Fringe Desires II

By Fabula Salaxacis

Volume II of the three volume Fringe Desires series. Five amazing true stories culled from reader confessions to a veteran internet erotica author. Readers will find these crafty stories carry truths stranger than fiction, and more entertaining.

Table Of Contents

Preface To Volume II

Colin’s Trigger
High school is a time when many feel they are forced by their biology into roles that will last the rest of their lives. It takes something extraordinary to inspire the risk of trying something new.

Tiffie’s Smile
Carol has learned how to manage the losses in her life, but she is in danger of loosing herself.

Christmas In November
A lifetime of frustration seems about to end.

Charismatic Carnivore
Life rarely takes you in the direction you intend. This encounter couldn’t have been more incredible or unexpected.

The Ways Of The Gods
Sometimes life feels like a gift from the Gods, but the Gods give nothing freely.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Apport Press
• Release date: Mar 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476375687

Book preview

Preface To Volume II

The stories in the Fringe Desires series, as explained in Volume I, are not of my own making. I have toiled in the seamy underground of hard-core written erotica for many years, and generated a body of fictional work that has a modest popularity. Readers of my work frequently contact me with comments, and occasionally, tell me of their experiences. When the experience haunts me long enough, I try to put it into words. These are the stories of my readers, who have graciously consented to let me tell them in my own way.

Each one arose from one reader’s communication with me. Sometimes they gave only an overview of their experience, and others came with more detail than a novel could accommodate. I have enriched, or trimmed the detail in a way that I thought enhanced the story, yet remained true to their experience.

The subject matter, the explicit descriptions of the stories and often the involvement of underage characters usually make these stories unsuitable for publishing in the mainstream media. Consequently, Volume’s I and III are available only in a restricted venue where the content is not likely to give offense (http://www.asstr.org/~Fabula_Salaxacis/). The stories in this volume, however, are sometimes less overtly sexual, and when sexual, only concern consenting adults.

Each reflects people immersed in activities that are on the fringes of acceptability, however, and explores the impact of the gratification of such desires. After the first volume, I was deluged with questions about the authenticity of the stories. I can only repeat Mark Twain’s axiom that Truth is stranger than fiction… .

As in the other volumes, I have done my best to remain true to the narrative voice in which they were told to me, while changing details to conceal the identity of participants. I hope the truth shows through in each of these five stories.

Colin’s Trigger

Colin Flatley planted himself at his usual spot in the cafeteria, alone, pulled the orange flyer out of his backpack, and set it before him. Propping his elbows on the table, he rested his head in his hands and reread it for the seventh time.

He rarely studied here, he found the raucous mingling of hundred or so students in the cavernous room too disruptive, but he often observed the casual banter of his betters and imagined what it would be like to be popular. They smiled broadly, talked easily, and joked comfortably, all manners of being unfamiliar to Colin.

What are you looking at, Butthead? challenged a blond, athletic boy at a nearby table. Colin’s eyes fell away from him.

Every morning an hour before school the two sets of double doors were opened and the tables and benches were unfolded from the walls, ostensibly as a study hall, but few could refrain from tossing notes and bouncing from table to table, relaying conversations between the many groups. When Colin wasn’t sneaking a look at the play of the blessed, he stared at the flyer.

The other kids at his table were also longing watchers, for this was their table. There was no sign, but the members of his group recognized each other instantly, like animals recognize their own species by scent, and they congregated because they felt safer among their own. They might nod at each other, share a pencil, or wonder together at the unobtainable beauty around them, but few would consider each other friends. He thought it ironic that their table was in the middle of the room when they were on the periphery of social acceptability.

Colin was the only one with an orange flyer, and he placed his backpack full of books in front of him to shield it from the others. The surrounding fragile souls would never consider such a departure from the tried and true technique for daily survival, the one he practiced himself; tread as lightly as possible and go unnoticed, because any attention was certain to be negative, and crushingly so. Yet, as he stared downward, the words on the flyer burned his eyes with possibilities.

In time, four or five other kids joined the table and wiggled the rolling benches under him. Sharon Lumkin was there, directly across from him, reading. She sat one row over from him in his Honors Calculus class where she got B’s, never asked a question, never talked to anyone, and never got noticed. It seemed to Colin she wore the same thing most every day, a white button blouse under an old, black cardigan sweater, flimsy black pants that seemed too big for her, tennis shoes and white socks. But then, no one at their table dressed well.

Colin made sporadic attempts at dressing fashionably, but his gawky appendages and too large head fought back, making him look like a fashion argument, instead of a fashion statement. His red hair contributed to the discord by shooting up from his scalp, sprinkler like, in defiance of brush, spray or goo.

Sharon’s hair was thin and brown, not shiny like most girls, and she had mere wisps of eyebrows, more down than hair. Some kids described her plump figure and plain face callously; Lumpy Lumpkin the Lady Looser. To Colin, she was just another of the genetically unlucky hoping to live long enough to mate. So he assumed Sharon was condemned, like him and the others at his table, by her nondescript appearance and demeanor to remain small in the midst of the oppressive largeness of the cool, the athletic, and the attractive.

Colin imagined his table mates as worker bees relegated to dancing around the privileged drones. Only drones were allowed to be near, or to mate in flight with the queens, a trick of their biology. But, Colin knew that any larval bee, with the right biochemical trigger could become a drone or a queen and he fantasized that his trigger lay before him on orange paper.

Colin’s secret passion, unknown to friends or family, fed constantly through reading, energetically nursed when alone in front of a mirror, enlivened each night by dreams, was desperate for an opportunity to surface.

