Tag: (universe) Ebony’s Rainbow

Flash: Ride

Erin Penn

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)

Flash: Presentation

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Natalie paced. The cubicle wasn’t large enough to contain her energy and the tech desperately trying to return her computer to working order. The clock on the wall slowly counted the seconds as the boy with the cute butt crawled under her desk. Somehow, at the same time, the clock quickly ticked the minutes to her morning meeting.

She had completed her presentation. Stored it as required on Thursday. Now as Monday passed into Tuesday, she had no access. She had to have it .The presentation would ace her performance review. Her first one ever since getting her MBA. The one to move her from glorified data entry into the management fast track. She knew it. She could taste it.

“Maybe we should call one of the real computer guys in.”

“If you want to wait until morning, not a problem.” The tenor voice bounced off the underside of her desk. “They upgraded the system over the weekend, shoving in damn near 50 hours of rewiring and testing while everyone was off for the three-day holiday. Hell, they slept on the receptionist’s couch. Today they showed up at 6 am and stayed until 9 pm working out bugs. Unless you are the CEO, they ain’t answering the phone. And even that is questionable. Those dudes are comatose.”

“I know, I know.” She cursed her luck. Her sister had used the holiday to get married, so Natalie had flown across the country. Thunderstorms grounded her return plane on Sunday. Her rescheduling didn’t resolve until late on Monday. Hence arriving at the office close to midnight to discover her computer did not work. “Are you sure you can fix it?”

“I may not work on the helpdesk here, but I’ve done lots of computer trouble-shooting.” The guy scooted from under her desk. His longish brown hair could use a trim, and his blue jeans, now covered in dirt, screamed the casual attitude imbedded in the night-time call center operators.  “You’re just lucky someone knew to call me.”

“If you say so.”

“You of little faith.” The guy masterfully pushed the button to start her CPU before plopping in her chair. She would need to brush the dust and cobwebs off before sitting down. With the time rapidly closing on three am, she did not have time to go home for another business suit

The computer rebooted with its normal glacial speed. Not understanding what the screen messages meant, she stared at his face. It was very expressive, letting her know he thought everything was going well.

His face was also nice. Pleasant. Sharp cheekbones balanced a strong chin. His overlong bangs drooped over his brown eyes. His T-shirt declared he was a “100% Pure Jenius”. He had no idea how to dress for success, but his clothes had been in good repair until he went crawling through the grime on her behalf. His body was also a little past average attractiveness. Slim but muscular. The T-shirt hung loose enough she didn’t know if he had a six-pack or suffered the results of six packs. But his arms were sinewy, and the jeans left no doubt about his tight ass. Natalie always had a thing for good butts.

“And there we go.” The twenty-something male popped out her chair. “Applause and compliments accepted.”

“No, really?!?” She took the vacated seat, temporarily forgetting the dirt in her eagerness and relief. A few quick clicks sent twelve copies of her presentation to the printer. The shared printer’s hum echoed through the empty cubicle farm. “I can’t thank you enough.”

She turned in her chair to face the man braced in the opening of her not-quite wall. “Really, I owe you something. Have you had dinner, or lunch, or whatever meal break you guys have?”

He shook his head. “Nothing is open this late at night. We always pack, except Friday’s when we do a potluck thing.”

“Okay.” Natalie placed her hand gently on his arm. “Again, thank you. I really mean it.”

A considering look passed over the guys expressive face. “How about we meet somewhere after you get off work? You can tell me how the presentation went and buy me dinner.” His eyebrows wiggled. “You did say you owe me and I would love to know how this turns out.”

The guy was actually trying to score a date, a date where she paid. She laughed. “Dinner or breakfast?”

He shifted in the doorway to lean to one side. “My meals tend to be reversed. I grab breakfast on the way home and fall into bed. So how about it? Dinner? I can give you my phone number and you text me when and where to meet you. Or, if something else comes up, let me know I am on my own.”

“Why not? I do owe you something.” Natalie passed over a yellow Post-It pad and a pen.

