Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Succulent blossoms

The flowers were beautiful. Every week, on the same day, they arrived, each bouquet more spectacular than the previous one. The notes were anonymous. 

With admiration, the first one read.

You left me breathless, read the second.

Breathless, and wanting more, the third read.

“Wanting more what?” Brian, his husband asked.

“I have no idea.” And he really didn’t. Who on earth could be sending him flowers with these crazy notes? It had to be some kind of joke. An expensive one, but a joke nevertheless. “I still think it’s you, Bry.”

“You know I don’t waste my money on that kind of thing.”

Oh, right. He knew that only too well. Once they wouldn’t have been enough, now they were a waste of money. 

After work next day, he made his once a week stop at the bar with the ‘backroom’ where he could get what he couldn’t at home.

The mouth that enclosed his cock had a familiar feel to it, the strong strokes from the vibrant tongue bringing him to the brink with a satisfying rush.

As he zipped up in the dark room, warm lips touched his earlobe and a husky voice whispered, “Like the flowers?”


  1. Wow. A lot going on in this. I can just picture the characters.

    At first I was going to say that the narrator isn't frustrated. But of course, the backroom is just a substitute for what he really craves.

  2. Wow:
    Didn't see that coming (rim shot). Very well done. If I had more thumbs I'd put them up.

  3. Right - no nookie equals frustration big time!

  4. The thrill of anonymous sex. Often an appealing scenario. Sex for sex sake. But this anonymous one seems he needs more. Could be a good intro to something dark.

  5. Great story! Kind of puts the "hard" in hard work cutting words from one's writing.

  6. Uh oh, I meant to post that comment under Lisabet's story. But it fits here, too, As Daddy X says, "Succulent Blossoms" (Terrific title!) has depths that could be explores in further writings.

  7. Suspenseful, and illustrated too! This is well crafted.

  8. I generally think of frustration as faster paced, but this is dead on as a form of it as well. In a really short story, you've given me an image of a slow moving relationship tragedy—the years it takes to build up this sort of frustration. Well done!


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