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xmag.com : December 2004: Before Afternoon


Ladies and gentlemen, over the past six years I have opened hundreds of letters containing god-awful erotic fiction that idiots submit to Exotic. Usually I just throw it all in the trash. How many times do we have to say it? Exotic DOES NOT accept fiction! However, this was the most unbelievably foul piece of crap ever to cross my desk, and I felt it only fair I share it with you. I have edited it as sparingly as possible. Happy Holidays.

Your Editor

Viva Las Vegas


Capsized in the frenzy of opalescence craving for a man. Undulating from the anticipation of fingered sweat all over the mountains of curvature and skin sensation. Clots of oppression shiver inside as the fire burns seething from desire within. So she puts on a second skin to prepare for outside exploring.

If only the outside could handle her naked presence. Legality is the mount of bondage with society. Exciting but this doesn't serve her purposes at the moment. The silent but seductive lace displaces not a fiber of her being as she so delicately slips the string underwear over her rose pink legs. Tenderly she moves in rhythmic waves as her soft breasts are cuddled in midnight blue satin. She sways humble with natural balance as one foot penetrates through the shear silk nylon. Her liquid begins to moisturize her fold's anticipation as the leg goes deeper into the fabric. She slowly lifts the other leg repeating the same lovely act of self-seduction. She then begins to pull the stockings up around her tender hips. With fingers so long and beautiful she slowly and intentionally moves her hands around her hot behind. "Underneath me," she thinks as the reflection shimmers back at her. "Underneath and inside me." She fantasizes the hopeful find of a partner, a man. She walks with a sense of weakness; getting dressed is so lustful. With this in mind she spots a modest dress, plain and conservative. "Perfect topping for watching," she thinks as the dress falls over the now concealed sexual craving.

Like clockwork with keys and purse, she leaves out the door locking with a kiss for protection. As she slides into the car her dress works past her wetness. She starts to pull the

dress down but stops remembering the delicious sensation of the dress sliding up. She starts to slide back and forth on the seat of her car. Without restraint her hand begins to softly finger her clitoris. Her insides shiver unpreceptable shocks of excitement. "The anticipation for a man," she moans as her hand leaves to place the key into the hole. The engine ignites in sequence with her orgasm.

The movement of the ride, slipping and sliding from one lane to another, warms her. The faces of so many sexual beings staring, cursing, bored, and unaware of being observed. The hunt for perfect virgin prey pulses deep inside her from the deep dark hole of creation, up along the electrical pulse of the spine into the tip of her tongue, and she tastes the drips of life. Her appetite increases as she nears her favorite hunting grounds. All types of beautiful silk covered wands, with bodies of boys and men, slim, full, strong and weak. The hands are so important to the touch. "I love the hand that touches me, the sound of the breath at climax, the movement of the body as it swims with me," she says out loud as she pulls the key out of the hole.

She puts on her wire frame glasses and steps out of the car. Her appearance is simple with a soft flowery pastel dress humming with the movement of her walk. Her shoes click a rhythm that the mariachi dancers use to warm up in the beginning of their seductive marching scene. Although she seems simple and somewhat prudish, her aura and charisma seethe out tendrils tickling the very backs of the crowd's ears. People of men stop in a pause of time as she walks by them. They shake their heads in question as to what possesses them at this moment. Her natural fragrance is the signal that pushes one particular gentleman to notice her passing by.

Calculations and schedules punch up on his pocket computer. Streams of reflective light parade and dance in his eyes. A subtle swish draws his vision away. The eyes attune with the ears as a simply dressed woman walks by. He looks back at his laptop, only to be drawn away again by some strange

internal sense. He watches the plain maiden slowly walk away through the park with a rhythmic "click it ti clock" of her dance. He feels the tip of his manhood inflate in response to this image of a woman simple and quaint. Internally instincts are triggered off by the silent scent of her sexual secretions. Her tendrils of aromatic energy stretch out and softly caress his quiet energy body, fluffing it out to extend towards hers. Without thinking, he starts to walk toward her. He suddenly realizes the vulnerable state of his protrusion and tucks it in an unnoticeable position. The touch shoots a shattering effect upon his body and he quietly exclaims "Holiahhaammm." No time to reason out this unusual sexual arousal. He quickly strides upon her path. He slows to the same pace and rhythm as her walk, to observe.

Before him is the soft movement of paced sensuality. Her legs sway the body in a measured gait. The hips move the motion of infinity, magnetizing his hips to hers. His breath chokes up from the fiery beat generating from the primal forces so long dormant. All he can do is follow. Confused within the man still follows the woman like a hopelessly possessed male, a homosapien with a desperate need to make love. As the pace of the follow increases so does the pounding heat between his legs. This kind of behavior was not him at all. She turns and glides into a store. He follows so discreetly as to be just within the field of her emanating aura.

