Caught With Your Pants Down Quotes

Hunted what?" Shea held her breath, afraid of what he might say.
"Beautiful women, little one, and I was the one who found you after all." His white teeth gleamed at her, a definite leer.
"Don't put me off like that." She had already taken advantage, sliding easily into his mind and picking out the pictures of danger and revulsion. Fear even. Not so much of their adversary, but of themselves turning into the very thing they sought to destroy.
Jacques, unprepared for her entrance into his mind, had been confident he could keep the grimmer side of their existence watered down for her. Shea had always been reluctant to enter his mind; it hadn't occurred to him that she would do so whenever she wanted.
His expression was so rueful that Shea burst out laughing. "Where I grew up, that's called being caught with your pants down."
He looked down at his body, glistening with the rain. His grin was self-mocking, his black eyes amused. "Literally. ~ Christine Feehan

Nobody is ready for death. If you ask Joe Blow on the street, he aint gonna tell you he thinks he'll live forever. But when the end is near you'll realize you've been believing that all along. It's like getting caught with your pants down. That's why you gotta live, little one. Yeah stop and smell them roses. ~ Cristina Garcia

If you get caught with your pants down, take 'em off. ~ Ani DiFranco

I think anyone who stops at a gas station at night is up to no good. I think that if cops want to stop drunk driving, they should hide out in the bushes at the Taco Bell drive-through. I think if you're a guy and you pull down your pants and the girl you're with starts texting, you have a small penis. ~ Bill Konigsberg

At the door of their room, Willow stood next to Rider while Decker unlocked the door. It was then she noticed the naughty red lace underwear hanging out of Rider's pocket.
Rider was startled when his wife's hand dove deeply into his pants pocket. But before he would ascertain her actions, the clerk opened the door and turned to hand him the key. For a split second the man's haughty mein slipped, then he handed them the key and hurried back down the stairs, his shoulders quaking with suppressed mirth.
"What was that all about?" Rider asked his red-faced wife.
She whipped the offensive item out of his pocket and dangled it before his eyes. "It was hanging out of your pocket and I was afraid he'd see it," she explained.
Rider swooped her into his arms. "Instead he got to see my anxious bride fondling me." He laughed.
Quickly over her embarrassment, she chuckled. "Maybe he was jealous."
"I know I would be," he replied huskily, and kicked the door shut behind them. ~ Charlotte McPherren

Brushing through my hair was usually bad enough after a shower. Letting it dry without brushing it was a terrible mistake. It was full of painful tangles, and I hadn't made much progress when the door at the end of the veranda opened and Ren walked out. I squeaked in alarm and hid behind my hair. Perfect, Kells.
He was still barefoot, but had on khaki pants and a sky-blue button-down shirt that matched his eyes. The effect was magnetic, and here I was in flannel pajamas with giant tumbleweed hair.
He sat across from me and said, "Good evening, Kells. Did you sleep well?"
"Uh, yes. Did you?"
He grinned a dazzling white smile and nodded his head slightly. "Are you having trouble?" he asked and watched my detangling progress with an amused expression.
"Nope. I've got it all under control."
I wanted to divert his attention away from my hair, so I said, "How's your back and your, um, arm, I guess it would be?"
He smiled. "They're completely fine. Thank you for asking."
"Ren, why aren't you wearing white? That's all I've ever seen you wear. Is it because your white shirt was torn?"
He responded, "No, I just wanted to wear something different. Actually, when I change to a tiger and back, my white clothes reappear. If I changed to a tiger now and then switch back to a man again, my current clothes would be replaced with my old white ones."
"Would they still be torn and bloody?"
"No. When I reappear, they're clean and whole again. ~ Colleen Houck

If you make a fool of yourself, you can do it with dignity, without taking your pants down. And if you do take your pants down, you can still do it with dignity. ~ William Shatner

