"father time meets mother tongue"
... in the totally sexist version
(Munday: examine your "special" relationship with dear ol' mom)
It happened one night many, many full moons back. A creamy-cheesy moonie glow illuminates the grass-roofed savanna cat houses in East Gondwanaland. Father Time, in the buffed out and retooled latest version of a human thingy, model male, is sitting on a rock. Not doing much, just waiting for some action.
Enter Mother Tongue, a girl with more syllables than a spreadsheet has cells to count them with. She stops beside the rock and winks at Father Time. He winks back. She raises one brow, then the other. He rolls his head in one direction, then the other. She does a little turn and shakes the booty of her beast. He watches, smiling, then looks skyward and raises both his arms in silent exaltation.
This pantomime continues for a few more minutes, then stops as both Time and Tongue, waiting for no gland, stare deep into the other's eyes, both wondering what will happen next. Then she leans in, her lovely Momma lips just inches from his mouth. She lays a soft hand on his thigh and his mouth springs open wide, like the top lid of the human thingy, model male, trash can.
Then her warm and wanton word-soaked tongue slides deep into his mouth and starts to tap the inside panels of his teeth like she's playing a now-wet calcium marimba. His eyes begin to spin, like two pinwheels in a breeze. Then Mom leans back and smiles as "Holy ... mother ... fuck" pops out the word-pie hole of Father Time, like the words have been waiting since many, many full moons back, to finally be free.
"Sooo, what's shakin' MOMM-A?" Father Times says smiling, so happy with this new addition to his human thingy, model male, routine.
Mother Tongue shakes her head and walks on, muttering: "What have I done?"
20120514 19:42 Mon (302 words)
(Munday: examine your "special" relationship with dear ol' mom)
It happened one night many, many full moons back. A creamy-cheesy moonie glow illuminates the grass-roofed savanna cat houses in East Gondwanaland. Father Time, in the buffed out and retooled latest version of a human thingy, model male, is sitting on a rock. Not doing much, just waiting for some action.
Enter Mother Tongue, a girl with more syllables than a spreadsheet has cells to count them with. She stops beside the rock and winks at Father Time. He winks back. She raises one brow, then the other. He rolls his head in one direction, then the other. She does a little turn and shakes the booty of her beast. He watches, smiling, then looks skyward and raises both his arms in silent exaltation.
This pantomime continues for a few more minutes, then stops as both Time and Tongue, waiting for no gland, stare deep into the other's eyes, both wondering what will happen next. Then she leans in, her lovely Momma lips just inches from his mouth. She lays a soft hand on his thigh and his mouth springs open wide, like the top lid of the human thingy, model male, trash can.
Then her warm and wanton word-soaked tongue slides deep into his mouth and starts to tap the inside panels of his teeth like she's playing a now-wet calcium marimba. His eyes begin to spin, like two pinwheels in a breeze. Then Mom leans back and smiles as "Holy ... mother ... fuck" pops out the word-pie hole of Father Time, like the words have been waiting since many, many full moons back, to finally be free.
"Sooo, what's shakin' MOMM-A?" Father Times says smiling, so happy with this new addition to his human thingy, model male, routine.
Mother Tongue shakes her head and walks on, muttering: "What have I done?"
20120514 19:42 Mon (302 words)