Fiction Friday Part 7: Jen

– Posted in: Fiction, Novel in Progress, Tammy Thinks, Uncategorized, Worst Mom Randomness, Writing

So I have to apologize to some of you for basically turning into a soft porn writer. But it turns out there are people who actually look forward to Fridays over here. So how can I say no to that?  

Anyway, this is Part Seven of a story I’m working on for our Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales group. If you want to catch up, well, I’d start at Part One. Just to jog everyone’s memories: Peter and Jen (Wong) are married with two kids and living in Reno. What Jen doesn’t know is that Peter had a brief love affair with Eric when they were in their 20’s on the fabulous island of Kauai. Peter and Eric were planning on opening up a business, and Peter thought everything was fine and dandy, but it turns out Eric wanted to dump him. Unfortunately, Eric’s a big wuss and couldn’t do it on his own, so he did what any self-respecting coward would do — called Peter’s dad! Twenty years later, Eric is with Jason in Honolulu. And now Eric’s having a moral/midlife crisis over what he did 20 years ago.


bike chain “You know you’re putting that on backwards.”

Jennifer Harrison looked up from her crouched position on the sidewalk and squinted. Whoever was talking to her was standing right in front of the sun, so all she could see was his silhouette.

“Okay, genius, then how does it go on?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Hot weather always made her cranky. And she’d been working on this damn chain for at least 15 minutes…

“Sorry, just trying to help. Didn’t mean to butt in.” Her eyes adjusted to the light as he turned to go. He was Asian. Tall. Muscular, but not over-built like those idiots at the gym. His clothes were neat but not stuffy. And his hair — no one could just roll out of bed with bed-head hair that looked that good.

“Wait!” She stood up, and he stopped. He turned back around slowly, his eyebrows raised, eyes half-closed, and mouth turned up in a “You rang?” grin. “I’m sorry. . . I could use some help. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

He took a few steps toward her, dropped his backpack on the ground, and crouched down in front of the bike. Sweet baby Jesus he had nice legs.

“I’m not sure what happened. It was like I was just riding along and suddenly the whole thing was, like, coming apart. I felt like Wile E. Coyote or something. You know, like when he’s driving along and stuff just starts, like, falling off his car or airplane or whatever…” God, she hated it when she couldn’t stop rambling. And using, “Like, you know, like,” all the time.

“Okay, you’re good,” he said, standing up and looking down at his hands. He and Jen both had grease on their fingers, but he’d somehow kept his contained to the very tips.

“Oh, wait. Here,” she said, gingerly unzipping her backpack with the edges of her hands and reaching inside to grab some tissues. “I’m really sorry again about being a jerk. It’s just been one of those days. I sort of got beaten up in my history class. It’s on Buddhism, so you’d think everyone in there would be really mellow, but ironically…”

He was watching her now, grinning like he was seeing a replay of some scene he’d witnessed a hundred times before and to which he already knew the outcome. Did he know her? It didn’t even feel inappropriate or over the top when she slapped him on the shoulder for “looking at her like she was crazy.”

“Can I buy you a beer or something? I feel like I should thank you. For stopping. Because, you know, no one else did. You’re like some kind of good samaritan. I mean, it’s Friday. Are you done for the day? What’s your name anyway?”

“Peter. I’m Peter Wong.”


“I really shouldn’t have drunk that last shot.” Jen rested her chin in her right hand as she stared across the table at Peter.

“We both probably should’ve stopped about two or three back. I’m impressed that you’re keeping up with me.”

“I’m like Indiana Jones’ girlfriend. Not the annoying blond one. I mean, I’m blond, but I’m more like the spunky brunette in the first movie.”

“You are…spunky.” They stared at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“Okay, okay, okay,” said Jen, trying to right herself after falling over slightly in the booth. “Get back to your story. You were telling me about your Peruvian culinary adventures,” she gestured grandly with her hands. “How exactly did roasted guinea pig taste?”

Peter tilted his head slightly and raised his eyebrows. “I think you already know the answer to this question.”


“No! Well, yeah, now that you mention it. It was kind of disgusting. I was going to say, like chicken. But it was more like a chicken that’d been living on its own for years, running through the forest, and eating garbage.”


