Tag Archives: Flash fiction

Midsummer Madness #Flash #Fiction Blog Hop

blog hop midsum
Happy 4th of July! We’ve got a flash fiction blog hop to celebrate, so I’ve tried for a freedom theme today.

It’s a love letter. I even dipped it in tea, not that you can tell with the assholish way I’m posting this. Eh. You may need to zoom in a bit.

20150625_122411

20150625_122653

20150625_122828

*441 words with a dash of artistic-license-stretchery in time period and tone (although I did read some flowery letters from the 20’s-40’s, so it all depends on the author). Anyway, I didn’t want the guy to end up with a lobotomy (in the 30’s the use of electric shock aversion therapy was just getting warmed up, but they didn’t start scooping people’s brains out until the 40’s). Also, jail was probably tougher to break out of than an old-school psychiatric facility. Maybe. I hope so for the sake of these two.

Here’s the easier-to-read version:

—————————-

July 2, 1933

My Dearest R,

I hope this note finds you as well as can be. It’s my greatest fear that our final farewell left you in a state of dejection, as it has me. The slurs aimed at you were beyond any I’d imagined when first we began our friendship. I confess here and now to my fear and weakness. I failed you. I hesitated to stand by your side throughout the accusations and vile threats. I’d hoped my tendencies would remain undiscovered as yours were paraded for the masses to ridicule.

I am the worst Judas.

Oh, R, my darling, I’ve regretted my inaction every moment since. My contrition is small consolation, I’m certain, while you languish in your wretched cell and endure all manner of humiliation. Good God! The experimentation the gossips describe! As if our kind are less than animals; senseless beasts deserving of hellish punishment, and the angelic whole of mankind shouldering the burden to rehabilitate us. I know your family intends to help you, but their aid is misguided.

We are not abominations, and we do not decide whom we love. It is thrust upon us like a dagger, or soaks our skin slowly as a spring mist, but no matter, the choice is never ours. It was not mine, but I’d choose you before a tribunal now, my sweet.

Would that I’d been so brave before.

My only peace is that I remain free to aid in your escape.

Mary, my cousin and constant companion, whom you met briefly, warns that a correspondence is far from prudent at this time, but her sources within the hospital reveal the most alarming conditions therein. I’ll not sit idle another moment while your fate lies in the hands of sadists who would break spirit or spine to keep you from loving another man.

If you still do…

Whatever your present mind, I’ll see you free from torture two days hence. Stay steadfast, my love. Ease their suspicion with lies and speak what is in your heart when you are once more in my arms. If your words crush me, it is all I deserve. If they echo the song my soul sings at the memory of your face, the whisper of your name, I swear my heart will take wing and together we will fly from this place.

You’ll know my sign when the bearer of this note makes contact again.

I will come for you, and together we’ll find freedom, no matter how far we must flee. With your hand in mine, I cannot tire.

And I’ll never again leave your side.

Always,

M

_________

Check out all the other flashers! Here’s the original hop call.


Halloween Flash Hop! #free #flash #fiction

It’s that time of year again; the time where my friend Heloise West organizes a flash fiction hop I signed up for long ago and thought I had plenty of time to get done and then I end up freaking out a bit when I realize my time it up.

It’s also that time of year where ghosts and goblins are out and about. I’m super excited to be the Twinkie house this year. I used to love the one house that gave Twinkies when I was a kid, and now all my adult dreams will be realized on Halloween night as I pass out assorted Little Debbies, Hostess, and Drakes’ Cakes. You should have seen the mom steering her toddler away from the mass-produced cream-filled pastry shelf (to the tune of “I want that!” and “No! We are not getting those!”) while I piled them into my cart. I told my hubby my Twinkie plan and he said, “I thought those were for us.” All ten boxes? That would make the disgusted look that woman gave me legit, tempting as those sweet cakes may be.

 

So, anyway, my flash…well, I did two. The first includes my boys, Kyrie and Greg (who will star in my NaNoWriMo bloodletting this year, so it was great to get back with them for a quickie–a little foreplay for next week,eh?). Horsing Around is just under 1200 words and is probably more vignette than flash.

My second offering is about 300 words and is straight up horror. If you aren’t jiggy with it, don’t read it. I just wanted a bit more bite for my All Hallows’ Eve.

