Hump Day Kick Start – Insatiable Champagne Edition

Song of the day: Champagne by Cavo

Hump Day Kick Start – for your muse, a writing picture prompt, or just a visual treat.



Do you know how hard it is to please y’all?

I found this picture to be, well, hot. And it is the inspiration for my alter ego’s next naughty book. *maniacally giggles*

Who is our couple? And why are they gluttonously drinking and nearly bathing in champagne?  Look at his expression. What is he thinking? Are they strangers indulging in a circumstantial one-night fantasy? Newlyweds splurging on their hotel’s seven free bottles of bubbly mistakenly sent to their room? Insatiable rock stars typically out of control after another show in yet another town? Is she dying and the only way he can save her is not by CPR, but by siphoning Moët & Chandon down her throat?  (That would bring me around.)

What’s your take? I’d love to hear it.

35 Responses to Hump Day Kick Start – Insatiable Champagne Edition

  1. jeff7salter says:

    My my my. Looks like a purty girl, but too many shadows. Turn on the lights so we can provide a more detailed analysis. ha.
    Okay, here’s the story of Vanessa and Bob:
    Bob figures to get Vanessa tipsy enough that she’ll, uh, do just about anything he wants.
    But Vanessa knows something he does not know: she saw that player coming a mile away and swapped the bottles of champagne for bubbly creme soda. And she can drink gallons of creme soda.
    Her plan is to pretend to be so tipsy that she appears close to passing out. Then to play possum to see what Bob has in mind. If he’s the cad she assumes he is, then she’ll conk him on the head, shave those hairy arms, and toss him out with the trash.
    But if he’s gentle and considerate, she just might give him a tumble after all.


  2. girldrinkdrunk says:

    Creme Soda is tough to follow….

    “Hey baby. I know I promised you a beer bong, but the keg’s fried.


  3. pibarrington says:

    Simple. Find a way to survive in the desert. But that took water–lots of it–and the last he’d seen was coming up on three days past. She wasn’t his responsibility but he’d grown attached to her during the last two days and nights, especially the nights.
    He didn’t bother to tell her where he was going; he doubted she’d even comprehend in her disoriented state. He might take advantage of that state if he wasn’t so damned thirsty.
    Shuffling through the sand, bright even in the dark, he covered half a mile before his boot struck something hard. Death was too close to reality to let anything go without examination so he knelt and clawed at the sand until his hand touched something that felt like a handle. Hauling it up with what strength he still possessed he rolled it over.
    “RATIONS” read the label and he found the release and twisted it until he heard the pop of the airlock. Peering over the lid and down into the huge capsule unable to identify the contents. He reached a tentative hand into it and pulled up something cold. Then he burst into laughter. It was insane yet it might work. If nothing else, they could die pleasantly.
    “Here,” he told her lifting her in his arms. “Open your mouth.”
    She managed to comply and he poured the entire liter of the liquid into her lips. She choked slightly, then reached for the bottle herself, sucking greedily.
    “Where the HELL did you find THAT?” her voice, dried out for so long, came out as a growl.
    “I tripped over it out there,” he pointed to the vast distance. “Literally.”
    “Um, more,”
    He pulled out another bottle and popped the cork. “Hey, like the label says, ration.”
    “Hell with that. If I’m going, I’m going out happy. And satisfied.” She gave him a dark, suggestive grin.

    “Huh. I don’t get it,” the archaeology dig leader commented. “They obviously died of dehydration–mostly due to this,” he held up one of the scattered champaign bottles. “By the position of the bones, I’d say they were holding each other. What the hell were they celebrating in the middle of the Sahara?”
    The girl, one of the dig crew, grinned up at him.
    “One last time?”

    That’s all i can come up with right now.


  4. jeff7salter says:

    Is Sarah Andre out of town?


  5. Sarah Andre says:

    OK, Apple Dumpling Gang. Consider the gauntlet thrown down. As soon as the Home Appraiser gets through, I’ll be back.

    (Patti’s was great, BTW. Didn’t spot her typo. And as many times as I read through mine before hitting ‘post’, I’m always struck with horror reading through the published version. Have not pubbed a clean copy yet. Muse doesn’t care, so I don’t.)


  6. pibarrington says:

    Thank you Sarah! Since no one’s spotted it I’ll let it pass, lol! I too am horrified at the published post!


  7. Sarah Andre says:

    Tye Ashburn was a handsome guy. He had a great job and lots of friends. But finding the perfect woman was proving to be a challenge and he’d done the online dating, friends-hooking-him-up-with friends, even a lot of stranger-danger bar pick ups.

