By Kevin Moriarity
I remember some things from that day vividly. Other things are still fuzzy. I remember the warm sunshine and crisp air of a Minnesota summer morning. I was in Minneapolis to speak to a client about their new software system. I was sipping coffee in front of my hotel, waiting for a cab to take me to that client.
The cab pulled up the hotel driveway. I got in on the driver’s side.
“Where to?” the driver asked. Continue reading
By James Thibeault
They don’t know until I hit the hardwood floor. I make my knuckles crack, then bleed. I scream. The neighbors hear and call. Police and sirens surround me, checking for bruises and scars, but don’t look too hard. My father tells them, “She stressed herself out.” The neighbors don’t call again — not even when I attack the floor later that night. He doesn’t give me scars, I tell myself, except the ones I make. But those don’t count. Those are my fault. Continue reading
By Jon Richards
Henry Otis shuffled down the street, rounding the corner to the liquor store.
He kept playing in his mind, over and over like a movie, the time when he was 18 years old. He remembers how he won the gun in a card game. A pair of twos, my God! It wasn’t a real gun — he didn’t run with that kind of crowd — but it looked like a real gun he thought. The day after the win, Henry woke up, dressed, walked down to the liquor store, pulled out the gun and walked away with 19 dollars and 63 cents — a lot of money! No hassle, no one chased him. No sirens, no wanted poster. He just walked away. Continue reading
WARNING: This story includes graphic sexual language. It is intended for mature audiences only.
By Meredith Castle
In my 38 years, I have been laid a lot, mainly because I was willing and eager to please. Almost any man with a hard dick would go for that. I’ve been spanked by a mayor, sucked the balls of a preacher, and made a Muslim, a fire chief and a doctor feel as if they’d died and gone to heaven. None of these men were any different from the factory worker, traveling salesman or guy looking for a job. I was lucky if I remembered their names a week later — that is if I ever knew their names at all. Continue reading
By Anne Ryan
I saw the wedding ring on her finger and heard talk that she had a husband, but my first words to her were still, “Girl! That’s a lesbian haircut.” A year later I was convinced she was my soulmate. A year after that, I’d convince myself of anything just so it meant I wouldn’t love her anymore. She had spent 14 years married to a man convincing herself and the world that the suburbs, two dogs, a pool, timeshares and Sunday dinners equated to subliminal happiness. It only took one summer of falling in love with another woman to know that she never really felt happiness before. She never really felt herself at all. Continue reading