After Effects

BEFORE.

Greg shrugged sheepishly, and lowered her down to the floor, though he refused to remove his grip from her lovely ass until she forced him to.

“Well, you are young enough to be my daughter. How was I supposed to know you were into such mature men?” His thumbs stroked her behind, and he relished the unbelievable softness.

Casey laughed and wriggled out of his grasp; Greg tried to hide his disappointment. “That tickles!” She scooped up her discarded yoga pants and danced a few feet away before turning to face him. Greg admired her confidence as she stood in front of him, pants-less, and raised one perfectly-arched eyebrow.

“I’m into anyone who looks at me the way you do, so there. And I don’t really think there is such a thing as a ‘mature man’.” She did air quotes with a wad of pants in her hands, and Greg felt himself smiling. “I am convinced men are  completely led by their dicks, and only pretend differently to keep up with the women.” Her tone hardened a little bit during her statement, and Greg was going to argue, but she skated off to the bathroom before he had a chance to reply.

Greg pulled on his pants, and began surveying the many titles that lined the bookshelves he’d just defiled. He was surprised to find they were alphabetized according to author, and that there was quite a variety. Classics, biographies of Presidents, history of warfare, science fiction, art, philosophy- they were all there. He stopped when he found three copies of Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. He’d read it in high school, and found it to be incredibly dull. He wondered why someone so full of life would have three copies.

“See? They are beautiful! You cannot help but be enamored of them.” Casey stood looking at him approvingly, and Greg wondered how long she’d been watching him.

“Well, you weren’t in here for me to look at, so I had to look at something.” Greg flirted, badly.

“Ugh.” Casey narrowed her eyes and did a jacking-off motion with her hand.” Please. As if I’m better to look at than Jules Verne and R. Scott Bakker.” Greg couldn’t believe she didn’t realize the effect her looks, and her body, had on him, but felt too foolish to point it out. He also felt slightly uncomfortable that Casey seemed to be ignoring what had just happened between them.

She wandered over to the refrigerator. “Did you want anything to drink? I have-” she looked inside for a second, then shut the door. “Well, I have nothing. Did you want to go get a beer or a bottle of whiskey or something?” She looked at him from across the small space, and Greg felt they were on two islands miles apart. Clearly, the sex was casual for her, and even though Greg didn’t exactly know what he wanted from this sexy young thing, he knew things were not the same as they had been before he’d entered this apartment. He felt stupid, like a teenage girl, but he wanted more.

“Um, would you like to go out to dinner with me? There’s a really good Mexican place down the street.” He weakly replied.

“Food! Oh yes, food is good.” Greg felt himself relax with relief. “Shit. I have to go to work soon.” Casey looked at him apologetically. Maybe tomorrow?” The relief was momentary. Greg got the distinct feeling she was blowing him off. He decided to admit defeat.

“Sure, if you’re not too busy. Just let me know. I have a thing I gotta do tonight  anyway.” He lied, and hated himself. He walked to the door and stopped, debating on whether he would say what he was feeling, and thinking better of it. Instead, he looked at Casey. “Your books are beautiful.”

Casey grinned, stepped over to where Greg was standing, and kissed his cheek sweetly.

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”

Greg nodded, but didn’t say anything as he walked out the door. He trudged down to his own apartment, wishing he hadn’t fucked things up.

Client Privilege

In the beginning…

You might wonder what makes me any more special than Candy or Blake or any other Dial-A-Whore you might find on the back side of the local entertainment pages next to the ads for sperm banks and penis enlargement pills. To be honest, Candy is gorgeous, and the dickheads down at Winston’s refer to Blake as the “Hoover” when they know she’s not around to kick them in the balls. But have they ever been the Angel of Lust? Think about it- take every carnal desire you’ve ever had, every animalistic sensual hunger, and multiply it times a thousand , or ten million, or a billion, and you wouldn’t even have begun to scratch the surface of the chaste shell of God that’s encasing an eternity of wanton emotions. He gave you those yearnings on purpose; He created me on purpose. Everyone knows God doesn’t make mistakes. Maybe He just realized all that passionate voracity blinds people to almost everything else, so He told a few disciples and prophets it would be best to tell people to restrain themselves a little. Who knows.

