How to Deal with a Surprise Penis (or Victoria, Your Twenty Minutes Start...Now!)

Flash fiction time again. My writing group didn’t have to write about surprise penises, but I wanted to. The exercise involved choosing a headline from a magazine. The headline I chose was:

How to Deal with a Surprise Penis

“Oh! Is…is it…?” Tamara perched on the mattress, her feet tucked up near her bottom, her knees squashing her chest. She darted another glance at his…his…and tried to ignore the fluttering inside her tummy.

He seemed to make a sort of strangled sound.

Her eyes flew up. Oh goodness gracious, if she could just keep staring at his face, then everything would be alright. He―what did he say his name was? Michael?―had such a kind face. Since she had to have―she shuddered―a customer, she supposed she was lucky to have him as her first. He had an easy grin, a few freckles sprinkled across his nose, and blue eyes that seemed to have a reassuring twinkle.

“Is it what?” His deep, gentle voice shook, but he tilted his head and gazed into her eyes, politely ignoring…well, the rest of her.

Oh my goodness! The bed creaked as he lay down on his back next to her, lazily stretching himself out. His eyebrow lifted in enquiry. And she wasn’t mistaken. There was that twinkle. But her eyes seemed to have a mind of their own, for they drifted down the length of his long, lithe, naked body. He rested his head in his laced fingers. His biceps bulged.

She forced her gaze away and stared at her toes peeking out from the bottom of the sheet she’d hastily wrapped around herself. It doesn’t matter what this man looks like. Close your eyes and think of…

But that picture of England’s green hills and valleys escaped her. Her eyes drifted again to that sprinkling of hair across his chest, then down to his defined abs, trim belly, and down to his…

He reached for her hand. Reluctantly, she let her fingers release the sheet she clutched to her chest. It fell to her knees, revealing her far too voluptuous breasts. Her mouth dried as she saw his gaze move down to her chest. She was too big, wasn’t she? Guys liked pert, perky little boobs, didn’t they? Not huge ones, like hers.

He twined his fingers with hers and rested their hands on his chest. His eyes―such kind eyes―flicked up to hers, waiting.

“Um…” she replied, feeling her face heat to a point when she could fry eggs on it, “is…is it supposed to have…you know…”

He shook his head. Such a handsome head. Curly, tobacco brown hair, lovely sensual lips that should be kissing some lucky lady―why on earth was he with her?―were at the moment twitching at the corners.

 “No, I don’t know, Tamara. You’ll have to tell me. Is it supposed to have what?”

She stared down at the part of his anatomy currently under discussion and gulped. Long seconds passed. Still he waited. He seemed to be almost―in pain? He was breathing hard. Goodness, she thought miserably, I’m so totally useless at this. Why were his lips sort of wobbling?

“Tamara?”

“Is…is your penis…supposed to have a bend in it?” she finally blurted.

He burst out laughing.

Victoria, Your Twenty Minutes Start...NOW! - Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction time at Sultry Scribes!

Our task? Close our eyes and pick two words from the dictionary. Three people, six words. Include three of those words in a story.
Our words were: defeat, nemesis, perk, contortionist, clutch, stodgy
And here’s my story:


It hovered like a sickening cloud, waiting, wanting to strike me down.

My nemesis smiled at me with mocking pity. She could see my defeat. Smell it.  She’d been waiting a long time for this moment. Her pale blue eyes shone with malice.

My heart thudded in my chest. My stomach knotted. Only my pride kept me still.

Wiping my sweating hands down my sides, I took a deep breath. Then flung back my shoulders. The crowd hushed and waited.

With clenched fists, I faced her. I would not bow my head to this woman. She would not be my master.
And so, with a smile every bit as taunting as her own, I returned her venom. I enjoyed her frown.

Those who thought to judge me stared. Doubt flooded their faces. So it should. They were wrong.

They tried again. Their heads leaned in, touched, whispered, nodded. Then he stood, the main one. Fixed me with his steely grey eyes. My enemy shuffled closer, to be included in his gaze. Her eyes flicked to mine. Ah. Not so confidant now?

“The vote is unanimous,” he said. “My apologies, Mrs Perkins.” He smiled at me. “What you have given us is perfect, not stodgy in any way.”

The crowd drew in a collective breath. Her shoulders slumped.

“I declare your entry to be Best Cake of the Show.”

Victoria, Your Twenty Minutes Start...NOW!

