Erotica, but prose...

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oQBb23kXTEU/Uh2s0lB_VbI/AAAAAAAACTg/zk2iv8-UE08/s320/Erotica+-+henry+clayton.jpg


Parallel to the Erotica (poetry) competition, Serendipity Magazine is
looking for Erotic prose for the Erotica Special Issue.


Those chosen for publication will be published under their username
(if you want real or other names please PM me). I will
be choosing a winner here for this forum competition on DUP,
but submissions for publication are to be considered by
the editorial staff at the magazine.  Anyone interested in more
details, please message me or see the magazine website:

http://www.exploringacreativelife.com/erotica.html



Here are the rules:

Old and new work will be accepted
No collaborations
One month
Two entries permitted only (Two posts total)*
1500 word limit*



Tease and please, baby...


* There may be technical word limits on posts here. So, please feel free to post the beginning, then a link to the work under your collection (obviously will have to submit it there, and in parts if need be). I WILL read it all. If you're gonna go at it for hours... make it worth my while, hmmm?



(Poetry comp is here:  http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/5780/ )

the ballad of beautiful scars



Small-town back-road fanging in the fast car, looking for some kind of something new. Pulled into the curb to get coffee on a Saturday morning, sun-shining and feeling good. A woman was standing outside the coffee shop; mid-thirties, brunette, fit looking but not skinny, good solid stance, like those busty German girls who carry arms full of beer steins, her dressed like a ‘50s rock-and-roll chick, red skirt, black top, and for no reason at all I walked up next to her, said “you know you would look good, in those colours, sitting in my car”. It wasn’t a question.                  
                 
She turned, saw my long-and-low red ride with its black soft-top, smiled, then turned right ‘round to face me. Her eyes were a soft blue, and steady. She looked me up and down, slow, saw the snake-skin shoes and Mopar tee-shirt, same red as her skirt, said “yes, yes I would” and smiled again, then said nothing more. We stood, still looking at each other.                  
                 
She had a look you don’t see often; cool, no blink, holding nothing back, giving nothing away. It’s the look you see in the eyes of people who have been tested, and survived it; the look of a fighter, the by-product of fire. She kept looking. I keep looking back. Finally I started talking, asked her some shit about the town, asked some other shit, then asked for her number, ‘cos why the fuck not. She gave, touched my arm a couple of times while doing it. I got a coffee to go, got back in the car, drove, sure she was watching; women love trouble.                  
                 




The rest is here: http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/81119-the-beautiful-scars/

Thank you, hemi, for kicking things off!

Oops..

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Guys, this is the prose comp. If you want to enter poetry, please do so on this thread:

http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/5780/

Thanks!

Atakti said:Guys, this is the prose comp. If you want to enter poetry, please do so on this thread:

http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/5780/

Thanks!

Ok done. Delete these?

marielavoue said:[quote-223127-Atakti]Guys, this is the prose comp. If you want to enter poetry, please do so on this thread:

http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/5780/

Thanks!

Ok done. Delete these?[/quote]

Yes, please!

    anisette shots & a hooker


it’s late. the bar’s gettin ready to close. the last business suit stumbles
out the door, after arguing with a girl that he was annoying. she comes
over to me, says got a light? I pick up matches from the bar, fire up her
virginia slim. I’m in town lookin into a business deal that didn’t pan out.
she’s got dark hair, but kind of an Ann Sheridan look to her. I look at the
bottle she’s holding: Colony Grace Anisette.

I ask, does she want to come to my hotel with me. she says what I expected
her to say: I don’t come cheap. I say no problem, let’s go. in the room, she’s
real casual, like she owns the place. I don’t like it, so maybe I’ll scare her a
little. didn’t your mother warn you about guys like me?

she stays tough: I never had a mother. & I ran away from my father & the
tramps he shacked up with when other girls were preparing for 1st communion.
I been runnin ever since, & I’m tired, I’m real tired. she gets a sad look in her
eyes, the kind that could bust up a heart as cold as mine.

all I could do was hold her, hard. she clings, like it’s exactly what she wanted me
to do. after a minute she pushes away, goes to the bathroom & gets two plastic
cups, pours out double shots. I take $200 & put it on the table.

she undresses slow. the dim light shows me beauty that would have made me
cry if I was more human. I take off my clothes, that all of a sudden feel like
sandpaper. in bed, we are arms & legs & movements made of desperation.
we maybe took a trip thru heaven, but I don’t know, ‘cause I wouldn’t recognize
heaven if I had the blueprints. I know that it was never that good before, & never
would be again.

when the night songs & the bottle were empty, she moved toward the door as I
watched in bed. she said: don’t take no wooden nickels, stranger.
and she was gone.

the money was still on the table.

The Way I Want You...

    I can tell by the way my insides tremble at the thought of your body wanting mine, that I can't possibly know how this should be done. Any preconceived idea I've ever entertained on making love, falls so far short of the way I want to make you feel that I'm loving only you, and that I've never felt anything like "US" before.
    I can only imagine the way we'll unravel in unison and unwind into each-other as our skin responds with an eager hunger that could only feel like stardust and warm rain pouring over us. I can only hold my breath as I anticipate the serenity of your heartbeat being so near my own and barely contain the emotion as I forecast my every atom existing to satiate you, to bring you pleasure.
    I can only sigh, the long sigh that only a deeply held desire can conjure, and feel myself ache for a touch that I know will supersede the greatness of anything I've been changed by thus far. I can feel the carpet move underfoot as the world spins my head to a dizzy pace that weakens my knees and quickens my pulse as my mind has that lost for words feeling and my body wants to succumb to an eternity, looking into your eyes and feeling every part of all you are, inside me.
I can only fall short, trying to convey some sense of how I'd feel complete, for once, simply knowing you'd be there when I woke up.
I can tell that I can't possibly know how this is done, but I've never wanted anything more.

   

~deleted~

“Between the Stars of Cyber-Space”
(Killing Me Sensually with The Same Itching desire)

Swirling thoughts of you reside in my mind all day
and all night long when I see your name flit and float,
cascading all over the place, changing like a chameleon,
I go into the sweetest sexy place, gripping myself.
And though I try to hold back, there’s not much I can do
about my erect granite nipples, dammit,
that’s my usual natural state, sweet lady.

This hard methodology is a constant pleasure center for me,
but astrology is truly where I seek most of my answers,
in here, somewhere between the stars of cyber-space,
your essence lingers on my fingers in a vivid fantasy,
mine happens all over my chest in warm realities.

Oh darling, can’t you see how you’re killing me sensually,
it’s not a joke to be tortured like this constantly
with such indiscretion, you know damned well
I can’t resist what you have to tell me,
or say in your own spectacular poetry,
it's full of the same itching desire
and creates the largest fires I've ever seen,
my body is smoking for everything you've got,
please can you write me some more of your kinky stuff.

Guys, I'm only going to say this one more time. This competition is for prose - the kind of entry that will be accepted has been demonstrated by hemi and John Feddeler. By all means, enter your work but if I don't deem it prose, it will be disqualified. Poetry will be accepted in the other comp, here:
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/5780/

(Strider, I can tell you now, it's pretty, but I do not consider that prose. Magdalena, your entry is "prose poetry". It's lovely, but... Miki, you're on the edge there, but ok.)

Let's not have a whole debate here (feel free to start a thread elsewhere, lol). For this competition, it is this definition of prose that counts:

"The ordinary language in speaking or writing; language not cast in poetical measure or rhythm"

Thanks, everyone.

Sorry Atakti.  Will have to read up on prose.