(words 816 – first published 9/10/2013; republished new blog format 2/4/2018)

Writing Exercise: Real Life Inspiration

Erin Penn

Widely used piece of stock art from the internet (found 12 uses and no attribution)

“Where do you get your ideas?” FAQ #1 of writers. 

Everywhere. Reading books, the watching the news, walking down the street, head voices which won’t shut up, Facebook …

The challenge is turning a real-life event into a fictional piece. Real-life isn’t neat. There is no defined beginning, middle, and end, no inciting event, rising action, and resolution. At least not in a neat narrative package, bow-tied with theme and meaning.

WRITING EXERCISE: The writing challenge for today is to convert a real-life event, NOT YOURS, into a fictional story. Scroll through your Facebook or other social media feed. (Not on social media? Look at today’s news.) Choose a small event, not a life changing one like cancer or marriage, but more like “ate at my favorite restaurant and got the rude waiter” or “stuck in traffic waiting for the geese to cross the road”. Create a flash of at least 200 words.

***

At some point I need to write “The Help”. The basis for this eventual flash came from a sibling’s post. The weekend had been bad with everyone a bit sick, but only for one day. Dad got to return to work; mom, who is nursing, stayed home with the toddler and baby. Three days later the post comes 

“Nothing like an intermittently vomiting toddler to keep you on your toes.
It also keeps you trapped in the house. Plans cancelled, again.

I guess I’ve got plenty to time to research new washing machines, since ours just broke.”

After a flash of sympathy, I have to admit, I laughed a little at the wrench life threw into the works. Cleaning up vomit and no washing machine is a bad combo. I need to write something about that. Scrolling through the comments I discovered the poor toddler had vomited seven times that day. The broken washing machine left an inch of water in the laundry room. Sibling was having a very bad – but fiction-worthy – day.

I have a fictional couple, Joe and Cheryl, with a toddler and baby. These two are not based on my sibling and sib’s spouse – I started writing the Joe-Cheryl show (as I call it in my head) four years ago, long before my sibling had a toddler and a nursing baby. I often used them, Joe & Cheryl, to recreate real-life occurrences I have seen when working taxes at Walmart; “It’s Dirty” is exactly what a toddler said during checkout walking away from money on the floor, leaving a flabbergasted mother behind.

The challenge is the Joe-Cheryl show has certain rules in my head (1) loving couple and functional family unit, (2) must be humorous, and most importantly (3) deals a verbal play, some aspect of language or interpretation based on words: “Inside voice“, “Memory of a Lifetime“, and “Eat Half” are just some of the examples.

Making a sick kid, broken washer, and flooded laundry room smile-worthy would take a bit of doing but possible. My problem is none of those are verbal plays. Then I remember a meme about a guy explaining how he is not “helping his wife”. Perfect!

Smash all this together in my head: the meme, Joe-Cheryl and their rules, and my sibling’s very bad-but-we-will-laugh-about-it-when-it’s-over day. Oh, and this past weekend I was at a function with a teething babe-in-arms. The mother had to carry-jiggle the baby all day. Yeah, need to add that. Torture my characters like a good writer. (Even comic relief characters can be tortured.)

From four different things, “The Help” emerges.  (someday)

“Where do you get your ideas?” Everywhere.

Flash: Memory of a Lifetime

Erin Penn

Broken Egg With The Yolk And White Oozing Out

Image Courtesy of artur84 at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Cheryl hummed happily as she unwrapped a cracker for April. Her baby immediately started working on it with her limited teeth, making a gummy mess.

The weekend had been wonderful, just her and her husband, with the added bonus of the children spending quality time with their uncle. Having breakfast out after picking the kids up was the perfect end to the perfect weekend, giving them time to be a family before jumping back into never-ending chores and work of a two-career household. These were the memories to last a lifetime.

The waitress finished taking Joe’s order and asked “Anything for the child?” she said nodding to Scott sitting neatly in his booster seat.

