#MWBB Week 50 : Dogs Of Lust

[WARNING – This content is for mature readers only! If you are easily disturbed by violence, especially sexual violence, read no further.]

It was Friday night, and Tommy sat in his room, exploring the Internet with his WEB browser. Friday night, and all his friends were out. Billy with Jill. Sam with Robin. Frank with Sharon. Every one of the guys with a girl.

Tommy sat in his room. Looking at the only girls he could look at. The ones on the ‘Net. “Let the bitches talk to the other guys.” He checked his firewall, and security software before clicking on the link, and declaring he was old enough.

“Are you over eighteen?” He laughed. “Twenty-fucking-two. Yeah. I’m over eighteen.” That let him through to the pictures and the videos.

“I asked her! Goddamnit, I asked!” He had. He’d asked Diane, the hot red-head at work, if she’d like to go to dinner.

“With you?” She’d laughed. Laughed, damn-it! “I’d have to be out of my mind!” She’d walked off, laughing.

“Yeah. Bitch.” Tommy watched the screen, as a guy tied a girl up. Tied her hands to posts, her knees to her wrists. Then he took all her clothes off. “Yeah. I know what I’d like to do to you.” He imagined it was Diane the guy was tieing up. He imagined he was the guy. “I know exactly what I’d do!”

He watched the video, as the man had his way with the girl. As he did anything he wanted. Everything he wanted. She couldn’t stop him. She pleaded. She begged. But he did what he wanted.

He watched every detailed picture. Then, he connected to the mesh network. He had to talk about things. With his guys. His buds. They talked about being turned down. About no one dating them. No one even going to dinner. About what they wanted. What they’d like to do. “Girls are for screwing. That’s what we’d do.”

Their conversation quickly grew to five guys, then twenty-five. And it kept growing. Guys from all over, not just guys in town. “All of us. Sitting at home. ‘Cause we can’t get any.” He typed the words. And saw the answers. One “Yes!” after another.

Except for a couple of guys. “Maybe we shouldn’t ask any more.”

Tommy couldn’t help it, “What do you mean?”

“If we can’t get anywhere by asking, maybe we shouldn’t ask?”

It was Friday night. Tommy was at home. Alone. His high school girlfriend had left. “I’ll be free of you!” That’s what she’d said. Hell, she’d never even let him kiss her. He couldn’t hold her, kiss her, or anything. And she left for college. And he’d been dateless since.

“Yeah. Maybe we should stop asking.”

“And start taking.”

They all said that. They all agreed. “It’s Friday. And the night is young!”

Tommy called his friends Ted and Phil. They were part of the mesh network. They knew what was going on. “Let’s stop asking.”

They got together, went out. Patrolled a few bars, a few clubs. Found a girl. Walking by herself. At night. Alone. They didn’t ask.

Tommy slept well that night. He’d done everything he wanted. So had Ted and Phil. And that little bitch hadn’t been able to stop him. He and the boys had fun. So much fun, they agreed to do it again. Next Friday night.

So did all the guys on the network. “I needed that. It felt good.”

“I got what I wanted. I took what I wanted.”

Tommy knew what he’d do. What they’d all do. If no one would give them what they wanted. They’d take it. They’d do what they wanted. Girls were meant to be fucked. And fuck them they would. No more games. No more playing around.

Next Friday, Tommy, Ted, and Phil would do what they wanted to Diane. The red-head. The one too good for him. She’d learn.

And Tommy knew, he’d sleep damn good every that Friday night. Damn good indeed.

669 Words

This is my entry for week 50 of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. The song this week is “Dogs Of Lust” by The The. A dangerous song indeed. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.


#ThursThreads Week 110 : Why Should I?

Cynthia Gardner methodically observed her image in the mirror, carefully tuning the texture around her eyes, shifting the position of nano-machines, projecting just the right color in just the right space. Getting the details right was important. She had to look human. Real. She even practiced breathing, moving her abdomen and chest like real humans did when they breathed.

She looked at the pictures of clothing from the magazines on her table, and carefully shifted parts of herself around, forming the image of shoes, denim jeans, a bra, and a loose-fitting t-shirt.

She practiced moving, watching her hair.  It wasn’t easy to get the individual hairs on her head to move realistically.

“Perhaps I should develop a relationship with a human male.” It would be difficult. She would need to simulate all the proper body parts to convince a male they were real.

“Laura, at work, speaks of her male friend.” She recalled the way Laura’s eyes and body moved when she spoke of him. The subtle shifts in her biochemistry, blood flow, and skin temperature. Laura often said, “He’s so hot. And he knows what a girl likes.”