Miss Sedley was almost as flurried at the act of defiance as Miss Jemima had been; for, consider, it was but one minute that she had left school, and the impressions of six years are not got over in that space of time. Nay, with some persons those awes and terrors of youth last for ever and ever. I know, for instance, an old gentleman of sixty-eight, who said to me one morning at breakfast, with a very agitated countenance, 'I dreamed last night that I was flogged by Dr Raine.' Fancy had carried him back five-and-fifty years in the course of that evening. Dr Raine and his rod were just as awful to him in his heart then, at sixty-eight, as they had been at thirteen. If the Doctor, with a large birch, had appeared bodily to him, even at the age of threescore and eight, and had said in awful voice, 'Boy, take down your pants ... ' Well, well ... ~ William Makepeace Thackeray

Never make an important decision with your pants down. ~ Katie Thayne

According to Festus, our flying table, Buford, made it back safely while we were in Charleston, so those eagles didn't get him. Unfortunately, he lost the laundry bag with your pants."
"Dang it!" Frank Barked, which Leo figured was probably severe profanity for him.
No doubt Frank would've cursed some more -busting out the golly gees and the gosh darns- but Percy interrupted by doubling over and groaning.
"Did the world just turn upside down?" he asked.
Jason pressed his hands to his head. "Yeah, and it's spinning. Everything is yellow. Is it supposed to be yellow? ~ Rick Riordan

So you go on and on, with this intellectual fly down, your underwear exposed, and toilette paper hanging out the back of your pants. ~ Hank Green

There was one obvious solution to this problem, but it involved me uttering four inconceivable words to Seth Allen. This was not going to be pretty.
"Take off your pants," I mumbled in Seth's direction.
"What?" Seth's voice was shrill as it cracked.
"Your pants. Take them off." I spoke louder now, impatient.
"But...I'll be naked and cold, and I still haven't had the chance to bulk up my legs at the gym so I'm just not sure..."
I cut Seth off with with my best "Are you effing kidding me?" Face and jerked my head towards Maddie in the backseat.
"Oh, right, I get it. Maddie needs pants and I have them, so I'll just go ahead and, um, well, strip down. Could you..." Seth's cheeks went up in twin flames. ~ Lisa Roecker

Remembering Mom's Clothesline -- There is one thing that's left out. We had a long wooden pole (clothes pole) that was used to push the clotheslines up so that longer items (sheets/pants/etc.) didn't brush the ground and get dirty.
I can hear my mother now...

THE BASIC RULES FOR CLOTHESLINES:

(If you don't even know what clotheslines are, better skip this.)
1. You had to hang the socks by the toes... NOT the top.
2. You hung pants by the BOTTOM/cuffs... NOT the waistbands.
3. You had to WASH the clothesline(s) before hanging any clothes - Walk the entire length of each line with a damp cloth around the lines.
4. You had to hang the clothes in a certain order, and always hang "whites" with "whites," And hang them first.
5. You NEVER hung a shirt by the shoulders - always by the tail! What would the neighbors think?
6. Wash day on a Monday! NEVER hang clothes on the weekend, Or on Sunday, for Heaven's sake!
7. Hang the sheets and towels on the OUTSIDE lines so you could Hide your "unmentionables" in the middle perverts & busybodies, y'know!)
8. It didn't matter if it was sub-zero weather... Clothes would "freeze-dry."
9. ALWAYS gather the clothes pins when taking down dry clothes! Pins left on the lines were "tacky"!
10. If you were efficient, you would line the clothes up so that each item. Did not need two clothes pins, but shared one of the clothes pins with the next washed item.
11. C ~ Unnown

Dominic, with the powerful aura, got under my skin before I had a chance to ward him off and now I'm screwed.

Even more now I know his taste and how hard he feels against the soft, wet parts of me.

Dominic just introduced me to the most dangerous man in New York.

Fuck. Fuck. Clarity pours over me.

Does this mean Dominic is a member of the mafia after all?

Only it wasn't only a little kiss, was it? I'm sexually frustrated and Dom is standing there with his hands in his tailored pants pockets, aroused.

The bulge is unmistakable.

"Gabriella…"

God, I'm wet too. If I rub my thighs together, I'll feel how much. He's hard, I'm wet… it's a match made in heaven.

"Gabriella…" he says again, thick and tarnished as I look him up and down.

"Yeah?"

