Handsome male barista is working in coffee shop. Bearded man behind the bar counter is making coffee.

So, to set up this piece – it’s intended as a farce, as a joke, and as a writing exercise. The task was to create an erotic story that is full of terrible analogies, bad metaphors, and is all-around purposefully just…well, bad. So, enjoy the laughs – but be careful reading ahead because there is sexuality (even if it is produced in a terrible way) and some very naughty words and language. – Joe

He could feel the palpitations in his heart when she walked into the room. Of course, the palpitations were almost certainly directly related to his third nipple, but for some reason science hadn’t actually nailed that down for sure. For now, he was going with the long dandelion stems flowing out from under her one-piece dress that clung to all of her curves harder than the cyclists he’d seen in the Tour-De-France. Unlike Lance, both of his own balls were throbbing by the time he peeled his eyes from her body. There was a god.

Her face flushing, the young woman cleared her throat. She knew the look in his eyes, and she was used to it – but not from this young but somehow old looking barista. How old was he, anyway? She found herself wondering what kind of car he drove and decided that, at least in her mind, he rode a motorcycle. She pictured the machinery between his legs.

“Hi. Welcome,” he said in a deep baritone voice that reverberated throughout her petite frame like a Harley engine. She watched his lips move beneath the whiskers of his untrimmed mustache as he spoke and she involuntarily licked her own lips.

“Um, hi,” she said, stammering. Idiot, she thought. “I’m looking for something sweet, but…like, not too sweet? Does that make sense?” She fidgeted with one of the buttons of her dress, the top one. As she did, she could see his eyes traveling down into the valley of her chest where he found ample fruits.

It was his turn to lick his lips.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding. He looked into her crystal green eyes and found himself swimming in their depths. He almost drowned, but she blinked. “I totally get what you mean. Do you like…”

She found herself waiting breathlessly, knowing what he’d say next but needing to feel the power of his baritone complete the sentence, a verbal climax.

“…chocolate?” He finished, resting his elbows on the counter.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, leaning onto the counter as well, exposing the tops of her ample melons to his greedy eyes, allowing him non-restricted access to her body’s ample gifts. He had an all-day pass to her proverbial theme park and she was Walt fucking Disney. She felt like any minute now she’d also be a proverbial Splash Mountain.

“Well,” he said, letting his eyes linger for a moment. “We have a mocha latte. Do you like it cold…or hot?”

“Oh my god,” she said. “Hot. Definitely…hot.” She undid another button. Customers had begun to line up behind her, but it only made it more exciting. She liked it when people watched.

He moved to the espresso machine and poured some milk into a metal steaming pitcher. He poured it slow, deliberately. Some splashed on his thick and uncallused fingers and he absentmindedly stuck them in his mouth, despite it being a clear QASA violation. This woman was upsetting his equilibrium, spinning him off his axis like a world hit by a comet of hotness. She was the comet and he was the world. Whichever one, it didn’t matter – but dinosaurs definitely became extinct, and those dinosaurs were definitely his inhibitions.

He locked eyes with her again, and she watched as he steamed the milk. The milk began to froth, and he had to manually adjust the wand’s depth into the pitcher by lowering and raising the pitcher up and down. Up and down. The act took on a very erotic feel as he felt her watch his pitcher gyrations. His green apron was hiding his massive cock bulging beneath his work-appropriate pants, and he knew she was searching for it like Sir Walter Raleigh had searched tirelessly for El Dorado – the Lost City of Gold. The only difference between she and Raleigh was that she was hot and a woman and she’d find his dick in all sorts of ways.

She watched him finish, and by this time her meat wallet was filled with the sweet payoff of his actions. When he handed her the latte, she briefly touched the tips of his fingers and an electric shock was sent shrieking through her engorged labia and she felt like they’d start flapping any second to lift her off into ecstasy.

“Here you go,” he said in his deep baritone. “That will be $7.95.”

Her pussy exploded with the force of a fire hydrant. $7.95 for a latte. She really enjoyed a good fucking.

