Michael W Noland Sep 2012

[A] is for
Archer with
Arrow through his
Apple, very
Applicable, to the
Amounts of
Adorning his heart, in
Attributes, that impart, the
Admiration, of
Assholes, in this
Acting out of
Arrogance bit. he is,
Astute, in his
Allure, and
Aloof, in the
Air, of
Aspiration, in which, he was
Alienated in the
Agony, of
Assassins, the
Aforementioned. lights, camera,
Action. recipe of the
Admirals of
Aliens, that
Attacked, with the
Arms and fists, of
Arachnids, now
Aching to be
Activated in sudden
Allegiance to the
Answers, of the truth.
Accumulating wealth for
Anarchy's of
Angels in
Academies of the ever
After life .. . of silence.
Azazel strengthens in these
Accolades of violence, in
Alliance to
Appearing in the
Arson of
Apathy, happily, to
Anguish in the
Amputation of my
Abdomen, if it meant i'm a real
American, even, when, only
Ash, remains.
Acclimating in its remains
Attained, the
Articles of my pain, in
Affluent shame, next time ..
Aim... oak

[B] is for the
Bah of
Black sheep, and
Bit¢hes, fat cats,
Bombarded in the
Bastion of
Berating the
Be-seech, of
Brains, to feel
Bad, about the
Blotching of
Binary codes, erroding, the
Blanked out
Books, of
Back the
Bank rolls of
Betterment, from the
Back of the
Bus, as i'm
Busting guts, in the
Butts, of sluts
Benched, but
Beautiful, in the
Battle, in the
Bane, of existence.
Baffled, in the strain of
Belligerence, in
Beating the
Butchery into
Brains, in
Bouts, of
Bobby's for
Bags of
Before, affording to
Bombs, is just
Bottles on the
Benefactors of
Bashing with the
Beaks, of
Birds, with no
Bees. just a
Being, trying to

[C] is for the
Courting the
Choreography, in
Circumventing the
Contrivance of
Calibrating, to the
Contours of
Celebrating the
Cylinders of
Correcting the
Calculations, of
Coughing, in
Coffins of
Cobble stones, from
Catacombs, in the lands of the
Capturing the
Claps of thieves, sneaky
Cats, of greed. its
Comedy. oh
Comely, to my
Cling of
Cleanliness, and for your self

[D] is for the
Dip shits, as they
Deeper in the
Deliverance, of
Dying to
Delivered in the throws of
Defiance of
Demeaning that which
Deems the
Dormant of the
Dominant, to be
Demons of
Dooming us for
Deploy the,
Damsels in
Defiled and
Detestable and
Dead. in the thump of
Dumbing down the
Debts of,
Dire regrets.
Dissect the
Daisies of,
Disillusion, in the current
Diluting night into
Disconnecting the
Dots of the
Dichotomy, and arming me, in the
Diabolatry, of,
Demonology, as i watch me
Dwindle away, the

[E] is for
Everything in nothing,
Eating the
Enigmas of
Exceeding in the
Essence of
Escaping the
Elegance of the
Elements in the
Eccentricity of
Exhaling, the
Exostential blessings, of inner
Entities, and renouncing the
Enemies of my
Easily to appease
Extracting the lost
Embers of
Enlightenment, in
Excited delight, but to later
Entice, the fight, and
Escape, like a thief into the night of
Entering the
Exits of
Elevators leading no where, to
Elevate, this useless place,
Encased in malware in the
Errors of
Every man,
Enslaved, of flesh and
Enveloping the core of
Everything, that matters,
Enduring, the chatter, of
Ever present in
Ever made to take

Funk the
Ferocity of
Fandangos, with
Fooled in the
Fiasco of
Falling through the
Farms of
Flying in the
Fame of
Fornicating on the
Fears of
Fish getting their
Fillet of
Feel me in the

Granted with
Giblets of
Gratitude and
Greeting the
Goop and
Gleaned from the
Glamour of
Ghouls in
Gillie suits,
Getting what they
Going, in the
Gallows of a
Gaffed by

Hello to the
Horizon of
Hilarity, in
Hope of
Happy, to
Heave from
Heifers, to
Help the
Hobos in
Horror, to
Honor the
Habitats of
Herbalising the work
Horse, named
Have Not, in the
Houses of

Ignore the
Idiots, too
Illiterate to
Indicate the
Instances of
Idiom in the
Inaccuracy of
In the
Intellect of
Irritated with the
Illusion of
Illustrated upon the
In the
Illumination of

Jerk off the
Jokers, and
Jimmy the
Jerkins from their
Jammie's, in
Jousting off the
Jumps, in
Jokes, and
Jukes of
Jesting for
Jury's to
Judgment from the
Jeans of

Kill the
Keep of
Kool aid men,
Kept in the
Kilometers of
Knifing the
Knights of
Keeling over the
Keys of
Kaine, with the
Kick of a

Love the
Levity, in the
Laments of
Levitating in
Living in
Laps, of
Looping, but
Lacking the
Loom of the
Locked with
Leeches of the
Leering of
Limbs, that
Lash at the
Lessers in
Loot of
Lost letters,
Lest we
Learned in the
Lessons of

Marooned in
Masqueraded as
Memorization's of
Mantras, but
Mikha'el the
Mundane, who is
Mused of
Mangling the
Monitor, but
Maybe just a
Moniker of

Never to
Navigate the
Nether of
Not to
Nit pic the
Naivety of
Neither take
Name the
Noise of
Nats in the
Nights of
Napping in the
Nets of

Ominous in the
Omnipotence of
Orifices in
Offers of
Ordinances in
Optionally an
On-call Oracle, in

Perusing the
Pedestals of
Pursuing the
Plumes of
Piety with the
Patience of a
Pissing on the
People with the
Pianos of
Portals, in the
Points in the
Pats of
Poor, but

Quick to
Qualify the
Quitter for a
Quill in
Quivering of
Queried in the
Quakiest of
Quarantined to a
Quadrant, of
Questing the
Quizzing of

Relax in the
Relapse of
Realizations, and
React with
Racks of
Rock to
Rate the
Rep of the
Roar in
Rendering of the
Readiness in the
Rallying, of the
Refracting of
Realigning, the
Rearing of the
Realm, and

Steer the
Serenity in
Sustainability, and
Slither through the
Seams of
Secrete the
Sobriety of
Salivating upon a
Slew of
Supplied in
Slain in the
Steam of
Sadly, i

Titans in
Turbulent in
Teething of
Telemetry of
Tortured of
Told in
Turrets of
Terribleness, from
Tikes unto
Toys for
Thrusted upon by the
Tyranny of

Unanimous is the
Ugliness in the
Undertones of
Undergoing the
Unclean in the
Urine of
Uplifting the
Ushers in
Undergoing the
Ultra of

Venial in
Viciousness of
Vilifying the
Vials of
Villainy in the
Veins of
Validity of
Violence, is
Valiant in the
Vacationing of

Whelp in the
When you can
Wave to the
Whipping Where the
Whimsical Were
Way back in the
Wellness of
Whip its,
Wrangling my
Worms, as
War shouts are
Wasted in the
Walks of

Xenogogue, of
Xeons, turn
Xyphoid, in the
Xenomenia of my
X, my
Xenolalia of
X, to
XXX. im lost in the
Xenobiotic zen of
Xerces, on a
Xebec to the
X on the map.
Xenogenesis, in the
Xesturgy of my

Yearned from
Yielding, to the
Yodel of
Yeahs, to the
Yapping of
Yanks, over
Yucking it up with the
Yawn of a

Zapped from a
Zone i
Zoomed with
Zeal in the
Zig and
Zag of my
Zest, upon a
Zionist, or
Zeros or ones, just
Zip your
Zip locked. and

this is a work in progress
shyann raulerson Jul 2013

I heard faint noises downstairs, and I decided to investigate. I pulled on a pair of cut-off jeans and grabbed the old pump shotgun that had served me so well in Viet-Nam from under my bed and crept downstairs to check. My Ranger training came into play, and I moved soundlessly, down the stairs and into the living room. An air of vague shadowy figures were searching through the cabinet that housed my collection of antique silver. I announced my presence in a sudden and intimidating manner: I merely pumped the action of the shotgun, then immediately moved to the right so if anyone shot, he would shoot where I had been, not where I was now. That sound was a language that everyone understood, including the two figures before me. They froze, and were still motionless.

"Mr. Steve?" one of the figures quavered. "Please don't shoot!"

