Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 50

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Week 50!

This is a flash fiction challenge.  The prompt is a song.  You are not required to write about or even mention the song.  It’s there only to get the ideas moving around in your brain pan.  If you want to write about the song (or the video- it’s all good here) go for it but don’t feel like you have to.

 The rules;

 500 words, but it’s a slushy 500, meaning you can go up to 700 or as low as 300.

 Post your entry right in the comments section of this post.


 The challenge starts whenever I post this on Tuesday and ends at MIDNIGHT Pacific Time on Friday.  You read that right.  Pacific Time.

 Now, you’ll probably notice the absence of a photograph of the artist in this week’s post. This is not an oversight. It’s a conscious decision made as a result of horror stories I’ve heard from other bloggers, stories about overzealous copyright enforcement efforts.

Let me state right here and now that I fully support the rights of artists to receive credit and compensation for their work, but when it’s being used in a way that the user derives NO tangible gain from, monetary or otherwise, I just don’t see the harm in it. Still, I can’t afford to be sued so unless I happen to have photos of artists that I’ve personally taken there won’t be any more pictures posted here.


This week’s song prompt is a great tune by The The… It’s entitled, “Dogs of Lust”.

Here’s the link; http://youtu.be/7T-c1x0ILWI

This week’s Judge is new to the Blues-Buster, so let’s give a warm welcome to first-time Judge Leslie Fulton!

The challenge opens the moment you read this post and runs through midnight PACIFIC TIME on Friday February 28…

Now… go write!!!



Posted on February 25, 2014, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 10 Comments.

  1. Jeff I feel the same way about the whole photo issue. It’s why I don’t post many, if any, photos on my blog that are not actually MY photos. I am also still very unsure of what is happening over on Pinterest with this issue as I have also heard horror stories about people being sued for Pinning or RePinning over there.


  2. Lust

    It had been eight weeks since Jay had his heart crushed. He thought he was over the worst but as the days grew longer and the mercury rose, Jay was reminded of sultry days on the beach. When he closed his eyes, he could see her glowing, bronzed skin shimmering in the sun, smelling of coconut and looking good enough to eat.
    Even when Jay was awake, he saw Emma everywhere, in the coffee she drank to the waft of her perfume as he walked down the street.
    The one place he didn’t expect to see her was at the back street bar as he sank his third bottle of beer, trying to celebrate his birthday with friends.
    His pulse raced.
    His mouth became instantly dry.
    The ice cold bottle of beer warmed quickly in his sweaty hand.
    “Is that Emma?” Gary asked.
    Jay couldn’t speak, unable to lift his gaze from Emma as she sauntered onto the stage. Her long blonde hair tucked up into a dark, bobbed wig; it suited her, bringing out the dark pools of her eyes. Her lips were plump, glossy and waiting to be kissed. He remembered vividly kissing those lips, as they smiled back at the audience. He could see her tasteful rose tattoo just at the base of her back. He remembered how he caressed that tattoo with his lips as she moaned under him. Now she was showing off that tattoo to complete strangers as she wrapped her legs around the pole, throwing her head back.
    She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. Jay groaned, remembering being on the end of that tongue.
    Even when her eyes fell on Jay, she kept smiling, not thrown for a second. In fact Jay was sure she tried even harder as she faced the crowd and slid down the pole, thrusting her legs wide open, before crawling towards the audience, and Jay, on all fours.
    Jay felt a tightening in his jeans. He knew she was agile and supple but he’d never seen her do the splits. She was oozing sex, the sexiest thing he had ever seen . . . and tonight he wanted her.
    Always wanted her.
    She knew it.
    Jay was hot. The sweat dripped down his back. His jeans skin tight, stuck to his thighs. He ignored his friends as they tried to talk with him, trying to ignore Emma. They walked away, feeling uncomfortable watching their mate’s ex girlfriend writhe in front of them wearing next to nothing. But Jay sat, intoxicated, knowing how she used to respond to his touch, as he gently stroked her soft contours.
    He groaned, running a hand through his hair, not knowing what to do with himself.
    The music stopped and the crowd cheered. She bowed, which raised more cheers due to her skimpy bra, before running back stage. Moments later, her blonde hair flowing down her back, Emma appeared, fully clothed. She walked towards Jay. He wanted to reach out to her, glide his fingers down her tanned arm, wanted her completely.
    He couldn’t stand.
    He tried adjusting himself. She smiled. It was the acknowledgement Jay needed. Just a drink . . . a lingering kiss. . .
    She carried on walking to the guy behind the bar where he kissed those lips.
    Jay left his beer, needing fresh air. The night was still. Enveloped in lust, Jay walked home alone wondering how he would ever forget Emma.