 

Horsing Around

by K. Vale

copyright Kimber Vale

 

“No way. You’re not getting me in that thing.” Greg shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest in case Kyrie thought he’d be an easy push this time. Not happening.

“It took me two trips to get all of Mr. Ed home. Tuesday was your end and Wednesday I lugged my half. It was a total bitch.” Kyrie heaved the goofy brown horse head in the air to demonstrate.

Seriously, what play did the theater company ever use that atrocity for?

“I got trapped on the subway when I couldn’t get this huge freakin’ head through the crowd.” His voice climbed as he waved Pinto the wonder horse in Greg’s face.  “I had to walk the three blocks back with this thing looking over my shoulder. With people staring at me! We’re not not wearing it!”

ID-10062849

“Halloween Night” by koratmember via freedigitalphotos.net

Like Kyrie didn’t love people staring at him.

“Well I’m really not wearing it. You do what you like.”

“It’s because you’re the backside, isn’t it? Come on.” Kyrie smirked. “That’s perfect for you.”

“So now I’m an ass for not wanting to dress like one?” Greg scowled in warning. I can’t believe this is gonna be a fight.

Kyrie clicked his tongue and dropped the horse head to press up against Greg’s chest. Apparently Plan A to convince Greg wasn’t working. Maybe Plan B involved a blow job; Greg might even find himself cantering down 5th Street later tonight, in that case.

“No, silly. I wanted you behind me because that’s where I love ya best. Then you could be grabbin’ my ass all night.” He wiggled his eyebrows and licked his lips.

Greg sighed and cupped the ass in question. “I was planning to do that in my cowboy hat and jeans. I’ll throw on a bandana if you’re after a little incognito role play.” He drew Kyrie closer. “It’s a costume video game tournament—we couldn’t even leave that thing on to play. Plus it’s pouring out, Kyr.”

“Lawyers.” Kyrie rolled his eyes.

A spike of electricity arced across the Manhattan skyline and touched down on the Empire State Building’s lightning rod as if an exclamation point for Greg’s words. He grinned. “We’d be a soggy mess in all that fur.” Greg leaned over, nibbling Kyrie’s lips to apply his own brand of persuasion while outside thunder boomed loud enough to rattle  the glasses on the wet bar. “It’d weigh a ton.” Kiss. “Costume would get ruined.” Kiss, kiss, kiss. Of course, just tasting Kyrie always lit Greg’s fuse, and within seconds their tongues were slipping together, breath catching as Greg pulled their bodies as close as physics allowed. He kissed down Kyrie’s neck and across his collarbone, loving the soft sounds of surrender Kyr made.

“We could just stay home and play horse, if you want.” Greg slipped a hand between their bodies to get a rub on both their budding erections.

“Liv’ll be mad if we don’t come.”

I’ll be mad if we don’t come.” Greg unbuttoned Kyrie’s tight pants and inched down the barrier between them until his fingers found the slick tip of Kyrie’s cock. Thunder clapped around them again.

Kyrie trembled and groaned. “You know I’m always rarin’ to ride you all night long, stud.”

“Giddy up. Liv can just miss us.” Greg fisted Kyrie’s cock, hugging tight as he pumped him slow. Silky skin slipped over Kyrie’s hot head and back down again.

“Mmmm.” Kyrie flirted his tongue over Greg’s lips while he worked Greg’s pants open. “Remember that time on the dining room table?”

“It’s a favorite of mine.”

“Well, it hardly seems right that none of those chairs have seen any action.”

“True. We never even eat over there, forget about fucking.”

“I can be old and shriveled and forget my name, but I never wanna forget about fucking.” Kyrie shook his head solemnly as he slicked a thumb over Greg’s wet slit. “Raw, dirty fucking. Sweet, soul-squeezin’ fuckin’. Fast and furious fucking.” He dropped to his knees and looked up at Greg with laughing amber eyes.

Oh, the fucking was phenomenal, but Greg wanted those eyes forever burned in his feeble old brain.

“Suck you so good you wanna put on a horse costume kinda fucking…”

“Ah haaaahhh…” Greg tried to be indignant but instead he drooled on himself as Kyrie swallowed his entire length.

Lightning lit up the night sky like July sun. The lights browned, recovered, and then cut out completely.

