David O. Hughes

The Covert Kinkster and the Embryonic Eunuch

Trevor brought his BMW X6 to a crunching halt on the gravelled driveway, killing the engine and relaxing in his seat, arching and stretching his back. “Ow!” he giggled and wriggled, a little sore still from the licking he’d taken from his mistress and her trusted assortment of whips, crops, and lashes. “Bitch is worth every penny,” he said, gritting his teeth.

When he leaned forward, chest pressing against the steering wheel, he looked out of the windscreen and up at the darkened bedroom windows of his luxury home that loomed over him and his European beauty. Shelia must be asleep by now, he thought. She’s always in bed, snoring her fat arse off when I’ve returned home, no what the hour. Lazy fuck. 

He plucked the keys from the ignition, pocketed them, and opened the car door. As he walked up the short, winding path, flanked by ponds, gnomes, pots, plants and other garden trinkets and clutter Sheila deemed necessary to keep up with the Jones’, an image of her snoozing in her flowery nightie, eye mask, bed socks and extravagant neck pillow exploded in his mind. UghLike a beached fucking whale, he thought, looking down at a fishing elf-gnome wearing bright yellow wellies. He wanted to kick the thing it into the pond its fishing line was cast into, but decided against it. If she put as much effort into our sex life and marriage as she does with our garden, then we’d get somewhere.    

Trevor huffed, looked up, and thought he saw a dull, gloomy flicker of light from behind the curtains in a downstairs window. No, she can’t be up watching TV this late, he thought. Surely not! He crept up to the glass, pressed his face to it, and tried to peer through the crack in the curtains. I can’t see anything. It’s dark in there. Hmm… Now whatI better have an excuse ready. She might ambush me in there.  

When he reached the front door, he eased his key into the lock and turned it. Trevor winced, pulling his lips back and exposing his gums, as the bolts thundered into place. “Je-sus,” he said with clenched teeth. He depressed the handle and stepped into the inky hallway. 

“Sheila?” He stood there for a moment, ears pricked, listening to the natural sounds of a home. All quiet on the western front! he thought, smiling. 

Trevor closed and locked the door with as little noise as possible, before proceeding down the hallway to the foot of the stairs. “Sheila, are you up there?” A snort and a fart were his replies. A smile split his face. Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping, he thought, listening to the springs of their reinforced bed creak and crunch as she turned over. Like a pig in a pen.      

With a snigger, he pulled away from the staircase and entered the living space. From within the guts of the room, Fluffy meowed, Trevor jumped. “Fucking moggy,” he muttered, turning on a lamp to find the cat curled up on an armchair like a duchess. “Come on, you – come and get some chow.” Trevor led the cat into the kitchen and poured some dried food into its bowl. “Once you’re done, you can go outside to do your business.”

After unlocking the back door and pulling it open for Fluffy, Trevor filled the kettle with water and set it to boil. I wonder if Sheila left me some supper? he thought, moving to the fridge for a peep inside. On the middle shelf, tucked behind a bottle of red sauce and a couple of yoghurt pots, was a plate wrapped in tinfoil with a note that read Trevor attached to it. “Excellent,” he said, plucking the china from its chilly depths.  

Fluffy meowed, the bell on her collar jingling, as she fled to the outside. Instead of closing the door, Trevor left it ajar. I’ll only have to reopen it when she wants to come back in. Hopefully, by the time I’ve scoffed this lot, Fluffy’ll be indoors, Trevor thought, setting his food down on the kitchen table. Did I see my protein shake in there with my grub? He went back to the fridge, opened it, and fished out his drink. “Sheila’s a good ‘un in some respects,” he said, laughing.  

She treats you like a king, a voice at the back of his mind said.  

Trevor sat at the table and lowered his head. I can’t deny it, she does, and what I do behind her back is dreadful. I’ve broken my vows time and again, but it’s the only way I can keep our marriage afloat. God, if she ever did find out though… Fuck! I’d lose everything: swanky car, fancy house, money, status…the lot. And it would come out in the papers,tooThe media love a good, grubby tale about a dirty politician. Sweat broke across his brow. It won’t come to that. I’m careful, and the lady I use is discreet.  

He uncovered his food and set to work on the ham and egg salad. “Mmm,” he said, licking dressing from off his chops. As he devoured the last of his meal, Fluffy made her way inside, darting into the living room. 

