AislingWeaver, Erotica, Fuck Me Friday

Seat :: FuckMeFriday

Twitterotica themes have been hanging around for some time, with various writers tackling weekly challenges such as #wankwednesday and so on, and writing challenges far and wide are abundant.  Yes this is another one.

The goal is two-fold; for writers, a weekly challenge to keep the, err, juices flowing.  For readers, you’ll find all the stories linked off at the bottom of each week’s prompt. Are you game?  Will you try your hand at some on the fly writing?  Will you expose your work to new readers, will you read along and find new authors?   I do hope so.

So, welcome to the linky love edition of Fuck Me Friday.  All you have to do is this;

Write a story with the prompt as your title.  Today’s will be :


Tweet it with both the prompt hashtag and the hashtag #FuckMeFriday
And lastly add it to the links at the bottom of this post.(note, if you don’t want to tweet it or don’t have a blog, I invite you to post your story in the comments section.


. . .it’s normal for me to start larger projects off of a writing prompt – this one, however – is going to be a scene in a larger project.  So…hopefully you’ll be intrigued and wish to return for more about Skate Dobson.


“Where are you off to?” Sheila didn’t even open her eyes, maintaining a steady tempo with her fan in an attempt to cool off.

“Down to the marina.”  She raised a brow.

“There’s no wind, you know.”

I snorted.  A droplet of sweat slithered down my spine; yet another reminder of the day’s heat.  “I know.”

Sheila waved in dismissal, stirring a ripple of irritation.  I left, refusing to rise to the bait.


I had only to ask once for Skate.  The man looked carved from an apple that’s shrunk with age, his skin creased deep and dark.  “She’s working on her boat.”  He jerked his head in the general direction and I smiled a thank you.  Something knowing and amused twinkled in his filmy, faded blue jean gaze and I blushed.

The sound of a hammer led me to my quarry.  The percussion of her swings spilled out through the causeway; I frowned at the carefully folded sail, the coiled lines, the mast lying on the faded boards of the dock.

“Good timing.”  Skate’s voice reached out to prod me through a window and I jerked, flushing, again.  “You can help me step the mast.”

I met her gaze with a blank stare and she laughed, a full, easy sound that curled through me to settle between my thighs with a dull thud.  “Don’t worry,” she quipped, stepping off the boat, “you’ll learn.”

And I did.  With more understanding than I expected Skate explained the whole process to me.  The seating of the mast in the bracket, the attaching of the fore and aft shrouds, and the slow careful process of pushing the mast upright by moving  step by step towards the center of the boat, the mast rising.

“It’s easier with two people.” That was my thanks, when I held the aluminum pole upright while she tightened the shrouds.

I didn’t want to admit that my gaze clung to her and that my gut coiled every time she met my eyes.

We had the boom attached and the sail back in place when a light breeze tickled the back of my neck, a touch as light as a lover’s lips.

“Would you like to go out?”

My stomach flipped.  My stomach dropped.  Out.  Out on the lake.  Out sailing.  Not out out, like on a date out.  I swallowed a sigh and dredged up a smile.

“I’d love to.”


Sailing with Skate revealed just why she won so often.  She knew her boat.  The sails barely luffed a soft cough of complaint before she would adjust our course, filling the bellies once more.  Her enjoyment was catching.  When she patted the seat beside her I took it with just a tiny flutter of wings in my stomach.  “Here,” she murmured, fitting my hand under hers and turning the tiller over me.  “Feel it.  Don’t think, feel.”

How could I not feel?  Her body fit against my back, cradling me, her arm hot along the back of mine.  She smelled of cocoa butter sunblock and crisp water and something tangy.  My hand dropped to her thigh as my fingers curled around the silky length of wood, smoothed to satin by grips just like mine.  The tension of the current surging against the rudder matched the coiled energy in Skate’s thigh.  My mouth went dry and I kept my eyes foward, open water stretching as far as I could see.

“Feel the pull?” Skate whispered in my ear.  My breath caught, fingers of both hands flexing in reaction.  Her chuckle, low and sexy, tumbled down my spine.  “Can you feel it, Ellise?” I nodded.  Did her lips just brush along my neck?

It wasn’t the sun high above surging wetness between my thighs.  The wind on my flesh teased my nerve endings, every inch of my skin aching for more.  “I can’t fuck you here,” she purred against my neck and I groaned aloud.  “Eyes front,” she reprimanded when I tried to turn to catch her mouth.  We were dancing over the waves, the rising afternoon wind pushing us along like a toy.  “But I will.  Later.”  Skate pulled her hand away from the tiller; my grip tightened, feeling the increased pull of the current.  “Will you stay the night, Ellise?”

My stomach twisted, coiled, writhed like some uncovered nest of snakes.  This woman stirred my blood like no one else.  I wanted her.  My thoughts strayed to Sheila.  Could I say yes?


~to be continued~



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