The smell of fresh herbs and flowery essences rises inside her nostrils, filling her with a feeling of great refresh. She seems to stand in a pure moment, basking in the sensations that arouse her deep maternal oneness with the natural products in the store. In this silent space, which seems to hover right above the movement of time, a tingling shimmer runs down her shoulder and right into her womb. She feels someone looking at her. With a haunting knowlege of every calculated move, from this new discovery she manipulates her muscles in a sensuous way towards the tingle. There, a golden blond man with chiseled features and the twinkling green eyes of a virgin prince staring at her. He is dressed in a fine silk suit; his shoes are worn but newly polished. He cuddles a laptop computer down by his waist in front of his zipper. His hands are long and perfect, without callus or dryness and have the grace of healer's hands. His lips are swollen with thick wet softness. He stands there filling the room with an odd presence, as if not belonging in such a store, but belonging to her. Like x-ray vision her natural insight sees the gentle curve of his shoulders melting strongly from his beautiful neck. His chest is firm with form, begging liquid to be spread upon it. His waist and stomach do not lack attention for form, tight and firm in gentle slopes of strength. His legs are perfectly straight like the secret hidden by the laptop computer. She could detect some sinew shapes of grace as a dancer's legs portray. The fibrous light that seems to reach for her is pink and red with beautiful glowing hues of midnight blue. Her breasts yearn to be caressed by his energy through his hands and lips. She opens her field of energy to allow his to touch her heart. She looks up and gives a little smile.

As he sees her eyes for the first time his eyes grow wide. They are deep pools of shinny night with a sleepy cat like shape. Her race is that of an ancient race, of a long forgotten

exotic people smiling the pearls from a sea rich with oysters. His mouth opened ever so slightly feeling a tug at his throat. A chilling sensation warms down through his chest and enters his stomach. He feels his face rush up hot. A flash of white light blasts through as the sound of his pocket pager hacks away at his sensitive state. He reacts drastically, practically dropping his laptop computer and quickly grabbing at his pager, while the longing protrusion seems to swing in the way of his efforts.

She saw the wand she was after. There, before his body of perfect proportion was a wand of fire. Its majestic appearance etched it's image along the silk surface of his pants. It was a holy object, alive and undefiled, filled with the sacred elixir of immortal life. She knew the signs and omens of this moment and knowing her joining with this energy so right, and perfect. It would propel both of them into another dimension of ecstasy only a few ever experience. All the waiting and hunting had brought her this Atlantean God of pure pleasure.

She rushes up to catch his laptop before it flies onto the ground. With perfect timing her body projects out into his field of energy, latching onto the now crimson fibers projecting out from his abdomen. Her energy swirls intertwine with his. Winding explosions of purple and pink balls of light, with glittering golden flashes move along the surface of both of their bodies. Her body rushes even closer and he lifts up surprised to feel her press firmly up against him. Time stops with a void for experience seeming more than a second.

Slowly as one would savor fine wine on the pallett, the two bodies touched. Their auras swished together in a glowing mix. Hot physical breath of both lips draw in and out of each other's lungs. The life force exchanges in a touch of impact as her hand grasps for the computer and his hand lifts up with the pager. Electrical tendrils shoot up their arms as they push high and hard into the sacred objects of joining. Her hand grasps hard upon his fire wand with the computer falling in slow motion to the floor. His hand catches up under her dress, releasing the pager and feeling the warm moisture of her fruit. Their lips touch ever so slightly. The smell of them is heavy with want.

Crashing particles from the computer spread out as the beeping of the pager resigns to silence. The man and woman take in a huge breath of light and exhale shutters of orgasm, their hands being the connection for transference of their energies. They both lift their hands away through the thick atmosphere of dense vibrations. In unison they put the other

hand on the hand moist with their release and balanced, the transference into the whole body.

"Your computer, it's ruined. Your pager it's..."

"Julian, my name is Julian," said the man, before she could end her words.

"Fabrian," she softly whispered.

Julian brings down his sudden burst of ecstasy with a calming swallow and sighs. "Her voice so soft" he thinks.

"Oh, the computer, yes well, I'd better umm," he looks at her deep soul. "Fabrian, that name, it's, it's strange," he softly speaks.

Fabrian's eyes swim with a distant mystery echoing deep into his soul. His breathing becomes heavier as his heart begins to swell with indescribable yearning to dive within her life. He can feel his old self being ripped apart and redefined as he explores the avenues of his new (but old?) friend. There is something unexplained happening here and he knows it.

"Julian is a pretty name. J U L I A N." Fabrian slowly pronounces with the emphasis of a songbird voice from a dense forest uncharted by man. "Julian is gentle, yet speaks of ancient rulers that were just and fair," she softly says as she strokes her hand, never unlocking her gaze from his.

His pure and clear eyes too capture her as well. They change their colors from a soft green to an emerald blue color twinkling with a bit of shock, fear, and innocence. Yet there is a fire so deep and pure that it does not vibrate of lust but of love. Her womb grows warm and her heart feels like it is expanding outward past the confines of the store. His soul shines so brightly out that she twitches from the extraordinary amount of energy pouring into her own. She knows Julian, and well, from lifetimes upon lifetimes to the very one when the Gods split apart. He is her other half.

"Julian ask me out." She says it so quietly it seems inaudible.

As if in a deep hypnotic trance Julian responds, "Fabrian, will you go out with me?"

"Yes," she whispers.

They leave the computer and the now beeping pager behind. Those who witness the experience in the store stare with blank understanding. Only the lingering energy patterns seem to cloak the sacred moment of what happened. Everyone seems to feel it but only on an unconscious level for confusion has set in as to why the computer was left.

Why would someone leave an expensive computer and ignore their pager? People's values bring them to question what the worth of possessions are when in love. So profound a thought shortly computes then passes by as a breath, when the clerk comes to pick up the pieces.





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