UNDER CONSTRUCTION

The Duel - Day 2

Round #2 in the week-long Flash Fiction duel between Selena Jardine and Alexis Sieffert. The pressure builds.

The seconds once again approached the bulletin board. Father Nat waved DrSpin ahead, and the good Doctor posted:

Jumping

By Selena Jardine

(Flash Fiction - 299 words)

It was a hot summer. The fad, the in thing, was jumping rope. All the girls were doing it. The little ones did it most, of course, but the older girls got sucked in: thirteen-, fourteen-, fifteen-year-olds. You could hear the chanting of jump-rope rhymes all the way down the street.

A, my name is Alice
My sweetheart's name is Albert
I come from Alabama
And I love APPLES!

The other in thing during a hot summer? Fucking. What else are you going to do in the city with all that time off school? No one can jump rope all day.

This was a sport for the big girls. I remember Carl McPherson pressing me up against the brick wall of the back of his apartment building. The bricks were incredibly hot through the back of my blouse, and I leaned my head forward so I wouldn't burn my neck. His hands went under my skirt and touched me gently. I could hear the jump-rope rhymes nearby.

B, my name is Betsy
My sweetheart's name is Boris
I come from Boston Bay
And I love BANANAS!

I spread my legs for him, knowing this was what you were supposed to do. He fucked me in the heat of the summer while the jump-ropes slapped rhythmically on the hot asphalt, and it didn't feel like much of anything except triumph. It felt like initiation. I wanted to do it again, forever.

Afterward, I pulled my skirt down and went to jump rope with my friend Loretta. She knew exactly what had happened. I jumped and jumped, my legs strong. I looked her right in the eyes and I told the truth:

C, my name is Charlotte
My sweetheart's name is Carl
I come from Chicago
And I love COCK!

The reverand Father wasted no time in appending:

Clocktower

A Flashfic by Alexis Siefert, 2002
295 Words

"185, 186…" He muttered under his breath on each step. It was the same. Of course it was. The rhythm, the patterns, the sameness of it all. It can't change.

The bag thumped his thigh. The routine kept him going when he'd rather just let go. It all threatened to become too much, to boil over, but he knew that the tower was always there. It kept him sane.

He paused-always-before stepping onto the deck. Officially, the tower was off-limits, but one of the few benefits of being a janitor was the ability to "borrow" a master key. He'd had this one for almost a year now, and no one seemed the wiser.

He strode towards the brick-framed window. This was the important part. The rest was just noise, static. He crossed to the railing, set his bag down, and bent to one knee as he pulled open the zipper. He allowed himself a moment's pause to luxuriate in the anticipation-to envision what was waiting under those metal teeth. His world narrowed leaving only the bag, the windows, the courtyard, and its inhabitants below. With steady hands he snapped the sight to the barrel and raised the stock to his shoulder. He leaned forward, and his finger tensed. Smooth metal, heavy against his palm. He found her quickly. His cock throbbed, pulling against the tightness of his shorts. The cross-hairs slid past the dip of her waist, the swell of breasts. Her laughing, mocking smile clarified in his sight as he pulled, smoothly against the trigger. The dry click of the hammer on an empty chamber echoed softly in his ear; a familiar wetness spread at his crotch.

He was ignored down there. Just another peon. Up here…

Someday they'd know better.

In a continuum-shift that would make any continuity-editor insane, Nat suddenly reappeared at the table with Des, Souvie, and Gary, his hand again (still?) on Souvie's thigh.

He beams fondly at her. "Nice tits," he remarks, nodding at them appreciatively.

Souvie smiled back. "Feeling cheeky today, are we Nat?"

"Absolutely on top of the world," he affirmed affably. "Four great flashfic stories out of the gate already. What do youse-all fockers think of 'em, eh?"

There was a baffled silence.

"That means," said Father Nat, abandoning all subtlety, that the peanut gallery is welcome to comment on the stories."

"Oh," Souvie said with a nod of her head. "I think you were implying something about a recent orgy, which I vehemently deny any and all knowledge of." She wondered if her 'serious' face was serious enough.

Desdmona stands up and shouts, "Hurrah for the lady painters of words! Long may they write."

"Uh-hem, Des?" There it is again! Gary thought. That feeling that someone is putting words in my mouth.

"Yes, Gary?"

"Are you sure you mean long? This is flash fiction, remember?" Well, at least this time I said what I was thinking.

"Fiddlesticks! You pun men are relentless," she chortled. "OK, let them write short, but let them write MORE!"

"Uh, Des?" The hair on GAry's neck stood straight up! There it goes again!

"Yes, GAry?"

"Are you sure you want to use the word 'short'? Seems to me that's how this thing started." Gary felt like a sockpuppet. He could almost feel the hand up his butt, and he was not into that! But he wished he'd thought to say it, anyway.

"Grr! I suppose this means I can't say they're running neck-in-neck either!"

"Better not." Aaaargh! Why can't I control my self?

"Probably not. 'Tongue in throat,' perhaps. Probably not that, either," injected Uther. "'Neck and neck' might -- when all is said and done -- be safer."

"How about tit for tat?"

Gary guffawed and nearly choked on his ale. Now they're putting ale in my mouth. he choked inside as well as out. Where's my hot chocolate? Where's my diet pepsi?

Oh, Jeeze, they've got DEs chortling, too, he thunk. Who's doing this, and for what nefarious purpose?

Desdmona fidgeted, still missing her fan, before finally measuring her words.."All four stories are terrific. I give the first round to Alexis, and the second round to Selena!" Then she promptly plopped back in her seat.

Souvie shook her head. "I disagree. I'd give the first round to Selena and call the second round a tie."

Gary shot her a puzzled look. "You didn't like Alexis's first story better than Selena's?"

"I thought they were both about equal, I just liked Selena's title better."

Gary shot Des a knowing look. "The French. I should have known she'd be a sucker for a French title."

"I feel so... used," Gary managed to say aloud. It must be a woman, he thought. It's my destiny to be used and then cast aside by women. And I hate going to those toy parties, wearing those clothes, being treated like just a sex object.

There was another SNAP, and another page of the calendar fell away, making it time for:

Round #3 in the week-long Flash Fiction duel between
Selena Jardine and Alexis Siefert.