Microfiction Mondays: Good Morning

This is the only day of the week you get to sleep in. God, I wish it weren't. You're bundled in what I swear must be at least a dozen blankets so that all I can see of you is one single ear poking out of your cocoon.

One ear, that's all. But it's enough. I'm lying in bed next to you, trying to wrangle enough incentive to actually get up and on with the day and all I want to do is trace every contour of that beautiful little ear with the tip of my tongue. I want to wrap my lips around your earlobe and trap it ever so gently between my teeth. While I tug at it possessively and growl I want to whisper to you all the dirty, wonderful things that I wish we were doing right now.

But even more, I want you to be able to enjoy your one and only day to sleep in, and if I carry on any more about what I'd rather be doing right now, I'll never leave you alone. So I propose a compromise. When you wake up and get this, feel free to call my cell. I'll leave the cordless receiver here by the note, on the bedside table. If, after you've called, I come back to find you still in bed, I'll wake you up in all sorts of naughty, wonderful ways—starting with that wickedly tempting ear.

Microfiction Mon... erm Wednesday! Water, fall

Note from Mad:  Sorry this one is so very very late, guys!  I deserve to be punished!  (hee hee, please!)  But um.. better late than never?

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

Her lips were blue. Kind of ironic if you think about it, since it was the hottest day of the year by at least a good five degrees.

April was stretched out the full length of the dirty old futon in a tiny white tank top and thong and nothing else. Her long sun-bronzed legs shimmered with tiny beads of sweat. I'd been banished to sitting on the floor beside her, with her free hand dangling in my lap—the most physical contact we could stand in this heat.

She had filled an ice tray with fruit drink earlier and was now letting one of the cubes—an odd space alien blue—slowly melt against her lips. When she noticed me watching her, she palmed the ice and took her time licking the sticky punch off her thumb and forefinger with long, slow strokes of her blue-streaked tongue.

The rest of the juice was rapidly becoming unfrozen but no longer aimed at her mouth—a huge drop skipped its way down her throat to nestle in that little indentation where the neck meets the breastbone, and that for some unknown reason I've elected the sexiest part of the female body. She gasped in surprise and arched her back, sending the liquid rolling down an eerie blue trail along the line of her shoulder-blade.

I watched in silent fascination while the droplet continued its path along her bicep to come to rest again in the crook of her elbow. Strange that I should notice it was only about half the size it was before it started its exploratory journey of my lover's body. April was so still that I could see the tiny hemisphere of liquid bounce in time with her pulse.

One...two...her third heartbeat set the liquid rolling again on a path toward her open palm.

I wondered if it had enough substance left to make it to the end while I watched it mimic another delicate spidery vein down her wrist, and weave its way through the maze of lines that creased her hand. What would a palm reader make of that cerulean map?

The juice chose her pinky finger to follow, and it didn't need to stop when it reached the tip—it had faded completely into a tiny pinprick stain of vivid aqua. I lifted her hand to my face and she slid her finger into my mouth. It tasted like raspberry candy, but there was nothing cold about that tiny trace I'd tasted. I slowly started to lick up the blue line on her palm. I wasn't worried, I knew that If I followed the lines, I'd run into something cool and refreshing eventually. It was a lazy summer day—I had all the time in the world.

Microfiction Monday: Forever

Is it Monday again already? Phew!

Yes, I'm overly sentimental, and also a big math nerd. Now you know!

---------
Forever


She was so beautiful she took my breath away. The way her hair lay all dishevelled around her head, her cheeks flushed and her eyes, bright but staring off somewhere beyond me— it all entranced me. I traced a line of salty kisses down her chin to that wonderful little depression between her shoulder and her neck. I was so hard it hurt. When I tried to pull her toward me, though, she hesitated, and the spell of her arousal faded.

“They say I won't want to do this as much, you know, after the operation. Maybe even half as much even with drug therapy.” She seemed close to tears, which made me feel as if my heart was going to burst.

