Ofelia Gränd's Blog, page 83

Let Down Your Hair

I usually write drabbles, 100-word stories, but it didn’t work out this time. So I wrote 1000 words instead.

 

Lead filled Raphael’s stomach as the first sounds of someone unlocking the first floor door reached him. He tried to shut down, tried to put some distance between himself and his body.

With a resigned sigh he started to get off the dirty mattress, but stilled. Two voices? His lungs protested as he held his breath. There was some murmuring that he strained to hear. Two?

Had he lost count of time? He’d thought it was Friday. Friday meant the Reverend. He didn’t know if the man was a Reverend for real, but he’d said he was, and he insisted on being called father while he fucked Rafael.

As a distraction he tried to smooth out the wrinkles on his dress. The Reverend always wanted him in a long chiffon dress, he was always in a dress, but the Reverend had a distinct taste. He wanted Rafael to plait his hair into a fishbone braid and curtsy like a good girl.

Last night’s visitor had been rough, so he wore a white dress today.  The Reverend tended to be gentler with him when he wore white. The Madame made sure there always was at least one white dress in the box. They didn’t last long, the customers were always too eager. But she supplied new ones when it was needed. Rafael figured the Reverend paid well since he got to decide on the dresses.

Maybe these men didn’t want him in white. What if they were talkers? He hated when they talked, hated when they touched him, when they played with his hair. He’d hear their grunts in his sleep, see their faraway expressions as they used his body while they pretended he was someone else—someone who didn’t exist.

The Madame hadn’t mentioned the two customers when she’d dropped off Rafael’s food earlier. Why hadn’t she? She took such pleasure in telling him what would happen.

He crawled away from the mouldy mattress,avoided the creaking floorboard as he edged closer to the hole in the corner. By now the call had usually come. The hated, dreaded words that haunted him at nights. Rafael, Rafael let down your hair.

Without so much as taking a breath he laid down on the dirty floorboards. He stuck close to the wall to be able to see as much as possible of the space below. If he could only get a glimpse, just to get an idea of what kind of men they were, then maybe he could prepare himself for what was to come.

There were two men. He’d guessed as much, but it was still like a blow to his belly to see them standing there. Two hard-looking men with guns in their hands. Shit! They were searching for something. They studied the grimy floor, the opening in the broken ceiling, and the stepladder everyone had to climb to be able to reach his hair when he let it down. Just thinking about hoisting those two men up had his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t blame it for wanting out, he would’ve tried to escape too if it’d been possible.

He’d never seen the outside of the building, but he thought it was an old windmill—what other building would be round? It couldn’t be a real tower, it just couldn’t.

“This can’t be it. Let’s go.”

The man who had spoken turned to the door, stopped, and ran a hand through his short greying hair. Rafael rubbed a few golden strands of his between his fingers without much thought.

“Did he say on the second floor?” The man moved and Rafael scurried back from the hole. Had he been quick enough? His heart beat in his throat.

“Did you hear that?”

Rafael’s eyes bounced from one item to another. Desperation clawed at his chest. There was nowhere to go, nowhere he could hide. Apart from the filthy mattress all he had was a water-damaged cardboard box. Neither of the two could provide any protection. Shit, shit, shit. What should he do?

“Hello? Is there anybody up there?”

Rafael bit his lip, whimpering would be the stupidest thing he could do.

“Come on, girl. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Girl? The grey-haired man must’ve seen his dress.

“Fuck, it’s bloody high,” came muttered from below. Rafael sighed, they would only hurt him more if they had to use the ladder from outside. Lord knows how mad some of the customers had got before Rafael had learned that it didn’t do any good to resist. He walked to the edge of the hole. His steps heavy as there was no need to hide. There he let down his plait, put his hands against the wall, and prepared for the weight that would come when the man grabbed hold of his hair. The start of the climb was always the worst.

“Fuck! It’s a tranny.” The man on the floor stared bewildered at Rafael. “That doesn’t fit the Disney Madame’s profile.”

The grey-haired man shrugged. “Any street girl could be dressed up as Cinderella or Sleeping beauty. Hair like this, though….”

“Yeah, I wonder what the little mermaid looks like.”

“We’ll see if we ever find her.” The grey-haired man held out a hand for Rafael. “Come on down, Sweetheart. It’s time to get you out of here.”

Out? Out! Sweetheart? Where were they taking him?

The man reached into his pocket and Rafael instantly jerked his hands up, certain a gun would be pointed in his direction.

The man held up a badge.

“We’re from the police. We’ve got a tip someone was being held prisoner here. That you were forced to impersonate Rapunzel. Is that correct?”

Rafael nodded.

“Thought as much. Well, we’ve found Snow White, Cinderella, and Princess Jasmine. Do you know where any of the other Disney princesses are?”

He shook his head.

“If you aren’t in any need of medical care, we need to take you down to station.” Rafael clutched the outstretched hand. Was it really over?

 

________________________________________________________________________________

photo credit: hairfreaky long hair via photopin (license)

________________________________________________________________________________

Subscribe to Ofelia’s Newsletter!

________________________________________________________________________________

Filed under: 1000 words, Flash fiction Tagged: 1000words, amwriting, Flash fiction, lgbtq, Micro fiction

Blood on Sand

So, I’ve decided on the cover for my story in this year’s Don’t Read in the Closet event…I think. The prompt I’ve written my story to goes like this:

Dear Author,

I’ve fought hard to win my freedom from the beasts who’ve enslaved me but no matter how many battles I win, they refuse to keep their word. I’ve finally given up. Now, after winning my latest battle, I’m on my knees still in my warrior form in front of the head beast. I know I’m about to die. With his claws out and ready to strike, I just can’t bring myself to care. Please, Author, give me a story and a reason to live again.

