continued from previous page 

Purple Prose as written by Teresa Cooper:

Anger Lost, Passion Found

The door to the masculine study was thrown open with a resounding boom. Charlotte, obviously distressed, swept into the room. Her anger blatantly obvious with her color high, her magnificent bosom heaving, tinged with a delicate blush, threatening to spill from a tightly fitted fuschia bodice.

“You Bastard,” she shrieked. “How could you do this to me?”

Jeffery, who had looked up at her startling entrance, eyes drawn to the quivering breast. He was momentarily captivated by the sight of her high, firm breasts thrust into prominence by her tightly laced corset. Surfacing from his temporary breast induced stupor, he queried “Do what to you?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No, I haven’t an inkling to that which you refer,” he said arching a sardonic eyebrow, his interest once again straying to her bosom.

Charlotte strode angrily across the Persian Carpet to stand before his desk. “How could you,” she wailed heartbrokenly.

“I have no idea about what has so obviously upset you, but there is something here that is upsetting me.”

“And what pray tell would that be?”

“Do you honestly think I am going to permit you to leave this house with your bosom put on display, ripe for the plucking like a melon on a shelf?”

"Permit Me,” she bellowed.

“Yes, permit. How well you know my feelings regarding your personal attributes. They belong to me and no one else.” Jeffery rose and walked around the ornate antique oak desk to stand in front of his wife. He placed his hands on her exposed breasts and said. “These are for me and me only to view and touch, is that understood?”

“You know perfectly well that this bodice is well within the fashion dictates of the ton.”

He then lowed his hands and grasped edge of her bodice and gave it a might yank nearly lifting Charlotte off her feet. As he did this he said, “I will determine how much of your dazzling breasts the public will see, not current fashion. Is that understood?”

Charlotte, incensed at the turn the argument had taken, reached down and patted the burgeoning bulge in his trousers and flippantly replied. “Then the same goes for you milord. What if I were to tell you that you were no longer permitted to wear these fashionably tight breeches to balls?”

“Oh? And what will you do if I continue to wear tight breeches to balls?”

Mirroring actions to words, Charlotte declared, “Why, I will simply interrupt any conversation you are having by reaching down, and grasping these perfectly matched jewels. Then I would inform whomever you are speaking with, that this is private property.” Squeezing gently, Charlotte continued, “And, as such, should not be on display like a cheap bauble in a shopkeeper’s window. We will then walk around hand to jewels, until we leave the ball.”

Before she finished speaking, the aforementioned jewels sprang to life, jutting into her hand. Arching her eyebrow, Charlotte slyly said, “I wish all my jewels would increase in size with such a simple touch.”

Reacting to her touch with an explosive passion, Jeffery grasped her shoulders and pulled her to him, molding his mouth and jewels to hers. This embrace caused her anger to quickly burst into passion.

Shrill voice transformed into the dulcet tones of a dove, Charlotte murmured, “I was angry with you, what was I angry about?”

“If you think I knew, and then would remind you of your anger, you are sadly mistaken. I have better things on which to concentrate.” Saying that, Jeffrey cleared a space on his desk with a sweep of his powerfully muscled arm, and proceeded to concentrate all his formidable attention to bringing them both to passion’s pinnacle.

Purple Prose as written by AAR Reviewer Candy Tan (Candy created this merge-matic parody combining the plotting and prose of that well-known author of Indian romances with the sentimentality of James Michael Pratt, author of The Lighthouse Keeper, the worst book she read this year. Grammer and spelling errors are, of course, purposeful):

Savage Lighthouse Keeper;
Last of the Shore Cherokees

Coast of Nantucket, August 31 1845

White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get) peered cautiously at his beautiful, unconscious captive as she lay, supine, sleeping and slumbering on his bed, bathed sensuously in soft afternoon light. Never had he seen such loveliness! It had been… too long. Too long… since his self-imposed exile here on this erect, magnificent, upstanding lighthouse on the battering shores of Nantucket. For years now he had guided the astray ships, without the company of a pleasing woman’s soft body or the incomparable pleasures of pleasuring himself on the pleasurable curves of a beautiful woman!

But this woman now lying motionless in his bed was not just any woman! She was Brittney Sparrington, the daughter of Brett Sparrington, the man who had killed the entire noble tribe of Shore Cherokees, savagely murdered his noble, wise father, raped his beautiful mother and virgin sisters, and poisoned his belovedly brave doggie, Muffin. Now was his opportunity! To avenge! To avenge his dead tribe, his dead father, his dead mother, his dead sisters, his dead pet!

