Recursion

Haz 9, 2024 // By:admin // No Comment

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RECURSION 1. A backward movement, return. Now rare or Obsolete

1616 BULLOKAR Eng. Expos., Recursion, a running backe. 1660 BOYLE New Exp. Phys. Mech. xxvi. 203 The Recursions of that Pendulum which was swinging within the Receiver. 1677 GILPIN Demonol. (1867) 237 Our passions in their workings do depend upon the fluctuations, excursions, and recursions of the blood and animal spirits. 1720-1 Lett. fr. Mist’s Jrnl. (1722) II. 33 The present melancholy Prospect of the Recursion of the South-Sea Tide. 1830 T. TAYLOR Argts. Celsus 23 The doctrine..that in long periods of time, recursions and concursions of the stars, conflagrations and deluges take place.

[The names have been changed to shelter the guilty]

She listens fretfully for the closing of the front door. When he leaves, she slithers from the tangled sweaty sheets that wrapped the hours of her fevered dreams. Scurrying down the stairs, she glances at the grey silent screen as she scrambles for the toilet and that first sweet release of the day. Sitting in the tiny toilet, she recalls her fingers dancing among the keys in the early morning hours– bringing desolate pleasure to the unfelt crowd, donning the familiar guise once again. Tears of frustration prick behind her closed eyelids. She knows that she has trudged the worn path to the abyss for the last time.

At first she seemed to have stumbled into the place she had been seeking when she began her furtive poking and prying. There was the sweet promise of “your deepest longings and unacknowledged needs realized in firm and gentle hands”. The site was filled with tantalizing glimpses of all she had denied for so many years. At last she sensed that she was no longer alone. Knowing her true identity was locked behind her firewall, she took her first fatal step. Plunking down the three-month fee for a gold membership (all her over-stretched credit limit would allow), she began. She resurrected a name from her past that recalled a time when she felt cherished and she began to weave a mixture of truth and lies around her new self – choosing to stay in the hidden security of erotic email exchange and phone fantasy. To begin she merely filled in the standard forms, – height, hair color, shaved? – without giving much thought to the effect of her answers on others. It felt so good to be able to admit that she liked anal penetration ‘a lot!’ but was only ‘a little’ interested in enemas and douches and she could honestly state ‘I just say no to fisting’. She allowed herself to abandon all pretense for a time.

But soon she began to study her profile with a more critical eye. She was shocked to see her ‘little’ experience with sex during menstruation (a reality for nearly all women at one time or another) transformed Betturkey into a stated preference for it. Her eyes were drawn to the occasional grammatic or spelling error and, unable to quell the need to appear flawless, she ammended and polished and corrected hour after hour on her first day. Time flowed around her as she explored every aspect of the site, rolling her fingers across the trackball and clicking here and there with quick stabs at the mouse. Isolated phrases caught her eye – find someone kinky, broadcast and watch others, interact now! She browsed the member listing, puzzling at the strange names, smiling occasionally to herself at a clever turn of phrase or making a moue of derision at the ‘hardcock487’. As 5 o’clock approached, she glanced frequently outdoors and turned her head from the screen, listening for the unmistakable sound of the big Harley engine turning into the street. Closing the explorer window with a firm click of the mouse, she arose to start dinner.

As soon as the lock clicked Tuesday morning, she was at the keyboard, not even stopping to fix her customary breakfast of banana and cereal. Five new messages! Quickly she clicked to learn who had stopped to write to her, curious to learn whether she had pleased. The names scrolled down the screen – **dom594, needtofuck69, ladiesman . . . , each accompanied by the thumbnail flash of cock and balls. Moving her cursor to the message titles, she began to read . . . “personal satifaction and gratification”, “dominant, demanding and assertive”, “trust and desire” were interspersed with “you at my feet”, “my cock in your ass”, “my cum in your mouth”. Sighing in disappointment, she closed the window and returned to her profile, determined once again to find the secret that would draw the right moth to her flame.

She re-read the checklist: personal information, physical information, additional questions, personality test, purity test, fetish checklist all complete. The cursor hovered over ‘upload a photo’. Here was her first real chance to confront her deepest fear. Shrugging to herself, she pressed the button, thinking that she could always change her mind. She was greeted with the admonishment “your profile is viewed 3 times more often if you attach a photograph”. This confirmed for her the knowledge of a lifetime – pretty is what it’s about! She thought about her life in the last twelve years – facing the challenges of returning to full-time education at one of the world’s most prestigious universities at the age of 40, spending long hours in the library and the lecture hall, subsisting catch-as-catch-can on vending machine snacks and high-caffeine drinks, she had let her once-trim body deteriorate. Her Betturkey Giriş dark hair was streaked with the hereditary gray around her face – she no longer could afford to have it dyed every month as she had done since it had first lightened at twenty-two. She thought about the eyes of fellow travellers that passed over her unseeing each day on her bus journey into work. She thought of all these things and she made a decision.

