Renewing the Vows...

          *NC-17 language and sexual themes.

          
           Charlie stumbled out of Pete’s at 1:00am in the company of a giggling, pert twenty something. He didn’t care for her name too much-Stacy or Emily-just that her tits looked mouthwateringly delicious jiggling in that sheer tank top. He could nearly make out the black ink of a tattoo running along her pale collarbone.

            Together they went ambling down the alleyway just behind Pete’s, the girl clinging to his neck with her beer-dipped tongue.

            “Let’s go back to my place,” he said, his words a drunken jumble.

            “No, mine!” said the girl and pouted her childish features as he half-carried her the rest of the way to his car.

            “Mine!” insisted Charlie. “I’ve got a Jacuzzi….”

            “But I don’t have a swimsuit,” she stuttered as Charlie fumbled with the car keys. “Or am I wearing it?” He jabbed a finger onto the button, wrenched open the door, and threw her into the passenger’s seat. She stared up at him and he didn’t mind her face was drenched in mascara or she was perhaps thirty pounds heavier than when he last looked at her.

            Her tits still looked great.

            He ended up dropping the car keys near the pedals and groped blindly in the darkness.

            “Hey!”

            Charlie raised his hands innocently, as though running a hand up the girl’s bare legs was an accident and certainly not intentional. But her grin and the way she waggled her tongue at him told him she knew anyway. He finally pushed the keys into the ignition and raised his head.

            “Christ, Vivian!”

            His wife stood in front of the car, arms on her narrow hips and her features cast in darkness. His date glanced at him, then back at the looming spectre blocking their path.

            “Big surprise, Charlie. You’re cheating on me. Again. What was it this time? Those huge tits, Charlie, or how she seems to never miss a Goddamn meal?”

            “Vivian…can we talk about this some other time?” snapped Charlie, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He really ignored his date’s probing eyes and how any sense of sensuality between the two faded away.

            “Hell no, Charlie. You remember our Goddamn vows. ‘Till death do us part’ and all that shit.”

            “Yes Vivian! Until death do us part! Death parted us, for Christ’s sake! I’m free and you should be six fucking feet under!”

            “Excuse me, but what is going on here?” asked the girl and for a moment her eyes glanced at the door handle. Charlie swore, placed a comforting hand on her thigh, and shook his head. “I’ve dated a married man before and it wasn’t fun when the wife found out.”

            “Don’t worry, pumpkin. This, this is just a misunderstanding,” stammered Charlie. He leaned forward, shared a sloppy kiss with the woman. “You know, drunks and druggies.”

            “Pumpkin?! Oh, shit fatty, you’d better watch out. He called me pumpkin plenty of times when he came home after fucking that little whore in his office!”

            Charlie groaned and pressed the accelerator. Hard.

            Vivian rolled up and over the hood, flipping into the air with a series of curses and a spray of blood on the windshield. He watched her flop onto the cement in the rearview mirror, then pop back up and shake what remained of a broken wrist at him.

            He turned to Stacy. Or Emily.

            “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. Isn’t the first time I’ve ran her over. Won’t be the last. She regenerates pretty quickly.”

             

Medusa's First

          Medusa kept to herself at the party, quietly sipping her fruit punch and taking care not to meet anyone’s eye. She could feel Athena’s eyes from across the room, the Goddess deep in conversation with Poseidon and Zeus, and retreated even further in the kitchen. One more mistake, one more accidental servant turned to gray stone, and Medusa knew Athena was mere moments away from cursing her to oblivion.

            So Medusa kept her eyes downward as she moved through the party. She could feel the whispers from the partiers around her, even from the creatures widely shunned for their own hideous natures. Even a few of the harpies-gray, withered hags with black wings-had dates and openly insulted her. Medusa ignored them, tempering the snakes roiling on her head so they wouldn’t leap out in venomous fury, and moved past them.

            “Why did I even come here?” she told herself sadly and set down the drink. It was her sisters who’d persuaded her to leave that cavern she called home to see what life had to offer beyond stalagmites and the occasional warrior who wandered in.

            But that was a life she had to accept now.

            “Hello there?”

            She instinctively looked up and met the striking red eyes of a man before she realized her mistake.

            “No! Don’t look at me!”

            The man laughed and gently pried her hands away from her face. Her snakes leapt to her defense before they realized he wasn’t hurting her or attacking her or calling her foul names beneath his breath.

            No, she realized, he was smiling at her. A sincere and warm smile.

            And he hadn’t turned to stone!

            “Oh. You’re blind, aren’t you?” asked Medusa and nodded sadly. Just her luck: find a handsome man only to find he’s blind.

            “Blind? Not at all,” he told her and she couldn’t help but admire his rather eye-catching red hair and the red gleam to his eyes. “Dad’s just part basilisk.”

"Silver, dear. Not Wood."

           He was a vampire, but did that mean she needed to stop loving him?

