I won! A free copy of a book, but it was still cool that I got near the top of a list of short stories. The contest was a flash fiction of 750 words or less dealing with fey, ideally both the magical kind and the cross-dressing/gay kind. It was run by mroctober. Very cool. The invitation to expand on it and submit it to the next (potential) collection was even nice of an egoboo.
I don't normally post this type of thing on this journal, mainly because I avoid the topics of sexuality, religion, and politics in my writing. Imagine that, the three thing I was told not to talk about, I don't normally write about. For some reason, I don't feel comfortable posting them in a place a job recruiter might find. Specially for the white collar jobs I aim for (management); it's a bit hypocritical of me, if you know me, but I'm always afraid of writing down the wrong thing and having it haunt me 10-20 years later.
But, I'm damn proud of my writing and I write anything. One of the strangest things is that people pay me to write anything. Still trying to figure that one out. Well, here is the story. I'm throwing the behind a cut, just because I know some of you may not be comfortable with it. It isn't graphical or anything, but it seems appropriate.
The Pop Can Ring
We all wanted him, that much was painfully clear to us who waited for him. But, despite our black suits and looming schedules, none of us could tear ourselves away from his corner. It was the first in months he had not shown up to dance, to sing, to amuse. I ached to see what outfit he wore, from the chimney sweeper's tuxedo to the translucent dress that rose up way too high to be considered elegant.
I liked the dress though, despite my best efforts to deny it. When he would kick up his legs, I found my eyes following the line down to the shadowed depths, wondering what it would feel like to have my hand against him.
Then tearing my thoughts away. I was straight, damn it. I keep telling myself that, sometimes with tears in my eyes, but I keep coming back to this corner. This frozen corner. I wait like the others wait, for him to show up and bring a joy to our cubical-bound lives. The breathless laugh he shares that sends a delicate shiver down my spine. I ache for it more than any drug I could imagine.
But he isn't here. He isn't standing on my corner. He isn't coming today.
As one, they walk away to return to their lives and schedules.
I don't want to leave.
I want him.
The frozen slush of the roads has splattered the walls into frosting, but I still lean against it. My briefcase feels heavy in my palm. I breath hard, trying to remember if his breath fogged in the winter. It bothers me, almost as much as the idea of warming him with my body.
Hours past before I heard his laughter, dancing on the window and down the alley I am perched next to.
I want my dancer.
I want him in so many ways.
I want to see him dance, I want to hear him laugh, and... I want him in ways that I still don't want to think about. A different part of me aches and I can't decide if it is my heart or my loins. I don't want to choose.
A flash of purple, a skirt that snaps around a corner. I inhale to call out his name as stop.
I don't know it.
Instead, I chase after him. I hit the corner, scrambling to stay standing on a bit of ice. My hand scrapes against the brick and I realize that I left my computer case behind.
Heart beating, I stop and look. To my right, back the way I came, my computer case leans against an ice-frosted brick wall. To my left, I see another alley.
He is wearing his dress again. Purple and translucent. He stops and turns, a smile on his lips as his purple eyes flicker in the shadows. Seeing me, he leans back against the brick wall, arching his back as his eyes take me in, capture me. My breath freezes in my throat, sending shivers down my spine as I felt the ache of desire rising up to choke me.
"It's you," came his soft whisper. I let out a shuddering breath as it brushes against me, teasing me in ways that I should never feel.
Unconsciously, I look back to my case and then back to him. Beyond him, I notice a line of pop cans forming a circle. It reaches from wall to wall of the filthy alley, yet they seem... important. I frown, staring at the Coke and Pepsi cans, even a beer can or three. My eyes return to him, both hating and wanting to catch his eyes.
His gaze holds me for a moment. He licks his lips and I whimper, clutching the sharp bricks for strength. He pushes away from the wall with the delicate elegance that I want so badly. With a sway of his hips and a flip of his dress that shows his bare legs, he steps over the cans and into the circle. I watch with growing desire as he gives me one last longing look, a come hither expression in his burning purple eyes and steps out of the circle.
He disappears as if he walked through a door I cannot see.
I look back to my computer then at the circle.
Which one do I choose?
Which one do I want?
Summer Biking: (260.7 of 400.0 km)
Change of Honor (1 of 3 rounds)
Another Werewolf's Tail (2 of 3 rounds)
Commissioned Work (1,999 of 5,000 words)