I’m a beautiful ray of fucking sunshine, sweetheart, and don’t you ever forget it!
Tags: #funny #humor #LOL #miscellaneous
Jermaine had thought of nothing but the success of this assignment. He boarded the plane with his hopes up higher than the flight would take him. Then Vera had fallen ill. He got her voicemail at the hotel.
Vera hadn’t realized that the milk in her refrigerator had turned while she was bucking for a promotion beneath Jermaine’s boss. She was quite fond of Jermaine, but Mack was much wealthier, more established, and more likely to settle down soon.
She had arrived home ravenous the next morning, never guessing that the power had been off all night. She only read about the fierce storm as she stirred milk into her morning coffee and drank her third cup.
Karma had never approached her subtly and she knew that it was going to be a vengeful bitch this time too, even though Jermaine had been far too preoccupied to notice that she had been much less than attentive lately. He had neglected her a little bit, but Vera knew she wouldn’t have needed much of an excuse anyways. She had always been drawn to money and power.
Gizelle had been her replacement on the shoot. Man stealing little jezebel from hell, she grumbled, clutching her stomach, much too ill to care about much else.
Jermaine knew he would lose the shoot entirely, along with his enviable career, if he couldn’t pull off an incredible feat of magic. He paced the room, mumbling to himself, “Some men make women disappear. How do I make the perfect woman appear in front of my lens?”
Vera had it all, he surmised dejectedly. No one is as excellent for Italy as she is. What am I going to do now? Picturing her, Jermaine voiced his anger, “You just had to poison yourself the day before a shoot that will make or break me, damn it all!”
He strode across the room raking his fingers through jet black locks. Leaning into the ornate sill, he peered out the window in a full blown panic, seeing the pink hued sunset, an expanse of white sand, and the translucent, turquoise Mediterranean Sea. In which to drown myself after I get the axe, he added dismally.
Then his gaze landed on her. Laying on a blanket, completely unguarded in sleep, was the naked beauty he had been praying for. He blinked and shook his head, certain that she was a mirage or that he would wake up to realize he had only dreamed her. Instinct and adrenaline took over. Jermaine raised the camera dangling from his neck, and snapped his first photograph of her.
Viewing her through the telephoto lens, he took stock with a critical photographer’s eye. She had skin like liquid velvet with a slight blush on her face, obviously unaccustomed to lying nude beneath the sun, and he smiled, pleased with that rumination.
He’d seen many beautiful women, had bedded more than half, and was always dismayed that so many had sun damaged skin. Look at that red hair; he grinned, longing to drive his fingers through the silky riot. That’s not a color you can get from a bottle, he beamed happily, lost in his voyeurism.
Suddenly she stirred, causing him to drop the camera. He ran from his luxurious surroundings as though the room were on fire. With his stomach in knots, he paused to catch his breath and run faster.
His lungs were near to bursting when he found the place he had seen her. Jermaine dropped to knees as his hopes fell away. He placed his hands on the still warm indentation of her exquisite body and closed his eyes in grief. A musical voice startled him back alertness.
“Por favor señor, encontraste mi anillo? “Please sir, did you find my ring?”
Jermaine opened his eyes to find his naked beauty wrapped in a blanket and speaking to him in a language he didn’t understand. Her thumb grazed her ring finger urgently and the message was conveyed.
“Ring! You’ve lost your ring,” he said, gesturing to indicate his understanding.
“Sí. Por favor, ayúdame a mirar. “Yes. Please, help me look.” Gizelle knelt down to run her hands lightly over the sand, pleading with her gaze.
Jermaine pretended to search, knowing that his knee had landed on it. Not wanting to risk losing her twice he kept it hidden, asking, “Do you speak English?”
“¿Inglés? Un poco. Lo intent. A little. I try,” she stumbled, still searching the immediate area frantically.
“Okay, that’s good,” he exclaimed.
“¡No, no es bueno! ¿No lo entiendes. It’s not good! Do you not understand?” she asked, emphatically pointing to her ring finger.
Suddenly, her meaning registered in mind and he did fully understand now. She’s engaged to another man. She’s promised to another. He hoped his devastation didn’t show.
She glanced at him and realized he was crestfallen. He looked like a man in great physical pain. Though she didn’t understand most of his words, she understood the look of personal torment. It touched her heart and she forgot her own panic.
Gizelle tucked the blanket around her, sat down in the sand, and took his hand. Jermaine’s breath caught as they looked into each other’s eyes.
© April 22, 2018 at 8:13 AM
Tags: love, lust, erotic, fiction, cheating, infidelity, karma, lovers, romance, voyeurism
3 word prompts (Fathoms) made into a 55 (or less) word story. Must be category Hero/Antihero.
My Fathoms: Dolphin, Dragon, Crumbs
The perils of love have always been dangerous, she surmised, taking refuge behind a tree to calculate an epic rescue.
She had not planned on crossing shark infested waters on a dolphin, but luring a dragon from its lair with breadcrumbs, was the most dangerous peril she would attempt to rescue her love trapped inside.
By Wild Uniqueorn
#Contest #Entry on #Zathom #Microliterature #flashfiction #fiction #hero #heroine
He was a pirate in every sense of the word. He came into her world while she slept and stole her away from safety. He was a literal thief in the night, stealing her virtue and then her mind. He twisted her into whatever amused him most. She followed blindly, depending on him to lead. She had not asked for his world but that was what she got. In time, she learned to tolerate his abuses in quiet servitude.
She lived an unfamiliar terror, never knowing what anguish he would inflict next, only knowing that he would not fail to. They had battled for her life, and for her will to live. She suffered seven years of soul crushing degradation, beating her black and blue, forcing her to bend and then forcing her to her knees, ignoring tears and screams. He had beaten her unconscious and nearly into her grave.
Finally, she freed her hands as he stumbled towards her. In a flash of fatalistic joy, she bolted, running for the gangplank, and flung her body overboard. She slipped beneath midnight waves, holding her breath with lungs near to bursting. Hiding in the breakers, silent for hours, she watched the search party relent and the ship sail away.
She washed onto shore beaten, bloody and scarred. As she laid her head on cool, damp sand and closed her eyes, she whispered, “Not broken,” and passed out, sure in the knowledge that she would die fighting before letting him break her.
Tags: #microliterature #microfiction #flash #fiction #shortstory #pirate #tales #heroine #enduring #spirit #message to a #tormentor #shortstuffsunday #amwriting
Brindle was all dime store cosmetic allure and overlong eyelashes dwarfing her face, attractive only to certain types of men from the wrong side of the tracks.
Everyone said she was no good, that she would be her own ruination.
She did business on her back, while dreaming of spreading her wings and broadening horizons, but she owed her soul to heroin. She had to have the drug to blur the faces and perversions that were her survival.
But she dreamed of better things, a better life teeming with love, until she was three months gone and her fate was sealed.
They said she had dried out and gotten her act together; she bore a girl child in a rehabilitation center, still on the straight and narrow, and returned to her home plus one.
But wagging tongues and cold stares finally broke her. Paramedics found her with a needle in her arm.
Her daughter attended the solitary service, watching alone, as they lowered the casket into the earth.
Everyone said she had grown quite beautiful in her late teen years, and spoke in hushed tones of what a shame it was that she had inherited Brindle’s poverty.
She was all dime store cosmetic allure and overlong eyelashes dwarfing her face, attractive only to certain types of men from the wrong side of the tracks.
#shortstuffsunday #SundayShorts #flashfiction #shortstory #psychological #fiction #human #condition #reputations #prostitution #harlots #history #repeats
She stood in the vessel, still in her pajamas, hearing the door tap staccato annoyance. She took stock of post-war casualties.
Venomous words, hurled like grenades, dripped from the air in corpuscle chunks, quivering in vast empty spaces between them, awaiting an overdue death at her feet.
My Fathoms (Word Prompts which must be incorporated): vessel, pajamas, tap.
Tags: #Zathom #story #fight #fiction #microliterature #microfiction
Eve sat in her Firebird thinking about canceling vacation but the idea of selective companionship, already programmed with her personal data, became too tempting to turn down. She realized, I would not have to lift a finger. I will have a robot slave. After some time weighing her options, with Adam slumped next to her in the passenger seat, Eve decided to pamper herself and recover from her breakup alone, but not entirely.
Working for a company with the leading technology, innovation, and inventions had its perks. Instead of the difficult process of meeting a new man, or bringing a friend, it was going to complicate things. There was work, vacation time, and schedules to consider. Eve had another option. A better one, she smiled to herself.
She put on her business face and dialed Neil from the parking lot. “Neil,” she began, “I’m sorry about earlier. I’d be happy to make this a working vacation. Is the project entirely ready to roll”?
“Yes, Neil answered, noticeably relieved, “we have implanted new programming, sensors, and circuitry, some of which may surprise you. It is nothing to be worried about, but we do need to test it in the field. Just take notes and keep a log of behaviors. Now that it has the capacity to learn from its own technology, field work is imperative”.
“Of course, is there anything else I should be aware of”?
“Nothing I can think of just now. Bring your phone. If you observe unacceptable words or behaviors, shut it down and call me. I can run diagnostic tests and do further programming from here”.
“Okay, Neil. Do you have any parting instructions”?
“Yes, actually. Remember to enjoy your vacation, Eve. I’ll need you to be tip top when you come back,” Neil said softly, “and don’t get lost in the mountains or eaten by a bear”.
Eve blushed. She knew that Neil was fond of her but tended to forget about it while at work. Typically, he was all business all the time.
“I won’t,” she smiled demurely, “but if a mountain man comes to take me away from all this, you’re out of luck,” she laughed.
Eve was actually relieved that she did not have to concern herself with schedules, awkwardness, or getting to know someone new. Adam was not going to care if she dropped a two-ton safe on his head. She could engage and disengage him at will, and pack him into the car and shut him down. However, it certainly does not hurt that he looks real and hot, she smiled.
She checked into a cabin that was all she had wanted for vacation this year. It was rustic and tucked into trees overlooking a freshwater lake just beyond the hill. The mountains smelled of fresh air, damp earth, and pine. Eve had longed for this place. She breathed in the mountain air, filling her lungs with the taste of vitality, indelibly memorizing a place that could cleanse her soul.
The pile of logs by the front door spoke of long evenings relaxing by the fireplace with brandy snifter and a new romance novel in hand that she had not cracked the cover on yet. The lake tugged at her thoughts, beckoning her to take a loaf of bread and go feed the evening creatures. She looked into the sky knowing there was not a lot of daylight left.
Eve clicked a button on her tiny remote and Adam came to life, sitting up and squaring his shoulders. With several more manipulations, Adam was ready to act real. She then sat at a table perusing the programming manual, running minor diagnostics, and thinking about the Romance Software Package. No, not yet, she decided.
She closed the laptop and went to work opening windows and shaking dust off the blankets, pillows, and comforters in the cabin, which sat closed and stagnant for a year before her arrival. Exhaustion set in as she hung the last blanket on the line.
As though he had read her thoughts, Adam turned and said, “I’ll build a fire and prepare dinner. Would you like an apéritif”?
She nodded her agreement and Adam poured a snifter of black cherry brandy. Reclining in an overstuffed chair, Eve admired the handsome look of this model, from his wavy hair down to his well-muscled buttocks. She ached to grip his flesh in her hands and draw his body tightly to hers.
Catching the turn of her thoughts, she jumped from her chair as though it were on fire, and rummaged through her bag for her smartphone. Eve opened a page, determined to begin her log.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, knowing that Neil would read it. She decided to begin with brief notes, which she would alter before anyone could be the wiser. Quickly she pecked out Remember, that is not real skin. Project Adam is not a real man. Control your machine.
Suddenly, Adam touched her shoulder and asked if he could draw a bath for her. She gave a silent nod of approval, and then realized she had not programmed Adam with the Romance Package. She knew instantly that Neil had programmed it from the office. Neil, I’m going to get even for this and it won’t be pretty, she threatened in mind, but first, I’m taking a steaming hot bath, you lucky bastard.
As darkness shrouded the wooded cabin, Eve manipulated buttons to impart instructions and then moved to sit before a roaring fire while Adam cleaned up dinner. She snuggled into several overstuffed pillows, wrapped in a bathrobe with her freshly scrubbed skin scented lavender.
Eve fell into deep, restorative sleep, thinking, I am still going to get you for this, Neil.
As if he had heard the threat, a cold chill ran down Neil’s spine. He chuckled to himself wondering what torment she planned to unleash on him when she returned. Cringing, he whispering under his breath, I hope she does not kill the project. He costs more than my house.
©December 17, 2017 at 12:27 AM
Tags: #Companionship #EroticRomance #Fiction #flashfiction #Robot #Sexbot #Flash Fiction #Love #Love-Triangle #Lust #Romance #Science Fiction #Sci Fi #shortstory #Story #Sex #SlapDashSat #SlapDashSaturday #technology
Sylvia possessed an inexplicable beauty that left most people groping for words, though she wore it with silent grace. She would never be at the top of anyone’s scintillating guest list, but she didn’t care. She loved this place. Trinity was home, now and forever.
She had seen many drifters pass through Florida, enough to keep her feet firmly planted. She would never have the stuff of an itinerant, but that was fine by her. The most she dared hope was that someday they would scatter her ashes here.
Some referred to her as an old soul and she rather liked it. Sylvia found the description rather fitting. She spoke knowledgeably on a large range of topics, which needed to be addressed for betterment of the town, and always did so with elegance.
The townsfolk of Trinity had come to rely on her slightly severe manner, commanding presence and intuitive nature in lieu of her abiding love for Trinity and irreplaceable knowledge of it.