"I said you're too far away," he murmurs, cutting his dark gaze my way. Stirring me. "Come here to me, cara." he hooks two fingers with a motion and smirks like a devil with the key to all my desires. I swear my belly bottoms out as my feet carry me forward. Unable to refuse the invisible rope he has around my waist, pulling me closer.

"Bossy aren't you?"
"I am your boss."
"I don't think you want to remind me of that."

He hums and the rumble hurtles down between my thighs.

How does he do that? Turn me on with just a noise.

"I guess you'd like it if I called you sir, wouldn' ~ V. Theia

His smile was quizzical and sincere as he said, "Sometimes you feel more like an adversary than a…."

"Than a what?"

"Than a girlfriend, a partner."

I thought about that for a moment, let it roll around in my head, realized - given what I knew about Alex's past - it made quite a lot of sense.

"With a girlfriend you'd need to give away some of your control. But with an adversary, it's all about control."

"Don't." His voice was a growl, and held more than a hint of warning.

"Don't what?"

"Don't start psychoanalyzing me."

"I'm not." I sighed, rubbed my forehead, and removed myself from his lap. I sat down heavily on the couch. "I'm just trying to figure out how to get in your pants without asking you any direct questions. ~ Penny Reid

Even more confused than before, I started backing up. I'd go around and get in through the kitchen; David and Raquel had to know what was going on. Unfortunately for all of us, that was when Lend came out the front door, immediately collapsed with a thunk that made me cringe, and - perfect - went completely transparent.
The police officers stopped fighting, every eye glued on my boyfriend, now essentially invisible other than this T-shirt and flannel pajama pants.
"Okay," I said, putting my hands on my hips. "No. This is unacceptable. I don't care what the bleep is going on, we're going to get it settled immediately or I swear I will give you all to the Dark Queen and let her feed on your dreams for the rest of eternity."
Every head turned my direction, their faces a portrait of shock and disbelief.
"What, you've never seen a boy made of water before? Yawn. Go down to the pond - it'll really blow your mind."
One close to the front - barrel-chested, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick mustache - shook his head as though trying to clear it. "Are you Evelyn Green?"
"Sort of. Mostly. I mean, legally. Again, sort of."
He tried to look at me, but his eyes kept drifting back to Lend. "You're under - We're here to - Could you please come with us?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, I couldn't. You're last place in a very long line of people who want me right now. Besides, I haven't done anything."
"Actually," said a painfully tall an ~ Kiersten White

Atticus adjusted his glasses as he peered down at the blanket. "Hey, is that the book Nellie told us about?"
Jake's eyes flicked to Olivia's book. "You've got it outside in the sun? Are you out of your minds?"
Amy crossed her arms. "We're being careful."
"It's not about careful, this is a five-hundred-year-old manuscript! You should be wearing gloves - Atticus brought some - and keeping it out of the sunlight."
"It didn't take you long to start barking orders!" Any exclaimed, her face flushing. "But then you always know best, don't you?"
"Somebody has to be mature in this situation," Jake said, his gaze flashing at Ian, who was now intently trying to brush cookie crumbs off his pants.
"True. In that case, we'd rather consult your little brother," Ian said with a smirk. "Medieval manuscripts are his field, am I right?"
"Technically, it's early Renaissance," Jake said.
"Thanks for the correction, my good man. Amy is right - you do know best." Ian slipped his arm around Amy. "She's so perceptive. One of the many things I adore about her."
"It's getting chilly. Why don't we go inside?" Amy suggested brightly as she tried to step out of the circle of Ian's arm.
Ian took the opportunity to rub her shoulder. "You do feel rather cold," he said. "Let's sit by the fire. Jake, since you're so interested in proper handling, why don't you take the book?"
Jake snatched up the book and furiously stomped off toward the house.
"You f ~ Jude Watson

Oh God. We're talking about me being naked, in the shower with cooter cream. Please world, end. Kill me.