Cynthia made sure her lips were the proper shade of lipstick red. She remembered Laura saying, “Girl, you need to find a man.”

“Why should I?”

“It’d make you more human.”

Cynthia knew, it was time to improve her simulation of a human female to include a pairing with a human male. So people would think she was more human.

249 Words

I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 110, the last week of the Month Of Love Challengs on #ThursThreads. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#55WordChallenge : The Fence – Part 30

Squirrel CloseupA squirrel ran down the side of the tree and walked to Taran. “Yes, little one. This is Flint. Alice’s son.”

“You’re the animal man.” The man whose animals kept us trapped inside our fences. Protected from him. I swung my fist at him but he’d already moved, as if he’d known what I’d do.

55 words

This is Part 30 of the serial story I’m working on for Lisa McCourt Hollar‘s #55WordChallenge flash fiction challenge. Please, go read all the other entries in the challenge this week.

The entire story, from Part 30 to Part 1, is located here.

#VisDare 49 : Devoted (Taran’s Tale, Part 32)

After the videos, Alice spoke. “Cynthia is my mother. Leighla is my daughter.” She looked into my eyes, and I got lost in hers. “I have a son. The hordes took him.” Her blue eyes became wells of sorrow. “I’m afraid,” She pulled away from me. “Of what I feel.”

I knew not to touch her then. It would hurt her. “I’m from the caves.” It was time to tell her. “But I lived alone. Alone.” Her eyes wouldn’t let me go. “I read the books of the ancients. I left the caves to find a new life.” I let my eyes return to hers. “And I have.” I tried to smile.


“No.” I couldn’t lie to her. “Me. And I’m afraid. Of what I feel.”

I slowly offered her my hand. She slowly reached for it, and what we both felt began to grow.

146 Words

This is part 32 in the continuing story I’m working on for Angela Goff’s Visual Dare. Please read the other entries in this week’s Visual Dare challenge.

The entire story, from part 32 to part 1, is located here.

Be True To Yourself?

I remember the trigger. I can’t forget. It was such an innocuous thing. Such an honest thing. So well-meant. Just another one of a million inspirational posters. I can’t even remember which one. So, I spent time this morning looking for it. I couldn’t find it. But that doesn’t matter. Because I found its spirit everywhere.

“To thine own self be true.”

“Be true to yourself and to your feelings. Those are the only things in your life that will never lie to you.”

“Always stay true to yourself and never sacrifice who you are for anyone.”

The list is near infinite. The sayings all the same. Be true to yourself. True to your heart, and soul. To your feelings. To what you believe. To who you are, underneath it all.

Yep. That’s what started it. That’s what triggered the endless chain of thoughts I find myself wrestling with for two days now, with no end in sight. For the truth rang clear. These words apply to all. Not to the good. Not to the just. Not to the righteous. To all. Everyone. Good. Bad. Right. Wrong. Light. Dark. Helpful. Hurtful. Loving. Spiteful. And everything in between.

What part of that do people misunderstand?

If the human’s heart and soul react with revulsion to the thought of something, is it wrong for them to act on that? Is it wrong for them to stand up for what they believe?

If the Christian believes the homosexual damned to hell unless he changes his ways, then, is wrong for the Christian to say so, and to live as he believes?

Who are you to judge?

If the business man believes he can create more jobs, so more people can earn a living, if he pays less taxes, and benefits, is it wrong for him to act on that? Is it wrong for them to stand up for what they believe?

Who are you to judge?

If you fear the world filled with scientific knowledge, theories, and concepts like evolution, quantum mechanics, and climate models, is it wrong to express your fears, and your doubts?

Who are you to judge?

If you believe Wal-Mart heralds the end of the middle class, and the birth of a slave class of humans, is it wrong for you to express that, and try to prevent the further growth Wal-Mart?

The list goes on and on. It never ends.

How can you be true to what you believe, what you feel, what your heart speaks, if you force yourself to stop, and question everything? If you force yourself to change? Do you live in the box of what you believe, what you know, what you feel? Is that wrong? Is that right?

And what of the person next to you? Do they live in the same box? Do they believe what you believe? Know what you know? Feel what you feel? Are they wrong? Are they right?

Who are you to judge, when you declare, “To thine own self be true”? Are we all you? Are we all the same? One mind? One heart? One belief? One way? One skin color? One hair color? One eye color? One truth? One life?

Then why judge what the person next to you believes?

To thine own self be true.

These are the words, this is the thought, that triggered everything in the past two days. That forced me to take the next step on the path I walk. And wonder. What does it mean, that no one remembers the words they speak any more.

To thine own self be true.

Who are you to judge?

How Can I Explain?