They basked in the benefits she brought about for them, and she was everyone’s immediate source when needed for a mother’s solace. Spinster or not, she served a purpose that was bigger than herself, and found immense satisfaction in so doing.
Not one of them could discern how sitting alone in the evening mist, beneath an aged, knotted, old willow tree could be the solace she sought. Nevertheless, she was a fixture there every evening.
The evenings were still and quiet, with dew settling silently around her, and therein she realized the shelter of a grandparent; old and bent with unparalleled longevity, knotted and battered, yet strong and pliable protection that swaddled her in its consistence; just as darkness enveloped the evening, affording it solace, protection and succor.
Sylvia and her beloved town would rest easy, sleeping soundly in the arms of security and certainty which was home. This town, these people and her commitment to cradle them, this was her salvation.
© January 14, 2018 at 10:25 PM
Tags: shortstuffsunday, fiction, flashfiction, Trinity, Florida, Cryptkeeper, historian, mother
At Midnight on
New Year’s Eve I’ll be…
ugly mug underwater, screaming,
“Die, sucker, die”!
Then I’m going to
light up fireworks for 2018!
Happy New Year!
Tags: #2018 #2017 #Happy #newyear #homicide #NewYearsEve #NYE #celebrating #flashfiction #fiction #flasher #murder #life
At first it seemed a grand imposition when Neil Carlson asked her to test the lifelike capabilities of Project Adam in a realistic setting. “I need this vacation, Neil,” she argued, “I’m not going to play robo-sitter because perverts that want pre-programmed bionic sex are at the top of your priority list,” she exclaimed. “I’m grateful for my job, but inflicting this on my vacation is going too far!”
“I know, Eve. I know it’s a huge imposition but that’s what makes you perfect for the job. You are our target audience. You are the burned out, working housewife. You’re put upon, expected of, and sick and tired of taking care of others. You’re in need of some no-strings pampering minus the human hassle.”
She rolled her eyes and stated, “I’m not a housewife”.
Neil shrugged, saying suggestively, “I can’t help that your perfect.”
Eve was defeated. “I can’t believe you just used that line on me,” she sighed.
“Then you’ll do it,” Neil asked excitedly.
“Okay, fine! Just fine! Bring it out before I change my mind,” she spat, glaring daggers into Neil’s eyes.
Neil retrieved a miniature remote control from his pocket and flipped a switch. Project Adam entered the room on two feet, offering, “Hello, Eve. It’s good to meet you”.
Tearing her glare from Neil, Eve turned her wrath on her new charge, “Shut it! I haven’t decided whether to toss you onto a bonfire or shove you off a cliff! Just shut it”!
Neil clawed the air making angry cat sounds, laughing, “Wow! Kitten has claws”!
“And you,” Eve returned her anger to Neil, “Shut it before I tie both of you together and drag you down the interstate from the bumper of my car”!
Neil winked at Adam conspiratorially, whispering, “I’ll pray for you, buddy”!
Eve snatched the remote from his hands and hit every button and switch off. Adam crumpled to the floor and Eve smiled wickedly, saying, “Pack him up. He not going to be a passenger in my car”.
“Fine,” Neil snickered, He weighs 245 pounds. Good luck with that”.
She moved to stand unnervingly close to Neil; so close he could feel the heat emanating from her skin. She placed her face directly in front of his, whispering acidly, “You owe me big, and I mean huge”!
Eve hit the remote again and Adam was instantly restored. Turning on her stiletto heel, she issued an order without looking up, “Shut it and follow me.”
Adam followed dutifully while Neil stood in the empty room with fingers crossed and saying a silent prayer.
Tags: #Companionship #Research #Robot #Sexbot #Flash Fiction #Love #Love-Triangle # Lust #Romance #Science Fiction #Sci Fi #Sex #technology
He didn’t know what it was like. He couldn’t have. He couldn’t have known what his ugliness had done to her. He had never felt anything deeply, never gripped onto the last flicker of a flame, never held onto hope for dear life just to have it coldly snuffed out.
At the time, she couldn’t fathom that this was the work of the same man she’d loved so very dearly. Standing alone in the pitch with tears falling onto a still warm candle, too fearful to let go, Michaela prayed that it might flicker back to life at least long enough to run for the safety of light which, in reality, she knew did not exist.
Barefoot on cold cement, Michaela turned to look hopefully back over her shoulder but was met with the thick, merciless stillness, filled with no hope, no sense of proximity or direction, no stability nor love, and nothing to hold onto, just stagnant suffocating air. There, she stood frozen, with wax candle growing cold in her hands as she slipped to the floor shivering.
Michaela was naked, stripped of pride, belief, love and trust. Daniel had thrust her into empty, echoing aloneness because she had given all of herself. Now her everything was gone. He had turned his back on all of it, relegating her to the icy vice-grip of nothing else in her world that mattered as much.
Not a soul knew that she was locked in a basement below ground. No windows would save her come daylight. No one; no family nor friend, no love was coming to her rescue. Solitary penalty, she thought, as hope spilled down her cheeks.
A chill slid up her spine seizing her throat and a distant scream split the air, growing louder and more intense, until it surrounded her. Michaela twisted her neck turning to look and hoping her eyes would adjust, but then remembered how she had come to this moment, in this solitary place, and realized that the screaming came from her.
Michaela dropped the candle and sobbed into her hands. She wasn’t prepared for this. This will be certain death. The though registered like she had ingested a gallon of molten lead gone cold. She curled upon cement wondering how long it would take, how long she would endure the torment of starvation, isolation and black vacancy.
Even dying, little piece by little piece, isn’t as horrible as knowing how much I loved and invested in the one who sentenced me to it. How long until I die for this sin, she wondered, and then implored the Heavens, screaming on her knees, “Exactly what is the price for blind love? I trusted my heart”!
She pictured him now, laughing among friends, with self-righteous indignance, speaking as though she deserved to die for this; for the crime of believing in Daniel and loving him more than life. “Love is blind,” she whispered into the stillness.
Michaela knew that his friends and acquaintances were equally enamored, albeit differently. They too had no idea that the good man they accepted in the warmth of friendship would someday reveal himself; the monster inside would make itself known. Maybe they will be the ones to discover my bones here, she thought, knowing they would only meet the same fate.
Having worn out the last of her will, she closed her eyes, whispering into endless nothingness, “Now I lay me down to sleep”…
©December 5, 2017 at 6:05 PM
Tags: Tuesday Teasers, flash fiction, blind faith blind love, horror, allegory, unrequited love, murder, death
Tags: Women, Children, Abuse, Pregnancy, Giving Birth, Bible, Religion, Prose, Poetry
Image from: http://7-themes.com/7010187-beautiful-woman.html
Gemma wanted to be loved. More than anything, she wanted that. It seemed such a long time since she had felt wholly, genuinely loved. Time and again, dates came and went with no call and no second date. She perched on the couch with her teacup in hand, wondering why her love life was such a failed mission.
She flipped through the pages of Ms. Magazine, O, and Modern Bride, lamenting to her, I’ve read and reread every self-help self-improvement article in existence. I’ve taken all the quizzes on what to do and what not to do. My friends tell me to change, to try something different, and to try everything from relocation to aromatherapy! What’s a woman to do?
Gemma had begun with Fung Shui in her apartment and ended with each date leaving her cold. Suddenly, it hit her. I never reinvented myself! I never recreated my battered, bloodied heart! I never mended me. I never became a welcoming, loving person. I let my last relationship define me! What an epiphany!
Finally, she took the time to treat herself well and learn to forgive again. With every step, her heart softened and healed. She had forgotten how forgiveness of others could bind and strengthen her own wounded soul. She hadn’t realized how bitter, hard, and cold she had become. Wow, she thought, even I didn’t like me.
Months passed in a blur though she etched every moment into memory. She took slow, methodical steps and had arrived back at her true self, with one suitor who meant the world to her. Gemma smiled, realizing, all I had to do was recreate myself.
Daily Post: Recreate
Photo attributed to:
My future was never more unsettled. My fiancé had suddenly changed his mind and my parents died this year. The only family I had was across the continent and it felt like my personal world had spun off its axis.
I needed solidity and clarity; something to anchor myself to that would get me through a future too fraught with perilous unknowns. Though I was terrified and didn’t want to know, I had to know who or what my solid rock would be. Where is my safe port from the storms, I wondered.
The cloying question grated on my last, raw nerve until I was forced to do something dire. It was the only option left to me. I had to go see the gypsy witch. It was said she would read a fortune in exchange for cash, but only if she sensed desperation.
Lavinia lived on the outskirts of town, shrouded in mystery and spoken of in hushed tones of gossip at the grocery mart or any other place where town folk tended to gather, though Lavinia was never one of them.
From time to time it did strike me as peculiar and I wondered why she was never seen out and about, though I had not given it much thought until now. She’s certainly as human as any of us, I thought. Doesn’t she buy groceries or go out to do anything? I wondered, but it didn’t resolve my unease.
Every October the whispers would start. Mothers readied their children for Halloween, ensuring perfect costumes and a plentiful supply of candy, but steering their kids clear of the Victorian house with turrets hugging the town’s northern border.
I pressed the last of my paycheck into her palm wondering if she would know just how desperate I was, while she fondled her crystal ball. Glaring up at me she spat hatefully, in a thick acid-tinged Romani, “There is no love and no marriage in your future,” though I had not yet screwed up the courage to ask. “You shouldn’t be here,” she stated insistently, as she clawed my elbow to escort me back to the door. “Don’t come back here again”.
With that, Lavinia nearly shoved me out of the house and bolted the latch immediately. It was the sound of finality and the beginning of my foretold future; people pushing me away, slamming doors in my face, no love, no marriage, no children, no life, no one and nothing!
For a long moment I stood there, frozen in shock and terror, until indignance tunneled to the surface and won out. I pummeled the door she had just thrown me out of, screaming, “Lavinia! Lavinia, you answer me! I can’t leave, I have no answers! I paid you for answers,” but no answer was forthcoming. She ignored my presence as well as my pleas. I no longer existed for her.
I knew it was the beginning of the end. She did, in fact, answer the question I came to as, even without having to voice it, I silently berated myself and gathered my wits about me to begin the journey back to my empty house. I decided to walk in the bracing October air, grasping at anything that might discredit her when tears of impotence stung my eyes and spilled down my face.
I stifled a gasp at the echoes of laughter emanating from a nearby home while I descended into the hell my life had just become. The future is settled now, such as it is, I have the answers I no longer wanted and instantly regretted receiving. I will live in the sort of exile that Lavinia knows all about, I realized, and then ducked into an alley and wept.
©August 31, 2017 – 09:48 PM
#flash #fiction #self-fulfilling #prophecy #dangerous #women #dangerous #women #writingwednesday #writingwed #diverse #ownvoices
Cheryl hadn’t met him. They had corresponded for years after she joined a group of writers, formed to write to our troops overseas. They all took pen in hand and began writing service members overseas; especially when they were far away from loved ones during holidays.
She’d reread Dick’s replies as the letters became heated and lust nearly singed the pages. They prepared to meet when he came stateside. Dick had described a date she couldn’t have dreamed up herself. For months, she tried to imagine the scenario she’d prepared for.
Hours into that night, she sat in his car silently cursing him. This was not the man in the picture he had sent. This was not the behavior of a man who intended to keep his word. He drank heavily while she fantasized about chocolate Häagen-Dazs and preferring to be alone with it.
By comparison, and with all things considered, Cheryl found the reality of Dick to be substandard, but lighting his letters on fire would boost her spirits.
Read the rest of the daily posts!
This beautiful photo is not mine.
It belongs to the artist linked here: Photo ©Mossa Abdaoui
Life is too hectic, too heartbreaking to bear, with too many demands laid at my feet. Requests are no longer inconveniences. They are deadly weights dangling from my tiny size five’s, while I am clinging to a leaky life-raft adrift in a killer storm. Yet there is, on occasion, a tiny amount of satisfaction in envisioning letting go. There could be ultimate satisfaction in just being free of demands forever.
NOTE: I’m sure this is not what the Daily Post had in mind. I am imminently satisfied with being edgy.
Go visit all the daily posters and the weekly photo challengers!
“Come join me in divine, delicious debauchery,” he said in a voice so enticingly seductive, Amy couldn’t believe he had said it to her.
She had lived a sheltered life, barely more than an existence really, and she checked the spaces beside and behind her to be sure he wasn’t addressing someone else.
Jesse stood with his hand out, piercing her with his grey eyes and holding her stare with his own. She took a step and started to reach, but withdrew. He didn’t falter. His arm stayed outstretched, with his rough hand extended, palm up, insistent and waiting.
Again Amy reached haltingly and this time he clasped her hand in his before she could change her mind. Nevertheless, he didn’t move. Jesse stood still, raking her with his eyes, and she realized it was a challenge. The decision to move any further would be hers.
Jesse cocked a brow, refusing to take his eyes off hers. She risked a full length glance and realized that he oozed sensuality. Every inch of his delicious body made her teeth sweat, but she wondered about the long term prospect thinking, he is delicious, and maybe we will be a divine union. Will we love deeply enough to make even debauchery divine in our perfection, or is he the epitome of walking sex with a few ten dollar words?
But she already knew half the answer. No one had ever aroused her interest the way he had in the space of five minutes. And I’m sick of my boring life. I’m sick of my world. I’m sick to death of nothing ever changing.
Amy clasped Jesse’s hand more tightly and took the first step.
Jesse grinned with wickedness shining in his eyes and licked his full lips.
Amy was hit by the enormity of making a sudden decision which she would never be able to turn back from. It was thrilling and terrifying. Amy wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh hysterically or lose her lunch.
