CRACKLE ~ By Zelda Martin of Harbinger*33

* CRACKLE *

By ~ Zelda Martin

I met him on the stairs.  I was going down into the basement, as he was coming up.  The stairs were narrow. We stopped, at an impasse.  His head was level with my hips.  He looked at my crotch before he looked at my face.  I tried to say "Hi, Danny," but my voice was stuck in his eyes.  Smokey green eyes, they were, topped with dark brown hair, surrounded with smooth olive skin.  He reached out his hands, put one on each of my hips.  An electric charge crackled across my groin. "Don't, Danny," I think I said, or maybe thought I should have said.  But he did, and I did, and we did, and we did again.  And then I heard someone else on the stairs, and I was almost sorry I had ever come down those stairs, or at least thought I should have been sorry.

Turns out I was sorry that I wrote the above paragraph, because Stanley came into the room while I was typing it, and asked to read my story.

"Who's Danny?" he asked testily.

"Oh, no one.  I just made him up.  This is just a fantasy.

"Really?"

"Really!"

"Okay."

He shuffled off to the kitchen; I could hear him making popcorn.  He eats it without butter or salt.  That's just one of the differences between him and me.  He likes his popcorn and his life plain, unadorned, unflavored.  And I like mine with lots of butter and salt, and sugar and honey, dripping with hot, juicy, melting, sticky stuff, at least I think I do, or would if I could, I think, but I don't actually know, because, so far, the condiments have been in depressingly short supply.

Danny could have flavored my life very nicely if I had let him.  But I didn't, couldn't, wouldn't, because I was married, but I wanted to, oh so badly.  He wasn't a fantasy.  He was a real, live, hard-muscled, flat-bellied Adonis who had worked with me in the factory, a long time ago.  Those green eyes of his were like warm probes, sliding over my body like butter melting on a hot skillet.  Everything in that paragraph was true, right up to the electric surge part, anyway, but at that point, what really happened was that I grabbed my voice and used it to say, "Excuse me," and turned to let him pass me...

...And when he did, he pressed against me, slid his hard chest across my breasts, and then reached behind me and slowly ran his hands down my butt and gently squeezed my thighs...

Damn.  There I go again.  Another variation of the story with one beginning and a thousand endings.  Oh well.  Maybe it's better this way.  I never get tired of him, nor he of me.  Neither of us gets old and fat.  He'll always have a flat belly and a stiff cock. 

The smell of popcorn fills the air.  Geez.  It even smells dry with no butter.

theatre lighting ala Max Wo

SHE ZINGS, SHE ZOWS, SHE'S EVERYBODY'S SLICK CATS' MEOWS ~  AT THE BIJOU . . . We're so happily hepped up she comes to grace our place and make it likewise her own show biz home away from home. But style most inclusive, our gal Zelda's not reclusive. She tries to claim from the roam of her blogging home that she's going to continue to shoot blurbs into the ether and see if anyone responds; calling those chances probably slightly better than sending a message in a bottle out to sea. Well, messages in bottles are known to hit true grit on shore and at Zelda's "GET YOUR Z's" . . . you sure can too.   

 AT THE BIJOU is much more than a lucky roll of any gentlemen's dice that Zelda, Madame Z, can waltz in the writing room and cause a real sensation.  . . . 'cause they all keep comin' back for more!

Thanks Madame Z oh Zelda

You bring the zing to just about everything!

Absolutely*Kate

and our fine staff of renown,

AT THE BIJOU

ENTWINED ~ By Ryn Cricket

~ E N T W I N E D ~

By ~ Ryn Cricket

You meet me
in that floating state
between sleep and being awake,
and I swirl around your body
softly moving inside
and out like a ghost.
Mingling cells flow
back and forth between owners
in waves of energy
and soon I’m more awake than sleeping.
I join you in rhythmic movement
and total acceptance.
The bright moon shines
between the slats on the shades
and makes shapes
over every curve and crease
remaining stationary
as their canvas slides out of focus.
Concentrated energies squeeze
each drop of juice into the glass,
and each movement becomes
less subtle and more deliberate,
more forceful,
more demanded.
The kiss always remains
the gentle connection in the chaos,
always gentle,
always soft,
in the midst of fear.

(c) 2010 ~ Author and Artist Ryn Cricket 

Photo flikrd ala Crusty Dolphin

Talents abound in splendour when Ms Ryn Cricket steps out smooth and silky upon our stage into the swathe of her single spotlight AT THE BIJOU. She loves the embrace of that light. She knows it feels just right as she continues on, channeling a voice from her heritage for her novel to be. Writer ~ muser ~ sensation of sensuality and artist sketching life . . . yeah, she's all that  . . . and more.

But you find out ~ KatherynPeace's Blog shimmers.

There you'll enjoy Ryn Cricket's chirp galore.

