Flash: Smells Like Teen Spirit

Black Sneakers Stock Photo

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The stench of sweaty male nearly overpowered the potpie cooking in the oven when LaVarr and Alijah started opening cupboards to set the table for dinner.

“Hold on a moment.” Melissa leaned over and did a quick sniff on both her boys. “LaVarr, figure out if it is you or your clothes and get whichever it is clean before we sit down.”

Looking smug, the younger brother declared, “Told you, you stink.”

LaVarr made to shove his brother but saw his mother cross her arms, so he just glowered instead. As a teenager, he was great at glowering and stomping; he proved the second by stomping to the shared bedroom.

Pulling out the juice and salad dressings, Melissa mentioned to her youngest. “You may want to figure out a better way to word things if you actually are trying to help.”

“But he does smell. How else can you say that?” He asked placing the glasses around their small kitchen table.

Melissa thought about it a moment before shrugging. “Better somehow.” She started speaking louder as the shower turned on elsewhere in their apartment. “Sometimes pointing out the consequences works.”

“Like what?”

“Like learning about mythology can help you write better video games. Carrot works better than a stick.”

Alijah nodded, clearly remembering the argument his mom had presented last week when he tried to blow off an English paper, “Okay. Yeah. So telling LaVarr if he wants to date Sherra, he needs to look sharp.”

“That might work.” Melissa agreed.

Since her declaration in September the boys were in charge of cleaning their own room, Alijah and LaVarr had been going head-to-head a bit more. Alijah was a neat freak, and LaVarr, to put it mildly, was not. Alijah learned to do laundry and took over that chore from her by Halloween; he liked getting clean sheets twice a week, as opposed to her once every other week schedule, and thought it stupid to do less than a full load. The school lessons on recycling and saving energy found a convert in him.

But as successful as the new situation was with Alijah, after a month of picking up after his brother, a family meeting was necessary which resulted in a line of electrical tape down the center of the boys’ bedroom. Since the clear demarcation of territory, she wasn’t sure if any of LaVarr’s clothes had been washed. She had hoped he would have a sharper learning curve, but since turning fifteen his ability to be reasoned with seemed to have entirely disappeared.

LaVarr rejoined them in an entirely new outfit, one of the ones he never wears because it was beyond uncool, likely the only clean one in his closet that fit since his last growth spurt. He also had shaved the curly wisps from his chin. He glowered at them eating before dumping the rest of the salad on his plate, pouring on croutons and dressing, then stabbing into the tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, and lettuce like serial killer.

“So since neither of you have sports tomorrow, Grandma Clark offered to pick you guys up from school.” Melissa inserted the words into the heavy atmosphere her oldest had brought to the table. “She and PopPop are thinking about taking you to that new cartoon you have been wanting to see.”

Alijah rolled his eyes before loading a second serving of potpie on his plate. “It’s anime mom. Hayao Miyazaki is a wizard. You really need to see some of his stuff.”

“Sorry, but I got to work late.” Melissa pushed the last of her peas onto her fork. “Afterwards, they will be coming back here so we are going to do some house cleaning tonight.”

“Is Dad going to come?”

LaVarr growled at his brother. “Of course Dad isn’t fucking going to come.”

“Watch your mouth LaVarr! I can have them leave you with the after-school program tomorrow.”

His mouth formed a grim line as he gritted out, “Sorry, mom.” Reaching across the table he grabbed the main dish, scouped out a double-sized serving, and started plowing his way through that. He clearly wanted to storm off, but the food was here and he was fifteen.

“Alijah, Grandma Clark had not mentioned anything about your father being there.”

Their father had managed to shirk his child support for the past six years, but just because their son ended up being a jerk, Melissa saw no reason to cut her children off from the Clarks. She had half grown up in their house and still loved and got along with everyone on that side of the family, aunts, uncles, and even second cousins met at the summer family reunions, everyone except for her ex-husband, whom had taken to dodging his entire clan because everyone was on her side.

“Oh, okay. Just wondering.” Her more sensitive son slouched in his chair.

“Well, I am done. Shall you and I start on the laundry? You were wanting to know how to do ironing.” Melissa took her plate over to the dishwasher.

Alijah shoved in the last three bites before bounding over with his dishes. Talking around his full mouth, he said. “Sure do, the orchestra tuxedo shirts look crummy unless ironed.” Glancing at his brother, he added, “Can’t get the girls looking crummy.”

“Like you get girls in orchestra,” his brother sneered.

“Sure can, over half the orchestra is girls.”

