Bathing Suits

beach blue cruise dry leaves

Photo by Dana Tentis on

“I still can’t understand why you didn’t ask Anita. She loves shopping with you.” Julia tucked her hair behind her ear, checked over her shoulder and backed her Charger out of her mother’s condo driveway.

“I didn’t bring your sister because she would just nod and smile at everything. She wouldn’t tell me the truth. I need unvarnished truth.” Her mother turned the radio down and readjusted the mirror on her side so she could see the traffic behind them from the passenger seat. “You’re about as blunt as they come.”

“Mom, leave the mirrors alone.”

“Stop, you barely use your mirrors anyway.”

They drove toward the mall in silence for a bit. Julia didn’t move the mirror back.

“I need to talk to you about something,” her mother said quietly, eyes forward.

This couldn’t be good. “Why do you suddenly need ‘the unvarnished truth’ about how you look in bathing suits, anyway? This trip with Aunt Mona really has you flustered.”

“As you know, it’s a singles cruise, Julia! Your Aunt insisted, since Dad’s been gone so long and I don’t date. She says I need to get back out there.”


“Be that as it may, Mona and I will probably be the oldest women on the boat. I haven’t ever been in circumstances like this before in my life. Unmarried and alone, surrounded by men looking for … companionship. I can feel their eyes all over me already.”

“This is just as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Well, too bad. Now I really do need to talk to you about something.”

“Go for it.”

“What happened with you and Todd?”

“Me and Todd?” Oh, Lord. There was no version of this story she wanted to share with her mother.

“Yes, you and my dear friend Ginnie’s only son, Todd. What happened?”

“What did she tell you?”

“Only that you stopped by her home the other day and said some awful things about her Todd. Maligned him! And loudly, out on the front porch.”

Damn it. She knew she should have showed Miss Ginnie the screen shots. “That’s it? That’s all she said?”

“She said you were making up lies about her son. Trying to ruin their relationship. Yelling at her in front of her neighbors. Whatever possessed you?”

“That’s not even close to the whole story.”

“That’s why I’m asking.” Her mother sounded exasperated.

“Didn’t you ask her why?”

“She wouldn’t even talk about it. Hung up on me. One of my oldest friends. Now spill it.”

“Ok. You know how Todd and I kind of hit it off last month at Ricky’s wedding?”

“No. I had no idea.”

“Well, we did. Got talking about the environment and the poor fucking polar bears and I was pleasantly surprised to hear that he actually donates to the Audubon Society.”

“But he’s always been such a right-winger.”

“Right? But, he was singing a different tune that night.”


“Well, I ended up giving him my number.”

“That’s it?”

“He didn’t text for two weeks and then he finally sent a ‘Hey’.” At 2am, Julia didn’t add. “We chatted back and forth the whole next day, and then pretty late the next night he sent me a dick pic.”

“A what?” Her mother’s jaw hung open.

“An unsolicited picture of his dick. From his phone to mine.”

“He did not.”

“Oh, yes. Then he had the balls to be shitty about me not enjoying that particular wooing technique.”

“What does that mean?”

Julia parked her Charger about fifteen cars into a row near a Macy’s entrance.

“Guys send pics of their dicks to girls, mom. A lot. And I don’t love it. When I expressed that, he became verbally abusive.”

“Verbally abusive.”


“What did he say?”

“Do you want me to just read it to you?”


Julia pulled her phone out of her purse and brought up her screenshots of his texts.

“So I have shots of our first messaging, just chatting really. Then at 10:30pm he sent ‘what are you wearing’. I said, ‘pajamas’. I was about to go to bed. Then he sent the dick pic. Do you want to see it?”

“God, no!”

“That’s what I thought.”

“So I left him on read for a half hour then sent back ‘Ew’. That’s when he got all pissy.”

“Well, what did he say?”

“And I quote: ‘Typical bitch feminist. Tell them nothing but the stupid shit they want to hear and they still don’t want you. You know what Ms. High and Mighty Julia Scheffield? I don’t want you either. You aren’t rejecting me, I’m rejecting you. Fat slut. I was only talking to you out of pity. And I like your car. Good luck finding a man ever with your fucking mouth. Have fun being a cat lady.’ Then he blocked me!”

