| Flashing for Fun and Combat - The Series
By Alexis Siefert, 2002
What is Flashing for Fun and Combat?
It's a long story--or at least it could be. What it boils down to is a duel
challenge. A 'flashing' duel, more specifically. Between the unbelievably
talented Selena Jardine and myself. Seven each in seven days. Below
are my offerings. Seven ranging from M-solo to FF to MF. Romance,
anger, uncertainty, love, and even the kitchen sink (Well, it's the kitchen
stove, but those are usually close to the sink).
Flash Fiction - an entire (background, set up, conflict, and resolution.
Character development and setting) in 300 words or less. That's it. Sounds
simple enough, or at least I thought so. And then I started writing them.
It's a good story, how Selena and I got to this point. I'd highly recommend
that you go read the entire duel. Insults back and forth, some fighting, two amazing Seconds there to back us up, and an esteemed judge (who obviously
couldn't be bought by wine, women, or song-believe me, I tried).
Here's the site that Gary has prepared for us (thanks, Gary!):
Below are my offerings. All seven of them. Enjoy. And, if you don't mind, let
me know what you think. I can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. I answer
all mail, gratefully.
Dance With Me (FF)
A FlashFic by Alexis Siefert, 2002
"Meg? Why don't dance anymore?"
It was her complaint every time we went to the bar. There was almost always live
music-usually pretty good-and it frustrated her no end that would buy her
drinks, but not one ever got up to dance with her or anyone. The music called
out for dancers, drew them to the floor, but they held back, glued to their
barstools in their attempts to keeping appearances.
"You've seen too many movies, Jenna. I don't think ever knew how to dance."
"Fine. Then you dance with me."
I loved Jenna. She was my best friend. Of course I'd dance with her.
In the middle of the crowded bar, we two women danced. As friends. But that
doesn't work. There's no such thing as dancing "as friends." Our bodies moved-
separately at first-fighting for the space between us, until we weren't
fighting, and we weren't separate. Rhythmic tension relaxed, syncopation became
smooth. The tempo slowed, the guitar took a break, and the saxophone took over.
And suddenly we were dancing together. Her casual touch on my arm became a
tentatively possessive touch at the dip of my waist.
"Meg? Can I kiss you?"
I didn't know the answer. Then I heard a voice, my voice telling her, "Please."
"Will you kiss me back?"
"Would you like me to?"
The air between us disappeared, trapped by our bodies. Her lips pressed against
mine. Her tentative touch now firm. I felt her move against mine. I felt
the loss when she pulled away.
"You'd think they would dance, wouldn't you?" she said.
A Flashfic by Alexis Siefert, 2002
"185, 186..." He muttered under his breath on each step. It was the same. Of
course it was. The rhythm, the patterns, the sameness of it all. It can't
The bag thumped his thigh. The routine kept him going when he'd rather just let
go. It all threatened to become too much, to boil over, but he knew that the
tower was always there. It kept him sane.
He paused-always-before stepping onto the deck. Officially, the tower was off-
limits, but one of the few benefits of being a janitor was the ability to
"borrow" a master key. He'd had this one for almost a year now, and no one
seemed the wiser.
He strode towards the brick-framed window. This was the important part. The rest
was just noise, static. He crossed to the railing, set his bag down, and bent to
one knee as he pulled open the zipper. He allowed himself a moment's pause to
luxuriate in the anticipation-to envision what was waiting under those metal
teeth. His world narrowed leaving only the bag, the windows, the courtyard, and
its inhabitants below.
With steady hands he snapped the sight to the barrel and raised the stock to his
shoulder. He leaned forward, and his finger tensed. Smooth metal, heavy against
his palm. He found her quickly. His cock throbbed, pulling against the tightness
of his shorts. The cross-hairs slid past the dip of her waist, the swell of
breasts. Her laughing, mocking smile clarified in his sight as he pulled,
smoothly against the trigger. The dry click of the hammer on an empty chamber
echoed softly in his ear; a familiar wetness spread at his crotch.
He was ignored down there. Just another peon. Up here...
Someday they'd know better.
A FlashFic by Alexis Siefert, 2002
"Don't touch me, Claudia. I hurt."
"First bike ride of the season? Overdid it a bit, did we?"
"Don't be sarcastic. I'm going to take a shower."
"Can I join you?"
"No. I hurt. I don't want to play."
Lauren stood under the hot water, letting it pound over her neck and shoulders.
Her arms were stiff from holding the handlebars, her calves hurt, her thighs
burned. Always happened on the first ride. By the time she'd realised she had
gone too far, she still had to come back. Over eager, over ambitious.
A blast of cool air startled her. Claudia pushed the curtain and aside and
offered aspirin and a glass of water.
"I bring offerings of peace," she said. "Can I join you?"
Without waiting for a response, she slipped under the water, wrapping her arms
around Lauren's waist and held her soapy, slippery body tight. Claudia pulled
Lauren's hips snugly against her own and reached for the soap and sponge.
Neck first, around her throat. She could feel the pulse pounding under her
fingertips. As water rinsed suds, Claudia lowered her mouth to Lauren's
shoulder, nibbling softly as she lovingly stroked her back and sides. Around
her belly and down, over her hips, between her legs.