“Nerd girls.”

Alijah smiled wide. “Yep, nerd girls who like video games.”

“Anyone in particular you might like to ask to go to the movies with you tomorrow?” Melissa asked.

Alijah’s face lit up as they walked to the laundry alcove in the hallway. LaVarr would have gagged at the thought of having his grandparents be chaperons, but for Alijah getting to take a girl out would be a first. “Elaina, she plays in the violins, and loves sci-fi. We were discussing the mythology of Star Wars in class.”

“Do you know her phone number?” Melissa pulled down the ironing board and plugged in the iron.

“We are in the net-group for English, so I think I can get her.” Alijah frowned, considering.

Melissa nodded, “So it is possible to ask her and her parents tonight. Why don’t you call Grandma Clark while the iron heats up to see if she is willing to take on another passenger?”

(words 1,058 – first publication 2/21/2016)

Flash: Provisionally

Pink Rose Petals Stock Photo

Photo by gt_pann, FreeDigitialPhotos.net

Rating: Mature

“Honey, why are you home so early?” the words drifted through the house. The stairs creaked as she went upstairs. Opening a door, Cheryl stopped midway through having discovered Joe on the bed.

His upper torso was bare, and the lower half of his body neatly covered by a folded and tucked blanket. His arms were stretched above him. Scattered around him was rose petals.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked.

“Apologizing” said the contrite man. Cheryl’s lips twitched.

“Really?” She dropped her purse on the dresser. “Having sex seems to be more a reward to you, not an apology to me.”

“You say I never let you have control.” He rattled the handcuffs attached to the scroll metal headboard. “You have it.”

“Oh, my.” She couldn’t keep a grin from spreading across her face. She was quite cross with him, but the combination of romance and humor was chipping away at the peeve.  “And just where is the key?”

He nodded to the nightstand, out of his reach. Beside the key was a sweating bottle of champagne, carefully placed on a doily. Points for finding the doilies.

“So you can’t escape without my help.” A teasing warmth edged into her voice.

Fright flickered in his eyes a second. “Yes dear. …. I totally have trust in you.”

She started unbuttoning her shirt. “And you can’t get out of that bed at all.”

“No, you will have to do everything.” Joe’s eyes watched hungrily as Cheryl shimmied out of her slacks and department store underwear.

She climbed on the bed in a kneeling position and slowly knee-walked up his body, taking a little extra time to drag her clit over the tenting blanket. Settling herself over his penis, she reached behind her back and released her bra. Cheryl fell forward to land on her hands, with a nipple hovering inches away from Joe’s mouth. “Oh, I don’t plan to do much. You haven’t properly sucked my breasts since we started having sex. Start making up for lost time.”

Joe moved his head up and his tongue flicked over tip before him. The stimulus made her moan and lean further forward – placing the entire nipple within reach. He inhaled, drawing the areola fully into his mouth. He suckled and swirled his tongue around the sensitive area. Her hips started shifting back and forth, trying to get her pussy closer to his hardening cock.

Suddenly she reared back and panted a couple of seconds. His eyes watched her as she got herself under control. Joe bucked a couple of time to indicate what he would like to do next.

A self-assured smile took over the woman’s face as she ground down until the man stopped moving. “Other side.” She directed as she fell forward again, her generous right breast falling within reach.

He licked and suckled. Releasing the nipple, he blew cool air across the flesh then drew the tit back in. Back and forth between the two breasts he went, while the blanket separating the nether parts dampened with her arousal. Her grinding hips eventually moved the cloth below his cock.

“What the?” she asked looking down. A necklace had been draped loosely around his penis – now not as loose as when originally placed there. She wiggled down to rest her ass his knees to get a better look.

After rediscovering multi-syllable words, Joe explained “Your present. Thought you would unwrap it sooner.”

She unwound the gold chain until the butterfly charm made of gemstones rested in her palm. “It’s beautiful.”

She lifted her arms to hook the necklace behind her nape, displaying her aroused breasts proudly. Rubbing her weeping slit up his leg, she crawled until she was face to face with Joe. The necklace brushed his chin. Staring into his eyes, she reached behind, grabbing his dick, and slowly back down again until he was lodged within her channel. She pushed herself up; her slickness sliding her completely down so her asscheeks rested on his balls. Cheryl then raised herself up on her knees and lowered herself again.

Again and again, until her entire body was jiggling. A scream escaped Cheryl and she collapsed onto Joe’s chest. The random squeezes of her vagina kept Joe hard, but didn’t push him over the edge as Cheryl’s breathing returned to normal. Rolling over to one side, Cheryl’s hand started drifting over Joe’s chest and abs.