Clearly, Charlie didn’t get the memo.

Charlie’s my most loyal customer. You’d think he was in his twenties, if you based his age on the amount of money he’s paid me in the last few years. Luckily, his twenty-two year old libido is matched up to his fifty-two year old perfectly- practiced gift for fucking. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t do him for free.

He was here earlier. Normally, I don’t accept clients at my own place, but Charlie, well, he’s Charlie. Of course, he couldn’t teach me anything I wasn’t already designed to know, but after I knew Charlie for awhile, I kinda started wondering if Charlie wasn’t God’s male duplicate of me. Or maybe he’s just sexed his way through enough women that he’s got nothing else to learn. Thus his captivation with me.

When he gave his habitual rhythmic knock on my door, I was applying my Urban Decay lipstick in F-Bomb (my favorite). He opened the door without waiting for me to reply, and leaned against it after he closed it, just watching me. It’s my job to unnerve people, and I’m still not sure how Charlie can do it, but I watched him watching me in my mirror, and his intense ice-blue stare made me on edge enough that my lipstick slid right off my bottom lip.

“Fuck!” I whispered under my breath, hoping Charlie hadn’t seen, but knowing he had.

Before I had a chance to wipe it off, Charlie pushed his tall body off of the door and he strolled over to where I was standing. He said not a word, but continued to watch me in the mirror. His eyes never left mine as I felt the soft pad of his thumb trace my jawline before running along the outline of my lip, wiping the red stain away. Even with my peacock blue, five-inch heels on, he was a good nine inches taller than me, and I watched in the mirror as his hand slid from my face, down my neck, and under the neckline of my silk dress. Before his hand even touched my left breast, I felt it all the way south of my belly button, and I couldn’t stop the sound that escaped my rouged lips.

Ok, so let me explain a little bit about Charlie. He’s been married, numerous times, in fact, has enough money that he never has to work, and gets off on getting women off. A lot of guys don’t give one shit about whether their woman is turned on before they stick their dick in them, and couldn’t care less whether she orgasms or not, and probably wouldn’t be able to tell either way. Charlie is not one of those guys. I’m convinced he wouldn’t even be able to get a hard-on unless the woman he intended to fuck was dripping wet. Don’t ask me why he pays for sex, because even after all these years, he won’t tell me.

When he heard that sound, his fingertips squeezed my nipple, and my eyes slid shut, relishing the tingle that was running down my body. I leaned back against him, his toned body taking my weight easily, and ran my hand up his tailored pants, rubbing his cock through the fabric. As I did so, his hand enveloped my breast, squeezing just hard enough that it hurt. Another little squeal escaped me, and his grip tightened even more. My eyelids flew open, and my gaze met his in the mirror; his eyes had never left my face. His breath was on my neck, on my ear, and sent little shivers of pleasure across my skin. I looked into his eyes as he ran his free hand up my leg and under my skirt, and I noticed his dimpled smirk when he realized I wasn’t wearing any panties. His face in the mirror looked like a young man’s- a young man with a dirty secret- as his experienced fingers explored my most intimate places, as he discovered what his fingers and his eyes and his breath on me had done. I was encircled in his grip, and couldn’t move as he moved his fingertips achingly slow  in and out of me, in and out, in, and then out before bringing them up and sliding them between my F-Bomb-ed lips. He watched as I tasted the salty musk of myself, and broke his trance-like stare when I ran my tongue over and around his fingertips, and then sucked ever so gently.

The Life of a Cyborg

Let me tell you, I know how Pinnochio felt.