I propped myself up on my elbow and grinned at her, trying to lighten the mood.

“You know what the coolest part of math theory is?”

She actually giggled, thank goodness. “From hot, sweaty sex to math? You really are a nerd!”

“Well, maybe, but the fact remains that there are some very cool things about math. Like infinity. Did you know that if you take something that happens regularly, and make it happen half as frequently, but continue forever, it'll still happen an infinite amount of times?”

I rolled onto my back and gently pulled her to me, and onto my now very eager cock.

“You're my forever, love... and when you're offered infinity, who'd be stupid enough to ask for more?”

-------

originally posted as a response to Alison Tyler's blog contest, here.

Microfiction Monday: Mr. February

My short story, Mr February, is set to be released early this summer in Rachel Kramer Bussel's anthology Please, Ma`am by Cleis press. Today's Microfiction Monday is an excerpt:

When you've been married to someone for 20 years, they know every inch of your body. Ellie had seen him naked so many times that Mark was sure she could draw him perfectly from memory if she needed to. Still, standing there in the hallway, facing the open door of the bathroom where his wife was waiting with her arms crossed and an expectant look on her face, Mark was suddenly very, very embarrassed, and only partly because he though that he and the rest of the male gender looked decidedly silly from the waist down.

“What, here, now?” His question met chilly silence.

Blushing furiously, Mark unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them.

“Those, too.” Ellie pointed impatiently at the red boxers that were conspicuously tented by an erection that was heroically resisting Mark's humiliation. I can't believe it, he though as he slip down the boxers and kicked them into the open bedroom door with the jeans, that's my wife in there, leering at me like I was an appetizer at the cannibal buffet!

“Yummy! Okay, you can go now!” With a slam, Mark was standing naked and beet red, staring at the closed bathroom door behind which his wife was, presumably, getting equally naked without his participation. He thought he heard giggling coming from behind the door, and made the decision to believe that he was just imagining it, and rescue what little dignity he had left. His stubbornly erect cock betrayed him by bouncing happily with each step he took down to the kitchen.

Microfiction Monday: Pin-up

I was reading over Allison Tyler's blog the other day and saw a silly contest (and who doesn't love a silly contest?) The premise was to base a story around a vintage typewrite key that GwenDelicious had tunred into lovely jewelry. Cute, eh? I didn't win, and to be honest the story would have worked better at twice the length, but here it is, anyway:

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

Pin-Up (or, for the love of proper punctuation)

April was squirming beautifully on the X-shaped cross in the middle of the room, with four palm-shaped circles drawn in red marker on her naked skin. The little tail on a bottom one curled right above her right hip.

“This isn't fair!” She was cute when she whined.

It was true, it wasn't fair but I didn't say that. Instead, I started clipping tiny clothespins to the outline around her left breast.

“Colons are used before a list or a quote. Did you put a colon in the email you sent me to ask if I would play with you tonight?”

I moved on to tracing the bottom left circle with the clothespins. She made the most delicious pained whimpers every time I added one.

“Yes.”

“And was it before a list or a quote?”

“Well, no.”

The circle on her right came very close to her nipple. She squeaked when I put a clothespin there.

“Semicolons separate two independent clauses. Was that what you should have used?”

She was up on her toes to escape the pinching. Apparently the tail was in a sensitive spot.

“Yes!”

“So, tell me again why this isn't fair?”

“Because you're not mad at me for that, you're annoyed at all the grammar butchery you had to read today at work!”

This was true, too. Smart cookie. I could have told her that but instead I told her to save her voice.

“For what?”

“For screaming.”

And she did, in a delicious crescendo, when I yanked the string connecting the pins to pop them off all at once. I think she came right there, I know I nearly did. My jeans were soaked through.

It wasn't fair at all, I thought, when I let her down to collapse all quivery into my arms, but I sure did feel better.