Don't Think, Just Write

A Man's Journey

Leibster Award


The talented and sexy, Oleander Plume, writer of erotic fiction, nominated my blog for this Liebster Award and I’m excited to give it a whirl. Thank You, Oleander. I owe ya a double shot of something strong. The Liebster Award is a chance for us to be introduced to new blogs and to support your fellow blogger, no matter what the subject matter is. I follow quite a few blogs and am excited to nominate a few that I enjoy…but first…

The award comes with rules, so if you are nominated, you are required to do the following:

1. Thank the person who nominated you and link to their blog.
2. Answer the questions provided by the person who nominated you.
3. Provide eleven random facts about yourself.
4. Nominate 5-11 blogs that you feel deserve the award and have less than one thousand followers.
5. Create a new list of questions for the bloggers to answer.

1. What would you pick to be your personal theme song? Got A Little Drunk Last Night, Eli Young Band

2. Tell me your favorite movie quote (and what movie it’s from). “In any fight, it’s the guy whose willing to die whose gonna win that inch. And I know, if I’m gonna have any life anymore, it’s because I’m still willing to fight and die for that inch…because that’s what living is. The six inches in front of your face!” Al Pacino, Any Given Sunday.

3. What have you always wanted to write about, but haven’t yet? My first sexual experience. I’m going to title it The Two Pump Chump.

4. What are you wearing on your feet right now? Socks, black.

5. What is your favorite sex position to put your story characters into? Missionary, it’s all about eye contact.

6. Would you like fries with that? No, but I’ll steal a bunch off my son’s tray.

7. Favorite cartoon character? Speedy Gonzalez. (See question 3)

8. You just won a million dollars, what would you do first? Hire a jet, plant my ass in warm sand facing the sunset, and open a cold beer. But only for a month or two cause a million dollars isn’t enough to retire on…not yet anyway.

9. BCILF? (Book Character I’d Like to Fuck) Camilla Lopez, Ask The Dust by John Fante. “She did not venture near my table, but I was glad. Don’t come right away, Camilla; let me sit here awhile and accustom myself to this rare excitement; leave me alone while my mind travels to infinite loveliness of your splendid glory; just leave awhile to myself, to hunger and dream with eyes awake.”

10. Who is your favorite music artist? Bob Seger

11. What are you writing at the moment? A short story about first love.

Eleven Random Facts…

My first car was a ’79 Dodge Omni and I never used the back seat.

I eat muskrat a few times a year.

On the rocks.

I don’t like craft beer.

The first book I read for enjoyment was The Firm. I was 19. Before that reading seemed like punishment.

I never knew it till now but I hate listing facts about  myself.

I picked my military MOS after considering it for all of 10 seconds. 25 years later I’m still doing that job and still love it.

I search for bargains when it comes to wine but will spend $50 on a bottle of bourbon and somehow justify it.

I don’t like dogs, or rather, I don’t like the owners who automatically think you like dogs.

I ran my first marathon with Bob Jovi’s, It’s My Life on repeat in my head. That song still reminds me of that day.

I’m told I snore when I’m drunk but I don’t believe it.

Now the questions for the nominees…

1. Vanilla, chocolate, or cherry chip birthday cake?

2. BCILF? (Book Character I’d like to F. This question is borrowed from Oleander becuase it’s so damn good)

3. What movie have you seen 100 times but can’t stop watching every time it’s on?

4. Who do you miss?

5. What car catches your eye?

6. What Chinese food do you order?

7. Which booze have you swore off because of a bad experience?

8. What movie character could you have played better than the original?

9. What television show do you enjoy as a guilty pleasure?

10. In what state of dress,or otherwise, do you write your blogs?

11. Your last traffic ticket was for what infraction?

S.L. Gonzalez

Lanett Stewart



Lonely One

Windy Lynn Harris

Laura Pascazio


…but we can never go back.

