So finally—moments before year-end—I published a few short stories on
Kindle. It was a fulfillment of a promise I made to myself, and several other
people. They are both holiday stories, one taking place on Christmas Eve, the
other on New Year’s Eve. And they both are intended to entertain, invigorate
your sense of what is art and craft, warm you’re a heart a bit, and heat-up
whatever you like heated. Santa has left a few tidbits of the prose below as a
teaser, but the complete stories can be found in Amazon’s Kindle store: http://www.amazon.com/Holiday-Naughty-Bits-Array-Jackson-ebook/dp/B00HFA3ERO/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1388252238&sr=1-1&keywords=holiday+naughty+bits
The Ripened Grape
… He
put his hand on the bottle, but she pulled it away and chugged. “Maybe not…but
I can choose what I do. I’m staying here with you.”
“No you’re not.” He squeezed her hand tight and stood up, jerking her up
with him. “Please go,” he begged.
“How did you even get into here?”
“I stopped by Dave Mathis’ house and told him I overlooked two crates of
wine. He gave me the key and asked me to return it to his mailbox. I really did
have two crates of wine left on the truck, but that was a loading error, not an
unloading error. I guess I’ve made a small dent in one of those crates
tonight.”
“We,” she whispered. “We…you and I made that dent.”
“Our whole Christmas Eve has kind of been a ‘dent’.”
“And I’ve loved every minute with you.”
He pulled her into himself. “If we could only be together,” he whispered
into her ear, “we could make beautiful dents all day long, chipping and
chiseling away until we were left with a beautiful sculpture. I don’t know what
it would resemble, but I think it would glorious.”
A familiar dizziness registered with Liz. It was chilly in the store room
but probably not unbearable. She unbuttoned her coat, knowing her time was
short, and whispered into his ear:
“Let’s just close our eyes and start chiseling.”
His hands pushed her fingers off the last coat button and in a moment her
coat dropped to the floor, quickly followed by his. Roger’s fingers started at
her neck and strolled all the way down her—lightly over her lingerie—until
landing on her thighs. “Did you just leave in a hurry, or did you intend to
present yourself this way?”
“We made good progress earlier,” she said. “Why start from the beginning
again?”
Vibrations
of Victoria, Varvatos, and Vodka
… What
she imagined she’d never label as “making love”. She shoved again and this time
he backed up, and she could see his face. “Obviously there’s some attraction
between us,” she said. “But don’t you think we should get to know each other—.”
He
squeezed her thigh and brushed his lips over hers. “Why?” he asked, directly
into her mouth.
Honestly,
she didn’t have an answer for him. She turned her head to her left, and his
lips dragged over her cheek. She looked back to the masterpiece behind her,
flipping back about 13 steps in her plan. “They’re making Chocolate Carmel
Martinis in the break room,” she said.
He
kissed her cheek and then her neck. “Are they using chocolate syrup or liquor?”
he asked.
Since
the occurrence was a complete fabrication her answer was thoughtless: “Syrup.”
“Mmmm…”
His lips continued down her neck, and her head tipped back and she closed her
eyes. Holly felt herself slowly falling…
She
braced her upper body with her elbows and her eyes popped open, captivated by
the mystical piece of art next to her. The shiny silver paper clips were a
first as far as she could remember and seemed appropriate for the holiday.
Their glossy triangular container had her mesmerized until she realized a
finger was gliding lightly down her breast bone.
“Nick…”
His
face was buried between her neck and the stiff collar of her blouse. “Tell me
Holly. Does your mouth taste like vodka?”
Actually,
the cool peppermint toothpaste she’d used minutes before entering his office
lingered on her tongue, but his question instigated the formation of a new
tactic. Balancing on one elbow, she used her left forearm to push against his
chest. “Do you prefer gin or vodka?” she asked.
He
moved away from her, both of his warm hands now gripping her sides. Nick pulled
her back up to sitting. “Actually, I prefer Don Julio Tequila Reposado.”
His
riposte, possibly intentionally, didn’t fit the shape. This response was big
and round. She needed an answer with a straight, deep “V”.
