I feel you!!

Falling inlove rocks!!!!

Falling inlove when all the odds are stacked against you sucks!

Visiting your sister after a long time ROCKS!!!

Remembering why you don't visit more often SUCKS

The Devil's Advocate- Morris West

Maybe, if I played for that team

ok, this is my new angry song! Nothing like screaming, "you're about to get your *** kicked by a girl" to get my point across, don't you think.

Huni, you rock!! Feeling some serious girl power tendencies coming on

Yes, please!!

You're a singer? Awesome!!!
I always choose the type of songs I know they hate the most, and really belt them out. And I don't have the best voice in the world, so its really painful!

I sing... LOUD!!! and clean the kitchen. No other room in the house, just the kitchen.

Beautiful story!

Single, but not available... Yet.

Thank you.

Big brown eyes stare up at you in fear. Innocence. It arouses you as the monster wakes from it's slumber, hungry and demanding to be fed. Her fear, the smell of it, makes you shake with desire.

Even as she writhes in pain, you quiver with pleasure. Tears run down soft, pale cheeks and you lean down to lick them off her face. Their salty taste on your tongue is an aphrodisiac, adding a new layer of urgency to your quest to reach that peak. Your quest to dominate even as you destroy.
Your body tightens and you cry out with the strength of it; a pleasure so absolute, it could be pain. Wave after wave rushes through you. You forget the shaking body beneathe you, she is no longer important. This spark, this flame, this fire in your veins commands your body until you think you might die from this feeling.
And then the tidal wave of desire ebbs. It ends.

The monster, sated, curls up and sleeps. Once again, you are just a man.
You slink away, back into the shadows from which you emerged.
The boogeyman is real, and he doesn't live under the bed.

I agree. I read somewhere that, "telling someone you love them just so you can sleep with them is the same as rape. Deception is emotional rape".

Maybe I should explain the reasoning behind my name, afriQueen22: afri(can)= that's what i am, Queen= female, 22= my favourite number.
Not all of us refer to ourselves as queens because we deem ourselves to be above and better than others. I am not high maintenance, actually I don't require maintenance at all.
That being said, you've given me alot to think about. Should I be insulted when he calls me a queen?

There he is. Cool and casual, he stands at the front of the church. Their eyes meet. Her heart trips and starts, spluttering like an old engine and then suddenly revving to life, full of all the love she feels for him.

They could have been alone. With his eyes on hers, she couldn't see anyone else anyway. Her thoughts were of him; not of the white dress she wore nor were they of the marriage after the wedding. Just him. Always him. If she hadn't already known she loved him, there would be no denying it after today.
This single moment had fire curling in her belly, and a pleasant warmth spreading throughout her limbs. A single moment that erased many before and would likely never be dimmed by any thereafter.
Even as her heart fills, it shatters. She couldn't love him anymore. She'd long ago given up on trying to love him any less.

The wedding march begins. Smartly dressed guests fill the pews of the church. Some friends. Some family. Her gloved hand rests on her father's arm. Slowly, they make their way towards her future.

"There he is," she thinks again as tears threaten to blur her vision. There he is. The man she loves, standing beside the man she is going to marry.

First of all, this makes it seem like money and age are the determining factors of someone's personality and the way they treat others. I think we can all agree that the first guy was a jerk, rich or poor, 35 or 25, he's just an idiot. The younger guy might've already discovered that there's a certain way you treat women i.e with respect and that has more to do with his level of maturity than his age or what he owns. I think we've all met grown boys. Men who choose to act their shoe size. It's not about what he has or how old he is, but who he is (I'm not talking about fame). Call me idealistic and romantic but honestly, since when did love get so calculating?

I think to a certain extent, you don't choose the people you fall for but thereafter, you choose what you do about it.
I'm not saying that she's wrong or right, it just occured to me that there's two-sides to a story, and "the other woman" isn't always the vindictive jezabel we like to think she is. What you saw in him, she sees too.

As the sheets cool on his side of the bed, your heart aches for the man you love completely, who will never be completely yours. His place is in another's bed; in another's arms. To her, he will belong forever. To you, for just a few stolen moments.

Sometimes love trickles in slowly, unnoticed until it is too late. Other times it comes as an explosion, leaving you with your ears ringing laying flat on the ground. You're still on the ground. By the time his commitment to another was revealed, you'd fallen too far. So you used the ringing in your ears to drown out your conscience. You didn't want to think of the family that even now, he still loves. The family he will never leave.
In those precious hours when it was just the two of you laying limbs entangled on your bed; it was easy to lose yourself in that sexual haze, to pretend his family didn't exist.
With his warm body next to yours, you could convince yourself that there was just the two of you, the rest of the world was elsewhere.

Too soon though, for it is always too soon, he has to go. The world might've been forgotten but it was always there, knocking steadily and waiting patiently to make it's entrance into the cocoon you had woven around yourselves.

When he's gone, the ringing stops and uninvited come images of his life away from you. Her head resting on his shoulder during the evening news; their little liitle girl snuggling on her daddy's lap without a care in her world. A world you will never be a part of.

And the tears come. For the man you love completely, who will never be completely yours.