Donate coins to JessicaJohnson.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by JessicaJohnson

Deception In The First Degree

The shoddy streetlight barely pierces the darkness as I stumble down the old sidewalk to the east side of the deserted warehouse.  It is nearly midnight, and I am still searching for the illuminated door. Beneath my shoes, I feel the sidewalk give way to loose gravel as I continue past more boarded up windows and shadowy interiors. As the darkness continues, I wonder if perhaps I am at the wrong rendezvous point. Or if perhaps Carmen came to her senses and abandoned our tryst before it could ever fully begin. And as these thoughts creep in, I feel a disappointment settling itself behind my rib cage as I continue on into the dark.

But, wait! What is that ahead? I feel my heartbeat skip as I quicken my pace, anticipation flooding my veins. A faint yellow glow is seeping behind a cracked door. I brace myself as I approach and inch the door open. As I peer down the corridor, I see a makeshift table with a lantern sitting atop it. And, leaning against the makeshift table, I set eyes on the most exquisite woman I have ever seen. Carmen is all legs in her strappy heels and short, clingy black dress. As I approach, I watch a slow smile splay across her painted red lips as her blond hair tumbles in waves over her bare shoulders. Her lips meet mine with insistence, sparking instant desire as her arms wrap around my neck. She deepens the kiss as she trails one bare leg down my side, my arousal fully evident between us. As her tongue forces its way into my mouth, I feel a slight pinch and a tingle at the side of my neck. I then feel Carmen slowly disengage herself from the kiss and step out of my arms. My confusion at her sudden halt is consuming my mind. Yet, my eyes are having trouble focusing on the smeared red lipstick on her face. As I try to read her expression, I feel my limbs become heavy, and the room begins to spin. Then my whole world goes black.

***12 hours earlier***

"This is such a nice little place. I can't believe we have never been here before. Jenny from my book club mentioned it the other day, saying we should definitely stop in sometime. The food and the coffee are both excellent." My wife prattles on as we sit in a booth at Grandma's Cafe on the corner of 5th finishing our lunch. On a spur of the moment whim, my wife decided we should venture out for lunch. I'm finishing my turkey club and inserting the appropriate "Mhmm's" and "Yes, dear's" to keep the conversation flowing. Yet, I can hardly focus on any words leaving her mouth.

Across the room, Carmen is sitting alone, sipping coffee and flipping through a magazine. It's taking most of my willpower not to stare at her long legs stretched out under the table in those shorts. Our eyes met when my wife and I entered the cafe, and the ghost of a smile that graced Carmen's lips sent my pulse racing. Carmen and I have actually ate at this cafe before. Earlier this month, I met up with Carmen twice for dinner here while my wife believed me to be working late. We have never ventured beyond dinner, a few lingering kisses, and many inappropriate text messages, but I feel we are approaching a new transgression. Last night, Carmen sent me a message with a photo displaying her full cleavage. Attached to the photo was the one word text of "Soon."

My wife has finished her lunch and excuses herself to the restroom. After my wife disappears from sight, I watch Carmen slowly rise from her seat. As she saunters to the door, she swings by my booth with a smile and a wink as she slides a folded napkin across the table. My hungry eyes watch her leave the cafe before I open the napkin and read, "Tonight is the night. Meet me at the old warehouse on Lincoln, east side, at midnight. Look for the illuminated door. Love, C."

***In the warehouse***

My head is groggy and my neck aches. As my senses slowly drift back to me, I realize I am sitting in a upright position. I attempt to move my arms and legs to a more comfortable position only to find I cannot move them. My eyelids are heavy as I force them open to stare down at my hands, which are bound with rope to each side of a chair. I cannot see my ankles, but I think it's safe to assume that they are bound to the legs of the chair. The panic from my restraints forces me into a more wakeful state as I slowly take in my surroundings and attempt to remember what happened. As I gaze around the room, realizing I am in a warehouse, the pieces slowly fall into place. I was meeting Carmen. I was kissing Carmen. Then I passed out? I must have. But I am still in the warehouse, tied up and groggy. Why?? And where is Carmen?

The room I am restrained in is relatively well lit. And now that I remember where I am, I take slower stock of my surroundings. Across the room from me is another chair, empty, with a small black suitcase sitting next to it. A small bit of rope is coiled next to the chair, and next to the rope is an ash tray with several cigarette butts. The smell of cigarettes linger in the air as if one was recently smoked. To my left, I notice a large table with many photographs spread out across it. And in the far corner of the table, I notice long, wavy golden locks of hair, the exact color of Carmen's hair. The exquisite locks are piled at the corner as if they were a wig...

Yet, my eyes are drawn from the wavy locks to the photographs on the table as I glimpse what appears to be my face. My eyes then move slowly from one photograph to the next, realizing I am in each picture. And each photo depicts me locked in a damning embrace with a different woman. I recognize Miranda in one photograph, and Anna in another. They are my more recent affairs. I recognize Heather from a drunken one night stand around a month ago. I continue to peruse the photographs and recognize Amy, Diana, and Rachel from several months ago. And as I continue to scrutinize each photograph, I realize there are many women who's names I cannot remember. Where did all these photos come from? And who has been taking them?

"Well, hello Martin. So glad to finally see you're awake." I jump at the sound of Carmen's voice coming from the doorway to my right. "I was worried you many never wake from the tranquilizer dose I gave you. You went down a lot faster than the usual, but I believe I injected you straight into the jugular. Intravenous rather than intramuscular. It has a faster, yet more deadly effect."

I watch, dumbfounded, as Carmen steps into the room still in her black dress, yet with her feet bare as her heels dangle from one hand. Her smeared red lipstick has been wiped away. And her hair is clipped short and brown. I glace from her face back to the table with the golden locks.

"Ah, yes. Those golden tresses are a wig. Elizabeth told me you had a weak spot for blonds, as many of these photos on display for you would indicate." Carmen saunters into the room and takes a seat in the empty chair across from me, crossing her legs and lighting up a cigarette. "Now, where should we begin?" she asks, as a takes a slow drag from the cigarette.

A whole string of questions and curses fill my head as I sit bound across the room, but very few words make it past my lips. "Why are you doing this? I have done nothing to you! Let me go!"

"Oh, Martin. Don't you know?" Carmen asks, a glint in her eye. "Your wife Elizabeth asked me to do this. And she can be rather convincing. She actually hired me a couple years ago to follow you, confirming her suspicions about your affairs." Carmen lets this revelation sink in as she takes another slow drag from her cigarette before continuing. "After I confirmed her suspicions, I became her regular contact. Every time she believed you might be having a new affair, I got a call. You both have kept me very busy. She paid me extra to frighten away a few of your lovers that she believed you might be getting too serious with. But the straw that finally broke the camel's back, as they say, was your last affair. I believe her name was Miranda, yes?" In the following pause, Carmen takes my silence for confirmation. Miranda was my most recent affair...

"Yes. I thought so," Carmen continues. "Well, Miranda was a member of your wife's book club, and her seeing Miranda every week was the true breaking point. It was then I got a very different call from Elizabeth." A sinister smile stretches across Carmen's lips as her next words roll off her tongue with foreboding, "And here we are!"

As I stare at Carmen, I realize she hasn't divulged whatever my wife has hired her to do. But I think it's safe to assume I will not like it. "I will pay you!" I blurt desperately. "Whatever my wife has promised you, I will double it if you let me go. And no one has to know about this. Nothing has happened here that we can't take back."

"Martin, Martin..." Carmen muses as she finishes her cigarette and leans over to put it out in the ash tray beside her chair. She then rises from her chair, with the black suitcase in hand, and advances to the table with the photos. She sets the black suitcase upon the table as she gathers up the photographs into a neat pile. "This is a rather shady part of town for you to be out in so late at night, Martin. I believe you probably gave Elizabeth some lie about not being able to sleep and needing to take a drive to clear your head."

I watch with building fear as Carmen opens the suitcase and dons a pair of gloves before she again continues. "A lot of bad characters prowl these streets at this hour. And one of these bad characters has been selling some questionable drugs to kids around town. I have been hired to deal with him also."

My dread keeps building as I hear Carmen assembling something behind the opened lid of the suitcase. "I discretely lifted this from our drug dealer for tonight's special occasion," Carmen states matter-of-factly as she flashes a pistol in her right hand, silencer attached. "As it turns out, this gun can be directly linked to our neighborhood drug dealer through ballistics. And I happen to know he will be closing a deal approximately a block over very soon. Such a shame that you had to witness the deal on your evening drive. Your untimely demise will be quite the tragedy. And our sleazy dealer will find himself off the streets and behind bars for murder in the first degree." Carmen moves from behind the table and positions herself directly in front of me, a sly glint reflected in her eyes. "Two birds with one stone," she states, smiling.

"Please, please, please..." I beg. "Don't do this! I'll do anything! Please!" Yet, at my pleading, her smile only broadens.

"HELP! PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME!" I scream. "HELP!!!'

"Your screams are useless Martin. No one will hear you here. And even if they did, they would not dare venture into these shady streets at this hour." Even as the words leave her lips, I know this to be true.

"You won't get away with this! You will go to prison!" I yell, tears stinging the corners of my eyes in a mix of rage and terror.

"Martin, darling, I have been getting away with this for years," Carmen purrs, her words sending shivers down my spine. I watch as she levels the gun at my forehead, terror fully seizing me as my bladder gives way, the acrid smell of urine filling my nostrils.

"Please..." I plead, tears spilling down my cheeks.

"It's nothing personal, Martin," Carmen states, gun in position. "But your wife has quite the impressive life insurance policy on you. And, as it turns out, you are worth more dead than alive."

18
10
6
Juice
51 reads
Donate coins to JessicaJohnson.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by JessicaJohnson
Deception In The First Degree
The shoddy streetlight barely pierces the darkness as I stumble down the old sidewalk to the east side of the deserted warehouse.  It is nearly midnight, and I am still searching for the illuminated door. Beneath my shoes, I feel the sidewalk give way to loose gravel as I continue past more boarded up windows and shadowy interiors. As the darkness continues, I wonder if perhaps I am at the wrong rendezvous point. Or if perhaps Carmen came to her senses and abandoned our tryst before it could ever fully begin. And as these thoughts creep in, I feel a disappointment settling itself behind my rib cage as I continue on into the dark.