June 07, 2017 – 03:09 PM
Ellie raced to the powder room nearly forgetting her purse and was relieved to find it unoccupied. She pulled her makeup bag from her purse and dragged a chair to the mirror. She sat with the brush in hand when a thousand memories returned.
She fought it, insistently sliding the brush across the blush and attempted to apply it, but concentration didn’t stop the deluge. She checked her reflection but failed to see it. Instead, she saw Ryker kiss her for the first time and her heart still skipped a beat.
Again she tried to drag herself out of it. She rifled through her bag and found the hairbrush. She removed several pins holding her hair in a braided upsweep and smoothed it with her hand when she recalled the time he had run his fingers through it, caressing her hair until she fell asleep. It was the first time they had made love.
She lowered her hand staring into the mirror but only seeing the moments with him, replaying in mind as they hadn’t in a long time. With a tear rolling down her cheek, she remembered. With the last of her determination bested, she saw him fist her hair and kiss her gently, walking her backwards.
Ellie still couldn’t pin down the exact moment she gave in to him. He kissed her until thought became feral desire. All else disappeared and fulfillment was all that mattered. They were crazed that night. Ryker fumbled with the zipper at the back of her dress and then lifted her off her feet. She began to protest when her back hit the wall and he gripped her wrists in one hand.
“I thought,” she started.
“Don’t think,” he cut her off, “just feel” and lifted her dress as she wrapped her legs around him. He deepened a kiss that made her head reel and his member entered her, hard and fast. She gripped his shoulders not realizing she had dug her nails into him. He slowed the pace, caressing her cheek until the heat and wetness between her thighs grew insistent. Ellie threw her head back in abandon, wanting harder and faster.
He cupped her tight little ass, pulled her against him and carried her to the enormous bed. He lay her down gently, still standing at the edge as she tried to squirm back further, suddenly needing some sense of propriety. He raked her naked flesh with his gaze and caught her beneath the knees to pull her back down with legs straddling him.
Smiling in the darkness, Ryker dropped to his knees and kissed her delicate feet, ankles, and shins, breathing hotly against her, sending shivers through her. He could tell she was anxious as she lifted her hips, squirming anxiously, and he made her wait another minute until he had to feast at her apex.
Ellie let squeals and gasps escape that she never heard and her wanton delight spurred him on like nothing he had known before. He kissed her stomach while lightly fondling her breasts, titillating her nipples until they could wait no longer.
He climbed to the pillows and pulled her up against him in one deft movement. She clung to him desperately, both of them kissing and nipping and tasting, wanting to recall this experience many years later. Ryker twined his leg around her ankle, effectively anchoring her, and drove himself into her hard, pummeling her as she bucked, keeping up with him until they both cried out at once.
His shaft was still semi-hard, sheathed in her pulsing wetness, each knowing they had more than satisfied the other. That was when she knew that love wasn’t about self-gratification at all. Ellie finally raised her eyes, applied her makeup, took a deep breath, and prayed that no one could read her thoughts.
Tags: Erotic Romance, Fiction, Friendship, Relationships, Romance, WiP
Ellie started laughing and almost couldn’t stop. The punchline wasn’t that funny but she had needed the release badly. Six months prior, she went to bed and realized she hadn’t thought of Ryker for the entire day. Finally, she hadn’t wakened with her first thought being him. That was a first and she smiled as she closed her eyes knowing she would sleep without dreams, at last.
Tonight, Ellie was fully present, laughing with her best friends and actually present in the right here, right now. She wasn’t pretending to smile and she didn’t dread waking up tomorrow – finally. She no longer thought of tomorrow and that was freeing and fine with her.
Donna and Milly were her besties – forever, she told herself. Together they helped Ellie wade through the loss of her greatest love. With tiny steps and too many nights spent crying on their shoulders, and then crying herself to sleep, she had arrived back at her life and in her right mind. After mourning the loss of self and significant other, she had found her center and herself again. I’m not just breathing now, she congratulated herself. I’m alive!
Ellie sighed happily and scanned the hall for the powder room. She excused herself and took a step when her eyes landed on Ryker entering the celebration.
She froze as he smiled at her, not turning away as she had imagined this moment a year ago. Ellie’s breath caught and suddenly she knew what it felt like to be hit by a stun gun. The room whirled slightly as he walked towards her. Before he could reach her, Ellie spun and bolted for the safety of friends.
“Milly,” she said, lying a hand on her arm, “Milly, I need a moment,” Ellie whispered urgently.
“Sure sweetie, what is it,” Milly asked and then she saw Ryker approaching.
“Is there a back way out of here,” she asked, barely staving off hysteria.
“I understand,” Milly extended her hand to catch Donna’s eye and whispered to Ellie, “Stay put. I’ll handle this,” waving Donna over with a flash of fingers and eyes filled with concern.
Her voice was protective reassurance a moment too late. Tears stung Ellie’s eyes which she riveted to the floor with her hair tumbling forward, hiding her expression. She felt pieces of her falling away as she came silently unglued.
How could he do this to me? Ellie wondered, imagining her bloodied heart splattering onto the linoleum floor. Hasn’t he hurt me badly enough? What the hell is he doing, coming back for more? My suffering wasn’t enough? God help me, he’s come to finish me off.
Ellie peered to see Ryker extend his hand to greet her friends who were plainly blocking his passage.
“Good evening, Millicent,” he said, approaching her.
They reluctantly exchanged hellos and Ryker held his breath. Milly clutched his palm in her fist pulling him close to her lips while Donna closed ranks behind him. Milly whispered venomously into his ear, “What are you doing here, Ryker”?
Donna brought up the rear, jabbing an accusing finger into his back, “Spit it out, disappearing Romeo. Why not try the truth this time,” Donna hissed.
Ryker looked directly into Milly’s eyes for the first time since they’d met, “I really love her,” he whispered, “I need her,” Ryker hesitated.
Ellie stood with her back to them, eavesdropping and peeking over her shoulder when she dared, biting back tears and wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
“Sure you do, just as much as you ever did, you son of a simpleton,” Milly ground out, holding his eyes in her angry stare.
“You need her for what,” Donna said acidly, “A night, a week, long enough to kill her this time”?
“I know you two don’t believe me but I need her to,” Ryker insisted, moving to step around Milly.
Donna caught the back of his collar as Milly fisted his necktie. Donna moved to stand next to her speaking her vengeance softly, “You’ll have to convince us first so go ahead. Try. We dare you,” she spat close enough that Ryker could feel their mutual wrath cloak him.
He glanced beyond them to see Ellie, with her head down and back turned. It was an insecure posture, and it was his fault. He had no desire to bring her more pain than he already had. All he wanted was to hold and comfort her, to win back the trust he had lost so foolishly. Not wanting to inflict a scene on her atop everything else, Ryker acquiesced.
“Okay, he said, squaring his shoulders and taking care not to break eye contact, “Why don’t we find an empty table? I’ll buy us a round and I’m all yours. You two can vent and I’ll answer every question you have. Do your worst. I’m not running.”
It was a boy who let her go, he realized, and I’m going to be the man she deserves, he thought resolutely.
Milly and Donna exchanged an incredulous glance and nodded their agreement. Milly fisted the edge of his sleeve, making sure this wasn’t a rouse. Donna stepped back to whisper quickly to Ellie, “Give us awhile. Go enjoy the party”.
Ellie turned grief-stricken eyes to her and Donna rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, whispering, “Pretense, Ellie. For now, pretend. You can do this”?
Ellie nodded hesitantly and Donna smiled brightly, “Make him jealous as hell, Ellie,” then winked at her and turned away to trap Ryker between Milly and herself.
Sliding into the booth next to him, she warned, “There are no guarantees you can convince us. Hunker down, Ryker. This is going to be a long, hard night and I offer no guarantees you will even survive it”.
Tags: Erotic Romance, Fiction, Friendship, Relationships, Romance, WiP
Part 2: After Burn, Part 2
Tags:. Quote, quotes, Mark Twain, Lie, Truth, Speed of gossip
Sherman returned from a town meeting exhausted. He wanted Constance to rub his weary shoulders and speak in quiet, soothing tones, sending him off to calm and dreamless sleep. Her gentle nature is truly something to behold, he thought, opening the door in search of her sweet face. That is when he saw it.
He had received ‘the look’ from a few prior girlfriends and it was frightening enough then, but none of them held a candle to Constance. While the eyes and anger of others had shot daggers into his quick retreat, not one had filled him with dread like ‘the look’ staring back at him now.
Constance was not a woman who angered easily. She was long on patience, empathetic to a fault, and knew fact from fiction almost without exception. Everything she breathed, touched, and attempted, was with single-minded, passionate devotion. It was one of many qualities that drew him to her, but he hadn’t considered her passionate focus in this context.
She had only a few faults, the worst of which were jealous tantrums. She had good reason, but Sherman was ill-prepared for jealousy, coupled with murderous intent, in the eyes of his lovely bride. Standing here now, frozen in his tracks, he realized, if looks could kill, I’d be a dead man served up cold on a cement slab, and the colonel would still put a bullet in my brain. Thank God he was with me!
Sherman summoned all his courage, slapped on a bright smile, and handed her a bouquet of flowers that she did not try to grasp. The bouquet fell to the floor and Constance didn’t blink. Neither did her expression soften in the slightest. She just stood there, glaring hatefully, with stems and petals strewn about her tiny feet.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I had to attend the meeting at town hall. This was about farming and water for the crops. They might dredge the lake and I had let them know our fields are drying up. I didn’t know it would last all night,” he explained. Seeing no change in her countenance, he finished, “What was I supposed to do?” He stood defiantly, waiting for response.
With her arms still folded across her chest, Constance kicked the flowers from her slippers, never taking her eyes from him, and slipped stiffly into a chair, “Lie to me,” she spat acidly, with rage building in the timber of her voice, “This is how much respect you have for me? You think I’m so unintelligent that you’re going to just stand there and lie to me now,” she quizzed him, with her fury building dangerously close to combustion.
Anyone with eyes could see she was a lit keg of TNT with precious little fuse left. Sherman began to approach and then thought better of it. She’s a volcano about to erupt. Even I can see this one coming on. Then suddenly, his lips turned up slightly as he recalled the first time he’d bedded her and she had been a much more accommodating volcano. He wiped off the grin but it was too late.
“You dare to laugh at me? You think this is funny? I paced the floor all night wondering if my husband is alive, dead, or with the town whore, and you’re smiling? How dare you,” she screamed, “So it’s hilarious that you worried your wife sick”?
Constance shoved her chair back standing ramrod straight and crossed the room. Fisting the first heavy object that came into her hands, she sent a prized Louis XVI sevres hurtling toward him, nearly clipping his ear, as it whizzed past his head and shattered against the wall along with his hard won calm.
© February 23, 2017 – 07:36 PM – All Rights Reserved
Tagged: Lust, Love, Romance, Jealousy, Tantrums, WiP
Sherman recalled his triumphant return from battle. He was jubilant enough to ask her father for Constance’ hand in marriage. Many truths were revealed that night. It was an evening he would never forget.
Colonel Douglas Brenner appeared to be all business. He ran the mansion quite efficiently, made his fortune in farming, land and crops, and spoiled his daughter with extravagant trinkets and lavish gowns all for the fun of seeing her face light up with joy.
Colonel Brenner shook Sherman’s hand and slapped him on the back, saying, “I wish you luck, old boy. You’re braver than the dandies that came to call before you.”
“Why thank you, sir,” he responded stiffly.
“Don’t be so formal, Sherman. We’re practically family now,” the colonel smiled.
They shared cigars and brandy over a game of chess until the small hours of the night. After they’d had their fill of drink, Sherman watched a darkness come over the colonel as he leaned across the large, oak desk to impart his wisdom.
“Constance is not my biological daughter,” he spoke softly; “I don’t think she remembers and I am the only father she’s known. I trust you will keep this confidence strictly between us,” the colonel said conspiratorially.
“What are you saying,” Sherman questioned.
The colonel continued, “Her mother and I made the adoption legal after we were wed, son, but we decided never to tell Constance if she didn’t question her heritage”.
Sherman watched slack-jawed while the colonel took a long pull from his drink, draining the brandy from its snifter. He whispered his confusion, “But her mother is.” Again he stopped with the unease of having been drop-kicked into a mine field blindfolded.
“Anice,” the colonel phrased the question for him.
“Yes,” Sherman acknowledged.
“Yes and no,” the colonel replied, “Before I married Anice, the future Mrs Brenner attended the Institut Villa Pierrefeu. It’s a finishing school in Switzerland. She shared a room with a young woman who’s reputation was,” he paused, searching for the right words, “less than sterling. Lydia Oliver was her name”.
Sherman lit a cigar, urging, “Go on”.
“The young lady got herself with child. Anice helped Lydia hide the fact, but Lydia abandoned the baby girl soon after giving birth. She left her child on a blanket with a note.”
The colnonel rummaged through a desk drawer and produced a scrap of paper. Sherman read it in silence.
“Dearest Anice, I know you come from money and that your heart is made of gold. You’re a better friend than I could have hoped for. Please take care of her like you did me.”
Sherman looked at Douglas Brenner with new respect and asked the obvious question, “So she kept Constance?”
“Indeed,” the colonel beamed, “She went to the Headmaster and higher-ups to explain her predicament. They tried to talk her into giving the child up for adoption but Anice was already in love with the baby girl. She was determined to keep her. It was teamwork and some luck that they managed to hide the presence of a baby at the Institut Villa Pierrefeu. Anice is quite a special woman,” He finished wistfully.
“And you married her anyways”? Sherman queried trepidaciously.
