FFF - Group Project

 

So much can be said in silence by the dewy tremble of a nibbled lip or the shudder of anticipation and longing. They'd said all that, but their project still beckoned, its grim timeline calling them away from the delights of the flesh and back to reality more than once. Her panties were missing somewhere in the stacks and he longed to reach up and grasp her firm buttocks as she cheekily descended the ladder, tome in hand, her nipples straining dangerously against the fabric of her blouse. If only. If only. But the book she had retrieved was about the Treaty of Utrecht, dry, old, and nothing like the glimpses of her slit that she let him catch. They were still on the opening paragraph when the bell rang and the period was over. Now they'd have to take it home with them.

---

I, like most of you I imagine, detested group projects when I was in school. Half the time I wound up doing the whole thing myself to save myself the effort of having to work with others, and the other half we were all like-minded people who divided up the duties so they could be done with a minimum of working together. Occasionally I'd get a small group of people I liked, and that's when things were often the worst, because none of use wanted to do the project, we just wanted to hang out together.

I have never been bottomless in a library where I needed a ladder to reach the top shelf. That's partially to do with my freakish height, and partially to do with having been to a limited number of libraries where a ladder would have been necessary for anyone. I have been sans panties on ladders before, and it can be just as big a tease as it seems like, but the combination of no panties, ladder, and library has not occurred to the best of my recollection. Honestly, library sex is hard to pull off.

That the guy in this story didn't just grab her hips and bury his face in her when she was on the ladder shows a lack of initiative on his part, but he's probably young and inexperienced, so we'll forgive him. Feel free to write fanfic of what happened after they went home in your head, if you like.

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Speaking of fanfic and group projects, did you know that you can participate in the best group project ever? Just go to Max's blog each week and check out the Flash Fiction Friday assignment, then write something which fits, or doesn't fit (if you want to be a rebel) that assignment. Then on Friday it'll be like you've turned in part of our group's weekly project, only the teacher is sexy and wants to see you after class for extra credit. Something like that.

FFF - Unbroken

Hands, rough but gentle, slide over my knee and I'm back in high school again, a nervous boy feeling me up in the sunshine of a cut afternoon class. I shudder and he stops and becomes old again. "Am I going too fast?" he asks me softly.

"No, just remembering." The fingers slide up again and I stay in the moment this time, reaching down to hold his work-toughened skin against my bare thigh.

"Nervous?"

"It's been a long time."

"I've loved you for longer."

Down slips the fragile scrap of lace protecting my deepest secret. I can hear the voices condemn me to Hell and I refuse to listen this time, refuse to push him away. A tear escapes my eye and then his hand is on me, on the fluttering heat of my... no. No. I no longer have to live that way. I no longer have to fear men's hands.

"It's lovely," he says kindly as his fingers spread me. "Were you afraid I'd be able to tell?"

"A little," I try to say, then sob with relief.

"Baby, you're beautiful no matter what," he sighs into my ear as his fingers go to work.

I believe him. Dear God, I believe him and the ache inside me fades into pleasure. "Oh Daddy," I whisper as it overcomes me.

---

I'm not sure where this one came from. I'm also not sure I have that much to say about it. It could be about a number of things, I guess. I started thinking about it in one way, and then with a few tweaks it became more vague, or more universal maybe? Hopefully it speaks to something in you, regardless of what.

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Did you know that you too can join in the fun of Flash Fiction Friday? It's easy. Just head over to Max's blog and check out the challenge for the week, then write something. Seriously, no one cares if it's perfect. Just throw your hat into the ring. You'll be happy you did.

FFF - That Wild Look

 

She twirls and asks you, "Are you scared of me?"

You reply, "No, I'm just scared that someone will see you."

"Who cares? Let them look!" And she spreads her carmine overcoat wide, her skin pink from the cold wind, tiny nipples erect like your cock, in defiance of the chill.

"Fuck me, right here, on the street!" she gasps, rolling her hips wantonly.

"Gina, we need to go inside again, where it's warm..." you begin. She looks at you with that wild look in her eye, then it's as if she sees herself reflected in your gaze and she shrivels. "...before we get frostbite," you finish quietly, seeing the transformation. Her coat sags closed again. The life is gone from her eyes.

Later, in your room, you try to make excuses. You were only worried for her. You'll try again, maybe somewhere less crowded. If that's what she really wants. And it seems to mollify her a little. The spark returns. The two of you awkwardly embrace. She pulls out your now-flaccid member and tries to massage it to life. But you both know there's nothing there.

In the end, she falls asleep facing the wall. You can't tell for certain, but you think she might have cried. Maybe that was the sparkle you saw in her eye. Not the real thing. Just a facsimile.

You can't sleep. The winter night is long and you spend it staring out the window, trying to recapture in your mind's eye the look on her face as she teased you. Trying to will it into life.

In the morning, she leaves you, as you knew she would.

---

This got darker than I started out. If you can believe it, I started out writing something about Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf. It didn't work. It wasn't working. I tried rewriting it several times, and each time the exhibitionism of the picture defeated the form I was trying to force it into.

So then I stepped back, started something totally different, and wound up being super heavy and depressing. It's not a depressing picture at all. It's cute, it's slightly wanton, and she almost seems like she's being lifted by unseen hands. And I had to go and be all sad with it.

One thing I will say: writing in second person present tense is not something I usually do. Hell, I rarely write in the present tense period. But I decided that, if I wasn't going to be as inventive with the story, I would at least try to flex my writing muscles a little with the form. I'm super out of practice.

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Did you know that the best way to get practice is to practice? And you can practice by heading over to Max's blog and playing along. He's back doing Flash Fiction Friday and I for one couldn't be happier because I certainly needed some practice. It's like riding a bicycle; you never really forget, but if you don't do it for a few years when you get back on you wind up looking foolish for the first few pedals. Something like that.