Aug Posted by jtsuruoka. This is a flash fiction challenge. The prompt is a song. You are not required to write about or even mention the song.
You read that right. Pacific Time. Posted on August 27, , in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Carlo walked into the club, wearing his best American attire. Three piece, gray, pinstripe suit, white shirt, black leather shoes, black socks, black leather belt, black silk tie, white gold cufflinks, and a white gold watch with a matching band.
Our world was tie dyed, his was black and white. He needs my help. Five minutes? How long could Carlo resist her color, her flair, her sultry, smoky ways. Concetta made sure Carlo saw her hips sway as she walked to his table. Her skin-tight, too short, bright yellow skirt stayed glued to her hips, making every movement more noticeable.
She propped her elbows on his table, leaning her shoulders forward, so her matching yellow vest opened a touch, providing Carlo with a view of acres of her chest. Carlo almost crushed his glass. He quickly placed his drink back on the table, and tried not to stare at her. Especially at her chest, as it hung, just above the table. How are you tonight? Carlo tried to walk calmly to the bar.
He failed. She wants something Italian! With soul! I nodded, and fixed two Sgroppinos, one for each of them. And off he went, like a little boy, about to lose his virginity. He melted into her on the floor, running his fingers through her hair. Crushing her chest to his. His hips locked into the same swaying motion as hers. She spent the evening melting his American image into a puddle at her feet.
