I urge people to join in, comment with your paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. It doesn’t have to follow my story or reflect the same themes. It can be a poem or in a different language (provide a translation please 
). Anyone who wants to join in, is welcome. This photograph will be reblogged under Ermisenda on tumblr and added to the Picture it & Write gallery on Facebook and Pinterest.
Please continue to write however you’re inspired, but add a tag to the beginning of your post if there’s mature content in order to keep Picture it & Write an engaging event for all of our followers.
by Lily Little at flicker
“Why do you read that rubbish?” I asked her as I got ready to have breakfast with my mother.
She shrugged and her dark hair slipped, exposing her bare shoulder. I felt drawn to her skin and yearned to taste. She was so beautiful. How could someone so perfect have chosen me? I finished buttoning my shirt and crawled up to her to kiss her shoulder. She smiled a little and flipped the page to another attractive, air-brushed model. I looked to the page and then to her face. When she looked at me, I turned away. I jumped out of the bed and grabbed my bag.
“What? You’re annoyed at me for not answering?”
“I don’t look like those guys, Basheera.”
She held my gaze. “I love you. I love your body. I want your body.”
I stood there in the silence and then shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll see you tonight.” And I left.
– Ermisenda Alvarez
Picture it & Write now supports The Girl Effect, a movement empowering girls to break the cycle of poverty in their communities, countries, and world. All profits from the publication are donated to this cause.
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Ermilia 
The DREAMERS
She was always dreaming.
“I know why you like those magazines,” her sister said.
From the next room came the sound of kids in disagreement.
“MOM! Mom, make Julie stop looking at me!”
The days of having only herself to worry about were long gone. When you have children, your moments are no longer your own.
She bowed her head into the pages of the magazine and stayed still as a captive animal.
Her sister said, “I’ll go settle the war next door. Be right back.”
Initially, she had not felt well and asked her sister to come help out today. But bed was starting to feel pretty darn good.
When her sister returned to the room she said again, “I know why you like those magazines.”
She didn’t even hear her sister answering herself: “Because you can dream on them.”
-end-
“She was always dreaming.”
Hi, Anne 🙂
Hi! 🙂
This touched me a lot more than I expected. I feel so sorry for her. It sounds like she needs the help of her sister more often if possible. Thanks for contributing, Janni!
The pleasure was mine. Having trouble writing anything at all these days due to real life challenges. Was good for me to try. Thanks for your feedback. Much appreciated ❤
I wish you all the best with your real life challenges. 🙂 ❤ We're always here for a distraction.
That is good. That is very good.
Thank you 😊
Pity, having to listen to — a shock to the non-listening…
The non-listening being stereotypically the man or the woman in the story?
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hi 🙂 here’s about a blackbird.
https://ladyleemanila.wordpress.com/2015/06/07/blackbird-picture-it-and-write-it-and-wordle-159/
Nice poem. 🙂 Thanks for the linkback.
I feel like an alien here after so long, but it was written for this… A Calling
*hugs tightly, probably too tightly*
Sometimes reading the news is enough to change our entire state of being and mood. I find myself picking at the meaning in your story. I think I’m overthinking it. I’m just so excited to read your words again. 🙂 Thanks for chiming in this week Anne. I hope you come back again next week!
LOL! I must suffer now with the image of you picking at the meaning as if it had somehow formed a scab to keep the rest of my story from leaking out.
Ha, Ermi, I love how you look at a woman sexually the way you do! ❤
❤ 🙂
Hello, its been a while again!! Hope you ladies are doing well! 🙂
Here is my entry for the week.
https://gotmeghan.wordpress.com/2015/06/07/picture-it-write-inside-her-dreamscape-pg-13/
Haha this was a fun read. It seems like she needs to please herself after that dream! 😉 I always wonder how often people fantasise with models or celebrities. It must happen a lot (or so fanfiction shows us). Thanks for contributing this week, Meghan!
Thank you and you’re welcome! 🙂
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Pingback: Picture it and Write: Wife | Joe2stories
Very true Ermi, guys can have bodyimage issues too. Good one. Here’s mine https://joe2stories.wordpress.com/2015/06/07/picture-it-and-write-wife/
Enjoy!
That they do. 🙂 Thanks.
So cute. I think if I got married this is a phase I’d go through too. Just saying the name at every possible moment. For the fun of it and to get used to it too. I loved this line – “Denise still did that thing with her hips when they made love, she still snored and drooled when sleeping, and she still mumbled unconscionable swearwords in her sleep.” Awesome stuff, Joe!
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Ahhhrgh everyone so serious this week, and I launch a goof.
Why… so… SERIOUS!
A great goof too! 😀
I love it. So witty. Haha – “ScryPad™” Brilliant! Thanks for the contribution this week, Dave.
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*contains mature content*
-untitled-
I’ve always dreamed of going overseas, somewhere no one knows me, where my face isn’t familiar because someone MIGHT know me. I want to go somewhere where I can have one-night-stands and lose myself in sex without emotion. I’ve always wanted to say: “Yeah I’ve had sex with a Frenchman but seriously, they do it better in South America.”
I’m on a journey of sexual discovery that never stops. Being a romance writer, sex is what I think about most… but then there’s that love aspect of everything; where characters are in love and enjoying life by each other’s side. I’m still single and I always tell people I don’t care unless I’m feeling lonely and sexually frustrated. Because of my lack of relationship status, I feel like I can’t relate to my characters. As well as dreaming about exotic men and having ménage a trois, I sometimes wonder what it’d be like to fall passionately, hopelessly in love with someone I meet on my journey. My imagination is vivid. Sometimes it’s my undoing.
