The Fig At the End Of the Palm; From the Shore; Tantric Boxer


The Fig At the End Of the Palm

He ate her palm like it was a fig till she came with a soft gasping shudder. He’d started by kissing her hand. Then he turned it over and kissed her palm. She smiled and made a little sound of pleasure. He tickled it with the tip of his tongue and began to feel aroused. Kissing it was like kissing a mouth and it suddenly relaxed into something that wasn’t really hand anymore, it was welcoming, like an orifice, he thought. read more



Her preference was for tall, handsome men. Even more, she preferred men who looked like models. The darker their hair and complexion, the more she was drawn to them. The more chiseled and rugged looking their faces, the more she wanted them. She loved making heavy eye contact with strangers. They would be with wives or girlfriends, and she would get their attention and draw them in until they’d slip a phone number to her. Rain was a woman with no scruples and her promiscuity was famous. What she wanted, she went for, and got it. read more

Love, Russian Style


Saturday night – 7:30 p.m.

I haven’t had a date in months. Tonight I’m finally going out with Dimitri, the buff Russian with bad teeth. He spotted me at the gym this morning. In the middle of his sweaty, mad run on the treadmill he came to an abrupt stop and approached me.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asked, cornering me up against the leg machine.
“I’m not sure.” read more

Account Past-Due



Late in the workday I’m outside my office fetching nicotine gum from my truck, an errand interrupted by a shiny black Lexus that wheels into the parking lot and takes a vacant space among the employee parking. The driver’s door swings open, followed by sandaled feet and familiar, muscular calves beneath a mid-length brown dress, sleeveless and trimmed with white lace like the summertime clothes my mother might have worn though not fitted so closely. read more

The story of why old Elsie smiles at the sea


Elsie sits alone on the beach. She knows that she is the most beautiful girl in the town. She strongly resents that this does not do her much good. Her husband is the town magistrate, universally respected, much-loved, even feared – as much as any magistrate should be feared. read more

The Gambian


Mrs. Stoneman and her daughter Megan, settled in to their little twin room in one of the luxury huts of the resort complex. For the first two days they stayed inside the grounds, eating the buffet breakfast and choosing a restaurant within the gates for their evening meal. On the third day, they found themselves looking though those gates, wondering what went on, out there, in the real Gambia. read more

A Young God


Laura washed her hands and stared into the mirror of her parent’s bathroom. Her face was tense and sleep-deprived. The smell of Imperial Leather soap suddenly transported her back fifteen years, to the seventies, her teenage years. As a teenager she had spent a lot of time observing her reflection in this mirror, wondering if she was pretty enough. A white hair in her fringe snapped her back to the present. She plucked it out and examined the skin around her eyes. Crow’s feet, or the beginnings of them, at least. She pulled up her t-shirt and examined her stomach. Puckered and soft, like a deflated balloon. Since having Colm she had definitely aged. read more

Lockdown Delirium


It had been a long confinement. Longer than most. She felt like she had been locked down for years. No sex for years. It had got to the stage where she had lubricious dreams, filled with mouths, penises, breasts, vulvae and fingers. She dreamed of cunnilingus and fellatio. She nightmared about being taken from behind and her gut exploding from the pressure. She woke fretful and anxious, dissatisfied. Her aloneness was underlined by the fact she could not see friends, not travel and not move from her flat. The rare times she went out, people looked askance, as did she, at the civil disobedience which she declared by her mere presence in public. read more

Amour de Voyage


My friend Harvey liked the exotic. I was reminded of this when, flying to Malaga, our plane had to head for an emergency landing at Toulouse.
We must have been over the Bay of Biscay – I could see water on the starboard side – when a passenger stood up and pointed to black smoke streaming from one of the engines. read more