Feb 192015

Cupid sucked. That was what she decided. So what if the day before Valentine’s she broke up with all her boyfriends and her girlfriend? She didn’t want the pressure of the sappy, consumer-driven holiday.

Barbara pretty much told Cupid to go to hell when he visited her in a dream. Of course, that was after she could stop gaping at his dreamy figure. He could have been a fashion model, so tall and well built. No wonder he was in charge of love, though she thought lust would have been more appropriate.

“All these years, and you’ve never settled down. If anything you’re getting more wild,” he lectured, pacing the carpet at the end of the bed.

“Mmm, you want to see me wild?” she asked, parting her legs and touching herself. What the hell, it was a dream, and it was Valentine’s day, she deserved a little lust, erm, love.

He rolled his eyes. She felt it rather unfair that if this was her dream, he should have joined her, spearing his shaft into her quiver. She giggled at the words that came to mind.

“You are going back to the eighties and you will stay there until you find a husband-“

“Not a wife?” she interrupted.

“A husband, while you’re still in college, like all the good girls do,” he continued, and poof, he was gone.

She finished masturbating, her body tense and her eyes shut tight during orgasm, and when she opened them, she was in a familiar, but very dated bedroom.

Dammit, she really was back in the past! How dare he! That was less than a week ago, and Barbara found herself exhausted and frustrated from fighting against his decree, from trying to conform and acting like a date was an interview for life, from putting on so much makeup and styling her hair so big again. She never wanted to live out these days again, and yet here she was.

She was devastated and collapsed to the ground, her dress parting. She really didn’t feel like she could continue in this period, and gripped the stupid land line in a hand, trying to think of who to call to get her out of the hell.

FFF Prompt – Devastated

 Key Word:  Devastated
Word Limit:  Short week, low limit, 180 words
Forbidden Word:  Phone, Carpet, Nipple
Extra Words:  20 Extra if her mom or dad finds her or is on the phone.
Extra Credit:  Tell me a story about your worst phone call.


Modesty Ablaze in Polaroids Past This may very well be the oldest “naughty” photo I have

February Photofest 2015


2008 - before kid 3, a photo I sent while we were separated

2008, 2 kids by then, a photo I sent while we were separated

 Posted by at 8:21 am
Feb 132015

She came over and rang the bell, unexpectedly, or I would have opened the door. God, she was beautiful. I watch an episode once of How I Met Your Mother where a character, Barney, described the crazy to hot factor and she certainly had that going in her favor. Sure, she was insane, but she was model gorgeous, with dark hair and light eyes (my personal favorite), a killer body, and lush lips. Funny thing was, she didn’t even have to work for it. Whereas, I watched what I ate and went to the gym, this girl could out eat me at any meal, all day long if I could stand her that long (and there weren’t that many occasions) and yet she never touched a gym. A few months in, I decided that based on her personality I had no wish to meet her family – I had no death wish.

Man this chick was all sorts of kinky – at first something that I thought was a plus. She introduced me to a bunch of her kinky friends, and I thought for sure a threesome was somewhere in my future. I was wrong. All I was introduced to was a bunch of boring classes on how to hit someone right and with what implements. Man, I didn’t that lesson – I ain’t about to hit my girl, but if she special requests, how much is there really to it?

______________Chapter Two_________________

Of course, there was that one time that she wanted to wax my back, and I’m not talking the type where hair is removed – I’m not an ape. So I bought wax and thought, hey, it’ll feel like a massage, and I’ll about them. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t pay attention in class and got the wrong type of wax, and then let it boil to melt.

And then my crazy ex says nothing about, just comes into my apartment looking her fine ass self, and dips in a ladle and burnt the hell out of my back. No shit, I still have the scars on the middle of my back. That’s when I jumped up and demanded she get the hell out of my place before I ended up dead from her crazy.