I recognized the voice as belonging to Lisa, the twenty-year-old daughter of my nearest neighbor. I didn't know who the other person was or who else may be in the house, so I kept the shotgun pointed in their direction and hit the light switch with my free hand. Immediately a car cranked up in my driveway, and tires squealing, raced out to the road and away. I looked at my midnight visitors. I recognized Lisa and Julie, who was a close friend of Lisa's and a frequent overnight visitor of hers. They were holding between them a laundry bag containing most of my silver collection. I lowered the muzzle of the cut down shotgun.

"You sure know how to get yourselves killed," I stated. "Mind telling me who was in the car? You don't want to take the rap all by yourselves."

"Please don't shoot! That was Mike, it was all his idea! He made us do it! He said he would put us out and make us walk home if we didn't do it! Are you going to call the Cops?"

Now I could understand why the girls tried to burglarize my home. It was a fifteen-mile walk home in pitch darkness on a moon-less night for the two frightened girls. It was just what a worthless shit like Mike would pull. Knowing what I did about Lisa's boyfriend, I knew what he probably needed the money for. He was nineteen; the only job he had ever had was selling drugs, and I don't mean at the pharmacy. He was a charmer though. Girls fell for his good looks and his charm, and would do anything for him, and he of course chose the best looking one of the bunch, Lisa. She never realized what a slime-ball he really was. The problem was that Lisa didn't have a father to threaten to put a bullet in Mike's behind, and her mother was just as deceived as she was.

"You broke into my house and attempted to steal my belongings. Why shouldn't I?" I said with false sternness. I wouldn't really turn them in, now that I knew the situation. I would give the girls a good scare, then a ride home. Maybe then Lisa would see through Mike's veneer.

"Because we'll do anything you want," Julie offered, speaking for the first time. "Anything at all!"

Julie stepped over and ran her hand up my leg, pausing to tweak the head of my dick, which was hanging out of the leg of my cutoffs. I hadn't bothered to pull on any underwear. Julie was almost as good looking as Lisa was. Both girls had fabulous bodies, large firm tits, and smooth well-rounded asses. Julie had a cute face, whereas Lisa was absolutely beautiful.

"Yes, anything you want to do!" Lisa agreed.

The girls weren't wanton sluts, but scared out of their wits and taking the only way out that they could think of. Of course they weren't virgins. It hadn't occurred to me to take advantage of the girls like this, and I would have declined Julie's offer if she hadn't fooled with my dick like that. You see, I was developing an outrageous erection, and with my dick hanging down the leg of some fairly tight shorts, the situation was rapidly becoming painful and serious. I had to get those pants off fast! Also, I hadn't been laid in quite a while. I decided to lay my cards on the line.

"You kids know me. I never had any intention of calling the Cops. I was going to give you a scare to teach you a lesson, then drive you home. Does that mean the offer is withdrawn?"

The girls looked at each other and both breathed a sigh of relief, big smiles on their faces. Lisa winked at Julie. "Nope," Julie said, smiling, "It still stands. Lets go upstairs."

I escorted the girls to my bedroom, pressed the magazine block on the shotgun, pumped out the shell that was still in the chamber, then put it back in the magazine. I tossed it onto the dresser with a loud thump.

I turned around and both girls were stark naked. Lisa came over, dropped to her knees, and planted a wet kiss on the head of my painfully throbbing dick. My erection became harder still. I had to get out of those cutoffs! Julie solved that problem. She unzipped and unbuttoned them and gently worked them down around my rock-hard dick, allowing it to spring up to freedom.

"Lets get on the bed first," I suggested, "Then we have fun."

"Lay down on your back," Lisa insisted. "Have we got something for you!"

I complied, and Lisa leaned over and put my dick in her hot mouth. Her tongue swirled over the head, ran up and down the shaft, and started over again. I looked over at Julie and she was watching avidly. Not having anything better to do with my hands, I reached between her legs and caressed her cunt. Julie gasped with surprise, then spread her legs. Her cunt was already hot and wet, so I slid my middle finger in all the way, then started finger fucking her and massaging her clit with my thumb. Her clit hardened and grew. Julie had her eyes closed and was erotically tweaking her erect nipples. She was slowly lowering her body, deepening the penetration of my finger, and rocking her hips back and forth, intensifying the stroking of her clit. Julie's hot pussy juices ran down my hand while Lisa's mouth was still working on my throbbing dick.

I began to draw my hand from Julie's sopping wet cunt, but she grabbed it and held it tightly to her crotch. I pulled my hand now, and she came with it. I grabbed her thigh and swung her leg over me, so she was now sitting on my chest. I pulled my finger from her hungry cunt, grabbed her ass, and pulled her snatch right up to my face. As soon as I flicked her clit with the tip of my tongue, she went wild, humping my face, filling my nostrils with the sweet aroma of her cunt juices. I thought I would give her all the licking she could handle. I rammed my tongue into her fuck-hole with all my might, then gently nibbled on her clit. Apparently she had a low threshold, as this was all she could stand.

"Oh God, I'm coming!" she screamed, ground her cunt into my face one more time, quivered, then collapsed sideways onto the bed.

One down, one to go. I looked at Lisa, still sucking my dick for all she was worth. I was nearing the end of my endurance, and I still hadn't had my dick in any hot cunt yet. I grabbed Lisa's shoulders and pulled her mouth from my dick. I turned her around and held her up, her blonde pubic triangle just inches over my waiting tool.

"Give it to her! Now!" Julie whispered.

Lisa's cunt didn't look wet or ready to take anything in it yet, but my dick was ready to take some pussy. Julie reached over and spread the lips to Lisa's still dry pussy, and began tweaking her clit. Lisa gasped her surprise at her most private place being touched by another chick. Within seconds though, her clit and inner pussy lips began to swell, and her juices started flowing. I slowly lowered Lisa to my rod, admiring her glistening pinkness. Julie guided my throbbing rod into Lisa's wet love hole.

"Please, be careful! Ah-h-h-h! Go slow, I'm so tight!"

I lowered Lisa very carefully, for her hot fuck-hole was indeed the tightest pussy I had ever felt. With that in mind, I fought the urge to slam her down on my eager dick. As soon as she was down, I grabbed her ass and began sliding her back and forth. Lisa bit her lip as a tear trickled down from one eye.

"Stop, Mr. Steve! It's hurting her!" Julie commanded. Then to Lisa, "You haven't done it much, have you?"

"Just once, with Mike, and he isn't this big. It hurt then, too!" Lisa sobbed. "I wanted so bad to do it with Mr. Steve because he's been so nice to me, and I was so scared when I saw how big he was. Oh, it hurts!"

"You'd better get up then." I reassured, "I don't want to do anything to you that you don't want me to do."

"I want to go on, really I do! But don't you have anything I could use to make it easier?"

"Yeah, any Vaseline, or KY jelly, or something like that?" Julie asked.

"I have some KY jelly in the bathroom." I answered.

Julie jumped up and padded into the bathroom. I watched her naked ass jiggle as she left.

"You're gonna have to get up." I told Lisa. I gently lifted her ass. She bit her lip again and moaned as my dick slowly withdrew from her tortured hole. With a pop from her pussy, a shriek burst from her lips as my dick sprung from her nearly dry fuck-hole. She knelt on the bed next to me, softly crying, clutching herself where it hurt. I realized that she had been wrong in pretending to be so eager. A more gentle approach was needed.

I reached over, pulled her to me, and kissed her lips passionately. She jerked once in surprise, then melted into my arms, returning my kiss, forgetting the pain in her twat. I ran my hand around to her firm tits and gently stroked her nipples, feeling them harden under my touch. I pulled my mouth from hers and kissed the point of each hard nipple. She moaned and gasped with each touch of my lips, but from pleasure this time, not from pain. While I had her aroused, I lightly traced circles on her tummy with my finger, each circle going lower and lower, until I finally reached the blonde muff of her pubic hair. Slowly, I reached down and cupped her pussy with my hand, being careful not to press too hard or insert my finger. I would know when she was ready for penetration. She responded with a jerk and a gasp. I pressed again, and she gasped again. I kissed each firm nipple one last time, then started kissing down her tummy to her love nest, which was now warming and starting to respond to my touch.

I spread her legs and gently ran the tip of my tongue the full length of her slit. When I reached the vicinity of her clit, she reacted as though she had been shocked. She arched her back, pressing her cunt against my face. Maybe she was ready. I probed again with my tongue, harder this time, hard enough to separate her cunt-lips and tickle her clit. She went mad again, jerking and twitching in response to the touch of my tongue, moaning and panting. Then I felt her clit harden, her inner lips swell and spread, and her delicious juices start to flow. Now she was definitely ready for more. I probed her fuck-hole with my tongue, licked all the way up to her clit, swirled it around, bit it gently, and then probed her hole again. When I started doing all this, she went even wilder. She spread her legs, humped and reared against my face, and pulled my head tight against her hot cooze.

