My Writing

Friday, June 27, 2014

On the Green Line to Arlington Station

Flash Fiction Friday

Key Words:  Parting, Station
Word Limit:  200
Forbidden Words:   Discreet, Forbidden, Tryst
Extra Credit:  Name the train and the destination


She could tell she’d had too much to drink, because she’d never be doing this otherwise--running her foot up the inside of a stranger’s leg on the train. He said nothing, but his smile was inviting. She shifted in her seat, subtly hiking her dress up just enough to “accidentally” expose herself when she uncrossed her legs. 

She was nervously pleased when he countered by leaning forward to “tighten his shoe laces,” taking the opportunity to gaze between her still parted legs. She thanked the gods that tonight she’d opted to go bare beneath her dress. 

He slowly and quite intentionally ran the back up his hand up the inside of her extended calf as he sat back up and re-situated himself in his seat. Licking his lips, he visually assessed her from head to toe one more time as the train rolled into the station. Then he stood up and held out a hand to her, without a word. She slid her hand into his, rising.

Yes, she’d had too much to drink. She could tell, because she’d never be doing this otherwise.

--------------------------------------------------------

I have to admit...this was tough. 200 words isn't much, and to have any story at all, it has to be tight. I like the challenge, though. It's an exercise in brevity and clarity, two things every writer should practice often.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Mile High Illusion

(Source)
Miranda had worked for Mr. Jordan for 15 years as the only flight attendant on his private jet. It was a sweet deal, really.

There were drawbacks of course.

Though she had a lot of time off, she was paid year-round to be on call. When Mr. Jordan wanted to fly, she had to be at the ready within an hour, sometimes less. It also meant she got to travel quite a bit herself. When Mr. Jordan went to Paris, so did she. When Mr. Jordan went to Dubai, Miranda did, too.

She knew several languages and had originally been hired, right out of college, as a translator by Mr. Jordan's company. Miranda moved up the ranks quickly, as she was professional, punctual, talented, and...let's be honest...attractive, young, and approachable.

Mr. Jordan wanted her to be the face his clients saw smiling at the door, her well-manicured hands holding the tray that would bring them champagne.

On this particular day, Mr. Jordan had requested Miranda's presence for a flight to New York with an overnight stay, a short trip that Miranda had been on dozens of times over the years.

She had prepped the cabin, fluffed the chair cushions, and stocked the refrigerator and cabinets with the expected essentials.

When Mr. Jordan boarded, Miranda smoothed her skirt and straightened her hat (he had always required that she wear a traditional stewardess uniform -- gloves and all). He greeted her as usual.

"Good afternoon, Miranda. I expect things are ready to go...you always seem to have everything just as it should be. I so appreciate your attention to detail." He nodded his approval and smiled as he moved past her toward his preferred seat, making himself comfortable.

"Can I get you anything before take-off, Mr. Jordan?"

"No, my dear. Just make yourself comfortable up front. I'll ring you if I need anything. For now, a bit of peace and quiet and solitude." He looked down at his open newspaper, his silent way of dismissing her.

Miranda made herself busy in the kitchenette (closed off by a door to ensure privacy to the passengers in the cabin).

It must have been 25 minutes or so before she heard the tell-tale ringing of the bell meant to summon her. But when she entered the cabin, no one was there. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she began to look behind the seats (there were 12) to be sure Mr. Jordan hadn't fallen or been hurt somehow. Maybe a heart attack?...She was mildly panicked by his apparent absence. Finding the cabin completely empty, she went to back of the plane to knock on the door of the private quarters Mr. Jordan used as a sleeping room on long flights, and when he had sporadic (usually beautiful) female guests. Some, of course, were paid escorts. But, often, Mr. Jordan brought along women he knew to break up the monotony of being alone. He was busy. Too busy for a steady, committed relationship. But the man had needs, didn't he? And Miranda didn't judge.

She knocked lightly on the door.

"Mr. Jordan? You rang? Is there something I can do for you?"

At that moment she heard a clank and the voice of woman, moaning, and squealing. The sound was coming from the bathroom.

Miranda was suddenly confused. Mr. Jordan hadn't had a companion with him when he boarded. Unless she boarded after Miranda had left the cabin, which wouldn't have been at all the protocol. Was Mr. Jordan hiding his guest from her...or more likely, was he hiding Miranda from his guest? Why?

