Category Archives: Fiction

wishing otherwise

wistful jazz wails in the background. the drive bustles with beatniks and bohemians, baddies and babes. stale cigarette smoke wafts towards me. i see the source. you.

i only glance at you for the briefest second, but you catch my eye. that smoldering look you got’s really something else, i think, returning to my book. while i reread the same passage, i sense you watching me. this time, looking up, i slowly take you in.

you’ve got crumpled olive green cargo pants on, but they’re just tight enough around your round bubble ass. you’re wearing two tanktops, layered, one white and one black, and a leather jacket’s slung over your forearm, obscuring some of your tattoos. surprised at myself, i openly admire your breasts as i continue up you and meet your glance.

“glance” is too light a word for that look of yours. your eyes are locked on me like a fighter plane acquiring a target. so brazen, so bold. so intimidating.

i find myself wishing i had that in me, but today i don’t. i smile weakly, then break the gaze, dropping down to my book, back to my safety zone.

out of the corner of my eye, i see you shoot me a final glance as you join up with your approaching friend. sad to see you leave, i at least watch you go.

now, days later, i revel in my regret for the courage that came too late, and for the chance squandered so quickly.

momentary distractions


it’s the little transgressions that sometimes bring, for me, the deepest flares of desires. a passing glance, a mistaken brush… hopefully this evokes the mood of exploiting that ever so slightly.

_________

hot, hot heat engulfs those on the bus.

every window cracked, every jacket removed, but still the swelter wears on.

the bus rumbles along the blazing city streets, lurching in and out of stops, constantly upheld by construction crews struggling with upgrades plaguing the town. stagnation is the order of the day and exhaustion seems inescapable, universal.

the redhead in the pink tank top exhales wearily in her outward-facing bus seat and rolls her head around, stretching her neck. looking down, she studies her bare arms. beads of sweat cling to her. she smooths the moist beads along her forearm, then changes songs on her mp3 player.

her legs are damp with sweat, like the rest of her. a warm breeze blows in from the windows, causing her inner thighs to tingle slightly. hoping for more of the same, she half-stands, reverses her crossed legs, and shimmies her floral miniskirt back down before resuming contact with the sticky vinyl seat.

she glances up, still shifting herself, and catches him staring at her. she peers over her light sunglasses at him: sexy, full lips, thick dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin… and a wedding band. she looks at the band and then his eyes.

hand-portrait-1

he keeps her gaze, as if dominating her with his eyes, and twists the ring slowly around his finger, sliding it half off before putting it back in place. he presses his wide strong hands flat against his seersucker pants, letting them slip sideways slightly, each inching slightly lower on his inner thigh, as he lustfully looks her over.

her lips are slightly upturned with interest now. she pushes her sunglasses higher on the bridge of her nose. she subtly runs her tongue over her teeth with her mouth slightly open as she traces a finger under the strap of her tank top down towards her sweaty breast. she looks back to the man across the aisle.

he shifts in his seat, inhaling sharply. he eyes her, biting on his lower lip, his irises as dark as his imagined intentions. with his fingers, he makes repeated strokes along his inner thigh.

breaking their gaze and glancing down, she understands his motions. she knows what those fingers would be doing to her if they were inside her right now. what she would be doing.

she brings a fingertip to her lips and nibbles playfully. her full pink lips encase the tip perfectly. she nibbles her nail and he stares hungrily as she begins to further toy with him, subtly flicking her tongue lightly back and forth over her tip with serpentine skill. all the while, she gazes tauntingly at him.

glancing around, noticing no one seems wise to them, he picks up his leather attache and places it over his lap, where one hand remains resting atop his stiffening member, and he shifts himself awkwardly, having lost himself in the beads of sweat clinging in her cleavage, trickling down, and down…

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he’s fascinated by her pale breasts bouncing with the rough ride of that bus over the unfinished roads. he imagines that this is how she would look riding him — sweating, jiggling, wearied, still wanting, but wasted by the heat.

he looks at her, that desire playing in his mind, when his head dips weakly to the side and drops as he remembers that small matter of his life.

he glances down at his left hand spread flat over the black leather case, the gold ring gleaming on his olive skin. his face clouds in disappointed resolution. he sighs and smiles sadly at her, extending the ring finger and the band, flicking the gold almost derisively with his thumbnail.

she shrugs indifferently and smiles. she mouths the words, “my stop,” as she reaches up and pulls the bell cord.

she stands and smooths her crumpled sweat-dampened miniskirt down her bare thighs. she dips her sunglasses and winks coyly at the man and goes.

the doors close.

the man turns around and stares through the pane, watching the redhead swagger down the sidewalk, as if she even remotely senses the damage she’s done.

he sighs, leans his head back, closes his eyes, and under the attache, he rubs… imagining a different kind of cord in her hands, a different kind of release, a different kind of life.