Round Twelve!

January 2, 2008 | Karin's Blog | 22 comments

I was sorry to see some of my faves go this week. But after reading the judge’s comments I have to agree with her methodology. I will post the entries and her very detailed and professional comments on Friday. I know I promised to post last week’s judge’s comments but I was just too tied up. My apologies. I do still have them if anyone would like to email me for theirs.

So here we go! One more week to the fabulous FIVE!!

1. There was only one coherent thought in Francesca’s mind as she huddled on the closed toilet seat, twisting her hour old wedding band. She needed to get the hell out of there, and fast.
“Easy said, harder done,” she muttered, the sound of her own voice bolstering her flagging courage.
Walking out of the reception with her head held high, lace veil floating behind her was worth a try, but she doubted she’d make it as far as the manicured lawns, let alone the wrought iron front gates. Marcus Airedale wasn’t going to willingly let his new bride just waltz off his estate, with enough evidence to finally convict him of murder.
She managed a lopsided smile as she patted the USB flash drive tucked into her French lace bra. It was all there and short of him strip-searching her in front of their wedding guests, he’d never find it. Now all she had to do was get it out of the country without anyone else dying.
As the outer door opened letting in a blast of music and laughter with a waft of all too familiar scent, Francesca froze, one slim silver shoe dropping off her foot. She held her breath, watching the door handle slowly turn until it came up hard against the lock.
“Fran, how much longer are you planning on hiding for?” Carla asked through the solid door, concern tightening her voice.
2. Shattered like a goblet on a tile floor, Sarah Wild’s dreams lay in a tattered heap of shredded white silk and gossamer tulle. Her dress went from bridal perfection to remnants for the ragbag with her quick frenzy of ripping and tearing. She stomped from the remains of her dress and kicked it into a pile against the large tri-fold mirror.
A slow wiggle of her fingers conjured a fireball hovering above the palm of her hand. Bouncing it like a volleyball, she spiked it into the combustible material. Quicker than the flick of a wand, all that remained of her wedding dress was ash floating in the air-conditioned breeze of the bridal salon.
“I’m glad you already paid for that.”
Sarah whipped around at her sister’s mocking ‘I knew this would happen’ tone; ready to fling a fireball her way as well. Her head pounded with each heartbeat at the familiar pitying look in Suzannah’s eyes. She tore her gaze away, pointing a shaking finger at the longhaired, lowlife standing beside her twin.
“I want that tape recording.”
3. “Ever heard the phrase ‘out of the frying pan into the fire’?” Dan muttered as we stared at the huge black mirrored doors.
“You know, that’s what I love about you, always the optimist,” I said, trying to convince myself there was no reason for my reflection to look so nervous. Beyond the doors subterranean bass pounded, vibrating through my chest like a warning. A warning I had to ignore.
“We can still leave,” Dan said, sounding calm but looking grim.
“This will get me off the hook with Lord Marco,” I reminded him. And, frankly, repaying a debt to the oldest vampire in Seattle was the only reason good enough to get me to walk through these particular doors. Into Maelstrom – darkest of the city’s dark clubs – and, worse still, into a meeting with the vamp who owned the place.
Dan frowned, rubbing the fading scar on his right wrist. “It will get you off one hook.”
Like I needed the reminder that this favor wasn’t all I owed Lord Marco – after all, Dan and I had been fighting about my other debt for six weeks now.
4. “You look like a man who knows how to be wicked.”
Theron tore his gaze from the crowded club he’d been scanning and looked toward the bleach-blond bombshell rubbing like a cat against his arm. A heart pounding bass echoed through the dark room, making her words hard to decipher, but there was no missing her intent.
One long, white-tipped nail trailed down his chest as she puckered her heavily made-up lips, leaned in close and took a deep whiff of his scent. “I like to be wicked,” she purred. “In fact, handsome, I bet I could show you a thing or two that just might amaze you.”
