I had to look it up. Jejune means devoid of significance and dull. Its many synonyms include stodgy, insipid, vapid, banal, and boring.
Jerkoff
I don’t care
what you think
about
long dead
bukowski.
I read/re-read
(either way)
his non-stuffy
prose or poems.
why do I care?
he’s not jejune.
his paradigm
or mine?
Look both ways for truth and reality.
Mind your gaps but admit not your secret pleasures.
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.
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.
***
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.
Our own Wednesday morning moonbeam, Rochelle, in conjunction with Roger Bulot has set the street carnival stage for the final February Friday Fictioneers frolic with ethnic food, fun, and dancing in the street. Click on Roger’s contributed picture for a magic carpet ride over to play where growing older does not require growing up and purple is plentiful.
My mundane mindless myth meanders about the crowd in the 100 worried words below the prompt photo.
Genre: Bazaar Fiction
Title: American Men
Word Count: 100
***
“There. Blue baseball cap, Ray-Bans, running shoes. Passing the Greek Jewish food. Go!”
She approached. “Hello, mark. Remember me?”
He lowered his shades and made eye contact, then noticing her cleavage, “Ah, I’m afraid I, um, ah…”
She touched his bare arm. “I’m, Chloé. Last June in Paris?”
Embarrassed, he felt blood and sense drop from his brain to his groin. He felt a nudge from behind. He turned to look. When he turned back, she was gone, as was his wallet, watch, and even his sunglasses.
He thought, I should have known at the lower-case mark. My name’s Bill.
Look both ways on crowded streets.
Mind the gaps of décolletage and keep your eye on the ball.
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.
An acrostic poem using the preferred US spelling to begin each line.
Enraptured by his vision of her beauty
Naughty and naked, how he wanted her
Taken with thoughts of ecstatic adventure
He stood bewitched, erect and stone hard
Riveted by rapturous delight, beguiled by her
Alluring charm; hypnotized and transfixed,
Lured into lust, he lost as her spell of
Love enslaved his soul and passion.
It’s not always possible to look both ways.
The gaps can be enticing.
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2019/07/06/weekend-writing-prompt-113-enthral/
Before I get into this, I want to thank Chris Caldwell for suggesting so many mythological creatures, several of which I have posted so far. He also suggested that look to Aztec mythology for the letter X.
That led me to Xochiquetzal (pronounced Sho.chi.ket.sal), an Aztec goddess associated with fertility, beauty, and female sexual power. She was the protector of young mothers and a patroness of pregnancy, childbirth, and the crafts practiced by women such as weaving and embroidery.
This goddess of sex, crafts, fertility, dance, music, singing, weaving, magic, and love spells holds marigolds as sacred to her.
Xochiquetzal was also the patroness of many other humans; mainly lovers, prostitutes, weavers, and craftspeople. According to some, this was because they could make pleasure or objects that were beautiful to behold.
Xochiquetzal was the goddess who seduced a priest and then turned him into a scorpion as a mark of her power. If you want to make your mark in this world, screw a priest and then turn him into a nasty bug that stings.
She was depicted as incarnated youth, love, and beauty; and was amorously pursued by several Aztec gods. Presumably, they knew about the priest but were unafraid.
Unlike other fertility goddesses, she encouraged love-making for pure pleasure, not reproduction (thus ignoring the Pope). She had the power to forgive human sins that weren’t necessarily of a sexual nature. I am not sure why that matters, but I read it.
She was the wife of the water god, Tlaloc, and consort (girl friend?) to the god, Tezcatlipoca. She lived in the Aztec paradise of Tamoanchan. This goddess-lady was widely worshipped, and many rituals were in her honor, to include incredible acts of sacrifice (of course) and some somber confessions.
Xochiquetzal was a (not the) creator of humans and functioned as an intermediary between them and the other gods. She is frequently referred to as a facet of the female divine goddess, Tonacacíhuatl, from whose womb the first four Aztec gods were born.
Although she was a mother herself, this goddess never grew old and always appeared in the full bloom of youth. However, when one looks at Aztec art and how she was depicted by them, one can see how cultural differences can affect that.
No matter how you see this, look both ways for Aztec gods.
Just don’t try to spell or pronounce their names.
Mind all gaps.
I was gunna tell about being between Scylla and Charybdis, but these satyr characters got my attention. Have you seen the television commercials for women who forget to take their pill but it’s no problem? Well, these satyrs can forget the Viagra. I may even click the little a-to-z box for adult content. I have about decided that the Greeks were into sex much more than I ever knew.
In Greek mythology, satyrs are ithyphallic (click here for hyperlink to definition of phallic) male companions of Dionysus, who was god of the grape harvest, winemaking and wine, of ritual madness, fertility, theatre, and religious ecstasy in ancient Greek religion and myth. He sounds like a god for raising hell, if ya ask me.
