SJ Maylee Week 121: Lost and Found

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SJ Maylee’s’ Choice: Both

Title: Lost and Found

Where had the time gone? It was winter when she fell in love and now the leaves were putting on their stunning show of gold and burning red. Roxanne looked behind her and admired the cause of her distraction.

“I think this would look fabulous on you.” Jonathon held up a skimpy black dress.

“You say that about everything and it’s hardly every true.” She ambled around the rack of clothes and hugged him from behind. “I’m still convinced the last dress you had me try on was actually a shirt.”

“And you looked incredible in it.” He turned around and grabbed her ass, pulling her close to his hard body.

“Jonathon.” She eyed the clerk watching them, slipped from his arms, and walked out of the store.

The quaint town they arrived in yesterday had little treasures from around the world. Jonathon had known the origins of each item they’d found from firsthand knowledge. She was starting to believe Jonathon had been everywhere, even though she knew that couldn’t be true. She of course hadn’t seen any of them before. Her first time out of Illinois was when they left for their first trip several months ago. Yesterday, she discovered something she’d done that Jonathon had not, feeding giraffes. The giant gentle creatures with their long tongues were always the highlight of her trips to the zoo.

On the next block, she found something she was familiar with.

“I know where these are from,” she said.

“Have you ever been inside one?” When she shook her head, he grabbed her hand, kissed her knuckles, and then dragged her closer to the telephone booth. Once he opened the door, he pulled her inside.

“There sure isn’t a lot of space. They don’t even have phones in here.”

“You want to call someone?” He pushed her against the side of the booth and grabbed her ass again.

“No.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Everyone I need is right here.” She pressed her lips to his and lost herself in his kiss.

He pressed his body against hers while he took control of their kiss. His way was deep and demanding. When she was in his arms she was home. She wanted nothing but the moment to continue forever.

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SJ Maylee believes hearts are meant to come together and find love. As a writer she has a tendency to break hearts, but she always glues them back together. You can follow her at @SJMaylee,

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Miranda Kate Week 120: Denial

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Miranda Kate’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Denial

Kate couldn’t bring them back to life. Even if she changed the water and took out the worst of the dead pieces, they couldn’t be saved.

They had gone too long without sustenance; gone passed the point of return. There would be no resurrection, no flourishing once more. The stems might strengthen a little bit, become more upright and support themselves for a while longer, but the blooms were finished. There was no hope for a return of colour, vivacity or joy.

She stood staring at them. They represented her marriage so much; had it been nurtured or cared for, it might have given pleasure for both parties forever, but instead it had been left to stagnate, the water it sat in growing cloudy and rank, the smell turning bitter; what was once beautiful crumbling and decaying.

There had been attempts to change the water, but it had only slowed the rot, and drawn out the silent death.

She snatched up the vase and marched out to the dustbin. If there was one thing Kate couldn’t abide, it was dead flowers in a house. She’d buy some fresh tomorrow and brighten things up.

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J M Blackman Week 120: The Wind & The Tree

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J.M. Blackman’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: The Wind & The Tree

I
She was the wind, quick,
and easy to slip through fingers.
He, the tree: steady.

II
But they always met
when the cherry blossoms fell:
soft touches and sighs.

III
Their love could not last,
but its brevity: beauty.
and its strength: fable.

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J.M. Blackman is a Language Arts teacheri and a feminist. She endeavors to review nearly everything she reads and is a happy wife. She's a SFF enthusiast, loves dark humor, and has an unhealthy need to protect the image of Batman.

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Mark Ethridge Week 120: A Tale Of Lust : This Is Gonna Be Good

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Mark Ethridge’s Picture Choice: One

Title: A Tale Of Lust : This Is Gonna Be Good

Jason watched, through the gap in the curtains, the scene his tiny webcam captured, in real-time, of her bedroom. He watched her enter the room. She pulled him in after her. Jason licked his lips. “This is gonna be good.”

She stood on her bed, pulled her pants off, and laughed. “See anything you want?”

The guy with her licked his lips, and nodded.

She laughed, then pulled her jacket off, standing in a tight, white t-shirt, and barely there thong. “So, what do you see you want?”

The guy didn’t say anything, just stood there, staring at her.

“Show me what you want,” she smiled, “Take what you want,” She stood on the edge of the bed, slipped her hand beneath her thong. “So I’ll know what you like.”

His hands reached her waist, his thumbs slipped beneath the elastic holding her bottom in place. He pulled it down, then off of her. He stepped forward, pushed his head between her legs. Her hands pulled his head further in.

Jason watched. “I’d eat that,” he thought. “I’d do more than eat that.”

