Continued from previous page

Purple Prose as written by Ava Hawkins, whose entry included this brief reader note, "Um, ahem, well. . . sorry, ladies, I just couldn't resist. I am a lover of language, and after helping my dear hubby with a particular feat requiring a sink and a steel pipe and a large metal tool and a leak, this submission was born. I just couldn't help it! What I love about purple prose is that these words, which in a certain context make us blush and giggle, are just plain, old ordinary words. Words we use everyday, and as a lonnnnnnnnnnnnng time romance reader, I find that when these words crop up in regular conversation I can't hold back the grins. So grinning from ear to ear I respectfully submit":

An Evening in the Mind of Maureen

Maureen struggled. . . writhing about, almost painfully, for the fit was too tight. She looked down with trepidation. "This will never work!" she moaned. Yet with a breathless gasp she struggled a bit more, just one more shove upward. . .

"Nothing doing! This zipper is not gonna budge!" Maureen stated, and she ripped the offending jeans from her body and flung them to the far corner of the room. Then she flung her climbing boots each in separate directions too, for good measure. One landed on the bed, the other crashed into the wall. So much for going out to eat. Marching with determination toward her armoire she reached for the knob and felt it jerk off. She stared at the offending knob that had come into her hand and flung it, too, across the room to follow the boots.

"Craftsmanship!" she muttered, and slipping her fingers into the shadowy crevice she pulled the door open. Maureen loved this piece of furniture, and even though it was a very manly chest, it fit in well with the decor of her summer cabin. As she reached for a soft, sheer chemise she made a mental note to screw that knob back on tomorrow morning. Right now she had more important things on her mind. Like supper.

Immediately visions of lush, tender breasts rose in her mind. Chicken would be nice. Or even duck! Her mouth watered. Ah, how she would love juices dripping from her chin about now. She could amost feel the smooth flesh of a warm, roasted Italian sausage sliding over her tongue. She closed her eyes and envisioned her mouth gently closing over the rounded tip, little pearls of juice beading on the tight, hot skin. She would lick them off and then chomp right down into the meat.

She thought of fruit, heavy and ripe in her hands as she sucked on the wet, slick flesh. Peaches would be nice. Quivering cones of snow white frozen yogurt sounded good too. Her tongue darted out to catch the saliva escaping over her plump bottom lip.

On the way to the tiny kitchen she caught sight of her dimpled derriere in the mirror. Which, of course, she could clearly see outlined by her almost transparent chemise. She made an abrupt bypass of the kitchen. Maybe she could forget this hunger clawing at her belly if she fell asleep. It was a familiar feeling, this burgeoning need, deep and pulsing within her loins. Fruit juice diets do that to you. Especially prune juice.

She was certainly tired. Maureen thought of the satisfaction she felt when she reached the peak of her desire today. For six months she had struggled to conquer the ridges of stone behind her cabin, longing for that rush of sweet exhilaration she knew would come when she reached the rugged peaks. Today her desires were fulfilled. It was quite a feat, to come so high up. As she spread her legs wide and reached her arms over her head in jubilation upon that mountain top, arching her back (carefully, of course) for joy, she had screamed in satisfaction.

"Probably scared the mountain goats clean outta their horns!" she chuckled. She would never forget how that felt. Standing there with the steepled rock thrusting up between her wide spread legs, nothing but sky above her. It had been a hard days climb, and inserting the rods of steel that supported her harness into the crevices and cracks of the mountain had taken their toll. Muscles throbbed in places she didn't know she had them. Yes, bed sounded better and better.

Maureen flung herself facedown on the coverlet, and promptly thrust her butt straight up in the air. Then she pushed up on her forearms and looked down. Her breasts had pebbles on them! And there were rocks rubbing the sensitive skin of her exposed thighs! Quickly jumping up she pulled the blankets off the bed, shaking them savagely. Well, she admonished herself, that'll teach me to fling my boots just anywhere!