Categories: Fiction

Tagged: $7.95, Art, Away With Words, Awful, Bad, Bad Writing, Barista, Bitch, Blog, Blog Post, Blogger, Blogging, Body, Bosom, Chest, Cleavage, Climax, Cock, Coffee, Creative Writing, Deep Voice, Dinosaurs, Disney, Dress, Ecstasy, Entertainment, Erotic, Female Customer, Fiction, Fingers, Fire Hydrant, Flirt, Flirting, Fruit, Fucking, Fun, Funny, Games, Geek, Green Eyes, Home, Humanity, Humor, Ideas, Inspiration, Internet, Joseph Carro, Labia, Lance Armstrong, Latte, Legs, Lick, Life, Lifestyle, Lips, Lol, Maine, Male Barista, ME, Meat Wallet, Motorcycle, Naughty, NSFW, Opinion, Palpitations, Portland, QASA, Rant, Relationships, Romance, Sexy, Short Fiction, Splash Mountain, Story, Story Idea, Tour-De-France, Woman, Wordpress, Work, Workplace Romance, Write, Writer, Writers, Writing, Writing Exercise, Writing Prompt

The Story

joecarro

Posted on January 17, 2020

Just to preface this short piece of fiction – this was created using an entire list of random suggested words for a writing exercise. Once you start reading, I’m sure you’ll be able to find those words. I had fun writing this, and it gave me fuel to write something else more serious – so never discount writing prompts because they can be pretty useful! – Joe

The flames flickered against the stone of the fireplace. My grandfather, limping from an old hockey injury he’d told us about, seated himself in an antique wooden chair next to the fire. The light cast shadows against the faded wallpaper of his home. I could smell the honey-mustard glazed ham baking in the oven, my mouth watering in response. He cracked open a can of PBR.

“Now, are you sure you want me to tell you this story again?” My grandfather asked, tilting his glasses down his nose and leaning back in the chair. It made an old creaking sound and I imagined it was his bones. “You’ve already heard me tell this story lots of times.”

“Pretty please, with a cherry on top,” my younger brother, Carl, said as he rocked back and forth on the wood floor. “Please! Please!”

I grinned. “Yeah, Gramps. It’s a good one.”

My grandfather didn’t say anything for a few moments. He looked lost in thought, taking a long draw from his can of PBR. “Boys, I think you’re ready for a new story. It’s one I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. You’re both special and you don’t know that, but you are.”

Carl laughed. “Mom says I’m special.”

Gramps leaned forward in his chair. “Well, that’s because she knows just how special you are, how special this whole family is. We have a secret.”

“A secret?” I couldn’t begin to think what it might be. Maybe Gramps had been bitten by a radioactive gerbil and had superpowers that he’d been hiding all this time. That would be cool. Something told me it wasn’t that, however.

“Yes, a secret. You’re going to find out by listening to what I have to tell you.”

Carl let out a big yawn and stretched out on the wood floor. “When’re we gonna’ eat? I’m hungry.”

I was hungry, too. The smell of the ham was driving me crazy. I’d eaten nothing in the past two days aside from pizza, both nights; once at home and once at my friend Jason’s house. I’d eaten some toaster strudels for breakfast before we left to come to my grandfather’s house in the morning, and some pickles that were unceremoniously offered by Grandma before she left with our mother to go shopping, but pickles and strudels weren’t cutting it. Ham wasn’t even my favorite thing in the world. What I could really go for was some enchiladas, but ethnic food disagreed with my mother’s Northeastern sensibilities.

Gramps turned on the lamp which sat on a nightstand next to the chair. Then, he opened a drawer in the nightstand and pulled out a web-covered, leather-bound book from inside. He blew across the front cover and a plume of dust rose into the air.

“Is that the bible?” Carl asked.

My grandfather laughed, wiping some more dust off the cover and spine of the old book. “I guess you could say it is, Carl. But it’s not the regular bible. It’s our story. The story of our family.”

I’d never seen the book before in my life. I wondered how long it’d been in the drawer.

“This is the story of my grandfather’s great-great-great-great-great grandfather. His name was Thelonios and he was the world’s first demon-fighter.”

“Demon fighter?” I laughed. “Wow.” My grandfather had told us some wild tales but never any about demons. Carl was seven years old, though, and I doubted that my mother would want him hearing about demons.

“Yes, demons,” he said, his eyes taking on a grim quality. Carl stared, sensing some hidden undertones he couldn’t quite grasp. “Thelonios was a traveling monk and he was given a task by a princess.”

“A princess?” Carl asked. “Did she live in a castle?”

“She sure did, kiddo,” my grandfather said, taking another swig from his PBR. He set the can down and lifted the book and showed us an etching of a beautiful woman on its yellowed pages. She had long locks of hair and full lips. “Her name was Honeydew,” he said, turning the book back to look at the artwork himself. I could see the longing in his grey eyes. It was weird.

