Posts Tagged ‘Lust’

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Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/03/25/28-march-2014/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, then come again.

Here’s my contribution:

The Lamb

The breeze was laced with damp earth and moldering leaves, the perfumes of early Spring flowers promised new beginnings, laughter chimed as the children played in the warmth of the sun, and Michael looked beyond the soft grass to the edge of the park and saw her standing beside an awakening Maple. She wore a thin dress, her shoulders bare and fresh. She smiled and raised a beckoning hand, then turned and entered into the woodland, giving provocative glances back, lifting her hem, revealing her want, her need. Michael left all behind. He followed.

Deeper she drew.

Deeper he came.

jKb

 

FFF Prompt DOUG maui-from-mauna-kea

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/07/24/26-july-2013-2/  

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come. If you’ve got something to offer. Or, bring something to sedate my demons, cause they bite.

They’ll rip you fucking heart out.

Here’s my contribution:

Floating

It’s two a.m. and the fucking heat has finally broken. I’m wondering if it was something super-natural or the Crown Royal. I think the drink might just prevail.

Nothing loves you like the heat, you know?

And the drink.

God, the ice; the sticky suck of my lips over the lip of the glass.

Clinking ice.

Cold biting.

Fuck.

So erotic.

I’m floating.

And the sweaty heat.

And that dress. That clinging dress.

Slipping toward heaven.

And the Crown.

The cabby’s horn; a poet’s sax.

Jesus. My tongue, wetting my lips and tasting your salt.

That smoky bite.

Fuck.

Me.

Jkb