So, I wrote something. It’s sort of lighter than my usual fare, but maybe not completely. It was inspired by the heat lightning I saw driving home last night. After messing around on the web, I found the pics that made Raya. The rest… well, hopefully it works. I’m just over joyed to have had something shake loose. –M

Update (08/03): A significant edit. With more sexy stuff.

Update (08/04): Many many typos and word errors addressed Some kind of weird autocorrect thing made for some very odd passages.



Mike’s philosophy was that if you’re going to show something, you want it seen – or at least you don’t mind it seen, and that anything you see is fair game to ask questions about. He hadn’t always been that way, but life was different now.

“Is that some kind of fractal tattoo?” he asked, “My name’s Mike.”

He extended his hand. The woman, seated at the table with some friends, looked from his hand to his face, pausing a beat before shaking his hand.

“It’s a scar, actually. Lightning. It’s called a Lichtenberg pattern. You can google it. I’m Raya.”

Mike turned her hand in his before releasing it. The scar traced down her neck and arm, almost to her wrist. Another branching of it disappeared below the neckline of her halter top.

“Lightning! Holy hell. Did it hurt?”

“Excuse me!” One of Raya’s companions said. “Is that your business?”  She apparently wasn’t too pleased with Mike’s sudden appearance at what he guessed was a girl’s night out. He met her gaze.

“No, it’s not. But I’d like to ask anyway.” He turned back to Raya, who was watching him.

“Honestly, for one second, I thought I was going to blow up,” Raya said, nodding an ‘it’s Ok’ to her friend. “Unbelievable heat, and everything jerked, then I woke up in the hospital.”

The expressions around the table said that not everyone had heard her story. She shrugged. “Then it was like any burn, only it ended up prettier. Did that hurt?”

She nodded her head at Mike’s right leg. The titanium prosthetic emerging below the knee of his shorts fit into a sneaker matching the one on his left foot. Her indignant companion followed her gaze and gasped, then blushed.

Mike smiled. “Oh, hell yes. Worst pain I’ve ever felt.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry. Afghanistan?”

“Nah. Iraq. IED. Got me sent home last year. Look. Can I steal you from your friends for a few minutes? I’ll-” he checked his wallet, “buy you all a round.”

Raya looked at her friends; one of them shrugged. One looked anywhere but at Mike.

Raya stood.


“That was pretty forward, and smooth, back at the table,” she said. “Is cruising the bar scene your game?”

They sat at the bar, Mike having traded a pitcher of margaritas and the leers of his own buddies for Raya’s company. He sipped his beer.

“Nah. No game. Look. I learned last year there may – or may not – be time to play games. I figured my best chance is to be straight as I know how to be.”

“And what’s straight with you? You like scars? Near-death camaraderie?”

Mike smiled. She was pushing, and he liked that. “No. You answered my question, and asked a fair one in return. I appreciate that.”

Raya sipped her martini and studied him some more.

“All right,” she said. “You’re right. It’s not like I don’t know how precious it all is. And shit.” She smiled. “Ok, straight man. What next?”

“Ha! I don’t know. Let’s find out if there is anything besides physical trauma we have in common.”

“All right.”


“You know, I’m not the one who gets hit on in my group,” she said. “That’s Mary or Greta.”

“That’s stupid, but I bet I understand. The scar gets in the way?”

She shrugged. “I have an aversion to guys who play games, as you’ve seen. That shrinks the field to begin with. But probably.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Used to. I used to wear less revealing tops because of it, but I figured what the hell. Why surprise anyone later. Now, well…”


“People will see beyond it or not. You’re kind of doing both.”

Mike smiled and extended his his false leg, tapping to make a metal sound. “Well, so are you.”

Raya met Mike’s eye, then leaned forward and tapped his leg. He felt it against his knee – and higher up.


It was a good night. A really good night. Mike walked Raya home. She’d accepted the offer without even a glance at his leg. Three blocks over and two up from his place. Raya was flatmates with Greta, who wasn’t home yet.