"I know it's not soap. I just… if it's scented… I can't do scented. Flowers and stuff like that. Fruit-flavored soaps make… things… burnish." She could tell from the peeks at his face Mr. Fitzwell had never stepped foot in bath and lotion store, wanting to try the array of fun fragrances. Nor had he purchased Peppermint Candy shower gel, foamed up his nether regions, and felt like he had dipped them in lava. Dove crossed and uncrossed her legs at the memory.

Mr. Fitzwell seemed concerned. "Okay, just a heads-up. It's definitely not good to put any fruits or plant life near your genitals." He made a V with his hands and formed his own pretend vagina in front of his pants.

Dove covered her eyes and tried to defend herself because now she could hear the sickly older woman beating her supporters with a purse.

Dove's mumbling got louder with her embarrassment. "I don't put weird things down… there. Just make sure that the cream's vagina-scented. Just plain. For vaginas." She kept her eyes on the counter. ~ Debra Anastasia

What are you doing here?"
"Coming to pick you up for tonight."
"I'm not going."
"Would it help if I lowered to my knees and said please?" He started to go down.
I hit his shoulder. "Stop that. You're embarrassing me."
He dragged his gaze over my body. "You look beautiful."
"Whatever." I wore black yoga pants and a shirt with Star War's Yoda flipping the bird on the front.
"I love the way your clothes hug your body."
"I love the way you continue to invade my privacy. ~ Kenya Wright

Holy shit, Riley." The human lowered his glass with a look of disbelief and horror. "The Order chapterhouse itself? So, what you're telling me is you've gone insane?"
"Very likely," I muttered.
"One of your hatchlings?"
"No." I scrubbed a hand through my hair. "One of them."
He stared at me, then used both hands to point at himself. "Okay, see this face? This is my what-the-hell face. Seriously, Riley. What. The. Hell. You snuck into enemy territory, dropped a figurative wasp down their pants and then brought that mess here, so I have to deal with it? Are you out of your freaking mind? Why would you do such a thing?
"It's ... complicated." He continued to give me his what-the-hell expression, and I scowled. ~ Julie Kagawa

Here I was just thinking all these wonderful things about you and now you're trying to strip down before we can have sex."
His hands casually held in the air, he explained, "I was hot."
"It's seventy degrees in here."
His hands went to his cotton pants, thumbing the cinched band, preparing for a total strip down. Gawd, how I secretly wanted him to do it, but for some reason, the word stop came out of my mouth. At least I agreed with myself when I said, "That is so not fair."
Neither was the way the left side of his mouth curled up, smiling wickedly as his eyes swept across my body. "You're right. Your ogling is making me uncomfortable. You should remove your top to compensate. ~ Devon Ashley

My mother wasn't a psychotic criminal. (Kiara)
No. I'm sure she was a wonderful lady who loved you dearly. That she held you when you cried, probably even baked you cookies and gave you hugs and kisses before she sent you off to bed at night, and it's a damn shame a decent woman like her died so tragically. My mother, whore that she was, abandoned me and my sister to our father so that she could return to her cushy life and pretend we didn't exist while she left us in that house with a man whose name, even though he'd been dead for decades, can still make an assassin wet his pants. And if you think his cruelty was reserved for strangers, think again. My sister and I were target practice for him. So don't you dare talk to me about pain. My father wrote the book on it and he rammed it down my throat every day of my childhood until they killed him. And the real kicker is, my life under his demented fist was a lot better than Nykyrian's. At least I was able to hide sometimes from the ones trying to kill me. You want me to call your daddy, baby? Go right ahead. I'll be more than happy to take you to him. But know that Aksel will have his hands on you in a matter of hours. Then you'll be able to talk to me about pain and you'll finally have an idea of what we've endured. You won't live long enough to apologize, but true clarity will be yours before you die. (Syn) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

There're eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds in a day, right? There're one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes in a day."
Her brow knitted. "Okay. I'll take your word for it."
"I'm right." I tapped my finger against my head. "A lot of useless knowledge up here.
Anyway, are you following me? There're one hundred and sixty-eight hours in a week.
Around eighty-seven hundred and then some hours in a year, and you know what?"
She smiled. "What?"
"I want to spend every second, every minute, every hour with you." Part of me
couldn't believe something that cheesy had come out of my mouth, but it was also so beauti fully true. "I want a year's worth of seconds and minutes with you. I want a decade's worth of hours, so many that I can't add them up."
Her chest rose sharply as she stared at me, eyes widening.
I took one more step and then went down on one knee in front of her, in a towel.
Probably should have put some pants on. "Do you want that?" I asked.
Kat's eyes met mine, and the answer was immediate. "Yes. I want that. You know I want that."
"Good." My lips curved up. "So let's get married. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

Hand to hand, no swords or staffs?"

