August MacGregor

Celebrating Sensuality. Intended for mature audiences, 18 and over


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Two Tree Branches

Inspired by fellow author Nicci Haydon, I tried writing a story of four sentences. It’s a good challenge, one that I enjoyed as I took a break from editing a novel. Quite a shift in speed to come up with a story in a limited amount of space…

Two Tree Branches

Travis thought of Denise from accounting as aloof until, at the office happy hour, they both complained about the soulless song playing in the background at the bar, behind their co-workers’ chatting. They launched into a tipsy conversation about U2 — with Denise firmly resolved that their finest album was The Joshua Tree, and Travis arguing the band hit more powerfully with War. They finally agreed to disagree and played three rounds of darts, all of which Denise won, then they called it a night — going their separate ways in Uber rides. The next Friday night, after dinner at a Thai restaurant then going to Denise’s apartment, they first kissed as “With or Without You” started, and Travis knew he wanted to draw out much more from Denise — but at a slower pace than he was used to.

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Happy with a Banana

gorilla in store, by Ian Broyles (Flickr, Creative Commons)

Ian Broyles (Flickr, Creative Commons)

The store is filled with sodas and rice and noodles in all kinds of shapes and loads of packaged foods with additives you can’t even pronounce, let alone know what they hell they actually are.

Forget all that. Give him fruit. Give him bright oranges and juicy pineapples and mangoes with colors of blending red-yellow-green that’re so beautiful you’re captivated by the look of them, and then, when you actually eat a bite, you fall to the floor in astonishment, and you have to eat the rest of the mango down there — because you dare not try to eat it while standing on trembling, unsteady legs.

But let’s skip that for today. Today, he’ll just have a banana, thank you very much. He’ll sit on the floor and peel away the yellow gift wrapping and smile because he’s happy.

*****

The photo above is used under the non-commercial Creative Commons license. Click on image to jump to photographer’s Flickr page.


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Don’t Talk to Me About Love

“Don’t talk to me about love,” she said to him. “You don’t know love. You’re too young. What you think you know about love is actually what you’ve taken from the movies. And those are full of pink roses and froth. Those are falling in love with what you think is the ideal man or woman.”

She continued: “And that’s not love. That’s fantasy. Because love — real love — is more than that. Love is more than the image you have of someone. It’s not just a pretty picture. It’s not just thinking you know someone based on their texts or their tweets or their blog or their profile on some dating website.

“Love is getting to know that person far beyond that surface stuff. Seeing them every day. Seeing them in hard times that are so difficult you want to cry and scream and rage out. And you do those things to let those crazy emotions out. Love is staying through that chaos and staying there afterward. Love is sometimes being pissed off at the other person so badly you want to slap the shit out of them, but you don’t. Love is saying you’re sorry and actually meaning it. And doing things to make up for the stupid mistakes we’re all capable of.

“Love is seeing the ugly shit underneath the pretty surface. Love is dealing with your disappointments when someone doesn’t live up to your unrealistic expectations of them. Love is seeing the other person for who they really are.

“That takes days and days, years and years. Because we clean up ourselves when we go out on dates. We stick to sparkling conversation that tries to show our intelligence and our humor and our charm. We try to make the other person think we’re glowing good souls, when a lot of our selves are petty and selfish and lazy about the things we really don’t care about.

“So don’t jump off and tell me you love me when you haven’t seen me in all that. You love our dating. You love our sex. You love the charm. But you don’t fully, truly love me.

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes thoughtful as he took all of that in.

Finally, he said, “Then let me find out about love. I want to find out with you.”

Another moment, a longer one than before. “You better be as strong as you think you are.”

“I am.”


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Under the Table

Renee knew that her boyfriend, James, didn’t want to be there. Going to a dinner to celebrate her friend’s wedding engagement wasn’t his idea of a great time. Renee knew he would’ve rather been sitting at the bar with some other guys and watching the basketball game on TV.

But he wasn’t. He was sucking it up and being with her. He was doing what they called boyfriend duty. Something that he wasn’t wild about, but doing it because he loved her.

There were times she dealt with his love of watching sports on TV, when she would’ve rather watched something else. Girlfriend duty. Once, on a long road trip, she had unzipped him and said, “Time to do girlfriend duty,” and had given him head as he drove on the highway. Afterward, she said with a grin, “Just kidding. That’s not duty at all. You know I like doing that.” Which made him melt even more.

So it went both ways, times when each put in a duty for something they’d rather not do. Compromising.