Yeah, so I know cyborgs aren’t supposed to feel anything below the belt, or really anywhere, and our manufactured eyeballs aren’t supposed to react to bright colors or beautiful people; maybe I’m just special. I’m not going to dance around singing about how I want to become a real boy, er, girl or anything, but damn, do I wish there was some sparkly blue fairy who could tap my titanium knees together three times and turn me into a person with bones and muscles.  Seriously, alloy isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Ok, so there’s this guy. Isn’t there always? Anyway, the problem with being a cyborg is that I look human, and sound (somewhat) human- minus the emotion. The general public doesn’t really know there are cyborgs roaming around in their midst, so every once in awhile, a human finds one of us attractive and decides to  make a move. And there is where the humiliation begins. (Shut up, I know what humiliation is, even if I can’t feel it.)

I was bartending the other night, (I’d tell you why a cyborg is bartending, but then I’d have to kill you) and this beautiful, statuesque blonde woman wearing a skirt that barely covered her perfect ass came over and ordered a dirty martini with three olives. (It was probably the only thing she was going to eat all day) She wasn’t overly friendly, ok, really, she was a bitch; one of those type of women who goes to a bar looking for a hedge-fund husband. I could see her eying her prospects as she chewed on an olive. The second she saw him, I knew, because she gaudily ogled him and then looked away, then let her free hand drop down to fondle the necklace that was suffocating in her imitation cleavage. I rolled my eyes, before I looked to see who her victim was.

I gave the Barbie girl props, because damn, he was gorgeous. Typical Wall Street business type, well over six feet, although his Golden Boy hair was a little shaggy; I was surprised Gold Digger was into him. I was even more surprised when I noticed he wasn’t looking at her at all. He was staring at me, and I swear to God that my non-existent heart sped up and I got weak in my blasted assembly-line knees.

Ok, so a guy looked at me. Let me explain: I’m pretty sure most of my parts were picked out of the defective bin. I’m not terrifying to look at by human standards, but a little bit… mismatched. Generally, the faux tits I was given are reserved for the Hollywood pornstar girls, yet here they are, on my 5’3″ aluminum and steel frame. Ethnicity is usually considered when they’re building us, but nope, I’m pretty sure they took the eyeballs from the Spaniard bin and stuck them in my pale Transylvanian head. Anyway, I’ve been assembled for a good six years and never had a guy look at me the way Mr. Beautiful was. So there.

So there I was, completely cyborgish, because I couldn’t think of one emotion to fake. Mr. Beautiful walked over to the bar, and remained completely oblivious to the bimbo staring at him, and asked for a Vodka sour. I mixed up his drink silently, the whole time getting the Evil Eye from Miss Moneybags. She kept scooting closer to him, until, without taking his eyes off of me, he addressed her.

“Hey, could you back up a little bit? It’s feeling a little crowded in here.”

Yeah, that pissed her off. She slammed the rest of her drink before stomping off in a huff, clicking the entire time, thanks to her $550 Manolo Blahniks. I couldn’t keep the grin off of my face, that is, until Mr. Beautiful spoke to me.

“I just said what we were both thinking. Too bad she didn’t take the hint before I had to embarrass us.” His azure blue eyes sparkled, and I still couldn’t think of one humanish thing to say.

Where the fuck is my blue fairy?

Untitled

She spent the day with her mother.

They did the things mothers and daughters do- window shopping, dining out and the like. As they were lunching on skinny fries and cobb salads, the girl almost dropped her fork when a small child of another patron nearby let out a ferocious shriek. That got her mother talking even more.

“So your cousin is planning to marry that dimwit girl even though she quit her job. I wonder how happy he’s going to be working three jobs when she’s sitting at home popping out babies?” The older woman tsk-ed once or twice before taking another bite of her salad.

“Well, he must know how pampered she is, Mom. They’ve been together since high school.” The girl tried to steer her mother away from baby talk.

” I just hate to think they’re going to have a bunch of babies when they haven’t thought about how they’re going to afford them. And that’s another thing that irks me, most of those kids at school where I teach have such horrible parents that care more about they’re dumb dogs than they do about they’re kids!” The girl hid her amusement at the fact that her mother still refused to use the word “damn” in front of her daughter, even though she was going to be thirty-two in two months.