Now that she had pebbles and bits of dirt clinging to her once spotlessly white sheath chemise, Maureen needed a bath. Bath, and then bed, a rock-less bed, she thought.

As steam rose from the tub, Maureen gently eased into the slick wetness. She sighed and leaned back against the smooth hard surface of coated steel. Her eyes closed. Then, as she heard a drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, her eyes popped back open. She surveyed the tangle of metal pipes exposed under the nearby sink. At the junction of one long, glistening steel rod into it's matching orifice, telling moisture seeped from the seam.

"Oh, darn!" Maureen said. "I'll hafta call the plumber tomorrow." Then she thought. . . hope he brings the right tool. . . and grinned.

And with that last thought, Maureen drifted off into the dreamy, steamy place known as her imagination.

(Needless to say, there were a lot of hard thrusting protrusions there, not to mention all those things that are soft, deliciously slick and creamy!)

Purple Prose as written by AAR Reviewer Anne M. Marble, as a "uhm, tribute to a certain type of romance. The ones with a so-called hero who thinks the worst of the heroine, and a heroine who is too naÔve to be believed. I've also made this into my tribute to headhopping, a subject near and dear to my heart."

Jane stood near the fire in Rafeís study, clutching her reticule to her heaving bosom. Goodness, why were Rafeís eyes burning through her very soul? And why did his trousers suddenly seem tighter in the front? There was some sort of strange bulge in the front of his trousers. What could that item be? And what a strange place to put a pocket! Oh, well. There was so much about men she didn't know. Her voice aquiver, she asked, "Why are you looking at me that way?"

"Oh, you know very well, you darling slut," Rafe said through clenched teeth. Once again, he thought of his mother, who had fornicated with several members of the House of Lords. And his devious departed wife, who had created an even greater slur upon his family name by sleeping with members of the House of Commons. Now where was he? Oh, yes. Speaking to that tramp in front of him. "Youíre no innocent, no matter what airs you put on. After all, I've seen the way you look at Lord Tilden. And the Earl of Hampton. And the Duke of Earl. You sweet, sweet harlot."

Her grasp tightened on her reticule. Whatever did he mean? She wished her parents, well meaning though they were, had taught about more about this frightening world outside the vicarage. Why was he calling her those odd names? Following some deep instinct that was somehow, well, instinctual, she folded her arms in front of her chest. Jane didn't know why she did that. After all, it wasn't as if men liked a woman with a large bosom like hers. Why did she think she had to hide her heaving bosom from his seeking eyes?

"Playing innocent again? How cute," Rafe hissed. Blast it, did she have to block his view of those creamy orbs with her arms, however lovely those limbs were to his jaded eyes? He took his calloused hand - or was that his callused hand? He never could get that one right - ran his fingers up and down the silk of her dress, imagining her were caressing her smooth naked flesh. Soon, he promised himself. Soon.

Jane shuddered, although it was far from cold, as she was so near the flickering, glowing fire. A strange, foreign, terrible, wonderful thought came to her confused mind. How would it feel if he caressed her smooth naked flesh with those strong, callused hands? And how had he gotten all those calluses, anyway? He was from a wealthy family, so it wasn't as if he spent much time toiling in drudgery.

"I see you like this after all. So I was right about you all along!" In some deep recess of his mind, he had dared hope that she was innocent after all, but when she shuddered at his touch, he knew she had to be yet another lightskirt. "Youíll pay for leading me on."

What was she leading him on to? Jane didn't get a chance to ask, for suddenly, Rafe nudged her reticule aside and slid his hands underneath her arms. His searching fingers slithered to her breasts. His diligent digits stroked, fondled, petted, and when he found her nipples. He played with the tiny buttons as if they were tiddlywinks. Janeís eyes widened in shock as her body caught fire with a million tiny flickers of delight. Goodness. No wonder her parents had never taught her about this. If sheíd known touching her breasts could make her body sing with joy, she would ever have gotten her schoolwork done.

