Aug 112015

It is the color her cheeks turn when you whisper what you want to do to her the first time, now matching the color of her lips that you couldn’t remove your gaze from, that allow entrance when you first kiss; the color of tongues in eager fervor melding together in passion, exploring and sliding in anticipation.

When she sheds her clothes, it is the color of her hardened nipples that make you also harden in response, tracing kisses and caresses down her body; it is the prettiest of this color between her legs, in which you delve and delight in her deliciousness.

It is the warm blush of color that comes over her body as you enter her, pleasure her.  It is the color of her lungs as she takes calm, measured breaths that turn into gasping, heaving breaths, fueling both your excitement; the glowing hue coming from both bodies in the aftermath.

It is a color often associated with innocence, but still you both know the naughtier nature of it.

*A challenge to describe the color without using the word. Five Sentence Fiction’s prompt was “Lipstick”.

Lillie McFerrin Writes
 Posted by at 7:31 am
Dec 252014

jollyJolly does not come in the red and green variety, nor is surrounded by a fat man any longer – no that association is far too isolated and silent now. Alone with just my husband, away from our children and family on this coast, jolly is the small happiness I find on my own terms.

It is the cold scratchy fabric of rope as it caresses against/around me, wraps me with its certainty, binds me in its beauty. It is his focus of gaze, his intention once I am fully his; his hands deftly maneuvering my surrender; his breath upon my skin as he leans in, my body’s awareness of loss as he leans back. It is a dance of flesh and twine, a back and forth, of demand and offer, round and round, until all the colors and people and seasons fade but us.


Five Sentence Fiction’s word is Jolly.

Lillie McFerrin Writes

(He made the rope just for me! Though of course he’s made some more to sell.)

 Posted by at 10:15 am
Nov 092014

Envy is often mistaken for jealousy, however in my opinion they are vastly different, and while seen in a negative way, can sometimes be positive and encouraging for change.

I am envious of military spouses who volunteer and get involved in the happenings on base, who know the ins and outs of navigating the contained towns guarded by gates and guns, who pack and unpack with such precision, speed, and skill. I am envious of those who make friends easily, who can have a conversation with anyone about a wide variety of subjects; or those who still live near ones that they have been friends for years with, with the additional social support of family nearby, who do not have to put themselves out there for help or conversation.

I am not jealous of “tag chasers”, other wives, other women; I do not fear a woman’s sexuality nor see it as a threat in my marriage; I do not fear a woman’s friendliness for flirtatiousness; I am envious of wives who have their husbands when I do not; I am not jealous of wives who do not have husbands near them to steal my own; my relationship with my husband can only be threatened by us two.

You would think those that have it all would be more secure and less threatened, or those that do not fear would find easier acceptance, but this is not always the case; in a time where our loved ones are gone and put in harm’s way, having support instead of judgment is desperately needed.

**The word was envy

Lillie McFerrin Writes
 Posted by at 6:00 am
Sep 082014 let him go – not because it was a choice she was given. This wasn’t a democracy, it was a war, and they fought together side by side and yet achingly apart for the better part of a year. A year that was smiles brighter than sunshines when the voice on the other line leaped across distances, yet spirits deflated when too much time went by without confirmation that the other was still with them.

The order came…. and in those moments when internally a person is split in two with which way to run, the wrong turn was made. He was gone, and she needed to come to terms with the darkness that veiled her vision and virtually made her disappear into her sadness before it overtook her.


Lillie McFerrin Writes
 Posted by at 7:19 am
Aug 292014

conflict_analysisConflict is letting him go with a smile on my face – the last image he will carry of me, even though inside I’m silently screaming, terrified, already feeling the loss of his presence in my daily life, hoping/praying I will see him again.

It is also, oddly enough, having him back in my arms, my home – no correction…our home; falling in love all over again in kisses and bodies intertwining, sharp words or cautious walking around the house dealing with anything else. A readjustment in sharing responsibilties, problems, parenting, finances, meals, nightmares, goals and dreams.

