Tagged: clothes

Enchanted Mariner Ducks

During October we will be sharing passages that we’ve written independently from the same prompt.

  • enchanted mariner ducks
  • striped scarlet luminescent work-coats
  • low relief with pubic hair
  • the feathery roots of his water hyacinths
  • “Stop quoting Lewis Carroll at me!”
  • tear a larynx

Kent’s Take

I sat in Doctor Entenman’s waiting room, hoping the décor wasn’t indicative of his qualifications as an otolaryngologist. All the others in town were closed for the holiday. The artworks showed truly horrific taste, made more sickening by the realization that the good doctor was himself the artist. A garish neon abstract took up most of the wall facing me, and was accompanied by a plaque bearing its title: “In which the enchanted mariner ducks out of the saloon to escape constables attired in striped scarlet luminescent work-coats.” Above my head was a matted atrocity, a low relief with pubic hair, evidently meant to signify the feathery roots of his water hyacinths. I heard raised voices, first a woman shrieking something about being behind schedule, and then a man bellowing “Stop quoting Lewis Carroll at me!” I supposed I’d chosen a bad week to tear a larynx.

bonus points for using them in order!

Jen’s Take

by jenThe great artist and his assistant stood by in their striped scarlet luminescent work-coats while the phalanx of critics examined his latest creation.

“You say it’s called ‘enchanted mariner ducks,’ and yet I detect nothing of the waterfowl in its design,” said the most unctuous of the bunch, a man known to be overly fond of the feathery roots of his water hyacinths, if you know what I mean.

“Curious, isn’t it,” said Hieronymus Warhol.

“This is clearly a bas-relief, and yet under ‘medium’ you have declared that it is ‘low relief with pubic hair.’ Not only is that not a real medium, it’s also disgusting!”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” replied Warhol.

“Stop quoting Lewis Carroll at me!” cried the critic.

“As soon as you tear a larynx,” drawled the artist. “Preferably your own.”

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Object Lesson!

During October we will be sharing passages that we’ve written independently from the same prompt.

  • object lesson!
  • their moans and their heavy breathing
  • clay and seashell stew
  • the bared teeth of the cornered carnivore
  • in a robe of some plastic fabric

Jen’s Take

by jenMargaret stared at the TV in horror. She was watching the new DVD release of Season 1 of her favorite childhood cartoon, “Crustacean Clay and Seashell Stew,” and not until that moment did she realize how heavy the homoeroticism on the show was.

Seashell Stew gave Crustacean Clay a massage while Crustacean Clay was in a robe of some plastic fabric that made disturbing rustling sounds under Seashell Stew’s hands. Later the duo went to the gym to wrestle, and their moans and their heavy breathing sounded unmistakeably sexual to Margaret’s scandalized ears.

She caught her own reflection in the mirror above the TV and was surprised to see she sported the bared teeth of the cornered carnivore.

“To anyone who wishes to relive their innocent childhoods, let this be a cautionary object lesson!” Margaret cried in horror.

 

Kent’s Take

I recognized Milton and Dante by their moans and their heavy breathing before I entered the room and saw them entwined in an old shower curtain. They were like a tantric Hindu god in a robe of some plastic fabric.

“Now that is one kinky object lesson!” I crowed. Then I cackled and ran out the back door and into the surf, my feet churning the clay and seashell stew, seasoning it with acute discomfort.

In the failing light, it took me too long to understand what the receding tide had done. The cove was cut off by a sandbar about 30 yards out, and in the pathetic little lake of saltwater it embraced loomed a strange dark shape. A killer whale trapped in the shallows.

The bared teeth of the cornered carnivore gleamed in the moonlight.

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Under The Hood

During October we will be sharing passages that we’ve written independently from the same prompt.

  • under the hood
  • devastating fire
  • don’t punish me for being scared
  • Your stranger-self
  • legs of my corduroys

Jen’s Take

by jenUnder the hoodie, her red hair took on the smoky shadows of a devastating fire and her green eyes glinted, causing the legs of my corduroys to suddenly seem inadequate.

“Is that a pistol in your pocket,” she asked, “or are you just happy to see me?”

Dammit. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice. This was my first time meeting someone in person whom I’d chatted with online.

“Don’t punish me for being scared,” I pleaded, sounding utterly pathetic.

She smiled disdainfully. “Your stranger-self was more interesting online.”

 

Kent’s Take

Your stranger-self can be terrifying, so don’t punish me for being scared when I saw it the first time. It inflamed my flight impulse, and, as I ran, the friction in the legs of my corduroys kindled a devastating fire, until I had to stop and quench those writhing flames. And so you caught up, no longer the stranger but just yourself, with soft brown eyes peering quietly from under the hood of your sweatshirt.

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And Your Stomach Is Invaded By Butterflies

During October we will be sharing passages that we’ve written independently from the same prompt.

  • and your stomach is invaded by butterflies
  • the place of the courageous and the beautiful
  • lick ice cream and savor sugared almonds
  • splashing waterfalls and frothing rivers
  • Mexico’s most beautiful señorita
  • in Easter-Rabbit costumes

Kent’s Take

It is the place of the courageous and the beautiful to lick ice cream and savor sugared almonds, and it is their right to do so in Easter-Rabbit costumes. For Mexico’s most beautiful señorita, these pleasures are an art form. When you look upon her, with her frozen treats and her floppy ears, your mind is aswirl with splashing waterfalls and frothing rivers, and your stomach is invaded by butterflies. Courageous and beautiful butterflies.

 

Jen’s Take

by jen“Welcome to the land of splashing waterfalls and frothing rivers, the place of the courageous and the beautiful, otherwise known as Las Vegas, Nevada’s legalized brothel, Madame Ibernia’s!” cried Ibernia Patience, waving her arms broadly.

Behind her, two sultry ladies in Easter-Rabbit costumes winked and gyrated.

Frank Pax smiled. Bernie always knew how to surprise him.

Fatima entered, wearing a gypsy-like costume.

“Tonight,” Ibernia said, “you will enjoy Mexico’s most beautiful señorita,” she indicated Fatima, “from whose body you will lick ice cream, and savor sugared almonds from her navel!

“And your stomach is invaded by butterflies at the thought, isn’t it Frankie?” murmured Fatima.

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Changa Wasn’t Really His Wife

  • his rodent-like face
  • the shrieking of something
  • to whom he was married
  • another man’s flesh
  • slid from his belt
  • in his rubbery grip

Changa wasn’t really his wife, she was just the person to whom he was married at age five in the tradition of his people. All he recalled of the ceremony was itchy clothes and the shrieking of something about eternal honor and sacrifice. The stunned newlyweds had been compelled to kiss, and then avoided each other for the next twelve years.

Now Changa was hot. The kind of hot that makes you sweat. As she strolled through the market, the broom felt heavy in his rubbery grip. Urgency slid from his belt, and he had to be alone for a minute.

He hated the idea of her tasting another man’s flesh, kissing his rodent-like face. Anger darkened his world.

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As The Mumu Princess

  • by jenMay your rod soften!
  • perhaps a seal
  • now she was all sweet decorum
  • the Mumu princess came down
  • where the clumped kelp grew
  • upon one elbow

As the mumu princess came down the church aisle, Lola the wedding planner admired her fanciful wedding gown, especially where the clumped kelp grew upon one elbow in the shape of an aquatic mammal — perhaps a seal, perhaps a sea lion.

It was a miracle they’d gotten the stubborn girl out of her mumus. Lola and her staff had earned their money there. With the help of the bride’s own father they’d convinced her something dressier than a flowing, shapeless robe was called for.

The mumu princess was furious with her father for interfering. She’d even yelled, “May your rod soften!” which seemed to Lola a wholly inappropriate insult to hurl at one’s father.

The mumu princess’s anger cooled eventually, she acquiesced, and now she was all sweet decorum.

Lola wished her new husband luck.

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Two Strips of Dried Meat

  • strips of dried meat
  • hissed over her bones
  • with a delicate flush of exertion
  • very well. We’ll take the sled
  • a clump of creeping lichen
  • “Fuck you, Judy!”

