Paramour
By Lindsay F.
Isabel ran her hands through his honeyed curls, arching her back a bit, drowning in a pool of ecstasy. The first moan had been feigned, for her nerves and self consciousness forbade her handing herself entirely over to Jasper’s charms. But the second bottle of Veuve Clicquot, now sweating on the nightstand, had begun to take hold. The next moan was quite legitimate, but interrupted by the chilling sound of the front gate at the end of the driveway. He was home. Several moments passed, Isabel stunned at her own plan. Lost under the sheets and between her thighs, Jasper hadn’t heard the car rolling over the loose gravel just outside the window. Isabel lay still for a moment, cold with fear. She’d planned this, after all- why the sudden shock?
Of course she hadn’t consulted Jasper. As powerful as he was, he’d always been terrified of consequences. It was true, she loved both men. The question as to which would make her happy was silly to her. She could obviously be happy with either Andon or Jasper. The issue was the degree of her happiness- and Jasper’s. And Andon’s, for that matter. What suddenly occurred to her, as if for the first time, was the pain she was about to inflict on her poor husband. Sweet, simple Andon. He’d never have suspected.
The sound of footsteps on the hard wood hallway floor sent Isabel’s heart pounding as though it would burst through her bare chest. It took only an instant after a plan that had taken days to change her fickle mind. In a sudden flurry of sheets and sticky, delicious sweat, she’d pushed Jasper from the bed, and signaled him to him underneath. Used to potential trouble, he did it with great ease, looked to her eyes in a shared second of panic, and was under the enormous bed in an instant. His toned, yet slim body just fit. Andon was right outside the door. In one graceful movement, Isabel stood, panting, and swept her sheer robe around her shoulders. She raced to the door, swallowed hard, and opened it just before Andon’s hand reached the antique knob.
“My love! I am so glad you’re home. You look absolutely famished! You simply must come with me to the kitchen, Gertrude has made the most spectacular dinner.”
Andon smiled at the goddess he was married to. How fortunate a man he was. He kissed her throat, naïve to the scent of another man all over her body. “Why are you so warm, darling?”
“Oh, yes, isn’t it hot? I tried our window but it seems to be jammed. No matter. Come, let’s go to the kitchen. I’m just starving, aren’t you?”
Andon nodded, grinned, tossed his small leather bag onto the bed from the doorway, and put his arms around his wife.
Just Fall and Miss the Ground
By Sean H.
As I fell out of the twelfth story window the ground rushed at me and I was hit by a force that threw me back up towards the heavens. I panicked for a moment, a moment I had not panicked before, but then, the wind rushing through my hair and my coat slapping and flapping behind me, I realized that, no matter what the reason, I was flying over the city, over and unaware people down below.
The human race evolved on the African plains millennia ago, no predators in the trees, no reason to look up, not worth the processing power. Robots, all of them. Heads on a pivot. Side to side. Except me… and that one there, she looked up; I could see her mouth the famous line under her breath.
“It’s a bird, it’s a plane.”
I was fucking Superman… and if she was willing she would soon be fucking Superman, but first I would have to figure out how to get down… or maneuver at all for that matter, without finishing what I had planned for earlier. Before.
But before what? What had happened? I mean really. Was I flying? Was I being abducted by aliens? Was I still alive? Was I lying on the pavement back at the bottom of that building, people milling about my crushed and decomposing corpse? Was this real life or was it just fantasy? For all I knew I was still standing in that building, looking out across the city and wondering “what if?” That would be almost worse somehow. Worse than being dead? Worse than being crazy?
I looked back to where the woman stood, still looking at me, and my whole body turned and started moving towards her. She was pretty this one. The kind of pretty you see on the cover of Jane Austen novels. Pale skin, dark, curly hair and this one had light blue eyes to set off her other features. She smiled when she saw I was coming back and my heart warmed.
I don’t even remember landing that first time, but I remember looking her in the eyes and without a word taking her for a ride over the city. No one looked up, African plains and robots and all. We couldn’t cared less.
Reality or Not
By Dave C.