“Yeah, well, isn’t that the way of it? All the people who shouldn’t have kids have whole herds of them when the ones that want them can’t have any.” The girl refrained from adding “including me” to the end of that sentence. She didn’t have the energy to get into that conversation today.

Her mom had a few more choice words on the subject before bouncing to another topic three or four more times before dessert came.

After her mom dropped her off, the girl walked slowly up the stairs to her apartment, the depression of the days outing weighing heavily on her heart. She couldn’t ignore the tiny tutus in the baby section of the department store earlier, or what seemed like the constant flow of new mothers with strollers who had sped by all day. She took out her keys, and let out a wavering sigh as she opened the door.

Her boyfriend was in a surprisingly good mood after having worked with morons all day, and was excited to show her the new guitar he’d found listed on Craigslist. She couldn’t help but think that the baby blue of the Gibson’s body would be the perfect color for a newborn’s nursery. After awhile, the two sat down to finish watching the last few episodes of a show they’d been watching on Netflix.

The girl was momentarily distracted from her misery as they watched the young love blossom of the two main characters on the TV screen, until the heroine’s sister decided that was the perfect time to go into labor. The girl clutched her pillow and unsuccessfully pushed back tears while the woman onscreen gave birth to a flawless baby girl, as the fictional family looked on proudly. The girl had had enough.

She had a lovely life- a job that paid her bills, a friend or two who were always there for her, a boyfriend whom she loved and loved her back, and yet she felt she hadn’t a thing in the world. She tried to push away the thought of the children she didn’t have as she slid down to her knees and slipped her lover’s boxers off before taking him in her mouth. She thought to herself before she lost herself in foreplay- She may as well play the part of a useless slut, since her body was never going to be used for a good purpose.

Rubbed

Devon took his hat off and slapped it against his dirtied knee to get all the dust off of it, and then ran his forearm across his sweaty head. He didn’t even think about the dust and dirt that covered his arm, so he had no way of knowing he now sported a damp cruddy smear over his forehead. He put his Minnesota Wild cap back on, this time backwards, so he had a little more light. He swung the hammer one more time, and watched the remainder of the wall he was demolishing crumble.

As he waited for the dust to clear, he looked around at his handiwork. His parents had thought he was crazy, buying a century-old abandoned house, and he realized after the first day of remodeling that they were probably right. He figured the huge undertaking would get his mind off of her, but then he realized everything about this place only reminded him of her even more. He snorted at himself in disgust, and looked down at his feet, blinking rapidly to dispel the tears that threatened to appear. He saw something glint in the light of his yellow construction lamp, and he rubbed his eyes to clear his vision.

He’d already ripped down several walls in the house, and found it amusing all the things the former owners had stuffed in the walls. He’d kept a few fifty-plus-year-old newspapers, but thrown away the decrepit accordion. He bent down to pick up the thing that had caught his eye, and realized as he pulled it out of the rubble that it was an aged beer bottle. Given his affinity for beer, he thought maybe this would be a cool little trinket to clean up and display since it was still intact. He peered intently at the label, trying to read it, but it was too grimy, so he rubbed his thumb over the printing to read it better.

Suddenly, the bottle got extremely hot, and he dropped it, holding his burning hand as the offending bottle rolled across the dusty floor.

“What the fuck?!” He cursed in confusion, inspecting his palm for burn welts. He jumped out of his skin when the beer bottle on the floor burst into flames. The blaze was blindingly bright, then went out almost immediately. Devon blinked, giving his eyes a second to adjust to the alterations in light.

“Seriously, what the hell?” He wondered to himself.

“Not quite. Just a little less than an angel.” Devon was startled when he heard the silky voice- even more so when he realized there was a woman standing in front of him. He took in the waist-length jet hair and dark almond eyes and knew she wasn’t from around here. He was shocked dumb at the suddenness of her presence in general, and at her incredible beauty.

“Well, I know you’re not a mute, so you might as well tell me your name if you can’t think of anything else to say.” She had a noticeable accent, Devon thought from somewhere in the Middle East.

