#MWBB 43 : Heartbeats

I met Rachel in the produce department of the grocery store. I was picking out my weekly supply of fruit. mangoes, kiwis, papaya, plums, pears, apples. She asked how to pick out a good papaya, and if kiwifruit was good to eat. “You have to peel them, right?”

“No. Cut them in half, and scoop the fruit out.”

We had Mochas in the store’s Starbucks café. She had the prettiest green eyes I’d ever seen. We talked about fruit. It surprised me when she asked me to help her make a fruit salad. “I got volunteered to bring a fruit salad to the office party tomorrow, and I have no idea what to do.”

Of course, I said I’d help.

We picked out a pineapple, four different types of apples, bananas, grapes, and cherries. We added a bag of coconut, and a few other odds and ends, then checked out, and went to her place.

We washed the fruit, sliced it, and mixed it together, stirring in the coconut, a touch of sugar (not much), and the other ingredients. She asked me to show her how to cut the pineapple. Then she tried to cut it. I wound up standing behind her, looking over her shoulder, my hands guiding hers, teaching her to slice up the apples and bananas.

When we finished the salad, she asked if I’d like a drink, as a reward for all the help. We wound up downing half a bottle of Cabernet Blanc. “You’re not in any condition to drive. Sleep here tonight.” Well, you know how it goes. We woke up naked, in her bed.

We met for dinner the next night, and I stayed at her place again. She was a work of art, with curves in all the right places. It was like my hands had to move all over her. All the rules dropped away, and we went crazy.

Rachel was my fantasy woman. The one that does everything you want, and begs you for more. The one with no rules. No limits. No taboos.

I loved every square inch of her. And when I ran out of things to try, she made suggestions.

Only an idiot would have said no.

Oh, I knew it wouldn’t last. Each morning, I expected her to say, “Don’t come back. Don’t call me.” Each morning she didn’t, I went through my day imagining all the sex we’d have that night. All the things we’d try.

It lasted ten nights. The first nine night were sheer bliss. Ecstasy. I slept exhausted, in her bed, holding her naked body. My hands on her perfect breasts.

The tenth night, as we reached her place, she looked up at the sky. “The sun will set soon, won’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Lets not wait.”

She pulled me inside, shut the door, and we got naked right there, screwing in the foyer as the sun set, and night replaced day. When we finished, she pulled me to the TV room. “I’ll be back in a few.”

“What are you up to?”

“It’s a surprise.” She gave me this sly look, and licked her lips.

My brain cells screamed at me, “Yes! Oh, this is gonna be good! This is gonna be fun! I can’t wait to find out what she’s planning!”

While I waited for her to come back, I watched the moon rise through the patio door. A full moon. Full moons were always beautiful. That one was no different. I heard her come back into the room, but I didn’t turn from the window. “Come over here and surprise me,” I encouraged her.

That’s when I felt her claws sink into my back, followed by her teeth sink into my neck. I couldn’t breathe, as she lowered me to the floor. She surprised me, alright, as she stood on her hind feet, stared at the moon, and howled.

Then, she turned back to me, and sunk her claws into my chest.

I’d always known my fling with Rachel would end badly. I’d always known my heart would be torn apart when she said, “We’re through.” I just never imagined she’d literally rip it out and eat it.

697 Words
@LurchMunster


This is my entry for week 43 of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.

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Steam-punk, Robot Dogs

They said it was a blue moon. A rare event. The second full moon in the same month. Wasn’t supposed to happen again for years. I looked at it, hanging in the sky. Anything but blue. Sucker looked just as white to me as it always had. No blue at all. “Another one of those social customs I just don’t understand.” I sighed.

I was walking again. In the dark. It was one of the ways I dealt with psychological pain. Walking. Until I just went numb, and couldn’t feel a damn thing. That always gave me the space I needed to think. To rest. To forget. So I could let my aching heart, and wounded soul heal.

Then, I got to the house with the steam-punk style, robot looking dogs in the front yard. House had a sign on it, said, “Beware of dogs.” Yeah. Right. Like those piles of junk could actually move. That’s when it hit me. The idea. “What if I wrote a story about them coming to life every time there’s a full moon?”

‘Course, it would totally ignore the laws of physics. I mean, piles of scrap metal that came to life every 28 or so days? Yeah, right. Lots of reality in that one. But, maybe it was time to write something fantasy. Something not real. Something fun. I thought about that for a while. Robot dogs, chasing cats. Terrorizing muggers and petty thieves. Trying to have sex with real dogs. Whatever. Hell, I was throwing out the laws of physics. I might as well throw out all the laws. Make it where anything could happen.

Yeah, OK. So, the idea was a lot like the idea of werewolves. You know. Where some guy turns into a wolf every full moon, and hunts down people, and eats them. Or maybe some girl turns into a wolf, and goes after the human men that have hurt her during her life. That kinda thing. But, these weren’t werewolves. They were robot, steam-punk dogs. I thought that just might be weird enough to write about.

Since that night, under the blue moon, I make sure I take a walk when there’s a full moon. Hell, I even get in the car, and drive someplace I’ve never walked, just to explore the place. And get ideas. I tell people, “That blue moon started it. Put a spell on me somehow. So that I have to walk around, looking for ideas to write about, in the middle of the night when there’s a full moon. I don’t think I’ll be released from that spell until the next blue moon.”

Can you believe people actually believe that crap?

I wrote this in response to the Menage Monday challenge, hosted by Cara Michaels. As before, I’m ignoring word limits for now. Letting myself explore ideas, and writing. Letting myself be creative. There are always plenty of entries in the challenge. And they are always fun to read. Go have fun. Read all the entries this week.