So I was a bit surprised when she showed up a week later, and reminded her of the last time. In the middle of my tirade, her phone rings and the disrespectful bitch picks it up, says a few things, looks at me, and responds to stop being such a paranoid wimp. She picks up her lighter, and I kid you not, lights it and sets it to the tip of her tongue as she listens to the conversation on the other line. She gives me some comment about how pain feels so good as she pulls that sweet pink tongue into her mouth again, and then hangs up the phone without even saying goodbye to the person on the other line.

Now, I am not trying to play around and pretend I am something I am not – I’m just a man. And I was taken in by her seductive technique of flashing that talented tongue, so much so that I lost my train of thought on all the reasons that we should not be together and found myself walking towards her.

My lips were on her faster than I could take a rational breath.


Flash Fiction Friday

Required Phrase – “And then my Crazy Ex…….”
Word Limit – 2 short chapters of 230 each
Forbidden Phrase – Burned
Bonus Words if someone ends up dead.
Extra Credit if you fictionaliz a real world story.

I cannot get the image for this prompt to work, but follow the meme title and you will see this crazy woman in all her sexy glory. 


wax 2

Black lighting and wax fun with his back.

wax 3
February Photofest 2015

I did fictionalize a story as my husband and I just this week bought the wrong kind of wax (we are educated enough, but apparently rushed that day at the store) and bought a wax that was far too high of a melting temperature. So I ended up burning myself, but not badly, because we did check the temperature and did a small test area just to see if dripping from far enough would cool it enough to tolerate (it didn’t). 

Jan 292015

Nervously, she approached the scale, her heels a staccato echoing, rebounding against the walls, booming to her own ears. Sure, it was her choice to proceed – but the decision, once she made it, would be taken out of her hands if she made the cut.

The room was a mellow blue color, stark, as if it was trying to calm the single occupant allowed in – until you saw the intimidating scale in the middle of the room.

Why did she feel that this was a good decision? She knew how she would be used for years, but she also knew that it was the shortest career in her community until she was allowed to lead a life of luxury and no one to answer to once she retired. She knew she would still be desired, and sought after by men and women alike.

Just the thought of how she would be used, how she would be desired after retirement, made her quicken her pace to match her increased heart beat.

20150130She stepped on the scale without hesitation, wanted to seem confident – that had to score her some points towards approval, right?

There was a faint buzzing sound in the room, a type of machine hum that was very to distinguish, and she was grateful someone had warned her that she would feel a little dizzy and a bit of queasiness. She knew every part of her was being analyzed, including her thoughts, and she expected to feel more violated than what she was.

She just stood there, awaiting judgment.

Thanks to modern technology – it wasn’t a long wait. A male chuckle was heard. “My, my, aren’t you naughty girl?” came over the loudspeaker. “Touch your toes, let’s see what we have here,” and suddenly she bent at the waist, her dress beginning to tingle against her skin before slowly dripping down, no longer solid. It was so cold against her skin, and she couldn’t help but stand up straight in surprise. “No, no, darling, you do as I say. You do as we all say from now on,” and her hands were forcibly put on her hips, her elbows pulled back, and she began to bend over again from some invisible force.

Her dress began disappearing and she felt the air on her ass cheeks, between her moist slit. She felt that she should feel ashamed, but she didn’t – she had been accepted!

She heard the clicking of shoes come near near but was unable to turn her head to look behind her, and suddenly a finger stroked up and down her exposed labia.”So wanton, already. You’ll make a lovely pet, or slave, or whatever else is demanded of you,” a woman’s voice purred, before a finger slipped inside of her. “But you really must learn to be better behaved. This room will be the only thing gentle, the people training you will use force.”

She felt her pussy clench in excitement at the thought of what the training included. By this point, her clothes had dissolved into nothing.

She has been accepted! She still couldn’t believe it. This was such a small field of work in her community, people used for the darker flavors of sexuality, for a safe haven for those who sought it out and did not wish for the most preferred methods in the community. She knew that if rejected, she could have been in another field of work, and come to seek the services in her down time, but that was expensive, and didn’t sound as exciting as offering those services.

