Friday, May 20, 2016


Hey friends and readers. It's that time again. I'm recovering from some pretty major oral surgery (which is way worse than any other kind, IMO) so the conclusion to this week's flash fiction is fully a homage to the food I *can't* eat, and the food I've largely been living on for a week. How's that for some vague? At any rate, I hope you enjoy the second part of This I Know.

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This I Know Part 2; by Tucker McCallahan:

The heavenly scent of genuine Mexican food rolled out the door as it opened. Angel strutted out dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He looked as good as he smelled. He saw me and did the head-tilt-chin-lift thing that passed as a greeting, but then his lips curved up into a sexy smile.

"Hey china."

"My name's Anthony."

He laughed.

"I like china better. My little brat."

I ducked my head as a blush stained my cheeks. This guy drove me crazy. He started walking down the alley behind Harvey's at a brisk pace. I had to jog to catch up to him.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Gonna take you to TJ's and feed you." His dark eyes danced as he glanced in my direction. "Less you want me to call you flaco instead of china."

"I don't speak Spanish."

"Mexican." His spine straightened and that chin came up again. "I'm Mexican."

"I'm a mutt. Melting pot American."

"Maybe you got some Mexican in you."

"I don't think so," I said.

"You want some?" he asked with a throaty little purr. I blushed–again–but met his eyes this time.


We walked the four blocks to Tijuana, also known as TJ's, in silence. Angel's presence at my side keyed me up like nothing else had in longer than I could remember. I was hyper-aware of him, of his every movement and expression. I wanted his arm around me, or my fingers entwined with his. It was all totally out of character for me. I was anxious and aroused at the same time, my heart thudding and lurching as we got closer to the restaurant.

As far as I could tell, TJ's was closed for the night. Not surprising since it was after 2AM. The entire building was dark and closed up. I frowned, unsure of where to go. Angel jerked his head to the side, and we headed around to the back of the place. He produced a heavy key ring from his pocket and unlocked the back door. He opened the door and held it for me before following me inside. With an ease that could only come from being fully familiar with the building, he reached a hand into the darkness and flipped a few switches.

Light flooded the commercial kitchen and left me slightly dazzled. The kitchen looked like all it was missing was Gordon Ramsey front and center, barking orders. Every surface inside the massive space gleamed.

"You look surprised."

"It's huge."

Those luscious lips curved up for me again as he held my gaze with his. "Yes." His smile transformed into a smirk. "It's huge."

I went up in flames on the spot.

"You have to stop doing that." 

"I like watching you turn pink." He strolled over to one of the industrial refrigerators and opened it, peering inside. "You still hungry?"

"What I want isn't in that frig."

"Don't be so sure." He vanished into the depths of the tremendous machine and reemerged with several covered containers. "You like spicy, yeah?"

"Love it."

Settling the containers into the crook of one arm, he extended his free hand to me. A zing sailed from my chest down to my balls as I curled my fingers around his. He led me through the kitchen into the dining room.

Chairs were turned up on wooden tables that had probably been all the rage in the 60's. The wooden floors and pillars gleamed with high-gloss polish. The lush aroma of live plants filled the air, and in my mind I imagined a Aztec temple scene, exotic blooms side by side with ferns and banana trees. Without all the lights on I had no idea where the scent actually came from, and I didn't really care. My fantasy was no doubt better than reality.

Angel handed me the containers and divested a large table of its chairs, righting them and setting them on the floor. I started to open the top container and he stopped me, taking the covered dishes from my hands and setting them on the table. His dark eyes smoldered.



"What, you want the men's room instead?"


"So strip."

My fingers went to the collar of my shirt, fumbling with the slick little buttons. At the rustle of cloth, my eyes flicked up. Angel's t-shirt fell to the floor. His skin was the same dark honey color of the polished wood and gleamed just as brightly. I wanted to see more of him so badly I wasn't sure whose belt to reach for: his or mine. He made the decision for me by tugging my belt free and opening my pants with a few quick jerks.

Clothes flew in a frenzy, neither of us paying any attention to what landed where. Angel's lips hit my chest, his hot mouth closing around my collarbone and sucking as cool air swirled up over my exposed flesh. I yanked at his tight jeans. He chuckled and I shivered, chill bumps racing ahead of his breath. My hands connected–finally!–with his skin and we came together in a clash of heat that sent my eyeballs rolling back into my skull.