“Cold out there, puss?” he asked, laughing and setting his cutlery down on the empty plate. “Bloody lovely.” With a burp, Trevor got up from the table and placed his dish in the sink. Once he was done, he took his drink into the living room and sat down. “Christ, my back is still killing me! Madam Christine went for it this time. Well, I did ask for it.”

When he tried to relax in his chair, wincing, grunting and gurning as he did so, Madam Christine’s words came back to him, stealing his wind. Was she being serious? he thought. Sounded it, but she’d slipped out of character.    

“Trevor, are you feeling okay?” she asked. “Your ball sack has been looking increasingly discoloured the last few weeks, and I’m sure your wee man has got smaller?”

Trevor laughed. “Really, Mistress? I have been feeling under the weather, mind. Maybe that has something to do with it?”  

“Perhaps. You haven’t been taken my punishments like you used to, either. Also, your fantastic physique seems to be slipping. You’re sprouting hairy bitch tits!” 

“You think?” he said.

Mistress nodded, smiling. 

Trevor looked down at himself. It’s true, he thought. But how? I’ve been eating cleanly. 

Yeah, but you haven’t been frequenting the gym or running of recent. And it’s not like you haven’t noticed, is it? You’ve been ignoring it, thinking it was your tired mind playing tricks on you, the voice at the back of his mind said.  

“I’ve been fatigued a lot of late, and I’ve caught a number of colds.” 

“Has work been stressful?”

“Yeah. Well, no, not really.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor, Trevor. Get a full check-up.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he smiled.  

Trevor hadn’t given thought to what she’d said upon leaving her dungeon and driving home; he’d been too occupied by thoughts and feelings of what Madam Christine had done to him. But now, as sat in the dark living room with the effects of tonight’s games fading, it bore down on him. 

have been ignoring it, he thought, sipping his protein shake. No, not ignoring, but avoiding. My dick has gone smaller. I noticed it a few weeks ago but choose to circumvent the issue. I thought I was being silly, but then I noticed the discolouration of my nuts, too. It’s time to be honest with myself. 

“It’s not just my cock and balls, either, or the changing of my physique,” he said, putting his drink down on the coffee table. “No, it’s bloody not, is it!” 

“Trevor?” Sheila called, her voice cracking. “Is that you down there?”

Who fucking else would it be! he thought, wanting to say it, but couldn’t muster it. “I’ll be up soon.”

“Try not to wake me again,” she said, which was followed by the sound of her retreating footsteps and the slamming of their bedroom door. 

“Pig bitch,” he muttered with a smile, thinking of going up there and waking her with his hard cock. “That would piss her off, but she’d take, just like she always does. She’s a good wifey.”

Trevor settled in his seat and went back to his thoughts. No, my privates and physical appearance are not the only things I’ve noticed a change in. I’m not as driven as I used to be. I was a right go-getter, and I’d step on anyone who got in my way. I’ve lost my bite, and I’m knackered all the time. All I seem to want to do when I’m not visiting Madam Christine (which I can barely manage now) or working is sleep. What is going on?

Ring the doctor tomorrow, the voice said.   

With a nod, Trevor drained his drink, got up, and headed towards the hallway.

“Why do you stay with her, Trevor?” Madam Christine asked.

“Because she’s a loving woman and she takes good care of me.”

“Is that enough, though?”

“What else is there? I have it good.”

When he got to the foot of the staircase, he sighed. Sheila was such an attractive woman when we got together. Smokin’ hot! But a ring on her finger ruined it all. 

“I’ll shed the pounds,” she’d promised, her sex drive dwindling into oblivion.  

Still, it didn’t stop him, no matter how much she protested. 

If it does all come out, he thoughtlooking up the shadowy staircase, then the blame will be put at her doorstep. A man has needs, fantasies and desires, damn it! Trevor huffed. But they’re starting to diminish… I hope there isn’t something seriously wrong with me. Don’t be silly. Just overworkedYeah, either that or my libido is starting to slacken with age. Christ, I’m not that old! 

He climbed the steps and entered the bathroom. After brushing his teeth, peeing and washing his hands, Trevor left the room and went into his bedroom. With the curtains open, the moon shining through, he was able to see Sheila’s large shape beneath the duvet.