“The castle was surrounded by a quagmire. Nobody could get to it except for Thelonios, because he was special just like you kids. He heard Honeydew calling for help across the swampy land and he flipped and did somersaults and all sorts of acrobatic things to get to the front gates. He didn’t sink once.”

“Wow, he’s cool,” said Carl.

“Thelonios is kind of a nerd name,” I said, smirking. I heard my stomach growl.

“Well, Thelonios was no nerd,” Gramps said, shaking his head back and forth, looking rather lugubrious in the firelight. “He was a hero. The demon, Capricornus, guarded the castle. He had the forefront of a donkey and the back end of a fish.”

Carl’s eyes were wide with fear.

“Oooh, scary,” I said. “I thought Capricornus was a constellation, Gramps. Wasn’t he half goat and half fish?”

“No. They got it all wrong. He was half donkey and half fish, and if that sounds funny to you then you have obviously never seen Capricornus.” He finished his PBR and crushed the can in his wrinkly hand, surprising the both of us. “He hoarded women, kept them locked up in castles and dungeons. He never let them leave. Thelonios put a stop to that, that’s for sure.”

“How’d he do that?” Carl asked, sitting Indian style, now.

“Well, Capricornus knew the minute old Thelonios made it across the quagmire. He was not happy. He slinked through the castle like an old accordion and Thelonios just waited…and waited. Finally, the demon came to stand in front of him. Thelonios could feel his breath against his skin, even through his robes. It was ice-cold and the demon floated around like he was some sort of superconductor and his fur was standing on end on his donkey half, like he was covered in hair spray.

“Chikity-chik-chik,” the demon gargled. Thelonios didn’t flinch. ‘Why-Chikity are you here-Chikity? The girl-Chikity is mine, monk.” Gramps was reading the demon’s dialogue in a strange high-pitched voice.

“I have traveled the world, trying to find Princess Honeydew,” said Thelonios.

“Chikity-ah,” the demon said with amusement. “So Chikity-China is where-Chikity you found my trail-Chikity? Chik-Chik!”

“Yes. I’m not going to turn and run now, Capricornus. Honeydew called to me in my dreams. She is not happy here with you in your dark castle surrounded by dank earth. I won’t leave until she is by my side. I have come across the Great Steppes. I have seen the wild Emu roam. She loves me and I love her. You can’t defeat that, even if you kill me.”

Categories: Fiction

Tagged: acrobatics, Art, Blog, Blog Post, Blogger, Blogging, Capricornus, Carl, Castle, Chikity-China, Clint Eastwood, Demon, Demon Hunter, Emu, enchiladas, Entertainment, ethnic food, Evil, Faith, Family, Fiction, Fire, Fireplace, Fun, Games, Geek, Glazed Ham, Grampa, Gramps, Grandfather, Grandma, Grandpa, Great Steppes, Ham, Hero, Hockey Injury, Home, Honeydew, Humanity, Humor, Hungry, Ideas, Inspiration, Internet, Jason, Joseph Carro, Kids, Life, Lifestyle, lugubrious, Maine Writer, ME, Mom, Nerd, New England Writer, New England Writers, Northeastern, Old Man, Opinion, Pabst Blue Ribbon, PBR, Pizza, Practice, Princess, quagmire, Rant, Religion, Short Fiction, Short Story, Special, The Story, Thelonios, Thelonios Monk, toaster strudel, Women, Wordpress, Words, Writer, Writing, Writing Exercise, Writing Prompt

The Liar

joecarro

Posted on January 17, 2020

My fingertips slide over hers like a passing glance. Her lips rise up on one side, just a little, just enough to hurt. There are no words because there is nothing left to say. Her eyes, deep and brown, tell me that she’s sorry. I tell myself that she means it but I know I’m a liar.

Categories: Fiction

Tagged: Art, Blog, Blogging, Brown, Brown Eyes, Creative, Creative Writing, Creativity, Entertainment, Eye, Eyes, Faith, Family, Fiction, Fingers, Flash Fiction, Fun, Geek, Home, Humanity, Hurt, Ideas, Inspiration, Internet, Liar, Life, Lifestyle, Lips, Maine, Maine Writer, ME, Media, New England Writers, Opinion, Rant, Relationships, Sad, Short Fiction, Sorry, Wordpress, Write, Writer, Writer's Block, Writing, Writing Exercise, Writing Life, Writing Prompt

The Stack

joecarro

Posted on January 5, 2020

I stared at the handwriting on the plain mailing envelope – my own name written in ink, my former home address at the top left.