"I figured that was the only fair way for us to fight." She crosses to the ladder and steps onto the top rung. "Seeing as I possess superior skill in armed combat."

I snort and reach for my pants, suddenly more inspired about this sparring match. "In your dreams, runt."

"In your nightmares," she says with a wink as she disappears down the ladder. ~ Stacey Jay

It's weird being alone in the museum. It's dark and eerily quiet: Only the after-hours lights are on - just enough to illuminate the hallways and stop you from tripping over your own feet - and the background music that normally plays all the time is shut off.

I quickly organize the flashlights and check their batteries, and when I don't hear Porter walking around, I stare at the phone sitting at the information desk. How many chances come along like this? I pick up the receiver, press the little red button next to the word ALL, and speak into the phone in a low voice. "Paging Porter Roth to the information desk," I say formally, my voice crackling through the entire lobby and echoing down the corridors. Then I press the button again and add, "While you're at it, check your shoes to make sure they're a match, you bastard. By the way, I still haven't quite forgiven you for humiliating me. It's going to take a lot more than a kiss and a cookie to make me forget both that and the time you provoked me in the Hotbox."

I'm only teasing, which I hope he knows. I feel a little drunk on all my megaphone power, so I page one more thing:

"PS - You look totally hot in those tight-fitting security guard pants tonight, and I plan to get very handsy with you at the movies, so we better sit in the back row."

I hang up the phone and cover my mouth, silently laughing at myself. Two seconds later, Porter's footfalls pound down Jay's corridor - Boom! B ~ Jenn Bennett

MY BOSS SENDS me home because of all the dried blood on my pants, and I am overjoyed.
The hole punched through my cheek doesn't ever heal. I'm going to work, and my punched-out eye sockets are two swollen-up black bagels around the little piss holes I have left to see through. Until today, it really pissed me off that I'd become this totally centered Zen Master and nobody had noticed. Still, I'm doing the little FAX thing. I write little HAIKU things and FAX them around to everyone. When I pass people in the hall at work, I get totally ZEN right in everyone's hostile little FACE.
Worker bees can leave
Even drones can fly away
The queen is their slave

You give up all your worldly possessions and your car and go live in a rented house in the toxic waste part of town where late at night, you can hear Marla and Tyler in his room, calling each other hum; butt wipe.
Take it, human butt wipe.
Do it, butt wipe.
Choke it down. Keep it down, baby.
Just by contrast, this makes me the calm little center of the world.
Me, with my punched-out eyes and dried blood in big black crusty stains on my pants, I'm saying HELLO to everybody at work. HELLO! Look at me. HELLO! I am so ZEN. This is BLOOD. This is NOTHING. Hello. Everything is nothing, and it's so cool to be ENLIGHTENED. Like me.
Sigh.
Look. Outside the window. A bird.
My boss asked if the blood was my blood.
The bird flies downwind. I'm writing a ~ Chuck Palahniuk

Did Mama leave you all alone in here?"

I picked her up out of bed and rubbed her back for a minute while she hiccuped.

"Daddy's here," I murmured against her bald head, rocking her from side to side. "Let's get that wet diaper off you."

I laid her on the bed and grabbed a diaper from the top of Kate's dresser, talking the whole time. "I don't know what your mommy was thinking, leaving my princess in here all alone," I crooned, my voice somehow keeping Iris calm. "She's outside with your brothers and sister and Daddy's friend Miles. He's a jackass. You stay away from him, okay?"

I smiled as Iris froze, like she was listening intently.