“I don’t do this, you know,” she said, after he kissed her at the door.

She invited him in.

“I do. Or I did, twice. Once I wasn’t ready – too soon after coming home and I wasn’t coping well. The other, well, she was okay until the leg came off.” He paused.  “That isn’t a challenge, by the way.” Mike almost winced right there. No apologies. No hedging, he reminded himself.

Raya chuckled.

“Don’t worry. I just haven’t had much opportunity, not since this happened, anyway,” she pointed to her neck. “I haven’t had someone outside of my doc and family react to all of it. Doc said it should fade. But I guess I scar easily. It’s been two and a half years.”

“Did you get any nerve damage or anything?” Mike traced a finger up her arm, following the branching pattern. The slightly reddened skin of the scar was raised just a fraction.

“Well, my collarbone right here seems permanently numb, but that’s it. Even occasional pain stopped after a year or so. How about you?”

Raya’s hand found the join of his artificial leg, and traced the border of skin and cup with her finger.

“Nah. Not pain. But the missing leg itches like hell sometimes. Phantom leg. And sometimes the other scars.”

“Other scars?”

“Well, I almost lost both legs, and some other bits. You want to see? They’re not awful. I don’t think.”

Raya nodded.

Mike chuckled, mischievous. “I’ll show you mine. You show me yours?”

She nodded again.


Raya helped Mike down to his boxers. Mike showed her how he unfastened the prosthetic and let her remove the sock. A half dozen thin but definite lines radiated away from where his right foot would have been – on both thighs, his midsection, and one partway across his torso.

“Wow. Boom,” she said. Mike smiled.

“Yep. It was that.”

“I know a lot of people have nightmares about this stuff all the time.”

“I still get ’em. Every couple weeks. Used to be more. I talked a _lot_ to my VA therapist.”

“For a guy missing a piece you sure are put together, Mike.”

She was looking him up and down as he leaned against her dresser, so he wasn’t exactly sure whether she was talking about his head or something else. Either way was okay. His boxers were forming a bit of a tent now.

“You’re not afraid of eggshells, are you?”

“No. As you say. Who has the time for that?”

“Mmm. Time is better spent on other things.”

It was one hop to the bed, where he sat down as she slipped her top over her head. He reached to help her undo her belt, but paused to look at the newly revealed pattern of her scar. The branching red traced down her right side, spreading thin tendrils almost to her sternum and bellybutton before the main trunk of it disappeared below her waist. He let his hand follow it, pulling her pants down so he could trace it all the way down to her foot.

“Lightning goes to ground, eh?”

“Through the most conductive path. I was wet.”

Mike let his hand slide back up to her hip, and brought his other hand to the other side. Raya’s panties were sun yellow. Lightning yellow. He leaned forward and kissed the branching pattern over her ribcage. Then lower.

“And now?” He looked up at her.

She took a deep breath. “I am again.”

“And I just happen to feel a little stormy right now.

Raya leaned forward and circled Mike’s cock with her fingers through his boxers. “You could break any moment, I bet.” She was smiling. Neither of them cared how corny it  sounded. Something was absolutely about to break.

“It’s been a long time.” He said, his throat feeling a little dry. “I hope I remember how.”

She chuckled. “Me too,” nodding at the wrapped condom he held in his hand. “You remember important stuff. The rest… we can wing.”


She shooed him up the mattress, but didn’t let his briefs go with him. Mike watched as she shed her last layers as well.

“Inventory,” she said as she climbed on the bed, and took his left foot in her hands, turning it this way and that. She found his lowest scar, and the notch in his tibia, and kissed it. Her lips, and then tongue over the devoted bone made him shiver.

