Snippettesville: 600 word stories

[wildsweetone]

Christmas Story

600 words plus title


Christmas Eve in Town

Liz paced the lounge, her half smoked cigarette dangling from between lush red lips as she muttered under her breath. He was late. She’d sworn she’d never ever wait for another man and yet here she was, waiting. He had to be the most infuriating man she’d ever known. But then, he was just Harold and she knew he was never going to change.

Irritated, she brushed the white lace curtain aside and peered out into the night. No sign of his car. No sign of any car for that matter. For god’s sake, wasn’t it meant to be Christmas Eve? What do these country bumpkins in Snippettsville actually do on Christmas Eve? Do they all stay home in front of their cozy warm fires drinking hot toddys and opening plastic presents?

Swatting the curtain back, Liz dragged deeply on her half finished cigarette then blew the smoke through her nose in the way that always managed to send stinging jabs through her nerve endings. Grabbing the cigarette from her mouth with deep red manicured fingertips, Liz ground it out in the crystal ashtray, blowing the last of the smoke from her system. She needed a drink. Not the tiny bottle in the fridge, it would be triple the price of a normal drink and contain only half the buzz effect she needed.

Snatching her bag from the table, she reached the door in three steps. Ignoring the empty parking lot, she walked out onto the street. The only movements were snow flurries fluttering around the street lamps, or at least, every second street lamp. It seemed all the alternate ones had blown bulbs. “Hick town,” she mumbled under her breath as she shrugged, then walked to the pub.

It was oddly silent.

The lights glowed in the windows of the pub. And the juke box blared into the night. Opening the double doors, Liz realised the place was empty. Shaking her head in confusion, she walked to the back of the room then banged the bell until it jangled in her ears.

How odd that there was no one else around.

The bartender came through the doorway at the end of the bar. Liz smiled almost with relief. Then she realised it was the same guy as before, the one who drooled as he’d made her a drink. Wiping the smile from her mouth and from her eyes, she ordered a “gin and tonic, with lemon.”

“I’m sorry lover, we’re out o’ lemon,” he grinned showing Liz his missing front tooth.

Wincing, “it’s okay, just give me the gin and tonic.”

Three large gins later, she asked, “where is everybody?”

“Oh they’re probably all tucked up at home doing the cutesy Christmassy thing.” The glass thudded dully as he placed the fourth in front of her.

“And what exactly is the Christmassy thing?” she knew she’d regret asking.

“Come on out the back with me and I’ll show ya.” The cave entrance grin widened.

Liz downed the drink, dropped the glass on the counter, then walked to the back room. May as well be entertained for half an hour as not, she thought.

Unable to believe his luck, the bartender rushed to follow her. In his haste, he tripped over the edge of a beer crate, then crashed to the ground. His head hit the floor, seemed to bounce then fell back down to lay still.

Checking his neck for a pulse, Liz sighed. Just my luck, she thought. I finally succumb to a quickie in the back of a pub and the guy knocks himself out for me.

 

[jon.hayworth]

Hannah’s Half-Sister
by Jon Hayworth

“Hi hon - long time no see,” the peroxide blond smiled at Hannah.
“What do you want?” Hannah did not return the smile.
“Just thought I’d look you up - it’s been a long while.”
Hannah pointed, “New York’s that way - Los Vegas is that a way,” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder.
“Why that is no way to greet your own kin.”
“Marianne, you may be my kin, but an accident of birth don’t mean I have to like you.”
“Now that is clear, I guess I’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.” As she walked out of the diner she tossed a parting pleasantry over her shoulder, “have a nice day do you hear, little sister.”
Hannah burnt with anger, if there was one person in the world she both hated and feared it was her half-sister Marianne. Her fury increased, when through the window she saw Jack Carr, a couple of idlers and a trucker all ogling Marianne’s pert heart shaped buttocks as she swayed down the street. ‘Typical of her, skirt’s too tight and too short, and she’s forty-five if she’s a day,’ Hannah raged.
“Is that your sister?” Jack said as he entered the diner.
His glowing smile infuriated Hannah, “you should be ashamed of yourself Jack Carr - I saw you out there drooling over her. And you too,” she accused the trucker who had followed Jack in.
“She sure is some woman,” the trucker commented.
“Too expensive for you - last I heard,” Hannah snapped slamming two coffees on the counter.
“Haven’t seen her in years, last I heard she was someplace out west” Jack said.
“Working in some Bunny Ranch - she should have stayed there.”
The diner became busy with the midday rush, Hannah had no time to think about Marianne - in fact until mid-afternoon she had almost forgotten her. Until she saw Marianne in the street with a a man from the Real Estate Agency.
Ethel Carr came into the diner. “I just dropped by anything to get away from Jack - he’s moonstruck,” she said morosely.
“Struck on Marianne,” Hannah replied handing her a cup of coffee.
“So, it was her I saw.”
“What was she doing?”
“Looking at empty properties - like she was setting up a business here.”
At that moment the door opened and in walked the realtor.
Seeing the self-satisfied smile on the man’s face Hannah said, “you look like you’ve had a good day.”
“You could say that. I’ve shifted a property that has been on our books for years.”
“That’s good,” Hannah said flashing the man a winning smile, “anyone I know?”
“I don’t think so, she don’t come from round here - I’ve never seen her before,” the man replied.
“Who the blond woman you were with?” Ethel asked.
“Can’t do nothing in this town without everyone knowing,” the realtor said.
“That’s Snippetsville for you,” Hannah said, “now tell us what kind of business she’s setting up.”
“That’s confidential and who mentioned a business.”
“You were on the main street so that means a business, and of course you can tell us - we will get to know anyway. Do you want another coffee?”
“I’ll take the coffee.”
“Get to the point,” Ethel urged him.
“Why she says she is going to open a massage parlour.”
“Massage Parlour!!!” both women exclaimed simultaneously.
“She can’t not here in Snippetsville,” Hannah said.
“Nothing in the zoning rules to stop it,” said the realtor, “and a lot of men would think it a good idea.”
“And a lot of women won’t and I certainly will not!” Hannah replied.


600 words plus title

 

[jon.hayworth]

THE OUTBREAK OF THE GREAT SNIPPETSVILLE WAR OF THE SEXES
by Jon Hayworth

I had spent a quiet Christmas up in my cabin, not wanting to join in the communal festivities of an event I did not believe in, I had given folks the impression I had gone home for a few weeks. Secretly I had been doing some serious writing without the distraction of Snippetsville matrons.

It was the first week in January when I rode the BMW into town, riding through deep snow was certainly an experience for me. The bike was fine, all the R&D on the Russian Front in WW2 had paid off.

I sensed the tension in the air the moment I entered the store. Seeing Jack's hang-dog demeanour I thought he had failed to perform his matrimonial duties over the Christmas period, Ethel could be very demanding sexually - one reason why I had avoided anyone.

Although Ethel smiled, I could sense there was something else on her mind. A few moments later when she brandished the clipboard in my face I knew what it was. “Will you sign our petition to keep our community pure.”

How I stopped myself from laughing I do not know. Keep the town PURE - first there had been Hannah, then Ethel knocking on my door and since then - well I will tell you about them some other time.


I looked at the petition, before I read the text I noted most of the signatories were women, Father Morrison and Mr Niles the minister were the only males who had signed. I always read the text before I sign a petition, ‘We the citizens of Snippetsville object to the idea of a Massage Parlour being located in Snippetsville.’ I shook my head and handed back the clipboard, “sorry Ethel I can't sign.”

“Why not?”

“I live at Green Lake it’s not really Snippetsville.”

“You mean you’re like him,” she jerked her head in Jack’s direction. “Everytime he sees her his tongue is hanging out - I only wish he could show the same enthusiasm for his wife.”

“Now Ethel ...”

“Don’t you go now Ethelling me ... now look what you gone made me do! I told you Jack Carr I ain’t speaking to you.” ‘See you tonight,’ she mouthed. I nodded my head.

In post-coital bliss, while Ethel toyed with my sated, limp cock. I reciprocated by tweaking her nipple while marvelling on the pioneering spirit of American women, who will drive along snow covered tracks for a few hours of illicit sex - women I knew in England wouldn’t drive to the supermarket when snow had fallen.

We both heard the motor and the tires scrunching on the snow. My first thought was Jack had at last worked out where his wife was. I guess Ethel shared that idea, she dove under the bedclothes.

Going to the door, I wondered if Jack had a gun.

A wave of relief swept over me when I saw Hannah. “Hi,” she said, “I saw you were back and thought I’d be neighbourly. I see you gotten company.” I must have looked startled, because she said, “I saw Jack’s truck outside.”

She saw the empty room, then she clicked. “Well I’ll be damned,” she said striding to the bedroom door. “Ethel! Ethel Carr how dare you, he is mine.”

“Hey I’m not a lump of meat!”

“Shut up!” the viragos chorused.

“I can share if you can share,” Ethel offered.

“Has he got the stamina for the two of us?” was Hannah’s answer.

One guy, two women - every man’s dream but it is hell in reality, and I still haven’t signed the petition.




598 excluding title

 

[champagne1982]

Shallow Desires (a Randy and Cheri episode)

I was trembling as he tugged me into his embrace. I was in awe of the response his body drew from me. All through the three serious boyfriends I’d had in high school, not one had elicited as powerful a reaction as Randy did through his smile alone. I shook my head, realizing how near I was to giving this man my virtue.