  3. Dogs and Lust
    by A J Walker

    The urban noise outside is assaulting my ears, stopping me think properly, I just can’t turn off. Thick curtains are keeping the room air raid black I’m sure, but my eyes are hurting from some brightness, which I can still see your face in – and your body.

    I’m like an iron filing to you and you’re electromagnetic power. A super magnet that makes me helpless when I’m near, the feelings just rise up in me unbidden, however I try to fight it. Sometimes I don’t off course – we’re so much meant to be together, that it must be obvious to everyone.

    This morning when we said “hello” I rose inwardly, and I fear outwardly too. That’s why I had to run. Someone must have seen it, maybe even you.

    And now, as I’m lying here this evening alone in this painful darkness, I can’t get you out of my useless head. I know I must find someone else, before I go truly insane, even someone that can’t live up to you. But it’s so hard when all I can think of is you. It’s so hard.

    I know you’re at home tonight, watching a film, having dinner, maybe a glass of wine. With your girl. The whole family caboodle – yes, with your husband too. I know I could love you so much more than he does – I know, because I already do.

    There are hard-men dogs somewhere outside barking their territorial warnings again. I’m definitely staying in tonight.

    Every path in this head-based maze of mine leads to you. I always find you but when I get there you’re inevitably just out of reach. I’m never going to get you in reality or even in my head. What cruelty, when even my own dreams are playing these tricks?

    In this wicked darkness your face and your body is still here with me, looking like it always does – I can feel the electromagnetism flicking me on. The heating’s yet to burst up, but I am sweating cobs with the thoughts of you.

    Two dogs outside barked their testosterone reminders of my solitary confinement.

    I reached for the Laphroaig and last night’s sticky glass. I needed to get some serious drink in to wash away this lust. I foresaw waves of malty oblivion. I’ll drink to you and me of course, but please leave me after this first bottle – I want no dreams to remember tonight.

    406 words


  4. Fausto’s Conjuring

    A muffled echo of a metallic whining was crying somewhere in the distance. Like a pied piper’s song, the soft sound was pulling young Heiko away from her REM cycle and into the hallway adjacent to her bedroom. Her pale brown eyes peered into her brother, Fausto’s, room; his sky nightlight bathed his abandoned bed with swirling constellations. Their parents had instill a love of astronomy and how their ancestors had used the stars to navigate to new lands.

    Like the ancients, Heiko hoped to be the first to travel to new planets when she grew up; she’d be a part of the new generations of inter-galactic travelers. Her thoughts were paused by the deep whining again. She’d heard sounds like this before but couldn’t place it or explain the familiar melancholy it evoked from her.

    Her hand gently grazed the curved, pale, plaster wall in the hall that led her to the lit entertainment room. The sound grew louder as she approached.

    Heiko’s pupils turned to pins as she gingerly stepped into the room; her chestnut skin appeared more radiant and silky drenched in the moon light that poured in from the skylight at the center of the ceiling.

    Fausto sat on the floor of the circular room with its warm natural tones on a red-patterned textile rug that their parents had acquired in Nayarit before she and her brother had been born.

    Her little brother’s cinnamon-brown face was lit up with a smile as his dark eyes fixed upon a faded figure who cast his ghostly glow from the center of the room. He was a projection of a seated man with closed eyes, deep wrinkles, and his withered looking hands moving what appeared to be a harmonica against his lips. That was the sound that had lulled her out of her dreams, down the hall and into this room.