I sit here, on this Sunday night, barely noticing the closing ceremonies of the 2014 Winter Olympics, my mind filled with endless questions, endless ideas, and a single, staggering truth.

I’ve wanted to jump for joy, laugh, run around like a little boy, and tell everyone what I’ve figured out. But I haven’t. And I won’t. For I have learned other truths. One of which prevents me from telling what I’ve learned. “No matter how many times I explain it. No matter how many words I use. No matter how many pictures I draw. No one that does not already know will ever understand.”

People believe what they decide to believe. It’s a harsh truth. Not a universal truth. I’m not sure any longer there is such a thing as a universal truth. Except perhaps for one. All things end. But I digress. People do, in fact, decide what they believe.

I find it disturbing how many people have decided, and believe, that the things of the world they do not like, do not understand, or fear, are the things that are wrong. Are the things that are sins. Are the things that are evil. It disturbs me to have learned this. It disturbs me to know I struggle with this truth in my life, my existence.

Perhaps it is natural to fear, distrust, and perhaps even hate, that which is unknown. Perhaps it is the unknown that reminds of us things in the corners of a room, in the dark, waiting to pounce on us. Perhaps these are the monsters under the bed. The demons in the closet. The devils in the dark.

I sit here tonight, wishing there were words I could say, words I could write, to capture the truth I’ve come to grasp today. I struggle with this, knowing I will never find a way. And even if I could, it would not matter. For the people I would share this with. The people most in need of hearing it. Of learning it. Would never understand.

They would, instead, relegate me to the ranks of the evil ones. The demons. The nightmares. The eradicated. The forgotten. The ignored. From that day forward, I would be the sad memory of the one that fell from grace.

I know this. For there are people I knew just a few short years ago, who view me this way. The sad story of the successful person, with the great career, that crashed and burned, and destroyed it all. It was such a sad thing for them to see.

The gulf between how I see things, how I believe, how I feel, and them, has grown with each day that has passed, until now, it exceeds the vastness of the space between the stars, and galaxies. I could no more talk with them than they could talk with me. Our words, worlds, and ways have fallen into parallel universes. Right next to each other. Unable to detect the others presence at all.

It saddens me to think of this. I would say to them, “It is only pain. It is only fear. It is only change. What are you afraid of? Why do you hide? Why do you run?” If there were some way I could.

There is not.

I write. You’ve doubtless noticed I write. It’s one of those things I’ve learned I must do. It’s part of me. Part of who I am. As a body breathes. As blood flows. As hearts beat. As children are born, grow old, and pass beyond the veil. I write. I can’t be any other way. The stories are endless. In my thoughts. My dreams. More than I can ever put on paper.

The stories never end.

I sit here tonight. Knowing I can never find a way to share the truth I’ve learned today. Knowing it would be pointless to even try. Knowing instead, all I can do is write. Stories. And perhaps. Maybe. Someone. Somewhere. Will be drawn by those words, by those tales, into a world they never knew was there.

And start their own journey to find the truths I seek. Knowing they could never explain them to anyone. For a very few would understand already. And the rest exist in a parallel universe. Right there. You can see them. They are real. But they rest an entire universe away.

How can I ever explain what can’t be explained? How can anyone?

#FinishThatThought 33 : I Ran For The Door

I ran for the door, but someone had taken the keys. I paused, looking at the car. “Crap!” I pounded the roof, causing the metal to dent. I grabbed my phone, and punched speed dial for 6, my lawyer.

“What is it now, Harry?”

“The keys to my car are missing.”

“They’re not missing, Harry. And they’re not your keys. They’re her keys.”

“You mean…”

“She got the car too.”

I looked up at God, and the universe, and screamed.

“Now, Harry. That’s no way to behave.”

“No way to behave?” I stomped my feet. “No way to behave!” I held the phone out at arm’s length, and looked at it like it was stupid. “Really? Really?” I pulled the phone in, “She got MY car too?!”

“What can I say? The judge agreed with her.”

There were times I wanted to shoot that woman. Times I wish I had. Every time I reached that point, I suddenly calmed down. “Yeah. I can see that.”


“Where you recommend I stay?”

My lawyer was nothing, if not honest. “Skip town, Harry. Get a job somewhere. Making enough to live on. The judge will adjust how much you pay her.”

“Skip town?”

“Yeah. Start over.” There was a pause. “And, Harry? Don’t sleep around this time.”

“Yeah. I know.” I paused, remembering the times I never went home at night. The times I woke up the next morning in some gals apartment, or home. And she was in the bed with me. Naked. And it was obvious what we’d done.

“How many?” I asked.

“Too many, Harry. Too many.” After a moment, he said, “Use your credit card, Harry. While you still can. Get a ticket on a plane. Go somewhere you can find a job.”


