Miss Snark’s Crapometer

By 2 commentsCategory: WIPTags:

Well, I finally got off my duff and cranked out 750 words for Miss Snark. Actually, I wrote 1200 words and had to cut it down to fit the maximum. I squeaked in a few hours before the deadline, although I have not received confirmation that the email arrived safe and sound. So far, it’s not on her web site anywhere, so we’ll see.

http://ericawrites.blogspot.com – https://ericaridley.com

2 comments

  1. ERiCA - Reply

    OK, Here’s what I posted on Miss Snark’s site:

    Two troublesome facts jerked archaeologist Taylor Masterson from his favorite recurring erotic dream.

    First, he’d fallen asleep face-first onto his folding tray, and now miscellaneous debris clung to his chin like a dirt goatee.

    Second, the curvy blonde struggling to free herself from the mosquito netting looked nothing like his assistant Linda–the only female on Taylor’s crew–and more like one of the hotties populating Hef’s mansion and Taylor’s dreams. How long had it been since he’d laid eyes on a woman who wasn’t covered in dirt? Three weeks? Four?

    Taylor rolled back his bunched shoulders, lifted up his head, and squinted at the woman tangled in the heavy netting. A dusty tent on the edge of a Costa Rican rain forest was an unlikely place to encounter a moonlit silhouette like the one knifing up his netting. Maybe he wasn’t quite as awake as he’d thought.

    “Er… May I help you?” he ventured, the words scratchy against his dry throat.

    “Shh, little Angus,” came the soft reply. “Go back to sleep.”

    Little Angus? Who the hell was Little Angus? Taylor rubbed the heel of one hand across his cheeks, dislodging the remaining dirt. Usually, the women in his dreams had better names for him than Little Angus.

    “I’m not little,” he muttered, struggling to his feet. “Or Angus. Who the hell are you?”

    “I’m a tooth fairy, of course.” With that matter-of-fact proclamation, she jerked her ankle free of the strings binding the netting to the lining of the tent. The canvas flaps fluttered closed, enshrouding them in darkness. “Now, go back to sleep or I won’t leave a silver dollar under your pillow.”

    “I don’t have a pillow,” Taylor ground out. “And it will cost you more than a silver dollar to replace my mosquito netting.”

    He groped for the fallen Mag-lite underneath the folding tray and aimed the mega-watt beam at the curvy intruder.

    Chin-length silver-blonde hair fluttered above bare shoulders. A barely-there Tinkerbell-style dress shimmered from breasts to thighs. Thin black cat-eye glasses framed wide green eyes. But even more bizarre than the bare feet was the pair of oversize glitter wings protruding from her back.

    Either Halloween started in May this side of the equator or something was seriously wrong here.

    “Give me that, you bad boy.” The woman lunged forward, snatched the flashlight out of his hand and pointed the beam at Taylor.

    Her gaze heated as the light traveled from the tiny bones and broken rocks cluttering his folding tray, to his unshaven face and his bare chest, to his cotton covered thighs. The stifled gasp and wavering light indicated that his well-worn khakis did a poor job of hiding the effects of a good dream.

    Taylor freed the flashlight from her trembling fingers and knelt to light his battery-operated camping lanterns. What kind of woman crept around the Costa Rican countryside in glitter wings and painted toes? Taylor wasn’t usually one for Velcro wings, but painted toes on the other hand…

    “Who are you really?” he demanded, gripping the flashlight in one hand and attempting to subtly adjust his cargo pants with the other. “And where are your shoes?”

    “I’m Daisy le Fey,” she answered. Daisy darted another glance toward his lap. “And tooth fairies don’t wear shoes.”

    Taylor stalked forward, using his size to edge her closer to the opening of the tent. “Why wouldn’t fairies wear shoes?”

    Her back hit the netting. “Some do, just not tooth fairies. It’s not part of the dress code. Now, where’s Angus?”

    He blinked. “Who?”

    Daisy’s palms shoved at his chest in exasperation. “Angus, dummy! I need to give him a dollar.”

    “Listen, lady.” He brushed her hands from his shirt. “None of my crew is named Angus. Furthermore, none of my crew is named Daisy. This means, cute or not–you don’t belong here. I’m going to have to ask that you leave the dig site immediately.”

    Daisy ducked under Taylor’s pointing arm and flopped down onto his sleeping bag. “How can this be happening?” She heaved a dramatic sigh, rolled onto all fours, and began feeling around inside the bag.

    Her minuscule green dress didn’t cover much from this angle, and Taylor learned another new fact about tooth fairies: the dress code apparently included lacy lingerie.

  2. ERiCA - Reply

    And here’s the (revised) scene as it currently stands:

    Two troublesome facts jerked archaeologist Trevor Masterson from his
    favorite recurring erotic dream.

    One, he’d fallen asleep face-first onto his folding tray, and now miscellaneous debris clung to his chin like a dirt goatee.

    Two, the female form struggling to free herself from the mosquito netting looked nothing like his assistant Katrina–the only female on Trevor’s crew–and more like one of the hotties populating Hef’s mansion and Trevor’s dreams. How long had it been since he’d laid eyes on a woman who wasn’t covered in dirt? Three weeks? Four?