Rafeís mouth curled into a sneer - he had trained it to do that. "So all your lies are revealed for the untruths they are. You know what Iím doing, and you know whatís coming next."

Oh, if only she did know! Soon, his pillaging mouth was covering her mouth. And his pillaging tongue was sliding around her mouth. How strange, yet how marvelous the sensation. She tried to comment on the unusual style of contact, but it was hard to do so while his tongue was running up and down her tonsils.

Rafe heard her muffled words as he kissed her thoroughly, and damply. He couldn't make the words out. No doubt she was admitting to her lewdness and begging him to keep going. Well, naturally, he would just have to accommodate her, even if she was just like his devious departed wife. He lowered Jane to the ground, and she didn't even protest. Yet another sure sign that he was right - she was a hussy indeed.

Jane remained quiet as Rafe bent her knees and pulled up her skirts. Whatever did Rafe intend to do next? Surely it would feel just as marvelous as whatever it was he had been doing to her breasts! She wondered why Rafe was unbuttoning his trousers. And what would emerge from his trousers but the most amazing thing. A shaft of flesh, the likes of which she had never seen before, dangled between his legs. It was as if he had another limb altogether. Did all men have one of those? Even her father? She stared at it in amazement.

"I see the way youíre looking at my member," he said accusingly.

Member of what? she thought. I didn't know he belonged to any clubs. But she continued to stare at the thickening staff, wondering about its purpose.

Rafe knelt between her legs, his eyes bearing a strange, cruel glow as he crowed, "Iíll bet you know what this is for!"

Before Jane could reply, he plunged the staff into her secret tunnel. She felt a sharp pain, a rending, a tearing, a twinge of agony. Ouch! Ow! Ooo! Oh, why hadn't her parents taught her any decent swear words, blast it?! But then, miraculously, the pain metamorphosed into pleasure-pain. Oh, oh, oh. She saw a speck of ecstatic fire looming in the horizon of her vision. Amazing! What other worldly treasures would he help her seek?

Rafe groaned in agony and frustration. He was awash in a river of denial. He heard himself crying out in betrayal, "You strumpet! You really were a virgin all along! How dare you fool me like that, you Jezebel?" With that, he withdrew his love sword from her shimmering sheath.

How dare he stop just when it had gotten interesting?! Jane hit him on the head with her reticule.

Purple Prose as written by Karen Carlini:

Purple Waves of Rapturous Passion

As she waltzed around in her underwear, Sergeant Major Doctor Bambi Breastly paused, wisely choosing to defend herself with a letter opener rather than her Glock, from the person she knew was near. She knew, although she was 4'9, she could handle anything that came her way.

At least, until he stepped into the moonlight pooling on her floor and undoubtedly leaking through the floorboards. The silver moonlight spilled over his powerful form, clad solely in a revealing pair of black swim trunks, that could not hide his fierce erection.

"Lance Wellfavored! What are you doing here?" she gasped in surprise, breathless, the creamy mounds of her breasts heaving and straining dangerously in her simple black lace bra, which matched the lacy panties and garter belt she had chosen to wear to bed tonight on a whim.

"You are my destined mate, or at least fated to be a hot love monkey of unbridled lust with me here tonight, in the sacred rituals of my people!" he replied, stepping closer to her, his long, sleek muscles rippling beneath his shirt like an epileptic panther. And this time, he swore darkly to himself, as his manly brows crinkled with the effort of thinking when aroused, he meant it. It wouldn't be like all the other women, or the unfortunate incident of the shapely sheep. He still couldn't look at lamb chops without remembering. . . He gathered the thin, curvaceous beauty into his arms and kisses her petal-pink, pouty lips passionately, claiming her fiercely with the hard movement of his mouth on hers, and the feel of his massive staff against her stomach.

