Eight to Twelve Word Stories.

Prompt: Self Destruction in love.

Loving her left me with a journal, xanax, and whiskey.

Drugs and rock n’ roll were kids stuff or stupid, but not Sex

Best friends ate together, laughed together, and fought over cocaine.

Leather Bound

“Leather Bound Babes?”
He reads the title and laughs like a mad man, utterly unable to ignore the contorted figure on the cover. She just chuckles and pulls another book from the book store’s battered gunmetal grey shelves.

In that quiet back corner of the book store they were surrounded by bodice rippers and rippling bare chested cowboys. Titles with subtly obscene and obnoxious names surrounded them, and reminded them how many innuendos included the words “come” and the phrase “Doing the”. For all the joking and the laughing, they shared a mutual love of the romance section. Their gentle jabs and riffs arose from a place of pure affection, not petty scorn for a genre. Her life had been where the book had been her one constant companion in the face of scorn, and of course she read those silly titles to feel a love once deemed impossible for her to find. His love of the genre came from sneaking in his mother’s stack of books from the library or thrift store after he blew through his own. He read page after page not caring about it being “kissy kissy stuff”, as he told her.

“Sometimes I wonder if these male models have faces or anything else besides chests.”

She laughed. “What more do they need…well-” she whispered, “besides fourteen inch dicks?” They both chuckled and glanced around to make sure no wandering youngsters could hear them. “Apparently that’s all women want.”

“Is it true?” He teased.

“Oh god no, but it is a nice thought. Just…” she motioned towards the field of covers surrounding them from the front and flank. “very ultra common.”

“Well, it sort of suits the genre, no?” he said.

“The books aren’t bad. The covers often are, but that makes them more fun.” She picked a bright purple cover with a couple leaning against a ranch fence from the shelf. As she scimmed the pages she saw, from the corner of her eye, him watching her closely. “What’s on your mind?” As she spoke her eyes fell on the phrase ‘engorged rod’. For some reason that one always tripped her up and made her laugh. Something about it seemed so retro and so visceral and yet so not descriptive. She just found it…oddly hilarious.

“It’s cool that you’re cool with this,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“A lot of people would give me shit if they knew a big burly guy like me liked this stuff.” Sadly, she agreed that people would be so stupid.

“People are shitty, but you are perfect.” She leaned up on her tip toes and placed a soft kiss against his full and soft lips, which curled into a smile as they pulled away. She lived to see that smile.

Her boyfriend looked like a friendly neighborhood lumberjack with the beard and broadness to match. For the New Year, he’d begun working out regularly, pushing himself to the limit and then farther. The result was his natural broadness gained tone and got a bit broader, a bit harder, and he really looked like one of those men of the mountain. But he didn’t play any B.S games about what he should do as a man. He could fix a truck and then drive it to craft store, would be the first to suggest salad for dinner, and ,dare she say, he cried at the same points in movies she did. The night before they had watched Beaches. It was a mess and they ran out of kleenex. Actually, that was why they’d gone out and they decided on the way to get more books.

Like they didn’t have enough books.

“I’m not perfect,” he said as he turned to the covers. Dozens of chiseled bare chests stared back at him and his face knotted a little. She wrapped an arm around his own, a small comfort in the face of his own insecurities. He never wanted to be jacked, but she’d sense he’d been somewhat unhappy with his build. He didn’t lose a shit ton of weight,  and replace it with lean muscle Chris Evans Captain America like muscle. He gained muscle and it just layered under his chubby bits. He wasn’t as fat as he thought he was. He had a bit of tummy, a nice butt(which she grabbed often), and the sort of meatiness she found comforting. Why didn’t he see it that way? His eyes absorbed those cover images with half covetous jealousy, and she pulled him closer. Through their winter pea coats she felt his warmth surround her and she nuzzled against him.

“Do you know what I like about you?” she asked.

“My charming wit and lackluster personality?”

She shook her head, then beamed up at him with all the love in her heart.