You write to remember, but also to forget. The heart bleeds like sap oozing from the trunk of a maple with nothing below to catch it. It bubbles forth in words and prose. In fiction and in rhyme. It won’t die. When two connect it causes a never ending spark that becomes its own embodiment of life. Two become one. The law of nature is reversed. We are put on this planet to multiply, to create, to forge new and better things for the offspring, but in a strange reversal of the law we try to become one. We speak the same. Look the same. Move in the same direction on well worn paths and only then do we feel good about ourselves. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that there is hate. It’s bred from our contentment by those who want to change us. To change your destiny. To forge new highways of creativity and life is to live. To develop an everlasting entity that the offspring will find boring but will envy the green path taken to create it.

We work hard to capture today. To bottle and preserve only because we fear the uncertainty of the next sunrise when we will be throttled by a truck while crossing the street to fetch mail that we dread. It will come as a relief to the troubled mind and the tortured soul. This sought after peace is our destination. We live at a speed of 100 miles per hour racing toward an intangible ideal not knowing that it’s only in our final resting that peace will prevail in our hearts.

Love will break you at every turn. The offspring will learn to talk, to walk, to forge their own way and the heart aches with every step. Man’s final heartbreak comes from the daughter who no longer accepts his hug. He wonders where it went, the time. The moments are so easily captured, then moved to a floppy, then to a CD, and finally to a cloud. They become less and less tangible with each step of technological progress. Let someone else save it for you and then you’ll pay to get it back, but one can never really get it back. We are willing to spend to hold on, to remember, to keep today sacred knowing tomorrow the sun will rise, life will advance, the calendar will turn over, and today will become like that maple sap, oozing from our memory. It can be photographed or written and posted to a blog that nobody gives a fuck about. We capture it knowing the purity is lost. The images, the words, even the feelings can be brought forth from our memory, but we can never go back.

If They Could Tell Their Stories

It was 38 degrees here today and after the cloud of red wine lifted, I went for a run at my favorite park. The park was quiet except for a few dog walkers, and a few deer. I thought about the summer days when the park is busy…the picnic tables like magnets. 


A mother brings crayons, and sandwiches, both in a ziploc bags. Her daughter ignores the coloring book, drawing a lopsided tree on its top plank.

Lovers arrive in separate cars, him in a tie, her in shorts, legs long and tan. An hour, and tears later, they hug. It will be their last. Her dream of forever vanished in the park, under an ash she’ll never forget.

A family arrives and stakes its claim. Dad grills hotdogs, charing the skin. After dark, the twins watch fireworks boom overhead, mustard stains on their shirts.

The light of the days shrinks…the leaves go orange, then brown, finally falling under gray skies. The picnic tables are rounded up, stacked on a bias, defense against the elements of winter. Waiting for the return of the kids, the fireworks, the families and the lovers.


His Mind Betrays

He sat, paralyzed by thought. Paralyzed by betrayal, the betrayal of his own mind. He couldn’t control it anymore…couldn’t forget. The skies were dark, dark with maroons, and grays, and dim yellows. Swallows circled him, gliding over the grass in chase of tiny white moths. Like fighter jets they banked and yawed with precision. The evening was cool, summer closing its window on the Midwest. Soon the white will fly and the howl of winter will chill his bones, chill them more than the chill already consuming his soul.

I Thought About You Today


This whole blogging thing has been a lesson in stepping out of my writing comfort zone. This piece is a HUGE step…

I thought about you today
It was before I opened my eyes
before the sun opened his
Rain tapped the bedroom window
like bored fingers on a kitchen table

I thought about you today
I thought about the first time I saw you smile
Your lips broke open revealing the warmth inside

I thought about you today
The subtle way that you flattered me
Your words perfectly not chosen
I wonder if my words touched your ears the way yours touched mine
How could one ever know

I thought about you today
Everything you gave me
Your friendship your thoughts and your feelings
I put it all in a safe basket and still carry it with me
The basket is heavy and it pulls on the bottom of my heart
It aches for you because its been filled by you
Then it smiles

I thought about you today
Erotically passionately humorously 

I thought about you today
I heard that song
The one with that perfect lyric

I thought about you today
The same as I thought about you yesterday

As I asked of you before, tell me what worked, what didn’t, what made and didn’t make any fucking sense, and what one word you would change to make it better. I love any feedback, especially feedback on how I can improve. 

