Hey. Psst. You, yes you. Got a nasty limerick for you.

It’s just one. It will be fine. No one will know trust me…

A flatulent baker called Martin

Won all contests he’d entered his tarts in

His baked wares were the best

And he proudly confessed

“‘Cos as well as sweet treats, they have fart in!”

Erotic Sentiments – In the Dark 9

I thought perhaps I would turn my hand to a spot of erotic fiction…

Another month of M’s writing prompts lies ahead.  I did them all in December but was less successful in January.  Let’s see how we do in February shall we.

You can see the prompts here.

I thought perhaps I would turn my hand to a spot of erotic fiction for this prompt piece but realised that I would need to be serious and found it rather difficult.

There I am trying to create the right mood for you the reader but before I know it I am throwing in words willy nilly such as throbbing, veined and moist.

“You’re better than that Michael” I tell myself sternly and quickly follow it with a paragraph where I choose to toss in engorged, breathless and arched in quick succession.

“No one needs that, the 50 shades phase has passed” I insist (though Mrs Michael did go to the cinema the other night to watch it) before attempting a scene where a white cotton shirt is ripped asunder exposing a smooth taut chest.

I had to do a spot of research on the matter and by the time I was done my description of the smoothness of the aforementioned chest was such that it made it sound like it was that of a child and I quickly deleted it because no one wants to read about children ripping anything asunder never mind nice cotton shirts.

My browser was also full of dark curly haired fellow looking wistfully into the distance whilst their shirts flapped in the wind.

At this point I am thinking I will give it one last go but I found myself overusing the letter ‘m’ in my ‘mmmmm’ and realised that I had no idea what I was doing, the female in the piece sounded like she had a really bad cold and that not only should I pack it in and go fill the dishwasher or empty the bins but I should delete all trace of the piece entirely just in case one of the kids stumbles upon it.

I really don’t know my vulva from my Volvo and I wouldn’t want tmy boys having to ask why nice Mrs Chambers from number 4 was having her Volvo examined by the postman.  He’s a nice enough chap but not sure he knows much about cars.