“You’re very real. You aren’t a ken doll. You have meat, and substance, and a unique feeling. I like you in my arms, and on my body and…in my body.” She watched his cheeks beam firetruck red, a better sign of how effective her words were than anything he could say. “Truthfully very few of these guys do it for me, but you…you’re real to me, for me, and your flaws are perfect.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say, and so he kissed her again, sealing his mouth to hers. In seconds a deep meaningful kiss descended into raw meaningful passion. They were consumed by each other, breathing in a moment in time that would never be exactly repeated. A quiet couple solidifying one part of their love surrounded by books that often subverted the cozier notions of love like reading together, shopping together, or simply not being those perfect people.

“Ahem?” A voice startled them.

The couple instantly parted, both flustered and feeling a tad exposed as a store clerk rounded the corner. As she struggled to say the socially appropriate thing he cleared his throat then said “Sorry, this seemed the best section for romance.”

“Well,” the clerk chuckled, “Romance is the section not lust.”

“Judging by the look of it, ” she said glancing around them. “Not exactly.”

20 Minute Erotica Challenge

An old challenge I used to do every month that I think I’m bringing back.

Driving me insane

2/19/14

She misses him more than words can say.

So when they reunite she kisses him with a grin then captures him in her arms. In response he squeezes far too tight. Her back cracks, eliciting a half groaned out laugh.

~~

They are alone

He takes her by the waist, and kisses her hard in a way she didn’t know she missed. Her heart is beating against her chest, as fire pumps through her veins. There is him, and his bed, and her panties damp from heavy petting and frequent kisses. When he breaks away it is only to kiss along her jaw to her neck. He sucks her flesh, and bites hard until she digs her fingers in his back. It takes her a moment to realize he’s unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. He pushes her down to his bed and gets on top of her. Their eyes meet, and she whispers “I love you.” and he smiles and says the same. Their lips are crashing against each other, as he slides his hand under her shirt, pinching both nipples at once, so she moans into his mouth. He’s hard, and she grinds against him. The sheerness of her leggings only makes her more eager.

Pants come off, and legs are spread. He’s hard, and his eyes are glazed over in a mixture of lust and love. She licks her lips, half mad in her desire, shivering as his cock brushes her wet womanhood. With a grunt he thrusts deep. Her walls clench and massage his cock, pulsing as if celebrating his welcome familiarity. She looks into his eyes, and he looks into hers. Nothing is more real than that. He pulls back, and thrusts in again, causing a mild slick noise. She blushes and he chuckles at her reaction. He begins to thrust in earnest. His lips meet hers furiously, and their tongues dance in each others mouths and across their lips. Her tongue traces down to his neck. She adorns his delectable flesh in sweet kisses that descend in nibbles and hard needy sucks. This time she wants to leave a mark. He belongs to her just as much as she to him. His chest is brazing against her soft sensitive nipples. Her legs are locked around him tight, and she knows it’s only driving him further into their sweat ridden madness. The tenderness fades in his motions, but not his eyes. She gasps and groans, signaling that he found her spot. He beats upon it with his throbbing cock until he’s groaning with her. With a hard thrust, she spasms, orgasms, like heaven fell into her body. He keeps going and she’s louder now. She tries to quiet herself, and he groans, driving deep sending them both into orgasm. Hers sends her whirling. She forgets her own name as the shivers ravage her body. But she remembers his and sings it to the high heavens, again and again she sings. The warmth of his cum inside her and his cocks throbbing makes her bite her bottom lip. It’s a feeling she loves. Their time apart has built up, and she knows when he pulls out, and she puts on her panties she’ll be swimming in a sea of his seed. She doesn’t care. She never has. It’s perfect as it is

 

Written in 20 minutes.

 

Warm Up Time! “Daily Prompt: Second Thoughts”

Prompt: via Daily Prompt: Second Thoughts

With two small boxes in her hand and a man napping on the sofa in front of her Lita began to wonder if she made a mistake. Jon had always been messy…but she had asked him to go on an unpack the boxes in their new living room. She sat the last two boxes from her old tiny apartment down by their new big blue sofa and made her way across the massive room to the kitchen. Her kitchen. She loved this house with all her spirit, and that is why Jon paid just under full market price for it once they decided to live together. As she looked from the gleaming white cabinets to the grey  eco-friendly counter top she knew Jon loved her. It wasn’t just the sex. No. Their…unique relationship had never been just that even as she wore that silver choker around her neck, that silver symbol of her choice to be with him. But living together?