    Fausto hardly noticed as she took a seat next to him on the rug. Transfixed, they both sat staring at the elderly figure with dark Indigenous features as he caused the metal to cry in his hands. Heiko was amazed at the sound and at the novelty of the phantom before her.

    Beneath the hollow-looking man was a round platform, and at its base, Heiko noticed a prism-colored cube inserted into a square slot.

    Her mother had made mention that this was no longer just an entertainment room, but would become a space of sacred learning where their ancestors would visit and impart knowledge upon them. At the time, she didn’t understand what her mother was talking about, but now she knew.

    As the realization of what was happening dawned upon her, the figure’s song came to a close. Fausto and Heiko gently applauded and smiled.

    The figure smiled and bowed his head in gratitude and slowly opened his heavy eyelids.

    “That was wonderful!” Heiko cheered with glee, ” But who are you? You seem so familiar.”

    The hologram of the old man grinned as he bent down toward her and tusseled her tightly braided hair, “Mi’ja, I am your great-great grandfather.”



  5. [WARNING – This content is for mature readers only! If you are easily disturbed by violence, especially sexual violence, read no further.]

    It was Friday night, and Tommy sat in his room, exploring the Internet with his WEB browser. Friday night, and all his friends were out. Billy with Jill. Sam with Robin. Frank with Sharon. Every one of the guys with a girl.

    Tommy sat in his room. Looking at the only girls he could look at. The ones on the ‘Net. “Let the bitches talk to the other guys.” He checked his firewall, and security software before clicking on the link, and declaring he was old enough.

    “Are you over eighteen?” He laughed. “Twenty-fucking-two. Yeah. I’m over eighteen.” That let him through to the pictures and the videos.

    “I asked her! Goddamnit, I asked!” He had. He’d asked Diane, the hot red-head at work, if she’d like to go to dinner.

    “With you?” She’d laughed. Laughed, damn-it! “I’d have to be out of my mind!” She’d walked off, laughing.

    “Yeah. Bitch.” Tommy watched the screen, as a guy tied a girl up. Tied her hands to posts, her knees to her wrists. Then he took all her clothes off. “Yeah. I know what I’d like to do to you.” He imagined it was Diane the guy was tieing up. He imagined he was the guy. “I know exactly what I’d do!”

    He watched the video, as the man had his way with the girl. As he did anything he wanted. Everything he wanted. She couldn’t stop him. She pleaded. She begged. But he did what he wanted.

    He watched every detailed picture. Then, he connected to the mesh network. He had to talk about things. With his guys. His buds. They talked about being turned down. About no one dating them. No one even going to dinner. About what they wanted. What they’d like to do. “Girls are for screwing. That’s what we’d do.”

    Their conversation quickly grew to five guys, then twenty-five. And it kept growing. Guys from all over, not just guys in town. “All of us. Sitting at home. ‘Cause we can’t get any.” He typed the words. And saw the answers. One “Yes!” after another.

    Except for a couple of guys. “Maybe we shouldn’t ask any more.”

    Tommy couldn’t help it, “What do you mean?”

    “If we can’t get anywhere by asking, maybe we shouldn’t ask?”

    It was Friday night. Tommy was at home. Alone. His high school girlfriend had left. “I’ll be free of you!” That’s what she’d said. Hell, she’d never even let him kiss her. He couldn’t hold her, kiss her, or anything. And she left for college. And he’d been dateless since.

    “Yeah. Maybe we should stop asking.”

    “And start taking.”

    They all said that. They all agreed. “It’s Friday. And the night is young!”

    Tommy called his friends Ted and Phil. They were part of the mesh network. They knew what was going on. “Let’s stop asking.”

    They got together, went out. Patrolled a few bars, a few clubs. Found a girl. Walking by herself. At night. Alone. They didn’t ask.

    Tommy slept well that night. He’d done everything he wanted. So had Ted and Phil. And that little bitch hadn’t been able to stop him. He and the boys had fun. So much fun, they agreed to do it again. Next Friday night.

    So did all the guys on the network. “I needed that. It felt good.”

