Intimacy

Elle lay awake listening to the summer storm beat the shuttered windows. Half of their four-day vacation had been rained out. But they weren't exactly there for sand and sun. The studio condo held all they required: booze, leftover takeout Chinese, and a bed.

Chris sat up and cracked his neck. As he leaned down and kissed Elle's head, he farted.

“Can't blame that one on Woofy," Elle snickered.

“Guess not," he yawned. "Happy anniversary, Babe." They'd officially been dating two years.

She responded with a tender, closed-mouth kiss. Her morning breath could kill weeds.

Elle headed to the bathroom. She was just going number one, so she didn't bother shutting the door. Chris had nursed her through that stomach bug when stuff was pouring out of both ends. A little pee was nothing.

She returned wearing only her tank top.

“Well, hello," Chris drawled, his brows bouncing.

“Wanna try it again?" She bent over the foot of the bed, presenting her bare behind.

“Um … I thought we decided no gifts.”

Elle answered his smart-ass remark with a mock glare. “Shut up and come here.”

“You sure?” Chris, amused but wary, positioned himself behind her.

She had never reached this level of intimacy with previous boyfriends. Sure, she'd slept with some, but she hadn’t gone there with them. Chris was different. Corny as it sounds, he was her forever.

“Go for it.” Elle teasingly gyrated against Chris's crotch.

“I don’t know. You screamed bloody murder last night.”

“Well,” she huffed. “It hurt.”

Chris's fingers traced the small of her back. “I’m surprised nobody called the cops.”

“Come on,” she urged, fisting the nautical quilt and burying her face in the coordinating pillow.

Chris grabbed Elle's ass. With both thumbs, he firmly squeezed the ripe, bulbous zit on her left cheek. The pillow swallowed her squeals as the pus finally burst her skin. Elle stood up, rubbing the sore spot.

“My hero,” she gushed.

Chris pulled her close. "That's love right there, Babe."

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This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge: The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "ass" as defined below:

 

ASS

(adverb/adjective) often vulgar—often used as a postpositive intensive especially with words of derogatory implication <fancy-ass>

 

Word count: 333

Skywalker Family Therapy Notes

This weekend's Trifextra challenge: write 33 words about a famous trio. 

These ARE the words you're looking for. (I believe my "cool mom" points just went through the roof.)

Treatment impetus:  twins' rebellion against father

Initial assessment:

• male/female twins with history of incest
• father presents with possible borderline personality disorder
• son displays abandonment issues
• daughter exhibits bad-boy fetish

Recommendation: aggressive therapy

We All Have Our Demons

You’ve been here before. This is where you first spotted the girl with the pierced lip. See that gnarled tree? You snagged your T-shirt as you watched her from behind its massive trunk.

You don’t remember her name; you think it started with a B. Keeping them straight is getting harder. Was she the newlywed? The nurse? Neither. She was the student whose hair smelled like apples. Before police called off the search, you caught her distraught—but still hopeful—parents on the evening news. Her mom called her a fighter. You could certainly attest to that. You wore long sleeves for three weeks that summer to hide the nicks she’d clawed into your arms. You retaliated by tearing her soft belly with your teeth. The metallic taste of her blood surprised you.

Remember the waitress? When you read she had an identical twin, you considered taking her too. You couldn’t stop fantasizing about essentially having the same girl twice. Wouldn’t it have been a kick to see that perfect face again—all full of color, without the bulging eyes and purple bite mark marring her cheek? You knew it was too risky, though.

But now you’re getting sloppy. Returning to a previous post is dangerous. Maybe someone saw you hanging around that day but didn’t think anything of it. Surely a second time would raise alarm.

You didn’t choose to be this way, just like you didn’t choose how tall you’d be. You only wish to satiate yourself. But they never simply let you do what you need to do.

Sheila had been fine with a little kink … until that night you pulled the scarf too tightly around her neck. Her striking you in desperation turned you on even more. She called you an animal, a sadist. Wouldn’t let you touch her for weeks afterward. Giving her the ring placated her.

As you’re leaving, you notice a leggy blonde pushing a stroller. You can already imagine fresh bruises on her fair skin.

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This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge: The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "animal" as defined below:

ANIMAL
a human being considered chiefly as physical or nonrational; also : this nature

Word count: 333
               

May 8, 2009

This weekend's Trifextra challenge: Write a 33-word time travel story.


The time-pod closed amid the yelling. Suggestions. Pleas. Demands. Hubs mouthed, “Go make a difference.”

*

I snatch the unsigned release papers from the doctor.

“Check Daddy’s lungs for blood clots. You’ll find several.”

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I'm sure there will be many lovely, unselfish stories this weekend about saving world leaders, or a hero with an unfulfilled destiny. Who wouldn't prevent a mass tragedy like September 11, 2001, if they could go back in time? But--if I'm to be completely honest--I would prevent my own personal tragedy: my father's unexpected death.

Daddy had prostate cancer. The surgery had been a success; they removed all traces of the cancer. We breathed a collective sigh of relief. Our family's center, our rock, would be OK.

Three days after he was released from the hospital, my dad was struggling to breath. There were multiple blood clots in his lungs. Daddy was rushed back to the hospital, but they couldn't save him. He was only 69.

I'm the one who talked him into having the surgery vs. a drug treatment plan. Some day I might forgive myself.

Girls' Weekend

Liz had been editor of the school paper. She’d reamed me over my admittedly mediocre story on the bulldog mascot contest winner.

“The article’s about a bitch. Doesn’t mean you have to be one,” I’d retorted. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

This is our last hurrah before her big day. As we drive up the coast to Myrtle Beach, I phone Home Depot using the car’s Bluetooth.

“Yes. Hi. I’m looking for some caulk,” I say. “It’s for my friend. She already has white caulk at home. What she really needs is some black caulk. Do you have any black caulk?"

Liz covers her mouth.

“We have several colors,” Home Depot Guy says.

“OK, so she can just come in, point to it and say, ‘Gimme that caulk right now?’”

Silence. “Uh … sure.”

Liz erupts in laughter.

* 

We check in and get dressed.

“Look how fast we can be ready when we don’t have to do our hair,” Liz remarks.

Señor Frog's is crawling with overgrown, tight-shirted college guys. About four vodka cranberries in, I look Liz in the face.

“Dump Kyle," I blurt.

“Kyle is …”

“An ASSHOLE," I yell just as the music pauses.

She shrugs. “But I need him right now.”

I return from the bar with three shots and a 6’2” ginger.

“Liz.” I smirk. “Brendan.”

“Hey.” She self-consciously touches her purple wig.

As Liz dirty dances with the underage hottie, she looks so healthy. Since she stopped the chemo, the color has returned to her cheeks.

“I’m done chasing this fucking rainbow,” she’d said.

Brendan escorts us across the street to our hotel. Liz kisses him hard but sends him on his way.

I remove my green wig—shaving my shoulder-length hair was actually kind of liberating—and hand her a gift bag. The T-shirt reads:

YES, THEY’RE FAKE.
MY REAL ONES TRIED TO KILL ME.

“When I get out of the hospital,” Liz smiles, flinging herself on the bed. “I might just get rid of my asshole too.” 

  

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This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge: The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "rainbow" as defined below:

RAINBOW
[from the impossibility of reaching the rainbow, at whose foot a pot of gold is said to be buried] : an illusory goal or hope