I’d really like it if the ‘head beast’ was the love interest after the initial harshness between the two. And if the story could have an overall ‘intense’ feel to it, that’d be great, too! Although, I’d prefer no sex, if possible, and absolutely no menage. Please and thank you!

Sincerely,

Nikyta *Miss Forgetfull*

 

With the prompt came two pictures. The first one of a humanoid reptile sitting on his knees, bleeding, and surrounded by fighting creatures. The second one is of a werewolf with glowing eyes and sharp fangs.

If you’re a member of Goodreads M/M Romance Group you can follow the thread, here. If not I have a board on Pinterest with pictures that has inspired me, here, if you’re curious. The story is 31k long right now and is in the hands of my betareader. I might post an excerpt later on.

Cheers,

Filed under: Don't read in the closet, Love is an Open Road, Novella Tagged: amwriting, DRitC, gayromance, lgbt

A Man on a Leash

Bailey cowered behind the rusty slide, hyperventilating. His leash was tied to one of the posts of the climbing frame, right where his Master had abandoned him the night before.
A child’s squeal rang through the air. “Daddy, look,” a girl said and pointed at him. He wagged his rump, wishing he had a real tail, and tried to look adorable.
The man smiled and Bailey wiggled his rear more eagerly.
“Can he live in the doghouse?” Bailey sent a pleading gaze at the girl’s father, hoping he’d become his new owner.
“Maybe,” the man said and untied the leash.

By geier [CC BY-SA 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons The photo has been cropped.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Check out Bealevon Nolan’s drabble to the same photo here.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Filed under: 100-words, Flash fiction Tagged: 100-words, Drabble, Flash fiction, lgbtq, Micro fiction

A Compromising Position

The soap landed with a splash. Fuck! In a swift movement I bent down to pick it up and screamed. The crack ricocheted in the stall. Burning ants crawled all over my lower back, my legs threatened to give out.
“Adam!” I steadied myself with a hand on the glass block wall and gasped. “Help.” It wasn’t more than a whisper. The water hit my back, droplet ran into my eyes.
“I’m stuck,” I hissed when I felt Adam stand outside the enclosure.
“And there are plenty of benefits with that.”
“Lift me out of here!”
“You’re such a bore.”

 

photo credit: Zero-Bi CzAmaRo via photopin cc

Filed under: 100-words, Flash fiction Tagged: 100-words, Drabble, Flash fiction, gay, lgbt, Micro fiction

Release Day!

Tomorrow, on the 21st of February, Silent Woods is being released. It’s my second story published by Beaten Track Publishing, and I hope there will be more to come because Debbie McGowan is an absolute joy to work with.

Silent Woods is about a married couple going camping. Anders is the outdoorsy kind, Daniel is not. But even though Daniel knows nothing about the woods he feels that something is amiss—it’s too quiet, too still. He tells himself that he is just imagining things, but when their...

Delusions

My heartbeats pounded in my throat. Rough concrete chafed my naked skin as I curled up in the corner, trying to make myself smaller. There was no way out, no way to escape.
The sounds of his footsteps reached me long before I could see him, slow but determined. Ice filled my stomach. I clawed at the concrete, leaving bloody streaks as I shredded my fingertips. His cruel lips twisted and I whimpered.
“Babe?”
I knew that voice. I belonged to that voice.
“You’re dreaming.”
His soft lips against my te...

The door clicked shut.I stared at the ceiling. Was it a...

The door clicked shut.
I stared at the ceiling. Was it a test? I flexed my feet. I could move. I waited for him to open the door, to come back in, to remember…
The clock on the bedside table ticked—the silence between every tick lasted an eternity.
I bent my knees. Still no sound from the other room. I glanced at the balcony as I rolled out of bed. My legs shaking from the effort. The glass door was cold under my hand, but I could open it.
Jump or climb? End it or risk getting caught again?

photo...

Socks

photo credit: Christophe Verdier via photopin cc

Socks… Socks, socks, socks. Always the “Honey, could you get me a pair of sock?” Would I suffocate if I shoved one into my mouth? Probably not. I started to hate Adam a little just because I hated his socks. I grabbed two, clenched my fist around them. One had a grey stain that wouldn’t come off and the other a hole on the heel. Always the once-had-been white socks. Couldn’t he at least buy something with colour?
“Chris?”
I’m on my bloody way! I r...

How Can They Tell?

photo credit: masterdesigner via photopin cc

”What are you looking at?”
I startled at the sound of Adam’s voice and threw myself over the mouse in an attempt to close the window before he could see it. My mouth dry as sawdust. I felt more than heard him come up behind me. What if he’d seen it?
“Don’t tell me you were ogling that photo again.” I froze, but Adam seemed oblivious. “Go find a real man instead. You’re into leather?”
I turned around. “Y-You know I-I’m gay?”
He rolled his eyes. “Everyone...

Manscaping

photo credit: Herpel, Christoph via photopin cc

“Adam! Come wash my back.”
My lips stretched into a smile as I ripped my clothes off. I was gonna get some in the shower.
“No, don’t come inside, just scrub my back.”
“Why?” I shivered and glanced at my discarded clothes.
“I need you to help me wax it. It needs to be cleaned before you pour the hot wax on.”
“Wax it? Why?”
“See all the hairs on my lower back? Disgusting.”
“But…?”
He sighed in frustration. “It’s not pretty.”
My brows crease, what the hell w...