    Still. Each woman lacked ‘something.’ Could be looks, could be confident sex appeal, could be humor or smarts or a million other details that were essential in the perfect woman. In despair he figured he’d just always be single, which also meant forever dealing with the sideways glances of friends and family wondering if perhaps he might be a closet gay. Or simply have been burdened with a character flaw that always longed for more in a woman than what he presently had at that moment.

    Out of the blue one day his techie friend, Milton texted him: ‘been working on a top secret project. Need a guinea pig to test this out. Interested?’

    Thinking Milton had invented something similar to Google glasses, he texted back ‘sure.’ They arranged to meet that afternoon at Milton’s lab downtown.

    When Tye got there, he discovered Milton sitting at his desk talking to a heart-stopping beautiful woman. Hourglass figure, check. Perky girls that looked like the real thing, check. Long, black silky hair, check. Smiling green eyes, check. And her laugh! It was genuine and brought a smile to his face, even though he didn’t know what they’d been talking about.

    Milton stood and introduced Tye to Portia, his top secret invention.
    “Invention?” Tye repeated in disbelief. “You mean she’s, like, a robot?”
    His friend shrugged. “More like a hybrid. Take her out for a spin.”

    Portia rose gracefully, not giving any indication she’d been insulted. She extended her hand and Tye noticed her fingers were long and slender, her gaze sharp and just a bit mysterious. He didn’t know what hybrid meant, but he sure was smitten.

    They spent the evening getting to know each other in a cozy Italian restaurant and her interests were the same as his: sports, sport stats, sport cars and X-Box games. She didn’t ignore him to text her friends or take selfies or glance around the restaurant with a bored expression or talk about herself endlessly. Milton had somehow given her a history and so she shared her ‘upbringing’ which was like a fascinating tour brochure of exotic places she’d ‘lived’ and incredible adventures she’d had. Her conversation was intelligent and her beauty seemed to grow as the night wore on. When she excused herself to visit the ladies room he stared after her with something close to awe. She was the one.

    After paying the check he invited her back to his place and one thing led to another and she excelled in ‘that’ area too. Wildly! Tye couldn’t believe his luck. Afterwards instead of wanting to cuddle or talk she gave him a scalp massage and he fell asleep feeling completely fulfilled for the first time in his life.

    When he awoke she was next to him, her right arm over her spectacular breasts. He reached out to caress her, but her skin was cold and it was then that he noticed she wasn’t breathing! He bolted out of bed and called Milton.
    “Dude, it’s 3 in the morning,” his friend answered sleepily.
    “I’ve killed her,” Tye blurted out. “We had incredible sex, I went to sleep and now she’s dead.”
    “Damn, I was afraid of this.”
    “Afraid of what, Milton? That your hybrid would die after sex?”
    “Calm down, she not dead. She just needs recharging.”

    Tye looked around his room wildly. Where’d he put those AA batteries he’d bought last week? Did he have enough? What was he thinking? After the kind of sex they had she clearly required the kind of batteries that powered a Tesla!

    “What do I do?” he asked, scraping his hand through his hair. He needed her in his life. He’d do whatever it took.

    “1981 Dom Perignon.”
    “It’s a champagne, stupid.”
    “I know it’s a champagne. I mean…can’t it be any champagne?”
    “Nope. Can’t be any other year either.”
    “Where the hell am I going to find that?” At this time of night…enough for the rest of his life…Tye’s mouth dried up at the thought of living without this perfect woman.

    “I put a bottle in her purse, but you’ll have to buy more if you two run through that, it’s the last I had.”

    “OK.” Tye rummaged through the overly large red, leather purse and found the bottle wrapped in bubble wrap underneath some lacy lingerie Portia had never stopped to put on.
    “Where do I find more of this stuff and how much does it cost?”

    “I ordered it straight from the original French vineyard,” Milton said and yawned. “It’s about $3,000 a bottle.”

    “WHAT?” Tye sputtered.
    “My hybrid is the perfect achievement of what men want in a woman. But she requires the very best to power her up.”
    With that he hung up.

    And the snapshot above is of Tye, frantically pouring ‘life blood’ into the woman of his dreams.


  8. jeff7salter says:

    and… interestingly, your story is similar to one I started on Dec. 1st last year. I have about 3100 words on it.
    Several major aspects different from yours, of course, not the least of which is the champagne. LOL


  9. pibarrington says:

    Ooh, ouch Jeff! That stung!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: