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Latest Stories

July 10, 2019
Romance Stories John L.Yelavich

Saccharine Smiles and Sandpaper Personalities

What is the most powerful force in the universe? Is it atomic fusion, military might, volcanoes, tsunamis or any other natural disaster? No, they are not. None of them can create havoc and paranoia in man any more than love can. Yes, love is the force that is…
July 10, 2019
Crime Stories J.B.Stevens

A Good Man

Jimmy hated feeling the delicate orbital bones splinter, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed to be free. It was unfortunate. Just the wrong place, wrong time. If he was out he could send money to Sarah. That’s what all this was all about, helping his…
July 10, 2019
Fantasy Stories Roger Ley

Turing Test

Mr Riley liked to start his day in the library. It was a short walk from his house and conveniently situated at the top of the main street in the Suffolk market town that he and his wife had retired to. When they’d first arrived, he’d joined the local writing…
July 10, 2019
Romance Stories Patric Quinn

Where or When

The front doorbell sounded its gentle Westminster Chimes and the thumping on the door started before Hazel even put her pen down on the papers she was working on intently. More curious than annoyed, she stopped writing, shrugged and started for the door.…
July 10, 2019
Flash Fiction Sheila Ash

Working Christmas Again

I always draw the short straw to a chorus of ‘Bad luck’. A reiteration of last year and the year before, and the year before that. Throughout the day, my ‘C’est la vie’ chimes on a constant playback loop. My expressionist shrugs repeat themselves as a…
March 18, 2019
Mystery Stories JD Plummer

Pseudonyms

“Gelb wants you to call him.” I looked at Frankie, opened my mouth, began to slowly shake my head. My reply delayed by the image of Gelb, monocle in eye, brow raised, lips tight, grimacing. I cringed at the thought. “I ain’t calling that prick,” I finally…
March 18, 2019
Fantasy Stories Lucia Balbuena

A Different Story

Her breathing was deep and steady when she run through the dense forest holding her grandmother’s kitchen knife in her hand. Her red cape was torn up, also her legs, hands and her face were cut by the tree brunches. Stop you are the victim, said the forest…
March 17, 2019
Crime Stories Wally Smith

Coda

Luigi Andante’s small apartment sat on the fourth floor of a block in the West Bronx at the corner of 18th and Davidson. It was adequate as a living space, but Luigi craved more than this. “A penthouse overlooking Central Park would suit me just fine”, he had…
March 17, 2019
Crime Stories Walter Giersbach

Fifty Ways to Leave Your Loser

Lorraine Vanderzanden had the thankless task being Lindstrom’s police chief. Her husband didn’t appreciate the risks she took. Her brother didn’t thank her for using her degree for something useful instead of helping on the family farm. Heck, she thought,…
March 17, 2019
Mystery Stories Jenny Webster

"Communicate with me, please."

I have been blind for so long, I didn’t even attempt to imagine what it would be like if I could see. I don’t know any different, all I know is darkness, and I base everything that I can experience mostly through sound. You see, I can’t walk either. I’m not…
March 16, 2019
Flash Fiction Michael Fredrick

Secondhand Santa

The late model sedan sputtered, coughed and dutifully careened forward on a cold December evening. Fred hit the gas pedal & ruminated as he always did, wondering again why life had dealt him this hand? Christmas Eve, foraging for returnable bottles to make…
March 16, 2019
General Stories Darrell Case

Trig's Smokin' Wheels

There were a lot of things Trig Nelson could do, many he wanted to do, and more things he couldn’t do. Trig couldn’t run, he’d never climb stairs or hills or mountains. He couldn’t play football or basketball. Being stuck in a wheelchair that would always be…

 

 

They say hindsight is 20/20, but I’m in no need of its accuracy.  I’m aware that I’m in the throes of an obsession, one with dark eyes, full lips, and hands that make my resolve crumble. He is perpetually busy except for the occasional late night evening of which I’m certain to be available for. He has a small apartment, a soul depleting day job, a mind full of ambition to succeed, and an epic chip on his shoulder that he hasn’t.  There is no room in his life for me.  Well, I suppose there exists a miniscule amount of room he sometimes creates and I oblige, but with the clear ache of wanting more.

 

It is Thursday about noon.  I will hope he asks to see me tomorrow.  And if he does, I will say yes. I will smile when he texts, my heart will pitter pat when I see him, I will make the drive out to his place and accept he’d rather not take me out but stay in, I will tell him I miss his face, I will spend time thinking about him and how good he feels, I will long for him, I will hope he changes his mind about me, I will wish that maybe next time he’ll ask me to stay.

 

I will go to work looking forward to the end of the evening when I’ll see him.  I’ll focus on the pile of papers strewn about my desk, pay absolute attention to my co-workers’ needs because being engrossed is the only way to make the time pass.  I’ll drive home in heavy traffic and allow my mind to wander about what to wear later.  I’ll be home and try to relax, clean a little to pass the time, and read more lines of a book without grasping the layers of meaning beneath.

 

Then I’ll get in the shower.  I’ll scrub, I’ll shave, and I’ll wash.  I’ll lotion, apply make-up, and curl my hair.  I’ll give myself too many look-overs in the mirror to make sure I appear just right before leaving.  Then I’ll listen to music on the drive and sing in the car.  My spirits will be up.

 

I’ll arrive.  He’ll be dressed down, offer me wine, and we’ll chat on his couch.  Then he’ll kiss me.  I’ll kiss him back.  We’ll talk some more and have a second glass of wine.  Before the conversation will exhaust itself he’ll kiss me with more demand and I’ll moan into his mouth.  We’ll get off his couch and go to his bed.  He’ll undress himself and then me in between urgent kisses.  We’ll fuck.  It’ll feel amazing.  I may or may not cum.

 

We’ll stay naked in his bed, tired, out of breath.  We’ll talk some more.  Then he’ll fuck me again.  He’ll ask me what I want and I won’t have any clue how to answer.  I have extremely limited sexual experience, a disposition toward shyness, and the degree of that isn’t entirely clear to him.  He’ll cum.

 

We’ll talk a little longer and then I’ll hope he’ll ask me to stay, but he won’t.  So, my heart will sink a bit as I pick up my clothes strewn across his bedroom floor.  I’ll dress and tell myself that it’s okay.  I don’t need to stay the night.  It doesn’t matter.

 

He’ll walk me to my car.  I’ll kiss him one more time, my hands on his face, his hands on my waist.  It’ll be about one in the morning.  I’ll get home before two.  I won’t be tired.  I’ll be re-thinking the whole evening and wondering what I’m doing and when I’m going to stop.

End

Bio: Dorothy Kollat is the author of The Oasis Resort series and The Writer's Desire. She lives in California.

 

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