She walked toward the bathroom, at the front of the plane, near the door behind which she spent most of her time on these flights. She put her ear up to the door and prepared to ask if Mr. Jordan required assistance, but her hand stopped short of knocking when she heard the woman's voice again.

Her eyes grew wide and she inhaled deeply. She decided not to knock, but rather, stood motionless outside the door, listening.

She could hear the rhythmic pounding that made the internal activity obvious. And still, she could not move.

She knew that Mr. Jordan would not approve of her eavesdropping, but it was the closest she was likely to get to being in the position herself. She indulged her curiousity and kept close enough to hear but far enough away to pull herself together quickly if need be. The sounds were primal. Whatever he was doing to that woman, it must be amazing. Miranda found herself feeling a tinge of jealously. She also found herself feeling a tad...tingly.

Standing, with her back to the door, she closed her eyes and slowly pulled her short skirt up in the front, just enough to touch herself. She thought a moment about removing her glove, but figured it would be too hard to get it back on if the door opened too quickly. With her fingers moving against her quickly dampening panties, she wondered to herself, why on earth is he fucking her in the bathroom when he has a perfectly good private room at the back of the plane?

She bit her bottom lip and let her fingers quicken their movement a bit. A small sigh slipped from her mouth, quiet enough to not be heard over the ruckus in the room at her back. She leaned up against the wall next to the door, on the side where the door would open against her to hide her indiscretion.

She spread her legs a little more and tightened her calves and thighs, pink rising up her neck and cheeks. She shuddered and whimpered quietly, biting her lip again to quiet herself. She felt a tiny trickle of liquid down the inside of her thigh. She could feel the blood pumping in her ears, as her breathing began to return to normal. It was quick. She had always been able to do that on her own. A skill she had perfected over the years, blazing fast self-produced orgasms.

As her breathing slowed and her hearing cleared, she continued to listen to sounds behind the door.

"Miranda?"

Her eyes flew open, she quickly pulled her skirt down over her thighs and, gulping and very obviously and nervously flustered, she responded in a strained and unintentionally small voice, "Yes, Mr. Jordan? I heard the bell and became concerned that you were possibly injured because I couldn't find you anywhere and then I heard moaning from the bathroom and thought that you might be hurt so I stood here and listened for bit until I realized that you must have a guest that I didn't notice board the plane...I'm very sorry Mr. Jordan if I've disturbed your privacy in any way..."

She stopped to take a breath, and looking like a frightened guilty puppy who'd just eaten the side of the couch, she peered up at him through her lashes. What she saw was a unexpectedly mischievous smile. She straightened her gaze, as he began to laugh softly. Just then she heard the moans growing to a crescendo in the bathroom behind her.

"Wait a minute..." Miranda looked very confused. "If you're here...then who's in there?"

Mr. Jordan continued to laugh. He reached around her, his body close enough for her to feel his heat and smell his ridiculously expensive aftershave. Turning the knob to the bathroom and pushing the door open, he exposed his little trick. His smartphone emitted several deep throaty moans and a final scream of release, "Oh my God!"

She swung back around to face him, her eyes narrowing in question, "What is going on, Mr. Jordan? I don't understand..."

"I knew you'd be faithful to your curious nature...I knew you'd listen in. You do that often, don't you?"

"Of course not, Mr. Jordan..." She was fidgety and extremely uncomfortable with the question - even more so with the answer she knew she shouldn't give, "...but it's hard to ignore in such tight quarters...." She was quick to add, "It's none of my business and I never judge or talk about what happens here to anyone...I promise..."

"Miranda, you silly girl." He looked at her, lowered his head and tsk-tsk-ed.

"I'm not a girl, sir...I haven't been for quite some time." She was bit indignant in her discomfort.

"Had the operation then, have you?" He smirked.

"The operation?" Her quizzical expression gave way to an exasperated sigh. "You know what I mean...I'm not a girl. I'm a woman if you hadn't noticed." She breathed in fully and stood tall, ready to face whatever he might throw at her next.

"Oh, I've noticed. For quite some time, as you say."