The guy did more. His fingers explored her. He turned her around, pushed her to her knees, and let his fingers run wild. She rocked back and forth on them. “Mmmm.” He pulled his fingers from her, and moved them to her ass.

Jason listened to her, “Mmmm,” as he slipped fingers into her ass. “I’d put more than my fingers there.” God, it was fun to watch her. God, he wished he could tie her up, and fuck every part of her.

“Mmmm, is that all?” she whispered.

He opened his pants, and pulled himself free. With his fingers still in her ass, he pushed himself between her legs, and began stroking her.

Jason watched, “I’m gonna need a shower after this.” He felt the urge between his legs. “Wonder if he’ll fuck her ass.” He watched the video, as the man stroked away. “I would.”

The man finished, his fingers still in her ass. “Mmmm,” came from her once more. She pulled away, turned to face him, “It’s time to clean up.” She licked him clean, then opened her mouth, and let her tongue pull him in.

Jason groaned. “Yeah, God. I wish that was me.” He watched the video. “I’d fuck her face but good.” He watched her head move back and forth.

She kept blowing him until he was fully erect once more. “My turn,” she giggled. She pulled him on the bed, pushed him on his back, and straddled him. She reached to the nightstand beside the bed, and grabbed a jar of something. Her fingers dipped into the jar, then wrapped around him, as she spread something on him. She shifted, and sat on him. Jason watched her take him in her ass.

He played the video for hours. Watching the sex over and over. He took a shower, and released the tension between his legs. He watched the video again. He knew, “She will be mine. I will have her. And I’ll do what I want with her.”

Lust rested beneath his bed that night, “Yes, Jason. Yes. Do whatever it takes. Fuck every part of her. Every part.” Jason fell asleep that night, watching the video. As he slept he made a plan. He’d do what he had to. He’d make her his. He’d fuck every part of her. Every time he wanted. As much as he wanted. Beneath Jason's bed, Lusts eyes shined with the light of a predator. “Yes, Jason. Yes. Tie her up. Make her yours. Yours to enjoy. Any way you wish.”

Lust laughed, and laughed. Things were working out well with Jason. It wouldn’t be long at all. It wouldn’t be long at all.

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Mark woke up in 2010, and has been exploring life since then. All his doctors agree. He needs to write.

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Pablo Michaels Week 120: Mystic Melinda

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Pablo Michael’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Mystic Melinda

All the young men succumbed to her alluring aura, at least the men I knew when I was eighteen. They couldn’t resist the beauty surrounding her. They needed to see what was behind the veil of her aloof and fickle moods brought about with each victim’s pursuit. I don’t know who bequeathed her with the name, Mystic Melinda, but I discovered the mystery of her existence no other man could comprehend. While they behaved like foolish boys smitten with the new girl in school, I stood my distance, observing the clumsiness of their amorous attempts at seducing a distant woman, who behaved like a wild animal, never to be tamed and caged. Each time a friend of mine prowled, like a stalker, he lavished her with a different approach in making love. I watched her run rapidly away, disappearing into the open arms of a new lover. Floundering in rejection after they showered her with their flattering ideals, they couldn’t comprehend why they had failed in conquering her seductive appeal and win her love. My roommate, Kevin, had fallen madly in love with her, his stomach still knotting in infatuation’s turmoil, a month after she had rejected him.

She had a beauty unmatched by most exceptionally attractive women. She didn’t have any outstanding features most men find attractive. She had an average feminine body, but all her proportions fit pleasingly in a t-shirt and blue jeans. It was the mysterious aura surrounding her, sucking men, blindly into her games of foreplay. Her milky, light blue eyes, and soft auburn eyebrows, curved slightly higher at the ends away from the narrow top of her small, aquiline nose. Those eyes trapped any man caught staring too long, encouraging him to delve into her mischief. Her long, sun-bleached hair bounced in waves when she tossed her head, avoiding any suspected intrusion to the private treasures in her heart. Those treasures and her ownership of them, all men lusted.

After all my friends had attempted to capture her and failed, if just for a second’s flash in time, like the fleeting blink of her eyes cast when she said yes and then good bye, I finally allowed my defenses to drop. I began a slow paced walk beside her but with a safe distance separating us. I was unclear whether I would eventually open my heart to her. We began a dance of our shared appreciation in nature.