My First Swap…Blog Swap That Is.

A few weeks ago I came across this picture posted by the sexy and talented writer F Dot Leonora. We agreed that there was an untold story in the picture so we agreed to each write one using the image as inspiration and publish it on each other’s blog. She posted my submission on her blog, here

This is what F Dot Leonora came up with…enjoy…

She had outdone herself. Her taste in men was always particularly bad: an assortment of overzealous creative types, addictive personalities, semi-abusive–she had been lucky to get out of that. And now, now, she smiled as the rain beat against the windows of the car and on its roof like a melody she must observe. Now she was heading to a motel to meet a man whose online darkness was sparkling. He told her he’d do things to her she would be ashamed she asked for. It was all part of the game. He said he could kill her.

The rain blurred the image of the motel’s fluorescent lights, but she saw them nonetheless and was prepared to get out of the car. She had no desire to put her umbrella up, so she walked into the pouring rain. The sight of the car that he described let her know he was there, and her response to it was Pavlovian.

In the lobby of the motel, she saw a bride in a very smart suit and a suggestion of a veil about her head, holding hands tightly with her new husband. She rained rose petals everywhere she went, blood red rose petals.

Felice went to the counter, and asked for the keys, the number of the room she had to fumble through her e-mail messages from him to get. She did not know his name, so everything related to him was in a folder she marked with a capital ‘H.’

She took the keys and headed up the stairs, where she pressed her damp body to the wall and tried to breathe properly. Her heart raced quickly, as she clutched the keys in her tight fist so their jangling would stop jangling her mind.

There were rose petals leading to room number eight, because the bride had already walked by it. Not because there was anything romantic that was going to happen there. H. had told her that. As well as to arrive without makeup or perfume because he did not want any artifice about her. What she wore was her choice. A little black dress was her first thought. It was would be easy to remove, with her thickly seamed in the back thigh highs. She felt okay even without panties which he did not request, but she felt was right to do.

She opened the door, he jumped her which is what he told her he would do. His kiss was warm like he had extracted summer from the day before this day of rain. She loved the press of him so close to her.

Then he pushed her away.

“You are wet,” he said.

Felice burned up to her temples, ashamed that he knew just how wet she was and beads of perspiration formed there. Then she realized he probably meant that she was wet from the rain.
“I did not put my umbrella up.”

She looked down on the floor and saw she had dragged in rose petals with her. He plucked one from her shoulder, she had no idea how one had gotten that far up.

The heat from his body could have set her on fire. He put his hand on her thigh, lifting her dress and she saw her legs bare in the mirror straight across the room.

“Nothing?” he questioned as he skimmed her bare bottom with his fingers.

“No, I thought you would like that best.”

He smiled which filled her with relief.

“You are very smart, aren’t you?”

Felice frowned when he said that. Being smart had been the bane of her existence. She had never been able to have her baser desires fulfilled because no one thought she would want them.

“I tried to be intuitive,” she said and he smacked her bottom which made her labia quiver.

Then he touched her there.

“Very wet.”

This time she knew that he was talking about between her legs and she avoided his eyes.

He raised her chin to look up at him.

“I do not want you to look down, I want you to look at me and observe everything that we do to each other unflinchingly…”

His eyes lingered on hers, then he moved away. Felice felt a shiver when he did. Like he was the only source of heat in the room.

“Well take off your dress, didn’t your mother tell you to take off your wet clothes when you came in from the rain?”

She pulled off her dress which did not have buttons or zippers to delay its removal. She hated that there was a mirror and she could see herself first naked except for her bra, and then completely naked.

“Sit down, you have time don’t you?”

Felice sat, between her legs was sticky wet. H. was dark online, and even more decadently so in person. Her excitement was at its peak. Her nipples indicated it, she could see in the mirror in the dim room.
Without thinking she walked over to the window, a soft release under her high heels was a rose petal she was sure. She looked at the red lights from the sign which made H. look like Lucifer as the light hit him. She saw in a flash Lucifer’s fingers.

“I can do every dark little thing you want now,” he said his hands about her neck and it pleased her.