Naughty words and naughtier deeds were a hell of a lot easier than living together, or having the burden of being the one who suggested living in the suburbs right outside the city far from his glittering penthouse in the sky. Yeah, the penthouse she had decorated for him as a favor. Maybe there was a reason for that. He didn’t get everything this house symbolized to a girl who lost her childhood home to pettiness and deceit. He didn’t get that she had been raised to put things just so. He didn’t get how not unpacking even onw of those boxes made her let out a heavy worried sigh. Her boss had been riding her ass all day and that was before she went to her holiday shift at Mint! Eight hours of work followed by four hours of more work, followed by an annoying as hell drive home did not make for a happy Lita. So for him to not do this simple little thing? “It would have been fucking nice…but guess not”. She went to their wine glass cabinet, which she put in order, and grabbed one of their larger glasses. Maybe this had been one big mistake. Maybe Jon just wasn’t living together material…maybe she was just freaking out. She glanced towards the sofa, but noticed how orderly their entertainment console looked. The xbox and wii sat neatly beside each other beneath their massive TV. She could tell the cabinets and cubbies had been filled with controllers, video game cases, DVDS, and a few of his favorite neck knacks(some of which were hers like the figure of the Pink Mighty Morphin Power Ranger doing a high kick, and the hand painted white and gold rabbit she brought back from France. The books, the vases, the paintings, and everything else in the living room remained boxed. But he obviously unpacked their XBOX and router just fine though. Go figure.

“Ugh”

“Go to the bedroom…” Jon’s sleepy voice echoed from the living room.

“Hey, babe…you could have done one other box besides that one-”

“Go to the bedroom” Jon said with a yawn. He popped up from behind the sofa back and stretched.

“I’m really not in the mood for anything now. I just…had a long day.”

Jon’s mouth contorted into a sympathetic frown that deepened as he looked her over. She must have looked more tired than she thought. Perfect. She thought she’d looked cute today. She even matched the red of her blouse to the red that tinted the ends of the locs and wore her red cats eye glasses to match.

“I’m sorry, hun, but go to the bedroom.”

Lita set the glass down on the counter, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. There wasn’t an ounce of fight left in her, so she just shrugged. Chances were she’d get into it once they got started and quite frankly by the look on his face he’d be more than willing to give her a full body massage. The thought made a small smile pierce her annoyance. How could she stay 70% irritated when post-massage sex was one of the best kinds of sex. Still earlier she’d thought about maybe them trying a 24/7 d/s relationship, but if her irritation was any indication that’d never work out. She walked down the hallway to the stairs and each step up reminded her how tired she felt. By the time she reached the second floor she could have asked Jon to come carry her. “Nah…fuck the massage.”
With another little sigh she walked down the hallway, hearing the low bass of one of her favorite songs coming from the bedroom. Lita glanced towards the stairs, hearing Jon’s footsteps approach.

“I’m right behind you!” he said.

“Alright.” Lita kept walking, noting how dim the light coming through the bedroom door was. When she came to it she pushed it open and a gasp left her lips. He may not have gotten to their living room…but he certainly got to work upstairs. The whole room was in perfect order: Their bed was perfectly made and sprinkled with roses; at the front of the bed was their “toy” trunk  with several new toys laid on top; on a nightstand beside a picture from their first date was a tray holding two glasses and an ice bucket with a wine bottle sticking from the top; beneath their television their stereo played music softly beside a vase filled with roses. She stepped inside as the shock rolled over her only to see their bathroom was also perfectly arranged, and inside rose petals lead from the door to the large soaker tub.

He did all this. He took the time out of his day to not only get this all organized, but to dress it up so…romantically. Her heart skipped a beat and she felt tears begin to rise to her eyes. She’d dated but no one had ever done this. No one had ever put something like this together so perfectly just when she needed it most. After being dressed down at work, dealing with angry customers, and petty co-works…and thinking he just blew off what she asked him to do…she came home to this.

