Twitterotica – a #FuckMeFriday story: An angel’s #wake

This is for this week’s piece of Twitterotica to mark #FuckMeFriday (Ruby Kiddell and Aisling Weaver’s weekly writing challenge). The prompt is #wake and is justifiable. Barely.

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After a ten days on vacation with her husband and mother-in-law, Christa snapped.

“You’re taking the children and your mother on the glass-bottomed boat tour,” she told Miles. “I’m having a massage.” Wisely, he chose not to argue.

The masseuse was fully booked, so Christa decided to take a long, hot bath. She surveyed herself in the mirror as the water ran. Her hair was like straw, albeit with some fresh sun-bleached highlights, and the tan lines around her boobs were uneven. One shoulder seemed to have caught the sun more, probably while she was in the pool being piggy-in-the-middle for the boys. She ran a hand over her midriff and tutted at the bloat. The effect was emphasised by her foliage-free lady garden, the product of a different and unexpected interpretation of the words “Bikini Line” by the Scottish girl who had waxed her before the vacation. Evidently in Scotland all the women wore candy floss bikinis that required the full Brazilian. Two weeks later, it still felt unnaturally smooth. But at least the swelling had gone down.

As the water’s heat began to penetrate Christa’s bones, her mind turned back to Miles. He had been looking very fine as he left with the children. She had caught a glimpse of him in his shorts and tight-fitting surf splash top. The sunshine caught the blond hairs on his legs and arms in a halo, like the wake of an angel.

Christa sighed and leaned back in the water, the surface tickling her ears. Her hand drifted back to the smoothness of her crotch. He hadn’t changed much in the fifteen years since college, when his tall, wiry frame had first caught her attention on the tennis court. Their first time had been in the college boat club, under the tarpaulin of a rowing boat.

It was desperately uncomfortable, but somehow they had manoeuvred into a position where Miles could reach under her.

Twitterotica – a FuckMeFriday story: Heat, or getting a spanking from Cheryl and Posh

Aisling Weaver has set up a new Twitterotica writing prompt, and since I like bandwagons, I’m fully signed up. So here is my entry for this week’s edition of #FuckMeFriday, which has the prompt #Heat.

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He works in PR, I work in magazines — it’s one of those relationships that works in spite of itself. There are lots of people I know who have it harder, like Jenny and Mark, who both work on the same newspaper, or Mehry, who’s fucking her boss at a travel PR firm and can’t persuade him to leave his wife.

The thing is that I sometimes have to ring up Jeremy and ask him questions about… well, I won’t tell who or what, but let’s just say he works with a lot of famous people. I work for a magazine, a woman’s magazine — please, let me be a little discreet here — and so I write about a lot of famous people. It’s how we met, after all, at a party (isn’t it always like that?) and he heard who I work for and rolled his eyes as if to say “Oh God, not them, she’s going to be a complete bitch”. I get that a lot. You just develop a thick skin, and I rather agree with him as well — I know a lot of hackettes who are complete bitches. The thing is that we’d spoken on the phone a couple of times, but he has a memory like Dear Liza’s bucket — God knows how he’s got so far in his job — and he didn’t know me. I had imagined he’d be a typical PR guy: groomed, gorgeous and gay. Well, I got two of those right. He’s tall, but not too tall, has short dark hair that you want to run your fingers through and the wickedest eyes you’ve ever seen: grey with flecks of green. The Paul Smith suits, shirts from Jermyn Street and shoes from Churches help, too. I’m pretty choosy, and I have excellent taste.

I found out pretty soon afterwards that he also has a fantastic cock.