This flash fiction piece started its life as a squiggle. With all my artistic abilities, I scrawled a couple of funny little lines on my paper. My writer friend filled them in and came up with a woman in the surf.

Lifesaver

Salt water threatened to drag me under. I struck out against the current. Another wave hit me. Bigger this time. I managed to gulp in a tiny breath before I was smashed down again. Rolling and tumbling in horrifying somersaults, fine sand ground into my eyes, my nose, my mouth. My lungs screamed for air. Glimpses of the blue sky far, far above mocked me.

"Amber!"

My eyes fluttered open. Above me, leaning over my face, was the most handsome man I'd ever seen. Wet, black curls clung to his strong, tanned face. Concerned, questioning dark brown eyes, fringed by thick, black lashes, held my gaze.

"Amber?" he said again. A small hint of a pleading smile.

I sighed in admiration and closed my eyes again. If you're going to be saved from the surf by a lifesaver, he may as well be lovely. It was amazing how great I felt, I thought in surprise. Peeking up again, I saw white, even teeth, a masculine blade of a nose, firm lips turned up at the corners.

He drew back to sit on his haunches, so I let my eyes flit down to the rest of him. His body matched his face. Lean, wide, bare shoulders, a rigid six-packed abdomen, and a chest with a smattering of delicious black curls that led down to…well, tight fitting board shorts covered up that interesting area.

Two things hit me at the same time. I struggled to a sitting position, staring beyond my dark haired lifesaver to the empty beach beyond him. "Where is everyone? This place was packed when I went in the surf. And how do you know my name?"

His face fell. I don't think I've ever seen such sadness. "You're not my Amber," he said, his voice flat. He set his jaw. Then, observing my bafflement, he smiled. A tight, disappointed smile with a hint of tenderness. "So many Ambers," he mused."

Totally at a loss, and just a little frightened, I forced my voice to be firm. "Did you rescue me?"

He nodded.

"Thank you…"

"Kieran," he supplied, his eyes wistful, so sad.

"Kieran, thank you for saving me. But you haven't answered my questions. Where have all the people gone? And how do you know my name? I don't know you, do I?"

Silence stretched for so long, I wondered if he was going to answer me.

"There are no people here, because this is my Paradise. Mine and Amber's." He sighed, and said again, "So many Ambers." He frowned. "Are you married?"

I shook my head, swallowing, searching the empty beach for some sign of life.

Kieran gave a half smile. "Good. I know that sounds crazy. You aren't my Amber. You can marry anyone you want. But the last Amber was married to a guy called Dave, and it hurt. Crazy huh?"

He seemed to be talking more to himself than me, but I couldn't agree with him more.

He seemed to observe my mounting fear, for he smiled again. A huge, sweet, comforting smile that worked. "Don't worry, Amber. You'll be fine. I'll just keep waiting for my Amber. She'll come."

His lovely smile blurred, dimmed, darkened.

I woke up in a hospital bed.

"Amber?"

My eyes fluttered open. I smiled up at the concerned, worried face of my sister.


(I'd love to know what you think this is about.)

Victoria Black, your twenty minutes start...NOW!

Everyone in our group brought a couple of items. (I brought a lollipop and a tube of hand cream.) I was the one to lucky dip and pick out the…toy fire-truck. So that's what we wrote about!

Fire-truck

"Lady, stay calm, okay?"

She started, her eyes glazed. She took a tiny step forward, and my heart froze.

"Ma’am, just hold tight to the gutter. I'll have you down in a second."

As I absorbed the petite, dark haired woman, precariously swaying as she clutched the guttering above her head, I wondered, as I always did at these times, what circumstances could have driven her to take this step. She was young, pretty. What the hell had gone so wrong in her life?

"Ma'am, my name is Dave. What's yours?" I tried my best, friendly fireman smile.

It seemed to work, for she swallowed and smiled tentatively back. "Amy."

We'd got the 000 call ten minutes ago. A woman on the ledge, four storeys up. The ladder just made it, and there I was, my head and shoulders peaking over the edge. The guys on the ground were ready to catch her. But all my training told me to take this slow. So much could go wrong.

"Hi Amy." I grinned again, my heart pounding in my chest, my mouth dry.

"Hi Dave," she whispered, again with a tiny smile. Her lovely face was pale, her eyes wide, terrified.

"Amy," I said, forcing myself to sound calm, "I want you to stay where you are and I'll lift myself up onto the ledge, okay?"

