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"He watched as out of the shadows of the man-made cliff the
third lioness stalked forward through the tall grass, her proud
head low between her shoulders, her powerful flanks swaying slightly
as she moved. Her eyes were intense, almost lambent in the cool
pre-dawn light. As she approached he felt the nervous prickling
of his skin, the rush in the blood that was both fear and excitement."
A zookeeper's fearful and irresistible affection for a lioness,
is a Trophy your Mother Won Twice
by Roscoe Kandowski Jr.
"I wasn't sure if Frank was hip to his mother banging his
friend. When I came downstairs I learned otherwise, and after
thinking about it, it was pretty obvious. Frank's mother was a
whore, and Little John fucked most of our mothers, their husbands
dead or alive, except mine of course because, like I said, she
was born again."
Different Kind Of Nirvana
William Starr Moake
"A few weeks ago Dick's two daughters came for a visit. Lynne
was 19 and not much of a looker: short hair cut butch-style, glasses,
bone skinny. But Christy was a real beauty. She had long blonde
hair, a baby face and a body that was too perfect for a 16-year-old.
San Quentin quail, as they say in California, and quite a tease
to boot." An ex-cop seeks-to-rein-in-unruly-bratcats tale,
by novelist William Starr Moake.
In The Same
Brian Francis Ferguson
"Of course Maggie loved her brother, and was even in love
with him, she supposed (her twin brother, she’d fondly emphasize,
suggesting to herself a cosmic simpatico between them she hoped
would absolve her of the stigma of her creepy lusts) and had so
much as vaguely entertained a crush on him since they were teenagers..."
A brother and sister awaken to their love for one another tale,
by Brian Francis Ferguson.
by Susan DiPlacido
"That black yawning chasm that would seem unbearably dreadful
if it wasn't broken up with the litter of glittering stars. I'd
never seen anything like it before. [...] You look up and it stretches
beyond you, around you. That's when you realize it's a vastness
that goes forever; encircling, encompassing. Encroaching. Infinity,
looping around and looming tight. That's when the eerie howls
are most welcome." A Vegas girl falls in love against her
will tale, by novelist Susan DiPlacido.
by Colleen Chen
"The expression on his face combined with his stare was making
her nervous. Her voice trailed off as she gazed back at him. What
was that strange, unfamiliar expression on his face? Could it
be...lust? It was somehow different, though, and more intense–those
flared nostrils, the way his lips were drawn back the slightest
bit from his teeth–he looked almost...animal, like a panther
who’d spotted his prey after a long, dry hunt. Marnie’s
heart leaped wildly in her chest." A girl's-steps-to-sustain-the-interest-of-her-lover
tale, by Colleen Chen.
by Eric Grant
"The client was a talker, one of those annoying types who
felt inclined to lead some sociological study, or who believed
they were cool asking a call-girl about her past, thought they
were treating her like a human being. 'What got you into the business?
Can you do it out of pleasure sometimes?—Oh! Of course,
I don’t expect you to do so with me, I was just curious...'"
An educated call girl ponders her options tale, by Eric Grant.
"She wondered for a moment why she never wore crimson lipstick
to the office, why she always chose the same restaurant for dinners
out. She was complacent, she realized suddenly, bored with herself,
her responses. She itched for change, not for novelty, per se,
but simply to set her feet off of the path. She wished deeply
for her boyfriend to startle her. She missed the elation of not
knowing what was under the wrapping paper..." A bored-girl's-birthday-surprise
tale, by Galloway.
From A Writer's Life
by William Starr Moake
"I have the scars to prove I learned the truth about writing
as a career. I looked behind the curtain and recognized the Wizard
for what he was -- a troll who plays evil tricks on us. I continue
to write, but I do it out of spite. Living well is the best revenge,
but living well is beyond my means and I want my revenge anyway.
One way I get it is convincing new writers to see the mess they
stumbled into like gullible idiots." A reflections-on-writing
tale with Hawaiian interludes, by novelist William Starr Moake.
Funeral: A New York Cab Driver's Tale
by Steven Edward Duescher
"Some people, especially those a trifle the worse for wear
on a Friday or Saturday night, think of cab drivers as their personal
chauffeurs and confidants and lackeys and buddies and psychoanalysists
and nurses, simply because they're paying a measly fare. In the
blink of an eye a complete stranger can be clinging to me like
I'm his last friend on earth; and sometimes it really brims over,
one clinging pest after another seeking to wring the lifeblood
out of me." A cab-driver-seeks-to-stay-sane tale, by Steven
"It was then I grabbed that perfect ass for the first time
and pulled that young girl against me. My hands held her there,
digging into her rump with animalistic fervor. It was the most
delicious thing I had ever held. I say that now, even after everything
that has happened. Hope Douglass' ass was made to drive men wild
and I was smitten with it and her simultaneously." A married-man-messes-with-a-teen
tale, by Corey Mesler.