I run my hands through her long and lustrous hair. I kiss her forehead, her cheeks and then her neck. My tongue emerges to lick a roadway from her neck to her tiny earlobes and back again. After I nibble on her lobes for what seems eternity, I follow the straightest path to her beautiful face and those plump ripe red lips. I bite those lips that hold the taste of her and suddenly press forward for a strong deep kiss. The kiss is returned with equal fervor; we mingle our tongues and continue this way for many minutes.
We pull apart and both sets of eyes lock onto the other. We stare at each other and gently tease with the knowledge of what is yet to come. I press her down onto the bed and as I hover my tongue begins its downward journey along her well defined body. Chin, neck and oh those beautiful breasts. They are small but firm and afford me much pleasure. After paying them their rightful homage I resume my roadway of exploration.
In a sudden and unexpected move Cathy manages to flip me onto my back and begins her assault on my body. The suddenness and virtuosity of her onslaught caught me unaware and aroused me to a new intensity. We play at this back and forth power shifting until we are ready to explode. At that point we pull back and recharge ourselves. This game of pleasure/torture goes on for at least an hour until we can no longer wait for the ultimate joining of our bodies. Cathy rolls me onto my back again, mounts and losses herself screaming in wild abandon.
Later as we are relaxing, staring at the ceiling and letting our breath return to normal a loud clanging noise forces me into a sitting position. I turn toward the direction of the noise and looking me squarely in the face is my alarm clock demanding my attention.
Simultaneously through the locked door the dulcet of Cathy, our maid. “Sir, please wake up, remember, it’s your first day as a high school senior.”
At that I glance toward the pillow next to mine to find nothing.
Perfume
By Stewart M.
I smelled your perfume where I sat in an aisle seat of a 747 but it was worn by a short and dumpy stewardess and every time she passed me with her carts of drinks I could not stop myself from remembering the time I first smelled it on you after I had skinned my knee climbing a wall to get to a vine laden with purple flowers just three minutes before you arrived at the café so radiant and with that perfume which seemed to emanate from the nape of your neck tucked in under your remarkable dark curls that were so thick they remained damp hours after you showered and then you asked about my torn pants and I glanced sheepishly up at the high growing vine and then down at the small bouquet in your hand and with a deep inhalation I kissed the side of your neck and smelled your perfume so sweet and so clean and that was the same scent I smelled in the plane returning home and damn it shook my smug conviction that I had forgotten you through means of booze and beach and happy Caribbean women because there was your perfume hanging in the air and it was ripping off the band aid of my fake cure and creating a wound anew while I was running down my list of half baked excuses for the sabotage I created and trying to feel some genuine confidence in that wreckage but when I got off that plane I went directly to your apartment I do not know why and with my bags in my hands I stood outside your window in the harsh wind and saw you silhouetted by a light against the closed blinds and you were brushing your hair with a tenderness that struck me hard and again the smell of your perfume came to me but this time I was only imagined while I watched you there and did nothing but stand in the cold wind and despair.
A Wax Letter
Sitting in front of the paper under the candle light, the wax is almost already fully melted and I cannot come with any words to write down with my plume. My window lets the bright light of the moon come in and the wind outside blows the leaves of the trees like in a magical spiral stairwell to the moon. The blank paper still without words and probably will stay like that for a while. I hope you understand what I am going through. I still remember your soft fingers all over my body and your sweet voice whispering into my ear my name.
Countless times I have tried to write you this letter and I never know where to begin, I can’t find the words to say to your clear and bright eyes that still linger in my soul. Life is full of passions and I do not need to give you explanations, you know me well enough.
Your kisses still fresh on my body and my soul does not understand why you are not here anymore; it aches for you.
There is nothing in the world that can cure this illness of love. You are everything I want and I know you are everything I want. The universe dictates that we must be together, but your family does not. I could care less but I care because you care.
I will send this wordless letter to you with my soul poured into it. You will know what it means. Goodbye my love and so long my precious.
Sincerely,
Your Anonymous Lover
Note: First draft of experimenting with the voice of a letter within a short-short story without any context. Feedback appreciated.