by Tom Lassiter
100 words
My bride-to-be lived as a modest woman and I as a good Christian man, so it was not until our wedding night that I discovered she had three breasts. I prayed on the matter, and like only God can make clear, the answer revealed itself starkly.
I took in each of my hands one of her breasts rising from the familiar places, caressing, and with my lips and then mouth fondled the unusually placed third. Thus I served all, and so was blessed with the heavenly sight of not two but three engorged areolas and as many erect nipples. Amen.
Tom Lassiter lives in South Florida. His work has appeared in Tropic magazine, New Times, many newspapers, and at verbsap.com
Showing posts with label tom lassiter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tom lassiter. Show all posts
5.12.2009
4.14.2009
Windows
by Tom Lassiter
99 words
Molly sets her menu aside and orders blueberry pancakes “with crispy edges” she’ll drown in maple syrup. At 10, she’s sure in her wants and unafraid to ask.
“The same,” I tell the waiter.
Molly hunts among the crayons in a tin bucket and chooses red, the color of her hair. She turns to the fairy princess outlined on her place mat. We breakfast every Saturday morning, then do whatever strikes us. On Sunday, I return her to her mother.
The crayon, flickering like a sparrow’s wing, pauses.
“Come home.”
“Oh, sweetie, I--”
“Please?”
Yes, yes, but how?
Tom Lassiter lives in South Florida. His work has appeared in Tropic magazine, New Times, many newspapers, and at verbsap.com.
99 words
Molly sets her menu aside and orders blueberry pancakes “with crispy edges” she’ll drown in maple syrup. At 10, she’s sure in her wants and unafraid to ask.
“The same,” I tell the waiter.
Molly hunts among the crayons in a tin bucket and chooses red, the color of her hair. She turns to the fairy princess outlined on her place mat. We breakfast every Saturday morning, then do whatever strikes us. On Sunday, I return her to her mother.
The crayon, flickering like a sparrow’s wing, pauses.
“Come home.”
“Oh, sweetie, I--”
“Please?”
Yes, yes, but how?
Tom Lassiter lives in South Florida. His work has appeared in Tropic magazine, New Times, many newspapers, and at verbsap.com.
12.23.2008
Landscapes
By Tom Lassiter
100 words
I knelt beside her, lifted the thin white camisole over her upraised arms, my eyes fixed on hers. I took her face in hands unsteady, fluttering as they did our first time in another life.
“You make me feel beautiful,” she whispered.
She drew me closer, held my face pressed to her neck, and against my lips I felt the pressing pulse of beating heart. She lay back, revealing all, and I looked there for the first time, and with the tip of one finger traced the raised lines of her scars, touched the landscape of her doubt and pain.
Tom Lassiter lives in South Florida. His work has appeared in Tropic magazine and at Verbsap.com.
100 words
I knelt beside her, lifted the thin white camisole over her upraised arms, my eyes fixed on hers. I took her face in hands unsteady, fluttering as they did our first time in another life.
“You make me feel beautiful,” she whispered.
She drew me closer, held my face pressed to her neck, and against my lips I felt the pressing pulse of beating heart. She lay back, revealing all, and I looked there for the first time, and with the tip of one finger traced the raised lines of her scars, touched the landscape of her doubt and pain.
Tom Lassiter lives in South Florida. His work has appeared in Tropic magazine and at Verbsap.com.
8.10.2008
As We Stand Looking On
by Tom Lassiter
96 words
For a moment I watched as if from above, Davey and I below in the bed of the pickup as it bounced along the gravel road, kicking up a rooster tail of dust across the sagebrush flat. I saw what was happening, what would happen. And then I was in the truck again, hands pressing against the roof of the cab to steady myself, Davey's arm cocking, the yellow-ripe apple flung, the old man staggering, stumbling beside the road. Davey crowing a loud war whoop as we passed, shouting, "Dumb Injuns." Who was he? I wondered.
96 words
For a moment I watched as if from above, Davey and I below in the bed of the pickup as it bounced along the gravel road, kicking up a rooster tail of dust across the sagebrush flat. I saw what was happening, what would happen. And then I was in the truck again, hands pressing against the roof of the cab to steady myself, Davey's arm cocking, the yellow-ripe apple flung, the old man staggering, stumbling beside the road. Davey crowing a loud war whoop as we passed, shouting, "Dumb Injuns." Who was he? I wondered.
Tom Lassiter teaches writing and literature at Florida Atlantic University. He’s at work on a novel and a collection of short stories. His work has appeared in Tropic magazine and at Verbsap.com.
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