“Ahh, how’d you get in here? I fixed the locks right away when I bought the place.” He was surprised he had found his voice so quickly, especially when he realized the stranger was wearing some sort of gown that was completely transparent.

The woman waved her hand in a dismissive manner. “I’ll not get into the specifics. Let’s just get on with it. Might I get the name of my new master?” She stood looking at him with dark eyes, expectantly.

“Master? What are you talking about?” Devon was completely lost.

The siren in front of him sighed.

Another bright one. Phenomenal. She rolled her eyes as the thought ran through her mind.

She spoke slowly, as one would to an misunderstanding child. ” People generally recognize me as djinn- genie, if you wish. Because your wish is my command.” Devon noticed the last half of her little speech was issued resignedly.

Devon snorted incredulously. “A genie. So you came out of a beer bottle? Are you high?” He actually wondered at this point if perhaps he was the one that was high.

“It’s a long story. That wasn’t my original flagon. I digress.” She shook her head. “The point is, I am yours to command. Everything you know of us is true, if you know anything at all.” She believed he was Neanderthal enough to miss the jab to his intelligence.

“Genies grant three wishes. That’s all I know.” Devon did indeed believe now that he was hallucinating, because he would never converse with someone posing as a mythical being otherwise.

“So what you know is incorrect. Astonishing.” Her sarcasm was not lost on Devon.

Midnight Run

This was Utopia.

She lifted her face to the moonshine and the leaves blocked the light just enough to create a dappled effect across her cheeks. She breathed in the scent of forest at midnight, convinced if there were a way to bottle and sell the smell, she’d be an instant millionaire. The craggy bark tugged on the delicate skin of her palms as she ran her hands over the trunk of the aged tree as one would run his hands over a lover’s breasts. She sighed, heavily.

Here, in this peaceful place, the harassment of the “Vogue Squad” faded to silence. Here, it didn’t matter that her mother had visciously named her Polly, and there were no catty voices repeatedly asking her “if she wanted a cracker.” Polly closed her eyes and tried to hush the shame that filled her when she thought of the untrue rumors that the Squad had started about her parents- her mother was a junkie whore, her father a drunk. The stories about her father didn’t bother her so much, since she had never known him anyway, and the chance that he was a drunk was highly probable. But when they mentioned her mama- the anger inside her at the thought became a living thing, and she gritted her teeth when she realized she’d been worrying at the tree with her nails, hard enough they’d begun to bleed. She stuck her index finger in her mouth and sucked on it, trying to relieve the pain.

The only good thing about moving to this town was this place. She could wander through the underbrush blissfully, lost in her own thoughts. Mostly, these times were enjoyable; other times, she realized she thought too much, and nothing good could come of that.

Just then, she noticed there were no sounds. No owls hooting, not a nighthawk screeching, nothing. There weren’t even any fireflies around, which she thought was odd, since this town was always swarming with them. Polly thought she saw a bush moving to her right, but clouds had obstructed the moonlight, so she leaned forward and squinted, trying to get a better look. When she realized what it was she was looking at, her heart dropped to the bottom of her feet.

The two eyes staring at her were a gleaming yellow. They were set in a face of obsidian fur, complete with a doggish “grin?” Polly thought to herself, filled with razor-like teeth.

“Great. I had to deal with those bitches all day, and now I get to be eaten by a wolf. I wonder what those rumors will sound like.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the ridiculousness of her situation.

The wolf snarled as she did so, and stepped forward menacingly. Polly had nowhere to go with the tree at her back, and knew she wasn’t going to outrun any wild animal anyway, so she stayed perfectly still. She looked into those feral eyes and wished just once that she could be the one behind them.

The creature was huge; bigger than any wolf Polly had seen on Discovery Channel. She wondered if she was discovering a new and unique hybrid, and then for a second mourned the fact that no one would hear about it after she was mauled and digested. Her thoughts carried on in this vein while the wolf paced around her and sniffed warily. She absurdly applauded herself for remembering deodorant this morning, and then couldn’t stifle the giggle that escaped when she did so.

