Tag Archive | Short story

Seduced by Westerly Winds

Artist Ed Tadiello; pinterest.com

Romantic Descriptive Flash Fiction:

Gentle westerly winds touched the beach like the caress of warm, delicate fingers. Waves, petering off at the edge of the shore, sauntered up the sand like evocative tongues of foam, licking the beach and returning to the ocean. Heightening stimulation, intense rays of the sun palpated the sand and skin with swelter and kindle. In the breeze, palm fronds whispered words of love and making love and promises to satiate the thirst of the soul for that which fills and fulfills. The smell of coconut oil sizzling on her bare shoulders intoxicated even the breeze with its lingering kiss.

Waratah knew the beach well, the pleasure attained here, the encapsulation of beauty that not only surrounded it, but enfolded her as well. To this place, she would consistently return. To refresh and renew. To relax and unwind. To be one with the sun’s caresses, to know deep solace, resting, ruminating, rendering indulgence and in this place, gratification.

The dream of him here with her, caressing like the breeze, whispering like the palms, intoxicating like coconut oil, palpating like the sun, licking like the waves. It made her heart soar, her body tingle, her tongue wet on her lips, as she spread out on the sand, taken captive once again, here in this place.

The Story Within a Story

Artist Kai Carpenter; pinterest.com

Romantic Dialogue Flash Fiction:

“But he sought better days,” I recited to Cassia from the romance novel, “his life a long road of wistful adventures on the open sea, all of which having taken a toll on his health and his mental well-being. But her. She was the light through it all, the guiding star that pointed the way in his wayward heart.”

Cassia moaned contentedly, cuddling closer with her long, soft brunette hair splashed over my broad chest. “We all need someone like that for us, don’t you think?”

“I think I could relate,” I said, turning to Cassia and kissing her softly on her cheek before turning back to the book. We were so close that our cheeks lightly grazed one another. “But it doesn’t end there. She runs away. But he never gives up on her. It would be years of him sailing the seven seas to catch up with her.”

“Does he… eventually?” she asked, rolling over onto my chest, her breath warm on my lips.

I put the book aside, gazed into her tender eyes, and stroked her satin hair. “Cassia, you don’t want me spoil the whole story for you, do you?”

“I’m curious,” she replied. “Spoil away.”

My two forefingers drew her chin up to mine and I kissed her long and delicately on her silken lips. Finally I said, “Maybe it’s like our story. With you, my love, I’ll never spoil the ending. Instead, I want us to discover it on our own. Both of us together. It’s more exciting that way. Are you with me?”

Cassia softened her eyes and lay back, pulling my neck gently to lie on top of her. “Lead on, sailor.”

What to Do in a Thunderstorm

Artist Raphael Desoto; pinterest.com

Romantic Short Story:

It was my first date with the woman of my dreams, Tansy Kaeller from Vienna. She had feathered blonde hair like lemon sugar and a radiant smile that made her eyes squint and sparkle. When her mouth turned up in a grin, she revealed a slight yet devastatingly cute overbite. Devastating to me because I was the one who fell head over heals in love with her. From her sweet Austrian accent and dainty voice to her soft creamy skin, I loved everything little thing about her. In short, she took my breath away.

On my private multi-acre ranch that evening, we meandered down a dirt path that wound through rose bushes with a view of the stars above as bright as lanterns. The crickets serenaded our walk, but otherwise, it was pretty quiet except for the sound of our voices.

Tansy was drop-dead gorgeous that night, wearing a pink dress that clung to every curve with a generous dip in the front to reveal plenty of cleavage. She was clinging to my arm and her hair smelled like shampoo from perhaps a shower she’d taken before coming out tonight. I could feel her soft breasts pressing against my side, igniting my insides. With Tansy, I felt on top of the world and above all else, I had to tell her that tonight.

I couldn’t wait. I stopped and turned to her and she to me. Her face glowed in the moonlight and I noticed her full lips were wet. Had she steathily licked them while turning to me, or were they always so naturally glistening? I didn’t care, but I knew they were calling out to my lips like a magnet.

We had been talking about stupid things to kill time while we were meandering down the prim rose path – topics like the weather, the ranch, her English learning, the horses I’d ridden that morning, and so on. It was time to get serious. “Tansy,” I began breathlessly, “I have to kiss you.”

Her eyes squinted as she smiled. “Then why don’t you?” she asked, pronouncing the w in ‘why’ like a ‘v.’

I didn’t need a second invitation, moving in and pressing my lips to her wanting velvet mouth, one hand around her back, the other gently holding the nape of her neck. When our tongues met, she moaned and pressed her tongue harder inside my mouth with passionate fervor. We kissed long and wet, indulging deep desires that were bubbling up like a furnace.

But when I lifted my head from our kiss, just to see that beautiful face again, I noticed that her cheeks were no longer glowing in the moonlight. I looked up to the sky and immediately had a sense of what was coming. You get this intuitive sense on a ranch that just before it rains, there is a kind of fresh smell in the air and leaves on the trees turn over one way or another.

Then a rumbling in the distance. Thunder.

“We’d better head for shelter,” I suggested. “If we don’t hurry, that storm’s going to overtake us.” She nodded and we both hurried back down the path from which we’d come. But then some raindrops tip-tapped over us and then some more.

We began to run.

“Are we too late?” she asked, beginning to panic, and wobbling beside me in her high heels, picking up the pace.

The downpour was enough answer for her, coming down in drips at first, then a steady stream, then a heavy shower. Then the crack of thunder. She shrieked and held her arm over her head as a basic survival instinct to shelter herself from the rain. It wasn’t working. Within seconds, both of us were soaked through the clothes and running down the path that was quickly turning to mud.

I led her to the closest shelter there was on my property: a barn. It may not have been a five-star dream hotel, but it had a roof and dry shelter inside, priceless when you’re stuck out in a thunderstorm.

A flash of lightning and another whip crack of thunder chased us in through the massive double doors that I quickly shut behind us when we got inside. We were panting and laughing at ourselves that our clothes were fully soaked and we’d just barely managed to escape the storm.

Inside the empty barn that normally housed the bushels of wheat during harvest time, it was pitch black, so I found her hand easily in the dark and led her to a narrow staircase with creeky wooden steps in the corner. The stairs led to a loft with a low wooden-beamed ceiling structure, so we had to at least kneel down when we got up there.

Tansy lied on her back, catching her breath. Even in the shadows, I could see her breasts rising and falling with every breath she took. Her head was turned to me and was silently appraising my shadow, too.

“It’s the perfect shelter,” she said in her sweet singsong accent. Even though I couldn’t see her face, I could feel her smiling.

Outside the thunder was still crashing and rain was pelting the roof not far above us. When lightning flashed, I caught a glimpse of Tansy on the floor of the loft and my heart melted. I had never seen her like this. She was more adorable than I’d ever imagined. All wet and uninhibited and free.

I reached around for what I’d come up to the loft for and found it, the kerosene lamp. I found the matches in the little box underneath the lamp and lit it up.

Suddenly the whole loft flooded with light, which wasn’t really all that bright but coming from pitch darkness, anything dim seems like the sun.

Finally I sighed heavily with relief that we were finally safely out of the storm, and I sagged down to my back next to her, staring up at the wooden beams, feeling her warmth next to mine as our arms touched and our fingers interlaced.

Tansy turned over and lay on my stomach, her sparkling eyes staring into mine. “Can I tell you a secret?” she whispered as the rain poured down outside.

“I love secrets,” I said, gazing back into her eyes.

“All I wanted tonight,” she said, her breath on mine, “was just the chance to get close to you. Just like this. And now because of the storm, I get my wish.”

I was beaming. It got me thinking that maybe we forget that even though the storm crashes in ferocity, it’s who you’re with in the storm that really matters. I was grateful to be with Tansy. Our lives would never be the same again after that because we’d spent one beautiful night together, not only in the shelter of a barn, but under the shelter of each other, in the midst of the storm.

