(another horny intern to deal with at the towers that are A Word with You Press) Good evening. A little late posting the final two stories. Spent the day in court, but as Jean Rodenbough so frustrated us in one her contest entries “…but that’s another story.” There are but two stories to post as …
(another horny intern to deal with at the towers that are A Word with You Press)
A little late posting the final two stories. Spent the day in court, but as Jean Rodenbough so frustrated us in one her contest entries “…but that’s another story.”
There are but two stories to post as finalists in The First Annual Peggy Dobbs’ Write-of-Passage Contest.
This is one of them. I am consistently declining to name the author…keep you guessing.
Princess Kismet of my Thousand Starships
by Contestant # 6
Princess Kismet ascended, melting my eyes with hers, transfixing my every inner cell to whirling landing lights of a flying saucer’s landing. Her gentleman, shoulder strong, tippy-toe tall, gently handsome and huggably diplomatic evaporated as did my best friend along with this Earth. For Kismet is quantum mechanical insobriety, quark charmed cat gliding through my skinned walls, laser blissed parallel universe of milk and honey purrs, tractor-beaming love.
“I’m Princess Kismet, Beautiful. Hug?”
This enchanting jet pilot turned chemist then physics PHD so fully in my arms, her pale, petite, transparent soul, so feminine that I imagined myself, futuristic Menelaus embracing his 22nd century Helen of Troy whose beauty could launch my thousand starships to the edge of our known universe.
Her words danced through my thick branched sexual vastness expanding and contracting my reborn soul. Others spoke rational thoughts, but what did they matter? My juxtaposition within her escape horizon gravity’s tolling she is half your age; while her demisexual intellect, claimed affections beyond age, body and orientation in-between my poetry read aloud.
First evening became first night of a false parting, wired as Borg, offering no resistance. My mind being so hardwired to her joyous explorations of space beyond that sleep seemed futile. Each dream becoming Kismet. Each awakening crying her glorious name out loud.
Poetry, written intimacies, requiems to star fated launchings. Her Princess lips on mine awakened me, her Sleeping Beauty. Our beginning kiss labeled taboo, but by then, it was too late.