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The ruby velour
curtains suddenly part, and on stage is a rather small man, with his
back to the audience. Only his spiky blond hair and flowing black
cape can be made out. He whirls around to face the crowd, sending
the cape in a horizontal whirl and revealing its white satin lighting.
He is dressed in a black tuxedo -- traditional tails except for shiny
patent leather boots with a chunky 3-inch heel. His radiant blue eyes,
emphasized with black eyeliner, can be seen almost to the back of
the venue, and his blonde goatee lends him an irresistably devilish
look. He raises his chin and stiffly extends his left arm. This is
your cue, so you respond, hoping you don't twist your ankle in the
stiletto heels Eddie has repeatedly begged you to wear. Even though
your profession is magician's assistant, or 'box jumper' in the trade,
sometimes you can't help but marvel at the skimpy outfits the industry
seems to demand. You try not to tug on your red sequined leotard,
realizing that the bit of cheek it shows is supposed to be exposed.
Mentally, you assure yourself that these are indeed the repaired fishnets,
not the ones you ripped hip to toe getting around the water cabinet
last time. All these thoughts fly by in a second as you imperiously
stride out and over to Eddie. He turns to face you, and ever so slightly
puffs out his chest as you stop in front of him. Staring into
his eyes you untie the knot that holds the cape. As you
loosen it and the cape slides from his shoulders, he catches your
hand.
Maintaining your gaze, he kisses your fingertips before he lets you
go. You step back, a bit dizzy from plumbing those azure depths --
you know the intent is to suggest to the audience that Eddie has an
erotic hold over you but sometimes you're not sure where the illusion
ends and reality begins....
by Kathryn_dc
Lying by a crystal clear pool at a hotel overlooking a pristine lagoon
you check your watch . About two o'clock, it is very warm but not
too hot, with a cool breeze blowing. Your Rum Runner has just
begun to collect droplets of condensation on the small table at your
elbow. You stretch in your lounge chair, eyes closed, about to give
in to the temptation to fall asleep...Suddenly a shadow falls across
your face. You squint one eye open, then rapidly open both as the
smallish but well formed man just out of the pool is standing next
to your chair. He has his head thrown back and his hands are lifted
as he wrings water out of his obviously highlighted hair. There is
no nude sunbathing, but with the smallness of his swimsuit, there
might as well be. He drops his hands and reaches for the pack of cigarettes
on the table closest to his chair in one motion, flinging small droplets
of water across your tan thighs. "Ooh sorry," he murmurs
as he unabashedly stares at the sight, then raises eyes the color
of the tropical lagoon water to meet yours...
by Kathryn _dc
A cavernous room in an English
manor at twilight, all shadowy corners and dusty bric-a-brac. Faded
oriental rugs anchoring several sitting areas made up of furniture
of varying ages. The only light comes from a large stone fireplace
set into the east wall. As you enter with the tea tray, you see two
legs ending in high-heeled black leather boots protruding from the
chinoiserie wing chair drawn up close to the fire. You approach the
side table by the chair in order to lay out the tea things. You hear
a heavy sigh emanate from the chair, "Cold for July, don't you
think?" You glance up, trying not to let your shaking hands rattle
Master Izzard's favorite cup and saucer. He has already drunk at least
one snifter of brandy, its ballooned glass leaning precariously out
of his grasp. You tear your gaze from the copper polish glazing his
nails to see his face. He looks sad, you think -- lids lightly dusted
with espresso shadow drooping over his preternaturally blue eyes,
mascara'd lashes throwing tiny shadows on his pale cheeks. His bronze
lipstick fairly glows in the firelight, but for the fact that his
mouth is slightly down-turned, he would be the picture of languid
beauty. "Ahem, milk or lemon, sir?" you squeak. He turns
his gaze from the fire and looks you full in the face, his eyes refracting
the flames of the fire. "I think today........milk." You
pour the tea, adjusting the milk and sugar to his preference, and
as you hold out the cup for him to take, you notice what is probably
a fair amount of brandy soaking the front of his chocolate brown velvet
riding coat. You are just about to offer to take care of the stain,
when you feel a warm hand encircle your wrist.
by Kathryn _dc
 Your very own corner
office, with a window, big over-stuffed chairs, and deep cherry wood
furniture...nothing but the best...gold desk accessories, princess
phone...your own personal secretary, who you find waiting to take
dictation in your office...