His kisses were wonderful. I savored the taste of his soft lips on mine. The sweet taste of the cherries we’d shared in his truck just a moment ago yet lingered between us. I could feel my heart skip a beat as his fingertips met the bare skin of my shoulder, just beside my neck. I could feel my pulse fluttering beneath Randy’s touch and I realized that I really should be slowing us down.

Shakily, I turned my mouth from his, gasping as his hands swept down over my breasts. I struggled to find a way to be graceful, but I felt woefully inadequate. Maybe it was the self-assured way that he steered my actions and emotions, but I wanted this man, like I’d never wanted anyone before. Randy had swept me along with him for the past twelve hours, from our first kiss in my parents’ rec. room, through our dinner date and the party at the beach and now here, as I bade him good night.

"I had a wonderful time, Randy. Did you?" I was hoping that he had, that he'd want to see me again.

"Cheri, don't leave me yet!" His voice was low and sounded urgent. He pressed to me and I was startled to feel the hard evidence of his burgeoning arousal against my belly.

"Oh, God! It's so soon." I protested weakly. I wanted him, too, though.

All that long afternoon and evening we’d talked. He told me of how his business was growing. Snippetsville was really booming and Randy McCrae was riding the shockwave in front of the blast. In my turn I’d told him of my plans to become a teacher. That need burned in me as hot as a cherry-red coal in the bonfire pit on the beach.

Reaching around me, Randy opened the door. He pressed his lips to mine and our lips danced in sensual choreography. I felt my knees buckle when his strong hands drew forward and cupped my breasts.

“Let me, sweet Baby. Cheri, I need to make love to you.”

My blood chilled with his words and I moved back from him, “Is this what it sounds like? If I give in to you now, Randy . . .” I choked. All I could think of was that he may not want me for anything more than quick, easy sex. I could barely hold the tears from my voice, “Am I just a one-night stand?”

“Cheri! Please don’t think that. God, Baby! You’re so beautiful and smart. I want to know you better.”

"Yeah, better.” was my sarcastic reply.

“Don’t be like that. I’ll stop,” his voice was ragged as he stepped back, giving me a bit of space, “Every part of me is screaming that I keep asking, Cheri. I know better though, Baby. You can have your time.”

“Randy!” I flung myself forward against him and reached up to wrap my arms around his neck. “You couldn’t have said it better.” I kissed him, trying to make him feel my promise of more, through the intimate caress, “Soon. Randy, you have to teach me how much better it is to know more.”

 

[Lancelot Knight]

Short Story

602 Words



GRACE

by

Lancelot Knight


As he left the Interstate and took the county road to Snippetsville, Brian saw all the familiar sights of his youth. There was Hannah’s Diner, the General Store, the old mill. Memories flooded in.

One memory in particular: Slender, with light green eyes, high cheekbones, and budding breasts, the memory’s name was Grace.

During that gold and green summer, the last he had spent in Snippetsville, she was innocence personified.

Having graduated from the Snippetsville High School three months before, Brian had won a scholarship, those many years ago, to a prestigious Ivy League school; he was leaving in a few days.

They held hands that evening down by Green Lake, in a light caressing way that lovers will when they think they have forever. Under his arm he had carried a blanket. Although neither of them said anything, both knew what the blanket was for.

He spread it under the milky moonlight, and they had laid down, just petting at first, until an urgency grew in him. He tugged off her blouse and bra. Grace had held her hand to her breasts until he brushed it aside to feast on the small mounds.

He kissed his way from her breasts down to her fleecy mound. He felt her shudder, hesitate, then open her thighs for him. He mounted her with all the energy and exuberance of youth and had taken her with powerful strokes that did him justice if he did have to say so himself.

Afterwards, the moon dipping behind the pines, Grace sobbed softly. The blanket was stained with blood.

“I didn’t know,” he said helplessly.

On the way back to the car, there was silence between them. Finally, when he kissed her good-bye at her door, she said, “You’ll write, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he replied.

“And call once in awhile.”

“Sure.”

At first, a steady stream of love letters arrived at his dorm. He would reply to one out six. After all, he was busy, and school sure as hell wasn’t easy. She would call too, so often that Brian had to get his roommate to finally brush her off. The sophisticated girls of his school quickly put Grace in the back of his mind. He had even married one of those sophisticated girls. The marriage lasted perhaps six years longer than it should have. One of his partners in the law firm handled the acrimonious details of the settlement.

Through those years, he never quite forgot Grace, and when the twenty-fifth high school reunion was announced, Brian decided to go back home.

Driving through the small town, it did still seem like home, though he had been in New York City for twenty years.

He wondered if Grace had finally forgiven him. Had he ruined her life? Was she a bitter old maid, perhaps, teaching in the school they had both attended?

Guilt, always in the background regarding Grace, filled his mouth with bile. He saw a payphone by the filling station and pulled over. He talked to the guy in the station; Brian didn’t recognize him until he told him he was old man Shannon’s son.

“Is Grace still around?” asked Brian.

“Grace? Sure. Why?”

“You don’t happen to have her number by any chance?’

“It’s around here somewhere.”

Dialing the payphone with apprehension, Brian listened to the ring, shifting from foot to foot.

“Hello?”

“Grace? Is that you, Grace?”

“Yes, it is. Who is this?”

“Brian . . . Brian Morrison.”

"Brian Morrison?" Puzzlement, silence for a moment, then "Brian!" A soft, tinkling laugh. "I haven’t thought of you in years!”

 

[Lancelot Knight]

Story

598 Words, Not Including Title


THE BRIGHT EDGE

By Lancelot Knight


Jack had to admit that he had given it his best try. But twenty-two years of married life would dull anyone’s sensibilities. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Ethel—he surely did—it was just that after awhile you grew to know every inch of the landscape. He had memorized every nook and cranny of his wife’s body. He knew if he caressed the undersides of her breasts that she would shudder with delight, if he lightly grazed the inner portion of her thighs that she would whimper softly. He knew intimately the valley between her breasts and what she would do if he planted wet kisses there. He knew how she would squirm when he circled her clit. He knew all of this over and over again.

In the first decade, even two, of their marriage he had reveled in his wife. But finally, finally, their love-making had lost its bright edge.

In a phrase, Jack was bored.

To compensate, perhaps, Jack began to write erotica. Not long after Harry showed him how to use the computer and the internet, he discovered a site called Literotica. He couldn't remember how he found it He was fascinated by the freedom others had to express all sorts of fantasies. In the small town of Snippetsville, no one talked about fantasies!

Jack began to write stories himself and was amazed when readers would write to him, commenting on them. He was especially intrigued by one response, a reader who called herself Lara. They had begun a e-mail correspondence that quickly escalated from innocent flirting to the outright down-and dirty.



Ethel had long sensed the boredom in her marriage. But she was at a loss about what to do about it. Snippetsville didn’t offer any insights. She had tentatively raised the issue with her best friend Sarah, but Sarah responded incredulous by saying, “You’re talking about sex!”

Ethel had turned a bright red and ended the conversation.
Maybe, she thought, she could get some ideas from the new computer Harry had given them. She chanced on a site that printed erotic stories, and she was immediately captivated about the graphic details of the stories. She even found herself becoming aroused by some of the stories, her nipples hardening in her bra. After awhile, she worked up enough courage to write to some of the writers—first, women writers, then some men. She signed herself Lara. She even found herself exchanging erotic e-mails with one of the men.



One day the inevitable happened. Jack had to run into the general store quickly about something or another, so Ethel went into the room that served as their library, computer room, TV center. The screen was lit with that eerie ghost light computers have; the cursor was blinking. There on the screen she saw a reply that Jack had begun to an e-mail. What astonished Ethel was that it was her e-mail.

She heard a sound behind her.

It was Jack. “I can explain—” he began.

Ethel smiled. “There’s nothing to explain.”

She leaned back against the desk. Slowly she lifted her skirt to reveal legs that were still shapely. She wasn’t wearing any panties. “Didn’t you tell me I shouldn’t wear any panties?”

“You’re—?”

She drew him into her arms. “And in one e-mail didn’t you say something about wanting to try a nooner?”

“Now that you mentioned it, I think I did.”

And as she drew him into her arms, as they merged into understanding, Jack and Ethel, holding more than hands, entered into an entirely new world of possibilities.

 

[wildsweetone]

(Massage Parlor Story)
600 words plus title




Tripping Triumph

“Helloooooooo!” Liz shouted along the empty road.

Not a soul answered, which felt odd considering it was midday and she strolled along Snippettsville’s Main Street.

“Hellthefuckinglooooo!”

No answer. Not a bird stirred. Utter silence.

“Well,” Liz shrugged red woollen covered shoulders at nothing in particular. “Be that way. See if I care,” trudging along the snow dusted street. “This town sure could do with a little Life. It’s like a morgue.”

Walking past 10 Main Street, something bright purple caught Liz’s eye. Turning, she realised a notice was stuck in the doorway of the empty building.

‘Massage Parlor
Opening Soon’

“Well, holy far out. A Massage Parlor in Snip eh. That’ll cause chaos for the cronies,” she chuckled, pushed the door open then walked inside the building.

Dust and cobwebs assailed her, along with “Hey what are you doing in here, it’s not safe, get out!”

Startled, Liz squinted through the darkened room spotting a vague shape on the other side of the building. Walking towards it, she tripped on a piece of four by two laying on the concrete.

“Oops sh...”

