#MWBB Week 2-30 : Man On The Run

Sunlight coming through the window, lighting up the room, woke me, plunging light beams through my eyes, into my brain. I covered my eyes, “Mother nature, you’re a bitch sometimes,” the words raced through the parts of my brain that still worked, “Turn out those lights!”

Morning had arrived. It was time to get up. I had to go. That’s when I noticed her. Her arm, and leg draped across me, her head on my shoulder. Not a stitch on. Both of us, starkers. “Oh, yeah. No I remember.” I looked at her blonde hair, “Julie.”

I untangled myself from her, staggered to the bathroom, relieved myself. It wasn’t my bathroom, wasn’t my apartment. I remembered we’d gone to her place. Mostly ‘cause I was too ripped to drive.

As I stared in the mirror, I remembered us getting naked, and doing everything. I mean everything. Every way. She wanted it all, and I was happy to do anything she wanted. It had been a fun night.

After a few minutes of memories, I headed back to the bedroom. Julia got up, and made her pit stop. She came back, and didn’t ask. She threw the covers off the bed, and planted her head between my legs. I watched her head move up and down. After a minute, she stopped. We rearranged, her on her hands and knees, me on my knees behind her. And I watched every stroke I made into her.

Yeah, I finished.

We showered, I let my fingers play. She gleefully rode them as the soap and water washed away. We wound up back on the bed, her on her back, humping my fingers, me sucking her tits. She peaked, then pulled me on top of her. I wound up on my knees, her legs over my shoulders, as I stroked. I watched every stroke, which made it better.

After I finished, we got dressed, raided a breakfast place, and she took me to my car. “Let’s do this again,” she said. “Tonight.” She kissed me. “OK?”

“I’ll do this every night you want me to.”

Julia. The fifth in a string of women. I wasn’t looking for a soul mate, a partner, a girlfriend. I was looking for a sex. And when things got serious, I’d run away. Move to another apartment. Change jobs if I had to. Change my phone number and email address. I’d escape her, and find another lay somewhere.

And another one after that. Hell, I’d fuck every woman I could find. Because it worked. It distracted me. Meant I didn’t have to remember her. Didn’t have to cry. Didn’t have to hurt.

Maya.

My Maya.

My heart, my soul, my life. Until the day she walked out. “I don’t love you any more.” That’s what the note said. “You’re not the same man I fell in love with.” She said I’d become stagnant, unchanging, dull and boring. She wanted more. She wanted someone who loved her, cared for her, didn’t treat her as a possession, a trophy.

She left.

So, I’d bang Julia for a while. A couple of weeks, or a month. Then, I’d leave. And find another woman to fuck. Then another.

No way was I ever gonna care for another person again. No way was I ever gonna hurt like that again.

Not after Maya.

558 Words
@LurchMunster


This is my entry for Year 2, Week 30 (Week 2.30) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.

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#MWBB Week 2.27 : A Tale Of Greed – Waiting On A Dream

It was 3 AM on a Monday morning. The sun wouldn’t be up for nearly 3 hours, but Beverly was wide awake. She listened carefully to Lawrence as he snored to make certain he was sleeping. Once she knew he was in dreamland, she slipped out of bed, pulled on a robe and house shoes, and slipped out of the bedroom.

“Thank God the bastard’s asleep,” she headed toward the shower. She closed the door to the room, locked it, slipped off the house shoes, then let the robe slip off her shoulders to the ground. She studied herself in the mirror. Her breasts were still good, not sagging yet. Her stomach was still flat. Even after the two kids. Her legs were still lean, no dimples of fat, not muscle-bound.

“I’m still a sexy bitch,” she smiled. “Gotta stay that way.”

She turned on the shower, turned the hot water up, she wanted a hot shower to wash away the feel and smell of him. The more soap, the more suds, the better. “The things I have to put up with.” She wished she could wash him out of her brain cells, her memories. Instead, she had to deal with the memory of having sex with him.

Sex she didn’t want to have. God, it was awful to suck him off. Awful to let him get behind her, and bang away. Awful to have to moan, and groan, and pretend it turned her on.

The hot water felt good on the back of her neck and shoulders. She tipped her head back, into the water, let it soak into her hair. Her favorite shampoo made such a rich lather. It cleaned her hair so thoroughly, left it feeling so alive. As she washed the lather out, she held her head under the running water, let it flow down her back.

“Another day I’ll take a nap while the kids are at school, and he’s at work.”

Him at work. That’s what it was all about. Keeping him happy. Keeping him at work. Keeping him making money. The more money, the better. Beverly needed money to buy the things she wanted. Her phone, her car, her clothes. It all cost money.

And he made plenty of it.

She’d worked hard to find him. Harder to get him to marry her. Harder to keep him. All she wanted, really, was his money. She didn’t really want him. Or his offspring. Boys. Brats. Just like their father.

So, she had to screw him a few times a week? That wasn’t so bad. He always passed out after he finished. She always waited while he made his run to the bathroom where he pissed, then washed himself. “I wish I could wash everything away as easily as he can.”

She checked the clock on the bathroom wall. “Damn.” It was time to dry off, get back in her robe, head downstairs, and start breakfast for fatty and his boys. She knew not to put anything on under the robe. It was all part of keeping him happy. Keeping him at work. Keeping him making money. More money. For her.

It wouldn’t be long before she could afford that dress she wanted. All silk. God, the way it felt when she ran her fingertips across the material in the store. Another month, and she’d have enough to buy it.

As she feared, just inside the front door he had to kiss her goodbye and let his fingers find their way between her legs. “The things I put up with to get what I want,” she thought as visions of that dress danced in her head.

Greed stood in the corner of the room and laughed. He loved every minute of the torture Beverly put herself through every day. Just to collect a few meaningless trinkets. “That old saying’s so true, dear. You can’t take it with you when you die.”

He whispered in Lawrence’s ear, “God, you should really fuck her face tonight.”

Then he laughed for hours, because he knew, Beverly would do whatever it took to get the next item on her list. Why, she’d even sell her soul.

695 Words
@LurchMunster


This is my entry for Year 2, Week 27 (Week 2.27) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.

#FinishThatThought Week 2-22 : She Wore A Red Dress

As quickly as she appeared, the woman in the red dress vanished into the woods.

“Did you see that?” I poked Harry in the ribs.

“What?”

“That woman. In a red dress.”

Harry shook his head. “Now I know we’ve been walking too long. You’re seeing things.”

I shut up, then stared back at the place she’d appeared. That’s when she laughed, “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Harry glared at me. “Geezus. We’ll be back to camp in another hour, and you can eat ‘till you bust.”

She stuck her hand through an opening in the brush and gave me the “come here” signal. “Say what you want, Harry. I know what I saw.” I dashed into the brush where he hand had been a moment earlier, but she was gone.

Well, except for her dress. That was still in the brush. I picked it up. Red velvet. “Damn.” Visions of a woman running through the woods in nothing but her underwear danced in my head. I looked around, wondering which way she could have gone. She laughed again.

That was all I needed. A sound. A direction. I raced to the north-west. She left a trail. A red bra. Then, further on, panties, red again. A broken twig here. A footprint there. I followed her trail. “She wants me to follow her.”

I reached a stream just in time to see her vanish into the brush on the other side. “Geezus.” Yep, she was starkers. I didn’t slow down, taking the stream in three bounding steps, at full run. I plunged into the brush, fought through it, into a clearing. An alcove under the trees, branches and vines formed a natural ceiling. The ground was clear. It was silent. I couldn’t hear a thing.

She was in the middle of the clearing. Not a stitch on. Blonde hair reached halfway down her back. She motioned me to join her. Gorgeous naked woman in the woods, waving at me, smiling, giving me a full view of everything, and a smile that said, “Come here.” Of course, I walked right up.

She kissed me. Next thing I knew, she had me naked too. We had wild sex in the woods.

Turned out, that’s how she lives. Lures people in. Men, women, doesn’t matter. She picks a target, draws them in, has wild, anything goes sex with them. When the sex is over, she leaves.

When she left, I got dressed, headed back the way I’d come.

I never found my way. But I did get to see the skeletal remains of her previous conquests. Good thing I had a pen and notebook with me. It let me write this down. I hope it gets found before she suckers in another sap like me.

463 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Week 2-22 (Year 2, week 22) of Alissa Leonard‘s Finish That Thought. Please, go read all the creatively shared stories in this week’s challenge.

#ThursThreads Week 137 : A Tale Of Wrath – His Team Lost

Sharon stared into the mirror. She’d have to call out sick to work in the morning. No amount of eye shadow, foundation and blush would hide the bruise. She could hide the ones on her arms, and neck. But the one on her face was too much.

His team lost the game. They didn’t lose many games. She was grateful for that. It would be better if they never lost.

Every Sunday during the season, she prayed, and rooted for his team, while she hid in the kitchen, too terrified to watch the game with him. If they won, she’d be OK. He’d be horny, and she could handle that. Suck him a while, get naked on the floor, and moan as he banged her. Make him think it felt great. Ask him what he’d like her to do. When they won, everything worked out.