"Oh-h-h-h-h, fuck me," she moaned, "I can't stand it any more! I don't care if it does hurt! Please, please fuck me!"

I put her throbbing clit between my lips and gave it one hard suck, drawing it completely into my mouth, and pulled my head back sharply, causing her clit to pop back. She screamed, thrust her hips at me, and grabbed her sweating breasts.

When she had subsided, her legs still spread, I mounted her in the traditional position. I started to position my throbbing pole for a gentle entry, but Lisa released her tits and spread her cunt-lips with one hand and guided my tool to her sopping wet fuck-hole with the other. She was much wetter now than when Julie diddled her clit, wet enough to fuck.

"Please do it now!" Lisa pleaded.

I began to insert my dick cautiously, and found that due to her juices, entry was no problem. Lisa groaned like a virgin as I slid into her hot wetness. When she had taken as much of my ten-inch tool as she could, I still wasn't all the way in. But she began pumping her hips, causing the swollen head of my dick to ram against the back of her pussy. She was as deliciously tight as before, but she must have been stretching, for with just a few strokes, my balls were slapping against her ass, and I was in to the hilt. My tenderness and foreplay had paid off.

"Oh-h-h-h, that's good!" she purred when I began pumping to meet her rhythm. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and was pumping as hard as I was. With each stroke, I would completely withdraw from her hot, tight wetness, then shove my eager tool back in to the hilt, never missing her voracious target, always sliding easily in, jamming against the back of her pussy.

Her pumping increased in tempo, and I sped up to match. Each pump became harder and more frantic than the one before. Lisa's breathing became harder and faster. She was about to come, and I wanted to come with her. I raised her legs over my shoulders so that I had a better angle at the depths of her tight hole, and started ramming as hard as I could.

"Don't stop! I think I'm gonna come! Oh-h-h, its so good! Come in me! Oh, please, I want to feel your load in me!" Lisa screamed. She bucked and reared and screamed incoherently, then went limp. I continued to pump. In just a few seconds, she began to pump anew. For more times than I could count, she orgasmed.

Once I felt my orgasm approaching, I gave her one last hard ram and drove my weapon in as far as I could. I came at this point, spurting her sweet, tender Steve cunt full of my hot sticky come, like an erupting volcano. She gasped, trembled, and fell back to the bed. I pulled out my softening dick. Our sexual energies were spent for the moment.

I glanced down at the foot of the bed, and saw Julie, whom I had forgotten. She sat in the chair at the foot of the bed, her legs spread, working a coke bottle in and out of her pussy. She had found the KY jelly, then found us screwing away. Feeling left out but excited by the erotic sight of her best friend getting a good fucking, she slicked up the coke bottle and began using it as a dildo.

I saw that Lisa also was seeing something she had never seen before, her best friend's cunt, gaping open, a coke bottle almost disappearing inside it. "Look how far in she puts it! And see how big it is to go in her like that. How does she do it?" Lisa asked, amazed.

"Why don't you get a closer look," I suggested. "Ask her." Lisa crawled down to the foot of the bed and sat on the end, astounded, watching Julie masturbate.

Julie finally looked down, under heavy-lidded eyes and saw Lisa so close. "Why don't you do this for me?" Julie asked.

"How?" Lisa queried.

"Just do what I'm doing now," came Julie's reply. Lisa watched for a few seconds more, then pushed Julie's hand aside and grasped the slippery end of the bottle. "In and out, and twist it a little bit. Oh, yes-s-s, oh, yes-s-s. Do it good, oh, that's so good!" Julie purred.

My dick was hardening again at the sight of one female masturbating another.

I had an idea. If Julie was as promiscuous as she seemed, she might not object to what I had in mind. While Lisa continued to work the bottle in Julie's stretched cunt, I helped Julie out of the chair and down to the floor, her heaving tits on the floor, her ass up in the air. She stayed in the position, crooning wordlessly, cunt juice dribbling down her thighs, Lisa still masturbating her.

I picked up the tube of KY jelly that Julie had used, and liberally covered my erect rod with it. Then I stood behind Julie, straddling Lisa.

"What are you going to do?" Lisa asked.

"Watch and see!" I responded. With that I grasped Julie's hips and aimed my dick at the delicate rosette of Julie's ass. Using my dick like a weapon, I suddenly shoved my tool in as far as I could. Julie let out a scream, tearing out fistfuls of carpet.

"Oh God, fuck my ass! That hurts so good! Fuck me harder, give me all you've got! Make it hurt! Give me more of that bottle!"

"I'm ass-fucking Julie!" I informed Lisa, who was now completely mind-blown.

I needed no invitation, and neither did Lisa. Both of us gave Julie all we could, Lisa with the bottle in Julie's cunt, me with my dick far up Julie's clenching ass. Julie rocked back to take us both in, then forward, then back for more. I couldn't see how Julie could take my dick, as long and thick as it was, all the way up her ass, but she was doing it and getting her rocks off, to boot.

"Take that bottle out of Julie's pussy, and stick all your fingers in!" I panted to Lisa.

"Are you kidding me?" Lisa asked in disbelief.

"No, cover your whole hand with KY, bunch your fingers together, then push 'em in!"

My dick felt the bottle withdraw, and moments later, the pressure of Lisa's fingertips.

"Now push harder!" I commanded, giving Julie's nether hole another stroke.

I felt increased pressure on my dick and heard Lisa wail, "My whole hand went in!"

"Good! That's called fist-fucking! Do her just like the bottle did!" I gasped.

"Cram my cunt full. I love it!" was Julie's response to the new violation. She trembled, then shoved her ass and cunt, doubly impaled, back at us for more. We continued like this for another minute or so.

"Harder! Oh God don't stop now, I'm coming! Fuck me! Come in my ass! Squirt me full! Fist-fuck me!" Julie arched her back, then screamed as I pushed my dick to the absolute limit, pumping her reamed ass full of another load of my hot lava. Then she collapsed to the floor, exhausted.

I pulled my dick out of her ass, as Lisa pulled her hand out of Julie's stretched cunt with a squelching sound. Julie lay on her belly, her ass stretched open obscenely, my cream oozing out, dripping down to her spread, gaping fuck-hole.

"That's incredible! I didn't know Julie did that kind of stuff! It had to hurt! I know it would kill me!" Lisa exclaimed.

"No it won't," Julie contradicted, "You've just got to relax your cunt and ass muscles, and want to do it. If you do, you can take anything in either hole."

"I don't think I could. I haven't done it too many times. I'd be too tight and too scared." Lisa countered.

"I could fist-fuck you by morning with no problems on your part. I would make you want it." was Julie's rejoinder.

"No way on Earth." Lisa flatly denied.

"I'll prove it. Lay on your back." Lisa complied with Julie's instructions, looking apprehensively at Julie.

Julie began talking to Lisa in a steady monotone, telling her how good it would feel to have her pussy stretched. How she would get Lisa's fuck-hole all wet and juicy. How she would stick her whole hand in Lisa's tight pussy and stretch it to fit. And how Lisa would love it and want to do it again. Julie placed her hands on Lisa's thighs and began to massage them as she spoke. Lisa watched Julie and listened to her talk, and her apprehension began to fade away. I realized that Julie had Lisa hypnotized, rapt.

Julie slowly spread Lisa's unresisting legs wide apart, talking all the while. She reached down and began stroking Lisa's furry twat, still talking. As Lisa began to pant and get aroused, her inner pussy lips began to swell and enlarge, protruding between her outer cunt-lips, glistening. Julie, still persuading Lisa of her desire, grasped Lisa's delicate pink fleshy inner lips and began massaging them between thumb and forefinger, stretching them out and allowing them to return to their normal size. Juices began to ooze from Lisa's now exposed hole. Julie prodded Lisa's clit with one finger, causing it to become firm and enlarged. Julie released Lisa's inner cunt-lips and grasped her clit. She pulled on Lisa's sensitive bud, then slowly allowed it to return. Lisa was writhing all over the bed, but Julie never stopped her erotic teasing of Lisa's tortured snatch or her monologue. Julie reached for the KY jelly and put a dab on her fingers. She spread Lisa's cunt-lips with one hand and inserted two lubricated fingers of her other hand a fraction of an inch into Lisa's waiting hole. She spread her fingers, opening Lisa's relaxed cunt-hole. She took the tube of KY jelly and placed the orifice right at Lisa's open gash. With steady squeezing, she squirted the entire contents into Lisa's pink hole, filling it with the clear lubricant. Julie bunched her fingers together and placed all five fingers just inside Lisa's cunt-hole.