Wrapping my arms around her, I kissed Tansy again, drawing her close, fulfilling the wish she had made, and the one that I hadn’t even had the courage to wish for myself, believing in vain that it would never come true.

What True Love Really Means

Artist Morgan Kane; pinterest.com

Romantic short story:

Daylight splashed like an invisible steam bath across the desert forest as they hiked out of the clearing, the final stretch to the road on the other side, or so they hoped. Desert quail chirped on a nearby tree and somewhere overhead the squawk of a hawk echoed around the valley that was cordoned off by a sharply rising rocky mountain ridge to the north. The dry heat of the day was enough to melt wax to a puddle in zero-to-sixty.

Having already trudged through the endless valley for well over an hour, they were both exhausted and irritable. Dirk glanced up at the cloudless blue sky and spied two hawks circling overhead. “They’ve been following us for at least half an hour,” he grumbled. “We stay out here any longer, we’ll probably be their next meal.”

Cicely had other things on her mind – dreams of love and romance and being whisked away to a tropical island and made love to for hours on a sandy beach. It came from the paperback she’d been reading in the car on their long drive. She leaned on the dry branches of a nearby tree, basking in the shade for just a while longer. It felt good to rest her feet. Their car had broken down on the side of a long stretch of highway in the middle of nowhere several miles back. Reluctantly, she had followed Dirk into the desert to search for another route to the other side where there was a rest stop and they could find help. But their ten-minute hike to the so-called other side was turning into a nightmare – ever longer, ever hotter.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dirk barked at her. Her boyfriend going on three years always barked at her. It wasn’t just today, or yesterday in the car, or last week before they left. It was always. “There’ll be time to rest when we get to the rest stop. That’s why they call it that. Now, I told you to get moving. I meant it.”

“Can’t I just dream here a little while longer?” asked Cicely in a high singsong voice, her mind starting feel the effects of the heat. She wondered how long she’d be able to go on.

Dirk snickered sarcastically. “Oh, sure, dream on, Cicely. You’re always so good at that. Stuck in your own little dream world. Why don’t you ever think of anything practical? Like surviving in desert heat? Now, let’s go or I’m gonna leave your ass here.” There were other words he used. Jarring words. Words that cut her down and made her feel very small.

He always spoke to her that way. At first, she didn’t mind so much. At least he stayed with her. Thrown in and out of foster homes since the age of fourteen, Cicely was used to harsh talk and angry, hurtful words from men. Some men hit her. That’s usually when she would leave, and keep running. But with Dirk, at least he never hit her. It was just what he said to her that always got under her skin. She never thought of herself as all that bad. But when you hear it so many times, you’re tempted to believe it.

But today was the last straw. Deep down, she knew there was a better life than verbal abuse. In fact, she had never even realized that’s what it was. Until today. Until right now.

Cicely spun around and faced him, burning fire in her tear-stained eyes. “Go, Dirk! Just… go! Leave me here!”

Dirk was taken aback by her full-frontal counter-attack, speechless at her fearless bravura that she had never shown until now. When he regained his composure, that angry vein pulsed in his neck. “Why, you little…”

“What are you gonna do, Dirk?” she snapped, standing up to him, walking directly at him, her shoulders back, her head held high. Now she had him backing up. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. The desert heat could kill us before we reach whatever ghost of a destination you have in mind. Why… don’t… you just… leave?” she seethed. “Now!” She heard her voice echo across the valley.

Her heart was racing a mile a minute. She had touched a nerve and she knew it. He was staring at her with swirling emotions, hardboiled anger mixed with confusion. Finally he seemed to have made a decision, calming down and stepping away. “Fine,” he said, turning his back on her. Then as he walked away, he spoke over his shoulder. “You always come running back to me, anyway. If you ever make it out of this hell-hole, you’ll be back!”

“Don’t count on it,” she shot back.

When he was gone, she turned and scampered in the opposite direction, back to the street where they had come from. But after a half an hour of desert heat, she was starting to feel queasy. Using all of the inner resolve she had, she pushed on. She had to make it. Someone would have to drive past – eventually. After an hour, or however long it took, doubt and uncertainty began to pound her mind with Dirk’s voice. She kept hearing him in her mind berating her, tearing her down, telling her she was worthless. It was getting harder and harder to walk. Finally, she stumbled and fell to the desert sand.

But just as she was about to lose consciousness, she heard a sound in the distance. Of course, she couldn’t be sure if it was real or imagined, but it grew clearer and clearer as it approached. The sound of a vehicle. A motor! She glanced up through squinted eyes and thought she saw a dune buggy riding in her direction. Someone was coming for her! And then she passed out, knowing nothing after that.

Little did Cicely know in that moment that the man on that dune buggy would find her, take her to shelter, stay with her for days to help her recover, and in the process, fall in love with her. He would speak kindly to her, words she had never heard in her whole life. That she was worth more than priceless jewelry, that she had a future beyond her ragged past, that she was special. More than special to him. He would love her and find a home for them both where love was the ruling factor. And she would become a radiant bride, finally coming home, finally knowing what true love really meant.

Breaking Free

Artist Enoch Bolles; pinterest.com

Romantic Flash Fiction:

After running almost a mile into the deep forest, I finally found Honeydew lounging against the half-supine trunk of a tree. I stopped to catch my breath and loosen my tie and collar that had been suffocating me all afternoon. Sweat was pouring from my brow as I removed my suit jacket and hung it on a nearby branch.

Then I took in the scene – Honeydew in rare form – the woman I had met less than an hour ago on the lawn of one of the richest homes in the county. The formal Victorian dress that I’d last seen her in had been haphazardly tossed into a bush nearby along with her corset and other items of intimates. She casually lay back on the tree trunk with only one article of clothing wrapped around her body. Apparently, she’d found my white scarf. I watched her, entranced in her spell of beauty. The melting softness of her smooth skin drew me further in as I revered her seductive and delicate features.

Under her broad-rimmed straw sun hat, she joggled her thick, dark hair that hung in graceful curves over her slender shoulders. As she watched me appraising her, the tender moistness of her ruby red lips curled into the most adorable smile I have ever seen in my life. My heart melted at the sight, and I knew in that moment, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I loved her.

After I caught my breath, I said, “Honeydew, everyone’s been wondering where you’ve run off to. Some of them were starting to worry.”

“Yet you were the only one who came to find me,” she replied suggestively with a flirtatious squint in her eyes.

I didn’t know what to say to that. What she didn’t know was that I had desperately needed to find her. One dance, one glorious spark that could light a flame, doesn’t disappear without the slightest measure of a broken heart. She had no idea how happy I was to have found her.

“The truth is,” she continued, her voice whimsical and free, “I hated that party, those people, that crowd. It was stifling, suffocating. I had to get out of there or I was going to faint. Or vomit. Whichever came first.”

“I thought they were your friends,” I said.

“My father’s,” she shot poignantly. “Not mine. I have no interest in conceited men and women that flash their wealth and play a role of expectation in society. I’ve never enjoyed being a part of that crowd. Never for a second have I even desired to be in the presence of those who do. Me, I like to live outside the box, to do the unexpected, to shed at my will the things that bind me… so here I am. You found me.”

Everything that she had said was what I had always thought in my heart. Everything she did was what I had wanted to do, too. For years. So why didn’t I? Why haven’t I? In that moment, I suddenly admired her most for her courage. So I thought I’d start right now on my own.

“Honeydew,” I began, “I think… that I am head over heals in love with you.”

The Futility of Resisting Love

3-2

Romantic short story:

Sometimes love swoops in like a summer breeze, catching you off guard in the most amiable way possible, stirring your heart like the warmth of sunlight. Other times, like today, I discovered that sometimes love comes in a relentless rain storm, thundering in the obstinate heart to get its attention and wrestling it into submission until the heart has no choice but to recognize love at its very door. Such was the case with my colleague Petunia Canterbury, the darker side of the moon compared to me, the ardent journalist who had all the answers when I was fresh out, the firestorm who eventually stole my heart.