Suddenly his arms surrounded her and she felt his lips kiss her neck.

“I thought this was more important. Hope you don’t mind”And against her iron will those tears began to fall, and Jon pulled away and moved in front of her. Deep concern was written in his dark eyes and her wiped the tears from her face. “Please tell me these are happy tears?”

And all Lita could do was laugh and nod her head. Second thoughts. Life had a lot of them, but right then as she embraced him this house, this man, and this life weren’t one.

Concrete: Warm Up Poetry

Concrete.
Smoking as ash dusts over its surface.
Lacking a human touch.
Too afraid to breathe.
Too afraid to run.
Undead earth.

“Fuck”.
The only words in the apartment as they rut like animals.
Grunting, screaming, moaning.
The wet needing openness of lust,
fills with every loving thrust.
Another kisses her mouth,
He grabs her hair and lifts.
From her to his lips.
From her to her to him.
The lonely three in a concrete city,
Finding solace in each other as
fingers find soft and yearning sacred grounds and,
Tantalizing brown and white and red flesh,
She counts the bruises on her neck.
He counts the scars on her shoulders.
She simply screams beneath them both.
Their love is not some ephemeral thing.
Not some weird toy.
Not some sinful thing.
It is simply one thing in a maze of concrete,
And empty houses next to empty homes.

Finds Me: A Late Night Piece of Poetry/Prose

He awoke before I did.
He awoke and left a note by my pillow.
“Love you always.
Today is the next step to forever.”
When I awake I slip it in my pocket,
Throughout the day my fingertips leave kisses on its spine.
My legs grow weak at work.
My smile becomes heavy.
Customer after customer.
Nice usually.
Usually.
You know I want out.
Forever…is this my forever?

I trail my fingers over that note.
Defying the dread in my heart,
With one more push for a smile.

At day’s end I’m home first.
Dishes set for dinner,
Possibly for one.
But he finds me in the kitchen.
He finds me and grabs me by the waist.
He finds my neck and drowns me in kisses.
Spreads my thighs and finds more.
More.
He finds every scar I’ve ever had,
Every stain from ever bloody memory,
And for now they are erased.
With deft hands and warm fingers,
My sore tired flesh is explored.
Sensitive breasts lead to sighs,
Sensitive necks lead to growls.
One more reason to smile.
He finds me panting and moaning when he takes me.
He finds I moans loudest when its dirtiest.
He finds pleasure in my whimpering,
Beauty in begging,
A symphony in my shudders,
And ecstasy in hidden nature.

Dressed and sorted with rosy cheeks,
We make our plates,
Ignore the lingering heat,
And I try not to melt over lingering bliss.
“How was your day?” he asks, and we talk.
And we argue.
And we laugh.
And when the dishes are clear and the time is right…
He finds me again.
And today, I think, is the next step to forever.

Warm Up and Short Story: Bionic Pulp

Bionic

My mother used to watch Bionic Woman, but I could never get into it until now. That chick, the bionic woman, had complete control of her body. Her limbs moved like an Olympic athlete, her body was tough as steel, and she could do things others couldn’t. That show was on when my mom wasn’t even born, but she watched them because her grandfather watched them. We often do things because we see them, because we can, and because we experience fleeting joy. Guess that’s just how it goes.

“As I think these things I lose track of time” I mutter as I pull back my hand again. Twelve dozen servos click and lock beneath my pseudo-human meat flesh. Pop. Snickt. Pop. It is quiet, but I hear it. It is three and one half servo rotations away from how my hips react to making love. The difference between one movement and the next is minimal to most people, but folks like me notice everything. Some adapt entirely, but others just end up here.Pop. Pop. Snickt. Wrr. It is quieter than the way this artificial hand pounds into skin and the flesh of the man who now lays in a pool of blood. He looked at me like I was the devil earlier. Hell he even asked. “Then the devil must have excellent taste in fashion” I said. It was a good one. Then he got what he got coming.

