Tag: (universe) Ebony’s Rainbow

Flash: Funner Part 2

Erin Penn

Opened Dictionary Stock Photo

FreeDigitalPhotos.net photo by Arvind Balaraman.

Joe was trying to get little April to accept puréed carrots, when his wife said out of the blue, “Yes, I believe funner is a word. Fun, funner, funnest.”

The peanut butter and ginger jelly sandwich was placed where their personal 4-year old tornado named Scott would land as soon as his milk glass was added. She returned to the kitchen to pour the final attraction, and then start assembling their more adult sandwiches. Joe wouldn’t mind a PB and J himself, but Cheryl tried to keep them on a somewhat non-strict diet. Thirties brought a little gut to both of them and she dislike buying clothes just for “upsizing” as she put it.

Scrapping up the carrots that were using osmosis to feed his favorite daughter through her cheeks and bib, Joe tried to place the conversation … it took a moment. Reorienting the food through the more proper channel of her small mouth, he was able to respond, “Nope, I am pretty sure funner is not a word. Did you look it up?”

Delivering the last of the Saturday lunch to the table, Cheryl mouth pursed in consternation as her husband got a point in the debate. “Well, no.” She pulled out her smartphone after sitting down. Booting up, she started navigating through menus looking. “Let’s see, some stuff about funner added to the dictionary in 2010 … Urban slang … oh here is something. Both noun and adjective, but not … drat.”

The arrival of their oldest made her put the smart phone aside, as she saved various glasses from spilling and laid down the requirement of eating at least three apple slices as well as half the sandwich before leaving the table. Joe concentrated on cleaning up the baby, the highchair, the plastic beneath the high chair and finally himself before joining his family at the kitchen table and snatching the phone for himself. Juggling April on one knee, and scrolling through the Google search he found a good article and passed it over to his wife after Scott started counting the Fritos on his plate.

She read through it, taking a bite of her chicken sandwich. Cheryl sipped some black cherry Kool-Aid then returned the phone and said “I believe the circumstances were very informal and therefore the usage stands.”

Joe laughed at loud, thinking back to exactly what he was doing during the “circumstances” of its usage. Glancing at the phone, he confirmed the article he had found boiled down to “Funner should not be used in formal writing, though it’s usage has been accepted for informal writing. For formal English writing, more fun should be used.”

“Agreed. In addition, I will concede we were not writing at the time.”

“Funner … Fun .. Ner … f.u.n.n.e.r.” Cheryl stated and spelled.

Laughter took them both, with April’s baby chortle joining in. Scott looked up from his counting; not understanding the joke, but enjoying the laughter, his high pitch child squeals joining in.

(words 498 – first published 1/2/2013; republished in new blog format 4/3/2016)

Flash: Coffee Urn

Erin Penn

Coffee Pot by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

Image courtesy of the Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec Foundation
Painting entitled: Coffee Pot

Coffee. Warm, wonderful, life-giving coffee.                                         

The silver urn bathed in the late morning sun, alone on the banquet table, steam curling from the lip. The steam barely visible to my unfocused eyes but glorious all the same.

Hot caffeine. The motion of my life’s blood. The function of my synapses.

Throbbing, my head ravaged me for last night. My tongue ached for the Columbia Black to spill over the cotton-parched muscle, burning away … burning away everything. If only there was a mug.

If only I could move my arms.

I twisted my shoulders to see how tight the bindings were.

My dry tongue pressed against whatever was stuck in my mouth preventing me from screaming, adhering to the terrycloth fiber. Blood and sweat-sock duked it out for control of my taste buds. I think the blood is mine; at least one tooth is loose. So much for the extensive orthodontic work my parents paid for during my teenage years.

Bile rose from the flavors but I manage to dry swallow it back down.

Did they, whoever they were, leave the urn as torture? For torture it was to have coffee so close and so far.

(words 196 – first published 3/27/2016)

Flash: It’s Dirty

Erin Penn

Goldfish crackers

Image courtesy of the Internet

“When can I put ActionMan down, dad?” The four-year old held the toy over the conveyor belt.

Joe reached across the moving rubber. “Let me just put the bar between mom’s stuff and yours. That let’s the cashier lady know to ring up your ActionMan separate.”

“So I get to pay with it with my money!” His parents had decided he was old enough for his own allowance. Joe and Scott had spent most of the shopping trip picking out the perfect toy to spend his first week’s allowance while Cheryl and April, still relegated to sitting in the cart, did the family groceries. Joe was pretty sure Cheryl had the easier task. Once the bar was down, Scott dropped the toy. He gripped the side of the machine to stand on tippy toe and watch its slow movement down the belt.

After a while he got bored and started looking around at all the impulse items specifically placed at child level in the candy aisle.

“Keep an eye on him,” Cheryl instructed her husband. “He wanders.”

“My son, the explorer.”