The wolf stopped midstep and peered at her intently. Polly held her breath and closed her eyes, awaiting her imminent demise, but felt no fangs ripping at her throat. She opened one eye, and then the other, and looked wildly around for her exterminator, but the wolf was gone.

 

 

Justin heaved himself out of the river, gripping a fallen log for dear life. He swished and spit the water in his mouth, but he knew no amount of squalid creek water was going to get the taste of wet dog out of his mouth. His head was ready to split in two, and he was shivering violently as he lay naked partially in the water. He brushed the shaggy hair that was stuck to his face aside, and rubbed his eyes, wishing as he did so that he’d remember to put some soap somewhere out here in the woods. He finished crawling out of the river, and curled into a ball, exhausted. Just before he passed out, he thought of the pretty girl with curly hair who hadn’t been scared, but had just stood there, waiting for him to kill her.

Adventures of Pizza Slut

To keep from being depressed about being the Head Pizza Slut, I have decided to compose a graphic novel based loosely on my adventures. (Minus pictures.)

Pizza Slut was all-powerful and could multitask like nobody’s business. She had the super powers of making unhappy customers satisfied, and of get the most lazy of employees to do the most disgusting of chores like scrubbing toilets and scraping crusted cheese off of pizza pans by using her secret weapons- her gargantuan boobies, which were only kept secret because of the extra safety pins she had to use in between the buttons of her managerial superhero uniform. On occasion, the buttons were unable to hold and would bust open, resulting in extra cleaning tasks being completed by those employees lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the semi-perfect cleavage. P. Slut’s only weakness was French fries. Oh, and attention given to her by anyone even remotely attractive. (Even the unattractive ones would sometimes distract her from her superhero duties.)

Anyhoo, on this particular day, P. Slut was flying around her restaurant putting proper dating labels on product and proofing dough, when she received a call from a completely unsatisfied customer.

“I am IRATE!” The customer screamed into the phone, while P.Slut tried to keep the rolling of her eyes from transmitting across the phone lines. “My pizza was made with less than the proper amount of pepperonis, and even though I ordered it easy on the pepperonis, I INSIST you make me a new one!”

P.Slut took a deep breath before she mustered up her most aquiescent customer service voice.

“I am SO sorry, ma’am, there is no excuse for such ridiculous mistakes, ESPECIALLY when you ordered it light pepperoni. My cooks OF COURSE should be able to read your mind when you order in such a way, and should surely have put the normal amount of pepperoni on your pizza. I will have them re-make it post-haste, and will fly it out to you myself.”

“Well, you had better just do that, and don’t think I’ll be giving you a tip for delivering it either. I have to buy my Pall Malls, after all.” The customer banged the phone down in P.Slut’s ear, and within moments, P.Slut was flying her super-awesome yellow Hover-Ranger to the customer’s house, Full-on pepperoni pizza in hand.

“Here you go ma’am.” P.Slut smiled politely, and bent over just enough for the woman to catch a glimpse of her super-human cleavage. The woman had been going to complain, but when she saw the most awesome boob-butt, she thought to herself that she’d better not, because there’s no telling when a woman with great tits is going to unleash a royal ass-whooping on someone who really needs it. The woman closed the door without a word, and P. Slut wiped her brow. She had once again saved her restaurant from receiving another Customer Incident Report.

The End.

Vision of A Mermaid

Jack lay in his hammock and tried to let the gentle sway of the ship lull him to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.

He’d heard stories of mermaids ever since the first day he’s set foot on the King’s Mistress, and even though he enjoyed the imaginative tales immensely, he had always found them to be somewhat incredible.

“What a fool I was.” He snorted quietly at the thought, trying not to disturb the other men. What the old sailors who’d spun the tales hadn’t mentioned was the fact that once you saw one, you wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else. He’d seen Lucky, the first mate, scowling at him when he’d been daydreaming about her today. The knots he’d been tying wouldn’t have held up in a gust of wind. He sighed.

