The Shangri-La

A few of us Pupils of Prurient Pedagogy have teamed up for a friendly challenge each week. The objective is to write a 100-word piece on a single photo, selected on a rotational basis, and distributed to us all the week before.  Joining me today are fantastic authors, who have written their own interpretation of this single picture for Flash Fiction Friday.   This is mine, but to enjoy the creative juices of my Partners in Prurient Pedagogy, please click the following link and be lured by the authors to their blogs. Flasher Fiction Friday

The Shangri-La

He knew.  A billowing plume of dust shrouded the ’57 Chevy Convertible.  It was always the newlyweds or the cheaters that were the best.  His heart pounded as beads of sweat formed on his upper lip.  He ran his tongue over the eager perspiration. He booked them in the Memory Suite. His palms whetted, fingers trembled, as he slipped them the registration card.

He peered, as he always did, through the false adjoining door.  His erection grew as he watched them fuck; passionate sweat, fevered touch, hungry kisses. They came in screams, he in whimpers ………… a handful of someone else’s memories.