We announced our drabble competition in our last issue. A drabble is a mini fiction of exactly 100 words, and it is surprisingly hard to write. Congratulations to our winners! In no particular order here they are.
Firm, Juicy and Delicious, or How Gary Met his Man
by J L Merrow
Gary swirled the ice in his martini. “So anyway, there I was, meandering through the market, perusing the produce—”
“Fondling the fruits?” I suggested.
He glared. “Don’t interrupt. Where was I? Oh, yes. I looked up, and there he was. Darren. A perfect specimen of a man, from that dashing goatee to the tips of his winklepickers.”
“So basically, you didn’t even look at his face?” I grinned.
Gary wasn’t amused. “Do you want to hear this?”
“Sorry. Go on.”
“And then he seduced me with the immortal phrase: ‘Ullo there, gorgeous. Wanna cop a feel of my plums?’
by JL Merrow. [This drabble links to the the first novel in the author’s Plumber’s Mate series, Pressure Head]
by Don M.
I never seem to lose my sense of wonder and awe when I touch him. The early morning light is just peeking through the gaps in the drapes as we lay in bed. He’s laying next to me on his left side still sound asleep. I think about how much I love him. As I look at his physical beauty my hand gently runs along the smooth, firm curves of his back and his butt. I let my fingers circle the cleft in his right ass cheek It’s the touch of his oh so masculine frame that I love most.
by Dove Nasir
Matt set out his mat watching the other yoga students enter the studio. Filing in from all sides there would be close to 200 students filling up the basketball court. The smell of the court went from the glossy hardwood Polyurethane finish to thermoplastic elastomer of the yoga mats and the seeped in smell of Sandalwood incense.
Matt stretched out in down dog and then went into child’s pose. He smelled a familiar scent, lavender. Troy was on the mat next to him. He stretched back up into cat pose and looked at Troy now in down dog. He purred!
Straight Guy Blues
Tom’s mouth was quirked up in a tiny smile, and he looked directly into Adam’s eyes.
Adam avoided his gaze, hoping his hard-on wasn’t obvious. “Maybe if you could forget about being the great footy hero, and just be Tom, maybe you would find someone.” Me, for example! he thought. But he knew deep down that that would never happen. He was hopelessly, futilely in love, and he had no hope that his love would ever be returned. Tom was just wired differently. Sad, weary, not a little bitter, he muttered, too tired to fence any more, “Time for bed.”
[This drabble links to the author’s novel Footy]
Jim waited at the secluded beach, filled with stress. It had been twenty years since he and Jabin made love in that cave for the first time at eighteen. Two het divorces followed by three failed gay relationships left Jim drained.
Tires passed over the gravel. Damn, Jabin still drove the 1968 bumblebee-yellow Dodge two-door. He got out, fit and handsome but matured, flashing that deep smile showing his white teeth that Jim never fell out of love with.
Jabin jumped into Jim’s arms, legs around his hips. “I still love you and aren’t afraid to say it anymore.”
Peter observes with lust Quinten striking the tennis ball with toned arms that move with lightning speed. The ball hits Peter making him fall backwards and hit his head on the concrete ground. Quinten with gazelle-like legs jumps the net and moves his athletic body across the court to Peter’s side. Sitting on the floor he pulls Peter to his lap. “Peter, are you okay?” Peter pretends to be knocked out and inhales Quinten’s musty sweaty scent and mentally thanks his father for forcing him into college, which allowed him to be finally in the arms of a hot man.