But, wait! What is that ahead? I feel my heartbeat skip as I quicken my pace, anticipation flooding my veins. A faint yellow glow is seeping behind a cracked door. I brace myself as I approach and inch the door open. As I peer down the corridor, I see a makeshift table with a lantern sitting atop it. And, leaning against the makeshift table, I set eyes on the most exquisite woman I have ever seen. Carmen is all legs in her strappy heels and short, clingy black dress. As I approach, I watch a slow smile splay across her painted red lips as her blond hair tumbles in waves over her bare shoulders. Her lips meet mine with insistence, sparking instant desire as her arms wrap around my neck. She deepens the kiss as she trails one bare leg down my side, my arousal fully evident between us. As her tongue forces its way into my mouth, I feel a slight pinch and a tingle at the side of my neck. I then feel Carmen slowly disengage herself from the kiss and step out of my arms. My confusion at her sudden halt is consuming my mind. Yet, my eyes are having trouble focusing on the smeared red lipstick on her face. As I try to read her expression, I feel my limbs become heavy, and the room begins to spin. Then my whole world goes black.

***12 hours earlier***

"This is such a nice little place. I can't believe we have never been here before. Jenny from my book club mentioned it the other day, saying we should definitely stop in sometime. The food and the coffee are both excellent." My wife prattles on as we sit in a booth at Grandma's Cafe on the corner of 5th finishing our lunch. On a spur of the moment whim, my wife decided we should venture out for lunch. I'm finishing my turkey club and inserting the appropriate "Mhmm's" and "Yes, dear's" to keep the conversation flowing. Yet, I can hardly focus on any words leaving her mouth.

Across the room, Carmen is sitting alone, sipping coffee and flipping through a magazine. It's taking most of my willpower not to stare at her long legs stretched out under the table in those shorts. Our eyes met when my wife and I entered the cafe, and the ghost of a smile that graced Carmen's lips sent my pulse racing. Carmen and I have actually ate at this cafe before. Earlier this month, I met up with Carmen twice for dinner here while my wife believed me to be working late. We have never ventured beyond dinner, a few lingering kisses, and many inappropriate text messages, but I feel we are approaching a new transgression. Last night, Carmen sent me a message with a photo displaying her full cleavage. Attached to the photo was the one word text of "Soon."

My wife has finished her lunch and excuses herself to the restroom. After my wife disappears from sight, I watch Carmen slowly rise from her seat. As she saunters to the door, she swings by my booth with a smile and a wink as she slides a folded napkin across the table. My hungry eyes watch her leave the cafe before I open the napkin and read, "Tonight is the night. Meet me at the old warehouse on Lincoln, east side, at midnight. Look for the illuminated door. Love, C."

***In the warehouse***

My head is groggy and my neck aches. As my senses slowly drift back to me, I realize I am sitting in a upright position. I attempt to move my arms and legs to a more comfortable position only to find I cannot move them. My eyelids are heavy as I force them open to stare down at my hands, which are bound with rope to each side of a chair. I cannot see my ankles, but I think it's safe to assume that they are bound to the legs of the chair. The panic from my restraints forces me into a more wakeful state as I slowly take in my surroundings and attempt to remember what happened. As I gaze around the room, realizing I am in a warehouse, the pieces slowly fall into place. I was meeting Carmen. I was kissing Carmen. Then I passed out? I must have. But I am still in the warehouse, tied up and groggy. Why?? And where is Carmen?

The room I am restrained in is relatively well lit. And now that I remember where I am, I take slower stock of my surroundings. Across the room from me is another chair, empty, with a small black suitcase sitting next to it. A small bit of rope is coiled next to the chair, and next to the rope is an ash tray with several cigarette butts. The smell of cigarettes linger in the air as if one was recently smoked. To my left, I notice a large table with many photographs spread out across it. And in the far corner of the table, I notice long, wavy golden locks of hair, the exact color of Carmen's hair. The exquisite locks are piled at the corner as if they were a wig...

Yet, my eyes are drawn from the wavy locks to the photographs on the table as I glimpse what appears to be my face. My eyes then move slowly from one photograph to the next, realizing I am in each picture. And each photo depicts me locked in a damning embrace with a different woman. I recognize Miranda in one photograph, and Anna in another. They are my more recent affairs. I recognize Heather from a drunken one night stand around a month ago. I continue to peruse the photographs and recognize Amy, Diana, and Rachel from several months ago. And as I continue to scrutinize each photograph, I realize there are many women who's names I cannot remember. Where did all these photos come from? And who has been taking them?

"Well, hello Martin. So glad to finally see you're awake." I jump at the sound of Carmen's voice coming from the doorway to my right. "I was worried you many never wake from the tranquilizer dose I gave you. You went down a lot faster than the usual, but I believe I injected you straight into the jugular. Intravenous rather than intramuscular. It has a faster, yet more deadly effect."

I watch, dumbfounded, as Carmen steps into the room still in her black dress, yet with her feet bare as her heels dangle from one hand. Her smeared red lipstick has been wiped away. And her hair is clipped short and brown. I glace from her face back to the table with the golden locks.

"Ah, yes. Those golden tresses are a wig. Elizabeth told me you had a weak spot for blonds, as many of these photos on display for you would indicate." Carmen saunters into the room and takes a seat in the empty chair across from me, crossing her legs and lighting up a cigarette. "Now, where should we begin?" she asks, as a takes a slow drag from the cigarette.

A whole string of questions and curses fill my head as I sit bound across the room, but very few words make it past my lips. "Why are you doing this? I have done nothing to you! Let me go!"

"Oh, Martin. Don't you know?" Carmen asks, a glint in her eye. "Your wife Elizabeth asked me to do this. And she can be rather convincing. She actually hired me a couple years ago to follow you, confirming her suspicions about your affairs." Carmen lets this revelation sink in as she takes another slow drag from her cigarette before continuing. "After I confirmed her suspicions, I became her regular contact. Every time she believed you might be having a new affair, I got a call. You both have kept me very busy. She paid me extra to frighten away a few of your lovers that she believed you might be getting too serious with. But the straw that finally broke the camel's back, as they say, was your last affair. I believe her name was Miranda, yes?" In the following pause, Carmen takes my silence for confirmation. Miranda was my most recent affair...

"Yes. I thought so," Carmen continues. "Well, Miranda was a member of your wife's book club, and her seeing Miranda every week was the true breaking point. It was then I got a very different call from Elizabeth." A sinister smile stretches across Carmen's lips as her next words roll off her tongue with foreboding, "And here we are!"

As I stare at Carmen, I realize she hasn't divulged whatever my wife has hired her to do. But I think it's safe to assume I will not like it. "I will pay you!" I blurt desperately. "Whatever my wife has promised you, I will double it if you let me go. And no one has to know about this. Nothing has happened here that we can't take back."

"Martin, Martin..." Carmen muses as she finishes her cigarette and leans over to put it out in the ash tray beside her chair. She then rises from her chair, with the black suitcase in hand, and advances to the table with the photos. She sets the black suitcase upon the table as she gathers up the photographs into a neat pile. "This is a rather shady part of town for you to be out in so late at night, Martin. I believe you probably gave Elizabeth some lie about not being able to sleep and needing to take a drive to clear your head."

I watch with building fear as Carmen opens the suitcase and dons a pair of gloves before she again continues. "A lot of bad characters prowl these streets at this hour. And one of these bad characters has been selling some questionable drugs to kids around town. I have been hired to deal with him also."

My dread keeps building as I hear Carmen assembling something behind the opened lid of the suitcase. "I discretely lifted this from our drug dealer for tonight's special occasion," Carmen states matter-of-factly as she flashes a pistol in her right hand, silencer attached. "As it turns out, this gun can be directly linked to our neighborhood drug dealer through ballistics. And I happen to know he will be closing a deal approximately a block over very soon. Such a shame that you had to witness the deal on your evening drive. Your untimely demise will be quite the tragedy. And our sleazy dealer will find himself off the streets and behind bars for murder in the first degree." Carmen moves from behind the table and positions herself directly in front of me, a sly glint reflected in her eyes. "Two birds with one stone," she states, smiling.

"Please, please, please..." I beg. "Don't do this! I'll do anything! Please!" Yet, at my pleading, her smile only broadens.

"HELP! PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME!" I scream. "HELP!!!'

"Your screams are useless Martin. No one will hear you here. And even if they did, they would not dare venture into these shady streets at this hour." Even as the words leave her lips, I know this to be true.

"You won't get away with this! You will go to prison!" I yell, tears stinging the corners of my eyes in a mix of rage and terror.

"Martin, darling, I have been getting away with this for years," Carmen purrs, her words sending shivers down my spine. I watch as she levels the gun at my forehead, terror fully seizing me as my bladder gives way, the acrid smell of urine filling my nostrils.

"Please..." I plead, tears spilling down my cheeks.

"It's nothing personal, Martin," Carmen states, gun in position. "But your wife has quite the impressive life insurance policy on you. And, as it turns out, you are worth more dead than alive."
#fiction  #horror  #prosechallenge  #Itslit 
18
10
6
Juice
51 reads
Load 6 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)
Donate coins to JamesMByers.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by JamesMByers

Amends ...

Her eyes, like embers blazing hot,

Emancipated me.

The prison of my married rot;

She came to set me free.

An ocean barred and held us bound,

Though miles, they mattered not.

The bonnie lass my heart had found

Secured a sacred spot.

We met in poesy swapping words;

Her husband was a star.

And I was in my cage as birds

Unfit to fly afar.

For many years, we both had stayed

In halls and walls; routine.

Amended edges, tattered; frayed-

A chopping guillotine.

However, life has hidden keys

And she was such a gift.

An open door, a welcome breeze

To give each wing a lift.

Permission bled to passion's plan

And over time, we fell.

The world of woman and of man

Has never heard the tale.

No Romeo and Juliet;

No cross of lover's debt-

My loving never sowed regret;

No worry or no fret.

The secret words of poetry

Exchanged became the way

We shared each other knowingly;

We kissed, caressed by day.

And though our lips would never touch,

The way we pleased the soul

Ensured my love for her as such-

We made each other whole.

Rekindled feelings blooming grand

Exonerated hope.

In written form, she took my hand

And helped me learn to cope.

Confessions never claimed the right-

Ability in rhyme.

Decisions plagued my heart at night-

I longed for us a time

To share the space of wedded bliss.

However, on the screen

Composed of all we had in this-

The way our love was seen.

So many letters we exchanged;

So many wonders sought.

And though at odds we were estranged,

Together love was wrought.

Compelled by something old as earth,

We clamored to the sun.

