You emerge from the wet room, naked. Walk down a long corridor and into your bedroom where you dress in a lacy white thong, a lightweight short-sleeve translucent blouse in lime green and coral pink.
No bra. No footwear.
Outside the mercury hits twenty-seven degrees Celsius. Inside you have the air-con set at nineteen. Yet despite all your efforts to stay cool, heat rises to your skin, chasing away goose-bumps.
Continue reading “The Elite Agency by Xavier P. Xavier – Adult Content”
Scott was excessive. He would have told you that himself. He lived life to excess.
What I admired about Scott was that he had absolutely no regrets. I cannot explain why and you will have to take me at my word. I knew that he had no regrets when I looked into the twinkle in his eye as he told me so.
I first met Scott many years ago and he would tell me story after story about his life. I will admit I didn’t believe his tales of travel, wealth and famous people until the night he decided to show me his treasured photographs. There was Scott in all his finery, in some exotic looking locations, rubbing shoulders with some very famous people. I am no fashion expert but when you looked at the cut of his suit, you knew that they were money. He also showed me pictures of his wife and their land in…I think it was Thailand somewhere. Now I need to explain where I met Scott. I met him in a hostel for the homeless. He was living in a room that had no toilet or kitchen. But as I said, he had no regrets. Continue reading “Hep C And A Lot Of Codeine by Hugh Cron”
The clamour of the hand bell echoed through corridors and hallways, it was followed in an instant by the scrape and thud of thirty pairs of assorted boots and shoes on the bare floorboards of the classroom.
Miss Robinson stood and removed her specs. They fell to the end of their chain and swung gently over her ample bust. “Thank you Class Four collect your things. For homework today I want you to write an essay.” None of the children actually groaned but Jed noticed one or two pairs of eyes rolling heavenwards. For him though there was a flutter of excitement deep in his stomach, he loved essays.
“Your work is to be entitled “The River” and is to be at least five hundred words. Hand it in tomorrow. Now bow your heads for the prayer.” Thirty heads bowed in unison and the mutter of childish voices strove to find a way to whatever God looked down on this benighted part of Yorkshire. Continue reading “The River by Diane M Dickson”
The two hundred and fifty kilometres per hour station-to-station no-turbulence pipe came to a stop. End of the line. Everyone off.
I stepped out the pipe onto a narrow walkway amongst a shoulder-to-shoulder throng six wide whose momentum funnelled me toward a down-ramp and into a square, where a girl with dreadlocks leaning against a 3-D sandwich-board bit through a foil wrapped protein bar – without first removing the foil.
Continue reading “Do Eros Sevens Dream Of Jupiter And Mars? by Adam West”
Week 2 on Literally Stories and no one can say we did not live up to our globe-trotting promise.
Monday witnessed a Welshman, living in South Africa, writing disturbing American based horror.
Tuesday, Swedish funny man Tobias Haglund landed us in Germanville trick-or-treating Nietzche et al.
Wednesday and it was but a short trip to Dover for an Englishman and his Romanian girlfriend.
Thursday saw a return to the USA. More unpleasant goings on in the backwoods with squirrels and…sorry folks, that would be telling.
Friday brought Week 2 to a close with a suspect Russian ‘Product’ which was up for negotiation in an offer you really would want to think twice about.
“Can you imagine someone who knows that he may be living his last year?”
The enquirer was sitting in a wheelchair opposite me – a man in his late forties to early fifties, broad-shouldered, dressed informally, black hair with streaks of silver grey, intense brown eyes, clean shaven.
“How old might he be,” he went on, “and what might be the reason for his imminent departure?”
He eyed me questioningly, an enigmatic smile on his pale, handsome face.
“I believe you’re not referring to yourself,” I smiled back.
He grinned broadly and chortled, “Well, a bit of sarcasm won’t spoil the pleasure of our interaction.” He pressed one of the buttons on the arm of his wheelchair and moved closer. “Are you really sure you want this?
Now, he was staring at me intently, unblinkingly. “Let’s put it this way: Are you adamant in your decision?” Continue reading “The Product by Victor Bort”
Rust-orange scales litter the ground beneath the pine – sign of the squirrel’s search for the sweet seeds found tucked beneath the cone’s thorny lobes. The scales fall like heavy snowflakes, twirling and seesawing to the forest floor. As I raise my eyes to the bushy-tail sitting astride a pine limb, I’m thankful he’s ignorant of my presence and his certain death. He’ll feel no pain, for I don’t miss.
Not anymore. Continue reading “The Old Man by Scott Sharpe”
I was sat at a table in a service station café off the M20, on route to Dover, waiting for Angelika to return with the coffee. The seat beneath me was small, with a round foam cushion and flat metal back. Outside, through the window that stretched the length of the cafe, I could see our campervan parked in the rain. In the dim morning light it appeared grey. We’d been on the road since six, as the sun bled into the sky, and had made good time. We were twenty miles from Dover when the temperature gage hit the red and the warning light came on. Continue reading “Dover by Michael W Smith”
Hans wandered a street in Eaten-Notthemeatenberg, a small rural city in Germanville, with his sister Gretel. The siblings were about to go trick-or-treating. They came to a house and rang the doorbell. A man, with a prominent mustache, called Friedrich, opened the door.
”Hello, Sir. Trick or treat?”
”What in the name of…”
“God?” Gretel asked suggestively.
“Please… God is dead. We killed him.”
“Did you kill God!? How could you…” Gretel cried out and both of the children ran away from the horrible man.
“No! You have misinterpreted me!” Nietzsche yelled and hoped that no one else would ever do the same. Continue reading “Trick-or-Treating in Germanville by Tobias Haglund”
I know you’re watching me.
My eyes don’t work like they did in my twenties but I can still see you pushing up against my kitchen window, gawping. I should’ve pulled the curtain before I sat down but no matter. The glass could do with a lick but you can see the bars through it just like the others. And you can see me clear enough. Continue reading “A Gift For Cheyenne by Nik Eveleigh (Adult Content)”
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