"You're all lubed up and ready to go now. Are you ready for it, Honey?" Julie purred. "I'll give it to you when you're ready."

"I'm ready, do me!" Lisa replied distantly. Julie started diddling Lisa's erect clit, then pushed her fingers into Lisa's slippery hole, twisting her hand as she did so. Lisa gasped and drew her knees up, making her cunt open wider, easier for Julie to ream.

"More, more, go deeper!" Lisa gasped frantically. Lisa reached between her legs and grabbed Julie's wrist,pushing Julie's hand further into her own hot cunt. In just moments, Julie's hand had completely disappeared into Lisa's hole. Lisa's cunt-lips were wrapped around Julie's wrist.

Julie grabbed a mirror and held it up where Lisa could see her own private parts, stretched, violated, impaled upon Julie's hand. "See, Honey, I told you you could do it!"

Lisa took the mirror and stared at it dumbfounded. Julie partially withdrew her hand, then pushed it back in.

"Now comes the fun part!" Julie pronounced. "Feel it when I move my fingers around!" With that, Julie began wiggling her fingers and moving her hand around inside Lisa's slippery wet fuck-hole.

Lisa went crazy, thrashing around on the bed. She screamed alternately for Julie to stop, or that it was too much, or to go deeper. Finally, Lisa screamed one last time, pulled Julie's hand one last time, and then went limp.

RH 78 Feb 2015

The giraffe and the mouse lived in a big tall house.
The mouse asked giraffe "do I make you laugh?"
In response to the mouse, the giraffe said "no"
"How can I laugh when you're close to my toe?"
"Close to your toe?" Said the mouse "but why?
Giraffe looked down and began to cry.
"It's a long story mouse" giraffe cried in despair.
"I'm all ears" said mouse and he pulled up a chair.
"To cut a long story short I've got an in growing nail"
"Oh" said mouse with a flick of his tail.
"Leave it to me I'll be back in a minute"
He brought back a kit with some first aid in it.
"Lift up your foot" and mouse set to work.
Giraffe raised his leg trying not to jerk.
Mouse fixed the nail in no time at all
Giraffe was impressed by mouse so small!
"How did you do it?" Asked  giraffe in disbelief
Mouse just wiped his brow with a handkerchief.
"While I'm down here giraffe is there anything I've missed?"
"After all...
                   I'm the one and only....

Qualified rodent chiropodist!"

Hannah Faith May 2014

Maybe dad is right
It seems to be my enemy
And on a scale of healthy
I am not sure
Where this would be

You hurt me
But its okay
You're my best friend
The person I care about
More than anyone
That matters right?

I just want
For you
To be happy
And not hateful
Yet you insist
On being a jerk

Danny O'Dare, the dancin' bear,
Ran away from the County Fair,
Ran right up to my back stair
And thought he'd do some dancin' there.
He started jumpin' and skippin' and kickin',
He did a dance called the Funky Chicken,
He did the Polka, he did the Twist,
He bent himself into a pretzel like this.
He did the Dog and the Jitterbug,
He did the Jerk and the Bunny Hug.
He did the Waltz and the Boogaloo,
He did the Hokey-Pokey too.
He did the Bop and the Mashed Potata,
He did the Split and the See Ya Later.
And now he's down upon one knee,
Bowin' oh so charmingly,
And winkin' and smilin'--it's easy to see
Danny O'Dare wants to dance with me.

John Mahoney Feb 2012

i had a poetry reading
last night, well not
just me, but i read
some of my poems

it did not go well
this fellow in front
would not stop
talking into his mobile

as though everyone
wanted to know
what time his girlfriend
was going to arrive

and why she was
such a bitch in the
first place just because
he would not pick her up

when she knows that
she lives on the
completely opposite
side of town and

would make him late
late? to a poetry
reading, i thought,
why don't you hang

up the phone then
and what kind of
a woman puts up
with this jerk anyway

so, i paused, and
asked him to stop
talking on the phone
people clapped, i said

that i know i am not
exactly "on" tonight
but did not think he
could do any better

i was wrong this
jerk was brilliant
he stood and began
reciting with clever

lines and impossible
rhymes he did not
even stop to breathe,
well, my fault i guess

his girlfriend showed
up and of course she
turned heads as she
walked past to sit with

him, and i heard her
apologize for being late
then they left so i
just stepped off the

stage and sat down
then i left just as
soon as i thought
no one would notice

first step

when he looks at a woman he searches for qualities that attract him because he wants to desire her yet this tendency creates an imbalance or disadvantage he is rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealizes self-realizing this propensity he looks away from women years of disappointment neglect change him he becomes afraid of women gynophobic


when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior co-dependence craziness


he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about future she looks at her face naked body in mirror her stomach churns feels sad sickening remembers time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go


he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi

Tucson 2-step

they are standing in line at a café on 4th avenue he is directly behind her she is lanky wearing white background faded colors patterned summer dress thin straps over bare shoulders long brown hair few gray strands small unfinished tattoo on left calf leather slip-ons 1 inch heals he is at a complete loss for words thinks to make remark about the weather decides not to overhead fan stirs hot humid July air barista girl asks what she would like her eyes scan blackboard menu behind counter she hesitates remarks help him i need an extra moment to decide he steps up to counter money in hand orders small to go Arnold Palmer half black current lays $3 on counter mentions change goes in tip jar thank you barista girl moves fast he lifts cup from counter glances at woman still deciding then at barista girl says have a wonderful day turns walks out door dawns on him woman grows hair under her arms his 2nd most compelling female physique adornment fetish oh god he thinks to himself should i wait for her to make up her mind then approach try to craft conversation at least find out her name no i’m too weak in this moment she is so lovely let her go


she orders double Americana in small cup to go room for soy milk thinks to herself he did greet her perhaps their paths will cross on street why did he run off so fast she glances toward front of café notices window seat changes her mind instructs barista girl on 2nd thought make it for here digs through purse realizes she left wallet in truck explains to barista girl she needs to run out to her vehicle to retrieve wallet forgotten under front seat the air on the street is heavy dense she smells her own perspiration looks north then south does not see him walks to truck feels exhausted appetiteless almost nauseous wishes she did not order a drink thinks to get behind wheel drive home go to sleep

Tucson 3-step tango

she feels disappointment by her recent writings as if she is reaching a more sophisticated audience and setting a higher standard for her work yet she is not living up to her ambitions her recent writings smell of her past writings too emotional the damaged woman wounded child she wants to write more introspectively with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence she slams her laptop shut decides to go to Club Congress for a bloody mary or margarita but Club Congress is haunted with small town cretins losers wannabes she considers Maynard’s decides Maynard’s is too safe suburban yuppyish finally gives in to thought of glass of pinot noir at Plush next comes what to wear jeans in mid-July desert heat is unacceptable perhaps loose fitting thin cotton white summer dress thin leather belt ankle high indian moccasins hair in ponytail no pigtail braids no ponytail no makeup maybe little ylang ylang oil no she thinks about her recent writings


i am one breath away from crying in every moment one breath away from flying m.i.a. in every moment one breath away from destroying everything there is beauty in ugliness beauty in decrepitude disease beauty in harm hurt suffering beauty in greed injustice betrayal beauty in corruption contamination pollution beauty in hate cruelty ignorance beauty in death we spend our whole lives searching for a good death we spend our whole lives searching for eternal love this modern world is too much for me over my head the horrors of this place are beyond words unspeakable voice inside maybe mom yells quit your whining or dad hollers stop complaining i am trying to smile through tears one breath away from giving in one breath away from becoming stranger to myself winter spring winter spring there is beauty in nothingness we spend our whole lives searching for ourselves learning who we are not finding grasping secrets from dark paths light trails winter spring winter spring i am one breath away


she sits alone at bar at Plush glass of pinot noir glass of ice water in front of her 2 bearded older men eye her from other end of bar she ignores them glances at her wristwatch tries to look like she is waiting for someone music from speakers antiquated rock standard it is early friday hours from dusk moderate middle aged crowd mingle wait for local jazz trio to begin she thinks about her recent writings wonders is it too late for love considers lesbian affair from 5 different perspectives 5 woman’s voices each describing same lesbian affair in 5 opposing accounts hmmm she sips dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water she considers a story about a gang of female bikers who ride south to Mexico


the Americans came through here last night crossing border illegally climbing over our fences digging tunnels beneath our barrier walls littering along their trail they travel in packs of every skin color carry guns knives explosives wear leather boots some are shirtless tattoos dyed hair mischievously smiling conceitedly stealing when in question murdering they rob our homes slaughter our chickens ransack gardens loot our harvest you can still smell the stink of their fast food breaths


she swallows the last dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water local jazz trio begins to play as bar fills with more people she decides to walk home one foot in front of other wonders who taught her how to walk how many times did she fall she laughs to herself

