Rub

Contributor: Misty Rampart

- -
touch rub admire
caress my neck
my hair
delve in with a lick
then a rub
then a pinch
tongue my neck
show me
you love me
kneel down
my body on fire
o my god
mouth on nipple
big-eyed wonder
titty massage
double boob grab
a bite
yes a bite
tongue kissing
just enjoying mouth
I returning your favors
stiff tongue
against proud dark tit
erect nipple
burning
slapping
a strong woman
I’m pretty strong too
biting her tongue
rubbing breasts together
nipple war
ha ha ooh o
low reaching hand
gliding over silk panties
rub rub rub
harder hotter
slipping aside panties
brave warm tongue
your pussy
on my tongue
I envying you
for all the
tongue attention
I give you
if it could
always only
be like this
thumb on clit
hard motion
pink red dark flesh
free ample
mine and yours
a striving finger
mouth on inner thigh
cum for me baby
my love
tongue tongue tongue
finger finger finger
in out seen
hidden
side to side
a whole hand
I kiss your knee
then you my mouth
you come to me
press your lips body
on my lips body
nipple attention
part my thighs
I lick the memory
of you
off my fingers
you slip finger
under panty
nipple on clit
warmth heat
building budding
o my god
lick hard
lick hard
I’m crying
o my god
slap fiddle fret
turn another page
licking me
spreading me
mouthing me
my o my
I love
I love you
your mouth
on my pussy
I’m all over
your fingers
my love
my love’s juices
rub rind grind
speed heat
jet red flash
admiration desire want
flit flirt wiggle
jiggle squirm flash
I know
you love me
you show me
back to tit
lick rub bite
amaze me
I could never
hurt you
my love
you love me
tenderly roughly magically
o god yes
tongue my pussy
again and again
slap rub lick
spit drool taste
yes hurt
no heal
no lust
yes hot
wet love
fuck me
with your nipple
drink my juice
flip it flick it
long slow
kiss me
moan me
I touch your ass
you hover over me
tit attention
we start
working ourselves up
mutually pleasuring
mutual cuming
moaning screaming
love love
eat eat
love eat
tongue
two fingers
in each of us
unveiled unbelievable ecstasy
cuming juicy dripping
sore relieved
pleased pleasured
you watch me
digging deep
yes
fucking myself
with two fingers
you rub yourself
watch me
deep fingering
deep hot
personal pleasure
we hot girls
hot love
love sisters
sister lovers
press please play
lick tit
o boy
introduce another body
meat
healthy boy meat
each a tongue
on his boy meat
your mouth
fully on him
I jiggle admire
you share
I suck
he’s so lucky
twin women
hot for his cock
pretty boy
man meat
bring it here
here here here
suck him
pleasure his cock
while I closely kiss
tongue
cock against nipple
give him deep kissing
while I bob
suck rub take
entire shaft
deep in my mouth
fuck stroke
miracle boy meat
between my breasts
heat soft strong
amazing man
groan suck
stroke my hair
love me
I love you
hold the cock
for my mouth
wiggle stroke slap
enjoy her titties
while I enjoy
a hardening
o even harder cock
his mouth
on my breast
he tit fucks you
my love
both
my loves
man woman
I love you
o
you suck him off
hard fast
he kisses
rubs my clit
o god cum
you’re a goddamn
love disaster
as he fucks
your chest
you tongue
his pink head
mouth suck balls
share
you share
your cock
his cock
our cock
with me
one cock
two mouths
tenderly he grabs cheek
he loves
he goddamn
fucking loves me
loves you
desire in my eyes
for boy man meat
titty fucks me
fucks my face
will it cum
not yet
not any cum yet
for me
for my chest
or mouth
boy better not cum
o my god no
no cum
my man
lays her down
big titty fuck
love tongue exploration
keeps in explosion
suck suck
while I eat pussy
big pink dick
sliding between
brown golden tits
I lick clit pussy
stretch her meat
girl meat
eat her girl
woman hottie meat
stroke his cock
make it cum
on you
no not ready
to cum
on you
suck bob slap
dong against tit
go for the mouth
his mouth
on your clit
eat lick pray
moan slap steal
squeal love flesh
give steal take
give give
your pussy to him
o my god
he’s in you
his body
his fucking cock
fucking hard cock
I’m red with envy
cock envy
red jealousy
his flesh
all over your flesh
all inside
his flesh
cum
cum on his flesh
his cock
his hard flesh
man meat
love him
love
don’t disappoint
suck tit
while he has you
fucks you
kisses me
yes
kisses me
fucks you
cum
no
fuck hard
long fucking
big inside
small inside
hard cock
in your small hole
small cavern
he kisses me
looks at me
loves me
while fucking you
you look at him
kissing me
fucking you
and you hate him
love him
hate me
love me
I suck you
off of him
his job in you
of you
but then
he goes away
irate
irrational
he fucks you
mounts you
just mounts you
fucks you
my cock
o my boy meat
man meat
fucking
love you
you’re my love
o my god
big good dick
in sweet love
she lady
lady she
I mount
ride cowgirl
cum
unbelievable
cock in me
we’re both so pretty
so hot
he’s fucking me
this man boy
your hand
on my ass
he pulls out
you suck it
stick it back in
o my god
the three of us
making love
fuck
making fucking
sweet love
I turn around
show him my back
he reclines
I thrust
up and down
on ample boy meat
a nipple tit
suck rub
o my honey
kiss me
grab my titty
tongue my nipple
share tongue
flick kiss
o my god
stroke my clit
with his big dick
inside o my
I’m going to
cu cu cum
o my god
bouncing on hard dick
you stick a tit
in my mouth
I kiss your
hot breast
with warm breath
go crazy
stroking clit
massaging balls
in and out
up and down
out and up
down and in
I’d share him
my love
but he’s too busy
I’m too busy
being on his dick
sit now
where I was sitting
try your luck
his cock fuck luck
he can suck
on my nipple
while you bounce
he’s busy busy
boy man meat
getting so much pussy
lucky dick
I am all over you
licking pushing feeling
he is busy fucking
this man
this boy
is he your boy
or my man
my boy
or man
boyfriend
fuck friend
he loves your pussy
mmmmmmmmm
I love your pussy
fucking our body
boy cock
he feasts
on my flesh
you bury him
inside you
and you moan
scream
o my god
cum
we’re hot
so hot
two hot chicks
blonde and brunette
and this lucky dick
I clean you
off of him
with my mouth
he moans grunts
will he
wont he
stroke spit cum
no
good boy
not ready
give us more time
more cock
more fuck fun
no hurry to stop
too soon to die
to go
to cum
he has us
and we’re too much
to handle
we trade sucking
and being fucked
a hand of each
on cock
on balls
fat balls full
and cock
lay me on my back
insert pleasure
thrust cock
deep inside me
this girl
you kiss
fuck fondle
fucking ahhh
make out with her
but fuck me
look at me
when you fuck me
god o man cum
you know
I am wracked
with pleasure
cuming more more
more
more cock
love a tit
your tit
my tits
I cream cum scream
moan ache burn
spread for you
honestly devotedly
you moan
hard cock
in soft pussy
my heavenly pussy
lie back man
lie back
and watch us
trade sucks on you
of you
you I love
you man
eat her pussy
while I suck you
she sits
on your face
you fuck
my mouth
is she good tasting
I bet she is
my girl love
your man meat
my boy
love my man meat
god
you eat her
lick her
so good
so good
please fuck me again
yes
hold stroke
caress my thighs
repeatedly quickly
hard deep wet thrusting
while I kiss my girl
he is a man dream
and we girls
make his dreams
come true
he’s such a good boy
great fuck
what
kiss her while
you fuck me
shove it in
shovel in your love
I will lay here
all day and night
and let you
fucking fuck me
my woman at my side
watching kissing rubbing
stroking scratching
dragging tugging toying
work harder
faster deeper
o my god
I cum now
forever
now now cum
you heal my hurt
making my love
loving me
until my love comes true
now
please
fuck her from behind
are you done
with me
look at me
as you goddamn
fuck her
as I stroke
my clit
for good measure
miss your feel
your mass
your man
love
dick
do you like
her pussy
love her
fuck
love
do you
love his dick
heat thrust
make her yeah
o cum
I’m all worked up
o my god
fuck her
while I lock look
into her
yes
eyes
yes
scream
cum
yes
cum my love
mmmmmmm
my sweet girl
take a dick
and a stroke
while on his dick
I am laying
getting licked
while you’re getting fucked
how much cock
is too much
no never enough
he is on me
in me again
I am on him
he in me
o my god
bouncing flailing trying
lay down my man
love
make out
with my girl
I buck you
fuck you
you fill me
I fulfill you
make you
man you
love you
sweet hot fucking man
uh o my god
cum
let us each share
a mouthful of you
mmmmmmmm
lick
two good girls
chest to chest
a dick slapping
teaming thrusting
between four sweet tits
uh god
pump my girl
some more
let her ride you
take you
make you
grunt
she’s so hot
looking gorgeous
on your dick
mmmmmmmmmm
I wonder
which one of us
will make you
cum
will you cum
surely you will
surely we both
make you hot
wild weak whipped
enough to cum
sweet ah ugh
scream crazy
on his dick
cuming on his cock
ooh look at that ass
we will kneel
for you
o god
just o god
please cum
make him
cum
we’ve earned it
deserved it
got down
on our knees
for it
laid on our backs
stretched our bodies
for it
for him
uh o god
finally
it comes
spills
drips
drops
across
our
bodies
o


- - -
Misty Rampart is a writer of erotic fiction and prose and editor of the blog Pink Litter http://pinklitter.wordpress.com/
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Mixx
  • Google
  • Furl
  • Reddit
  • Spurl
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati

The Lusters

Contributor: Paul Tristram

- -
The Lusters, they have their fingers
Upon the pulse of what is going on.
They are always scanning the horizon
For the next playmate to come along.
They lick their lips at the shadows
Preen the mind with erotic thought.
There’s a burning desire within them
To go seek out but also to be sought.
The itch cannot be really scratched
No, it can only be temporarily calmed.
By some sticky, gargling of the senses
That would make most people alarmed.
They are farmers of the opposite sex
They are gatherers of a human fruit.
Wanton hunters and hustlers of flesh
They dig and claw to reach the root.
Disease is just an occupation hazard
Rejection is a striking hammer blow.
Look in the nymphomaniac dictionary
You will not find a word meaning ‘No.’
For another climax of their senses
They’ll head off back down into town.
Hoping maybe another lonely Luster
Will be tracked, or track them down.


- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.
You can read his poems and stories here! http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Mixx
  • Google
  • Furl
  • Reddit
  • Spurl
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati

The Importance of Being a Good Host

Contributor: Joshua Dobson

- -
If, like myself, you happen to be a conno-sewer of freaky-lookin' perverts, then free STD testing day at the Department of Pub ic Health is not to be missed. Marvel at the popper burns pinkening the nostrils of a raincoat pervert with a wet tubercular cough. Gaze in lust at all the whore-flesh on display. Recoil in horror from the needle tracks, coat-hanger scars, and property of ______ tattoos. See the largest herpes sore in the state and watch it suppurate before your very eyes.
Although the gawking to be found in the lobby is worth the price of admission alone, that's not the only reason I come here every other Wednesday. I come to get tested.
I don't give a fuck whether I have a venereal disease or not, I just like getting jabbed with needles by moderately attractive nurses. My favorite part is when they shove the cotton swab up my urethra. And it’s a great place to cruise hot diseased sluts (the kind who like it raw.)
Today, I’m not here for fun. Today is business.
The itch in my crotch is hellish. I’m clawing at my junk like a cat at a scratching post when the little old lady inside the glass booth calls my number.
My favorite nurse is working today. She kinda reminds me of my first love, the lice check lady who used to check my head for parasites once a month (once a day during especially fierce outbreaks) back in elementary school. Same cat-eye glasses with neck chain, same big beaky nose, same porn-star-blonde hair dye, same crystal blue eyes, the only difference between them, that I can see, is that the nurse's big bouncing boobs, though huge, are a wee bit smaller than the lice check lady's (or at least my memory of them.)
The big-titted nurse pushes her cat-eye glasses up her falcon-like nose as she peers at my genitalia. She's noticeably excited by what she sees; she licks her bee-stung, crimson-stained lips while she contemplates my crotch.
"It's your lucky day," she says before breaking into a shit eating grin. Then she rises, stalks across the room, lifts the receiver of the phone on the wall from its cradle, tickles the keypad, and says a few whispered words I can't make out into the microphone.
Seconds after the big-nosed, big-breasted nurse hangs up the phone, the door of the tiny examination room swings open and a gorgeous, heavily freckled redhead wearing a khaki park ranger's uniform strides into the room.
The two of them admire my pubic jungle.
"They're really big," the nurse who favors my first love says before once again running her tongue across her fat red lips.
"Perhaps the largest I've ever seen," the lady ranger says with just the faintest hint of a British accent.
The nurse and the lady ranger take pictures of my teeming pubic forest. They fill out forms, registering the discovery in my pubes with the government.
The redhead in the ranger outfit reads from a little laminated card she extracts from a pocket of her safari jacket.
"I am required by law to inform you that Pthirus pubis AKA pubic lice, AKA crabs, AKA crotch critters, AKA pubic prawns have been declared an endangered species by the federal government of the United States of America. As such it is a class five felony, punishable by up to twenty-five years imprisonment and a five-thousand dollar fine, to kill or harm them in any way."
Pediculosis pubis, Latin for jackpot. The hairs around my genitalia are now a federally protected environment. (Although even before my pubes were nationalized very little drilling was occurring in the region.)
The two-hundred bucks I'd tithed to my friendly neighborhood lice-slut to infuckt me was money well spent.
I just hope the government crab farming check I'm gonna collect every month is worth the maddening itch.

***
An ugly/hot goth chick stands outside the Department of Pub ic Health, weeping, black mascara tears streaming down her long horsey face, snot trickling from her nose.
A crying woman gives me an instant boner.
The impression of horsiness invoked by her long face is augmented by a mouth a bit too wide filled with teeth a smidge too prominent. Her pouty lips are shaped like a heart and painted the same shade of black as her long shiny hair. She's pale as denuded bone. Her flawless skin would fill the head of an upholsterer with perverse notions. Her gorgeous slate grey eyes are red and bloodshot around the edges. She has thick dark eyebrows, a tiny little, dark brown seventies-porn-star-moustache over each of her red rimmed eyes.
I like thick eyebrows. Both for aesthetic reasons and because eyebrows are a good gauge of a woman’s sex drive, as both body hair and libido are regulated by testosterone (in both males and females). The thicker the eyebrows the hungrier the pussy.
I wonder if she's crying cuz she just found she's gonna die from some weird sex disease.
“What’s wrong?” I ask the ugly/hot goth chick as I hand her my red silk handkerchief.
“I tested negative . . . again,” she blubbers, before raising my silk handkerchief to her schnozz and discharging a huge wad of snot into it.
"Perhaps I could be of assistance," I say.
"I can't afford . . ." the goth chick says between sobs.
"I wouldn't even dream of charging such a beauty," I tell her,
My lust, though still profound, abates a bit when she stops crying.
She hands me the end of the chain that's padlocked to the spiked, black leather dog collar that encircles a long, well-turned neck, of a kind more often found in the dreams of stranglers and hangmen than in reality.
I take the lead from her hand and she leads me to her abode.
While we make our way to her shabby room in a sleazy flophouse down on skid row, the ugly/hot goth chick calls my crabs crustaceans, I jerk the leash ever so slightly as I correct her, they’re actually insects. I lecture the girl I will soon infect with parasitic insects.
"That the human body plays host to two distinct varieties of lice is something of an anomaly. Gorillas and chimps each harbor only one variety of lice on their furry bodies. Pediculus humanus capitis AKA human head lice, evolved from chimpanzee lice, at the same time we were evolving from their hosts. Whereas, Australopithecines contracted Phthirus pubis AKA the crab louse, AKA crotch crickets from gorillas approximately 3.3 million years ago."
When I finish my speech, I halt for a second, and indicate for her to do the same with a tug on her leash. I dig the chewing tobacco can from the pocket of my jeans, open it and pick one of the leeches out. The leech I pluck from the teeming clot inside the can I tuck between my gum and cheek.
"Want one?' I ask, while proffering the can of wriggling annelids to the ugly/hot goth chick.
The inch-long black claws tipping her fingers pinch a leech from the clot. She peels back her black-stained lip, and presses the writhing black bloodsucker against her pinkish-purplish gums. I bet her pussy's the same color as the inside of her mouth, I think as I watch her insert the leech and the fat bloodsucking worm in my trousers sucks a little more of my vein gravy into its already bloated body.
The ugly/hot goth chick's third floor room overlooks, or perhaps I should say overhears the section of the park the cops call the Rape Jungle. The eerily echoing screams of the victims and the bestial noises of the wilding rape gangs drift from the forest of dead trees and waft through the window of her shabby room.
The Murphy bed creaks as it unfolds from the wall. The once-white now dingy grey sheets are damp to the touch and they stink of nightmare sweat and wet pussy with just the faintest undertone of the poison that they spray on cheap motel sheets to repel bedbugs.
The ugly/hot goth chick strips out of her skintight PVC dress. The gleaming white flesh beneath the material is just as shiny as the rubbery black membrane she peels off. Her skin slick with a glistening sheen, a cocktail of the sweat her plastic dress has milked from her pores and the oil she's forced to coat herself with in order to be able to slither into/out of her too tight rubber clothing.
Her tiny tits are crowned by nipples the color of rabies foam tinged with blood.
She has a werewolf bush, a thick tangle of tarantula-colored curls boiling atop her pussy, it's the kind of pubic pelt that merkin makers describe in letters to Santa Claus, it's a lush habitat for crab farming.
When her hands go to the back of her neck and begin to unbuckle the dog collar, her unshaven armpits are revealed.
"Leave it on," I command her, as I bury my nose in her hairy armpit.
It’s not like I have a fetish or something, but I’ve always found armpits rather erotic. Desire attaches itself to anything that's normally hidden from view. I find the ugly/hot goth chick's unshaven armpits indescribably carnal. The tangled patches of dark brown hair that tickle my nose are wet with sweat. Each breathe I inhale goes straight to my balloon animal of a boner, swelling it all the more. I sniff both pits, cuz I don't want the other one to get jealous.
After I finally manage to pull my schnozz outta her pits, she continues to undress. She turns around, displaying the upside down heart of her ass to me. There's a square of gauze taped to her back just above her butt.
"What's under the bandage?" I ask.
She rips it off, revealing a fresh tattoo, a black scab shaped like a spider in relief against a field of pink flesh that looks infected. When I press on the crusty black scab pus oozes out from around the edges.
I shed my clothes.
"They're soo big," the ugly/hot chick coos as she admires my pubic prawns.
My pincer-fingers pluck one of the crabs from my pubes, my head leans back, and my mouth opens; I allow the struggling louse to dangle over the pit for a few seconds before I drop it in. The crab bursts between my teeth, like those candies with gelatinous goo in the center.
"What's it taste like?" the ugly/hot goth chick asks.
It tastes a bit like shrimp and a bit like cockroach, though I don't tell her this, rather I tweeze another dick cricket from my pubes with my fingertips and hold it aloft.
"Killing a crab's a federal offense," I tell her, "punishable by twenty-five years in prison and a five-thousand dollar fine."
She throws her head back, opens her black lips, and extends her tongue. I drop the crab onto her tongue which ferries it into her maw. She moans as she masticates the parasite. Though whether this groan of pleasure is a product of the taste of the louse itself, the taste of my blood in the louse, or the delicious flavor of committing a crime I can't say.
Then I start to think it's not really fair, she's tasted my blood, I want to taste hers. I kiss her, probe her mouth with my tongue until I find the leech tucked between her lip and gums. I wrestle the leech with my tongue. I suck the writing annelid from her mouth into mine; it remains clamped to her gum tissue and won't come off no matter how hard I suck. I bite the leech in twain and her blood explodes in my mouth.
I'm running through all the arguments in my mind, as if I'm about to argue in front of the Supreme Court. When it comes time to weasel my way out of wearing a condom I turn into Clarence fuckin' Darrow. I don't even get the chance to trot out my well reasoned arguments much less my lies (women who make their men wear condoms get pussy cancer twice as much as chicks who like it raw.) The ugly/hot goth chick grabs my cock and slides it into her hot wet slit.
Our pubes interlock like Velcro. We lay motionless and watch the first crab (Crab Columbus, Crab Neil Armstrong) crawl from my pube jungle to hers.
She begins scratching almost immediately after Crab Columbus disappears into her pubic thicket. Her nails are inch long claws painted a gleaming shade of black; they leave bloody tracks carved into her anemically pale flesh.
Her hand is busy in her bush while I fuck her, but I'm not sure if it's rubbing her clit or scratching her crab bites.
As the tentacles of a monstrous orgasm pull me ever closer, I feel an intense desire to pull my dick out of the ugly/hot goth chick's cunt so that I might shoot my wad all over her bush. But her enveloping cunt-flesh feels so good I can't bring myself to withdraw. Lucky for her, cuz when I cum, the jiz shoots out of me with such force that it would have left a bruise. (Had I cum on her face it woulda left her with a black eye and possibly a broken nose.)
As that last pearl of spunk that always waits until the orgasm's over before trying to sneak out unnoticed squeezes outta my piss slit to drop into her pubic bramble, I immediately snap into panic mode. The pussy is the one small dark place that is more frightening to exit than it is to enter. The fact that my vas deferens has been clipped and tied in knots does little to assuage the fear that overwhelms me whenever I pull my dick out of a freshly fucked pussy. I heard on the news about these freaks who were going around, drugging commuters on subway trains and reversing their vasectomies while they were knocked out. That was years ago and they eventually caught them, and I would think I would've noticed if my vasectomy scar was reopened, but what if I didn't, what if one of those tadpoles I shot into her cunt tunnel makes it to the center of the maze of mucous membranes where the egg waits? What if she refuses to have an abortion? I'll have to sneak into this building and leave banana peels all over the stairs.
As we share a post coital cigarette, I notice that her tarantula bush has given me rug burn on the bottom of my belly, just above my crab jungle. While I admire the pink patches of pubic hair rug burn juxtaposed against the grey-blue maculae caeruleae where the crabs have sucked my blood, I notice something else, the ugly/hot goth chick's crying again. (And the fluid issuing from her tear ducts sends blood surging to pool in the spongy tissues of my member.)
"I think I may have made a horrible mistake . . ." If I had a penny for every time I heard a crying broad utter that after I just fucked her . . . "I don't know if I'll be able to stand the itch," she says while she claws at her snatch thatch with a black lacquered claw.
"It'll be okay, you'll eventually get used to it," I tell her. I don't have the heart to tell her that it gets a lot worse before it gets better.
"Allow me to try to take your mind off it," I say as I bury my face between her legs.
The mushroomy taste of my cum mingles with the piscine flavor of her pussy leaving a faintly metallic aftertaste in my mouth.
I know I'm no expert pussy eater, but this is the first time I've ever had a chick jump up outta bed whilst I was tonguing her twat.
"I can't fucking stand it," the ugly/hot goth chick shrieks as she rushes across the room, at first I think she's talking about my cunt lickin', but then when I see her fingers clawing at her bush I know she's talking about the itch.
She dives through the half open window, like she's about to pluck a coin off the bottom of a swimming pool.
I leap up and run towards the window her feet are disappearing out of. I'm halfway there when I hear her hit the pavement, sounds like someone smashing a pumpkin filled with dry sticks.
When I look down, a crowd is gathering, using their camera phones to snap pictures of what's left of the ugly/hot goth chick splattered across the sidewalk.
What'd she go and do that for? She didn't have to kill herself. Her pube parasites weren't registered with the government. She could have killed them with special black market shampoo.