Cheryl smiled with parental pride at her oldest. “I think he is old enough to order his own breakfast.”

“Okay, little man, what would you like?”

“I want to devour the unborn.” Scott carefully enunciated and spaced words, his volume only slightly less than his normal four-year old tones.

Cheryl looked at the waitress mortified. Her cheeks flushed when she realized most of the diners had heard his request. The nearest two tables stopped eating and turned to stare at her family. No one could have misunderstood what he had said.

When looking for support, she discovered her husband had covered his mouth with his hands. His whole body was shaking and tears were escaping the sides of his eyes. Cheryl shot death towards him, until he calmed enough to remove his hand and translate. With only a slight gasp he said, “Eggs, he want eggs.”

The waitress nodded cautiously before asking the boy, “And how would you like them cooked?”

Proudly Scott said. “Shattered and beaten with the juice flowing forth.”

Joe’s grin widened until he saw his wife’s face. After rearranging his features into a sterner expression, the father relayed, “Scrambled but runny.”

The waitress scratched the order down. With a wince, she asked, “And what would you like to drink, little man?”

“Utter madness.”

Joe’s head tilted as he considered the request. “… aha, Scott, do you mean ‘Udder’?” He  clearly pronounced d’s.

Scott nodded several times. “UD-DER madness.”

Turning to the waitress, Joe let her know, “He wants chocolate milk.”

The woman quickly retreated to the kitchen.

Cheryl hissed at Joe, “Your brother is NEVER to babysit again!”

(words 386 – first published 4/10/2013; republished new blog format 7/3/2016)

Flash: Inside Voice

Erin Penn

Shopping Cart Stock Photo

FreeDigitalPhotos.net photo by Suat Eman

Herding cats would be easier, Cheryl thought as she tried to locate Scott while she pulled the grocery cart into the cashier lane. Maybe a leash would help she thought as annoyance got the better of her when she spotted him near the “As Seen On TV” display. She swore she would not be one of those mothers, but between juggling April who had finally outgrown the child seat and the list of errands she needed to get done before meeting with a client tonight — the “ideal mother” was beginning to be overrun by the “practical mother”.

He wasn’t breaking anything. Still, the store clerks already had a couple of messes to clean up from her foray this afternoon. Her line moved. Once the next person started unloading, Cheryl grabbed the moment to quickly retrieve her wayward four-year old.

Scott looked up as she jogged towards him. He shoved the Gentle Genie box back onto the display and tried to look innocent as he stood up. Ignoring the fact the box was now sandwiched between two MagicClean products, Cheryl instructed Scott “Come on, I’m at the checkout.”

Satisfied he was following her, Cheryl returned to the line in time to move forward. She glanced to make certain Scott didn’t get too distracted on the way back and started unloading the cart. Cheryl smiled as he picked up speed. One of his chores was to unload groceries onto the belt; he loved being old enough to help. Cheryl handed him a bag of diapers nearly as big as he was once he arrived.

She tried not to laugh as she watched him maneuver it over his head onto the shelf. While he was busy, she unloaded the glass jars of baby food and the fragile fruits. When he was ready for the next item, she handed her son a plastic jar of peanut butter.

“Yeah! I love peanut butter!” he shouted to the cashier as he put the peanut butter down too firmly. The jar tipped over and rolled a bit as the conveyor belt moved.

“Inside voice,” Cheryl admonished conversationally.

“But Mom!” He said in a stage whisper; his usual volume change after being asked not to shout.

She gave him a Macaroni and Cheese box. “Yes dear.”

“It is a really BIG inside!” He flung his arms wide since words and actions were basically the same for him, and the box escaped his grip.

Cringing slightly, Cheryl watched it sail past the other two people in line before hitting the cement walkway and skidding to a halt at the carpet edge of the woman’s clothing area.

Going to retrieve the bent, but thankfully unbroken box she admitted the boy had a point. The mega department-grocery combination store had a very big inside.

(words 464 – first published 1/30/2013; republished in new blog format 5/1/2016)