“Absolutely,” the colonel beamed, “I’ve only loved three women in my life,” he exclaimed, “My mother, Anice, and Constance. It’s no easy task to give my youngest in marriage but you’re a good man, Sherman Mandrel, I know you will never fail to do right by my little girl,” he said, patting his revolver for assurance.
“You can count on me, Colonel,” Sherman uttered, hoping his voice didn’t shake.
© February 23, 2017 – 07:36 PM – All Rights Reserved
Tagged: Lust, Love, Romance, Requests, Revelations, Proposals, WiP
both giving and taking,
in the grip of fiery, insistent need,
always ravenous lovemaking,
exchanging deep, fiery passion;
their united eternal need.
They married in an hour,
stayed together forever,
and lived happily ever after.
Tags: Flash fiction, Love and Lust, Valentine’s Day
Tags: #Tuesday #TuesdayUseItInASentence #Language #English, #Patience #Patients
Click the graphic to read all of our TMI confessors!
If you were forced to wear a warning label, what would yours say?
If you were a Sesame Street character, which one would you be?
Oh please! Which one do you think?
If you could have an endless supply of a candy or baked good, what would you get?
Warm chocolate chip cookies or fudge brownies straight from the oven!
Who is your favorite villain? Why?
The Joker. You just have to love Jack Nicholson in that role!
Are you more in tune with sunrise, daytime, sunset or nighttime?
I’m about half and half right now but I prefer a sunset to being awake for sunup. Sleep all day and play all night. I want all the naps back that I didn’t use as a kid! LOL!
Sunset? Time to wake up!
Resort and Casino Owner. Fun, a place to crash and tons of money, all self-contained in luxury. Ahhhh, Vegas, baby!
Tags: #TMITuesday Blog #TMI #Tuesday #Too #Much #Information #Questions #Answers #Fun
Jake plumbed the murky sea, swimming deeper into the spot where he had seen Sirina go under. Nothing was visible in the storm-black seawater. He plumbed more deeply, extending arms blindly in every direction until his lungs threatened to burst.
He retreated and dove again with all of his senses coming alive. Jake hauled his body ever deeper seeing only blackness until his foot brushed against something which was not rock. He froze at the touch of fingertips to his ankle and falling away.
With a ludicrous mix of terror and relief propelling him, Jake pushed deeper with limbs stretched akimbo until he finally caught the feeble fingertips that attempted to alert him. He tightened his grip on a hand too weak to hold his own and hauled them both upward, drawing a great gasp of air upon surfacing. Sirina did not.
Jake caught sight of the cabin cruiser, and motivated by sheer panic, swam with fury, dragging Sirina’s limp body until he could fling himself into the dingy for leverage. Never letting go, he strengthen his hold, moving his hands to her wrist and arm. Jake braced himself and pulled mightily, hauling Sirina aboard.
On instinct, he threw himself over her tiny, lifeless form, shielding her from rain bulleting down amidst a storm which gave no quarter. Jake moved his face close to hers, listening for the sound of breath as he held his own. Nothing! Wait, Was that a shallow breath?! Again he steeled himself, waiting and listening. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
He grabbed her shoulders shaking her, “Breathe, Sirina! Breathe!” Then he pressed his lips to hers covering her mouth to breathe life into her lungs, reciting silent instructions and shouting panic with every pause. Tilt head back. Pinch the nose. Deep breath and push into her lungs. “Breath, Sirina!” Head tilted. Pinch nose. Deep breath. Push it into her lungs. “Don’t you give up on me! Breath now, he commanded. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Following several more rounds, he paused to listen again. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Willing her to live, and filled with terror, he administered CPR pumping her chest frantically. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. “Again! Again! Again,” Jake instructed himself aloud and to any god that might listen. Once more, he paused to listen. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Wait! What was that?
Sirina’s diaphragm lurched and she coughed.
Jake lifted her head, rejoicing, as Sirina coughed up the ocean which had nearly killed her.
As the storm died and she had sputtered her last, Jake held her close, whispering, “Inhale the good air. Exhale the bad air,” more for his comfort than hers, stroking her hair all the while and feeling her tired body fill with life.
Finally, he lay Sirina back gently, instructing, “Don’t move a muscle,” as if she could.
Sirina managed an exhausted reply, “No problem.”
Jake had already clambered up the side ladder and turned to her, issuing, “Shhh, be still.”
Jake hurdled the side rail and bolted to the wheelhouse. He hit the button which hauled the dingy and its precious cargo to safety.
Sirina stared into the now calm skies knowing that Poseidon had tested and spared her – this time.
©December 03, 2015 – 11:21 PM – All Rights Reserved
Read it from the beginning!
Tags: Love and Lust, Fantasy, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Man and Mermaid, Romance, Mythology, Poseidon, WiP
Yes, if you’re lucky. No. Ummm, wait! Can I change my mind? LOL!
I never knew and understood myself like this.
Swim with recently fed sharks. I’m that creeped out at the thought of swallowing insects. Can you say “Fear Factor”?
Kindness and words which truly come from the heart and are meant.
I just finished #TuesdayUseItInASentence and folding laundry.
Bonus: Are you a little bit damaged? How so?
Ummm, no. I mean, yes. Well, I was…but I’m much better now! LOL! Duct tape holds the world together. I cover it with too much foundation. On second thought, no comment. Why, does the duct tape show? Wait! I want to change my answer!
Tags: #TMITuesday #group #Too Much #Information #questions
How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!
The California quail made its home in a tree outside my bedroom window, and I let it stay because it seemed to rail at sunup, crying, “No-o-o! No-o-o! No-o-o!” resonating my own distaste for morning.
To hear it, choose California Quail:
Tags: #TUESDAYUSEITINASENTENCE, QUAIL, LANGUAGE, ENGLISH
READ MORE ABOUT #TUESDAYUSEITINASENTENCE
They were willing prisoners too comfortable in the confines of a short honeymoon phase with entirely too much in between. They had run far and fast enough, escaping the families that opposed them. He had slipped her hand into his, threading his fingers through hers, as they approached the chapel doors. The moon rose up full in the sky and she took it as omen that, at least, god approved their union.
Everything about the day was beautiful because she was with him, finally, alone, uninterrupted by the rudeness that was her life prior. She had survived so much and knew now that this was why. Marcus hit the accelerator and colorful leaves clouded in the wake of his car as she watched the countryside turn into molten gold and fiery reds that shamed the sunlight and flames in her heart.
Violet wanted this imagery, every single leaf that had fallen from trees, daylight sparking fire in the highlights in his hair, the easy conversation and the comfortable quietness, the wind rippling his shirt against his taut body, the last of summer’s warmth, and knowing the night air would be chilled. Violet needed to memorize every second with him now, every perfect moment, because nothing would ever be exactly this way again.
She leaned back into his shoulder, listening to the breeze carry his voice away as he pointed out landmarks and that which he recalled fondly, wanting to share with her. She gave him a nearly untroubled smile wishing this second would last forever and knowing it couldn’t – and wouldn’t. She loved him with her heart near to bursting with emotion, knowing even then that it would not be enough to sustain a lifetime.
They had lain in the tall grass ready to fulfill their mutual cravings offering up perfect, wanton lovemaking along with the beautiful innocence of two so untried and that unrepentant souls can muster, here in this place where two souls unite in ecstasy’s death in culmination at last.
Violet would remember. She would cling to this moment, vehemently, as no other could. Every movement; his hand stroking her hair, her cheek, their impure desires, the angle of the slightly bashful new moon, their bodies pressed together, the heat of comingling all made perfect in marriage.
This was beginning and end which would afford her warmth, in recall, that she may need in a thousand years or the space of another breath. Nothing, she knew with paramount certainty, would ever be as special, awkward, innocently loving, and as lovely, as this momentous second.
Marcus slowed the pace, asking “Are you hungry, Violet? Do you want to stop?”
But she knew that the reality of anything concrete was enough to break the spell which had carried them this far, and though it was already too late, though something in her heart slipped as the smile slid from his lips, she closed her eyes against the sadness of torn time-space continuum, replying, “Just keep driving, Marcus. Drive forever.”
Tags: #love and lust #innocence #lost #lust #cravings #love #marriage #honeymoon #phase #fulfillment #spell #cast #broken #concrete #reality #Lovemaking #moonlight #memory #warmth #between
© January 01, 2017 – 06:00 AM
Photo: MOMA https://www.moma.org/collection/works/110263
Six degrees of separation
and twenty-four hours of pain
Is this how Noah felt
when he couldn’t stop the rain?
Six degrees of separation
And twenty-four hours of pain
because it’s easier to cut out her heart
than to try to forget his name.
Six degrees of separation
And twenty-four hours of pain
For the very last time tonight
She will cry for what might have been.
©June 04, 2017 – 05:23 AM – All Rights Reserved
The theory and results:
In the first large-scale test of the six degrees hypothesis, called the Small World project, scientists from Columbia University in New York had participants send e-mails to acquaintances with the goal of eventually reaching one of the listed targets. Results, published in 2003 in the journal Science, showed the targets were reachable in five to seven steps. However, many of the chains terminated prematurely, which the scientists attribute to lack of incentive by individuals to reach a target.
Kalista’s hands shook and the world spun into blackness. She returned to consciousness seeing the face of her neighbor calling her name anxiously as though he were a long distance away. She was coughing, choking on ammonia fumes as the sound of sirens wailed in the distance. Nothing made sense and she wondered if the earth had turned over or spun off its axis. She couldn’t fathom how she came to be lying on the floor.
“Kalista, are you okay?”
She managed to catch his arm to push the smelling salts away.
“James,” she murmured in confusion, “What are you doing?”
“Oh, thank god, I thought you were done for!”
The offending fumes dissipated but sirens screamed more loudly in her ears and then halted abruptly.
“Thank god is right,” she whispered, letting her head fell back onto the carpet. Detecting unfamiliar voices and activity, Kalista shook off the temptation to lapse back into merciful oblivion and tried to rise.
James was at her side in a second, preventing further movement ordering, “No you don’t. Be still.”
“But how,” she began, “Why am I,” she tried again, fighting the fog that gripped her thoughts forcing her to give up.
James stayed her with a gentle hand, explaining, “I was just passing by to fetch the mail. Your door was open and I saw you clutch your chest. You hit the floor like a sack of hammers. I thought you had a heart attack. Paramedics are here.”
As memory returned, Kalista prayed the earth would open up and swallow her whole, “No. I’m fine, James. I’m sorry I gave you such a fright. I just skipped breakfast. I guess, I was a little light-headed,” she lied.
“You really scared me. Your face was ashen and you went down hard. I feared the worst, Kalista. You’re not moving until the paramedics check you out,” James cautioned her.
Kalista acquiesced reluctantly, “Okay but it’s not necessary. I feel so silly for causing all this commotion,” she argued with her cheeks burning.
James relayed her explanation to the medics and they checked her out thoroughly, administering an EKG and taking her blood pressure and temperature, then helping her to the couch. They filed out of the apartment explaining that she may have a concussion and shouldn’t be left alone.
Kalista couldn’t wait for them to leave so she could collect herself and her thoughts, but James took it upon himself to stay glued to her side as self-appointed caregiver. He strode the short distance to her bedroom and returned to wrap her in a blanket and tuck a pillow under her head.
She was somewhat taken aback at his innate ability to take control and make order from chaos yet, she hadn’t decided whether his insistent care was welcome yet. She only moved in two weeks prior and this protective display came as a complete surprise, but the effects of a too eventful morning took form in the shape of heavy eyelids and exhaustion.
James retrieved her mail from the floor and examined the contents of the box as her eyelids fluttered, fighting sleep, until she collapsed into the warmth and assurance of James’ commanding presence and she let her heavy eyelids close.
“Well there are no bills and nothing pressing. This is a beautiful piece of jewelry,” he said, lifting the box for a closer look, “Do you have a significant other?”
Her eyes flew open with a start as he examined the box from Daveed. Before he noticed that she was alert Kalista slammed her eyes shut, feigning sleep and hoping he wouldn’t look at the card. She lay in unsettled silence until exhaustion finally claimed her.
Tags: #long lost #love #lust #college #reunion #beau #thirty years later #gift #choker #collar #jewelry
As the world knows it is crazy-time with elections in the USA, on this TMI Tuesday. Today’s questions were created by Recusen and little ol’ me. There are many types of elections–student council, city government, civic club boards, union leadership, executive boards, Homeowners Associations, and more.
Refer to any type of recent elections as you answer the following questions.
1. I think more favorably about a candidate who has family, such as a spouse and kid(s)
True or False
2. I am more likely to support a candidate who has my same religious beliefs?
True or False
3. I am skeptical of anyone running for any type of office if they are devoutly religious.
a. I agree
b. I somewhat agree
c. I disagree
4. If a candidate has a sex scandal, I will not vote for them.
5. If a candidate was involved in a sex scandal more than a decade ago:
a. I don’t care, it will not affect my view of the candidate
b. Scandal is scandal, I cannot support that candidate
c. Everyone has sex, sex is not scandalous, I don’t care about a candidate’s sex life
e. For me to be swayed by a candidate’s sex scandal it would have to be something huge, heinous and against humanity
6. I like when candidates call each other names and get into negative verbal sparring.
a. Yes – It’s exciting to know the dirt
b. No – It’s a waste of time, I learn nothing about either candidate
Some of each. It speaks to a candidate’s character and reveals truths which were covered up.
7. Do you vote? Why or why not?
Yes. We fought for the right.
8. When it comes to campaign ads, which kind do you respond to:
a. Negative ads
b. Positive ads
9. Has a campaign ever swayed your vote?
10. Do you pay attention to who placed/paid for the ad?
Bonus: Select all that you agree with, select as many or as few as you like.
a. U.S. Presidential campaign lasts way too long
b. U.S. candidates for President waste a lot of money
c. 2016 U.S. Presidential Race is a steaming pile of poo!