***
After I phone the police, I head to the bathroom to void my bladder.
When I whip my dick out and begin to piss, the searing pain is so intense I think for a second I'm gonna collapse face first into the toilet.
Judging by the color, I'd wager the fluid trickling from my dick-slit is more blood than urine. Must be kidney stones, I can feel them working their way through my pipes, I can hear them splash into the toilet water, I try to count them, but quickly lose track.
But as I stare into the bloody toilet water I begin to doubt whether they're kidney stones at all. Are kidney stones supposed to move like that? Do kidney stones crawl around in the bottom of the toilet after you piss them out?
They look like little maggots or grubs.
It seems that while I was giving the ugly/hot goth chick crabs, she was giving me something in return.
Worse yet, I'll be forced to endure the infection for at least two weeks, until the next free STD testing day at the Department of Pub ic Health.


- - -
Joshua Dobson likes to make his own fun.
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Mixx
  • Google
  • Furl
  • Reddit
  • Spurl
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati

Freedom

Contributor: Laidyrusty

- -
He embraced her. Licking her. Tasting her. Tearing her. Spreading her. Open. Wet. Wanton. Her screams echoed. Useless. Empty school. Janitors' closet. He nuzzled. He fondled. He agonized. He lengthened. He sucked. Her breasts hardened. Involuntarily. She gasped. Then back. Forth. Back. He pounded. Fast. He beat her. Raw. He exploded. Releasing seeds. Too bad. A waste.

Reaching. Throat clenched. She stared. Hollow. He ogled her. Legs kicked. Fingers lost. Fingers trying. Fingers digging. Useless. Linoleum. Lemon scented wax. Convulsions. Unseen tears. Last breaths released. Her soul saved? He rose. Zip. Click. Trousers damp. Belt clamped. Tight. Click. Flash. His keepsake. She lay. Perfect. Picture perfect.

He left. Briskly. Keys jingling. "Lock it!" Poor janitor. He ran. He drove. Home. Safety. His dark basement. Another photograph. Another memory. His collection. His beloved collection. Schizophrenia. Medication bottle untouched. Brushing movement. Bottle falls. His pictures prioritized. He smiled. Pictures added. Voices. "Good job. Winner! Our trophy. Now sleep. Tomorrow we look. We find. Someone new. New trophies. Collection pieces."

He walks. Upstairs. Bedroom. He sees darkness. He dreams. She stares. Vivid hallucinations. The blade caresses. His neck gurgles. He collapses. Fingers loosen. Knife clatters. Suicide. Freedom. Wings spread. She flies. Heaven.

-Afton Laidy Zabala-Jordan, September, 2014


- - -
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Mixx
  • Google
  • Furl
  • Reddit
  • Spurl
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati

Born To Be Used

Contributor: Paul Tristram

- -
There was a man up a tree; he was laying down upon a branch, about twenty foot up, with his arms and legs wrapped around the branch and his left cheek was pressed against the rough tree bark. “I’m never going down there again!” he whispered to himself as he turned his head around so that his right cheek was now pressed against the branch. He opened his eyes and cringed, for he could see the lights of the town which was situated a mile or two off to the left hand side.

“You Bastards!” he half shouted at the lights.

“You’re all a bunch of fucking wankers, walking around bumping into each other, sleeping with each other’s partners, beating each other’s children, eating each other’s food, prying loose each other’s secrets. I hate you all, you’re all as strange as aliens to me, even my own fucking family are strangers to me, what do they know about me, eh? what do any of you know about me? you’re all just a load of backstabbing cunts!"

"I wish death to one and all, money? what the fuck is that all about? You can keep your dirty money; stick it up your greedy collective arses. Your lies are just verbal tampons plugging up the holes in this farce of a society, can’t you all see that you were born to be used? yes that’s right, BORN TO BE USED!"

"You should all be shot, I saw the milkman coming out of next door the other day, he was wearing a big smile and doing the zip up in his trousers, I mean for Christ Sake! you can’t even trust your milkman nowadays, as soon as you leave the house he’s up your misses. Of course after you’ve finished worrying about the milkman you’ve got the coalman to worry about, then the postman, then the gasman, then the electric man, then the rent man and on and on.....dear me?"

"Why are you all taking part in this mess? why doesn’t anyone stand up and shout ‘ENOUGH!’ hasn’t anyone got the common-sense to refuse to make a fool out of themselves? But I am making my stand, oh yes, right up here in this fucking tree, I shall not be coming down, oh no, they will find me in a few days frozen to this branch. That will fucking teach them, they just won’t be able to understand, it will confuse them all and maybe then they’ll start thinking? Yeah I can just see them now, after they’ve taken my body down off of this branch, they’ll all go home and when each of them is alone they’ll think of me and wonder why? They’ll be sitting on the toilet or taking a bath or driving to work or whatever else they might be doing and they’ll think of me, ‘Do You All Hear Me, You Bastards, I Said You’ll All Think Of Me!"

With that he fell out of the tree and knocked himself unconscious. He awoke in the morning and the first thing that he saw when he opened his eyes was a grazing cow about three foot away from him. He rose to his feet and looked about himself. All he could see was more grass and more grazing cows, he could no longer see the town as he was no longer up in the tree but he set off in that direction anyway.

As he walked up the main road past the butchers shop. Mr. Jones the ironmonger came across the street to speak to him,

“Hello Stan, are you off home?” asked Mr. Jones with a friendly smile.

“Yes!” answered Stan simply, with his head hung down, trying to hide his reddening face and frightened eyes.

“Well, tell your mother I’ve finished her blackberry tart and I’ll pop the dish around after work!” explained Mr. Jones with another friendly smile.

“OK!” replied Stan and off up the street he walked.

He never made it home; he was hit by Mr. Smith’s coal lorry as he turned into Denever Road. It seems that Mr. Smith had spent too long fucking Mr. Jones, the ironmonger's wife and was late with the deliveries, so unfortunately he mounted the pavement as he took the corner out of Denever Road and hit Stan who just happened to be turning the corner at the same time.

He didn’t die straight away but he did not live to see the hospital either. His last words were spoken in the ambulance, he just kept on repeating the same thing over and over again.

“Born To Be Used!”


- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Mixx
  • Google
  • Furl
  • Reddit
  • Spurl
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati

Taboo

Contributor: R.L. Black

- -
I did it with my preacher. Who knew a holy man could be so smokin’ hot.

My name is Eve. Yeah, I know— the garden, temptation, forbidden fruit. Maybe that’s all it was. The fact that I wasn’t supposed to have him made me want him even more.

Or maybe it was his demeanor that turned me on. Humble and sweet. Pure and righteous.

Perhaps I felt sorry for him. His wife was a bitter, dried up prune. She wore stuffy dresses, ugly glasses, kept her hair in a bun. No way he was gettin’ any from her.

Could have been the whole taboo thing that sent shivers up my spine. The idea of gettin’ it on with a preacher, and one who was old enough to be my daddy.

Hell, no. He was hot. That’s what it was. I wanted him for no other reason than that.

What a mess I was. Sittin’ in the pew on Sundays, listenin’ to him preach, watchin’ him move across the stage. Feelin’ wet in my panties, layin’ my Bible over my lap and fingerin’ myself. Right there in church. It’s a wonder God didn’t strike me dead right where I sat.

I went to every altar call the man gave. I was such a sinner. Every time he laid his hands on me, sparks flew. I needed those hands all over me, his fingers inside me. I wanted to go to heaven and I wanted like the devil for him to take me there.

When I could stand it no longer, I made an appointment with him for some one on one counselin’.

I came to his office in a sheer yellow sun dress– no bra, no panties.

When he asked what he could do for me, I took his warm hand and moved it to my wet pussy. He didn’t resist. The look in his eyes, I will never forget it. Not guilt or fear or even shock. Hunger. Pure beautiful hunger. That man devoured me. He licked my breasts like a starvin’ man, sucked my pussy like it was his last meal.

Then, a man on a mission, he took his pants off, let me see his gorgeous, stiff cock, and led me to the sofa. I spread my legs and reached eagerly for him.

An angel at first, he took his time, made me sound like a holy woman. “Oh, God. Oh, God.” After I came, a demon took over and he went mad, poundin’ me with passion. He came fast and furious. I figured the poor man hadn’t had that kind of sex in a long time, maybe never. I was probably makin’ his day.

He collapsed on top of me, moanin’, pantin’. Then the door opened and his wife walked in.

I held my breath, waited for the angry outburst.

“You son of a bitch,” she said, as she took down her hair, a wicked smile tuggin’ at her lips. “You didn’t invite me?”


- - -
I live in Tennessee and love to write flash and short stories, especially stuff with a dark or strange theme.
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Mixx
  • Google
  • Furl
  • Reddit
  • Spurl
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati

Diary of An Adman: Volume III

Contributor: Levon Sandberg

- -
“The Cunning Linguist” or How I Met Your Mother


The story so far:

As you will recall, when my father, Alexander Stokely, died last year at the age of seventy-six I, Jeremiah, his only son, was responsible for disposing of his earthly effects. Clearing out the attic of the house he had shared with my late mother I found an old steamer trunk, and in the bottom of that trunk I came across a locked wooden box. The box was well crafted of high-quality, dark wood – ebony perhaps - with beautiful dovetailed joints.
I assumed that it held something of great value and, unable to find the key and despite its beauty as an object in and of itself, I forced open the top, breaking the box in the process. Inside I found nothing of obvious commercial value, for it held three leather bound journals, a diary of my father’s early life, from the age of 18 until he married my mother when they were both in their late twenties.
I’ve previously shared the contents of the first two volumes, which told the story of an earnest young man’s coming of age. They covered his college days (he graduated cum laude with a Masters Degree from Ohio State in 1952) and early career as an instructor of English at a small girls preparatory school in Chillicothe, Ohio. Although those two volumes included references to Dad’s sexual awakening and early experiences with women, I chose not to share those details with you. This will change now that we come to the third volume, the one to which I have appended the sub-titles you see above.
This third volume covers the years ‘56 – ‘58, after Dad had taken a job with the biggest advertising agency in Columbus. After reading the excerpts I’m about to share you will understand why my father carefully locked these journals away. You may, however, find it difficult to understand why it is that he failed to destroy them before he died, in order to spare his heirs possible embarrassment. The answer, I believe, is that he would certainly have done so had he been given the chance, but, like most, he had no idea that his end was near until it was too late. I have no doubt that many a family secret, had the deceased known their time was nigh, would never have seen the light of day. My father’s diary is but one of many such artifacts.
So, without further adieu, I share with you now a contemporaneous account of events leading up to the union that made my very existence possible.

Wednesday, April 2, 1958

When Harry walked into my office this morning with that sad look on his face I was afraid he was back again for the umpteenth time to ask my opinion on his cigarette campaign (“The Doctors all agree - Chesterfields are the ones for me!”), but luckily I was wrong. He came by to introduce me to the new secretary that old man Hawthorne said we’re supposed to share. Her name is Angeline McAughtry, and a finer piece of female flesh I have yet to see. Have a feeling Harry and I will be doing a lot more dictating from now on, if you get my drift.

Tuesday, May 6

Angeline is working out well. She picked up the office routine pretty quickly. Now if only I could pick her up! Just kidding. You know how Hawthorne frowns on office romances. Still, this girl is quite the beauty. A little young? Yes. A little naïve? Perhaps, but still sexy in a way that’s hard to describe if you haven’t seen her in person.

Wednesday, May 21

As the weather begins to warm so has Angeline. She’s obviously comfortable around us now. Another benefit of the weather is that we get to see more of her – literally. Winter coats have given way to spring jackets, and lighter skirts and blouses. She’s quite the beauty. Amazing to think that she’s still unattached.

Thursday, June 12

Angeline is quite a woman, and quite the puzzle (but isn’t that redundant?). What I mean to say - Harry and I are comfortable enough around her now to crack the occasional off-color joke, and she almost always laughs, but it’s impossible to tell if she understands what we’re saying, or if she’s just being polite. One minute she seems a naïve young thing, and the next an experienced woman, with a smile that, Mona Lisa-like, says “I am ripe and here for the taking, if you’re man enough to handle me.” I think I am…I think I am…I think I am.