Theron doubted it. In the lengthy expanse of his life there was little he hadn’t seen or done for that matter.
He gently pushed her finger away and went back to scanning the club for the gynaika he’d been sent here to find. Every instinct he possessed said she was in this room somewhere. Royalty or not, he was going to haul her ass back to Arcadia and then read her the riot act.
5. Lissa, Princess of Horvald, waited for Death. She stood, still and silent in the dank chill of the Great Hall, determined to meet her fate without cowering in fear. But fear hovered, beating against her mind like moth wings, relentless and inescapable.
Her father, the self-proclaimed King of Horvald was gone, swallowed up in the vicious cycle of victory and defeat. Now there was no protection for her, no way of avoiding the steady creep of defeat as it seeped through the walls and curled under the doors, like a foul, poisoned miasma.
He wanted her, this Warlord called Death.
He’d killed her father and now demanded she appear before him to beg for mercy.
But she would not beg. Nor would she come at his call, like a whipped dog. If that meant her life was forfeit, then so be it.
A crash in the outer hall momentarily pierced her defiance, sending a cold finger of terror up her spine.
6. I stared at the nine men of my supposed dreams. Of my nightmares, more like, and theirs too judging by their stunned expressions as they stared back at me.
The show’s host said, “What’s wrong, Princess?”, the overdone innocence in his voice making it clear: this was no accident.
Horror and impotent fury spun through me, mingled with hatred of him for making me reveal the filthy trick the show had played on me.
“I’ve dated all of these guys,” I said, speaking with a calm I didn’t feel, not wanting to show him or the cameras how shaken I was. “And you knew that, Peter, since I listed them all on my application form, so–”
Peter said, “No, I suppose you really can’t be on a dating show with your exes” in a tone suggesting he’d never thought about it quite that way before and what a fascinating world view I had. Then he smiled and said, “Madeleine-Cora, gentlemen, we haven’t quite been honest with you. You’ve been given various explanations for why you’re here, but now it’s time for the truth: the ten of you will spend the next twenty-one nights on an island at a secret location. You will live together and fend for yourselves, building a shelter and scavenging for most of your food. There is a prize of a million dollars to the winner, and as the days go on we will explain what you need to do to win.
7. They spied the dog first, lean, long-legged and pale as a moonbeam in the darkness. It passed through the woodland like a wraith, gliding silently from one night shadow to the next as Hugo de Mercure watched from the battlements – and waited.
“Over there,” the youth beside him hissed, pointing towards a taller, darker shape trailing the hound, “to the right of the great oak.”
With a barely audible curse, Hugo turned from the parapet and swept down the narrow staircase, the soft leather on the soles of his boots barely making a whisper despite the haste of his flight. At a small wooden door set deep into the stone rampart he stopped and drew his sword, bracing his back against the stone. Moments later the soft click of a latch being lifted brought his body to attention and his sword arm up.
The moonwraith hound streaked from the blackness of the opening and Hugo dropped his sword – no more than the breadth of a horse hair in front of the taller figure swathed a dark cloak.
He heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a soft chuckle as the woman turned towards him, her face as pale and ethereal in the moonlight as the animal she followed.
“My Lord should take care lest he startle the magic from my soul,” the apothecary said in a voice too low for a girl but too musical for a man.
“Mistress Mathilda should take care to follow her Lord’s directions lest my sword – or my brother – remove more than her magic,” Hugo snapped.
“Nay my Lord, your sword arm may have seen more battles than is good for either of you, but your aim is as true as the day you were knighted.”
8. “I’m not giving her this.” I stared in horror at the inscription on the back of the huge diamond tennis bracelet, the curvy, flowing writing a mix of sentimentality and ownership.
