Flash: Lowriding

Rating: Mature

CB popped back on his leather Stetson, now that he and Charlotte finished mucking the stables. He tossed his shirt into the stable clothes bin. Some things just weren’t worth taking to the bunk house and Miss Becca rather not have stink at her chow line. Charlotte or Miss Becca would pick up the laundry later, after the shirt ripened some more among the horse rags.

Leaning against a post just inside the barn, CB waited while the girl closed doors and put the equipment away just like she liked it. He rued the day he helped her with the putting back. She had a system and he broke it. After she finished tearing him up one side and down the other, he was more than willing lay about while she struggled with the picks and shovels. The woman had used no words she shouldn’t, but CB rather have the foreman curse a blue streak then deal with her on a rip.

Her eyes kept drifting to him, her lips curled in a secret laughing smile, as things got put.

Dang, he knew he was dirty, especially after two weeks on the trail checking fences, but her stares since he came in with the dawn were making him a might self conscious.  He ran one hand down his chest seeing if any manure had snuck inside the shirt before he shucked it. Slick sweat and dusty red clay combined leaving mud across his pecs and abdomen. He started wiping with both hands, but the streaking went from bad to worse.

Seeing his difficulty, Charlotte snagged a clean towel from the pile they used to wipe down horses.

“Let me,” the brunette suggested.

The little thing didn’t even top his shoulders, but he figgered she had a good idea. “If you’re game, I’d be obliged.”

 He had worked the Double Bar T Ranch since the girl was a freshman in high school. None of the hands, including him, realize Charlotte worked harder than a mule following a carrot before she went off to college. Everyone made the piece of pudding welcome when she came home for the summer, and gladly returned her chores to her tender loving and firebrand care.

“Wouldn’t offer my services if I wasn’t.” She said as she gently wiped the mud off his front side. She looked up smiling, her head cocked to the side.

Tarnation, she had the prettiest brown eyes. CB sweated a few bullets before she started circling around back. CB stepped away from the pole to help her, and his jeans slipped lower.

Well that don’t beat all, his pants were falling off. He lost weight on the trail like he always did and he didn’t have a belt on. And he hadn’t wore underpants because he had done worn the lot on the trail and turned them inside out once to boot. He looked down and saw his short curls peeking over the top of his Levis.

He wondered if he could pull them up without her noticing.

Ooh, that feels so good. She put some ginger into her rubs.

“Like the moan cowboy, sounds just like Rowan when I get it just right. Why don’t you just set yourself down and I can work you top to bottom.” The nineteen year old pushed his twenty-eight year old carcass over to a bench. “Just sit right there and I’ll get the water.”

He watched the girl move through the barn, picking up two more towels, fetching the softer hand soap she preferred, and filling a bucket. He may have lost weight in the last two months, but she had put some on … in all the right and proper places. Her jeans were snug and her top was tight; she would need some new glads before the summer was out.

While he watched, one of the straining buttons failed, giving him a peek of white satin between red and blue plaid.

Setting the bucket beside him on the bench, she stepped between his legs to take off his hat and place it on her head. His eyes were in line with the gape in her shirt. Wouldn’t take much to pop another one. The buttons immediately above and below were straining like puppies on a leash.

A cold wet towel plopped on his head. “Now let’s get down to business CB.”

Shock of the cold made him reach out and grab the easiest thing handy. Happened to be Charlotte’s butt. She wiggled, not hard, just a something not right. Instinctually, like answering a horse shiver, he moved his hands down a bit ‘til they were comfortable. Cupping her sweet ass cheeks.

He outlined and massaged her ass, praying her daddy didn’t walk through the door, while she washed his hair, shoulders and face. Charlotte traced his face gently, gave him a quick peck on the lips and then leaned over his body to wash his back.

Okay, now he sometimes forgot to board the train as his fellow hands put it. But if a woman hits him with a clue-by-four he might figure things out. He reasoned it had to be easier for her to walk around to his back to wash him, rather than lean over him, pressing her breasts into his shoulders, her butt supported by his hands, and one leg wrapped around him for balance.

He brought a hand around to her front and rubbed the wide open juncture of her legs.

This time she was the one who moaned like Rowan.

“Oh dear,” Charlotte announced, “I am just getting wet through and through. Would you mind if I take off my shirt CB?”

“If you want to Miss Charlotte, I just don’t want no problems with Mr. Teahon.” CB’s hands continued to massage of her backside and front zipper. “My job here is as fine as you.”

Charlotte’s cadence changed from the East Coast university she was attending to her childhood tempo as her voice roughened in passion. “Aww, I didn’t expect no sweet talk CB.”