There he stands, dear Eddie, legal pad curled into the crook of his
arm, gold pen clenched between delicate fingers with perfectly manicured
nails dipped in pearl orchid polish...his gorgeous hair shining in
a variety of blonde and dark shades, pieces curling around his face
and along his neck, full and somehow neatly tousled atop his head,
gold-framed cat's eye glasses stuck into the spiky tresses...
His body faces you, rump pressed against the desk, right hand on the
shining glass top, for balance as he twists around to read a
confidential memo. The twisting of his body causes his long,
white, untucked French cuffed blouse to pull open more, revealing
above the fourth button from the bottom an elegant black bra, with
the slightest curve of pectoral above it...
His legs are spread apart slightly as well, his long gray wool skirt
pulling tightly across his hips and thighs, rippling in front and
indicating his appealing masculinity...his shapely stockinged right
leg is visible through the slit in the skirt from ankle to mid-thigh...his
pearl painted toes peek out from the open strappy black impossibly
high heels he favors...
He doesn't hear you as you approach him slowly...you are just inches
away when he turns back and makes a surprised noise, his face now
directly in front of yours...luminescent pale skin flushed at the
cheeks, his exquisite blue eyes wide, enhanced in their shock by the
dark gray smudgy liner and black mascara...
You know the memo he was reading...a confidential note to your partner...about
having to move Eddie to another department because your intense sexual
attraction to him was getting in the way of your work...
His perfectly painted glossy dark red lips turn into a seductive smile...you
put one hand up to the legal pad he holds, and when he makes no move
you rip it from his arm and throw it to the ground...
With one sweeping gesture he knocks everything from the desk behind
him, and pulls you on top of him, curling his fingers into your hair
and putting his mouth to yours...
by Val II
It's a small but
posh hotel room, with those little unique qualities that mark its
foreign locale, like the bidet you find in the immaculate but tiny
washroom. After washing your hands and freshening your slightly smeared
lipstick, you walk back into the main room, and let out a little squeal
when you discover Eddie, languishing on the end of your bed.
"I'm sorry," he says, without moving. He's using that soft
sweet voice that he knows makes you melt. "I got one of the maids
to let me in. Do you mind?"
Apparently the smudgy kiss he had left you with at the door had affected
him as much as it had you.
You take a small step towards him, but don't answer him right away.
Your eyes sweep over him, taking in his highlighted hair, tousled
strands of orange and cinnamon and darker brown roots...his pale face,
little light freckles dappled across his cheeks...his glittering blue
eyes, made more seductive by the smoky kohl liner smudged across his
lids...
He looks as though he sat on the edge of the bed to >wait for you,
then fell back...he's propped up on his elbows, his white cotton shirt
open 3 buttons at the top, revealing his smooth and lightly freckled
chest...and one button at the bottom, pulling open to reveal a little
flesh and his tiny belly button, just above the black leather belt
holding up his hip hugging gray pants...his thighs are parted rather
suggestively, the snug wool fabric highlighting all of his curves,
caressing his shapely legs down to the slight flare above his black
chunky high-heeled boots, his toes just brushing the carpet...
He's tapping his elegant fingers, slightly, waiting for an answer
from you...you watch his hands for a moment, the delicate smooth look
to them, the perfectly manicured nails coated in shining black polish...
You're fairly ready to throw yourself on top of him as it is, but
then your eyes crawl back up to his face, and you see that, from your
earlier kiss, he still has the pale red smudge of your lipstick across
his mouth...
He sees you looking, sees you focusing on his full sensuous lips,
and his eyes darken seductively...still without moving a muscle of
his body, his statement turns to one of pure mischief, and his tongue
snakes out to suggestively lick his upper, slightly curled lip...