Peter looked at his beer glass and lightly drummed it with tips of his fingers. Nirvana played overhead, just loudly enough to be heard and talked over.


As you are

As you were

As I want you to be

“So, have you ever been in love?” Jen said.

“With a guinea pig? No.”

“No! You know what I mean.” Jen moved to the end of the booth so she could sit with her back against the wall and her legs propped up on the seat in front of her like a lounge chair.

“Yeah, once. But it was. . . well, the thing was, they. . . ”


Dowsed in mud 

Soaked in bleach 

As I want you to be

“My family had problems with the relationship.”

“Well,” Jen said, reaching over and touching his hand, “Remind me to stay on good terms with your family.”


“I don’t want you to think I do this all the time.” Jen’s bedroom was dark except for the streetlight shining through the mini blinds. Bands of light fell across Peter as he stood in the doorway and clutched the wooden frame.

“You realize that’s exactly what someone who does this type of thing all the time would say,” Peter said. The night air had cleared his head during the walk home, but now that he was back indoors, he felt bar-drunk all over again. Jen put her hands on the front of his chest and slowly ran them under his arms to his back.

“Don’t be bratty. I don’t do this. Ever.” She moved her hands back to his chest and up to his neck. Peter held onto the door frame as she ran her fingers into the hair on the back of his head  and brushed her lips against his jawbone. She breathed out as she moved to his earlobe which she held between her lips and then bit softly. “Never, ever. It’s you Peter. I can’t keep my hands off of you…”

She pulled his shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor. Then she took off her own tank top, reached behind her back, undid her bra, and let it fall.

“It’s okay — you can come in,” said Jen, grasping his wrist and ungluing him from the door frame. “God, you must be really drunk. I almost feel like I’m taking advantage of you.” Peter lurched forward like Frankenstein’s monster, the black and white stripes from the blinds moving across him like a choppy film reel.

Jen laid him back and started on his shorts. He looked up at her as she worked. She was an athletic woman — toned with very few curves. Her straight, shoulder-length hair fell like a curtain in front of her face as she leaned over him. When she’d finished unzipping and unbuttoning, she moved her hands around his taut stomach to his back and slipped them down into his shorts. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in.

I can’t believe you didn’t wear any underwear to our meeting.

Jen slid her hands into his briefs and pulled everything down at once. She shimmied them off his ankles and let them drop with everything else.

She made her way back up, running her fingers along his inner thighs. Then she took him into her mouth.

Peter exhaled. Inhaled. Then held his breath. He could feel the blood rushing away from his head, but his ears were pounding and tight, like he was going up too fast in an airplane.

She released him and made her way up his chest. Soon she was sitting up, straddling him, her shorts and panties the only barrier left between them.

“Touch me, Peter,” she whispered.

Take your time

Hurry up

The choice is your 

Don’t be late

Peter reached up and lightly brushed the side of Jen’s naked torso with his fingertips. She let out a small moan and ran her own hands over her breasts. With slightly more pressure he traced around to the small of her back. Then slid his hands into her shorts. She laid down and pressed her chest to his, kissing his neck and running her hands along his body.

His fingers made their way along the soft, supple groove of her buttocks but recoiled when they reached the wet place between her legs. Jen reached back and took his hand. She guided it into the front of her panties and held it firmly between her legs. Peter squeezed his eyes closed. He pushed his face into the crook of her neck. Jen pushed back and moaned as she moved slowly against Peter’s palm.

“You should put on a condom. I’m on the pill, but still.” Jen reached over and pulled out the drawer of her nightstand. She dug around until she felt a flat, little square.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Peter said, as she opened the package. “I mean, I don’t want to regret anything.”

“God, you’re amazing.” She held his face in her hands. Pushed back a piece of his hair. “I’ve never done anything like this with anyone before. I don’t know why I just feel like I have to. . . have you. And now you’re trying to stop me because you’re such a great guy. It just makes me think I must be right.”

She leaned over and kissed him softly on the mouth.

As an old memoria




He put his arm around her waist and in one quick motion, moved her onto her back and pressed himself on top of her.


“Where are you, Peter?”