She had told him all of her fantasies. He knew the things that she liked, there was no secret from him. Slumping into him, he stroked her spine, soft first then roughly. Every part of her body came to a dark life.

“Do you want to play?”

His fingers squeezed tighter about her neck, and she suddenly felt weak as everything went black.

That’s smartest, darkest, writing this blog has seen yet. Good stuff, F Dot Leonora. Thanks for sharing this fun experience with me.

Again, visit F Dot Leonora’s blog to see my story based on the same inspiring picture.

Third Base Chase



Lately I’ve been trying to break out of my comfort zone with my writing. A few weeks ago I saw a erotic short story competition and decided to give it a try. Thank you Exhibit A for hosting the contest. I’ve read some of the other entries on his blog and they are awesome. 

Here is my entry, enjoy!

“Hold on a minute.” The female voice came from the other side of the motel door. I looked out at the parking lot of the Bayside Inn while I held the brown bag with both hands. Finally, the door opened a few inches. I could only see one eye, and a portion of the white towel that wrapped her head.

“Your order.” I nodded toward the bag.

“One more minute.” The door closed.

I glanced down at my beat up car and remembered the date the night before that ended in frustration, again.

The door opened. “Sorry about that. Come in.” The woman was dressed in a pink bathrobe and the towel still wrapped her head. Her face was clean and damp.

I put the bag on the table near the window. I was familiar with the Bayside Inn through both my delivery job and the parties I attended there back in high school.

“How much is it?” She dug in her purse.

“Twenty-two ten.” There was a small duffel bag on the bed and, other than makeup and hair products on the vanity, there were no other personal effects in the room. She counted the bills then came back to the table. She was a pretty woman. I guessed her age to be about thirty.

“Are you busy tonight?” She glanced at the four containers stacked in the bag.

“Not really. Seashore is a quiet town in the winter.”

“I’ve noticed. You’re from here?” Her robe opened a little and I could see the tan skin of her chest.

“Yeah. All my life.” My voice quivered. It wasn’t uncommon for customers to engage in small talk during deliveries, but this woman was barely dressed. The fact that I was alone with her in a hotel room wasn’t lost on me. She smiled. Her teeth were white and straight, outlined with full lips. I felt a surge go through my body like a jagged spear of lightning.

I saw her gaze quickly sweep my body. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty.”

“College?” She opened the top container and took a bite of a French fry.

“Yeah, I’m taking classes at the community college. Then I’m transferring to State.”

“State, huh? I hear that’s a party school.” She popped the last of the fry in her mouth, smiling at me as she chewed.

“That’s what they say.” A sexual excitement grew inside me. I could already tell I’d be jerking off thinking about her later. Maybe even in my car on the way back to the diner.

She handed me the money. I thumbed the bills, then reached in my pocket for change.

“Keep the change.” She moved the top tray and opened the next one.

“Thank you.” I turned toward the door.

“I ordered way too much food. Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you.” I was hungry. When I left the diner I told Marge, the manager, we would eat when I got back. Marge wanted to hear more about my date the night before.

“Come on, I know you’re hungry. What’s your name, anyway?” She opened the rest of the containers and spread them on the table. The food smelled good. The scent of her hair even better.

“Chase. What’s your name?” I reached down and took a French fry, surprisingly calm given the situation. Usually I stammered and fumbled my words when talking to girls. Maybe it was her age or that I knew she was only looking for small talk to quell her boredom, nothing more.

“Come on, join me.” She pulled out a chair and as she sat down, reached toward me, “I’m Sandy.” Her hand was small and warm in mine.

I sat down and unrolled a napkin. I thought about Marge back at the diner. She’d probably sent the cook home for the night. I felt a little guilty, but I was enjoying Sandy’s company.

“Oh man, these potatoes and gravy are good. Here, try this.” Sandy held a fork full of potatoes and gravy toward me. I smiled, then leaned in and let her feed me. A drop of gravy hit my chin.

