the bourbon I have downed here – over to Santa's throne. I am proud to say I did not spill a drop on the way over.
“Have anything in that bag of yours for wayward city cowboys, Santa?” I am hoping my New York accent is not too lost in the haze. As much as this man may hate his city, he is still proud to be born there. Though I did prefer it when it was called the Big Apple rather than living on a giant bullseye.
With a glint in his eye and a belly full of jelly, or one big-ass pillow, Santa tosses a red and white striped box my way. Hell, the darn thing even had my name on it. I'm seriously hoping this isn't the real Santa up there or this is about to blow up in my face. Cost of being on the Not-so-nice list for 40 years in a row. Shit like that catches up with a man eventually.
Ripping the paper off (never was able to do this neatly – Sorry, Mom) I nearly drop my drink. Also a first. When the hell did Fifty Shades of Grey come out with a cookbook? The bottle of Wild Turkey was a nice touch though. I thumb through the thing as I head back to my seat, almost but not quite ignoring the pudding-ed body of Satoire and Pafe as I slide by mumbling something about scallops and chorizo when I should be noticing Satoire's breasts nearly exploding out of her soaked top.
Sitting in my seat, Stone delivers me a fresh one, taking away several napkins covered in scribbled notes as he does. I will come to regret not sticking all of those napkins in my pockets later but for now I have only one thing on my mind. Actually two.
What the hell did I ever do to get on the Nice list this year? And, yeah. Pudding.
Have to remember the pudding.
I have no Idea what I could offer anyone here but caount me in. Any one want a new toaster?
The bar is strangely quiet now. The lustful moans and squeals of the pleasure table finally giving over into the quiet rasp of whiskey glasses across the aged bar. Slowly I crush my pipe out in the tray watching as each last ember falls dark. The bourbon tastes sharp and familiar as it runs across my tongue.
For the last month I have returned here each night, sitting quietly as the faded lamp behind me a shadowd figure at the end of the bar. A small grin plays across my face as I watch these wonderful people at play. I think of all the nights I have returned home after feeling the familiar bulge growing hard and uncontrollable needing its release. All the nights of finding her in the kitchen, the bedroom, reading or working in the greenhouse. Standing there looking at her reflecting all the lust and desire I had witnessed and seeing her own eyes brighten as she reads my mind. It is a power she has always possessed. One among many, such as the power she uses now to take me in her arms and turn me from man to beast, needing her hot body. Needing to tease it, possess it, punish it, please it, fill it with my lust, make it cum shaking for me, and scream for me. Breaking her beneath my hunger and the force of my thrusts even as I give her all of my strength and my soul. She has had my love and my trust and carries my heart ever since the day she called herself mine. She has never failed to excite me, satisfy me, or to cum for me giving me every ounce of her endless passion. She calls us magic and I believe her.
I toss a few bills across the bar for the tip and slide the pouch of tobacco into my jacket. Tonight she will be home. I can picture her lying on the couch wrapped in her favorite blanket. The lights will be off and the television playing some show I cannot understand or enjoy, but which I watch anyway since it brings me close to her. I think of her body now, soft and firm and always eager for my touch. I think of her lips which I cannot get enough of. A fact that she loves. I think of the taste of wine on those lips.
The scent of lust in the room merely heightens the need I feel for her right now. Her lips and her touch. Her perfect body pulling in into her and holding me tight urging me to take her from valley to peak and back for as long as we still have strength. I am hard and ache for the release only she can give me.
I yearn to become her beast once more.
Silently, my boots soft against the aged floorboards I take leave of the bar knowing I will be back again tomorrow night. I take one last breath of the heady scent of heat and sex. I close my coat against the cold outside and adjust my hat against the rain. I watch these beautiful people removing themselves from the wheel, their bodies glistening and spent. I smile and think of her body beneath me tonight filling our home with her scent.
I decide to pick up a merlot on the way home and let the door fall quietly behind me as I head off into the grey of the night.
I think it was wonderful. It should be sumbitted. Is this your first try at a story?
Although I've never taken a Yard of Ale….well maybe a pint at a time…I've no need to get that loaded with beer at one time. Aside from that all I happen to drink is Guiness and Sam Adams and those you do not guzzle. I do take a good look at those Boobs tho. Been a while since I've seen a set that welcoming.
As for the sax, I happen to have left mine at home and you all better count yourselves lucky.
As for me I sip my Wild Turkey and take in the view. My gaze happens to settle on the longest legs in the room. I smile gently, take off my hat and hang it up hoping I have found myself a home for the night.
It has been a long night and a longer day. The road is dark and lonely and the car is filled with the smell of old cigarrete smoke and empty except for the static of a far away country station desperate to reach me across miles of city. At this point I cannot tell who the hell is singing. Only that my eyes are stinging from too much time looking at pinpoints of light in the distance. I cannot say how many miles have passed but its been a long road. The night was a dark ribbon of highway. My only companion a busted radio and a pack of Marlboro's whose last survivor lies dying in between my fingers. The orange glow burns down to a nub and I toss it to the wind. The night is cold and lonely. A northrern chill coming down the streets to greet me . I slide the old car to a stop along the dity street. In the distance a dog barks. It is the kind of night I love. It suits my mood. Dark and silent like the first days must have been. A night where a man can be alone with his thoughts. Now thats the problem. Sometimes a man does not want to be alone with his thoughts. Sometimes those thoughts are like a numbing cold full of regrets and might-have-beens. A man reflects on failures and short-comings he does not want to be reminded of.
I look up at a glowing sign above a dark door. I close the car door behind me. The thud loud enough in this quiet to announce a man to the dead. The neighborhood is quiet. I like that . The door gives no hint of what is behind it. I like that too. I stand for a moment watching a glowing orange ember on the ground. Strange the way it draws me. I whisper something to it. To the flame it represents. To a small spirit of fire and silence in the night. My dad used to say that at night, in front of a fire, with all the old spirts out and listening a man just couldn't tell a lie. Not with the spirits listening. But for me I've had enough of truth for one day.
I head towards the door and reach for the handle. Rght now I need a beer, a bourbon, and a quiet hour to drink it in.
It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the light. Inside there is a man drenched in beer. I look away. None of my business. I look for a bar. I look for a bartender's questioning eyes. I spot an old cigarette machine. The kind that the powers that be have outlawed. The smile that passes my face as that small red and white box drops down is devilish – or angelic – depending. I approach the bar breathing in the smoke of another nail in my coffin. Like comes back into my blood. I absorb the sound of the jukebox and the vibe of the bar.
Howdy .
My name is ThunderSax…
and I'd love to buy everyone here a drink.
Personally I love Role-Playing. I would love to meet you online wot talk about it sometime. What Time Zone are you in?
With this story I would love her either to talk to him and maybe get a 3some going with a freind of his to get her pregnant. Or maybe a brother so the baby remains “in the family”. Cheating on him with his brother for the same reason would be interesting too. Neither wanting to hurt himm but her wanting to make him believe its his.
Options anyway.
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