Tag: Contemporary

Flash: Leroy

Erin Penn

freedigitalphotos.net

Rating: Mature

“So is the wedding reception finally over?” Leroy asked from the hotel chair when Polly entered. 

Polly ran her eyes over the interloper. His tuxedo shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a smooth muscular chest. The man thought he was God’s gift to women, and Lord help her, so did she. “How did you get in?”

He nodded to the open second door in the room, the one that allowed adjoining hotel rooms to visit without going into the hallway. Of course, Karen and Giles would put them together. They didn’t know she had sworn to a strict “No Leroy” diet two months ago.

The man just moved in and took over her life whenever he was around. He demanded every last inch of space and every thought. Like right now, his tuxedo jacket was thrown on the hotel table and his cufflinks were in her earring jar. She could see his suits and luggage on his bed in the other room, but he had to enter her room and marked her space as his as well.

She may have been able to handle his dominating presence, except he also left just as abruptly. Whenever she thought the storm which blew him in was settling down, a vacuum would appear. His absences were never explained, nor his returns. And she could no longer live like that. Five years was enough.

Trying to put iron into her voice, Polly commanded, “Well, you can just go back the way you came in, Leroy.”

The lamp kept half his face in shadow, but the half she could see lit with smoldering determination in reaction to her juvenile attempt to take control. He lowered his left leg from where it was propped on the chair and slowly stood. He was a short man, only five eight, but his charisma poured to fill the corners of the room. Polly barely controlled the step back; she was not going to give ground to this man, never again.

His gaze raked over her body. The bridesmaid gown was a horrendous vibrant pink lace over royal purple satin which seared the eye. If one ignored the hue, the cut flattered her. The strapless gown used an inset corset to push up her bosom and hug her hips. The flowing satin and lace sheathe brushed the floor, hiding the five inch spikes the wedding party had used to bring her five foot frame level with the rest of the bridesmaids. Karen’s sister, Gloria, had worn flats and everything looked great for the photos. Staying in the shoes through the reception was a new type of torture. But it was that or look like a child playing dressup in her mother’s gown.

Her red hair was in a simple twist complemented by Karen’s bridesmaid gift of waterfall crystal earrings. No necklace or bracelets adorned the extensive bared flesh. A fact Leroy took advantage of by tracing one finger up her arm, making a slow circle and continuing it across the upper curve of her elevated breast. She had been having difficulty breathing all day because of the corset, now Polly stopped mid-inhale.

“Why would I want to do that after all the trouble I went to to get an invitation to the wedding?”

Polly could feel her mouth drying as he continued to draw his fingers across her chest. “Because… because…”Each pass his fingers went higher, dancing over her neck, and lower, almost dipping below the pink lace. “… this is not…” His lips claimed hers before she could complete her sentence.

Heaven returned in a tornado of emotions. Polly lips opened in invitation; she couldn’t stop herself. Leroy’s tongue slipped into the unguarded passage. One of his hands came up to grip the back of her head, the other slipped over her breast. His mouth demanded surrender and she turned over the white flag, running her hands up his naked chest to circle his neck.

Using the kiss to control her, Leroy slowly turned her around and backed her against the hotel bed. She toppled willingly onto the soft surface. His cocky smile started as he tossed his shirt on top of the tuxedo jacket and cummerbund.

She panted trying to regain control, but felt more and more slip away. Each squeeze of the corset driving her cravings higher. The inside fabric roughened her nipples. The constriction activating the subliminal fight or flight programming. This man was bad for her. So dangerous. She didn’t know where he had been or what he did for a living.

As he lowered his trousers, he revealed the one thing she did know beyond a shadow of a doubt. Leroy wanted her, and only her. He kept returning to her for the same reason she kept taking him back – they were addicted to each other. His cock stood strong within a nest of black. He kicked the pants under the bed.

He continued to rule her as he unhooked her garters to remove her lace underthings. Laying his broad hand over her trimmed red curls, Leroy asked, “Anyone else?”

“No Leroy, never.” However much she wished or wanted to walk away, any other man paled in comparison. He filled her thoughts when he was in her life and when he wasn’t.

Polly tried to regulate her breathing. Then he sunk into her. She had been wet and ready as soon as she had seen him in the room. He always did that to her. He pumped into her quickly, rushing them over the edge. Later tonight he would go slow, but initially he always claimed her body within moments of them meeting.

Tomorrow or the tomorrow after that or another tomorrow, when he left again, she will rue her lack of willpower. Today, she would ride the storm.

(words 964 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 5/22/2013 for the 9/9/12 Sunday Fun; republished new blog format 10/14/2013)

Flash: Marriage Therapy Session 1

Erin Penn

freedigitalphotos.net

Greta greeted her next set of patients personally in order to calm them. The barriers usually required for psychiatric work became problematic during the beginning stages of couple therapy. Particularly sex therapy, her specialty. Later she would draw back behind the curtains of formality. Finding the balance between allowing people to open up and keeping people at a distance was difficult but necessary. Her goal was always to have the couple bond with each other and not have her consciously or unconsciously part of the relationship.