“Oops, sorry!” She chuckled softly and wiped it off with her finger. Our gazes held for a moment, then she quickly rose and opened the duffel bag. “Shit, I forgot the wine. Will you open it?” I’d never opened a bottle of wine, but I wasn’t about to reveal that now. How hard could it be? I stood and wound the screw into the cork, but when I pulled, the cork wouldn’t give. Sandy was close behind me, watching over my shoulder. I pulled again but the cork still wouldn’t budge. Sandy put her hand on my shoulder.

“Need some help?” Her hand gently massaged my shoulder.

I felt my face heat from embarrassment. “No, I can get it.” Gritting my teeth, I pulled again with all my might. Still, the cork held fast.

“I didn’t mean the wine.” Sandy moved her hand under my arm and onto my chest. I turned my head. Our lips were so close. It was as if time stood still for a moment as I looked in her eyes. I turned toward her and our lips touched. Arousal swept through my body. I put my hand on her face and let my mouth mold fully to hers. . She reached up and put her hand on mine. My other hand went around her waist and pulled her body to mine. I was emboldened by her response to my kiss. Like a new life had grown inside me. A confident one.

I held her tight against me and deepened the kiss. Our tongues touched and explored as we made love with our mouths. She caressed my chest, shoulders, and back.

“You’re body’s hard. I like that,” she said, pausing only long enough from kissing to let the words escape. “Do you want a massage?”

I could hardly believe I was kissing this woman, let alone touching her body. Now she was offering a massage? I couldn’t say no.

“That sounds nice,” I said. She turned from me, my hands staying on her hips until the last possible moment as she walked away.
“I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the bathroom with her duffel bag.

I turned off the light above the table. Now the only light in the room was coming from above the sink near the bathroom. I sat back down in the chair and waited. My jaw clenched, and my right foot wouldn’t stop bouncing.

I thought about, Marge, the manager at the diner again. This wouldn’t be the first time I went out for a delivery and didn’t come back, so she probably wouldn’t be too concerned. Plus, she had my cell phone number if she needed me.

Finally, the bathroom door opened and Sandy came out. She no longer had on the thick robe. Instead, she wore a red and black corset with black stockings and garters. Her body was lean beneath the thin material, her legs long and thin. Her raven hair was tied back in a bun, revealing her neck and shoulders. She was stunning.

She smiled and walked toward me. “It’s new.”

“I love it.” I could barely push the words past the lump in my throat.

She stopped between me and the bed and turned, giving me a nice view of her backside. The thin satin of her black panties was pulled tight across her ass, which was round and tight, not yet tarnished by gravity. When she turned to face me again, I noticed she held a small bottle. She pulled the spread off the bed and lay down on her side. I could see the dark outline of her nipples through the lacy corset. My dick grew uncomfortable in my jeans.

She traced her fingertips up and down her legs and the side of her body. “I can’t massage you in that chair.”

I stood and walked to the bed, my gaze not leaving hers. I lay down on my back and she began rubbing my chest.

She put her lips to mine. “Can I take these off?” She was touching the button on my jeans, anticipating my permission. I answered by kissing her mouth, taking her bottom lip between mine and sucking it.

Once my pants were off, I sat up and stripped my shirt. Now I was only in my boxers.

“You have a hard body.” Sandy traced my chest and stomach. The beer drinking hadn’t yet caught up with my abs and I still had the traces of my high school six pack.

“Roll over and relax.” Once I was on my stomach, Sandy straddled my body. Her stocking-clad legs hugged my hips and I could feel the soft satin of her panties against my skin as she traced her fingertips up and down my spine.

She rubbed oil on my back and shoulders, warming it in her hands before touching me. I felt myself sink deeper into the mattress as my body relaxed under the attention of her hands. Sandy’s hands moved unlike anything I’d felt from the few girlfriends who’d massaged me before.

“Don’t move,” she whispered. She climbed off me briefly, then straddled one of my legs. But something was different. My cock throbbed as I realized I could feel soft curls of her pubic hair and warmth of her pussy against my leg.

She began massaging my back again, rolling her hips in circles, rubbing her clit on the back of my thigh. I could hear her breathing harder. She bent down and kissed the back of my neck, her breasts pressed on my back. She moved them around, using them as her instrument of pleasure. She continued to massage my back with her breasts, stopping only to sit up and work her hips in circular fashion on my thigh. Her pussy was hot and wet and I wanted to feel myself inside it.