She couldn’t wait to be used. “Come,” said the woman, and suddenly her body was released. She waited until the woman’s finger was withdrawn, already missing its intrusiveness, and slowly straightened up. She wanted to make this woman proud, she wanted to meet the man behind the voice a moment ago.

She fairly dripped at the thoughts racing, the anticipation.


Key Words: disappear
Banned Words: liquid
Word Limit: 422 words
Bonus Words: non-Newtonian

Flash Fiction Friday


I’m so over on word count, it’s ridiculous. 

 Posted by at 10:10 am
Jan 082015

iphone 214

“What are you doing?” she asked as she slid in between the sheets to lay beside him in bed.

With one hand he put his phone face down on his chest, the other hand conspicuously absent.

She smiled at him knowingly. “What’s your masturbation photo? What turns you on?” she inquired, curious. New to the budding relationship, she was intensely curious about everything about him.

Seeing as how she seemed so at ease with the question, he tentatively decided to share.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “right now I was looking at this cute girl,” she wrinkled her nose at the word cute, which didn’t strike her as sexy, and knew she wouldn’t attempt to be cute just for a fantasy of his. Already a strike against her. He saw her look and was concerned at what it meant, unsure to continue.

“…and?” she prompted, leaned down and took a nipple gently in between her teeth, the phone almost bumping her forehead on his hard chest.

“And she’s gazing up at me with these sexy eyes. She has this curvy figure that I am looking down on.”

“Is she going down on you?” she asked, felt turned on by him sharing this fantasy, felt herself tighten and grow wet at the thought of her own mouth wrapped around his cock. Her hand slipped under the covers, stroked the inside of his thigh softly, teased its way up slowly.

“No, she’s just looking up,” he gulped, his eyes mesmerized by her expression – a look he was recognizing as lust and mischief, his body fixated on her hand which strayed up and softly pulled on his hardened shaft. His thighs jerked at the gentle touch, his cock jerked against her palm.

She chuckled,”that’s a pretty realistic fantasy. You’re so tall everyone looks up.”

“She’s not a fantasy, she’s a reality.” The hand stopped stroking and she looked concerned at him. Before he lost his nerve, he gripped his phone and showed her the photo on his background, the one he took of her last week in her pajamas she never intended him to see – because they weren’t sexy. He thought they were incredibly sexy…and cute.

She smiled, “good save. And I can’t believe you took that photo of me.”

“I can’t believe you weren’t going to wear it around me ever. You look so…” she glared, so he amended what he was going to say, “sexy.”

She laughed, knowing the correction he made, and went back to stroking him.

“Speaking of the inspiration from that outfit,” he put down his phone, “there is something trapped inside me and needs to get out. Will you rescue me?”

She laughed again. She loved corny lines; it was how he first picked her up. “Hmm,” she rolled on top of him, “with my hand, my mouth or my body? I am a woman of extraordinary talents.”

She smiled down at him and he couldn’t help but grin right back. “I’ll leave the rescue mission up to you.”


**502 words. Honestly, I think the redhead in the prompt for this week is so hot, and I definitely send photos like that to my lover. However, when I read the prompt, I thought of a real life moment. No matter what, the sweet memory wouldn’t be vanquished, so I surrendered and brought it to light. 

I never wear this outfit for him, it’s been more what I wear with yoga or cleaning, I would not view it as lingerie or sexy. And I hate the word cute, a word so frequently used to describe me (damn my short stature). He’s been working for a long time to sway me that when he thinks I look cute, he can also view me as sexy. I’m not buying it. It was years before he saw me in it. But once he did, he had this photo in his phone for quite some time. 


Flash Fiction Friday

Key Words: Rescue
Forbidden Words: Hero
Word Limit: 432 words 
Extra Credit: Make everyone come
Bonus Words: +123 words if the superhero gets the last laugh

 Posted by at 10:31 am
Dec 182014

Touch me. Hold my hand. Let fingers intertwine as we mean our bodies to.20141219

Surprise me with rope sliding from your appendage to mine.

Tighten it. Mean it. Spin me around and push me onto the bed.