“Shit.” Greg breathed heavily into the sudden silence. What had been making noise? The refrigerator? Weird how he’d thought it was quiet before. “Didn’t see that coming.”

Kyrie’s mouth pulled off Greg’s dick. He stood, feeling his way up Greg’s body as if he’d be lost in the boundless sea of their black condo without continuous contact. “Pretty sure I’m not gonna see anything coming. Hoping I’ll still feel it, though.”

Greg imagined a whiskey colored eye winking up at him.

“Aren’t you glad we’re not on a train right now? Or stuck at Liv’s if they lost power too?”

“Yeah. Electricity’s an important sponsor of Halloween Gamer Bowl. Without it, the games just aren’t the same.” Kyrie shifted and fabric wisped over Greg’s fingers before naked skin replaced cotton. “I just wish I’d grabbed the lube before the lights…went down…in the cit-tay.” He did a damn good Steve Perry.

“Probably just a transformer. I still see some power out there. Or maybe that’s generators.” Greg reached up to where he thought Kyrie’s head would be and brushed over his ear before adjusting to run his fingers over soft shorn hair. “I can rustle up a flashlight for that lube, though.”

“Much obliged, partner, but I’m not against roughin’ it once in a while, provided you don’t need no newfangled electric to hock a loog.” Now Greg apparently had a Texas longhorn standing in front of him. The longhorn still felt very much like Kyrie’s though. Saliva pooled in Greg’s mouth as he gripped their pricks with both hands and Kyr’s fingers joined the party.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” He slipped one hand over Kyrie’s hip before sliding back to knead his ass. “Think we can make it to the dining room without breaking any toes?”

“Yeehaw.” Kyrie let go of Greg’s dick and took his hand.

A tremor of excitement ripped through him. He could barely wait for the answering clap of thunder. Grinning, he let Kyr lead him through the darkness. He went willingly; he always did when Kyrie took his hand.  And of course Greg grabbed the sweet ass in front of him every step of the way.

 

————

Shhhhh

By Kim

copyright Kimber Vale

 

"Evil Roaring" by hyena reality via freedigitalphotos.net

“Evil Roaring” by hyena reality via freedigitalphotos.net

He dissects his work with one sharp, critical eye. The remnants of its match hide under a frayed brown patch, and I picture a squint of skin over the occluded void. I marked him once. I relive it often; taste salted metal in my mouth while he toys with me. His shouts and slurs still echo in my head. It’s my one miniscule comfort as I cower on a soiled seat, cut adrift in a hell no God could imagine.

“Damn it!” He spits when he speaks. I flinch, but my bonds—arms, wrists, ankles, and the odious strap anchoring my head—make for barely more than a blink. “Missed a stitch right there.” He points and his finger flits over my lip. Fire blooms under the slight pressure. I would cry. I used to, but dehydration shut down the waterworks yesterday. Or maybe the day before. That’s fine. The first day he licked them from my cheeks and I retched behind my sutures.

The low moan I eternally exhale, raw meat throat or no, grows louder with each rip of the half-scabbed seam. Finally, my mouth is open, upper lip pelting lower with blood raindrops from bruised sky skin in the warped light-fixture-reflection before me. I gulp in air and vomit rusty screams for four ears only. I wish he’d come closer. I’d make it three.

He preps his needle again, hands sluggish as he focuses on my face instead of the lone silver eye trapped between his calloused fingers. He shushes me with his lips at first. Then he adds the cold push of steel and the burning rasp of thread. One fresh stitch at a time I fall silent but for my moans, swallowing down salted metal harsh as barbed wire. I don’t shed a single tear.

 

 

Let all of these other hoppers flash you, too!

October 26:

http://www.jenawade.com/blog/

http://alittlebitofnaughty.blogspot.com/

October 27:

http://ndwylders.blogspot.com/

http://ameliabishop.wordpress.com/

October 28

http://alexisduranblog.com/

http://sexyforreview.blogspot.com/

October 29:

https://kimbervale.me/

http://www.jennahscott.com/

October 30:

http://jthallwriting.wordpress.com/

http://chrismchart.com/

October 31:

http://wordsthatburnlikefire.wordpress.com/

http://skyejonesromanceblog.wordpress.com/

http://velvetpanic2.wordpress.com/

 

http://skyejonesromanceblog.wordpress.com/

 

 

 

http://new.inlinkz.com/luwpview.php?id=433448

 


The Hot Summer Flash Blog Hop! #free #stories #flashfiction

Hi, everyone! Today is the House of Manlove Flash Hop! So exciting! A group of authors have each written an original flash piece, 1200 words or less, and are posting them on their individual blogs today. Some may be characters/worlds you are already familiar with from previous works. Some, like mine, may be brand new.

