Every so often the inimitable Ms Alison Tyler inspires me with a call for stories. I've written a few flashes for her anthologies, and they are just the thing I love doing most of all. Even when I'm feeling fuggy with lack of tea/sleep/sunshine, I can pour some love into a little flash and make something pretty. They remind me why I love to write.
Okay, so here's the plan.
A flash fiction piece a day. 100 words or as near as dammit. To give myself a hook, I'm starting with a Rainbooow. (But not the kind that crawls up your ass.)
You called it my whore’s dress. I called it lucky. Short, tight, edged with frills that tended to swirl. In that dress, I could get off with three men at once. More. They’d gather in swarms. Hold my hand. Squeeze my ass. Twirl me round, spin me backwards, sneak up close so I could smell their sweat mixed in with the aftershave – pepper and wine and citrus. And the music would drench us and nobody could tell who was who or what, exactly was pressing up against us, just that it felt tight and good.
Stained and torn, I keep the dress in the back of the wardrobe. For the short, hot nights of the summer, when they come again.
Hm. Maybe Southpark and slightly flowery smut don't mix so well. Did anyone else read that in Cartman's voice? Eh bien.
Coming soon: Orange!