For B, my Love Shack(le) baby
B, for Britney, who just so happens to be my cousin…and the current secret fling of my married boss, Mason.
“Give it to her, Jenna,” Mason said calmly as he shuffled through the pile of paperwork on his large mahogany desk. He puffed out his chest, and underneath his white dress shirt, I could see the outline of the red M on his black superhero uniform–God help you if Mason overheard you calling it a costume.
M stood for The Machine, which Mason Wallings, mild-mannered businessman and CEO of MetalCo, became many years ago after a freak accident on tour in a local auto factory. Local newspapers speculated Mason had more mechanical body parts than natural–and, of course, people throughout the years have wondered which parts were metal, and which weren’t.
If the rumors were true, there were plenty of women who could comment on The Machine’s parts, including those “private” ones he couldn’t seem to keep tucked away.
I glanced away from Mason’s chest and fought the urge to roll my eyes. Whenever he got irritated with me questioning his authority, he liked to remind me oh-so subtly of his superhero status, either by doing something with his superhuman strength, or flashing his costume–er, uniform.
9. “Ah, baby, that’s it…just a little…um, yeah…” he urged, his low ragged moan changing to a satisfied growl. Sweat droplets beaded around his receding, yet still dark hairline, and if he opened his eyes to look at her on top of him he would think she was enjoying herself as well–she’d slid her lips into a sexy smile to hide her revulsion.
Crumpled satin sheets clung in damp patches around her knees; her muscles quivered like a lioness ready to pounce, but she cautioned herself to wait, knowing the outcome of this planned encounter even if he didn’t. To temper her impatience she brought to mind the refrain from “Another One Bites the Dust,” letting it run through her head in a slow easy beat.
“You like it when I do this?” she asked, and increased her rhythm in time to music only she heard; faster, harder, squeezing him with her inner muscles, bringing him to the edge, denying him.
He grabbed her hips with his bony, surprisingly strong hands, trying to buck his way deeper inside, and her resistance changed the sex into a struggle for dominance. How fitting that this time she wielded the power, and he would lose.
His determined dance for domination ended moments later when he lost control; his body stiffened, then pumped wildly beneath her. The force of his orgasm subsided, but with the need to keep him distracted, she used her breasts to full advantage, massaging them against his age-sunken chest.
Still humming to herself, she slipped her hand beneath the pillow, her fingers searching, then closing over what she sought. With experience born of practice, she used her palm and drove the six-inch long antique cloisonné hatpin deep into his ear; and as his body jerked again, this time in a death spasm, she said softly, “Goodbye, Mr. Senator.”
10. Chocolate was made for moments like this. Standing for the first time on a Japanese street corner, I reached into my purse for the Hershey Kiss I had stashed in the zipper compartment for emergencies, but came up with a handful of brown ooze and an empty foil wrapper. Feeling the pulse of the city rushing all around me, I scanned the mirror-covered skyscrapers wearing their neon signs like fancy hats. So this was Tokyo.
As I waited for the light to change, the streets teamed with people scurrying everywhere like anti-bodies battling for a place in the blood stream. Looking at the chaos around me, I still couldn’t believe that a simple dare from my best friend had me standing more than five thousand miles from home. One minute I was innocently eating a tuna salad sandwich, the next I’m in mid-chew agreeing to a proposition that would change my life.
According to my best friend Linda, her dare was just what I needed; a good swift kick in the ass.
When the signal blinked green and I began weaving my way through the bustling crowds, it struck me; Linda was right.
I strode down Tokai Boulevard toward the family of complete strangers I’d be living with for the next year.
Knocking at a front door plastered with fifty Hello Kitty stickers I wondered, was I about to take up residence with the host family from hell?