"Oh, Lance, that doesn't sound quite right! There's a psycho on the loose and we've got family in a room nearby!" Bambi gasped, pressing her soft curves against him helplessly, her elegant hands fluttering around him to hold him against her. Her sweet, though vacant eyes, one cerulean blue like the summer skies, and the other the dreamy jade green stared up at him.

As his passion roared in his ears like a might blaze, or he lost all blood to his brain, his turgescent staff swelled further. Lance conquered her mouth boldly with his own, invading the strawberry and garlic sweetness of her mouth with his tongue, teasing her to open further to him. Her lean thighs rubbed mindlessly against his muscular thigh.

Her eyes darkened with passion, and she leaned against him further, all thought of protest gone for the moment. She didn't even notice the slight clang as she dropped her letter opener.

He caressed the heaving ivory of one breast above the lace, and then gently cupped each breast in his hands, lifting and kneading the high, perky, yet heavy weights. His smoldering gaze rose to her as she panted, and pleaded for him to touch her, and he suddenly flung himself away from her.

Stretched beyond endurance, her bra broke, and flew across the room, ricocheting off a wall and zooming back like a deadly Victoria's secret chakram, when he shoved her out of the way and it winged out the open window. The psychotic killer incapable of thinking in complete sentences or in anything other than the color of blood cried out as it wrapped around his neck, and fell off the ladder he had been climbing. A white silk chasuble fluttered slowly down to rest across his sightless eyes at the bottom of the ladder. Ignorant of this, Bambi threw herself into Lance's arms.

"You saved my life! I love you!" she cried out passionately, the exposed and naked flesh of her lush curves pressing against his warm masculine skin. Her delicate hands pressed against the unmistakable bulge in his trunks, and he thought he would explode right then in the red tides of passion. He touched her rose-pink nipples, and began to squeeze, kiss, suck, nibble, and aerobicize her sumptuous breasts, three sizes larger now freed of her lingerie.

"You're such a hottie!" he moaned, and then, "Yes, I want you now before I lose my mind! I can wait no longer! I will abandon all of my plans for revenge, but I must have you now!" he cried out like a boy with his first woman. The unmistakable sound of metal against metal, his zipper, and then their soft curses as they realized he just unzipped his pocket filled the air. Impatient, he reached out to the wet scrap of lace between her legs, and ripped away the last barrier to her inviting secret place. The moist petals of her woman's love zone called to him, and he plunged his fingers inside, testing her, feeling her tightness, all thought lost other than the rapture in her arms, distilled down to the essence: Cool.

She pulled down his shorts, not bothering with the zipper, lost in the tumultuous need to have him within the place that ached between her legs, to satisfy the breathless craving. Tremulously, she raised her eyes to meet his dark, shadowed eyes, alight with a joy she knew he would find only with her. He pressed her back, against a small bedside, and in a single fluid move, impaled her on his man's spear. As he thrust his huge manhood into her warm femininity, reveling in her tight passage, he cried out harshly in triumph, his cries met by her answering, joyous moans. . .

Turning away from the keyhole, Dotty Ant, Lance's relative, elbowed Bambi's father.

"Quit eavesdropping," she said, wiggling her walker at him provocatively, "we both knew they'd do it."

The old man nodded, his eyes drifting over to the woman's impressive cleavage which hung to her knees. Noting the direction of his burning gaze, she laughed coyly.

"Like what you see, do you, old man? There's plenty of me if you're fast enough!" she said, opening her flowered housecoat and flashing him with the creamy pale beauty of her senior citizen charms. As he stared, dumbstruck, or perhaps testing his pacemaker, she clumped off, moving her walker spryly.

W.A.Keydad whistled appreciatively and popped a wheelie in his wheelchair, and then motored off down the hall after the sultry, blue-haired beauty.

Issue #77 of Laurie's News & Views - details of the contest's outcome and reader response
Index for Laurie's News & Views (Check the index for "silly sex"/"purple prose")
Ferri Tales - There's plenty of purple prose here! (And a return link to the PPP section as well)

If you liked this parody,

try this one!