Tucson square dance

TPD 10-18 unconfirmed data report

7 post-University of Arizona female graduates go to Cactus Moon for several drinks and dancing then drive to Bashful Bandit for more drinks and dancing 2 women get into scuffle victim Brittany Garner female 23 years of age race #5 (Native American, Eskimo, Middle -Eastern, Other) 5’ 2” long black hair cut-off blue jean shorts clingy light blue top falls hits head on side of bar dies of fatal blow to skull forensics report crushed occipital lobe assailant Stacy Won female 31 years of age race #4 (Asian) 5’6” black jeans black leather jacket red helmet Honda motorcycle still at large

witness accounts

Jess Delaney female 33 years of age race #2 (White) 6’ tight black pencil skirt white sleeveless undershirt no bra 3” heels blond ponytail “that squirting little slut deserves everything she got she lied told Stacy i’m a whore i never cheated on Brittany i don’t understand we were all having a good time getting buzzed and dancing we should never have left Cactus Moon damn Kerrie thought some biker dude might be hanging around the Bandit hell maybe the Bandit was a biker bar once but now it’s just a college sink hole full of drunken frat boys when Monique flashed a little tit they went crazy cheering and buying us shots it just got out of hand never should have happened the way it happened Stacy didn’t mean to kill Brittany it’s fucked up i want to go home please let me go home”

Sabrina Starn female 29 years of age race #2 (White) 5’8” trendy corporate gray suit black pumps red shoulder length hair “i have to be at work at 8 AM Stacy was drunk out of control she gets crazy when she drinks Brittany was trash talking pushing all Stacy’s buttons then Stacy accused Brittany of sleeping with Monique and all hell broke loose i didn’t see what happened i was in the powder room it’s a terrible tragedy unfortunate accident can i please be released i need to sleep this is madness”

Kerrie Angeles female 27 years of age race #1 (Hispanic) 5’ 6” black pants white shirt black hair cut stylishly short silver crucifix around neck red fingernails “when we got to the Bashful Bandit i was horny soaking between my legs thinking about a cowgirl at Cactus Moon ready to fuck anyone i saw fantasized pulling a train with those frat boys Monique had been kind of quiet at Cactus Moon but when we got to the Bashful Bandit she lit up dancing wild unbuttoning her top jacket Sabrina went to the ladies room to snort coke with biker dude Kerrie wanted but he wasn’t into her then Brittany started saying crazy stuff accusing Stacy of stealing Monique from Jess Jessie goes through women heartlessly she doesn’t give a shit about Monique Jessie knows if she wants Monique back she can simply fiddle a finger my guess is Stacy is half way to Argentina she never meant to kill Brittany i’m going to miss her real bad she was a good kid”

Ann Skyler female 28 years of age race  #2 (White) 4’ 11’’ green white red Mexican peasant skirt black t-shirt black high-tops hair in messy bun “i’m confused i saw them dancing laughing grinding up against each other Rage Against the Machine came on then Nine Inch Nails the room felt quaking dizzy claustrophobic then they were pushing each other shoving yelling frat boys cheering the next thing i knew Brittany was supine on the floor blood pouring out maybe she just slipped hit her head i don’t know what to think i feel real sad confused sick to my stomach scared”

Monique Smithson female 24 years of age race # 3 (Black) 5’ 9” blue jeans jean jacket cowboy boots nose ring braided pigtails “Stacy had it in for Brittany from the start i saw it in her eyes at Cactus Moon she made several clever toxic remarks they snapped at each other i never thought it would escalate to murder poor sweet Brittany was always so susceptible i was looking down adjusting my jeans over my boots when it happened i heard felt a big thump glanced up Brittany was lying there lifeless blood spilling everywhere Stacy ran out fast i heard her bike engine take off in a hurry”

Rodeo Drive Tucson

matt’s hats tom’s tools & tobacco lou’s liquors fred’s beds frank’s planks bill’s drills jane’s drains & panes chuck’s check cashing cheryl’s barrels hank’s tanks tina’s trucks & tractors walt’s asphalt sean’s pawn rick’s rifles mom’s guns terry’s tires charlie’s harleys rhonda’s hondas jim’s rims art’s parts gus’s gasoline mike’s bikes frank’s feed gwen’s pens ann’s cans nancy’s nursery joes‘s clothes jess’s dresses bert’s skirts steve’s sleeves paul’s shawls michelle’s shells & bells al’s pails & snails sam’s hams & jams patty’s pancakes phil’s chili don’s donuts betty’s spaghetti bob’s burgers alycia’s quiches jean’s beans jerry’s berries anna’s bananas andy’s candies cathy’s taffies tony’s ponies roy’s toys kim’s whims marty’s parties jill’s pills rick’s tricks alice’s palace debbie’s disposal dave’s graves

Quinta Waltz de Tucson

she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary efforts she dreams aches to create deeper discourse higher insight more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration instead she writes paperback television trash stupid inadequate answers to solemn questions she wonders if she is too scratched dented to find love her breasts are definitely changing she is deeply disturbed not ready for menopause too young for menopause she wants to remain a fertile woman with smooth skin wet vagina


her neighbor Leslie awoke to horrible morning Leslie’s 6 chickens were assaulted overnight precious Mabel dragged off feathers everywhere trail down the street other hens cowering slumped together with wilted necks 3 of them with puncture wounds Leslie carried them one by one inside washed their wounds hugged them cried who did this terrible act a neglected abusive neighborhood cat or some desert predator why didn’t Leslie wake to sounds of savage marauding now this creature knows hen’s whereabouts when will it return for more massacre what modifications need to be enforced to ensure their coup before nightfall


she wants to remain a hen keep producing eggs does not want is not ready to enter the next damn stage of this damn existence it was fun being pretty for men inspiring them to say do whacky things she wants to remain a hen she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary attempts “Tucson square dance” (self-referential) sucked bit about Americans came through here last night in “Tucson 3-step” sucked "Rodeo Drive" tepid perhaps the pinot noir lowered her standards everything is becoming nothing she cannot sleep tosses turns thrashes sheets in humid heat of her lonesome bed is she is too scratched dented to find love she worries for Leslie


tomorrow is another day they say the rain will come last year’s monsoon never came the baking sun smothered her garden died one by one sleepless she will miss tomorrow’s pilates class the infrequent delightful chatty breakfast afterwards she dreams aches of deeper discourse higher insight with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration she crossed the line tonight her breasts are definitely changing

Tucson 666

he decides to shave eighth to quarter inch length salt and pepper beard a.k.a. unshaven look he has worn for years and grow full mustache the whiskers on his upper lip are darker with sparse gray at first no one notices after weeks the mustache gradually fills evoking many contrasting remarks several women loath it several men admire it girl at grocery store suggests he grow Fu Manchu so she can tug on it shopgirl says he looks like Charlie Chaplin downstairs neighbor from Turkey explains most Turkish men traditionally wear mustaches he read mustaches masculinize and empower men especially men in authoritative positions he thinks back to the 1960’s when many hippie males grew mustaches then in the 70’s gay men fashioned mustaches then in the 80’s cops adopted mustaches he wonders why a swatch of hair beneath nose is so provoking examines his visage in mirror discerns the mustache confers a Pepé le Pew quality or European accent to his appearance he remembers when he was young hippie with many amorous episodes how his mustache preserved the scent of a woman but there are no women in his life for many years do post-menopausal women possess scent? he feels indecisive whether to retain it or be rid of it


she observes her figure in mirror thinks to herself maybe her breasts are not changing perhaps it’s all in her head she inspects the little lines forming near her eyelids studies her features for signs of aging hardly any silver strands in long brown hair she examines neck nipples arms elbows fingers tummy hips pelvic region thighs knees shins calves ankles feet detects subtle changes thinks to herself my breasts are possibly slightly changing turned 40 in March married briefly in late teens no children a 15 year old dog beginning to suffer veterinarian promises to warn her when the time comes she wonders why it is so difficult finding fitting mate men sleep with her several times then move on maybe she is not such a great lover perhaps she would be better if one of them stuck around perhaps she is a lesbian the whole idea of finding someone is absolutely draining


they do not see each other walk right passed she in a hurry late to yoga matt slung across back handbag slung on shoulder wallet forgotten under front seat in truck he is distracted in thought wondering is he afraid of women gynophobic the air on the street is heavy dense he smells his own perspiration feels exhausted appetiteless almost nauseous they each simultaneously consider what if i lived in New York City or Chicago what is it about Tucson its small town politics gooniness poverty criminality amateurish dramas hour to Mexican border both wonder is Tucson the problem would i find a fitting lover more freely with less difficulty in some other place

