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Purple Prose as written by Oliver Klosov, who says, "its only goal is to be turgid":

Brick's lush curls, evidence of his high testosterone levels, caught the golden light of the square, slightly convex sunroof set about six feet over their heads in the attic room and softly, like the halo of a Renaissance angel, one of the androgynous to masculine ones of course, or perhaps a warm pat of butter at the table served at a wedding brunch, gleamed yellowly, begging the touch of Bellissississimma's perfectly manicured, muscular from her previous career as a wild animal trainer, yet elegant hand. But the thought of a pat of butter had reminded her that she hadn't eaten breakfast yet, and she decided to go and hunt up some really hot sausage and boiled eggs to be sandwiched between cold toast.

Purple Prose as written by Oliver Klosov:

"I will have you now, Lunaria!" Mambo growled, laying her perfectly rounded body on the dusty floor of the lonely barn. Soon it would be lonely no more, filled with love like that which his parent had felt when they had conceived him in the hayloft above thirty-four years ago.

"I see a dust bunny," Lunaria said fretfully, blinking her large purple eyes. "But I don't care! Ravish me, my lusty farmer!" She arched her back, her lush bosom straining at the front of her chic Guess overalls, which she had purchased to impress him on a secret outing with Mambo's good-natured sister Samba and even more good-natured birdlike and perky Aunt Tango. They had been thrilled with her tour of the designer shops, and she had been warmed deep inside by their easy, lower-class acceptance of her regardless of her fashion-model looks and lack of personality. Their friendship had done much towards her realization of her true and abiding love for Mambo Dirtboy.

Lunaria came out of her musings and realized she was now completely naked and had a splinter in her butt. Mambo looked so studly, however, that she forebore to comment, contenting herself with stroking his molded and mildewed biceps.

"Yes!" Mambo panted. "You are an internationally known supermodel, but I, I am a farmer! And to prove it, we will couple like beasts!" Flipping her over with effortless strength, his mighty oak tree penetrated her warm, wet evening purse. "Moo!" he groaned.

Because she loved him, Lunaria said, "Moo!" until they reached glorious completion.

The end

Purple Prose as written by At the Back Fence co-columnist Robin Nixon Uncapher, who poses the following question: Ever imagine what a mail order story would be like if the bride were the customer?

Mail Order Groom

Jebadiah looked down at his hands and tried to ignore the slight tremble. "Miz Mae," he said, "I is your new husband, come all the way from St. Louie." He handed her his treasured copy of the newspaper advertisement. "I know I don't seem like much, but I am strong and will'n to work hard."

Mae folded her arms over he worn blue calico dress, "I reckon you'll do," she grunted. "You is the only one showed up. We'll say our vows right here. She handed him a prayer book and they said the words.

When they were done, Mae said, "You go milk the cows, fill the woodbox, rake the yard and curry the horses." She turned away and began to walk into the battered farm house.

"Yes'um. . . Ma'am?"

She turned. He saw that she was a tall woman, not pretty but handsome in a rugged sort of way. Somehow the sight of her frightened him. "What?"

"Ma'am we ain't talked about the marriage. I mean, well, this is embarrass'in to ask but is this to be a "marriage in name only?'

"What in thunderation is a 'marriage in name only?'

"Well Ma'am I read about it in a book. Its kinda a marriage where the husband and wife - well they live together like brother and sister."

For the first time a smile passed her lips. "No Jebadiah, I didn't pay twelve dollars and eighty-seven cents to buy me a brother."

A thrill went up his spine. What could she mean?

"Jebediah, go do your chores. I've got to go work on my quilt."

Jebadiah milked the cows, filled the woodbox, raked the yard and curried the horses. When he came in Mae gave him some beans and corn mean mush. "Don't expect this kind of eat'en every night Jebadiah," said Mae. This here is your weddin supper.

They ate in silence. Finally Jebediah asked. "You been married afore Miz Mae?"

Mae nodded, "Yep. I guess I'm what you'd call a tortured woman. Hector and I was married for a year before he died in the buffalo stampeed. It was my fault. I'll always love Hector. I'll never love you. Now you run along to bed and git read fore the wedd'in night."

Jebediah went into the bedroom. There was only one bed! Where would Mae sleep? Behind him he heard Mae grunt. "Shy, huh? Well, Jebediah you is my husband now and I have needs. That why I spent the twelve-eight-seven."

Jebadiah was silent. He walked to the window and looked out. Mae came up behind him. "Its okay, Jebediah. You a virgin?"

