#MWBB 3.05 : Rehab

Jaxson sat on his usual bar stool as he ended another day of existence on the miserable planet Earth in his usual way. Drinking himself to oblivion.

“It’s a good thing you live a couple blocks from here, and walk home every night.” Lexi was his bartender, at least he thought of her that way.

“Another one, Lexi. I can still remember what I did at work today.” Work had sucked, but it always sucked.

“Another fat white dude scream at you?”

“Several.”

Lexi laughed, shrugged, “White people. I tell you.”

Two years earlier was when the last of the three kids went to college, and he’d kissed another $60,000 bye-bye, and watched the day he could retire drift further toward the horizon.

A week after his baby girl started classes on the far side of the state his wife of 25 years told him, “Get out.” She’d had enough. The romance was long dead, the love too. She’d waited for the youngest to get out of the house, and then filed for divorce.

She got the house, of course. And the car, cats, and furniture.

He was too old to fight with her, so he moved out, and wound up in a single wide trailer in a park filled with Latinos on the edge of town. With plastic dishes, a pint-sized fridge, one TV (but no cable), a sofa, which served as his bed, and a tiny bathroom that consisted of a shower, a sink, and a toilet, all of which surrounded a 2 square foot slab of vinyl flooring.

Way he figured it, he was a quarter million in debt, and would have to work until he was 243 to pay it off.

Lexi’s was a gift from the universe, and he knew it. A bar a couple of blocks from the trailer park. She’d told him she opened it for the Latinos. “They got no place of their own.”

“You’re a good one, Lexi.”

She set another glass on the bar, “You keep telling me that.” She propped on her elbows, “You gonna listen to them? Get help somewhere? Dry out?”

Jaxson chugged half the glass, savored the burn in his throat, “Nope. Not going. Not getting help.”

“You that set on dying?”

“Yeah.” He would have smiled, but didn’t remember how, “Gonna drink myself to oblivion. Then let them bastards collect on that debt!”

“You’re a sick bastard, Jaxson, you know that.”

It was 0100 hours when he staggered to the toilet in his trailer and puked. Puking didn’t bother him so much. The blood he coughed up every morning, that bothered him.

“Not going to rehab. Going to drink myself to death.” He stretched out on his sofa, still wearing his clothes. “Then let them bastards collect that debt!” He passed out.

That night, he had the same dream he always had. The one where he wondered why he was still alive, and why the universe wouldn’t let him die.

490 Words
@LurchMunster


And so goes year 3, week 5 (Week 3.05) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. This week the prompt is the song, “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse. Please, go read the other stories in this week’s challenge.

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A Tale Of Lust : Pictures Every Night [Adults Only]

[The following is for adult consumption only. If you can’t handle explicit sexual content, go away.]

11:30 at night. Thomas’s wife was asleep. “Finally,” he grinned. “Now I can do what I want.”

He pulled his tablet out and opened the WEB browser. “I’m not a bad guy. I’m not.” He typed in the familiar URL, and watched the page load. “It’s just. She’s not interested anymore.” He remembered when the two of them spent late nights exploring each other. He remembered how fun sex with her had been.

It wasn’t fun anymore. He didn’t know when that happened. Or why. It just had. “It’s not what I wanted.” But he wasn’t sure that was true. Perhaps, they got tired of each other. Perhaps the sex was always the same. Perhaps they ran out of things to try. “The thrill is gone,” he heard the song play in his mind. It wasn’t spontaneous anymore. She scheduled it, when it happened, and when it happened, it was a chore.

He hadn’t screwed her in two years, maybe longer, he’d quit keeping track. It was one of those never going to happen things. They’d done everything. And he’d enjoyed it all. Especially oral sex. She knew it. She used to tell him, “I know you liked that. You got your rocks off.” And, “I know that felt good to you,” when he finished.

Now, he never finished. “Sometimes, I wonder why we sleep in the same bed.” He looked at the screen of his tablet. A pornography site, with daily videos and pictures. He wondered when it became more fun to watch the videos, and stare at the pictures that it was to screw her. “It’s not my fault.” Thomas shook his head. Yeah, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know whose fault it was, but it wasn’t his. “It’s like she got tired of everything, and stopped.”