“Now, now, mind your language young lady. I’m a godfearing man and don’t need to hear bad words coming from a beautiful woman’s mouth.”

Luckily Liz was still unable to make out the man’s expression, or she might have seen the twinkle in his eye as he admonished her. Luckily for him that is. She was in no mood to pussyfoot around today.

“What are you doing in here? Obviously it’s not safe for either of us to be here,” Liz’s arm waved about the building.

“I’m a builder, contracted to get this place up to scratch for the opening day.”

“When exactly is the opening day? I can’t believe a hick town like Snip is going to allow a Massage Parlor in its midst,” she snorted.

“Oh, it’ll not be for some time yet,” he said, “there’s lots to decide and lots to do in here before it happens.”

“Yes I can see that.” Her eyes having become accustomed to the dimness within the building, now saw the mess that surrounded her. “It looks like the Parlor won’t be opening for another year at least.”

Moving about the building, Liz tripped again, only this time, she sprawled right out across the floor. The contractor rushed to her side checking that she was all right. Liz grinned, “It’s okay love, I’ve twisted my ankle is all. I’ll be fine in a few minutes. Give us a hand up.”

He helped her up, then grabbed a solid wooden box and seated her on it.

“Well now, this is a fine state of affairs,” he took off his cap, scratching his head.

“No matter. Like I said, I’m fine. It’s just twisted.”

Liz reached out, grabbing his overalls, hoping she could lift herself up. Instead, she found the overalls peeling from his body. She ran her long fingernails down the front of his exposed chest stopping only as her hand became caught up just below his belly button.

“Oh goodness dear. Please stop that. I don’t even know you.” The man flustered.

“It’s okay, I know what I’m doing. I’ve done this before,” Liz winked and grinned, then showed him exactly what she knew how to do best.

“Now,” she spoke as he breathed deeply, “do you think I’d be any good as a massage assistant?”

“Any good? Hell, I’ll book you now as your first customer! Don’t tell the wife though, she’s in a meeting at the Town Hall now. Maggie’s on the Massage Parlor Petition Committee.

 

[Lancelot Knight]

Story

604 Words, Not Including Title



The Answer

By Lancelot Knight



When his Aunt Louisa died, Dan wasn’t sure how he should feel. They’d never been particularly close. A couple pastoral summers in Snippetsville when he was a kid was all he vaguely remembered. Occasionally he'd scrawl her hurried letters or postcards when he vacationed in Hawaii. So all he felt was an impersonal, ominous question: “Why?”

His mother had wanted him to go to the funeral in Snippetsville, so for her sake he was pulling off the interstate, taking the county road.

It was easy enough to find St. Anne’s: it was just a block off Main.

A number of relatives and friends were standing about awkwardly in front of the church. Mechanically, Dan shook hands with those that he knew and introduced himself to those he didn’t. He hugged his mother when she broke into fresh rivulets of tears every so often.

Dan noticed a woman, with hair the color of rain darkened cedar, standing by herself in the corner. She wore a black dress that went a bit above her knees, revealing, in a casual manner, stunning legs. Perhaps the dress wasn’t especially expensive, but she gave it a nimbus of elegance. Her coral-colored lips were full. Like the dress there was a hint of something else about her mouth—an unconscious sensuality. Every now and then she talked to one or another of the locals, but that was the extent of her conversation. Dan watched her narrow tongue graze her luscious lower lip.

After the burial, there was a gathering at Aunt Louisa's house. The lovely woman sought him out in the crowd.

“I’m Carol,” she introduced herself. “I took care of your aunt the last few years.” She handed Dan a shoebox.

“What’s this?” He opened it tentatively.

“It is all the letters and postcards that you sent your aunt. She saved them all.”

“But they were just casual throwaways.”

“I know that and you know that, and probably so did your aunt. But she pretended not to.”

Dan lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Every so often she would take out the shoebox and read all your cards and letters from years before as if she had just received them. She would say, ‘Look what Dan has sent me. Such a thoughtful boy.’” Carol added, almost coyly, “I think she was in love with you, just a bit.”

The revelation depressed Dan. The vague feeling of apprehension loomed larger. Why? he wondered. Why?

Carol took him by the hand. “Can I show you the upstairs?”

They found a shadowy room. Suddenly Dan had Carol against the wall, her black dress hiked up to her waist. She was wearing black stockings that looked sensual against her white thighs. Dan was grinding his mouth against hers, as if he could lose himself in her mouth.

Carol responded, softly moaning, pressing her breasts against his chest, undulating her hips against his leg, panting. He found that he was immediately rock-hard. His fingertips grazed her dampness.

He pulled her panties aside, and his shaft penetrated her swiftly. She sighed into his ear. Serpentinely, she wound a leg around him, leaning back against the wall, welcoming his thrusting desire with a soft smile. As Dan’s cum pulsed deep into her pussy, she shuddered, holding onto his shoulders, and came with him.

Dan, as he climaxed, lifted his head like a stallion into the shadowy air. He thought of Aunt Louisa, lying in the cold ground. He felt Carol’s warm, moist breath on his cheek, heard her soft whimper of surrender, and he realized that he had found the answer.

 

[Quasimodem]

Catch of the Day
by Quasimodem



Leon turned up the thermostat of his propane heater, and withdrew a Coke from the frigid recess beneath his ice-fishing shack’s floor. Tuning the portable radio to a country music station, he resigned himself to wait out the blizzard in his snug shack on Green Lake.

Leon’s heater pleasantly pumped out BTU’s, as a mixture of rum and coke flowed over Leon’s tonsils, when the wind – so it seemed – flung open his door. A well-wrapped figure staggered within, accompanied by a snow-laden blast.

“What the . . . Lispeth?”

“Leon? Where am I?”

“My fishing shack.”

“I knew I was lost,” Lispeth muttered, “but not on the lake.”

“What’re you doing out here?” Leon inquired, shutting the door.

“Running away! Pa’s after me to marry Chet,” Lispeth seemed slightly hysterical, “I’d rather die!

“I sneaked out, but Ma saw, and hollered at Pa to stop me. When I saw Chet’s truck tearing down concession thirty, I cut cross-country, but it got dark and I lost my way.”

“You’re freezing,” Leon stated, helping Lispeth remove her coat.

The oddly attractive young woman held her hands before the heater.

“Take a slug of this,” Leon offered rum, then briskly massaged Lispeth’s back to improve her circulation.

“I must get away,” Lispeth reiterated.

“Don’t worry. No one’s going anywhere tonight. You best hole up here, until the storm’s over. Tomorrow, I’ll drive you into the city, just as soon as the roads are open.”

“You’d do that for me?” Lispeth inquired. “If Pa finds out, he’ll get sore. Chet’ll will really be pissed!”

“I hope so,” Leon chuckled. “I haven’t had a good punch-up with Chet since the seventh grade.”



*



Leon swallowed the last of the rum. Reaching around Lispeth, perched on the arm of the recliner, Leon set down the dead soldier. He bumped Lispeth, who slid from her perch onto Leon’s lap.

“Sorry,” she muttered, glancing upward to display slightly flushed cheeks. “I really apprec. . . .”

Tightening her arms around Leon’s neck, Lispeth drew him down into an open-mouthed kiss. Leon clutched her tightly to him, in response.

As the kiss deepened, Leon’s hands roamed boldly over intimate portions of Lispeth’s anatomy, while she squirmed to assist his efforts at gaining a more intimate access.

Eventually, wearing nothing more than one woollen sock and a brassiere strap looped at her elbow, Lispeth succeeded in impaling herself upon Leon’s upright penis. Astride that sturdy erection, her hips writhed upward, until Leon’s hands at Lisbeth’s buttocks drew her down onto the full length of his rigid shaft.

While the wind howled around the flimsy shack, its sound was drowned beneath the hoarse cries coming from within.



*



Leon awoke to pale dawn filtering through the shack’s only window. Still entwined upon the crazily broken recliner, the nude couple was surrounded by cast-off clothing strewn about the hut.

Leon arose to peek through the heavily-frosted glass.

“Lispeth, if you still want that ride,” he advised, “now would be a good time.”

“Come here,” Lispeth requested.

“What is it?” Leon asked, standing before her, his toes curling away from the cold floor.

“Tell me,” she asked, grasping his rapidly deploying penis between nimble fingers, “did you enjoy what we did last night?”

“Naturally!”

“Why don’t I stay in Snippettsville?” she suggested. “That way, we can do it again? Often!”

“I thought you were afraid of your Pa?”

“No more than you’re afraid of Chet.”

“Lispeth!” Leon accused, “I’m smelling a rat.”

“Oh, surely not a rat!” Lispeth objected. “Last night was only the slightest bit fishy. You must realize, Leon, I required some kind of a ruse, until you took the bait.”

 

[Quasimodem]

The Question About Umbrellas
by Quasimodem



Something wasn’t kosher at Dusty’s Video.

Dusty’s had only one hundred video tapes. The store’s doors were locked more often than most submarines. It was easier to qualify for the Olympics than for one of Dusty’s memberships. And, finally, Dusty’s Video charged twice the rental fee its competitors did.

Still, it had never caught the attention of Archie McDougall until Jennifer Tillies asked him the question.

“Why does Dusty’s Video have two copies of ‘The Umbrellas of Cherbourg’?”

“You rent at Dusty’s?” Archie responded.

“No, I was buying milk in the convenience store, when I saw Gray Chilters leave with that movie tucked under his arm. When I glanced in Dusty’s window, there was another copy on the counter.”

