Getting my message across is not something I struggle with, often to my benefit but occasionally to my detriment. Even in my middle age, I still struggle sometimes to tone down my thoughts and feelings, and exercise restraint, especially when I feel threatened or perceive natural justice to have been compromised. Candour may be seen as a character weakness, as well as a character strength, and I’m not always sure whether my general excessive frankness is an asset or not.
It certainly got me a few detentions at school; too many of my teachers loved getting respect without actually trying to earn it, and abhorred independent thinking when it was applied against their narrow view of the world. Not that I made my life easy at the time but my idealistic notion that the truth, reason and logic would trump any flawed logic if argued vociferously ensured I picked many battles I could not win. A learning curve, you might say.
Anyway, here is a short flash fiction of someone who, needs a very clear message:
Lara wriggled, effortlessly ceding to his wishes. Mike focused on her athletic body gliding smoothly, swirling the soft button around his finger as he ogled the sex symbol. She percolated into his dreams, infected his waking thoughts and permeated his desires. Every moment he was away from her was agony; he was addicted to her feisty exterior and gorgeous curves and wanted nothing more than to play with her.
“When are you coming to bed?” Mike said nothing, his attention centered on the television screen. “It’s one in the morning.” The smooth outline of his girlfriend stood illuminated by the glare of his game, her hands akimbo, her skin glowing with despair and frustration. “We need to talk. It’s been six hours, Mike. When do I get a turn?”
He grunted a spartan reply, pausing the game, as his girlfriend flounced into his view. “Move!”
“Play with me for a change,” she begged. “Look I have breasts too, and a pussy; remember, you used to kiss it every night. When you wanted a real girlfriend and not a bunch of pixels.” He looked up at her from the floor as she moved her legs apart. “Remember when you wanted to play with this?”
He coughed, watching as her fingers traced the smooth silhouette of her body to nudge against the crack of her pussy. She imagined; recollecting nights when he would reach for her buttons instead of Lara Croft’s. She remembered when he would spend hours massaging her thighs, kissing her neck, recounting her fantasies and as her excitement sparkled into life, plunge his tongue against the squirming delights of her softness.
Her fingers nudged against her desperate arousal, causing her to emit an instinctive, feral whimper. “I’ll just finish this level and …”
“No!” She cried. “Enough!” She ripped the games console from its stand, plunging the television and room into darkness, as the cables dropped away from her hands. “You can have it back when I am satisfied,” she warned as she strode towards her bedroom, and her Doxy. “Completely satisfied.”
And of course, sometimes messages get mixed in translation; Google Translate is wonderful but it doesn’t always do well when faced with Erotica as I proved earlier in the week with Rebel!