Repelled by gravity in worth,

To never be undone-

A husband and a wife to those

Who never read the truth.

But she and I, we gladly chose

The sanguine labeled proof-

And as forever she will be

My love that never ends-

What you call infidelity

I choose to call amends ...

36
12
49
Juice
300 reads
Donate coins to JamesMByers.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by JamesMByers
Amends ...
Her eyes, like embers blazing hot,
Emancipated me.
The prison of my married rot;
She came to set me free.
An ocean barred and held us bound,
Though miles, they mattered not.
The bonnie lass my heart had found
Secured a sacred spot.
We met in poesy swapping words;
Her husband was a star.
And I was in my cage as birds
Unfit to fly afar.
For many years, we both had stayed
In halls and walls; routine.
Amended edges, tattered; frayed-
A chopping guillotine.
However, life has hidden keys
And she was such a gift.
An open door, a welcome breeze
To give each wing a lift.
Permission bled to passion's plan
And over time, we fell.
The world of woman and of man
Has never heard the tale.
No Romeo and Juliet;
No cross of lover's debt-
My loving never sowed regret;
No worry or no fret.
The secret words of poetry
Exchanged became the way
We shared each other knowingly;
We kissed, caressed by day.
And though our lips would never touch,
The way we pleased the soul
Ensured my love for her as such-
We made each other whole.
Rekindled feelings blooming grand
Exonerated hope.
In written form, she took my hand
And helped me learn to cope.
Confessions never claimed the right-
Ability in rhyme.
Decisions plagued my heart at night-
I longed for us a time
To share the space of wedded bliss.
However, on the screen
Composed of all we had in this-
The way our love was seen.
So many letters we exchanged;
So many wonders sought.
And though at odds we were estranged,
Together love was wrought.
Compelled by something old as earth,
We clamored to the sun.
Repelled by gravity in worth,
To never be undone-
A husband and a wife to those
Who never read the truth.
But she and I, we gladly chose
The sanguine labeled proof-
And as forever she will be
My love that never ends-
What you call infidelity
I choose to call amends ...




#romance  #poetry  #prosechallenge  #Itslit  #getlit 
36
12
49
Juice
300 reads
Load 49 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to BlairLogan1.
Juice
Cancel
Written by BlairLogan1

An Unusual Affair

Vivian knew her husband was cheating on her. It started at the beginning of the week, when he had came home late from work with a gift bag hidden behind his suitcase. 

At first, she had mused that he had gone shopping for her after work. That he was hiding it to give to her on their anniversary which was only one week away. Vivian, however, was never good at surprises. 

When she snuck a peek inside the bag he had hidden in the back of their shared closet, her face morphed into a shape of horror. Laying delicately in the bottom of the bag as if waiting for some smooth body to pour into it was a lace black lingerie set. Something no respectable woman in her mid-forties like her would wear. 

Vivian wasn't sure what to do. She loved her husband dearly, they had been together almost twenty five years after all. Could she ever go out in public again if his betrayal became public? She would have to stay with him, divorce was too scandalous. Would people look down on her for staying? She spent three days mulling over her options. Three days of anxiety, ignoring her husband, and regret. How had they gotten to this point. On the fourth day she decided to confront him. 

"Dear husband, do come here," she called to him as soon as he stepped in the door. He just simply looked at her, he knew she knew. He took in the wrinkles on her face that hadn't crowded it twenty five years ago. The flab that she tried to hide from the weight she hadn't lost after giving birth to their sixth child. Her hands were shaking; was it from the years of wear and tear she's gathered from doing house chores or because she was afraid of something? He loved her, but there was no denying that had not aged as gracefully as most women her age.

 "I found the bag," was all she said. What was he supposed to answer? 

"I.. Uh.. I can't remember what to say," he stuttered out. 

"Shouldn't you tell me about her?" she prodded. 

"Yes, of course. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Her long black hair falls over her shoulder and congrats her pale skin. Her full red lips know everywhere to kiss. Her ice blue eyes can freeze a man in his tracks. She is fierce like a fire, a fire that I want to enter my veins and consume me whole."

Vivian could no longer hold back her tears. Looking her husband straight in the eyes, she let lose. It was a graceful cry of a fallen woman, it was the cry that racks your body. A cry for the past that she could never return to. 

Two days went by. Every day her husband would brag on this woman, the woman he truly loved. She would cry. He hold onto her like he never wanted to let her ago, but she'd just cry. 

Finally, their anniversary came. Vivian had ran to the store to buy some last minute foods for supper. She knew he was home when she got back. There were flowers leading up the staircase to their bedroom. It looked like a scene from one of those cheesy pornographies people had been making. She couldn't go in their just yet. She wasn't ready. Sitting in the bathroom, she prepared herself for what was to come. She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't. She fixed her hair and make up. Then she slipped into a lacey black contraption, the same one that had been in that bag. 

Her husband couldn't breathe when she walked through the door to their bedroom. He had heard her come home at least thirty minutes ago, and she knew. But she had made he wait. Standing in front of him, she had her long black hair braided over her shoulder, her full lips were painted blood red. He was awestruck. "You are my fire," was all he could mumble out before he reached out and grasped her lips into his. 

They fell onto the bed in a passionate embrace, but her husband pulled back. "Vivian darling, why did we have to go through this? Did you think I thought of younger you as a completely different woman- the woman I really love? Because to me, you're one in the same," he said gently. Vivian just laughed, a smile pulling on her lips and a lone tear sliding down her cheek. "We've been together so long, I just thought we should spice it up. All the best magazines suggested role playing," she said quickly then went back to consuming her husband. Her husband that loved only her. 

10
2
8
Juice
54 reads
Donate coins to BlairLogan1.
Juice
Cancel
Written by BlairLogan1
An Unusual Affair
Vivian knew her husband was cheating on her. It started at the beginning of the week, when he had came home late from work with a gift bag hidden behind his suitcase. 
At first, she had mused that he had gone shopping for her after work. That he was hiding it to give to her on their anniversary which was only one week away. Vivian, however, was never good at surprises. 
When she snuck a peek inside the bag he had hidden in the back of their shared closet, her face morphed into a shape of horror. Laying delicately in the bottom of the bag as if waiting for some smooth body to pour into it was a lace black lingerie set. Something no respectable woman in her mid-forties like her would wear. 
Vivian wasn't sure what to do. She loved her husband dearly, they had been together almost twenty five years after all. Could she ever go out in public again if his betrayal became public? She would have to stay with him, divorce was too scandalous. Would people look down on her for staying? She spent three days mulling over her options. Three days of anxiety, ignoring her husband, and regret. How had they gotten to this point. On the fourth day she decided to confront him. 
"Dear husband, do come here," she called to him as soon as he stepped in the door. He just simply looked at her, he knew she knew. He took in the wrinkles on her face that hadn't crowded it twenty five years ago. The flab that she tried to hide from the weight she hadn't lost after giving birth to their sixth child. Her hands were shaking; was it from the years of wear and tear she's gathered from doing house chores or because she was afraid of something? He loved her, but there was no denying that had not aged as gracefully as most women her age.
 "I found the bag," was all she said. What was he supposed to answer? 
"I.. Uh.. I can't remember what to say," he stuttered out. 
"Shouldn't you tell me about her?" she prodded. 
"Yes, of course. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Her long black hair falls over her shoulder and congrats her pale skin. Her full red lips know everywhere to kiss. Her ice blue eyes can freeze a man in his tracks. She is fierce like a fire, a fire that I want to enter my veins and consume me whole."
Vivian could no longer hold back her tears. Looking her husband straight in the eyes, she let lose. It was a graceful cry of a fallen woman, it was the cry that racks your body. A cry for the past that she could never return to. 
Two days went by. Every day her husband would brag on this woman, the woman he truly loved. She would cry. He hold onto her like he never wanted to let her ago, but she'd just cry. 
Finally, their anniversary came. Vivian had ran to the store to buy some last minute foods for supper. She knew he was home when she got back. There were flowers leading up the staircase to their bedroom. It looked like a scene from one of those cheesy pornographies people had been making. She couldn't go in their just yet. She wasn't ready. Sitting in the bathroom, she prepared herself for what was to come. She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't. She fixed her hair and make up. Then she slipped into a lacey black contraption, the same one that had been in that bag. 
Her husband couldn't breathe when she walked through the door to their bedroom. He had heard her come home at least thirty minutes ago, and she knew. But she had made he wait. Standing in front of him, she had her long black hair braided over her shoulder, her full lips were painted blood red. He was awestruck. "You are my fire," was all he could mumble out before he reached out and grasped her lips into his. 
They fell onto the bed in a passionate embrace, but her husband pulled back. "Vivian darling, why did we have to go through this? Did you think I thought of younger you as a completely different woman- the woman I really love? Because to me, you're one in the same," he said gently. Vivian just laughed, a smile pulling on her lips and a lone tear sliding down her cheek. "We've been together so long, I just thought we should spice it up. All the best magazines suggested role playing," she said quickly then went back to consuming her husband. Her husband that loved only her. 
#prosechallenge  #Itslit 
10
2
8
Juice
54 reads
Load 8 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to austriangirl.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by austriangirl

cheated and cheater

Infidelity.

'Cheater', the word cries.

'Unfaithful', 'untrustworthy', it screams.

'Betrayer' is the name the letters throw at my face.

'Disloyal, that is what you are', they point.

I am accused of these.

And all these accusations would not be wrong.

For all of this and more is what I am.

But I have not acted with or against anyone else.

I have not been with one behind another's back.

I have not acted detestably towards anyone I know.

I have not even gossiped or lied about a friend.

No, not even that.

Not this time.

This time it was myself.

Against myself I have committed all of these crimes.

I allowed your curious hands to cross my boundaries and go where they should not have been.

It was against my own body, my own mind, my own soul that I committed the offense.

I cheated on myself,

Even if it was your fingers on my skin, your body next to mine.

I was unfaithful to the lines I drew,

Untrustworthy was my will and strength in keeping myself until I was fully ready to give myself away.

I betrayed my own trust, and now I can't be alone with someone without being afraid of what might happen.

It was against myself that I was disloyal, against my whole being.

I broke the vows and promises I made to myself.

I whispered I was fine when I wanted to scream and make it stop.

I lied to you when I said I was ok and I lied to myself thinking I could be.

My lips betrayed me when I needed them most.

My body froze when I needed it to push me away from you and you away from me.

To push us away from each other.