“I can’t even tell if you’re serious right now. Is this a joke?”

“No, mom.”


“Yeah. I told you. He’s awful.”

“Yes, I guess he is. But why did you have to involve Ginnie?”


“What does poor Ginnie have to do with any of that?”

“She raised him.”


“I thought she’d want to know that the man she raised is a disgusting creep.”

“Well, clearly she doesn’t.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“But what were you hoping to accomplish with all this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you go there at all? What benefit could there possibly be for you?”

“I don’t know. No benefit, I suppose. Just revenge. Shame him?”

“Telling on him to his mother like he’s a child?”

“He was her child. She should have raised a better son.”

“Why should poor Ginnie bear the brunt of your anger towards him? Surely you can’t really think she’s somehow responsible for his actions at this point. He’s a thirty plus year old man.”

“A man that she created.”

“A man with his own free will and a lifetime’s worth of experiences that don’t all involve her. Do you think that I could control your behavior? That I’m somehow an integral part of your every future word and deed?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well, they’re no different.”

“Maybe she could speak to him, change him. Fuck knows I don’t want to, but he needs it.”

“Nothing Ginnie could do or say to him now is going to make him into a boy who doesn’t send girls pictures of his sad and lonely penis.”

“She could try.”

“Just like nothing I do now is going to make you into a girl who doesn’t cuss in conversations with her mother.”

“Sure.” Goddamnit.

“And I will remind you of something I told you a long time ago and then we never have to speak about this again. Don’t give people unsolicited advice unless it’s something that you yourself can fix in thirty seconds.”

“I know about the thirty second rule, mom.”

Her mother popped open her car door and shouldered the strap of her small leather purse. “Try to follow it then, Julia.” She got out and slammed the heavy door shut behind herself.

Julia got out and wordlessly followed her into Macy’s. She smiled at her mother, nodding as she tried on each bathing suit. “They all look lovely, mom. You and Aunt Mona are going to have so much fun.”

Three’s Company Too


 an excerpt from the (6,000 word) article:

“It is him, Julie. I told you!” Leane exclaimed just loudly enough for CT to catch it.

“Shhh. Oh my God, Leane. So embarrassing.”

“Why should you be embarrassed that he’s CT?” Leane snorted. He looked up at us and smiled, giving us a little half wave of acknowledgement. “He probably loves meeting fans.”

“Just be quiet, Leane. Not at a doctor’s office, I’m sure.” Then to CT, “Sorry, not trying to intrude.”

“Oh, no intrusion.” He seemed pleased to be recognized, even scooched closer to them on his padded bench. “You’re fans then?”

“Not me,” Leane blurted out. “She is. Probably seen all your movies.” This last she said in a sing song teasing way and I tried to blush.

“Well, that’s flattering,” he said politely. “Glad you liked my performances.”

“She doesn’t like them, she loves them.” She slid her arm around my shoulders and hugged me to her. “Don’t you sweetie?”

“Stop it, Leane.” I laughed good-naturedly and played at shrugging off my feigned embarrassment. “She’s right, I am a huge fan of your work.”

“Yeah,” she cut in, “your work,” and waggled her eyebrows at him, giggling.

“Thanks. What’s been your favorite role so far?”

“I really like your new tv show.”

“Great!” He seemed almost shocked to hear it.

“But my favorite is probably Travis from Lightning Strikes. Such a deep film and the characters were amazingly real. You were wonderful.”

“That’s one of my favorites too,” he replied, voice tinged with genuine pride.

“Didn’t hurt that you were naked for the middle third of the movie,” Leane dropped, running a fingertip slowly up my arm and smiling as CT noticed and licked his lips.

“Made for a cold shoot,” he said, making light of her comment but still riding high off of my praise.

