3 WORDS: Stoked Sunrise Ferocity

For/from Paola


“You are such a buzz kill,” she said, pouting, frowning, pulling her lips into distorted shapes of anger—faked, but not. “Come on! I’m so stoked about it! Be excited for me!”

“No,” I turned my back on the lovely body, the colour of a cafe latte with all the milk mixed in, the generous sprinkling of cinnamon leaving darker patches and freckles in the most kissable places.

“No,” I said again, meeting her eyes in the mirror of my dresser, and turning  away again, away from the reflection of that lovely body, sitting cross-legged on my bed, pulling papers out of a portfolio, spreading them out on the bedspread we had just soaked and rumpled.

“No,” I said again, and moved to the window. “No. It’s a terrible idea, I hate it, I don’t want you to do it, and I will not—I don’t want to look at them or help you choose.”

“Buzz kill,” she taunted. I felt, heard her rumple her papers. “This one, I think this one is my favourite. Come see. Please, come see.”

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass of the window.


The creak of the bed. Footsteps.

Warm breath on my ear.

“I don’t want to choose without you.”

Arms around my waist, fingers crawling up my back. Hands on my shoulders.

A coy massage.

“My choice is none, I choose none, I don’t want you to have any,” I said, again, to the pane of glass, to unhearing ears.

Hands over my face, in my mouth.

I bared my teeth.

A kiss.

A bite.

“Ouch! Why did you bite me?”

“Because,” I turned around, whirled into those cafe latte arms, grabbed their wrists, kissed the palms and the pale skin of the forearms in which blue-green veins throbbed, “because I do not want you to deface that which I love most in the world.”

A sprinkling of cinnamon on the shoulders.

The darkening-then-lightening of the areolae, the curve of…

She pulled me towards her, then pushed me down. Purred.

“Talk to me, tell me,” she whispered. I kissed each rib, then the freckle-less belly—the cinnamon sprinkles returned on the thighs…

“It is perfect, every inch of you is perfect,” I murmured, mouth full of skin and flesh. “Your skin is the universe’s canvas, the sun’s, and nothing else should mar it, ever.”

“Except your teeth marks?” she teased.

So I bit.

“Ouch!” I bit again, not hard, but she responded with ferocity and we tumbled to the hardwood floor and before we were done, my knees and palms were scraped raw and her back was a criss-cross of red welts and lines, some inadvertently caused by the floor, others the consequence of my insufficiently trimmed nails.

“Well look at what you’ve done,” she said, not displeased, twisting to look at her back in the dresser mirror. “How am I supposed to get a tattoo now?”

I smiled at her, still on the floor by the window.

“That was not entirely on purpose,” I said. But I was pleased.

“I’m still going to do it, you know,” she said. Still defiant. Ferocious.

“I know,” I said.

“Come look at them,” she said.

I shook my head.


I got up slowly, turned away from her body, marked up but still so lovely, both from its reality and its reflection in the mirror.

“Come look at the sunrise,” I said.

I closed my eyes and listened to her footsteps and felt, smelt, heard her approach—close, closer, then nestled in my arms, head on my shoulder.

“Open your eyes, you idiot,” she said.

“No,” I said. “Describe it to me.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered into my ear. “Pink, gold and orange breaking out over the horizon, black and grey turning to the lightest, palest of blues. Breathtaking. The blue, right now, is the colour of the flecks on the outside of your irises, and it is precisely the colour that is going to be the centre of my tattoo when…”

I bit her.

We tumbled to the floor again, and the sun finished rising unseen.



For Nicole: Cardamom Knob Wool

For Jenn: Piano River Feather

For Lara: Peasant Cicada Pomegranate

For Paola: Stoked Sunrise Ferocity



P.S. Look what I discovered! I can sign your e-book!

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P.S.2: Apparently, hard copies of Tell Me will be available as of November 17, 2016. Mark your calendars… & to get an invitation to the brick-and-mortar book launch, and early notice of the release of Consequences, subscribe to For Your Eyes Only, a super secret (Do. Not. Tell. Anyone!), very occasional titillating update from M. Jane Colette about super secret (Really) upcoming new releases and projects.


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About mjanecolette

Writer. Reader. Angster. Reformed Bohemian (not). Author of the erotic romance TELL ME, the erotic tragedy (with a happy ending) CONSEQUENCES (of defensive adultery), the award-winning rom-com (she's versatile) CHERRY PIE CURE, and TEXT ME, CUPID--a (slightly dirty) love story for 21st century adults who don't believe in love... but want it anyway. A sought-after speaker and presenter, Colette is also the author of the Dirty Writing Secrets Series, which includes the non-fiction collection of essays ROUGH DRAFT CONFESSIONS: not a guide to writing and selling erotica and romance but full of inside inside anyway, 101 FLIRTY WRITING PROMPTS TO SEDUCE YOUR MUSE, and ORGANIZED CREATIVE. She's also the curator of the fab YYC Queer Writers anthologies Queer Christmas in Cowtown, Screw Chocolate, and A Queer Summer Night's in Cowtown. Releasing Spring 2020: CUPID IN MONTE CARLO.


  1. I loved it!!! Thank you. You have a talent for creating such realistic scenes! Can you share a bit about the creative process? Does the whole story come to you when you read the 3 words? Or Do you start writing and then the story unfolds as you write? I bet every story is different too! Please share!

    • 🙂 I suppose every story is a little bit different… Ideally, I actually sit down and write it as soon as I see the three words so I don’t overthink it–and so I don’t have a story in mind at all–I just write the first sentence… and the second… and by the third, I can usually see how I want it to end, and then I write toward the ending…

    • Your story, I wrote as soon as I got the three words. Piano-River-Feather, I carried in my head for a few days–I had an image–of that piano in the river–but I wasn’t sure how I was going to get there. The Pomegranate story, as soon as I saw the words, I had the first line… and then I tried really hard NOT to think about anything more until I had a chance to sit down and write it. The Knob-Wool story was on the spot, in response to a challenge: a friend threw threw words at me and handed me a pen. I wrote…

      If I threw three words at you, what would your process be? What would you do?

  2. A very sexy, intriguing, sweet and beautiful piece. I really love this project and can’t wait for next week.

  3. Intriguing dynamic between the characters. I’m curious as to their backstory.

    • They met in Sunday School when they were seven, then rediscovered each other in a dingy Toronto bar. The one who wants to get a tattoo was working as a stripper, the other one was there to write a story for the Toronto Star about the exploitative labour conditions. She tried to pick up tattoo girl up to see how easy it would be to turn a stripper into a hooker. But that’s another story.

  4. Crimson, brilliant, moon

  5. I would panic! Just thinking about it made my heart rate go faster. Thank you for sharing your creative process! It’s fascinating to hear. 🙂

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  7. nothingbythebook2

    OK, this is my favourite! I enjoyed the playfulness between the characters. The reoccurring description of the skin is delicious. And the ‘mystery’ contents of the portfolio…I thought perhaps photographs and was wrong.

    Actually this can’t be my favourite because I will always be attached to piano / feather / river. 😉

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