Off My Tree

Contributor: Paul Tristram

- -
Again fill my glass with some vodka
while I snort another line of cocaine.
Then a few tokes of a skunk spliff
while the powder’s wracked up again.
Another can of Stella would be nice
and maybe I’ll do an ecstasy or two.
A little dab of cheeky amphetamine
will help me see the night through.
You can stick your smack up your arse
but of course wash up some crack.
I’ll go and seek out the ammonia
I will be the last one on my back.


- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches 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.
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If You Wash It, I’ll Do It

Contributor: Paul Tristram

- -
If you wash it, I’ll do it
I’ll crawl back down the bed.
Get tangled up in your legs
and hope I don’t see red.
Yeah, I’ll face it like a man
and I’ll do my very best.
Work away quite hungrily
you have yourself a rest.
Ram-raid with my tongue,
I’ll take it on the chin.
If you was it, I’ll do it
let the messy show begin.


- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches 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.
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Casanova

Contributor: Zelda Zonk

- -
Doug's going deeper and faster than he has before. He hears Aiden's belaboured moans underneath him and pauses for a second so his breath can even out a bit. Doug steadies his hand on Aiden's left butt check. Only after Aiden smiles back at him does he slap it hard.

"Don't stop," Aiden pants.

Doug places both hands on Aiden's waist, gripping him hard as he continues to plunge in and out of him. When he slides out accidentally, Aiden lets out a small yelp. Doug shushes him, and then slaps his ass again.

"Turn over," Doug commands. Aiden groans as he moves, and then smiles when Doug meets his eye.

"This is what I like," Doug says.

Aiden touches himself on the bed, craning his neck, his Adam's apple large and exposed, covered with hickeys, and he grabs the pillow. He puts it under his back and then Doug grabs his leg. Throwing it over his shoulder, he tells Aiden to touch himself before he goes back inside. Aiden's mouth is agape anytime he's not biting his lip. Doug remembers why they don't have sex this way that often -- Aiden's faces always put him over the edge. He needs to bite his tongue to keep going, and he keeps stopping and starting again in rapid succession. Going slow makes him come faster -- it seems to completely go against physics. Instead, to last the longest, he needs to thrust deeper and deeper into Aiden, then stop completely. Aiden whines anytime Doug's rhythm changes, but he smiles up at him all the same.

"You're going to kill me," Doug pants as he watches Aiden. He has to pull out completely to regain composure this time, dangling precariously close to that edge.

"Look who's talking," Aiden teases. Doug slaps him again before he goes back inside.

It's not going to be much longer, but Doug wants to spread out those moments one by one, like the beads that they sometimes use. It's a complete shame, he knows, that when he really likes someone -- or maybe even love, like in the case of Aiden -- he can never last that much at all. To be a Casanova, he needs to go for hours, but to actually be in love, he lasts mere minutes. The time and his reputation creep up on him and he can't take it any longer.

"Fuck," he utters, along with a bunch of other mangled syllables. He tries to keep thrusting inside of Aiden, especially as Aiden begins to come on his own chest. Doug stops as suddenly as he started and lowers his body over Aiden's. Aiden teases Doug by moving around and hovering just above his lips, but he eventually gives into Doug's charm. Doug keeps touching Aiden's arms and sides as they kiss, working up the nerve to ask him to stay the night.

"So we can keep going?" Aiden asks, and Doug nods.

"Yeah. I'd like more time with you."


- - -
Zelda is a media theorist and poet who writes erotica on the side. She is currently working towards a PhD and holds a part-time position at a magazine. Zelda Zonk was the name that Marilyn Monroe used when she checked into hotels and booked flights.
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MORNING RENDEZVOUS

Contributor: Stacy Maddox

- -
I can smell her hot sex
Intoxicating, tangy and sweet
Another man's spent seed
Staining her clean panties

Every day for weeks now
We've been meeting this way
She pretends I am nobody
And slips into the next seat

I could be her favorite lover
Instead of the cock she's using
Sitting there so innocently
As I shift against my jeans

She's just had another fucking
One of many I will count
Leaving me breathless and needy
When her skin is slick and flushed

Day after day I anticipate
We would be good together
Her poised, straddling my hips
Ready to take all she wants

Over coffee and a bagel
I have stripped her naked
Satisfied our deepest desires
And cum in her soft folds.


