Flash Fiction Friday: A Pretty Face

(Source image: "Hillary" by Bradley Thurber)

He acknowledged the absurdity of requesting admission to his own car, especially since he was holding the keys.  But each time he unlocked the door – going on two hours now – she locked it again.

Demanding that she let him in hadn’t worked.  Though he knew she’d be able to detect the scent of desperation, he adopted a conciliatory tone:  “Baby, please!  I’m already late for work!”

 “I’ll open up if you let me drive.”  He’d refused the first ten times she asked.  Now, though, he saw that it was the only way.  When he promised, she shook her head.  “Keys.  Now.”

He proffered his keys toward the open passenger window.  She snatched them and quickly started the car.  By the time he realized what was happening and made for the door handle, she was gone. (135/135)

Behind the Scenes 

This story was much easier to write than some I've done for Flash Fiction Friday.  On a couple occasions, I dated the kind of woman who might have locked herself in my car, cajoled me into relinquishing the key, and then driven off without me.  (No, that never actually happened.)  Because of this, I decided that rather than crafting a story about a guy who spends a carefree day tooling around the countryside in his impeccably-maintained 1952 Hudson Wasp with a beautiful, shapely woman in the passenger seat before pulling onto the side of a rural road for some sex, the story I told would be the exact opposite.  I'd question what that says about my attitudes toward women, but I have to think that anyone who's read this blog for any appreciable length of time knows that they're generally positive.

No, this dark story stemmed merely from a desire to think outside the box, so to speak.  My first thought upon seeing the prompt photo was that the girl depicted sure was pretty.  Dark, lush hair.  Attractive eyes.  Rich, red lips.  Sexy stockings and heels.  Bonus points for having her skirt hiked up a bit, revealing a lovely backside.  Numerous happy and sexy stories flashed in my brain as I took in the scene.  Ultimately I decided to go a different route.

The required phrase this week was "...the scent of [noun]..."  Rather than using an actual scent - perfume, the woman's hair, sweat after a particularly vigorous episode of backseat sex - I knew as soon as I decided which story I would tell that it would be a metaphoric scent.  Once I began writing, it was clear that I would refer to the scent of desperation.  The first draft of this story, in which I ran out of words three quarters of the way in, included the required phrase from the beginning, but I forgot about it when writing the final draft.  While proof-reading, Jill reminded me of the omission, and I had to trim a few words.

Deleted Scenes

None, though I can admit to having a difficult time making the story, as originally envisioned, fit within the 135-word allotment.  Certain bits of plot detail, notably why the male character didn't just open the driver's side door, push his girlfriend aside, and get in the car, had to be truncated or excised completely, as did mention of whichever deep-rooted self-respect issues made him powerless to demand better treatment.

Soundtrack

The song I heard in my head as I wrote was Johnny Rivers' 1966 hit "Secret Agent Man", specifically the line "A pretty face can hide an evil mind".  I even used a portion of that line for the title.  However, other than that line the song didn't fit.  Additionally, I considered Bel Biv DeVoe's 1990 song "Poison" as the line "Never trust a big butt and a smile" seemed to fit the story perfectly.  However, as a musical genre I don't think new jack swing fits either.  "Female of the Species", by Space, had already been used in a previous Flash Fiction Friday installment, and I saw no reason to repeat myself.  Since I keep coming back to guitar heavy rock, "Bad Girlfriend" by Theory of a Deadman, or "Crazy Bitch" by Buck Cherry would provide a suitable audio track.

If you'd like to take part in the fun, or see who else participated this week, check out Insatiabear.

Flash Fiction Friday: Stairway to Heaven

(Image source: "On the Stairs" by Samantha Wolov)

Before they could make it up the stairs they fell to the ground, peeling off each other’s clothes in a fit of frenzied passion.  They kissed hungrily, desperately, their hands pawing at each other’s flesh like playful kittens.  She found herself frantically trying to lower his double knit slacks even as he reached beneath her skirt to pull her panties aside.

The shag carpet ensconced her as he opened her.  His first thrust took him deeper than she thought possible.  The hair on his chest was rough and scratchy against her breasts, his lips pleasant and soft on her neck.  As she clasped her legs around his back, she was glad that she’d drawn his house key from the bowl. (120/122)

Behind the Scenes

I wrote this week's Flash Fiction Friday challenge in a matter of minutes; other than my usual momentary "What three words can I cut to make it fit?" conundrum, it was one of the easiest ones in recent memory.  In addition to the photo prompt, participants were asked to write a story that was between 68 and 122 words, and incorporate the phrase "...rough and scratchy..."

