Transportation ChallengebyComing Together©
Every so often, the authors and assorted perverts who hangout in the Author's Hangout overcome the urge to pontificate and/or procrastinate long enough to participate in a writing exercise. We are writers, after all, and must behave in a writerly fashion from time to time lest we incur the wrath of CharleyH.
This pot luck stew featuring transportation-related flash fiction is the result of one such exercise. Forty-two authors tossed their prose into the soup. Our gosling-of-ceremonies, the loverly and talented minsue, collected all the ingredients and stirred the pot.
The challenge was served in anonymous 500-word helpings (some of which were heaping; others, meager). Our task? The identification of each author based on the flavor of his or her words. Three wildcards were added to make the recipe more intriguing. Think it's easy? Think again! No one managed to correctly peg more than 16 of the 42 authors based on style, voice, plot, or grammar.
Some of the treats that follow are mere appetizers for the full-course meal. Others are bite-sized snacks, giving readers an enticing taste of the author's style. If you like what you read, you are encouraged to follow the link to the authors' submission pages and indulge until your appetites are sated.
After your meal, please stop by the Author's Hangout for a nightcap. The natives are friendly, and the drinks are free.
Isabella smiled inwardly at the shyness of the question, "I'm an environmental terrorist," deliberately not telling him what he wanted to know, he'd have to try harder than that.
"Ahh… that explains the attack this morning. Actually, remembering that, I'm not sure you deserve that apricot tart."
"But you forget, Philip, I've still got the bag."
"I'm sorry, I forgot… I shouldn't have let you carry it. Pass it to me."
"Nah… just guarding what's mine. Hope you've a picnic in here, I'm hungry."
"Baguette, couple of apples, water. We'll share. So… where is your boyfriend, here or Renne?"
Isabella, skipped in front of me, walking backward, watching me intently her dark eyes twinkling with amusement.
"The position is temporarily vacant. Why? Are you thinking of applying?"
I laughed, realising that actually it was the only thing I really wanted to know, "Why? Would you like me to?"
"That's not fair, Philip! You're not supposed to answer a question with another question.
We walked through Porte St Pierre, both blinking in the sudden brightness of the sun. "Ok, I'll think about it. See what sort of a crew you might make."
"Don't be horrible. What time is it?"
"About one o'clock, why?"
"I'll make it easy for you… twelve hours. I'll keep the vacancy open for you for the next twelve hours."
"Just like that."
"Doesn't guarantee anything, haven't said I'll say yes. Anyway I want to see what sort of skipper you are first. Jacques!" She shouted, frantically waving.
I watched her run a few paces down the ramp to the guy who runs the Sailing School and throw herself in his arms, giving him what looked, for all the world to be a passionate kiss. I felt foolishly jealous.
"Bonjour Philip," Jacques said, shaking my hand, "is Izzy taking you sailing?"
"Jacque! Don't call me Izzy. Philip wants to be my boyfriend," she said, matter-of-factly, as if I wasn't there, "I'm going to try him out on the water first, see if he's any good. What do you think?"
"It's not promising Izzy," Jacque answered with a deadpan face, stepping back out of blow range, "he only hired a Wayfarer." He wrinkled his face and waved his hands in that the way of suggesting 'dodgy'.
Isabella turned to me hands on hips, "A Wayfarer… huh. Not a good start, Philip, not good at all." She passed me the backpack. "Come on Jacque, let's get a Cat rigged, then Philip and I can have some fun."
She set off for the storeroom, with surprising long strides to bring sails, Jacques turned to me laughing, "don't worry Philip, she's the best female sailor in St Malo, not counting our adopted daughter Ellen MacArthur. Izzy is completely crazy, but she won't let you drown."
The bus smelled like dirty socks drying out on a heat register. Dani followed Joey down the aisle to the back bench seat. Thankfully, the one a.m. bus to Denver wasn't crowded. Their fellow travelers were four guys who looked like they were at the end of a long ski week and an older lady who looked liked she was settled in for a journey across the country, her nest was that feathered.
