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Julie L. Hayes
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Wednesday Briefs; Dallas in Wonderland #13
Happy post Valentine's Day! Hope everyone had a wonderful day of love! It's time for some more of your favorite flash fiction, aka the Wednesday Briefs. Here are this week's prompts: I have no self-control where (blank) is concerned. The alternate prompts are: use any type of Australian animal or lollygag, job, psychosis or
Pringles, Asia, guava or use a haunted house.
In this week's episode of Dallas in Wonderland, things get really strange. Like they weren't before, right? Well, seeing is believing, although Dallas is seeing and not sure he's believing. See what's up, then be sure to visit all the other Wednesday Briefers. Their links follow my story. We're welcoming a Flash Virgin this week - M.C. Houle!
Dallas in Wonderland #13
As Dallas fluttered back to consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was a great deal of warmth beating against his eyelids, trying to force them open.
He gapped first one eye, and then the other. Damn, that was bright. Quickly he threw up a protective arm against the overly bright glare from the…
He sat up abruptly, instantly regretting that he’d done so. His head throbbed, conga drum painfully. He threw his hands to either side of him for balance, his fingers digging into the thick grass.
What the hell? Where was he? And why? And where was Samuel?
Think think, think , he exhorted himself. What was the last thing he remembered?
The ache in his cock reminded him. He’d been dancing with Samuel. In one of the university houses. He was house sitting there or something. He remembered the heart-stopping kisses, taking his clothes off—with Samuel’s assistance— and spinning… Yes, Samuel had asked him to spin, so he had, receiving his approbation. Admiration. Confabulation. Spinning, and spinning…
Eyes. He remembered seeing the eyes behind Samuel. Gleaming… dangerous… terrible eyes. Watch out, Samuel. But he couldn’t get the words out, no matter how he tried. Then nothing but darkness.
So where was he now?
Dallas jerked his head in surprise. Who was there?
“Models are not meant to move, they are meant to sit quietly and look pretty and allow us to get on with it.” The voice sounded exasperated, as well as critical, but why? Who was he speaking to?
“Allow him to stretch his muscles, and do not be so critical.” Another voice. This second voice sounded familiar. Very familiar. Achingly familiar.
“Harrumph.” That was the first voice, the grumpy one, apparently subsiding into some sort of acquiescence.
Dallas twisted himself, searching for the source of that second voice. As he did, he became aware of a few things… first among those the fact that he was completely naked, and very… hard.
He lay on the ground in the middle of a group of people, maybe half a dozen or so, both men and women. Each stood before an easel. Each wore a floppy green beret and a paint-smeared blue smock. Palettes in hand, they eyed him critically, looking between him and the canvas before them, assiduously touching their brushes to the medium and judging the result.
Standing behind them in a long black coat was Samuel. Blue-tinted spectacles with small octagonal lenses hid his eyes from Dallas’ view.
“Bellissimo!” he commented, his words not directed at any of the artist,s but rather toward Dallas himself. Dallas shivered, but not with cold.
Collecting himself, he threw his hands awkwardly over his crotch, shielding it from view.
“Be a love and move that, will you dear? I hadn’t quite got that part done.” The speaker was a middle-aged woman with dark curly hair, and overly applied lipstick. “Come on now, not like we haven’t all seen what you’ve got. Give us some cooperation, will you? No time for lollygagging, we’ve a job to do, don’t we?”
Dallas blinked. Did they?
“Let’s take a break, shall we?” Samuel suggested.
He clapped his hands, and suddenly the artists soundlessly froze in place. As Dallas watched in horrified fascination, each one began to melt, from the top down, coalescing into a liquid rainbow, each artist puddling onto his or her palette.
And then they were alone.
Dallas blinked up at Samuel , who stood above him. When had he moved? The doctor reached down, offering his hand, and Dallas grasped it. An electrical surge poured through Samuel’s hand into his as he was helped to his feet. Removing the black coat, Samuel offered it to Dallas. He accepted it, shrugging into it. It fit snugly; he felt like he’d just been given the quarterback’s sweater.
“Samuel…” Dallas didn’t know where to begin, too many questions crowded his brain. Before he could ask any of them, he felt the now familiar lips claim his, and he warmed at his touch. Mmmm, he felt so good. So very good.
Dallas thought he could kiss Samuel Levi forever and a day. Anytime, anywhere. He wanted to feel the other man inside him, so badly. He’d never wanted another man the way he wanted Samuel. He slid his arms about the doctor’s neck, straining to reach him, standing on tip toe to do so. Even with that, he couldn’t quite reach him…
How odd. Since when had there been such a different between their heights? In fact, he could have sworn that he was maybe a smidge taller than the doctor?
His head was spinning again. Opening his eyes, he felt himself swimming in the long, dark coat. It hadn’t seemed so loose a moment ago. And the hands which he’d felt Samuel place on his ass were not simply caressing, they seemed to be holding him up, so that their lips continued to connect. A frightened Dallas pulled back, and looked down toward the ground—it seemed so far away. And he felt as though he were shrinking, although that stopped the moment he stopped…
Samuel smiled at him, before claiming his lips again. So good, so good… stop, no, stop, don’t… stop…
He wrenched out of Samuel’s grasp, thumping onto the ground. To his dismay, he seemed to be about the size of a small boy. Oz’s size. How? Why? His confusion was only multiplying, along with his terror.
Samuel pulled a large pocket watch from his pocket, pulling down the blue-tinted glasses, before turning his topaz eyes toward Dallas.
“Oh dear, it appears my time management skills are somewhat lacking today. I’m late. I must leave you, dear boy, but we shall meet again, never fear. ” He snapped his fingers above his head, changing into a suit so white it was almost silver, matching waistcoat and jacket, and form-fitting pants.
“Ta ta for now.” And then he was gone.
What psychosis was this?
to be continued
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