- - -
Stacy Maddox lives, dreams and writes in the fast-paced city of Lawrence, KS. She loves to soak up the sun by the river and feel the rush of water over her feet while spending time with her family and pets. Stacy has been published in over 15 books, print magazines and online websites. She has been passionate about Art in any form for over 30 years.
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Gonorrhoea Green

Contributor: Paul Tristram

- -
I was sitting in the corner of the room, biting at my left wrist, when Lynn my common-law
wife came running over to me.
“Baby, the ambulance has just pulled up outside, try and stand up love, come on I’ll help
you!”
I put my hands under myself and tried to push myself up; I rose about a foot from the floor
then crashed back down again.
“Here give me one of your arms, there that’s it, now try again.”
She pulled while I clenched my arse cheeks together, pushed forward and tried to make myself light, I abseiled half way across the floor before I was finally standing upright.
I stood there swaying perfectly for a second or two, leaned forward with a grin to kiss her
on her forehead, I missed, skidded down her left hand side and collapsed once more upon the floor.
“For Fuck Sake!” She exclaimed in frustration.
Then she bent down, grabbed my right hand and dragged me to the door.
“Now grab a hold of the door handle while I try and pull you up again.”
I did, she pulled, up I came, my head spun around a few times, then I put my arm around Lynn’s shoulders and let her take me to the back door where the ambulance man had just
started knocking.
She let me slump down onto the hall floor as she opened the door, I sat there squinting up
at her in wonder as I watched her hands, arms, shoulders, her everything do exactly what
she told them to do, my God she’s a miracle, I thought.
The door opened and there stood a middle aged guy dressed in a green uniform (it didn’t
suit him) he had short receding close cropped hair and a goatee, I disliked him instantly.
“He’s taken these!” exclaimed Lynn handing him an empty tablet bottle.
“He’s taken about thirty of them plus he’s drank eight cans of strong bitter and a half
bottle of vodka.”
I was fed up by now of being left out of the conversation and was trying to get up onto
my arguing feet while singing something in French, well it sounded like French to me?
so much so that I stopped singing it and started talking like it just to make sure that they
both noticed how marvellous I could be, they didn’t sadly.
Lynn grabbed a hold of one of my arms, the guy in the gonorrhoea green coloured uniform
grabbed my other arm and there I was at my full height again.
“Please, please look after him, make sure that he’s alright.” pleaded Lynn.
“Don’t worry miss, we’ll make sure he gets there fine.” answered the guy.
“He’d better or I’ll bite his fucking face off!” I interjected with humour, only Lynn got it
and it was a very weary smile at that.
The ambulance man moved away from me a bit and held me practically at arm’s length
as we wandered left and right towards the ambulance which was waiting straight ahead.
The doors were open and he helped me up the two or three steps into the ambulance- a
bit too roughly for my liking- and I took a seat upon the thin bed while he closed the doors.
He shouted to the driver once the back of the vehicle was secure and up started the engine,
then I felt motion and we were starting our journey from St Austell to Truro where the
nearest hospital is.
“Look you’ll be more comfortable if you lay yourself down.” suggested the ambulance guy
who was sitting on the opposite bed, watching me intently. He looked quite red and his
breathing was slow and heavy, he was obviously overweight, so I made a on the spot
decision that it was high blood pressure which if he carried on with his obviously unhealthy
lifestyle would lead to cardiac problems within the next ten years of his sad little life.
Being always ready to be of help to unfortunate folk, I was about to advise him on a
diet, exercise and stress level plan when my eyes caught sight of his green uniform again
and I remembered that I didn’t like the cunt and really didn’t care if he dropped dead
right there on the spot. You’re too nice, that’s your trouble, I thought to myself, you’re
just too damn nice for your own good.
Then I stopped thinking and tried peering through the dark glass behind the pricks
shoulders, where I could see nowt because it was night time, just shadows and shit when
we passed by street lights.
“Look you’ll be more comfortable if you lay yourself down!” he repeated.
“Listen, I’m alright, I don’t need your fussing and farting about me, just sit over there
and leave me be!” I answered slurring.
Christ, the tablets were kicking in big time; I could form thoughts OK but was having
quite a bit of trouble getting them out of my mouth.
“If you just lay back and put your feet up, I promise to leave you alone until we get to
casualty.” he tried to reassure me.
My head was starting to spin violently and I could taste red leather- I know that that
doesn’t sound very believable but none the less that’s what I could taste- I realized
quickly that I was either dying, going mad or I’d been licking Lynn’s upholstery during
