Liquid Courage {Write at the Merge/Trifecta}

Instead of sipping the mimosa, Calliope put the flute to her lips, tipped her head and let the champagne laced orange juice flood her mouth and then, eventually, when the glass was drained and the stinging in her throat had subsided, she righted herself and exchanged the empty for another as a waiter passed by.

She’d sip this one.

The ballroom pulsed with the energy of the conversations filling the room. Calliope smiled as she took it all in from the edge of the dance floor, found her hips swaying to the Christmas music and began to make her way across the sea of people to table 31, so thankful for the bustle of the crowd and the boozy haze she was now floating in.

“Nice tush!” she heard as her skinny stilettos made contact with the hardwood. Ignoring the voice, she didn’t notice him in her peripheral until he’d matched her stride.

Calliope stumbled, her right ankle twisting in protest and met his eyes.

Damn.

“I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t be here.” She squeaked as if it were a perfectly acceptable way to greet someone.

“Ditto.”

Lifting her ankle to rub it she sputtered, “I just thought, I mean… why did you come? You hate Christmas.”

He nodded.  “I do.”

“Three years ago you weren’t too fond of me either.”

“It wasn’t you I wasn’t fond of, it was our circumstances.”

Calliope peered into her champagne glass, suddenly thirsty for something, as he came closer.

Hoping her voice wouldn’t crack above the din she asked, “Do you ever think of me?”

“Sure.”

“Does it make you angry?  Letting yourself think of me?”

“Sometimes.”

“Me too.”  She admitted, putting the glass to her lips again and taking a generous sip before posing her next question.

“Do you miss me?”

He frowned, “I’m not sure.”

She flushed and drained her drink, “Well then I think you should kiss me, you know, just to make sure.”

 

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Write on Edge this week:

F Scott Fitzgerald quotes

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On now to our one-word weekly prompt.  This week we wanted to do something to mark the Jewish holiday of Hanukkah, and we foolishly thought that would be easy.  There are so many amazing Yiddish words that found their way into the English language, and we thought it would be great to highlight one.  To find one with a third definition, however, was not so easy.  We thought all was lost until we stumbled upon this gem.

tush

1. a long pointed tooth; especially : a horse’s canine2. an interjection used to express disdain or reproach3. buttocks (slang)

Happy Hanukkah to our Jewish friends.  Now let’s all write our tushes off.

Don’t Wake Me {Trifextra Weekend}

 

She woke before him, while the sun was still stretching, and placed a hand on his bare chest to touch the beat and heat of him.

Fantasy and reality’s amalgamation never felt so good.

 

Trifecta Weekend

This weekend we are assuming that many of
you are slogging your way through leftovers and family bickering (or is that
just us?) and thus we’re going way easy on you.  This weekend we are asking for
a 33-word free write.  Give us whatever you’ve got.

Got the World on a String {Write on Edge/Trifecta}

My life is made up of moments;

small pinpoints of light where love and loss seeped in,

Eking their way past the rocky palisades of my best intentions,

until they transformed me.

I suppose I could have settled; waited for something (someone?) to pluck me like an ember from the fire,

while I silently smiled and blew on the fingers to stem the sting of the burn and called it (you?) savior.

But in every moment I chose, instead, to turn and unleash the lexicon that would unfold my soul, reveal my true nature, demonstrate my spunk.

And I was rewarded.

Tiny fingers wrapped around the finger that a silver band encircles.

My name whispered in a hallowed voice that drifts in and out of my dreams.

And within my life, my people; some blood,  so many others not; seep and eke and pour until I am full, teeming with gratitude.

My life is made up of moments.

Always.

 

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In this season of Thanks, Giving and extreme Gratitude I had two prompts from two writing communities that I am humbled and honored to write for each week.

Write On Edge:

 my home, my light, my north star of writing 

THANK YOU for the opportunities and support you offer me.

and Trifecta

thank you inviting me in & allowing me back week after week.

WRITE ON EDGE
asked us to give them 100 words on GRATITUDE (I might have gone over…oops 😉 )

Trifecta’s word of this Thanksgiving week is

Pluck

3: to move, remove, or separate forcibly or abruptly 

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Wishing you all a grateful Thanksgiving, from my family to yours.