“Roll over,” she said. I complied, and she again straddled my thigh. Now, for the first time, I could see her body. Light from the vanity illuminated her tan skin. Unable to resist, I reached up and touched her breasts, taking them into my palms and gently squeezing. Her hips began to move against me in a smooth, rhythmic motion.
She spread a thick coat of oil on my chest, then came down and kissed me, her breasts dangling against me. She sat back up and looked down at my cock, hard in my boxers. She wrapped her hand around it through the material. I was dying for her to take it out and stroke it with her oily hand. Finally she did, her touch perfect, moving her thumb around its head. I let out a raspy breath when her fingers massaged the sensitive underside of my shaft. I’d never been touched like this before. She knew all the right spots.

She took off my boxers, and then straddled both my legs. I could see the pink folds of her pussy through her small patch of dark pubic hair. My hands ran up and down her lean, stocking-sheathed thighs. She inched her way up my hips, and I watched her body and face as she rode the length of my shaft with her wet pussy lips. I didn’t want to miss a thing. I was only an inch from her opening. Only an inch from losing my virginity.

She leaned down and kissed me, still holding my penis, moving it around her pussy. When she aligned it with her entrance, my legs shook, and I felt my balls tighten with excitement. With a soft sigh, she lowered herself, letting go of my penis. I was inside her. Our lips were close, our eyes locked.

She was so tight! The feeling was incredible. I couldn’t contain the small groan that slipped from me. “Oh, god…You feel so fucking good.”

“So do you.” I felt the warmth of her pussy surround my penis, inch by inch as she continued to slowly lower herself on me. Once I was all the way inside her, she sat up and began the same circular motion on my cock that she was doing on my thigh. Her eyes drifted closed and she reached back . Her breasts were shiny with oil,her stomach flat and tan. I held her hips tightly, pressing my fingertips into her soft ass.

“God damn, do you look great,” I told her. She gave me a sexy smile. I could tell she liked my eyes on her. Her pussy tightened around me and she dug her fingernails into my chest as she began to move her hips. She came, releasing all of her sexual desire with me deep inside her. Her eyes fluttered, mouth open, and her breasts jiggled. When it subsided, she slumped on top of me. I could feel her pussy pulsing on my cock. I held her ass in my hands.

“It’s your turn. I want you to fuck me hard, Chase.” We rolled over together, my penis never leaving her. I pushed myself up and watched my cock as it slid in and out. Then I focused on her fine, dark pubic hair against her stomach. This was my first, and I wanted to remember every detail.

Her hips bucked up. “Harder. Fuck me hard!”

“I like looking at you.”

“Please, fuck me hard! That’s what you need.”
I ramped up the rhythm of my hips. Our breathing grew chopped and raspy. I hooked her legs over my arms and raised them high, pounding into her tight, wet depths.

“That’s it,” she panted. My hips slapped the back of her thighs.

I felt it building inside me. It would be over soon. I slowed down for a moment, but it was too late, I couldn’t hold back. I pumped her hard a few more times then took myself out. She stroked me as a large wave released on her stomach.

I bucked and trembled with the force of my climax. “Oh, my god!” I shuddered again as the last of it dripped onto her stomach. “Fuck!”

“Mmm, that’s sexy,” Sandy purred.

Marge was locking up when I got back to the diner. “That must have been quite a delivery,” she said.

I smiled to myself as I remembered the load I’d delivered on Sandy’s smooth stomach. “It was.” Grabbing a bag of garbage, I started for the dumpster.

“Sandy said I need to teach you how to open a bottle of wine.”

I spun around in the middle of the empty parking lot. Marge was grinning at me. “You know her?”

“Yeah, and I thought you guys might hit it off.”

“You were right, we did hit it off.”

Credit for the photo I used as inspiration goes to Teal Valentine. Thank you for permission to use it on my blog, Teal. It’s sexiest thing this blog has ever seen. 