Going to snuggle right up to Sheila and stuff my dick in her, he thought, slipping out of his boxers. His prick twitched, but it didn’t come to full life. Trevor looked down at his cock and began to stroke it. “Come on,” he hissed, forcing it hard. That’s better, he smiled. But when he let go of it, it grew lifeless, shrivelling. Jesus, it looks smaller again!What’s happening to my larger-than-life python?! In his panic, he hadn’t heard Sheila’s snoring stop, as he tried rubbing it to life. But the more he tried, the less his prick co-operated. “What’s wrong with it!”

“My, my, you do look ridiculous,” Sheila said, giggling. “Standing there, trousers and boxers around your ankles, trying to coax your ever-growing maggot to its full potential.” 

Trevor looked up and gasped. Sweat dribbled down his forehead and ran into his eyes and mouth. “Don’t laugh!” he said, throwing a hand out and sweeping the photos and trinkets off the tallboy that stood by his side. Glass shattered and pinged off his face, opening a nick across his chin. 

“What did you fucking say?!” she said, throwing the duvet off her and getting out of bed, her feet pounding the floor. The timid woman he had grown to know had disappeared. 

She looks…fierce, he thought, his bollocks retracting. His guts grew cold. Trevor clenched his arse cheeks and fart escaped him.   

“You’re going to clean up that mess, loser! Hell, I might make you pick up the shards with your anus!” she giggled, stomping closer to him, her shadow swallowing his scrawny frame. 

“Who do you think—?” he tried, puffing his chest out, but he withered when Sheila pressed her massive tits against him, shoving him back against the wall and pinning him in place. “Argh! There’s something digging in me!” he whined, his bottom lip quivering. What the fuck is going on here? his mind screamed. 

Sheila struck him across the face with the flat of her hand. “Shut. Up. Or I’ll hurt you worse,” she said, cupping his wrinkled ball sack. “That’s if I can find them.”

“What the hell has come over you? Ugh!” he gasped, her hand tightening. 

“Don’t play stupid, Trevor. I know exactly what’s been going on.”

Argh, my balls!” A tear slid down his cheek. 

“I thought you’d be able to take a lot more punishment than this, lover. I’ve not started yet.”

“Wh-what are…ugh…are you talking…about?” he gasped, pulling his lips back, exposing his gums. P-p-please, Sheila – you’re going to pop ‘em!” 

“They’re not going to be much use to you anyway, Trevor. Shall I remove them? I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’ll be my little eunuch bitch.”

He started to shake his head, his dick betraying him, as it grew. 

Sheila smiled, but the smile wasn’t full of warmth and caring as usually, he thought. No, it’s cold and bitter; the smile of a twisted, scorned woman. A woman that’s been pushed too far. It dawned on him, that if she knew everything, then he’d been mentally abusing her. I’m a bullyBut on the other hand, I’ve opened her— “Argh!” he blurted, as his nuts were twisted. “Don’t rip them off! Not even Mistress Carla is this rough. There are safe words!” he forced a smile, thinking he knew her game. 

“Safe words? What do you think this is, fucking playtime, cunty?” she spat in his face and ripped downwards on his scrotum, digging and clawing her nails into his flesh. “I’ve been strengthening my grip, too, working on it, ever since I found out what was going on and came to terms with it. I can squash apples, Trevor, so bursting a couple of raises like these won’t be an issue. Is that what you want? Your dick tells me yes. Well, I think it is, because it’s not getting very hard. Is it? No, not these days. It used to stand up so proud, remember? And look, you have titties!”

Jesus, she’s being serious. “I like this game…”

“Game? Game! We’re not playing a game, dickhead! I’ve already told you that! We’re beyond fun, fucker. You’re about to live the real deal. Kiss goodbye to your freedom, because I’ll be running the show from here on out.”

“But-but!”

“But nothing. I own you now. And, if you try and wriggle out of it or say no, then I will burn your fucking life down to the ground! I’ll make sure everyone knows you pay whores for sex, and that you can’t get your dick hard at home. I’ll even post photos and stories all over the internet! You’ll never work around here again. I’ll make sure of that. Unless you fold to me and become my pet,” she smiled, licking her lips. “Fuck, you don’t really have a choice, do you? I just wanted you to know what will happen if you try and fuck with me.”