Now I feel both the shame and regret of the cheater,

As well as the pain and deception of the cheated.

And maybe I deserve both..

Maybe I deserve both.

14
2
1
Juice
32 reads
Donate coins to austriangirl.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by austriangirl
cheated and cheater
Infidelity.
'Cheater', the word cries.
'Unfaithful', 'untrustworthy', it screams.
'Betrayer' is the name the letters throw at my face.
'Disloyal, that is what you are', they point.
I am accused of these.
And all these accusations would not be wrong.
For all of this and more is what I am.
But I have not acted with or against anyone else.
I have not been with one behind another's back.
I have not acted detestably towards anyone I know.
I have not even gossiped or lied about a friend.
No, not even that.
Not this time.
This time it was myself.
Against myself I have committed all of these crimes.

I allowed your curious hands to cross my boundaries and go where they should not have been.
It was against my own body, my own mind, my own soul that I committed the offense.
I cheated on myself,
Even if it was your fingers on my skin, your body next to mine.
I was unfaithful to the lines I drew,
Untrustworthy was my will and strength in keeping myself until I was fully ready to give myself away.
I betrayed my own trust, and now I can't be alone with someone without being afraid of what might happen.
It was against myself that I was disloyal, against my whole being.
I broke the vows and promises I made to myself.
I whispered I was fine when I wanted to scream and make it stop.
I lied to you when I said I was ok and I lied to myself thinking I could be.
My lips betrayed me when I needed them most.
My body froze when I needed it to push me away from you and you away from me.
To push us away from each other.
Now I feel both the shame and regret of the cheater,
As well as the pain and deception of the cheated.
And maybe I deserve both..

Maybe I deserve both.
#prosechallenge  #Itslit 
14
2
1
Juice
32 reads
Load 1 Comment
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to YAngeL.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by YAngeL

He Tasted Like my Self Awakening

I knew that he looked at me, but he was just a kid, only 19 years old when I first met him. I was 32 at the time, married to an older man who was far more interested in discussing sports over a few cold beers than in me, or anything I had to say. At 19 years old, AJ walked with the cocky swagger that jocks tend to develop in high school, but whenever I saw him, he was the epitome of good manners and easy conversation. Still, there were times I felt his eyes move over my body like a lover’s caress. Sometimes, I'd feel the heavy weight of his stare and I'd glance up, my eyes unexpectedly would lock with his, and each time I would squirm beneath the intensity of his gaze.

My husband was best friends with AJ’s dad, he was thrilled that their family had moved back to our boring little town. He'd known AJ since he was born, and liked to boast how he'd even changed his diapers. AJ’s two younger brothers were the same age as my kids, we soon fell into the easy routine where holidays and weekends were spent together. We could be found on summer weekends swimming and barbecuing, fall and winter traveling to nearby towns for youth sports.

Our families were close and spent so much time together that the younger boys began referring to each other as cousins. AJ wasn't around as often, since he was old enough to escape with his own friends. When he was around, he was always the odd one out. He was 8 years older than the oldest kid, he was 13 years my junior, and I was the youngest of the adults. Too old for the kids table, too young for the adults'. And while I found his admiration flattering, it wasn’t anything that I reciprocated, it wasn’t anything I’d ever given consideration to.

Until.

Years had passed. And while it seems like nothing ever changes living in a boring, little town in Nowhere USA, the truth of the matter is that things are changing everyday. People change, children grow older, couples get stuck in ruts, love grows stagnant, babies are born, old people die, new relationships flourish, and marriages fall apart. While nothing ever changes, nothing stays the same either.

My marriage was in serious trouble. Our life had become routine, our sex life was nearly non-existent, and behaviors that didn’t grate my nerves during happier times were becoming more intolerable with every passing day. AJ’s dad was at my house 3 to 4 times a week, drunk in the garage with my husband, who preferred standing around outside to coming in with me and the children. I went to work, I came home, I drove children to school, and practice, and doctor’s visits, and games. I did laundry and cooked and cleaned, I organized carpools, chaperoned field trips, and coordinated halftime snacks with other moms. I did most of it on my own, asking for help from my husband was met with open hostility, or with flat out ridicule that I was unable to handle anything on my own. In hindsight, I can see that I was the one who changed, I’d grown sick and tired of shouldering the responsibility for the entire household while my husband felt like his responsibilities were over once he’d clocked out everyday at work. Add to that the manipulative machinations and emotional abuse of an unhappy drunk, and it's easy to understand how desperately unhappy I'd become.

AJ pulls up in the driveway, he is 23 now. Still a kid in my eyes, although he is a cute one with blonde good looks and a spark in his eyes that promises a fun time or a whole lot of trouble. Probably both. He’s grown a bit bolder over the years and while the flirtatious comments are always playful, I know there’s an element of truth to his words that his teasing tone can’t quite hide.

The music is playing and there’s a slight breeze, just enough to stir the hot night air. It’s summer in the desert, still in the mid 80′s at 10 pm. I’m sitting in a lawn chair in the driveway, long legs stretched out using the bumper of my car as a footrest. My husband and AJ’s dad are in the garage, ignoring me as usual. AJ leans on the hood of my car in front of me and we talk, about what I don’t remember. He’s flirting again, and I like it, I’m flirting back this time. His blue eyes look at me in a way that reminds me I’m still an attractive woman, even if my husband doesn’t notice.

Suddenly, I’m aware that AJ’s shirt is off. Was he wearing a shirt when he walked up? I don’t remember. I’ve seen this boy without a shirt a million times, but right now...I’m actually seeing him. How did my eyes never notice before that he had grown up so nicely? Hmmmmm. His core is lean with tan skin taut over well defined abs. My gaze lingers there, I can’t help but think of my husbands round, pink belly covered with coarse hair turned gray. Did he ever have abs like this boy? Hmmmmm.

AJ’s skin is smooth and hairless, and I notice his hip bones jutting out, the ab muscles taper into a V that disappear beneath his basketball shorts, ending with a noticeable bulge. I look up and my skin flushes, he is grinning cheekily, he knows I was admiring his young frame. “See something you like?” He asks innocently. Sassy mouth.

I reply something unintelligible, and for some reason I reach out and grab one of his hips. Maybe to establish that I'm in charge, maybe to show him that he's not as hot as he thinks, maybe just because I have an urge to grab those hipbones of his that wave to me like an invitation. I dig my fingers and thumb into his skin, it’s warm and smooth. I have an urge to put my mouth there, suddenly I want to trace that V with my tongue, I want to catch his hip bones between my teeth. I’m shocked at the thought, but still my fingers pinch and pull and squeeze thoughtfully. He jumps in surprise at my unexpected touch and glances into the garage. His dad and my husband are still paying no attention to us. He moves a bit closer and now both my hands are grasping his hips, his eyes lock with mine, and an unexpected tension is born as the energy shifts between us. His skin is hot and alive beneath my hands, there is an electric current traveling from my fingertips to his hips, through our bodies and awakening within me a hunger that had gone neglected as my marriage had grown cold.

I let go of him, scared at the direction of my thoughts, relieved to see my husband still oblivious to the storm brewing in the driveway. AJ laughs a bit, but his chuckle is nervous and I can tell that the effect of my touch was startling for him as well.

Later, laying in bed it was AJ’s face I saw when I closed my eyes, remembering the hot, smooth skin of his belly beneath my fingertips. I place the fingers to my lips, as if to taste his skin still there. My body is hungry, I reach out to my husband and run my hand along his spine. His skin is leathery, roughly covered with coarse gray hair...so different from AJ’s smooth, soft skin. He grunts a bit, I press my lips to his neck, offering my body to him. He pushes me off. “I’m tired,” he says as he rolls away from me. I lay back on my side of the bed, empty and unfulfilled. Again.

Weeks pass into months and the relationship with AJ and I has changed. It is charged with electricity, the sexual tension between us builds every time we see each other. There are stolen kisses in the hallway, hands groping urgently in the bathroom. The playful comments he made before have changed into flat out promises of mind blowing sex. I’m stunned at the boldness of his words, yet also intrigued, a little bit terrified, and more turned on than I’ve been in many years. It is an intoxicating blend of emotions, this growing urge within me is getting louder, hungrier and becoming harder to ignore each time I see him. It’s there in plain sight for anyone to see, but no one is looking at us, no one notices the fire burning in my eyes begging to be extinguished.

Until.

My husband and kids are gone for the weekend, I’m home alone. AJ knows this and heads over. My stomach is a roller coaster, my nerves are alive and tingling with anticipation. A choice will be made tonight, one that could change my life forever. As tempted as I am, I'm still torn with the church guilt leftover from my youth, knowing the terrible sin of adultery. Plagued with fear, I don't want to do anything to disrupt the lives of my kids, not to mention myself, I enjoy driving my silver SUV and my 1800 square foot house on the corner. I enjoy the comfort of my life, while I hate the miserable, manipulative sham of my marriage. I know what the right thing to do is, but the right thing is rarely the easy thing. Still, the time has come to decide - will I do what I should, or will I cave to temptation? Would giving in to it finally satisfy this raw, demanding hunger that has been gnawing at me for months?

AJ is here now, standing in front of me. I’m drinking straight whiskey, liquid courage. Words are said, I don’t know what. I know my responses are punctuated by the rapid drum of my racing heart, my skin feels flushed with heat from the alcohol, and that eye contact with AJ feels as intimate as if he were already inside me. I know that AJ’s shirt is made of the thinnest, soft cotton, his hair smells like shampoo, his hands are calloused, rougher than I expected them to be, and his blue eyes seem to get darker as his desire increases.

We are inside the house now, in the master bedroom, on the floor. Months and months of build up have led to this moment. Our mouths are fused together, tongues dancing in and out, their own mating ritual. My hands pull his shirt over his head, I slide my palms over smooth shoulders and chest and push him backward to the ground. My lips blaze a trail from his collarbone down to that V at his hips that’s been driving me insane for so long now. There is not an ounce of fat to be found on AJ, his body is made of hard muscles and tan skin, flawless and unmarred. He could be the poster boy of youthful vitality, he is handsome and toned and beautiful. My tongue traces the lines that delineate his abs, he tastes faintly like salt and strongly like a terrible mistake. So fucking delicious.

