Wednesday, July 23, 2014

The Last of Its Kind

(This is a Wicked Wednesday post...based on the prompt: Write from the point of view of the last tree standing in a forest. I have to admit, this stumped me, and I was ready to throw in the towel before I even started, but I ran the prompt past Mr. LL, and he came up with a cute idea - so I'm running with it.)

The Last of Its Kind

It's hot today. Humid as hell, in fact. Seems that during the growing season, we all tend to crowd, to the point of touching...even braiding ourselves together in places, or growing back into the ground beneath us to escape the heat and the suffocating closeness. 

And there's the darkness. Intermittent brightness blinds us, like being bathed in neon, but with it comes the blessed breeze, and we can breathe. For a moment, until we are covered again, kept from the light, left to stagnate. 

In this condition, we sweat. Like prisoners in a pit, we talk to each other, sometimes never knowing what the other looks like. It's just voices. 

Until night. Even though it's still dark, the cover is taken away, like low clouds that rise and let the moon gaze down upon the forest below. We rest and dry out, the cool air freeing us. And sometimes, the hands of the gods above literally brush through us, bending us gently, petting us like a cat. If they could only hear us purr.

Occasionally, there is a storm...a heavy darkness beats down upon us, crashing and mashing us to the ground, bending us, breaking us. There are casualties...losses...and we pull together and prepare ourselves for the post-tornado downpour, that washes us clean, separating us, leaving us breathless, tired, and weak. We curl into ourselves, shrinking and exhausted.

And then there is the inevitable disaster. We all know it will come. We are told from the moment we are born...warned that we may not even have the chance to fully develop...grow to our potential. And we live with the possibility. 

I've been lucky. I was born during the growing season...a time when the forest is let loose to become what it may. We don't know why it happens. But from time to time, it does. So, I knew it was only a matter of time.

Right now, I'm in the eye of the storm. I can hear the vibration, the rumbling beneath me. I can hear the screams in the distance, the tortured screams of those cut down in their prime. And I know it is coming for me. I try to be calm, to prepare myself. 

The vibration becomes a deafening growl, pounding and gnawing at the world around me. Dozens, hundreds of my friends and family...and those that were never close enough to know...are cut away and disappear, sucked up into the bright void.

And suddenly, I am alone, hidden in a crevice. Maybe I will be spared? Maybe the storm will pass and I will be left to tell those who are still waiting to be born?

Stuck to the ground where I stand, I hold on. I stand proud. I am willing to be sacrificed if it must be that way. But, I hope I am left to tell the tale. The last curling hair on a rolling hill between two giant mountains that grown downward. 

I can hear the voices from above...the voices of the gods. They have planned this execution. This "cleansing" as it were. This clear cut. 

They say it is for the best. And they run their hands across the naked landscape, barely grazing me. If they notice, they do not let on. Instead. a clean warm rain comes down and washes away what is left of the broken bodies around me, leaving smooth ground, ripe for regrowth. 

A large pink tidal wave brushes past me, barely missing me. It returns...again and again...digging deep into the widening crevice in front of me...a cavernous, hungry crater that invites the destruction.

I turn away. I can no longer bare to look upon the horror...the end of days. I will curl up...attempt to bury myself, hide beneath the ground. I can only hope they won't find me...the single hair left behind.

Friday, July 11, 2014

A Much-Needed Vacation

“What if I stripped down to nothing but my underwear and just stood in the middle of the aisle for everyone to see?”

“It’s against FAA regulations, Katherine.” Jim said it absently, while fingering through a magazine he’d taken from the seat pocket in front of him.

Her voice became high and strained, like a petulant child who wasn’t getting enough attention, “No it’s’s against your regulations. You don't even know what FAA means. You’re boring, Jim. Just plain boring!”

“Whatever, Katherine.” Jim’s voice never rose. And his eyes never left the page.

“Oh, good God, Jim...what do I have to do to get your fucking attention?!!”

“Hmph...” Jim made a dismissive noise in his throat.

Katherine began unbuttoning her blouse. She removed it and then unsnapped her bra from the front, setting her middle-aged breasts free. She stood up, unzipped and unhooked the back of her skirt, and let it fall, revealing nothing but a pair of black thong underwear.

Several passengers gasped and began to mumble and whisper. Jim looked around him, wondering what all the fuss was about. He hadn’t felt any turbulence. He figured the drink service was making its way down the aisle and prepared to request a cup of coffee. Without looking at his wife, he inquired whether she’d like to have her usual glass of terrible airplane champagne.

