Category: short stories

the tip

A short story for mature readers.

“Sparks ignite despite past schisms between a waitress and her customer.”

“Hey! I haven’t seen you in a while!” She still had a tray of food in her hand as she set it down on the hostess’ podium and gave the Boy a great, big hug. As much contact as he ever had with her in High School.
I moved to the city, but I’m just back for the evening.
“Well, that’s great! We can catch up! Here, I’ll show you to a table.” She picked up the tray and the Boy & his cohorts followed her to an empty booth, as she motioned she would be back in a bit.

“Hey, who’s that?” “Yeah, who’s the sexy waitress?”
Just someone I knew from school.

In actuality, she was someone he had seen every day, when he closed his eyes and willed the memories to come on strong. She was a rabble-rouser. Fifteen-years-ago, when he was still living in this developer’s dream called a small town, she ran with the wrong groups and flirted with the worst kind of danger. When the Boy was in the parking lot of that same restaurant all those years prior, driving food deliveries just to make a dollar to move away, she was drinking from a paper bag just a few cars parallel with one of the Wretched: the corrupted group of Grade 13s who learned early-on how to reap to their advantage. Amy must have been fourteen-or-fifteen at the time but there she was, dancing to the techno music blaring from the car stereo and just barely able to keep standing. Her partner saw the Boy. “Hey, you want some of this?” Amy lifted her top. There were two tanned, young, B-cup breasts, bouncing up and down, the nipples stiff from the evening air. The Boy tried to keep face as he continued tallying up his tip-sheet, the Wretched throwing a half-empty beer can at his car before the Boy realized this was not a battle worth winning and drove away. The next day at school, he could remember Amy just across the hall from him at her locker, sheepishly looking over her shoulder at him, avoiding his gaze, embarrassed? Turned-on? Curious? He didn’t know. All he knew then was that the heavy layers she wore did a good job of covering up the exotic figure underneath. Forget it, she’s fourteen! Maybe even fifteen… but with the Rule-of-Sevens that still meant he should only be dating someone sixteen or older. What was the age-of-consent anyway? These questions kept him busy enough and by the time he graduated Amy became an evocation, her natural breasts carrying him through many a lonely night to come.

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a christmas miracle

An erotic mirco-story for mature readers.

i walk around the wrapping paper trip mines that dot the path from the living room to the bathroom when i see the lights on the street from the basement window, pull up, then shut off. i knew who it was. my phone goes off in my pocket. just a sec, gimme a minute, will you? i offload the most eager of waste while my mind rattles-off a mile-a-minute, my erection throbbing against the inside of the toilet seat. i use a wet wipe then give my girlfriend a kiss. she sits on the couch in a half-baked eulogy to the evening, her phone in her hand while the last few tracks of the christmas cd play from the stereo. i’m going outside for a smoke, do you want to come? “no, i’m ok here.” that’s great, you stay here. you look very comfortable. i don’t. “you don’t. everything ok?” everything’s fine, i just need to go outside to smoke up, calm down. “what do you have to be uneasy about? it’s christmas!” she takes my hand from just inside the radius that allows her to reach from her seat without moving, and pulls me toward her. she kisses me. it’s sloppy, and i miss her lips and peck under her nose in the fervour. “are you sure everything’s ok? you just seem off.” i’m fine. my phone goes off again. “someone is really trying to get a hold of you.” i know, it’s probably Dad, you know i tried him earlier and he didn’t pick up. “well hurry back to me.” i will. she has said her peace, but she still knows that something is up. she isn’t stupid, and i’m easy to read. i kiss her once more for extra reassurance before robing myself up for the storm outside and venturing forth, around the side of the house from the basement suite entrance to the street out-front, where i can see the darkened silhouette of a figure in the car parked out-front. i can recognize that hair anywhere. and she put it up for me, with a little poinsettia scrunchy that enunciates her flawless smile and red lipstick. i kick the snow off my boots before getting in to the passenger side of the car. hi. “hi.” she starts the ignition and pulls away, waiting for the last minute to turn on the headlights.

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the dress

A micro-story for mature readers.

where did it come from?
how did she get it?
was it a thrift shop find? a hand-me-down? new? at one time or another? he never asked her, and preferred to be led along by the mystery.

he assumed it was forged in the fires of some ancient volcano, by slaves to an oft-held tenet. bandana-clad, their sweaty muscles glistened against the reflected light of the red-hot lava, weaving each fabric by hand. real work, no chit-chat. all the while the ground was in a constant state of convulsion, no one standing evenly, the infernal lake spitting. hundreds of casualties. but an ever-rotating assembly line of devotees, worshippers to the cause, the fashioning of this edifice to one day adorn its true, rightful owner. in truth he had seen it in a shop window of his youth, on display to the world like Excalibur before King Arthur. this was twelve years prior, wandering around downtown in an adolescent slumber it graced a model far slimmer and gawkier than the reality was to be. but as the boy took the moment offered from that day to stare at the mannequin and bask in the implications of its teen-aged fantasy, he knew that this would be it. this was the dress that his love would wear, whether or not he had to be the one to buy it for her. he remembered the cross-street, the landmarks, the number on the curb, “come on, we’re going to miss the show!” and the dream retreated to folklore for the first time.

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the rules

A micro-story.

the birds chirped through the cracks of the storm shelter high in the old blue, the dying light in the sky that had been getting dimmer and dimmer these passing years how many had it been, the count on the wall was given up on long ago the cave paintings of line etched into the crumbling foaminess of earth around it the whole foundation was beginning to fall apart like this, in clumps of liquid soil that seemed to run like waterfalls around them. they were all hideously deformed, infested warts of incurable sizes sieged their naked bodies preventing free movement they lay all six of them in a mesh of diseased flesh on the floor keeping warm with what little energy they were permitted from, feasting on each other, gnawing like children to the binky to the point of piercing skin, their gummy mouths and underdeveloped teeth sucking and coddling to what little blood remained. the sun was dying this much was true, days were dark and nights were darker but they knew never to leave the safety of their shelter, that what the world was once is gone, that the tainted air through the slits in the shelter door were what caused their mutation. why would they ever leave now? what could the world offer but a curiosity before certain death? no, generations had been taught the rules.

//jf 11.11.2020

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saturday in the park

A micro-story for mature readers.

i dont know whats been happening in my life lately thirty six and divorced two kids from different men im sitting in the park on a warm saturday afternoon and the sun is beating down relentlessly hottest february on record i can feel it too sometimes you cant sometimes the skies are blue and its minus seven i tilt my sweaty brow back and forth in the light to make sure im covering every angle some tan might be nice ive always wanted to try tanning not spray tanning thats cheating but maybe in one of those ultraviolet coffins people always tell me im too pale what are they talking about ive got these rosy cheeks my ex always used to comment on my cheeks said it was my brightest part wait a minute he was an asshole thats right i always have to stop myself when im reminiscing like this i dont know whats been happening in my life lately

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