Good luck, ladies!!

K*

Share:

[et_social_share]

22 Comments

  1. Rhonda Stapleton

    Oh my goodness, my heart stopped when I saw I made it to the top 10. EEEEEP! AND YAYYYYYY! THANK YOU!!! And best of luck to the rest who made it–the entries are FANTASTIC.

    Okay, here’s mine:

    “I’m not giving her this.” I stared in horror at the inscription on the back of the huge diamond tennis bracelet, the curvy, flowing writing a mix of sentimentality and ownership.

    For B, my Love Shack(le) baby

    B, for Britney, who just so happens to be my cousin…and the current secret fling of my married boss, Mason.

    “Give it to her, Jenna,” Mason said calmly as he shuffled through the pile of paperwork on his large mahogany desk. He puffed out his chest, and underneath his white dress shirt, I could see the outline of the red M on his black superhero uniform”“God help you if Mason overheard you calling it a costume.

    M stood for The Machine, which Mason Wallings, mild-mannered businessman and CEO of MetalCo, became many years ago after a freak accident on tour in a local auto factory. Local newspapers speculated Mason had more mechanical body parts than natural”“and, of course, people throughout the years have wondered which parts were metal, and which weren’t.

    If the rumors were true, there were plenty of women who could comment on The Machine’s parts, including those “private” ones he couldn’t seem to keep tucked away.

    I glanced away from Mason’s chest and fought the urge to roll my eyes. Whenever he got irritated with me questioning his authority, he liked to remind me oh-so subtly of his superhero status, either by doing something with his superhuman strength, or flashing his costume”“er, uniform.

    Unfortunately for him, Mason wasn’t the most compelling superhero anymore; his black hair, religiously dyed every six weeks to prevent those pesky grays from slipping through (I should know, because I bought the hair color for him–510B Onyx), was slicked back against his head, showing an increasingly receding hairline.

  2. Rhonda Stapleton

    PS–sorry my italics went wonky. One day, I’ll get it! ROFL

  3. Edie

    I’m out, but it was fun while it lasted. Thanks, Karin!

    And congrats to the terrific ten!

  4. Brenda

    Karin,
    Thanks for the great ride, it was so fun and enlightening. Congrats to the final 10 and good luck to all.
    Brenda

  5. Carolyn

    Well, I’m out but it’s great to see some fab entries have made it through. Good luck to my CP, Mel, and all the other entries still in there. Thanks Karin for running a great comp.

  6. Amanda

    I’m so excited!!!!! I can’t believe the so many different types of stories and styles, makes it so much fun to read and try to imagine which way each story will go.

  7. LaDonna

    Congrats to the ten entries who made the cut! This contest is amazing. And Edie, so sad to see you go. I love, love your entry! Best wishes to all of you reaching for the finish line. Can’t wait to see who makes the Fab Five! Best of luck everyone!

  8. HELEN

    There was only one coherent thought in Francesca’s mind as she huddled on the closed toilet seat, twisting her hour old wedding band. She needed to get the hell out of there, and fast.

    “Easy said, harder done,” she muttered, the sound of her own voice bolstering her flagging courage.

    Walking out of the reception with her head held high, lace veil floating behind her was worth a try, but she doubted she’d make it as far as the manicured lawns, let alone the wrought iron front gates. Marcus Airedale wasn’t going to willingly let his new bride just waltz off his estate, with enough evidence to finally convict him of murder.

    She managed a lopsided smile as she patted the USB flash drive tucked into her French lace bra. It was all there and short of him strip-searching her in front of their wedding guests, he’d never find it. Now all she had to do was get it out of the country without anyone else dying.

    As the outer door opened letting in a blast of music and laughter with a waft of all too familiar scent, Francesca froze, one slim silver shoe dropping off her foot. She held her breath, watching the door handle slowly turn until it came up hard against the lock.

    “Fran, how much longer are you planning on hiding for?” Carla asked through the solid door, concern tightening her voice.

    Francesca knew that tone of voice and sighed in capitulation, wriggling her toes back into her shoe as she replied, “Just as long as it takes me to figure a way out of this mess.”

  9. Amanda

    Shattered like a goblet on a tile floor, Sarah Wild’s dreams lay in a tattered heap of shredded white silk and gossamer tulle. Her dress went from bridal perfection to remnants for the ragbag with her quick frenzy of ripping and tearing. She stomped from the remains of her dress and kicked it into a pile against the large tri-fold mirror.

    A slow wiggle of her fingers conjured a fireball hovering above the palm of her hand. Bouncing it like a volleyball, she spiked it into the combustible material. Quicker than the flick of a wand, all that remained of her wedding dress was ash floating in the air-conditioned breeze of the bridal salon.

    “I’m glad you already paid for that.”

    Sarah whipped around at her sister’s mocking ‘I knew this would happen’ tone; ready to fling a fireball her way as well. Her head pounded with each heartbeat at the familiar pitying look in Suzannah’s eyes. She tore her gaze away, pointing a shaking finger at the longhaired, lowlife standing beside her twin.

    “I want that tape recording.”

    The greasy-haired Troll private investigator sputtered out a practiced protest at Sarah’s demand until Suzannah slapped numerous hundred dollar bills into his hand, at least five times the value of the recorder plus his usual fee for capturing betrayal on tape.

  10. Amanda

    Sorry for the repeat, I had a typo.