At the restaurant, Renee laughed at something that someone said about the honeymoon. Their group had sixteen people sitting at a long table, with everyone eating and laughing and drinking to celebrate the engagement of the lovely couple.

Renee placed her left hand on James’s thigh that was closer to her. Her hand slid upward, toward his groin. Cupped his groin. Slowly massaged him. The handle of his fork tinged against his plate. He cleared his throat and took a long drink of wine.

“Are you okay?” Jenny, who was sitting across from James, asked. A mischievous smile grew on her face as she added, “You’re not getting nervous from the pressure, are you?”

Renee’s hand kept massaging his growing, hardening arousal.

“What pressure?” James asked, his voice catching.

“About getting engaged,” Jenny replied. “You and Renee have been dating for a long time, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but –”

Renee jumped in: “Oh, there’s no pressure at all. We’re too busy enjoying each other now. There’ll be time to talk about that later.”

Melissa was sitting on the other side of James, and movement in his lap caught the corner of her eye. She saw Renee’s hand down there, covered with James’s white napkin, as it fondled him.

Melissa raised her glass of wine and said, “And here’s to enjoying each other. Married or not married.”

“I’ll drink to that,” came from eager people from around the table.

“I’ll definitely drink to that,” James said and kissed his girlfriend after taking a drink.


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On the Beach with 3 Ladies

beach goers, by State Library Queensland (Flickr, Creative Commons)

State Library Queensland (Flickr, Creative Commons)

Everyone on the beach stared at the group and wondered how the man got to be so wildly lucky to be there with three lovely ladies.

And George — with his Great Gatsby swept-back hair and Charles Atlas-exercised body — ate up the attention and jealousy.

Let them wonder, George thought. Let them imagine all sorts of scenarios.

Some may have guessed the truth, that one of the women was his girlfriend — and the others were her friends. And that truth was wonderful, too.

But the fantasies of him being a playboy were fun for George to imagine, and he looked down in an effort to appear humble in the midst of these beauties.

*****

The photo above is courtesy of the State Library Queensland, but the photographer is unidentified. The image is used under the non-commercial Creative Commons license. Click on image to jump to the State Library Queensland’s Flickr page.


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A Little Bite

As Alecia bent forward and pushed her jeans down her legs, Brent, who sat on the edge of the bed, watched her intently. Particularly, he looked at the curves of her butt and the lace-fringed edge of her creamy orange panties, and how the edge of those panties rose diagonally up the butt cheek that was closest to him.

“You’ve got such a great ass,” he said. “I just want to bite it.” He caught himself. “Not hard, though.”

Alecia finished pushing off her jeans, tossed them to the side, and then she straightened up and put her hands on her hips. Her fingers splayed on those orange panties. She looked at him over her shoulder.

Her eyebrow raised for two seconds before she asked, “But what if that’s what I want?”


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Big Stein

Beer steins, by Christian Benseler (Flickr)

Christian Benseler (Flickr)

Daniel’s jaw dropped when the dirndl-wearing waitress thumped down six big steins of beer on the table before him and his group of friends.

“Why are you Americans so surprised?”

Daniel and his friends turned to the source of the question: a woman sitting with the group next to them at the long table in the beer tent. The woman was a little older than them, and Daniel placed her to be middle aged. She looked like a tough customer.

“How did you know we’re Americans?” Daniel asked.

“Your accents,” she replied. “When you live in Europe, you can tell by the accent.”

“That makes sense. All the different countries.”

“Why is it you are so surprised at the steins?” she asked.

“I wasn’t that surprised,” Tanner, Daniel’s friend, cut in.

“I was,” Daniel admitted. “They’re just so big.”

“But,” the woman said, “isn’t everything big in America? Big houses? Big cars? Big stores to buy everything in one place? Beer steins are not big in America?”

“No,” Daniel replied. “Unfortunately, we have to deal with smaller mugs.”

“Which is why we’re here,” Tanner threw in. “And why we have to come back every year!”

The six guys all cheered, raised their steins, and took a gulp.

“Delicious,” Daniel said.

That’s what I’m fucking talking about,” Tanner said.

The woman looked amused. She raised her stein and drained it, from half full to empty. Not a drop was spilled. Her eyes looked at them gleefully as the back of her hand touched her lips, and it slid, wiping it and her forearm against her lips.

“I hope all of you can survive Oktoberfest,” she said. Then she turned toward the waitresses scurrying about and yelled, “Ein bier, bitte!”

The six guys stared at her, impressed.

END