Conflict is his screaming or sweating with remembered nightmares, being helpless to stop them, to hold him when it is safe, when he returns back from hell and finds himself safe between the sheets – I am beside him however I can be.

Conflict is moving; new in friends, house, job, support; where is the fucking silverware drawer this time, my love, my life, sleep, calm?


*American Psychological Association

Click to find other situations behind the word CONFLICT

Lillie McFerrin Writes
 Posted by at 6:40 am
Aug 172014

There are no lines drawn on parchment.

No friendly waypoint to guide us.

As we explore each other’s bodies, we navigate through the lustful haze.

Through calm seas and tempest, I cling to you, my anchor.

For I require no maps or instructions, as we journey forth to discover each other’s hidden coves.


div align=”center”>Lillie McFerrin Writes  Posted by at 3:09 pm  Tagged with: , ,

Jul 252014

**I was going to skip both Flash Fiction Friday and Five Sentence Fiction this week, but when “fearless” came up, my absentee brain connected them both and I had to write. So thank you, both of the prompters, for inspiration.


Fearless is knowing your limits, pushing to them, but not compromising past your own self-imposed boundaries. To trust in another, to know that even blind, naked and vulnerable they will keep you safe, is bravery or stupidity – or a strange concoction of both; love and lust can blur lines with the coursing of adrenaline telling your brain that this is what you want, who you want. Your heart may beat maddeningly crescendos, your senses may cloud where perhaps all you hear is your thrumming of blood, but still you proceed – albeit a mass of nerves.


Respect is knowing the line drawn in the sand and standing to meet them but not forcing over; it is constantly checking in with the person who has trusted you; it is not judging that person who stands before you with confessed dreams, breathing deeply, nervous and anxious. You may be nervous too, but you are the foundation on which they teeter, on whom they depend on, who provides the safe ground and guides; you are strength, planning, fortitude, yet you are only human and part of that plan is knowing the exit for you both should either of you desire such, so you proceed cautiously.

Flash Fiction Friday Rules:

Keywords: entrance or exit, but not both.

Forbidden words: blindfold, slave, slut

Bonus words: tell us about your first experience with a blindfold or sensory deprivation.

Extra credit: put more than two people in the room, but don’t let the extras touch.

Word count:  150 words from her perspective and 150 from another

Lillie McFerrin Writes
 Posted by at 9:38 am
Jun 262014

houndstooth4 on flickr

The smell of the earth and the straining green grass cushion the soft blanket. My back sinks into it, sighing in the fresh breeze, a smile upon my lips. The sun dazzles, sparkles, teases between the leaves overhead; lattice work that blinds one moment and shields the next from my bright, excited eyes.

And then he swallows the light as his loving face lowers close to my own; the fragrant mix of picnic fruits washes over my skin before claiming my mouth, sweetness dances and strokes my tongue. Like a fairy tale, melodious birds sing their melodies as I fall in love.

Lillie McFerrin Writes
 Posted by at 9:30 am
Jun 222014

I used to take my desires and compartmentalize: I need to wait for him to initiate, I need to wait till the kids go to sleep, I need to request a bondage session as it’s been months, I need to stop thinking kinkier thoughts.

Yep, that was it – squash down the kink. I felt like a prisoner of my own fantasies; I’d stand behind a fence and read/watch other people having this incredibly steamy, hot sex that I wasn’t allowing myself to be part of.

And then my husband came for a conjugal visit one time, and my love and trust took a chance and climbed the fenced, exposing me with my voice. When he listened, respectively, without judgment, then my fantasies jumped on the other side and what I had only viewed became a reality. It’s not all great – some things sound or look better than they really are, but it sure is exciting knowing that I can roam free safely on the other side with someone beside me.

Lillie McFerrin Writes
 Posted by at 8:45 am