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These are short short stories; no more than 2 pages about any subject that strikes your fancy. I'll start.


Parasol's picture

Last weekend, my boyfriend made me go with him to the Pleasure Chest. He’d been nagging at me for, like, ever for me to go. I thought it was a dumb, stupid idea. But he said he wouldn’t go with me to see The Painkillers if I, like, didn’t go with him. That was really mean. He knows how I, like, love that band. So I went even though I was, like, soooo embarrassed.

So, like, the building has, like, no windows. And bars on the door. And there’s this big ass wrestler looking guy at the door who checks your I.D. And he gave me the once over, even though my I.D. says that I’m, like, 22. I know I look 22. I was about to call him out as all bogus when my boyfriend, like, yanks my arm and pulls me into the store, like I’m a piece of meat or something. He knows I hate it when he, like, gets all testosterone on me. I think he just did it to piss me off.

So we, like, kinda fall into the place and it’s nothing like I, like, imagined. I mean I’m expecting, like, I don’t know, the place to smell like semen or something. But it’s really really clean and it’s set up just like Bloomingdale’s or something. Well, yeah, sure – the sales people are, like, all decked out in leather and studs and, like, everybody has holes punched in, like, every part you can punch a hole in but I see them helping customers and they’re, like, all courteous and stuff.

And then my dickhead boyfriend says he’ll be right back and I’m all, “You’re not, like, leaving me here by myself,” and he’s all “Christ on a bicycle, Angela, what are you – 8?” and I’m all “You can’t be, like, talking to me like that” and he’s all “Jesus, learn English” and I’m all “I’m talking American” and he just leaves me there, standing in the middle of this all this sex stuff with this guy behind the counter looking at me weird. I’m, like, freaking out and the guy behind the counter who’s looking at me weird, like, smiles at me and he’s got a really pretty smile even though there’s, like, metal studs in his lips and eyebrows and, ewwww, the bridge of his, like, nose.

And I’m all kinda smiling back at him because he is kinda cute and my dickhead boyfriend just, like, left me there. And he comes from behind the counter and swear to God, he’s dressed in leather, like, everywhere, and starts walking toward me and I’m still in the middle of all this sex stuff with, like, nowhere to go and my dickhead boyfriend is, like, nowhere around. So I just stand there until he walks up to me and swear to God he says to me, he says in this really smooth voice like Kiefer Sutherland or something, “Your dickhead boyfriend leave you?” And I’m all, “Yeah” and he’s all “Guy’s stupid” and I’m all “Ya think?” and he’s all “Wanna get even?” and I’m all “How?” and he’s all “I’ve got just the thing.”

And he takes my hand and swear to God, he leads me to the back of the store to this row of stuff on display on the aisle like it was Safeway or something. And he takes this thing off the shelf and he says it’s the demonstrator model and I’m all like “demonstrate what?” and he’s all “English and magic” and I’m all “Huh?” And he picks up this thing and I don’t quite see what it, like, is because he’s got his back to me and he’s like, hiding it or something, but all of a sudden I hear, like, buzzing and then swear to God, he turns to me with this rubber thingy that’s looks like a, eeewwww, penis and it’s buzzing or whirring or something and I’m all “What the hell is that?” and he’s all, like smiling that really cute smile, except for the stud in his lip which is, like, way creepy, but otherwise his smile is really cute. And then all of a sudden he turns the base of the ewwwey penis thingy and it starts buzzing louder and then swear to God he puts it right on my, my, my down there and I can, like, feel it through my jeans and he’s all “Tell me what you feel” and all of a sudden I’m all, like…

“It’s as if heaven has asked me to sit on its face. This feeling is so delicious yet so foreign that I am startled into compliance. If I am music, you are my conductor. As it vibrates, every inch of me thrums in its time. I am breathing deeply, but every so often my lungs hitch and brings a gasp to my lips. I hear a sound slip from my mouth that I have never before uttered: a groan, a grunt, a verbal ache as the muscles of my inner thigh throb and my calves twitch a staccato round. I feel you move around behind me, cradling my breasts with your hand and arm, fingers lightly pinching my nipples, yet never allowing this marvelous sex toy to leave my vulva, Until…(my head leans back) Until…(my mouth falls open) Until…(my eyelids flicker) Ah…(lights sprinkle) Oh…(warm sticky) I’m…(sweet juicy) I’m…(Mama save me) I’m coming. I laugh hysterically.”

And it, like, takes me forever to open my eyes and swear to God, my dickhead boyfriend is at the counter with the, ewww, studded salesman, but his smile is really cute and my boyfriend’s all “It’ll make her do that every time?” and the salesman is all “Every time” and my boyfriend’s all “Talk like that?” and the salesman’s all “Just like that,” and my boyfriend’s all “How?” and the salesman’s all “Magic” and my boyfriend’s all “Wrap it up.”


Parasol's picture

Lost on the corner, caught in the wind, the smoke of desire wafted up the noses of the couple at the Starbucks. They didn't seem to know each other but the smoke didn't care. It just walked up their noses and took residence in the basest part of their brains. He stiffened. She slicked.

They sat back to back at unknowing tables, listening to Quiet Storm jazz played at a hearable yet non-annoying decible. He and she were mindful of the other patrons, but if they didn't touch each other now they would lose their minds in tandem, screaming obsenities in harmony.

The smoke settled to the layer occupied by the seats of their chairs and watched. It was a voyeur, after all.

He reached his hands behind him and grabbed what chair legs he could and pulled her chair closer to his. She exhaled at his effort for its sheer deliberation seemed more sensual than her husband had ever expended on her behalf.

They were closer. The Starbucks paid them no mind. The man and the woman each considered turning around to regard the person whose pheremones literally bitch-slapped their senses. They didn't though.

He thought about her anatomy and its mirror image of what he was used to. She considered the very same thing at the same time.

He reached the hand closest to the wall around to pull her skirt up high enough for him to put his hand under it.

She reached her hand criss-cross to his to his lap and laid her backwards hand on his thank the lord blue steel erection.

He could feel her wetness through her panties, much wetter than his wife had been of late and pinched her lips together. He didn't hear her barely audible "umph." He was too busy feeling her half grip on him rubbing and growled his own self.

He twisted the gentle pinch of her lips just enough to feel her rock against his fingers.

The smoke could smell their excitement and didn't feel so lost anymore.

She felt his cock bump up against her hand. Emboldened by his reaction, she cupped it with her half grip at the top and ran her hand along the "holy shit" length of it. She quickening the pace because she had to pick up the kids in 30 minutes.

He kept his thumb and ring finger pinched on the outside of her panties, pushing his middle finger against the silk onto her clit with just the barest rat-a-tat-tat. He felt her muscles and clit hitch and too quickened the pace. He had to meet his wife and kids at the soccer field in less than a half an hour.

She rubbed him. He rubbed her. It was like dancing, each picking the rhythm of the other until they each silently came. They slumped in their chairs, but didn't turn to face each other. Committed elsewhere, the each smiled into the distance ahead of them. She found an excuse to put her hand to her face to smell warm cotton and come. He dipped his middle finger in the extra foamy and sucked vanilla nookie latte from its tip.

The smoke of desire, its job done and back in familiar territory, took off for its old haunts.

She picked up the kids and met her husband at the soccer field. He seemed to have the same flush on his cheeks that she did. She wondered if he was having an affair.

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