As soon as Dani slid in against the window, Joey unpacked their heavy cotton throw and brought it up over them. His lips pressed to her temple and she felt more than heard his whisper, "Sleep, sweetheart. We'll be alright." She murmured something back about loving him before nestling against his shoulder and dozing off.
Dani came up out of slumber as a warm hand squeezed her breast and another slipped over her jeans, up along her inner thigh, pressing the seam up against her crease. She turned and reached down inside the loose band of Joey's jeans. His cock was hot, jerking at the brush of her fingers. The bus tires could be heard schussing over the pavement and the rattle of its diesel engine assured them that they wouldn't be heard by anyone not listening for fuck noises.
Her jeans were an inconvenience soon bundled up in the corner; Joey's fingers were free to wiggle inside her wet, cock-hungry pussy. She made lots of lubrication and soon it was slathered thickly onto her outer lips. Joey pulled her hips against him eagerly sliding between her lips so that his shaft was sandwiched along her slit. Dani rocked her round ass back and then forward to move the bulb of his head to her opening.
They both growled when he pressed up into her. She took half his length on the first thrust; he pulled back, relishing the sweet suction of her sheath letting him go. His fingers reached in front of her and found her clit, lightly circling around the hard button. Dani's pussy always got so swollen when she fucked.
Again he moved up into her. This time his long cock met little resistance. Dani rolled her ass and took him fully up. She loved the act of penetration better than any other part of sex. Her pussy was ready for fucking so quickly, sometimes Joey didn't need to even touch her. Now, though, he was touching her exactly where she wanted it, nudging her cervix and stretching her lips round tight until her clit massaged his thick length with every stroke.
They fucked, slow and sensually, barely noticeable beneath the blanket. Their rustling seemed like nothing more than two sleepers finding a comfortable position in a very uncomfortable place. Soon enough, their moans and muffled shout of completion drifted up the aisle, past the sloshing of the chemical well of the toilet and teased the ears of four sleeping skiers and one envious old woman. The Denver express rolled on.
Kresmire pulled on his old boots when he heard about his friend and made his way to the shed in the yard. Another flake of sun worn green paint fell from the door when he screaked it open. In the gloom amongst the spiders he lifted the saddle of the bike to raise the rear wheel and gave the pedal a push to confirm its mechanical fortuity.
About half way down the rutted track that led through the dappled copse at the very edge of his land he became weary. He had finally outlived his bicycle's usefulness and was welcoming of the downward gradient towards the bushes and the fearns, the saplings and hedgerows.
After some time he arrived at his friend's house and immediately made him a present of the bicycle denying oaths and curses, promises and platitudes by way of polite refusal of his generosity.
"It is a gift." He told his friend. "You have no bicycle and much need, I have no need and am loath to let it rust."
His friend thanked him and enquired what he might give in return.
"What you may give," explained Kresmire "is usage. It is a fine machine and deserves to be ridden. I know that you will ride it."
Later that evening Kresmire was pleased that his friend offered to walk home with him through the gathering shade. "It is not a problem. I shall bring with me my new bicycle and be home before first twinkle of the goddess."
Kresmire smiled at his friend's happiness and knew that his wife would berate him for his foolishness in taking a smile as payment.
It's our beach. At least, it's my uncle's beach, and its private. In summer it is my beach; no-one else comes here. No-one else can, because of the cliffs. It's boring at my uncle's, there's nothing to do, nobody my age. But I have the beach... I love the beach, and the sun.
As I went down to swim that morning, I saw the boat from the top of the cliff. I was angry. It's my beach. And when I got down, I asked him what he was doing there. He just ignored me, ignorant peasant. I went to swim.
It was about ten past three in the morning when the boat struck the crate. I checked below; she'd started a seam forward, and was making a lot of water. On the chart, there was an island to leeward. The coast looked bad, but there were some inlets marked as sandy. It was the best I could do; she wouldn't make port.