She lowered her leg outside of his denim clad one, pushing it against her own leg with his hand caught between. She lifted his face, holding it firm.

 “Now you don’t go worrying about my paw none. I have already told him what I want, told him even before I went off to schooling. He said if my eye hadn’t wandered by the time I got back and you were amenable-like, he would lock up the shotgun.”

Charlotte brought her other leg to the outside of his legs then sat aside CB. His buttons to her zipper. “So tell me, cowboy, are you amenable? I got some proof here saying you be willing and able.”

(words 1,122 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 9/29/2013 for the 7/15/12 Sunday Fun (unknown copyright on picture); republished new format 4/15/2018)

Flash: No Shirts

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

“Touch football time!” Someone yelled at the picnic.

“Donald, you’re a no-shirt.” A nearby woman assigned him to a team as he walked towards the field where everyone was gathering.

The blond twenty-year old laughed, pulling his gray T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the sidelines. “Why am I always a no-shirt?”

“Like you don’t know,” responded one of his uncles, patting his formidable gut, “but at least you get a chance to win. We get all the girls.”

“Not this year!” sang out Eva as she raced to the no-shirt team.

All day she had been wearing a blue long-sleeve hoodie over her white shorts. She unzipped the jacket for the first time at the Fourth of July reunion revealing a very tanned, very naked, and very masculine chest complete with a perfect six-pack.

Donald blinked a moment before the optical illusion changed to show a full-print T-shirt. She tossed her jacket into the pile with the guy shirts.

Grabbing Eva, Donald swung her around and announced, “You are the best cousin ever!”

(words 176 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 4/15/2013; republished in new blog format 4/8/2018)

Flash: Please his blue eyes begged

“Please,” his blue eyes begged beneath his terry hood.

I could not meet those eyes. All my paramedic skills could not restore the child he had pulled from the pool during the frantic short drive to the hospital. Instead I reached out my hand while others removed the small body from the Jaguar to take their turn at resuscitating.

We were guests of Mr. Parish. The party was the typical lavish affair he threw for his political and business connections I had no business being at; the only reason I was invited every year was I managed to save his life after a heart arrest.  I don’t know whose daughter we had tried to save or the name of the man who jumped in the pool fully clothed. His Gravait shoes must of sunk to the cement bottom by now.

The man pulled on my hand until our bodies touched. His head fell to my shoulder, and his svelte tall frame tried to curl into my much smaller form. I felt shakes from cold, exhaustion, failure, and sobs begin to rack his body. We would need to get him out of the wet clothes before he went into shock.

I watch as a Rolls-Royce, a few high-end Mercedes, and a limo frantically race into the parking lot. I pull my Knight-in-Sopping armor into the shadows of the entrance. The limo ejects a couple who are clearly the parents. Mr. and Mrs. Parish escort them through the doors. Mr. Parish makes eye contact with me for a second; I watch hope leave his eyes as he takes in my situation. None of the others notice me and my companion.

(Words 278 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 3/3/2013 (photo of unknown copyright); republished new blog format 3/25/2018)

 

Flash: Labor

Natalie gripped Kryler’s hand so tight, he felt bones move out of position. Finally, the contraction released and his wife’s quick panting filled the room. Grabbing a tissue, he moved to the head of the bed to dab her sweat-covered face. If he could take the pain from her, he would. Instead he did what every man has ever done, offer external support while covering all his internal worry.

Their daughter was coming too soon, nearly a month early after weeks of spotting. The doctors had sentenced Natalie to bed rest for most of the final trimester to reduce stress, and discovered instead her levels went through the roof.

When her job first found out she was pregnant, they pulled her off the fast track and moved her into the mommy track.

Not officially.

But the Spanish classes, they had been underwriting. Poof. So, sorry, budget cuts. Strangely no one else was removed from the tuition program. The mentoring program changed her mentor to “better suit her personality.” The vice president with whom she lunched weekly was assigned a new protégé and Natalie’s new support person was a manager in the customer service department where he worked. Wasn’t even the best customer service manager, but the one restricted to nights because there was less to screw up. The one he worked under.

His ball-busting, type-A, inferno of ambition stormed into HR and nailed the director to wall. All her privileges were restored within hours. Her vice president, reassured of her dedication, was leveraging a special project for her to head as soon as her maternity leave was over.

Bedrest had pulled her away from the moving and shaking. And she stewed. The doctors eventually relented and let her work half-days in the office, if he drove her in, and the balance of the day remoteing in. Her stress levels dropped to manageable levels.

Her breathing took on a regular pattern.