After introducing Wyatt and Liza Donnelly to her secretary, Greta led the couple to her office. She drew them away from the business desk, which they had automatically chosen to approach, to the small conversation area, where a couple of chairs and a sofa existed. She held back to see how they would sit.

Some couples chose to sit together on the sofa, used to providing a false image of marital bliss to those outside the relationship. Those were the easiest to heal. Pretending to be in love required many of the emotional reactions of being in love. Other couples had one in a chair and one on the coach, leaving her the chair on the opposite end. These couples usually could be saved; they did not want a stranger between them.

Greta frowned as the couple took the chairs on the opposite ends of the area, leaving her the center. Still the couple cared enough to contact her Internet site and arrange for therapy. Reluctantly she took the sofa position, unwilling to tower over the Donnellys during the initial interview.

The husband was dressed in a four-piece black suit. From his patent leather shoes, to the cut of his vest, his clothes spoke money and ease with it. His expensive haircut accented his cheekbones and blue eyes. The woman had an unfortunately loud yellow turtleneck sweater teamed with grey slacks, which combined completely engulfed her body. Her brown hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and her thick framed glasses hid her eyes. All her clothes could have been bought at Walmart.

Picking up her pen and pad from the coffee table, Greta smiled at the couple, turning her head to encompass both. Liza eyes dropped to her hands, while Wyatt’s met hers with frank appraisal.

“Thank you for coming by. This is the initial interview, to establish exactly where your relationship is and where you want it to be.” Greta watched as the couple relaxed, their expectations of the session being met. Now was the time to make them uncomfortable. “So let’s start with the easiest. How did you meet?”

Liza peaked over her glasses at her husband. Wyatt responded without even looking at her. “At my company. Donnelly Enterprises hired Security Tech specialists to upgrade our computer system, Liza installed the product.”

“How long ago was this?”

Wyatt shifted to take up more space in the chair, turning to completely face the doctor. “About a year ago.”

“348 days, 5 hours.” Liza whispered to her hands.

Greta blinked. “Well, that is fairly specific.”

Wyatt chuckled low. “My Liza is like that. Specific.” Liza smiled at her hands from the complement, but Greta had not missed the look Wyatt had shot his wife when she had corrected him.

“Liza, how long have you been married?”

“346 days and, um – no need to adjust for daylight savings … but two hour difference to Las Vegas time – 14 hours.”

“So you too eloped?” Greta had turned her body to face Liza, watching Wyatt out of the corner of her eye. The video cameras facing each piece of furniture would reveal even more later. Her thoroughness forced her to take less clients, but her success rate was the highest in the business. Since Greta charged appropriately, her cliental ran on the rich side.

“She was the smartest, most beautiful woman I had ever met. I wasn’t going to let her get away.” Wyatt explained, pulling attention back to himself. “It was Friday, and I had an appointment in Nevada on Sunday. I asked her to come with me to get to know her better, promised her separate rooms.”

Liza smiled shyly, raising her head. “We never did use them.”

“After the flight out Saturday morning on my private plane, we spent the day walking, talking, and rolling the dice, and eating and drinking and getting along like we were made for each other. Sometime that night we found a Justice of the Peace.”

Greta scratched notes. Not because she needed to, but because people felt more comfortable when she did. “Excellent, so you have been married less than a year. What are the problems you are experiencing?”

“Liza doesn’t want me.”

Liza’s head snapped up. “No, no. It isn’t that I don’t love you. Just since I …”

Her voice tapered off and neither of the couple filled the void. Unusual during the first interview. Usually accusations fly – he wants sex too much, she cheated on me, he won’t give me oral, she put on weight and won’t lose it so she is attractive, oh like you haven’t tucked it on too.

Finally, after the clock ticked off five minutes, Greta prodded, “Since what?”

Wyatt for the first time didn’t meet Greta’s eyes, instead his eyes drifted to the side. “Since she lost the baby.”

Greta picked up the emphasis Wyatt applied to ‘she’. She repeated back the answer, slightly differently. “Since the two of you lost the baby?”

Liza, with her hands knotted in her lap with white knuckles showing, nodded . Wyatt’s eyes snapped to Greta face, and growled, “Yes, since the two of us lost the baby.”

Wyatt’s hands gripped his chair. “He was four months along.”

Sometimes Greta hated her job. Wounds had to be ripped open to remove the poison. “And how long ago was the miscarriage?”

Liza did not provide her accurate time. After a minute wait, Wyatt replied, “Seven months.”

Dealing with a miscarriage less than five months into a relationship, many couples involved far longer, who had history of how to deal with issues and problems, could not handle that.

“And what do the two of you want to do with your marriage? What is the goal of these sessions?”