How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!
How’s it going–you know, your relationship?
How did you realize an important relationship (romantic, friendship, business) was over? What was the pivotal moment or statement?
After being involved for 2+ years, he asked if I wanted to live with him. When I said no, he asked if I knew we could get married by Notary Public, like he meant to hide it.
Relationship strategy–do you have one? Share.
I have several:
Love completely, not blindly. Don’t question your instincts. Don’t let anyone else make you doubt yourself. You know what you know. Communicate. There must be love and trust enough to put fears to rest in order for love to grow instead of stagnate. Be that invested. If he gets angry instead of communicating about anything run, do not walk, to the nearest exit. Most women believe half of what their S.O. says. My strategy is to know which half.
Name two things you appreciate about your current relationship. Why are these things significant? (If not currently in a relationship, feel free to refer to your best relationship)
He had basic insight about how to satisfy a woman… Make that women.
He knew that selfish sex would not garner the result he wanted in return.
In your relationship, do you compromise?
a little never – I usually get my way
too much, it helps keep the peace (Now, I have a rule of thumb: Be empathetic, work for it, but not to the point of being a doormat.)
If you went to couple’s therapy, which of these are you most likely to have a need to discuss:
My significant other feels more like a roommate Sex is uncomfortable My partner doesn’t know what I like in bed “Forget sex! We barely touch.”
We were compatible in all those ways but it’s not a relationship if you’re in it alone.
Bonus: Below is a list of extreme sports. You must pick one sport to try. Why would you do that sport?
volcano diving (Possibly, if another relationship ends badly and there is the possibility of death. Perhaps this would snap me into a new perspective. Rebirth from hell’s mouth?)
zip-lining through a jungle bungee jumping
How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!
Happy TMI Tuesday!
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She stood on the boardwalk at Jones Beach State Park. She couldn’t believe her luck. A single week ago, she had graduated college and now her feet were standing on a beach. She watched the sunset with the Atlantic rising majestically to pummel the sand as waves crashed down with the rush and sound of fulfillment. It’s something akin to a sadistic mating dance, she thought.
Jasper began shooting the ocean and wondering how much these two elements must love one another. She watched dark, powerful ocean slap the sand sadistically, chasing earth inland in wild pursuit, only to pull a fraction of earth back to sea in enticing, seductive retreat. Its intimate give and take, and an eternal exchange of energy. Nothing can ever end this, she mused excitedly.
Standing alone in the moonlight, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she realized that shooting the ocean made her nothing shy of an intrusive voyeur. Jasper rolled her eyes at herself, ugh, the worst kind.
She’d caught many shots that were much more than just the wildness of Mother Nature. These are unique, one-of-a- kind photos with an intense, sensual point of view, she told herself, not like the repetitive National Geographic Magazine, she grinned lost in thought. Then Jasper hugged her camera and did a small, celebratory jump-twist.
It was as if the wide-angle lens of innocent curiosity lead her to stumble upon lecherous lovers thought hidden. Jasper knew she should leave but froze in fascination. She knew these photos would be rewarded handsomely, as certainly as she knew that cashing her paycheck would feel too similar to walking away from a John and tucking his money into her thigh-high boot.
Nonetheless, she couldn’t let it dampen her spirits. She was ecstatic knowing these shots would ‘make her’. These photos would be the beginning of a stellar reputation and career. She ran for the boardwalk anxious to tuck her equipment safely into a photography bag.
Jasper returned to the stairs below the boardwalk, bent down to retrieve her shoes and found herself looking into piercing, ice blue eyes as a scream welled up in her throat.
© October 21, 2016 – 04:10 PM
Gonna get all up onto my high heels
and haul ass out of here
gonna have to fight like a holy hellion
like I never fought for anything
like I never fought before.
Gonna slip on out of my warm bed
and paint my black jeans on
gonna be wearing a hat that matches
like I just got a sign
this is my declaration divine.
Gonna get all up onto my high heels
and haul ass out of here
gonna have to be my own super woman
for all of my sisters who can’t fight
like I have a godforsaken right.
Gonna get all up in my own existence
and then I’ll get up in yours
gonna fight like a holy hellion
like I never knew I could before
I’m no longer keeping score.
Gonna get all up onto my high heels
and paint my black jeans on
gonna be wearing a hat that matches
because this is my declaration divine
and I have a godforsaken right.
10/16/2016: In dedication to a personal declaration and end of abuse: No more divided alliances or allegiances in my home or at my back. If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the abuse.
© October 16, 2016 – 11:44 AM
They met in a chat-room for adult role play. She had just come of age and was craving the attentions of a real man. Not any of the boys in my peer group, she thought, with Joffrey in the back of her mind. Her every fantasy had come to life in him and though they had not met, she was certain she knew him through and through.
Mandy Lynn felt that she had come into her own, right here and now, but she longed to touch him and consummate what they had begun. Joffrey had broken through her defenses as no man in her life ever had. He worked at it and for it, solely set on allowing her to bare all, so she knew that Joffrey truly loved her. She could feel it from thousands of miles away.
It had taken a year but, Joffrey had worked tenaciously to break through her walls and to her amazement; Mandy Lynn let down her guard. Slowly she began to reveal her secrets and show a little skin; a bare shoulder first, then cut-off shorts hiding a black garter belt hooked to stockings, then a see thru negligée. Finally, he feasted his eyes upon her nubile, feminine form.
The lighting was perfect with shadows falling in the exact right places. He smiled in the darkness watching her features on his camera and snapped pictures she knew nothing of. He was intent on finding out just how far to push her and when to loosen his grip, all without ever breaking contact. He would save that for his ultimate weapon.
He memorized her features, etched into mind almost indelibly now; her soft lips smiling at him or parting to laugh at his jokes, her wide-eyed innocence and the curve of her hand twirling a lock of hair nervously, not knowing what to expect of him. Joffrey imagined her perky breasts, taut thighs, and tight, sweet, little ass, while he played at being a gentleman.
She had never roll-played before. She’d never even taken an acting class but she knew he was genuine. When he finally invited her to meet in person, Mandy paused for only a fraction of a moment but realized her instincts true. She knew Joffrey to be a very good man and readily accepted his invitation.
Mandy Lynn left Freeport Florida taking a leap into a future she could only dream of prior. She knew Joffrey was charming, a gregarious temptation with a warm and engaging personality. She ached to know if his arms were the perfect match she had imagined.
Every night, after chatting online, she closed her eyes to imagine the warmth and safety of his strong arms around her, the feel of his large hands exploring her, revealing her most intimate secrets, kept only for him. He would kiss her gently, increasing pressure gradually until she let him devour her and wanted him all the more.
Upon arrival of the much anticipated cab which would carry her to the airport, she couldn’t understand the knot in her stomach, or a sudden uneasiness that assailed her. She chalked it up to nerves and climbed into the taxi.
Their first week together was magical. Mandy Lynn leaned into a lamp post for strength. Retrieving a photo from her skirt pocket, she stared hard at the picture she had kept for years; a picture of the last time she was still that innocent.
In the second week Joffrey had stripped her of money, decent clothing, and withheld affection, food, and everything necessary for survival. He put her out to work the streets, under threat of bodily harm, and let his buddies trade her like so much chattel, and now I am a whore, she realized knowing she could never go home again.
For the millionth time she stared at the photo she’d kept of those days, wondering how she’d never suspected that the man she was so certain of was actually a woman-beating pimp, but couldn’t summon tears, knowing they would freeze in the biting wind, only to begin again in the depths of her broken heart.
Disclaimer: Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is strictly coincidental.
© October 01, 2016 – 02:04 AM
Dahlia stood in the darkness thinking, worrying her hands, debating her options, and wishing she was still young. Decisions came so easily then but now, she paused laying her forehead against her arm at the window and then finished her thought, now I’m twenty nine. She closed her eyes against stinging tears and swallowed hard.
She couldn’t imagine her life without dance and couldn’t imagine losing Rand either, but this was a choice she had to make. It seemed the only choice and she would have to make it again and again. Dahlia sighed shaking her head when Melinda bounded into the room with hallway light streaming in around her.
“Uh oh,” Melinda said, hitting the light switch.
Again Dahlia closed her eyes asking, “Uh oh. What?”
Melinda sat down at the table digging into her clutch, “Dahlia, you only strike that pose when you’re really upset. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Dahlia answered.
“Sure. I’m buying that,” Melinda quipped, “You’re standing here in the pitch dark leaning into the window like you want to jump. Sure it’s nothing.”
Dahlia pulled herself upright and went to sit across from her, “I’m old, Melinda. How did this happen? I was eighteen just last week,” Dahlia said, hanging her head in her hands.
“I know but don’t think about it now. You won’t get cut. You’ve got at least a year before you have to worry about that.”
There’s more,” Dahlia whispered, “It’s Rand.”
“Mr. crazy-hot body?”
Dahlia smiled half-heartedly, “Yeah, that’s him.”
“So what is he on your last nerve about,” Melinda asked, laughing, “I’d be happy to take him off your hands!”
“We made love last night and,” her voice trailed off as she thought back.
“And,” Melinda snapped anxiously.
“And he accused me, Melinda. I’m guilty. Oh god, I’m guilty as hell! He said I wasn’t there,” Dahlia stopped short and got up to pour a drink.
“Not there? How the hell do you make love and not be there? Oh! You mean, not present?”
“Bingo,” she answered, pulling two glasses from the cupboard, “And it’s the awful truth. From the moment he asked me out, I’ve Grand jeté with every breath. One minute, I was building to orgasmic crescendo, blissfully lost in his touch, his kiss setting me on fire, and a minute later he asked, ‘Where are you, Dahlia? Where did you go?’ That’s when I realized it.”
“Realized what,” Melinda voiced her confusion, “I Grand jeté into every open door when I’m in love. Hell, that’s how I know when I’m in love!”
“Yea? And do you get lost in thinking about how the turn of your ankle was slightly off just as you’re writhing beneath him about to climax?”
“No way,” Melinda cringed.
“Way,” Dahlia placed filled glasses on the table and poured rum into each without measurement.
“You just got distracted,” Melinda offered, “He doesn’t know how hard it is for dancers. Did you tell him this could be your last year?”
Dahlia rolled her eyes at Melinda, “Yeah right. He’ll understand. He’s an architect, for crying out loud.”
“Do you love him, Dahlia? Is he absolutely the one,” Melinda swallowed hard, not expecting the amount of rum she got, “I mean, maybe he’s not worth all this?”
Dahlia sat her drink down and glued her eyes to the floor answering, “He is and he’s leaving next month.”
“Oh. Oh! He asked you to.”
Dahlia put a hand up, “Stop! Don’t say it!”
Melinda was ecstatic and crushed for Dahlia; even though it would be the break Melinda was hoping for.
Dahlia couldn’t speak. This was worse than being torn between two lovers. Dance was her life. She took a long draught and whispered, “Yes, he did.”
“I don’t know,” Dahlia cried, “I don’t know what to do! I only have a year left in dance but Rand said he’s never coming back. I asked him to wait but he needs to feel more important than anything else. He won’t wait! When he’s gone, he’s really gone,” Dahlia poured her heart out.
Finally, Melinda extracted a teabag from her velvet clutch and held it up to the light explaining, “It was a gag gift at a party I just came from.”
“Melinda!” Dahlia was shocked at her but curious, “What’s in it?”
“Pills,” Melinda replied.
“Duh! What kind of pills?”
Melinda paused, grappling for the right words and finally blurted, “The answer to your problems, Russian Roulette pills.”
“Melinda, what are you talking about?”
“Grand jeté into the grave,” Melinda whispered, testing Dahlia’s mettle, “In case of emergency, make tea.”
Dahlia descended into a fit of giggles and Melinda couldn’t help but join her. Melinda filled the teapot with water and Dahlia put the kettle on the stove. The two embraced happily and Dahlia laughed, “Okay, you’ve made your point!”
“Good! I was half worried you would do it,” Melinda grinned patting Dahlia on the back.
“It’s not a fate worse than death, but it is in a way.”
“Oh yes,” Melinda laughed, “I’d sooner die than marry Mr. crazy-hot-body! Geezzee! Drama! Drama! Drama!”
© September 19, 2016 – 04:44 AM – All Rights Reserved
In the shadows of the back room at a party, their mutual presence and timing was serendipity. His eyes met hers. She stood frozen in his gaze breathing a little too hard, her voluptuous chest rising and falling to the rapid beat of his heart. Their emotions were palpable. His countenance was that of a wolf stalking prey. Their mutual attraction was evident and insistent.
“Damn it,” he whispered, closing the gap between them.
“No shit,” she countered, throwing her arms around him.
Both knew the electric-blue heat crackling between them would likely be their demise. They lit the fuse on the keg of potential discovery that night, and risked life-threatening lies with every meeting thereafter. Theirs was a desperate love, demanding fulfillment at any price, so they rolled the dice knowing that any time together was too priceless a gift to remain undetected.
They lived on the fringes of practiced poker-faces, weaving in and out of the razor-sharp edges of night, skillfully navigating every possible means to spending time in each other’s arms, living and dying together by the tick of a clock. One ill-timed second, just the space of another breath could shatter too many lives. The intensity of their love and the depths of their attraction should have come with a HAZMAT label.
They were desperate and dangerous, a fatal combination, doing anything to sate the flames burning unchecked between them. They skated on killer blades across shards of icy domesticity, holding onto memories that could blast a Grand Canyon into undeserving worlds. They came together with precision, kindling, lighter fluid, and concentration. This love sliced the fragile ice with a single spark so potent it threatened to set the pitch-black night ablaze for all eternity.
