Suzie's Writing
I am Suzie, and I have been with the group for about 2 years now. A refugee from the mysterious south. Leek Writers seems to be located close to the exit of a worm hole originating somewhere near Bristol. Soon there will be more Southerners in the group than locals…........
I am an unpublished, un-aspiring writer, with an interest in story telling… I have added one of my shorter stories and my first attempt at some "Flash Fiction" should you wish to read on…
I am an unpublished, un-aspiring writer, with an interest in story telling… I have added one of my shorter stories and my first attempt at some "Flash Fiction" should you wish to read on…
Be careful what you wish for...
“Leave the light on” she purrs.
He cant belive his luck. Black stilettos, stockings, and basque, with big blue eyes and boobs. Up for any and everything.
Monday morning. Back in the office. Emails. Ms Jones. Thank you for making the AGM such a huge success. Reply. Panic. Into my office now!
He sweats. “Webcam? U-tube? My job, my wife, my life!”
“My promotion?” she purrs.
He cant belive his luck. Black stilettos, stockings, and basque, with big blue eyes and boobs. Up for any and everything.
Monday morning. Back in the office. Emails. Ms Jones. Thank you for making the AGM such a huge success. Reply. Panic. Into my office now!
He sweats. “Webcam? U-tube? My job, my wife, my life!”
“My promotion?” she purrs.
Garden Lovers
Mavis was quite pleased when Morris announced he had gotten an allotment. Early retirement had meant they were tripping over each other. With Morris out of the way she had been able to go back to her daily dose of 'loose women' and a sneaky chocolate hobnob or two. It also presented an opportunity to crow about the superior flavour and nutritional benefits of home grown organic veg to her ladies that watched to many cookery programs.
Malcom had also been quite happy when Maureen had declared that she thought she would benefit from afternoon pilates and evening zumba. Her early retirement had infringed on his 'me time' and shift pattern. So he could once more savor the delights of his gentlemen's interest dvds and match of the day, plus he quite liked the way she came home all happy, pink, breathless and somewhat flustered, with bit of a teenage twinkle in her eye.
Morris and Maureen had their routine. They met at the small plot. He bought the wine and she bought the cakes. On sunny afternoons they would picnic on an old travel rug, enjoying the buzzing of bees through the ladies tear drops, forget-me-knots and snap dragons. They feasted on colours and scents. They watched for painted ladies in the budlia, and lady bugs on the roses. In the summer they hunted fire flies, dumbledors, johny pigs and stag beetles. When it was colder they would retire to the shed. They would snuggle under the travel rug on the old rescued recycled sofa. They would peruse the seed catalogs and gardening mags. Together they planned each season, marrying tones and fragrances like other couples matched paint and wallpaper for the spare bedroom. Together they created a small but vibrant patch work of textures and hues. They were old sweat hearts, reunited by modern technology, picking up where they had left off so many years ago. They often made love under the travel rug, constricted and wriggling on the old sofa as frayed and worn as themselves, braving the spilt compost and spiders. They werent driven by the flooding hormones of their youth but with the grace and tenderness of the mature. Each kiss every touch was focused on pleasure rather than passion. Together they felt safe and at ease, able to let go of the practical cares and indulge in the simple joy of just being.
Before they left Morris would cut her a small posy of the flowers they had grown together, he selected the blooms which were just about to bursts.
They walked silently back together as far as the co-op. Morris popped in and bought some veg, carrots, leeks, onions or potatoes what ever they had cheap. Once paid for he would take them out of their wrappings and toss them into his hessian bag. The bag contained a few handfuls of soil. A good shake and the pristine veg took on the look of something freshly cut or dug to take back for Mavis.
Maureen continued the rest of her way home alone. She let herself in and placed the flowers in a small vase, Malcom would cast her a quizzical look, she reponded “Reduced at the garage. They ordered too many again” “Again” he snorted “they should get their ordering sorted..If I was manager.....” Maureen gave no reply,, she had stopped listening years ago. And with a smile place the vase by the bedside light.............
Malcom had also been quite happy when Maureen had declared that she thought she would benefit from afternoon pilates and evening zumba. Her early retirement had infringed on his 'me time' and shift pattern. So he could once more savor the delights of his gentlemen's interest dvds and match of the day, plus he quite liked the way she came home all happy, pink, breathless and somewhat flustered, with bit of a teenage twinkle in her eye.
Morris and Maureen had their routine. They met at the small plot. He bought the wine and she bought the cakes. On sunny afternoons they would picnic on an old travel rug, enjoying the buzzing of bees through the ladies tear drops, forget-me-knots and snap dragons. They feasted on colours and scents. They watched for painted ladies in the budlia, and lady bugs on the roses. In the summer they hunted fire flies, dumbledors, johny pigs and stag beetles. When it was colder they would retire to the shed. They would snuggle under the travel rug on the old rescued recycled sofa. They would peruse the seed catalogs and gardening mags. Together they planned each season, marrying tones and fragrances like other couples matched paint and wallpaper for the spare bedroom. Together they created a small but vibrant patch work of textures and hues. They were old sweat hearts, reunited by modern technology, picking up where they had left off so many years ago. They often made love under the travel rug, constricted and wriggling on the old sofa as frayed and worn as themselves, braving the spilt compost and spiders. They werent driven by the flooding hormones of their youth but with the grace and tenderness of the mature. Each kiss every touch was focused on pleasure rather than passion. Together they felt safe and at ease, able to let go of the practical cares and indulge in the simple joy of just being.
Before they left Morris would cut her a small posy of the flowers they had grown together, he selected the blooms which were just about to bursts.
They walked silently back together as far as the co-op. Morris popped in and bought some veg, carrots, leeks, onions or potatoes what ever they had cheap. Once paid for he would take them out of their wrappings and toss them into his hessian bag. The bag contained a few handfuls of soil. A good shake and the pristine veg took on the look of something freshly cut or dug to take back for Mavis.
Maureen continued the rest of her way home alone. She let herself in and placed the flowers in a small vase, Malcom would cast her a quizzical look, she reponded “Reduced at the garage. They ordered too many again” “Again” he snorted “they should get their ordering sorted..If I was manager.....” Maureen gave no reply,, she had stopped listening years ago. And with a smile place the vase by the bedside light.............