Tucson Seventh Seal

outside is sweltering monsoon humidity but no rain prior to now inside the bank is air-conditioned crammed full with Friday late afternoon customers she stands in line wearing short cut-off jeans flip-flops loose-fitting silk fawn chemise hair in pigtails holding wallet thinking to herself the man in me wants to enter through your kitchen door famished fingers itching breathing hard the woman in me wants you to lay me out on supper table have your way gently slobber berry pie laughs aloud to herself as others standing in line look on smile politely too reserved to ask what’s so funny she questions her proclivity to become lesbian more likely she is searching for sincere strong yet somewhat ambivalent male capable of switching roles humoring her playing with flights of imagination


the heat is getting to everyone tempers run short irritability prevails birds with open beaks suck in hot breaths comb dry dust blown yards for scraps vast patches of mesquite pale yellow cracked pods strewn along streets sidewalks palo verde trees vibrate hissing buzzing cicada chant he turns water heater off cold water faucet on but it makes no difference mildewed towel restless sleepless wrestled bed sheets in morning sun’s defiant glare merciless he recalls clammy summers in Chicago working downtown riding screechy bumpy “el” train home smell of burnt electrical wiring perspiration beads rolling down arms backs of hands soaking wristwatch band dripping from forehead sticky clinging clothes observing other passenger’s misery discreetly focusing on females knowing they’re suffering from same circumstances thinking about dampness between their thighs and for brief moment escaping oppressive condition in that sweet warped imagining


she determines pinot noir unseasonably heavy decides instead on sauvignon blanc opens closet door choosing what to wear in this unrelenting muggy heat


more than anything he wants to belong with female partner


she imagines a kiss


he thinks about a smell


she stands undecided in panties in front of closet mirror 7 outfits scattered on bed she is more intelligent shrewd clever than this foolish display looks inside herself for serenity calm out of the blue she smells it hears it however late the monsoon rains finally arrive she will clothe accordingly

Tucson crazy 88’s

the one positive aspect concerning Tucson’s blistering heat is what women wear on display are details one would never notice or think about if it were not right there in plain view an evident preference based solely on sweltering circumstance is no brassieres yet vogue goes beyond this lovable lapse women being fashion mindful arrange interesting medleys of flimsy diaphanous chemises various lengths of shorts thin-threaded summer dresses peculiar styles of tresses and fairly informal shoes or barefoot in essence everything about women’s wear in Tucson is noticeably informal revealing to the eye the barest facts that said there are those who fall under the dictate of Latin or Goth influences regardless how scorching the sun black is their uniform and finally the no matter what season or time of day hooded sweatshirt set and their hoodlum world


nightlife in Tucson is dull for a big city ex-resident several Friday evenings a month he visits Plush bar arriving about 6 PM sitting at bar sipping 2 sometimes 3 drinks chatting with whomever then walking home about 7:30 - 8 and that is his rather sedate social life but on this particular Friday night with full moon 2 days away and Venus in his thoughts he thinks to go to Sky bar outside monsoon rains are letting up opaque gray sky fragrance of creosote in air he looks at reflection in mirror feels deep depression


they are supposed to meet meant to meet destined fated to meet but they will not meet because there is a season for love in a person’s life but that time is gone it is too late for him too many hearts racing then erased lies deceptions disappointments nights alone under-appreciated without love so many years too much bridge under the water concerning her she is emotionally occupied her dog Sweeny on last legs a drawn-out too personal sadness to share besides she is not looking for an older man possibly a younger man who can ease her fears of loss and aging


the drainage system in Tucson is not well thought out when it rains it floods she wears ankle high indian moccasins wading through puddles feeling intoxicated by scent of creosote after divorce 20 years ago she became drunken drugging slut until she adopted Sweeny changed her life it is like she is sensing relapse knowing Sweeny will be gone soon she cannot bear the thought decides to start at the Buffet total losers bar then work her way north up 4th Avenue a lot of ground to cover


an older man with loud gravelly voice and pink eye introduces himself as Frank says he moved here 25 years ago from New Jersey accent still intact orders dirty martini pulls out 6” KA-BAR military knife throatily grumbles i manage she decides she’s had enough of the Buffet does not finish drink decides to skip the Shanty Maloney’s O’Malley’s (college crap) glances in windows of Che”s sees gossipy jerk she does not want to run into crosses 4th Avenue looks in window at Plush sees self-important dick she does not want to run into crosses 4th Avenue again settling for seat at Sky bar


he gazes at her and his heart melts she is so lovely in subtle alternative manner it would be easy to admire her for rest of his life if he were female he’d want to look just like her but he sees she is not interested in him he looks away remembers when he looks at a woman he searches for qualities that attract him because he wants to desire her yet this tendency creates an imbalance or disadvantage he is rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealizes self-realizing this propensity he turns his gaze away


she glances around large room notices him smiling at her eyes glance passed him she thinks he looks remotely familiar but the mustache appears ridiculously out of style too much character in his face he appears small maybe 5’8” or 9” probably drives a mini-penis just not her type whatever then she remembers when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power

old pueblo #9

LARISSA LOU McCASKY female 40 years of age 5’7” lanky physique stitched old pillowcases random fabric homemade knee length wrap skirt tight brown velvet vest no shirt ankle high indian moccasins subtle smile

CLYDE ELI MOSKOWITZ male 52 years of age 5’9” athletic build yet signs of age white painter’s pants rolled up to mid-shin light blue vintage cowboy shirt black high-tops

act 1 scene 1

Sky bar 4th Avenue Tucson Arizona 6:30 PM actors sit 3 seats away from each other at bar bartender approaches Larissa

BARTENDER can i help you?

LARISSA (she looks up from cell phone) yes thank you may i please have a glass of sauvignon blanc or reasonable facsimile and tall ice water

BARTENDER we have a California pinot grigio $4 a glass

LARISSA is it good? i’ll try a glass (bartender serves wine and tall ice water Larissa sips) oh yeah this is good thank you

CLYDE excuse me i was considering switching from this Spanish red to what you ordered you like it huh?

LARISSA yes it’s quite good funny coincidence i just switched too from pinot noir last week i decided it’s unseasonably heavy you look familiar have we met?

CLYDE we’ve almost met on several occasions i’m a fan of your beauty (raises hand appealing to bartender’s attention) hi may i please try what she’s having

BARTENDER no problemo señor

LARISSA oh that’s sweet i thought for a moment you were going to say you’re a fan of my writing

CLYDE you’re a writer huh what kind of writing?

LARISSA whim fancy poetry fiction essays critiques i like to experiment with different formats

CLYDE hmmm what are you currently reading?

LARISSA aren’t you the inquisitive one i’m currently reading Yukio Mishima’s Madame de Sade it’s a play

CLYDE wow i’m a fan of Yukio Mishima and the Marquis de Sade yet unaware of the work are you enjoying it? i’m Clyde what’s your name?

LARISSA Larissa i just began reading it so far so good

CLYDE may i move closer?


CLYDE thank you (he picks up glass and sits next to her) hello

LARISSA is the mustache recent?

CLYDE still growing in

LARISSA i like you better without it

CLYDE got a razor on you?

LARISSA it makes you look sad

CLYDE hmmm (long pause he looks away then into her eyes)

LARISSA are you ok?


LARISSA what’s your profession?

CLYDE i’m a painter sometimes writer and i teach yoga when i can find work otherwise i scrape out a living house painting restoration whatever pays

LARISSA a painter what do you paint besides houses?

CLYDE i’m old i’ve painted everything figurative representational abstract symbolism you name it i’ve painted it

LARISSA you’re funny

CLYDE you think so?

LARISSA Clyde why are you sad?