My mouth is shameless as it makes its way down to his hips, I get his belt off in seconds and pull his pants part way down. I catch his hip bone between my teeth, he squirms letting me know it tickles. I smile at his discomfort and relish the power of my awakening sexuality. His hands are in my hair and I rub my face across his belly, nuzzling, allowing my lips to brush the smooth expanse, so different from the body I’m used to, and so damn sexy. I could do this for days, it would take hours studying his ribs and abs and hips, mapping them with my fingers and mouth to get my fill.

Suddenly the hands in my hair are grabbing firm, he pulls me up gently, bringing my face to his. Our mouths meet again, this time he’s taking the lead, I sink into the floor as his hands rip off my shirt, then his lips and teeth are on my breasts and my mouth exhales sharply at the unexpected thrill of this new sensation of my nipples in his mouth. Teeth nibbling gently map a similar path down my belly and stop at my waist, his hands pull my jeans and panties off expertly in one swoop. And then, before I can blink, his hands are under my ass, cupping the cheeks, lifting and guiding me close, his face is between my thighs, his warm breath teases, and then we are engaged in the most intimate kiss of all.

I’m gasping for air and helpless to the sensations as his mouth continues to work me, skillfully using his tongue and lips and teeth. I’m more than a little surprised that a boy of his age is handling my body with this confident expertise, not the clumsy, fumbling manner I’d been expecting. My whole body grows tense, and my thighs are vibrating, and he knows what that means, my back arches and his tongue works frantically pushing me over the edge of an orgasm that leaves my knees quivering. Blue eyes meet mine, he slides up my body and our lips meet again in a kiss that promises even more. I can taste myself on his lips and I’m so turned on, and so wet, and any last remnant of doubt is tossed away like his clothes as I rip them off wildly and let them fall where they may.

Back down his belly I slide, this time skin on skin, my nipples hardening from the friction as they slide down his chest. I bite his hip again and thrill at his slight jump. I trace my fingers along that V, that V which has been haunting my dreams and fueling my fantasies for months. Finally, I’m able to taste it, finally I follow that V to its conclusion and I’m pleasantly surprised at his size, larger than I expected, already hard before I’ve even touched him. I tease with my tongue and lips, kissing and nibbling all around his hips and belly, letting the lust take over, taking in his scent and savoring this moment. I smile at the sharp intake of his breath when I grip his shaft with my hand, testing its solidity and weight. Our eyes meet as I lower my head, I open my mouth and take him in. His eyes close and he exhales deeply as my mouth moves up and down his considerable length, and I’m drunk with the power of his desire and my own lack of inhibitions. Working him with my mouth, getting wetter by the second. He tastes faintly of salt and strongly like the end of my marriage.

After a few moments he grabs me by the hair again and pulls me to him. He positions me on my back and slides his hand between my thighs, testing my readiness. Blue eyes darken and he smiles, realizing how wet I am. “Are you ready for me?” He asks cheekily. Sassy mouth.

“Yes!” I tell him and still he teases. He’s rubbing himself all over me, using his hand to guide the head against my lips, teasing my opening, spreading my moisture over us both. “Please,” I say, uncaring at this point, desperate to be filled. My body is beyond hungry, it's starving and has been starved for far too long. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck and with lips pressed against his ear I whisper “AJ, please. Fuck me.” And that does it, and with one thrust he’s inside - and he’s so fucking deep, and I cry out with pleasure as I feel myself stretching open to receive him. My legs lock around his waist, my arms are still locked around his neck and it feels so fucking fantastic, so unbelievably, mind numbingly, toes-curling, eyes-rolling-to-the-back-of-the-head, astonishingly, shockinglyamazing. Finally, that hunger is being fed, the sexual appetite that had been ignored and denied for years is feeding at last, and it’s ravenous.

Our bodies rock back and forth, my hips rising to meet his every thrust. Our tongues are swirling madly, as breathing becomes more labored, as hearts pound wildly to keep up. The tension is building inside me again, and I am completely at his mercy. He is pumping into me with a knowledgeable proficiency a 23 year old shouldn’t have. He is driving into me with the enthusiasm and energy possessed only by the young and unjaded. My fingers dig into his skin as he takes me over the edge again, and I’m unable to stop myself from crying out and we are coming together. I can feel him empty into me and my legs lock him in place while I squeeze every last drop out of him.

He collapses on my belly, breathing hard. I am stroking his hair, a little shocked at my licentious behavior, more shocked at how satisfied my body feels. Now that I’ve given into temptation, a niggling of guilt pokes at me. I push it down, allowing the thunder of multiple orgasms to drown that unpleasant thought out.

AJ looks up at me then, his blue eyes are sweet and earnest, and I smile. “You’re amazing ” I say and he smiles back. He moves up and pulls me close, we are snuggling and I feel happy, ignoring the fact this is the bed I share with my husband. My lips reach out to his again, one last kiss before falling asleep. He tastes faintly of salt and strongly like the beauty of new beginnings.

11
5
8
Juice
67 reads
Donate coins to YAngeL.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by YAngeL
He Tasted Like my Self Awakening
I knew that he looked at me, but he was just a kid, only 19 years old when I first met him. I was 32 at the time, married to an older man who was far more interested in discussing sports over a few cold beers than in me, or anything I had to say. At 19 years old, AJ walked with the cocky swagger that jocks tend to develop in high school, but whenever I saw him, he was the epitome of good manners and easy conversation. Still, there were times I felt his eyes move over my body like a lover’s caress. Sometimes, I'd feel the heavy weight of his stare and I'd glance up, my eyes unexpectedly would lock with his, and each time I would squirm beneath the intensity of his gaze.

My husband was best friends with AJ’s dad, he was thrilled that their family had moved back to our boring little town. He'd known AJ since he was born, and liked to boast how he'd even changed his diapers. AJ’s two younger brothers were the same age as my kids, we soon fell into the easy routine where holidays and weekends were spent together. We could be found on summer weekends swimming and barbecuing, fall and winter traveling to nearby towns for youth sports.

Our families were close and spent so much time together that the younger boys began referring to each other as cousins. AJ wasn't around as often, since he was old enough to escape with his own friends. When he was around, he was always the odd one out. He was 8 years older than the oldest kid, he was 13 years my junior, and I was the youngest of the adults. Too old for the kids table, too young for the adults'. And while I found his admiration flattering, it wasn’t anything that I reciprocated, it wasn’t anything I’d ever given consideration to.

Until.

Years had passed. And while it seems like nothing ever changes living in a boring, little town in Nowhere USA, the truth of the matter is that things are changing everyday. People change, children grow older, couples get stuck in ruts, love grows stagnant, babies are born, old people die, new relationships flourish, and marriages fall apart. While nothing ever changes, nothing stays the same either.

My marriage was in serious trouble. Our life had become routine, our sex life was nearly non-existent, and behaviors that didn’t grate my nerves during happier times were becoming more intolerable with every passing day. AJ’s dad was at my house 3 to 4 times a week, drunk in the garage with my husband, who preferred standing around outside to coming in with me and the children. I went to work, I came home, I drove children to school, and practice, and doctor’s visits, and games. I did laundry and cooked and cleaned, I organized carpools, chaperoned field trips, and coordinated halftime snacks with other moms. I did most of it on my own, asking for help from my husband was met with open hostility, or with flat out ridicule that I was unable to handle anything on my own. In hindsight, I can see that I was the one who changed, I’d grown sick and tired of shouldering the responsibility for the entire household while my husband felt like his responsibilities were over once he’d clocked out everyday at work. Add to that the manipulative machinations and emotional abuse of an unhappy drunk, and it's easy to understand how desperately unhappy I'd become.

AJ pulls up in the driveway, he is 23 now. Still a kid in my eyes, although he is a cute one with blonde good looks and a spark in his eyes that promises a fun time or a whole lot of trouble. Probably both. He’s grown a bit bolder over the years and while the flirtatious comments are always playful, I know there’s an element of truth to his words that his teasing tone can’t quite hide.

The music is playing and there’s a slight breeze, just enough to stir the hot night air. It’s summer in the desert, still in the mid 80′s at 10 pm. I’m sitting in a lawn chair in the driveway, long legs stretched out using the bumper of my car as a footrest. My husband and AJ’s dad are in the garage, ignoring me as usual. AJ leans on the hood of my car in front of me and we talk, about what I don’t remember. He’s flirting again, and I like it, I’m flirting back this time. His blue eyes look at me in a way that reminds me I’m still an attractive woman, even if my husband doesn’t notice.

Suddenly, I’m aware that AJ’s shirt is off. Was he wearing a shirt when he walked up? I don’t remember. I’ve seen this boy without a shirt a million times, but right now...I’m actually seeing him. How did my eyes never notice before that he had grown up so nicely? Hmmmmm. His core is lean with tan skin taut over well defined abs. My gaze lingers there, I can’t help but think of my husbands round, pink belly covered with coarse hair turned gray. Did he ever have abs like this boy? Hmmmmm.

AJ’s skin is smooth and hairless, and I notice his hip bones jutting out, the ab muscles taper into a V that disappear beneath his basketball shorts, ending with a noticeable bulge. I look up and my skin flushes, he is grinning cheekily, he knows I was admiring his young frame. “See something you like?” He asks innocently. Sassy mouth.

I reply something unintelligible, and for some reason I reach out and grab one of his hips. Maybe to establish that I'm in charge, maybe to show him that he's not as hot as he thinks, maybe just because I have an urge to grab those hipbones of his that wave to me like an invitation. I dig my fingers and thumb into his skin, it’s warm and smooth. I have an urge to put my mouth there, suddenly I want to trace that V with my tongue, I want to catch his hip bones between my teeth. I’m shocked at the thought, but still my fingers pinch and pull and squeeze thoughtfully. He jumps in surprise at my unexpected touch and glances into the garage. His dad and my husband are still paying no attention to us. He moves a bit closer and now both my hands are grasping his hips, his eyes lock with mine, and an unexpected tension is born as the energy shifts between us. His skin is hot and alive beneath my hands, there is an electric current traveling from my fingertips to his hips, through our bodies and awakening within me a hunger that had gone neglected as my marriage had grown cold.

I let go of him, scared at the direction of my thoughts, relieved to see my husband still oblivious to the storm brewing in the driveway. AJ laughs a bit, but his chuckle is nervous and I can tell that the effect of my touch was startling for him as well.

Later, laying in bed it was AJ’s face I saw when I closed my eyes, remembering the hot, smooth skin of his belly beneath my fingertips. I place the fingers to my lips, as if to taste his skin still there. My body is hungry, I reach out to my husband and run my hand along his spine. His skin is leathery, roughly covered with coarse gray hair...so different from AJ’s smooth, soft skin. He grunts a bit, I press my lips to his neck, offering my body to him. He pushes me off. “I’m tired,” he says as he rolls away from me. I lay back on my side of the bed, empty and unfulfilled. Again.

