serie
Non sempre molto serie, ma sempre molto
Esercizi di stile
Stasera è la sera giusta. Appena sotto le coperte il vostro partner vi inizia a stuzzicare …
(spunto)
Sviluppi:
- Variante A;
- Variante B;
- Variante D;
- Variante E;
- Variante F;
- Variante R;
- Variante S;
Variante E
Si è appena infilata sotto il letto, dandomi la schiena. Allungo la mano per una palpatina alle sue meravigliose natiche. Trovo la pelle nuda. Sorrido. Mi volto, la abbraccio, mi stringo a lei, tutto il corpo premuto contro il suo, il mio pene morbidamente incastrato tra le sue chiappe. Le carezzo la coscia, il fianchi, il ventre; la mia mano si intrufola su per la felpa del pigiama, fino alla morbida curva della mammella; la prendo tra le dita, la carezzo, affondo le dita nella carne, le sfioro appena il capezzolo —è presto, ancora—, scivolo via verso l'altra mammella, mi incanto nella valle tra le due, mi fermo, sospiro, le bacio il lobo dell'orecchio.
Mi fermo un attimo a riprendere fiato. Due secondi dopo, siamo entrambi nel mondo dei sogni.
E come Esausti
Prologue
The feeling, while unusual, was not unfamiliar. He remembered having experienced something similar years before, in the hallucinations of high fevers as a child: the environment around him suddenly becoming unstable, lengths getting stretched out, the door of the bedroom suddenly impossibly far away, while the darkness collapsed around him. He closed his eyes, feeling the head spin, gravity betraying him even as he was lying on the bed: he stretched out his arms, grabbing to the side of the mattress, as if to hold on, prevent an impossible fall. And yet the sensation was just that, falling down, sliding away, despite the rock solid, steady feeling of his hands clutching on the rims. He tried opening his eyes again, seeking at least a visual anchor, but the nauseating wooziness of the walls and wardrobe forced him to shut them tightly again.
His mind sunk into desperation, holding him back, depriving him even of the will to move, roll, find a better position, or even breathe too heavily, in fear that any sudden movement, or even any movement at all, would make everything even worse.
It'll pass, he tried rationalizing in his mind. I ate something that is making me horribly sick, I'll just wait for it to pass, at least this wave, and then I'll stand up, go take something in the bathroom to feel less sick, or at least try to sleep.
He finally found the courage to move carefully, a leg out of bed, then the other, standing up unsteadily, holding on to the nearby dresser, then onto the wall. Is this how it feels when you're drunk, he found himself wondering, a hand grabbing firmly onto the door frame of the bathroom, the other reaching for the light switch.
And then, as his hand slips from the frame and he loses his balance, collapsing sidewise, he has barely the time to think «Oh no» as he slips out of consciousness as well, long before any impact, his mind drowning in a neverending falling sensation, a dreamless, timeless state, with sporadic, scattered perceptions barely managing to leave trace in his memory: darkness, dampness, unrecognizable grunts and shrieks that ought to be voices, motion, screeching sounds, and then suddenly peace, and quiet.