That same handwriting, in years before, had expressed feelings and truths for me in pages after pages of love notes and reminiscences created for birthdays or holidays or anniversaries. Just for me.

Attached to that handwriting, which I’d examined with a smile countless times before- are feelings of love, thankfulness, and joy.

Inside the envelope – a stack of divorce papers, clinical and devoid of human empathy; strict guidelines for the dissolution of a formerly happy union worn down by lies and lust and selfishness. Her signature, written in the same flowery script, signing off on my existence.

Next to hers, on a little perfectly straight line, is a space for another signature on each page of weighty finality. Just for me.

Categories: Creative Non-Fiction

Tagged: Advice, Alabama, Away With Words, Blog, Blog Post, Blogger, Blogging, Breaking Up, Breakups, Closure, Court, Divorce, Divorce Papers, Earth, Entertainment, Envelope, Faith, Family, Final, Geek, Handwriting, Home, Humanity, Ideas, Inspiration, Internet, Joseph Carro, Life, Lifestyle, Love, Maine, Maine Writer, ME, Media, Mobile, New England, New England Writer, New England Writers, News, Notes, Opinion, Poetry, Portland, Rant, Relationships, Religion, Sad, Sadness, Signature, South, Tragedy, Wordpress, Write, Writer, Writers, Writing, Yankee

Written In Key West, December 2019

joecarro

Posted on January 2, 2020

Her eyes were what drew me in. Long, slender lashes encircling light brown irises – the depth behind them halting my thoughts. She knew the power of her eyes, and she used it to her advantage daily. She could bat those eyes and make you forget who you were, which I constantly found myself doing.

She had a malleable personality and was a sort of social chameleon. I fell in love with her long before I kissed her, but the kiss was my own personal Faustian deal with her – for better or for worse. Our lips touched and my soul no longer belonged to me, but had been bargained away.

We crossed paths several different times in our lives before we became entangled in each other’s existences and so it seemed to be providence when we got along so well and we spent nights under a streetlight on the outskirts of Portland, hearts hard at work but minds dallying into the small hours.

She was not the first woman I’d married, though I’d hoped she’d be my last and we’d grow to old age together. I held a certain trust with her – one that doesn’t come automatically with marriage vows but is learned and given gradually through time and experience. It was not given lightly or without pause, and even though that trust was broken in the chaotic storm her lies wrought – one whose eye had never appeared to give me a sense of calm – I was proud of myself for having extended myself so readily, offering up my chest to the dull blade of her disingenuity.

Of course, I initially didn’t take that blade well nor cleanly, and the wound had become infected until I had moved away from her eyes, her mannequin smile, and her lies. My very spirit was aching within my body through over 4,800 miles of train tracks, asphalt, and sleepless nights. Only with distance, and with exploration of the self, did the wound begin to close up. Had I stayed, it would have festered and turned gangrenous.

From Maine, to Vermont, to NYC, to Mississippi, to Alabama, to Louisiana, to Florida – as far south down as Key West. I cried, I drank in excess, I slept, I ate my feelings. Memories of sweet words, warm embraces, and soft kisses flooded back to me daily, striking me with the force of a fighter, bruises left unseen but there nonetheless.

In Vermont, I covered myself in an old comforter against the winds of Lake Champlain. In New York City, I walked through the ghosts – our ghosts – of our time in Manhattan. On the train to the south, I woke hearing the whip of rail station poles cutting through my dreams of her. In Alabama, friends tried to heal with kindness the holes she’d punched into my psyche. Then, as I sat at the end of a stone wharf on the sea in Key West, water inches below my shoes and sea foam spraying up into my lap – I looked out at the raging sea and finally understood that she – with her mannequin smile and chameleon personality – never really loved me. I suppose I should have seen it sooner, but I’ll allow myself the misstep because even the greats have all been fooled by love once or twice in their lives. I’m certainly no great, but I’m also no better, either, in my naivete.

I held love for her – real love – and that was no small measure. Chameleons are predators, and in that sense I can’t blame her for following her natural instinct. I only fault her for the lies and in her knowing that I would let her devour me.