Amy nodded, opened her mouth to speak, but then glanced down into the darkness below. In the fluorescent light above her head, she paled even more. Sweet Jesus, she was about to faint.

I leapt up onto the ledge. Grabbed her around the waist, and dragged her slim body up against mine. She clutched onto me, as I pulled her toward her open window. A second later, she was safe inside her apartment.

I breathed in heartfelt relief.

Amy smiled up at me, her face still deathly pale, her eyes still wide, shocked. "Thank you, Dave." She took a huge breath.

Why the hell had she done this to herself? "Amy, we can help you. You don't have to let things get so bad that you feel you have to…"

Her brows pleated in confusion. "…to?"

"To, er, you know, end it all."

Amy laughed, her cheeks reddening. "Oh, I wasn't going to kill myself. I wanted the balloon that floated out the window."

Victoria Black, your twenty minutes start NOW!

This time, the topic was a sentence, the opening line: "They found his diary under his bed."

I like my heroes arrogant. They provide such good fireworks. 

They found his diary under his bed. Poor bastard and all that.

But shit.

Katherine Bridges glared at Detective Steven Entmore. Half a minute more, and it would have been no contest. This case would have been hers. She'd been on duty. But she'd been called away with a break and enter. The perp had been the resident. He'd forgotten his housekeys. But, in that half hour window, Detective Entmore had taken over the case.

Katherine gritted her teeth, as she gazed down at the dead victim and that probably vital clue next to his broken hand. Why did it have to be Steve who'd taken the case? He irritated the hell out of her, for all sorts of good reasons. Yes, he was good looking. Bloody good looking. Six foot. Lanky. Dark haired. Muscles hidden beneath his usual badly ironed white, cheap shirt. He lifted his tanned, lean face to her and smiled. Only the cut above his lip saved him from being perfect.

"Well, Detective Bridges, what a surprise." His white teeth glowed in the low light of the dingy room. His eyes glinted with gentle malice. Usually they glinted with something far more inviting. "But I'm afraid you're too late. The case is mine." He grinned again.

She'd seen that grin so many times. Girls weakened at the knees and sighed. Happened in every pub, every restaurant, every time the department got together. He zeroed in on a pretty woman, and she gave in. Katherine growled. Did he think for one moment his sex on legs display was going to work with her?

Then he laughed. No. He was being his usual smart arse, bastard self. His eyes narrowed and he took a step closer. She forced herself to stay put. "So, Detective Bridges," he whispered, "I suggest you run off, and let the big people take care of things."

She looked at him in disbelief. And breathed in deep, deep breaths. She was not going to take the bait. This time, she was going to be cool, calm, collected.

"Fuck you!"

The words exploded out of her mouth before she could stop them. "This is my case, Detective Entmore. You were officially off duty. So you toddle off like a good little boy, and I'll deal with this. Didn't I hear there was a bicycle stolen from the local high school?" She smiled, hoping her teeth glinted back at him.

He stiffened at her response, and took another step closer. He did that on purpose, Katherine knew, to intimidate. She'd seen him do it to countless men. They'd always backed off. Of course, he'd never done it to a woman, as far as she knew. He'd known he'd already won.

But not with her.

Hump Help Wednesday: Flash Fiction

Many people have been talking about FLASH FICTION...yet it was still a new concept to me up until four months ago. Now I can't wait to get my writing brain geared up for another flash fiction story.  But what is Flash Fiction??

Flash fiction is where you take a photo or idea and build a short story or scene around it. But your word limit is small so you have to choose just the right words to make the scene come alive. Speech tags aren't encouraged because they can eat up your word count. This activity is more fun when you have multiple people writing stories and sharing different perspectives of the picture or scene. 

Take this picture of a guy in the shower. What could you say about who he is and why he's in the shower? Is this a shower for pleasure or is he celebrating after killing his girlfriend? Remember that when you write flash fiction, tantalize the senses of your readers but make each word count.

Here's a sample:

John was sure he was in deep trouble. He didn't mean to do it. It just happened. Hopping into the shower he needed to scrub the memories from his skin. Using his girlfriend's strawberry bodywash brought her sweet scent to mind. 

How was he going to explain to Susan that he'd slept with her best friend, Jan?

Most flash fiction is around 300 words. See if you can write a short piece using only 300 words. It really tightens your writing and allows you to create some very exciting pieces. In fact three authors that I know have taken a flash fiction piece and turned it into an award winning novel. Enjoy!