There are two types of stories floating around for this hop: Fourth of July– The Freedom to Marry (established couples) and Midsummer Madness (summer flings). For my 900+ words (I’m tired of recalculating my word count every time I tweak it), I did an established couple, of sorts. Read on to find out what I’m talking about. 🙂

 

Black Granite Wall

By K. Vale

Copyright Kimber Vale

 

Left. Left. Left, right, left. The cadence was stilted and sluggish, a lifetime away from the march of his youth. It was the subdued shuffle of a sixty-three-year-old man, made all the less brisk by the ancient knee wound that hurt worse on rainy days such as this. Still, cane in hand, Gary listened to the drill sergeant in his head, his destination calling forth memories from decades ago. Basic training. Boots and uniforms. Good times, and then guns. Bruce. Bruce. Bruce.

How they’d played at being men, before the war taught them that being men was an ugly job. It showed them that staying young meant you didn’t have to kill or be killed. You didn’t have to wake to the sound of shells and screams, whether real or only—blessedly—in your dreams.

Bruce.

You didn’t have to die in a tomb-dark jungle lit only by the violent back and forth of F1s and M26s. You didn’t have to take your last breath with swarms of mosquitoes angling for a sip before your blood thickened too much for their greedy tastes, and they flew off to the next course in their ample buffet.

The sole good to come of those two boys playing at men was that they had loved like men.

You go, I go. Gary closed his eyes against the steady mist and remembered touching Bruce’s youth-soft face as he made the promise. And then Bruce had gone for good, and Gary had gone home with a shattered knee.

The wall seemed to go on and on before bending at a right angle. As if the world couldn’t hold all those names in a straight shot. The black slab would fall off the ends of the earth before the last martyr was carved into it. Too many. Far too many.

Oh, the stories those voices would tell. All different, but all with the same tragic ending.

He ran his hands over the names, knowing he could search for many with whom he’d shared canned meals, borrowed time, and kid fears. The ones who had come home to their mamas in a zippered pouch instead of a wheelchair, as he had.

Bruce Klein. Tears filled his eyes and spilled down already damp cheeks, mingling with the rain like long-lost lovers. He traced the name with his finger as he’d traced Bruce’s lips so long ago, and then placed his palm flat against the stone.

Wet and smooth, like Bruce’s helmet had been when Gary found him and lifted it off to cradle his head in his lap. Life had already guttered out—no time for goodbyes and deathbed promises. But his skin was still warm. His eyes still vibrant blue as Gary gently lowered his lids and showered him in grief.

Time heals all wounds, or so the saying goes. Maybe that was true, but the scars never disappeared. They’d been etched in his heart as permanently as the fallen had been inscribed on this wall.

He stood for what seemed like years, leaning on black granite instead of his cane, replaying the flash of too-brief time he’d had with his best friend. His first love.  Finally, he felt as if he could speak.

“Bruce.” It was a whisper nearly lost to the patter of rain, but Gary knew the intended ears could hear him. Somewhere. Somehow. “I came to tell you my news. See, we’re here on vacation. Mostly, so I could come here, but D.C. has a lot to do. Got a nice little suite in a bed and breakfast, and we’re just takin’ it easy for a week. It’s our honeymoon, B.” His voice broke and fresh tears burned, flooded, and dropped.

“Who would have guessed, right? Way back when we were sneaking around? Now guys like us are gettin’ married all over the place. It’s a new world. You would have loved it. You would have loved him.”

Gary tipped his head up and stared into vast gray clouds, letting the heavens cry down on him, feeling washed clean by it all.

“That’s really all I came to say, B. That, and I miss you. I love you. I always will. And Glenn? He’s good with that. I think he loves you in his own way, too. Loves you for the stories I’ve told him.” He patted the stone with a wet slap. “Loves you for making me the man I am.” He swallowed over the lump in his throat. “Loves you just because I do.”