With each of them married to another and too many lives dependent on their own, the culmination of lethal passion meant gambling everything; meeting in the small hours, slicing precious seconds in stealth to be together, or carving it out of thin air. They only existed together, arriving in disguise, signing names no one could trace, skating between luxurious hotels, the back seat of their cars, or anywhere they could lie together anonymously.
He breathed fervor upon her lips with his kiss and she drank his elixir with the desperate need of unadulterated addiction. He inhaled light that shone in her eyes that spoke of combustible emotions for him. Her eyes flashed an unmistakably beautiful light, like that of a Turkish lantern, conveying the sheer love in her heart and he could not look away.
They made vehement love with limbs wound together, bodies writhing in a deeply fierce, primal, copulate frenzy, much more incredible than either had known prior. She vowed that her life was in the mercy of his hands. He swore his only reason to breathe lay in the mercy of her presence in his life.
Together, they were salvation and damnation. With that knowledge, they threw their craven bodies to the wolves within. Fearlessly, they twined and bound their limbs, fondling and twisting entangled together on desperate coital fringes, loving more deeply, more intensely than their bodies would allow. Their love was both lifeblood and lethal tonic.
They were junkies engulfed in gambling all on the chime of time between mundane days and rapacious nights. The two were drawn together by the pull of love like the pull of moon upon ocean, both were powerless to resist. Silently, they accepted the consequences of certain death in discovery, only truly alive in suicidal satiation, greedily welcoming the divine culmination of little death.
They knew the beauty of heaven in a flash that breached earth’s atmosphere with the hellish craving of junkies, both pimp and prostitute, together, offering up everything, gambling all on the craven need to torch the kindling with every dizzying orgasm. Supply increased demand and they embraced it with the honor among two who love, like thieves in the night, stealing what was not theirs to keep.
This couple, these two that defy every obstacle, to love, to share and bestow as one soul, united them in stealing a breath of life, each for the other, in meeting and fulfilling their ravenous taste for ambrosia, on the sharp end of a needle sans judgement, caution, warning, and defying all labels.
Anyone barely glimpsing the power of their love would have killed to bottle and sell their combustion, knowing anyone would happily hand over his soul for a single sip of their cocktail. These two stole time to drink heartily and chase it with sensual fulmination; an explosion having a brilliance that blinded the gods and drowned them in their own nectar, sated and ecstatic for whatever time they claimed, each time, until the next desperate moment.
© January 11, 2016 – 02:16 AM
Dear Diary, 12/8/2015
I’m sitting here next to feckless Fred, except now he’s dead, and I’m about half seas-over working on my sixth pint of Conqueror Black. I found a crate in the back of his truck!
That’s the last picture I took of him, right before Thanksgiving dinner at the community club. Well it’s half the picture. Old feckless was getting an early start. Nothing new about that, but tonight is the first time he really hurt me.
I downloaded the pictures, cut off his head, and pasted it onto a silver platter surrounded by bloodied mashed potatoes. You’ve got to love Photoshop! I stuck it on an e-card and wrote, “It’s what’s for Dinner – Happy Feckless Turkey Day”!
Well, it made Olivia laugh and I got to vent. What Fred didn’t know never hurt him…until now. (Snicker!)
Okay, so murder is wrong and way out of my comfort zone, but it was really self-defense, so I know you will forgive me when I explain why.
Only you and Olivia know that the things I said weren’t premeditated. You know, stuff like, “If he comes home stinking drunk again I’ll do something drastic”! I never really meant it. I was just blowing off steam.
I was pissed and spouting off recklessly like I do. You know stuff you say in anger like, “I’ll spike his drink with Drano” and “If he lays a single hand on me, I’ll go Unabomber on his worthless ass”.
Tonight he busted through the locked bedroom door. Old feckless blackened my eye and split my lip. He tried to bludgeon me with the marble lamp and I snapped! It was like getting struck by lightning. Zap! Then everything after is a moment of newfound clarity.
I suppose, by now, I knew I’d kill the bastard someday. I just didn’t know it would be today.
Knowing his nightly routine, I waited to hear him turn the faucets and fill the bathtub. I heard the water splash in protest as he lowered his fat ass into it. (Talk about the size of Amarillo!)
Tonight, I stopped threatening and issuing impotent warnings. Feckless knew it was just hot air. He knew I was just blowing smoke so tonight, I made good on them.
No one can say I didn’t warn him, but this time, Feckless went way over the top and he pushed me to my ultimate limit. It was time to put up or shut up!
Olivia knew it. She told me, “If you forgive him, he thinks he can beat you all the time and get forgiven all the time. All that teaches old feckless is that he’s right”.
He thinks he can abuse me and get off with a few crocodile tears and well-rehearsed words. I showed him.
Geeze, she sure was right. She spoke with the voice of personal knowledge, warning me, “One day you’ll make a decision or he’ll force you to, if he doesn’t kill you first”.
She offered to let me stay over when he really had a snoot-full. Until tonight I was damn near living there but just like she said, feckless Fred forced me to choose.
It was his life or mine so I did the first thing that came to mind, though I did fantasize about it since the day after I married the son of a bitch.
I went to the tool shed to fetch a long extension cord and plugged it into the wall outside the bathroom. Then I got the toaster and plugged it into the other end. Silently, I cracked the door open.
Fred got up when he saw me enter. Before he could make a move, I lobbed the toaster, high and hard, and yelled, “Hey Fred, go deep”!
You should have seen his face when I pitched the toaster into the tub. Oh my goodness gracious! It was so much better than I’d imagined a million times! It was absolutely priceless!
Well, what now? I have to call Olivia straight away; maybe she’ll know what to do with fried feckless.
Tagged: Abuse, Alcoholism, AmEditing, Chosen Family, Comedy, Drama, Dangerous Women, Flash Fiction, Friendship, Humor, Matricide, Murder, Psychological Fiction, Unrelated Family, WiP
Delite toweled herself off wishing she could just walk off the set.
“One or two more shots and it’s a wrap,” Meryl said, walking toward her.
“You said that twelve shots ago, “She protested from a seat without shade.
“Come on,” he cajoled, hauling her from the beach chair, “On your feet. You have to pay me back for those puppies, right,” He asked, training his rat-face and squinty eyes on her chest.
She walked to the backdrop cursing him silently and struck a pose. This better be it, you smarmy snake.
Meryl snapped several shots ordering, “Shoulders back, chest out. Smile!”
She glared holes through him wishing she had been able to turn down this junket and forced a frozen smile for the camera.
“You’re not giving me what I need, Delite!”
“Meryl please,” she plead, wondering if one more smile would fracture her face permanently.
“I need, ‘Come fuck me in Hawaii!‘ I need,”
“Meryl, I’m begging you,” She interrupted.
“I need more, Delite! I need a brochure that says, ‘I’m a free whore! Come to Hawaii and I’ll jack your junk!’”
Infuriated, she grabbed her shirt and yanked it down nearly exposing her nipples.
“Excellent,” he smiled haughtily, “That’s better! Great!”
She barely had a white-knuckled grip on the last of her patience and allowed herself some small amusement at his expense. ‘Excellent? Great?’ So now you think you’re a professional? I’m going to be a rich supermodel and then I’ll stomp you into the dirt with the rest of the scumbags in the biz. She pushed her toes into the sand, smiling coyly, imagining crushing him like a bug.
“We’re losing daylight,” He shouted, pointing at the crew beckoning them to move the set, “Okay! This is it! Let’s do it! Lick your lips and show me that B.J. pout,” Meryl ordered, turning back to her.
Delite turned it on one last time as the sun sank behind her and prayed for an end to this grueling day. He moved in for a close shot and she yanked her bikini bottom down leaving precious little to the imagination. With pearl-white teeth clenched, she talked herself through the shoot. He’s a dick. No big. You’ll work for lots in this business. Besides, she thought, this is just getting a start. This is the hard part; paying your dues.
Meryl stretched his thin lips into a lecherous smile saying, “Perfect! Now lean in and show me the goods, baby! Let’s part those oldsters from their money!”
Delite leaned down as Meryl moved in again. He made her skin crawl and she knew, at this range, he wasn’t shooting for the brochures anymore. He took another step and she lost her tenuous hold. With his face and the lens very nearly down her cleavage, she fisted the business end of the camera to shove the hardware back into his face.
“Owww! What the fuck? You don’t act like a model who wants to get paid, Delite,” he warned, wearing a smirk that made her want to spit nails.
She took a deliberate step, not releasing the lens, and moved her face close to his. They stood nose to nose as she ground out, “It’s a wrap, you S.O.B., and I better not find any of your close-ups anywhere but the trash!”
Delite turned away to retrieve her towel, muttering, “Lowlife, good for nothing, scum- sucking shit. If I wasn’t desperate, I’d be on my way to the airport.”
Meryl was one step behind her, asking, “Really? With what, Monopoly money? Until those tits are paid for I own you, so you’ll do whatever I want, slut!”
She froze at the sudden realization that she’d sold her soul to the devil incarnate. Turning on her heel she spewed murderously, “You make me physically ill. You’re vermin! Go be with your own kind! Turn over any rock!“
“Not until I’m paid in-full, you cock-sucking slut!”
“Fine,” She screamed, hot-footing it to the hotel door, “That’s just fine! You’ll get paid! I’m making a one-night-only offer to the boil on the butt of the human race, to get you off my back forever.”
Meryl stayed on her heels as she ran for the elevator. Catching the doors, he forced them open threatening in a low, menacing tone, “You’ll part like these doors for me or I’ll fucking split you open!”
The doors closed behind him and he backed her into a corner.
“Never corner a wild animal, rat shit! You’ve been warned!”
He grabbed her shirt at the bodice and yanked hard. Delite watched him throw her ripped beach wrap aside and she sprang at him; clawing his skin, scoring him sharply, screeching, “That cost a lot , fucker,” as the doors rolled open again.
Meryl picked her up seething, “Shut the fuck up or I’ll add an extra week to this shoot,” then flung the room-door open and body-slammed her onto the bed.
She stifled a surprised cry as he removed his belt, issuing a demand, “Kneel, bitch,” He snarled, tossing pants to the floor.
Delite knew she was defeated. She knelt before him trying not to look up. Meryl stood firm cupping her chin roughly. Finally, she raised her face and their eyes met. They fell into hysterics, laughing until they were sprawled on the floor. Just as suddenly, her eyes were smoldering and she clawed the rest of his clothing out of her way.
She attacked his lower extremities, violently sucking his cock and grazing him with her teeth as she pushed up and down his firm length. He forced his stiffness down her throat mercilessly, making her choke and struggle to breathe, pummeling her bruised lips relentlessly.
In a last-ditch effort to regain control she pushed off the floor, finding just enough leverage to roll him over. She mounted him cowgirl posture with knees on his forearms. Delite smiled victoriously, “Beg me,” she commanded smugly.
Meryl shook his head and she clasped his face between her thighs, demanding, “Eat me! You know you want to.”
She slid closer to his face and Meryl grasped her round, silky ass, pulling her to him. He licked small circles around her clitoris, teasing her and letting her frenzy build until she could take no more. He ran the tip of his tongue around her tiny nub slowly, letting her sexual need build and burn until she was vibrating astride him.
She fisted his hair as he breathed hotly against her bundle of nerves. Pulling her sweet pussy into his mouth, his tongue speared her depths searching out her most intense pleasure, slowly delving in and out, and deepening each time. He meant to enjoy every moment of this bounty.
Delite bit her lower lip to stifle a primal scream as he tongue-fucked her masterfully. She bucked wildly; riding his face like her life depended on it, until he forced her onto her back to drive his hard, aching need into her moist, craven cunt.
She abandoned all dignity and control as they fucked savagely, thrashing and thrusting until they exploded in blinding ecstasy. She screamed her unbearable release with Meryl’s cock throbbing and jumping in the confines of her taut, dripping canal. They lay together side-by-side in each others arms, momentarily sated, and she giggled, “I love this game!”
He laughed with her, saying, “Me too and I’m damned glad we got married last night. If you hadn’t said yes soon, I was sure to end up in jail.”
Delite shrugged, teasing impishly, “Why buy the horse when I’m getting a free ride?”
“Because we were made to love each other,” He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.
“Yes, yes, yes, we were,” She sighed, “Oh! Next time, let’s play ‘How many hotels we can get thrown out of?’”
Meryl rose, turned down the bed and fluffed the pillows as she snuggled close to him, “You’re on, my beautiful bride, but you’ll have to repay me for those free rides,” he taunted, feigning indignance and already planning their next game, “Of course, I’ll try to go easy on you, since you are now my sole Hawaiian delight,” he chuckled.
She pulled up a tan, slender leg to plant her foot on his ass and shove him off the bed, laughing, “Don’t you dare!”
Meryl peered up at her from the floor, rubbing his bruised ass with eyes narrowed in challenge, then pinned her to the headboard rasping in his intimidating tone, “You’ll pay for that, bitch.”
Her lips turned up in a sultry smile and she whispered, “More Hawaiian Delite? It’s on the menu for only one night.”
Meryl growled and lunged at her.
© copyright 2014-10-18 07:06:03 -All Rights Reserved
Also on FESS: http://freeeroticstoriessite.com/content/Hawaiian-Delite
Henry woke to the sound of a motorcycle rumbling outside and squinted at the digital clock, grumbling, “2 am. on a Tuesday. Don’t the neighbors know I have to work in the morning?”
He rolled over pulling a blanket with him when he heard knocking at the door. For a moment he hesitated but urgency propelled him from his bed. It was an uneasiness he hadn’t felt in months. Henry fought to surface from his dream-laden sleep, talking to himself and attempting to recall when he’s last felt this way.