My first step with her ocurred when a group of our friends agreed to go on a picnic to the beach. Mystic Melinda asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. Without pondering for a well thought plan, I agreed. We strolled along a high rocky cliff above the pounding crash of turbulent waves. The power of the ocean churned the turquoise water and green kelp into foaming white whirlpools. The lure of the sea fascinated both of us. We continued to walk in silence, inhaling the aromas of wildflowers growing abundantly, beside the narrow dirt trail. She stopped, bent over, and picked a white daisy. After caressing the petals, she gave me the flower. I felt I was building her trust. I picked a chain of blue lupine blossoms. We both inhaled its fresh fragrance. When I gave her the flower, we turned around, stopping once above a cove, where the waves violently slammed against the sheer cliff. She tossed the lupine flower down into the violent surf. We watched with fascination, until she gently took the daisy from me and allowed it to fall slowly into the turbulent waters, too.

When we returned for lunch with the others, a few of the men asked questions about my progress with her. The girls queried her in the same manner. We both smiled and simply answered, “We had a nice walk.” We actually did, even though not one word was spoken.

A week later, a powerful Pacific storm pounded the coast with near hurricane force winds and drenching rain. That night, Mystic Melinda and her roommate, Katie, knocked on our apartment door. When my roommate, Kevin, answered the door, Melinda was bubbling effervescent words of excitement. She wanted all of us to go climb the old volcanic peak, nearby. This mountain was an ancient volcano that had been drastically reduced in size by centuries of erosion. In spring, after the winter rains fell, wild oats, yellow mustard, and an array of wildflowers grew along its slopes along with green chaparral. The four of us, dressed with knit hats on our heads, scarfs around our necks, jackets, jeans, and tennis shoes, began scaling the gradual slope of the peak. At times, the gusts of wind howled with such great force that the heavy rain blew horizontally. Melinda and I climbed faster than Kevin and Katie. When we had nearly scaled the top, I stopped and turned around. I inhaled the vigor of the storm. Looking for the others, I saw Kevin a hundred feet downslope. I perused the darkness for Katie but couldn’t see her. Then, I looked back for Melinda above me, but couldn’t see her. Slowly, I climbed to the top. Glancing down the other side of the peak, I barely could see an image of Katie with her arms wrapped around Melinda. Katie’s long, black hair blew in circles around their pose in a dark shroud, while Melinda’s blond hair was flying around her head haphazardly with the force of the wind. When Kevin reached me at the top, Katie and Mystic Melinda had already joined me. Melinda and I literally ran down the mountain, screaming along with the roar of thunder after lightning lit the stormy night sky. With each rumble, we attempted to scream louder than the ground shaking sound, until we were back in the apartment.

Later that spring, Kevin and Melinda were locked into a longer affair, while she and I remained platonic lovers. Mystic Melinda appeared happier, smiling, and laughing more than the silence of the months before. I was content to enjoy the speechless moments we shared, as an agreement within our souls of how we survived within nature’s boundaries. Our mutual silence had melted the frozen, steel bars protecting our secret treasures, hidden in our vulnerable hearts.

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Pablo Michaels writes LGBT fiction and has published with Naughty Nights Press, http://naughtynightspress.blogspot.com You can follow him at @bell2mike

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Samantha Lee Week 120: Fields

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Samantha Lee’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Fields

It was an odd dream. At least, I think it was a dream. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was a memory, the echo of a past life. Maybe once, long, long ago, there was an experience, a traumatic series of moments so relevant, so important, that they seared themselves into my very soul. Maybe, life after life, rebirth after rebirth, the echoes carried through, replaying themselves against the screen of my subconscious, unfurled across my sleeping mind. Or maybe...maybe it really was just a dream.

In any case, I found myself in a field, a rolling landscape of yellow rapeseed and tall grasses. Above, a cerulean blue sky sprawled towards infinity, snow white clouds smeared here and there as if finger-painted by a child. A warm breeze pushed the clouds east, set the rapeseed dancing, and rustled the autumn-touched leaves of the few trees scattered about. Birds chirped, insects buzzed; it was an idyllic scene, one you'd expect to see in a museum painting or a wholesome country movie.

I was on a hill, sitting on a swing. It was an old fashioned swing, just an aged plank of wood hung from a sturdy tree branch by two thick hemp ropes. I pumped my legs, going higher and higher, relishing the rush of air sweeping over me. I love swings, always have, ever since I was a little girl. I used to spend hours playing on a swing just like that one, loving the feeling of rising so high I could almost touch the sky, loving knowing that no matter how many times I fell, I'd always rise again.

I don't have the words to describe that freedom. Ha, freedom - it's an underrated privilege, you know, one that few people appreciate until they've had to pay for it in blood and tears, until they've had to steal it in hidden moments and secret places. The swing was always my means of achieving freedom, the one time where open air and long dead wood would grant my escape from her.

There, in the field, on the hill, swinging, I was happy.