I beached close to high water, and by nine o'clock I'd replaced the fastenings and was recaulking the seam. Then this girl came. I didn't understand what she said, but I didn't like her tone. I ignored her.
Even when I was swimming I could see his beastly boat, lying untidily on my beach. It made me angry. It made me angrier that he had ignored me - in my smallest bikini. And that annoyed me too; on my beach, I'm nude. With him there, I couldn't be.
After I had swum I went over to him. He was doing something to the boat, low down. I spoke to him; he didn't look up. I stood in his light; he still didn't look up. In the end I took my top off and wrung it out over him.
I lost my temper. I threw my tools down, and got up. I shouted at her. She looked scared; she turned and ran, and I chased her. I don't think I meant to rape her, not then. I was just angry. I grabbed for her, and caught her by her bikini pants - they were all she was wearing. They ripped, we both stumbled. She got up again and ran, but I saw she was trapped by the cliffs.
I took off my belt. I only meant to hit her with it. I don't think I meant to rape her.
He came quite slowly, his belt swinging in his hand. I was frightened; there was nowhere to run. I tried to apologise, but he didn't understand me. He kept on coming. I'd never been naked with a man before.
I walked backwards until there wasn't anywhere else to go. I pleaded. The sun was behind him; I couldn't see his face. I thought if I submitted he wouldn't hurt me. I couldn't do anything else, anyway. I turned away, leant my hands on the rock, with my legs
apart. I've seen it done that way, in films.
He took me.
The comfortable rhythm was nearly lulling in its predictability. The inhabitants within smiled coyly when gazes met before being torn asunder quickly. Light rose blushes suffused a small but delightful swell of exposed breast from one and a wicked smile from the other. What unplanned game was this that they played? Strangers, they certainly weren't.
The air was thick and sweet, nearly cloying with the scent of magnolia woven around them. So, perhaps it was the first large rut that bounced the smaller of the inhabitants from her purchase or perhaps it was an over-reaction to the tension that had built to degrees she couldn't fathom. No matter the scenario, she was kneeling upon the floor of the conveyance, her actions and silence at an uncomfortable juxtaposition.
Over an awkward passage of time, words were quietly spoken, breaking, redirecting and yet building this urgency between them. The elder of the two remarked upon the dangers of travel as she pulled moth eaten curtains down over curiously missing windows. Her gaze landed squarely on the smaller russet-haired woman, still kneeling on the floor.
"If you cared for this game of seduction, Elizabeth, we could have found many opportunities more physically suited for amorous pursuits. But, I care not at this point as you have me provoked beyond thought."
Elizabeth paused only a moment before shedding the embarrassment of her situation. She used her position to her advantage. Smiling indulgently as she looked to her beautiful nomadic compatriot, her fingers traced a soft yet meaningful pathway under petticoats that hid a complete lack of underclothing beneath.
Helena tipped back her head as a near soundless hiss of approval slipped from her full lips. Elizabeth gently nudged Helena's bare thighs apart with a negligent flick of her tongue.
Their eyes met and what had begun as a sweetly sensual flirtation between lovers became a carnal session made risky by their mode of transport. Elizabeth meandered her way betwixt lush thighs, inhaling the sweet musk of Helena's excitement. Fingers encircled a hardened bud thoroughly drenched by a long withheld desire. She teased Helena until her body became pliant and her hips edged the thinly padded seat.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and relished the feel of Helena's wet warmth around two digits, teasingly playing a slow counterpoint to the hushed moans issued by them both. The rough road they traveled served to spurn Elizabeth into a faster, deeper pace. Each time she thrust forward, her tongue flicked Helena's hardened nub.
Allegro. Staccato. Fugue. . A symphony of pleasure brought to crescendo by a melodic cry of release.
Soft smiles upon bruised lips as Elizabeth rested her head upon Helena's knee, waiting just a moment before returning to a shared reality and an abrupt end to their physical and emotional journey.