When they’d docked in Calcutta, he’d been forced to stay aboard the ship because of his age. “Ship’s Boy needs to suffer.” Cap’n said. He was hanging over the rail feeling sorry for himself, when he heard the splash. The moon was under a dark cloud cover, and he couldn’t really see what had caused the noise. He thought it was a jellyfish at first, but wondered at the dark reddish color. He grabbed a hold of a mainline and leaned over the railing to get a better look.  He squinted, but couldn’t make out a thing.

Just then, the moon emerged from her dusky curtain, and the sanguine mass changed to a brilliant copper. There was a white flash from underneath, and suddenly he was face to face with a watery angel. Her eyes were the color of the sea, and looked at him in curiosity; he was entranced as they changed from a deep cobalt to shining emerald to beryl and then to jade. They were set into a heart-shaped pale pale face. What he had thought was an oddly-colored Man-O-War was actually a heavy mane that fell from her head over her naked shoulders and fanned out into the water around her, seeming to be a live and separate creature. She smiled, and he felt as if the ship’s deck had sunk from underneath him.

“Hooooo-eee.” He let out a breath, and she slid away through the water quicker than any fish he’d ever seen. Now that he knew she was there, he could see her through the dark, bobbing slightly with the waves. Jack thought quickly about all the stories he’d listened to about mermaids, and he slid his hand into his pocket and felt the silver locket his mum had given him. If he had been thinking clearly, he never would have considered it, but his only thought now was to get within arm’s reach of this mysterious being. He sunk to his knees onto the deck of the ship and withdrew the locket from his pocket. He squeezed it, debating for only a second before holding out his arm through the rails of the deck.

” ‘S alright, Miss.” He spoke quietly, but wondered if “Miss” was a bit ridiculous.  How DID one address a sea sprite? He shook his head and then his arm, just enough to get the locket at the end of the chain to spin.

In a glint of pale skin and fiery tresses, she was back; she snatched the locket from his hand so quickly he didn’t have time to react. She swam away again, a little closer this time, and he watched in spellbound delight as she examined her treasure. She rolled the locket around in her hands, and let out a small cry resembling a dolphin’s when the latch sprung the little silver door open. She held it away at arm’s length, but when nothing else happened, she drew it close again, and peered at the picture of Jack’s mother that was within. She looked at him then, and back at the photograph, no doubt noticing the resemblance between them.

“‘S me mum. I miss ‘er terrible a’ times.” Jack spoke softly still, and he couldn’t help the emotion that spread through his statement. The sea goddess cocked her head when he spoke, and came closer. He leaned back from the rails, trying to get her to venture closer. From his new spot, he couldn’t see her, and hoped with his whole being she couldn’t see him either, and was curious enough to want to.

He heard water lapping against the ship, and saw  long fingers wrap around one of the rails before those ever-changing eyes were gazing at him once again over the boards of the ship. He sat there and just took in the sight of her for a moment in the light from the ship’s lanterns. The locket he’d offered was tied securely in her hair, along with a variety of other artifacts- a fork, a monocle, several pearls larger than any he’d ever seen, and an expensive tobacco pipe. He wondered for a moment who had given her such things, and inched closer. Her eyes never left his, even when he looked over the edge of the ship and saw womanly hips that gave way to scales and a massive tail that ended in an elegant ruffled fin. The fin waved lazily against the ship, and Jack was reminded of the barn cats’ tails of home. He was admiring the rainbow of scales in the moonlight- dark purple that were silvery in moon beams, and then looked aquamarine. He looked up to find the mermaid observing him just as intently, and disturbingly close.