When they lost…

She looked in the mirror, as she whispered to God, “It’s not good when they lose. You know what I mean? He’s not himself when they lose.”

She fixed his favorite snacks while the game was on, brought him more to drink every time the other team scored. At half-time, she blew him, to calm him down. “I’ll be on the bed, after the game, waiting for you.”

When they lost, he lost it. He hit things. He broke things. He hurt her.

She knew she should leave him. She wanted to.

If only she knew how.

245 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 137. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#FinishThatThought 33 : I Ran For The Door

I ran for the door, but someone had taken the keys. I paused, looking at the car. “Crap!” I pounded the roof, causing the metal to dent. I grabbed my phone, and punched speed dial for 6, my lawyer.

“What is it now, Harry?”

“The keys to my car are missing.”

“They’re not missing, Harry. And they’re not your keys. They’re her keys.”

“You mean…”

“She got the car too.”

I looked up at God, and the universe, and screamed.

“Now, Harry. That’s no way to behave.”

“No way to behave?” I stomped my feet. “No way to behave!” I held the phone out at arm’s length, and looked at it like it was stupid. “Really? Really?” I pulled the phone in, “She got MY car too?!”

“What can I say? The judge agreed with her.”

There were times I wanted to shoot that woman. Times I wish I had. Every time I reached that point, I suddenly calmed down. “Yeah. I can see that.”

“Better?”

“Where you recommend I stay?”

My lawyer was nothing, if not honest. “Skip town, Harry. Get a job somewhere. Making enough to live on. The judge will adjust how much you pay her.”

“Skip town?”

“Yeah. Start over.” There was a pause. “And, Harry? Don’t sleep around this time.”

“Yeah. I know.” I paused, remembering the times I never went home at night. The times I woke up the next morning in some gals apartment, or home. And she was in the bed with me. Naked. And it was obvious what we’d done.

“How many?” I asked.

“Too many, Harry. Too many.” After a moment, he said, “Use your credit card, Harry. While you still can. Get a ticket on a plane. Go somewhere you can find a job.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.” He laughed. “You can even catch a taxi to the airport. And Harry.”

“Yeah.”

“No screwing around.”

He hung up. I stared at the phone. Then looked down at my crotch. “You know how much trouble you’ve aused?” Of course, it didn’t answer. Other than to send chemicals racing through my body. “And after all this, you still want to find a gal to bang?” I shook my head.

I ordered plane tickets to Phoenix. The flight left the next afternoon. I flagged a taxi. When to a bar. Had a drink. Danced with a pretty girl. Woke up the next morning, naked, in her bed. With her. I didn’t even remember her name.

I looked at my crotch. “Will you ever learn?”

418 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Week 33 of Alissa Leonard‘s Finish That Thought. Please, go read all the creatively shared stories in this week’s challenge.

#MWBB 37 : The Ghost Of Stephen Foster

Shawn and April were daredevils. They loved exploring mountain trails, big, empty warehouses, office buildings, corner stores, neighborhood markets, city parks. You name it. They loved to explore it.

In October, 2013, they decided to take a new adventure, and spend each Friday night in October in a different haunted house.

For Halloween night, they found an old, abandoned hotel outside Wachapreague, in the middle of the woods, off an old road none of us had ever heard of. It was the Hotel Paradise. The locals all said, “It’s haunted,” and told countless stories of howling coming from the hotel at night. Sometimes it was an evil laugh. Sometimes it was crying, or screams. And people who stayed there never were the same.

On Halloween day, they met after work, piled into his truck, and drove across the Bay Bridge Tunnel. They ate a fast food dinner at a diner they’d never heard of somewhere near Kiptopeak, then drove to the Hotel Paradise.

Shawn grabbed the two sleeping bags, and April grabbed the bag full of munchies and beer, and they broke in. It was long abandoned, so no one cared. Inside, they picked out a room, and threw the sleeping bags on the floor.

The hotel was really just a two-story house, with extra bedrooms, and each bedroom could be locked. The bathrooms and showers were common, shared by all the rooms. It was a little hotel. The interior was dusty, and dirty. The floors were wooden, and footprints from previous adventurers were everywhere.

They took pictures with their phones, posting them on the Internet. Sharing their adventure with their friends. They found an old guest book, and had fun reading the names of hotel guests in it. Noting the last guest had visited in 1933.

Around midnight, April drug Shawn into the room they’d picked out. They’d both stripped, and had fun collecting memories of sexual adventures in an old, haunted hotel. Spent, they’d stretched out in their sleeping bags, and passed out.

Shawn woke up at 3 AM. “April!” he shook her awake. “April! Did you hear that?”

April shook her head, “Let me sleep,” she groaned, and she rolled over, and pulled her sleeping bag snug around herself.