Something moved across the sun, a shadow too quick and dark to be a cloud, the Fates making a mockery of my short lived joy. The breeze became a wind, taking on a chilling bite as its dance grew frantic, a howl hinted in its passage. Slowly, achingly slow, the clouds bubbled and boiled, growing larger and darker as they surged across the sky; cerulean blue quickly disappeared behind steel grey and darkness spread in a slow wave around me. I took a deep breath as silence fell quick and sudden, and fear bloomed inside me.

Ichabod was there instantly, his familiar warmth caressing my aura in greeting, his weight a comfort as he curled around my neck, a pine marten in form. His triangular head nuzzled against my cheek, his paws clenching and unclenching against my shoulder. He chittered reassuringly, his big black eyes gazing up at me with devotion. He was more than a pet, this creature, he was my guardian, a gift from my father, created as an ever shape shifting beast meant to protect and love me when my father couldn't. Papa was prone to overcompensation like that.

A sudden rumble shook the ground and I closed my eyes, my swings growing shallow as my legs stilled and I came slowly to rest. When my toes touched the ground, Ichabod loosened from my neck and slithered down into my lap, his weight growing heavier as he shifted form, his warmth growing hotter with the effort.

I knew what was coming; I'd recognized the signs, they were the same for all my family, after all. But don't mistake me, I love my family. Dearly. My siblings and cousins are my friends and protectors, the ones who taught me how to shoot arrows and throw daggers, who showed me how to fix my hair and choose a gown, who made me strong and loved me unconditionally. My uncle taught me to swim and opened his home to me, sharing its beauty and secrets with me. My best and brightest memories, every moment I can tie to joy and fun and love, all begin either with one of them coming to call on me or vice-versa. Yes, I love my family, but...but not all my family.

A hand, so cold, so very, very cold, came down upon my shoulder, the fingers curling into my flesh. Its grip was hard, like steel, but its touch was soft, gentle. It was not a hand I'd felt before but I knew whose it was regardless. Taking another deep breath, I opened my eyes and smiled. I was free. Finally.

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Lizzie Koch Week 120: Watching Angels

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Lizzie Koch’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Watching Angels

Tossing and turning all night, it was no surprise to Theo when he awoke dripping in sweat and gasping for air in the stuffy room. He couldn’t recall what had made his sleep so restless other than the recurring image of a small stone statue, a cherub. He dismissed it, getting up and washing away the groggy sleep. He stared in the mirror. Tired but dark eyes stared back. Was it possible for eyes to grow darker? Always a milk chocolate brown, his eyes were now dark, empty orbs just like his hollow soul. He knew his soul left left him the moment his hands gripped tight around her neck, the way her eyes bulged as he squeezed ever tighter causing his fingers to turn white. As she fell, all the light inside him snuffed out.

But he liked the power, the energy, the satisfaction.

Theo left the small bedsit and walked carefree through the sunshine, affording a smile to passersby. But the little old woman on her nick-nack stall scowled as he approached. Imagining her limp, lifeless body, he browsed, knowing his presence annoyed her.

The smile on his face abruptly vanished when he saw the little cherub. Ashen, he stepped back as the woman held it up, now smiling. Theo rushed away.

How could a stupid little cherub make him feel this way? All night that thing was in his head.

In the park, where he met her, he relaxed. This was work and he needed to watch carefully. But the cherubs still wouldn’t leave his head.

Everywhere he turned, cherubs appeared, taunting, haunting him.

Blindly, he rushed, into the woods, leaving the park behind. But by every tree, a cherub sat. He ran, not knowing what way to turn. Suddenly, he stopped. he stood where the earth had been disturbed. Where his secret lay beneath. Panting, he knelt, touching the earth, clawing great clumps up in his hands. The cold earth soothed him and he knelt back, took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

A cherub sat on the earth. He screamed, trying to stand but his legs were numb and he fell forward, smashing his head on the cherub, falling face down into the earth. Blood spewed over the ground as he lay still, his breathing shallow, his eyes open but still. The cherub appeared to smile down at him as silently, he sank slowly into the mud, unable to pull himself out, unable to shout for help, unable to stop. The weight of the soil above him squeezed every ounce of breath from him, crushing his chest as he lay motionless on top of his secret.

The cherubs gained a new angel that day as she rose from the ground where Theo would lay for eternity.

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I dream of sharing my work with the big wide world one day as a published author. Right now, I share flash fiction with a wonderful community of writers and friends. If you liked this story, then why not visit my blog at http://40somethingundomesticateddevil.blogspot.co.uk/ for more. Thank you. Love Lizzie x

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