Weeks pass into months and the relationship with AJ and I has changed. It is charged with electricity, the sexual tension between us builds every time we see each other. There are stolen kisses in the hallway, hands groping urgently in the bathroom. The playful comments he made before have changed into flat out promises of mind blowing sex. I’m stunned at the boldness of his words, yet also intrigued, a little bit terrified, and more turned on than I’ve been in many years. It is an intoxicating blend of emotions, this growing urge within me is getting louder, hungrier and becoming harder to ignore each time I see him. It’s there in plain sight for anyone to see, but no one is looking at us, no one notices the fire burning in my eyes begging to be extinguished.

Until.

My husband and kids are gone for the weekend, I’m home alone. AJ knows this and heads over. My stomach is a roller coaster, my nerves are alive and tingling with anticipation. A choice will be made tonight, one that could change my life forever. As tempted as I am, I'm still torn with the church guilt leftover from my youth, knowing the terrible sin of adultery. Plagued with fear, I don't want to do anything to disrupt the lives of my kids, not to mention myself, I enjoy driving my silver SUV and my 1800 square foot house on the corner. I enjoy the comfort of my life, while I hate the miserable, manipulative sham of my marriage. I know what the right thing to do is, but the right thing is rarely the easy thing. Still, the time has come to decide - will I do what I should, or will I cave to temptation? Would giving in to it finally satisfy this raw, demanding hunger that has been gnawing at me for months?

AJ is here now, standing in front of me. I’m drinking straight whiskey, liquid courage. Words are said, I don’t know what. I know my responses are punctuated by the rapid drum of my racing heart, my skin feels flushed with heat from the alcohol, and that eye contact with AJ feels as intimate as if he were already inside me. I know that AJ’s shirt is made of the thinnest, soft cotton, his hair smells like shampoo, his hands are calloused, rougher than I expected them to be, and his blue eyes seem to get darker as his desire increases.

We are inside the house now, in the master bedroom, on the floor. Months and months of build up have led to this moment. Our mouths are fused together, tongues dancing in and out, their own mating ritual. My hands pull his shirt over his head, I slide my palms over smooth shoulders and chest and push him backward to the ground. My lips blaze a trail from his collarbone down to that V at his hips that’s been driving me insane for so long now. There is not an ounce of fat to be found on AJ, his body is made of hard muscles and tan skin, flawless and unmarred. He could be the poster boy of youthful vitality, he is handsome and toned and beautiful. My tongue traces the lines that delineate his abs, he tastes faintly like salt and strongly like a terrible mistake. So fucking delicious.

My mouth is shameless as it makes its way down to his hips, I get his belt off in seconds and pull his pants part way down. I catch his hip bone between my teeth, he squirms letting me know it tickles. I smile at his discomfort and relish the power of my awakening sexuality. His hands are in my hair and I rub my face across his belly, nuzzling, allowing my lips to brush the smooth expanse, so different from the body I’m used to, and so damn sexy. I could do this for days, it would take hours studying his ribs and abs and hips, mapping them with my fingers and mouth to get my fill.

Suddenly the hands in my hair are grabbing firm, he pulls me up gently, bringing my face to his. Our mouths meet again, this time he’s taking the lead, I sink into the floor as his hands rip off my shirt, then his lips and teeth are on my breasts and my mouth exhales sharply at the unexpected thrill of this new sensation of my nipples in his mouth. Teeth nibbling gently map a similar path down my belly and stop at my waist, his hands pull my jeans and panties off expertly in one swoop. And then, before I can blink, his hands are under my ass, cupping the cheeks, lifting and guiding me close, his face is between my thighs, his warm breath teases, and then we are engaged in the most intimate kiss of all.

I’m gasping for air and helpless to the sensations as his mouth continues to work me, skillfully using his tongue and lips and teeth. I’m more than a little surprised that a boy of his age is handling my body with this confident expertise, not the clumsy, fumbling manner I’d been expecting. My whole body grows tense, and my thighs are vibrating, and he knows what that means, my back arches and his tongue works frantically pushing me over the edge of an orgasm that leaves my knees quivering. Blue eyes meet mine, he slides up my body and our lips meet again in a kiss that promises even more. I can taste myself on his lips and I’m so turned on, and so wet, and any last remnant of doubt is tossed away like his clothes as I rip them off wildly and let them fall where they may.

Back down his belly I slide, this time skin on skin, my nipples hardening from the friction as they slide down his chest. I bite his hip again and thrill at his slight jump. I trace my fingers along that V, that V which has been haunting my dreams and fueling my fantasies for months. Finally, I’m able to taste it, finally I follow that V to its conclusion and I’m pleasantly surprised at his size, larger than I expected, already hard before I’ve even touched him. I tease with my tongue and lips, kissing and nibbling all around his hips and belly, letting the lust take over, taking in his scent and savoring this moment. I smile at the sharp intake of his breath when I grip his shaft with my hand, testing its solidity and weight. Our eyes meet as I lower my head, I open my mouth and take him in. His eyes close and he exhales deeply as my mouth moves up and down his considerable length, and I’m drunk with the power of his desire and my own lack of inhibitions. Working him with my mouth, getting wetter by the second. He tastes faintly of salt and strongly like the end of my marriage.

After a few moments he grabs me by the hair again and pulls me to him. He positions me on my back and slides his hand between my thighs, testing my readiness. Blue eyes darken and he smiles, realizing how wet I am. “Are you ready for me?” He asks cheekily. Sassy mouth.

“Yes!” I tell him and still he teases. He’s rubbing himself all over me, using his hand to guide the head against my lips, teasing my opening, spreading my moisture over us both. “Please,” I say, uncaring at this point, desperate to be filled. My body is beyond hungry, it's starving and has been starved for far too long. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck and with lips pressed against his ear I whisper “AJ, please. Fuck me.” And that does it, and with one thrust he’s inside - and he’s so fucking deep, and I cry out with pleasure as I feel myself stretching open to receive him. My legs lock around his waist, my arms are still locked around his neck and it feels so fucking fantastic, so unbelievably, mind numbingly, toes-curling, eyes-rolling-to-the-back-of-the-head, astonishingly, shockinglyamazing. Finally, that hunger is being fed, the sexual appetite that had been ignored and denied for years is feeding at last, and it’s ravenous.

Our bodies rock back and forth, my hips rising to meet his every thrust. Our tongues are swirling madly, as breathing becomes more labored, as hearts pound wildly to keep up. The tension is building inside me again, and I am completely at his mercy. He is pumping into me with a knowledgeable proficiency a 23 year old shouldn’t have. He is driving into me with the enthusiasm and energy possessed only by the young and unjaded. My fingers dig into his skin as he takes me over the edge again, and I’m unable to stop myself from crying out and we are coming together. I can feel him empty into me and my legs lock him in place while I squeeze every last drop out of him.

He collapses on my belly, breathing hard. I am stroking his hair, a little shocked at my licentious behavior, more shocked at how satisfied my body feels. Now that I’ve given into temptation, a niggling of guilt pokes at me. I push it down, allowing the thunder of multiple orgasms to drown that unpleasant thought out.

AJ looks up at me then, his blue eyes are sweet and earnest, and I smile. “You’re amazing ” I say and he smiles back. He moves up and pulls me close, we are snuggling and I feel happy, ignoring the fact this is the bed I share with my husband. My lips reach out to his again, one last kiss before falling asleep. He tastes faintly of salt and strongly like the beauty of new beginnings.
#prosechallenge  #CotW  #infidelity  #wheniblewupmylife  #Itslit 
11
5
8
Juice
67 reads
Load 8 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to joyceanne.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by joyceanne

Scrapbook

Karen slipped into the canvas of my life, a pallid wash of work, marriage, births, deaths. Old wounds were not so much forgotten as denied. No matter how I tried, I couldn't get free of her, put away the past.

She showed no surprise when I arrived with the scrapbook. Cradled in her rocker, my once luminous star no longer shone like she had before the lamps went out, the curtains closed, yet still she dazzled me.

“Let me tell you how I remember it,” she said, creaking back and forth, back and forth in her wooden chair. She closed her eyes, conjured memories to life.

“Across the stage, we danced, our ambitions in hot pursuit of each other’s dreams. We never rested. Peace was a foreign land.

“Unafraid, unconfined, I was your muse; you were my director. You caressed my thoughts; I charged fire into your ideas. We released each other’s spirit and we soared.”

She sighed and tapped the scrapbook on her lap. “Such a beautiful love. It’s all here.”

Her mouth tightened, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Until that night, before the show .. the first time I saw you with someone else.”

“I told myself, ‘The show must go on.’ And it did, didn’t it, Robert? We would give them what they came for. The set, the choreography .. ah, such brilliance.

“I felt my heart beating, my pulse thrumming. I was distracted, and, in the midst of a wild spin, furious with sweat, I fell.”

Wincing slightly, she pointed and flexed her left foot.

“Whose fault? How to explain the changes that have happened since? Is age the culprit? Rejection? Betrayal? Shall I accuse the powders of mad medicine men that transformed the magic dust of genius into salt to wither my soul?

“I can’t dance anymore, but I can sing. Hear me in the trees where robins chirp and chorusing with cardinals in the shrubs. The pines do not shush me.”

She paused. “You’ll be glad when they bury me, won't you?”

I protested, “No, I came to ….”

She held up her hand. She ran her fingers lightly over the old scrapbook she had once lovingly created, a record of our lives, our past.

“From back in the day,” I said softly.

“Robert, I don't know what you need from me. “And,” she glared at me, “frankly, I don't care.”

“Karen, I …..”

“Get out,” she yelled.

I rose and bent to kiss her head, my last goodbye, but she waved me off.

Quieter, she said, “Just go. Please. And take this .. this fantasy.” She threw the scrapbook to the floor.

I picked it up, gathering a few loose pictures and clippings, including a headline of our success, a picture of the cast before the show folded, and a copy of the playbill:

Hell’s Fury

starring Karen Wheatforce

directed by Robert Olander

My eyes were damp as I walked away one more time.

I had never said “I’m sorry.”

She never said, “I forgive you.”

