It was all she could do to bite back the screams as the blows rained down on her naked body. She could feel the sweat running down her back in rivulets, and a steady stream of the salty fluid stingingly flowed over the bloody wounds he had left there, as if all his anger and frustration at his meaningless life were directed at her flesh. She didn't understan...
(Chapter 15) "He Looked Familiar" (circa-1982) When Brenda Morton entered a room her tits came first and the rest followed. "Come inside," she invited, her words breathed in a soft seductive whisper, her eyes taking a quick tour over the smart young man old enough to be her son. "I was expecting someone older," she said. "Please take that age thing as a...
The faint sounds of the music filtered through the window screens to reach me as I sat on the front porch steps. Patsy Cline, I was not, but I hummed along anyway, watching the end of my cigarette flare as I took a long, slow drag. Although it was after midnight, it was too damned hot to do the walking that the song suggested. Summers in west Texas can be br...
French woke up in the middle of the night with a headache, a dry mouth and a large, warm man wrapped around her. Oh, no, she thought, what did I do? Lying as still as possible so as not to wake him, she took stock of the previous night. She'd seen Aidan at the party, then drank a margarita. Then she'd danced with Aidan. Then drank – no gulped – a martini. He...
Harpers writing room was hot and sticky today, not much of a surprise considering it was the bonus attic room at the top of her newly acquired Charleston apartment and it was the height of August. Her realtor had gushed over the "Charleston Single House" style of the building, but had neglected to mention that also meant that the apartment would be oppressiv...
In deference to my friend's unrivalled history of aiding the Yard we were not subjected to the humiliation of handcuffs nor were we taken directly to Scotland Yard, but instead taken to a town house in a once-fashionable area of the city that was now, like the house, looking less than its best. 'This is the scene of the crime?' asked Holmes. 'It is, and I'...
I almost never write topical stories, but this Covid-19 thing deserves commemoration. So, with apologies to Boccaccio, here's my stab at a "plague story." It's shorter than most of my pieces, largely because it started to oppress me even as "social distancing" is oppressing us all. Perceptive readers may recognize the main character, who once got his hig...
[Author's Note: Well, at long last here it is. The plot comes to fruition. When I started this story I'd only ever intended to write the first part and leave it at that. But your reviews, your praise, compelled me to write more. Never underestimate the power of your words. I may craft an epilog for this tale in a while. Please feel free to leave comments or...
There was an irritating wetness against his face. His eyelids fluttered their shutters and forced his eyes open when he felt something hairy tickling his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose and pushed his head back and groaned when he saw it was Elsa licking his face with her tongue as if he were a bowl of ice cream. The cat meowed as he rolled over on his back....
Maggie's customers included the Christians of Faith (COF) organization in Omaha. She audited their books every three months, a job of 3 or 4 days for which they paid her one thousand dollars plus the cost of a modest hotel room. By the standards of the small town in Kansas where she lived with her husband, an evangelical preacher, that was good money. She...