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Desdmona's Erotic Story Contests
2004 1K Bedtime Flash Contest
Honorable Mention

A Pinch of Salt

The party had been going a couple of hours before the ritual of the barbecue started up.

The host donned his chef’s apron and lit the gas. He cracked open a can of beer and prepared to perform the dance of the middle-aged weekend al fresco cook. I had seen it all before, and anyway (like every man) I am the best barby artist in the world, bar none. I nabbed another can for myself and cast around for gainful employment, or, failing that, entertainment.

“Harry! Give me a hand in the kitchen.”

Sandra’s deliciously plump rear end disappeared into the house in close pursuit of her perfect breasts and her perpetual cheeky grin. I needed no further bidding. I slurped my can and scooted after her.

“Open the fridge and dig out salad and things.”

Sandra was arranging plates and cutlery on the kitchen table, happily on the route to the fridge. I squeezed between her long flowered skirt and a kitchen unit without an inch to spare. In fact with nothing to spare...

“Harry Neptune! There’s loads of room. Behave yourself and get on with it.”

I grinned as sheepishly as I know how (which is not very sheepish). Sandra’s curvaceous bum had felt very nice against my thighs. There was a stirring in regions where stirrings belong.


I stepped hastily back as a lettuce rolled through the opening fridge door. Giving a creditable impression of a major league baseball catcher I leapt forward to scoop it back onto the shelf. Unfortunately, the wrong shelf. The lettuce displaced a carton of eggs that smashed on the tile floor before even Neptune’s lightning reactions could get back into gear.

“Set a boy do a man’s job…”

Sandra pushed me against the unit and knelt with a fistful of paper towels. Her loose t-shirt flopped forward to give a grandstand view of heaven. I leaned back and enjoyed myself.

“Go and take a cold shower, you pervert! But before you do that, take the plates and stuff out to the garden table. Without dropping them, if you don’t mind.”

The operation seemed to be well within the Neptune range of skills. I performed it with consummate skill and returned with a fresh can of beer and a glass of cold white wine for my hostess. Sandra rose and pushed the paper towels into the bin. She rinsed her hands under the tap and reached for a tea towel. Ever the gallant, I took the towel from its plastic hook and handed it to her with a flourish.

“Thank you, Harry. You’re so sweet. It was so thoughtful to reach across me for the towel. Now stop leaning on my boobs and get out of my way!”

I turned to beat a retreat and received a flick from the towel for my pains.

“I said out of my way, not out of the kitchen, you clown! Go back to the fridge and finish Mission Impossible, this time without wrecking the joint. Try walking instead of bouncing round the place like a big kid.”

Sandra addressed herself to a large bowl of coleslaw on the table.

With exaggerated care I squeezed past her once again, ever so slowly so as not to jog her elbow and cause another disaster. Her bottom moved backward a little. I slowed from a crawl to a dead stop.

“Something’s digging into me, Harry Neptune.”

“Now I wonder what that could be?”

I slipped my arms around Sandra’s waist and immediately she pushed them away. She reached behind her and smacked my thigh. Sandra drew her hand back for another smack but I took it and used it to smack her own bottom. She struggled, just a bit.

In the interests of peaceful coexistence I trapped her hand between her bottom and my body. Or, more accurately, between her bottom and my now rampant pride and joy.

“Harry! That’s rude!”

“No it ain’t. It’s my willy, an’ it’s very polite.”

Sandra wriggled her hand to get free. She didn’t get far. I suppose if she had let go of the bulge in my cotton trousers she might have had more luck.

“Let me go, you brute! I’ve got coleslaw to mix.”

“Not until you bend to my will, you little beauty.”

I twisted her by the shoulders to face me and leered. If I had had a moustache I would have twirled it.

Sandra laughed.

