Write a story about a vice.
Not a vise.
Or a vise.
You know. We’re pretty open over here at PROMPTuesday.
Please post your response in the comments and write about it on your blog and leave me the link.
First time to PROMPTuesday? Read a bit about it here. Want to see what’s been written in the past? Catch up on the PROMPTuesdays archive here.
Tis the season:
So many women. Beautiful women. He’d lost count after the first twenty. From his vantage point on the highest deck, the women formed brightly-colored sluices between the black tuxedos and white-jacketed servers. His eyes alighted on the woman now adorning Anatole’s arm. She was particularly to his own taste. He liked women that were like a fine Zinfandel; full-bodied and leggy, soft on the palate, with just a touch of spice. He sighed.
Oh, how he missed wine.
Still, there were other pleasures to compensate for his inability to drink alcohol. Other vices he could indulge of an evening.
Tonight was to be just such an evening.
As the yacht pulled out of the harbor and into the open sea, he could sense a unifying, anticipatory shiver twitching under tuxedo jackets. The ladies had been promised a night to remember. None of them would, of course. Remember, that is. He doubted very much that memory survived a bloodletting.
So many women. How could they possibly consume all of them?
If I wrote about my vice(s) I’d have to leave them here on your blog. My mom and various aunts, uncles and nieces still read my site. : )