FFF - Better

 

The doctor says I'm doing better. Ponder, if you will, the state this life of mine might be better than. Do you see the problem? Tell me you see.

The cat is back. I tried to tell the orderlies but they won't listen. The cat is back and this time I promise I'll behave. This time I promise. The cat.

No. I reached out and let it sniff me and it was like I was back in his bedroom, only that cat was gray. I think. He kissed me and I promise I'll behave. This time.

No time like the present. The drugs are wearing off like they always do and the cat is back and this time I won't behave, I will follow. Back through the grove of trees, back to his bower, back to his arms. He cannot reject me. Not again.

---

So short this week. I could have written a lot more, but maybe it's best kept short.

Something very melancholy about this image. I don't know why. Not that the cat is black; I love black cats and think they're perfectly cheerful. Maybe just the face of the woman.

Anyway, I think you can read this in a number of different ways, so please let me know which way it read to you, if you feel up to it. I have my own ideas, but I don't want to bias anyone, and frankly if I couldn't work it into the story as written it doesn't deserve to be there.

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Speaking of the story as written, you can go over to Max's (everybody comes to Max's) to see other takes on the picture and challenge, and maybe to throw your own hat into the ring. I'm linking to the challenge page as always (because I post this before Max posts his roundup) but you're smart. You can find the others.

FFF - The Price

 

"Behold, the Knife of Ages," intoned Elder Xi, holding aloft the blade and drawing it quickly across the throat of the unfortunate victim, who, his eyes still fixed on mine, expired in a pool of blood.

"I have need of it," I said flatly. The black gloves on my hands itched with perspiration, or was that anticipation.

Elder Xi snapped her fingers and an underling rushed forward, porcelain skin matching the pot and cup she carried. "Drink of this bitter herb and see thy fate," the Elder said, her aged voice rasping in my ears.

Without hesitation, I gulped down what was offered, my gaze captured for a moment by the servant's ample bosom. Then the drug took hold and my vision swam and reformed, and I was standing on a precipice overlooking the castle of my brother, and it was burning brightly.

Then my blood slowed and I felt without seeing as the servant, her true form revealed, put her lips to my neck and drank deep . Betrayal, no. Merely the price that had to be paid for the work ahead.

---

No idea. Well, okay, sort of an idea. I saw this picture and immediately all I could think of was sex doll, because that's what it looks like. I know it's probably actually a 3D render, but she looks plastic. And there's something to be said for going with first impressions, but they don't call me difficult for nothing.

So I ruminated on it for a while. More than a while. I'm writing this perilously close to the deadline, actually. What can I say? This week has been a busy one and while I attempted to come back to Flash Fiction Friday a number of times, I kept being stymied by my first impressions of the image.

180 words is barely enough to scrape together a good description of something, let alone a plot, and I think I've been hamstringing myself for the past few weeks trying to "For sale: baby shoes, never worn," when I really should just write vignettes and if there's a plot, great.

Which led me to the decision that I was going to write something which had nothing to do with the image and just hope that the fertile imagination of the reader would fill in the blanks where I couldn't. So Elder Xi sacrificed a victim using the Knife of Ages, and I figured I could write another 150 words or so about that and...

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't pull the trigger. I had to involve the image, so I involved it in some meaningless way, only I got toward the end of the little vignette and wouldn't you know it, she turned out to be the real mover and shaker of the piece and I should just quit while I'm ahead some days.

None of this should be read as criticism of the challenge, by the way. They're supposed to be challenging, not easy. I'm trying to stretch muscles which have lain dormant for lo these many months and years, and I'm not quite up to my old form but each time I push myself a little, I get better. Maybe one day I'll be back to writing Beowulf pastiche.

Yes, this one isn't particularly sexy. Sorry not sorry.

---

One thing I'm not sorry at all about is participating in Flash Fiction Friday, hosted as always by the inimitable Max. Visit him to see the challenge and other takes on it, because while I can pretty much guarantee that no one else included the Knife of Ages, I bet there are sexier takes. 

