Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Theme 89 - Aphrodisiac

From @AbhiAndNow:

“Why did you kill them?”
“I wanted skin oils,” he said looking towards the occupants of the courtroom and imagined them riding each other’s naked bodies.
“You think, this tiny bottle can make us all dance to your tunes?”
He smiled.
They say they never saw an orgy like that, they never saw him again.

From @mizarcle:

Word counts were never my thing. I wrote 250 words for a 1000 words story and edited the fuck out of another which was supposed to be a 55 words story. Imagine my dilemma when asked to write flash fiction on aphrodisiac. I smiled all I need is 3 words. 

"You are it."


From @jumidas1: Chocolate, viagra, alcohol, oyster, psychoanalysis. She tried all. Finally she gave up. She realized that without love, nothing works. He gave up on love the day he realized it is not an aphrodisiac. Theirs is a happy marriage; they were compatible in their mutual absence of love for each other.

From @miffalicious:

She was hidden in the crowd, watching him from afar. He’d just taken his place at the piano. She closed her eyes. His fingers caressed the keys, the music filled her, colours danced before her eyes.

Just the night before, his fingers had danced over her, slowly, softly.

If only he knew, she couldn’t feel.

From @ThePheno_Menon: Old age was a bad thing. He knew it better than anyone else. All his manhood had deteriorated and disintegrated as the years flew by. And now he could do nothing. Even Laila's lips were not enough. He needed something stronger. Death, he hoped, would be the ultimate aphrodisiac.

From @MixelRandy: Aphrodite walked around her gardens, surveying the newly planted shrubs. The rows were dotted with greens and reds and blues and purples. She glided slowly among them, assessing, scrutinising. Finally, she came to the newest shrub. Strawberry, the plaque said. She tasted one slowly, allowing the delicate flavour to fill her mouth, and she knew.

From @anushreekejriwa: He was a poor trader who couldn't afford wine and chocolates for his love. For him she was the aphrodisiac whereas she was busy looking for someone who could buy her love.

From @TandooriCutlet: She wanted to remain in darkness even as he fumbled for the light switch. With a gasp, she stumbled backwards. Everywhere she looked, she saw herself reflected in mirrors. This wasn’t normal. Maybe there was a camera somewhere. She ran out. He sighed. They didn’t understand. He wasn’t a pervert. He was his own aphrodisiac.

From @sinpinklove: He took a strawbery from the bowl , dipped it in chocolate and took a small bite.He then rubbed it over her breasts ,first one then the other .She sighed.He placed it in her mouth and slowly nibbled at it and then at her lip. They shared the strawberry and then their bodies.

From @CruciFire:

He showered her with haikus and limericks though short stories were the most cherished.

His commas and semi-colons were precise.
Never an exclamation mark more, never a parentheses less.
He always minded his ellipsis and her periods.
He never let his hyphens become dashes.
He was a cunning linguist.

His words. Her turn ons.

From @kunalbaidmehta:

"Hey Rajeev. Why the hell are you sweating and crying?"
"give me water first Akash"
"here. Calm down"
"I met a doctor who recommended eating 5 Mexican chillies as they are good as aphrodisiac. With this condition, I will be taking water rather than making love"
"I have only one thing to say  Rajeev: facepalm!"

From @AmanjotKSandhu: All the men who saw her longed for her. The sweet sound of her bangles was inviting, the tinkle of her anklets was melodious. The scent of her skin was refreshing. Her touch was magic. But, the sadness in her eyes, and still the smile on her perfect lips, they were the real aphrodisiac.

From @roshd: Ritu hoped the chocolate cake she had baked for him, would get Rohan in the mood. She wore his favourite nightie with spaghetti straps and a deep neck as she served him dinner. Rohan felt that familiar longing. That night they made love that was magical and intense. The cake was not needed after all.

From @Freelosopher: The curtains were drawn. He'd been standing there since ten minutes, full of her thirst. Finally he heard the bathroom door open and she stepped out gingerly; the thin, white towel wrapped delicately around her. She saw him, licked her lips, strode over, picked up the glass and drained it in four gulps.

From @karthikisthin:

Finely powdered. That was the term used. Clutching the pestle, he ground till the mortar’s contents matched the parchment’s requirement.

He emptied the final ingredient into a vessel containing the potion that took him a month to prepare. Finally. He could love again.

The corpse in his cave with the missing jawbone seemed to agree.

From @writingchalk:

“Wow! That feels good.”

It was after months that we were this close to each other. I took advantage. “Baby, doesn’t it look and feel great?”

“Yes darling! I can’t stop myself! I could run my fingers through it forever!”

She was completely turned on and in the mood. Thanks to my awesome Afro hairstyle.

From @vivekisms: They did not need anything else. They felt alive when they consumed them and they knew it. All of them. Not in bits. Not just before, but after as well. The frenzied love-making followed by reading poetry to each other. It felt complete.

From @FlirtingKaapi:

His hands exploring her curves. Her nails attacking his back. His fixation with her full lips. Her fascination with the cave in his neck. She smiled sensously as she examined the purple scars etched on her chest and thought about last night.

It all started over a cup of hot chocolate and an interesting conversation.

From @drun007:

Baked oysters were his answer to reignite the passion between them.  Back from work she barely tasted dinner.  They made fierce, yet passionate love soon after.

He was surprised that small portions of oysters could create magic.  He will never know the real aphrodisiac.  She had run into Carl - the one she could never have.

From @bitchwanti: She opened the petal lips. Rain came, wind came. She shook with pleasure and shuddered with joy. She waited however for the buzzing that heralded his coming. She waited for the sweet saliva to extract the honey from her core. The honeysuckle died of desire, but the honey bee did not come.

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