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 April 1st A Non-challenge challenge

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CD Roberts

Posts : 114
Join date : 2013-09-23

PostApril 1st A Non-challenge challenge

Sorry, everyone, I don’t know how I did it but I accidentally deleted this entire thread.  Instead of asking all the writers to repost their posts, I’ve reposted for everyone. Mea culpa. I apologize.

Originally posted by Max

The April 1st, 2010

Another month another challenge. Here’s a fantastic topic we haven’t ever used our little grey cells on before. Dust off your keyboards, sharpen your wits or your pencils (choose one only), pack up your troubles in an old kit bag and smile, smile, smile.
To the sound of drums rolling we pan in on this month’s challenge topic:

“Beautiful Bodies/Bubbly Bubble Baths”

So let the pathos, angst, hunger, innuendos, drooling, and more begin.

Originally posted By Max
Beta by Ghislaine

Slender tapered fingers softly squeezed the soapy suds out of the sponge as the dimpled cheeks and deep chocolate-brown eyes gazed languidly on the tiny droplets as they daintily dripped onto his slender tapered leg-- Specifically, his right leg… The left was submerged beneath the billowy foam. Toes tingled delightfully--

The door opened and an angelically-blond curled head peered around the corner, cornflower blue (you need to add a hyphen here) eyes blinking in blissful bliss. A taut, muscled tanned(hyphen between muscle and tanned and maybe tanned and arm) arm waved in dumb show. (I am not certain what you mean by this)

“What ho, Heyes”.” (You have extra quote marks here. Now, one way is English and one way is American, I think, but I am not sure. Perhaps both are Australian. Is that what you are trying to do? Write Australian style?)

“…What ho yourself,” glibbed Heyes in return. (Glibbed sounds a little like dribbling. Are you certain that is what you want?)

“Another - bath?” chirped the ever so tightly denim clad hunk.

“Rather,” drawled the slender tapered (This is the third use of slender and tapered. Why don’t you use a synonym? The Thesaurus is probably near the dictionary)  fingered one. “I do think my dimples can be best appreciated in this manner,” gyred he thus. “And I do think that after galumphing from that frumious posse, Co--…I mean we, deserve baths. Many baths-numerous baths-- frabjous baths---Callooh! Callay!” Chortled the dimpled one.

“Oh rot,” his gorgeously well-manicured partner gimbled in return in dumb show. (I still don’t know what you mean by this, however I don’t think I like it.) “Care for some lemon fizz?” outgrabed Kid. He turned to display his perfectly shaped tightly denim clad butt. (I think you need more hyphens.) “I do say,” he said, “some things are best left to the imagination”-smiled and snicker-snacked-“…---…well, that----and a pair of tight denim jeans.”

Heyes raised his lithe, slender, tapered(—sheesh) body in dumb show(again? Are you joking?) with every intention of displaying his other set of dimpled cheeks…---…---…---…---…---


Originally posted by Maz

This is part of a story I am writing and I think it works for this challenge. I bring to you (with fewer commercial interruptions) :

Copyright by Maz McCoy

“Heya Kid, how’s the water?” Heyes shouted from the adjacent room.

“Just fine, Heyes. Lucky thing I actually won the coin toss for a change, and got to go first. Nothin’ like clean warm water.” But it wasn’t luck, and Kid knew it. Heyes had cheated and deliberately thrown the toss in Kid’s favor.

Kid stifled a groan.

“What was that, Kid?”


“You sure? That posse was pretty rough on you before we got away. Getting shot and knifed must have been kinda uncomfortable.”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, Heyes. I’ve been through worse.” Kid twisted his badly damaged and fevered body in the bath. He mustn’t let Heyes know the terrible pain he was in. He struggled to raise a weary arm to the bottle of bath salts, but his hand trembled so badly from the fever he’d developed from his wounds two days ago that he couldn’t grab it. Instead he knocked it off the small wooden shelf onto the floor.

Heyes called sharply from the adjacent room. “Kid, you sure you’re alright?”

