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...
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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,...
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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...
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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,...
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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'...
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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...
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First Love

Contributor: Robbie Nickles - - Sometimes I miss you, for the way you made me leave my friend’s apartment when we were fifteen so you could fuck him listening to the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. For the way you found me at a Steak 'n Shake afterward and insisted on walking me home. You asked me my favorite band. I told you Sonic Youth. You told me I was really deep. I miss you for the way we used to hang out in your dad’s antique cars and listen to The Rolling Stones. We’d go to food joints where the waitresses brought out our food on rollerskates so we could reminisce about a time we never lived in. I miss the Christmas we spent together, held up in your father’s cabin, I gave you Phish’s Hoist. You gave me Ween’s The Mollusk. We took acid and ecstasy and laughed about the place becoming a boat that we were sailing on alone, together. I...
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Hawkmoths zap bats with sonic blasts from their genitals

Contributor: Em Ramser - - She calls herself a gold-star lesbian. Her lesbian card is filled with female pussy smiles, labia pulled back happily. I asked her over coffee if she had heard of Hawkmoths (Sphingidae), Cause I thought she might share her clit With the Lepidoptera genus That she casts magical spells On cocks, zapping them With talk radio blasts. - - - Emily Ramser lives in Winston-Salem, NC, though you're more likely to find her online at chickadeesweetie.wordpress.com or on Twitter @ChickadeePoe...
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The Thirteenth Metal Spike

Contributor: Paul Tristram - - If you decide to pass through the first door you will have no other choice but to open every other door which may lay upon the other side. There may not be any more doors upon the other side of the first door, there may be nothing but pleasures and wide open spaces. Of course it may be the exact opposite, there may be millions of doors; you could spend the rest of your life walking through hallways, opening a similar looking door time and time again until you simply explode with frustration or the other possibility is that I could change the subject and tell you about something else, just like this. It was midnight; she awoke as usual, stripped, showered, dressed then leapt out of the living room window, she stole through the shadows, using mostly back lanes and alleyways until she eventually arrived at...
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Rosette Nomenclature of Sweat Monsters

Contributor: Kevin Maus - - --with a textual rendering of A. Alzona's painting, “The Lovers”-- The mouth like a temptation. Her face a secret joy. Lights flash out and limbs extend, reaching out to enwrap. Form already becoming absurd. Mouths exact their pride and the whole room is turned-onto flesh. I feast at her chest and heighten from the cool taste calming the sour of my mouth's red arcways. I position her and praise her flesh, landscape of endless habitations. And try to consider the act of each habitation. I pray upon her flesh with my fingers, treating the scintillant, can feel climax far off and the relish of worship gaining its room of ordination. I search my head between her hips, wanting to have her saddle it while I nurse of the water of her stone. ... A suit of egg, jeweled cosmos of wicking sweat on carnal...
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