Unfortunately it’s just the nature of the business. Almost all contests and open calls require that a story be unpublished. To many, even a Facebook post or a post on your own blog counts. There do seem to be a couple where this is not the case, but I’d rather not take that chance. So, until I’m published and the rights for my stories revert back to me, the stories you will find on here are the ones that I don’t plan on publishing.
I love taking creative writing classes as it gives me a chance to explore different genres. Take the following as an example. This assignment was very open…write a story in the romance genre…think steamy, trashy and the like. I had a lot of fun writing this but it’s not something I can see myself submitting anywhere.
As always, your comments and critiques are very welcome. Please let me know what you think. Trust me, be as brutal as you like, I can take it.
The Widow and the Busboy
Michelle Anderson
The night was hot, oppressively so. The one working ceiling fan in the dimly lit country diner was doing little to cool the air as it squeaked and squealed in protest. It was as if it didn’t want to move anymore than anyone else did in the heat and it was letting its feelings known.
Victoria sat alone, nursing her second cup of coffee, seated in the vintage vinyl booth complete with a beat up and chipped Formica table. The whole diner was a throwback to the fifties with a jukebox in one corner and old record albums adorning the walls. Even the faded linoleum floor looked as if it hadn’t been changed in 60 odd years or so.
She sighed as she looked out the window, the summer winds creating whirling dust devils across the empty parking lot. ‘It’s all their fault’ she thought to herself as she took another sip of coffee. They were the reason she was in the middle of the prairies, on this hellish road trip. Those ungrateful kids. Hadn’t she already been through enough? Hadn’t she suffered while she nursed her husband, their father, through his illness, accompanying him to all the doctor’s visits and hospital stays? Hadn’t she given up enough of her life to be by his side through it all? Then they had the nerve to protest the will and have their lawyers freeze all of the assets and the bank accounts. That’s the only reason why she was here at this godforsaken diner. Instead of being able to take the private jet to Calgary for the hearing, she was forced to drive her beat up old Chevy clear across the country, all the way from Toronto, by herself. She didn’t even manage to get enough cash out of the wall safe to hire a driver or to take a cramped, commercial flight. No, she wasn’t travelling in the style she was used to, she was travelling like a peasant.
Victoria’s mind drifted back to that awful scene at the funeral home. They had called her so many nasty names. Names like gold digger, tramp, and even hussy. Couldn’t they see how distraught she was? Didn’t they know how much she had loved their father? That he was the love of her life and she didn’t know how she’d go on without him? So what if she was younger than even his youngest child? So what if their marriage had only lasted six months before his untimely death? Their love was so great and honest, it’s why he left the bulk of his estate to her. Why did she have to travel to them and sit before a judge to plead her case? That money was hers and they knew it. They were only trying to punish her for something she couldn’t understand. That and to assuage their own guilt about not being there when he passed on.
The tinkling of the bell above the door as the last of the customers left the diner snapped Victoria out of her reverie. She gasped as she looked up and caught sight of the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He was bent over the far table, clearing dishes into a tub tucked under his arm. Long golden locks cascaded down to his shoulders, muscles bulged and glistened with perspiration as he worked, and his ass was absolute perfection in his tight, clinging jeans.
It was as if she had suddenly been awakened from a long sleep. Desire coursed through her veins. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in over a year, the love she had for her late husband being more of the platonic sort.
The longer she looked at him the hotter she became. It wasn’t just the temperature that was making her sweat now.
He stopped what he was doing and looked at her from across the room, as if he could sense her hunger and it was drawing him in.
“Can I get you something else, ma’am?” his prairie drawl sending shivers down her spine.
“I don’t think you have on the menu what I’m hungry for.” Victoria said, biting her lover lip as she looked him up and down.
He walked over towards her table, cowboy boots clacking against the linoleum. Every step closer lighting up nerves through her body, making every inch of her tingle.
“Do you get off work anytime soon?” she asked.
He continued on past her table without saying another word, walked up to the door and with deft, clean movements he turned the sign over to the ‘Closed, Please Come Again’ side, locked it and pulled the shade down.
“I am now.” he replied, turning back towards her.
They were together in an instant, locked in a passionate kiss. Her fingers threaded their way through his hair as his hands roamed up and down her back, finally settling on her high, tight buttocks, squeezing and kneading them through her jeans as he pressed her close against his lean, taut body.
Breaking off to take a breath, Victoria whispered against his ear “This is crazy!”
He pulled back slightly so he could look deeply into her eyes.
“Sometimes we all need a little crazy in our lives.” he breathed, using one finger to trace a bead of sweat that dripped down her neck, into the soft mounds of flesh encased in her low-cut t-shirt. He followed his finger with his lips, burying his face in her breasts, breathing in her damp, musky scent.
The passion and the heat were almost overwhelming to her as they kissed once more. Their sweat mingling together as their hands explored each others’ bodies. She came the moment his hand slipped inside of her jeans, fingers thrusting deep within her.
She could hardly hear anything besides their ragged, harsh breathing and her blood pounding in her ears. The loud banging coming from the back room was the only sound that was able to break through.
He pushed her back from him frantically and with wide panicked eyes said “Shit, it’s my wife!” He quickly raced to let his wife in the back door, running his hands through his tousled hair and straightening his shirt as he went.
Victoria smiled to herself, walked back to her table and left a wad of cash next to her coffee cup. ‘He certainly deserves that generous tip.’ she thought as she quietly left the diner.
Innerworkings of a Curious Mind 