“Where are you?”

“What do you mean?” he mumbled back.

Jen giggled. They laid in bed with just a sheet covering them. The streetlamp shone through the window, and through drunk, squinted eyes, it almost looked like a full moon. “You look so peaceful. Like you’re off in your own little world somewhere. So I was just wondering,” she put her lips to his ear and whispered, “Where are you…”

She thought she heard him say, “Kauai.”


Read Part Eight: Trapped


Fiction Friday Femmes Fatales This week’s prompt: Your character has a certain deep-held belief about love and fidelity. This belief may be based on religion, on something s/he learned from her/his parents, or on her/his own experience. Decide what this belief is and where it came from. In your story, something happens to the character that seems incompatible with this belief. How does your character react? Write the story. 

And be sure to check out my fellow femmes:



17 Comments… add one

Kelly DeBie February 22, 2013, 8:37 am

Damn, woman. I think you’ve found your niche.

Tammy February 22, 2013, 9:19 am

Haha! I don’t know whether to say I’m happy or sad about that. How exactly do you tell your kids you’re a writer, and your speciality is soft porn…

(for one, you use words like “speciality” to make it sound more highbrow)

Cheryl February 22, 2013, 8:43 am

I need a fan. And a drink. Stat.

Tammy February 22, 2013, 9:20 am

Cheryl, I was telling my husband last night that I wrote this for you and two of my other friends who’ve been “on board” with this story. If it ever turns into a book, you’ll be in the credits.:)

Cheryl February 22, 2013, 9:58 am

In the credits? AWESOME! But maybe I could be a future character? Like the totally hot, steamy sexy, YOUTHFUL-looking MILF that turns Peter’s, Eric’s and Jen’s heads!!! Or better yet…just the credits will be fine. 🙂

Tammy February 22, 2013, 10:16 am

Dear lord, you crack me up.

molly February 22, 2013, 9:10 am

where’d my cigarettes go? bitch, who stole my cigs?

nice, tammy. you are in it now, girl. xo

Tammy February 22, 2013, 9:24 am

Cigs. You kill me. Now, if I’d really gotten yoga girl to smoke, that would’ve been something.

I am in it. I almost wrecked the car yesterday while planning out this damn post. I still blame you and DeBie…


molly February 22, 2013, 9:41 am

blame us all you want. on your way to the bank. you are gooder at this than you thoughter you were. and you’re having more funner than you thoughter you woulder. i dig how you show just enough of them to not let us get too attached, yet through all the action and the “periphery” (if you will… this is hard to explain) show us who they are. it’s good. nice. i tend to brood, you skate along and pan but include details.

Tammy February 22, 2013, 10:19 am

I have to write like that because I don’t have your stamina, Molly.

And thanks for telling me I’m gooder. BTW, I think you may be on to a really annoying, best-selling children’s book with that sentence structure.

Verity February 22, 2013, 2:19 pm

Holy crap – that was awesome – forget 50 Shades….you get those books beat!

Tammy February 23, 2013, 4:06 pm

Thanks! You know you’re on the list with Cheryl. I feel like I don’t want to let you guys down!

Clearly Kristal February 24, 2013, 10:48 pm

Hot! (in so many ways)!!! You are so in the zone with this writing. It seemed so natural. You brilliantly weaved the pop culture connections in this piece as well. Now, off to get a cigarette. 🙂

Tammy February 24, 2013, 11:24 pm

Oh great. Now I have you smoking too. I’m going to have to send you and Molly some Nicorette gum or something.;)

Thanks Kristal!

Susanne Nelson February 26, 2013, 7:06 pm

Gotta love kuai! Nice end to romance month. It was a sensual description nicely weaved into an awesome nirvana song.

Tammy February 27, 2013, 12:06 am

That song was just one of those lucky breaks. I heard Soundgarden earlier in the day, but it turned out to be a song that had been released too late for the timeline. So I started looking for other stuff and landed on this one. I was only going to use part of it for the bar and then it all just fit into place. Gotta love that…

Quirky Chrissy February 28, 2013, 1:05 pm

You brave brave soul, you! I’m all red and flustered! You write soft porn with the best of them!

Poor Peter. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

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