“Yep,” answered Kid. How long could he keep this stoic front up, he wondered. His injured arm was swollen to twice its size and throbbed agonizingly. His injured leg protested against the bathwater. He sighed. That wound would leave an ugly scar he thought. His fever, instead of abating, increased and his head throbbed.

Originally posted By Frankie

The Outlaws that Wouldn’t and Didn’t Because They Couldn’t

Here it is. Chapter 7 of the 13 chapter story I am writing. I am picking it up from exactly where I left off. I know I have put them in some deep trouble this time, but I promise I’ll get them out!

doggedly trudged down the street, worn, battered and worst of all, dirty. People on the boardwalk stared them with deep disdain at their extreme dirtiness. Those looks penetrated them to the very souls of their bedraggled beings.

They checked in to a cheap hotel and used the remainder of their money for barhs.

Those baths felt luxurious after two weeks of fleeing from that posse. They deserved this after the long ordeal. It had been a horrendous three weeks of non-stop riding with little food and less water under a blistering sun. And night had been worse. The freezing desert cold had numbed their finger tips, and the tips of their noses. Frost had collected on their eyelashes.

The posse had been relentless. Led by the infamous and notorious Sheriff of Nottingham, it was unrelenting in its dastardly pursuit.  The sound of thunderous hooves still reverberated in the former outlaws’ heads.

But now they could relax. Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry each in his own tub of soothing warm water. The bubbling bath water was so soothing, almost hypnotizing. Their eyelids drooped; their taut muscles became less rigid.

Slowly the two former outlaws slid under the water, inch by inch. Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry drowned.

Originally posted By mouse

Jennifer relaxed in the soothing, lilac-perfumed water. A light breeze fluttered through the window above her causing the curtains to billow gently. A handsome head covered with blond curls peered around the slightly ajar door.

“Want a cup of tea?”

“I already have one.” She picked up the dainty cup of china painted with pink flowers that was on the small imported intricately carved table next to the white claw-foot tub.

“Maybe you need a back scrub? I’m real good at those.”

“I would love one,” Jennifer smiled up at the handsome former outlaw.

Kid came in and settled on the edge of the bath tub. He picked up a large sudsy sponge and caressed Jennifer’s back with it.

“I love you,” he said. “Have I told you how lovely you are lately?”

“Not since yesterday and I don’t believe you love me as much as I love you,” she replied tenderly.

“Uh uh. I love you more, and I can prove it. I coulda had any woman I wanted. After all, I’m a handsome, excitin’ former outlaw, but I chose you, even though you do sing bettern’ me.”

“I suppose you have a point, Jed. Could you scrub more a little lower. Left side, darling.”

Originally posted By Shenango

Beautiful Bodies in Bubbly Bubbling Baths

“Hey Heyes, this feels great after a long chase. Don’t it?”

“Sure do, Kid. I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel so blue no more.” Heyes was vigorously applying a soapy sponge to his skin. He examined one foot, critically.

“Me neither.
It’s a real bright, sunshiny orangy day too, aint’ it.” The Kid took a puff on his cigar.

“It sure is, Kid.”

Kid laughed. “I tell you, I was su
re seenin’ red when that deputy sheriff shot at us.”

“Me too, Kid. But now
I feel all mellow. Sort of relaxed.  Hey, I got an idea. Let’s go for a walk in that green field we passed a ways back.”

“Heyes, I got an even better idea. Once we’re all
cleaned up and in the pink we won’t scare off the ladies no more. Let’s ask a couple of the saloon gals to go with us. You know, it rained a little earlier. Maybe there’s a rainbow. That oughta impress ‘em.”

“You know, Kid, I think your right.” Heyes paused and smoked his cigar. He rolled it between his fingers and looked at it. “Maybe I should let you do some of the thinking after all.”

Originally posted By Penski

Baths of Before

“This is a great bath, Heyes.” The Kid took a draw on his cigar.

“Yep.” Heyes relaxed further into the warm water.

“Heyes, this reminds me of when we were kids.”


“You know. Bath day, once a month when our mothers gave us a bath. We’d sit in the water and get scrubbed all clean.”