We passed though a black tunnel and for a moment the lights flickered off disconcertingly. It felt like I had been plunged into an ocean crevasse. All light had vanished, sucked into the abyss.
Still the train rumbled on relentlessly, the hypnotic thud of the tracks soothing my fears. The emergency lights sprang in to life and I turned to see a young man sat beside me. For a moment true fear spiked through my veins like heroin, my heart rate shooting through the roof of the carriage.
This person had not been beside me a few moments ago. Where in the hell had he come from? I looked around frantically but the carriage was mysteriously empty. There was nobody to call on for assistance – I was utterly alone.
Trembling, I shrank back against the cold glass, feeling the frigidity seeping through my clothes like ice. My skin broke out in goose bumps, cold sweat trickling down between my breasts.
The man's strange green eyes were compelling. I found myself unwillingly drawn into their emerald depths, my body fighting the reaction to this stranger's gaze. Without warning he leant towards me and kissed me hard, his mouth bruising my soft lips.
I was pinned between his body and the hard edge of the seat, unable to escape. His tongue pushed into my mouth, tasting my sweet flavour, sucking my breath from my trembling body. A raging lust swept through me, holding me ransom to its frenzied demands.
My nipples stiffened into hard bullets of sensation, my sex flooded with honeyed juices. Still my tormentor said nothing. He merely swept his hands down my body, lingering lustfully on the curves of my breasts.
I parted my thighs in an unspoken gesture of submittal. The hot piquant scent of my arousal was immediately apparent. Like a bee to the sweet nectar, he plunged his hand between my legs, dipping a finger into my aching depths.
I shifted towards him, my unspoken plea clear to both of us. He rubbed tantalisingly across my clit, bending to rest his mouth on the peak of my breast. I cried out when he pushed back inside me, my heated pussy sucking his fingers in sharp spasms of pleasure.
My orgasm ripped through me, flooring me with the intensity of its rapture. For a delirious moment I blacked out, reality fading away. When I came to, the carriage was brightly lit once again, the fluorescent glow spot-lighting my flushed countenance as the train steward stared at me curiously, one hand resting on his trolley.
"Any refreshments Madame," he asked with a knowing smirk.
I was in no fit state to reply as I half lay across the seat, my skirt hiked up high on my thighs and my erotic book open beside me. Fuck! I must have been dreaming again…
"Ladies and gentlemen, the seatbelt sign has been turned off, but for your own…"
She didn't wait for the announcement to end, but unbuckled her seatbelt and stretched out on the three seats she had to herself. The cold air inside the plane made her shiver.
'Damn, I've put the jacket into the checked luggage,' she remembered.
Her hand luggage thrown under the seat in front of her consisted only of a wet bathing suit and the towel that she had wrapped it in when they told her she had to hurry to catch her plane. How annoying, the party had been at its best. And now she was here, with wet hair, dressed in nothing but a tiny top and a wraparound skirt that reached to her knees.. The air-conditioning in the airplane was merciless.
A flight attendance asked her if she needed anything.
Did it show just how drunk she was? Well, who cares. She wanted to sleep. And get a bit warmer, hopefully. She pulled her knees up, to have her feet closer to her body – who cares if that was a bit of a revealing position? The plane was almost empty anyway, and it was a late night flight, the lights were turned off. Arms folded under her head, she fell asleep.
He couldn't take his eyes off her. The way she was lying, her skirt didn't hide anything. She wasn't even wearing underwear, he realized. With the lights turned off, he could still only guess in the greenish shimmer from the emergency exit signs, but it was enough for him to feel quite hot despite the air-conditioning.
He moved closer towards the edge of the seat, the isle, her. She had stopped shivering, probably fallen asleep. The urge to touch her, the skin that looked soft and pale in the dim light, became too strong to resist. His hand moved almost of its own accord. She was so close, he could almost feel her already. But to touch her, he would have to lean out of his seat, maybe even get up.