Wyatt shifted in his thousand dollar suit, while keeping his attention on Greta. “To heal. I want my marriage to heal.”

“Then you need to get up and hold your wife.” Greta directed.

“Why?” Wyatt looked confused.

“Because she is crying.”

Wyatt finally turned his attention to his wife. Liza had pulled her feet up onto the chair and was sobbing with her face buried in her knees. He whispered, “But she never cries.”

(words 1,121; first published 9/18/2013; republished new blog format 9/16/2018)

Blog: Marriage Therapy Reprint

Erin Penn

INITIAL BLOG WRITTEN 9/18/2013

Characters have lives of their own, or when I tried to write a short flash today

 You may noticed I posted two flashes today. I started about 8 in the morning and ended about 5. My goal was to write one flash based on a Breathless Press Sunday Flash picture of a man undressing. I thought I would have the character be in marriage counseling and he would strip as part of the therapy

You may have heard authors talk about characters going off on their own. Or started the story in the wrong spot and needed to start over. Seems strange, right? After all the stuff is all in the head. How could characters in your head do anything other than what you want them to do. And how can a story start in the wrong spot. Stories start where they start – right?

Well, I started the story way too early to have the guy strip during marriage counseling. The scene didn’t happen because the couple needed real counseling before sexual counseling could take place. I didn’t know that until the characters started their scene. So after three hours, I had a flash (Session One) which had nothing to do with the picture I was aiming for.

So I started over. Same characters, same situation, just a different point in their lives. Five hours later I had a pretty good short story pushing 3K words – not a flash suitable for posting on breathlessblog.com. But the strip scene was in it. 

So I slashed out that scene and posted it as Session Nine.

I thought I would post both for your reading pleasure so you can compare how the same exact character in the same situation can have very different things happen. 

Again, everyone, thanks for your ongoing support.

 

FOLLOWUP BLOG FOR 9/15/2018

So the Marriage Therapy story has finally come around as part of the on-going reprint of old stories. Look for Session One on 9/16/18 and Session Nine for 9/23/18.

 I realized I never got around to publishing the original (nearly 3K) story from which I exhumed Session Nine. It has a little something special about our marriage counselor, so I though you might like to see that too. Look for the long version on my 2000 Word day – 9/30/18.

 Again, thank you everyone for your ongoing support. Happy reading!

Flash: Popsicle

Erin Penn

(unknown origin)

She couldn’t keep her eyes off his lips. Each pass in and out drove her nuts. He knew how much she wanted it, how much she needed it. The scent on his breath just made the cravings worse. She could taste the bitter sweet flavor when she kissed him.

How dare he finish the fudgesicle without her! It took every last bit of her diet willpower not to steal the stick out of his mouth and suck the last of the ice cream off. The jerk had better find a way to repay her.

(words 94 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 5/19/2013 for the 2/26/12 Sunday Fun – Kept the picture this time – I do not know the copyright permissions. If you know the origin or the copyright, I would like to know. – Thanks!; republished new blog format 9/9/2018)

Flash: Sunset Ocean

Erin Penn

freedigitalphotos.net (note – I changed the image from blue to red)

The ocean turned to blood and seethed as night fell. The gentle lapping waves of warm water, which had comforted Dylan’s feet as he followed the empty shore, transformed into crashing sprays hammering him and twisting currents sucking him into the heartless sea with each step. He had walked far from home, escaping meaningless condolences and unwanted sympathy. His own thoughts had chased him further than the five piers with the summer tourist traps, further than the sharp rock jetties built to protect expensive beach front properties from winter storms. To the end, where shore and sea fought the uneasy alliance man imposed on them elsewhere. A place neither earth nor water.

Black clouds were rushing in, their bottoms reflecting the setting sun’s crimson rage, gray streaks of rain and sleet underneath backlit by constant lightning. Deep thunder reverberated in his ribs.

Shelter was distant. Ease and comfort moreso.

Dylan had fled the house before lunch to avoid the next gathering. The morning’s activities surpassed his breaking point. He hadn’t been able to release the fist-full of dirt into the six-foot deep rectangular pit. The soil, now mud, still gripped in his right hand.

With a scream he threw the ball of mud into endless water.

Dylan shivered as wind pushed the dangerous storm closer. Stepping forward to embrace the front’s arrival, he accepted the just punishment of the fuming, foaming water against his unwelcomed intrusion. Each wave crashed higher on his legs. His jeans, rolled to his knees to keep them dry, swiftly saturated, bringing the cold raised from Poseidon’s depths to Dylan’s core.

He found the icy chill more truthful than the soothing warmth the sea had offered earlier.

The sun disappeared in a green flash, revealing the sea rising in a cone to meet a vortex descending from the clouds.

For a second, Dylan considered staying. And then a second more.

Only the thought of his passing inflicting this level of pain on another coerced him to retreat from the storm’s challenge and promise. To turn back from an ending.

(words 343; originally published 10/9/2013; republished 8/5/2018)