He nodded. Mae grunted, "Nothin to it. Git in the bed." Jebediah blanched.

"Oh, okay I'll go in the other room so you can git ready."

Jebidiah got out of his cloths and into his nightshirt, hopped under the quilt and pulled it to his neck.

Mae came into the room. Jebediah watched with amazement as she pulled off her clothes. She was so big, so tall. The sight of her beautiful body made him feel peculiar. He averted his eyes.

His heart was beating fast as she raised the quilt and exposed his lower parts. "Lordy, Jebadiah you is built like a good husband. Too bad I can only love Hector and never love you."

Before he knew what she was about she had mounted him. She was like a furnace and her breathing came fast. He held tightly to her, frightened at the new feelings. Something in him was building. Something was going to happen! Suddenly Mae reared up, arching her back and crying out.

With a sigh she rolled off him and gave him a light kiss on his curls. Jebadiah stared at her. He was hard as a rock, trembling with excitement.

"Jebediah, you'd best git some sleep. Milkin time comes early." She rolled over and soon he heard her rhythmic snores.

Jebediah rolled and considered his swollen manhood. No doubt about it. He was in love.

Purple Prose as written by AAR Managing Editor Blythe Barnhill:

Shelby's trip back in time had not happened by chance. She had long been obsessed with eighteenth century Scotland, ever since she read Outlander. Somewhere there had to be a hot-blooded Scotsman just waiting for her. So she started in the obvious places - Stonehenge on Midsummer's Eve, quirky antique shops with mysterious rings and hatpins. To her great surprise, she discovered that her portal to the past was her grandmother's macramé owl; one twist of its beaded eye and she was zapped back to 1743.

She was well-prepared and dressed appropriately in period clothing. And she saw him almost immediately. He was tall, red-haired, and kilted, and she knew it was love.

"Are ye lost then, lassie?"

The thrill of being called a "lassie" almost undid her right there. Shelby gulped and approached him. To overcome with emotion to speak, she kissed his chiseled lips.

"Aye, lassie," he groaned. "I reckon you are found now." He reached for her long ebony hair and plundered her lips. Their tongues mated enthusiastically, and his sporran brushed against her thighs with blatant eroticism.

"What's your name?," she gasped when she came up for air.

"Tavish McAvoy," he answered as his mammoth hand reached for her downy breast. "I ken we've met before...once upon a dream, perhaps?" Tavish reached for her bodice, which Shelby promptly opened to allow him greater access. He nuzzled her scarlet nipples, and Shelby's limbs grew heavy with desire.

"Tavish," she murmured, drinking him all in. What could be more perfect? He was part Jamie Fraser look-alike, and part Disney character. She found his flat, male nipples and returned his bold caresses.

"That's it, lassie," Tavish groaned. "Ye're so bonny." He laid his plaid down and settled her between his tree-trunk-like thighs. The coarse wool of the McAvoy plaid chafed at Shelby's legs, sending little frissons of pleasure and anticipation straight to her womanly core.

"Enough with the preliminaries, Kilt Man. Show me your broadsword!" Giggling nervously at her own boldness, she reached for the most blatantly masculine part of him.

"Have ye been wonderin' what's under me kilt, then, lassie?" Tavish leered suggestively and bared himself.

Shelby stared in awe.

He was so big.

He was so masculine.

He was so wonderfully different from her feminine self. His body seemed to be composed of hard planes and angles, sculpted like fine marble. Shelby tenderly petted his turgid masculinity, which, like most turgid masculinities, felt like steel encased in satin.

"Och, lass! You - er, ye'll unman me then!" Rather than risk that indignity, Tavish deftly positioned himself at the portal of her womanhood, and entered her in one smooth, bold, savage, orgasm-inducing stroke. His seed burst forth in an intrepid splash.

"That was great, baby," Tavish said as he continued to kiss her desire-swollen lips.

"Oh, Tavish," she sighed. "Your masculinity is so bold and turgid."

"I know. I mean, I ken."

"And your plaid is so Scottish!"

"It is that, isn't is lassie?" He winked suggestively, and his red hair shimmered in the sunlight.

"And your accent is so...."

"Aye, lassie?"

"Fake!" Shelby shouted. "Just who the hell are you?"

"I told you! I mean ye! I told ye! Oh aye, lassie, I'm Tavish Mc--Ow!"

Shelby whacked him in the shoulder with his discarded sporran. "Oh, give it up, you phony!"