"Mr. Jordan, I would be very interested to know what is happening here, if you would be so kind to enlighten me...What exactly is the purpose of this prank? Were you trying to trap me so that you could reprimand me or fire me?"

"Good God, no, Miranda. I wouldn't dream of letting you go. And I apologize for my dishonesty. I'm not sure where this adolescent behavior is coming from. Maybe you bring it out in me."

"Excuse me?"

"I was watching you."

"What!?"

"I wanted to see what you'd do...I wanted to see if you'd listen in. I was in the back quarters, watching through the peephole..."

"Watching me?" her cheeks grew hot, and embarrassment flushed through her, stopping, with the greatest intensity, between her thighs.

"I'm sorry, Miranda...forgive me. I shouldn't have. I really didn't expect that you'd..."

"Okay...stop right there, we needn't discuss it, I'm completely mortified at this moment..."

"You shouldn't be...it was amazingly erotic...and I feel like a giddy thief for having witnessed it without permission. I know it was wrong - and I'm sorry...but really, I couldn't stop. I was hypnotized by it. Unable to move, or speak, lest you stop."

Miranda looked at him with a mix of confusion and anger and shame.

"Mr. Jordan, I..."

"Tyler...call me Tyler. Let's start over." He reached his hand out to her, as if requesting that she shake it, which she did, reluctantly.

"Nice to meet you, Miranda. Would you like a glass of champagne?"

Miranda could think of nothing better than drinking away her humiliation.

"Yes...yes, I think I would."

She made to release his hand and turn to retrieve a bottle, but he held tight and pointed out that he'd already beaten her to it. He led her back to the seats and handed her over to the soft leather cushion, into which she sank and wished she could be buried whole.

He poured her a glass and held it out to her. Shaking a bit, she took it. He sat beside her and held his glass up for a toast. Hesitantly, she clinked her glass against his.

"To the next 15 years, Miranda. May they be a bit different than the first."

She drank the glass of champagne as if it were water and she'd just completed a marathon, and he refilled it just a quickly.

Good lord what have I gotten myself into? She thought to herself.

"What do you mean by "different," dare I ask?"

He reached across the armrest and touched her face.

"Miranda, yesterday I woke up and realized I was tired of being alone. And then it hit me....I'm not. You've been here all along, ready in an instant, always expecting my call."

"It's my job, Mr. Jor--"

"Tyler."

"Yes, Tyler, it's my job."

"No one just gives up 15 years of her life to follow some bloke around the world and follow his every whim simply because it's her job. Miranda...be honest. It isn't just me, is it?"

She swallowed audibly.

"You don't have to say it...just kiss me." He leaned toward her.

Holy hell, she thought. Right now, with little time to do so, she had two choices between which to decide - slap him and request that he have the pilot turn around this instant, or accept the fact that Mr. Jordan...Tyler...was not a normal man, and therefore would never have approached her as such. He would not call her and ask her to coffee, subtly referencing his interest in her. He would not be shy even appropriate. He was used to getting his way, without asking. The fact that he'd just requested that she kiss him was more accommodating and patient than she would have ever guessed him to be. This was him. And if she wanted him, she would have to take him as he was. Though many women would have refused his entitled way of commanding those around him, Miranda knew him for what he truly was. She also knew herself, and that he was right. No one gives up 15 years to follow some bloke around the world, unless she loves him. It wasn't explainable or justifiable. It just was.

She quickly downed the rest of her glass of champagne, and then leaned in to kiss him, the bubbles still dancing on her tongue.

___________________________________________________

So I was NOT going to stay up late to finish this story. I had intended to do it early this morning. But then...life got in the way. And here I sit at 11:30 pounding out the tale, so I can submit it for Wicked Wednesday (the prompt was to explain how/why a flight attendant might be sipping champagne in first class). I didn't think I'd have a thing to contribute for this one, but as it turns out, I became quite entranced with my characters and couldn't give up until I finished. So, for what it's worth, I got it done, with 36 minutes to spare before the deadline.

Hope you enjoyed it...I'm headed of to bed now. Exhausted but pleased with myself. Just sayin'.


Friday, June 20, 2014

An Open Window

(Image and prompt source: advizortoall.blogspot.com)
Key Words:  Late, Eager, 
Word Limit:  250 (there's not much time)
Forbidden Words:   Anticipation, Wet, Hurry!