Heyes thought a moment and smiled affectionately at Kid. “I remember too, Kid. I remember we sat in the water that had been used by our older brothers and sisters before us, and our parents before them. I don’t suppose we got all that clean.” He smiled again.

“Guess that’s true but, still, I really used to look forward to bath day. I remember I got my turn after Joey, who got his turn after Bobby, who got his turn after…” The Kid stopped, puzzling over who was bathed before Bobby.

“Uh huh. I remember, your ma dragged you kicking and screaming into that tub. I guess we all kicked a little bit.”

“Well, sure, we all kicked and screamed. Joey, now he screamed best, but I kicked best. It was all a part of bath day. Still, it was good, wasn’t it?  Back in Kansas, takin’ a bath. I can remember how the tub looked, and how it had a cork stopper in the bottom that was sorta all rotted out. And the soap, how it was sorta like lye and made your skin sting all over. And my ma, boy, she sure could scrub rough. I remember your ma said my ma was the best scrubber in all of Kansas. I was bright red and raw when she was done with me.”

“I haven’t thought about that soap in a long time, Kid. You remember the way it used to smell? And the towel our mothers used after to dry us with-I think that part was rougher than the scrubbing.”

“Me too.” They smiled at each other.

“But you know what I liked even more than bath day?”

“Hmmm, let me guess, Kid. Oh I got it…”

They said in unison, “…walking to school in a blizzard.”

“Those sure were the days, weren’t they, Heyes?”

“Sure were, Kid.”

Originally posted By Grace

Story Challenge - April 1st 2009 – Beautiful Bodies/Bubble Baths

Dr. McKindly studied the pale face of the prisoner sitting in the metal chair in front of him gravely.

“You are having trouble sleeping?” he asked.

The prisoner shifted in the chair, uncomfortably, head down, staring at the broken floor tiles.

“No, I sleep fine.” Heyes shifted again. He sighed. It wasn’t the question that made him so uncomfortable, it was the prison uniform. It was rough wool, and wool was too hot for the summer weather, even in Wyoming. In addition, they used too much starch in the prison underwear.

He raised his head slightly. “It’s the dream, Dr. McKindly. I have the same dream every night.”

“Tell me about it,” the good doctor said in a voice conveying what he felt was the right amount of concern, glancing sideways at his watch.

“I dream about a bath.  A bath filled with bubbles.” The prisoner’s eyes moistened.

“Where is this bath? Is it in a room?”

Heyes nodded.

“Tell me more about it. You need to tell someone. Where is this room? Why does this make you feel sad? You can’t hide that it makes you feel sad. You are close to tears.”

Heyes rubbed a rough woolen sleeve across his moist eyes. “It’s in the Brown Hotel, Denver . The bath isn’t for me. It’s for the Kid.”

“And that makes you unhappy?” asked Dr. McKindly in a gravely concerned voice, glancing again at his watch. A mere hour to pass and he could leave for supper. Who would have thought Hannibal Heyes was such a wimp? Ah well, it wouldn’t hurt to listen, and it was easier than actually treating patients.

“No! That’s not it! The Kid…” Heyes’ voice broke. He lowered his head and shook it. “I use the bath first, before he has a chance to,” he said in a barely audible whisper of guilt. “Every night, I use the bath first.”

“Ah, I see.” I think I will have the pheasant stew tonight. Martha Cookley makes an excellent pheasant stew. “And that is what makes you unhappy and why you harbor deep feelings of guilt.” The doctor said this as a statement and not a question in that concerned grave voice of his.

“No, that isn’t it, doctor.” Heyes shifted again in the hard, uncomfortable chair. His head hang lower. “I feel guilty because I don’t feel guilty about it.”

The doctor looked at his watch again. This was going to be a long hour. Red wine with the pheasant stew. Green beans in butter sauce, Martha’s fresh baked bread and a glass of port with a Cuban after, should do it. “I am afraid I don’t follow your train of thought. If you don’t feel guilty, how can you feel guilty?” His voice became graver, more concerned and even gentler.

“Ah,” began Heyes. He raised his head, a sad smile quavered on his lips, and a puzzled frown rested on his forehead. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I don’t feel guilty about stealing Kid’s bath water,” he explained slowly, “but I should feel guilty about that, so,” he added in an ashamed voice, “I feel guilty about that. Does that make it any clearer?”

“No,” kindly Dr. McKindly responded kindly, and gravely, and in a most concerned tone of voice. “I think that logic is self-defeating, and only increases my confusion. You must understand, young man,” he really isn’t that young-ah well, sounds good, and the prisoners love to be flattered, “there are certain principles in a logical discussion. Your statement is a contradiction of terms. If you don’t feel guilty, you cannot feel guilty.”

His tilted his head while pondering this. “So I don’t really feel guilty, I just think I do?”

“Not about the bath, you don’t. But perhaps this dream represents your emotional conflict concerning the manner of your partner’s death.” He looked at his watch again.

“The Kid’s dead?  What? How?”

“That’s all the time we have today. We can pick up at that point next visit, I think,” Doctor McKindly finished.

Originally posted By Ghislaine

The challenge for this day has provided me with the opportunity of exploring Heyes’ thoughts in depth and to hone my ability in describing minute physical details. This is something I have wanted to try for some time now. This isn’t my usual style of writing, so I hope I have some success in my attempt.

Hannibal Heyes lay on the bed face down. He snored and abruptly woke up. His first thought was that he really needed a bath. Raising his head, he tried to look at the wall, but his eyelashes were fused together with sticky sleepies, and he was unable to open them. He sighed, and in frustration at his body’s inability to function as he commanded it, dropped his head back on the pillow.

The pillow smelled of sweat and cheap booze. While it was true he had drunk excessively the night before and hadn’t bathed in a few weeks, he didn’t think he smelled that bad. In agonizing slowness he turned his head and sniffed his armpit. It smelled, but not that much. Evidently the sheets had not been changed in some time.

He turned his face back into the depths of the pillow. His left foot jerked in a spasmodic fashion and the bed creaked. Damn! His hangnail was caught on the threads of the sheet. That really hurt. He groaned. Oh lord, his mouth was like cotton and he could taste beer and beans. He must have had reflux in his sleep. His parched lips opened and he tried to lick them. His mouth was too dry. His cracked lips bled little pinpoint spots of blood onto the filthy pillowcase.

His foot jerked again and the hangnail tore. His foot was free, but he only enjoyed that freedom for a moment as the baby toe soon began to throb. Soon it felt as if the whole foot was throbbing.

Eyes still fixed shut, and too tired to move, he lay while the throbbing increased. He sighed. He couldn’t ignore the throbbing. It was as if his whole world was one gigantic foot throb. And his mouth, it was so dry. He lay in frustrated agony.

He came to realize it wasn’t only his foot that throbbed. His head throbbed as well. He sighed. This was going to be some hangover. Why? Did he actually deserve this punishment? Because he drank? Because he played poker? Because he played poker and won? Was this the world’s revenge on him for being handsome, witty and successful, not to mention intelligent and well-read? And yet, wasn’t he actually tender, gentle and caring under the brilliant façade? Damn right, he was. Is.

Now his groin itched. He groaned, and he sighed. His head throbbed, his foot throbbed, his baby toe throbbed and his groin itched as if flea-bit. He sighed. Finally his eyes opened. He raised his head and looked at the wall. The wall was chipped and had bullet holes in it. It was battered, like his body felt.

He felt miserable. His body ached, and his arms were stiff and sore. The throbbing was only increasing. His beer and bean tasting mouth still tasted of rancid beer and deep-fried beans and his groin itched. He sighed. At least it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Suddenly, a bright shaft of light burst into the room. Heyes raised his head groggily, and turned it towards the brilliantly painful aura. He blinked blankly. The Kid stood by the window, having drawn the curtains.

“How ya doin’, partner? Rise and shine. You know, you look terrible.”

“Uh,” Heyes groaned and sighed.

“I got a bath drawn for you.” The Kid grinned. “After you get all cleaned up we can go get breakfast.”

Heyes sighed.
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