Flash Fiction Friday - Fantastic Father

"Daddy always tells me to keep cool."

I could see the sweat trickling down her face even as she sat, fidgeting, on the ice block. "I bet that suit isn't helping at all," I said, coming closer, trying to seem calm when all I really wanted to do was rip it off.

She giggled and pulled it down, exposing the flush of her skin, her fire-red pubic hair drawing my eye. The ice had melted precipitously between her legs.

"Why not sidle off that ice block and..."

"No, I can't," she said, chagrined. "If I do..."

We both knew what she meant. In the end her mouth was like a sauna, tongue like a flame, and I came hard while wishing I could have been inside her. The Human Torch's daughter might be easy, but she'd be a virgin forever.

---

I'm not entirely happy with this, but I'm also a bit pressed for inspiration this week, so I couldn't rationalize throwing away something which was rather inspired. I realized that I'd called another FFF "Flame On" earlier, so I couldn't use that title, but that title didn't apply to the Human Torch, whereas this does.

The title of the picture was "Daddy Always Tells Me To Keep Cool," which struck me as a strange title, but I decided to work it into the piece because it seemed like an interesting angle. At first, it was different, but then I realized that the best explanation I could come up with for making this girl sit on a block of ice is because her father warned her that if she got too excited, she'd burst into flame, and thus she became the daughter of the Human Torch. Who is a super hero and member of the Fantastic Four (hence the hastily-ginned-up title) for those who don't know; I'm not a fan myself, but I know the name, mostly because... well, there's this show called The Venture Brothers, and to explain would take too long, so let me sum up: Humperdinck is marry Princess Buttercup in little less than half an hour... no, wait.

In the Venture Brothers universe, there is a warped version of the Fantastic Four, and the Human Torch analogue bursts into flame if he's out of his special chamber. So basically his super power is running around screaming in pain as he burns endlessly. It's funny and horrible in equal doses. Anyway, what if this gal was like that, only she would burst into flame only under certain circumstances, so in order to forestall that eventuality her father instructed her to sit on a block of ice whenever she had boys around. There, the horse is thoroughly dead.

I would like to have written one which was a little less strange and a little more sexy. But if wishes were fishes, boring people would congregate around my head to drink and cut bait and my brain would stink of fish guts.

Speaking of things which don't stink of fish guts, Flash Fiction Friday headquarters certainly doesn't. In fact, if there's a diametric opposite of stinking of fish guts, some concept which, when it and stinking of fish guts are brought together would annihilate each other, then Flash Fiction Friday headquarters would probably be in the dictionary under that concept. Flash Fiction Friday headquarters is like antimatter to stinking of fish guts' matter. And I am the Bose-Einstein condensate in this particular metaphor. And the Internet is CERN's Large Hadron Collider. It's all fermions and muons from here anyway.

Don't try to write anything like this exegesis at home, kids; I'm an expert. The G-forces could take your head clean off.