"Daddy was not very nice," I said, pulling her little pants down her legs and unbuttoning her onesie. "I wasn't even there when you were born, and I'm really sorry about that. But your mama came home with me anyway, so that means there's a chance, right? As long as Miles keeps his you-know-what in this pants."

Iris lifted her hand to her face and tried really hard to get it to her mouth, her eyes unfocused as I babbled.

"You're doing so good, princess. Look at you, not even crying while I change you. Such a big girl." I finished re-dressing her and pulled her to my chest. "You think your mama could love me again?" I asked, kissing her little cheek. "Probably not, huh? We'll just have to keep working at it so you can live with Daddy forever. ~ Nicole Jacquelyn

Most men would never tell a girl her Pikachu smells like a crab cake. It's just not done. But they would have no qualms about telling their guy friends. Similarly, if you're a guy and you pull your pants down, and the girl you're with immediately stats text messaging her friends, you have a small penis.
Are You There Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea ~ Chelsea Handler

He took the soap from me, and turned it in his hand to capture its lather. Then he ran his fingers up and down my scarred arm, gentle. It was, in some ways, even better than being kissed by him. He had no fragile illusions about my goodness, destined to shatter when he found out the truth. But he accepted me anyway. Cared about me anyway.
"Okay," I said. "I'm done, I think."
Akos stood, holding my hands, and lifted me as I came to my feet. Water ran down my legs and back. As I fastened the armor around my forearm again, he found a towel in one of the cabinets, then pieced together clothes for me--the pants from Isae, underwear from Cisi, one of his own shirts and a pair of his socks, my still-intact boots. I looked at the pile of clothes with some dismay. It was one thing for him to see me in my underwear, but to help me take it off…
Well. If that was going to happen, I wanted it to be under different circumstances.
"Cisi," Akos said. He was also staring at the pile of clothes. "Maybe you should help with this part."
"Thank you," I said to him.
He smiled. "It's getting really hard to keep my eyes on your face."
I made a face at him as he left. ~ Veronica Roth

I'm always fully invested. It's a great feeling to be caught with your pants up. ~ Peter Lynch

editor in New York and my mom and dad on the phone. My body is weak and bloated. I'm slowly poisoning myself to death. And it's not like I haven't seen what this shit does to people. The most fucked-up detoxes I've ever seen are the people coming off alcohol. It's worse than heroin, worse than benzos, worse than anything. Alcohol can pickle your brain - leaving you helpless, like a child - infantilized - shitting in your pants - ranting madness - disoriented - angry - terrified. But that's not gonna be me, I mean, it can't be. I may hate myself. I may fantasize about suicide. But I'm way too vain to let myself die an alcoholic death. There's nothing glamorous about alcoholism. You don't go out like Nic Cage in Leaving Las Vegas, with a gorgeous woman riding you till your heart stops. Alcoholism takes you down slow, robbing you of every last bit of dignity on your way ~ Nic Sheff

Here's the deal. We go in, you stand there like the asshole you are, and I explain you aren't gay lovers with the pharmacist. Sound good?" Dove clicked her blinker on and checked her side mirror.
"All I heard was blah, blah, holding your dick later, blah, blah." Duke rolled down his window and stuck his face into the night. ~ Debra Anastasia

Puck swung the cannon around in anger. The nozzle spun and hit Sabrina in the chest. The force was so pawerful she was knocked right off the platform and fell backward off the tower. She saw sky above her and felt the wind in her hair. How ironic, she thought, as she fell to her certain death, that at that moment she would have given anything to be a giant goose again.
Air rushed past Sabrina's ears and suddenly she felt her back tingling again. A moment later she was hanging upside down, inches from the ground. She looked up to find her savior, only to find that her her wasn't a person but a long, furry tail sticking out of the back of her pants. It was wrapped around a beam in the tower a kept her swinging there like a monkey.
Puck floated down to her, his wings flapping softly enough to allow him to hover.
"I bet you think this is hilarious. Look what you did to me with your stupid pranks. I have a tail!" she raged.
Puck's face was trembling. "I'm sorry."
"What?" Sabrina said blankly.
"I almost killed you. I'm sorry, Sabrina," he said, rubbing his eyes on his filthy hoodie. He lifted her off the tower and set her on the ground.
"Since when do you care?" Sabrina said, still stunned by the boy's apology. ~ Michael Buckley

I doubt your Argonaut kin would approve of that," she managed. "They didn't much like me being in your realm."

