A Sexy Scene

“Not everyone can be bought,” she said. With a seductive smile, she added, “But I can.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He smiled back and straightened his Gucci power tie.

“Because you don’t have a clue what you’re buying.” With one finger, she twirled a huge fake gold earring.

He looked her up and down – from her stiletto heels to her false eye lashes and blond curly wig.

“What’s the price?” he asked, spotting a hole in one fishnet stocking on her long legs.

“Let’s see…” She paused and looked up, doing the sums in her head. When done, she stared at him and said, “One hundred and twenty dollars, plus thirty-five cents.”

There were cracks in her caked on makeup, but her eyes took his breath away. They were lick-your-finger-chocolate. His body stirred. He laughed.

“What are you laughing about, big guy?” The stool groaned as she shifted her butt in the tight black skirt.

“Nothing important. I like your looks; they fit this place.”

She looked around. The diner was tacky with a stained Formica counter and ripped vinyl seats. Three weary waitresses huddled in a corner; smoke from their cigarettes hovered above.

“Yeah, it’s hard to find places where people still smoke and if you eat, you’re guaranteed food poisoning. Why don’t you sit down?”

His pants felt tight. He said, “We’d be more comfortable at that table over there.”

She gave him a knowing smile and carefully got off the stool. He watched her butt sway as she sauntered to the table and sat down.

He wiped the seat with his monogrammed handkerchief before sliding across from her. His nose twitched as her cheap perfume hit it.

With a heavy sigh, the waitress approached their table and said, “You want anything?”

They both smiled and said, “Not right now.”

The next thing he felt was her foot touching his and slowly moving up his leg. He shut his eyes and gave a low moan.

“Are you ready to make a deal, big boy” She blinked. It was meant to be sexy, but one eyelash was coming loose at the far edge of her eye.

He smothered a nervous laugh. Her foot rubbed a reminder. He sunk lower. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he groaned and said, “You win! If we don’t go home, I’m going to ravish my wife on this cheap table.”

She giggled and said, “I told you that sexy story I wrote would be fun to role play. You owe me, big boy.”

He let the money fall onto the table and walked out.

Red Writing Hood Prompt: This week the folks at Write on Edge gave us a 450 word limit and the first and last line. The middle was up to us:~) Beginning line: “Not everyone can be bought,” she said. Ending line: He let the money fall onto the table and walked out.

Photo Credit:  Silvia Boratti

Red Writing Hood: Mystery Man

This week’s Write on Edge prompt was to use this line as our opening line of a 500-word story: “It was a rainy night in Dusseldorf…”

I chose to write a fiction piece, but in the process, learned a lot of nonfiction about Dusseldorf!


“It was a rainy night in Dusseldorf when we met the man who saved the church.”

These words began Sissy’s letter. I smiled. Of my four sisters, she was the most dramatic, but my favorite. She and John were on their wedding trip.

I missed her desperately and eagerly awaited her letters. Sitting at the window seat where the light was better, my eyes strained to read Sissy’s penmanship.

“We had stopped at St Lambertus Basilica, even though it was night. Thunder crashed around us, spooking the cab horses. Emmie, I was scared, but determined not to show it. In the rain and lightning, the church was spooky with its tall Gothic tower, but you know me and churches. Even if I don’t deserve to be in them, I can’t resist them.”

Laughing at Sissy’s words, I didn’t hear Sara bring my tea. The closing door startled me, but I didn’t touch the tea.

“Looking at the church, I saw a man standing in the rain. Lightning lit the sky, giving me a clear view of him. He was tall and muscular, but not a gentleman given his dress. That didn’t stop him from staring straight at me! His stare was so direct, Emmie, I shivered even though I was wearing the warm rabbit coat John gave me.”

As if I was with Sissy, I shivered, tucking my shawl tighter, before continuing.

“The man boldly stepped up to the cab door and implored John to leave immediately. He said lightening was going to strike the church! In the light of the cab’s oil-lamp, I saw his eyes were as dark as the night sky. They held me in a trance. Oh, Emmie, he looked deliciously dangerous! His untied black hair flew about his face as he told John I was in danger and to take me away! John puffed up, declaring the man a fool and a rude one at that, but he banged on the roof for the cabbie to drive on. Through the back window, I watched the man disappear.”

I sipped my cold tea. The cup rattled as I put it down. Sissy’s letter beckoned me back.

“We made it safely to the hotel, but my story doesn’t end there. The next day as we breakfasted on the terrace, John spotted the article in the paper. Lightning had indeed struck the church, starting a fire! No one could find the church key. The town locksmith, Josef Wimmer, unlocked the door and saved the church. There was a drawing of Mr. Wimmer. He was the same man we’d seen in the rain!”

Sissy’s last words were crammed in the paper’s margin. I struggled to read them.

“John and I stared at each other. I asked how this man had known lightning would strike the church. John had no answer. Emmie, do you suppose he knew of the future? Well, we’ll never know, but it is a good mystery, don’t you think? We leave for Egypt soon. — Sissy.”

*     *     *     *

While I made some creative changes, this fiction story is loosely based on a true event in Dusseldorf.

Beach Fire

Write on Edge prompt: Pick four numbers, each between 1 and 10. The first number will be for your character, the second your setting, the third the time and the fourth will be the situation.

Then take the four elements and combine them into a short story of 500 words or less.

