The Crime of Passion

Imagine a world where sex is illegal.

I don’t know about you, but for me, THIS is the first image that comes to mind:


Now, go back to watching dirty sluts on Spankwire and thank your lucky stars that this is not the case.

It is, however, the central premise for my newest flash fiction challenge piece!  This week, Wendig‘s assignment was to come up with our own sub genre of the something-punk category (cyberpunk, steampunk, or in Chuck’s case – cornpunk) and write a short story ~ 1,000 words or less in that new style.

Like the typical horny man that I am, I came up with the idea for a SEXPUNK story.  Here’s my tweet-friendly synopsis:  In a time when overpopulation threatens to destroy civilization as we know it, the government bans sex in an effort to slow the birth rate.

So, here goes:

The Crime of Passion

The moment our eyes met for the first time, I knew.

I was in trouble.

More than anything else in the world, I wanted her.  I wanted to see that black silky dress fall gently from her shoulders, cascade slowly toward the floor to reveal the elysian glory barely hidden beneath that thin velvet veil.  I wanted to commit the crime.

I was tired.  Weary of walking the primrose path, exhausted by suppressing the incessant urge; the little voice over my shoulder that called out every magnificent curve, traced them inch by inch, burned them like a hot brand sunk into the back of my eyes.  No, I told the gluttonous little voice time and time again, it is forbidden.  But like all men, I was weak.

She told me her name was Elle.  What a beautiful name, Elle.  It’s amazing how the sound of a single consonant changes when it rolls off the tongue with a finer purpose.  No longer would it be just a leading letter, luring and leaving me senseless, ravenous – vanguard of the many words one might use to describe this exquisite creature seated before me: lovely lavish lustful lascivious luscious… Elle.

My glass sat on the cherry stained bar neglected, empty – like me.  Empty and waiting; wishing to be filled again, as if for the first time in a very long time.  I could feel my brow dampen with each drop of sweat that beaded around the sides of the glass as the nervousness mounted within.

Was this the night?  Would my wait be over?

Would I finally feed the famished little voice, quench the pang of hunger it so feverishly longed for me to fulfill?

But I must be careful, I told myself.  They have eyes in the unlikeliest of places; they could be watching us this very minute, hoping for us to slip and give in to desire.  It didn’t matter that it was the same growing urge they felt.  We all felt it, every one of us.  Eleven years was an eternity when there was no release.

We kept our conversation professional and courteous, abiding by the rules out loud; but in our minds I liked to think we shared the same delightfully vulgar reverie.  She played the game perfectly – coy on the surface, but swelling with wanton carnal yearning underneath.  I could feel it in her every subtle movement.

We sat together for over an hour in the dim orange light of the bar, naked yet fully clothed.  Casting a casual glance around the room every so often, checking for any sign of watchful eyes that might be waiting in the shadow of a corner or through a window outside.

After a while we were quite certain that no one was paying us any attention.  This included Al, the lousy bartender who seemed more concerned with talking on his phone than refilling our drinks.  Feeling more or less safe, we quietly conspired.

The plan was simple, but elegant.  Elle would pay her tab first and head up to her suite on the top floor, and after a while I would join her there…

And we would become outlaws.

•          •          •

I watched the long, thin hand on my watch drudge painfully around, second by endless second.  And here I was, thinking eleven years was an eternity.  I could hardly stand to wait another fifteen minutes.

I managed to catch Al between calls and he filled my glass with bourbon one last time.  Better pace yourself, the little voice whispered, you don’t want to be pushing rope up there.  Indeed, it would be a shame to wait all this time, to come so close and not come at all.  But I wasn’t too terribly worried.  The alcohol only served to amplify my craving.

I downed the last delectable drop and left a generous sum of cash under the empty glass.  I caught a glimpse of Al staring at me from the corner as I walked out, hand glued to the side of his face in his usual pose.  I nodded politely and crossed the lobby to the elevators, reminding myself of the basics: don’t rush it, savor the moment and relish the foreplay.  Relish every obscene, fantastical minute – as if for the very last time.

A few moments later I was standing in front of her door.

After a single knock, Elle opened the door as if she’d been standing at the eyehole waiting all this time.  Her smile was mesmerizing.  The rich smell of perfume filled my nostrils as she pulled me by the hand through the doorway.

She led me over to the side of the bed, and I pulled her close and kissed her soft lips.  Our tongues danced, the sweet taste of wild honey filling my mouth.  As we kissed, my hands slid over her shoulders and the black silk dress fell slowly to the floor.  A moment later we were horizontal, tangled together on the bed in a passionate embrace.  Elle sat up on top of me and arched her back, displaying her perfect, supple breasts.

The feeling of that moment was everything I remembered and fantasized.  The soft touch of her skin upon mine.  The hushed, dulcet voice whispering and tickling my ear.  My heart pounded in my chest, every muscle tensed and relaxed at once.  I shifted myself on top, her moans becoming muffled by the pillows as I thrust myself deeper into her.

I felt a sharp pinch at my neck.  Probably a heart attack, I told myself… but I didn’t give a flying fuck.  I just kept pounding away, humping through years of pent-up, torturous celibacy.

My eyes went hazy in a moment of pure utopia.

The room started spinning as I began floating backward, and suddenly Elle was far away.  I blinked hard, trying to focus my eyes.

I felt a strong grip around both my arms as I watched two dark figures move past me, over to the bed.  I watched as they grabbed Elle and lifted her off the bed kicking and screaming.  And just after I saw the black bag drop down over her head, I felt a bag fall over my face, and everything went dark.

The last thing I remember was being dragged down the hallway, into the elevator and across the lobby.  I could hear one of the agents talking to someone as they carried me through the sliding glass doors of the hotel.

“Thanks for the tip, Al.  Couldn’t have done it without you.  These two are going away for a long time.”


About John Chronikal

John Chronikal is a blogger, storyteller, poet, artist, composer, and songwriter. He loves to drink bourbon and write things that make his poor grandmother cringe. He is a gigantic man –– his bear hugs can crush bones –– but he is a gentle giant. Give him bourbon and chocolate and he will be your bestest friend forever. View all posts by John Chronikal

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Vers Les Etoiles

“The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot forever fence it out.” J.R.R. Tolkien

infinite satori



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