Credit: Source Unknown
Bill woke in a wicker chair. Rays of early morning sunshine flooded the room. Sylvia and Joelle had ejected him from the bed hours earlier when they returned to the room from the beach. They wanted the bed, and all he would do was cramp their style.
Bill blinked through the rummy haze and watched as the women, entwined like the caduceus, explored each other’s bodies. Lips met lasciviously as fingers parted spread thighs and traced paths across breasts and bellies.
He shifted in the chair, a soft rustle alerting the women. Joelle took her mouth off of Sylvia’s neck and said, “Useless is awake.”
“Don’t let me stop you, ladies,” Bill said, and began to enthusiastically pump a handful of his erect cock.
“Don’t you dare, Bill,” Sylvia admonished. “You know the rules.”
“Come on!” he said. “Be fair.” Joelle grabbed the flogger from the nightstand and shook it menacingly at him. Bill sighed in frustration.
“If it's too hot in here, you know what you can do.”
Bill picked up his shorts from beside the bed, put them on and left the room. He walked down the path to the beach, and took an icy swim. (198)
For the third straight week, Ram the Sunlover is filling in for Panserbjørne. His requirements for this story were a bit different from the typical Flash Fiction Friday challenge in that in addition to the usual word range (181-199) and a required phrase (“soft rustle”), participants were given two images, seen above, and instructions to use the two images to bracket the story, with either one represented in the beginning, and the other represented at the end.
The idea for this story, and the incorporation of the two pictures, came to me pretty quick; I decided to simply present the scene, and provide almost no exposition as to who the characters were. I liked the ambiguity, and the questions it would likely raise not only in the viewers mind, but had also raised in my own. Who are these women? What is their relationship to each other? How does Bill fit in? Why are they all sharing a room? Feel free to speculate, with the understanding that I have no concrete idea as to any of it.
While I found the 199-word limit a bit more constrictive than I initially thought it would be, I managed to tell the story I wanted to tell. Though tight and lacking in detail, no scenes were left on the cutting-room floor; the only changes I made involved deleting a few arguably unnecessary words, as usual.
A piece of reggae music would work well here, preferably something slow and sensual. “Boom Shack-a-Lak” by Junior Reid comes to mind, as does “Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing” by Big Youth.