“Your son, the destroyer.” She placed the last of the baby food on the belt, after moving the bar and toy back a bit. “Eyes on him.”

Chuckling, Joe watched as his son bent at his knees and carefully studied things on the bottom-most shelf in the squat position small children did so easily. “He isn’t that bad.”

“Karen,” Cheryl addressed the cashier, “what do you think?”

The black lady behind the counter smiled at her realtor while moving the merchandise over the scanner. “We do show a profit on your visits.”

“Well said.” The blond turned back to her husband. “Sweetie, every stocker in the store knows Scott’s name.”

Joe came over to kiss Cheryl on the cheek. “That is because he is an extrovert just like you.”

“Goldfish!” Scott explained.

Both parents turned around to see Scott waving a small carton of Goldfish in the air.

“Do you want that, buddy?” Joe asked, approaching the boy and gently taking the carton out of his hands before he crushed it.

The four-year old nodded vigorously. “Yes!”

“Inside voice.” Cheryl’s automatic response drifted from the front of the line as Scott’s expositions finally crossed the threshold of too loud.

“Yes.” He stage-whispered to his dad.

“Well, let’s look at the price.” Joe knelt down beside the child. “What do the numbers say?”

“One…zero…nine.”

“Okay, do you remember how much money ActionMan is going to cost?”

Scott’s young face scrunched up in thought. “No.”

“It’s okay, I do.” Joe recited the numbers. “That leaves just eighty-nine pennies leftover of your allowance.”

“Which is more than one-nine, right?” Scott looked up eagerly.

“Yes it is more than nineteen, but this is one hundred and nine. That zero is important.” Joe held the carton in front of him, lifting it up and down as though weighing it. “You got a choice buddy. You only have so much money. Do you want ActionMan or the Goldfish?”

“But I’m hungry!”

“And mommy just bought a whole bunch of food. When we get home we will unpack it and then I’m going to start cooking dinner.” Joe stood and picked up the toy from the belt and then knelt again, with the toy in one hand and the food in the other. “Which do you want? We can only get one.”

Scott gazed longingly at one and then the other. Sighing deeply, he pointed at the toy. “I want ActionMan.”

“Good choice buddy.” said Joe, giving a response he decided to give no matter what the choice was. At this point making a choice instead of throwing a tantrum to get both options was a great choice. But overall the engineer in Joe liked the fact his son went for the long choice instead of the immediate result. He passed the carton to his son. “Now put this back since we are not getting it.” He stood up as he watched the tiny learning machine put the food back on the bottom shelf.

Subdued Scott returned to his dad’s side, who gave him the toy. He stood on tiptoe and placed it back on the conveyor and watched until the bar hit the cashier area. His mom pulled out the little coin purse where she was storing his allowance.

“Ready for me to scan this, little man?” Karen asked.

Scott nodded solemnly.

“Listen for the beep.”

Once the scanner made its noise, Scott’s face lit up again. “Was that beep mine?”

“Yes, it was.” Cheryl handed Scott the two bills making up his allowance, while the cashier bagged the toy. “Now you need to pay for it.”

Smiling from ear to ear, he handed over the money.

“Eighty-nine cents is your change.” Karen leaned across the counter, placing the money in the two small outstretched hands.

While trying to get the coins into the money holder, the dime escaped. Scott looked at it a moment.

“Aren’t you going to pick it up?” Joe asked.

“It’s dirty!” Scott declared, before handing the coin purse to his mom and going to get his toy from the bagging area.

Cheryl opened her mouth, then closed it, looking at her husband in consternation.

Joe shrugged. “Which rule do you want?”

Seeing her son engrossed with the toy, Cheryl quickly bent over, picked up the coin, and dropped it into the purse.

“Hygiene wins.” Joe smiled wickedly before adding, “Good choice sweetie.”

“I’ll good choice you.” She whispered back in pretend anger.

“Promise?”

“Tonight, after dinner and laundry … if April doesn’t wake up.”

(words 934 – first published 3/20/2016)

Flash: Funner Part 1

Erin Penn

Pile Of Books Stock Photo

Photo by Surachai of FreeDigitalPhoto.net

Rating: Mature

Cheryl wrapped her legs around Joe’s midriff again, delighting in the unhurried strokes that were slowly driving her out of her mind. Inside a coil of molten emotion was building, getting ready to explode. Meanwhile, she was enjoying the quiet moment with her husband. Two careers and two young children didn’t leave them much couple time.

The sliding of his cock slowly stopped. Her man stilled, deep inside her. She waited a few breaths to see what next he had in mind, watching his beloved face, hands resting gently on his broad shoulders. Her arousal relaxing, the delicious molten feeling cooling waiting to be reheated to lava levels.

“Hey, are you okay?” she finally had to ask.

He blinked and looked down as if suddenly discovering Cheryl beneath him in the middle of a pushup. “Sorry, just thought of work.”

“This is the only work you should be thinking of.” Cheryl said firmly, giving her hips a wiggle. Taking his face between her hands, she added. “Besides, it’s more funner.”

Restarting his rocking movement at a brisker pace, he smiled innocently. “More funner?”

“Yes, more funner.” She arched as he began to hit her G spot, momentarily closing her eyes.

Taking advantage of the arch, Joe sucked her left tit. Finding no additional reaction, he switched to her right tit. He sucked it a second and then bit lightly down. A moan escaped his wife’s lips. Quickly he switched back to the left tit and sucked again. This time she bucked as though an electric shock went through her. He pushed himself back up for better bracing and increased speed again.

“Is funner really a word?”

The coil was getting ready to explode, but even so she had to ask, “Really? … Grammar police while we are having sex?” She tried to keep her face stern as he hit the perfect place again.

He chuckled, throwing off his strokes. Cheryl’s lips twitched as well. Suddenly he collapsed on her and they were both laughing. The molten emotions switched to humor and joy. His dick shrank a little, then equally suddenly he kissed her full on the lip and pushed himself back up. He pounded into her, and she had to tighten her legs in order not to move into the metal headboard. Within seconds her orgasm took her and he followed her over the cliff, spilling his seed.

(words 397 – first published 12/26/2012)

Flash: Eat Half

Erin Penn

Half a Hot Dog

Image from multiple Internet postings

Joe stopped inside the living room. The house was clean. Not just picked up trash clean which was intimidating enough. Because between two small children, one of which was nursing, and a fairly full-time job as a real estate agent, Cheryl usually met “at least not smelling of garbage” standard until he had the weekend to bring everything into the healthy livable please-don’t-call-social-services-on-us environment.

Today his son laid in his onesie in front of the television, wet hair slicked back from a recent bath, watching “Frozen” and not a toy was in sight. The determined dust bunnies and stains he had not been able to unseat had been murdered by a vacuum and … he sniffed … lavender-scented carpet foam. A sparkling white playpen, bleached clean of the thousand of teeth marks and grubby fingerprints, contained his daughter trying to pull her socks off. So far the infant was unsuccessful because the feet kept moving on her when she reached to grab them with her hands. She smiled and gurgled at the challenge.

He continued through the Stepford Wives perfection to the kitchen where his wife scrubbed the dishes he had left soaking the night before, her blond hair swept back into a bun without a hair out of place, her make-up perfect for house-showing, and her nearly re-tamed belly brushing the counter as she leaned over the sink for leverage. He didn’t mind the paunch, two children stretch things, but she hated it and had the adults of the house on diets.

“My love,” Joe bravely called her attention to his existence, “how was your day?”

Cheryl turned toward him, her eyes sparkling angrily, her hands scraping the scrub brush against the non-stick pan hard enough to remove the special surface and leave groves. Through gritted teeth, words emerged.

“Your son.”

“Yes…”

“Lunch.”

She nodded sharply to a plate and glass, beside a ruler and a water-soluble child’s over-sized magic marker. The only dirty dishes in the room. Even the dusty wine glasses had been washed. While she could not drink alcohol, Joe abstained. He never was much of a drinker anyway. The last time she wasn’t nursing or pregnant, they shared a bottle of champagne in belated celebration of their anniversary which likely lead to the baby in the crib now. That was the sum total of in-house consumption.

Walking over to the plate, he examined the offense. A hot dog had been chewed length-wise beside a half-a bun. A bit of ketchup, strangely not a blob, but with a portion wiped clean. Apple pieces broken in the center. A green mark had been made midway on a glass of milk, with the top of the milk aligned perfectly to the mark.

Joe closed his eyes a moment, trying to contain himself. Don’t react, don’t react. He thought to himself. She’s still hasn’t rebalanced hormonally from the postpartum. Life would be easier, maybe, if her balance shifted to the more typical to the depressive state instead of manic.

“So, my love, did you said he couldn’t go outside and play until he ate half of what was on his plate.”

“I blame you!”

Don’t laugh. For the love of God man, don’t laugh. Don’t even say “But you agreed food was the perfect way to teach children fractions.” She will hear it as “I told you so.” The couch is not comfortable, far too short and some of the springs are broke from Scott bouncing on it. And don’t forget she knows where all the knives in the house are. She just finished polishing them.

Staring at her a moment, considering all of his options, Joe’s mind got distracted. She was beautiful. How did he end up with someone this special? Clever, brilliant, utterly gorgeous, driven. Shaking himself mentally from the fatigue of work and wonder of his wife, Joe returned to the temporary minefield of his house. “I’m sorry, my love. Truly. Could I help make it better by finishing the dishes before we eat?” And saving what is left of the non-stick surfaces, he added internally.

(680 words – first publication 2/28/2016)