“Is that one I missed?”

“It’s from the sixties,” Jennifer answered, “and I doubt whether either you or Grayson Chilters would consider it worth watching. Not one single car chase.”

“Okay, Jenny,” Archie replied. “I’ll check it out.”



*



“Will their love endure the long separation?” Archie read from the plot outline on the Internet Movie Database, then continued. “All the dialogue is sung. . . .”

Archie shot to his feet and exited the police station. Jennifer was correct. Something was rotten at Dusty’s Video.

Responding to Archie’s request, Jennifer searched back issues of the Snippettsville weekly newspaper where Dusty’s advertisements listed contest winners.

“Someone wins twenty-five free rental coupons each week,” Jennifer reported. “Here’s the list of the last three months’ winners.”

Archie snorted, “I’ve been keeping watch. That list names every one of Dusty’s recent customers. No wait! Everyone except Gray Chilters.”

“That’s strange! It was Chilters I saw renting ‘The Umbrellas of Cherbourg.’”



*



“Chief Holt, I object to this unwarranted persecution!” Grayson Chilters IV complained.

“Prosecution,” Tom corrected, “I’m bringing charges, Grayson.

“Do you have the tape, Jennifer?”

Jennifer slipped a tape out of its container and pushed it into the VCR, then pressed fast forward. A moment later, she stopped the tape, to play it at normal speed. Loud buzzing could be heard from the speaker.

“At this point,” Jennifer explained, “we would have to transfer the actual tape in the plastic shell to a half-inch computer tape backup cartridge. Here’s another tape which Constable McDougall confiscated earlier this week.”

Jennifer switched on the back-up tape. All watched as the computer scrolled through lines of machine language on the monitor.

“Does that look familiar?” Jennifer asked the rumpled individual overlooked by everyone previously.

“That’s the design for our next video game, ‘Mad Gunnar.’ How did you get it?” he demanded, in evident agitation.

“Ever wondered how Chilters Data could beat you to the market with so many new products?”

“Yes! I certainly did! Even had a security firm do background checks on our people, but they couldn’t find anything,” the rumpled man admitted. “We decided it was a case of simultaneous development.”

“You have a mole,” Archie declared, “a programmer named Lembeck, who makes weekly reports to Chilters.”

“Their only link is through Dusty’s Video. Both rent this same video tape alternately. They don’t even frequent Dusty’s store on the same day,” Archie concluded. “No wonder your security people couldn’t put them together.”

“So what?” Grayson Chilters IV sneered. “This is nothing!”

“The laws on intellectual property rights have changed rather dramatically,” Tom Holt interjected.

“Try and prove it,” Chilters scoffed.

“Dusty’s operated for nearly three years,” Tom observed. “Which means your father probably was involved in the business initially. From what I gather, he’s becoming rather anxious to change accommodations.

“Jennifer,” Chief Holt instructed, “book an appointment for me with Grayson Chilters III at the Rufe Dobson Medium Security Prison.”

 

[Quasimodem]

Koadi and the Cop
by Quasimodem



Early one afternoon Archie McDougall sauntered into the Showboat Hotel, and stepped up to the bar.

“A splash of Jack Daniels, my good man,” Archie requested.

The bartender poured two fingers, then passed them to the constable.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Nivens,” a female voice could be heard coming from beside the stage. “Last time Constable McDougall was in here, he practically wrecked the joint. Cassidy won’t be happy seeing him back.”

“Was that fat prat your boyfriend, Koadi?” Archie inquired disparagingly.

“No!”

“That’s right, yours was the ugly goon,” Archie agreed. “You go for big dumb bastards, don’t you?”

“That can’t be right, Archie-balls,” the girl replied, “otherwise, I’d be crazy for you.”

“You know what they say about hookers and cops.”

“I am not,” the girl vehemently exclaimed, “a hooker.”

“Close,” Archie interjected.

“I’m a showgirl!”

“Whose talent is reflecting light,” Archie agreed, “without her clothes on.”

With clenched jaw, the girl turned to the jukebox.

“Archie-balls is here, Nivens, to protect this one-horse town from my evil influence. Isn’t that right, Constant Bull?”

Hips swaying aggressively, the stripper sashayed up to the jukebox. Bending over to select her tune, perhaps accidentally, she betrayed a lack of underwear beneath her excessively short skirt.

As the jukebox started to play, the stripper gyrated to the music, in the most provocative way she could imagine.

Archie leaned back against the bar while he sipped his Jack Daniels, eyes never leaving the undulating girl before him.

“So, Archie-balls,” the stripper asked, mischievously, “what can I do you for today?”

“You seem to be doing as much as I can accept,” Constable McDougall replied, stolidly. “At least, while in uniform, Miss Koadi.”

“It’s not Miss Koadi,” the stripper feelingly declared.

“Missus Koadi?”

“Oah!” the girl exclaimed, “Not Missus, either.”

“First name, is it?” Constable McDougall enacted his celebrated ‘hick cop’ role. “What’s your second name, Ack?”

The stripper made a sound like an exploding kitten.

“My name is Koadi,” she insisted. “Just one word, like Madonna, or Cher.”

“Or Meatloaf,” McDougall added, helpfully.

The girl made another strangled sound, as Constable McDougall tossed back his Jack Daniels.

Placing an arm across the girl’s shoulders, he compelled her to accompany him toward the exit.

“I’ve just finished putting in a long, tiring shift,” the Constable confessed, “and dropped in to unwind before bed. I don’t know why, but I find your dancing almost soothing, Miss Koadi.”

“Fun-ny!” the girl replied. “Where are we going?”


“Nowhere,” Constable McDougall, replied. “Like I said, I’m going to bed. I thought you’d enjoy walking me to the door, maybe even give me a good-bye kiss.”

“I’d rather kiss a mule,” the girl vowed.

“Working up a new act?” McDougall inquired. “It’s about time.”

Archie halted before they reached the exit, then turned to gaze into the stripper’s eyes.

“I have no knowledge of you breaking any law, Koadi,” Constable McDougall confirmed. “I just stopped in, this afternoon, for a nightcap.”

Slowly, the constable moved closer, until his lips almost brushed against the girl’s ear.

“But, if you think you deserve punishment,” Archie whispered, “I’d be more than happy to accommodate you.”

He suddenly brought a cupped hand up beneath the girl’s short hem. It impacted loudly, if not painfully, against the girl’s naked bottom.

“Good afternoon, Miss Koadi.”

Archie’s chuckle followed the stripper’s squeak of surprise, then he sauntered through the exit of the Showboat Hotel.

Her hands clutching her abused bottom, the stripper followed Constable McDougall with her eyes, while a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Bloody cop,” the stripper murmured, unconvincingly.

 

[Quasimodem]

[GREEN LAKE’S WINTER CARNIVAL]
Sam Leathy’s Scheme
by Quasimodem



“Somebody shoot your dog?” Sam Leathy asked the morose Jimmy Dorset, seated glumly in Pender’s Lucky Bait Shop.

“Aw, I was going skating, but both school rinks are tied up with hockey practise,” Jimmy groused.

“When I was your age,” Old Man Pender interjected, “the lake was good enough to skate on.”

“Look at it!” Jimmy glowered at the thick blanket of snow covering Green Lake. “You can’t skate on that!”

“Use my snow shovel,” Pender suggested. “Only charge two bits.”

Jimmy snorted.

“Your problem, Dan Pender,” Sam Leathy announced, “is that you’re too cheap to see the dollar idea for tomorrow, past a one cent profit of today.”

“What’s that mean?” Pender demanded.

“I remember skating on Green Lake, too. Every kid for miles brought a shovel to clear snow. We built a big bonfire on the shore and set torches around the cleared patch. Even our parents came in the evening.

“Jed Bean sold gallons of hot cider at three cents a mug. He finished that winter with nearly twelve dollars, at the height of the depression,” Leathy continued. “You could do that for Green Lake, if you weren’t so cheap, and you’d make a profit into the bargain.”

“How’d I make money on ice skaters?” Pender snorted dismissively, but he kept his ears at full cock.

“Best place is right here in front of the community dock. You’ve got the only building open during the winter. You’ve got hydro, so you could hire some farmer’s wife to make coffee and hot chocolate. Either they buy it from you, or they hike all the way to Green Lake Lodge, and get treated like loobies by one of their snooty waiters.”

“Well, maybe,” Pender was rubbing his chin.

“Call Clem Leggit, ask what he’d charge to plow a patch clear.”

“There’s not enough people hereabouts during the day,” Pender pondered. “At night, it gets so dark that skating would be too dangerous.”

“Drill some holes in the ice around the skating area. Stick in the butts of those nine-foot bamboo poles nobody will buy,” Sam suggested, “then string those clear lights they had up for Christmas, between all the poles.

“Oh, and have Clem drag a couple of those park benches out onto the far end of the cleared ice, so courtin’ couples would have a nice dark place to sit down. Or, are you so old you’ve ossified?”



*



“The newest event in our community’s calendar of events, was this year’s impromptu Green Lake Winter Festival,” Sam read from The Snippettsville Weekly Clarion. “What began as an unassuming auxiliary skating venue on Green Lake quickly grew to include such favourites as the Old-Timer’s Costume Night, local waltz and polka stylist, Hans Abenhoffer’s Skater’s Waltz Night, and the romantic Moonlight Skate that took place this last full moon.