“Jesus!” he squealed, as Sheila towed him across the room by his nuts. 

“Come with me, bitch.” Trevor squeezed his eyes closed, tears spilling, trying to block out the pain. His hands went hers and he tried pulling her fingers loose. “Don’t make me crush harder, shit face. You wouldn’t want me to rupture something.”

“Okay, okay!” Trevor removed his hands and allowed himself to be manhandled. When the pressure was gone from his bollocks, he thought he was going to vomit as he collapsed to his knees and held himself. “What have you done to me?”

“Can’t you handle a little bit of crushing? God, that ex-mistress of yours must have been a right pussy,” Sheila giggled. “Here, have a look at this, arsehole – it’s going to be your new home,” she said, opening the door to their walk-in wardrobe. “I had it made for you, dog.”

Trevor gawked at the thing before him, which looked like an outsized dog house with a heavy wooden door with bars in its window. “Wh-what is that?!” 

“I told you. Your new home.” Sheila put a heavy foot to his shoulder and pressed down on him. “I’m going to keep you in there and bring you out when I see fit,” Sheila smiled. “That cock of yours is useless now, and I hope you enjoy watching me getting fucked from in there,” she said, hooking a thumb towards the small house. 

“Useless?”

“Yes. Totally. Well, it will be, in another couple of weeks or so.”

“What do you mean?!” 

Sheila grinned. “I’ve rendered it worthless without you knowing.”

“Hang on…”

“Yes?”

“Have you destroyed my manhood?”  

Sheila tittered, placing a hand to her mouth. “I shouldn’t laugh, really, but I can’t help it. God, it’s made me so horny, emasculating such a powerful man.”

“It’s limp because of you?”

“Losing inches, too, aren’t you? At first, I was worried I’d give you a heart attack or kill you, but nope, it worked like a charm. You could have gone blind or started pissing blood, even, because I didn’t really know much about what I was giving you.” 

What?!” Trevor said, the veins in his neck bulging. “The fuck have you done, Sheila?”

 “Relax, sissy boy. You’re still here, aren’t you?” 

“I’ll fucking—” Trevor started, but Sheila flicking her hand out, her knuckles connecting with his lifeless balls. “Ooph! Bitch,” he managed from behind clenched teeth.  

“Still got a bit of fight coursing through you, ‘eh? Well, my little friends will soon knock the last of that out of you, once they’re finished closing down your reproductive system.” 

“No! I won’t take anything you give me. You can’t make me!”

“I’ve been lacing your meals and drinks.”

“No more!”

Sheila kicked him in the guts. “You fucking will, worm, if you want to live.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I’ll continue drugging your food. You won’t know when it’s coming. And, if you want to keep breathing, you’ll have to eat and hydrate,” she laughed. 

“Bitch!”

Miss Bitch to you, fucker.” Sheila turned, bent over, and picked up a crop that lay close by. “Now, into your home, boy,” she said, whipping Trevor about the face, neck, head and chest. 

“Ah, fuck! Fuck!” He scrambled backwards on his arse, using his hands and feet, fleeing the torture as he entered the cage. “Please, no more!”

Sheila rushed towards him and slammed the door shut on his prison, locking it in place. Trevor watched as she plucked the key from the lock, the Yale attached to a chain, and it placed around her neck. “It’ll stay right there,” she said, patting the key that lay between the crevice of her tits. “Now, be a good boy, Trevor, and do as I say to a pleasing standard if you do, you might be rewarded.”

“Don’t do this! You’re playing, right?” Trevor said, pressing his face to the door’s bars, his hands wrapping them. 

No!” she said, whipping his fingertips. “This is for your own good, Trevor.”

“Argh! Fuck!”

“Carry on like this, and your first meal will be a Sheila shit sandwich washed down with a glass of piss. Now, silence! I need my sleep.” 

Trevor crawled to the back of his home and sniffled. “Why?” he asked, watching as Sheila picked up a large blanket. 

With a smile, she turned to him. “You can’t keep quiet, can you, maggot!”

“Please…”

“Okay, but once I’ve told you, I want peace. Do you understand?”

“Ye-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sheila.”

No, you fucking insubordinate mongrel!”

Ma’am! Yes, ma’am!” he whimpered and blubbered. 