Take the other wrist and bind that as completely, force over my head, expose my breasts to you.

Spread my legs. Expose me. Make me vulnerable to you.

I am yours for the taking. Fucking take me as you want me.

I held your hand for a reason.

I trust you.

Now do as you want, bend me to your wanton will.

I’m yours.

*101 words, and such a fantasy (and luckily a reality from time to time) of mine. Forgive any errors, if I made any, I’m pretty floaty-minded on cold medicines. I could’ve had her orgasm to extend my word count out, but I love the anticipation of what is going to happen next moments – so she had to wait. 

Flash Fiction Friday

 Posted by at 5:58 pm
Dec 112014

I was a wreck, naked and rushing to and fro; he was already dressed, calm and collected in his normal way. I began to feel frantic and panicked, taking far too long to just insert my earrings. I was making us late.

He moved into the doorway of the bathroom and I brushed beside him to get my evening gown.

An arm of iron swept across my chest, a hand weaved through the strands of hair at the base of my skull, and I was suddenly brought to my knees between his legs. My breath caught with the sudden action. He yanked my head back roughly to look at his face towering above, and I didn’t even have time to worry about the fact that he was ruining my hair that I had just spent thirty minutes styling. No, I couldn’t be bothered with such trifles, as my eyes beheld the lust in his eyes, his will demanding my position on the floor.

I was right where he wanted me, and I wanted to be there.20141212

While still gripping my hair, his other hand went around my throat and fingers stroked softly up and down the sides, the merest gossamer of touches. I longed for him to kiss me, could feel his breath wash against my face. My lips parted in anticipation. My body trembled – not due to a cold floor I was far too hot to feel. Please, I thought, kiss me.

His fingers gently wrapped around my throat. “You are mine,” he whispered down to me. “I will not have something I own so distraught over something so trivial. Understood?” His fingers slowly tightened, until breathing was a challenge. His look was one of love and concern; his look was one of wanting to throw me on the floor and make me beg.

How he managed to have such a magnitude of intentions written across his handsome face always astounded me. I tried to communicate my agreement to his statement. I was His, and I was at peace, unsure why I had felt so worried just moments earlier. He was always so good at getting the world to just stop when I needed it the most.

His fingers loosened the slightest degree, allowing a refreshing breath. “You are magnificent. You are just as gorgeous naked on this floor in your surrender as you will be in your formal gown tonight by my side. You are beautiful without effort, and you are mine.” And then he leaned down, and finally kissed me, both hands that had hurt to create my focused calm now moved to cradle the sides of my face tenderly. My lips parted at the soft pressure of his own, and my tongue swirled and met his eagerly, in a kiss that became so consuming that when it was done, I pondered why he was standing up and offering his hand to help me off of the floor.



Flash Fiction FridayKey Words: Lust, longing
Forbidden Words: Office, Suit
Word Limit: 426
Extra Credit: tell us about an encounter where your partner had ‘that’ look on their face
Bonus Words: +50 masturbation, owned


Kink of the Week is on “The Look

 Posted by at 9:30 am
Nov 132014

Key Words: Flip flops, tattoo

Forbidden Words: gun, weapon

Word Limit: 400 words

Extra Credit: who did you last salute?


It was almost the year’s end. And it was almost our end.

Before that, we had been amazing. Laughter, kissing, cuddles, wrestling. I did not cry when it was time to say goodbye, he didn’t like that and wanted to remember my smile, unless you count crying out in pleasure the entire night before.

We had been fervid in our quest for each other’s bodies. My mouth and my hands competed for covering the most amount of his skin; likewise, I was soon thrown effortlessly off of him, and his mouth and hands claimed possession of me. Our kisses took our breath away, our hands almost clumsy and rough in touching and stroking, legs were even tangled and pulled into each other.

When it was time to pack up and leave, both of our legs were wobbly, and we both liked to think that was from the shared passion that went ridiculously too long. I joked to drink a lot of water and rehydrate, he laughed and tucked my head into his chest, and I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent.