“With the weather turning toward spring, no more official events are scheduled for this year, but already, plans are afoot for next year’s Green Lake Winter Carnival.

“The rink will continue in use, until officials from our local ranger detachment declare the ice unsafe for skating.”

“Where is Ben?” Clem Leggit inquired, interrupting Sam. “Gone to get his picture took as one of Green Lake’s patrons of the art, is he?”

“That’s about it,” Sam agreed.

“It should be you, Sam,” Clem avowed. “‘It was your idea, and I know it.”

A smile creased Sam Leathy’s leathery old face.

“I ain’t no public benefactor,” Sam confessed. “I was jest trying to con old Dan into clearing a bit of snow from the lake, so young Jimmy Dorset would have a place to skate.”

 

[Quasimodem]

[Massage Parlour]


The Ecumenical Hoodwink
by Quasimodem



“Matthew Prentiss plans to hold a crusade in Snippettsville,” Father Pete exclaimed to Reverend Niles. “He’s coming this weekend to meet with patrons in our community.”

“Why? There’s no need.”

“Prentiss always picks small-towns,” Father Pete explained. “That way there’s no competition for press coverage.”

“But, why Snippettsville?”

“Somebody wrote Prentiss about the massage parlour.”

“Most cities have them,” Reverend Niles objected. “Even towns our size.”

“True, but these people use ‘massage parlour’ as a code word for prostitution.”

“Prostitution!” Reverend Niles exclaimed. “They haven’t even opened yet.”

“Which exactly suits Prentiss,” Father Pete explained. “He can make any claim he fancies, with no fear of contradiction. Meanwhile, his broadcasts attract contributors, and Snippettsville receives an unwarranted black eye.”

“We must report this to Chief Holt,” the Reverend Niles declared.

“Chief Holt is an admirable public official, but his hands are tied by legalities,” the priest countered. “Our best hope lies with a person from your congregation, provided we give him a free hand.”

The middle-aged Presbyterian pastor shook hands with the young Catholic assistant priest.



*



“So, you’re leaving town?” the john inquired.

“Too much competition,” Koadi admitted. “I could freelance in a hick town like this, but with the massage parlour, I must work for some madam. I’d rather move along.”

“The massage parlour will never open.”

“Men make promises,” Koadi advised, “that I’ve learned are better off ignored.”

“This will be our only time, then?”

“Afraid so,” Koadi agreed.

“Well, what do you offer?”

“Straight, half-and-half, head, or a hand job.”

“I’m just a country boy.”

“Right! Vanilla sex,” Koadi offered, “one-fifty.”

“I dislike using condoms.”

“Get used to it.”

“You’ll put it on me?”

“One-seventy-five.”

“Okay, where?”

“Right here in my room. I’m paid up till tomorrow.”



*



Once stripped and neatly fitted, the john was not gentle. He shoved the girl back onto the bed, leaping upon her.

“No! Wait! I’m not ready!” Koadi cried.

“Well, get ready, bitch!” the john snarled.

Yanking the girl’s thighs apart by her knees, the john positioned himself for entry.

“They said you were a preacher,” Koadi wailed. “I thought you’d be gentle.”

The john’s open hand struck Koadi’s cheek.

“Learn not to speak about your betters, cunt! I’ll fuck you however I want. If you’re good, I may let you leave town. If not, I’ll introduce you to somebody who’ll teach you better technique.”

A surprised cry filled the room, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor.

Archie McDougall’s size twelve rested across the john’s throat.

“Beat it kid,” he advised Koadi.

“He owes me one-seventy-five,” she objected, holding her reddened cheek.

“You didn’t deliver,” Archie snapped, “beat it.”

Koadi left, muttering dire imprecations.

“Now that we’re alone, Reverend Prentiss, I have some advice. If you ever fuck with another small town, try keeping your dick in your pants.”

“Let go, you cheap hood.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Archie advised. “Hey, Biff, get the video tape.”

Unrecognizable in a misshapen wool cap, leather jacket, and black denim levis, Father Pete entered the Showboat Hotel room. He withdrew the video cameras from their hiding place, and carried them away.

“You best forget Snippettsville, Rev. You even think about it, and your next job will be as a porn star. Those videos will be posted all over the internet.

“And don’t try bribing me or the hooker,” a private smile twisted Archie’s stern lips, “Biff runs this show. Burning sky pilots like you is an old hobby of his people.

“You best clam up and beat it.”

Archie took his foot from the crusader's neck, and strode from the room.



(600 words - Title & Credit)

 

[Alex De Kok]

Holly and the Ivy Leaguer

Holly Patton pressed her thighs together as the Porsche took the corner twenty miles an hour faster than she'd ever dared in her Mustang. She felt her panties getting wetter, the adrenalin stimulation turning sexual.

The driver glanced at her. "Where do I turn?"

"Not the next left, but the one after, then it's second right."

Five minutes later, they pulled up outside the cabin. Helping her out, he reached behind the seats for her overnight bag and placed it on the gravel beside her.

"Thanks for the lift, David. Would you like to come in for a coffee?" she said, trying to sound casual.

He grinned, that lop-sided grin she remembered from Snippettsville High, before he went East, the too-long hair still falling over his eyes.

"I'd love to," he said, picking her bag up again.

She led the way inside, but when she turned to give him directions he was right behind her and they almost collided. Startled, she stared at him, uncertain. He stared back, and she realised that there was want in his look. She raised her hand, hesitant. He dropped her bag and suddenly she was in his arms and they were kissing, tongues duelling, her own want rising, fuelled by his. She broke the kiss and shuddered, her head against his chest, thrilling as his hands came up to cup her breasts. Gathering her scattered wits, she took his hand and led him into the bedroom, the wetness between her legs growing.

She pushed him back on the bed, bending to pull off his loafers, reaching to undo his belt, pulling the zipper down. "Lift your ass," she commanded, a faint smile crossing her lips as he complied. His prick was already hard, hot, proud in the late afternoon light through the window.

"Are you - ?" he began, as he threw off his t-shirt, but broke off as she kicked off her shoes and knelt astride his thighs.

Suddenly she wanted to be naked for him and fumbled at the buttons of her dress, casting it aside, springing her breasts free from the confines of her bra, ripping off the wisp of soaked panties. She shuffled forwards on her knees, taking his hardness in a trembling hand, guiding him into her.

A wriggle or two and he was deep inside her. She paused for a second, avoiding his eyes, and then began to fuck him, rising and falling, her heat building until she could hold off no longer and let herself come, pulsing around his prick, collapsing onto him as her convulsive movements eased.

As awareness came back she was suddenly fearful of what he might think, and pushed herself up, willing herself to look at him.

"I - " she began, but he stopped her with gentle fingers, his thumb rubbing across her kiss. His hands went to her breasts again, cupping their weight, exploring their softness, the hardness of her nipples. His eyes were warm on her as his hips began to move, thrusting his hardness up and into her.

He was slow at first, his hands dropping from her breasts and holding her hips, holding her in place on him, but he began to move faster and she realised that the moment was getting to him too, and she thrilled that she could do this to him, exulting as his thrusts quickened, lengthened, crying with him as the passion took hold and climax lashed through them both.

She collapsed across him as he quieted and she felt his gentle kiss on her ear.

"You always were my favourite teacher," he said.

600 words, excluding title

Alex

 

[Boxlicker101]

this has been deleted.

This has been deleted

 

[Boxlicker101]

Kathy Has a Caller

A Winter Carnival story

A while ago, I had a phone call from Kathy, a former lady friend, who had married a man named McCormick and moved to Snippetsville, far from our city. She was crying, and told me her husband had left her, and she needed my help. Although she couldn’t explain just then, I am always ready to help, since she had become a lady friend again.

After a two-day drive, I turned off the interstate onto Green Lake Road and one mile farther, was at Hannah’s Diner on Main Street, where I saw a sign advertising the Winter Carnival. I used the public phone to call Kathy. “I don’t get out much, George,” she told me. “Will you bring me some lunch from Hannah’s?” Minutes later I knocked on her door carrying an armload of food.

Kathy is a sweet woman in her forties, slender, with nicely flared hips and ass, a pretty face and dark brown hair. She cried, literally, on my shoulder and chest and told me her story. Suffering from breast cancer, Kathy had chosen double mastectomy and life over painful death, which seemed reasonable to me. Not to her husband, though; he left her, declaring she was no longer a “real woman”.

“He’s an asshole, a stupid asshole,” I told her “Breasts or not, you are enough woman for any man.”

Kathy smiled for the first time since my arrival. “It’s nice of you to say so but can you prove it? I really need someone, George, and you were the best one I could think of.” I was very willing and, holding my hand, she led me into the bedroom.

We undressed each other, Kathy leaving her sweater and panties on and I hugged her and kissed her face until she lay on the bed, her legs spread. I removed her panties and buried my face in her wet pussy, which smelled as good as I remembered. It tasted as good too, and I licked up her juices, including the fresh ones and then ate her delightful pussy, slowly and thoroughly as she remembered me doing. Kathy moaned and sighed in pleasure, fucking her pussy into my face until she started cumming, and then she squeezed my head with her legs until she loudly climaxed.

We were far from being finished. I put on my condom and gently entered her while Kathy hugged me with her arms and legs. For a long time I plunged my cock into her pussy while she moaned and fucked back to meet me. Kathy climaxed once, crying out from pleasure and gouging my shoulders with her fingernails. We continued our joyous coupling until I matched her second, equally vocal, orgasm with my own.