But ah, this woman was truly beautiful! Her soft white skin was perfect, unmarred like the soft, endless petals of a rose bedewed by the morning’s dew. Her lashes were as long as a giraffe’s, but not as stiff and bristly. Her lips looked like luscious cherries, eager to be plucked. Her beautiful golden hair looked like spun gold, soft and fluffy like cotton candy, only shiny like gold. The white mounds of her milky breasts pushed against the bodice of her white dress, almost spilling out in the ever-bountiful profusion. Narrow her waist, her hips flaired in a most pleasing shape, leading to long, luscious legs that were very shapely. White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get) felt his manhood stiffening and pushing itself insistently against his loincloth. He cursed under his breath! He could not feel desire for his… enemy’s daughter. His heart fluttered like the wings of the albatross that was his namesake, every time he saw her, though. He did not know it, but he was falling into the enchanted spell of love woven by this beautiful woman, who was pure. She was not like her father, having inherited the gentle nature of her mother and nothing of her father but her captor had no way of knowing this useful fact….

As if Brittany sensed the stirring desires of his hot, blood, her eyelids fluttered slowly in awakening puzzlement and recognition. She blinked. Where was she? She remembered walking on the beach near the magnificently erect lighthouse, so pleasing to her eyes and so tingly to her senses. She had been enjoying the view of how the white column thrust itself boldly from among the mounds of trees and grass, when she had felt a bard blow on the back of her head, and the world had spun into black. However, this did not look like the beach, since there was a ceiling over her head and a pillow under her sore head. She puzzled over this slowly when she noticed a masculine, commanding presence by her side.

“Enough talk, white squaw woman!” barked White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get). “Your insolent chatter no save you! Nothing save you! You now at my mercy, but I show you no mercy!”

The magnificent swell of his manly pectorals distracted Britney from what the red savage was saying. The moonlight sculpted his muscles magnificently. He was tall, with thighs like trunks and smooth, hairless, shiny skin the color of mahogany. His black eyes were frowning at her thunderously, but they were beautiful and long-lashed. Like a giraffe, only less bristly! she thought dreamily. His long black hair was tied back with a leather thong. His abs bulged with a wonderful six pack of muscle. He wore nothing but an indecent loincloth…. Her virginal eyes wanted to stray towards a rather interesting bulge that was distorting the beadwork pattern of a village scene embroidered on the loincloth, but she blushed and stopped herself and made herself look upwards. Again she was distracted. Biceps the size of melons quivered bountifully, and small veins were popping up everywhere, making him look most manly and desirable! She had to quell a small sigh of feminine satisfaction. So different from the feminine, ineffectual men she knew….

“Damn you, she-devil, you give me no choice but to subdue you!” shouted White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get). How dare she try to seduce me by blinking at me and breathing! he fumed. I will show her the folly of trying to play with a full-blooded Shore Cherokee!. Before Brittaney knew what was happening, she was enveloped in hard, muscled arms, as sturdy it seemed as the lighthouse thrusting from between the trees that had been her last view before someone had hit her on the head and caused her to fall to unconsciousness. In fact, she must be inside the amazing erection, she deduced, because she could hear the waves crashing against the strong walls and she could also see the giant lamp, wick primed and ready to scatter its life-giving light to lost mariners, just a scant few feet from her.

The savage’s musky delightful smell enveloped her as he suddenly fell on top of her and crushed his sensually curved lips against hers. His tongue traced the seam of her lips hungrily, as if she was Sprite and he had to obey his thirst. The white woman was making small moans in pleasure, White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get) suddenly realized. For a second he’d thought his dog, Bob, needed to go out, but it was indeed the woman. This only aroused him the more. He plunged and licked his tongue insistently against her sweet, soft lips, until finally she hesitantly opened her mouth. His tongue dived in joyfully, which shocked Brittaney’s maidenly sensibilities. Why, he was… sucking on her tongue! His tongue tangled with hers in a dance as old as time, plunging in and out, simulating a rhythm that he ached to echo with his hips. “Damn you!” he rasped when he pulled away, eyes black with passion. She looked beautiful and sexily mussed, with her soft raspberry mouth beestung and softened with his passionate kiss.

“Damn you… I have never felt this way about a woman before, and yet…. I know I cannot do this. This cannot be! You have cast a spell on me, Woman-With-Hair-Like-Gold-Cotton-Candy!”

“I… I…” stammered Britney! His kisses had utterly beguiled her. Never had she felt such a lava torrent of passion stream from a man’s tongue straight into her veins. Her woman’s mound was feeling warm and decidedly excited. Her nipples had erected, becoming diamond-hard peaks of pulsating passion. She could hardly catch her breath!

“No, do not try to beguile me! It will not work!” exclaimed White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get). “I am White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get), son of a noble chieftain, a direct descendant of our most divine White Albatross Goddess, Ooogachakachoochoo, and the last of the Shore Cherokees. This lighthouse was a monument built with my grandfather’s bare hands, and now it is all that is left of my tribe, my culture! And it is because of your father that I am lost and rootless! It is because of you that this magnificent, pleasing, upright lighthouse is the only thing I’ll have to remember my tribe by! That and my father’s logbook of memories!”