    A dusty tent on the edge of a Costa Rican rain forest was an unlikely place to encounter a moonlit silhouette like the one knifing up his netting. Maybe he wasn’t quite as awake as he’d thought.

    “Er… May I help you?” he ventured, the words scratchy against his dry throat.

    “Shh, little Angus,” came the soft reply. “Go back to sleep.”

    Little Angus? Who the hell was Little Angus? Trevor rubbed the heel of one hand across his cheeks, dislodging the remaining dirt. Usually, the women in his dreams had better names for him than Little Angus.

    “I’m not little,” he muttered, struggling to his feet. “Or Angus. Who
    the hell are you?”

    “I’m a tooth fairy, of course.” The canvas flaps fluttered closed, enshrouding them in darkness. “Now, go back to sleep or I won’t leave a silver dollar under your pillow.”

    “I don’t have a pillow,” Trevor ground out. “And it will cost you more than a silver dollar to replace my mosquito netting.”

    He groped for the fallen Mag-lite underneath the folding tray and aimed the mega-watt beam at the curvy intruder.

    Chin-length silver–blonde hair fluttered above naked shoulders. A barely–there Tinkerbell-style dress shimmered from breasts to thighs. Thin black cat-eye glasses framed wide green eyes. But even more bizarre than the bare feet was the pair of oversize glitter wings protruding from her back.

    Either Halloween started in May this side of the equator or something was seriously wrong here.

    “Give me that, you bad boy.” The woman lunged forward, snatched the flashlight out of his hand and pointed the beam at Trevor.

    The stifled gasp and wavering light indicated that his well-worn khakis did a poor job of hiding the effects of a good dream.

    Trevor freed the flashlight from her trembling fingers and knelt to light his battery-operated camping lantern. What kind of woman crept around the Costa Rican countryside in glitter wings and painted toes? Trevor wasn’t usually one for Velcro wings, but painted toenails on the other hand…

    “Who are you really?” he demanded, gripping the flashlight in one hand and attempting to subtly adjust his cargo pants with the other. “And where are your shoes?”

    “I’m Daisy le Fey.” She darted another nervous glance toward his lap. “And tooth fairies don’t wear shoes.”

    Trevor stalked forward, using his size to edge her closer to the opening of the tent. “Why wouldn’t fairies wear shoes?”

    Her back hit the netting. “Some do, just not tooth fairies. It’s not part of the dress code. Now, where’s Angus?”

    He blinked. “Who?”

    Daisy’s palms shoved at his chest in exasperation. “Angus, dummy! I need to give him a dollar.”

    “Listen, lady.” He brushed her hands from his shirt. “None of my crew is named Angus. Furthermore, none of my crew is named Daisy. This means, cute or not–you don’t belong here. I’m going to have to ask that you leave the dig site immediately.”

    Daisy ducked under Trevor’s pointing arm and flopped down onto his sleeping bag. “How can this be happening?” She heaved a dramatic sigh, rolled onto all fours, and began feeling around inside the bag.

    Her minuscule green dress didn’t cover much from this angle, and Trevor learned another new fact about tooth fairies: The dress code did include lacy lingerie.

    Trevor swallowed. “Listen, lady,” he began again. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here, but you have to stop. Now.”

    Daisy peered at him over her shoulder, a tiny crease wrinkling her brow. “I told you. My name’s Daisy. And by the way… if you’re not Angus, who are you?”

    Trevor tossed the flashlight onto the sleeping bag. He bent over, wrapped his arms around Daisy’s waist, and hauled her to her feet. He could no longer see those heart-stopping thong panties because her plump derrière was now flush against his crotch, and those bizarre wings were crumpled against his chest. Without unfolding his arms from around her flat stomach, Trevor leaned his cheek against hers.

    “I’m Trevor Masterson,” he murmured into her ear. “And you’re on my dig.” He whirled her around in his arms until their noses nearly touched.

    “Oh,” she breathed. “Right. Well, if you’d just hand over the tooth, I’d be on my way. Can I–“

    “No,” Trevor interrupted. “You can’t do anything. Except leave. But first, I want to know the real reason you’re sneaking around. And don’t give me any of that tooth fairy crap.”

    Her breath mingled with his for a long moment.

    “Let me ask you something,” she said at last. “Is there any chance you might change your mind about handing over that tooth?”

    “Nobody,” Trevor ground out, “is walking off with anything.”

    “In that case, I guess I’ll be going,” she announced, and extricated herself from his grasp. “Besides, you’re wrinkling my wings. I’ll probably have to throw these away and make new ones, and it’s all your fault. I’ll–I’ll turn you into a newt.”

    Trevor raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, ’cause tooth fairies are so scary. Please.”

    Daisy shook a fist at him. She turned to peek out of the tent and swore. “Sunrise? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

    “Sunrise?” Trevor crossed his arms over his chest and grunted. “The better for you to see yourself out, my dear.”

    Daisy glared at him over one shoulder. “I’m going to be in so much trouble for this. I’d spend the hour searching your tent if I had to, but I can only travel under cover of night.”

    “Under cover of–” Trevor choked on the ridiculousness of the words. “What do you think you are, a vampire?”

    Without dignifying his question with a response, she slipped outside the flaps.

    In seconds, Trevor was right behind her in order to make sure she wasn’t invading any of the other tents. Except–

    She was gone.

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Erica Ridley
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