Diminishing Tension

This was inspired by That One Cat’s prompt and fills the “Ace Hero/Heroine Doesn’t Want The Guy” square in my March/April Play-It-Again Bingo. This is 671 words and is about what someone might need instead of sex as their reward for being an everyday hero.

Diminishing Tension

The music throbbed through the club and vibrated the tacky wooden floorboards under Peter’s feet. The lights strobed in time to the electric beat, and he could feel bass thumping in his chest in time to the elevated rate of his heart.

Several other guys from his fire station always accompanied him to this club after an intense call. The adrenaline kept them all wired for several hours after each fire was resolved, and despite the exhaustion grasping for their knees, each needed his own way to wind down the night before sleep had any hope of catching hold of them. He knew that the reward most of his coworkers were here for had little to do with the electronic dance music blasting their ears. For some it was the anesthetizing effect of the many beers they poured down their throats, and for several others it had everything to do with the beautiful bodies writhing together on the dance floor, any one of which would be happy to give a hero his due in the parking lot, or all night long in either participant’s apartment. But for Peter he was here exclusively for that heavy pulsing bass, so closely mimicking the racing tempo of his own pulse, keeping him up in that headspace he felt during the fire; clear, focused, and controlled. The music is what brought him to this club, and music is what would send him onwards to the next stop once his buddies had each met their needs for the night and headed out.

After he’d seen that everyone else had headed out, Peter would be ready for a change of pace, would finally be prepared to step things down one level closer to his baseline and eventually start winding his way towards sleep. The next place was a grungy dive bar, lighting dim and private, and nearly deserted this late into the night. It boasted a truly great jukebox he could load full of quarters. He selected all of his favorite rock songs, the ones he knew sung to his decreased level of intensity. He was ready for lyrics now, able to start imagining something that wasn’t just the heat of the fire, the tar and resin in the fire’s smoke clogging his lungs, the remembered grit that had made its way against his skin even through all of the protective gear, the stickiness of sweat caused by heavy exertion and extreme temperatures. There were still a few ladies, now so close to closing time, looking to offer him comfort and hoping to find some of their own. Peter politely refused, smoothly deflecting their advances. He’d never felt awkward saying no, rather he’d felt decidedly wretched the few ill-advised times he’d muttered yes. Nursing just one beer, his first and only for the night, he’d rest here in an out of the way booth, getting up only to reload the jukebox as needed, until the bar tender gently ushered everyone towards home.

Making sure the barflys made it safely to their cars, and saying goodnight to the few friendly regulars, Peter would make his short drive home in anticipatory silence. Softly closing his front door, and twisting over the deadbolt, Peter would immediately make his way to the beautifully restored record player that held pride of place in his apartment and he’d carefully place the needle down on one of many treasured blues records. This final step on his journey was done in reverence. He was finally met with the feelings of pure safety and security that meant he was home, alone with just the music, and his thoughts cleared of everything hot and impatient. Now he felt his mind and body relax and loosen, releasing everything that tonight’s fire had caused to stress and harden, giving way to the waves of sound with which he had surrounded his evening. Now 3 a.m. and Peter wallowed in bed as the scratch of the needle and the mournful blues danced him carefully the last few steps into slumber.

Published in: on April 17, 2017 at 7:55 pm  Comments (1)  
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Relabeled Chemistry Experiments

This was inspired by an Anonymous prompter and fills the “demisexual” square in my March/April Play-It-Again Bingo. This is 461 words and is just an example of the ways I imagine people might learn such things about themselves.

Mildly sexual language/imagery.

Relabeled Chemistry Experiments

I’m waiting for her at the park, my fingers idly peeling up the rim of my cardboard coffee cup. I’d nervously drank the full 20 oz before she could arrive after her last class, and now I was left fidgeting and staring at the steaming cup across from me that I’d grabbed for her.

We’d been meeting at the park on Tuesdays and Thursdays all semester once we’d chosen each other as lab partners, but recently I’d begun to look forward to our study sessions more than Chem 120 really warranted. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I had a sneaking suspicion I was attracted to her. This had me majorly freaked out. I’d been identifying as asexual since I’d encountered the term in middle school & everyone around me seemed to simultaneously lose their mind over boys, or girls, or boys and girl. I’d made it through puberty & over the other side without so much as a twinge of lust brought on by jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, geeks, or any other available demographic in my suburban school’s hallways. I’d experimented alone in the sanctuary of my own bedroom, and I’m sure I’ve reached orgasm, which felt nice enough, but wasn’t something I found myself craving regularly, and certainly not with an audience.