"Okay, okay! I'm really Ted Grubowski, and I'm from the year 2000 like y--Ow! Would you leave off with the sporran already? It's not the author's fault that my accent's so bad. She's never been to Scotland; she just read Outlander and rented a couple of Mike Meyers movies. She really wants to write contemporaries but her agent told her that Scottish historicals are the only thing readers are buying right now."

"Do you think I care?" Shelby threw the sporran at his face and kicked his kilt in irritation. "You ruined my fantasy, you jerk! Just take your kilt and your broadsword and your stupid sporran and go home. You're nothing but a charlatan, an idiotic, artificial--"

"I'm a navy SEAL," Ted said hopefully.

"You're a sham," Shelby continued. "A fake, imitation, pho--did you say Navy SEAL?"

Purple Prose as written by Chris Nistler as an homage to her favorite romance author, Virginia Henley, although Dream Lover is not her favorite Henley

Cream Lover

As Geneveive glared at the man with the hard pewter eyes who dared to lay hands upon her person, she became aware of a supreme rage welling up inside from the core of her soul and she slapped him with all her might. “How dare you accost me Royce!, I’ve told you a hundred times, it is over between us. I beg you to forget me, please leave me alone.” Royce gave off a low, deep growl as he pulled her roughly up against his chest then ran his hands down the contours of her hips to grip her buttocks and grind his groin into her soft, supple womanliness. “I don’t know why I bother with you Geneveive, you have brought me nothing but misery.”

Geneveive became alarmed as she realized the consequences of their close proximity. She felt Royce lengthen and grow through her burgundy evening gown and the heat emanating through it made her feel faint. Geneveive gasped as Royce groaned her name and buried his face in her heaving bosom anointing her full, firm mounds with his lips and tongue. He stole her senses with his raw uncontained lust. All she could see, feel and smell was Royce, he was all male musk and brandy. She forced herself out of her stupor, gathered her wits about her, and pushed him away with all her might. He stood as if in a trance, eyes black with passion, his breathing heavy and his fists clenched. She could feel his caged fury, and was more frightened than ever before.

Geneveive took that as her queue to leave. She turned toward the entrance of the chateau and started to flee, the next thing she knew, she was being swept up into strong muscular arms. Royce was all male dominance as he strode with cruel determination toward the velvet covered staircase. “Royce NO!” Geneveive screamed. as she beat at him like a hellcat with her small fists. She may as well have been beating on a rock wall. Royce did not even flinch, he just continued up the staircase and down the long corridor toward the west wing of the manor. “Royce please! What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”

He stopped in front of a large wooden door and kicked it open. He stepped across the threshold, turned and threw the bolt into place. “Let it be Gen. You are mine. Your heart is mine. Your soul is mine and soon your body will be mine. “Royce, No! Pleeeeease.” He looked down into her pleading emerald eyes. “Gen, this is meant to be. You know it and I know it. I’m taking what I want Geneveive, I’ve wanted to take you from the first moment I set eyes upon your beautiful body, now I’m going to make it happen.” He set her from him and she ran across the bedchamber. He proceeded to undo the buttons of his white dress shirt one by one all the while stalking her like prey.

She let out a sob as she bolted past him toward the door. Royce reached Geneveive at the same moment she reached the door. His hands slammed against it on either side of her shoulders. She turned and tried to strike him, he grabbed hold of her wrists and forced them above her head against the door. He buried his lips against the column of her throat to drink in her taste and scent. She smelled of wild jasmine and his senses were reeling as his arms and heart were filled with the irresistible woman inside them. “My God, Geneveive, how I’ve dreamed of this moment. How I’ve starved for the taste of you.”

Geneveive struggled against him. “Royce, Stop!” she shouted, feeling a blistering fever bloom within her as the blaze from the fire in the hearth made heat leap from her already flushed skin. She started to panic and when he loosened one of her wrists, she broke her arm free of his hold and raked her nails down the side of his face. The rage she saw rising to his eyes set her to trembling. Royce swept Geneveive’s feet out from beneath her and her glorious chestnut locks came loose from her chignon and tumbled down to her waist in tousled disarray. He lifted her high in his arms and walked purposely toward the huge mahogany bed that dominated the chamber. He grazed her ear with his teeth and whispered, “your going to regret that Gen, I’m going to make you beg me to take you and then make you beg me for mercy.”