“Don’t downplay it. I thought you and Kelly Crane achieved a lot in those scenes. A lot of actors would have seen them as erotic throwaways but you both took the story’s themes and elevated them using just your bodies. Incredible really.” The more I fan gushed at him the more open his body language became so I didn’t bother to hide my true love and admiration for his chosen form of professional artistic expression, I just let it roll out over him in a rush. I picked out two smaller, but juicy roles and told him how masterful he’d been in those, all the while being lightly petted by my scorching hot, young and nubile girlfriend. During this his ass inched him completely down the bench to end directly across from us and it seemed like the next stop on its tour of the waiting room was our laps.

“Well, always nice to meet a fan. Can I sign something for you? Take a picture?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly make you do that.” I waved off the star service, but Leane got a scrap of paper and a pen out of her bag. Instead of handing it to him she started scribbling on it.

“It’s no trouble, really.” He seemed to truly desire this common fan interaction, but I knew that a pic would be the kiss of death to all our plans so I kept waving it off.

At this point, a medical assistant wearing hello kitty scrubs called mine and Leane’s fake names to usher us into our appointment, early after all.

“See, no time for selfies.” I stood and held out my hand to shake. “It was lovely meeting you.”

He and Leanne both stood then. CT taking my hand but then leaning in for a half hug and to air kiss near my cheek. As a result of our close proximity the back of his hand pressed up against my left breast and I felt my nipples tighten into diamond hard nubs at the slight stimulus. Hoping he’d felt my sexual response to his nearness, I glanced into his eyes as we parted before diverting my gaze shyly to the floor and walking briskly away. Following our protocol, Leane avoided close physical contact with CT but smiled broadly at him and gave him her note. It was meant to seem like a spontaneous offer, a spur of the moment invitation, but in reality we’d agreed on the wording days before.

My girl loves your fine ass, LOVES  YOU!
and I have heard her describe how she
wants to suck you off. I’d love to
watch you FUCK her ♥ Do you want
to watch us together?
Meet us at the _______ Hotel bar.
We’re going back there after this for  lunch then a nap ♥

This approach was, of course, very tricky.

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Sometimes a Man Needs Saving


an excerpt from the (7,500 word) article:

“Do you have many stalkers?” I asked it lightly, half chuckling, but the answer he [JJP] gave sitting back down was quiet and serious.

“A few. That one I do not count. She’s harmless.”

“How can you tell?”

“That woman doesn’t seriously want anything from me, bringing her family in here. Psht. It’s the quiet little freaks sitting in the shadows, they’re the ones that you wake up to, standing over you holding a giant Maglite, wearing only a smile.”

“Personal experience?”

“It doesn’t get much more personal than that.” He laughed and lit another prohibited cigarette. The place was emptying out slowly and a lady in one of the nearby groups coughed and waved a hand in front of her nose. She homed in on his cigarette smoke and gave him her look of death. He flipped her off. She huffed up and practically ran out the front door ahead of most of her people. “No, that little honey isn’t stalker material. I bet she just wants her man jealous. Maybe that gets stuff going for them. Who knows?”

“She clearly wants to fuck you.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Cue his canned sexy face, bedroom eyes and a mischievous grin.

“I wouldn’t count on those guys.” The three old guys were at the bar sipping liquor and none of them looked very happy that JJP was still sitting with me and blowing off whatever discussion they had been having when I first appeared onto their scene.

“Oh no. They definitely want to fuck me. And ten ways on Sunday.” He had held his rocks glass in front of his mouth while talking about the men and now he downed the rest of the liquor and waggled his eyebrows at me. “But not tonight, I’m playing hard to get with them. Can’t give it up too quick or they lose interest, right?”

“I couldn’t say. I’ve never played hard to get in my life.”

He stared at me hard, head tipped slightly, brain and dick obviously warring for control of his mouth.

My mouth, on the other hand, was on and running. My mind and libido gleefully pursuing the same, within-arms-reach goal. I said the next in a terrible Scarlett O’Hara impression because I have the unfortunate tendency to pick up southern accents when I’m around them. “Why don’t you use my fate provided assistance to help you get away from your unwanted suitors?” I did my own eyebrow raising and his small smile seemed hopeful.

“You think you can get me away from them real easy, huh?”

“I think they’d get the picture if we left together. Yep.”