It's Flash Fiction Friday, folks! Let's see where this one takes us. My writing process with prompts is really just to start writing and follow the lead of the words. I often am just as surprised by the outcome as anyone.

An Open Window


He slid out of bed and padded, naked, into the bathroom. She climbed out after him, pulling on a fresh pair of panties.

She could hear the bathroom fan and the shower running, which was her cue for a little secret morning“self-love.” Shimmying eagerly onto the bed, she grabbed her vibrator quickly from the drawer, pulled the already damp crotch of her panties to one side, slipped it in, and turned it on slowly. Her legs, spread wide, fell open to the warm light of late morning that shone in from the large picture window.

The subtle vibration increased as she turned the dial a bit more. She sucked her lip and moaned quietly to herself, her head tipping back to expose her neck, her back arching as she reached a quick and relaxing climax, a nice release before the beginning of a busy day.

She let the vibration continue for a bit, as the warmth washed under her skin down to her toes and up to her cheeks. She would look freshly fucked over coffee, and he would probably know her little secret, but would say nothing.

She opened her eyes and let her gaze wander to the side window, but instead of endless blue sky, the shape of a man filled her view. She gasped, but then recognition brought a sigh of relief and an impish eye-roll.

Jumping out of bed in nothing but her little blue panties, she opened the window and leaned out just in time to catch the towel-clad backside of her husband running back around the fire escape to the bathroom window.

(sorry...269 words...just plain couldn't cut any more)

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

YKINMKBTOK



"Your kink is not my kink, but that's okay"... (Wicked Wednesday Prompt)

There isn't a person on the planet who is wired the same way. Not even twins. We have our own thoughts, our own needs, our own fantasies. The things that turn us on, sometimes surprise even us (I know, I've been there...like - "what the hell? he's got his hand around my neck, holding me down, and...wait! he's sort of choking me here! oh, holy hell...I like that...why the fuck do I like that? this is twisted..."). So, we know the internal sex lives of some other people could quite possibly shock the hell out of us (or not, depending on your experience level and your own kinky interests). 

Personally, I have no problem with anyone's kink. Even the more hard core kink is fine, as long as everyone involved is of age and consenting. And quite honestly, no one should be made to feel "unacceptable" or " weird" because they have "off-the-beaten-path" sexual desires (though it goes the other way, too. I've read plenty of blog posts condemning "vanilla sex" as being boring or "unevolved"...even "unnatural").

But, where the whole YKINMK becomes possibly NOK (not okay) is when we're talking about a committed couple. What happens when his kinks don't match hers and one person in the relationship isn't willing to fulfill the other's kinky needs? Oh, sure, it's easy to say we should be honest with each other up front before a commitment, but I don't know too many people who divulge their entire kinky self before marriage. It can take years to admit one's desires, especially if the person feels those desires might be "strange" or "off-putting". Not to mention that many of us develop as sexual beings over time and our desires and sexual interests change. That, of course, complicates things further in a long-term relationship. 

From experience, I know it's hard to go back once you've headed down any particular path, especially if you head down that path with someone and they like something you don't (been there, done that, too). It's not easy to say to the one you love, "Hey, I realize you really like <insert kinky activity here>, but I've tried it and it isn't my bag." Your loved one's disappointment might be palpable. And it will certainly hang around in your own head for some time ("I wonder if he'll be happy without <insert kinky activity here>?" or "Will she be satisfied now that she knows what she'll be missing?" "Is it fair for me to keep him/her from accessing this particular type of kink?").

Kink is one thing, but shared kink is fully another beast. Since all people change over time, it is almost unavoidable that at some point two people are NOT going to want the same thing. A couple has a few choices at this point...accept one path and follow it (without judgement or disappointment - which can be difficult and/or impossible depending on the people involved), allow both people to follow their own path separately but continue the relationship (difficult even in the most "open" relationships), agree to compromise somehow (also not necessarily easy), or ignore it and let the resentment take over.

It's easy to say YKINMKBTOK...unless you're married or committed. Because while his kink might not be my kink...I cannot disregard it, ignore it, belittle it, or force myself to share it. Somehow, I have to learn how to cohabitate (is that a word?) with it, knowing that it lives within him and wants to come out to play on occasion. 

