She's decked out in one of those gypsy-looking dresses, hair hanging in tangled clumps down her back, wet with the sea. I'm chilling on the dunes, wondering whether I wanna go get to know her, when she bends down to pick up a piece of driftwood.
She glances over both shoulders as if to check whether the coast is clear. What in the...
Holy shit. No she is not. Oh my god. This isn't even right.
I can't take my eyes off it, though it's not remotely sexy. I can't stop watching because I can't stop thinking splinters. Jesus, how high can this chick be? I mean, yeah, driftwood can be smooth but it isn't smooth as say--no--better not say.
After about three minutes she goes rigid and still and I'm wondering why this shit always takes so much longer when more than one body is involved. For her part, she's just laying there and I can't help wondering what will happen if the Cleavers show up for an early fall stroll along the shoreline. This is priceless. Theater of the absurd.
Her dress is hiked up around her waist, the least inviting nakedness I've ever witnessed on display. I've got to get a pic of this.
But as I start to crest the dune the most bizarre thing I've ever witnessed, becomes the second most. Here comes a goddamn dog. Off-leash, and clearly intent on that driftwood, which--by the way--appears to still be firmly in place.
He trots right up. A big fucker with the hungry look of a stray about it. He grabs the end of the wood and start to shake it. Well that seems to be a wake up call! The hippie sea hag bolts upright and whacks the dog right on its nose. But it's one of those wimpy vegan whacks and it just pisses this mutt off. He forgets the stick, but lunges for her throat. She's high as a kite and flitting through her masturbatory afterglow and hasn't got the wherewithal to even raise her arm a second time.
Teeth sink into the soft flesh below her jaws and he shakes his head, tearing her so fast no scream can even escape. My blood runs cold and my feet run for my car.
Fuck, I shoulda known better than to think I could get some at that shitty cult beach.
She's decked out in one of those gypsy-looking dresses, hair hanging in tangled clumps down her back, wet with the sea. I'm chilling on the dunes, wondering whether I wanna go get to know her, when she bends down to pick up a piece of driftwood.
She glances over both shoulders as if to check whether the coast is clear. What in the...
Holy shit. No she is not. Oh my god. This isn't even right.
I can't take my eyes off it, though it's not remotely sexy. I can't stop watching because I can't stop thinking splinters. Jesus, how high can this chick be? I mean, yeah, driftwood can be smooth but it isn't smooth as say--no--better not say.
After about three minutes she goes rigid and still and I'm wondering why this shit always takes so much longer when more than one body is involved. For her part, she's just laying there and I can't help wondering what will happen if the Cleavers show up for an early fall stroll along the shoreline. This is priceless. Theater of the absurd.
Her dress is hiked up around her waist, the least inviting nakedness I've ever witnessed on display. I've got to get a pic of this.
But as I start to crest the dune the most bizarre thing I've ever witnessed, becomes the second most. Here comes a goddamn dog. Off-leash, and clearly intent on that driftwood, which--by the way--appears to still be firmly in place.
He trots right up. A big fucker with the hungry look of a stray about it. He grabs the end of the wood and start to shake it. Well that seems to be a wake up call! The hippie sea hag bolts upright and whacks the dog right on its nose. But it's one of those wimpy vegan whacks and it just pisses this mutt off. He forgets the stick, but lunges for her throat. She's high as a kite and flitting through her masturbatory afterglow and hasn't got the wherewithal to even raise her arm a second time.
Teeth sink into the soft flesh below her jaws and he shakes his head, tearing her so fast no scream can even escape. My blood runs cold and my feet run for my car.
Fuck, I shoulda known better than to think I could get some at that shitty cult beach.
LOL! just read that one out loud to my wife. She laughed her ass off.
400 words exactly = 1200 WPH, wow nice job Jess. Way to roll with a tough prompt. :D
Lol, I'm happy it brought some laughs. Can I please fix my typos now? I'm dying.
The contest was really fun though! What a great challenge. Never done anything similar and I'd definitely do it again :)
yeah go ahead, they're your words afterall.
beach
horny hippie chick
no men in sight