“So if I told you I was sleeping on the bus tonight, that it’s out back and I’d just love to give you a tour, you’d say?”

“I’d say,” I raised my voice to carry over to our interested observers, “Gee, a real live tour bus!” I did my best groupie squeal (which is amazing, btw) and sat back, quivering and shaking in my seat, colt-like with feigned excitement. “How was that?” I murmured for his ears alone, smiling huge.

“Well, let’s get to it, sugar.” He stood and held his hand out to pull me back up onto my heels. “Did I mention that you look good enough to eat?”

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Beach Bum Bombs in Bed


an excerpt from the article:

His apartment was gorgeous and for a few minutes I couldn’t believe he took a total stranger there. Then I realized that this was a decoy home. He didn’t really live there. No photos anywhere. No personal touches. The whole place looked like an expensive hotel room. We went into the kitchen and I was shocked when he opened the fridge and there was food in it.

“I was planning a gluten free, egg white breakfast burrito. How does that sound?”

“Really healthy.”

“It is.” JW, still unapologetically topless, rubbed his hand up and down bulging abs. “Gotta keep up my figure.”

I could see around him, into the fridge, just enough to see something large and chocolate in there. “What else is in there?”

“Not much else…”

“I see chocolate.”

“That’s a surprise for later.” He shooed me away from him and pointed at a bar stool. “Sit and let me cook.”

We chatted about the weather while he made our meal. He put a little feta cheese and green olives into the eggs and it was delicious. It was tiny, though and quickly gone.

“Still hungry. What’s for dessert?”

“You’ll see.”

He cleared away the dishes and pulled me off the bar stool. JW started kissing me with his super soft, beautiful lips. Light feathery kisses, and not at all what I was expecting. I felt like fainting, my cretinous friends. He slow danced me to the other side of the kitchen island, the whole time smooching me sweetly. Mashing me against the high counter top with his forceful and amazing body his muscles took the weight off my feet for a second. It felt as if I were melting into him. He moved away from me for two seconds and managed to strip me bare. Lifting me off of my feet, he plunked my ass on the cold granite and pulled my knees both forward and wide apart. Everything was happening so fast that when he laid me back, down on the island, I figured he was planning on having me for dessert. Instead, JW stepped away leaving me nude and in exam position while he got the big glass bowl from the fridge. When he turned around I saw that it was filled with chocolate pudding.

“Do you mind?” he asked me with a bad little boy look on his face.

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New York or LA? Neither!


an excerpt from the article:

MH finished his drink and gestured at the bartender clear across the room. The man shot forward with a tray bearing fresh glasses, an ice bucket, and a whole bottle of very nice tequila. While he replaced glasses, poured, and wiped off the table MH just watched me with an amused grin and didn’t speak a word. The man ran off with the tray, but left the bottle.

“I have to know. How do I remind you of your husband?”

“I can’t. Oh God, this is so embarrassing.”

“We are like old friends,” he said, sliding his hand into mine slowly and caressing my palm with his rounded, blunt fingertips. “There is no need for embarrassment.”

“What the hell.” I took a long drink and shrugged. “You were my celebrity-free-pass.” He looked confused so I continued. “You know. Sometimes couples joke about what celebrity they reserve as their one chance to cheat without repercussions. His was Penelope Cruz, mine was you.”

He frowned and lied badly. “I think this must be an American thing.”

“Maybe,” I said, but I was thinking that more than one little honey has probably curled up to MH and told him about a deal she has with her husband.

“So if he had met Penelope Cruz on the street, and she agreed, they could have had sex and you wouldn’t have been upset?”

“It didn’t really seem like a possibility. I agree that in light of recent events, I probably shouldn’t have joked about sleeping with other people. But it seemed harmless at the time.”

“I wonder how he’d feel knowing that you’re here with me.” His eyes slitted with mischief and he took my hand again.

Ah, and we’d come full circle. “He wouldn’t care. And even if he did, you’re not here with me. We’re just sharing a drink.” I tried to sound nervous over my tequila buzz. “You’re here with your … girlfriend, right?”