But he was afraid. Colin did not believe in miracle triggers for members of his species and life-enhancing metamorphoses. The very thought of reaching for a different role in life made him shiver and recoil into himself, like a boxer protecting his vitals from an overwhelming opponent.

An airborne wad of paper hit Colin in the ear, and he winced. He did not check for the source of the missile. That would only encourage them. He waited for his attackers to loose interest, and, trembling, he crumpled the flyer and let it fall to his feet, unobserved. His head fell to his hands again but his eyes no longer burned.

Sharon held her history book on edge in a protective way until America The Beautiful began to crackle through the ancient, fuzzed, cafeteria speakers, a prelude to the morning bell. Teachers whose responsibility it was to monitor the cafeteria in the morning abandoned the area as the song began, using the time to walk to their classrooms.

Sharon slammed her book shut in a grand way, causing Colin to take notice. Her face held a wry smile, and gone was the unassuming manner of her table mates. Such a gesture signaled something extraordinary was about to occur. She stood up, stepped on the bench and steadied herself before stepping up to the table. She positioned herself in the middle of the middle table and began dancing.

The sheer boldness of her act made Colin gasp. To make herself so glaringly conspicuous in front of the entire school was unimaginable to Colin, yet, amazingly admirable. It was a complete shedding of her previous countenance, of her species-specific behavior and her biological imperative to remain forever on the cruel margins of high school society.

Had she been a skilled dancer capable of the latest steps practiced by the elite, or had her steps coincided with the music, it would have been less remarkable. But Sharon’s dance was as herky-jerky as a five-year old’s, and every bit as uncoordinated. Her complete lack of style made her all the more incredible for her audacity.

Her arms alternated up and down, and she lifted her knees, made tiny, erratic kicks out, turned slowly, and haltingly tilted her head in the direction of her turn, then she stepped forward and turned in the other direction.

It was the contrast between her act and everything that he knew, or thought he knew, about Sharon that confounded Colin, and forced him to consider the possibility that she might be capable of more than her biology predicted.

Her elevation soon garnered the attention of the students who were leaving for their first class. Colin could see the attention spreading outward in a circle with Sharon as the center point. Sporadic snickers emanated from distant tables followed by isolated clapping near their table and then several hoots of encouragement.

Removing her black cardigan sweater elicited calls to ‘take all it off’ that competed with the too familiar music. Colin’s head was tilted upward at a difficult angle, and the entire cafeteria seemed transfixed, but Sharon paid no attention to the verbalizations or stares of her schoolmates.

When she removed her white buttoned blouse, dropped it at her feet and unhooked her bra, the calls ceased, and shock stole the voice from everyone inside. Her clothes fell to the table, slid off or were kicked off the table by her shuffling feet, and her tiny breasts wandered in the morning sun that streamed through the high windows for all to see.

Sharon’s intent was clear, and Colin read the disbelief on every face and heard tight gasps from a hundred throats. He had not moved since the closing of her book, but now he pulled his backpack off the table to give her more space, and his jaw hung open below the glasses that focused his eyes on Sharon.

A girl screamed, followed by another’s, and the screams created a foot stirring like cattle reacting to the crack of lightening, and soon a herd of kids began jostling for the doors.

Sharon stepped out of her slip-on shoes and her black, spacious pants fell and she twirled twice before removing her short white socks and slipped her underwear down to the table.

The pace of the exiting students increased as she revealed her full self, which surprised Colin. He anticipated they would all stay and curse and hoot, to ridicule her as they did any of their species when the opportunity arose, but they appeared disturbed by her undressing. Perhaps they sensed that the school norm had been irrevocably violated, and to stay close was to invite sanction. They may have thought her quiet, unresponsive nature signaled a frightening pathology that might afflict them next, or they feared their own impulses to follow her example.

Some made excuses, saying she wasn't attractive enough to engage in such behavior. Some girls muttered jealously at the attention she was receiving.

Colin decided it was as Gandhi said; first they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win. Small Sharon initiated the battle and defeated the entire student body with her irregular dance, and sent them running.

The room was nearly empty, but many lingered at the doors, not inside but at the edge looking through, and they darted to and from the quad where the bulk of students clustered and clamored, too unnerved to go to class.

America The Beautiful finished and inexplicably began again, the bell rang and Sharon danced her unabashed routine across the cafeteria table. While unrelated to the music, her movements were compelling in an odd way; a quiet, soulful entreaty to express all that is hidden inside, to live and be free. Colin felt such a stirring as he gazed at her. Surely this meant she was sexual, ready to be a lover, perhaps already was someone’s lover. Whereas before she had seemed asexual, the audacity of her naked dance imbued her with a blatant sexuality, and Colin felt sure she would even submit to him.

She seemed to have infused herself with strength, beauty and courage beyond measure as she rotated above him, and in so doing filled him with life’s potential.

The music echoed loudly with no one left to absorb the sound, save for Sharon, Colin and a stunned red haired girl Colin observed behind Sharon. She stood with her arms folded, tears streaming, and her eyes locked on Sharon’s dance.

Mrs. Q., an English teacher, appeared in the door and began a series of repeating questions as she approached. Young lady, what are you doing? Why are your clothes off? Why are you dancing? Don’t you know it’s time for class?

Sharon said nothing, smiled and twirled, and refused to accept her clothes when proffered by Mrs. Q’s outstretched arm. She followed Sharon’s circular movement, leaning over the table and trying