...colors
“I wonder
how would you look in cochineal panties
with viridescent fringes
and phthalo blue polka dots down the front and up the other side?”
huh?
“I try to imagine your gamboge brassiere
hanging to your nipples with matching annatto lace
and unmatching quinacridone clasps.”
gulp!
I locked the doors and the windows and plugged the sink’s drain, afraid you would escape, screaming.
“All I see is your white skin
your red lips
your blue eyes.”
ooh...
I let go. It was tough making love holding your struggling figure down in a double Nelson. There was no need anymore, anyhow.
*
...foods
I unfolded the airtight packaging under your watchful eyes, the natural flavors imprisoned until that last fold...
oh, God... you paled, squealed, and pinched your nose turning gradually green. You refused to taste my durian, not vomiting though. I delectated in it alone, thank you.
Tried the next – some petai beans... blahhh... then some poi... no, but no thanks... then you serially refused my ambuyat, poutine, even the gingko seeds (sorry, forgot them in their fruit’s flesh and almost vomited myself).
“So what other delicacy can I offer you, my love?” I asked.
Well, you undressed me and showed me.
*
...animals
I didn’t want to tell you about sengis’ nose, about jerboa’s ears, not even about tarsier’s eyes or fingers or tail.
“As a kid, I liked playing pussy...” I said, and under your scrutiny I added hastily “...liked them big. Oh, no,” I smiled knowingly, winking, “not the meow kind.” Why the hell did you hit me with your spiked heel? All kids liked playing tipcat.
tipcat?...
...and you couldn’t stop apologizing about your behavior all the way into undressing me and making love to me. It wasn’t until later that you told me what you meant by it. Ooh...
Author notes
my poetry and prose is for intelligent people, as all know. luckily these are the kind of people who are my readers here. which explains why there are so few of them 
.
so, for you dearest ones, i will try to bring a smile to your lips in one of my favorite pass-times – the 100 words story. a bit spicy, a bit insolent, the way i like my writes. don’t despair if you don’t know many of the strange words i use here, in full knowledge of cause, of course. it says nothing about your proven intelligence, though it says lots about my unproven one . love you all 
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Your level, amount & quality of intelligence has never been questionable, dear Scribe. Your distinguished depths of humor & originality, (let alone your incredibly burgeoning, provocative sensuality), always ever astound those of us with enough smarts to make it a point to travel through your pages.
Or, as U2 put it so wonderfully, it is a distinct pleasure to be able to "trip through your wires". 
If there are "few readers", as you say, it is only because you visit us so infrequently & post so rarely, my Friend. You have to let the people know you're here, Sweetie. Consider how many people who are members of this site alone, besides everywhere else, cybernetically & otherwise. You have a wonderful voice, Scribe; set it free ~ sing out loud, so more can hear. I'll contribute to the cause, too ~ I shall feature one of your pennings for you, to draw attention to your eloquent, elusive, ever~evolving talents. So there. 
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With all your stories I learned a lot about you, your writing and poetry. Thank you for the beauty of this so vividly descriptive colored words. This is just another sample of your obviously proven high intelligence. At least, with this tree hundred strange words you makes my grin big.
~Sonja~
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