He clicked on the link for the daily video, and watched a girl do it all. The camera never left her. All it showed of her partner was his dong and his hands. It started with her getting naked, and riding her fingers. Next, she off his clothes, then knelt in front of him, and sucked his cock. Thomas always liked to watch the blow jobs. They reminded him of when his wife used to suck him. Since she never did anymore, he liked to imagine the girl in the video was sucking him, her head riding up and down the length of him, like in the video. He wished it was him she was eating, so he could feel it for real, instead of imagining it. He wished it was him she was taking in her throat, him exploding into her.

Hell, it never happened in his life anymore. Why shouldn’t he enjoy a little fantasy? What was wrong with that?

The girl in the video got on her hands and knees. She turned her ass to the guy, and used her hand to spread herself. Thomas watched as she finger fucked herself, and spoke of how much she wanted the man to fuck her. After a few minutes, she got her wish as the man slid his cock into her, and started stroking. Thomas listened to her moan with each stroke in the video, and imagined it was him doing the stroking, watching each stroke he made.

He knew what was coming, he’d seen enough videos to know. “How’s he gonna fuck her ass? With his fingers, or his dick?” He waited knowing he’d enjoy watching whatever happened. He licked his lips, and used his hand to adjust his crotch. “That’s better.” He waited, watching the girl drive her hips into the man so each stroke was a deep as it could be. “God, I wish it was my dick she was humping.”

Thomas grinned as the man moved his hand to her ass, and slowly slid his index and middle fingers into her. He liked how she moaned, “Mmmm. That’s what I wanted.” It was what Thomas wanted too. He wished it was him in the video, his dick in her, his fingers in her ass.

He watched every stroke of cock and fingers until the man peaked, and the video ended.

“That was good. Now, for the pictures.” He clicked through the daily pictures. There were pictures of a dozen naked girls, sucking dicks. Thomas thought it would be great to fuck a dozen different faces. Pretty faces. Watching them ride up and down his length. Making him feel good.

There were a dozen more girls with dicks in their pussies. Some on their hands and knees, taking it from behind, some sitting on the man, some on their backs with their legs pulled up, and their cunts wide open. “I’d love to line them up, and fuck them all. Watch my dick pump into them. God, that would be good.”

There was a third dozen girls getting their asses fucked. All of them smiling, moaning, or groaning. Some on their knees, some sitting on the man, and some on their backs with their legs over his shoulders, and their butt cheeks spread. “I’d love a bunch of asses to fuck. Whenever I wanted. As much as I wanted.” Thomas imagined it was him in each girls ass, stroking away. “I like fucking ass.”

The fourth set of pictures had lots of naked girls, eating each other. “I’d love to have two at once. Two mouths, Two pussies. Two asses. And I could fuck them while they licked each other. God. That would be fun.”

The fifth set of pictures was of two girls and one guy. The girls ate each other while the guy fucked them everywhere. Faces, pussies, and asses. “It’s what I’d do. God I wish I could do that.”

When he finished the pictures, it was past midnight. Thomas turned off his tablet, “God, I needed this tonight.” He knew he’d sleep well, with fun dreams, and he knew he’d find release for the stress between his legs in the shower the next morning.

“God knows, I won’t find any release with her.”

He fell asleep dreaming of fucking a 20 something blonde’s face. Shoving himself all the way in. Exploding. Her swallowing it all.

Lust sat in on his sofa two hours later, “A guy needs a few fantasies,” he told Thomas’s wife, as she reviewed the browsing history on his tablet. In another month, she’d file for divorce, and get him thrown out of her house.

She knew he didn’t love her anymore. Their marriage had died years ago. She thought of it as a mercy killing.

Lust laughed. “It’s too easy, isn’t it. A few pictures, a video, and presto. Another happy couple bites the dust. And he’ll never see it coming. Everybody wins!” Lust would feed on human misery. Thomas would have his fantasies. His wife would have her freedom. And the girls in the pictures would have their money.  Everybody’d win.

“Whores. The world has always had them. And always will. No matter how much it changes.” He laughed. “And men will always find them.” He looked at Thomas’s future ex-wife. “Just like he has.”