The money that was in his pocket surrounds us like thrown confetti at a party if confetti was $8,000. It waffles in the wind, but it won’t get away. It’s already a tad wet. This guy took that money from Miss Loretta’s fundraiser, and that really pisses me off. Her school does a lot that the public schools will not or can not, and besides that I don’t suffer theft in my presence. The nerve of this dirty ass turkey. He’s as dark as I am, dressed in a suit and tie, but underneath his nails and on his skin there is a fine grime. They dressed him up, but he still walked like a guy who didn’t know anything of real value but knew where to bum a Mercedes. Someone, I reason as I land another punch causing a loud crack in the man’s jaw, put him up to this. I grab the man’s collar and land several more punches until the man is a mass of swollen purple meat bubbling up blood. I’m not sore or tired though and though I should be out of breath my lungs remain steady. Later when they ask me I will say “I beat him because he was a bad man. I kept beating him because I enjoyed it.”

There are no secrets here anymore.

“Gretchen,” Louis says. My heart flutters like butterflies have filled it up. I swear my womanity is escaping and I want it back. It belongs in this neat little jar I have that I only bring out for Sex and saturday nights. Little s on saturday, and big on Sex. That’s how it goes. Even without looking that ebony Adonis is grimacing and I know it. He has never liked my methods. The turkey drops to the wet cement like a sack of garbage and I turn around to Louis. He’s a tricky fellow, mostly because he is honest. Most people never believe where we met. We were actors in Othello. Yeah, two classically trained black actors. The world needs more of those right? Eventually I stepped out of the spotlight but Louis with his neatly trimmed inch thick afro and his immaculate burgundy leather jacket was forced. Too much attitude and too tired of playing bit parts. It wasn’t choice. He just wasn’t and isn’t grateful enough. White folk expect it from us, black folk always accuse us of not having enough when we give it. I didn’t mind, but Louis did and let it be known. So his fine ass self ended up there with me, but I don’t think he minded too much. Men like him were tall and powerful, built for both speed and strength. He needed to use his body somehow even if most times he let me do the work.

“I count all that’s missing.” Louis looked at the man, shook his head, then cracked his back. As we stood between those two towering buildings he looked like he didn’t belong for a second. Irony being of course that he was and is more street than I’ll ever be. He’s really not my type, but he’s smarter than most and he only does what he knows he has to. We were very different.

“You good?” He asks, and all I do is nod. It doesn’t matter if I am or not because punching time is done. Nothing blocks out the world anymore and I slowly exit my bionic limbs and come back into my organic body. My allergies are starting to kick up and I suddenly become aware of the pressure at the front of my skull. I can taste the cold wet air and smell the meat wafting on the wind. I can feel the tightness in my shoulder’s from being so tense and I relax with a slow steady breath. Louis hands me a thick navy blue handkerchief. I wipe the blood from my knuckles. If there were real nerves and blood behind those knuckles how would it feel? I never punched someone before my…upgrade. I was a good girl after all. I begin to hand the handkerchief back to him but he just snatches it and like he’s some worried parent he begins wiping my cheeks. I thought it was just stray drops of wet, but I must have just been ignoring the blood splatter. He drops the cloth back in my hands as though wanting nothing to do with it then looks at the bloodied man with irritation.

“Come on then.” And like nothing happened we walk out of that alley with our heads held high. The cops standing near the alley entrance stand up straighten and stop leaning on their cars. We give them a solemn nod then step aside so they can go get that piece of garbage I left on the ground. They look us over carefully, and then with big beaming smiles say:

“Have a good one guys.”

“Thanks.”
It takes me ten years to get to this. I wish I knew what this was.

Whenever we get back to the office Louis takes off his coat and if I’ve been busy while we’re out I’ll take a shower. It is nice that we had an office shower, but really it is only because it used to be an apartment. Kinda still is considering how often Louis slept there. I toss my coat on the rack, walk past our desks and down the hall past that annoyingly tiny galley kitchen and hit the bathroom. Peeling off these sweaty clothes feels amazing. The cool air hits my skin and within moments the chill roles over me. The thing about prosthesis is that the nerve feeling isn’t the same. Every time something new touches you then you have to readjust, to remember that not all of you is you even if it belongs to you, and then accept it. I just sigh most days, turn on the shower, step inside and get clean.