Categories: Creative Non-Fiction

Tagged: Advice, Alabama, Bitch, Blog, Blogger, Blogging, Break Up, Breaking Up, CNF, Creative Non-Fiction, Creative Writing, Divorce, Earth, Entertainment, Eyes, Faith, Family, Florida, Friends, Geek, Ghosts, Heartache, Heartbreak, Home, Humanity, Humor, Ideas, Inspiration, Internet, Key West, Kindness, Kiss, Lady, Life, Lifestyle, Louisiana, Love, Maine, Manhattan, Marriage, ME, Mississippi, Muse, New England, New York, New York City, Non-Fiction, North, NYC, Ocean, Opinion, Photography, Photos, Poetry, Portland, Rant, Relationships, Road Trip, Sea, South, Story, Train, Travel, Vermont, Vignette, Woman, Wordpress, Writing

Gremlins is the Best Christmas Movie

joecarro

Posted on December 6, 2019

Many of us, when pressed, are able to give a favorite holiday movie or two in casual conversation. I know a few staples are It’s a Wonderful Life – featuring Jimmy Stewart rehashing his childhood and adult life and what it would have been like without him around. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer – a claymation film with a cute reindeer protagonist who is exiled for his differences and then exploited for them later on (relax, I kid – I still watch it every year). Santa Clause – in which Tim Allen accidentally becomes Santa. Even Die Hard – in which an office Christmas party goes awry when terrorists decide to crash it. The list goes on and as I said – almost everyone can name at least one or two favorite.

One movie that always seems to be a surprise to many folks as a Christmas film is Gremlins (1984) – and Gremlins is hands down my favorite Christmas movie of all time, and I think it should be up there on a lot of people’s lists.

Gremlins-4K-Trailer-0-6-screenshot-600x338

If you’re shocked at Gremlins being a Christmas movie – you wouldn’t be if you simply re-watched it. At the beginning of the film, Billy (Zach Galligan) is given a Mogwai named Gizmo (Howie Mandel) – who was the original Baby Yoda in cuteness level – for Christmas. From there, lots of hijinks ensue – but all of them take place among a distinct Christmas landscape.

From Billy’s rusty Volkswagen Beetle having trouble starting in the snowy, winter weather of Kingston Falls – to the infamous “Do You Hear What I Hear” scene inside Billy’s house as Billy’s mother Lynn (Frances Lee McCain) fights off marauding gremlins – right up to the horrific Christmas childhood story told by Kate Beringer (Phoebe Cates) – Christmas is essential to the Gremlins storyline which therefore makes it a Christmas film.

Now – the reason I think it’s the BEST Christmas film is that it’s so unlike most of the other Christmas movies out there. At its heart, Gremlins is still a warm holiday movie based around the Christmas traditions and principles we’re used to seeing around Christmas time. Billy lives with his typical 1980’s American family, the neighborhood citizens are all pretty likable, and Kingston Falls seems like it would be on a Christmas postcard from Maine. However, that’s what makes it so interesting when Gizmo and the Gremlins show up and start wreaking havoc, killing people, and toying with their streetlights. I mean, c’mon – if we’re going to have to listen to the same ol’ Christmas songs, why not do it with the backdrop of deadly mayhem?

The animatronics and effects still largely hold up in Gremlins and I think you’d be surprised at how great the movie still is in general if you haven’t seen it in a while. On top of that, we seem to be – as far as pop culture goes – swinging back to the 1980’s with Stranger Things and songs like Take On Me being so popular again. So – why not give it a shot as one of your Christmas films this season? It’s currently streaming on Amazon Prime, YouTube, iTunes and elsewhere.

Categories: Opinion

Tagged: 1980's, 1984, Adorable, Advice, Amazon, Amazon Prime, animatronics, Art, Away With Words, Baby Yoda, Billy, Billy Peltzer, Blog, Blog Post, Blogger, Blogging, Chris Columbus, Christmas, Christmas Film, Christmas Films, Christmas Movie, Christmas Movies, Christmas Music, Christmas party, Christmas Song, Cute, Die Hard, Do You See What I See, Effects, Entertainment, Film, Frances Lee McCain, Fun, FX, Geek, Gizmo, Gremlins, Holiday Favorites, Holidays, Howie Mandel, Humanity, Humor, Ideas, Internet, It's A Wonderful Life, iTunes, Joe Dante, Joseph Carro, Kate Beringer, Kingston Falls, Life, Lifestyle, Lynn, Lynn Peltzer, Maine, Mandalorian, Mayhem, ME, Media, Mogwai, Movie, Movies, Murder, News, Opinion, Phoebe Cates, Post, Prime, Rant, Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer, Santa, Santa Clause, Spike, Stranger Things, Streaming, Take On Me, Tim Allen, Volkswagen, Volkswagen Beetle, VW Bug, Wordpress, Writing, Yoda, YouTube, Zach Galligan