Shawn sat up, and listened. He heard people. Talking. But he couldn’t tell what they were saying. He pulled on his pants, and followed the sounds out of the room, down the hall to the common shower.

The shower room door creaked as he pushed it open, and slipped inside. “Do you think he’s ready?” a voice whispered.

“Shut up, ya idiot. You’ll scare the rats!”

Two people stood next to him, at the room door. They were watching something. Shawn turned to see what they were looking at. It was a woman. Naked, bound, and gagged, on the room floor.

“The show starts soon.” One of the men declared, as he poked the other in the ribs.

“This’ll be good.”

There were scratching noises. Then the grate over the vent along the wall opened up. Rats started pouring through it. Dozens of them. Shawn watched, fascinated, as the rats formed a circle around the woman. Then, he screamed in terror as the rats leaped on the naked woman, and started eating her alive.

The woman thrashed, and twisted, and tried to scream. But she couldn’t. She was bound, and gagged. And helpless to defend herself, or escape. The two men watched. “Oh, she’s a tasty one, isn’t she?”

Shawn ran from the room, down the hall, to get April.

April wasn’t there. He called for her, and heard her scream for help. He raced down the hallway and stairs to the hotel’s main room where he found April, naked, tied to a chair. Rats were climbing up her legs.

Shawn grabbed her and the rats and ropes all faded away. April screamed as she raced out the front door of the hotel, and hit in the truck. They spent the rest of the night in his truck. The next week, they broke up. And neither of them was ever the same again.

682 words
@LurchMunster


This is my entry for week 37 of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other entries in the challenge.

#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.

#5SF : Goggles

Adam handed me a manila envelope, “Sheila’s running an experiment. I’m supposed to tell her how people react to her picture.” I opened the envelope and pulled out the picture. It was Sheila, wearing nothing but aviator’s goggles and a scarf. It was one hell of a picture, and I know my jaw bounced off the floor, and I stared at it, my eyes big as saucers, as I proclaimed, “Holy Momma, Sweet Jesus, God Almighty!” Adam laughed as he spoke into a tiny recorder, “Another set of eyes turned the same size as your goggles.”


Here’s my weekly attempt at Lillie McFerrin‘s flash fiction challenge, Five Sentence Fiction. This week, the prompt is Festival.

Please, go read all the other entries to this week’s Five Sentence Fiction. It’s amazing what creative people can do with just five sentences.

#ThursThreads Week 60 : We Should Fix That

It was 10:15 Monday night. It was also cold, and snowing. “Welcome to Buffalo,” I muttered as I sat at my computer, reading Slashdot.

My doorbell rang. I sat there a moment, not sure I’d heard it. It happened again. I looked at the time on my computer. “Someone better have a good reason for this.”

I got up, and headed to my front door. As I did, I heard Lilly’s voice, “Tommy! Let me in!” I quickly turned on the porch light, unlocked the dead bolt, and the lock, and pulled the door chain, and let her in.

He had on a hat, and big faux fur coat and high heels. “It’s a nasty night out there!” she shivered and stomped her feet.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to visit you.” She turned her back to me, pulled off her hat, and started to unbutton her coat. I stared at my feet. “Here. Put these up.” Without looking up, I took her had ,and coat, and hung them on the coat rack. Then I looked back at her to ask what she was doing visiting that late at night.

Lilly was standing there, in my foyer, wearing nothing but high heels. My jaw bounced off the floor. “You’re…”

“Naked,” she finished my sentence for me. “And you’re not.” She stepped forward, and started unbuttoning my shirt. “We should fix that.”

I’ll never forget that night, even after I’m dead.

250 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 60. Hope you enjoy it. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#MondayMixer – The Plan

“It’s going to be a long night,” I thought. The tree bark between my shoulder blades was starting to itch. Of course, I couldn’t scratch with each wrist in a manacle attached to a chain running around the tree behind me.  My hands were pretty much motionless. At least the itching distracted me from the discomfort of my bare bottom sitting on the weeds, moss, dead leaves, and tree roots.

I’d failed to get a date with Hayden. Just like I’d planned. Now I had to spend the night chained to a tree in the arboretum while Cheryl got to laugh about me losing the bet. It was a miniscule detail in my grand scheme.

I hoped Cheryl was enjoying my night of exploring nature. I shook my head and smiled. My plan was working. I’d gotten her attention. Next, I’d try for a date.

150 words.
@LurchMunster


I wrote this little ditty for Jeffery Hollar‘s weekly Monday Mixer flash fiction challenge. Please, go read all the other entries in this week’s challenge. They are all well crafted.