“So, presents, flowers, champagne and sex. When’s dinner?”

“Reservations at Andina’s tomorrow. Sorry but my mom couldn’t take the kids tonight.” Joe looked hopeful. “So I am forgiven for forgetting our anniversary was Tuesday?”

Turning to get the key from the nightstand, Cheryl answered “Provisionally.” She unlocked the handcuffs, but immediately closed them around his left wrist and the headboard again, leaving only his right hand free. “Let’s see how tomorrow goes.”

She put the key back in its place. “In the meantime, you need to kiss my ass some more.” Presenting the ass she wanted to be kissed. The maneuver crushed some of the rose petals, releasing a light perfume.

(words 848 – first publication 12/19/2012; republished in new format on 2/7/2016) 

Flash: Is the Sky Blue?

Photo: Person against Night Sky

Unsplash provided by photograph Greg Rakozy

“Is it possible?” Gary asked, standing in the cubicle entrance, laying his hands on either post so he spanned the opening like a door or barricade.

Eugene stared at his computer screen, struggling to find the appropriate words to answer. Internally, he felt shaking from the constant stress start again. “Well, with the deadlines and personnel available–”

“I asked you a yes or no question,” his boss and company owner gritted out. “Why do you always make it complicated? I want this done. The client, one of our best, wants this. Your job is to make it done. Understood?”

Gripping his hands under the desk, Eugene froze his face before turning toward Gary Bergerson, “Yes, sir.”

“Great, I want to see the budget on my desk by three so I can present the numbers to Naylor Holdings tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” Eugene responded, mentally canceling his lunch and two other urgent tasks in his head for people other than the owner. As soon as Gary walked away, he called the beta team supervisor and the accounting manager to rearrange meetings.

He had the printout on Gary’s desk five minutes before three. It would have been faster to email it, but the owner hated email, insisting on the personal touch. Privately Eugene wondered if the boss had dyslexia since he refused to read anything longer than a few sentences. Eugene had been reprimanded several times with, “I need the bottom line, not explanations.”

“What the hell are these numbers?”

Eugene’s developing ulcer, which worsened whenever he skipped meals, twisted at the explosion. He squeezed his hands to control the shaking. “The budget you requested for Naylor Holdings, sir.”

“Are you kidding me? They just want a small tweak to our basic program. It shouldn’t take longer than a couple weeks at best!” Gary roared.

“Sir, the change is hardly small. At least 200 lines of code will need changing. Then program will need to be tested. And they have backward compatibility built into their contract–”

Gary interrupted. “Twelve weeks? They need it in four.”

“I understand the time frame sir, which is why I made two budgets. The first was least cost scenario since you were doing this as a favor.” Eugene gestured to the report, and Gary started turning pages. “If you look at the second budget, that includes rearranging personnel from other projects–”

“And we lose the early finish bonus on the Birt contract. What the fuck? Getting it done in three weeks basically will cost us a year’s profit? You told me this was possible.”

“Sir, as I tried to explain earlier, our personnel are stretched at the–”

“You know Rando, I am tired of your bullshit. You are fired.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get the fuck out of my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hands still shaking, Eugene walked out thinking, Well that wasn’t so bad. He nodded to Gary’s secretary, then stopped a second. “Could you ask Mike to meet me my desk immediately?”

“Certainly Mr. Rando, what shall I tell him it is about?” The immaculate secretary pushed a button, turning on her hands-free phone.

“It’s a security concern. Tell him it would be good if he got there before me.”

Mike was still huffing when Eugene strolled into his cubicle where he had been managing the three programming teams and the quality testing department, forty people in all. Only the owner and his brother-in-law, the head of sales, rated rooms with doors.

“What’s up, Gene?”

“I’ve been fired and thought you would like to see me pack up.” Eugene put down the empty box he picked up when he passed the copier on his way back.

“Fuck, and congratulations.” Mike shook his head. Programming, accounting, and security were at odds with sales, and they all hated being there since the original owner had retired and passed on the company to his youngest son two years ago but the economy meant the resumees most of the managers have been sending out hadn’t received much in the way of response. The Director of Human Resources was the most recent to successfully jump ship, but then Gary treated all of the women on the management team like crap, so she was willing to take a pay cut to switch companies. “He hasn’t even called me, and he let you walk around unescorted?”