Afterward, we lay on her bed, hugging and kissing. “It was sweet of you, coming here,” she said. “I really needed you.”

“Well, you know that I never turn down reasonable requests from my lady friends. I have always enjoyed making love with you and today was especially great.”

“Thanks, George. I have been so afraid that all men would think like my husband. I’m glad you don’t.”

“Real men don’t judge a woman by her breasts. This is a small town but there must be 100 men here who would love to have a girlfriend or wife as sweet and beautiful as you.”

“It’s wonderful of you to say that. I’ll start looking tomorrow, maybe at the Winter Carnival that is going on, but why don’t you stay here tonight? I think I need you to show me more proof. Now, let’s eat because Hannah has really good food.”

603 words not counting the title or this line.

 

[Alex De Kok]

Streak of white light

A Green Lake Winter Carnival story

The short line of skaters, each holding onto the figure in front, snaked carefully around the perimeter of the carefully cleared impromptu skating area on Green Lake. Out here, the skaters were few, for the light was dim, the torches planted much further apart. Sally Devine led the line of skaters into a deeper pool of darkness, raised her hand and brought the column to a halt.

She looked around at the others. "Are we ready, girls?"

"Ready," said Alison Jenner, Sally's twin, with a grin.

"Ready," said Sally Aker, a vivid smile on her face.

"Me, too, I guess," said Sue Ellis, "but I still don't know how I let you con me into this!"

"Because you're an exhibitionist at heart, that's why, sweetheart," said her lover, Tom Jackson. "Remember my Christmas present."

"Mmm, yes!" said Sue.

"What was it, Sue?" Sally Devine said, "something sexy?"

"Oh, yes, it was sexy. Very sexy," Tom said, grinning.

"Come on, tell," said Alison.

"Me," said Sue with a grin, "gift-wrapped!"

"Wow, lucky man," said Charlie West. "Hear that, Al? You'll know what to give me next Christmas."

"In your dreams, Charlie," Alison said, laughing. "What were you wearing under the gift-wrap, Sue?"

"Nothing, by the time Tom had finished unwrapping," Sue said with a giggle.

"Are Jack and Chuck in place?" Sally Aker asked Tom.

"Ready and waiting. Jack has the Winnebago's engine running, with your other clothes ready for you. He's parked it right on the edge of the dock, and the heater is turned up full." Charlie grinned. "Chuck has his video camera, so watch out for the lights. He promised to catch the end of your trip, ladies."

"Great!" said Sally Aker, "I'd like to see that for myself."

The six figures quieted and waved as a conga-line of teenagers snaked past. Charlie gestured. "Some of those girls would make a nice addition to our line."

Alison shook her head. "Only we four for the first Annual Snippettsville Winter Carnival Streak." She looked around. "It's time."

Hurriedly, the four women stripped off their clothing, passing the garments to Charlie, who stuffed them into a rucksack, until all they were wearing were white hold-up stockings and skates.

Tom reached into his anorak pocket and produced four silk balaclava hoods, all white, all with holes only for the eyes and mouths. Shivering, the four women donned them. The nipples of all four were stiffly erect and Tom and Charlie enjoyed a brief moment of seeing their own lovers naked with other women, women they were unlikely to see in such a situation again, enjoying too the white boots, stockings and masks they were wearing.

His own girl, Alison, Charlie could recognise immediately, from the mole on her ribs, Sally Devine from the striking similarity to her sister. Sue Ellis and Sally Aker he could tell apart only by their heights. And the colour of their pubic hair, he thought, smiling to himself.

"Okay," said Alison. "I'm fucking freezing, so let's get it on, girls." She moved to Charlie and kissed him hard, Sue and Tom in a similar clinch. "On three, ladies," she said, reaching for her sister's hand. Sally took Sue's hand, and Sue took Sally Aker's. "One, two, three."

The four of them moved away gracefully towards the light, gradually increasing speed. Tom and Charlie watched them go, admiring the rhythmic movements of the four nude women as they skated away.

They looked at each other as they heard the first surprised yells, grinned, and began to move slowly after the women.


600 words, excluding title.

I hadn't realised how many Sally's I had till I wrote this!

Alex

 

[Boxlicker101]

Kathy Goes Skating

A Green Lake Winter Carnival story

In the morning, I woke up with Kathy cuddled affectionately against me. After admiring her beautiful face, I crept out of bed and headed for the bathroom to answer an urgent call of nature. When I returned, Kathy was sitting up and smiling.

“I hope you don’t have to go home right away, George. You just got here and the Winter Carnival at Green Lake is going on.”

After a tough two-day drive here in mid-winter, followed by the pleasure of making love to Kathy the previous afternoon and night, I was in no hurry to leave. “I would love to stay a few more days, if it’s okay with you.”

“More than just okay. Thanks to you, I’m ready to reclaim my life. I called the school where I worked yesterday. They want me back and I start work on Monday so that gives us a couple of days together. If you want breakfast, there’s nothing in the house but Hannah is famous for her breakfasts.”

That sounded like a great idea to me. Hannah’s is nearby so we walked there and I learned her fame is well deserved. While we ate, Kathy told me all about the Winter Carnival.

After breakfast, when we picked up a few items at Carr’s store next door, Mr. Carr stared at me and acted as if he knew me, but said nothing. Some of my books have included my photo and he might have recognized me from there but he couldn’t have known me from anywhere else.

Back at Kathy’s house, she talked about the carnival again. “I did a lot of skating when I was younger and for the last few years before surgery, but not yet this winter. How about you?”

I could see she wanted to go and I had no objections. “I did a lot of skating when I was a kid in Wisconsin, many years ago. I don’t have any skates but they have them in that store we were in. Let’s get me a pair and go to the carnival.” I paid for the skates with a credit card and the proprietor acted as if he knew me but was afraid to admit it. I thought he might have read some of my erotic books and maybe felt guilty about it but I wasn’t concerned.

In her skating dress, Kathy looked good enough to eat, which I had done twice the previous day and expected to do again that night. Some of the men eyeballing her gliding across the ice probably knew about her double mastectomy but that didn’t stop them from looking and lusting. Some women looked jealous, as if they considered Kathy a rival, and maybe she was. As I had told her, the lack of breasts was a negative but she had so many positives that it was of little consequence.

The most I can say about my skating was that I didn’t fall down very much, which wasn’t bad, considering how long it had been since I was on skates. I still had fun, and Kathy, I’m glad to say, had a great time and was radiant as we drove home.

By the time we got to bed that night, the stiffness and soreness from my efforts at skating had set in. Kathy took pity on me and I lay on my back and ate her pussy from the 69 position. After Kathy noisily enjoyed her orgasm from that, she moved into the female superior position and we made love, cumming together happily and vocally. We slept snuggled together again that night.

600 words not counting the title or this note.

 

[Alex De Kok]

Sometimes, it's luck

A Winter Carnival story

Something was happening out on the ice, but Billy couldn't make out what, not from here. Beside him on the dock, a big Winnebago camper was standing. Billy wondered why the camper's engine was running, but guessed it was waiting for someone. He stared out over the ice, where it seemed most of his classmates were enjoying themselves, then looked cautiously to his right, quickly looking away again. Cheryl Benoit was still there, just as she had been for the past ten minutes. Like him, apparently just watching the skaters. Billy cursed himself for his fumbling inability to ever make a favourable impression on the girls he tried to date. It wasn't as if he was ugly, for he wasn't, it was just that this absolute idiot emerged whenever he tried to talk to a girl.

He glanced to his right again, then quickly forward. God! Cheryl was looking at him! About to sneak another peek toward her, whatever was happening on the ice caught his attention again. Someone turned on video lights and Billy's jaw dropped. Coming towards him was a sight he felt he would be able to remember forever. Four women, naked except for skates, thigh-high white stockings - hold-ups - and white, hooded ski-masks, were headed straight for him. Billy couldn't have looked away to save his life, but then, nor did he want to, for it wasn't every day an eighteen year-old resident of Snippettsville had the chance to see four beautiful sets of bare breasts and four neatly trimmed bushes coming straight at him.

Behind him, he heard the door of the Winnebago open and he realised the four skaters were headed right for where he stood on the dock. Only eighteen inches above the water - ice, now - but still an obstacle for the four skaters. The first one skidded to a halt before him and held out her hand.

"Help me up," she said and Billy automatically held out his hand. The woman lifted an athletic leg to the dock, hauled herself up with his assistance, and suddenly was there beside him, breathing heavily, her chest, with those lovely naked tits, just a foot away.

"Thanks," she said, "um?"

"Billy," he stammered. "Billy Daniels."

"Thanks, Billy Daniels. I owe you." The woman suddenly leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips, before turning and toe-walking on her skates into the Winnebago. Billy turned back to the dockside and another vision was holding out her hand for assistance. Again he helped a naked woman into the Winnebago, rewarded with another quick kiss. He realised suddenly that the driver had helped the others and then it, and the visions, were gone and he had just the vivid memory of the moment.

"Nice work, Billy," Cheryl said, somehow standing right next to him.

He shrugged, avoiding her eye. "Thanks, Cheryl." He shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."

Cheryl laughed lightly. "Pure accident, or were you set here to help?"

"Absolute pure chance." Billy shook his head. "I'm never lucky with girls."

"How come?" Her interest seemed sincere.

"I turn into a babbling fool."