“I took action against you because I was fed up. I was pissed off with your constant libido, the forced sex, constant hard-ons, your rubbing up against me, feeling my tits – you were like a fucking dog with two dicks! Always excited. And I knew what you wanted – what you desired deep down. At first, I knew I couldn’t give it to you, so I was happy for you to pay your whores. It was a relief at first because you gave me little attention, but you soon started again, didn’t you? So, I snapped, worm. There’s only so much anyone can take. Maybe if you’d stopped pestering me completely, we wouldn’t be at this juncture.”

“I’ll be good! Please!”

“Too late. Besides, I’m enjoying myself too much. You’ve awoken something in me.”

“You could have spoken to me, Sh—Ma’am.”

“No, there was no talking to you. You couldn’t hear me over your pathetic horniness and erections and panting. You were like an eager fourteen-year-old who’d just seen a pair of tits for the first time.”

“So you hurt me?”

“Still alive, aren’t you?”

“You could have divorced me!”

“Nah, I like the lifestyle too much. I knew I had to come up with a better way to sort things out, so I started planning.” 

“Whore!”

“Now, now, worm. Do I have to punish those raises of yours?”

“What have you been giving me?”

“It’s glorious what you can find on the black market. After I read an interesting article online about chemical castration, I went digging on the dark web and found drugs that had once been used by the Russian military to ‘sedate’ their troops by suppressing their testosterone.”

“Oh, Jesus…”

Sheila snorted. “Yeah. And, as it turns out, the drug worked too well. The Russian hierarchy and scientists discovered their little creation was overpowerful. After an ex-number of doses were administrated, it closed down the generative system and shrank everything. This, in turn, however, depressed the troops and left them unable to train and fight. The project was deemed a failure.”

Trevor’s mouth sagged. “You’re joking? Please, tell me you’re joking!”

Sheila shook her head and piggy-laughed. “Seeing the drug do its thing on you was amazing. My g-spot’s never had it so good.”

“I’m sorry,” he tried. 

“I don’t give a shit, faggot.” Sheila stepped closer. “Now, it’s sleep time. Mistress needs her rest. I’ll be along in a few hours with your breakfast. How does dog food and a glass of vomit sound, shithead? I’ve even bought you your very own dog bowl, slave. Now, thank your Mistress, there’s a good boy.”

Trevor looked at her, mouth agape. “I can’t believe—”

“Don’t make me come in there and thrash you!”

He eyed her, detecting the seriousness in her eyes. This can’t be happening, he thought. 

“Well?”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“That’s good. Now, sleep tight,” Sheila said, raising the blanket. “Tomorrow, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you meet my stud. He’s a huge black guy, and he’s going to enjoy having you suck his prick.”

Trevor shrank further into the cage. “N-no…”

“Goodnight,” she winked, throwing the blanket over his prison. 

“No!” he wailed. “No!”

“Oh, what fun we’re going to have, dear,” she said. “You lucky thing.” 

Noooo!” Trevor continued, hearing the light switch click off and the door to the walk-in wardrobe close and lock. “Ma’am! Please! Please!” he continued, his pleas falling on deaf ears…        

C.L. Liedekev

Doing it Right

Everything, and I mean everything, is burning.
The night of her 31st birthday: the smell
of the car tires squealing, pinning me in the garage,
the rush of blood from her slap across the face,
pussy juices on the couch, the lingering of fucking
in the air like the house was haunted,
streaks of dust across the glass, small grains
spilling down onto the rug. A tiny white landscapes
where generations of ideas will die and be reborn
only to be forgotten in the moment of insertion.

She will split the difference across the arms
of the chair, every orifice, every pore – wide open
and yearning – a flock for the shepherd. Some
bearded wet Jesus in a dirty bathrobe, screwdriver
and blackberry stained, Guccione’s corpse
on a bender, grave-stained and dick hungry.
What burns harder the fire or the skin under
the flame. Flesh peeling off into its own dance,
Yanvalou summoning until the entire room
is a gnawing mouth shape, a vulval vestibule
that swallows and swallows and swallows.

The end of the night shits open the cracked curtains,
the neighbors, the cats, the birds rattle the walls
like a concert, no one bought tickets for,
and the mountain erupts because it is always
about the mountain, the eruption of bleach
and pineapples, hands sticky and wiped on thighs.
Thick bubblegum. Ripped panties don’t
always spell passion, sometimes just desperation.
Spitting into opens mouths, a long stream down
the face, the sheets ripped up into a skull
and crossbones flag of attack.