Talk To Me

Lover

of

words?

I’ve waited,

hopefully sanguine,

for your words of love.

Oh your kisses are sweet, your touches are magic, but you’ll capture my heart with the words you whisper, Lover. 

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Trifextra: 

This weekend, writers, it’s up to you. We want you to choose a word and use it three times in your 33 words. However, it must be either a verb, noun or adjective and the form of the word cannot change, it must appear exactly the same three times.

Holiday Shopping {Trifexxxtra}

***Warning: ADULT SEXUAL CONTENT!***

 

“How about this one?”

He loosened the cap and placed the jar under my nose.

I took a deep breath, “Mmm, I like it. What’s it called?”

“Does it matter?” he teased , letting his fingers brush  the front of my sweater, bringing my nipples to a delicate, aching point.

Blushing, want and warmth coated my panties.

I wrapped my fingers around his and tried not to moan, leaning into him instead and placing a small bite at the top of his shoulder to stem the lust swirling in my limbs.

“I’ll be right back.” he whispered against my cheek as he moved toward the cash register.

A few moments later, a bag swinging from his fingertips, he pulled me close and his mouth met mine.

“Follow me.” he urged leading me out of the store and along the sidewalks of the outdoor shopping center, his hand sneaking up the back of my sweater, until we reached a darkened corner behind the movie theaters. Pushing me up against the brick wall he opened the bag and twisted the top off the candle, trailing his fingers against the wax and pushing my skirt up to rub the scent into my thighs.

Sinking to his knees, I felt his breath against my shaved skin as his tongue made quick work of finding my clit. So I made even quicker work of coming for him.

“I love you …” he breathed as my spasms pulsed against his lips and my legs shook with the sweet release.

“I want a taste…” I panted, pulling him to standing and plunging my tongue into his mouth where I tasted lust, peppermint and the tiniest hint of sandalwood.

“What’s it called?”

Eskimo Kiss.”

“Hmmm…” I moaned as I fiddled with his belt and sunk to my knees.

Reaching for the jar to coat my own fingers, I touched him with the tip of my tongue, “How seasonally appropriate.”

 

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Trifecta this weekend is all about Erotica. 
I love writing this kind of piece, and I hope that you enjoyed reading it. 

Sort of like a good romp for both of us. 

The prompt:
We are asking for an open write this week–33 to 333 words of erotic writing.  No specific words need to be used, and we aren’t necessarily banning any either.  If you want to see what our writers came up with last year, click on over and check them out.  This year we are imposing one additional limitation: we are not accepting any entries that deal with sexual violence.  We want this to be a celebration of sensuality.  Posts that contain graphic violence will be immediately deleted from our collection. –

The Offering

decemberists lyrics, hazards of love, quote, writing prompt

 

The altar

Your fingertip traced my naked skin, a small pulse beneath the fleshy pad beating out a predetermined path from my cheekbone down to the indented curve of my hip until your hand rested on my ass.

Naturally, without a fight, a gentle nudge opened my body to yours.

I lifted my face to the kiss, your hands gently taking hold of my breasts.

“Goddess.” You breathed as I held my own, waiting.

Knife sharpened

In that moment, I wanted nothing more than this; the assurance that the hazards of love would never trouble us again.

After all, weren’t you here, inside me, on top of me, filling me with the sweet nectar of your lies?

“Baby…”

The shackles clamped shut

Knowing your words appeased me like a fattened calf you tipped my leg and took me from behind, spilling your confessions mid- thrust.

“I won’t be able to call from Paris.”

An intentional avoidance of my pleading eyes as your blade pierced

Now, I was the obligation; the relative you remember at Christmas out of a sense of responsibility.

Maybe it was better that you couldn’t see the tears that threatened, that the sound of our bodies meeting in pleasure masked the barely audible rip and tear of my heart.

Better that you witnessed my legs shake and my body ripple with satisfaction as you placed a kiss in the hollow of my neck.

“I love you, beautiful.”

The cut was deep, crimson blood ran in a painful river down the pedestal you erected

I winced.

There is no stitch that will ever close that wound.

Even now, when I know not what waits on the other side, I lie still and spread on that slab.

Your sacrifice.

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I am so sorry for combining so many prompts but I wanted to write for everyone and I’m in the middle of a busy week.