When he reached the bed, he flung her down upon it leaving her momentarily stunned. He then sat down on the edge and removed his hessian boots and tight skin colored breeches. Geneveive gasped as she realized what was happening and started to scramble off of the bed. As she reached the edge, her eyes came in contact with his rampant male appendage. She looked up in stark terror. “Don’t you dare to touch me” she said. “Oh, I’m going to do more than touch you Geneveive.” Royce replied. He grabbed her as she jumped off the bed and she sank her teeth into his forearm breaking the skin and drawing blood. He grit his teeth as the pain penetrated his senses.

Geneveive saw the compressed rage in Royce’s features and turned to flee. Royce wrapped his arm around her waist and spun her around. He threaded his hands through her hair and as he brought his head down to claim her mouth, thunder rumbled and lightning crackled as a fierce storm raged outside. A protest died as he whispered against her lips, “I want you Gen. I want you with a burning passion that consumes me. I want your long legs wrapped around me and I want to bury myself inside of your silken sheath until I touch your soul. I’m going to brand you as my woman. I would kill for your love.”

Geneveive was scandalized and at the same time mesmerized by his bawdy comments. “Royce please, I don’t trust myself with you” she told him. “Take your clothes off Gen”. “NO!” She backed away from him and he advanced on her. “You want me Geneveive, as much as I want you. I can feel it germinating within you”. “That’s a lie,” she screamed. “Take off your clothes Geneveive, I want to drown myself in you.” “No,” she whispered and reached for the door. In one swift motion, his hands flew to her bodice and he tore her gown and shift from the neckline down to her Venus mound. Her lush breasts burst out of their confinement and Royce’s heart and breath stopped as her coral peaks instantly puckered due to their combined sexual energy.

He looked his fill before he reached out to touch her. “Royce,” she breathed as one hand closed over her breast and began to knead it while the other snaked up her back to the nape of her neck. His mouth came down hard on hers. His tongue mated with her own and they moaned into each others mouths, her shredded gown slithered over her creamy bottom and down her slim thighs to puddle at her feet on the floor. Geneveive wrapped her arms round Royce’s neck as he sucked on her tongue drawing it further into the dark cavern of his mouth. Geneveive bit Royce’s bottom lip and then licked the pain away. She then sucked it and kissed it tenderly. He grabbed her buttocks then squeezed and massaged them. He pulled her hard against his fully engorged manhood, his need for her engulfing him and spinning him out of control. He then wrenched himself away from her, took her hands in his and placed them on his well defined chest. “Touch me Geneveive. I want to feel your hands on me as they burn my flesh”.

She moved her hands up to caress his chiseled face. He was all harsh planes and angles with aquiline features. He dripped male arrogance and she secretly worshiped him as one would a sculpted Greek God. Geneveive ran her hands through Royce’s silky blue-black hair. She then ran her hands down and over the bulging muscles of his chest kissing and nipping his body in several sensitized areas as she went. She moved behind him to trace the line of his back with her hands and lips. She grew bold cupping his tight buttocks, then ran her hands around his hips. His swift intake of breath told her of his intense longing. Royce then drew her hand down to his rigid phallus. He closed her hand around his hot steel length and said, “See what you’ve done to me Gen?, I’m so hard I’m going to shatter with this torment. I burn for you Gen, like a raging fire out of control”.

The storm raged outside as he led her out onto the balcony terrace. Rain poured down on them and their skin sizzled at the contact. Geneveive tipped her heart shaped face up and met his smoky eyes. Royce smiled down at her thinking her a magical fairy or a wood sprite with her slim upturned nose and stubborn chin framed by her dripping midnight tresses. He bent his head to take possession of her mouth and he kissed, nipped and licked her to oblivion. He crushed her breasts in each of his big hands. He squeezed and massaged them until she whimpered. He rolled her nipples between his thumb and finger and then pinched them cruelly. Geneveive cried out with pleasure pain as Royce dragged his mouth from hers to lave each of them with his tongue. He then took one of them into his mouth and sucked her greedily drawing hard upon one and then the other. The pouring rain dripped off of their bodies and Geneveive could feel an over abundance of silky wetness between the folds of her woman’s center.

Royce reached down to cup her, then run a finger along the crease of her scalding heat. “Royce please!” He pushed one finger up inside her then two, tormenting the bud of her womanhood in between motions. Geneveive was squirming now and she pulled his mouth to hers to drink his lips, her eyes heavy lidded and dark with her consuming desire. “Royce please I....”, “say it Gen”. “Royce I burn with a longing to have you inside me. Please Royce!” “Not yet Gen”. He silenced her protest with a torrid kiss of twining tongues until her lips felt bee stung and bruised. He then dropped to his knees, and took her foot into his hands. He worshiped her leg with his sensual lips and tongue from the arch of her foot, over the curve of her calf and up her creamy thigh. He placed her leg over his shoulder and looked up at her, his eyes consumed with raging passion. “I’m going to love you with my mouth and tongue Geneveive.”

