#MWBB Week 2.14 : The Break-Up Song

A new bar’s always an interesting experience. Different people, bartenders, bands, music, but the same stories.

I plunked my empty bottle down, and stared at it a moment, then waited for the bartender to find me. She was a hot one. Put a hot one behind the bar on a Friday night, draw in guys by the dozen, and watch them spend everything they have while they watch her.

“Want another, hon?”

I nodded, and she was off to get a full one.

I turned to look out at the crowd. It was a good Friday night, all the tables were full. I saw what I expected around the tables. some were groups of guys, some groups of girls, and some mixed couples. Like always, the guys were hunting girls, the girls formed groups for safety, and the mixed tables were laughing, because they’d already paired off.

That’s why bars have bands and dance floors, so couples can form up. Usually a guy and a girl, but sometimes two guys, or two girls. That’s how Chrissy and I met. In a bar, with a band, and dance floor.

The dance floor was full of couples, some just forming, others having lasted longer, and some nearing the end. The new ones were fun to watch, especially on slow dances, as they got that first full body contact. It either worked, or it didn’t. If it worked, they got closer. If not, they barely touched. The couples nearly done looked around as they danced, with that “I remember when this was fun” look.

“Here alone?” The bartender put the next bottle down.

“Yeah.”

“Just break up?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me know when you want the next one.”

“And the one after that.”

She had great eyes, lots of cleavage, and hips. God, what hips! The kind you want to put your hands on. Of course, she knew it, and she showed ‘em off well. The guy next to me took a big chug from his glass, gave me an evil smile, and whispered, “God, I’d love to bang that!”

“Who wouldn’t,” I thought, “Now that Chrissy’s gone.” We’d shared the same apartment for years, but not any more. The thrill, the excitement, was gone, and had been for months. We’d met at a bar, on a dance floor, and we’d liked what we felt on that floor. That first slow number, every curve of her molded right into me, like two puzzle pieces did.

But the physical parts were the only parts that fit together. In every other way, we fit together like housewives and cockroaches. Gods, the fights we had! Of course they always ended with us naked, trashing the bed sheets again. “Hi, honey! Let’s have another fight, so we can fuck!” Yeah, that’s what everything turned into.

So, we broke up. It was for the best.

I wasn’t in the bar to find a new girl. No, I was there to understand I might find another Chrissy, and have hot sex with her for a year or three, and then have to find another bar, and another Chrissy. And it would never end.

I was drinking to think about how to find a woman. A real woman. A friend, someone to trust, to talk with, and spend time with. Someone who’d be there when you needed ‘em. Not just another body I could bang.

But I had to admit I missed banging Chrissy. Damn, she’d been hot, and so had the sex. But I’d get over it.

I looked at the guy next to me as he stared at the bartender’s ass. “Dude, no drooling on the bar.”

“God,” the guy mumbled, “Give me one night with a number like that. That’s all I want. One night.”

I spent the rest of the night watching hot women turn guys like him stupid, and wondering if I’d ever find who I was looking for, and where I’d find her, because I knew I’d never find her in a bar with a dance floor, and a band.

675 words
@LurchMunster


This is my entry for Year 2, Week 14 (Week 2.14) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.

#ThursThreads Week 114 : Go Get The Man

I walked toward my car as the voice in my head urged me on, ““Go get the man.” I got in, and drove. “Go get the man,” echoed in my head.

I’d done everything right. Talked with him every day. Went to lunch with him and his friends. Dressed for him. I wore skirts that showed off my hips and legs. I wore as little beneath my clothes as I dared. I showed off my boobs. I knew he saw. I wanted him to see.

I always joined him for lunch I knew all his favorite places to eat. I tried countless perfumes until I found ones he liked. I styled my hair different ways until I found the ways he liked. I even colored my hair red, because it was his favorite. I learned what kind of clothing he liked to see me in, and always wore his favorites.

He knew I loved him.

But he got engaged to her anyway! Another woman he would hold, kiss, sleep with. The thought of him fucking her was the last straw. “If I can’t have you, no one will!”

“Go get the man.”

I pulled my car to the curb outside his parking garage, motor running, and waited. When his car came down the ramp, I floored it.” Go get the man,” echoed in my head as my car tore into the driver’s side of his.

I watched him die. I smiled. If I couldn’t have him, no one would.

249 words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 114. Reading the prompt while listening to music, I knew what to write. This piece was inspired by the song “I Want You”, by Delain. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#MWBB 22 : Right Now

I will never forget the night Jamie texted me, asking, “Dinner?”

I’d restrained myself admirably, responding, “Where?” instead of “With you? Oh, hell yes! Not even Victoria of the RED movies could stop me!”

She’d texted back, “I’ll B there N 5”

Five minutes later, I’d had a shower, dried my hair, put on my deodorant and cologne, shaved, and gotten dressed. I never knew I could move that fast. I mean, I never moved that fast to get to work, no matter how late I was. When she knocked on the door, I jumped into my boots, and opened the door in one smooth move.

She didn’t ask. She threw both arms around me, and planted an open mouth kiss on me, her tongue exploring my teeth, and my tongue. There are times there are no words to say. Times I just can’t talk. Sometimes, I think that’s a good thing.

When she’d had enough of the kiss, she grabbed my left hand, and raced down the stairs, to her car. She got in on the passenger side. I briefly hesitated, wondering what was going on, deciding, “Don’t ask any questions, stupid. Just go with it.”

Sitting in the driver’s seat, I asked, “Where to?”

“I need music and a drink,” was all she said.

Every alarm bell in my head went off at one time. I swear to God I saw the Lost In Space robot going ‘round in circles, flailing it’s arms around, screaming, “Danger! Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!”

But, hell, it was Jamie. The most gorgeous gal I’d ever known. And after a kiss like the one she’d greeted me with, I wasn’t going to run away like a 5-year-old kid, screaming, “Oooo! Kooties!” Who knew? Maybe I’d get lucky and she’d plant another of those on me. Maybe she’d pull my arm over her shoulders, and snuggle a while. Wherever we wound up.

“Music and a drink?” I thought, rapidly reviewing the list of every place I knew that served food. And coming up empty. Music was the big problem. Drinks were easy. Chili’s, Margarita’s, or any of a dozen other places would work for that. But music?

That meant something like a nightclub, or dance club. I felt my brain cells running for the hills. The loudness, the colors, the sensory overload of a club overwhelmed my ability to cope with it, and I wound up sitting there like a statue. But, Jamie wanted a club. So, I’d find one.

Midnight’s. That was the name of it. They had a sign out front for a live band. One I’d never heard of, of course. And it was Ladies Night, with women having no cover charge to get in. I took here in, and we sat down at a table. She ordered a Black Russian. I ordered a Sprite, knowing I would be driving.

We sat there, listening to the music, watching people dance. I’m not much for dancing, and Jamie knew that. When the first slow dance song started, Jamie stood up, grabbed my hand, and drug me out on the floor. She pulled me in close, put her head on my shoulder, closed her eyes, and pressed her whole body to mine.

My brain cells had just flat given up trying to do anything at that point.

Jamie had two more Russians. And pulled me out on the floor every time a slow song came on. After a couple of hours, she said, “Take me home. My place.”

I had no idea what that meant. I just wondered how the heck I was going to get home, since we’d used her car. I never expected her to drag me inside and plant an even bigger kiss on me. I never expected her to whisper in my ear, “Stay with me tonight.” And I certainly never imagined she’d strip naked right after saying that.

Jamie. Naked. Planting a whopper kiss on me. Pressing her whole self against me. Putting my hand on her waist. Grinding her hips into mine.

I didn’t make it home that night.

682 Words
@LurchMunster


My entry, in all its unedited glory, for week 22 of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other entries in the challenge.

#12DaysBop : Day 11 – A Feast For The Eyes

It’s Day 11 of Stacy Hoyt’s 12 Days Of Christmas Blog Hop. Only one day left. Today, the prompt is the gift of feast. And I did NOT come up with a big meal…


Ramona was ticked. She had that look that said when I’m done with him, I’ll scratch your eyeballs out, and feed them to you, you slimy worm. I tried again to tell her it was an accident. That I didn’t even know who Julia was.

“That’s no excuse!” I wondered if Dave would be sleeping on the sofa in my apartment for the next week. It was my fault, really. For his Bachelor Party, I took him to Desperado’s. Country music. Beer. And lots and lots of dancing.

She’d walked in wearing a corset that squeezed her in all the right places. and jeans that had to have been painted on. I still haven’t figured out how she got her hands in her jean pockets. I just know somehow she did. “Sweet Jesus, feast your eyes on her!” just kinda found it’s way out of my mouth, as I poked Dave in the ribs. So he looked. And she looked right back at him.

“Dave? Is that you?”

“Julia?”

I heard my jaw smack the table, “You two know each other?”

They’d been neighbors growing up. They’d done a lot of firsts together. First date. First kiss. First dance. First sex.

I lost track of Dave after that. My eyes kept feasting on her. Ever line. Every curve. Legs. Hips. Boobs. Tush. God, what a woman! All I remember was sitting there, watching that body. Wishing I was the one dancing with her. The one kissing her. The one she going home with her that night.

I found out Dave did.

Now, Ramona, Dave’s fiance, was ready to run over us with a truck, gut us, and barbecue us in a pit, so she could feast on our remains…


Please go enjoy the rest of the stories in the blog hop. There are some really gifted writers out there. It’s well worth reading their work. You can find the other entries here:

The 12 Days Of Christmas Blog Hop, Day 11 – The Gift Of Feast

#ThursThreads : But It’s Not Enough…

“Have I told you what an idiot you are?” James let his beer bottle thunk down on the bar.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” I answered. Letting my own bottle thunk down. “Only about a zillion times.”

“Then how come you never listen to me?” James shook his head. He had a valid point. Sometimes, I was just flat stupid. “Turning off your brain cells, listening to your pecker again.” He took a big chug of his beer. “You know that’s always trouble.”

Yeah. I knew. I stared at my beer. Michelle. She was absolutely stunning. Any guy I knew would be happy to call her their own. And she’d been mine. Until I saw Stacy. Sexy, hot Stacy. With those hips that swayed as she walked. Those perfect knockers. It was like my brain cells just quit working.

We had an affair. Me and Stacy. Damn, but she was fun. But, she was trouble too. And I knew if Michelle ever found out.  And she did find out. And I went home one day, and my keys didn’t work. And I couldn’t call her on the phone. And her lawyer walked up and handed me the papers. Divorce. Just like that.

“You had the perfect girl, bean-dip,” James took another chug of beer. “But it’s not enough for you, is it.” He chuckled. “Was Stacy worth it?”

I laughed. Paused. Grinned. “Yeah. She sure as hell was.”

—–

I wrote this flash fiction piece with the intention of posting it to the #ThursThreads challenge today. But, that was not to be. Sigh. So, I’m putting it here, on my blog. All 243 words of it.