It is no surprise when I turn my head and see Louis standing there in boxers, watching me with a smile.
“Can I join you?”

He doesn’t need to ask. Its just the routine. So he takes me in the shower  from behind, grabbing my hair hard, and grunting in my ear. We don’t know how this got started. One day after a particularly hard job we started drinking then started doing more talking than drinking. As though we both feared we said too much we decided to do something else. We haven’t talked as much since that night and I think he prefers it that way. As he thrusts his thickness into my depths, forcing soft lustful moans from me I realized I could not care. I like Louis and he does like me, but love ain’t the game. Sometimes when I’m filing our cases I catch him watching like he does want that to be the game. Then sometimes when we’re fucking in the shower, and his hands are on my hips he says “I wish I could…I want this all the time”. I’m the only woman he does it bareback with. I know I usually run his errands with mine. He dates a number of cute girls. I’ve stolen one or two away from him without any hard feelings, so he gets plenty of action. But he thrusts in me without hesitation and with such relish his whole body shivers. Sometimes I wonder if he does it because part of him hopes I’ll get pregnant, that it will force him to be open with me. The risk just gets me off. He always finishes first and leaves me with that incredible warmth inside, but he is a gentleman and keeps going until I’m satisfied as well.

Usually we’ll be back at it again by nightfall in another room, on a desk or chair, once on the kitchen counter. But I can already tell by how he strokes my neck afterwards that tonight won’t be one of those days. He’s feeling something inside himself tonight. I can’t help with that.

An hour later we’re at our desks. He researches a case while I make sure our files are once again in order. He’s been quiet even for him, and I guess it bugs me when he gets like that.

“You got plans tonight?” I ask.

“Nah, well, I’m gonna see.”

“Date?” He always got awkward about that sort of thing, but he knew he didn’t have to.

“Nope.”

Never a good sign with him. After three years I knew that meant he took some sorta case on the side or got mixed up with some shit. At this point all I could do is laugh, and he looked up at me like I’d lost my damn mind

“Gonna need me to save your ass?”

He chuckled and leaned back in his chair, tucking his hands behind his head like he had some grand master plan. Whatever it could be probably meant me getting involved at some point.

“No. Not tonight. You should take it easy.” He looks at me real hard like I’m some sort of enigma for a second. The hallmarks of some rare and distant sympathy flickered in his chestnut eyes as though he were recalling some long forgotten thing. He always reminds me of the men I saw growing up, but unlike their fragile insecurities that gave them an aura of false pride Louis turned inward into some sort of ancient seer. Now his confidence radiated erratically and his whole demeanor shifts on thoughts I will never know. Through it all he looks at me softly as though he has words to say, but all he can do is put them aside for a better time. As quickly as it came in it vanished. Part of me aches. I yearn to see what it is. I yearn to take him apart. Mystery is a weakness we share. “If things get rough I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, do that then.”

I do not know what else to say. With him I rarely do.
*
Not sure if I’ll keep this story going. I have some ideas but I don’t know.

Warm Up #2

Belle by the River

Without her money, her family, her career, or her gifts Belle knew she had one thing that out shined all those trivial matters, and that was her wit. In the hot southern sun men and women toiled, but she and Miss Marie made smarter and less moral choices. They had that luxury, but they did what they could for those who did not. That may not seem very connected to you Yankees, but I can assure you it was. Belle had a way no matter what. She knew how to use what she had even if she had nothing. As Belle walked towards the river’s edge, carrying her umbrella she looked the pinnacle of southern gentry despite her dark skin.

Most white folk kept clear of her outside of Miss Marie’s. It was mostly because they feared her, but they’d never tell you that. Them fearing that tall slight thing with the umbrella? Ha. But it was true, as true as anything else in this story. Belle, in her fancy dress with a parasol in one hand knelt down, put the parasol under her chin then took a handful of river mud and shoved it in a jar she’d been carrying. The fishermen on the banks got chills at the sight. No one understood her magic, but they knew enough.
We all did.

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