Tag Archives: -Romance

#HumpdayChallenge Week 20

Desires of the Flesh

Moonlight glistened from the beads of water dripping from her naked body as she lay on the stone.  I could not help but take pause.  A fog engulfed my being; lost in her malevolent beauty.

“You need her.”  It said, “You must have her,” it insisted.

I stepped into the night, enraptured by the possibilities of her flesh.

“You’ve come.”  She said.

“Yes.”  I responded.  Was I not there of my own volition?

She turned to me, eyes blazing with desire.

Too late I found this appetite for my flesh to be, both a deep lust, and a true hunger.

Tuesday Tales – Challenge 12

Love and Blood

She entered my bed, naked, cold; her touches brought a wave of goose-pimples across my body.  My heat made her feel alive, she said.  Her preternatural touch reminded me that I was.

Her lips were one of the few places which held heat.  They met with mine, gently at first, then forcefully as I explored her other warm places.  Our bodies melded, writhing.  Gently, she bit me, seeking nourishment from my climaxing soul, I could no longer hold back.

We melted apart under the covers, satisfied from receiving what we so desperately needed; love… and blood.

Tuesday Tales – Challenge 9

The Ceremony

I saw my fiancé amongst the dancers, twirling fire and chanting.  Jared and I were Pagans, not the sacrifice a … oh wait… I, am not the sacrifice a virgin to the Sun God type, just following an alternative and natural belief system.

“It is time!”  A voice echoed.  Flabbergasted I strained at the vines holding my naked body.

“Today great gods, we shall sacrifice virginity in your honour!”

Jared emerged, his chest glistening with sweat.  My loins comprehended the situation before my mind, and fluttered in anticipation.  I was not the sacrifice, my innocence was.

Soon, we were wed.


Honourable Mention – Best use of word “Flabbergasted”

Medusa the Sculptor

Medusa the Sculptor

He was once known as Alexandros of Antioch, I simply knew him, or thought I knew him, as Alex.

It was not uncommon for us to take lovers, like all creatures we have our needs and having them fulfilled by those like us was not an easy task.  The gods connived and plotted, there was no such thing as sex for the sake of sex, a mortal lover, on the other hand, had no such plans.  They were content lay with a god, make love to a god and be showered with the affections of a god; that was enough.  Mortal’s power struggles were nothing of concern to us.

Alex was a gentleman, with hard but tender hands, artist’s hands.  He was a sculptor, but only the rudimentary type, making grave markers, both ornate and plane.  He claimed to have been a sculptor of statues and figurines, but none of any I have seen.

“Why have you not sculpted me Alex?”  I asked one day.  We laid upon the soft ground, him tired, yet satisfied, myself satiated yet not yet fully satisfied.

“I have not yet found the motivation.”  He replied.

I stood.  Naked against the warmth of the sun, the perfection that only a god could contain exposed to the trees and rocks, and to him.  “Perhaps this motivates.”  I responded.

“You have been sculpted many times Aphrodite, why by me?”  He asked.

“For I am your lover and you are an artist, these moments are fleeting for you.  Do you not wish to capture my beauty before it is too late?”  I responded.  “Do you not want the world to see my beauty and know that it was you who captured it?”

“Why are you gods so vain?”  He asked.  “Do you have no modesty?”

“Perfection requires no modesty, but you would not know.  You are an imperfect lover and man, I shall find another.”  I fled, angered.

“Wait!”  He called.  I continued.  He gave chase, finally catching me near the Amphitheatre of Milos.  “Aphrodite.”  He grabbed my arm, I turned and hit him, knocking him to the ground.  My cold stare was my undoing.  It was then that I realized who Alex was, yes he was a brilliant sculptor but he did not sculpt with his hands, but rather with his heart and with his eyes.  His hair began to grow and wriggle and his form changed from that of a mortal man to the shapely outline of a woman, a woman that I knew too well.  My own anger and vanity was my undoing, before I fully realized upon whom I was looking my likeness was sculpted.  Sculpted not at the hands of Alexandro of Antioch, as my captures at the Louvre would tell you, but by the treacherous god Medusa.  The punishment for my vanity.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 57


“What the hell was that?” Kyle flinched as something skimmed across his bareback. At first he thought that maybe Megan had run her hands down it but then he remembered that her hands were securley, and comfortably handcuffed to the bed.
“I think it was a dragonfly,” She laughed. She hadn’t seen it only heard it. Her eyes were closed as Kyle was washing her body with gentle kisses. Until the interuption she had been fighting her restraints, begging them to release her so she could force him to do her bidding instead of being teased with his soft lips which never went exactly where she wanted them.
“Now, where were we?” He asked seductively, bending back down to her soft stomach. “Oh for Christ’s sake!” He yelled as the insect buzzed him again. He got up off the bed leaving Megan perfectly and nakedly exposed.
The eroticism of the moment was completely lost as Megan saw his bare ass run out the door to retrieve a fly swatter. He returned, his penis danced around as he chased the oversized mosquito around the room.
She couldn’t stop laughing. “Kyle, just forget about that damn bug and come here and fuck me, or at least untie me.”
He didn’t acknowledge her half hearted plea but instead left into the air and swung the bug racket at the pesky dragon fly. It made a zapping sound and crashed to the floor. There was a sizzle and a puff of smoke. “Shit.” Kyle said.
“What is it you said your wife did again Kyle?” Megan asked.
He turned to her with a nervous smile painted across his face. “Uhm, micro aerial reconossaince engineer.”
“O…kay… I think now would be a good time to hand me that key.” She said.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 55


He hated this town. It wasn’t his home town. He grew up a few miles away, this was merely where he had gone to high school. High school, what a terrible memory that created. He rarely ever came to town. He was happy he didn’t have to drive through to visit his folks. Today was different though. He was visiting his parents and happened to look at the local weekly newspaper.