“Nope.” His eyes seemed darker, calculating. His knee was touching my leg under the table.

“Oh.” I waited a few beats, then raised my eyes to his. “Oh…”

“I bet he would care a lot.” His eyes roamed all over my body and occasionally lit on my face. “Why are you still wearing your wedding ring?”

“So that men won’t bother me while I’m traveling.”

He laughed loud and long at that one.

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Perfect Payment For Pie

Main character artist rendering by Alla Podolsky

Cassie as rendered by cover artist Alla Podolsky

An M rated short Cassie fic originally posted as #TwitterFiction

“No pie tonight, Gretchen. Thanks though.” Cassie fished out $4, stomach still growling, mouth watering for some dutch apple.

“You sure, hon?” The waitress saw plenty of hungry people throughout her day, but they didn’t usually leave that way.

“Yeah. I’m broke.” Cassie shook her purse ruefully. “No money for pie if I want to have enough for the bus tomorrow.

Gretchen strode over to the case and grabbed a slice for her favorite customer anyway. “On the house. Just don’t tell Pete.”

“You don’t have to do that, Gretch.” Cassie tried refusing the pity pie but her eyes had already eaten half the slice on its way over.

Gretchen wasn’t fooled. “Eat it. You can pay me with another story.”

“How ‘bout I owe you? Tell you one next time.”

“You say that every time. I want a story now.”

“Okay. But only because the pie smells like heaven.” Cassie popped the first bite in her mouth and ran through a short list of stories the woman would find acceptable payment for such delicious baked goods.

“And none of those sci-fi thingies you’re trying to get published. I don’t understand any of that shit. I want to hear more about real life rock star sex.”

“You want me to pay for pie with a titillating tale from my perverse past, huh?” Thinking of the language she’d have to use to describe even her tamest encounter, Cassie looked around with trepidation only to realize that there was no one else in the place to offend. “You got it.”

“Hold on to your panties a sec, I gotta grab my drink for this.” Gretchen snatched a half-empty to-go cup from under the counter and sank into the booth across from Cassie in direct violation of the policy requiring all personnel to remain standing while clocked in. “All set.”

“So summer of ‘94 I was heavy into the grunge scene.”

“How well I remember from your last story about TS, the guitarist from Wounded Hand and his inquisitive tongue.”

“You do like my stories,” Cassie smiled with genuine affection, please as punch that Gretch had remembered real details.

“Shut up and get on with it before some stupid customers come in. ‘94. Grunge. Go.”

“Well, some friends and I were backstage at a pretty big stadium show. Mercy’s Groaning Bug was the opener on the Midwest leg, and we’d been tagging along with them on the tour the previous couple of weeks. We girls just couldn’t believe our luck when HF himself stumbled by looking lost.”


“Yes. HF, lead singer of Leather is Mary, walking around by himself backstage, trolling for grunged up rockers to hang with.”

“No way. You did not meet HF.”

“Meet him? I played him. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Do you want to hear the details or not?”

“Tell me.”

“So I slid a condom into my bra, slipped my lithe, young, little arm under his and led him back to the dressing rooms to find the guys from Bug and introduce them.”

“Noooo. Boooooo.”

“Not really.” Cassie gobbled up another bite of the pie before continuing. “We were in Ohio somewhere. The guys had gone out to an arcade they liked. I took him back to an empty dressing room and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

“Oh my God, HF was so hot.”

“Even hotter in person.”

“I had that poster of him. You know the one with the open flannel and the top of his jeans undone. Jeez, that poster got me through some shit.”

“So I pushed him into a deserted dressing room, strewn with gross, sweaty stage wear and discarded instruments and locked the door.”

“Hold on a sec.” Gretchen leapt out of the booth and grabbed herself a hunk of dutch apple. Grabbing a whipped cream can from a sliding door fridge behind the counter she sprayed the stuff liberally on both their slices before allowing Cassie to continue.

“He started to protest when he realized what was going on, but I could tell he was just putting up token resistance for the sake of deniability.”

“What do you mean?” Gretchen asked her. “Nobody was even there.”