We’re in Munich. He’s a photographer. The first thing I notice is his sharp jaw line. The second is his legs – he’s at least six foot and his legs, currently encased in blue denim, seem never ending. Then there are things that I don’t usually find attractive in a guy; I love brunettes and he’s blond. I usually like military style hair, his is longer, unruly like mine, and reaches his ears and covers his forehead.
In the small café, we’re the only two who are eating alone. I’m ‘reading’ a Tiffany Reisz novel to try and get me out of my writers block. He’s switching between reading the local paper, and observing strangers.
Our eyes meet.
I look away quickly because I felt like someone in primary whose crush just caught them staring. I slowly raise my eyes again and he’s still looking at me, this time his lips have curved.
We both spot a couple looking for a spare table, and he looks back at me with a question in his eyes. Can I sit with you? It asks. I smile and raise my brows in reply.
He extends his right hand. “Hi, I’m Ryan.” His voice is deep and has an Irish lilt.
“Samantha,” I respond, and place my limp hand in his.
“Where are you from?” he asks.
“Australia.”
“I love Australia.” He proceeds telling me all the amazing things he did while he was there. Things that even as an Australian, I haven’t done. He climbed Uluru, the Sydney Harbour Bridge; we’ve both done a scuba diving tour, in The Great Barrier Reef, and The Kimberlys. We talk about the incredible things we saw. The life that exists under the waves.
The lunch crowd have left, and we stay until the rain starts and the wind picks up. He has an umbrella, and urges me underneath it. We start walking, just the simple action of one foot in front of the other, with no particular direction or location. The sexual tension between us is palpable. I want to proposition him, but I am a little worried about scaring him away.
He stops walking and looks up quickly, his eyes squint into the distance. “Can you do me a favour?”
“Sure.”
“Stand there” – he points to a specific place, and I oblige – “and look ecstatic.”
The rain is falling heavier and faster now, and I’ve always had a secret love of the rain. He stands back about five metres with his camera pressed to his face. Click. Flash. I start moving. Just being my usual embarrassing self, spinning around and around, letting the rain embrace me. I get dizzy and fall over; the whole time I have a grin on my face. The rain has drenched me. My usually curly, untamed hair is like straw. My clothes are dripping.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks.
I look down to my clothes and then glance at him playfully. “Getting wetter, hopefully.”
He isn’t expecting the bluntness. I know that. It’s one of my best and worst traits.
“My hotel is around here.” He points to the street going off to the right. My hotel is on the other side of town and I don’t want to walk all the way back there.
We get naked as soon as we cross the threshold of his suite. His body is lean and muscly, and there is a tattoo on his pec and another on his upper arm. One look at his body and I know I want to ride him until he cant see straight.
And I do. I lose count of how many orgasms he gave me.
I move to pick up my wet clothes and dress myself, but he stopped me with just a hand on my wrist.
“Do you want to stay here tonight?”
I smile and drop the clothes back to the floor. He moves over to the other side of the bed and opens his body for me to snuggle into. It’s… nice. More than that. We communicate without words – we have been since I first looked at him. For some reason that just doesn’t affect me, but it touches my soul. Makes it light.
It’s absolutely pouring when we wake up. I was hoping to explore Munich some more, but there are arms I don’t want to move and a warm bed I don’t want to get out of.
He orders breakfast. We sit in the bed and drink coffee after coffee, talking about our favourite books, our families, our dreams.
“Okay so I am going to face the outside world and take some shots. Do you want to look through some of my photos while I’m gone?” For someone creative like myself, I know that this is showing a whole new side. This is showing vulnerability, talent and a part of them.
“I’d love to,” I say.
He sets up his laptop, showing me the different folders to look through. I see the photos from Australia, and a sense of nostalgia hits me. I look through his pictures from Africa, Russia, the U.K., France. Then, when looking through his photos from Italy, I see a picture of me. In the photo, I’m sitting in a café, much like yesterday, and I have my laptop and I’m writing. I remember that day. I go through phases where I’ll feel shit for days and then all of a sudden the mental anguish begins and I have a mental break down. I ended up taking a three week hiatus from writing and just travelled… focussed on the happy things. That was the first day I started writing again. The sun was out, coincidentally enough, and I felt so happy to write again. In the photo, I have a small curve to my lips.
I keep the photo open. Just staring at myself in, what feels like, a whole different time. I hear the door open and close. He looks at me, and I’m not sure what to make of his expression.
Smiling a little, I point to the screen. “That’s me. In Italy.” A tear falls from my eye and I let it roll unashamed.
“I’ve seen you many times,” he says, matter of fact.
“Where?”
“Canada. America. Argentina. Italy. Spain. Portugal. Germany…”
“Why didn’t I see you earlier?”
“I’m invisible.” He holds up the camera and shrugs.
That’s where the imagination stops. The only thing it shares with me about this story, is that we have a Disney ending. Happily ever after. Marriage is the end of our troubles. I’ve never met an Irishman named Ryan, but after this dream… I’m always looking out for him.
I’d be looking out for him too. He seems dreamy. 🙂 Although maybe a tad stalker-ish snapping photos of her from country to country. Thanks for sharing your piece, Samantha!