            Laura set down the wooden stake-barbed and filled with bits of garlic she’d stolen from the market-and held her face in her hands. She’d heard the rumors around the hamlet of his victims and how even the priests were reluctant to desecrate those poor souls. He was a good man, she told herself, and sent her mind reeling back to the happiness he filled her heart with.

            She’d never met a man like him-beyond him being undead, after all-and he was possessed of a charm, a wit, and coolness she found irresistible. Not to mention those nights he devoted to her pleasure, where even a simple lick or kiss or caress or thrust of his muscled pelvis could send her through heights of incredible passion.

            She longed for those nights, even if his body was as cold as ice for he was most nearly covered in a warm, coarse gray hair, in which she could return the favor. Their love and lust was mutual, after all.

            But how could she deny all those he had killed in the past? Several village worth’s of small children, including a few she’d known well. Children that didn’t deserve such an awful fate. Children that deserved the pleasures and joys and pains of life.

            Not the darkness of death.

            Laura wiped away the tears splashing the wooden stake, wiped it clean, and waited. Her love knocked at the door, exactly at midnight, and she slowly moved to open the door. With the stake hidden in her clothes-and she lowered the neck to her tunic, allowing a hint of her breasts to peek through-she tensed as he came towards her in a crushing hug.

            He kept kissing and running his hands up and down her slender frame, and she realized she was losing the courage. So she lifted a finger to his lips, admiring the sheen of his gray beard, and pushed him back a step.

            He grinned and grinned until she yanked out the stake and shoved it into his broad chest. He stood there, shocked and silent, while Laura struggled to maintain her composure. She could feel her heart breaking as surely as his…

            But it wasn’t working!

            She looked at his handsome face and the gray hair, and saw the truth in his smiling eyes.

            “Silver, dear. Not wood.”

            His face became hideous and a snout erupted from his nose, and gray hair became gray fur, and Laura had no time to explain herself or even apologize before his face leapt over hers.

Cloud Nine (Or how to snooze away your fantasies).

              Joseph had never had a girlfriend before, let alone found one willing to endure holding his sweaty hands with a shrug and smile, and so he considered himself lucky when Daniella accepted his invitation to dinner a second time. She showed up at his front door wearing an elegant dinner dress, sparkling jewels running down the seams and threads to accentuate her own winding curves, and a wide, if a bit shy, smile.

            He moved to give her a handshake, a move that turned awkward when she held out her arms expecting a hug and then decided on a handshake as he held out arms. Blushing, he ended up stepping aside to allow Daniella to enter.

            He couldn’t help but admire her beauty: her ass, for lack of a better and less crude word, Joseph could see with each high-heeled step. She walked with a wonderful and hypnotizing bounce that eventually led his eyes downward. Her legs were short, but toned; muscular and dipped in a creamy white color.

            Joseph raised his eyes just as she turned back to him, expecting him to speak; he stumbled over his words and blushed even more, but eventually he was able to suggest they both sit down at his dining table.

            The conversation was smooth, much as it had been for the first two dates, and he found himself gently releasing the butterflies fluttering about in his stomach. She laughed, a sound that positively sent shivers up his spine, and he laughed, and neither seemed to want the conversation to end.

            And their discussion, once a serious dialogue on the state of politics in twenty-first America, turned into offers and acceptances of glasses of red wine. He quickly grabbed the corkscrew and his aged bottle, offering a quick stir of his bubbling Fettucine Alfredo sauce before he hurried back to her side.

            Daniella giggled some more at his haste, Joseph nearly tossing the bottle out the open window when the carpet snagged his sneaker, and brushed back her brown hair. They sipped and talked, laughed and met each other’s eyes more than once; the night wore away, the stars peeking into view, and they just kept talking.

            Long enough for Joseph to smell the rancid smell of burning pasta and chicken.

            He was able to salvage some of the food and quickly ladled out what he had on his expensive china.

            They ate with a sense of urgency, as though their bodies were aware of the mounting electricity between them and eager to fulfill the night’s promises. The wine they drained quickly and soon they had slipped to the couch together.

            They barely touched yet Joseph could nearly feel her press that beautiful body up against his. And he could feel her breath on his face, the tender touch of her fingers on his arms, as she inched closer. Or as he inched closer to her.

            And they were past the point of kissing, his hands fumbling for the zipper on her dress and her fingers probing his buttoned-up shirt; she moaned, thrust her tongue into his mouth. Her hands reached for his zipper and he allowed it, took her hand in his to guide her. His hand went sliding up between her legs, parting the smooth, warm skin-

            -Joseph swore heavily.

            For the fifth time that week he wished he’d bought the alarm clock with the snooze button.

           

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Science-fiction. Fantasy. Horror. Romance. Supernatural.

Aliens. Supersoldiers. Demons. Zombies. Death. Serial killers.

All of its here for your perusing, should you feel a desire to read a flash fiction involving a man, his therapist, and his succubus.

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One more thing: my stories tend to be, ah, for mature audiences. Sex I'll toe the line with (nothing too graphic or written in great detail) but violence will pop up frequently. Just to give you guys a heads-up before you take your seat.