It was a week before the sheets no longer smelled like him, a month before his shirt lost the trace that made me clench in desire.

The communication was sporadic. My vibrator broke after three months.

He got a tattoo in his first place…and a bath from a whore house.

“Just a bath, just for the experience. I’m being good.”

I think I was more upset about the tattoo, a piece that took up his entire back and wasn’t completed, and he couldn’t remember where he got it done.

Less communication. A new place.

Another whore house when it was almost time to come home, only this time he wanted to experience what it was like to buy a whore. “She told me no,” he complained, “after seeing me naked.” I had to laugh on the phone and joke about his massive size, but secretly I wondered who the hell he thought he was talking to. I was his lover, waiting for him, not buying a whore for myself (although let’s be honest: as a female I don’t need to spend money). I bit my tongue, decided to sleep on it.

And decided to confront him when next we talked – if he wanted to buy a whore than I was going to go pursue sexual experiences as well.

He beat me to it – the next communication I received was an email with a picture of some of his buddies, naked except for flip flops.

“I asked the guys which would like to volunteer to be with you. Babe, pick your favorite and I’ll make it happen. I have a lot to make up to you. Oh, and I told them that protection had to be involved. Clearly, you can tell we’ve been deployed too long, they misunderstood what kind of protection I was referring to.”

20141114**** Over by almost one hundred words; I could have easily written double this and gone over some of the internal reactions to hearing about a whore. I can say that I haven’t saluted anyone, unless you count having a perpetual lady boner for my husband.

He’s gone right now, not for long, and he has this horrible habit of annoying me up until the last minute of leaving and then being wonderful. Of course, I choose to remember the last seconds rather than the chaotic mess he made up to that point.

And this story has much truth to it – hard to be involved with a military man and not add pieces when I see this photo.

Flash Fiction Friday

 Posted by at 7:44 am
Nov 062014

Impact play is becoming more of our exploration, and that is upping the ante for pain tolerance. And then when sex enters, his rocket member has soared me to unknown heights – it’s the cheesy fireworks show in my brain of pleasure. After a particularly throbbing, painful ass (literally) session of BDSM, he was holding me in his arms for Aftercare. We were sideways on the bed because that’s all the energy I could muster – to stay exactly as I was anyhow. He had managed to unwind the rope around me while still holding me, but the missing rope left my skin cold. I know we were both sweating, and I thought the room too hot moments before, but I was chilly. “It’s hot in here,” he complained. I muttered, I hope I made an argument that it was freezing. He slid off the bed, away from me, and as he was already reaching for the switch, asked: “can I turn on the fan?”

“Only if you hold me,” I griped at the lack of body heat already. He put on a sheet and turned on the fan, quickly returning to me. I was softly cocooned in the sheet and him. I felt drowsy, happy, giddy. He would say somethings that I found myself giggling to for no apparent reason. With my eyes shut, I felt his heat that much more beside me, and the air movement above me. The air smelled and felt clean. “It reminds me of camping, maybe on the Fourth of July. On a hot desert night with the wind rushing over your body so fast that you can’t help but be chilled.” And it did. It reminded me of home, or perhaps that was his arms holding me so tight and my contentment.


20141107This is a nonfiction piece, that I wrote in collaboration of a bunch of other 200-300 word pieces of short snippets of my life, just waiting to see the light of day. I added one sentence of fiction into this, and put it in italics to be incredibly obvious (yeah, not much for subtlety). I used all three words, but not “throbbing member” together.

It’s a bit of a cheat, but I haven’t felt the inclination to write like I used to, and I have so many drafts waiting to be heard!

As for forbidden words, I just found out what “gloryhole” meant, when a man I had met only once suggested that we stop at a place. I didn’t respond to him, I had a feeling that I would be insulted by someone I had just met who had already hooked up with my sister. I asked my sister, and she explained it. My husband had inquired how did I not know what a gloryhole was, but when you grow up in Catholic School where those terms aren’t used, but school is where most people learn these terms, it’s possible. Yes, I write about sex, and I explore, learn, and read, but some terms just don’t come up until much later in life. So that was my lesson for the week; I am now further along in my terminology. Now, I have to look up what “love truncheon” means.