Saturday, July 5

A full description of Angel is long overdue. I’ve spent so much time staring at her the past few weeks that I can do it easily from memory.

She’s 5 foot 5” – maybe 6” at most, blonde (natural, I think, and boy would I love to find out for sure), and trim. She wears her hair about shoulder length, with bangs combed off to one side. She’s pretty, but not extraordinarily so, not movie star pretty or anything like that, just kind of girl next door pretty. Blue-green eyes, a small nose and lips that are full and a shade of pink that doesn’t really need lipstick.

In terms of figure she doesn’t have much on top, but with the style of brassieres women wear these days it’s hard to tell – those weird pointed jobs. Her hips are slim, boyish almost, but wide enough to set off the most beautiful pair of legs I’ve ever seen. And thank god it’s summer time – no stocking weather - [Ed note: this was the pre-pantyhose era] - so the legs you see are the legs you get, and they’re absolutely flawless. Tanned, smooth, well-shaped calves set below a pair of strong but slim thighs.

Angel wears straight skirts for the most part, and looks great in them. They’re tight enough to hug her thighs but not so tight as to make her look cheap. When she stands on tiptoes to reach something at the top of the filing cabinet her calves stand out in relief and her skirt gathers itself around her perfect ass - you can actually see the muscles in her ass cheeks bulge as they work to hold her steady. To complete the picture, each cheek is highlighted from below, underlined as it were, by the line of her panties.

There’s just something about a woman in a tight skirt. To me it’s even more attractive than bare legs in a pair of shorts or a swimsuit. It must be the way that your imagination has to fill in the missing pieces. My eyes can’t help but follow the line of Angeline’s leg as it curves out at the calf, comes in at the back of the knee, and then tapers slowly out again as the thigh grows wider, climbing its way up to where it meets the beginning of the round curve of her ass. They say that a circle is the perfect form, but that warm half-circle of a woman’s ass gets my vote. And when a woman is standing, facing away from you, with her legs spread just slightly apart and the skirt hugging her bottom, and there’s that place where it falls below her ass, leaving a hollow space before the skirt grabs at her thighs again – my imagination knows what’s waiting, hiding there, and it makes me want to just drop to my knees and shove my face into that hollow spot until my nose is smothered by the warm, earthy odors that I know are waiting there.

Speaking of which, it’s getting awfully warm in here. I’m going to take a walk to cool off…

Monday, July 14

Harry’s away on his annual trip to the Michigan woods so I get to have Angel (that’s what we call her now) to myself for three weeks.

I noticed recently that if I leave my door slightly ajar I get a fantastic view. Her desk is situated so that her typing tray (no modesty panel beneath it- thank you!) faces my door. She’s very careful about how she sits while typing, keeping her legs crossed or knees touching with her legs slanted off to one side, but sometimes I can see a good 12 - 18 inches up the side of her skirt. Eventually she has to shift position for comfort’s sake, so then I get a better show as she crosses and uncrosses her legs. Yesterday I swear when her legs opened I got a glimpse of white material that had to be panties. Now every time I hear the clacking of those keys my cock starts to shiver and my concentration is shot.

Friday, July 18

Thought Friday would never get here. Asked Angel to stop for a cocktail after work tonight to celebrate her three-month raise. Still waiting for an answer. Hoping it’s a yes – need to get my shots in before Harry comes back from vacation.

She must be in a Friday kind of mood herself because she’s wearing something special – the usual straight skirt, but her blouse is some kind of pale yellow, chiffony type material that is almost see- through. You can make out the top of some kind of slip (or is that what they call a camisole?) covering her bra, and you see the outline of two sets of straps. I noticed that she’s been spending a lot of time slipping her hand beneath the front of the blouse to align those straps. She did it once as I was walking up to hand her a file folder and as she pulled her hand back out I could see the barest swelling of flesh just below her thin, delicate collarbone, and just above the top of the slip. I’m sure she caught me staring, but she didn’t flinch. Good sign.

Saturday, July 19

Angel said yes to my offer, and we stopped for a couple after the office closed last night. Nothing really happened, but by the end of the evening she had me confused and hornier than I’ve been in forever. Can’t quite figure this girl out. She comes on like an innocent type, but then does something so completely unexpected that you wonder if she knows what’s she doing or not.

We stopped at McSweeney’s, and as usual it was packed on a Friday night. The noise and smoke and heat were thick from too many bodies in a small space and we had to fight our way in the door. There was one stool open and I had Angel take it, standing behind her while she faced toward the bar. Looking at her face there in the mirror I could see that she was overwhelmed by the swirl of people and loud conversations, but halfway through her second Manhattan she began to relax.

The noise in the bar meant we had to lean in close to hear each other. As I spoke into her left ear my nose was buried in the mound of blonde hair that she had tucked behind it. Her perfume was as intoxicating as the liquor. As she became more relaxed she leaned back against me (the barstool had no back to it) and I could feel the heat from her body against mine.

In a lucky coincidence, the top of her barstool ended just below the level of my cock, which was beginning to thicken from all the close contact. Every time I leaned in closer to say something my cock brushed against the curve of her bottom. I couldn’t tell if she could feel it or not, but one time she rose up to resettle herself on her stool and I swear she pushed back against it on purpose, smiling at me in the mirror as she did so. Things were getting out of control on my end. I knew that if I didn’t back off (or jack off) pretty soon the whole bar would be staring at my hard on. I excused myself and went to the john to piss, hiding the bulge in my trousers with my hat as I walked.

[Ed note: my father, like every man in the1950s always wore a hat, and you can bet it wasn’t a baseball cap.]

When I returned there were two men I’d never seen before standing on either side of Angel and it was all I could do to shoehorn my way back into the charged, testosterone-filled atmosphere that surrounded her. Apparently one of the men had bought her another Manhattan. Good work, guys, I thought to myself: you liquor her up now and I’ll lick her up later.

As I shooed them away she seemed glad to see me back and turned around on her stool to face me. We talked as best we could in all the noise while she finished her drink. Then she stood up suddenly, saying she had to use the Ladies Room. She stumbled coming down off the stool and I moved to catch her. As she fell my hands reached for her shoulders, but she lurched to her left and my right hand ended up beneath her left arm, the palm at the side of her left breast. She put her right hand on top of mine, holding it there for the briefest of moments to steady herself before pulling it away. As she walked off I stood there trying to figure out if that stumble was a lucky accident or an accident that meant I was getting lucky. Turned out it was the former.

When Angel returned from the bathroom she looked a little green. Said when she’d gone in there she threw up and she asked if I would take her home. She dozed in the car as I drove. When we reached her apartment building she was still asleep so I reached down to squeeze her leg, shaking it lightly to awaken her. With her eyes still closed she reached for my hand and held it. She must’ve been dreaming because she began pulling my hand up toward the top of her thigh, and moaning ever so lightly. Suddenly, she opened her eyes, pulled her hand back, and blushed. She thanked me for the evening and got out, insisting that I stay in the car, that she could let herself in safely. I watched her sway her way up the walk and waited til she was safely inside before I left. I’m still wondering where my hand would’ve ended up if she’d allowed that dream to continue.

Thursday, July 24

I have Angel to myself only for another week before Harry returns from vacation, so intend to make the most of it. Taking her to lunch today, someplace fancy. Looks like she dressed for the occasion, a new summer dress, sleeveless. Shows off her tanned arms, and even better, every time she reaches to answer the phone I can see in through the side. She’s wearing a pale yellow bra to match her dress.

Friday, July 23

Lunch went well yesterday. I was the perfect gentleman and Angel seemed to have a good time, but she still keeps giving me mixed signals. We had a couple of drinks with lunch, and the conversation veered toward sex a few times. She revealed the fact that she wasn’t a virgin, but did it in a way that made me unsure if it was intentional. She spoke of having been engaged and breaking it off because the young man turned out to be someone who could not keep a secret. She said that she had shared something “very special” with him (her virginity, I assumed) and that he’d betrayed her confidence – “kiss and tell” is the expression she used, but the look in her eyes said the stakes were a lot higher than a kiss.

Friday, August 1

Harry returns Monday morning so if I’m to make my move it has to be tonight. After what happened this afternoon I am so ready to do this! The hard part will be keeping myself under control. Angel agreed to go out again to celebrate the end of the workweek. I’m going to pick a quieter place this time, and watch to make sure she doesn’t drink too much. The hard part will be keeping my hard part under control.

She wore that white linen skirt again, the one that accentuates her ass every time she walks away from me. And get this – I’m certain she went without a slip today. I could tell because right after lunch I heard her typewriter and glanced up just as she crossed her legs. Got a view up her skirt. Saw those tanned legs all the way up to her white cotton panties. It’s probably my imagination, but I swear I saw her pubic hair – a triangle of shadow between her legs. With any luck I’ll get my hands on that tonight.

Saturday, August 2

How did it go last night, you ask? Whoa! Where to begin? Well, let me just say I may never wash my left hand again as long as I live.

Even now, as I write these words, the still pungent fingers of that lucky left appendage are resting on my upper lip, permitting a mix of powerful odors to waft into my grateful nose, odors that only a few hours before were locked inside Angel’s sweet, moist pussy. Each sniff brings a flood of memories. It’s as if I’m still with her…

I’m sure you’re wondering how I pulled this off (And, not to give away too much of the story, I must admit that, sadly, it’s what I had to do when I got home last night). Well, I’ll tell you.

Angel and I agreed that we wouldn’t leave the office together, for propriety’s sake, so I picked her up behind the bus station. She hopped into the front seat and turned to give me a big smile as we drove off, heading for the Rendezvous over on the west side. The place lives up to its name, consisting as it does of a bar up front with a series of very private, high-backed booths in the back that allow couples who want to be, but not be seen, together, do so discreetly.

I parked Angel in the last booth in the back and went for drinks. One of the drawbacks of the place is that it doesn’t have air conditioning yet, but this worked to my advantage because by the time I’d returned Angel had undone the top two buttons of her blouse. As I placed her drink in front of her I could see down the front. She had that camisole thingamajig on again, and I could see the swelling of the top of her breasts rising above its lacy border.

I sat down across from her and we began to talk. The heat and alcohol made her face flush, and I could see a light coating of perspiration begin to form on her face. The flickering candle on the table was reflecting off her cheeks and it highlighted the soft, downy hair that ran along the line of her jaw. I watched her face as she talked, mesmerized by her beauty. The conversation was light at first, but by the time we were into our second drink things got more intense.

Talk turned to some of the people in the office, and before long we found ourselves assessing them on their looks, and then on their desirability, sex-wise. Angel surprised me when she said she thought Harry was the best looking man in the place. She must’ve noticed the look of hurt on my face because she reached her hand out and placed it on top of mine. “Oh, Alex, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You’re….you’re very attractive too, don’t you know?”

I swear I must’ve blushed, because she said, “Oh, I didn’t mean to embarrass you! I guess maybe we’re getting a little too personal now, huh?”

“Angel,” I said, putting my other hand atop hers, “There’s nothing you could say to embarrass me. I feel like we could talk about anything right now, and I’d be comfortable – wouldn’t you?” I left my hand there as she nodded in agreement, smiled, and said, “Yes, in fact, Alex, there’s something I heard one of the guys in the office say about you that I’ve wanted to ask you about. Can I really ask you anything?”

I told her of course she could, but to hold on, suggesting that I get us another round of drinks first to celebrate the fact that we were getting to be such close, personal friends, and she said, “Sure. I’ll go to the Ladies Room while you do that.”

She beat me back to the table, and instead of sitting across from her this time I had her scoot over toward the wall while I sat on her left, on the outside of the booth. She turned to face me and we raised our glasses, toasting our deepening friendship. She took a long sip and put her glass down, tilting her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. We sat that way for a few moments, and I began to worry that I’d let her have too much to drink already. If I had any hope of getting into those panties I had to make sure she had enough to drink, but not too much. I wanted her a little tight – just tight enough to be loose, as it were, but not so tight that she lost her lunch like she did last week.

