Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Look at that by - (read ebook pdf .txt) 📖
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He stepped aside to let her come in. She fell into his arms, searching for his lips. He didn’t deny them to her, on the contrary he tucked into hers. They started to undress each other feverishly, their movements, al-though clearly influenced by movies, full of sincerity in their passion and lust, lust which however, while the two bodies were separate, seemed hidden away, need-ing them to be in close proximity to resurface. Did not the precarious and, therefore, incidental nature of the whole thing not shed, if not a lot, at least some light on the mechanics of desire? In other words, from the minute that the stimulus, let’s say the steaming plate of pasta, stopped being but a mere idea or a vision and transformed into an existing sight, the hunger, which up to that point was nothing but a manageable wor-ry, suddenly became gigantic, displaying demands that could not be postponed, Babis reflected, while he
Something similar, add here, happens with going for a wee too when you’re within shooting range of the toilet.
Simos Panopoulos - Look at that
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vainly struggled to undo her bra, until she had to lend him a hand herself. Only seconds earlier, he had his own close to her bust, sliding it under her blouse. His certainty that only a few inches higher and he would touch her two mounds, at the top of which the two nip-ples stood erect from the excitement like a couple of lightning rods, seemed, due to an extended period of erotic abstinence relatively groundless. Sort of like a surgeon, who, when vacationing in an exotic destina-tion, is urgently called upon to operate on a native and, despite everything he had learned in medical school, is overtaken by an unreasonable doubt of whether or not his scalpel has penetrated the expected organ.
Finally naked, they literally rushed towards the bed-room and literally dove into the familiar bed with the patterned sheets that they had bought together, on of-fer, from IKEA.
He would shut the computer down as soon as Lila jumped into the shower in a little while, he thought, just in case.
- Potentially racist.
- Take it up with the surgeon.
There goes the bra. He should have just slipped his hand in from the top.
+ (they were small in size)
- Oh, come now. How long had it been?
- Definitely about a year, at the end of the day.
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