“Get a haircut before you try the big bad landlord act. Now, if this is the only way of getting my coleslaw mixed…”

Sandra unzipped my trousers and released my grateful member to the fresh air. She stroked the length of me with her left hand, then with her right hand. Then with her left hand, then with her right hand…

I groaned involuntarily and took hold of her breasts. I teased her nipples in time with her strokes. Her firm hands knew exactly what they were doing.

“Come along, Harry. I don’t have all day…”

Sandra took me in both hands now and started a serious rhythm. I felt the sap rising, the tide coming in, the floodgates bursting. I ran out of metaphors just in time as I came in a hot gushing spurting geyser into her hands. I lifted her breasts high and let them fall back against her chest.

“If you’ve got any on my skirt…”

I looked down.

“Not a drop,” I gasped.

Sandra opened her cupped hands to reveal the small pool of semen. She raised her hands to her lips and touched her tongue to the savoury dip.


Sandra plunged her hands into the coleslaw.

“It needed a pinch of salt!”

Harry Gravesend Neptune lives in the British Virgin Islands.

Harry started writing at an early age in Britain and never stopped. He graduated rapidly from crayons to editing school and college magazines. At the age of seventeen he was theatre critic for a provincial newspaper. At eighteen he published a book of poetry, now long forgotten.

Then the demons education and work sent Harry in new directions. Management and technical books alternated with papers and articles by the score. He was one of the leading Y2K luminaries and had a merry time spreading the word around the world in person, on radio and on TV.

There was no smut in any of the foregoing. Harry set about remedying that to celebrate the start of the new millennium (not to mention his own second half century). His smut production graduated from titillation for private consumption into the public domain when he formed a writing partnership with the acclaimed erotic writer Jay Lawrence, author of “A Magnificent Pair” and the best seller “The Love Slave” among other volumes.

Jay and Harry’s first collection, Miss Donohue and Other Stories, was published in short order by Renaissance E Books. There is everything here from rape and pillage on the high seas via supermarket sex to the incredible Sapphic and other adventures of Miss Donohue and her fellow staff members at an exclusive girl’s school. If you have ever presented your pride and joy to the trembling lips of a woman whose reaction is “Yuck!”, look no further than Miss Donohue for the solution to your dilemma.

Next came “Lust Bites”, in which we met for the first time the authors’ alter egos Jay and Harry. This pair can bring light to even the most tedious of Canadian plains towns. Jay and Harry sandwich nine more stories of lust and vengeance, light and dark, punishment and fantasy, with a leavening of humour fore and aft to leave the reader smiling.

Now comes Jay and Harry’s first full length novel, Lust at Sea. Here are the outrageous escapades of the fictional couple as they tumble from Las Vegas to a cruise ship in the tropics. Their holiday is spiced by ex-spouses, lustful encounters, deserved and undeserved punishments, fellow passengers who are far from what they seem, rivers of booze, murder and detection, all under the welcoming sun.

Lawrence and Neptune’s books offer lashings of bondage, dominance, sadism, masochism, and laughs. They know how to spice the dose with straightforward old-fashioned lust and humour, not to mention supernatural quirks. Their fourth volume, a tale of mayhem, lust and confusion in an early-1970s British country house, is well under way. Harry and Jay also continue to produce solo works of erotica. They are so prolific it is wise to consult Amazon to see what is out today and tomorrow.

Lawrence and Neptune’s inimitable offerings are available from http://www.Amazon,com and other reputable and disreputable booksellers.

The real Harry stands in awe of his fictional counterpart, but he is always ready to administer an energetic thrashing as punishment for transgression and misbehaviour. Or simply because he feels like it...

Harry inherited his family’s wanderlust, taking him everywhere from the Far East to Greenland. He has now settled in the Caribbean. Well, perhaps not settled just yet. He is living on his fourth island and still has a roving eye. Harry sails. If you can’t find him cast your eyes to the horizon. He is in the yacht disappearing in the direction of ... over there.


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To: Harry Neptune

Desdmona's Erotic Story Contests
2004 1K Bedtime Flash Contest
Honorable Mention