Talks to the Lonely
"The woman’s doorbell rang. That is, Harry knew it had rung
because she raised her head like a gazelle sniffing danger, the
tendons in her long neck taut with anticipation, the wooden spoon
still in her hand. The thought struck Harry: do beasts of prey
have an affinity with their predators? Can a creature seek out
pain as an innoculation against fear?" A voyeur-finds-a-willing-window-playmate
tale, by novelist A.W. Hill.
by Janet Raquel
"With my gold uptown hoops dangling, my tank top dripping
and tight Jordach jeans piercing my inner thighs, I drew my weapon,
that sardonic smile that daddy always said could bring men to
their knees. It was clear once I entered, that the frustrated
business men, felt a surge of sex bulge between their loins as
they all grabbed their newspapers and made room for me. Could
they smell or simply tell that I had yet to be 'had'?" A-girl-bids-bye-bye-to-maidenhood
tale, by Janet Raquel.
by Robert B. Hazelton
"You haven’t found love in this life. You don’t
believe in it anymore. Such a frivolous waste of time, isn’t
it? Love’s just a measure of a man’s vanity to get
a woman to go to bed with him and a woman’s tool to not
have to live with her parent’s for the rest of her days—to
not be a spinster. A way to escape the lot of a life that’s
been bound to servitude by social standards. Love’s not
a state of being or an attainable virtue, it’s a weapon
of statecraft and the eternal struggle between the sexes."
A world-weary-damsel-contemplates-self-destruction tale, by Robert
of a Nihilist
by William Starr Moake
"I think I was born a nihilist. Of course, the public image
of a nihilist is a ridiculous stereotype: rebel without a cause,
mad bomber, etc. I am a rebel only in my mind and I have never
purposely injured anyone. In my daily life I lead a quiet existence
and conform to most of the idiotic expectations of my fellow man.
As one sociologist observed, mores develop a life of their own.
Few people actually agree with them, but each person thinks that
everyone else does." An absorbing riddle of attraction tale,
by novelist William Starr Moake.
by Alicia Night Orchid
"The first time I masturbated was with a book in one hand
and my pubescent pussy in the other. I came right along with Molly
Bloom and the whores in Anais Nin’s house of love. Once
in college, I placed a hard copy of Lady Chatterly’s Lover,
borrowed from the library, between my pantied thighs. Kneeling
over it, I rocked back and forth, while the girls in the next
room played Leonard Cohen’s Future."
by Amber Hipple
"Years ago we were young. I can still see vestiges of that
youth in his eyes, in his generous mouth and his slightly crooked
teeth. When he smiles I see the man I loved, but he threw it away.
For one night with her. One indiscretion cost him everything and
I wonder if he regrets it." An unpleasant reunion and violated
trust tale, by Amber Hipple.
(excerpt from the novel)
goes hard and deep, working my upper lip, lower lip, then slipping
me some tongue, making my blood sing. I kiss back because suddenly
I can't get enough; head dizzy, legs weak, I take hold of his
sides and now I'm tugging at his waist, sliding my arms further
around his back so I can press up against him. He's spectacular
at it. Salty, and tangy from the booze, and bitter from the smokes
and he's kissing and biting and sucking and licking all at once."
Susan DiPlacido honors us with an excerpt from her novel, 24/7
(Zumaya Publications, 2005).
by R. G. Larsen
"They walked through the empty church. It had grown dark
out and only streetlights shone through the stained glass windows
as they went through the sanctuary and up onto the dais that held
the altar. He felt the warmth from her hand. It felt good. He
was afraid she'd let go. He didn't want the hand holding to end,
vows or no vows. 'I come here often at night, when the church
is quiet and everyone has gone home. Isn't it beautiful?'"
Mothers’ Backs Are Turned
"'Not that there’s anything wrong with being seen as
a sex object by your boyfriend,' adds Victoria. 'Quite the contrary,
in fact. It would be a fine state of affairs if he preferred doing
the gardening to watching you undress. There’s only a problem
if he only sees you as a sex object. But I don’t see how
we are contributing to any such attitude. I’d certainly
never put up with it in any man I dated – any more than
I’d put up with him not getting an erection when I take
off my bra.'"
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