“Yep. Guess he didn’t pay attention during the discussion we had after Angeline left?” Angeline had been the HR Director. At that time Programming and Security had sat down with all the managers to develop an exit strategy procedure. Requiring escort, locking out passwords and user names, and collecting equipment all had been covered. HR could have done a lot of damage with access to wipe out all payroll and personnel records. And that scenario didn’t come close to what Eugene could do since he had overseen the programming of all the security measures. And unlike Angeline, he had been actually fired instead of resigned.

***

“You’re home early.” Jordan gave Eugene a quick kiss on the cheek when she came into the kitchen where he was washing dishes. The clock only showed six; usually Eugene pulled twelve-hour days plus a commute, leaving home at six am and getting home often after nine.

Eugene nodded, his face still frozen from the morning argument and his voice deadened. “Got fired today, so thought I would make lasagna. Should be ready to come out in another hour.”

“Oh, honey.”

“I’m okay.” He said, scrubbing the saucepan. “Really.”

“No, you are not.” His girlfriend stated, putting her hands over his in the suds. “Let that soak.” She pushed gently on his hands until he let the pan sink to the bottom of the water. “Let’s go talk.”

Eugene looked over at the timer. On top of the stove was a baking pan lined with sliced bread covered in butter and garlic to put into the oven when the lasagna come out to rest. His eyes darted around the room, taking in everything there and the nearby dining room visible from the kitchen.

“The wine on ice.” Jordan opened the fridge. “The salad is ready. You got everything ready. Even the table is set and the candles are ready to go. Come on.” She pulled him to the living room.

“I just wanted everything good.” He explained as she leaned against him on the sofa. “You do so much. Making the food, cleaning house, everything. I thought I could do something.”

“It’s okay. You were working sixty and seventy hour weeks.”

Eugene looked down at his lap where his hands were gripped together. He still felt like he was shaking. “And now I’m not.”

“We have money saved. It’s okay.”

“I hate job hunting.” Eugene whispered.

“I know.” Jordan pulled her feet on the couch and leaned closer. Eugene wasn’t much for touching in public, but he would hold onto her at night.

Releasing his fists, his arm went around her, pulling her head into his shoulder. “I hate working…for people.”

“What happened?”

“Same as always.” He told her about trying to explain the juggling of priorities to the owner, the interruption and demands, and the end result of the budget. She responded with all the appropriate sighs and sympathies, asking questions to pull the teeth of the story.

After Eugene had finally wound down, Jordan asked, “Why do you think you have so much trouble?”

“People say they want precision and truth in their analysis, and they really don’t.”

“Well, do you think you could learn to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’? It would help soothe things.” She suggested, having run into the issue with him at home.

“I’ve tried.” He kissed her on the forehead. “But people think they are asking a yes or no question and they really aren’t. I’m an analyst; my job is to make certain the management has the tools to make an informed decision. I would not be doing my job if I didn’t make sure they understood the question they were really asking.”

“That kind of arrogance really puts the management on edge, hon.”

“I know.” He shrugged, bouncing her head a little. “But I just can’t be a ‘yes’ man. If you were management, shouldn’t you know what things really cost? Not just in money, but time and resources?”

“Yes, I guess so.” She changed position so she could watch his face better, putting her feet in his lap to keep physical contact he needed even if he wouldn’t admit the comfort of touch. “But don’t managers know how to ask the questions? After all they are the managers.”

“No, they don’t.”

“How so?”

“Well, they ask bad questions.” He started removing her shoes, looking pensively down while she tried to read the emotions on his frozen face.

“Okay, so give me an example.”

“They ask questions like, ‘Is the sky blue?’” He frowned at her slightly swollen ankles.

She worked museum and spent most of her day on her feet. They had met just over a year ago when he reported a display description was incorrect. He had been right to the annoyance of her management. Two things he excelled at, being right and being annoying. But he had paid for the new plaque, and then asked her out on a first date … a year ago today. How had he remember when she hadn’t? That had to be what the lasagna was about. She had remembered the day they had met two months ago, and he had gotten her flowers the next day as an apology. Guess he didn’t want to be caught out again on another anniversary.

“Yeeesss?” She stated the obvious answer to the question, not sure where he was going.

Eugene looked over at her, and his face finally unfroze enough for a twitch of a smile. “Except when it is not.” His hands wrapped her ankles and started massaging. “Is it blue right now?” He nodded at the picture window in the living room.

“Well, yes–no, it’s sunset. Wow, the sky is spectacular right now.”