“Not since I was seeing,” He cut short his thoughts and pulled the door open to find Kit leaning against the doorframe wearing a familiar look; one that seemed to say, “What took so long, asshole?”
He smiled despite himself. She was the only woman he couldn’t read, but even entirely disheveled, with her hellfire hair windblown and tangled, she was a vision.
Kit incited feelings in him that were utterly endearing, if somewhat disquieting. She was woman and child; part fully grown, tougher than nails, strong in her own right temptress and vixen, yet part playful, silly, wide-eyed innocent, coquette with a bit of wild child.
Henry studied her wondering whether to fold her into his protective arms or pin her to the wall and ravage her. He could never quite discern what was veiled with practiced stealth behind her eyes.
When they lived together briefly, he surmised that she meant to send no obvious message, intentionally leaving him to wonder whether she wished to appear mysteriously alluring or had, perhaps, arranged for his early demise. Her turbulent seastorm eyes and lips that only turned up slightly at the corners could mean one of two things, his greatest joy or worst fear realized.
Had he been Superman, she would have been Kryptonite. Kit loved with an intensity that left him gasping in astonishment, and in the space of a breath she could be the embodiment of tornadic wrath swirling around it’s entirely too attractive eye.
You may be the death of me, he thought, remembering that she had always been a volatile creature, albeit an enticingly beautiful one. He was certain she had been a mythical Siren in a past life. She had certainly lured him with her charms and left him in emotional peril with his hopes dashed.
Even entirely disheveled, Kit was stunning with fiery locks framing her angelic face. He had nicknamed her “Hellcat” for the riotous red waves she could never quite tame. Hellcat eventually merged with her given name and she was his “Kitkat.”
Henry shook his head clear and steeled himself, “Kitkat! What brings you here?”
“I can’t believe you remember that,” She laughed.
“Of course I do. You never forget a moment of your first love. It seems appropriate now. You’re stunning. Wow!”
Henry froze, certain that her heart slammed shut the moment he said ‘love.’ It was a hard and fast rule for her. Kit couldn’t handle love.
Ironically, by way of reply, she flew into his arms kissing him hotly, ardently pressing her slight frame to his and raking her nails down his back. Instinct urged him not to question his good fortune as all reason deserted him, but there had to be more to this picture, more he wasn’t equipped to handle at this hour.
Henry struggled to extract himself from a hormonal cocktail, feeling as though he were in the vice-grip of something much stronger than himself. After a heated moment locked in passionate embrace, he managed a step back and rummaged his thoughts for a plausible excuse, “Kitkat, this is a very welcome surprise,” he informed her, “but I have company tonight.” He glanced toward the stairs holding his breath.
She paused, smiling at the nickname he’d given her, and immediately called his bluff. With one eyebrow cocked and eyes sparking challenge, she flatly stated, “Get rid of her.”
Again, Henry wondered if her eyes flashed lethal lightning or promiscuous promise. He loved Kit, always had, but he wasn’t going to hand her this ‘win’ on a silver platter, “Why,” he questioned, feeling every inch the liar he was.
Kit felt his defenses weakening and stated with calculated deliberation, “Because I’m more.”
Henry understood what she had shorthanded and knew it to be true. She was more of everything he wanted, needed and desired whether it was best for him or not.
They were thrown together years ago. She was forever in his heart and he in hers. Their lives were irrevocably entangled. Together they were a force to challenge Heaven though the match may have been the design of hell.
Without waiting for reply, she marched through the house and into the kitchen. By the time he caught up, she was pouring Coke into glasses and asking where he kept the rum.
Henry stood behind her smiling, enjoying the sweetest derriere he had ever admired, quite lost in a flood of memories. He could never accuse her of a single dull moment. With his libido barely in-check, he relented, “Okay, I give. Be quiet and I’ll go get rid of her.”
“’K,” she acknowledged with off-the-cuff nonchalance, as though there hadn’t been another option.
Henry climbed the stairs pretending to gently remove the fictitious suitor from his bed and escort the figment out the door, then remembered to place a noisy kiss to the back of his hand for effect.
Kit had perfected her ‘Whistler’s Mother smile’ long ago. Her countenance gave nothing away. Her expression could be infuriatingly ambivalent. On more than one occasion he couldn’t have guessed if she’d just won the lottery or totaled his car.
Silently, he laughed at himself knowing this was the source of his unease, her unpredictability and capacity to touch him profoundly without physical contact. I should have known, he chided himself, we have always been connected somehow. I’ve always known when she was hurting or when she really needs me.
Kit broke her silence and his train of thought, “Hi, Henry, I’ve missed you.”
Her affectionate lilt sent him reeling headlong into his own hard-won defenses, like a wrecking ball into walls it had taken years to erect.
For half a second, he wondered if she could hear the noises, the explosion of brick and mortar walls built in mind, the racking sobs that rivaled cumulative wailing wall cries, the rending of woven fabric into separation.
His shredded heart still screaming it’s excruciating pain, the shattering of personal safety, now an illusion that lay in quivering, bloody chunks of self, of labor, heartache and tears, whimpering in the spaces between them with the illusion of safety now thrashing on the floor, dying at her feet …and he wondered, Does she know? Can she feel it, hear it, or is this a one-way connection?
He swallowed around the enormous lump in his throat and fought for composure, “Hi Kit, how have you been?”
Henry was well aware that being raised by wolves would have been preferable to the rearing she had received. It was the pink suede elephant perpetually in their personal space. She had spent too many years trying to escape what was done to her in the name of love, family, relationships and obligation.
He had no doubt that she loved him but was fully conscious of the fact that she had no acceptable definition of it. She had only a few diseased examples for comparison and all of them made her feel sick, trapped, and suffocated. If she couldn’t avoid the feeling, she had certainly stricken the word from conversation.
“I’m fine. You?”
“Kit, you always say ‘fine’ when you’re not. What is it?”
He hadn’t meant to blurt it or care as much as he did, but she was here, and in her presence he was suddenly invested again.
“You know, just stuff. Life happening.”
“Yea, I hate it when that happens,” he laughed, trying to lighten the moment.
“I’ll drink to that,” She quipped, relaxing into the overstuffed couch.
Jack checked the time already knowing he would never make it to work as expected and there would be no untroubled sleep tonight. He went to replenish their drinks, asking over his shoulder, “How about we have another and we’ll watch your favorite comedy? I can play hooky tomorrow.”
“Sounds heavenly. It’s okay to crash on the couch?”
“As long as you don’t mind if I pull out the sofa bed while we do.” Henry held his breath wondering if she had just changed her mind or would change it now and he remembered, Kit can downshift faster than the speed of light.
With so much of her youth being lost to mental enslavement and emotional blackmail Kit had sought out the only love she could relate to. At eighteen, she left home and became involved with several abusive men.
Later, she took refuge in a motorcycle gang. They were warm, welcoming, safety in numbers, able and willing to abuse anyone who mistreated one of their own. They ‘had her back.’ Ultimately, they were the family she never had.
A precious few had been lovers but all afforded her protection; gave her a semblance of stability, shelter and succor. They accepted her unconditionally. She belonged solely to herself and with her chosen family. As long as she owned what was left of her battered mind and body, they were balm to her wounded soul.
Kit understood love only in that context. She was safe with them. Anything resembling obligation or commitment made her want to run screaming into the night.
She studied him with an expression that could fill with infinite affection, guileless innocence, or wanton lust, as quickly as she could drop an iron curtain veiling malice, venom and murderous intent.
Henry risked a timorous guess, testing the waters in making the couch bed into a comfy sanctuary. Kit seemed content, and thankfully, ill-prepared to bolt. He sensed she needed a cozy hideout in a familiar fortress. She came to him for consistency and stability.
He loved her more than the salvation of his soul, and was wholly convinced now, that she had been a mythical Siren in a past life. She certainly had the capacity to lure him in and leave him in emotional peril with feelings raw and hopes dashed.
With certainty, he knew they could climb to ecstatic heights of incomparable pleasures founded solely in genuine love, as certainly as he knew she would be gone before he woke.
He had wanted to give her the world but she already had her world on her terms. What he learned the hard way, and only just realized, is that he wanted to give her his world, on the condition that she share it.
He would ask her to bend after a lifetime of bending and breaking. His idyllic view of family would be her certain death.
Finally, he understood and accepted that clinging to her freedom was no more selfish an act than asking her to love him in the fashion he would visit upon her. How could I expect her to conform to my definition of love and family? She comes from her own little war zone; her own personal hell having that exact prerequisite.
Henry wanted to give her the love she longed for and so obviously needed, but in a flash of understanding, he realized that the most loving thing he could do for her is let her go no matter how many times he would have to. Bikers were her family, and for the foreseeable future, he was her home.
As they rested spooned together, safe in the night with all other appetites satisfied, her words came back to him, “Because I’m more.” She was absolutely right but wrong. He closed his eyes slipping into sated sleep, whispering, “Because you’re everything.”
Kit smiled knowingly and closed her weary eyes. With her need of affirmation and acceptance; her ultimate craving finally fulfilled by the only man she ever truly loved, she fell into a more peaceful sleep than she had ever thought possible. She was home.
It is too hard to think of when my slow burn began, too hard to focus on fact while I lay next to you letting thoughts of you and me, secret thoughts of us, drift into and out of my consciousness.
Wrapped into your embrace, I am musing silently beneath the star filled sky. It is that amazing time in the early morning, far before the garish sun is near to claiming the night; where I can close my eyes and inhale you… breathe you in with all of my senses. It is that perfect hour where I can let myself walk the too-thin line between anxious thought and deep, dark emotion.
I lay there, lazily dreaming, lost somewhere between salacious desire and intense, raw-emotion, the place I never dare to approach in my waking world. But the breeze brushes over me gently and your fingers run slowly up and down my back, as I realized that you are lost in your own world of half-asleep thought.
I watch you, here in the darkness, conflicting features crossing your face, while you think you’re most personal thoughts, believing that you are safe in the night, unaware that I am taking in everything. Every crease around your beautiful eyes, soft smiles that come and go, the occasional frown that saddens your expression, and I realize that I have the desire to take all of your worries from you, but wonder if I have the ability.
I lay back on the blanket you brought for us and stretch languorously. Finding myself too close to my own fearful thoughts, a shiver runs down my spine, so I hold you a little more tightly to me, snuggle into you more closely, and close my eyes as I finally close the door on lingering fears; fears that you are fast-eclipsing here, in my heart.
It is the one place I dare not examine too closely, but then I remember that you have always been twenty-five kinds of patient with me. I smile to myself as I gingerly touch my lips to your cheek, dreamily picturing the day you asked me out, remembering how I stammered and stumbled nervously in all of my uncertainty; knowing how long I have been wanting you but paralyzed in the breadth and depth of my residual pain.
I was overwhelmed by your confidence and larger than life personality then, and I picture your rugged handsomeness on that day.
“Have coffee with me,” you said as you approached me.
I scanned the spaces beside and behind me, wondering if you were actually addressing me. I stood rooted to one spot, rummaging through any number of replies that I might have choked out, but my still-wounded heart leapt into my throat so I just stood there, mute in your gaze.
“Never mind,” you stated firmly, “Make it adult beverages, girl. Seems like you could use it.”
I stammered something unintelligible which thankfully, you did not hear.
“Pick you up at eight,” you said, over your shoulder as you turned to walk away, but then quickly turned to flash a grin at me that crinkled your eyes, and I was hooked. I was completely and utterly taken, and then I knew… this is where my slow burn began.
Unaware that you have been watching me this night, I am completely unguarded in re-experiencing you, and this is where your lips meet mine, startling me out of that not-so-long-ago moment. I drag my errant thoughts back to the present, into the here and now of you, into the profoundly sexual kiss that is steadily heating up.
Slowly, you let me come to you, and I returned your passion two-fold as I let you part my lips. Your hand lightly cups the soft, warm globes beneath you as you graze my unexposed nipple with just one finger. You stroke me tentatively through the fabric of my blouse, and deepen the kiss gently, yet firmly demanding of me, not making any sudden moves but deliberately exploring me with maddening slowness.
You entwined your tongue with mine and press deeper, forcing my lips and mouth open to you. Knowing how much I want you, you let me know that you will determine how this goes.
You slow my actions with a gentle hand to my shoulder and will not give in to my urgency. Ever so slowly, you knead my taut breasts squeezing my nipples slightly as you undo my buttons, all without ever breaking our kiss.
Your hands are gently seeking, feeling, softly rubbing and stroking until you suddenly stand and pull me to my feet. With my body pressed full-length against you, locked in your muscular embrace, you loosen your grip slightly to remove the last of my clothing and yours.
Not letting go for a second, you stroke my long hair and move your hand to caress my cheek. You press your steel-hard need between my legs. Your cock is my scabbard, springing to life from its dark patch of hair.
I am aching for you to fill me, aching for you to make this slow burn blaze into unrestrained passion. But you lift me gently into your arms to gingerly lay me down upon the blanket and, in so-doing, lay waste to my inhibitions; the content of my wounded soul.
As you lay atop me with your firm, broad chest pinning me down, you crush me to you with your devilish eyes locked on mine, almost daring me to utter a word of protest, but I cannot.
Instead, I wrap my legs around you, trying to pull you closer still, finally let me melt into you. I give into the mêlée of riotous emotion that only you can make me feel. Your every touch is searing white-hot flames upon my skin, branding me your own.
l let you trail fire down the length of me, as you drag your fingertips down my stomach, past my abdomen to find the nexus of me and I cry out into the night at just the tips of your fingers touching me there.