And if there aren't, you have no one to blame but yourself. You can join in and write that sexy story you thought we should obviously have written. It was staring us right in the face, and we didn't, but you can. Join us. Grasp the Knife of Ages and pay the price for your power!

Something like that.

FFF - No Peeking

 

He didn't know how to approach her about the competition, so he scouted out her usual partners, made note of when they entered and exited, and drew up a practice schedule which would leave her available during her peak hours. Then he practiced his pitch until he knew it backward and forward. When she answered the door, all his carefully-planned words fled. "You're with the Sexual Olympics, right?" she said. "Sorry, but you're too late. I already signed with Hungary."

---

I made love to his eyes every night, knowing he would be there at the window watching, stripping off my uniform, pulling down my underwear and letting my hard cock spring out. I could almost feel his eyes on my shaft as I stroked it, coming closer and closer, then finally spraying the glass in front of his face with ropes of my semen. I knew I could never have more than his eyes. After all, he was the minister and I was just a lonely Boy Scout.

---

Two jokes in vignette, or perhaps two vignettes in joke form? The second one came to me first, but I initially couldn't make it work, so I wrote the first one, then decided I'd write another and the second one resolved itself to my satisfaction.

I don't really know where either of them came from, just that the guy looks like he's clean-cut which made me think of Boy Scouts, and also made me think of boarding schools where they do things like rowing, which made me think of sporting competitions, which... you get the drift.

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This was a fun challenge this week. If you would like to take part, head on over to Max's, where you'll find this and other challenges. If nothing else, thank Max for his continued largess in playing host to these flashes of fiction.

FFF - Lamp

They all told me to just forget about it. But I couldn't. I couldn't get the image of electric sex out of my mind. It had to be just so. That seminal moment in my life when the stars aligned and I knew, really knew, that there was a force for good in the universe. That smell of ozone and excelsior, the angle up to a blinding brightness, and that first feeble stirring in my loins which I would later know was an erection.

I couldn't get it up now, at all, not even thinking back to that day. That's sad, I know, but after so many years, I also knew that I was hopelessly devoted to a long-buried relic of my father's time. Sure, they sold them, but it wasn't the same.

And then she walked into my room wearing those tights and her top laced up like a Christmas present and I knew what I had been looking for. "Ralph, I thought maybe this might help," she said, her voice pitched like the hum of a hundred watt bulb as it draws power. "You can turn me on if you like."

I liked. And there was no prude of a mother to stop me now as I ran my hand up her shapely thigh, feeling the jolt of orgone inside me as I realized she might have been wearing stockings but there was nothing between me and her blinding brightness. She giggled and looked down at me from the table, but I was concentrating below. Sure, there were two legs now, but twice the fun, right?

I took my major award to bed shortly thereafter, and while the costume might have come off, she still glowed with every thrust.

---

I just had to. It was all I could think of when I saw the picture, and while I don't want to tarnish a cherished holiday classic, the idea of Ralphie in middle age, successful but unable to leave his father completely behind, in his penthouse apartment with his trophy... well, maybe it read, and maybe it didn't.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, you're probably better off, but suffice it to say that I'm making reference to A Christmas Story, specifically the scene with the leg lamp.

This one didn't really speak to me, picture-wise, except in this way. I don't find the image particularly erotic (and that's totally fine; not everything is about me, and I can write things inspired by non-erotic images), and like I said, all I could think about was that damn lamp

---

Did you know that you too can join in the fun of tarnishing cherished holiday classics (or not, as the case may be) by going to Max's blog where you'll find the rules and image for the week? You don't have to post your work anywhere, but it's more fun if you do, and we're a supportive crowd. Just think: you could be next week's winner of absolutely nothing, but if you're a newbie maybe people will stop by and give you plaudits. I'm really selling this, aren't I? Seriously, it's more fun with more people, and Max is just getting it started up again so there's plenty of time to join in and be here on the ground floor as it were.

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.

---

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.