“No, Jim. I think I’m plenty loose at this point.”

He finally realized she was standing, and without looking up, asked if she needed by, to use the restroom.

“Only if you’re coming with me, Jim. If not, that man over there looks plenty interested.”

Jim looked around for the “interested man”, saw several wide eyes, and realized they were all staring in his direction. He turned to face his wife, seeing her naked belly and full thighs. His eyes took the path of the rest of the audience; eyebrows raised in disbelief, he scanned up her body, past her subtly swaying tits, to her face. 

She wasn’t even blushing. 

“Honey, I think you’ve had plenty to drink.”

“I’ve had nothing Jim. Nothing. And I’m tired of nothing. I’m ready for something. Anything...”

Jim tried to cover his wife with his magazine, looking around nervously, embarrassed, but Katherine was having none of it. 

“I’m done being invisible, Jim...this is the first time you’ve looked at me naked in years...and gauging by the horror on your face, I’m sure I’ve made the right decision.”

“Divorce?” Jim gulped.

“Do you pay attention to anything, Jim? Do you even know where we are going?”

“You took care of the vacation arrangements, Katherine. I just packed my things and followed.”

The stewardess broke in on the loudspeaker above their head, “We are preparing for landing. I hope you enjoy your stay at The Essence Nudist Resort, and that everyone will get lei’d.” She winked and held up an armful of colorful leis. She continued, “I can see that one passenger is already in the spirit.”

At that, at least three other women took off their shirts. 

“Katherine?” Jim looked like a wounded puppy, confused and scared.

“’re going to have no choice but to notice me here.”

Flash Fiction Friday photo prompt
limit: 300 words (sorry...I went well over that...)
keywords: FAA and service
forbidden words: flight, mile high club

Friday, July 4, 2014

Let Freedom Ring (FFF)

Ahhh...the 50s. The epitome of "America" at a time when things were just so damned...well...American. The fashion, the technology, the language, the "proper niceness". A perfect facade for reality.

Yesterday, I rewatched Revolutionary Road, and so today, for Flash Fiction Friday, the era of the 50s was fresh in my mind. Picture a perfectly groomed lawn, a perfectly straight fence, a perfectly laid quilt, and a perfectly dressed couple with perfect hair. The Jensens. Imagine them lying under the stars having a perfectly proper conversation...about the children, about the future, about the day and their wonderful BBQ party.

Imagine they've thrown back a few too many perfect martinis. And imagine their conversation becomes, well...more "real."

This week's requirements:

Key Phrase: "Let Freedom Ring"
Word Limit:  294
Forbidden Words: Independence, Revolution

"Let Freedom Ring"


“Do you think if I fucked you with a firecracker fast enough it would spark?”

Mrs. Jensen giggled and raised her eyebrows at her husband’s ridiculous question, “You could imagine your dick is a firecracker, exploding its sparks into my cunt.”

“I love it when you talk dirty., Mrs. Jensen...How about I just fuck you, plain and simple?”

Mr. Jensen rolled his wife over, flipped up her voluminous skirt, pulled down her lacey panties, and marveled at the soft glow of her ass so white in the darkness of their back yard. The neighborhood was ablaze with the sounds and lights of the 4th. No one was the wiser that the lovely and proper Jensens were celebrating in their own traditional way.

With his pleated pants pooled around his knees, Mr. Jensen pounded the missus from behind and grunted out in time to his thrusts, “Get... your... flag... ready... mama..., the... bomb’s... about... to... blow...”

And as Mrs. Jensen came, she whispered, “Oh, fuck yes....” then loudly pronounced, “LET FREEDOM RING!” Of course...she was being silly. And Mr. Jensen laughed as she pulsed and tightened around his cock. Every year it was a new patriotic phrase, yelled at the top of her lungs to screw with the neighbors.

From across the fence, the responses “Hallelujah!” from one side and from the other side “God bless America!” made them both laugh, as they lay spent on the rumpled quilt.

“ of the wonderfully oblivious. I’m just grateful for the freedom to fuck my wife in the wide open.”

They lay on their backs, staring up at the sky, colored lights streaming down at the same rate that Mr. Jensen’s come streamed down his wife’s inner thigh.

Happy 4th!



Just for's a little down home "real" Americana...I love vintage porn...


This one is especially for you, Mr. LL...I figured you'd like those voluptuous tits and round hips...