Flash Fiction

Okay so this is something I whacked out in today's seminar on flash fiction. Flash fiction is fiction (oddly enough) that tells a story in around 100 words. Every word is important, and from it, the reader is supposed to be able to work out the characters, context and predict what will happen next. In short (no pun intended) the writer has 100 words in which to work a miracle. If the reader cannot understand the situation, or the characters, then your job is not being done properly.
Have a go with this.
Also, before you read it, bear in mind that it is fictitious. Freud would say that some repressed sexual desire is trying to manifest itself here, and you can believe it if you wish, but this scenario is fictional and has not happened. And I do not really do this to poor little innocent boys.


His eyes were earnest; innocent but nervous, knowing that he shouldn't be here. Not with me. Alone, away from everybody. From her. 
She'd be at home, their home, looking at the clock and planning what they'd have for tea, what film they'd watch. 
He thought he was in love with me, he'd told me so.
Idiot.
I leaned forwards, closer until our lips were a whisper away from meeting, eyes wide. Feigned innocence. 
Kiss me.
Of course he did; the kind of lazy, sloppy kiss people tend to adopt when the're in vanilla relationships, safe behind white picket fences. 
I'm the girl his mother warned him about.