my earlier blackout, who knows I’d overdosed for fuck sake?
I lay myself back upon the bed like a good boy and kicked my legs up, I lay there for
a few seconds trying to calm down. It felt like I was full of sea water and it was slopping
back and fore from my toes to my throat, while my brain- which was obviously scared
of drowning- was battering at the top of my poor skull trying to get out and away from
this extreme experience.
Then blackness drifted over my right eye,
“I’m going fucking blind!” I screamed in terror and lashed out violently with a fist, the
fist struck something solid- well, when I say solid I mean you could feel it but it wasn’t
very hard, in fact it was like punching a bag of vomit with an empty beer can in the middle
of it- and the blackness passed from view.
“Thank Christ for that, I thought that I was going blind!” I exclaimed looking around.
The guy on the bed opposite was holding his jaw with his left hand, he was no longer
red he was now purple.
“I was just trying to put a blanket over you!” he explained sounding confused.
“Well, serves your right, you said if I laid down you’d stay the fuck away from me
and another thing, I’m making a complaint when we arrive, fucking blanket around me,
eh, it’s you who needs a fucking blanket around you, look at that fucking green uniform,
for fuck sake, I’ve overdosed and every time I look at you I feel like throwing up, you’re
spinning me out, you cunt, spinning me out!” I answered thoughtfully and all diplomatic
like.
I felt the rush of air first, then his hands were clamped around my throat, Christ alive,
what a fucking night I was having, the dopey twat was trying to kill me.
I flung my hands up to his throat and tried to do the same to him but it was of no use,
I was too weak from the pills and booze, I wasn’t getting anywhere.
I punched him twice in the side but that didn’t work either, I decided that it was time
for drastic measures, the only thing left to do was to frighten him.
I poked my tongue out as far as it would go and strained my eyes so they looked like
they were going to pop out.
I was waiting for exactly the right moment; the success of this operation would depend
upon attacking immediately at the proper time, not a second too early and not a second
too late.
The moment finally arrived, his face which had been angry and full of concentration
now looked baffled as he stared down at my wagging tongue and bulging eyes.
He relaxed his grip slightly for a moment and that was what I was waiting for, I made
my right forefinger rigid and slammed it straight up his left nostril with as much
force as I could muster- which I admit couldn’t have been much what with the state
that I was in but the shock he received more than made up for that.
He made a weird, painful pig like noise, the driver was by now shouting stuff from the
front but I couldn’t make out what he was saying, I was far too busy, my fucking
finger was lodged right up the nostril.
He was standing over me, head bent towards me, waving his arms up and down at his
sides as if he were attempting to fly away, while all the time making this weird pig
noise.
Well, I had a migraine by now, I’d rather get throttled than listen to another minute
of this shite, I thought to myself.
I lifted my left hand and placed the palm under his jaw, then pushed while pulling the
hand with the trapped finger downwards until there was a popping noise and my
finger came out.
He staggered backwards and sat on the bed opposite while I inspected my finger.
“This will never do!” I muttered under my breath.
Then I spat at the finger, swung the finger around in a circular motion a couple of
times, then flung it forward with a jerk until the spit flew off the end and slapped
against the back doors of the ambulance, I then wiped the finger on the side of the bed
and turned to inspect twat face.
He was sat there with his mouth open in a big, stupid O shape, looking at me as if
I was insane- which is the way that most people look at me- yet he was still flapping
his fucking arms up and down like a chicken.
“Hey, chill out, mun!” I offered.
He stopped flapping but his mouth stayed open and he looked scared.
“Listen, I think you should lay off with all that blanket shit or I’m gonna end up hurting
the both of us, you understand?” I asked.
He responded with a nod so I let it rest at that, I lay back my head, closed my eyes and
thought of crazy things like:
Wallpaper and coving, I mean what headcase decided to put crap like that onto a wall?
False fingernails, what the fuck is that all about?
Vegetarian sausages, am I missing something?
And why the fuck are they cloning sheep when the tiger is nearly extinct?
What’s up with everybody for fuck sake?
Do caravans float, do flowers taste nice?
Do women like to know they’re being wanked over and if they do how on earth am
I going to afford that many stamps?
Why do cuts itch and irritate when they’re healing?
Cushions ain’t comfortable are they?
And what ever happened to white dogshit?
I’ve seen down and outs pulling beef burgers out of litter bins with only one bite
out of them, who fucking pays £4 for a burger takes one bite out of it and throws it
in the bin, what’s wrong with the world, mun?
