Midweek (Micro) Release: Five Knuckle Shuffle

Explorative micro-fiction in which size doesn't matter — it's how you word it (in 250 or less).

"Not now, Mother!"

Elmer closed the door to his room and set down Gertrude's letter on his desk. He quickly removed his top hat, gloves, and overcoat.

As he sat down to read the letter from his betrothed, he noticed that he was already sporting massive wood. He tore open the letter and began to read.

"My Dearest Elmer,

How I miss you so. I dream constantly of our stolen nights together last summer — under the moonlight, concealed by the jasmine vines, trying our best to be silent. I cannot wait until we share a marriage bed."

Elmer unbuttoned his trousers and reached inside, wrapping his fingers around his man meat. He read on.

"We buried cousin Hattie, yesterday."

"Oh," he muttered as his boner went soft.

Gertrude's letter went on:

"Her sudden death had a rather queer effect on me. I was overcome with a sinner's urge to press our flesh together and consummate our union right then and there."

Elmer pitched a tent the likes of which he'd never pitched before. He began to choke the chicken delightfully.

"The doctor has been to visit and says Mother's boils are infected —"

"Damn!" Elmer released his suddenly flaccid baloney pony and threw the letter into the hearth.

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Cover image via unsplash