Two strips of dried meat and a clump of creeping lichen hung from the brim of Judy’s hat. When she beheld the vast bleak landscape in every direction, fear hissed over her bones like wind-driven sleet. She had entrusted not only her own life but her family’s also to a lunatic hermit.

Summer had only recently abandoned these wastes, and already the threat of snow growled on the wind. Judy, with a delicate flush of exertion, had just persuaded her toothless guide that they should drag their supplies on a sled, to be prepared for the arrival of the drifts.

“Very well. We’ll take the sled,” the old man conceded haughtily.

“I should think you would agree with me,” Judy said. “Aren’t you an expert on winter travel?”

“Fuck you, Judy!” he proclaimed. “Next you’ll ask me what the flippers are for!”

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“You Don’t Have To Whisper”

  • ten seconds and counting
  • a sleek little black bra
  • maple-leaf-red hydraulic oil
  • the color of urine on snow
  • you don’t have to whisper, boy
  • “Squishy.”
  • though they had no sex

“You don’t have to whisper, boy,” growled Titania.

“Squishy.” Felix averted his eyes, trying not to look at Titania in nothing but hotpants and a sleek little black bra, seeing instead the puddles of machine fluids: maple-leaf-red hydraulic oil and coolant the color of urine on snow.

“Sorry, pneumatics are out of adjustment.” Titania strutted over to the air compressor and applied the nozzle to her various pulchritude valves.

Felix longed for the time before she was fully assembled, when he could caress her components on his terms. Now, though they had no sex, his soul flooded with guilt for even seeing her, for looking upon her animation.

“Gratification sequence initiated,” Titania purred. “Ten seconds and counting.”

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Archibald Raised Each One

  • each one of his middle fingers
  • between that and the black pearls
  • She does not want a husband
  • I want to examine them
  • you have been honored twice
  • squared his shoulders
  • as hungry as wolves

Archibald raised each one of his middle fingers at Hubert, and said, “You have been honored twice. Now move aside.”

Hubert squared his shoulders, displaying the fine beadwork of his dickie. Between that and the black pearls in his earlobes, Hubert cut quite a figure. He said, “I know this is about Consuela, but it’s all for sham. She does not want a husband who wears lacy petticoats any more than she wants one adorned with beads and pearls.”

At this, Archibald canted his hips self-consciously.

“Wait,” Hubert added. “Your fingernails, I want to examine them.” He studied Archibald’s still upraised fingertips with eyes as hungry as wolves.

“It was Consuela’s idea. Each one shows a different wonder of the ancient world. I think you’re wrong about her, and if you shift your prissy ass I’m off to prove it!”

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from the comments, Kent has another take on the same prompt:

Roderick squared his shoulders and drove each one of his middle fingers, as hungry as wolves, at his opponent’s eyes. But her helm’s full visor protected her, its obsidian inlay inimical and depthless. Between that and the black pearls adorning her breastplate, she struck a mysterious and sinister figure, but a fetching one.

She does not want a husband, Roderick mused, but she possesses undeniable feminine charms and I want to examine them.

The dark lady slashed at him with her broadsword, and Roderick rolled away, his own blade still embedded in a tree trunk some paces to his left. From this low vantage he spotted the tattoos on the female warrior’s ankles.

“You have been honored twice!” he exclaimed.

Richard Took Off His T-Shirt

  • by jenlike you’ve poured ink on your head
  • his eyes were pure chocolate
  • tried to cut his own hands off?
  • in the car with the baby wipes
  • Richard took off his t-shirt
  • flashed a self-deprecating smile

Richard took off his t-shirt and flashed a self-deprecating smile as he flexed his impressive pecs in time to the pulsating dance music. His hair was the distinctive blue-black that looks like you’ve poured ink on your head in an attempt to look like Elvis. His eyes were pure chocolate chip cookies of lust. Sally decided right then and there that she wanted to screw him, out in the parking lot in the car with the baby wipes and juice boxes, and all the other symbols of her suburbanized domesticity. Sally knew it was sinful to do what she was thinking of doing with Richard while her husband Cliff was in the hospital, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be married to Cliff anymore. Who would want to be married to a man who, when asked to help with the dishes, tried to cut his own hands off?

Sally smiled and took Richard’s intact hand, leading him out of the club.

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