"They'll just have to get used to it. Some things in life are more important than duty and honor."

Gods, how she wished that were true. "Nothing in life is more important than duty and honor, Titus."

He cradled her face in his hands again. "You are."

That was it. All she could take. A desperate need to be close to him one last time overwhelmed every thought and action. She pressed her mouth to his. Kissed him hard. Gasped when his arms closed around her waist with the strength of a vise. Lost herself in the sweet taste of his tongue stroking urgently across hers.

"I want you," she whispered against his lips. Desperation clawed at her soul.

She pressed her lips to his again, opened, licked into his mouth. Warmth, wetness, hunger caressed her tongue in an erotic dance. She trailed one hand down his bare chest, over the waistband of his pants. ~ Elisabeth Naughton

Tonight when she came down to the front desk she was wearing neon green hot pants and a pink leopard print jacket. But the best part was that her boots almost matched her jacket. I think she's on to something. Why let the fact that you're 65-years-old interfere with your ability to dress like a colorblind fourteen-year-old? ~ Jarod Kintz

But I still think that's a pretty fine age. Maybe the best age. You can rock and roll all night, but when the music dies out and the beer wears off, you're able to think. And dream big dreams. The mean Patrol Boy cuts you down to size eventually, and if you start out small, why, there's almost nothing left but the cuffs of your pants when he's done with you. ~ Stephen King

So, you're dead asleep, and you get a call. Something terrible's happened, and I'm dead. What do you do?"
It took him a moment to quell the terror, to ignore the small, dark place inside him that feared getting that call every day. "Before or after I fall prostrate with grief?"
"Before, during, and after. Do you peruse your wardrobe and select a coordinating outfit - down to the footwear? Do you deal with your hair so it's perfectly groomed?"
"With my considerable skills and innate instincts that would take no time at all."
"Keep it up and I'll dump red sauce all over your fashionable smarty-pants."
"That statement is one of the countless reasons why, under the circumstances you described, I'd be lucky to remember to dress at all. ~ J.D. Robb

...Stella's tiny butt stuck in the air as she stretched to reach a weed. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a button-down pink and white checked shirt that was tucked into the elastic waistband of her pants. She reminded Rusty of an elf. "Excuse me, Stella?" "You stop right there if you have trouble on your mind. As you can see, I have plenty of birds, and I'll knock you out with one of them," Stella said without looking up. Rusty wanted to say that she'd yank up her own plastic flamingo and work Stella over with it in a heartbeat. Instead, she took a calming breath and said, "I made something you might like to have." "If it's a grenade launcher, I'm listening, Achmed. ~ Robin Alexander

You haven't said yet weather I may help you while I am here"
Elnora hesitated.
You better say 'yes,'" he persisted.
It would be a real kindness. It would keep me out doors all day and give an incentive to work. I'm good at it. I'll show you if I am not in a week or so. I can 'sugar' manipulate lights, and mirrors, and all the expert methods. I'll wager moths are think int the old swamp over there"
They are," said Elnora. "Most I have I took there. A few nights ago my mother caught a good many, but we don't dare go alone"
All the more reason why you need me. Where do you live? I can't get an answer from you, I'll just go tell your mother who I am and ask her if I may help you. I warn you young lady, I have a very effective way with mothers. They almost never turn me down."
Then it's probable you will have a new experience when you meet mine," said Elnora. "She never was known to do what anyone expected she surely would. ~ Gene Stratton-Porter

The fact is I like Mumbai less and less. My son says, 'Baba, let's go for a drive', and I tell him, 'Where's the fun of a drive in this place?' You get caught in a million traffic jams, and you spend time cooped in your car with all that mad cacophony around you. ~ Om Puri

