Tag Archives: Portable toilet

Cover Reveal: Love Has No Boundaries (NSFW)

"Sticking It" by K. Vale

“Sticking It” by K. Vale

On our Goodreads thread hop this week, we are answering the question, “If our main characters had a time machine, where would they go?”

I wrote a 500 word flash in response.  Yes it is in present, omniscient just for the halibut.

—-

Porta-Potty Time Machine

by K. Vale

“What the hell is this?” Dane knocks on the metal door and turns to give Adam an odd half-smile, half-scowl.

“Why, it’s a time machine.” Adam steps forward, chuckling at Dane’s expression. “See?  T-I-M-E spells time.  And M-A-C—”

Dane steps on his foot and twists like he’s putting out a cigarette. The maneuver works to put out Adam’s snark.

“Yeah. I can read, Poindexter. What the hell is a metal porta-potty marked time machine doing in my bedroom?”

“April fools?”

“It’s May…” Checks his sports watch …“6th, dude.”

“Maybe Paul was screwing with you.”

“Yeah?  Look inside, then.  If Paul did it, it’s probably going to spray something vile.”

“So, why would I open it?”

Dane harrumphs, stands to the side, yells “Fire in the hole!” and karate kicks the door which springs open while Adam ducks and covers.

Nothing jumps or shoots out.  Cautiously, they peer inside.  A digital display graces the wall where the toilet should be.

“Fuck me.  It is a time machine,” Dane says, doing that weird face again so Adam cracks up as he tries to recover from his undignified retreat.

They squeeze into the porta-machine together.

“Where should we go?” Dane asks, purposely grinding against Adam.

“I wouldn’t mind going back to this morning and fixing the essay portion of my Psych exam. Pretty sure I spelled Wernicke’s wrong.  Stupid core classes.”

“Seriously?  You’d rather go back and retake a test than get busy in a time machine?  It’s like I don’t even know who you are.”

“What?  You didn’t say have sex.  You specifically said where should we go?”

“Right.  You wanna sit on the console or should I?”

“Hmmm….”

Dane yanks down his pants and underwear while Adam is deliberating. He folds his jeans in half and lays them over the buttons before hopping up on top.

Lights start flashing and the porta-machine begins to spin like Dorothy’s house.

“Fuck!” Dane jumps down and slams into Adam as the machine shifts around them worse than a tequila hangover.

“That’s what got us into this mess in the first place!” Adam yells over the sounds of howling wind and robotic beeps.

They slide to the floor, a tangle of naked and clothed limbs, vibrating against each other.

“Hey, not bad.” Dane mumbles, and finds Adam’s lips with his own.

“Really, Dane?  Really?”

“Hey, when in Rome…”

“Rome? Oh, Lord.  I have a calculus exam at three!”

“Come on.  A little bathhouse action and I’ll have ya back by two thirty.” Dane squeezes Adam’s stiffening piece through his khakis. 

Adam gives him an exhausted sigh, but Dane knows he’s got him by the balls.  Because, in fact, he does have him by the balls.

“Okay. But only because I have our togas in my backpack for that stupid party later.”

“That’s the spirit.” Dane starts unbuttoning Adam’s shirt and kissing his way down his neck. 

And the rest, as they say, is history. 

-Kimber


Good Place, Bad Place: Sex in Public

In mulling over a good place for some public snoo snoo in my current WIP, I find myself at a PDA crossroads.  So, to clarify a bit in my own mind and to help others (curious bystanders or writers, virgins or sluts) I endeavor to create a list of the good, the bad, and the downright ugly.

1. I’ll start off with the ugly.  I’m embarrassed to say that I considered this (not doing it, but writing it).  My locale doesn’t leave me too many options, but despite the lack of available space, I stand firm on my decision not to make my guys have sex in a porta-potty.  Not even a fancy version with antiseptic gel.  Not gonna do it.

Well, maybe I’ll write it just for fun, but no way is it getting into my manuscript.  Maybe a freebie to be posted here at a later date…?  I know, I’m such a porta-potty cock tease.

And I had no idea that Gerard Butler had a recent porta-potty screw until it popped up in my related links.  Freakin’ weird.  Butler, you idea-stealing bastard!  Way to one-up me.

2. Bad.  Bad, bad, bad.  I give you the swimming pool.  I’m sure a large percentage of teenage whores fell for the allure of the deep blue community pool in the dark of night.  Probably intoxicated, but you never know.  Maybe even completely sober, because from the outside looking in, the pool sings a siren’s song.  Slippery when wet, right?  Afraid not, Bon Jovi.  Water is not lube, my friends.  If it were, why would people even buy lube?  In fact, it is the anti-Christ to KY jelly.  Go ahead all you zealous teens, don’t take my word for it.  Let me know how that goes.  Or doesn’t, as the case may be.

3.  We need a good one, here.  Things are looking dismal.  You went to the concert and the porta-potties were just too damn nasty for a little love.  Back at the hotel, the pool keeps winking at you, but you do the smart thing and give it the finger.  Sure a hotel bed is just fine, but we’re looking for a little fun and excitement, right?  Enter the hotel room balcony.  The cool night air kisses the sweat right off you as you get down and dirty standing up.  Or bending over.  Or both.  Just don’t sit on the railing.  No orgasm is worth plummeting to your death.  Voyeurism never felt so good.  Bring your binoculars and when you’re done, check out the competition, or at least the pervs jerking it off to your Bittersweet Symphony.  That’ll throw them for a loop.

4.  Back to the ugly.  Tall grass.  Sure amber waves of grain will hide you from prying eyes, but then there are snakes, ticks, sharp blades of grass where no man has ever gone (okay, maybe he has, but still, it’s not meant for grass-blade paper cuts).  Again, I could probably get my characters here, but do I want to, really?

5.  We’re at a bad, and so I give you…the floor.  It’s not horrible.  Wouldn’t make the ugly list, but rug burns hurt for a while.  And they are easily identifiable.  Maybe you’ll wear that badge of honor on your lower back with a cut-off shirt and glowing pride.  But if the skanky boy in your English 101 class looked good enough to fuck after you ate that tequilla worm the other night, but now you want to douche with bleach and change schools, chances are, you don’t want the raw patch on your back to corroborate his story while you’re changing for gym.

6.  Well, where the hell can we screw?  I know, I know.  I feel your pain.  I’m not trying to be a negative Nancy.  I’m still looking for the perfect love connection for my literary dudes as well.  Shed?  Storage unit?  Public restroom with a glory hole?  Closet?  Under a band stand?  Colonel Mustard, in the kitchen, with a wrench?  The world may be my oyster, but I’m not finding any pearls.  I’ll keep you posted, and if anyone has any brilliant places for sexual encounters (whether tried and true, or just a fantasy) I want you to lay them on me.  Now.


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