My apologies to all and especially to Xoe. The tale will be up no later than Friday. I have been off dealing with some personal issues the last week. But all is well now (at least I hope) and I am back in the game.
Xander "Wild man" Craving a Creative Outlet - 16 years, 3 months, 16 days ago

Congratulations to Xoe on the auction! Her assignment for me? "On the Beauty of Sin"...should be interesting, eh? LOL
Well, since I have so much experience and such numerous thoughts on the subject (let's face it: sin is on my mind 23hrs a day...I DO have to sleep sometime) I am going to estimate a 2-3 day turnaround on the tale. Check back, everyone. I've got a feeling about this one. :)
Xander "Wild man" Craving a Creative Outlet - 16 years, 3 months, 24 days ago

Yet another Tale auction! Hope people are as interested as last time. Looking forward to writing about your ideas!


Xander "Wild man" Craving a Creative Outlet - 16 years, 3 months, 29 days ago

**Here it is: the tale for which Yo won the auction...subject? The "mystery" of me. Who I am, why I am that person (partially, at least). Basically, just another piece to the puzzle that is Xander. Hope you like it, Yo. And I hope it opens yet another window on the the twisted workings which rule my personalities. **

LardAss Doesn't Live Here Anymore
(examining my ego and coddling my confidence)

The shivering shakes grab hold of my body like an SS stormtrooper in the Warsaw ghettos, unyielding, towering, malevolent. Within seconds, my shirt is a mass of soggy rags, sweat crashing from my pores in foaming breakers, hair a sopping, dirty mop plastered in unruly strips across my forehead. There are no words, no sounds, nothing that I can force in any semblance of intelligence between my numbed and quivering lips. That first flash of fear glimmers fleetingly across the eyes of the person before me, most likely wondering if whatever depraved illness is wracking my innards is contagious .Or perhaps if I indeed checked myself out of the psychward A.D.A. earlier that day, meds left forgotten and uningested somewhere in my cluttered room, walls plastered to within an inch of their life with heinous diagrams of fiendish, degenerate sex acts. My deep-rooted phobia of small-talk, especially with women, exposing itself, raincoat swept wide, in strange and frightening ways that alienate me even before I speak a word. Medications are now readily available for what has been termed Social Anxiety Disorder, but I highly doubt that it would work for me. I know the beast that stalks to and fro behind the bars of my mind, ready to ravage any situation in which I must talk to strange new people. Not the tiger or frothing dog that you imagine, but a fat kid still living in my adult body, squatting somewhere he doesn’t belong, hurling his sucked-clean chicken legs and empty Snack Pack pudding cups at any new self-image that tries to move in. All the relentless attacks of elementary and middle school, the names, the rejections have stunted him, severely disabling his belief in the general kindness of those better looking or thinner than him. The dirty little bastard just wont get out, barricading the doors and squinting through the tiny bits of windows he has left himself, hating and fearing those outside and holding me hostage in the process. I can almost feel his pudgy little hand slide over my mouth, the stink of pork rinds ground into his meaty fingers, as soon as someone new turns to me and opens their mouth to chat. One of these days, I’ll slip the little shit and kick his ass to the curb and there will be no shutting me up. I’ll be suave, God-dammit!
Xander "Wild man" Craving a Creative Outlet - 16 years, 4 months, 4 days ago

Hidden Treasures
(Asea in memory, frantically beating back the sharks)

Dark downcast Hispanic eyes brooding over the clasp, she bit into her lower lip, a pink morsel of her flesh stretched ever so sweetly. Coppery skin a dark, exotic rum for my intoxication and anticipation spilled over as her fingers fought amid her chest, arms pressed in, mashing her thinly-veiled flesh together. The most monumental tiny click shatters the world and time devours itself as a shining satin black bra with crime-scene yellow roses drifts to my floor. My eyes trace the subtle shift in color, the golden skin beneath seeming to glow from within, smooth, flawless. They float almost effortlessly, yet with the weight of God himself, teardrops molded in flesh, rolling down the cheeks of creation. An immaculately placed freckle nestles in the humble beginnings of a curve just to the right of center. Her smooth bubblegum pink nipples shrink, shuddering in on themselves as I watch, knotting into tightened bullets aimed at my self-control and there is nothing else to do. Their warm, buttery softness seems to melt in my hands, phantasms meant only to taunt me, slipping like smoke through my kneading fingers, yet there is the tickle of stiffened points against my palm and her velvety skin grazing my fingers. The dream was real, these most beautiful breasts I had ever seen. A reason to fear that perfection is possible.


Xander "Wild man" Craving a Creative Outlet - 16 years, 4 months, 13 days ago