Ink was black, in inkwells and bottles, in the past. It would get all over your fingers because it would run and flow relentlessly. This inevitable messiness was the flip side of writing. I always felt caught between two kinds of black: that of the dirty and dirtying substance and that of the signs that miraculously emerged from it through the magic of wayward fountain pens, which, when dipped too deep in the inkwell, had a strong tendency to cover the paper with what used to be called "inkblots." Oh, the miracle of a clear and possibly elegant sentence emerging from the sticky ink and wending its way between the blots! It is the black of meaning wrung from the black of matter. (…) Isn't the most profound education the one that was afforded me at my childhood elementary school, the one that divides the ink sharply between thought become Letter and drive turned into splotches and blots? How will those who begin with the darkish gray on the palish gray of computer screens manage? Without the slightest inkblot? Won't they think that thought is just another variation of formlessness, that the intellect is just a thin additional coat of gray over the gray of drive, and drive a mere stripping of the gray of the intellect? Everything in the world is the result of a creative and careful dosing of black as it is projected onto the formidable invariability of white. Anyone who hasn't experienced this, and sooner rather than later, will never learn anything. ~ Alain Badiou

It is best to know when to keep your salami in your pants and when to pull it out, however, and even my priests have had some difficulty with that issue. ~ Kevin Hearne

Why are you doing this? I don't want you. Is that the problem? Is your ego so big you can't handle a woman rejecting you?"
"Oh, you want me alright, my sexy little witch. Want me so bad it scares you. Well, I've got news for you. It scares the fuck out of me, too. But I don't care. When the options are settling down with you for life and popping out little demonlings or watching you walk away, I know what I choose."
For a moment, she couldn't answer, could only gape at him as his words penetrated. Surely, she misunderstood. "What did you say?"
"I want you as my mate."
No misunderstanding that time.
She tamped down her elation by slapping it with the cold, hard truth. "You'll hurt me."
"Trust me."
He asked too much.
"I'm not the right woman."
"You're all I want."
She shook her head lest his words weave a spell around her and make her believe. Yet despite all the warnings in her head, hope blossomed and love warmed her. How nice it would be to allow herself to love him. To trust him.
Sadness entered his expression at her rejection. "I know it's hard for you, little witch, but I promise you've nothing to fear. Unless the thought of too many orgasms in a row freaks you out."
And that quickly, he changed from pensive male to the one she'd grown to love with the mischievous smile. He lunged. She squealed like a little girl and ran. Not far though.
With his ridiculously long stride, he quickly caught her a ~ Eve Langlais

Reminiscing in the drizzle of Portland, I notice the ring that's landed on your finger, a massive
insect of glitter, a chandelier shining at the end

of a long tunnel. Thirteen years ago, you hid the hurt
in your voice under a blanket and said there's two kinds
of women - those you write poems about

and those you don't. It's true. I never brought you
a bouquet of sonnets, or served you haiku in bed.
My idea of courtship was tapping Jane's Addiction

lyrics in Morse code on your window at three A.M.,
whiskey doing push-ups on my breath. But I worked
within the confines of my character, cast

as the bad boy in your life, the Magellan
of your dark side. We don't have a past so much
as a bunch of electricity and liquor, power

never put to good use. What we had together
makes it sound like a virus, as if we caught
one another like colds, and desire was merely

a symptom that could be treated with soup
and lots of sex. Gliding beside you now,
I feel like the Benjamin Franklin of monogamy,

as if I invented it, but I'm still not immune
to your waterfall scent, still haven't developed
antibodies for your smile. I don't know how long

regret existed before humans stuck a word on it.
I don't know how many paper towels it would take
to wipe up the Pacific Ocean, or why the light

of a candle being blown out tr ~ Jeffrey McDaniel

Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that."
"Always looking after your best interests," I said, and pointedly chugged the contents of the glass.
It was like a million fireworks exploding inside me, filling my veins with starlight. I laughed aloud, and Lucien groaned.
"Human fool," he hissed. But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge. That was what I would capture next.
"I'm going to paint you," I said, and giggled - actually giggled - as the words popped out.
"Cauldron boil and fry me," he muttered, and I laughed again. ~ Sarah J. Maas