“I find that a lot of men aren’t as adventurous about instigating sexual relations as a lot of people make out. They’re chicken shits who want to be able to back out of it by saying it was all her idea. She was all over me.”

“Been there.”

“Well, this was just a weak ass variation on that same old tune. He waves me back at first all, (I’m not looking to start anything with you, girl). So I pumped the brakes. I was barely eighteen at the time and he was mid-twenties and had been famous for years already. I might have been cocky and brave but I wasn’t so jaded by the scene that this man didn’t intimidate the shit out of me.”

“I would have peed my pants. Then died. Or the reverse. God.”

“Well, I felt like a moron for thinking I stood a chance with him.”

“But you’re so gorgeous. I’ve seen the way people react to you. Nobody ever looks at me like that. You knew he wanted you, huh?”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Gretch. If you ever wore anything besides that ugly ass uniform you’d catch your share of attention. Whatever good that’s ever done anybody.”

“So how did you nail him?”

“Straight back to HF then. The minute I backed off he warmed up to me. Asking me stupid questions (‘what’s your favorite color luv? you aren’t a pisces right?’) then leans in to tuck some of my corkscrew halo hair behind one of my ears. It is a textbook advance and in that moment I knew I had him.”

Gretchen drained the last of her drink with a loud slurping noise that echoed through the silent diner. She hopped up and filled her cup from the soda machine automatically filling Cassie water from a small pitcher before sliding back into the booth.

Cassie continued, “I walked toward him slowly, peeling my top (and bra, I was young and perkier then) up over my head in one smooth motion. I’m sure my smile lit up the semi-dark space because he stopped rambling and did some stripping of his own. Gretch honey, I’ve never seen a flannel hit the floor so fast in my life. He was very pale and his lightly muscled stomach and chest made my breath catch in my throat. I swear my mind flashed to that same image from that album cover of his that so many girls like you and me hung on our bedroom walls as harmless posters/masturbation material. He was even more magnetic in person. I closed the distance between us and kissed him slowly, like I was trying to sample his lower lip. He wasn’t having it. He tore through my slow, sweet kiss like a man on fire. His hands slid over my heated skin, gripping me tight and crushing me to his body while his mouth attempted to devour me. His tongue played over mine without any hesitation then he sucked on the tip of my tongue while yanking up my skirt and groping my ass. I felt like I wanted to consume him.”

Gretchen sat there, jaw dropped, waiting for the rest.

“As soon as he got his pants down I pushed him back into a pretty-clean, wide and low set, cushioned chair. He grunted and looked a little surprised that I was getting rough. I ignored his assumptions, got rid of my panties, slid a rubber over his five inch cock and hopped on.”

“Holy Lord.” Gretchen was panting.

“I rode him hard, the whole time kissing him like mad, trying to get him to suck my tongue like that again. He just laid back and squeezed my boobs to the quick rhythm my hips were setting. I slowed my gyrations and leaned back, reaching around my own ass to stroke his balls as I slid up and down on his dick. He sat up and sucked at my nipples pretty enthusiastically.”


“You’re sure you want more?”

“Fuck off.”

“I eased my weight forward again and pushed him back against the cushions. His hands shot into my hair and pulled me down for more tongue kisses all the while bucking under me like screwing me was his only purpose. I used my leg muscles to rocket myself up and down on him like a woman possessed. He yelled out, ‘fuckityfuckityfuck’ and buried himself deep into me, gripping my hips from behind with one arm to keep my body firmly down on his cock. His other hand snuck between us and his middle finger found my clit crushing it against my pubic bone. I cried out at the forcefulness of it and ground myself in circles against his body. He kept up the pressure and stroked me furiously in an intense effort to make me come while our bodies were still pressed closely together. I peaked quickly under his fingers’ all out assault on my labial area, screaming out his name with my orgasm like a good little groupie.”

“And then?”

“I stood up off of him and got back into my clothes before he even sat up all the way. He was still reclining wearing only an abused prophylactic when I slipped out the door and ran for a bathroom. I don’t think I even said goodbye.”

Gretchen stared at Cassie, breathless for some time before getting up and wordlessly bringing her another slice of pie.