He stepped back and kissed his palm, placed it over Bruce Klein with a sniff and a soggy smile.

“Wherever you are now, buddy, they’re lucky to have you. I was so lucky to have you.”

Gary raised his right hand sharply, index finger barely touching his temple, and elbow at a 45-degree angle. He stood there, back straight and chest puffed out for only a moment before he dropped the salute.

“AMF.” Gary smiled with the derogatory goodbye. Adios, motherfucker. It was slang their unit had used heavily, as normal as a pat on the back and a see ya. Bruce knew. Somewhere, he was nodding, that old childhood scar on his cheek creasing as he grinned down on Gary and then pulled a Lucky Strike from behind his ear and lit it up, squinting as smoke curled toward his eyes.

Gary turned and picked his way back through the rain, gauging each step on the wet stone. The slick grass. Slow and steady as the hands of a clock.

Left. Left. Left, right, left.

——————–

 

Don’t forget to check out the other flashers! 🙂

 


Thursday Thrills

Writing to a prompt–who does that?  Well, I do today.

The lovely Tallulah Rose has orchestrated this flash fiction weekly prompt.  She’s so good.  Between 100 and 1000 words, based on a photo; check it out next time and see if you are inspired to do a little freewriting!

Here is the picture:

After you read mine, see what other offerings are floating around in the ether by clicking the pic above.  I think the photo lends itself to a variety of genres, particularly smut and horror.  And so, I mix and match. 🙂

——-

This is not a brothel.

I guess “brothel” would imply an exchange of payment, and we never took money for our services.  I think the words on the knocker got us more patrons than a gaudy sign flashing the word “sex” over and over ever could have.  And somehow, they all walked through the door expecting to find their most scandalous desires manifested.

They often did.

We tried not to disappoint.  After all, the more they enjoyed themselves, the better they tasted.

I often thought we were like the pear upside-down cake I always made for our staff Yule party.  Before I flipped over the pan, it looked like a straight-forward cake–light and fluffy, enough to satisfy any sweet-tooth.  That’s how the girls and I looked to the men who came sniffing around.

Until the doors locked behind them, and we tossed the dish over and revealed the sticky bottom; then, our blackened brown-sugar side was obvious.  It was still syrupy sweet, almost intolerably cloying, but they never ran for the exits.  They always sampled until the bitter end.

And the knocker continued to crack against our door every night.  The sound always made me salivate.

I love chicken.

————————————–

200 words

That’s really all I can manage. 🙂  I’ll admit, the chicken part was just to get it to a nice, round 200.  I have a hard spot for 200-word stories.  Chicken is actually only okay in my book.

-Kimber


Sirens Call Publications’ Horror E-zine just out…

http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/ezine.htm

And the first issue is up for grabs–gratis–for a limited time!  Check out some fun new voices in horror, excellent chilling photography, and insight into the writing/publishing/editing world all for free!

My bizarro flash fiction ‘Mental Floss’ was graciously included in this zine so go snap up your download before the lovely ladies at Sirens Call change their minds!


Connecticut Daylily Society

For the Latest News on the Connecticut Daylily Society

Luv My Books

Sharing favorite romance books/reviews on Goodreads, Amazon, & Twitter @Luv_MyBooks

three books over the rainbow

Blog about m/m novel - TRE LIBRI SOPRA IL CIELO

Alexis Duran

Writer of Fantasy, Science Fiction and Erotic Romance

Reckless Indulgence

of the Written Word

piper vaughn

piping hot

Moonbeams over Atlanta

A writer's, and reviewer's, area to explore stories in erotica, romance, and love. Love is Love: Romance with a twist.

Mia Kerick

Love is What I See

The Smutsonian

Book Reviews From a Professional Reader of Erotica

Rosanna Leo

Star-crossed loves are my specialty.

The Paisley Kamyleon

Digital Designs, Photography & Fine Art by Kamryn E. Priebe

V's Reads...

Reviews, Rants and Rambles from a mom and pre-published author

Molly Lolly

Reader, Reviewer, Lover Of Words

Amy Quinton

Historical Romance Author - Romance * Sexy * Historical * Love * Magic

readersperspectiveblog

Where reader's choose their favorite M/M romance book and let them shine!

Natasha Snow Designs

Book Cover Design

The Drinkslinger

If you sell booze, this blog's for you!