The ambulance suddenly came to a stop, we’ve either arrived at the hospital or we’ve
knocked some cunt over, I thought to myself.
I opened my eyes; the guy was off the bed and opening the ambulance doors, there
was a building before us brightly lit up.
I arose, looked at the ambulance man and he stepped to the side, I staggered down the steps and zigzagged up the drive.
The ambulance man following me, he turned left to the signing in desk, this was my chance, I stumbled right, up the corridor, tried the first door, it opened, I turned the switch and locked the fucker.
Turned around and surveyed the arena, the first thing I clocked was the fucking window was too small to crawl out of but it was an armoury, I set straight to work, I loaded myself with scalpels, syringes and I stamped on a metal shit tray and broke it in half, this would be my axe, if war was happening, I was fucking ready.
There was no medication there which was a bummer but hey, you’ve got to work with what you’ve got.
I grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall and holding that in my right hand and the broken shit tray in the other, I watched that door like a cheating lover.
Then I heard someone outside say “He’s in there!”
I heard a trolley being pulled and lodged under the door handle, then someone banging the panic button.
When that door came alive and the security rushed in, I was swinging that fire extinguisher around my head like a fucker, I let it go, it bounced off the wall on the other side of the hall.
Then they grabbed me, pulled my jeans down and sedated me with a shot to the arse cheek, as I went under I heard a nurse scream
“Fuck, he’s got knives!”
I awoke sometime later with round sticky bits of plastic all over my chest with wires attached to them; I fucking ripped them off and roared
“Hansel’s slapped Gretel!”
I was off that bed and up the corridor, some old bastard started crying and hid under his blanket as I walked past but
Hansel’s slapped Gretel.
I got to the front desk and looking to my left I saw my misses and daughter in the waiting room,
I called to them, there were 3 nurses at the desk and the orderly said
“Get back to your bed!”
I stood there in my boxer shorts and looked at her, one of the other nurses said
“Let him go and see for himself!”
So off I walked towards the waiting room but the hallucination vanished 12 steps away from them, I was led back to my bed without any complaint, gutted.
I awoke with a burning sensation; it was like the devil’s favourite whore was sucking my cock.
I ripped the blankets off and saw a tube coming out of my cock, I pulled at the tube and a rugby ball rose up from the side of the bed full of piss.
I panicked, grabbed my cock in one hand and the tube in the other and started yanking Northwards and Southwards, the pain was fucking unbelievable, the bastard wouldn’t give?
I screamed for help, help came
It was a nurse, about 30 years old, cute as fuck, with black ringlets and small spectacles on.
She said in a pretty Devonshire accent
“Stop pulling it, you’ll hurt yourself, there’s a bag inside you that’s draining your insides, I need to cut the tube!”
I calmed down, I trusted her, I thought to myself if any fucker’s going to kill me then it must be her,
she held the tip of my cock so gently while she cut the tube, I looked at her face, she was smiling and blushing, I felt the pre cum coming but it was too late, she bowed her head down blushing more.
Then she left, walking right through the pull around curtains, she was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen, Then I fell unconscious.
I awoke to a doctor sitting on the bottom of the bed and Lynn and my daughter sitting in a chair next to the bed.
The doctor explained that he had no logic reason why I should now be alive, anyone who takes that much of that has a heart attack within 6 hours.
I smiled, held my daughter and got out of bed, walked out of the ward and to the car, my misses handed me a beer and said
“Lay off the novels for awhile and write poetry, you crazy fucker!”
I smiled 13 times and said
“Nuh!”



- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches 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.
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On The Hunt For Cunt

Contributor: Paul Tristram

- -
He is notorious
in the red-light area.
The girls cringe when they
hear his tapping cane approaching.
Some of them circle
the new girl and whisper
urgent warnings to her.

“Caitlin committed suicide
after her first ever time with him!”

“Look at my scar it always
itches whenever he’s near!”

“Drinking menstruation blood
from a toilet!”

“Jars and jars of specimens
upon shelves up in his rooms!”

“A whole packet of Marlboros!”

“He pays treble but that’s no price
for a burn mark like that!”

“They say Jackie will never
come out of the nuthouse!”

“And they had to put the raven down!”

“Here he is, don’t look him in the eyes
or the Hell’s Gate of a mouth
in that stinking, ginger beard of his
or he will stop
and call you, his Dear!”


- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches 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.
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