EVERYTHING IS A FETISH
A person whom I shall call the Cherry-Vodka Zionist then stated that every time he's cruised in, the blog seemed devoted to panties and pipe-tobacco.
So, for both of them, and for you, a fetishizing of a spectrum. I hope that you can find yourself in at least one thing here, and I want you to tell me all about it. Please go ahead - wax lyrical.
I quiver with antici.... pation.
Her crepe-like skin was soft, and felt like washed silk; her eyes sparkled with a love of life. Insistently, her delicate-boned hands stroked the satin coverlet with a gentleness that belied their strength...... closer, closer.......
FAT MIDDLE-AGED PERSIAN HOMOSEXUAL
The roll of tanned stomach suggestively flowed over his taut waistband like a smooth golden pillow, tempting the fingers with an expanse of shiny black hair, like grass upon a hill-side. He shifted slowly and gracefully on the divan, and his eyes within their heavy lids sparkled with good-natured malice.
Roger admired the elegant profile of the bird, the downy stomach feathers, and the intelligent eyes of his newly acquired love-beast, and he yearned to stroke the narrow shoulders, pet the inviting curve of the lower abdomen.....
ANTIQUE CHERRY-WOOD CABINET
An expanse of cool and velvet wood, smoothed by the fond touch of generations, with a rich patina that called to mind the warm summer evenings long ago, when Adelbrecht would move silently through the darkened house, and rub his naked body over the heirloom furniture......
STAINED TABLE CLOTH
Afterwards, when the guests had all gone, Mohammed lowered his nose to the damask, and inhaled deeply of the wine-stains that suggestively blotched and spattered the fine fabric. A hint of rose, a berry-like sweetness, the warm nose-feel of tannins. His hands felt under the edge of the cloth, and, as if with a mind of their own, lifted it higher and higher. His eyes closed, and he imagined the cool bases of the now empty goblets pressed upon his own skin. Quivering, he slid to the floor, his knees having entirely failed him at this point.
In the evening Baruch would retire to the crepusculed sun room, to sit in darkness and run his finger tips over the rims of his porcelain collection, listening to the delicate pinging of glazes crackling further, as if the clay still remembered it's cooling from the kiln. The faintest glimmer of light reflected from a celadon treasure, a ghost-like glistening at the edge of vison. Ah, the moon-dust Ming plate! He truly loved the almost mentholated physicality that he felt whenever his breath misted over the semi-translucent surface. As he felt a trembling begin he gently put the beloved antique back down, scared that his quivering would sully the pale powder-velvet longuan iron oxide, or perhaps cause it to shatter into ten-thousand tempting fragments.
I shall stop here. It is for your well-being, as I fear that you cannot control yourself much longer. These descriptions probably excited you, and it is possible that you need a cold shower now. A nice long cold shower, the crystal clear water running in smooth hard rivulets over your skin, which tightens, perceptibly, as you let the comforting coolness seep into your bones and send thrills down your spine. The stroking streams of water flow between the pale digits of your hands and feet, seeming almost flesh themselves from the journey across your arms and legs, you can feel the droplets pearled upon your shoulders, the moistness in the back of the knees, the intense wetness of that cold, cold embrace.........
Labels: The Yeshiva