Since I'm not putting my skills to use, I've felt like they have been wasting away. So here I will also begin posting my exercises to random prompts I find online. Without further ado:

Exercise #2

Prompt: Define the word Captor. Create an imaginative prose or short story to go along with your definition. It can be from experience or purely a created scenario.

A captor is sometimes a horror to be reckoned with and others, an intense and sweet pleasure. One that drives all the senses into an abysmal and orgasmic cacophony that gives the imagination and body such inconceivable pleasure, all else in the world seems mute.

Something in his accent I think it was—thick and husky. His lips were soft and red, like a ripened cherry, without the use of even chapstick. Dirty blonde hair tousled into something of a pompadour—masculinity in its finest form.

How many months had it been since our fleeting conversation? How many times was it we made love under the cover of Lou Reed and retreated into a dimly lit smoky haze? I can’t count anymore. I longed to see you, knowing it was against all my better judgment.

A captor is not someone you love. It is someone you desire. Someone who serves as a passionate fantasy—wrapped in the fanatical musings of delightful meaningless conversation and the occasional after dinner cigarette. You were my captor, a thief of my conscience.

Captors play the role of gentleman, grocery carrier, knowledgeable rogue, flirt, and bewitcher, among others. Where did my mind go? What liquid was my cigarette tapped in to make me lose my very wit?

This is what a captor offers you, a means to forget reality—an escape from the thorned floral boredom, which cover the white trellises of chic codependency. What was it this I was running from—from my happy home to your bittersweet grasp? Anything to hear your voice, feel your touch for a moment. The lies build, tensions rise, angels fear to tread the path I have taken—married to a saint and lying with a malefactor.

Finally, captors always turn, when you least expect it—though going into it most of us know, nothing good can come of this. Used, defeated, fallen, smitten are those who are foolish enough to be bemused by their alluring smile and addictive poisonous touch.

Foolish, was I.