    “I got what I wanted. I took what I wanted.”

    Tommy knew what he’d do. What they’d all do. If no one would give them what they wanted. They’d take it. They’d do what they wanted. Girls were meant to be fucked. And fuck them they would. No more games. No more playing around.

    Next Friday, Tommy, Ted, and Phil would do what they wanted to Diane. The red-head. The one too good for him. She’d learn.

    And Tommy knew, he’d sleep damn good every that Friday night. Damn good indeed.

    669 Words


  6. Feminine Power

    She danced; her hands sliding down her long, luscious thighs as she wiggled her arse, which was tightly covered in a short black skirt. They were all looking at her, every single male in the place. She could have any one of them at the snap of her fingers. Their feet tapped with the beat, their bodies swayed as they watched her get into the grove. And their eyes followed her hand as slid it up her body to her face, the tip of the middle finger dipping into the edge of her mouth for a second before she swept it up into her hair. Her eyes peeped out from under her heavily laden lashes to look at them, all the animals in the house with the tongues hanging out for her.

    She knew what she was doing. It was a fine balance between a tease and a genuine dance. No one could fault her – no one could say ‘she was asking for it’, she was enjoying the music and they knew it. Just because she was female didn’t mean she didn’t have the right to do that. But it was a test too. It wasn’t the first time things had gone awry here.

    The bouncers watched too, but not her; they watched the dogs panting and getting ready to hump – whether her or any other girl in the house. She was setting them all off – even the girls, who started to join her.

    They drifted in through the crowded men at the edges, feeling no shame as they started to move to the beat along with her, showing what they had to offer. They were looking at each, not the men. And with each beat they moved closer, but not touching. They held eye contact, turning every now and then to face another girl; enjoying the freedom of being able to show of their sexiness, their raw feminine energy, without fear of reprisal, without fear of having it misunderstood and taken from them by force. The throng kept increasing until all the women in the club were on the dance floor creating a writhing mass.

    And their intensity towards each other broke the spell; their feminine collective being too much for the raw animal lust. The lusting stopped – some of the men averted their eyes, whether due to sensory overload or something unsettled them about it, no-one was sure. The women had made it clear they didn’t want them – or more than that they didn’t need them. They were enough on their own. A few men even stepped away to find the bar.

    And like an invisible string being cut, the tension was gone. The men returned to a human state, and conversation resumed.

    And the bouncers went back to enjoying the show.

    467 Words


  7. Sweet Sadness

    Consensual. It was consensual. Yet I still feel so violated sitting here all alone in my little apartment. Nothing seems real—like I am looking at my neglected living room through a hazy glass.

    My cheap clock ticks loudly, mocking me; reminding me that time is in fact still passing. My phone rings, but I don’t reach for it. I just sit there, hollow.

    He was so perfect in the moment. His words were soothing to a damaged ego. I had never felt pretty before, let alone sexy. I was always the “ugly girl” with a face full of blemishes and carrying a few extra pounds.

    You’ll buy anything when you’re lonely; and he sold me lust dressed in a lovely lie. The price for that lie was my virtue—something I had never really understood until I had lost it.
    His face pops in my head and I have to bite my lower lip to hold back my pain. My feelings are a dangerous cocktail of anger, shame, bitterness, and emptiness. My weak constitution can only handle so much more before it completely fails me. I have to do something—anything to feel something different.

    I get up and open my curtains. Light pours into my apartment and suddenly I am faced with a two-week old mess. Cleaning is an excellent distraction. I discard everything inside of me and focus on getting my apartment back together.

    At first, my pain is successfully diverted, but eventually I run into the soiled evidence of my indiscretion and instantly I am thrown back into the events of that fateful night.

    I close my eyes and shed a few tears as I remember every explicit detail. In that moment, with the heat rising, the sweat glistening, and the pain of flesh breaking, I forgot about being the “ugly girl”. I forgot about everything. For the first time in my life, I felt like a normal woman.

    Everything happened so fast that I did not have time to process the weight of my actions. But this was not the case with Darin as evident by the look of dissatisfaction and guilt on his face. I ignored it at first, but it was that expression that continues to haunt me.