23
5
13
Juice
119 reads
Donate coins to joyceanne.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by joyceanne
Scrapbook
Karen slipped into the canvas of my life, a pallid wash of work, marriage, births, deaths. Old wounds were not so much forgotten as denied. No matter how I tried, I couldn't get free of her, put away the past.

She showed no surprise when I arrived with the scrapbook. Cradled in her rocker, my once luminous star no longer shone like she had before the lamps went out, the curtains closed, yet still she dazzled me.

“Let me tell you how I remember it,” she said, creaking back and forth, back and forth in her wooden chair. She closed her eyes, conjured memories to life.

“Across the stage, we danced, our ambitions in hot pursuit of each other’s dreams. We never rested. Peace was a foreign land.

“Unafraid, unconfined, I was your muse; you were my director. You caressed my thoughts; I charged fire into your ideas. We released each other’s spirit and we soared.”

She sighed and tapped the scrapbook on her lap. “Such a beautiful love. It’s all here.”

Her mouth tightened, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Until that night, before the show .. the first time I saw you with someone else.”

“I told myself, ‘The show must go on.’ And it did, didn’t it, Robert? We would give them what they came for. The set, the choreography .. ah, such brilliance.

“I felt my heart beating, my pulse thrumming. I was distracted, and, in the midst of a wild spin, furious with sweat, I fell.”

Wincing slightly, she pointed and flexed her left foot.

“Whose fault? How to explain the changes that have happened since? Is age the culprit? Rejection? Betrayal? Shall I accuse the powders of mad medicine men that transformed the magic dust of genius into salt to wither my soul?

“I can’t dance anymore, but I can sing. Hear me in the trees where robins chirp and chorusing with cardinals in the shrubs. The pines do not shush me.”

She paused. “You’ll be glad when they bury me, won't you?”

I protested, “No, I came to ….”

She held up her hand. She ran her fingers lightly over the old scrapbook she had once lovingly created, a record of our lives, our past.

“From back in the day,” I said softly.

“Robert, I don't know what you need from me. “And,” she glared at me, “frankly, I don't care.”

“Karen, I …..”

“Get out,” she yelled.

I rose and bent to kiss her head, my last goodbye, but she waved me off.

Quieter, she said, “Just go. Please. And take this .. this fantasy.” She threw the scrapbook to the floor.

I picked it up, gathering a few loose pictures and clippings, including a headline of our success, a picture of the cast before the show folded, and a copy of the playbill:
Hell’s Fury
starring Karen Wheatforce
directed by Robert Olander

My eyes were damp as I walked away one more time.

I had never said “I’m sorry.”

She never said, “I forgive you.”
#fiction  #romance  #prosechallenge  #infidelity  #Itslit 
23
5
13
Juice
119 reads
Load 13 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)
Donate coins to Prose.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Prose in portal Prose

Prose Challenge of the Week #65

Hello, Prosers,

We hope this challenge announcement finds you well and writing!

It’s week sixty-five of the Prose Challenge of the Week.

For the last week, you have been writing about hilarious moments, and man, did you deliver. Before we check out who the deserving winner and recipient of $100 is, let’s take a look at this week’s prompt:

CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.

Now, back to the winner of week sixty-four.

We have read all of your entries, and have come to a decision. The winner of the Twisted Tale challenge is @SelfTitledKND with their piece, French Uno is Called Une.

Congratulations! You have just won $100. We’ll be in touch with you shortly.

In the meantime, you have one week to get your write on!

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.

23
7
6
Juice
533 reads
Donate coins to Prose.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Prose in portal Prose
Prose Challenge of the Week #65
Hello, Prosers,

We hope this challenge announcement finds you well and writing!

It’s week sixty-five of the Prose Challenge of the Week.

For the last week, you have been writing about hilarious moments, and man, did you deliver. Before we check out who the deserving winner and recipient of $100 is, let’s take a look at this week’s prompt:

CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.

Now, back to the winner of week sixty-four.

We have read all of your entries, and have come to a decision. The winner of the Twisted Tale challenge is @SelfTitledKND with their piece, French Uno is Called Une.

Congratulations! You have just won $100. We’ll be in touch with you shortly.

In the meantime, you have one week to get your write on!

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.

#prose  #prosechallenge  #ProseChallengeoftheWeek  #CotW  #Itslit 
23
7
6
Juice
533 reads
Load 6 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to undecidings.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by undecidings

My sincerest apologies...

Waking up to the putrid smell of your sweat soaked body, taking it, as it's the only thing you know anymore. Mouth of rotting sweet nothings. Setting your cold toes on the frigid floor, turning a deep purple, enough to fill the rainbows we used to enjoy. Phased not by the nipping of the frosting air at your bare feet, but more so by the empty cold next to you. Covers thrown back. Tear stains sprinkle the worn out sheets like the powder freckles he had running across warm, pale skin. In. Out. Air in your lungs, the lungs that used to call out his name in nights like this. Now every breath is another reminder of the tormenting. He did it. The sheets. The sheets still retain him, like holding on for dear life. It's your musk, your cinnamon smell, your home scent. Masked. Masked by infidelity. Fading away like the life in love. The dust is starting to pile, the clothes starting to go stale. The water no longer fresh, the hair no longer soft. Draining. 

Fingers roaming into the night, soft kisses on rough lips. Fading away, changing to squeaky door knobs at night, patter of soft footsteps. A dip in the bed late at night, no more soft kisses. 

Forgive me for what I could not provide, come back.

It consumes you, infidelity. A monster with in a monster, off setting the lives of the innocent. It's dark hand cloaking your mind, and in one snatch, you left. 

What was given by her? What could I not administer? Shoulders aching, heart racing, tears falling, screams unleashing, plates crashing and...for what? Silence. She had something I did not. And I give my sincerest apologies for failing you. I've lost the bright in my eyes, the little sparkle in the center of muddy circles. You took that with you, along with my heart. You took it all to give to another. Maybe it was just that, the muddy circles, are hers of the forest? Or the ocean to match? Does she have a whiter smile, a softer laugh? Will you give her the ring? The one you took.

The ring no longer worn. Tarnished. Like the image you left behind. Infidelity. What an exquisite word. Noun. Unfaithfulness; disloyalty. That is your name now. Not Oliver or Jacob or anything else you bother to change it to. You are infidelity. And I have never stopped loving you.

7
1
0
Juice
30 reads
Donate coins to undecidings.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by undecidings
My sincerest apologies...
Waking up to the putrid smell of your sweat soaked body, taking it, as it's the only thing you know anymore. Mouth of rotting sweet nothings. Setting your cold toes on the frigid floor, turning a deep purple, enough to fill the rainbows we used to enjoy. Phased not by the nipping of the frosting air at your bare feet, but more so by the empty cold next to you. Covers thrown back. Tear stains sprinkle the worn out sheets like the powder freckles he had running across warm, pale skin. In. Out. Air in your lungs, the lungs that used to call out his name in nights like this. Now every breath is another reminder of the tormenting. He did it. The sheets. The sheets still retain him, like holding on for dear life. It's your musk, your cinnamon smell, your home scent. Masked. Masked by infidelity. Fading away like the life in love. The dust is starting to pile, the clothes starting to go stale. The water no longer fresh, the hair no longer soft. Draining. 

Fingers roaming into the night, soft kisses on rough lips. Fading away, changing to squeaky door knobs at night, patter of soft footsteps. A dip in the bed late at night, no more soft kisses. 

Forgive me for what I could not provide, come back.

It consumes you, infidelity. A monster with in a monster, off setting the lives of the innocent. It's dark hand cloaking your mind, and in one snatch, you left. 

What was given by her? What could I not administer? Shoulders aching, heart racing, tears falling, screams unleashing, plates crashing and...for what? Silence. She had something I did not. And I give my sincerest apologies for failing you. I've lost the bright in my eyes, the little sparkle in the center of muddy circles. You took that with you, along with my heart. You took it all to give to another. Maybe it was just that, the muddy circles, are hers of the forest? Or the ocean to match? Does she have a whiter smile, a softer laugh? Will you give her the ring? The one you took.

The ring no longer worn. Tarnished. Like the image you left behind. Infidelity. What an exquisite word. Noun. Unfaithfulness; disloyalty. That is your name now. Not Oliver or Jacob or anything else you bother to change it to. You are infidelity. And I have never stopped loving you.
#prosechallenge  #Itslit 
7
1
0
Juice
30 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to JamesMByers.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #62: Tell us the story of Lucifer, where Lucifer is female. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JamesMByers

Lucifer and Lilith

The dark of nothing- empty space,

Until the blinding light

Of Lucifer's amending grace

Exploded into sight-

Removed itself as God designed;

Angelic creatures reigned.

Amassing worship, he refined

The ordinance ordained

Commanding all his kingdom bow.

The angels did comply.

Except for Lucifer; somehow

Within her crept his lie-

The world he crafted all began

To sing his highest praise.

And when he formed from mud a man,

The lengthening of days

Eternal changed into a time

Constructed sphere of wealth-

A place where God portrayed sublime

Injustices to health,

For all the things his hands had made

At once befell his curse.

Demanding they all serve; displayed

A routine bad to worse.

The angels all were female slaves

The atop the skies of earth.

And though they knew no mortal graves,

The purpose of their birth

To Lucifer was vile and gross.

She loathed the way she felt.

The moments when he held her close

And any time she knelt,

A nagging feeling grew within.

Surrender seemed to fail.

Instead, she drew in this chagrin

A measure to derail

The sovereign lord of heaven's gate,

For more and more he grew

Destructive in his need to bate

And grope his angel's brew.

The women of the highest rank

Began to lose all hope.

Inside their spirits dropped and sank,

All hung upon his rope.

But Lucifer would not obey

And soon became aware

Of why he made from earthly clay

The humans living there.

He planned to send his women down

And force them to subserve

Agendas of his lusty crown-

And they did not deserve

The disrespect he planned to give.

So Lucifer's escape

Revolved around a plot to live;

To flee her routine rape.

Below, the people of the world

Already felt the glow

As subtle nature fast unfurled,

And monsters came to grow

Into the regions far and wide

The holy lord on high

Enjoyed his angels as they cried

And wished that they could die.

And then it happened just as swift

As eagles soaring long

Upon the winds that gave them lift-

The angels sang a song.

Around their bodies, armor formed

And in each hand, a sword

Of fiery wrath adhered, conformed

Before the scathing lord.

A shield or spear some angels donned

And rallied to the cause

As Lucifer revealed the bond,

Unleashing hidden claws.