Lastly, thank you to Jacquelyn at Happy Endings Editing for looking over this post and offering direction. She recently hung out her editing services shingle which I think is long overdue. She’s damn good at what she does. 


Jenkins and I. Flash Fiction

I decided to try another 250 word flash fiction based on the writing prompt provided here by Indies Unlimited. The entries are in the comment section.

Here is my entry…

I heard a branch snap behind me. Swinging around, I squeezed the trigger of my flamethrower and a two inch stream of flaming, jellied death filled the woods.

I signaled to Jenkins, twenty-five feet off my right flank. Again, we were moving.

We trotted through flaming grass and twigs. Fog from the nerve gas dropped that morning mixed with the smoke from the flames, turning day into night.

If we make it to the water before dark, we have a chance, I thought. Sweat poured over my face behind the helmet. The safesuits were heavy, adding seventy pounds to our already tired bodies.

The terrain was rugged, but familiar. It took two hours to traverse a rise, moving at a steady pace. There was no use conserving energy for a future now uncertain. I wondered what Jenkins was thinking. If optimism prevailed as it did inside me.We looked at the smoldering valley we had just escaped. A trickle of sweat ran down the center of my back and I winced when it stung a patch of skin rubbed raw by the gas tanks. Without words or hand signals, we turned and resumed East, knowing both the enemy, and the smog of nerve agent carried by the wind, would follow.

At dusk we found our boat. While I prepared the sails, Jenkins waded along the shore, washing her safesuit of agent. Once clean, she removed her helmet and shook her hair loose.

She smiled. “We made it.”

Now go here and vote. Indies Unlimited Weekly Flash Fiction Vote

I wanna give a quick shout to Jacquelin at Happy Endings Editing for taking a look at this piece for me. She’s new to the editing business but not new to editing.


The sun is down and the sky to the West is awash in hues of pink, cobalt, vibrant blue, and four shades of gray. The warmth of the day is pushed aside by cool air.

“Two more, dad.”

“Two more. It’s getting cold.”

I throw him two more pop-ups and he catches both, basket style. It’s not how you’re supposed to catch pop-ups but I let it go. He’ll learn. Time. Catching a baseball will become instinctive for him this summer. Which way to hold the glove when the ball approaches above the waist, or below. It clicked for his older sister two years ago and I was filled with joy, joy that only a baseball lover would appreciate.

“One more.” He’d play all night if I let him.

The street lights are on. I hear the distant laugh of kids. The hum of yard equipment. Someone is getting a jump on summer.

It’s the simplest of things. Playing catch, or riding bikes, or pulling them in a wagon, the wheels clicking on the joints of the sidewalk.

It’s the cumulation of simple things that make a life. 


It started like any other. Usually the timing isn’t perfect but this time it was. In hindsight, it was all a mistake.

We made love on a cold March morning, after coffee. The grainy television in my room ran the stock ticker below the perfect head of a jabbering expert. He knew the economy. Money. His hair was dark and well kept. Below me was perfection.

She was a friend’s wife until he found the the wrong brand of cigarette in her car ashtray and the wrong scent on her body. He put a shine on her left eye, then she called me.

We talked for hours on end about her marriage. Me sipping the whiskey that she brought. This went on almost nightly for weeks. She told me she had an account at Maxwell’s Liquor but I suspected she was doing more for Jake Maxwell than buying booze. He’d earned it. He was young and lean and talked the talk to the young wives that walked through the front door of the store that he inherited from his father. His father was a noted cock hound so it stands to reason a bottle of booze could be had from Jake for the right back room services.

Her name was Candy. Her birth name was Georgeann but that was a mouthful for her father and he never said it again after signing the birth certificate. Her mother followed his lead. She wasn’t hugged, or loved, and her decisions in early on were like bandaids on that huge scar. It did little to hide the pain. She had Gracie at 16, Max Jr. at 18, and miscarried two more before a doctor suggested her tubes be tied.