Write on Edge

prompt above with a lyric by the Decemberists.

Trifecta’s word of the week:

Remember

3 a :  to keep in mind for attention or consideration    b :  REWARD – 

 

Studio 30 Plus :
Tear

Ripple

Master Class with SAM 

BLOGSAMBadge

Because I’ve missed writing for her:

Master-Class-chalkboard-15

Look Both Ways {Trifextra}

“It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.” 

 

Unknown caller” lit the screen.

Hmmph! That was never a good thing.

“Hello!?” she shouted, dodging a pothole.

Relieved by the hollow sound of  silence she never noticed the taxi jumping  the curb.

 

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In The Scorpio Races, author Maggie Stiefvater writes,

It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.”

Give us the next thirty-three words of this story, as you imagine it.

Take it wherever you like, but make it original and make it 33 words exactly.

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THANKS FOR VISITING!

Have a wonderful weekend.

Love Bites {Trifextra}

 

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Trifextra this weekend :

It’s now time for some Trifextra fun. Thirty years ago, Roald Dahl published the book Dirty Beasts, a collection of poems for children about weird and wonderful animals. The last poem, however, is called The Tummy Beast about a boy who thinks there’s someone living in his belly.

Your Trifextra challenge is to write 33 words on a beast in an unusual place.

No swamps or forests or caves, we really want you to take your beast out of its comfort zone.

 

 

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And don’t forget to pick up your copy of Precipice Volume 2 this weekend, the stories are wonderful.

blog Precipice_print 3-D

Behind Blue Eyes {Write on Edge/Trifecta}

Daphne realized the enormity of the snub as she applied a third coat of mascara.

Robotic and familiar her fingertips rubbed blush into the apple of her cheeks and then rummaged through the cases and brushes before selecting a palette, sliding the bristles across the powdery hue before transferring it onto her eyelids in swift easy strokes.

Her hair was dry but hanging in her eyes and her lips were bare, waiting for a ruby stripe of color to perk them up.

When was the last time she’d looked at herself?

Weeks?

Months?

Under the fluorescent lights of her bathroom she calculated;  ticked off the moments when she’d glanced at an outfit, straightened a skirt or decided on a shoe in the glass without allowing her gaze to creep up to her own face. Suddenly nauseous and dizzy Daphne gripped the ceramic sink to steady herself.

It was an old joke that her hazel eyes became indigo when she was sad seemingly taking on the color of her disposition.

They were her tell-tale heart. Spilling all her secrets even when her glossy red mouth lifted in a smile; a weak, airy phantom of a happiness she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

She wondered how much longer she would pine for what could have been without sinking down into a bed of hopelessness? Or how many times she could refuse to have her picture taken for fear of what the film would expose? Days would  eventually melt into weeks until she’d  stand at another porcelain pedestal  and confess that she was existing in a half life, ignoring her existence  and waiting for the jolt that would startle her back into her own life.

Stand back folks, turn up the juice. 

Yearning for a peaceful end to it was what forced her eyes up and into deep pools of azure, as blue as the Caribbean.

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Write on Edge’s Prompt this week is
PINE

Trifecta’s Prompt this week is

Phantom:

3 :  a representation of something abstract, ideal, or incorporeal – 

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I am also excited to call myself a Published Author this week.
My story “Kismet’s Kiss” is part of

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Precipice Volume 2, The Literary Anthology of Write on Edge. 

blog Precipice_print 3-D

Have you picked up your copy yet?

It is a fantastic collection of stories, poems and memoirs from some of the best voices on the internet.

I promise you’ll love it.

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Without A Net {Trifextra} (Shelby & Gunnar)

It might hurt.

It’s not supposed to, but sometimes it will.

Just like washing your hands of something does more than eliminate germs.

Let go” you urge.

Love beckons.

Will you catch me?

 

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For Trifecta this weekend we were given this quote

“It’s like the smarter you are, the more things can scare you.” 

and asked to tell you what we (or our character) is afraid of.

I was thinking of my recurring heroine Shelby when I wrote this.

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Thanks for coming over to read, hope you’re having a wonderful weekend.

mccaine.kent@mailxu.com krolick_bernice@mailxu.com
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