She knelt behind her and soaped her thighs. They were taut and tense from the
ride, and shaking from exertion. Lauren's hands braced against the water-warm
tiles and she arched, pressing her legs back against the kneeling woman's lips.
"Turn around. Sit on the edge, let me do your feet."
She sat on the tub's edge, the vinyl curtain pressed against her wet back, her
thighs spread. "It's not my feet I want you to do."
Curse the Darkness (MF, not-rom)
by Alexis Siefert
The moment she struck the match, it started to rain. Lightning frighteningly
close, a monstrous crash of thunder, sudden torrents of rain.
Perhaps she should have taken it as a sign, but she had long ago given up
believing in a higher power. No God, no signs. Besides, there wasn't a chance in
hell that a benevolent God would stop her from doing this.
There, that's the one. She knew he'd have another one soon. She'd still been
setting things up, so she missed his previous dream-erection. She had worried
that the sleeping pills in his drink would stop them, but it was okay. It
seemed she could still count on how often he got hard. For years, especially
when she didn't want him to be. And now, when she did.
She checked the cuffs again, knowing she didn't need to. He always bought the
best, and these were straight police-issue. Her only worry was that the rings in
the wall would tear out, but she had pulled on them plenty over the last year,
and they'd never shifted during her torments.
Everything was ready. The smell of the gasoline was sharp in her nose, but she
took that as a sign that she had used enough. She picked up her duffel bag, bent
down, and lit the tip of his hard-on.
As she trudged away through the woods, she imagined that she could hear his
screams, but it was probably just the thunder.
Missing the Mark (MF)
FlashFic by Alexis Siefert, 2002
She traced the lines in the mahogany and watched the Christmas tree lights
reflect off the polished surface of the bow. "I want to go shoot."
"You can't. There's two feet of snow, and you're not all that good. You won't
be steady on your feet and you'll lose arrows."
"I won't. Come with me. We'll take the snowshoes and a Thermos. I'll make it
worth your while."
"Honey, it's three degrees out. It's too cold to make it worth anything." Her
shoulders sagged, telling him that it's terribly unfair to give a Christmas gift
that can't be enjoyed for another four months. He mentally calculated the cost
of new arrows against the worth of her smile. No contest. "But, if you're set
on going out, I'll go with you."
There it is, that smile. Merry Christmas.
It wasn't three degrees, but it was cold. Cold enough to freeze the paper
target to the tree. Cold enough to freeze their breath to a thin fog.
As she took her stance, legs spread, her arms shook from the cold and from the
tension needed to pull against the recurve of the bow frame. Her eyes narrowed
and focused on the orange dot at the center of the tree. Shoulders arching to
steady her aim, her accentuated by the fullness of the down fill in her
So, she's that good, is she?
He moved quietly behind her. She ignored him and steadied the nocked arrow,
holding it tightly between her gloved fingers as she drew back the taut
bowstring. He slipped his hand around under her arm, closing his fingers
around the padded swell of her breast. He squeezed gently.
The arrow flew far to the left and buried itself somewhere in the snow.
It didn't matter.
Dinner and Dessert (MF)
FlashFic by Alexis Siefert
It was the only thing that could rouse him from his post-orgasmic stupor, and
she knew it. He had settled in for that perfect, late-afternoon, warm-bed,
after-sex nap when the smells hit him.
She was cooking.
Coffee first. He somehow missed the sound of the grinder, but the aroma of the
first drops lured him from the bed.
Then butter. From the soft crackle, he knew she had the skillet warmed. He
imagined the golden, silky pools melting on the hot surface.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he slipped around the corner to watch as she
cracked eggs into the butter and added a handful of mushrooms.
His stomach growled.
She laughed, not turning. She was wearing a short silk robe, tied
loosely around her waist. The robe just covered her wonderful ass. He moved
behind her, stroking under the curve of her bottom. She giggled and shuddered,
but spread her legs slightly, and his fingers pressed in further, teasing
between her lips.
He wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest. He
yanked the dangling end of the tie, and opened her robe. He brushed her ear with
his lips and whispered, "Keep cooking, we don't want dinner to burn."
She pressed back, grinding against him, but she didn't stop scrambling, didn't
stop stirring. He watched chocolate melt in dark pools in the double-boiler.
"Do you want eggs first or your dessert?"
"Eggs, of course. Dessert after."
"Too bad," she said softly, turning to face him. She put her hand on his chest
to push him back a step. As she spoke, she dipped the pastry brush in the warm,
melted liquid and drew dark lines of chocolate over the tops of her breasts,
circling her hard nipples. "Dessert is on me."
Cold Feet (Rom)
FlashFic by Alexis Siefert 2002
"My feet are cold."
"I'm sorry. Want me to get you some socks?"
"No, but my feet are cold."
"I'm sorry. Want another blanket?"
"No, I'll get too hot. But my feet are cold."
"Can I put them between your thighs?"
"Will you let me go to sleep if I do?"
"Honey? Are your feet warm now?"
"Much better, thank you."
"Good. My hands are cold. Can I put them between your thighs?"
So? Was it worth it? I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Thoughts on these pieces, thoughts on Flash Fiction in general.
Thoughts about the number of calories in chocolate (talk about
trying to decide if something's worth it!). Let me know, please.