The night she called me that first time, the night Max Sr. dotted her eye with 16 year old Gracie watching from the couch, barely looking up from an incoming text, she came to my apartment. Her eye was swollen and already turning black, but you could still see the beauty. That was the thing about Candy, she was striking. She ballooned to 220 pounds after Max was born but got a grip on her emotions, and a handle on her drinking and pretty soon, she was 145 with the curve in her hips we expect of a woman her age.

She could have been a model. Her father took her to an agency when she was 15 and signed a contract with a man in a fancy suit and a lot of gold on his fingers. The man tried to fuck her in his basement a week later. Her father didn’t believe her until, from her coat pocket, she produced her torn panties.

She was pretty, no, beautiful. But badly broken inside. The kids were fine. Gracie, despite her eyes and thumbs glued to her phone, did good in school and to the best of Candy’s knowledge, still resisted the advances of boys. Max Jr. did his thing. He was 14 and had an eye toward the military. He wanted to learn a trade. Maybe become a cop or a mechanic, either way, he had a focus that surprised both is mom and dad.

On that first night, after a teary apology for calling me and along with the black eye, Candy brought a bottle. We sat on my sunken couch and poured the whiskey into water glasses.

“I can’t go back there, Ted.”

“You can stay here.” I poured another inch into her glass.

“We can’t do anything you know.”

“Of course not.” I never did well with having females as friends. Sex always got in the way. Candy knew this. She’d heard, through Max, about many of the failed relationships.

“I’ll sleep out here.” Candy looked around my dark apartment.

It was the third one I’d rented since the 2500 square foot home I owned was taken by the bank. I rented a room above a Chinese take out place for 6 months until I couldn’t take the mice anymore. Then there was the one bedroom apartment I sub-leased from a friend after he met his “soulmate”. He took the place back 3 months later when his soulmate found a new soulmate and needed him to leave. Then I came here. Two bedrooms, a small deck overlooking a pond with a fountain that a flock of geese now called home. Each move was a move up and I was proud it. I found a new job, paid my back child support, and recently got a letter from the 4th district court infoming me that the last of 3 warrants had been lifted. Things were looking up.

“Are you tired?” I moved her hair away from the eye for a closer look.

“I’ve been tired for 18 years.” She lowered her eyes and turned her head away from me. She had on jeans and a tight t-shirt that her boobs looked great in.

“Tell me more.” I got up and twisted the cubes an ice tray I took from the freezer. I dropped two cubes in my glass and carried two more back to the living room. As I approached, she drained her glass and held it out to me. I dropped the cubes in, she filled mine, then her’s, and then told me what happened.

“He’s tired of me. It’s really that simple. I don’t excite him anymore. Did I tell you about that whore I saw him talking to?”

“You did.”

“I don’t know if he was fucking her but it sure looked cozy.” She had told me the story a few month previous. After a day of work, Max’s car wouldn’t start and Candy was summoned to pick him up. That’s when she saw him smiling like she hadn’t seen in years. The girl was young and wore a skirt two sizes too small for her thick thighs. Max said she was a friend. Candy asked if he treated his female friends like I treated mine.

“He told me she was just a friend.”  I shrugged, then sipped more whiskey. The bottle was close to empty now.

“He’s a fucking liar. One night after working overtime he turned down a blowjob, and you know Max, he never turns down a blowjob. I know he fucked her that day. I could see it  in his lying eyes.” She looked me in the eye then, reading my expression. I knew all about Amber. Max had a weakness for legs which Amber had plenty of and liked to show. He never told me fucked her, but he said enough to make me believe he was trying.

“He never said anything about her.” I sipped again.

“Ahh, fuck. It doesn’t matter anyway. She was just one of the many. Who cares. These sluts.” The whiskey was working on Candy now.

“Why did he hit you?”

“I had a drink with my girl friend. She smokes reds and Max thinks only guys smoke reds. Then he accused me of smelling like a different man. Such an asshole.”

“Do you want to lie down?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she paused and traced her finger tips around her eye. “Will you lay with me for a minute?”

“Of course.” I filled my glass then got comfortable against a matted pillow. Candy drained her drink and put her head on my chest. I held my drink in one hand and ran the fingers of my other hand through her hair.

“No funny business.” She said. I could tell she was teasing me.

The ice had melted in my glass.

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