Glena and Brenda Hillcrest are happy to announce

the marriage of their daughter:

Laura Gene Hillcrest


Jason Alex Kline

His heart stopped.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” His mother asked clearly seeing his ashen face.

“Did you see this?” He asked.

“Oh yeah, wasn’t that the girl you had a crush on in High School?” She asked innocently, not knowing that the crush had never gone away. He still lay awake a night imagining her, she was still the vision that he saw in his dreams.

“Yeah.” Was all he said. She didn’t recognize the other name, Jason, he was a bastard. If there was one person in the world that he hated, and still hated it was him. He visited him in his dreams too, in those dreams the only happy endings were Jason’s head lolling off to the side as he sliced through his neck, or fragments of skull and blood bursting from the side of Jason’s head as he shot him at close range. No ending could make up for years of ripped clothing, swirlies, wedgies, snake-bites and general humiliation.

He saw Jason in the picture, leering at him, as if to say, I really gotcha now.

For the first time in many years, he snuck out of his bedroom window, 32 years old and sneaking out like he was sixteen. He had the newspaper in his hand, he knew what he had to do.

The fireball of gasoline had exploded as the fiery newspaper lit the homemade bomb, now the school that he had so dispised was beggining to glow orange. Every window a flicker. This time, he won.


#5MinuteFiction – Week 53


On the porch there were pomegranate seeds and paint thinner, and upstairs there was a girl. Wyatt had stopped by the old house everyday since Melanie had moved in. She was attempting a rather large project in restoring the old porch on the pre-war mansion. The layers of different coloured paint was like a anthropological timeline of the history of southern Florida, or in laymen’s terms it looked like a half melted Gobstopper.

Wyatt knew what Melanie had been going through, the divorce in New York, the death of her father and having to return home to care for her sick mom and try to pick up the peices of her life. Wyatt wanted to help. He started by picking up the peices of the broken bowl and cleaning up the juice of the Pomegranite seeds that had been crushed against the pillar, then he went to work, revealing more and more history as the paint thinner peelled back time. Maybe he could turn back time too, back to when things were less complicated and him and Melanie used to walk down the dirt drive to school holding hands.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 52

Dirty Thoughts

Another year of that and she was sure she’d go mad. The mechanic came up from the bowels of the ship covered in grease from bow to stern. He was so dirty she could hardly recognize him, her mind was so filled with filth he likely wouldn’t have recongnized it.

“Status Report Dr. Trilgaard.” She said as formally as possible as she envisioned herself peeling off his blackened coveralls and took his greasy smitten hand to lead his naked dirty body to her personal shower.

“The vacuum counterforce is repaired and the magnetos are back on line.” He said removing his saluting hand from his temple leaving a dark streak above his right eyebrow. “It was hard trudging but I finally got it.”

She didn’t get passed the ‘Hard’ part. “Good work Doctor, how long until we will return to full operating capacity?” She asked.

About twenty-five minutes captain.

“That’s just enough time.” She said and lept at him ripping off his overalls revealing what she had hoped for, a clean torpedo to fill her empty space.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 50


“It’s not Tuesday.” Gary said sitting in the garden cafe sipping his latte.

“Yes, it’s right here on my calendar, Tuesday, July 15th.” Liz was poking at her blackberry with a stylus.

“It can’t be Tuesday, I have a hair appointment.” The waiter brought Liz her salad wrap and Gary a hamburger. It seemed out of place with the smells of tulips and greens flooding the patio.

“For a fag you sure eat like crap.” Liz said watching Gary dip a greasy french fry into a pool of ketchup.

He gently wiped his face with a serviette and finished his mouthful, “Well if you’d go to the gym once in a while you could eat what you want and not worry about your hips.”

She kept chewing and raised her middle finger to him.

“I just can’t do Tuesday, you know I have such a crush on Steffan.”

“Screw Steffan,” she paused to lick a piece of lettuce from her teeth just long enough for him to cut in.

“That’s the idea.” He smirked, she gave him her patented finger wave again.

“Come on, you can get your haircut any day, I only have one best friend to show my wedding dress to.” He shrugged. Why not? He may as well see the wedding dress. He had to enjoy her friendship as long as he could, wasn’t going to be much friendship left after he reveals his affair with the future groom.

#HumpdayChallenge Week 16

Live Life
It was a crap shoot, a roll of the dice. For decades I had been safe, predictable, boring. That was all about to change. No regrets.

The sizzle and pop of bacon in my frying pan added to my hunger, the hot juice forming a lake of molten grease. I cracked an egg and watched it spread out; its white edges dancing on the boiling liquid. Healthy living was like going through life on cruise control and that’s no way to live. We’ll all die someday, I want to live today. Just add salt.