Thanks Ryn for showing up during your Birthday Celebration. We're all wishing your writing wishes to candle true. (like you)

~ Absolutely*Kate

and the fine staff of renown

AT THE BIJOU

Sunday Morning . . . & . . . Morning Shave ~ by Sweet Sugar of Harbinger*33

SUNDAY MORNING

~ By Sugar – Wendy

She let out a contented sigh as she awakened wrapped in his sleep-warmed body under rumpled sheets and felt his chest swell and return as he slept unaware of her. Extinguished candles, crushed rose petals, and heady red wine lingered in the air from their first night together. She allowed the sensuous scents to fill her with arousing memories of the deliberate touch of his fingers and the need of his mouth on her. Awareness of a slight change in his regular breathing brought her smoky green eyes to meet his knowing gaze. Her awareness of his intrusion into her thoughts brought a rose flush across her neck and chest. His slow shrewd smile provoked a shameless shrug from her as she slid beneath the covers to find him.

 

MORNING SHAVE 

~ By Sugar – Wendy

 It was usually on a Saturday morning when she watched her father shave in the aqua-tiled bathroom of her childhood home. She recalled the smell of Burma-Shave mingled with steam from hot water running in the sink. He would squeeze shaving cream in the palm of her hand and use that tickly bristly brush to lather it to white mountains of whipped cream and then lean down to have her spread the frothy mess on his cheeks. She had wondered what it felt like to move a razor over tender skin and asked questions about what it felt like and why he had to shave his face and why God had put hair there. Her mind-ride back in time was interrupted by her lover’s strong hand layed inquisitively on her arm. Content to be in the present, she stroked his stubbly face that had left a pink blush on her neck just minutes before, smoothed the spicy woods shaving gel over his well-loved cheek, and as his smiling brown eyes gazed at her, finally knew the feel of a razor over tender skin.

 (c) Sugar - Wendy 2009 ~ of Harbinger*33

* * * * * *

Sweet Sugar-Wendy is a well-loved woman in this world, by all whose lives she graces. It could be the beat, beat, beat of her huge heart, or that she channels Mae West through every fibre of her being. You figure. She's class, she's action, she's moxie, she's minx . . . and damn . . . she knows how to use it . . . with a soft tender turn of the words . . . which just grrrrrrrrrowl . . . and then . . . purrrrr.

Aboard the mighty ship Harbinger*33, she shakes enchanting libations at The Sugar Shack Lounge (where MusicMike Whitney croons most evenings, and nautical know-how is chugged down again and again) . . . but more, much more than this, she's a First Mate of topsail know*how checkin' with the Captaine that all lines are runnin' ship'shape. Always takes spoonfulls of Sugar to make the editing go down.

Everyone needs more Sugar, and you can find the tender twist of the phrase that speaks emotion in motion at MORE SUGAR < right there! (Watch your heavy breathing and breathy sighs)

Topsail thanks to you valued Sugar-Wendy . . . The world needs more Moxie and that's why e'er we need You! Honoured we all are that your sweet caring attention to professional details are so lively aboard Harbinger*33, sailing to its publishing journey of manifesting destinies.

~ Moxie shared and shimmied; FairWinds, Favourable Seas
~ Absolutely*Kate + readers discovering Sugar sweetness all the more

 

Androids Can Be Bored ~ by Jelena Vencl Ohlrogge

Androids Can Be Bored

~ by sexy Jelena, of course

Your tongue is freezing from licking my skin; you complain I feel dead, more dead than any other android you've ever been with.

The temperature I can regulate, but being alive is a tad harder. I make a cut on your tongue with one of my razor-sharp nails. Your warm blood brings in the taste of life you are craving and stops all the complaints.

You are drooling, bleeding, spreading and sucking your own bodily fluids from all over my body, approaching your climax, making me a wet and somewhat bored observer.

Yes, androids can be bored.

(c) Jelena Vencl Ohlrogge . . . 2009

* * * * * *
Ahhh Jelena? Do you all know her yet? You should! You should! This classy writer woman tempts and teases wordplay into where she conjures it to go . . . and then the caress and the satisfaction ... oh, oh, OH! She's been known to wear spiked heels and walk the edge ... but she has a keen eye for 'what's what' and 'what's goin' down' and 'comin' round' and she'll never be caught off guard, nor fortunately, those on her watch. She's that worldy in the aware of her care.

Worldy? Jelena and I share some heritage from ancestral Czechoslovakian days and I know ... I just know ... when I am traversing a few dark alleys I never saw coming, that she has seen the reality of the situation and nods later, "Yes, it was so." Comfort? Skills of the IT nature? Oh, this dame headed to a new fame is so much more than that. She's friend to no end to those from Sweden's warm cool side and (don't - please don't tell her I let this out), her racy side is the front for the depth of a real sweet savvy softy. No such thing as a coincidence when certain folks are placed in your pathways . . . you just come'up that more the enriched, you do.

What's that? You'd wish to understand her better? Well try some browsing of your carousing over at MISS UNDERSTOOD <>Most honoured we are to have you DEBUT this line of your sexy musings here AT THE BIJOU Jelena. Forgive me please for publishing this recent share you sent my way. It's SO ON TARGET, that I rather sense it shall touch many of our readers in their own unique ways, as most all of us are privy to the intutions which say, "Hey - She's one of us." (Or was that Joseph Konrad?)

"We haven't met IRL, but I feel that one day we probably will. :) For some people it is like that, it just clicks and you totally get them no matter which medium is used for communication, and for some other people, three lifetimes would not be enough to understand how they are and how they function. I have a strong feeling that for me you belong to that first group. :)"

~ Laughter and dancing eyes backatcha Jelena!
~ Absolutely*Kate and readers to remember your voice all the more