    Shattered like a goblet on a tile floor, Sarah Wild’s dreams lay in a tattered heap of shredded white silk and gossamer tulle. Her dress went from bridal perfection to remnants for the ragbag with her quick frenzy of ripping and tearing. She stomped from the remains of her dress and kicked it into a pile against the large tri-fold mirror.

    A slow wiggle of her fingers conjured a fireball hovering above the palm of her hand. Bouncing it like a volleyball, she spiked it into the combustible material. Quicker than the flick of a wand, all that remained of her wedding dress was ash floating in the air-conditioned breeze of the bridal salon.

    “I’m glad you already paid for that.”

    Sarah whipped around at her sister’s mocking ‘I knew this would happen’ tone; ready to fling a fireball her way as well. Her head pounded with each heartbeat at the familiar pitying look in Suzannah’s eyes. She tore her gaze away, pointing a shaking finger at the longhaired, lowlife standing beside her twin.

    “I want that tape recording.”

    The greasy-haired Troll private investigator sputtered out a practiced protest at Sarah’s demand until Suzannah slapped numerous hundred- dollar bills into his hand, at least five times the value of the recorder plus his usual fee for capturing betrayal on tape.

  11. Heather W

    I stared at the nine men of my supposed dreams. Of my nightmares, more like, and theirs too judging by their stunned expressions as they stared back at me.

    The show’s host said, “What’s wrong, Princess?”, the overdone innocence in his voice making it clear: this was no accident.

    Horror and impotent fury spun through me, mingled with hatred of him for making me reveal the filthy trick the show had played on me.

    “I’ve dated all of these guys,” I said, speaking with a calm I didn’t feel, not wanting to show him or the cameras how shaken I was. “And you knew that, Peter, since I listed them all on my application form, so”“”

    Peter said, “No, I suppose you really can’t be on a dating show with your exes” in a tone suggesting he’d never thought about it quite that way before and what a fascinating world view I had. Then he smiled and said, “Madeleine-Cora, gentlemen, we haven’t quite been honest with you. You’ve been given various explanations for why you’re here, but now it’s time for the truth: the ten of you will spend the next twenty-one nights on an island at a secret location. You will live together and fend for yourselves, building a shelter and scavenging for most of your food. There is a prize of a million dollars to the winner, and as the days go on we will explain what you need to do to win. Princess, gentlemen, the game is on.”

  12. Mel

    Last round! Wow….good luck everyone and thanks Karen for running such a great comp. Here’s mine.

    “Ever heard the phrase ‘out of the frying pan into the fire’?” Dan muttered as we stared at the huge black mirrored doors.

    “You know, that’s what I love about you, always the optimist,” I said, trying to convince myself there was no reason for my reflection to look so nervous. Beyond the doors subterranean bass pounded, vibrating through my chest like a warning. A warning I had to ignore.

    “We can still leave,” Dan said, sounding calm but looking grim.

    “This will get me off the hook with Lord Marco,” I reminded him. And, frankly, repaying a debt to the oldest vampire in Seattle was the only reason good enough to get me to walk through these particular doors. Into Maelstrom ““ darkest of the city’s dark clubs ““ and, worse still, into a meeting with the vamp who owned the place.

    Dan frowned, rubbing the fading scar on his right wrist. “It will get you off one hook.”

    Like I needed the reminder that this favor wasn’t all I owed Lord Marco ““ after all, Dan and I had been fighting about my other debt for six weeks now. And the fact I owed blood to an Old One wasn’t exactly easy to forget.

  13. Elisabeth

    “You look like a man who knows how to be wicked.”

    Theron tore his gaze from the crowded club he’d been scanning and looked toward the bleach-blond bombshell rubbing like a cat against his arm. A heart pounding bass echoed through the dark room, making her words hard to decipher, but there was no missing her intent.

    One long, white-tipped nail trailed down his chest as she puckered her heavily made-up lips, leaned in close and took a deep whiff of his scent. “I like to be wicked,” she purred. “In fact, handsome, I bet I could show you a thing or two that just might amaze you.”

    Theron doubted it. In the lengthy expanse of his life there was little he hadn’t seen or done for that matter.

    He gently pushed her finger away and went back to scanning the club for the gynaika he’d been sent here to find. Every instinct he possessed said she was in this room somewhere. Royalty or not, he was going to haul her ass back to Arcadia and then read her the riot act.