Raya moved higher on his leg, tracing the pattern of each remaining scar with fingers or mouth or both. About mid-thigh, with a teasing smile at his erection, she switched legs. Despite a year-plus of mental and physical work, Mike found himself holding his breath as she touched, then held his stump. The impressions from the day’s wearing of the prosthetic were still fading. She kissed him there, then right at the bottom of it. Mike exhaled, a last tension diffusing through that contact. Raya’s eyes met his, and she hummed and smiled against his skin.

The almost ritual mapping of his scars continued up his right leg. Raya paused at the two-incher on his upper, inner thigh, her glance passing from the scar to his cock, standing at attention only a few finger-widths away.

“Wow. Close,” she breathed.

“Yes,” he said. “There’s a lot of ground between loss of leg and loss of life. I was lucky… -ah.”

“Mhmmm.” Raya’s agreement was muffled as she fit her lips around the head of his cock.


Mike closed his eyes and just *felt* for a minute. And it was good. So good. But he wanted more. He felt greedy in a way he barely remembered. The good kind of greedy. Being prone on a bed was pretty much an equalizer. When he pulled up on her shoulders, Raya released him and followed. He drew her down for a kiss, and the rolled.

Having less leg on one side actually made it more fluid, and Raya’s eyes widened as she found herself under him.

He broke the kiss, licking at her lip in departure, and then winked. “Inventory.”

His lips and tongue followed the Braille of scar tissue from her neck downward. He made side excursions across smooth skin to nipples and tummy, making her arch against him. At her thigh, one feathered scar pointed in just the right direction. There he broke his trail, sliding his tongue a few last inches before finding Raya’s slit between her parted legs. They sighed in unison as he tasted her. Then laughed a little giddily at that mutuality.

The last thread of restraint broke, and Mike growled and began to devour Raya. Gasping, she grabbed his hair with both hands and steered him with wanton authority until her entire body shook with her orgasm.

After that, well, there are certain positions a missing leg makes more difficult. One or two are actually made easier. But in the end, with Mike filling her deeply, her legs wrapped around him, it didn’t matter at all. When Mike came, he cried out, hands digging hard into Raya’s shoulder and hair as he hilted in her. Raya sighed and shuddered though an after-orgasm as she felt his sheathed cock pulse inside her.

At the end of it all, after the last heaving breath, they found themselves staring into each other’s still-wild eyes.

“Wow. Boom,” she said.





“I don’t want this to be one-off. I never did those before. Don’t want to now. I have… an aversion to single explosive events.”

Mike liked her sleepy chuckle.

“I do too. But you know the odds of being hit twice are…”

“But I do want more,” he said. “Maybe a lot more.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder. “And we haven’t finished our inventories.”

“You’re right. We haven’t.”

She kissed him.


Categories: Erotica, Monocle, Short StoryTags: , , , ,


I am the little devil on your shoulder, stroking your neck with my tail, whispering obscenities into your ear, and looking down your blouse. One third of The Erotic Writer blog.


  1. mzcue

    I enjoyed this story very much. Their wounds strip the tale of superfluities, making it real and immediate…sensual. I’m glad to have had the chance to read it.

    • Monocle

      Thanks very much. Most of us have damage of one sort or another. I wonder if sometimes having the obvious stuff on the outside might be considered an advantage.

  2. paul1510

    an excellent and very positive little story.
    As we are all wounded to a degree, it offers hope.
    Thank you.

    • Monocle

      True enough – and I do believe in the healing properties of time – as well as active help. Thank you, Paul.

    • Monocle

      Thank you, ‘nilla. It’s a relief to know both that the well isn’t dry, nor is it souring with age.

    • April

      More than just sex. I think in today’s world of perfection, being ‘damaged’ in some way is considered unattractive, certainly not sexy.
      So beautiful. .

    • Monocle

      I think it’s easier to see the beauty in imperfection when you can also accept your own. And maybe for some that’s the only way.

  3. Purple Puffin

    When I started the story I had no idea I would be reading about such tenderness. It’s a beautiful story.

    Please send me the password to obsidianlens. Thank you.

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