Satyrs are human looking but may have ears and tails like a horse. And get this: permanent, exaggerated erections. Got it? Forget calling the doctor after four hours. These guys had gigantic woodies 24/7 and tended to get the local nymphs rightfully excited. They are known to focus on sex and are characterized by a horny desire to have sexual intercourse with as many women (called satyriasis) as possible. Poets, as poets will do, later introduced a female version, called satyresses.
You can find satyrs in Roman myth (faun), as well as other cultural mythology, such as Slavic. Since they are companions of Dionysus (wine god) they spend a lot of time drinking, dancing, and chasing nymphs.
Satyr cavort to the music of pipes (auloi), cymbals, castanets, and bagpipes, and they love to chase maenads or bacchants (with whom they are obsessed). In later art they dance with nymphs and have a special form of dance called sikinnis. They are often represented holding wine cups and appear as decorations on wine cups.
Their chief was Silenus, a minor deity associated with fertility. These characters can be found in the only complete remaining satyr play, Cyclops, by Euripides, and in fragments of others. Plays depicting satyr were short, lighthearted tailpieces performed after each trilogy honoring Dionysus. I wish some of this stuff survived. Can you imagine?
Satyrs, the original wine, woman, and song philanderers.
When you look both ways, try not to be shocked by what you see.
Mind your gaps if ya see Satyr loafing about.
You’ve been waiting for this one, right?
As a noun or verb; it means a very strong sexual desire, or a passionate desire for something. The synonym list is downright erotic: sexual desire, sexual appetite, sexual longing, ardor, desire, passion, libido, sex drive, sexuality, biological urge, lechery, lasciviousness, concupiscence, horniness, the hots, randiness, greed, desire, craving, covetousness, eagerness, avidity, cupidity, longing, yearning, hunger, thirst, appetite, hankering desire, be consumed with desire for, find sexually attractive, crave, covet, ache for, burn for, have the hots for, fancy, have a thing about or for, and drool over. (Whew) The key word in all of that is desire. This is not an act, it is merely a basic human want, or as George Carlin put it, “You gotta wanna.”
“It’s what’s in your mind that counts. Your intentions. Wanna is a sin all by itself….it was a sin for you to wanna feel up Ellen, it was a sin for you to plan to feel up Ellen, it was a sin for you to figure out a place to feel up Ellen, it was a sin for you to take Ellen to the place for you to feel her up, it was a sin to try to feel her up, and it was a sin to feel her up. There was six sins in one!” George Carlin, Class Clown, 1972.
When I get to be Pope, this lust deal comes off the list. The desire we call lust may cause us innumerable problems, but by itself, it’s no sin. It is not even bad. Our behavior may be bad. The desire may burden us in some way. We may not even admit to its existence. We lust, and we do it well. Were it not for bit of lust taken to the physical level about nine months before our original birthday, none of us would be here.
I wanna. Before you tar and feather me for being a dirty old man (normal), know that I was raised Irish-Catholic, just like Carlin was. Human sexual desire for other humans is normal, good, healthy, and leads to some of the best moments in our lives, not to mention procreation of the species. A vigorous libido is a good thing to have. But, not everyone agrees with me. Most obviously, many Roman Catholics, and certainly not their leadership. I quote from a piece by Sam Guzman, republished in The Catholic Gentleman.
“In my own observation, lust seems the most obvious of the seven deadly sins, and also the one that can overcome the unwary Christian soul like a flash flood.”
I like the flash (flesh?) flood part. But lust isn’t bad – it’s not immoral. It’s normal. Sexual repression, on the other hand, is abnormal. Yet it is supposed be the hallmark of a good Christian life. Accepting the reality that lust is a feeling just like any other, and learning how to deal with it seems much healthier than trying to deny its existence, repressing it, and making millions of young people think they are going to burn for eternity because racing hormones are doing the talking. Think about it. We’ve all been there.
One source I found said the opposite of lust is chastity. I disagree. You can do both: be chaste, but still lust. I looked up antonyms of lust, but the list is unsatisfactory. Only apathy (sloth?), and satisfaction (Rolling Stones song) got my attention. I don’t think there is a precise opposite for lust, unless it is not-lust, and that’s dumb. Maybe sloth is a good opposite, but how do we say having no desire, or not thinking? Dead? I wish not to be dead. Lust is a good sign that I’m not. Is un-wanna a real word?
When I was challenged to do this series, the proposal was to juxtapose the sin with its opposite. In this case, I can’t point to anything, and it would be pointless anyway. Sorry, I just can’t get no satisfaction.
When we fight against nature, two outcomes are possible. Either nature wins, or our human nature becomes corrupt and disordered.
Everything leads to something.
How we follow that path, and where it leads, is how we live.
Passion is good, desire is good, wanna is good! Lust to your heart’s content.
We get one life – live it well and enjoy the parts you can.
Mind any gaps and look both ways.
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