Royce’s ribald words shocked her speechless. He separated her woman folds and ran his tongue up her center. He pushed it into her again and again and licked her senseless. “Royce, Royce” she moaned with exquisite pleasure as her hands gripped his head and held him to her. “Gen, you taste of tangy wild honey, I can’t get enough.” He licked and sucked her until she was mindless and she spiraled into sweet frenzied bliss. “Im going to give you what you want now Gen.” She pulled him to her and said, “Royce wait, I want to taste you. I want to give you the same erotic rapture. Let me take you into my mouth.” He held her in his powerful embrace and said, “No Geneveive, you will unman me. Later I will teach you all the carnal delights to be experienced between us. Right now all I want to do is bury my shaft deep in your honeyed depths. He then lifted her against him and said, “spread your legs wide and wrap them about me Gen.” She eagerly complied and whispered hotly into his ear. “Yes Royce, take me now please! Make me your woman. I want to belong to you body and soul.”

Her words inflamed him and he thrust boldly into her tight passage sinking in as far as he could go, her groan of ecstasy exciting him to a fever pitch. He was wound so tightly he felt like a bowstring and realized he could not wait long enough to walk inside to the bed. He backed her up against the mellowed pink brick and protecting her back with his arms and hands he began to drive his entire length into her again and again. Her head fell back to give his mouth access to her neck and throat, and she plunged her body down to meet his savage rhythmic thrusts, raking her nails along his shoulder blades and screaming her pleasure with complete and total abandon. He felt the muscles of her womanhood squeeze and tighten around him and he contain himself no longer. He felt her shudder and at that moment he filled her to overflowing with his hot love juice.

Geneveive slumped against him and began to tremble violently, tears flowing rivers down her stunning face. Royce became alarmed and he cradled her against his heart. “What’s wrong Gen? Your tearing me to pieces. Please don’t say you didn’t want this.” Geneveive looked up at him and caressed his rugged face. She kissed his lips sensually and replied “No Royce, I’ve wanted you forever and now your mine. I am overwhelmed with wanting. I need to be close to you.” She ran her hands up his back and bit his mouth. “Convince me that I’m yours.”

He picked her up and held her like a precious treasure carrying her to the bed. He placed her gently down upon it and covered her body with his own stroking and touching her everywhere. “My God Geneveive, I’ve lost myself in you.” He kissed and licked and grazed her breasts with his teeth, rubbing them and lavishing them with his tongue. He groaned deep in his throat as he sucked hungrily upon her. “Turn over and lay on your stomach Gen.” She rolled over to do his bidding and he proceeded to worship the nape of her neck sucking and biting as he went. He moved down the line of her graceful back and turned his attention to her buttocks, “You have the most tempting little derriere Gen.” and he rubbed and molded her twin moons in his hands.

“Mmmmmmm, Royce, don’t make me beg.” He placed his hands between her knees and spread her legs wide, then she felt the tip of his love shaft position itself at the entrance of her sweet, wet cavern to take her from behind. “God help me Gen, I can’t fight this raging desire,” and then he plunged violently into her. Her hands gripped and twisted the sheets and she moaned and whimpered his name. He twined his fingers with hers and continued to ram himself into her over and over going deeper each time. “Royce, pleeeeease!” she whimpered wantonly.

He stopped and gathered her in his arms. “All right Gen, You control it.” He lifted her and placed her atop him and said “Ride me.” with ragged breath. She stared at the pulsating length of his piercing desire. He held the sides of her face and said “Look at me Gen, I want to see your eyes fill with hot passion.” She then impaled herself upon him and began to move in blissful rhythm, their eyes never leaving each other. She drove herself down onto him and whispered, “deeper Royce, please.” He complied instantly unbridled and unrestrained until both of them burst in a scalding frenzy of satisfaction. Royce pulled Geneveive down to him leaving his masculinity buried inside her and folded her in his firm embrace. “That’s what I get for asking you to convince me” she said. She then tumbled into a sweet euphoric sleep a fully satisfied and branded woman. His Woman.

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Issue #99 of At the Back Fence - details of the contest's outcome and reader response

Index for Laurie's News & Views (Check the index for "silly sex"/"purple prose")
Ferri Tales - There's plenty of purple prose here! (And a return link to the PPP section as well)

If you liked this parody,

try this one!