Eros

Friday Fictioneers for August 19th, 2022

Mistress Rochelle has returned to her castle from her annual August quest, and she is enticing us with her own painting of shells in a glass. I kind of did a hard left leaning twisty turn on the prompt (coz TMI) to flesh out my 100-word limited story whilst weaving in some suggestive erotica, playing around, and the results of binge-watching too much Grey’s Anatomy.

My tongue-in-cheek apologies for rubbing-in an R-rated Friday Fictioneers (fantasy) story. If you think you might do better, it’s on! Click on Mistress’s fantabulous watercolour ((winks at Brits and Canucks)) to jump on my bike and wheel on over to Rochelle’s purple pleasure posts to get your ticket to ride.

Click a shell to hop on over to see Rochelle.

Genre: Allman Erotic Fiction
Title: Polyamorous Holiday
Word count: 100

***

The lady was an artiste, a trooper. She did it all. When she climbed on behind me, I sang out.
We gotta run to keep from hidin.’ I don’t own the clothes I’m wearin’.

Then she sang.
“Not gonna let ‘em catch us, Midnight Riders.”

She grabbed my crotch and yelled in my ear.
“Ten-day vaycay, Babe. Let’s go before I do you here.”

I sang.
I’ve passed the point of caring. I’ve one more silver dollar.

She squeezed hard.

We crashed.

Ten delightfully romantic days in the hospital. Each day we sang.

“Same old bed we both are sharing.”

***

Look both ways during those special summer days.
Mind the gaps unless that’s where your hand lays and stays.

***

 

Click the chick-pic for more marvelous myth, memoir, and mendacity.

I bogarted and messed around with the lyrics to the song. If you don’t recognize it, here goes… I shudda picked a shorter one, but hey, meh likes it.

dVerse Quadrille #132 (stream)

A forty-four word poem (plus title) written for dverse prompt of stream.

Pluvial Passion

Let me feel your kiss.
May your wet tongue lick.
Run into my eyes, down my face,
under my clothes,
over my body.

My passion, you pour copious streams
of love upon me.

Touch me where you can.

Where are you, my sweet Rain?

 

Look both ways for summer showers.
Mind the gaps between the drops.

Poetry: Sammi’s Weekender #188 (languid)

Click to go to Sammi’s blog

 

Oi, Nineteen: Lust Laughs at Love

Normally chic, now
nearly naked, she lounged in his lap
slovenly taking in
the stunning sunset,

Lamenting his languid,
lackadaisical lovemaking,
leaving his heart listlessly
lost to his long love song.

Feeling inferior
yet yearning to reggae
he cajoled and coaxed playful
music to prove she danced
not too fast for him.

Their love withstood the storm.

Look both ways in love and lust.
Mind the gaps as perfection is myth.

Be lovingly entertained.

Poetry: Sammie’s Weekender 138, lollygag

Sad how they fooled around
with lollygag, it’s just too bad.
Come with me my sweet,
upon my lap have a seat.
We shan’t dawdle,
but we may well diddle
if you’re up for some
geometric osculation
mixing DNA marks us
a fine pair of
dawdling shillyshalliers
out for a pleasant afternoon poke.
For the best, we both have hope.

Look both ways for that quiet little corner for making memories.
Mind the gaps and camera angles.

“Nowadays, lollygag doesn’t usually carry such naughty connotations, but back in 1946, one Navy captain considered lollygagging enough of a problem to issue this stern warning: ‘Lovemaking and lollygagging are hereby strictly forbidden…. The holding of hands, osculation and constant embracing of WAVES [Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service], corpsmen or civilians and sailors or any combination of male and female personnel is a violation of naval discipline….’”
(Source: The Merriam-Webster.com Dictionary, Merriam-Webster Inc., https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/lollygag. Accessed 5 January 2020.)
No apologies.