In My Head

Three days and counting after PPS goes down, and for some strange reason I feel disconnected from the rest of the blogiverse. There's the blogroll, but for now at least, gone is my ability to analyse and "feel" trends in the posts. It's strange because this is what it was like BEFORE PPS, and I should be used to it. How quickly we forget.

This came sometime last night:

She was warm and wet, just the way Cheshire liked it. He let himself soak in her warmth, feeling the slick heat wash over his senses. As he plunged yet again into her, Cheshire absentmindedly swept a lock of damp hair from her eyes with one hand. He liked it when they looked at him like that. Oddly, he fancied he could feel the slight flutter of her heart under his moving fingers. This elicited a chuckle from his currently well shaped mouth (a rare and ugly sound), since it was impossible. He'd already taken it out to put into his Coleman CoolMax along with her eyes. Cheshire smiled, satisfied. Things were starting to get funnier every day, but some things never changed, not even in this new millennium. They got smarter, but easier to catch.

She had wanted him so badly at first (as they all had), the both of them barely able to contain their passion as they entered the small, well furnished apartment. He remembered how they both stumbled their way onto the sofa, her breath coming in gasps as he whispered the things he intended to do to her, and how she blushed. She blushed as he nibbled her earlobes, blushed as his hands freed her straining, youthful breasts from her clothes. Then she started moaning as his fingers worked under her skirt, making her tell him to do things she'd never even knew she wanted. Cheshire always marveled at the human ability to assign so many sounds to a single act, but he didn't complain. He never did.

And after they had rutted, like animals, and she was cooing sweet nothings into his ear (you were the best, Chesh, the best) he had smiled (his impossible one, the one with too many teeth) and then she had stopped cooing, and started bleeding. He remembered how she had parted twice for him that night, once between her legs (where even God knew she needed it) and once more from her navel to the collarbone. A straight, clean cut that spouted a crimson stream into his face and opened her up like a blazing little flower.

He'd been called many names in the past and had forgotten almost all of them, except this one and Jack. He preferred Cheshire, actually (since it sounded so innocent, even Alice had said) and used Jack only when he was feeling frisky. As he walked out of the dark apartment, careful to leave a light on (even the dead get afraid of the dark) Cheshire the Cad thought he had had a good day indeed.

And Alice, when he finally found her, would make an even better one.
You can bet your jubblies on that, he thought.