"You're not babbling now," she said.

"It won't last. Just wait, I'll start spouting drivel any moment now."

"Well, those ladies didn't see anything wrong with you, else they wouldn't have kissed you."

"I'd rather kiss you," he said, before he had a chance to think.

Cheryl smiled, taking his hands in hers. "I'd like that."

"Huh?"

She laughed. "Kiss me!"

Despite the cold, her lips were warm, soft, inviting, and - somehow - he knew he wouldn't babble when he spoke.

600 words, excluding title.

Alex

 

[wildsweetone]

Winter Carnival Story - 601 words

A Moment's Perfection

White mist curled at the far end of Green Lake as Liz cast her eyes over the ice in search of her bag. Swearing under her breath she skated, wobbling from lack of practise, in a crisscross fashion, systematically searching the Carnival area. Around the torches, small puddles of liquid ice reflected her concerned image. Clean up after the raging party had begun and there was little left to search.

Skating toward a lump on the ice, Liz picked up a wet white silken balaclava. She grinned remembering the sight of the near naked nymphs as they skated through a stunned crowd. Had she been amongst the group, Liz would have picked out one of Snippettsville’s high ranking Councillors and kissed him passionately before skating off. Now that really would have set the tongues wagging she thought, laughing.

Pocketing the wet balaclava she skated on, barely noticing the approaching mist. Her eyes scanning the ground for the bag, she ignored the occasional shouts of the conscientious crew as they moved tables into the bait shop and cleared rubbish from the solid lake.

Liz wouldn’t have worried about her bag normally, she rarely carried anything more than a lipstick and pack of cigarettes. Tonight though, she’d brought with her something that she had planned to pass along to one of the twins, but seeing as how they disappeared only to return virtually naked, Liz had realised her ‘gift’ would not be pocketed out of sight. So she had kept it safe inside her bag. Now, if only she could find the bag, she could get off the ice and go home to warmth.

Widening her search, Liz found herself suddenly enveloped in thick mist. Her skates ground to a halt, scattering flaked ice in a wide arc.

“Hello,” she shouted. Silence. Liz shivered.

“Hello!” This time a higher note crept into the call. Her head spun around, eyes darting, squinting against the mist.

“Oh great. I'm stuck out in the middle of a frozen white lake in the pitch black. Just great.” Grumbling, Liz skated slowly to her left. It was as good a direction as any, she supposed.

The rhythmic slicing of her skates cleared her thoughts, then lulled her into calmness. She’d continue skating in the same direction and would obviously reach the lake’s edge, then she’d walk home following the lake around. She couldn't have skated too far out.

It was when a warm arm wrapped itself around her waist that Liz screamed. When she stopped to breathe, she struggled, then tried to scream afresh, but a mouth closed over hers and a tongue slipped between startled gasps to curl and dance with her own.

She moaned then, into the mouth, and her arms found their own way around the body – just to hold tight in case she fell, she told herself.

Then she was skating, dancing upon the ice every step held by a fingertip, spinning her high into double twists, catching her to kiss again. With wings of an angel she flew across the ice, her partner following, never breaking touch.

On and on they moved, twisting, turning, sometimes scattering flaked ice, sometimes merely skating. Icy breath caught in Liz’s throat; she skated on ignoring the cold. In the darkness, her dance partner’s touch was fire, warming her chilled soul. His breath against her neck, white hot desire.

And then he let her go, let her fly ahead, let her soar and glide until suddenly her skate hit solid earth and she tumbled onto the bank.

“Aw fuck,” she said. “No bag and a wet arse.”


thank you for the help Alex and Lancelot Knight

 

[Lancelot Knight]

Winter Carnival Story

WINTER FLOWERS

by

Lancelot Knight


When Carl heard at the General Store that a Winter Carnival was being planned, he shrugged his powerful shoulders at the idea. Two decades of thrift, no nonsense, and hard work had made the idea of fun foreign to him. But in his pickup on the way back to his farm on the edge of Snippetsville a memory blossomed in his mind: Ice skating in the pure sapphire of a winter’s evening. How long had it been? Why, twenty years ago, he calculated. He was surprised at how the years had fled.
Emily had gone with him, he remembered. Skates thrown over their shoulders, their laughter was fresh and silvery. They had quarreled before the evening was through. About what, Carl couldn’t even remember now. But both being strong-willed, neither had admitted to being wrong. And a germinating love affair was nipped in the bud.
In a sudden surge of rebellion against his practical nature, Carl decided—dammit!—that he would go to the Winter Carnival.
In his storage shed beside the barn, Carl located his old skates in a box in a dusty corner, and by god, they still fit him. He polished them until they gleamed, then he sharpened the blades.
The night of the opening of the Winter Carnival, Carl drove over to Green Lake. He zipped up his Alaskan parka and tossed the skates over his shoulder, just as he had done 20 years ago.
It was dark. There was a murmur of voices as the milling crowd waited for the festivities to begin. A switch was thrown, and the scene was bathed in pale lemon light. An ice maze glistened. There was curling and snowman-building and a place to make ice sculptures, and an enormous bonfire was lit. Along the shore, the Kiwanis had set up booths where you could buy hot dogs and steaming cups of hot chocolate or warm apple cider.
It looked like half of Snippetsville had turned out for the event. Laughter filled the crisp air. The lights made the ice look green, so it appeared as if they were floating on a huge emerald.
There was a bench where folks were putting on their skates. Carl was bent over when he heard a soft, clear voice. “Hello, Carl.”
With surprise Carl looked up. “Emily!” he exclaimed.
Neither got any further, for nothing really needed to be said. Carl held out a hand to her, and together they skated over the emerald that was Green Lake. The wind whipped their faces. Carl felt Emily’s body mold against his, and it felt absolutely right.
They found a quiet spot among the trees, some distance from the laughter and shouts of the Carnival. Carl sat on stump. Even with their parkas on, Carl was able to slide Emily’s slacks down. Her pussy glittered with her juices, and her heady, womanly fragrance filled his nostrils until it seemed that all the outdoors was permeated with the odor of pungent pussy juice. Facing Carl, Emily lowered herself onto his lap. She gasped, putting her gloved hand on the back of his neck, as his hard pole penetrated her. For a long time they were still. Emily savored the shaft filling her, then she rotated her hips in a sensual rolling motion. Carl savored Emily’s sheath wrapping around him in sensual delight.
Urgency took over. Emily whimpered, Carl clenched his teeth, and they climaxed together, their gasps like silver clouds in the night.
Afterwards, they watched a golden bonfire, tossing sparks to the frosty stars. And Carl decided: While flowers perhaps don’t bloom in the middle of winter, love can.


604 Words, not counting title information.

 

[champagne1982]

Winter Carnival Story

McRae's Win (a Randy and Cheri episode)

Cheri grabbed Randy's hand and pulled herself up. She smiled at him as he led her from the rink back along the shoveled pathway to the hot dog booth. She smiled at Ted Loghan as he took their order. Ted slopped a spoonful of watery chili over the two hot dogs. "Five bucks please. Enjoy the carnival!”

Randy pushed the money over the vinyl-covered plywood and handed his girl her hot dog. "I'm gonna take you away from this crowd Cheri," his voice stroked her name, turning it into a caress. "Let's go for a walk up the trail and be alone for a while."

From behind them came a call, "Randy? Randy McRae!" An elegant, blonde woman approached down the walk.

"Hello, Elaine. I haven't seen you around much! How you been?" Randy smiled at her as he hugged Cheri close to his side.

"I've been busy as all hell. What with plannin' my wedding and all."

"Shut up! Who's the lucky man?"

"George Brady, out at the Lazy Snips. We met at the masquerade last year. I’ll cut to the chase though, Randy, we need you over at the wood chopping competition, they're one short for a proper race. The winner gets entered into that vacation trip draw." Her voice took on a pleading note, "Come on?"

"You should enter Randy!” Cheri encouraged him, “ Make George earn that win. I saw the list of competitors in the program. He'll walk away with the prize without you in it."

Randy smiled at her, "You hoping you'll come with me, Cheri? C'mon baby, I'll win a chance at that prize!"

Elaine laughed delightedly and started walking back to the competition area. There were five men, each standing beside a chopping block and an axe. Jumbled piles of short logs waited behind them. Over across the space, Randy saw the place for the last entrant and he leaned over and kissed Cheri for luck. He smiled and nodded his acquaintance to his competitors as he walked past to his pile of wood.

The edge of his axe was keenly sharpened and he smiled as the skate sharpener from the community arena shouted out, “You won’t find no fault with that edge, McRae! I sharpened them all this mornin’!”

Randy waved, dropping his coat and hat over the saw horse. He flexed his fingers and swung the axe, loosening up. Cheri stood against the rail with Elaine and felt a thrill of excitement as their two men shook hands. The whistle blew.

With a swing of the axe Randy sent logs flying. He continued until he’d chopped three more, without any real pause he hacked the blade into the block and filled his arms full of wood. Smoothly into the flow, Randy placed them in a neat pile and then went back to chopping.

This time he tossed the chunks at the pile. Some even landing on the stack. He continued even after two other men had started to build their piles. Then he flung the axe at the block, madly stacking wood, until the whistle sounded that the race was over, ten minutes after it had begun.

The judge stepped over and with a measuring tape, shouted out the height of each stack. The other competitors shook each other's hands as Randy and George stood waiting. Their piles were stacked high, looking almost identical. Before the man got near George’s wood, everyone gasped as they watched it topple over. Randy McRae had won.

