All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Brigadier Robert D’Alby by E. F. Hay – adult content

(a sweaty tale of irresistible desire within remote salty environs)

Brigadier Robert D’Alby of those immaculate Glorious Roscommon’s was a fine figure of a man. As a Sandhurst officer cadet, it was crystal clear D’Alby was hewn from exactly the right stuff- possessing athleticism, but devoid of narcissism, & employing a military style of life, minus that all-too-familiar ‘boot-polish-up the-kilt’ mentality. Unerring devotion to discipline & Spartan indifference to discomfort made D’Alby a splendid soldier. Additionally, over time D’Alby’s ability to remain aloof- distanced from subordinates, enabled access to genuinely private thoughts beyond the appreciation of his rough & ready non-commissioned comrades. In fact, even fellow officers bored D’Alby: their drunken parties, latent homosexuality, imbecilic gambling, & tunnel vision interdicted any possible camaraderie. Yet, above all, he abhorred their collective disregard of cubic art. Still, such wilful blindness didn’t detract D’Alby from an admiration for their old-fashioned strength of character; nor could crude behavioural patterns, disseminated amongst his natural ruling-class, annul an esteem in which he held an intrinsic nationalistic existentialism pursued by élite English gentlemen.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Why Kurosawa Couldn’t Get Funding by David Lohrey – (Adult Content.)

I find the cinema just minutes from the busy train station. There’s not a soul in sight, but I am nervous, so I fold my umbrella quickly and creep down the narrow stairs. There is an umbrella stand at the top of the stairs but I can’t risk having it stolen. I like the soiled posters lining the walls, wonderful Japanese erotic noir. I go immediately to the window, where I am greeted by a silver-toothed little man whose boyish grin reminds me somehow of Mickey Rooney. No name-tags in this joint. He is middle-aged.  His teeth glisten with silver and gold like the Mexican lady serving my favorite burritos in La Puente. He doesn’t look up. He reaches for my five-thousand yen note with two hands extended. He smiles wildly, perhaps idiotically. He pulls out some bills. “Just one? Is that right?” “Yeah,” I say. His furrowed brow suggests deep thought. He looks at the fiver I have handed to him. He strikes a few buttons on his calculator. Suddenly, he hesitates and then reaches into a little drawer beneath the counter.  “It’s 2,000 yen at this time, you know.” “Yes, that’ll be fine.” He opens the plastic pouch to his right, pulls out three one-thousand yen notes, folds them and counts them twice before handing them over. We don’t make eye contact. I thank him in my poor Japanese: “Arigato gozaimasu.” He bows slightly, still grinning from ear to ear.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Chapter Reaching for a Novel Part 2 by Tom Sheehan (Adult Content)

Traegger Cable, too, took in that loveliness, the sheathed agreement of their first meeting, how yellow clung in curves, arches, turning darker where it was darker, tossing daylight about her, splashing it around, washing the lithe frame she carried with sunlight. Her hair, once again, shook loose, a forgotten attendant that sat lightly on the forehead, wind-worked as ever, playing a game, being innocent in the very breath that created motion.  Cable someplace, somewhere, had seen this pose, this framed moment. He struggled to find who or where, at what point of travel such a sight had been captured that it now came back to him so richly.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Chapter Reaching for a Novel Part 1 by Tom Sheehan (Adult content)

Morning came bright and eager, and the barest chill bit the air, as Cable looked out over the small piece of Sunquit visible from Frank’s deck. From every quarter came evidence of the storm, debris scattered as if giant baskets had been emptied on the land. Trees had been ripped out of the ground and tossed singly or in piles, their limbs shorn of leaves, bark stripped in huge rents. Every point at the high water mark was littered with wood, huge planks torn from God knows where, boards of every description, two by fours and moldings and fashioned woodwork and now and then large sheets of plywood scaled to a hard resting place, partly buried in sand or debris piles. He could see boat parts of upper decks driven high up on the shore and thought of the agony associated with each piece, the drama which might have surfaced at their rending.     Continue reading “Chapter Reaching for a Novel Part 1 by Tom Sheehan (Adult content)”