Brittney had wondered about the buffalo hides decorating the wall and lining the bed, but before she could complete her thought… he was kissing her again. But White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get) could not help himself. He was hard as iron, his steely rod ready to enter the essense of her womanhood. His hands ached to caress the gorgeous cones of flesh that pressed provocatively against his muscled chest. He thrust his tongue over and over again into the sweet cavern of her mouth and pressed his ever-ready hips against the warm, soft hillock between her thighs. He groaned in satisfaction when she moaned in pleasure…

He could wait no longer. He pushed his hand across her heaving bosom and pushed her bodice down, exposing her ripe, innocent body to his hungry gaze. Her nipples were like rubies, precious beyond price. The astoundingly sexy globes of quivering flesh that were her magnificent breasts pouted upwards as if begging for a kiss. He was only too glad to comply. His mouth descended feverishly on her nipples, tugging and suckling like a starving babe. Brittany felt like she had died and gone to heaven, the pleasure was so intense. She gave in to the spinning sensations overwhelming her body in an enveloping glow of pleasure. Her tiny, timid hands began to wander on his virile, muscular back. He tensed and groaned at her innocent touch. His sinewy hands wandered like erotic spiders down her chest, heading for her mount of venus. Once he reached her yielding feminine cleft, he stroked her softly through her muslin gown. His fingers were immediately drenched with her carnal dew, spilling across his palm with the delicious liquid.

White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get) could not stand it any more. He had to make this woman his! He reached downwards and slowly pushed her dress up, graoning to feel her silken flesh quiver and jump against his fingers. Orbs of brilliant green stared boldly into spheres of black in eyeball-to-eyeball contact as his fingers finally reached her soaking wet grotto of desire and he plunged one… finger… in….

Britney gave a small squeak. “White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever…” she began to say.

“Hush, woman! Do you never shut up? Be quiescent and just feel the magic I spin over you. Can you not feel the prestidigitation nature is working on us, man and woman? ‘Tis meant to be, methinks. Your womanly cup overfloweth, and I have just the swizzle stick to stir your cocktail. My meaty sausage of passion hungers for your hot dog bun of love. Give in, my love, for I do love you. You are unlike any woman I have met before. I feel a connection between us, like that between two soul mates destined to meet. You are so beautiful, so sweet, so sensual, I feel my libido going into overdrive just looking at your fingernails-no, not even your fingernails; merely the tip of your pinkie is enough to drive me into a passionate frenzy. I feel like an animal in rut around you, my pretty filly. We are meant to be. Can you not feel the spirits whispering about our love around us, so, so, oh so tenderly? Darling, I love you, I love you, I love you!” But he resented this declaration as well, because he sensed that this woman, the daughter of his deadliest enemy, had captured his heart, as surely as two bunnies will produce 40 more bunnies in 40 days-and all against his will.

“I lo…” But before Brittany could complete, her mouth was smothered once again in a rapacious kiss. He was like a velociraptor of passion, this savage who had stolen her heart: relentless, and unafraid to use his teeth. He licked and suckled her all over, as he fiddled with his loincloth. Suddenly, she felt… a pressure, a strange pressing against the portals of her womanhood, her entrance to paradise. The burning pressure built and built… agony and ecstasy all at once… and then he was in! A strange popping sensation went off inside her then he was joined to her fully, natural and beautiful as God had surely meant it to be.

White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get) gritted himself to stop from pumping his bountiful seed into her fertile flesh. Panting, he rested his forehead against hers, marveling at the beauty of this innocent who had stolen his heart in a scant 32 minutes. He slowly began pistoning his hips in and out of her glove of love, relishing the drag of delicious flesh against his quivering, straining manhood. He was not sure he could last very long; his desire and love for Brittny was such that he wasn’t sure he could last much longer.

Brittony, couldn’t believe the amazing sensations pouring through her! They radiated outward from the of core of her womanliness, and she found herself reaching for something… something… but she knew not what… but a bright light beckoned… and she found herself helplessly following… and suddenly she was there, surrounded by angel’s voices and light and the most delicious quivery sensations and, strangely enough, her pet hamster Jeeves, who had been eaten by a giant mastiff last summer. She was glad to see Jeeves, very happy, in fact, but it was just strange to see him here when she could have sworn…

White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get) felt Britney’ s quivers of ecstasy, and with a moaned roar of anguished pleasure, he spilled his semen deep in her wet, warm depths, spewing himself deep into her womb. He panted, letting the aftershocks rumble through every inch of his sated but far from satisfied flesh. Even as he thought about the woman, who had now stilled after her enormous peak of pleasure, he felt himself growing hard again. He nuzzled Brittany, who must be sleeping very soundly indeed-he couldn’t even feel her chest move. Perhaps she had passed out. He felt a little bit of remorse about that; his amazing prowess as a lover was well-known, and he knew that a maiden’s first pleasuring could be unbearably intense. Her small smile on those delectable lips indicated that she was indeed a well-pleasured lady, and he was a well-favored gentleman.