    He left my apartment with barely a word and I have not heard from him since. I spent the first few days just trying to process what happened. Darin was not a stranger to me, so it was difficult to accept that he would just disappear from my life without even an explanation. I tried to contact him, but received no response. He was just gone—like a thief in the night.
    When his intentions became clear, I began to hate—hate him because he could do this to someone he knew on an intimate level and myself for being so naïve that I let my loneliness dictate my reason. I wanted to believe that everything was his fault—that he had tricked me into giving him something precious. But my guilt became my voice of reason and slowly I began to feel the weight of my actions. He was dog for what he did, but it was still consensual.

    I take a deep breath and force myself to continue cleaning. Order is being restored in my home, which makes me feel slightly more rational. Though the pain is still there, I am able to put it where I can see it. Slowly, I am gaining control over it.

    With the cleaning conquered, I take a long, hot shower. My shame washes away with the grime and I feel refreshed. I step out of the shower and take a deep breath. Everything looks new—as though it had never been dirty at all.

    And now I remember something I have forgotten—that there is forgiveness which is strong enough to make sins as though they never were. It all begins right now, with me learning to forgive myself.

    A soft smile spreads across my face as I realize that I have changed—that I am stronger and less judgmental. In this way, my sadness has become sweet and nothing will be the same.

    700 words


  8. Guarded

    She padded across the room, her claws clicking on the teakwood floor; click-clack, click-clack as she paced around the bedroom. He should be home by now. Her keen ears perked at the sound of a car starting down the drive. The familiar purr of his engine set her mind at ease. He was late but at least he was back before dawn. A door slammed, and then another. He wasn’t alone. Female laughter trickled in on the warm summer breeze as he opened the front door. His scent drifted along the humid air, mingling with the smell of sweat and desire. She bristled and her senses heightened; he’d brought home a companion.

    She moved into a dark corner of the bedroom, her yellow eyes watching each move as the couple entered. Clothes were abandoned to the floor. Hands caressed smooth skin. Bodies blended. She stayed hidden in the corner, waiting. Finally, she heard a muffled groan followed by an enticing rip of skin. The aroma hit, a sweet metallic tang filled with iron, salt, and water; her stomach growled involuntarily. She eased out of the darkness and moved silently to the end of the bed.

    “Hello, Jasmine.” Acknowledgment was all she needed. She jumped nimbly onto the bed and stepped over the limp body cooling next to her master. She nuzzled his arm, hoping for additional attention.

    “Watchful as ever, I see.” He rubbed her ears lovingly. She licked the blood from his chin.

    “Is it almost dawn already?” he asked. Jasmine whimpered.

    “You shouldn’t worry so,” he chuckled. “Vampires can feel the sun in their bones just as easily as their hell hounds do.” She licked his chin again then circled three times before laying next to him.

    “I suppose we will clean up this evening,” he said as he gave her one last scratch. She blew air out her muzzle in agreement.

    Her eyes focused on the bedroom door and she settled in to guard her love while humans roamed in the sunshine outside.

    338 words


  9. Sea Breeze

    Tension etches the muscles of your shoulder, tracing lines for summer sweat to crawl down like a lover’s touch. The tight tank-top against your dark skin hints at muscles and curves, and shows just a glimpse of a tattoo peeking back out at me. As you wipe the back of your neck with a cool rag, lines of goosebumps march tantalizingly to parts of your body that I cannot see. After finishing your drink, you mesmerize me as you trace an ice cube along your lips, savoring each tingle of frozen sensation mixed with the delicate numbing of the rum. My own drink is helpless to combat the heat rising in this beach-side bar.

    You know the effect you are having on me, too. I came to this seaside town trying to maintain a low profile, and avoid any entanglements. I tried to hide and heal, but then I met you. Drawn to your vibrancy and adventurous electricity, I very quickly found myself entangled in your mysteries, and not long thereafter, your long dark curls and dusky limbs. Mutual lustfulness overwhelmed all trace of loneliness.