Sizzling, electric-heat shocks me, leaping from synapse to synapse, culminating in the core of my womanhood while this slow burn threatens to consume me; to incinerate my very soul and I am suddenly assailed with terror.
I am unprepared to feel this deeply and intensely, ill-equipped to fall face-first and headlong into the all-consuming fire that constantly torments my waking and dreaming hours. I am writhing, squirming and pushing; fighting you, fighting me, and then begin begging you,
“Stop! Wait! Stop! Please! Please stop!”
But you do not let me go, will not let me run. Knowing that you are plenty strong enough to hold me down, you just hold me gently in your firm grip. Again, you pull me to you hard, letting me panic, writhe, and fight to push you away until my terror gives way to tears.
I am weeping in silence, tears streaking down my face, while you hold me tighter than you ever have, murmuring loving words into my ear, letting me retreat and die, to be reborn into your arms; the girl all but gone and a woman in her place.
Then finally, we both move, kissing frantically, wrapping ourselves around each other, rolling over and over again, both of us finding “our rhythm.” Then you push up from the ground to kneel between my thighs while lightly fondling my clitoris. You stroke me softly there with the full, firm length of you deep inside of me. You continue your sweet, sensuous torment until my breathing comes fast and ragged.
You begin a quicker rhythm, slamming into me hard and fast, as you stroke my most intimate secrets. I feel the slow burn become tumultuous as both of us push harder and faster. My hips meet yours, matching you, thrust for frenzied thrust, our crescendo building hotter, wilder, your fingers stroking my sensitized womanhood while you fill me with your steel-hard length, your unrelenting girth impaling me and letting my orgasm build.
Soft whimpers and longing moans escape me as I am twisting, thrusting, and aching to explode with you just as your deep, guttural growl fills the air, matching my soft scream that splits the stillness of this night. Finally, I let myself fall into our mutual fulmination, into flames that are borne of you and me. Our simultaneous orgasm rocks us through and through.
Then, at last, I am lost in you; in feeling your pulsing member sheathed within my hot wetness while I contract almost violently around you. I let our torrential lust and love consume me as you fall into my arms. I so love the culmination and completion that is you… and me… that is us… wholly and only us… and just the thought sets me back on a slow burn.
©October 16, 2016 – 05:26 PM – All Rights Reserved
Daveed was first her childhood crush, then her high school sweetheart, next her college love, and throughout their courtship, he became her world; her veritable everything.
In her innocent youth, she had indulged in fantasized certainties that are promised to none; eternal, infinite love and a marriage that would be the envy of all her friends; a supportive, nurturing husband constantly by her side, and she his unfailing font of more, ever increasing, in return.
Prompted by high school girlfriends, on a lark she had looked up the meaning of his name:
Pronunciation: (DAY vid); (da VEED)
Form of: Itself (David)”
Following which, she teased him mercilessly calling him beloved, especially in front of a crowd. Though he would punch her softly on the arm and wink, he never seemed to mind.
When left to her own devices, she scrawled his name and the meaning in her notebook as artfully as she could
In later years, the scrawl became:
“Daveed, my beloved.”
Even then, in her wildest, naïve dreams, she hadn’t a clue that he would become so much more to her than that. God himself could not have predicted the breadth, depth, and magnitude of what was to come.
In her first and second year of college, Kalista was timid, fearful, and at times, outright terrified of what and how deeply he made her feel. Daveed had worked long and hard to win and keep Kalista’s heart his own; loved, cherished, encouraged to grow, yet protected.
She was his hard-won prize when she finally accepted the certainty of him and their fantastical future together. Reward to both was their full and open hearts, his consistency of unwavering devotion, and her will to constantly, ever-presently, renew their love threefold.
Neither could let the other down. They were only one together. Theirs was a love so deep and strong it was the stuff of fairy-tales, which they happily lived daily. She was the air that allowed him to breathe freely and drink in her unending supply of love and affection. He was her earth, her rock, her reality-touchstone in times of trial, despair, success, and ecstatic happiness. They grew to share more than any married couple they knew.
Though they resided in separate dorms in college, Daveed waited outside, on the sorority steps, each morning while Kalista dressed hurriedly, donning any clothes that would make him proud to call her his girl. Invariably, she skipped breakfast to be in his arms as quickly as possible. It was all the sustenance she could ever want or need.
Several weeks prior to his graduation, her third year of college, he had gifted her with a choker collar so beautiful she couldn’t believe her eyes.
On a day like every other day, she had rushed out the door to greet him, but found him in a tumultuous mood. She gathered that he was troubled, possibly torn about something, and caught her breath. Daveed took her hand gently, tugging her with him, saying, “We need to talk. Let’s go someplace more private, most beautiful one.” It was his pet name for her. Kalista hadn’t a clue that Daveed had done the same as she, in looking up the meaning of her name.
Immediately, her face was deeply grooved with concern and a little fear, though she complied responding, “Of course, my beloved.” Kalista looped her arm through his and he led the way through patchy woods to a bench long ago forgotten. Daveed explained his acceptance to medical school in another state. She looked deep into his eyes then, with torrents of pleas that lodged in her throat.
In that moment, she couldn’t breathe or speak. She felt as though air and gravity had suddenly ceased to exist. Daveed retrieved a box from his pocket, pulled a gorgeous choker from it, and placed it around her neck declaring, “I claim you. Wait for me, my most beautiful one. We’re worth it. You know we are. We will marry and be the one couple who does live happily ever after. You’re my destiny,” he whispered, and paused to see tears welling in her eyes; a look he never wanted to be the cause of.
He pulled her into an embrace that spoke of never wanting to let her go, and continued, “I want to provide for you as a husband should. Please wear the choker. It’s our acknowledgement that we are the key to each other; that we hold the key to our future together. It’s engraved beneath with our initials inside locked hearts.”
To Kalista, his words were elation, as much as devastation to the world they had created and lived in together for so long. It was the proposal she had longed for and exile to a life that she couldn’t possibly begin to bear.
For a moment, she clung to him for dear life and then pushed him away. She sprinted deeper into the woods, running as fast and hard as she could, trying to outrun the wailing scream that threatened to shatter the earth around her, just as her heart had shattered in the space of a breath.
She stood there alone, bereft, her world shredded, letting racking sobs, and small screams escape, until dizziness forced her to sit down on a patch of dead leaves fallen from the trees. Nothing mattered anymore. She felt as dead as the leaves crackling beneath her. Kalista stayed all day, grasping the key on the choker, not possessing the strength to return to campus. A life less her everything was too frightening to contemplate.
When she finally did return, she took cautious comfort in her sorority sisters. She let weeks of classes pass unattended while all she could do was weep. They approached tentatively, keeping her abreast of classwork and social functions, in small doses.
Understanding her need to grieve, they comforted and cajoled her back to functioning somewhat normally, and then worked to help her catch up with term papers and responsibilities. Barring time for her to sleep, they took shifts, working around the clock to beef up her fallen grades, just to enable her to stay with them.
Through years of study and infrequent letters to and from her beloved, she could not remove the choker. It was all she had left of the beauty that was them. It had become her darkest despair and highest hope though, in her heart of hearts, she felt there was no hope.
By her own graduation day, she knew she owed her sisters a huge debt of gratitude never realizing that hers was such a giving heart, there was never a need to feel indebted. Many times, she had done the same for them without a single thought for herself. Her debt was repaid long before she ever needed to indulge in their many kindnesses.
On graduation day, Kalista removed the choker from her throat and mailed it back to Daveed with a note tucked inside that simply read, “Best to you, beloved – always.”
Now, thirty-three years and one failed marriage later, she brought the mail back to her apartment, as she had on every other typical day. It wasn’t bills or letters that made her catch her breath. She held a box that she unwrapped hurriedly. Inside, was a familiar choker collar with a note that read, “Most beautiful, missed you at the reunion. Drinks?”
Suddenly, air and gravity ceased to exist…
© October 20, 2015 – 12:54 PM – All Rights Reserved
Angel packed her bags, trying to anticipate the change in temperature at her destination. She was sick of this too-small town, sick of everything, and fed up with her beige life. She walked with direct and angry assurance, muttering,
“Beige! My whole life has been bland, boring, BEIGE!”
She flung slacks, dresses, heels, jeans, and a variety of tops, into the suitcases haphazardly. She then tossed her bags into the trunk with a single thought. Her wheels laid rubber as she gunned the car onto the street, thinking,
“I need color and I’ll have it, damn it all!”
She drove blindly and six hours later, found herself in St. Augustine, without really knowing how she had gotten there. Angel stopped for gas with the breeze catching her long, blonde tresses. She knew she was beautiful. She had always known it.
Though she was at the self-serve island two men raced from the station, trying to be the first to offer assistance. Angel smiled deviously and stepped from her car. She asked the first man to fill the tank and requested that the second show her to the ladies room.
She immediately learned his name was Davis and looped her arm through his as his eyes bulged, glued to her voluptuous breasts and long, slender legs. He managed to issue a compliment about the importance of a woman being safe when traveling and offered to go in first, to check that it was free of “intruders.”
Angel stood behind him as he pushed a key into the lock. He was obviously strong, muscular, and maybe just a few sandwiches short of a picnic; her exact type at the moment.
Davis struggled with the rusty lock as Angel took in her surround-ings. The sky was bright and blue; the sun a huge, yellow gold orb, even the gas station sign was bright red, but her specific interest was the renowned, haunted lighthouse in the distance. She wanted to taste the rainbow even if she had to act like a dolt to get what she wanted.
Angel maneuvered to hold the door asking, offhandedly as she could make it seem, when he was off work. He informed her that the first attendant was there to replace him for night shift.
“Listen,” she said, “I’m new in town. Would you be willing to show me some sights?” she asked innocently.
“Sure! What’s your pleasure,” he queried, not believing his good fortune.
Angel pointed into the distance saying, “What’s that? Oh! Is it a lighthouse? Let’s go there!”
Davis, still standing in the door to the restroom, eyed her up and down knowing he could refuse this innocent beauty nothing.
“Of course,” he said, cautioning about its haunted history, explaining that she should stay close to him, “Just in case.”
She cast her eyes to the ground feigning nervousness, “Maybe we shouldn’t,” she said softly with mock fear.
“Oh no, Miss Angel, I’ll protect you,” he offered.
Angel suppressed a hungry grin and agreed to follow him there.
Several moments later, they were inside the lighthouse as the heavy door swung shut with an echoing bang. She playfully ran up the winding staircase but Davis was no match for her endurance. By the time he reached the top, Angel was already half-clad. Her crop top lay in a heap as she unzipped her jean shorts.
He stood drop-jawed, staring at her from silken hair to dainty, bare feet. She closed the distance between them and embraced him, moving her hands to grip his firm, taut ass cheeks and whispered, “Let’s make this a night to remember.”
She kissed him full on the mouth sucking in his lower lip to run her moist tongue across it and whispered, “Fuck me, Davis. Fuck me like no one ever has.”
Davis stepped back to review her beauty in a new light. Then he unzipped his pants. Angel closed the step back to bite his neck. He fumbled with removing his pants and she began to lose patience. She fisted his collar and ripped the offending shirt from his back.
Again he took half a step back saying, “Boy, you’re no angel. Are you?”
She pursued him wordlessly, deliberating about how to answer. She took half a step toward him and leaned down to force his pants from his feet. Then, finally, she asked,
“Ever fantasized about defiling and fucking an angel’s brains out? Now is your one and only chance, Davis.”
He leaned in to kiss her hard and then scooped up his shirt to spread beneath her. Angel caught his naked body still leaning and pushed him to the ground onto his back. For a brief moment she watched his chest rise and fall heavily.
“What,” he asked, “What are you doing?”
Angel didn’t reply. Instead, she bent down on all fours and crawled the short distance to him, knowing he was already mesmerized by the sway of her breasts and perfect proportions.
She crept between his muscled thighs and sucked his cock into her warm, wet mouth, closing her lips around him hard. Davis let go a groan like she’d never heard before. It was purely animalistic and her pussy went up in flames.
She sucked him in deeply and bobbed her head up and down his cock. His head rolled to the side with eyes closed. Angel stopped abruptly and fisted his balls.
“I want you to look at me,” she demanded, as she mounted him cowgirl style.
“Okay! I’m sorry! Okay,” he pleaded, but Angel was having too much fun being the aggressor for once.
She dragged her wet slit up and down his steely length with her firm breasts swinging just over his mouth, and barely out of reach. Angel started to realize she had a prisoner to her will and found it exhilarating.
She leaned back into a sitting position and pushed his cock into her tight, fiery cunt, so slowly it would have broken a lesser man. She was well pleased that he hadn’t cum yet, and decided to torture him a little more.
Suddenly, Davis thrust into her hard and she pulled all the way back until the head of his dick was barely in her. Then she froze, holding him in the grip of a lust so powerful she never wanted to stop, but the sweet, tormenting ache between her thighs was insistent.
Softly, she stroked his balls with fingertips, titillating both of them even more, as she drank in her new-found power and he grew firmer inside her. Finally she slammed down hard, relishing the feel of his hardness filling her up, and began riding him hard and fast.
She pushed faster, stronger, and he matched her with powerful thrusts until she threw her head back in abandon, screaming with a raw intensity. Colors exploded behind her eyelids, as she climaxed hard around his throbbing girth. Their cries mingled in the old lighthouse, resounding around them, and in it Angel heard the call of the wild, like a physical pull.
Davis lay there, eyes closed, breathing hard. He reached to hold her to him but, for her, this was just a drive-by; her first taste of color in the myriad rainbows and flavors to come.
Angel dressed quickly, kissed him lightly on the cheek, retreated down the stairs, and tossed over her shoulder, “Thanks Davis! You were super” as the door slammed shut with a bang.