“Woman-With-Hair-Like-Gold-Cotton-Candy,” he whispered, stirring against her and rubbing himself against her soft, pillowy voluptuousness. “Me want you now. Again. You tired? Me not tired yet. Me show you more about love.”

But her unnatural stillness did not change, and an awful fact dawned slowly on him, like the inevitable passing of the sun from sunrise to deepest night. He put fingers to her elegant neck, as snowy and graceful as a swan’ s, in an effort to feel her pulse-but in vain, all in vain. An anguished howl rose from him. “Nooooooooo!” he yelled, a primal scream. “Why, God, why? Why did you give me this being of beauty and light, only to snatch her from me?”

“Look in my logbook, my son.” The voice whispered from nowhere. It sounded uncannily like White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get)’s father, but the chief was dead, dead for over four years now, dead like everybody who had meant anything to him. White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get) had never looked into the lighthouse logbook, certain that the pain caused by his father’s recordings about the weather and his innermost thoughts would overwhelm him sheerly.

“Look in the logbook, and all your pain will be explained,” whispered the voice again. White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get) frowned, and stiffly erected himself, padding across the room to the desk that held the book. He opened it, and a piece of parchment fell out, fluttering onto the floor like a dying dove. He carefully unfolded the fragile paper, and read the words of his noble, wise father, and salt water began squirting from the sides of his eyes at the profound wisdom he found in there:

My beloved son,
Life is a vale of tears. But I love ya, and ya must know this. The lighthouse is my legacy. Keep the light burnin’, White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get) my boy. It stands as a symbol of hope, a beacon in a time of darkness. But remember that there’s a bigger lighthouse keeper than all of us, and ‘tis He who will ease yer pain in times of tribulation. Look to Him, and fear no more, laddie. A better life awaits all of us in the great beyond. Live your life well, remember that it doesn’t matter whether you win or lose, but how you play the game. Never give up. Let the sunshine in, face it with a grin-smilers never lose and frowners never win. Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re going to get, so just do it. ‘Tis as is in the beginnin’ and as it will be at the end.

Remember: you’re the wind beneath my wings, and when we are apart, I feel it too. Never let the shadows overtake yer soul, m’boy.


Yer ever-lovin’ father

White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get) sobbed quietly. “I understand now, Da,” he wept. “I understand everything.”

Coast of Nantucket, 31 August 1912

White-Winged-Albatross-Sailing-Gracefully-O’ er-The-Ever-Eddying-Currents-Of-The-Eternal-Air-And-Sky-While-Looking-For-Di nner-(Most-Probably-Fish-Again-But-He’ll-Take-What-He-Can-Get) looked out at the stormy beloved coast. Though he was now an old man, bound to his wheelchair, every day he still thought of the beautiful woman who gave herself so freely and completely to him. Every day at sunset he watched the waves in the hopes of hearing her tinkling laugh, her enchanting voice, a sight of a stray golden gleam of her hair. Sometimes he could almost see her dancing on the sparkling sands below, but they were always tricks of light and shadow. But he kept the light in the lighthouse burning faithfully every day in her memory, and in memory of his father’s profound words.

Today he felt even more tired than usual, and he knew the end was near. Next to him was his faithful dog, Foofles. As his eyes blurred with the fatigue that was daily overtaking him in the constant race that was life against time, he thought he saw movement on the shore, a figure in white muslin dancing…. A strange… glow surrounded it. He squinted and got up shakily. “Brittany?” he quavered querulously. The figure waved gaily! Foofles gave a puzzled bark and looked quizzically at his master. Why was he acting so strange?

Then Foofles’ master was up and running like a young boy again, screaming joyfully. Foofles saw a bright light originating from a woman dressed in white; even a dog like Foofles could appreciate her uncommon beauty, her golden hair, creamy skin and large green eyes. No wonder his master was so excited! Just when Master reached her, he was enveloped by a flash of bright light, and Foofles had to blink to clear the spots from his vision. When he could see clearly again, there was no trace of his master. He went to the last spot where his master had been just minutes ago, sniffing mournfully, but there was no trace of the two of them… Except for a scrap of white muslin. As he nuzzled the scrap despondently, he heard a voice come from inside his head, a voice that sounded very much like his master’s:

Don’t mourn for me, lad. I’ve gone to a better place. Remember to keep the light burnin’ in your heart and have faith in the Lighthouse Keeper who lives there, and you’ll never stray.”

As he heard those words, Foofles wept. Everything was so clear now, everything made sense at last. He understood everything now….


Return to Previous Page Continue to Next Page

Issue #99 of At the Back Fence - 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!