The first thing I think of when I see the prompt photo is "crazy seventies hair".  That's not to say that the photo was taken in the 1970s, or even that it is meant to represent the 1970s in any way.  But for some reason the unkempt mop on top of the gentleman's head makes me think of that glorious decade that saw my birth.  There really isn't anything that specifically identifies my story as being set in the 1970s, though chest hair, shag carpeting, and the last-minute mention of the hookup occurring at a key party seems to cement it firmly in that era.  There wasn't sufficient room to mention any other period detail.

It bears noting that I originally planned to use the required phrase to describe the shag carpeting and not the gentleman's chest hair.  But it's been years since I've had contact with shag and I don't remember what it feels like.  Are the fibers all that scratchy?

Deleted Scenes

None.  I had no delusion that I'd be able to write more than a relatively small passage, and budgeted my words accordingly.

Soundtrack

It's got to be "The Hustle", by Van McCoy.  It was in my head the whole time I was writing.

If you'd like to take part in the fun, or see who else participated this week, check out Insatiabear.

Flash Fiction Friday: On a Summer's Day

(Source image unknown; provided some time ago by the lovely Lexi)

The shorts were tight, her denim vest hugging her breasts.  She liked the looks she got from men as she walked.  Soaking up their lascivious smiles, she flipped her hair seductively, returning their hopeful winks with a hint of mischief.

As she reached the end of the boardwalk she unbuttoned her top, pretending not to see their wide-eyed stares.  She let the garment hang from her shoulders and unbuttoned her shorts, dropping them to the pavement.  She wore no panties.

Casting the top from her shoulders, she stood at the edge of the boardwalk and leapt into the water. (99/100)

Behind the Scenes

For the first time in eight weeks, this Flash Fiction Friday prompt was provided by Insatiabear.  The requirements were one hundred words or less (barely made it!) and the phrase "...a hint of mischief..."

I looked at the prompt on Tuesday and didn't immediately have any concrete thoughts of what the story would be.  I liked the idea of portraying the young woman as a free spirit, the sort who might walk through a crowded public market or other venue - in this case a boardwalk - so scantily clad that most would consider it indecent exposure.  However, after taking a long look at the prompt photo the story wasn't exactly writing itself.

I returned to the prompt on Thursday during a rare half hour of silence, and simply began writing.  In this case while the story didn't write itself, it was more or less effortless.  While the hundred-word limit added to the challenge, I knew going in that I wasn't going to be able to get too in-depth.  What resulted was less a story than a vignette, a window into the life of the character depicted that provides insight into who she is, and hopefully leaves the reader wanting more.

Deleted Scenes

As is my bent, I planned on ending the story with some manner of twist.  I considered that the young girl's shameless striptease and au naturel swim is actually a figment of her imagination, and she's stuck working a desk job on the hottest day of the year - a job that coincidentally happens to overlook the thriving boardwalk where her imaginary walk occurred.  Additionally, rather than being the sort of vibrant, adventurous woman who would take such a walk, in reality the protagonist is a frumpy, unconfident person who aspires to that sort of freedom.  In the end, I couldn't make it fit.  It's just as well; the story works as a vignette.

The story originally began with "She traveled along the boardwalk, feeling the warm summer sun on her skin."  This was cut due to lack of space.

Soundtrack

This vignette is all about confidence.  I considered Liz Phair's "Extraordinary", but given the overly mainstream feel of Phair's 2003 self-titled album from which it came I considered that "Extraordinary" would've made the preceedings feel like a chick flick.  From a musical standpoint a better fit might be her 1994 song "Supernova" - the tempo seems a better fit - even though it's a woman's ode to a prospective lover and not an ode to herself as is "Extraordinary."  For a more fast-paced, urban accompaniment, Neneh Cherry's "Buffalo Stance" would work as well, especially with its "Who's lookin' good today?" refrain.

If you'd like to take part in the fun, or see who else participated this week, check out Insatiabear.

Flash Fiction Friday: Model Release

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