Reacing to the shelf behind her she removed the photo album and began to turn the pages, carefully critiquing each pose. Here – her hair was messy, there – the camera shook. Finally she had narrowed her choices to a handful of prints she was satisfied with. There were two in particular that she returned to again and again. One, taken in the hot Texas sun, showed a woman she was proud of – straightforward honest gaze and no pretense of makeup or fancy clothes. It was the image of herself she carried in her mind’s eye despite the evidence of her mirror. This was the way she wanted to be seen first!

The second photograph, a candid shot of her in the bath, was the only one she had of herself without clothes. She was never comfortable with nude shots of others and disliked the shots she had seen of women displaying their cunts. Although her hair was short, she was slim and the magazine in her hand was positioned so as to tantalize with the merest glimpse of nipple. A lifelong habit of using her body to attract men long enough to get them interested in her mind had honed her instincts. She knew that this one would spark interest. She replaced the remaining photos and returned the album to its recess on the shelf. Turning back to the desk, she positioned each chosen photograph carefully on the scanner bed and listened to the whir of the motor as she watched the images of her younger self appear on the screen. A few quick strokes of the magic brush and all traces of dust and age disappeared before her very eyes. Behold, the woman who had unerringly lured more than one man to her bed and precipitated more than a few dissolute marriages. Happy with the result, she saved the touched-up images to the hard drive and once again clicked on the site. She followed the upload instructions and awaited results. As she had guessed, her next check of email on Wednesday showed a leap in responses. The winks and looks flooded in. Her ego took flight at the knowledge that she had played the system and she resolved to take advantage of her opportunity.

Her late-night foray took her for the first time into the chat rooms. After a brief glimpse into the newbie’s room and the lobby (and carefully shunning the mysterious but alluring dungeon) she ventured into the cybersex room. Believing that she could hover unobserved, she read avidly as the text scrolled on her screen. The mixture of casual chitchat and explicit suggestion soon had her enthralled. When she saw her nickname flash up on the screen, her stomach lurched. “Mmm Blueberry Muffins!” Hesitating only slightly, she quickly typed a response. “Would you like one, sir? They’re still warm from the oven.” With that remark, the play was on and she spent the next hour straining to make her flying fingers hit the right keys while her gasping breath and squirming thighs took her closer and closer to a shattering climax. She ducked back out to peruse her emails again and then dived headlong into a marathon cyberfeast of mutual masturbation. Near collapse at three am pushed her into her bed, but her sleep was filled with an erotic mix of visions – cocks and cunts and mouths and fingers intermingled with words and phrases. Daylight found her once again waiting for the click of the lock.

Thursday passed quickly in the afterglow and sweet langour of satiation. Her cunt lips felt swollen and tender and her nipples were sore. Private chat with a new aquaintance filled the hours and a few judicious changes to the profile cemented the burgeoning analogy of the muffins. The email messages began to confirm her suspicions: “you look so hot”, “nice photos”, “love to join you in the bath, could I wash your clit?” She took the time to view the profiles of the men she had played with in the chat room the night before and found that, like her, they were new to the site. All said that they had never done anything similar and were gratifyingly impressed with her open and uninhibited willingness to participate. She smiled to herself and thought that she knew this game fairly well already.

It did surprise her to learn that neither of her private-chat correspondents spent time in the chatroom. She got the feeling that they were indulgently smiling at her enthusiasm. She was puzzled and intrigued by this response.

After a quiet evening of enjoyable give-and-take ranging from wearing panties and a skirt on a first meeting to abstract expressionism (a la Jackson Pollock) her private chat ended and she decided to venture once more into the cybersex room strictly to observe. But as on the last occasion, she was soon caught up in another serious fuckfest. This time she was much more in control and the effect on her was minimal. The image of Robin Williams mocking the acting in porn movies kept flashing through her head, making her glad that no one could hear her giggles. After graciously thanking her partner and leaving the chat room, she checked his profile and found, not surprisingly, another newbie. It started her reviewing the scene and she realized that, despite her intent, she had indeed begun to retrace the habits of her life. She was using sex (albeit cybersex) to get someone to talk to her. She’s resolved to find a way to break the pattern and discover what it is that she needs to be complete.

Do you know?

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