Passion is crucified and dirty speak sounds
like Annunaki shit talking. Heaven is not
on the end of a penis or three fingers deep.
It is not pupils as black as dead moons
spinning in a dead orbit in a dead circle,
because what matters is the lava flowing under the bed,
the raw animal machines, pegged time in a ball gag,
the right here and right now of the in there and down there,
the spitting blood and the flowered grotesqueries of fluid.
Because if you are not doing it right, then don’t do it at all.

Tony Dawson

Thumbing It

Do you remember being young, that time when you were so well hung
that your favourite part would stand, almost on command?
With the aid of gentle foreplay, you could cope five times a day.
Now that you are very old, your shrunken member has grown cold.
Arteries harden, not your dick, every joint makes a loud click,
beta-blockers do their worst, but don’t worry, you’re not the first.
Old age makes you quite sclerotic, which is not at all erotic;
and as you swallow your diuretic, you realize it was not poetic
that your lover scoffed when you were thumbing it in soft

David Estringel

And the Beat Goes On

Dropping from the air 
upon ears like paper blotters on willing tongues,
raging at the bloodlessness of cardboard cutouts
against a shrinking sky,
through psychedelic lenses
let me seeeee, let me beeeee the pulse of silent rage
that rails against the vulgar machine with words
that organize, legitimize, minimize, super-size, tranquilize,
proselytize, tantalize, infantilize, sexualize, stigmatize
the suckled teats of long-conditioned truths.

Poking the bear, disturbing the seas of featureless beige,
stirring the comatose anima with battle-cries of sight and sound
that pierce dusty eardrums like sterling icepicks,
repressed wants teeeeem, solemn faces beeeeeam,
liberated in the warmth of a sun that breaks just beyond
the horizon on coffee-house stages, rousing thoughts
to gestate, ruminate, conjugate, propriate, sublimate, fornicate,
obliterate, determinate, propagate, exfoliate dangerous visions,
birthed from the unfetteredness of a purple haze. 

Fueling the scribblings of furious hands upon white sheets
with whisky and cigarettes,
Making, naked, ugly underbellies of the angst-ridden and inflamed
with the glorious promises of their ecstatic treasure-trails,
let’s revel in the coolness of poetry’s heeeeeat,
indulged in pollen-dusted skin so sweeeeet
within the honeyed tangles of poets’ asymmetries
to detoxify, dulcify, intensify, demystify, purify, glorify, magnify,
beautify, electrify, sanctify our bodily streams of light
that sugar lips and candy fingertips.

Tearing away at the fabric, unraveling,
woven from Gloopstick youth and plasticine smiles,
repulsing at the hordes in their mindless quests
for extra-flavor and double-coupon days,
looking for a steeeeeal, wanting to feeeeel,
as hollow dollars crumble to coins when plopped upon
unsated palms and countertops.

Think! Think! Think! Think! Think! 
We are on the brink 
of the Fall of the American Empire. 
Dig.

*

Originally published at littledeathlit

Emma Bleak

there’s something funny about people nowadays

oh how I long for a renaissance 

do you remember the days when art was beautiful?
and we never heard of butterflies devouring flesh

we worshiped fickle gods with funny names
and courted beautiful women 

we knew the sound of death at a young age
(but I suppose that part hasn’t really changed)

men sang of young maids 
surrounded by flowers

never mentioning those soft
but sharp butterfly kisses

sweet roses around each neck
to mask the stench of death 

oh how I long for a renaissance

of men?
of art?
of love?
of suffering?
of life?
ah-
fuck it

for now I guess I’ll just finish my whiskey

and dream of the days of warm mead
and maidens with flowers in their hair
(butterflies in tow)

Corey Mesler

In Las Vegas

I once took
a girlfriend
to Las Vegas.
It was a gamble
but I knew
I was losing
her anyway. 
We didn’t have
much money
and the casinos
seemed peppered
by aliens. 
All I can remember
is her deathless
breasts, a topless,
white-jeaned
blowjob on
the hotel bed. 
She left me
soon after we
got home and
I never went
to Vegas again. 
It also might
have been the last
great blowjob
I’ll ever have. 

