I Talk, You Listen.
Monday, June 14, 2004

WHAT IS YOURS; WILL SOON BE MINE.

i'm not a sexist pig but some people aren't gonna like this post, but what the heck.

time for me to write something controversial.

aren't we men just fascinated with bras? i'm not horny, i'm just stating facts. girls, take heed:

a) men are not interested in your bra, it's your cleavage, dear. or what they hold inside.
b) balance. in all things, balance must endure.
c) psychotomimetic drugs don't work on me no more.
d) basically it's your bosom that we want. so, why am i talking about bras again?
e) it's one of the very few things we have in common - interest.
f) boobs. boobs. boobs. dexterity +3.
f) hey, don't blame us. we give you all the attention you want.

and of course, keep up the good work.




hanged out in a kewt lecturer's room for a while today. okay, okay, don't get too excited. i hanged around outside. in truth, i had to copy down some solutions posted on the door. actually, my mathematics ('probability' to be exact...)lecturer posted some tutorial solutions. why couldn't they just upload it to the internet or use the university's mailbox extravaganza? maths isn't my personal fan-vourite for all time, no. so, travelling to the room was like an ordeal for me.

instead of meeting with the lecturer that i was supposed to be looking for, i met another who shares the same room with her. gluons, quarks and quantum physics brought us together some time back. like the theory of relativity, our distance was dependent on personal perspective. the more i admired from afar, the further it seemed. she oozed charm and petiteness every time she spoke. classes seemed to last forever.

i walked towards the room. someone walked towards the same the opposite way. ignored. the little shadow from the corner of my eye played tricks on me. suave atmosphere as my nose tingled at the scent of perfume. air breathed in as i neared the door. writing utensil equiped for contact with paper. file down. stranger closes. oh, shucks. tincture in the walkway. sense of smell dwinding. passive. an inch more. in a fraction of a second; there she was, at the exact moment i reached. time stood still as she locked her keys to the keyhole. there was a vacuum of doubt in the air between she and i. my eyes glued to her face; hers still glued to to the keyhole as she struggled to work it. take it calmly, i told myself. wind blew her hair and brushed against her milky estrogenic face. my veins couldn't stand the pressure much longer.

she made it.

looked at me as she entered.

and she smiled.

i smiled back.

no prizes to who she was, eh?
posted by onions at 06:39

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