If you’re interested in joining the challenge, take yourself over to Leone Ross’ Facebook Page, “like’ the challenge and go for it!
Today’s challenge was two short flash pieces of 250 words each, on body parts. One above the waist, and one below it.
1. My Man’s Hands
“If you want to love me, baby, you’re gonna need his hands,” I said to the fine young man at the truck stop on Route 35, just south of Hillsboro.
He laughed and kissed me, whispered all the nasty things he wanted to do to me. So I took him on home.
“My man’s palms were so wide. I could plant my face in one, inhale the toil on his skin and run my tongue down his deep, gritty creases. With lines like that, I thought for sure he’d live forever. The backs were torn up from work. All those tendons and veins covered in dark brown skin. Wetback brown, he called it, and I’d say: come here, lover. I’ll make it better.”
“Big, long fingers, calloused and scarred. Sweet enough for sucking and rough enough for fucking. Smart enough to make me dance against the sheets. He could read my soul with just the tips,” I said, skittering mine over the boy’s pretty face.
He moaned.
“Jesus, I’m so lonesome for those fingers,” I said. I opened the cupboard, stood on tiptoes to reach the big glass jar, and brought it down. The boy at my kitchen table, knees tied to the legs and arms pinned to the bleached pine surface, fisted his hands and whimpered against the gag.
“So, if you wanna be my man, darlin’, you have to wear his hands.”
I settled the jar on the table and turned to look for a good sharp knife.
2. Pilar’s Knees
When Pilar was young, her knees were happy. Sunbrowned and solid below her firm, thick thighs and her blue summer skirt, knees that said hello as she strolled past the boys on the benches along the Paseo.
They got dry when she helped her father in the garden, but the soil made them smile. The little things in the red clay tickled them. Green things grew around them, sap stained them, but it all washed off.
Devout knees that did penance every Thursday. They made their way from the door of the Nuestra Senora Del Carmen up to the altar. She’d counted the distance in Hail Marys – eighteen of them. Pilar wanted so much to be good.
When Pilar married, she did her duty. She scrubbed floors and lay compliant in her husband’s bed. Carlos was a good man, if a little cold. A hard worker until a container crushed him at the docks. Just three days later, Pilar gave birth to her little girl. She’d fixed her red-rimmed eyes on her swollen knees and pushed her beautiful Elena out.
After that, Pilar prayed in vain. The wooden kneeler bit into her bones, reminding her that life was suffering. Pilar’s knees got sad. One day, in the mirror, she noticed they were frowning. Being good hadn’t helped at all.
So she found herself a man who’d tug up her black skirt, push her legs up around her ears, and fuck her until toes curled and her knees smiled again.
Oh I so want knees like that!! 🙂
Yeah, *sigh* me too.