Judge Santiago Burdon

Don’t Want To Die In Jersey

It was an unusually hot day for November in Boston. Father Murphy had just finished mass and was on the church steps bidding a good day to members of the congregation as they left.

Just then, Sean McLaughlin came running up the steps in a frenzy, asking Father Murphy for his help with a serious matter. Without pause, he escorted Sean inside to the safety of the church.

“What is it my son? What has got you so terrified? You’re trembling.”

“Father, I was at the Farmer’s Market, and there I saw the Grim Reaper searching for a soul to take. He looked directly at me. I’m sure he’s here to take me. I ignored his stare, turned and ran away. What should I do Father? Please help me, I’m not ready to die.”

“I think you should probably get out of town. Find a place to lie low for a while and let this incident blow over.”

“Where do I go so the Reaper won’t find me? I can’t think of anywhere.”

“I’ve got it! New Jersey! Yep that’s it, New Jersey is where you’ll find refuge.”

“Are you sure Father? New Jersey? Maybe I should stay here in Boston and find a place to hide. New Jersey seems a bit extreme.”

“No Sean, Jersey. Not even God would set foot in there. I feel certain the Grim Reaper won’t follow you into Jersey. I have a close friend at Saint Francis Church in Hackensack, Father Thompson. I’ll give him a call and fill him in on your situation. He’s a good man and will take care of you.” 

“Yes but New Jersey is a fate I consider worse than death.”

“Well that’s all I’ve got. You should take a bus, don’t drive your car and stay out of Atlantic City. The casinos breed an atmosphere of sin and you don’t want to give him an excuse to confront you. Now hurry to the Bus station and get outta Boston . I’ll pray for you my son.” 

“Thanks Father, I’ll leave right away.”

Sean caught the next bus to New Jersey and seemed to have eluded the Grim Reaper. Meanwhile, Father Murphy took it upon himself to investigate Sean’s claim of the Reaper in the neighborhood and proceeded to the Farmer’s Market. 

The outdoor event was crowded with Sunday afternoon shoppers enjoying the warm weather. Standing next to the organic vegetable booth Father Murphy saw the figure draped in black with his trademark scythe. Clutching his Rosary in  hand he walked toward the ominous creature to confront him about stalking Sean.

“Good afternoon Mr. Grim Reaper, I’m Father Murphy from Saint Peter’s Church and would like to ask you a question.”

‘Yes Father Murphy I’m familiar with your work. I’ve attended some of your funeral services. You’ve got a nice touch in your eulogies, very sincere. Go ahead fire away, what do you want to ask?”

“Earlier today one of my congregation was here at the Farmer’s Market and noticed you on the prowl to collect his soul. He was naturally upset about his impending death and ran to the church to escape your wrath.”

“Really? I don’t remember confronting anyone earlier. I am here to collect the soul of Catherine Mcbride, she’s about to suffer a massive aneurysm.  Let me check my schedule. What is his name?”

“Sean McLaughlin, he’s maybe thirty-five years old and a good Catholic.”

“No, no, no, I don’t see him on the schedule. Wait, here he is…” The Reaper chuckles while turning pages. “Listen to this. He’s not scheduled for Soul Collection until tomorrow night in of all places, Hackensack, New Jersey.  New Jersey, now that’s some bad luck. Damn, I hate having to visit New Jersey!”

Daniel S. Irwin

Lay Me Down

Yeah, well, fuck this shit!
I’ve had my fill of this crap.
Lost the job, money gone,
Can’t get no damn credit.
Title Loan was happy to
End up with my car.
Makes life hard on the feet.
The bar’s full of losers, but
They’re doin’ better than me.
Bitch kicked me out the house.
Sometimes the magic shaft
Ain’t enough to please her.
She found some new peter
With a steady income.
Got a damn future as bright
As that of a back yard dog
On a ten-foot chain in a
Nine-foot flood.  Jesus!
Jesus, baby, show me the way.
Gi’me a plan outta this mess.
Take that last long drink,
Empty the bottle, toss it away.
Lay me down on wood and iron.
In the night, the distant blast 
Of the horn hails the approach
Of the ‘midnight special’ and
End-game salvation.

In America, the good ol’ U.S. of A.,
Over two hundred people a year
Commit suicide by train.
I will not be one of them.