 

[Lancelot Knight]

New Story

The Open Window

by

Lancelot Knight

Although the dark was descending, Jenny did not turn on the light. Instead, she sat by the open window, her hands folded primly in her lap. A warm breeze gently caressed her body.

In the house beside Jenny’s a light went on, mellow, soft. As if it were a picture, a room was framed: a bedroom.

Into the bedroom came Jim. After stretching, he removed his shirt, tossed it into the hamper, sat on the bed and slipped out of his blue jeans and shorts. Stretching again, the muscles across his shoulders rippled.

Jenny’s hand crept down to the hem of her short summer dress. Gradually, she pushed it up until her thighs were bare.

Jim lay back on his bed. He was watching something on his television, but what Jenny couldn’t see. Not that she cared. She was more interested in what Jim was doing than what he was watching.

While Jim watched the TV he slowly began to coax his cock to an erection, stroking it sensually. It gleamed almost wetly.

Jenny’s hand crept between her thighs as her legs drifted open. She pushed her dress up until it was about her hips. Jenny had no panties on.

Jim wasn’t huge perhaps, but his cock was, Jenny decided, more than ample as she watched his shaft grow in his hand, becoming bright red and incredibly hard.

Unconsciously, Jenny ran her tongue over her dry lips as she stared at the swollen member. Lightly, lightly her fingertips drifted over her mound. Every now and then, with her other hand, she massaged her breast.

As Jim’s eyes fastened on the television screen, he squeezed his cock. Every so often he would reach down with his other hand and lightly tickle his ball sack. Whenever he did, his erection twitched with pleasure.

As his hand began to pick up the pace, his cock jerked. At the tip a clear bead appeared. Jim used the lubrication to make his cock slippery. A small smile drifted across his lips as he savored the feel of his hand.

Jenny was spellbound. She dragged her middle finger up her slit in slow, sensual strokes. Time after time, her finger drifted higher and higher, nearer and nearer the nub of her clit. Finally, she grazed the sensitive pink pearl, and shuddered in voluptuous delight. Jenny sucked in her full lower lip to keep from crying out.

Jim’s hand was a blur now. His powerful chest heaved for breath as he stroked his cock.

Jenny stroked her clit with short flicks, feeling her heart pounding under her aching breast. She rubbed and massaged the sensitive bud and felt her climax churning and rising.

Jim lifted his muscular ass off the bed. A thick spray of sperm erupted from the tip of his cock and landed on his thigh. Slumping, gasping, he continued to milk his cock until he drained all of the milky fluid.

Jenny’s climax sent electric sparks throughout her body. She writhed by the open window, panting in the quiet night air, squeezing her thighs together, her painted toes pointed.

After a time, having regained his strength, Jim reached over to the nightstand beside the bed. Taking a tissue, he wiped the cum from his thigh and limp cock. He glanced just once towards the open window, and maybe he smiled and, just maybe, he made a small kiss in Jenny’s direction.

And maybe Jenny kissed him back, though it would have been difficult to tell in the dark.

Even in towns as small as Snippetsville there is room for all kinds of love.


599 Words without title information

 

[Lancelot Knight]

New Story

The Parachutist

by

Lancelot Knight


Vince opened a bleary eye.

Places can have different languages, different customs, different foods, but garbage trucks sound the same the world over. Vince winced at the clanging of the truck that seemed just outside his door; he listened to its hydraulics as it pounded, pounded into his headache.

He rolled over and was not startled to see a slim young blonde beside him. She had a narrow chin, and in sleep her light hair trickled over the pillow like sunshine. The sheet was pulled up, but he caught a glimpse of a firm, apple-sized breast. At least he had good taste, drunk or not, he thought.

As if his gaze had been a caress, she blinked her eyes open.

Vince shifted himself onto his elbow. “Where are we?”

“In a motel,” she replied.

“No, I mean, in what country?”

“The United States.”

“Ahh.”

“Say, don’t you remember anything?”

“Not very much,” Vince admitted.

“Doesn’t that beat all? Here you parachute into the middle of Snippetsville—”

“Where?”

“Snippetsville.”

Vince nodded weakly. “It’s coming back now. 101st Airborne ten years ago. I had to prove I could still do it.” He paused, rubbing his whiskered face. “So I parachuted into Snippetsville. Did I cause a stir?”

“You bet! It was the first time it had ever happened. Mrs. Murphy thought you were an invading force from . . . from somewhere. She wanted you thrown in jail. Then they decided you were a conquering hero and carried you on their shoulders like you were Lindbergh or somebody, and it kind of turned into a parade down Main Street.”

Vince smiled. “Lindbergh, that’s good.”

“They carried you to the bar, where everyone in town, it seemed, had to buy you a drink. That’s where,” she blushed slightly, “that’s where we met.”

“I remember now,” Vince said. “Or at least I remember most of it. What did you say your name was?”

“Still is—Sandra.”

As they chatted, Sandra unselfconsciously got up from the bed. Naked, she padded over to the coffeemaker and brewed some coffee. Vince watched the flexing of her fine buttocks as she went about the work.

“I’m a waitress at the bar,” she said as if that explained everything.

As they sipped coffee, he told her about all the countries he had been to, all the sights and marvels he had seen.

“It sounds wonderful,” said Sandra, dreamily.

“It gets old after awhile,” he answered.

She told him of the small town life of Snippetsville, of the crickets in the summer and the sound of ice cracking in the winter, of the breezes and blizzards, of gossip and goodness.

“Sounds wonderful,” said Vince.

“It gets old after awhile.”

Setting aside his coffee cup, Vince stretched and rose from the bed. “I think you better get dressed and get going,” he said. “I have a friend who said he would drive out here to pick me up.”

“You told me,” Sandra said. “I got all my things together.” She nodded at a suitcase in the corner. “You said you would take me with you. Don’t you remember? See all the sights of the world.”

Vince scratched his head. “To be honest with you, I was thinking of staying here for awhile. Maybe permanently.”

For a long time there was a silence in the dingy motel room. Then Sandra said, “This friend of yours--do you think he would take me with him?”

Vince smiled softly. “Oh, I think so.”

Later, as Vince waved good-bye to them, he murmured, ruefully, “Who knows? Perhaps our paths will cross again someday.”


(598 Words not including title material)

 

[Alex De Kok]

Rhonda at the Roadhouse

He looked across again. It was definitely Mrs Jackson - Rhonda - from next door. Divorced, kids off at summer camp, and looking red hot in her short summer dress. She looked uncomfortable, too, because the trucker had obviously had too much to drink and was pawing at her. Jerry turned to his friends who were playing pool.

“I have to go and see if she’s okay.”

Tom Forrest looked over at the booth. “That trucker looks like he could get mean.”

“I’ll take the chance,” Jerry said with a grimace. He turned and went across to the booth. Rhonda Jackson saw him coming and gave him a warm smile.

“Hi, Jerry. Have you come to give me that lift? Is it that time already?”

Jerry took his cue. “Sorry I’m late, Rhonda. Couldn’t get the car started at first.”

“You can’t leave, we just got started,” the trucker said, angry now that he could see what he thought was a choice piece of ass moving out of his life.

“And now we’re finished,” Rhonda said, her tone like ice. “I’m ready, Jerry, let’s go.” She pushed at the trucker, who tried to stop her. “Get your hands off me," she yelled, startling the trucker into letting go. She quickly slid out of the booth and took Jerry’s arm. “Get me out of here,” she hissed. Obediently, Jerry headed for the door.

Outside, Rhonda took a deep breath. “Thanks, Jerry. I owe you.”

“That’s okay, I thought you looked a little uncomfortable.”

Rhonda grimaced. “I was. I didn’t realise that jackass could get so drunk so quick. Have you got a car, Jerry?”

He shook his head. “I came with Tom and Joey.”

“Will they miss you?”

“I doubt it.”

She reached into her purse and took out her car keys. “Drive me home?”

“Sure.”

In the car, as he started the motor, Rhonda put her hand on his arm. “Sorry if I spoiled your evening.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know why I agreed to come. The Roadhouse isn’t my favourite place.”

Rhonda gave a brief, amused snort. “Mine either.”

“Why’d you go then?” said Jerry.

“To meet my so-called friend, Cindy, who never turned up.” Rhonda heaved a deep breath. “Please don’t get me wrong, Jerry. It’s been a long time since I had sex and I’m a woman who has needs. I think I just hoped I could get laid by somebody nice, but there was nobody there who fits the description." There was a pause. "Except you,” she said in a completely different tone.

Jerry glanced across at her. She was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t fathom, hesitant, yet expectant. Excitement took him. Whoa boy! “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Did you just invite me to make love to you?”

“Not exactly,” said Rhonda, “I think I just asked you to fuck me, but if you want to make love, I won’t argue.”

Jerry put the car into gear and eased out of the Roadhouse parking lot. “You know something?” he said.

“What?”

“I’m nineteen tomorrow. You’ve lived next door for four years now and I think I’ve been a little bit in love with you since that very first day.”

Rhonda laughed. “Does that mean you want to fuck me?”

“Yes,” said Jerry.

Rhonda put her hand on his leg. “Don’t break the speed limit, don’t take chances, but get me home, because suddenly I want very much to be fucked by you.” She laughed. “Jerry, suddenly I feel very good, very wet, and very horny. Have you got all night?”

600 words excluding title.

Alex