“My fireball.”  She was the most beautiful, bravest, incredible person he ever known. He leaned over and kissed her, barely brushing her lips from his upside down position.

Natalie smiled weakly. “You really shouldn’t have turned in your resignation yet.”

Always figuring the best angle, the best benefit. He shook his head at his wonderful wife. “Two weeks notice. Gives you time to recover and then I will be home with the baby.”

“You sure you want to stay home? I’m sure we could get your mom to sit.”

Walking back to the side of the bed, Kryler removed the ice water glass the nurse had dropped off last time she passed through the labor room from the bed stand and placed the straw on Natalie’s lips. “I’m sure. We just about have Rodger’s Retrieval ready, and the guys already are bouncing ideas for our next game around. Can’t wait to start animating it. Trust me. Between the game and the baby, I will not be bored.” He smiled at her confidentially.

Suddenly her eyes grew round. Dropping the glass, Kryler nearly missed the surface of the stand. He pushed the glass until it was balanced.

Natalie’s hands unerringly found his as another contraction took her.

He looked at the clock as she screamed in pain. Too long. Had she been in labor too long? He had no reference.

(words 549 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 9/9/2013 for the 5/20/12 Sunday Fun (original picture of unknown copyright, so not copied here); republished in new blog format 2/25/2018)

Flash: Ride

Rating: Mature

Parking her car, Natalie could not remember the last time she laughed so hard. Kryler was pure fun.

She eyed him as the motorcycle pulled in beside her. Had she really agreed to be taken for a spin before he went in to work?

She must be more tired than she thought. Jetlag, Up all night getting the presentation ready. Up all weekend with family for the wedding. Last minute preparation for the trip and the meeting the week before. When was the last time she had more than two hours sleep in a row?

Watching him pull off his helmet and store it, a zing shivered through Natalie. Funny, she didn’t feel tired at all.

“Why don’t you come up and wait while I change into slacks?” Natalie offered as she closed and locked her car door.

“I’ll follow wherever you lead, beautiful.”

Another carefree laugh escaped at his easy complement. She hadn’t felt this happy when her sister said “I do.” And she had been looking forward to that wedding forever. The guy was a total Peter Pan and she felt like Wendy being asked to learn how to fly.

As the elevator jerked to a start, Natalie swayed. Kryler steadied her with an arm around the waist.  The arm was still around her as the old machine lurched to a stop at the sixth floor. Her stomach twisted as he stroked the small of her back waiting for the doors to open.

She could feel her panties damping.

Natalie stepped off the elevator and away from the wayward hand. Quickstepping down the hall, she chastised herself. The hand was not wayward. He had done nothing wrong. In fact, her problem was the hand had not been wayward enough. She wanted it on her ass. Exploring her.

She wanted Kryler to misbehave, be rude or aggressive. So she could kick him to the curb and be done with it.

Fiddling with the key in the door. So, what do you want girl – his hand on your ass or kick him to the curb?

Why don’t I decide after I have him between my legs?

On the motorcycle … on the motorcycle.

Exhaustion. Had to be.

So why did every nerve feel wide awake?

“Make yourself at home.” Natalie waved Kryler in her barren living space while continuing to her bedroom. She kept meaning to get additional furniture. But between work and graduate school, and now all the extra hours trying to prove herself, she still only had a lonely sofa and small television.

With little else to look at, she knew his eyes focused on her ass and put a little extra sway into her hips. The tight skirt and high business pumps already set up a good pendulum motion; she didn’t add extra ginger to her sway so much as stopped minimizing the hip movement before disappearing behind closed doors.

Unbuttoning her blouse, she glanced at the clock. Nine-thirty. Already?

The boy needed to be at work in two hours. A motorcycle trip would chew up half that, at least.

Wiggling out of her skirt, she came to a decision. Maybe she would regret it later.

But, hey, you only live once.

She could always strip the boy from her life when he stopped being fun.

She wasn’t used to fun, so she didn’t think the appeal would last long.

Natalie opened the door. “Hey, would you mind coming here? I am not certain any of my slacks are heavy enough for the ride.”

“Sure thing.” His agreeable tenor responded.

Kryler stopped in the bedroom doorway.

Black bra, panties and high heels. Hair freed from its constant bun.

She stalked him.

His brown eyes stared into hers as she pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it onto her valet.

He leaned against the jam for support.

Natalie started unbuttoning his jeans after trailing a finger down his rather exceptional six-pack.

“Never mind,” she whispered. “I’ve decided on a different type of ride.”

(words 665 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 9/10/2013 for the 4/29/12 Sunday Fun (original picture of unknown copyright); republished in new blog format 2/11/2018)