    “Thanks,” he mumbled, “but I’m not interested.”

  14. calliope

    Hi Karin,

    My computer died on New Year’s Eve so I’m sending this from a wonderful, lifesaving friend’s computer. No idea who I’ll turn up as. I’ll also have to cut and paste from the website, so I’m hoping the formatting works. Fingers crossed.

    Calliope

  15. calliope

    They spied the dog first, lean, long-legged and pale as a moonbeam in the darkness. It passed through the woodland like a wraith, gliding silently from one night shadow to the next as Hugo de Mercure watched from the battlements ““ and waited.
    “Over there,” the youth beside him hissed, pointing towards a taller, darker shape trailing the hound, “to the right of the great oak.”
    With a barely audible curse, Hugo turned from the parapet and swept down the narrow staircase, the soft leather on the soles of his boots barely making a whisper despite the haste of his flight. At a small wooden door set deep into the stone rampart he stopped and drew his sword, bracing his back against the stone. Moments later the soft click of a latch being lifted brought his body to attention and his sword arm up.
    The moonwraith hound streaked from the blackness of the opening and Hugo dropped his sword – no more than the breadth of a horse hair in front of the taller figure swathed a dark cloak.
    He heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a soft chuckle as the woman turned towards him, her face as pale and ethereal in the moonlight as the animal she followed.
    “My Lord should take care lest he startle the magic from my soul,” the apothecary said in a voice too low for a girl but too musical for a man.
    “Mistress Mathilda should take care to follow her Lord’s directions lest my sword – or my brother – remove more than her magic,” Hugo snapped.
    “Nay my Lord, your sword arm may have seen more battles than is good for either of you, but your aim is as true as the day you were knighted.”

  16. calliope

    Sorry, ignore the last post, it went before I’d added the last line. Why, oh why, is my computer guru son who fixes these wretched things in Japan on holidays just when I need him? I think the quotes are different and the tab indent for the last line of dialogue ‘seems’ to be missing. I hope it won’t matter. Fingers crossed. Thanks for persisting, Karin.

    They spied the dog first, lean, long-legged and pale as a moonbeam in the darkness. It passed through the woodland like a wraith, gliding silently from one night shadow to the next as Hugo de Mercure watched from the battlements ““ and waited.
    “Over there,” the youth beside him hissed, pointing towards a taller, darker shape trailing the hound, “to the right of the great oak.”
    With a barely audible curse, Hugo turned from the parapet and swept down the narrow staircase, the soft leather on the soles of his boots barely making a whisper despite the haste of his flight. At a small wooden door set deep into the stone rampart he stopped and drew his sword, bracing his back against the stone. Moments later the soft click of a latch being lifted brought his body to attention and his sword arm up.
    The moonwraith hound streaked from the blackness of the opening and Hugo dropped his sword – no more than the breadth of a horse hair in front of the taller figure swathed a dark cloak.
    He heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a soft chuckle as the woman turned towards him, her face as pale and ethereal in the moonlight as the animal she followed.
    “My Lord should take care lest he startle the magic from my soul,” the apothecary said in a voice too low for a girl but too musical for a man.
    “Mistress Mathilda should take care to follow her Lord’s directions lest my sword – or my brother – remove more than her magic,” Hugo snapped.
    “Nay my Lord, your sword arm may have seen more battles than is good for either of you, but your aim is as true as the day you were knighted.”
    “You assert I am aging?” he asked more sharply than he intended as he sheathed his sword.

  17. Keziah Hill

    Lissa, Princess of Horvald, waited for Death. She stood, still and silent in the dank chill of the Great Hall, determined to meet her fate without cowering in fear. But fear hovered, beating against her mind like moth wings, relentless and inescapable.

    Her father, the self-proclaimed King of Horvald was gone, swallowed up in the vicious cycle of victory and defeat. Now there was no protection for her, no way of avoiding the steady creep of defeat as it seeped through the walls and curled under the doors, like a foul, poisoned miasma.

    He wanted her, this Warlord called Death.

    He’d killed her father and now demanded she appear before him to beg for mercy.