CLYDE oh Larissa i don’t know what to say in a way i feel i was sent here to do a different job i don’t understand why i'm here or what i’m doing do i sound crazy? life throws a lot of hardballs at you few are good enough to make the big leagues the rest of us struggle day to day no i don’t mean to express that thought i’m grateful for the opportunity of this life in my own little way i try to make a better difference

LARISSA you’re not crazy Clyde you’re wise well spoken words you’re a sweetheart i’m glad to finally meet you

CLYDE oh god Larissa you have no idea how good that makes me feel i am such a fan of your beauty the way you dress your voice gestures everything i look forward to reading your work

LARISSA chill on the flattery Clyde my dog is dying (tears well up in her eyes)

CLYDE i am so sorry for you (he reaches into back pocket) here’s a tissue i know what it’s like to lose a precious friend i lost my baby 12 years ago and still carry her picture in my wallet i’m probably not someone you want to talk to i totally freaked out (tears well up in his eyes)

LARISSA Clyde you are so sweet can i buy you a drink anything what do you desire please

CLYDE uhh thank you but no not tonight i think i’ve had enough i need to go home Larissa you’re an angel my precious angel thank you my heart flames for you (he stands up)

LARISSA you’re being dramatic Clyde please stay and talk with me i won’t ask you again why you’re sad i like your mustache it’s growing on me please hang out with me

act 1 scene 2

9 PM they are walking back to her place

CLYDE the moon Larissa the moon same moon ancients looked up at same stars ancients navigated by sun remains constant but moon waxing waning always changing hooked up with tides menstrual cycles plants that face looking at us i feel so vulnerable must learn to be strong the moon tonight do you see that expression those eyes staring down these complicated complex times this earth the moon

LARISSA you’re so dramatic Clyde

CLYDE you think i’m a drama queen?

LARISSA i don’t know you well enough yet Clyde are you?

CLYDE sometimes i think i’m a woman trapped in a man’s body

LARISSA shut up Clyde

CLYDE i’m definitely a man but way too sensitive for this world

LARISSA i need to pee (she squats and pees)

CLYDE (he looks up and down street keeping guard) you’re the coolest girl in the world

LARISSA you think so?

act 2 scene 1

cell phone conversation

LARISSA i’m taking Sweeny to the vet i can tell he’s hurting bad

CLYDE i’m coming with you

LARISSA no this is too personal

CLYDE shut up Larissa i’ll see you there

LARISSA i don’t know i need to do this by myself i feel so helpless Sweeny’s all wobbly having trouble standing he''s smiling but his eyelids are half closed i’m losing him

CLYDE i love Sweeny for adoring you the joy he brought to you please don’t shut me out Larissa i’ll meet you at the veterinarian’s we’ll figure this out write paint practice yoga work it out somehow

LARISSA ok alright see you at the vet’s

act 2 scene 2

they are shoveling a hole in her backyard deep enough so no creatures can intrude both are crying Larissa is in a daze

CLYDE that caliche is a bitch to shovel through


CLYDE oh baby let me have the shovel

LARISSA i can do this i need to do this i think it’s deep enough let’s go look at Sweeny (tears pouring out of her eyes they go back into house Sweeny is lying wrapped in blanket on table)

act 2 scene 3

he is lying next to her sniffing smelling her underarm kissing her neck hair she is lifeless coming to consciousness crying hysterically

CLYDE rest easy darling Sweeny is up in heaven waiting for you

act 2 scene 4

Thai restaurant

LARISSA i’m not hungry can’t focus on the menu order for me

CLYDE i love you Larissa more than anyone anything else in this whole world i love you

LARISSA i feel sick tired

CLYDE shall i drive us home

LARISSA no let’s eat in an unforeseen surprising way Clyde i love you too deep down stay with me Clyde don’t ever go away

Tucson full moon relapse

Larissa Lou McCasky is hurting relapses needs Clyde Eli Moskowitz to stay at her side and more than anything he wants to help her through this difficult time yet there is nothing he can do but watch his most precious angel be devoured in her own flames at first it is drinking he can not keep up with her she drinks until she feels oblivion next drugging she goes back to old destructive ways she practiced after divorce 15 years ago Clyde will not go there with her Larissa stops writing reading her sewing machine sits dormant hairs around her nipples grow long she makes demands he is not capable of giving Clyde is sex addict he reads to Larissa from Yukio Mishima’s Madame de Sade “the more exalted the man the more refined his pleasures” Larissa learns from Clyde then she insists on more goes beyond him buffalo meat is tough Clyde shows her how to cook it with water little lime juice Larissa repudiates his coaching she prefers to chew the meat tough sometimes she hears war drums beating in her heart Clyde owns 3 guns in his house 2 pistols and a shotgun he keeps them hidden from Larissa


spirit dog is dog that stays long after dog dies sometimes spirit dog needs to be fed or water left out in case spirit dog is thirsty spirit dog makes you question did you do enough when dog was alive spirit dog dogs you with faint sounds in house dogs you in dreams in bed at night dogs you when you look in face of other dogs spirit dog does not ever leave your side


the artist is will always be at odds with him/herself society the system when his/her work becomes viable commercially it becomes corporatized part of the system imagine Nine Inch Nails song Closer lyric “i want to fuck you like an animal” becoming elevator music


what power did her dog Sweeny sanction within Larissa that Clyde could not fulfill? was it Sweeny’s absolute dependency that brought out her nurturing instinct? Clyde needs Larissa yet wants her more than he needs her when spirit dog inside Larissa gets hungry she indulges him


Larissa takes to the streets and that’s where real damage starts slow at first old man with worn out $20 bill then young punk who shoves her out penniless with mouthful of cum then biker dude gives her lift unto back of Harley rides her back to clubhouse feeds her rohypnol 13 men pull a train stub out lit cigarette butts on her face and breasts then crack 2 front teeth shoving shotgun down her throat another up her ass and take bets on where the shots will meet they decide instead to dump her in the desert naked with no water Mexicans sneaking across border seeking work rescue her escort her to Tucson she finds her way to Clyde’s house begging he stands in doorway sees missing teeth scabs on cheeks chin above left eye damage beyond his understanding how to fix feels both terror and tears welling up lies to her tells her he has new girlfriend she knows he’s lying wanders off gets arrested for vagrancy then disorderly conduct then prostitution


every author faces the dilemma of how to fix what they have broken if the work is to be original then it must break from convention


Larissa Lou McCasky has an epiphany in Pima County jail when she gets out she will find a job sewing or writing or proof-reading maybe all 3 then she will find a dog and after she is settled Larissa will look up Clyde Eli Moskowitz and try her best to win him back and regain paradise lost yet knowing it is unlikely she will gratefully accept whatever comes her way and remember to honor respect spirit dog and vigilantly at times keep him on leash


Larissa keeps promise to herself she and Clyde meet at Sky bar it is 3 years since their first meeting she has more gray hair than he her teeth are patched up

LARISSA i’ve missed you Clyde and thought a lot about us

CLYDE i’ve missed you too Larissa you look lovely like good things are happening around you i forgot how beautiful you are how inebriating your body smells

LARISSA chill on the flattery Clyde i’ve found a new dog and named it Eli after you he’s tied up outside see him

CLYDE wow that’s your Catahoula hound that licked my hand on the way in wow where did you find him

LARISSA animal rescue hey Clyde if you don’t mind i’ll just cut to the chase you know i want to come home with you

CLYDE slow down girl one step at a time let’s order some drinks and talk and yes i would love getting back with you

BARTENDER may i help you

LARISSA yes i’d like a Shirley Temple and my friend here can have whatever he wants my treat

CLYDE guess i’ll have what the lady is having

LARISSA you quit drinking too

CLYDE yup starting now with you

LARISSA i love you Clyde i really truly do

Dorothy A May 2012

Chad looked over at his sleeping son sitting next to him in the passenger seat. This little journey from the airport to his home still seemed so strange and uneasy to him. It astounded him that Ian was now twelve years old, nearly a teenager. To be honest, he still did not fully feel sure about this arrangement, this set-up for him to have his son for the summer. Nevertheless, he tried to project confidence to everyone involved, to his family and to Ian's mom. He kept reminding himself that it did not matter how he felt.

He needed to step up to the plate.

No, Chad Brewster never envisioned himself as a father, never dreamed of it, and certainly never once desired it or would have chosen it as his path. Though some of his close friends wanted or had a family, it was never a part of his plans to ever be a dad. He did not dislike children, but he just never expected he would ever settle down and have them.

He especially never expected to be a father at the mere age of sixteen years old.

The suburbs of Las Vegas were worlds away from the suburbs of Milwaukee. Driving down the desert surrounded streets and highways, sometimes homesickness tugged at his consciousness. At times, Chad’s craved the surroundings of his old existence—the shady pine trees, and spending time at Lake Michigan—and he would gladly trade some palm trees for the some of the pines he was so accustomed to. But this was the life he now chose to have, and he thought he should have no reason to complain or be too sentimental. Many people were not so lucky to experience any refreshing change in their lives, and he was able to have it.

While on the road, Chad reminded himself to give Ian's mom, Becca, a quick call to let her know that they were on their way to his home. He pulled out his cell phone before he got distracted. Ian already texted her a few times to let her know he was alive and breathing along the way.

Becca had her reservations about sending her son off to be with his dad. He had his visiting rights, though, and she couldn't lawfully deny him them. It was a tough decision to send him off alone on the plane to meet up with his father, but Ian had good sense, and he was taking a direct flight to Vegas. He loved to text, and his mother made sure he had his very own cell phone to keep in constant contact with her. It was so hard to let him go like this, for Becca cherished Ian. He had a much harder start in life than some other kids, and she felt partly to blame for it.