“Yeah, in another hour it will be black. And then there are clouds, so the sky can be blue AND white, or just white, or gray if cloudy enough, even black. During tornadoes, it is green.” He glanced up at her again as his voice gained its usual cadence. “So, really, the sky is usually a color other than blue. It is black at least half the time for night, and may be any of a number of other of colors during the day. So, is the sky blue – yes or no?”

The alarm buzzed. Gently moving her feet, Eugene got up and went to the oven.

Standing up, she followed him into the kitchen. “I get it.” She watched as he pulled out the lasagna. “So questions like, ‘is the sun shining?’ really bug you.”

“Actually that one is a yes.” he said, putting the garlic bread in for a quick toast.

“What?”

“Is the sun shining? It is always yes.”

She sputtered a moment while he handed her the salad and dressings. “What about night?”

“Just because we can’t see it, does not stop the sun from shining.” Eugene’s brown eyes twinkled as he grinned.

Following him with the food, Jordan shook her head in disbelief as he placed the lasagna on the table. “Because it is a star. So for rhetorical type questions where people expect a yes-or-no answer, you can’t give one and ones where they really are asking a question about status about if it will rain soon, you give them a yes-or-no which really isn’t the answer to the question they were asking.”

He held out her seat, and she sat down.

“People don’t know how to ask questions.” He went back into the kitchen just as the garlic bread smell entered the dining room.

“You are a crazy analyst; you know that right?” Jordan yelled after him.

Bringing back the bread on a serving plate, he placed it on the table before grabbing her ponytail and pulling back her head then kissing her thoroughly. “Yes, and you love me.”

After she remembered how to breathe, she responded while he poured the wine, “Yes. Lord grant me patience, I do.”

“And I love you.” Eugene sat down across from her at the table. “Will you marry me?”

“Is that a yes-or-no question?” She smirked at him.

He burst out in true laughter for the first time in months. The job had been killing him inside-out. “Yes, it is a yes-or-no question.”

“Yes.”

THE END AND BEGINNING

(words 2,103 – first publication 1/31/2016)

Flash: Used Tissues

3D Green Tissue Box Stock Art

Image courtesy of Freedigitalphotos.net

Melissa looked at the pile of tissues. Another headcold, maybe. She bit her lip. Then turned and trod determinably to the living room where her sons were studying.

Grabbing the remote control, she flicked off the Japanese cartoons before announcing, “Family meeting!”

The boys groaned and rolled over, setting aside the books they had been nearly reading. Attentively, well, as attentive as a 12- and 14-year old can be, they looked towards her.

“I’m no longer picking up the tissues beside your bed.”

“Mom!” LeVarr protested.

Alijah, her younger son, grabbed a couch pillow and buried his face.

“Just letting you know how it is. From now on you want things washed, they go into the hamper. You know that green thing in the bathroom you put your muddy cleats on. If they are not in there, they don’t get washed.” Melissa tucked the remote in her back pocket. “You want the trash emptied, you empty it. You want your bedsheets cleaned, you strip the bed. I will teach you how to wash your linens. Your bedrooms are now your own chore.”

LeVarr’s blush had subsided. “Cool!”

Knowing exactly what LeVarr was thinking, Melissa continued. “That does not mean I rescind my right to enter your room whenever I want. You are still my kids, and I will inspect the room. If we have guests over, the room will be clean.”

“Geez, it’s not like they go into there.” Alijah complained.

“Don’t care.” Melissa smiled grimly, while inside she both laughed and shuddered at what she was about to say. The adult in her loved teasing the boys; LeVarr developing understanding of adult humor made his sarcasm as sharp as hers, and he finally was getting to the point of being funny instead of just needing to be smacked. The mother in her wanted to run for the hills at the next bit of truth. “Someday you may have a girl in your bedroom,–”

“Mom!” LeVarr blushed deep enough to show through his dark skin.

“– not under my roof, but someday you may actually move out and get your own place. Before you are forty if I’m lucky. And when you do, you will be grateful for the habit of cleaning up everything before guests come over. Clear?”

“Yes, mom” Alijah’s reply overlapped with the teenage LeVarr’s affirmative, “As mud, my mudder.”

“Right. Finish your homework, and, Alijah, I want to look over that math assignment. LeVarr let me know when you are ready for your research paper so I can boot up the laptop. I’ll be cleaning the dinner dishes.” She paused a moment before adding. “And thanks boys, I love you.”

“Love you too mom.” They responded in unison before reaching for their schoolbooks.

She took the remote into the kitchen and wondered how long it would take them to realize it.

(words 476 – first publication 1/17/2016)