Nothing that had happened in the Harvey Wallbanger men's room excited me even half as much as Angel. His mouth moved like a machine, chewing and sucking along my chest and up my neck. I trembled against him, sweaty and aroused, hands gripping and sliding over his perfect ass. His shoulders bunched and bulged as he lifted me off the floor and plunked my ass down on the table. My thighs fell apart, eager to cradle his body against mine. He was like some dark god, all burning eyes, black hair, and eager hands.

He laid me flat on the table and I moaned, back arching to keep our flesh pressed together. I heard the telltale tear of a condom wrapper and shuddered. My hips tilted up, but the pressure and slick fulfillment I needed were not forthcoming. I opened my eyes and found him staring down at me. He looked as hungry as I felt.

One of his hands reached above me. Just as my lips parted to ask what he was doing, the smooth tip of the condom nudged me. I tried not to squirm and failed. His low chuckle caressed my ears like velvet.

"So eager."

"Need you." That breathy voice couldn't possibly belong to me.

"Open your eyes, china."

I obeyed, though I didn't remember closing them. Angel hovered over me, his mouth curved into a sensual smile. A long, finely tapered, green chili pepper dangled from his fingers. My heart skipped a beat.

Angel rested the tip of the pepper on his full lower lip long enough for me to admire the contrast between red and green, and then slowly sank his teeth into it. My pulse hammered as he chewed. The scent of fresh jalapeno saturated the air. He bent his head and wrapped his lips around my left nip.

The oil from the fresh pepper in his mouth hit my skin like lava.

I hissed, hands shooting into his hair. His mouth came away exactly long enough for him to eat the rest of the pepper. Nip burning and eyes wide, I watched, fingers twisted in his hair as he chewed. The tip of the condom pressed against me. Then Angel lunged, and liquid fire rained across my chest as he thrust inside me.

The sex was like a detonation. Flames licked along my flesh in the wake of his tongue. Heat poured over me as his mouth landed on mine, his lips burning me with every kiss. Sweat rolled down my skin and tears leaked from my eyes as he fucked me hard and deep. My arousal built so fast and hot I had no control over it. My orgasm was a splatter of cool wetness, consumed by the inferno of Angel's body.

He fucked me until I gyrated on the table, a writhing mass of burning skin. Inarticulate sobs slipped from between my clenched teeth and were lost in the noise of the table pounding the floor and Angel's roar as he came.

My head spun. I twitched and jerked uncontrollably. As good as the orgasm was, the relentless burning was getting to be too much. I was frantic for relief and moaned in agony.

The splash of cold shocked me. My whole body jolted. Angel's laughter sent tingles racing along my skin. I blinked in surprise as more cold liquid drenched me.

Milk. He was pouring milk all over us.

I stared in utter astonishment as streams of white liquid ran all over me, puddling between our bodies, on the table, and dripping onto the floor.

"Open," Angel commanded.

I blinked again, fluttering my eyelashes to see through the huge mess.

"Your mouth, china," he explained patiently. "Open your mouth."

Like an idiot, I opened my mouth, and he poured a thin stream of milk into it. I choked, coughed, and spit half of it out before managing to swallow. I rose up on my elbows and surveyed the damage. I'd had messy sex before, but this was a definite record.

Angel stood at the foot of the table, a lazy smile on his gorgeous face, body covered with sweat and milk. He backed up and helped me to climb off the table.

"How much trouble will you get in for this mess?"

"Eh. Not much." Angel shrugged. "My cousin owns the place."

I glanced around and couldn't see my clothes. My stomach growled loudly. Angel laughed.

"Guess I should feed you for real."

"If you feed me, you might have to keep me."

Angel wrapped his t-shirt around his neck and held out his hand.

"This I know."

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Once again, thanks so much for reading! Comments are, as always, craved and appreciated. 

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Friday, May 6, 2016


Hey all! Welcome to another round of Free Fiction Friday. This week's story is posting in two parts, so the conclusion will post next Friday, 5/13.

Head out this weekend and enjoy the eye candy and action of Marvel's Civil War if you get a chance. Robert Downey Jr. as Iron Man is always good, and my resident comic-geek spouse has informed me the actual movie is good as well.

That said, enjoy Part 1 of This I Know.

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The problem with fucking in the men’s room at Harvey Wallbanger’s wasn’t the tiny little toilet, or the fact that it had no tank for balancing. It wasn’t the graffiti on the walls, either. The crude cock and ball drawings, dirty limericks, and “for a good time call” phone numbers that looked vaguely familiar were actually entertaining. It wasn’t even the guy I’d taken in there, whose name I couldn’t remember now. Ted? Ned? He might’ve just said, “Hi, gimme head.” The volume of the dance music in Harvey’s and my general social malaise made meaningful conversation impossible.