“Anywhere.” He laughed. “You can even catch a taxi to the airport. And Harry.”


“No screwing around.”

He hung up. I stared at the phone. Then looked down at my crotch. “You know how much trouble you’ve aused?” Of course, it didn’t answer. Other than to send chemicals racing through my body. “And after all this, you still want to find a gal to bang?” I shook my head.

I ordered plane tickets to Phoenix. The flight left the next afternoon. I flagged a taxi. When to a bar. Had a drink. Danced with a pretty girl. Woke up the next morning, naked, in her bed. With her. I didn’t even remember her name.

I looked at my crotch. “Will you ever learn?”

418 Words

I wrote this for Week 33 of Alissa Leonard‘s Finish That Thought. Please, go read all the creatively shared stories in this week’s challenge.

#VisDare 48 : Beneath

The films showed me what I’d learned from the books and journals I’d read. They told the history of the end of the world that was.

The cities went insane, with men hunting women, using them as sex toys, then discarding them. The military tried to restore order, but they had too few guns, and too few members.

The women fought back, shooting men on sight. Blood ran through the streets of the cities. The chaos spread from the cities, to the towns, through the world.

Surviving city men formed gangs and became “The Hordes”, collecting women for recreation, and population management.

Surviving countryside families found caves to live in. And started digging deeper underground, becoming the cave dwellers.

Small groups of survivors became cannibalistic, formed hunting packs, and became “The Wraiths”.

Isolated survivors gathered in small camps, and started over. Jessica lead the first small camp.

146 Words

This is part 31 in the continuing story I’m working on for Angela Goff’s Visual Dare. Please read the other entries in this week’s Visual Dare challenge.

The entire story, from part 31 to part 1, is located here.

#MWBB Week 48 : 11:11

I hate those old sayings about couples. “We are one,” and all that crap. I really hate the one, “We are soul mates.” Tell me that one, “We’re soul mates! Is she your soul mate?” and I swear, I’m gonna bitch slap you. “She’s the missing half of my soul!”

Jesus. Get a life.

Even that one from Princess Bride. What was it? Oh, yeah. “True love.” Yeah. That crap. Tell me, “It’s true love,” and I’m gonna sing, “True Love’s Kiss” from Enchanted. You know. That first ten minutes when that silly cartoon part is on, and everybody’s singing about true love’s kiss.

I’m all about understanding, and coöperation, and being best friends. Yeah. That’s what she is. She’s my best friend. She understands me. I like to think I understand her, but hell, I don’t even understand simple things like what to say when someone asks me, “How are you today?” So, I gotta be honest. I probably don’t understand her at all. But I like to pretend I do.

I can tell when she’s happy. Usually anyway. I mean, she likes to cuddle when she’s happy. Or maybe I’ve got that backwards, and she likes to cuddle ‘cause it makes her happy. I don’t know.

I just know she’s my best friend.

You ever heard those duets. The really good ones. The classy ones. Not like say, Beyoncé and Kanye West. Mushy, market driven crap. I mean the good stuff. Like Kenny and Dolly. Or Streisand and Diamond. Or even Ross and Richie. Now those are duets. Two individuals, singing a song, making it more than either could make it alone. Yet both stand alone. Neither needing the other.

Friends. That’s what it’s about.

If we could sing, we’d be a duet. But we can’t sing. Or, you know. I can’t sing. I croak. In a monotone. It’s like I sing one note, and make it louder or softer. So, we’re not that kind of duet.

We’re more of a duet of instruments. Violin and Viola? Nah. Two cellos maybe? I don’t know. We’re not like that classical stuff. We’re more like two guitars. Acoustic guitars. Yeah. And we play different notes. We’re good alone. But when we get together. We’re better than we are alone.

Yeah. We’re like that. A guitar duet.

So, don’t talk to me about that soul mate crap, or how we’re each the other’s half. We ain’t any of that crap. We’re two separate people. Two individuals. But beautiful music happens when we get together.

Yeah. A guitar duet. I like that.

429 Words

This is my entry for week 48 of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.

#55WordChallenge : The Fence – Part 29

Taran laughed. “You’re one of Jessica’s descendants. The Horde kidnapped you when you were an infant.”


“It broke Alice’s heart.”

He took me to his garden, to a tree with a broken heart drawn on it.

“She drew that. Years ago. I promised her I’d find you.” He closed his eyes. “And I have.”

55 Words

This is Part 29 of the serial story I’m working on for Lisa McCourt Hollar‘s #55WordChallenge flash fiction challenge. Please, go read all the other entries in the challenge this week.

The entire story, from Part 29 to Part 1, is located here.