    But she would not beg. Nor would she come at his call, like a whipped dog. If that meant her life was forfeit, then so be it.

    A crash in the outer hall momentarily pierced her defiance, sending a cold finger of terror up her spine. She had no illusions about how this Warlord would use then kill her, but couldn’t stop a dark, skittering panic flood her body when she realized his touch, full of hatred and violence, would be the last touch from a man she would ever feel.

  18. Diane Della Maggiora

    “Ah, baby, that’s it…just a little…um, yeah…” he urged, his low ragged moan changing to a satisfied growl. Sweat droplets beaded around his receding, yet still dark hairline, and if he opened his eyes to look at her on top of him he would think she was enjoying herself as well–she’d slid her lips into a sexy smile to hide her revulsion.

    Crumpled satin sheets clung in damp patches around her knees; her muscles quivered like a lioness ready to pounce, but she cautioned herself to wait, knowing the outcome of this planned encounter even if he didn’t. To temper her impatience she brought to mind the refrain from “Another One Bites the Dust,” letting it run through her head in a slow easy beat.

    “You like it when I do this?” she asked, and increased her rhythm in time to music only she heard; faster, harder, squeezing him with her inner muscles, bringing him to the edge, denying him.

    He grabbed her hips with his bony, surprisingly strong hands, trying to buck his way deeper inside, and her resistance changed the sex into a struggle for dominance. How fitting that this time she wielded the power, and he would lose.

    His determined dance for domination ended moments later when he lost control; his body stiffened, then pumped wildly beneath her. The force of his orgasm subsided, but with the need to keep him distracted, she used her breasts to full advantage, massaging them against his age-sunken chest.

    Still humming to herself, she slipped her hand beneath the pillow, her fingers searching, then closing over what she sought. With experience born of practice, she used her palm and drove the six-inch long antique cloisonné hatpin deep into his ear; and as his body jerked again, this time in a death spasm, she said softly, “Goodbye, Mr. Senator.”

    And another one bites the dust.

  19. Donna

    Karin,

    First of all a big Congratulations to those that made it to the final 10. Great job everyone.

    I would love to see my comments from the judge that culled the entries from the previous round.

    I really enjoyed this contest and learned so much from it.

    Thank you

    Donna

  20. Karen Van

    Chocolate was made for moments like this. Standing for the first time on a Japanese street corner, I reached into my purse for the Hershey Kiss I had stashed in the zipper compartment for emergencies, but came up with a handful of brown ooze and an empty foil wrapper. Feeling the pulse of the city rushing all around me, I scanned the mirror-covered skyscrapers wearing their neon signs like fancy hats. So this was Tokyo.

    As I waited for the light to change, the streets teamed with people scurrying everywhere like anti-bodies battling for a place in the blood stream. Looking at the chaos around me, I still couldn’t believe that a simple dare from my best friend had me standing more than five thousand miles from home. One minute I was innocently eating a tuna salad sandwich, the next I’m in mid-chew agreeing to a proposition that would change my life.
    According to my best friend Linda, her dare was just what I needed; a good swift kick in the ass.

    When the signal blinked green and I began weaving my way through the bustling crowds, it struck me; Linda was right.
    I strode down Tokai Boulevard toward the family of complete strangers I’d be living with for the next year. Knocking at a front door plastered with fifty Hello Kitty stickers I wondered, was I about to take up residence with the host family from hell?

    Before I could turn and run, the door opened and a young man wearing a white vinyl sequined jumpsuit with J-Elvis embroidered across the chest smiled, held out his hand and said, “You California girl with no tan?”

  21. Karen Van

    Karin,
    Just wanted to thank you for running such a great contest. It’s been a such terrific learning experience but a bit nerve wracking. : ) I feel so lucky to have made it to the top ten with such accomplished writers and you’ve had such wonderful judges.

    Karen

  22. Karin

    Karen, it is nerve wracking. I want everyone to win! It’s really tough to see entries have to go every week.

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Archives

  • 2013 (2)
  • 2012 (7)
  • 2011 (10)
  • 2010 (41)
  • 2009 (156)
  • 2008 (165)
  • 2007 (160)
  • 2006 (149)
  • 2005 (26)