Life was good. And Lust knew it. And it would stay good, so long as men had dicks between their legs. Lust laughed, and laughed until dawn.

#ThursThreads Week #78 – I’ll See You There, Darling

Diane signed the last of the paperwork, handing it to her lawyer. “That’s the last of it, Diane. You’re now free from him.”

Free from him, her former husband. All the work, the years, the time, gone, burned to the ground. He’d started an affair with that 30-year-old whore, who was still young enough to be pretty, without the baggage of a family, or the age 27 years of marriage puts on you.

Now, he had his whore. And she had a house full of memories to destroy. It would have been easy to sell the house, move somewhere and start over. But it was her house. She’d picked it. She’d picked the furniture, painted the walls, planted the flower beds, cooked in her kitchen, done the laundry in her utility room, and parked in her garage.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she couldn’t live in it any more.

The first thing to do was get rid of the bed. The bed reminded her of the nights he’d slept with her. All the nights she’d let him explore her body. She called over her girlfriends. They helped her disassemble the thing, haul it downstairs, and out to the curb.

Good riddance, she thought. She’d hated what he’d become. What he’d done to her. “I hope you burn in hell!” she’d screamed at him when she found out about the 30-year-old bitch.

All he’d said in response was, “I’ll see you there, darling.”

249 Words (Per MS Word 2010)
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 78. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#MondayMixer : The Engagement Ring

The restaurant sat at the end of a small peninsula that extended into the river. It was styled like an old riverboat, and even had a functioning paddle wheel at the back. That’s where we met, lawyers and all.

The lawyers made sure we signed all the appropriate paperwork making our divorce legal, and final. We’d been in love once. But we’d both changed. Our tastes, lives, likes, and loves had taken divergent paths. Divorce was the natural, appropriate ending to our relationship.

Before we went our separate ways, she loosened the drawstring on her reticule and pulled out the engagement ring I’d given her. “I won’t be needing this.”

“It’s yours to keep. I bought it for you.”

She smiled. “It would only remind me of you.”

The ring rests in my desk’s top right drawer, but I never think of her.

150 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this little ditty for Jeffery Hollar‘s weekly Monday Mixer flash fiction challenge. Please, go read all the other entries in this week’s challenge. They are all well crafted.

And yes, the Inlinkz list was closed when I posted this tonight…

#12DaysBop : Party Time!

Welcome to day 10 of Stacy Hoyt’s 12 Days Of Christmas Blog Hop. Today, the prompt is the gift of spirit. And I couldn’t help but think of the spirit of the party…


You would think humans would know not to invite us to their parties. But they drag us to all their parties. We come in with the drinks. The case of Budweiser. The bottle of Chianti. The 2 liters of Seven Up and the quart of Jack Daniels. Our favorite’s the homemade punch. We are, after all, the spirits of the party.

Tonight, I’m here to see if I can get some female human to wake up in the morning and realize she’s in bed with someone she doesn’t know, and she has no clothes.

My best friend wants to get some guy to throw up on the boss’s wife. That’s him, over there. Stalking the life of the party. The guy that’s got to dance until he pukes.

One of us wants to get some idiot to think he can still drive, when he can barely stand. He’ll get bonus points if that guy never gets home tonight, especially if he causes a wreck, and other humans die.

See her, over there? She’s hoping to get a whole group of people to tell the truth. To say the words they’d never say if they were sober. If she gets it right, there could be at least one fight. And someone may even get fired.

The guy over there got the lucky draw. He’s trying to get someone’s wife to wake up in the morning with the wrong guy. Like that gal over there. The one that keeps staring at the guy in the black shirt.

Humans never seem to learn. And that’s OK with us. After all, we are the spirits of the party, don’t you know. Now, let’s have some fun.


Please go enjoy the rest of the stories in the blog hop. There are some really gifted writers out there. It’s well worth reading their work. You can find the other entries here:

The 12 Days Of Christmas Blog Hop, Day 10 – The Gift Of Spirit

#ThursThreads : But It’s Not Enough…

“Have I told you what an idiot you are?” James let his beer bottle thunk down on the bar.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” I answered. Letting my own bottle thunk down. “Only about a zillion times.”