No, the problem with fucking in Harvey Wallbanger’s men’s room was the smell.

I stood there, perched really, on the tiny little toilet that had no tank in a stall that was too narrow with walls covered in familiar graffiti, while Right Said Fred tried his best to slot up and make some magic happen, and the smell of Mexican food overwhelmed me.

I don’t know if the bulimic twinks who populated the club’s VIP section finally eliminated the middle man and just threw their food straight into the toilet, or if some idiot got so stoned he ordered Loco Louie’s all-natural Mexican eatery to deliver his dinner directly to the men’s room. But somebody had authentic empanadas and tamales. The spicy combination of the chorizo and corn masa in the tamales perfumed the air with a sultry aroma that teased my senses far more effectively than Jed, who was still mindlessly rutting behind me, clueless.

I inhaled deeply, letting the fantastic mélange of scents bombard my olfactory nerves. For the first time in my life, I lost all interest in the sex I was having. My erection fell like a deflated meringue as my stomach growled. The sound effect was so loud that Ahmed froze mid-thrust.

“Bra, what the fuck was that?”

“Did you just call me ‘Bra’?" I slid off his dick and looked at him with utter scorn.

"It's not like I got your name."

"And that's a good thing." I didn't even bother wiping the lube off. I yanked my jeans up and exited the stall, buttoning and zipping as I went.

I ignored the pair of guys doing lines of anonymous white powder off the sink and followed my nose. It led me through the men's to the janitor, who leaned against the wall waiting to mop. I stopped short and stared at him. He was gorgeous.

"You got a problem?" His voice was heavily accented.


His chin came up, heavy dark brows furrowing over darker eyes as he shoved off the wall into an upright position.

"Fuck you, mariposo."

"No, you don't understand." I groped for the right words before the hot Mexican janitor beat the fuck out of me. Then his words registered. "Wait. Did you just call me a butterfly?"


A string of what I'm sure were negative and derogatory insults spilled from him mouth in a foreign language flood. Now I was hungry, horny, and confused. The four years of high school Spanish I'd taken were so hazy I didn't remember much past being able to ask where the bathroom was and say thank you.
The men's room door opened and a guy in a suit came in. He glanced at the guys doing lines, and then at me and the janitor. He made a face.

"No fucking while you're on the clock, Angel."

My inspiration for "Angel," Draven Torres.

The janitor's hands clenched his mop so tightly I was sure he was going to crack the thing in two. But his eyes and face reflected perfect blankness. The suit made a quick circuit of the bathroom and left. The instant the door closed behind him, the janitor glared at me and growled through clenched teeth.

"Get the fuck out!"

I fled.

I didn't go far, though. That heavenly aroma faded the moment I got back inside the club, and I felt like I was starving. Besides that, the janitor was more interesting than Ted-Ned-Fred-Ahmed-Jed-Zed.

I didn't bother with another too-strong drink. Instead I waited against a convenient pillar, one eye on the door to the men's. When the janitor emerged shoving the rolling mop bucket before him like a plow, I snaked through the writhing bodies of sweaty boys in that direction. I caught up to him at a door marked Employees Only. I had to shout to be heard over the din.


He either didn't hear me or he ignored me, and walked through the door. Before it could close and separate me from that holy aroma of goodness and the body it was attached to, I stuck a hand out, pushed it open, and slipped inside behind him.

"Hey–" I stopped as he brandished the mop like a weapon. "Whoa! I just wanna talk."

"You can't be in here."

"Who's gonna say anything?"

"My boss."

I inhaled. I couldn’t help it. He smelled so fucking delicious.

"What's wrong with you?" He let the mop drop back into the bucket with a plop.

"That's what I wanted to say to you." Like some high school kid, I blushed. "You smell amazing. Like tamales and empanadas."

"I work at TJ's before I come here."

"I've never been there. I've heard it's good, though." I inhaled again and my stomach growled. A surprised look spread across his face and he laughed.

"When's the last time you ate?"

I shrugged.

"You don't remember when you ate last?"

"Eating isn't a big priority–usually."

His eyes darted nervously to the door…and then to me. He checked me out like I was a side of beef. My legs went weak.

"Meet me at the back door in an hour."

He turned away without waiting for my answer. We both knew I'd be there. 

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Once again, thanks so much for reading! Comments are, as always, craved and appreciated. 

Be Sure To Check Out The Other Stories:

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