Liese, wow. Oh, wow. Amazing.

Except--did you mean dessert, as in a sweet course after a meal? Or "just deserts?"

Erika, I'll take a look tomorrow when I'm not quite so verschimlt.

I thought 'dessert' was intentional - wordplay with 'just deserts', but literal reference to part of its meal. Worked for me.

Yah, worked for me too. I was just curious. It is gorgeous.

My first drabble:

The cell phone rings, heralding the next bit of information that may change my life, or it may simply be the utter nonsense that is so essential to a full existence. I recognize the tune. It's my father. He never calls unless it's important. My gut is telling me this time is no different.

I answer, my voice frosted with happiness over a middle layer of trepidation. I pray he doesn't notice. He doesn't, because he's wrapped up in situations he can't control. Bad things are happening. My stomach knots up, and the wine I just drank threatens to escape its now-unhappy confines. I am instantly alert and fearing the worst. Hands have invaded my body to clench every vital organ in preparation for the news. My sister is divorcing her husband. For a second the hands squeeze, making my heart skip a beat and taking my breath away. Then I remember, my "dear" brother-in-law is not so dear, and the hands relax their death-grip. The knots in my stomach are gently untied and my heart is released with a gentle caress, soothing the pounding that threatened to drown out everything else. It is important, and it is bad, but not for long. This is for the best. My gut is telling me that too.

SophieMax and Liese -- I *love* those!

Love the whale, Liese, that was awesome. Chills.

Summer vacation. Serious pool time. Bathing suit. In public.

But, I’ve been revamping my body for a year. I’m feeling sassy. I pull out a two-piece suit. Two. Count them. One. Two. I start breathing a bit too quickly. My throat tightens up. I feel my stomach rolling.

I ask opinions from my friends. Queer eye for the insecure straight girl. Matt tosses my other suit, the one piece, away exclaiming, “Wear the cute one!”

At the pool, the chorus of gay men sing, “You work it, girl.”

Gay men are glorious creatures.

I like it. Nice staccato style.

They are all cool, in so many different ways. The best thing about drabble challenges is the range of responses to a single topic.(And how weird is it that I'd already written something with so much stomach in it?)

Scars

"Show me."

He looks at me, brown eyes guarded in a too-thin face. The marks of long illness are visible, if you know what you're looking for.

"Please?"

"Why do you want to see them?" His trusts me, and with damned good reason. I've never seen him naked, but I want to, I want to.

Impatient, I reach out and open his shirt. The scars are blue, crisscrossing his abdomen; two kidney operations, a heart surgery.

I kneel, touching my tongue to his scars. He touches the top of my head, as I kiss his belly, his scars, his survival.

(and yes, autobiographical)