I picked numbers 6, 7, 8 and 9 and ended up with the following: Character: A homeless man; Setting: A beach; Time: in the middle of a fire and Situation: something embarrassing happens. Here’s my fiction take on this prompt.

Orange-red flames jumped out of the windows of my burning house.

I stood on the beach, coughing and shivering in my nightgown, holding Fred, my dog, tightly in my arms. The waves made me angry; so much useless water.

In the distance, sirens cried. Given the beach road, I knew it’d be awhile before they arrived.

Fred’s incessant barking had woken me to the popping and cracking of my burning living room. I ran for the fire extinguisher only to remember it was broken. I’d been meaning to replace it.

By then, the fire had taken charge. Fred and I took off for the beach. Now, we watched my new house disappear into smoke.

Fred growled. I jumped. A scruffy looking man stepped out from behind a big dune and walked towards us. Great!  It was the homeless guy I’d heard about; the one who lived in a dune.

As he reached us, he asked, “What happened?”

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? My house is burning!”

“I meant how did it happen? Why didn’t you use your extinguisher?”

“I couldn’t find it!” I lied, not needing another person to remind me of my own stupidity.

“I’m Bill. I live over there.” He pointed vaguely towards the dunes. Then, he held out his dirty hand, like he was greeting me at a party.” His oniony odor made me wince.

Fred squirmed in my arms. He was getting heavy.

“Let me take him. I’ll use my belt as a leash.”

“Well, I guess so, but only for a minute.”

He looped his belt around Fred’s neck, ignoring his snarls, but not my babydoll nightgown. With hot cheeks, I wrapped my arms around my chest. Fred peed on a beer can.

The fire engines arrived. Men pulled hoses and sprayed water. After their life-saving attempts failed, they declared the house dead.

“If you want, you can stay at my place until you get things settled.” Bill offered.

I stared at this scruffy man. All politeness abandoned me. “What? You live in a dune!”

Confusion filled his eyes. In the morning light, they were a lovely shade of green.

“What made you think I lived in a dune?”

Comprehension hit us both at the same time.

“You thought I was the homeless guy, didn’t you?” Feathery eye wrinkles formed as he smiled with gleaming white teeth.

“You came from the dunes, you look scruffy and, well, you smell. What else was I to think?” Honesty seemed the best policy.

Bill put his head back and laughed.

“I look this way because I’ve been remodeling a house! Come on, I’ll make you breakfast at my house. It even has a guest room!”

Exhausted, I followed him.

The fire was Fred’s fault. He’d dragged the smoldering disposable grill I’d cooked dinner on into the house. The rest was history.

I got my insurance money and used it to buy one of Bill’s refurbished beach houses. Naturally, I selected the one closest to his house:~)

There’s more….

This fiction story is based on a true story about a dog causing a fire. Check it out:~)

Colicky Baby

This fiction story was written to the following Write on Edge prompt: Show us in 400 words or less how your character reacts to a piece of music.

It can advance a story line or provide a character sketch–or both!


Jack thought about dropping off his baby son at the nearest fire station. Instead, he tossed the pillow he’d been holding over his head on the floor and sat up.

Through the light under the closed door, Emmie’s feet paced. He opened the door. Ear-piercing wailing blasted him.

Emmie gave a weary smile. “It’s the colic. He won’t stop crying, Jack.”

“I’m not deaf. I hear him!” His son’s face was red and his eyes were scrunched. He took a big breath and wailed again.

“Let me take him.” He reached for his son as Emmie whispered, “Thanks.”

“Can you feed him?” Jack jiggled the crying baby.

Emmie sighed. “I just did, it didn’t help!”

The phone rang.

“Who’s calling at two o’clock in the morning?” Emmie raised her voice over the baby’s crying.

Jack handed Ben back to her and picked up the phone. A hoarse, but familiar voice spoke. “Please quiet the baby! I’m sick, but I have to work in the morning!” Click.

“Who was it?” Emmie asked, trying to get the pacifier in the baby’s mouth.

“Our neighbor! Ben woke him up again.”

Emmie cheeks grew red. “I’m so sorry! He’s a nice young man!”

“It’s not your fault, babe.” He pushed Emmie to the couch.

“Sit down. Bounce him on your knees, like your mom said.” Emmie did. For just a minute or two, silence descended, but it didn’t last. It never did.

“I’m a terrible mom!” Emmie began to cry. Loud. Piercing. Sobs. Baby Ben joined her. Jack was out of ideas.

The phone rang. He grabbed it. It was his neighbor again. His voice sounded worse. “I had colic as a baby. My dad used Thriller!”

“What?” Jack could hardly hear him over the crying.

“Michael Jackson’s song. Play it!” The call disconnected.

“It was that young man again, wasn’t it.” Emmie wiped her tears and bounced Ben.

“He gave me an idea! I need my laptop.”


Jack didn’t answer. He got his laptop, turned it on. After a minute or two, music filled the room. Emmie looked at Jack, uncertainty in her eyes.

This song will help?”

“Let’s try it, Emmie. We’ve done everything else.”

Jack sat down beside Emmie. The music played. They watched Ben’s crying slowly become sniffles. Then he yawned. By the time the music ended, his parents were smiling at each other. Baby Ben was sound asleep.

This story has its roots in a true story. A friend of mine had a colicky baby. He found his baby liked the song Thriller. He’d turn it on and dance with his son until the baby fell asleep.