Thursday, October 13, 2005

Reflections

I came into your room while you were asleep, sat and watched your breasts rise and fall gently in the moonlight. After a while your breathing quickened slightly, and you seemed somehow disturbed. I ran my fingers lightly through your hair until you settled, then sat for a while longer bathing in reflected moonglow, kissed you once on the lips, stole a handful of your underwear, and was gone.

Henry did not write this.

6 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

please feel free to visit anytime

6:52 pm  
Blogger Lorraine said...

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12:14 am  
Blogger Lorraine said...

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12:19 am  
Blogger Ben said...

Thanks.
I imagine it takes something more than a sense of humour and a reasonably functional brain.

There's the ability to construct a story and make it work for all those pages. I think that probably requires organizational skills of some kind. There's the little thing of actually writing the novels, then the much bigger thing of getting out and selling them.

6:18 am  
Blogger Lorraine said...

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6:57 am  
Blogger Ben said...

Yeah, well I don't think of it as art, don't think of it as anything much really except something I'm doing for fun.

Anyway I have google adsense earning me about a cent per day. Now I'm not much good at maths, but I think this means that around about the time that hell freezes over Google will send me a cheque. And that will make it all worthwhile :)

7:53 am  

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