By Val II
Black and white kitchen: covering the bottom half of the wall is
white ceramic tile with little black Chinese hand-painted figures
in the center of randomly selected squares...the top half of the wall
is painted white, in the center of which is a vivid and detailed watercolor
painting of a garden...the floor is made up of large white unadorned
tiles...the little round table has a glass top supported by a spiral
of black metal...on top of it rests a black plate of half-eaten vegetables
with chopsticks crossed over it, next to a black enamel ashtray...
Seated in the black metal chair with the bright red cushioned seat,
is our Eddie, blue-black hair short and spiky, but longer down the
nape of his neck, curling around the mandarin collar of his red satin
blouse, which fits him snugly but not too tight, slit at the sides
so it doesn't bunch at the hips when he is seated, the sleeves hugging
his slender arms until they gradually fan out widely at the wrists,
the gorgeous fabric draping elegantly down as he holds a round black
mug of steaming tea in one hand, and a ciggie in its shiny black holder
in the other, his red lacquered nails gleaming in the glow of the
overhead fluorescent lights...
His shapely legs are crossed elegantly in front of him, the expensive
black fabric of his dress slacks following the lines of his body before
mirroring the cut of the blouse and flaring gently around his ankles...his
little bright red toes peek out of the shiny black patent leather
sling-backs, his foot arched provocatively by the 4-inch curved heel...
His face is luminescently pale with make-up, his eyes framed heavily
with shining wet-look black eye-liner, his lashes dark and perfectly
separated...his brilliant blue eyes glow in contrast to the monochromatic
backdrop...
He's listening intently to every word you say, and then, after you
utter a phrase of sheer brilliance, his red highly glossed lips curl
and his gorgeous mouth twists into a disarming crooked grin...
by Val II
It's a dark, smoky pub, dark wood walls and dark heavily varnished
wood tables and chairs...there's a corner booth, fitted with a planked
wood bench along three sides of the slightly warped table...a discolored
brass lamp hangs down from a rusty chain, casting a warm yellow golden
glow over everything...the walls are covered with crooked black and
white photos of former notables, glass cracked and wooden frames chipped...the
table is strewn with the remnants from a large group of customers,
empty beer bottles, lipstick-printed glasses, ashtrays smoking with
recently ground-out cigarettes...
 Tne
lone man remains in the booth, exhaustion evident on his face, the
wear of endless gigging around the world imprinted in his eyes...but
there's a glimmer of pride in his countenance, a sense of job-well-done,
that keeps him from being an absolute figure of melancholy...
He is small in stature for a man, with rather slender arms and legs,
but his relatively broad shoulders and chest give him a look of strength,
to go along with his tough masculine jawline...
He's leaning back sideways, at the end of the bench, right shoulder
pushed against the back, head tilted a little and resting against
the wall, left arm resting on the table, legs kicking out a bit into
the aisle...
His hair is orangey-blonde, with darker brown roots, spiky and tousled
on top, with slightly damp strands clinging to his forehead and curling
just in front of his ears and the slender, nearly invisible gold hoop
earrings...his unnerving stare, made more potent by the deep teal
hue of his eyes, has an erotic edge to it, perhaps enhanced by the
smudgy black eyeliner on his upper and lower lids...his skin radiates
in the glow of the lamp...his warm flesh shining a bit through the
pale dusting of powder across his face...his lips are perfectly motionless,
refusing to give the slightest hint of his real mood, neither smiling
nor frowning, their perfect shape coated in an enticing, deeply glossy
reddish-brown...
His deep chocolate brown button-down shirt, with the slightest reddish
hues in the shadowed folds of the fabric, is an expensive cut and
clings close to his body without being too tight...his left cuff is
pushed up slightly to accommodate the gold link bracelets encircling
his wrist...his unusually delicate and perfectly manicured fingers
are tipped in reddish-brown glossy polish, and almost blend into the
shining varnish of the table-top...his ring finger is encircled by
an elegant filigreed gold band...