As far as cheesy goes: I love cheesy lines. I’m a sucker for them! They shamelessly work on me and crack me up every time. So to come up with ONE would be next to impossible.


Key Words: Throbbing member, rocket

Forbidden Words: Love truncheon, gloryhole

Word Limit: 269 words

Bonus Words: An extra 69 if you can write it without giggling.

Extra Credit: What’s the cheesiest line anyone’s ever used on you, in all seriousness, in the bedroom?

Flash Fiction Friday

 Posted by at 10:08 am
Oct 232014

Image from The Daily Babe

“What a…you have my granny somewhere?” Red demanded after walking into the disarrayed house. Her granny was no easy feat.

“Yes,” Wolf hissed menacingly. “You look far tastier. Take off your clothes and lay down on the bed, and we’ll see if you are sweet treat enough to release her.”

Little Red kept eye contact with him as she unzipped her jacket, displayed she was wearing nothing underneath. She understood why he was called Wolf –  dark shaggy hair, unshaven,  seemingly unkempt, large in height and muscles. She was the opposite of him, petite, thin, seemingly helpless looking.

She lowered her eyes demurely and walked slowly towards him, the hood still on her head, her sweatpants still on her legs. Her baby blue eyes didn’t break his excited hazel ones as he pulled off his shirt, revealing a very masculine, burly, hairy, muscle bound chest. He quickly kicked off his shoes and yanked his pants down without stumbling. Standing tall when she approached him, she barely reached his nipples.

“Your pants,” he growled.

She reached into her waist band at the back and whipped out her knife, sweeping his leg, catching him unawares. His head hit a nearby chair as he tumbled onto his back. She straddled his chest, her knees digging painfully into a pressure point on his arms, and put the knife up to his throat. “My pants are coming off, Wolf, but only because you will be my puppet, not the other way.” She slid the cold blade against his throat, dipped the tip slightly and added a superficial cut behind his frantic pulse. “You may be bigger,” she leaned down and ran her tongue across his lips, his nostrils flared, “but you can’t win this.”  She moved to bend over the side of him, keeping the pressure on his neck.  “Pull down my pants,” she ordered, and as he moved his arm behind a knee, she kicked him forcefully in his ear, “no tricks,” she added. He glared at her, and she noticed his penis jerked up. He may not like the situation, but she was still delicious looking. When he worked the pants below her knees, she kneeled down to keep better balance with the knife at his throat, and his arm was barely long enough to work the pants around her sneakers.

“Good,” she cooed, “good pet. Now taste how sweet I am, how I bring goodies to those I decide to,” she sat on his face, sliding the blade in between her thighs and stroking his adam’s apple with the scratchy tip. He clamped his lips together. “Stick it out and lick,” she commanded, adding a deeper cut along the chest by a nipple. She felt his mouth open, the wet tongue swirl along her opening. “Good boy. You see, the difference of choice is what matters most to me.”

As his tongue licked and probed pleasurably, she watched his cock harden even further. He was such a superb specimen, it was a shame to kill him afterwards, but he was still a dangerous Wolf, and they didn’t make good pets.


Key Words: “what a … you have” 

Forbidden Words: riding, innocence

Word Limit: 382 words

Bonus Words: make her the corrupter (+75 words)

Extra Credit: tell about a time you corrupted someone innocent.


Over word count, even with bonus words, but not by much, which is impressive. I have a thing for fairy/folk tales, however, and Little Red Riding Hood happens to be my favorite. I’ve done extensive research on the different historical versions throughout the world, and am so fascinated by the story. I took Roald Dahl’s more modern perspective where she is not a nice girl, going beyond even defensive, and also blending/including a very old tale of rape – though the wolf is the one being raped. Charles Perrault’s version warns women to be wary of men, but men in modern times need to be wary of assuming that women are defenseless, harmless, or sexless. And that is the beauty of these tales – to reflect the current culture they are told in.

