"Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things." Philippians 4:8

Flash Fiction

Spider

She waits until he is just below and calls down seductively, “Well, hello there. Why don’t you come up and see me sometime?” She grins at that old Mae West line she’d heard on the TCM channel from youth. Even then, she knew she had to bust out. She’d be claustrophobic and besides, the hosts were immaculate housekeepers. She would have starved if she had stayed.

The real reason she ventured out is that she craves action. There is plenty of it if you knew where to spin. Here is some right at her feet. Literally. “Come on up,” she beacons with one of her siren-like spokes. “Have a drink with me.”

There is mead thanks to the large number of honey bees that had flown into her web the last few days. With meticulous wrapping, she’d left their feet sticking out so she could suck off the golden residue and spit it into the tiny sac she had spun. The liquid should be fermented by now. If it wasn’t, she could tell by the look on this horny bug that it wouldn’t take much to make him lose control.

She sees the beetle consider her offer. The spider had tea with his wife and she knows that he is probably tired of playing second fiddle as the wife tends to their new brood. The spider is not surprised that the beetle’s testosterone wins over, and thinks this is almost too easy. His shell seems rather enlarged now. His wings barely conceal his enthusiasm.

“Come up, I will make you feel like a man,” she says, deep in her throat.

The beguiled beetle’s bug-eyes never leave her lascivious limbs as he climbs the tight-rope to her lair. When he meets her in the middle, she hands him the pouch. “Let’s get to know each other over a cocktail,” she whispers hotly. As he takes a long swig from the honey sack, she teasingly touches one of her tentacles to his triangle. He almost chokes, but recovers and hands her the nectar.

After a moment the web starts to sway. Is it a breeze, or is it the mead? In a haze of pent up lust and inebriation, the two roll across the web in a fit of passion. The spider keeps the beetle cradled in her many arms so his back does not stick to the silk…not yet.

Suddenly, she free falls into the sweet-aching abyss. Yet, she denies herself stay in this rapturous state and forces herself back to self-control. She sees the beetle is on the precipice of release, a Nano-second from launch.

Now, she slides her many arms free. The confused, pained look of the bug on the brink pleases her. She spews yards of cord from her mead-tinged mouth and coils him tightly.

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