But now I’ve spent twelve weeks in concentrated proximity to one of the most intelligent girls I’ve had the pleasure to meet and attraction is the only thing I’ve come up with that explains everything this feeling encompasses. It started with her scent. I’d liked it right away, but it wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago, as I indulged in a long bubble bath and most of a Chocolove Sea Salt & Almond chocolate bar “Me Date,” that I’d remembered her smell nostalgically and found my heart rate rising and my fingers wandering down between my thighs. In that moment I realized I didn’t enjoy the smell in a I’d wear that way but apparently, given the intensity of my ensuing climax, in a more I’d like to be rubbing against her while she’s wearing it kind of way. And since then I’ve sweated through several sleepless nights with busy fingers remembering precisely the way she places her palm against my wrist to gain my attention while we work, and reliving the breath stealing sight of her deep lower back as her shirt rides up when she stretches across the park’s picnic table to grab another notebook to pour over as we study.

I tally up all of this evidence as I wipe damp clammy palms down my denim covered hips and wait impatiently for the moment she spots me at our usual park table and her smile lights up her face and my Allison-specific libido.

Published in: on March 16, 2017 at 7:19 pm  Leave a Comment  
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March/April Play-It-Again Bingo

February was brutal, with a week long out of town work assignment, and then March came in like the proverbial Lion, with a week lost to the mega stomach bug o’ doom. First thing that went out the window with all of that on my shoulders? All of my good writing intentions!

So I’m going to ease back in to writing with the rest of March and all of April working towards a blackout of my own personal 3X3 bingo card made up of the February Valentines Bingo prompts people have already requested, and more writing in worlds I’ve already started stories within that I’m interested in revisiting again!

Please feel free to claim spaces from the Bingo Card below if you wish to give me more prompts or direction on any particular theme or “world”.

“Someone To Care” – Zakiya Love I Told You So Villain Slowly Falls in Love with Hero/Heroine
Ace Hero/Heroine Doesn’t Want The Guy Demisexual “C. Herish” – Body Worship
Fantasy Centaur Body Worship “Morning” – Terrie & Marv Victorian Era Cross Dressing

The Best of All Dances

This was inspired by a prompt from Stardreamer and fills the “Dancing” square in my 2-1-17 card for the Valentines Bingo challenge. This piece is 297 words and complete.

The Best of All Dances

One. Two. Three.

The band plays in three-four time; the music bright and the lighting dim. The ballroom surrounds us but we cling to each other. You follow the movement of the music and I faithfully follow your lead. This is how our love begins.

I. Love. You.

My dress is winter white; the train a whisper across along the aisle. I step to the music we chose together for this moment. Forgoing Mendelssohn in favor of Strauss. I watch as tears of joy streak your cheeks. This is how our marriage begins.

Two. Blue. Booties.

We wanted to wait until they arrived, to enjoy the surprise. Whether we would all dance together to the Pink Lady or to Blue Danube, I wasn’t concerned. Just as long as they’re healthy was what you’d been saying since I told you the news. This is how our son was born.

To. Bed. Angry.

We forgot to keep dancing. The Minute and The Second were retired to make room for all of the minutes and seconds you spent at work and we both spent stressed. I thought we’d grown apart. This is how our separation was born.

I. Miss. Us.

Our son was dancing in the Nutcracker and we are forced into close proximity for the first time in several months. I tightly grasp your hand as we each cry proud parent’s tears. Yours are shed as we hold each other once again late into the darkest night. This is how our estrangement ends.

Three. Two. One.

They play Chopin and Talsur in our memory. We’re to be laid down side by side at the end of the ceremony. We’ve danced through life and death together; this time I’d led, and faithfully you followed. This is how our Waltz ends.

Published in: on February 10, 2017 at 8:35 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Call For Prompts – Ysabetwordsmith’s Poetry Fishbowl

Ysabetwordsmith’s monthly Poetry Fishbowl is now open and this month’s theme is “nonsexual intimacies.”  They’ve written a whole series of posts about nonsexual intimacies, divided into sections, if you need some ideas.

Go Feed the Bard!

Published in: on February 7, 2017 at 1:54 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Less is More

This was inspired by a prompt from Sara and fills the “The Friendzone Is My Safe Place” and “Gossip” squares in my 2-1-17 card for the Valentines Bingo challenge. This piece is 384 words and I’m wishing my character luck with his frustrating neighbor!

Content notice: foul language.

Less is More

“Stop taking flowers out of my garden to woo people who don’t even treat you right,” yelled Jake Ellis from 334-C. I’d stopped by his stoop to pick a few of the irises that grew there in abundance and that I knew Jake himself used as gifts for girls he dated.

“Uhm…what?” I fumblingly replied, completely taken aback by his abrupt appearance. I wasn’t expecting him to bully open his sliding glass door and hop out onto his patio just a few feet from me as I stopped to pick a few blooms on my way to Maddie’s place.

“Don’t take that bitch anymore of my flowers man! She’s not giving you any, so I don’t think you should be going out of your way for her anymore. Pick ‘em for someone who isn’t going to stick you straight into the friendzone.” Jake looked livid and motioned with his hands for me to throw the flowers down.

“Wha…how would you know about whether or not I’m getting any anything?” I demand.

“Dan told me he asked her out about a week ago and she said she’d like that. So he asked what about you and freakin’ Maddie tells him you’re just good friends. That’s girl for friendzoned and you deserve more bro, you’ve been workin’ on that for months now!” Jake sounded sincerely outraged on my behalf. His fingers flew into air quotes around nearly every other phrase.

I took a long step back and a deep breath in, bracing myself to explain yet again what was and wasn’t happening with me and Maddie Shelley. I’d already suffered through this conversation with my mother, my best friend Eric, my next best friend Jon and his current girlfriend, my interfaith pastor, and now, apparently, I’d get the utter joy of attempting to explain everything once more to womanizing Jake Jones from 334-C on his patio stoop while he stood there in just his Budweiser boxers and judged my life.

Friendship with Maddie was more rewarding and less stress than all of my prior girlfriends combined and if I just didn’t count the asshats who were more worried about whether or not my penis had made her acquaintance yet than whether or not I might be genuinely happy then things felt perfect just as they were.

Published in: on February 6, 2017 at 8:01 pm  Comments (2)  
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February Valentines Bingo Fest

January was a HUGE Success with 11 prompt fills and a Single Line Bingo! Thank you to EVERYONE who participated!

This is my prompt card for the February 2017 Valentines Bingo challenge at the AllBingo site. I combined romantic, heartbroken, platonic, and erotic prompts so there is a blend of ratings, from tame to spicy, for prompters to choose from!

I’m reaching out again this month to friends and family to make suggestions for any word or phrase on the bingo card below that strikes their fancy and I’ll write at least 200 words of story based on their suggestion combined with the prompt word they chose. Prompts that have been spoken for will be turned Golden so it will be easy for everyone to keep track of what words have already been spoken for, and I will have all requested fills done by the end of the Challenge which is 2/28/2017.

200 words may not end up being a complete story in and of itself, but I’m using this exercise as a way to increase my writing capacity, so I’m making sure to set reasonable goals that I’m likely to reach rather than crashing and burning right out the gate!

Some stories I’ve already started that might fit well with this theme if anyone is interested in reading more pieces set within those worlds are:

Foxfire Stables – Pony Play Erotic Novel (Not available publicly, but known prompters may privately request the first chapter!)
C. Herish Whip Master – BDSM Alternative Universe fiction/erotica
Catfish – A snippet about a crossdressing spy/sabotuer
Morning – Time traveling Terrie & his empathetic partner Marv
Someone To Care – We met Zakiya, and left her in a pretty dark place…

Lets have fun and make another Bingo!

Morning-after regrets Drunken rutting Spin the bottle Human Pet Villain Slowly Falls in Love with Hero
Carnal Massage Best Friends Forever Queerplatonic Demisexual Housework
Falling Asleep Victorian Era WILD CARD – Fantasy -Centaur Dancing Adultery
Kneeling I told you so The Friendzone Is My Safe Place A Girl and Her Horse Gossip
Secret Crush Oral sex Chasing bubbles blown by someone else Ace Hero Doesn’t Want the Girl Body Worship

Fill: Morning

This was inspired by a prompt from Silverfoxy709 and fills the “historical” and “telepathy” squares in my 1-1-17 card for the Dark Fantasy Bingo challenge. This made it to 246 words and despite how very short that is, it was unfortunately was a complete slog. I started writing on 1/26/17, and finally finished this today 1/31/17. I’ve no idea why it needed to feel so hard, but that’s writing sometimes I suppose.

Morning

“When are you now Babe?” came the wistful message into Terrie’s consciousness. Groggy wakefulness followed as he pried his sleep sweaty head from the moist hollow of his pillow. The room was dark and the air close and thick with the scent of tropical rain and growing things.
I gather my wits enough to send a response back, the communication seeming both harder now that I was conscious of it, and easier, as I could focus my talent on my lover Marv. Sending the telepathic answer six centuries into the future I replied, “I’m in Jamaica, 1490’s, with Columbus.”
“Serious?” I could feel how incredulous he was, the surprise evident in his mental tone and I smiled knowing it was only possible for me to sense the layers of meaning in his words because of his intense Empathy and my unique form of Telepathy. I would forever be grateful for the Pairing that had put me with Marv, allowing my time travel to be guarded closely by the man who loved me, allowing impossible communication between relative present and far flung past. Before Marv I’d always been acutely conscious of how very alone I was while on assignment, and at different times the pressure of living for an extended stretch within the past, in complete isolation from my own time, had become painfully isolating and honestly depressing as hell. Pairing with Marv had changed everything, in ways I’d never have considered, almost exclusively for the better.

~~~Notes~~~

Inspired roughly by ideas presented by Anne McCaffrey’s The Talents Universe. Which is entirely incredible and I encourage everyone to check it out. I might reread this myself now that its been brought back into my memory.

Published in: on January 31, 2017 at 11:15 am  Leave a Comment  
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Fill: The One Who Cools

This fill was inspired by a prompt from Dreamwidth user Siliconshaman and fills the “Fog,” “Gothic,” “Wild Card – Wind,” “Regency,” and “Gods/Goddesses” squares in my 1-1-17 card for the Dark Fantasy Bingo challenge. 567 words – this counts as a “Straight Line” Extra for the bingo challenge since it uses 5 prompts in one fill!

The One Who Cools

The carriage horses’ hooves sounded a muffled beat against the cobblestones as dank fog twined between their fetlocks and blanketed all of New Street. Through the leaded windows of a private gallery the grooms and drivers could watch as the Birmingham Society of Artists laughed and toasted one another in high spirits, the golden glitter of recently acquired Egyptian antiquities on display in the background. Prize of place among the artifacts was the mummified remains of an influential pharaoh’s adviser complete with canopic jars and other funerary paraphernalia. A stable hand coughed, wet and thick, the sound traveling strangely within the growing bank of mist.

The swirls eddied and flowed higher around the horses knees and hocks, as a wind picked up, blowing from the North through the streets of Birmingham. As the night wore on guests inside the gallery began departing, women in their regency finery glittering in the light of newly installed gas lamps that clung to the Gothic architecture of the gallery on New Street, and men in their suit coats and top hats opening the carriage doors politely.  An amulet, set upon a low table strewn with several other priceless pieces, silently slipped itself into a giddy ladies reticule as she passed on the way towards the door.

Chatter among the guests was animated as they left the gallery, their spirits alight with the passion of inquiry and the fever for ancient Egypt that had grasped their imaginations. As they wound their way through the evening streets they paid little attention to the howl of the rising North wind, or the fog that was now as high as their horse’s withers and thick like a suffocating shroud. The amulet of fine sardonyx and jasper rattled in the bottom of Ms. Clarke’s handbag, the fine emblem of Qebui seeming to shine in the dim light of a home bound carriage.

The fog had swollen upwards, now smothering even the gas lights that marched along the arches of cast iron lamp posts. The wind had become savage and the horses feared to continue on their journey towards the Clarke estate. Something massive moved within the wind and fog, something old striding through the streets of Birmingham. And as the strange storm enclosed the carriage of Ms. Clarke, the driver swore that directly before his team of horses stood a massive Ram, with upraised wings and upon its neck four fearsome heads. The driver tells a tale of how this beast stood as if frozen in the fog and wind, with waters raging below his hooves, and right as he clambered down from his box to flee in terror into the mists that night, the Ram struck his hooves upon the cobbles, releasing a raging river that overturned the carriage and pulled under the horses.

The following morning dawn arrived bright and clear over Birmingham. A bright new day except for the discovery of Ms. Clarke’s carriage overturned in a puddle of brackish water just blocks from her home, the four horse team all drowned without signs of any further wounds, and Ms. Clarke herself asphyxiated and soaked through as if submerged many hours in her bath. As investigators begin the hunt for her missing driver, another seemingly unrelated complaint is received from the curator for the Birmingham Society of Artists; that of a missing Egyptian amulet believed stolen from their gallery opening just the night before.

qebui

~~~Notes~~~

Qebui – the Egyptian God of the North Wind whose name means “The One Who Cools.”

Researching this God brought me to the incredible amulet pictured above created by Deviant Art user warboar, and I knew I had to find a way to work it into a story.
 

Ysabetwordsmith’s Prompt Call

There is an open Call for “Nature” prompts today on Ysabetwordsmith’s blog. She is doing an extra poetry fishbowl today specifically working on short pieces of Nature poetry!
Go leave prompts!!!

Published in: on January 24, 2017 at 6:05 pm  Leave a Comment  
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