i can't breathe, let alone think of a subject

Gently Holmes captured my face, lifting it so that we were once again looking into each others' eyes. "John.... did you never wonder at my antipathy towards women? Nor notice how the very thought of touching their softness, of making love to them makes me ill?" He laughed softly, his thumbs brushing over my lips. "I find I crave a hardness and strength that can match my own - something that can only be obtained from someone such as yourself."

here.

and it gets better!

"This is neither the time nor the place to make love for the first time, but if I touch you again, I won't be able to stop."

I knew then what a woman must feel like, the first time she is ever truly kissed by a man, by one who is determined to possess her, body and soul. For myself, I felt something deep inside me uncurl, opening to that warmth, and there was a definite stirring in my loins.

hahahahahahahahaaah!

(no subject)

when the only things in the house which apparently want to be eaten are bread and cheese, cim is stuck mojo-less a paragraph and a half into a ten-page paper in her second language due today.

well, at least i've got some sources.

lalala. um, two pages is better than nothing? hem. man, the christmas tree they bought is just SO ugly. for seventy dollars, we could have, uhm, done something fun like seen ttt a bunch more times, and we could have used the old fake plastic tree which looked hardly any faker or more crappy. taped some green construction paper in it, maybe. green-dyed cotton balls. a whole lot of tinsel? how about no tree at all? or we could uproot all those baby pines in the yard which are like four inches tall each and hot-glue them in between the branches.

see, mojo abounds. i bet you i could draw zillions of cartoons. creativity is zapping and zinging. but it's not working for writing about nicolás guillén.

damn.

and look, i broke my rule and got online (because i'm eating lunch).

hmmmmm.

if anything is even further in the direction of lotr slash than lotr slash is, it's holmes/watson. how much further could one go into the essence of sexless homosocial british stuff? hmmmm. i'll let you know when i figure it out and meanwhile, i'll be reading stuff here in a futile search for something good rather than writing about negrism.

(no subject)

how vexatious. there are little bits of bread and provolone floating in my onion soup which i can't fish out.

on the less vexatious side, ttt in an hour and forty minutes. should i get dressed?

(tsk tsk. don't ask rhetorical questions.)