I’ve had a few virgins in my youth, but I don’t believe that it was a corruption – they approached/pursued me. What would I want with an inexperienced virgin?

My husband is the closest I can think of “corrupting”, for he was sexually very innocent, unbelievably so in this modern age. Now, he’s kinky and so dammed skilled. Our second date I straddled him while he was in the driver’s side of the car, grabbing his large knife in the center console as I moved, and put it up to his neck. He looked at me calmly and asked, “whatcha doing babe?”. That might be when I fell in love (okay, lust) with him.

And this past weekend, we visited some incredibly vanilla friends and my husband suspended the female, and now she wants to do all sorts of kinky rope things. Does that count as corrupting, or opening up a whole new world (now I have Aladdin stuck in my head)?


Flash Fiction Friday

 Posted by at 10:10 am
Oct 172014

Humming softly to herself over the sound of the approaching thunderstorm, she spread out her blanket, laid on her side, and propped her head up on her hand.

Jean Jacques Andre

Jean Jacques Andre

She remembered he said to bring protection, so she reached back and felt for the rounded cover, placed it on her head. A rain hat should be more than adequate protection. As she waited, she found herself daydreaming about their many adventures.

The thunder rolled and she perceived a small shake in the ground. She smelled the rain in the distance, felt the oppressive weight in the air. Her skin was damp.

Another clap of thunder, or was that him? For suddenly he was also laying on his side facing her. The similarity in sounds thrilled her. He chuckled and mussed her hat a bit. “Darling I was thinking of a rain jacket.” He snapped, a clap, and she found her damp skin covered with a tarp which did nothing to make her feel more dry. She began to hear the rain.

She smiled up at him and pulled the jacket off of her side where he slung it over her. He must’ve forgotten jackets go on the torso.

His eyes appraised her approvingly, his hand softly traced her curves.

“Thank you for inviting me. You picked the perfect location.” She expressed her gratitude softly, as if afraid to scare off the storm he ordered so efficiently.

He looked up, beyond her, smiled proudly. His roaming fingers pinched a nipple. “It looks just like a horror movie. I love watching those.”

The downpour began, her body felt just a drop or two and then suddenly water poured from the sky. She sputtered as she looked up in amazement. Rain…she had always wanted to feel rain.

He leaned forward, laughing, and kissed her. The water seeped in between their lips and she tasted the liquid between their sliding tongues. His hand cupped a breast and then slapped it playfully.

She shrieked in surprise and ended the kiss.

“Time to run towards that spooky house over there,” he directed, getting up and helping her to her feet. “They always run into a dilipulated house.”

“And then what?” she shouted over the tempest, curious and turned on. She wished she had watched a horror film to know what happened next.

“A beautiful disaster,” he promised, grinned, and began the chase after her.


 Key Phrase: beautiful disaster

Word Limit: 400

Forbidden Words: dark, scary, pubic, down

Bonus Words: how do you feel in storms?

Extra Credit: tell about a time you should have been more concerned than you were 


**397 words, woohoo, for a minute I thought I was going to go over the word count that I set. That would be a disaster!

Still, I love storms. Every time it rains I have all the windows open and am most often sitting the doorway to the outside, watching it, listening to it, smelling and connecting as much as I can. I am surprised I haven’t lost my love of storms. It’s obvious catching, this feeling, as my once scared son now often alerts me of storms to start opening up the house; he now loves to sit and listen silently (not for long, he is a kid after all) with me.

A time I should have been concerned was meeting a large group of military men, alone, that I had only known previously through online gaming. It was my first time meeting them in public, at a bar hours away in an unfamiliar town,. Getting drunk with them and then going to one of their houses wasn’t the smartest idea. Luckily, they were perfect gentlemen (if doing body shots off of me isn’t pushing the line). It was this experience that began my fascination with the military man, and to trust them in general more than I had previously.

 Posted by at 7:01 am