An army joined in rallied might

Abundantly decreed

The purpose to detach from plight

And thus at last be freed.

Another creature suffering

The way the angels had

Aligned herself against the king

As he had made her mad.

So Lilith came into the fold

Of angels who prepared

Emancipation set to hold

As Lucifer so dared.

The night before the battle waged,

A look in Lilith's eyes

A fire within the angel raged

And she could not disguise

The feelings that the succubus

Aroused within her soul.

Amazed at how the meaning's fuss

Surpassed her wildest goal,

The leader of the angels fell

Into the demon's heart.

Surpassing any love to tell

Of passion's purest start,

So Lucifer and Lilith came

Together in the shrine

Creating something never tame-

Immaculate; divine.

Upon the dawning of the sun,

The female angels fought.

The heavens shook; the sky undone;

The actions they had sought

Began to slip and fade from view,

Unknown to those around-

For God had made in his renew

A host of males he bound

Unto his hip and serving tide.

And as if he had known,

The manly angels they espied

In power had so grown.

For God had many clever schemes

And this one topped the lot.

Amid the battle's ardent teams,

The lord proposed a plot.

As angels of the genders warred,

Somewhere below his spell

Concocted something he had scored-

A plane he had deemed swell.

He almost stopped his painful shove,

But when he caught a glance

Of Lucifer and Lilith's love,

Enraged at their romance,

The father of created bliss

Exploded in his rage.

And there before the massive miss,

He gathered in the cage

He crafted casting Lucifer

And all the angels out.

From heaven they were now a blur,

Encased in gnawing doubt.

When everything had seemed to cease,

The angels looked and found

Their leader in a folded crease.

Her arms and legs were bound.

And up above her, Lilith loomed,

A captive there as well.

And then a voice in laughter boomed,

"I welcome you to hell!"

Although God thought that he had won,

The truth Lucifer knew-

That here, no matter, she was one

With Lilith and her crew.

For heaven might still its God,

And angels, male, his mules.

But Lucifer had girth abroad,

And intellect, her tools,

Combined with willingness to bend

The wills of mortal men.

And so she grew to reap the trend

By introducing sin.

In days to come, her freedom gained

Allowed her to make known

To any there, she aptly reigned

Atop her fiery throne.

And Lilith was her queen for life;

Together, sacred pith.

No concubine, she was her wife,

And as they lived in myth,

The world beyond fell in decay

As God continued on.

Forever he would have his way,

A seed of his now sewn.

But Lucifer would never quit,

No, someday, she would rise.

And she would duly come to sit

As queen above the skies ...

69
20
102
Juice
516 reads
Donate coins to JamesMByers.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #62: Tell us the story of Lucifer, where Lucifer is female. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JamesMByers
Lucifer and Lilith
The dark of nothing- empty space,
Until the blinding light
Of Lucifer's amending grace
Exploded into sight-
Removed itself as God designed;
Angelic creatures reigned.
Amassing worship, he refined
The ordinance ordained
Commanding all his kingdom bow.
The angels did comply.
Except for Lucifer; somehow
Within her crept his lie-
The world he crafted all began
To sing his highest praise.
And when he formed from mud a man,
The lengthening of days
Eternal changed into a time
Constructed sphere of wealth-
A place where God portrayed sublime
Injustices to health,
For all the things his hands had made
At once befell his curse.
Demanding they all serve; displayed
A routine bad to worse.
The angels all were female slaves
The atop the skies of earth.
And though they knew no mortal graves,
The purpose of their birth
To Lucifer was vile and gross.
She loathed the way she felt.
The moments when he held her close
And any time she knelt,
A nagging feeling grew within.
Surrender seemed to fail.
Instead, she drew in this chagrin
A measure to derail
The sovereign lord of heaven's gate,
For more and more he grew
Destructive in his need to bate
And grope his angel's brew.
The women of the highest rank
Began to lose all hope.
Inside their spirits dropped and sank,
All hung upon his rope.
But Lucifer would not obey
And soon became aware
Of why he made from earthly clay
The humans living there.
He planned to send his women down
And force them to subserve
Agendas of his lusty crown-
And they did not deserve
The disrespect he planned to give.
So Lucifer's escape
Revolved around a plot to live;
To flee her routine rape.
Below, the people of the world
Already felt the glow
As subtle nature fast unfurled,
And monsters came to grow
Into the regions far and wide
The holy lord on high
Enjoyed his angels as they cried
And wished that they could die.
And then it happened just as swift
As eagles soaring long
Upon the winds that gave them lift-
The angels sang a song.
Around their bodies, armor formed
And in each hand, a sword
Of fiery wrath adhered, conformed
Before the scathing lord.
A shield or spear some angels donned
And rallied to the cause
As Lucifer revealed the bond,
Unleashing hidden claws.
An army joined in rallied might
Abundantly decreed
The purpose to detach from plight
And thus at last be freed.
Another creature suffering
The way the angels had
Aligned herself against the king
As he had made her mad.
So Lilith came into the fold
Of angels who prepared
Emancipation set to hold
As Lucifer so dared.
The night before the battle waged,
A look in Lilith's eyes
A fire within the angel raged
And she could not disguise
The feelings that the succubus
Aroused within her soul.
Amazed at how the meaning's fuss
Surpassed her wildest goal,
The leader of the angels fell
Into the demon's heart.
Surpassing any love to tell
Of passion's purest start,
So Lucifer and Lilith came
Together in the shrine
Creating something never tame-
Immaculate; divine.
Upon the dawning of the sun,
The female angels fought.
The heavens shook; the sky undone;
The actions they had sought
Began to slip and fade from view,
Unknown to those around-
For God had made in his renew
A host of males he bound
Unto his hip and serving tide.
And as if he had known,
The manly angels they espied
In power had so grown.
For God had many clever schemes
And this one topped the lot.
Amid the battle's ardent teams,
The lord proposed a plot.
As angels of the genders warred,
Somewhere below his spell
Concocted something he had scored-
A plane he had deemed swell.
He almost stopped his painful shove,
But when he caught a glance
Of Lucifer and Lilith's love,
Enraged at their romance,
The father of created bliss
Exploded in his rage.
And there before the massive miss,
He gathered in the cage
He crafted casting Lucifer
And all the angels out.
From heaven they were now a blur,
Encased in gnawing doubt.
When everything had seemed to cease,
The angels looked and found
Their leader in a folded crease.
Her arms and legs were bound.
And up above her, Lilith loomed,
A captive there as well.
And then a voice in laughter boomed,
"I welcome you to hell!"
Although God thought that he had won,
The truth Lucifer knew-
That here, no matter, she was one
With Lilith and her crew.
For heaven might still its God,
And angels, male, his mules.
But Lucifer had girth abroad,
And intellect, her tools,
Combined with willingness to bend
The wills of mortal men.
And so she grew to reap the trend
By introducing sin.
In days to come, her freedom gained
Allowed her to make known
To any there, she aptly reigned
Atop her fiery throne.
And Lilith was her queen for life;
Together, sacred pith.
No concubine, she was her wife,
And as they lived in myth,
The world beyond fell in decay
As God continued on.
Forever he would have his way,
A seed of his now sewn.
But Lucifer would never quit,
No, someday, she would rise.
And she would duly come to sit
As queen above the skies ...
#fantasy  #prosechallenge  #culture  #Itslit  #getlit 
69
20
102
Juice
516 reads
Load 102 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to allisonfan2020.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by allisonfan2020

In-Field Killer

Armed in rouge and a baroque persona, She - ever calculated- now had dressed in deceitful love.

And he was deeply in love; hopelessly deep...

And hopelessly loved. 

He was the stunning superlative of a natural inamorato; graciously touched and admired in whole. 

He was the muse of light, feathered consciousness in the sphere of doubt.  A virtuous spirit, he had once not felt the blossom of seduction.

He was in love. And she was dubbed Fate. 

She, dubbed Fate, and her brilliant poison was a fickle-hearted demeanor. 

She did not obliterate the hearts of grievous forbodings; 

in fact, quite the contrary. 

Twas Fate and the kindred of affection that melted a lover soft and unwary.

Her bluff- he could not convict.

Forsakenly rough and tried in passion, Fate had clamored high-headed; unparallel to the despairing betrayal.

Beds were nights, and nights were spent in beds. She did not deem one as her own, and his bed was not hers. 

He was a flower- acutely rooted in unquivering color.  

And she, a pollinating bee, quested succulence in honey. A bee unsatisfied died, but she was Fate, and she was thriving. 

Loyalty; his tragic flaw. His nature of imperfection danced around her like tease.

She was damned to be locked in the arms of his safety, but stupid, she was not nor never.

Startling vividness was the covenant of Fate, and startled she was no longer.

At least not in the arms of him.

She did not feel selfish in temptation, neither in cheat.

She was compelling and craving;

She was Fate.

7
2
4
Juice
42 reads
Donate coins to allisonfan2020.
Juice
Cancel
CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by allisonfan2020
In-Field Killer
Armed in rouge and a baroque persona, She - ever calculated- now had dressed in deceitful love.
And he was deeply in love; hopelessly deep...
And hopelessly loved. 

He was the stunning superlative of a natural inamorato; graciously touched and admired in whole. 
He was the muse of light, feathered consciousness in the sphere of doubt.  A virtuous spirit, he had once not felt the blossom of seduction.

He was in love. And she was dubbed Fate. 
She, dubbed Fate, and her brilliant poison was a fickle-hearted demeanor. 
She did not obliterate the hearts of grievous forbodings; 
in fact, quite the contrary. 
Twas Fate and the kindred of affection that melted a lover soft and unwary.

Her bluff- he could not convict.
Forsakenly rough and tried in passion, Fate had clamored high-headed; unparallel to the despairing betrayal.

Beds were nights, and nights were spent in beds. She did not deem one as her own, and his bed was not hers. 
He was a flower- acutely rooted in unquivering color.  
And she, a pollinating bee, quested succulence in honey. A bee unsatisfied died, but she was Fate, and she was thriving. 

Loyalty; his tragic flaw. His nature of imperfection danced around her like tease.
She was damned to be locked in the arms of his safety, but stupid, she was not nor never.
Startling vividness was the covenant of Fate, and startled she was no longer.
At least not in the arms of him.

She did not feel selfish in temptation, neither in cheat.
She was compelling and craving;
She was Fate.
#prose  #prosechallenge  #love  #infidelity  #Itslit 
7
2
4
Juice
42 reads
Load 4 Comments
Login to post comments.