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From: "Stasya Canine" <stasya@counsellor.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP - Simile Sally - MF 'bad metaphor challenge' - Stasya T. Canine
Date: Mon, 15 Jul 2002 08:10:04 -0400
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per Souvie's request in ASSD.  <vbg>
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<1st attachment, "simile-sally.txt" begin>

OK, here's how this one got started.

The following list was posted to alt.sex.stories.d:
---

From: dennyw at zipcon.net
Subject: {ASSD} Wonderfully Bad Metaphors & Similes
Date: Sun, 26 Dec 1999 05:55:57 GMT

       The Top 20 Bad Romance Novel Metaphors or Similes

20 His body was hard -- not hard like Milosevic, the Serbian
    strongman, but hard like the marble on your shower floor,
    when you fall and bang your knee.

19 Her shoulders heaved like the tiny sobs of Snuggles the cat
    being run through with a roasting spit.

18 Her embrace made his manhood swell like week-old roadkill on
    hot asphalt in the Georgia sun.

17 Her petticoats dropped to the ground, rustling like a
    cockroach in a sugar bowl.

16 As she kissed her way down his manly chest, he felt his
    Amalgamated Crane Company stock increasing in value.

15 Beatrice was on him like a piranha on a corn dog.

14 ...then he kissed her, like a butterfly kisses the windshield
    of a Porsche on the Autobahn.

13 Her breasts heaved like a stormy ocean, and her pointed
    nipples were like hypodermics washed up on the shore.

12 With his broad shoulders and slim waist, he was a yield sign
    -- yet she could NOT!

11  He tore open her blouse like a Publisher's Clearing House
    letter in which he, and some guy named Steven Bouber from
    Stockton, California, were potential finalists for the ten
    million dollar prize.

10 His manhood stood at full attention, stiff and stony like the
    vice president.

 9 Sleekly malevolent, driven by a violent hunger, Donovan glided
    through the chum-filled waters of the singles bar,
    oblivious to the remora of Annabelle's adoring gaze.

 8 Like the wind, she ran, her breasts lurching like a motor boat
    over a wake, and then, as fluid as a fine imported transmission,
    she whipped out her man-organ and pissed away his dreams.

 7 Her sun-glazed back formed a golden arch as he moved his face
    toward her happy meal.

 6 With each breath, her chest heaved like a bulimic after
    Thanksgiving dinner.

 5 He Beatty-ed her shamelessly, making her squeal like Ned
    and hallucinate like Warren.

 4 He awoke my slumbering womanhood with his double tall loin
    latte.  "Starbuck!" I cried.

 3 His chest was her pillow, and oh, did she drool.

 2 Claire felt swept away by this dark stranger, a helpless dust
    bunny in the roaring cacophony of his gas-powered leaf
    blower.

and Topfive.com's Number 1 Bad Romance Novel Metaphor or Simile...

1 His finger, weathered and rough from years on the ranch,
    danced in and out of his nose like a slimy ballerina.(By Chris
White)
---------

Then Denny tossed out a challenge.  Write a story using ALL of those...

Well, I did.
---

Simile Sally
by Stasya T. Canine
---

Sleekly malevolent, driven by a violent hunger, Donovan glided through the
chum-filled waters of the singles bar, oblivious to the remora of
Annabelle's adoring gaze.

Annabelle smiled as she tippy-toed past the drunks while on her way to meet
Donovan.  She was very impressed with him.  His body was hard -- not hard
like Milosevic, the Serbian strongman, but hard like the marble on your
shower floor, when you fall and bang your knee. She shivered as she
remembered their first time together.  'I'll never forget how he awoke my
slumbering womanhood with his double tall loin latte.  "Starbuck!" I
cried.'

As the two of them snuck towards their illicit rendezvous in the public
toilet, Donovan savored his memories of the last time they met.  Just
remembering her embrace made his manhood swell like week-old roadkill on
hot asphalt in the Georgia sun.

As they met and savored their illicit meeting, Annabelle smiled coyly as
her petticoats dropped to the ground, rustling like a cockroach in a sugar
bowl.  Her shoulders heaved like the tiny sobs of Snuggles the cat being
run through with a roasting spit as she thought of what he was about to do
to her.

She murmurred words of endearment as his finger, weathered and rough from
years on the ranch, danced in and out of his nose like a slimy ballerina.
Lost in a haze of lust, she stared at him and hungered for his body.  With
his broad shoulders and slim waist, he was a yield sign  -- yet she could
NOT!

Donovan smiled knowingly at her hesitation.  He tore open her blouse like a
Publisher's Clearing House letter in which he, and some guy named Steven
Bouber from Stockton, California, were potential finalists for the ten
million dollar prize.

He waited and watched as her breasts heaved like a stormy ocean, and her
pointed nipples were like hypodermics washed up on the shore.  Grinning at
her flirting ways, he waited until his manhood stood at full attention,
stiff and stony like the vice president... then he kissed her, like a
butterfly kisses the windshield of a Porsche on the Autobahn.

He laughed as Annabelle grinned up him with lust in her eyes.  As she
kissed her way down his manly chest, he felt his Amalgamated Crane Company
stock increasing in value.

Finally, as they fell towards the floor where the tiles gleamed like the
misty pictures taken by Hubble's blind eye, he Beatty-ed her shamelessly,
making her squeal like Ned and hallucinate like Warren.

"On your knees," he commanded harshly.  Willingly, she complied.  Her
sun-glazed back formed a golden arch as he moved his face toward her happy
meal.

Eyes glazed, she felt herself drawn into her orgasm.  With each breath, her
chest heaved like a bulimic after Thanksgiving dinner.

Satiated, they rolled over and relaxed together.   His chest was her
pillow, and oh, did she drool.  "Soon?"  She whispered in his ear.

He nodded.

Half-asleep, he was awakened by a spiked heel in his groin.  Looking
through barely open eyes he realized that Beatrice was on him like a
piranha on a corn dog.

Fully awake at the chance to satisfy himself again, he chased her out into
the alley.

Like the wind, she ran, her breasts lurching like a motor boat over a wake,
and then, as fluid as a fine imported transmission, she whipped out her
man-organ and pissed away his dreams.

He sighed.  Frustrated, he stalked back into the bar.  Without paying
attention to what she looked like, he grabbed the first woman he saw and
started carrying her to the toilet.  "You're coming with me."  He growled.

Lost in a boozy haze, Claire felt swept away by this dark stranger, a
helpless dust bunny in the roaring cacophony of his gas-powered leaf
blower. "Maybe he's the one," she thought to herself as she puked down his
back.
 ---

Stasya T. Canine
December 26, 1999
Effective August 9, 2001: 
I, Stasya T. Canine, release the work 'Simile Sally' to the public domain.

<1st attachment end>


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