Some of my readers and followers (both of you!) might have noticed the new look on my blog. It’s brighter and cheerier, part of the spring rejuvenation after a brutal winter here in Canada. As part of my emergence into the new world, I may just start tweeting if I can get any kind of following on Twitter. My sights are low though, so it will only take 15 followers to get me going. So follow me on #GailFae and we’ll see if it takes off.

Today was one of those rare and wonderful, low pressure work days. I decided to to pick up Felicity’s Flash Friday challenge on Dark Night Chronicles. 

So here we go, and no prizes for guessing the theme!


Marine had a fairly unusual name, and a personality that went with. Her moods ebbed and flowed: when she was stormy she was both magnificent and terrifying, and when the sun shone she sparkled and charmed. In the right light, she could be deep and calm, but when the clouds came down, she was sullen and foreboding.

“I will deal with you later.”

These were words that I dreaded, ones that took me back to my childhood.

“Just wait until I get home; then you will see what you have coming to you!”

What had made her decide I was too loose (or promiscuous, as she put it) on the blogosphere, I can only surmise; I was never good at covering my tracks. Bookmarks, breadcrumbs, history and cookies; if the technology didn’t beat me, then the will to cover my tracks most certainly would have.


“No touching without my permission.”

I had got the message loud and clear earlier on in the week. She had printed out a picture and and left it in my place at the breakfast table before she headed out to work. If the image didn’t convey the message, the words she had printed on the bottom in her feminine script certainly did.

“No touching without my permission.”

The trouble with denial is that it makes the urges stronger and the alternate activities more perverted and childish. Everything takes on a sexual meaning and you hear the innuendo in every phrase. I was on the hook to make dessert for the special evening that Marine wanted to have with me that night; I knew that pecan nut pie was one of her favorites.

Google never fails to satisfy.

“pecan sexual” <enter>

Urban Dictionary: making pecan pie

  1. Female masturbation, due to the resemblance of the female genitalia to pecans and to the sweetness of the pie.
  2. Two females having sex
  3. A female getting a hand job/being eaten out

 My curiosity was aroused and I clicked the next link:

Urban Dictionary: Pecan Sandies

Other than a cookie, it’s a, a sexual meaning…

“We gotta trick the moms into letting us bop with ’em” -Frank Reynolds

I went to the store, but they were out of Pecan Sandies, so looks like you and I are going to make our own…if you know what I mean...

I was absorbed in the world of Pecan Sandies when Marine walked in. She was in one of her sunset moods, where the sun casts a magical glow and the world at the water’s edge becomes a mass of seething sexuality. Bronzed bodies, samba music, swaying hips, clothes that display rather than hide. Margaritas on the beach, intoxicating fragrances, body language that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

She was the color of warm pecan wood and warm to the touch. As her lips closed on mine and her hand found its way between my thighs, I knew that my sentence of abstinence had come to an end. As she danced me into the bedroom room, I had one last, fleeting glimpse of a pecan on my laptop’s screens. Marine must have seen the same. With that teasing grin that drives me wild, she gave my swollen clit a pinch.

“Oh my……is that a pecan I feel in your pants?”