For years we’d been working together as foreign correspondents, sometimes in over our heads in dangerous locales that we couldn’t even mention to homeland security upon our return for fear that we would be stuck in a detention center for days getting “debriefed.” To say our relationship was combative from the start would not be exaggerating. We were always at each other’s throats about decisions to cover stories, whom to interview, or how to write up a story. But the Associated Press called us, so we had no choice but to continue to work together or lose our jobs.

Our last assignment was the last straw, the argument to end all arguments. I had had enough and left with the intention of never seeing her again. That was over a year ago. But time passed and I found myself peculiarly missing her. I took homeland assignments to keep myself in journalism, but became restless and asked to be assigned to another foreign gig.

Now as I walk along the mud-caked road on a backwater somewhere in southern Laos, I allow the pouring rain to soak every inch of me. Thunder rolls in distant stereo as storm winds whip the fronds of palm trees along the side of the road. The humidity had already soiled my shirt with sweat, so the rain showers actually feel somewhat soothing as I traipse through ankle deep slosh and spit out rain water that has poured off my head onto my face. My saturated clothes feel like cellophane wrap plastered to every muscle on my body.

As I make my way to the local village where I have an interview with a farmer who is using a new method of crop irrigation, I find myself thinking of her – Petunia – the last person on earth I would ever want to see again. But here, on the other side of the world, I imagine the times we had, her whimsical blonde hair, her fierce lips that I always wondered what they would be like to kiss, and her saucy attitude that I strangely cannot get out of my heart.

Shaking me from my thoughts is the sound of a whirring motorbike riding through the mud, coming up behind me on the road I am traveling. A Laotian man is riding it with flip-flops and a tank top, completely oblivious to the fact that not only is he getting just as soaked as I am, but also that the rain storm is forcing his motorbike to go slower than a jogger’s pace. I wave as he passes, see his kind smile, and nod before he rides on. Sitting behind him on his bike is a woman clinging to his waist, maybe his wife, I assume.

As they disappear through the rain up ahead, I watch as the red brake light comes on and the bike stops. Thinking that he’s going to offer me a ride, I hustle to catch up to him, but then watch the woman hop off the bike and run toward me, too. She turns quickly, waves the driver away, and the bike disappears into the rain.

A wide smile forms on my face as I realize who it is.

“Petunia?!” I yell in the rain. A peal of thunder cracks overhead. I didn’t recognize her all wet, her blonde hair flattened and darker.

“I don’t believe this!” she yells back. “I thought it was you! What the hell are you doing all the way out here? Thought I left you chained to that domestic desk.”

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” I reply. The sound of thunder rips all around us. “I try to leave the memory of you behind me by chasing a story to the far reaches of the earth, and who do I end up running into?”

She is silent for almost a minute, appraising me with a slight grin, uncaring of the rain showering over us. “You missed me,” she says in a softer tone.

My heart is beating at a mile a minute and to act on my impulses would be foolish for both of our sakes, but foolish is all I have to go on. I walk right up to her and while the rain drenches both of us, I plant a kiss firmly on her lips, my hand behind her head, holding her soaked hair.

I sense her resistance immediately, not that I wasn’t expecting it, and she moves back, wiggling away from me. Then she shoves me away, but I’ve seen her shove people before, and this was no shove. More like a jostle. A stubborn yet flirtatious effort.

I move in again, my arm around her waist, feeling the peak of her hard nipples through her wet shirt against my chest. I kiss her again, both of our mouths wet with rain water. This time, she opens her mouth slightly and my tongue slips in for a few seconds. Enough to feel like lightning has coursed between us.

Then she resists again, shoving me back harder. I pause, wondering if she’s serious. Waiting. But I see it in her eyes. Something animalistic that burns in my heart, too. Finally, she moves into my space and clutches my face with both hands, pressing her tongue to mine in savage vengeance.

For as long as it takes, while the rain showers over us, while the thunder serenades us with its soothing rumble, we kiss like lascivious lovers, knowing that from this moment on, a new partnership has been formed, and love has replaced animosity.