He scarcely breathed, afraid he’d frighten her again. The two stared at each other for long minutes, waiting for the other to make a move. Jack sat more still than a statue when an ivory arm reached out and her damp fingers grasped one of the riotous dark curls atop his head. She pulled it gently, then let it go.  It sprung back into place, and she repeated the act. After the second time, a small sound escaped from her throat, and he realized she was laughing. She grinned and reached for another lock of his hair, and he silently thanked his mother this tiny birthright that so entertained a sea maiden. Jack heard a giant clatter of boots from the other side, and drunken voices of sailors drunk on too much rum, and his sea angel disappeared. He cursed under his breath, and remained seated on the deck, feeling as if he’d just had his heart ripped out through his chest. A burly man stumbled over to him and stuck a knee on Jack’s shoulder. Jack cringed at the putrid smell on the man’s breath.

“‘Ey there, laddy, ‘ile yer down there, what say ye to a ‘ittle favor? Ye’r almost pretty ‘nough to be a lass!” The sailor used a crude hand motion and guffawed loudly, and Jack shoved the man’s knee away and stood.

“I hear ye’r sister’s down on the docks and real good at that.” He spoked the insult loud enough for the other men to hear, which caused a collective drunken laughter to ring out. The crude sailor scowled at him before walking away, and Jack sent one final glance out to see, convinced he saw a womanly silhouette bobbing gracefully in the tide.

The Night Before Christmas (A Whorehouse Tale)

Here’s a naughty version for you all. Happy Holidays! XOXO

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the whore-house

not a hooker was stirring, or even a mouse.

The thigh-highs were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that Santa would fill them with sex-wares.

The hustlers were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of vibrators danced in their heads.

The Madam in her fur robe, and pimp in his coat,

Had just settled down with some cuffs and some rope.

When out on the street there arose such a clatter,

The pimp rushed over to see what was the matter.

He left the poor madam all tied up in bed,

While he looked out the window while scratching his head.

The neon from bar lights on the fresh-plowed snow,

Gave the glitter of strippers to the objects below.

When what to his lust-occupied eyes should appear,

But a Peterbilt semi, and a drunk plastered trucker.

The driver was fat, and totally tipsy,

The pimp thought he resembled St. Nicky.

He fell from the cab with a curse and finger,

And yelled at the top of his lungs for some strippers:

“Hey Sugar! Yo, Mimi! Venetia and LuLu!

Come, Baby! Come, Ginger! Come, Macy and Penny!

Get down hear this instant, I’ve had quite a trip!

Come suck on my balls while I play with your clits!”

As the girls tumbled out of their beds at the noise,

The pimp opened the window and screamed at the boy.

“Now look hear, you fucker! You gotta have money!

Pussy ain’t free, so show me some gravy!”

The trucker he swore as he dug through his pockets.

He’d spent all his dough on beer and some cigarettes.

He stumbled through the front whorehouse door,

And pleaded at the pimp about getting a whore.

“Dude! I ain’t got no money, no change at all. Yo!

My trailer’s filled with blowup dolls and dildos!

You can have them all if that bitch sucks my cock,

And sell all the rest to the sex shop down the block.”

The pimp, he thought hard, but then he thought, “It’s Christmas, oh joy!

My bitches deserve all his nipple clamps and toys.”

So he nodded affirmative; a hooker went down,

But when she came up, she was met with a frown.

“Your messy! Look at that jizz on your chin!”

The pimp railed at her while she looked on, chagrined.

The trucker sucked in a breath through his teeth,

While he mopped up his junk with a Christmassy wreath.

He chuckled when he saw spooge on his belly,

Because it reminded him a little of jelly.

The girls all stood silent, awaiting their orders,

The pimp slapped the hooker and shook her thin shoulders.

The trucker said, “Wait! Now wait just a second!

The gal helped me out. No need for you to wreck her!”

The pimp stopped his tirade, and glared at the trucker.

The trucker saw a new girl and wanted to fuck her.

He rubbed his soft cock til it started to grow,

Then he bent the girl over and he drilled that poor ‘ho.

The pimp was so surprised at his fervor,

He just stood there in awe and watched in great pleasure.

With a snap of his finger, two girls took their clothes off,

And got out the whips, ’cause he liked it rough.

The rest of the story, I will not really say,

Let’s just say everyone got off good on that day.

Storytime

Check out my “F*cked-Up Fairy Tale” Here