I watched her awhile before reminding her that there was something she wanted to ask me. She opened her eyes and, looking up at me from beneath half-open lids, she said, “Oh…right. I forgot.”

Sitting up straight she went on, “ The other day I heard Gerry Carson talking to another guy about you. He referred to you using a word I didn’t understand. He said you were claiming to be the best in the office at ‘cunnalingawist’ or something like that, and then the two of them started laughing. They shut up when they realized I’d overheard them. I asked Gerry what he meant, that it was a word I’d never heard before, and he just stammered and said that you claimed to be the most ‘cunning linguist’ in the office – in other words, the best copywriter. That made sense, but when I mentioned it to one of the girls in the typing pool later she laughed, gave me a funny look and said, ‘Honey, if you’re lucky, some day you’ll find out if that’s really true.’ So what gives? What exactly did Gerry mean?”

I’d taken a sip of my drink just as she finished speaking and some of the scotch when down the wrong pipe. Coughing uncontrollably, I excused myself and went to the Men’s Room to compose both myself and a plausible answer to her question. Fuck it, I said to myself, it must be the universe’s way of telling me that if the iron is hot (and after all, the thing nestled in my jockey shorts had been as hard as iron for days thinking about this woman) then this must be the time to strike. After splashing my face with a little cold water I looked in the mirror and said to the face I saw there, “Come on, Alex! Man up and get this thing done!”

As I approached the booth I saw that Angel had slumped back against the wall and closed her eyes again. She had a smile on her face and was nodding to the music coming from the jukebox, a Sinatra tune. I slid into the booth next to her and stared at that lovely face and body. She had her legs slightly open and her hands resting on her thighs. When I placed one of my hands on top of hers she opened her eyes, smiled, and closed them again. I moved my hand over until it was resting on the side of her left thigh and then began to slide it toward the hip and then down again to the knee. She kept her eyes closed and didn’t object so I moved closer to her and allowed my hand to slide all the way up to the side of her hip. Moving my mouth in close to her left ear, my hand pulled her hip towards me and I whispered that I was going to go get us another round. When she squirmed slightly against my hand and nodded without opening her eyes I gained the courage I needed to take the next step.

When I returned with the drinks she was gone, and so was her purse! False alarm – she’d just gone to the Ladies Room and was back before I’d taken my first sip of the fresh drink. I got up to let her in and as she went by me her ass brushed against the front of my trousers, causing my cock to stir again. Was it my imagination, I wondered, or did she do that on purpose?

We sat listening to the music and enjoyed our drinks. I sat close to her, our thighs touching now, and when I started speaking I did it in a slight whisper, forcing her to move her head toward mine to hear me better. I reached my right arm around her shoulder and began to answer the question that still hung in the air.

“Angeline, my dear,” I said, “There are two ways I could answer your question. One way would be to tell you, but better, perhaps, would be to show you. You see, the term ‘Cunning Linguist’ is a bit of a joke among the men in the office, but it doesn’t refer to our work. It’s a reference to something that men and women do together when…they’re being…intimate with each other.”

I paused, waiting to see how she would respond. When I saw the obvious interest in her eyes, and she allowed me to move in even closer, I continued.

“You see. the term isn’t really ‘Cunning Linguist’. It’s ‘cunnilingus’. Are you familiar with that word?”

Staring intently now into my eyes, her mouth open in a little circle of amazement, she slowly nodded her head back and forth to indicate that she didn’t have the slightest clue what I was talking about.

“Well how do I explain this? Angel, we all know that…um…sex can be dangerous in certain ways. What I mean…well, we know that a girl has to be careful. Some girls worry about getting pregnant, some worry about remaining a virgin for their wedding night, and some worry about both. Well, ‘cunnilingus’ is a way for a woman to enjoy the very height of sexual pleasure without worrying about any of those things.”

She nodded again, this time in the affirmative. Great - she was still with me!

“Now do you understand?” I asked.

“Well, yes,” she said, “So far, but that doesn’t really tell me what actually goes on when… you know, when the…the cunning lingishness thing happens.”

“Ah, yes,” I answered, placing my face right up close to hers, “I see. I think that this is where the showing part has to happen. Do you trust me?”

When she answered in the affirmative I moved my mouth towards her, touching her lips every so lightly with my own. “Then follow me.” I said.

When we got to the car I unlocked the driver’s side door and had Angel slide in and then climbed in after, keeping her close. [Ed Note: in 1958 almost every car had large, bench-style seats both front and back.] I patted her thigh and started the engine. As we waited for it to warm I turned to Angel and placed my lips on hers, again, every so lightly. I knew that I had a fish on the line, and was worried that the hook wasn’t quite set. I didn’t want to spook her before I reeled her in.

I pulled away and looked at her sweet face, flushed fully red now with drink and the heat of the bar and the intimate talk, her eyes still closed, then I kissed her again, a little harder this time. My lips moved slowly against hers and when I felt hers begin to respond I let the tip of my tongue slide just into her half-open mouth, then quickly withdrew it. Her breath was coming a bit faster now, and my cock was beginning to push against its prison of white cotton.

It wasn’t easy to do, but I released her from my arms, put the car in gear, and began driving. As we rode, the radio playing a love song by Nat King Cole, I steered with my left hand, my right resting in Angel’s lap, her hands atop mine. I took us down the park road along the river and stopped under a large tree, shading us from a full moon and the highway above.

I turned off the engine, keeping the radio playing low, and took Angel into my arms. Our kiss picked right up where we’d left off. My tongue slid back and forth across Angel’s mouth until her lips parted. I explored the inside of her lips with it, then pushed further into the warm cavern of her mouth searching for her tongue. As we kissed my left hand, which had been resting on the side of ribcage, slipped up her body and came to rest under her right arm and against the side of her breast, which remained tightly bound inside her bra. I squeezed it, moving my thumb around to the front, searching for her nipple, but it was hidden beneath the layers of material.

We were both breathing hard now, and I noticed that she didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. They were resting in her lap, palms up, opening and closing in a pattern that increased as she became more excited. I took my right hand and placed it in her lap, and she covered it with both hers. I moved our now intertwined hands into my lap until the back of her left hand was resting atop my erect member. Using my hand, I pressed hers against it, shifting my body upwards to meet it, moving my hips back and forth. I had no idea if she understood what was going on down there, but as for myself, I was losing control.

Frustrated at being unable to get past the layers of clothing that concealed her breast, my left hand gave up and moved down to her right thigh, where I began rubbing my palm slowly up and down its length. After doing this for a minute or so, the next time I came to her knee I slipped my hand beneath her skirt and began the trek back up again, this time on her bare thigh. My hand was beginning to sweat, either from nervousness or the heat of her body or both, as it moved up her leg. Soon my outstretched fingers could feel cloth - material that I knew had to be her panties – and I paused for a moment. I pulled away from kissing Angel to look at her. She kept her eyes closed, and was breathing deeply but slowly, her mouth still open. I gazed at her and moved my hand higher on her leg, rotating it so that my left thumb was now between her legs and aimed directly at her pussy. When my thumb found her panties I began to rub it slowly up and down, first just a fraction of an inch or so, but then longer each time, so that finally I was moving it along the whole length of her pussy. As I did so her legs parted to allow me better access. I moved my hand so that my palm was resting against her belly and my thumb pointed downward, continuing to rub her pussy.

I moved my head toward her face and we kissed again, each of our tongues now searching madly for its counterpart. Our breath came hot and wet and so mixed together that it was as if we weren’t breathing air any longer, we were breathing each other.

As we kissed I continued to explore beneath her skirt. Her panties were becoming wet. They were beginning to stick to her body, making it easy to find and follow the lines of her pussy lips, which were swollen. I used my thumb to trace them up and down, first one side, then the other, then in a circle. Every time my thumb reached the top of her pussy it paused, pressing against the opening where I knew her clit was hiding, then resumed its circular motion. In the meantime my cock was still doing its best to get itself into Angel’s hands, which were resting in my lap. Suddenly she broke our embrace and pulled her head back to look at me.

“Hmm….Alex?”

“Yes, Angel?

“Alex…the….um…the cunninglingyness thing? You were going to tell me about that, or show me or something?

“Of course, my dear. How could I forget?”

“So what do I have to do?” she asked.

I continued to rub her pussy with my thumb and said, “Angel, all you need to do is follow my instructions and then simply enjoy it, my dear.”

Looking at me, she nodded, then closed her eyes again.

“First, sweetheart, just do this for me.” Taking my suit coat off I rolled it up and handed it to her. “Use this for a pillow and lie back.” She did as I said, taking the coat from my hand and stretching out against the door in a half-reclined position.

“Now close your eyes, Angel,” I said, “Let me do the rest.”

I took a moment to gaze at the beautiful young thing I was about to enjoy. The light from the radio on the dashboard highlighted her pink, flawless skin. I could see her breasts rise and fall as she tried to control her breath. I used my hands to slide her skirt up near her waist. Lifting her left leg I removed her shoe and placed her foot on the seat, pushing the knee until it rested against the seatback. I took her right leg and, lifting it under the knee, placed her foot on the hump on the floor. [Ed Note: This was before the days of front wheel drive. Engines were in the front, but power was sent to the rear wheels to move the car, and this required a drive shaft from the engine to a differential in the rear that…oh, just take my word for it, there was a big hump in the floor.] I pushed her knee gently to the left until it rested against the dashboard. Her legs were now completely open and I sat back to enjoy the view.

I stared at her legs, from calf to thigh, and could see the point high up where her tan line ended, the skin above it a pale white. The cotton panties she wore were now thoroughly soaked, and I could easily distinguish the outline of her pussy, each of its lips swollen and pressing against the darkened material. A few stray pubic hairs were visible at the edge of her panties. I whispered, pulling at the hem of her panties with my fingers, “We need to get rid of this thing, darling. It’s in my way.”

Without opening her eyes, she reached down and slid her panties off. Before she could do anything I grabbed them from her hand. “These are mine now, Angel,” I said, and put the material up to my face, inhaling her scent.

I leaned back against the driver’s side door to again admire the view. Angel’s pubic hair wasn’t as light as that on her head, but she was obviously a natural blonde and now, free of the panties, her pussy appeared even more swollen, the lips pronounced and pink with blood below the surface.

I leaned forward and slowly ran my hands up the length of her thighs. When my thumbs met at the edge of her pussy I rubbed them up and down the outside. Angel arched her back, pushing herself toward my hands, shuddering each time my thumbs reached the top of her pussy and I pushed the lips together, trapping her clit between them. Then I used my thumbs to spread her lips apart, exposing everything to my gaze.

I moved my head ever closer. My face could feel the heat rising from her sex and I was becoming drunk with the smell of her. I released my thumbs, allowing her lips to come together, and I watched her clit recede but not fully disappear. I could still see a thin, rounded edge peeking through. I moved in and touched it very lightly with just the tip of my tongue, causing Angel to gasp. I moved my head away and paused to allow her to catch her breath, then moved my mouth toward her again. Again, I barely touched her clit with the tip of my tongue, then circled it very slowly, backing away again when I heard her holding her breath.

Angel opened her eyes, looked down at me and smiled. She shifted in her seat, pulling her skirt higher up and completely out of the way, and rotated her hips upward to give me better access to her pussy.

Placing one hand under each cheek of her tight, little ass, I lifted her slightly off the seat and placed my mouth very near but not directly on her pussy. Then, reaching out with my tongue, I traced the line of her pussy lips with it, down one side, around the bottom of her opening, then up the other, avoiding any contact with her clit. Each time my tongue made one of its circuits it would press just a little harder, and move ever closer to the inside of her pussy, until finally I was licking the inside of those swollen lips, deeper each time now, but still avoiding the clit, until the last time when, reaching the bottom, I thrust my tongue slowly inside her. She let out a small cry and pushed her hips against my face. With my tongue still inside her I lifted her ass higher and pulled her body toward my mouth so that my tongue could move even deeper into her.

