Literary Erotica for warmth on foggy days…

It’s been so foggy and cold even though this is summertime.  You can almost feel the climate change over the last decade.  I’m going to craft a story about a woman who longs to be kept warm and safe by a man.

Weather helps writers.  It does.

So the character is named Mellise.  The story will be about longing.

I think I’m doing just a quickie on this one but will see what arrives.  A quickie is 1200 words or less for the list at ERWA.

Back later with an excerpt!

xxoo!

Adrienne

Excerpt from “The Longing” —- the opener:

Mellise curled like a cat under the soft blankets and comforters that made up her empty bed.  How long had it been since she had been in love?  It seemed like years and years had gone by since she’d felt the warm breath of a man along her skin.  Arms that planned on holding her and keeping her safe and warm.  That was what she craved. How long had it been since she’d held hands and run laughing along a beach?

Fog curled around the house.  Fog that hadn’t lifted all summer and she was cold.  She couldn’t remember a year she had ever felt so cold since the war began.  She’d been sleeping in sweaters for days.  Trent’s old sweaters.  Ever since his death she hadn’t been able to part with them.  Almost nothing of his scent remained.  Of his love there were only a few letters.  Two decades it had been, their lives together.  The two of them — always wrapped around each other, inseparable.

“You wanted tea.”

“Trent!”

“I can always tell.”

She thought of his easy eyes, the curled crinkled corners, the private jokes between them.  Books they shared.  Art they’d loved.  Exhibits they’d seen.  All the life had gone out of his paintings that still hung on the walls of the house.  She thought of how he could answer her sentences.  How he could intuit coffee or tea.  She pulled the covers around her and imagined mornings, his gentle hands around the steaming cup.

*How can I be with anyone again?* she asked herself.  *Who could ever match up to Trent?*

But she was cold.  Cold into bone.  So cold that she felt like she could never get warm again.  She rubbed her bare legs together as if she could make heat like rubbing sticks for a fire.

*My legs wrapped around him were a waltz.*

*He kept me warm.*

The asterisks denote italics — for the list I am on — everything is plain text, and so these are how the writers show that.

#amwriting

It’s taking my mind off things to focus on this little short story, today.  ❤

 

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