Likewise, I have to admit MKIMKATOK (my kink is my kink and that's okay). I think my husband is kinkier than me...actually, I know that for a fact. Mostly, he's more sexual than I am (I think I may well be more "sensual"). He's more open sexually...more accepting of his own kinks and others', as well. Oddly enough, since I'm the one who writes about it, he's just plain more into sex than I am. He looks at porn. He thinks about and talks about and wants sex more often than I do. At one point, before children, we were matched pretty well in that. After kids, our desire levels and sexual interests began to head off in different directions. Basically, my sexual path became a grown- over foot trail that required a native tracker and a machete to navigate. So, I turned around and followed him down his wide-open highway of a path. It wasn't my path, but that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy the road-trip. Unfortunately, at some point, we pulled onto the Audubon and I couldn't handle the speed (getting off that SOB isn't easy, btw). He found the speed exhilarating. I found it terrifying...and still have PTSD. He wistfully reminisces about how much fun it could have been, though he'll accept the quiet country roads that I prefer, with the occasional "mudding" stint to liven things up.

It's a hard road to travel, when two people are in the vehicle and want completely different scenery. But there's always a compromise...when "your kink" meets "my kink (or lack thereof)" and becomes "our particular brand of what works...for the most part". I guess that's what a partnership is all about, right?


Friday, June 6, 2014

The Wrong God


FFF: 5 verses of 4 lines each
Photo and prompt provided by: http://advizortoall.blogspot.com/

The Wrong God


I kneel at the foot of my heart,
small and unable to move it -
even naked, I cannot make it feel
my old wicked temptation.

I pull at my hair, bite my own lips,
to feel the pain and taste the blood,
but despite the desperation
my skin and mind are numb.

I pray at the alter of my own desire
willing it to enter my body--
honey-slow and thick like cream--
my offerings continually inadequate.

I stand and turn to leave, head hung
low in fear and disappointment,
terrified I cannot coax to the surface
and understanding of my own devotion.

I look upward and inward, searching,
listening to the point of pain,
for any request I can fulfill,
suddenly realizing...I'm praying to the wrong god.


e-Lust #58...GIANT apology...self-flagellation to follow...

So, I submitted for e-Lust #58 and had my FFF story "Neverland" published. The rules state that I must post the entire edition within 7 days of publishing (which would be the 22nd of the month). It completely slipped my mind in all the craziness that is my life, but here it is (with my heartfelt apologies). You may now line up to punish me now.

__________________________________________xoxoxoxoxoxoxox


Pandora Photo courtesy of Pandora Blake

Welcome to Elust #58 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #59? Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Do NOT take my rapeplay fantasy away from me! Pulp Fiction “O” is for Outlaw No More

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The Second Letter The Wake

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too* All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!  

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Orgasm Denial Games and Ideas What is “Normal,” Anyway? Abject Submission 3: Only the Gift Is All BDSM Sexual? #KinkySex A new Dom asked me for advice Let's Talk Sex Stigma What I want On Being Submissive Dildos in Wonderland - Fantasy Sex Toys

Sex News,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

My sexual Assaults Risky Business What is feminist porn? Butt Plug Weekend (Humor) The Shaming of Slut Shaming Do Bisexuals Need To Be More Upfront? Why I Don't Support CatalystCon

Erotic Non-Fiction

The 'Good' Girl vs The Whore - Marriage Well Laid The sheer poetry of pegging a homophobe The Missouri Misery's Maiden Voyage On the Edge (Touch Your Cock for Me) Parking On A Dirt Road Masturbation: The Big Finish The four-day orgasm Dear lover

Writing About Writing

Imagining Disabled Characters in Erotica

Poetry

Simple Needs - a Lusty Limerick

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

On Happiness and Risk Sex addiction - a primer More Than Bend Over Boyfriend Toys

Erotic Fiction

Neverland X marks the spot Chain Links and the Rail Marshall The Devil and the Golden Ring A lonely day in Paradise Mine Is Bigger Than Yours Rub It Harder Face Splash – Part 1 Stray Kat Sneaky Sexy Snippet of A Work in Progress

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