Her juices were enfolding my lips and tongue in a wet layer of sexual aromas that made me feel as if I were drowning and I could imagine this as a pleasurable way to go.

I withdrew my tongue and using the flat width of it, slowly licked her pussy from bottom to top, pushing her lips apart with it as I went, but stopping just before I reached her clit. She thrust toward my face trying to force my tongue against it, but I resisted, pulling my head away, waiting, then moving in and down to start another long, slow lick from the bottom.

I glanced up at her face as I continued this motion. Her skin was glistening and her eyes were closed. She had one finger of her right hand in her mouth and was sucking on it. Her left hand was inside her blouse and I could see that she had pulled her bra aside, freeing the right breast. She was cradling it in her hand, using her thumb and index finger to squeeze the nipple, which was hard now.

My tongue continued its long, slow trips along the length of her pussy, with the tip pressing against her clit now at the top of each lick. I began to pause at the top, using the opportunity to circle her clit with the tip of my tongue and then flicking it once or twice before backing off to start all over again at the bottom. Each time my tongue reached that highly charged spot within her pussy her ass would jump in my hands. I stayed focused on that part of her and heard her breath begin to come in smaller, faster bursts and a low moan start in her chest. Looking up again I could see that she had freed both breasts now. Her eyes still closed, she was squeezing them and at the same time flicking the nipples with her thumbs, the pace increasing to match her breath. Her low moan slowly turned into sounds that closely resembled, but were not actual words.

“Mmmm…Ohh…..fug…FUNG! Shhhaaah...mmm…jeez… jeezie chris…uh…ahhh….huhnnnnn.”

And then, as it became obvious that her orgasm was drawing near, the sounds changed into words that I could recognize.

“Mmm…my god…..oh god…..good…..good…yes. THERE! Right there! Oh don’t stop now. Oh, Alex. Yes! Yessssss…oh my god, YES! Ohhh….”

Her whole body was shuddering now, rocking as I pulled her pussy against my face, and then she was moving on her own - up and down - bucking as she screamed out my name one last time.

Slowly her breathing returned to normal and she sagged back against the passenger side door. She moved her hands down to my face, taking my chin and rubbing her thumbs along my lips, slippery now with the juices from her pussy. I rose, pulling my face away from her hands and watched as she let them rest on her thighs, one on each side of her opening. As I looked on she touched herself there, using the thumb and index finger of each hand to rub the lips of her pussy, and continued to moan softly.

When I reached in with one of my hands to join hers she opened her eyes briefly, smiled shyly, and closed them again. She continued to caress her outer lips as I used my index finger to probe against her opening. I circled it with my finger, pushed inside up to the first knuckle, then withdrew. She took her hands and pulled the lips of her pussy apart. I slipped my finger into her again, this time a little farther, and she moved forward to meet it. When I pulled it out I moved it up to circle her clit, then down to the opening again, repeating this movement a number of times, watching her face as it registered the pleasure my hand was bringing.

I took one of her hands in mine, and put her fingers to my mouth, tasting her sex. She was beginning to breathe rapidly again and starting to moan. I pushed her other hand aside and moved my head down to start Act Two.

Keeping my finger just inside her opening, my lips and tongue went to her clit and began to flick it. Lifting it with my tongue, I trapped it between my lips and began to very gently suck on it. At the same time my finger was probing her below. Each time my finger entered her I would suck a little harder, and each time I withdrew it I would let her clit fall free, but continue to rub it lightly with my tongue.

She was calling my name now, in a strange half-moan, half-whisper, and having trouble catching her breath. I could tell from her movements that her hands were on her breasts again, and I decided to help her, putting one of mine atop hers. Together we rubbed and pulled at the nipple, both of us increasing our efforts as her breath came faster. She let go of that breast, leaving it for me as she put her hand to the back of my head, where she held it close against her pussy.

My finger was now completely inside her, and I was sliding my tongue around and across her clit, trying my best to match the speed of her moans. Within less than a minute she came a second time, holding my face tight to her pussy, and moving her body back and forth against it. Her breath slowed as she released my head from her hand.

I sat up to look at her. She was completely undone now, her skirt bunched at her waist and her blouse wide open; her bra lay unhooked and loosely wrapped around her neck and her beautiful small breasts were open to the now dank air of the car’s interior. She lay back, exhausted by what I’d just done to her, her eyes closed. She looked so relaxed; I wondered if she was asleep.

My neck was killing me. Even after using my arms to hold her up, the position my face had to assume to allow my tongue to do its work had put an awful strain on it. My forearms had paid a price as well. They were cramping up from the effort to hold her ass up in the air for so long. But goddam it was worth it. To see Angel so completely spent, to hear her moan my name, to be able to gaze unhindered at that lovely blonde pussy, and to have its sweet nectar spread about my fingers and lips? I’d do it all again, even at the risk of breaking my neck!

As for my own pleasure? Well, my cock was crying out for some attention, but funny thing about that. When Angel had calmed down and begun to readjust her clothing, I reached for one of her hands and placed it in my lap. She pulled it back suddenly, as if she’d never before touched a man down there.

She looked me straight on and said, in the slightest whisper, “Oh, Alex. I…I didn’t realize you were so…so big. You’re enormous! You’re SCARY big, I think!”

I didn’t mind her reticence. I was so sure that this was the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship that I was willing to wait for the next step. All in good time, I thought to myself. My immediate pleasure is a small price to pay for what I’m certain will be future of not just good sex, but true love and, hopefully, a life together. I may be dreaming, but that’s all right because this Angel, this real, true-to-life, honest-to-god actual angel, is the woman of my dreams. I’m so sure of it that I know one orgasm foregone now is little to give up for what I know awaits me in the future.

Sunday, August 3

Neck still stiff from Friday night’s escapades. A little anxious about what it will be like when we see each other in the office tomorrow morning. She was affectionate but shy when I drove her home Friday. Leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek before she got out of the car, and wouldn’t allow me to walk her to the door. Claimed her roommate would be waiting up for her.

As I intimated at the beginning of yesterday’s entry, after I dropped her off and got to my place I was forced to take matters into my own hands – talk about blue balls! It was all I could do to wait until I got inside my apartment before bringing myself off. In fact, as I lay in bed that night trying to fall asleep I caught a whiff of Angel’s pussy on my hand and the memories flooded in on me – had to do it again just to get to sleep.

And, for the record, still haven’t washed that lucky left hand!

Wednesday, August 6

Last few days have been a struggle. Angel never showed up for work on Monday, and when she came in on Tuesday I could tell she felt awkward around me. I could understand why she might feel that way, so I was cool about it. I acted as if nothing had changed, as if Friday had never happened, and eventually the atmosphere became more comfortable for both of us – all business, but friendly. I’m sure it’s just because Harry’s back from vacation and always around when Angel and I have reason to speak to each other. All I know is that I’m a wreck. I want this woman in my life – permanently – and I’m going to figure a way to make it happen if it’s the last thing I do! I had never thought about marriage before, but this is serious, and if that’s what it takes to make her mine, so be it!

[Ed Note: I can imagine that by now you are wondering what it was like for me to read about steamy sex involving my parents. I have to admit that it got me going – how could it not? I’d never read such a graphic account of oral sex before, and the fact that it was all true only added to its impact. I’m sure you can understand why it got me excited, and why, like my poor, frustrated father on that night back in 1958, I was forced to take matters into my own hands. I admit it. I came right along with Angel while reading the passages describing what went on in the front seat of that Buick.

But wait, you’re saying to yourself, isn’t masturbating to the image of your parents having sex a little weird? In fact, isn’t that akin to INCEST?!

I understand why you would think that. My partial defense is that…well…I won’t try to explain it. It’s easier if I just let you read two more entries from Dad’s journal.]

Tuesday, August 12

This afternoon Angel came into my office and asked to speak to me, Aha, I thought, now’s when we pick up where we left off a week ago. She looked lovely, as always, dressed in a light, summer dress that showed off her tanned legs and arms. I was enjoying thoughts of climbing up under that dress when she dropped a bombshell – she’s quitting! Fuck! I thought to myself. What did I do wrong? I was only half listening as she described how she was offered a better position at a brokerage house down the street (apparently it was one of the men she’d been speaking to when I foolishly left her alone at the bar that first night out together) and that it was a chance to move beyond being just a secretary.

Okay, I thought to myself, this is a good thing. Now that she’s no longer working here we can be together in public, be a real couple. I can work with this, I thought, and decided to play it cool. I told her I was happy for her and that I’d do anything I could to help make her transition as easy as possible. As I watched her walk out of my office, her hips swaying back and forth, I began to imagine what life with a woman like her was going to be like. And, as I write this, my cock is trying to imagine what life inside that tight little blonde pussy will be like! Excuse me if I stop for a moment to help it with that task…

Saturday, August 30

As you can see, it’s been awhile I’ve opened this journal. It’s rather fitting that this entry will use up its last few pages. The fact is I just haven’t been up to writing these past few weeks. They’ve been difficult for me because I learned that not only were they Angel’s last weeks in the office, but also, I’m sorry to say, in my life.

The optimism I felt upon learning she was quitting to take another position was shattered when she came into my office last Thursday. She looked even more radiant than usual, and I thought it was simply the excitement of moving to a new challenge, but it was more than that. She sat down across from my desk and placed her folded hands on top of it. She asked me if I noticed anything different about her appearance, and when I admitted that I didn’t, she held up her left hand to show me an engagement ring. To make a long story short, the young man she’d spurned some months before had returned. She’d had a chance to think about what she was giving up when she left him and decided to forgive him his transgressions. They are to be married in the Spring.

Ever the gentleman, I wished her all the happiness true love can bring and, ever the professional, got right back down to business, asking her if she was prepared to begin training her replacement. She said that she was, and that she was sure Cynthia – the girl Hawthorne had hired to replace her – would be every bit as capable in meeting my needs as she had been. I doubted that, but kept it to myself.



Angel called Cynthia into the office to introduce me and she seemed pleasant enough.
They made an interesting pair – Angel’s blonde hair and fair skin contrasted sharply with Cynthia’s dark brown hair and olive complexion.

I watched as they walked out and Cynthia sat at Angel’s desk. As I watched them I was daydreaming about Angel’s pussy, remembering the soft bush that surrounded it and how it matched the color of her hair, when I heard laughter. I awoke from my reverie in time to see Angel whisper something into Cynthia’s ear, and then they both turned to look my way. Cynthia blushed and it was then that I noticed her legs - long, beautiful legs. They were parted ever so slightly and before she closed them again I swear I could see a small triangle of satiny yellow material. Yellow? Silk, perhaps? No – no white cotton for this woman, I thought to myself. I began to imagine how this change might work out for the best after all…

* * *

So ends the last volume of my father’s private journal. Dad didn’t give away all his secrets, but there’s one thing of which I’m certain - he did manage to get inside that new secretary’s pants. As I’m sure you’ve surmised by now, my mother’s name isn’t Angeline, it’s Cynthia.


- - -
bio here
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Mixx
  • Google
  • Furl
  • Reddit
  • Spurl
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati

White Trash

Contributor: Paul Tristram

- -
“White Trash!”, they all shouted at me
oh yeah, well that just suits me fine.
You can shove your fucking morals
all the choices that I make are mine.
How can any of you be any better off
when you are so bitter and unhappy?
It must be jealousy you are showing
because I’ve not let the system trap me?
You are as useless as a broken glass
you are as boring as the jobs you do.
If they doubled up your stupid pay
I still would not take it away from you.
Your lovers they find fun elsewhere
while you ferment within stupidity.
life is a game that you are missing
and you are too old to blame naivety.
“White Trash!”, they all shouted at me
as I passed them drinking my wine.
While I just smiled back knowingly
their girlfriends have all sucked mine.


- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Mixx
  • Google
  • Furl
  • Reddit
  • Spurl
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati

She Drives Me Crazy

Contributor: Phil Thomas Killman

- -
Her big bright eyes catch my attention from across the street. She's beautiful. Rays of the hot sun stream across her tan body. Every curve is formed with such sleek and sexy definition. I hurry inside and plant myself on my knees at the living room window. While I struggle to free my dick from my pants, I stare at her and imagine all the things I'd do to her. My eyes are fixated on her smooth body and I'm dreaming of how it would feel against me. Tugging on myself vigorously I think of having her from behind. As I orgasm, I form a seal around the tip of my cock with my free hand to catch the come.
I wash my hands in the bathroom sink pressing the lemon scented soap into them deep, as if I am able to wash the shame of what I've just done down the drain along with my ejaculate. Not my shame, but societies' shame. The shame that has been forced into my brain through years of being told by the media, and government what is “normal”. I don't care about being normal. I care about being me and doing what makes sense to me, not others. This is just too hard in such a judging world so I keep my thoughts and fantasies to myself. As I finish up drying off my hands, there is a knock at the door. I walk out of the bathroom and through the living room, fixing the curtain on my way. Opening the door I see my neighbor from across the street.
"Hey, how's it going neighbor? He asks as he prepares his hand for a shake."
"Not too bad. What can I do for you?" I grasp his hand and wonder if antibacterial hand soap works well enough that I haven't just given him a handful of DNA.
"Well, I kind of have a favor to ask. The wife and I are heading out of town for the night, and I completely forgot about it being my night to do rounds for the neighborhood watch. I was wondering if you could cover for me tonight and I'll do yours tomorrow."
"I don't have any plans so that would be fine. Will the dogs be fine or do you need someone to check on them as well? I ask."
"My daughter will be home. She just got her license. I figure if she is old enough to drive then she can probably handle a night of dog sitting," he says.
"I thought I saw a new car in the drive."
"Yes sir. We just picked it up today. He turns in the direction of his house to look at the new car."
I look across the street. There she is again. Just in front of my neighbors' house. She's beautiful.
"Nice car."
"Got it for a steal really. The mileage is relatively low and the interior is in great condition."
I can't keep my eyes off of her.
"It definitely looks in good shape."
"Yeah, it's only had one owner and it was an older lady that pretty much just used it to get to the market and back."
I'd like to take her to the market and back.
I break my gaze as he turns back around.
"Well, I am glad to hear you got such a good deal. Have a nice night out with the wife"

I have to have her. The thought is becoming obsessive; it refuses to leave my head. I could have her. Tonight is perfect, she is unprotected. My biggest hurdle would be the dogs, but they know me well enough not to make too much ruckus.
It's 11 o'clock, time to go out for the neighborhood watch. I grab my flashlight and head out the front door. I'm not doing my rounds tonight. I am doing what I need to do to get rid of this feeling. I will have her tonight. The anxiety hits as I step onto the neighbors porch. My heart is racing and I'm starting to sweat, but I am not turning back. I root around the plant where I know the spare key is hidden and use the key to enter the front door. Being as quiet as possible I make my way through the living room, sneaking past the sleeping dogs undetected, and to the door at the end of a small hallway.
Behind this door is the one I wake up and think about every morning and fall asleep fantasizing about every night. Now all there is between us is a piece of wood. I grab the handle and pull up on it and towards me so the door won't creak as it swings open. A concentrated ray of light from the hallway cuts her in half as it enters the room through the open door. I stand and stare at her a moment. She is so still, so peaceful. I love everything about her. And now it's just the two of us, alone. Alone to share a night that I have been waiting so long for.
I shut the garage door behind me and turn the light on. Then I walk over to her and run my fingertips lightly across her cold steel frame. While gently kissing her, my lips make their way across her hood and back to the driver's side mirror. When I am close enough, I reach to test the door handle. She is unlocked. I climb inside of her gliding across the smooth leather and see the key in the ignition. Could this get any better? The girls’ room is across the house. She'll never hear the purr of the engine from that distance. Turning the key I feel her start to vibrate underneath me. I slide my zipper down and pull myself out. Staring at her beautiful interior I spit in my hand and stroke my dick making it erect. I lean the driver seat all the way back until it is lying flat and roll over so I am belly down on the seat. Then, I use my spit to wet the space between the bottom of the seat and the back before I slide my cock between the two parts. She is so tight. Thrusting myself deep into her gives me goose bumps. Climbing back out of her I make my way towards the trunk feeling her perfect body along the way. I spit on her back bumper and start rubbing myself against the beautiful glossy paint. Grasping the rear end tight on both sides I rock her so that she will slide back and forth against me. I can feel myself nearing orgasm. I start rocking her harder and harder to bring myself closer to climax. As I start to exert more force I realize that I should have cracked the garage door before starting her up, but I am so close. I go harder so that I can finish because I am becoming dizzy. The lack of oxygen is scary and enjoyable at the same time. Everything looks brighter. I wouldn't change a thing about this moment... besides the pain in my chest. I go harder still pushing myself into her as firmly as I can. I blow my load and vomit synchronically as a calming darkness takes over me.


- - -
My writing style is highly influenced by Irvine Welsh, Hunter S. Thompson, and Charles Bukowski. The short stories that I write are imaginative and explore the minds of people with unique lifestyles.
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Mixx
  • Google
  • Furl
  • Reddit
  • Spurl
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati

The Rat

Contributor: Paul Tristram

- -
I was living in a greasy 3 storey block of bedsits, on the middle floor facing the backyard, behind the Old Swansea Crown Courts, with its giant white clock pillar reaching up into the sky, a practical monument placed absurdly upon a building known for stopping time.
I had no watch or clock so when in view it was the only time I knew what time it was,
I would run down the stairs, open the front door just to see if it was pub o’clock yet? (The bars still shut between 3 and 7pm back then)
They had sent me down at age 17 in that Crown Court, to the hardest Borstal in Britain, on the desolate grey, cold island of Portland off the Southern coast of England, so living directly opposite was a constant reminder and didn’t help my moods much and they were of a dark, neurotic persuasion without the need of influence.
To make matters worse, they had moved the courtrooms to a new building up the road and on the other side a bit further up, turning the old building into the Council Offices, part of which being the ‘Housing Benefit Department’ and of course, being on the rock n’ roll myself, I had to keep going in there to fill out forms and sort out problems with my claim.
Which is why I was up before noon and in there today but lucky for me it was only a forgotten signature at the arse-end of a form which I quickly put right on the spot.
I got caught short walking up one of the giant hallways carpeted in that lush, green, lawn like, expensive looking floor fabric with the beer shits as I was trying to leave and ran into some toilets there, very posh I must say, plush as fuck, these Bureaucrat’s and Civil Servants like to squat in warmth and luxury, I can tell thee.
I was tempted to visit them every day and enjoy preforming my bowel movements in warmth and comfort but I couldn’t this building still reeked of jail to me. So instead I contented myself with writing ‘SCUM’ in shit on the orange-blossom off white wall with my fingers and after pissing over every seat I exited the Ladies toilet and walked across to the Gentlemen’s across the hallway. Where I opened the door with my still shit covered fingers, caressing the handle lovingly for a second or two, then washing my hands with squeezy, apricot scented soap in the warm jet stream as the soothing sounds of Bach seeped in through the little wall speaker.
Then after pissing over the 3 bog seats, I put the 4 loose rolls of paper into my shoplifting coat, it was a big old school parker that I had stolen from a charity shop in the city centre.
I’d ripped the insides out of both chest pockets so I could shove shoplifted items into the flaps and they would fall down into the coats lining, I could fit loads of stuff in there, I used to put my special brew can down in there if I was out and about and saw any filth approaching, the garment had become quite indispensable.
I stood looking in one of the wall mirrors for awhile, it had a nice clean polished surface unlike the one in my bedsit covered in shit and puss and grime, splashes of vomit and other dried up liquid and most of it other peoples too. I’d only lived there for 3 weeks, Jesus I could feel myself start to fall inside of myself again, I was going to have a seizure or fit.
I grabbed onto the sink besides me and clenched my entire body, turning my face down and to the left and rode the stomach churning waves until they had finished.
I splashed some cold water onto my face and realized I needed alcohol, I had only had half a warm flat can this morning to break my fast upon and my body was physically rebelling, soon my mind would be swarming and infected with the horrors, but this was a good day for I had a crumpled £10 in my jeans pocket.
I half smiled and without even thinking about it head-butted the mirror in front of myself,
the suddenness made me chuckle out loud, it didn’t bang or smash or make much noise at all, it was like a dull thud, almost like (I imagine?) smashing the bottom of a boiled ostrich egg with a really big spoon.
7 years bad luck is it, you cannot give 7 years bad luck to someone with nothing but bad luck!
It didn’t fall to pieces either, there was just a spider web like pattern of cracks where my forehead had been, I laughed out loud and did a mock imitation of my mothers voice “Put it down you don’t know where his fucking forehead’s been?”
The screw of insanity was turning tighter, I needed alcohol, I turned to leave, then spotted the litter bin, it was made of metal, I swung it high above my head and brought it down upon the nearest sink, the porcelain broke in half, I looked down at the piece on the floor disappointed, that was just too easy it snapped off like the handle off a very large tea cup.
I let the metal bin clatter to the floor and walked on out of there, smashing in the glass of the fire alarm directly next to the door in the corridor with my elbow in one fluid motion as I passed, I headed towards the doorway at the back of the building.
Well, that was that well and truly fucked now, I’d have to keep shitting in the stinking public ones across the road with the dirty old men and tramps wanking and crying pathetically in the cubicles next door, fucking nonce low life’s hanging about in toilets, they should bring back hanging.
I made it out without any further incident, walked through the car park, across to the next street and into the closest off-licence.
Fuck it, the blonde twat was in here again, he was about my age and he knew me from a YTS scheme and he was living 3 or 4 streets away in the Sandfields area but always used this shop, maybe he was banned from his local? I dunno, what I do know is the cunt wouldn’t leave me alone every time he saw me.
We weren’t friends, we never were, I never remember speaking to him at that YTS scheme either, but he wanted to be pally and he wouldn’t take no for an answer, the last time I saw him in here was about a week ago and he had waited for me outside.
“I’ve invited you round our gaff to drink with us but you haven’t been round, you think your better than us you cunt, don’t you?” he had accused.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble, I just like drinking on my own…my head’s going a bit, like, you know?” I had tried to wriggle out of it by again telling people too much, it was a fault of mine telling people too much, my business was my business alone.
“Well your head will be fucking gone if we don’t see you soon, it’ll be fucking stamped in!”
he spat angrily.
“Ok, I’ll try and make it later!” I lied.
The bastard lived with 5 drunks from town, always hanging around the Quadrant shopping mall, drinking and begging change, I’d broken one of thems jaw a couple of years ago, it was Carty the big cunt, back before the gang split up and I had loads of friends and was happy and not the fucking ruin I was now.
I knew it would only take the once for it to come up in conversation and I’d have the fucking lot of them on me, fuck that for a game of soldiers, I’m a lot of things but stupid isn’t one of them, Ok well I’ll rephrase it, not that fucking stupid, anyway.
And here I was stood behind him again, I’d clocked none of his mates outside on the way in,
this made me feel easier, I was pretty sure I could do him if it came to it, if I didn’t have a fit halfway through it, I’d just have to be quick if it went off, I decided sagely.
I moved my hand to my bottom pocket and felt for my steel friend, it was still there, a 6 inch metal spring with a steel ball bearing about the size of a dislodged eyeball on either end, I smiled.
He finished paying and turned around, looked me full in the face for a second blankly then turned and left the shop, how weird.
Fucking result I thought as I stepped up and asked for two 2 litres of Stonehouse cider, winking and smiling at the new girl behind the counter and inquiring
“How much, love?” almost as an after thought.
“To you my friend, £2:49 but only to you my friend, I like you don’t you be telling anyone about this, yes £2:49 to you my friend!” spoke the Paki overseer, over to the far right-hand side, who was breaking the new girl in, aye in more fucking ways than one I thought.
I smiled back at him and nodded, thinking fuck me but my luck might be changing, then I looked at the girl pulling the bottles off the shelf and saw a brightly coloured orange cardboard star with £2:49 on it, I chuckled to myself, he’s a fucking player him, isn’t he just.
She smiled shyly at me as she handed me my change and carrier-bag with my plastic flagons in, she had one of those greasy dirty blonde scraped back ponytails with flecks of dandruff in
just like your typical lazy council estate white trash girl.
Only slightly pretty but only in a youthful way, once she’s had 3 or 4 kids and a few years of debt and misery and beatings she’ll have lost that and be fucking minging, I thought as I turned and left the shop.
I walked to the end of the road to the little grass area by the phone boxes and benches and made a roll-up and took a few good pulls on one of the bottles whilst smoking it then I went in one of the phone boxes and reversed the charges to the hostel in Gloucester, England and Sally answered in her warm friendly voice.
“Hello, I’ve been waiting for you to call back for a few days, you been on a bender?
“Sally, I’m going insane, I’m blacking out on beer and cider now, I can’t eat, it’s like chewing cardboard or something, I’m drinking a tin of cold soup straight from the can every other day.
I’m hearing strange music playing in my head, I’m hallucinating, stray dogs are fucking with me at night when I walk down the street and I’m getting vertigo walking on pavements, I’m losing my fucking mind!”
“Sssh, listen to me, everything you just said, apart from the dog part, all comes under the umbrella of chronic alcoholism, your body and brain are poisoned with toxins, you just need help to withdraw and get sober and healthy.
Now, that’s it explained easy but you know there’s a lot of hard work involved, you’ve been here before.
I’m glad you phoned, I have some good news, we have a bed free for you in two weeks time this Wednesday, because you are on bail for that D&D we can get public funding for you even though it’s not a prison-able offence, we can wangle it, so you just have to keep it together for a couple of weeks more and then we’ll have you.” I could hear her smiling as she said this.
“Thank fuck for that, I don’t think I could have held out much longer!” I almost yelled into the phone.
“Ok, your probation officer is still in Neath, you haven’t changed it over to Swansea yet so we’ll send a cheque for £45 out to Neath tomorrow morning, that will cover train fare for you to get here and some lunch, it will be there in a day or two, try and get some rest and stay safe, we’ll be seeing you very soon!” she explained.
I walked back to my pad feeling a little more hopeful but swinging the carrier from one hand to the other, I had scabs on my knuckles again and they were fresh and sore, I always had them in varying degrees of healing, sometimes from fighting, sometimes from punching walls in anger and drunken madness and sometimes from just falling over on the cold, hard Swansea pavements.
I opened the front door and there was another taxi card on the floor, I picked it up and smiled as I read it ‘I’ll Be Back Again For The £2:50 You Bastard!’
I’d jumped a taxi back from Dirty Dora’s nightclub a week or so ago and told the driver I’d left my wallet in the house and that I’d just run in and get it (Who the fuck goes to a nightclub and leaves his wallet at home, right? but anyways!) the soft cunt only lets me go, so I’m straight in the front door, up to my room on the bed and nighty night.
I vaguely remember him forcing the unstable front door and yelling from the downstairs hallway but it’s a block of bedsits not a house, he doesn’t know which fucking one I’m in.
I heard that the poet Dylan Thomas died still owing taxi fare in Swansea, well so will I and fucking all, I’m out of this shit hole in a couple of weeks anyway.
As I walk up to my room I remember that time 3 or 4 years ago when me and this bird jumped a taxi in Neath down to the Melyn, I’m drunk as fuck but she’s only half-cut.
I get the driver to stop by the chest high walls on Murderers Row, so we can jump over and make our escape through the gardens but I’ve misjudged it and we’re up the wrong end of the street, the gardens slope lower as the street goes on and the drop gets higher.
As soon as the car halts, I whisper ‘Follow me’ to the girl, jumps out of the car so fast I get giddy, trip sideways and fall 12ft over the wall into 10ft of brambles, I’m all tangled up at the bottom of them, they’re stuck in my fucking lips and pulling my ears and everything.
I try calling for help but the girl’s too busy trying to give the driver her gold rings off her fingers for the fare, to keep until giro day when she can pay him.
“Fuck it, don’t worry about it, it was worth it just to see the cunt preform that stunt!” laughs the driver as he gets back in his cab and fucks off.
The girl stands up there looking down at me, then drinks the remainder of the bottle, I can see her in the streetlight, then she throws the empty bottle down at me, hitting me in the stomach and winding me before she walks off shouting the word “Wanker!”
It took me about 3 hours to untangle myself and get out, there were milkmen coming up the road by the time I got home.
In my room I got my only pint glass (previously stolen from a beer garden) and poured a good drink of cider, after a long taste of it, I decided to change my t-shirt, I’d been sleeping in it for days and it was noticeably smelling of beer sweat.
The bedsit came equipped with a single bed, an old 4 drawer unit and a sink, I went to the 2nd drawer from the top where my few t-shirts lived and leapt backwards as a large brown and white hooded rat squealed and leapt out from inside the drawer in my direction as I leapt backwards up onto the wobbling bed in horror to see it scurrying across the floor to the sink where it squeezed through the gap in the wall where the pipe went through, the fuckers had cut it too wide and that’s where this rodent lived.
It must have climbed in the back of the chest of drawers and was using my clothes to sleep on the dirty little squatting cunt! I though aloud in disgust.
It was my own fault I suppose, I had been coming in the other day when the guy who lives next to the front door and who likes to stand outside the building in the sun all day (when ever there is any sun in Swansea, that is?) collared me and invited me into his room to have a drink with some acquaintances.
Now, I don’t normally do this but I reasoned to myself, if by chance they’re twats, I can go visit the toilet which is on the second floor and disappear back to my room, nay problem.
Bad mistake, fuck politeness you should always go with your gut instincts, never second guess yourself and never piss downstream if you’re actually standing downstream but I digress.
Besides himself, there were 3 other lonely people there, his cousin who was thin, wore glasses, looked pretty intelligent, was soft spoken and who had a very serious obsession with Kylie Minogue and two beggars who begged outside 2 of the 4 entrances to Swansea market every day.
The guy whose room it was worked at the Vetch Field the home of Swansea City Football Club, showing people to their seats and that’s all he talked about, that and being lonely, yawn!
I was more interested in the 2 beggars, I smoked a mull or two when the bong came round and asked them shit, they were quite open and friendly when they could see I meant them no danger.
They told me that they could get £20 a day begging sometimes but in a month it would be Christmas and then they would get £150 to £200 a day each and get given sandwiches and crisps and pasties.
On Sunday evenings they went around the churches and told them that they were homeless and had just arrived in town and were starving, they never got money but they got food every time, there must be around 200 churches in Swansea and they’d hit 30 odd so far.
The rest of the time they lived on waste ground down by the docks in tents.
They had quite a little system going there, they were making more than me on benefits, but I wasn’t bothered only interested besides I was off to Gloucester soon.
Then one of them pulled the afore mentioned rat out from his coat and explained that he had bought it from a pet shop for a couple of pound that morning hoping that it would help with the begging, that people might feel sorry for it and open up their purses a bit wider.
But the opposite had happened, a few more men stopped to ask questions about the rat but men weren’t big money givers, it was the women that gave money especially the old religious ones and most of them shrieked when they saw the fucking rat and did one away on their toes, leaving him with little takings.
He was looking for a home for it and daft cunt here with a belly full of cider & lager and a head full of bong smoke stepped up to the occasion like a right fucking idiot.
I took the rat back to my room inside a cardboard box with the promise that the beggar would be around with a cage the following evening, which he would buy from the next days takings.
He was true to his word on this count, unfortunately, I needed a piss in the middle of the night and tread on the cardboard box whilst trying to find the sink to piss in whilst in complete darkness and the fucker escaped and I cannot catch him.
The cage the beggar brought around is on the floor open with some crumbs in it but the rat merely eats them while I’m out and then fucks off back behind the sink, it’s driving me crazy.
I get back down from off the bed and pour myself another big drink and start to think about the hostel in Gloucester again, it’s a bail/rehab hostel and I was sent there a few years ago by the courts, Cardiff Crown Court actually for a spate of off-licence and pub burglaries and smash and grabs.
I had two choices; get remanded and await sentencing in Swansea or Cardiff Prisons or go to the hostel where I had in-house therapy sessions, I could leave the building at 9 in the morning and go up town getting back for dinner and therapy, then back out again and you had to be in by 10 at night.
I had to attend 3 AA or NA outside meetings a week, and I also had my own room.
The only other condition was to not enter licenced premises or drink or use drugs whilst you were there otherwise ‘straight to jail, if you pass Go do not collect £200’
I chose the hostel didn’t I, I mean who wants to sit in jail, really? It wasn’t a fucking choice at all.
I was soon halfway through the second bottle and my memory of the previous night was coming back in dribs and drabs, a flash here and there, I saw myself hanging out of someone’s living room window on a main street, feet up on the windowsill and my hands holding on to the open little top window.
Then there was a shout of ‘Oi!’ somewhere off up the street to my left and I fell down into the garden, tumbled over a small garden wall, around the corner and into a lane where I lay down behind some rubbish bins, then it went blank.
What the fuck was I doing last night? I don’t rob houses, I’m not a drainpipe monkey?
Who’s house was it, did I know someone who lived there, had I been invited back there and ended up outside, I just couldn’t remember and it scared the shit out of me.
Then another memory slide into view, it was me punching Carty square in the face, it looked to be the same lane that I was hiding behind the bins earlier, then I’ve got hold of that blonde cunt by the throat and I’m strangling him, there’s another guy shouting for me to stop behind him.
Then it all goes blank again, well that must be why he never acknowledged me in the shop earlier, I knew that fucker just needed scaring and I’m not sorry either, I mean there ain’t no police involvement but it’s all just so fucking unnecessary, stupid, violent, ugly and horrible.
I could have been killed there were 3 of them for fuck sake!
This is why I need to get away I repeat to myself, luckily there’s a bed for me in 2 weeks, I’m leaving this country for good, it’s my fresh start, clean slate, new life, no more living like an animal.
I finished the 2nd bottle and lay back on the bed and drifted off to sleep.
I awoke slowly to a strange, unusual sensation, there was a tingling and pulling on the fingers of my right hand, I looked down but the room was in complete darkness, I smiled in my half awakenness and a thought came to me that angels were healing my busted hands,.
But then I felt a slight pinch, which pulled me out of my reverie and I put my left hand into my jeans pocket, pulled out my lighter and struck the wheel, there to my horror was the rat pulling at the scabs on my right knuckles and eating them.
I fucking leapt ceiling-wards screaming, I took 3 strides towards the wall with the light switch on in mid-air, smashing the switch on with the side of my head in my eagerness.
I spun around and there it was still on the bed, it looked shocked, I’ll give it fucking shocked in a minute, I thought. On the floor were the only 3 things that I possessed, a holdall for my few clothes, a small tape recorder and a little square coffee table that I had made in that Llansamlet workshop the last time that I had community service hours and the guy who had taught us was so impressed with my craftsmanship that he had let me keep it.
I grabbed for it, lifting it up above my head by one leg, twisting it and swinging it like a club, I leapt at the bed, missed the rat but the impact trampolined the cunt up into the air, I turned and try to hit him with a tennis swing but missed and he hit the floor.
I brought the table down to the floor where it split in half but the rat ran scurrying back behind the sink.
In frustration, I picked up the both pieces of broken table and threw them together straight through the fucking window and howled like a rabid dog, that was it, breaking point, I had well and truly had a fucking ‘nough.
I doubt I’ll ever get that image out of my head I repeated to myself as I grabbed my holdall of clothes and left the building, never to return to it and that dirty, stinking fucking rat.
I went back in the shop and bought 2 more 2 litres of Stonehouse, which was still only £2:49 because I was still his fucking friend and then I jumped the 10 pm train over to Neath, were I slept on park benches and stayed in old world war air-raid shelters until the days ticked away and I fucked off to Gloucester.


- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Mixx
  • Google
  • Furl
  • Reddit
  • Spurl
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati

Archive