“Then how come you never listen to me?” James shook his head. He had a valid point. Sometimes, I was just flat stupid. “Turning off your brain cells, listening to your pecker again.” He took a big chug of his beer. “You know that’s always trouble.”

Yeah. I knew. I stared at my beer. Michelle. She was absolutely stunning. Any guy I knew would be happy to call her their own. And she’d been mine. Until I saw Stacy. Sexy, hot Stacy. With those hips that swayed as she walked. Those perfect knockers. It was like my brain cells just quit working.

We had an affair. Me and Stacy. Damn, but she was fun. But, she was trouble too. And I knew if Michelle ever found out.  And she did find out. And I went home one day, and my keys didn’t work. And I couldn’t call her on the phone. And her lawyer walked up and handed me the papers. Divorce. Just like that.

“You had the perfect girl, bean-dip,” James took another chug of beer. “But it’s not enough for you, is it.” He chuckled. “Was Stacy worth it?”

I laughed. Paused. Grinned. “Yeah. She sure as hell was.”

—–

I wrote this flash fiction piece with the intention of posting it to the #ThursThreads challenge today. But, that was not to be. Sigh. So, I’m putting it here, on my blog. All 243 words of it.

 

Fiction : Raymon The Christian

There are times
When I just don’t understand
People,
And the way they are.

Like this guy I know
That goes to church
Every single Sunday morning.
His name is Raymon.
And he’s one of those guys
That’s a Sunday Morning Christian,
And the rest of his time,
He’s an American.

When he’s at home,
He fights with his wife.
They argue all the time.
About the money that they make.
About the bills they have to pay.
About the car he wants to buy.
About the trip she wants to take.
About how he never
Takes care of their son,
Or their daughter,
Either one.

He never listens to his kids.
It’s like he doesn’t care at all
What they are doing.
In school.
At home.
Or at church.
A lot of days
When he comes home
He yells at them,
“Leave me alone!”

Raymon goes to lunch
With this lady he works with.
They go to lunch
Five days a week.
But they don’t go to lunch
To eat.
They go somewhere
They’ve picked out.
Where they spend time
Getting naked together.

She’s a lot more fun
Than his wife is
Any more.
Hell,
He can’t remember
The last time
He and his wife had sex.
And it’s not like
He hasn’t hinted
What he wants.
It’s like she’s
Just not interested
Any more.

On Monday nights,
During football season,
He goes out with the guys.
They go watch the game
At the local Irish bar.
Where the have a good time
Watching the game,
Having lots to drink,
And flirting endlessly
With the bartender.
Her name is Jane.

On Saturday,
Off and on,
He goes on-line
With his Playstation.
And plays the latest version
Of the “Call of Duty” game
With his buddies.
They take great pride
In shooting each other
Dead.
All day long.

His wife cries at night.
As she sleeps in bed.
All alone.
While he sleeps downstairs
On the sofa.
With the TV on.

His wife’s talking with a lawyer.
She’s filing for a divorce.
To get out of
The dead relationship
She’s trapped in
With him.

She feels at times
Like it’s all her fault.
Like she did something wrong.

Her son and daughter both
Agree with her decision.
They want her
To stay their Mom.
But they want Raymon
Gone.
It’s like he’s just plain quit
Being a Dad to them.
They told their Mom,
And her lawyer both
That they just want
Raymon to go away.

But Raymon thinks
Everything’s OK.
And knows
He’s going to heaven.
That God’s forgiven him
For everything.
Because he’s professed his faith.
And he goes to church
Every last Sunday.
And prays
To be forgiven.

Like a good Christian does.

He doesn’t have a clue,
And doesn’t care
That his family
Now hates him.
That the way he lives,
And the things he’s done
Have caused their hearts
To ache.
That their souls
Cry tears of pain,
At the way he lives,
And the things he’s done

It will be many years
Before the tears
That their souls cry
Begin to dry.
And their hearts
Begin to heal.

But Raymon
Doesn’t care at all.
Because,
Thank God.
He’s saved.