His shapely legs, spread rather wide in a familiar male posture,
are covered in rich dark reddish-brown leather, ending in a boot-cut
hem that fits snugly over his matching leather cowboy boots, the dark
chunky wooden heel a bit higher than the typical male would wear...
His right arm extends down the back of the bench, close to his body,
leaving his hand to rest on his hip, his fingers splayed out across
the soft leather, just barely touching the very male part of his anatomy,
made obvious by the perfect snugness of his trousers, and perhaps
a bit more prominent due to his interest in the woman approaching
him just then...
by Val II
The
car was dead. The ’68 Chevy Nova had had its day in the sun,
and it had died a merciful death. Driving with an oil leak did not
help, but I had no other means to get where I was going, and now,
I guess I wasn’t going to get there anyway. I got out of the
car, it was hot on the empty desert road. I grabbed my leather jacket,
slung it over my shoulders, and started to walk. It was going to be
a long walk. My boots
scuffed the pavement as I slogged along. I didn’t want to hitch
a ride, woman alone on the road and all that, but I figured I had
no choice now. Several cars whizzed by me, not even stopping to look.
They probably thought I was a mad killer or something.
About an hour later, I was thirsty, tired, hot, and was about
to just sack out in the desert and take my chances, when I started
to hear this rumble, like an earthquake. The pavement under my feet
started to vibrate, and clouds of dust flew about in the air. I squinted
into the sun behind me and saw a large mass of something coming up
the road, and realized they must be motorcycles. And yeah, there were
a lot of them. Oh great, I’m thinking, kidnapped by a motorcycle
gang and never heard from again. Well, there’s worse ways to
go, I guess.
But
they all started to whiz by me, as well. They just kept going, there
must’ve been a hundred of them. They all had logos on their jackets,
looked something like “My Name is Not Tracy” but I couldn’t
be sure. I just stopped walking and let them all go by, blowing dust
and smoke in my face. Not a good look for me. Finally I thought the
herd was coming to an end. The last motorcycle blew by me, but then
started to slow down, and finally stopped.
 The occupant got off the
bike, took a cooler from the back of it, and started walking back
toward me. Not a tall man, about 5’7”, wearing the black
leather jacket, tight, faded blue jeans, red mesh tank, and black
boots, with Cuban heels, and silver chains ‘round the back. He
cut a good figure, broad shoulders, slim waist. He had a cocky walk,
sort of a bounce/strut. His hair was strikingly blond, and sticking
up in places, probably from the wind. It was short, and curled around
his ears. He had small silver hoops in each ear, and a silver ring
on his left index finger. His fingernails were blue and sparkly. He
had a black leather choker, tight around his neck, with a silver cross
dangling off it. He had dark sunglasses on, and took them off as he
approached me. His eyes were large and ice blue. They were rimmed
in black eyeliner. They looked at me, they looked through me. He pulled
a Coke out of the cooler and handed it to me without a word. I’m
thinking this is very surreal, am I in a soda commercial? I popped
the top, said thanks, and drank the whole thing in one pull, never
taking my eyes off him. His eyes were magnetic, they just pulled me
in. I waited for him to speak. “Need
a ride?” he asked. His voice had a hint of a British accent.
His eyes had a glint of mischief.
“Yeah, dead car”. I managed to squeak out. For some
reason my voice had disappeared.
He
held out his hand to me, said “c’mon” and I took it.
We walked back to the bike. He helped me on the back, and then got
on himself. He said into the wind “hold on” and I grabbed
‘round his waist and held on, probably tighter than I needed
to. He started the bike, and we were away. He smelled of leather,
and sweat, and cigarettes. I buried my face in the back of his neck,
not able to help myself.. His skin was soft and smooth. The desert
rushed past me, land on one side, mountain on the other, and I closed
my eyes against it. All I felt was the wind, and the vibration of
the bike, humming between my legs, and the heartbeat of my savior,
under my hands. It was steady, and strong. I didn’t ever want
to get to where we were going.
by Amy
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