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  December 2009
volume 7 number 3
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Brenda Petrakos December 2009
   

 

bio


art by Luis Rubio Vargas

    Flash fiction writer BC Petrakos has had her work published in various literary journals all over the world. Her original screenplay, "Stanley" has been optioned, and several of her flash fiction stories have been made into short films. She has two books published by Sybaritic Press, Country Fixins, and Stories From The Inside Edge.

   

 

Online Lovin'

    When he sent her his picture it was clearly his intention to stimulate her glands, and prompt a result and make her will to respond.
    And it worked! Not once, but a few times, and not with just her, but with other chicks.
    When he sent her his picture, his bare chested beauty was hairless and perfect. It made her hot, which was what he meant to do. It made her crazy in a second of lust, and she snapped a picture of her breasts, round and inviting. She wanted to bring him to her with her image just as he had done, with his to her - images with out head or face, just body to body, strange private images.
    So she sent him a photo taken from her camera phone, a blurry figure of round delighted nipples, and he smiled when he saw it, not seeing her face, she not seeing his face. And the picture of her tits made him imagine sex in the park , or at a movie theatre with her on his lap, groaning wild, his eyes closed head back - and so he called, they flirted, he drove over, and they met.
    They went for a drive, wound up in a parking lot and immediately got down to business. And he was amazed at her willing hands and body, her limitless fire and oh the things they did in that car.
    It wasn't until later - that he noticed she had a wig and her skin was a mess. And he wanted to get away from her... as if he was on fire. He was disgusted at the sight of what he had just done.
    He made a quick exit- dropped the creature back to her lair, thinking it would be a story to tell - driving home, smirking, trying to imagine what he was thinking- and wondering if he'd hit “bottom.”
    All day at work he laughed at himself. He told his friend about the monster sex and how it wasn't to bad, and they laughted at how easy ugly chicks were, and when he described her wig and fucked up face - they howled- and then changed the subject to the new girls tits.. in that sweater... nice.
    It wasn't until he got home that night and found that ugly chick at his front door that he realized there was a problem. She was waiting for him with a dish of food - for "their dinner." She had brought some wine, she wanted to make it a "night."
    He wanted to vomit. In the daylight he was shocked at sight of her, repulsed by her smile. And here she was on his front steps - gap toothed and still willing. and he couldn't run - so he let her in.
    "How did you find the place?"
    "Reverse white pages online - you called me from your home phone."
    "Oh."
    And she, with her twisted looks leaned over for a touch. He recoiled, and made an excuse and she understood what it meant. He didn't want a kiss, and she knew what it meant,and he couldn't look at her
and she understood what it meant.
    So... after a moment, she stabbed him in his perfect chest - a few times. She was precise – exacting. And she smiled with her gap tooth smile, and warmed up the dinner she had made for them.
    She ate it while he squirmed on the floor, gasping. And then she went through his pockets, and took his wallet - his cash - his car keys. And he tried to get up off the floor, but she was really good at stabbing. It was a kind of gift.

    He had a strong will, so he continued to struggle while making large blood stains on the floor. She ate the last of his ice cream and watched TV as he struggled on the rug.
    She told him she didn't have cable at home, and soon he wouldn't need his cash - but his credit cards were safe... she would not use them.
    "And, oh, by the way... it was good thing you never asked for my name... not once. I should have figured it out - but hey - we had fun last night didn't we?"

copyright 2009 Brenda Petrakos