    You get up and smoothly step to the door of the bar, looking back over your shoulder. Breathy lips smile for just a moment before your fiery eyes vanish into the tropical night. The door stays open, invitingly.

    Settling both bills, I follow you out under the stars. On a pier, lit by the moonlight, I see you gazing out to the ocean. With no pretense, no pleading, my arms wrap around your waist and press you tightly to me. Our bodies fit together with intensity and familiarity. My cheek settles against your neck, comfortable and warm, and I feel you sigh all the way through my body. Though the cool night breeze is blowing, the heat continues rising.

    You turn to face me, lips finding mine. My fingers trace the lines of your body, admired for so long. My hands explore skin kept hidden beneath the tiki lights of the bar. Our needful grasp finds the layers of clothing, gripping them to pull each other near. Your hands across my back send lightning to the lowest areas of my body, invigorating feelings best forgotten in the light of day. The moon on your face glows as if the passion stirring is hot enough to light up the night.

    Lost in each other, we blindly find our way away from the edge of the pier. Wayward lounge cushions cradle us as we succumb to the need to be even closer together. As we hastily fumble with unclasping the last zippers and hooks, the night air becomes the only thing between us. Laying together in the dark, our only blanket is made of stars. The rhythm of our touch intensifies and matches the thrumming vibration of a bass guitar playing somewhere down the beach. Primal tendrils of music stir our souls until fingertips alone cannot contain the waves of passion.

    The intensity builds, until the inferno crests like a tidal wave, leaving in the wake once again the sweetest sadness that I’ve ever had.

    518 words


  10. Catherine Connolly


    They are all working on their salvation here. Working it hard, out there on the dance floor; a mish mash of heights and shapes, lit intermittently from above, cloaked in heat. Product of proximity on the floor, too many bodies in too small a space. The beat draws him in, loud and thumping; a double drum echo to follow a multitude of raised heartbeats. Friday night salvation starts here. Rhythm is the reason. The only. He feels it. All. The possibility and potential of where the night will take him. Who it will lead to, as it leads simultaneously to his salvation. The floor is beer sticky beneath his feet, soles tacky and protesting at their need to move, though the notes carry him too, destination bound. Such is the pull to which he, too, must answer.

    Soon enough, he spots her. No name, No need. She is a poem in imperfection, sway and sachay in the hips, hair mussed and tangled, slight glisten across her brow, smudge in the eyeliner; heat induced. Smile on her lips, a secret she doesn’t care to share. Not with him, hidden by the pillar, outsider on the outskirts. Not so much with anyone. No need; not here. The answer is in the vibe; the pulse as the boards reverberate with strident sound. The moment is what matters and she is carried with it; takes it with her, onwards into the night, beat beneath her skin.

    Tonight is the night all too often lacking, where heels and toe tapping are loud enough to drown out the insistence of his need for sole salvation, carried deep within, hidden away. Lovers laugh, life lives itself on and on, as an age old tune talks of sweet surrender; irony, too, rampant raging, something he is careful to note. It is enough, for now. He is able to take his leave without playing the crowd. To resist the urge to draw them in. Her, particularly. Especially. He doesn’t want to know her name, for her to learn his; momentary proximity eclipsed by what will follow. Incubus. The last word to form on a number of lips. A number he doesn’t care to remember. Has found reason to forget. There is no pride in remembering. The majority make it as far as ink – a misnomer – before the rest is swallowed by silence.

    Such reluctance is unusual, his reticence causing him to question it. It is what he is; what he does. Night after night, after night. Cycle circles round and round, mirrored by the moves on the dance floor. It is what it is.

    Still, she draws him in. Again, nights later. He knows it is a mistake to return; fails to fight it fully. Lacking, perhaps, the will. Whatever. He is used of old to playing the voyeur. Now, it fails to hit home as it should in the face of pillar box red lips, mascara and kohl. That same secret smile. Not for him. Not for anyone other than herself, though tonight she dances amidst more than one admirer, circle cycling round and round.

    He turns from her, from pretty promise and possibility. It is time to move. Somehow, he fancies he prefers her where she is.


    (540 words)


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