Chad got a hold of Ian’s mom. "No way in Hell! You are calling me now?" she angrily accused him, her tongue sharp with criticism. "You know damn well this is his very first plane trip by himself, and I thought you'd have the decency to tell me once he got off that plane! Please! Don't try to convince me that this whole thing is a huge mistake, some major lapse in my judgment. Can you do that for me? You could have at least had the decency! Put him on the phone! Let me talk to him!"

"Look, Becca, he's asleep. It was a long day for him. He's exhausted". Chad was trying his best to hold back any displeasure or to raise his voice, but he expected his calm wouldn’t last. "Don't bitch me out for not calling you the very second you are demanding. You know I would have called in a heartbeat if I felt Ian was in danger. You know I would".

"Oh, I'm really not so sure", she replied, sarcastically. "I'm tempted to fly over there and come get him! I've been sick about it all day!"

"Such a damn drama queen, Becca! Like it or not, the world doesn't revolve around you! You don't have all the control! “ The anger rising was rising up in his tone. Her judgment of him of was so tiring.

"Oh, really Chad?" she replied. "I've got my act together a long time ago, but you...".

"Look, he is my son, too!" Chad shouted loudly. He was fed up of her crappy attitude, ready to hang up in her face.

"You could have fooled me!"

His eyes were glaring as he drove down the arid Nevada highway, just as if Becca stood there right before him, her finger wagging in his face, her other hand on her hip. He pictured her now as if time and everything in it had stood still, and she was before his motionless car and in his face, still in step with time and letting him have it.

This little display was so typical of her. Only Becca Morgan thought she ever had any common sense when it came to their parental abilities. Sure, she was the one who really raised their son, but she never would have pulled it off without the huge intervention of her mother.

Without a doubt, Ian had to admit to himself that he had been avoidant and immature in the past, but Becca did not have the patent on good parenting or on maturity. In her eyes, Chad was never going to be a proper father, even if he proved it.

Chad vowed that he wasn't going to pay forever for his mistakes of being an absent father, far more absent than present in his young son's life.

He looked over at his son sitting beside him. Ian was sound asleep—thank God—for he heard his parents squabble about him far more than he should have. In fact, he never saw his parents talking in a friendly manner. No matter how they began talking to each other, their conversations always ended up with angry words.

Ian must have been dead tired to sleep through it all. He hardly stirred since he fell asleep. If Chad wasn’t driving, he would be studying his slumbering son in peculiar wonder, sitting there for quite some time and thinking how on earth he ever was able to produce such a child, a seemingly healthy and well-rounded boy. It was as if his child was an UFO alien, or something—someone to be discovered for who he really was, and someone to be fathomed with fear.  He felt that uncomfortable about being placed into the role of a father.

It gave Chad's stomach a funny, odd feeling to think he wasn't too much older than Ian when Becca—his loving girlfriend at the time—came up to him and told him the shocking news. It would be the news that would forever change his life, and hers.

She was pregnant. Chad was definitely the father.

It wasn't that Becca did not know what to do about her condition, for she knew what she wanted from almost the very start, and she had settled it in her mind without much inner conflict. There was no helplessness or hopelessness in her, not like some pregnant teenage girls that found themselves in such a predicament. She wanted to have her baby and keep it to raise as her very own, and not for a future adoption—with or without Chad's approval. She did love Chad, but in the long run, she did not care what he thought if he did not agree with her.

As far as she was concerned, this baby was hers.

Chad, on the other hand, was terrified, simply terrified. He did not want to believe the news, hoping that Becca would turn around and tell him it was a huge joke. He would be quite ticked at her if she did such a thing, but also very relieved. He would gladly kiss the ground for it not to be true.

If only it was a joke. Becca was quite serious, playing  no such prank on him, Next, she planned to tell her mother next about her unborn baby. But the first person she wanted to tell was her boyfriend, and she expected that he would be on her side—or at least be won over eventually.

As a dumbfounded Chad stared at her in disbelief and shock—like the classic deer in the headlights—Becca insisted that she was telling the truth, that she was even beginning to show. She could prove it.  Her periods had stopped, and three home pregnancy tests confirmed her suspicions.  Gently, she took Chad’s hand to place over her stomach. Freaked out of his mind, he jerked his hand away as quickly as it touched her belly. His knee jerk reaction would always stick in Becca's mind of how Chad really felt about her. It was almost like she had a disease.

She suddenly felt dejected. It looked like Chad would not be on her side, after all.

Maybe it wasn't his? Chad knew that Becca would hate him if he ever implied such a thing. She was crazy about him. Chad knew that. But she had an equal amount of passion to go the other way if he betrayed her. The doubt on his face, and the hesitancy in his voice, did betray him and Becca’s heart slowly sank. She wanted Chad to care, to understand, certainly not to view her as the guilty partner who was ready to ruin his life.

Instead, it looked like the beginning of the end for them.

No way was Chad willing to break the news to his parents, especially his dad, Ed Brewster. He’d rather put a gun to his head than say anything about it. Chad really never saw eye to eye with his father.  Unlike his two older brothers, Michael and David, Chad always felt like he could never please the man. His mother, Nancy, had forever seen Chad as the role that life had given him—the baby of the family. He seemed to have more leeway with her, but not so much as an inch with his father.

Ed, a veteran police officer, wanted all three of his sons to do well in life, better than he had achieved. And as Michael and David were dreaming of such careers as doctors and lawyers, all Chad ever dreamed of was to be a drummer in a rock band. Playing the drums was fine for a hobby, but Chad's father wanted his son to see the garage band he played in as something temporary, something to grow out of.  His son saw otherwise, never seeing himself ever retiring his drumsticks for some job he was bored to death with, or that he hated. He didn’t care if he would never end up earning a dime from it, not playing the drums would be like not having arms or legs. Chad would never give up on his musical aspirations.

One of the first photos that his mother took of her youngest son was him as a baby, sitting on the floor in the kitchen and banging a ladle on the bottom of a pan. At that age, he would much rather play with kitchen utensils, using them like a drum, than any shiny, fascinating toy in his possession. His mom simply thought it was adorable. His father wasn't so impressed, especially since the racket he made was only the beginning in his musical journey of too much noise surfacing from the basement.  There would be plenty of times when Ed would warn his son to give the drums a rest, or he would throw them in the garbage, for Chad could practice for hours on end.

It seemed that music flowed in Chad's blood, was natural to him, but no one in the family had any such musical talents or ambitions.  While his father just didn't get it, his mother supported him with any help she could. When he was six, he was in his glory when his she bought him a child's drum set to bang on. When he turned eleven, she bought him a real set of drums, and encouraged his participation in school band. His brothers' interests were far more typical. They were heavy into sports, and they always had their father's blessings. When Chad kept on doing what he loved, he was seen by his dad as almost a delinquent.

Now that he was an adult, his love of music was paying off. Resettling in Vegas provided many opportunities, plenty of musical venues. With all the entertainment in Sin City, Chad could find enough work playing the drums. There has been a good flow of steady work for him to work in the casinos, and he also played in a local band that did such gigs as weddings, birthday parties and bar mitzvahs. They were a group of six talented musicians that got together to form their own band, and play just about anything—rock, rap, blues, jazz, country and swing. They soon voted with each other on what to call themselves. A good name had a lot to do with if someone got hired for gigs, and nothing they could think up sounded any good.  It seemed like all the great names were already taken, nothing new under the sun. The Sonic Waves sounded the coolest, but since that name was already used, Chad played around with the idea and suggested they call themselves Sonic Stream. That had good potential, and the others agreed with it. He was glad and honored to make such a contribution to his band.        

Chad could honestly say he was happy out here in Nevada. His mother felt like he was trying his best to distance himself from the reality of his problems, especially his strained relationship with his father. Chad disagreed. He just wanted to feel like he could accomplish something in his life, not proving anything to anybody—but to himself.

Would Ian be happy out here with him? It would only be for the summer, but would Chad make a good impression on him in his life out here? Ian glanced over at his son who still slept almost like a baby, seemingly wiped out, though the day was still young.

Several minutes later, Ian called out, "What time is it?"

Somehow awakened, he was rubbing his eyes, disoriented by the fact that he was in a different time zone and in an unfamiliar place. Chad smiled at him, trying to reassure the boy that he was glad to have him here.

“Almost two thirty", Chad returned. Ian moaned and tried to sit up straight, squinting from the glare of the strong Nevada sun. Quite groggy, his internal clock was not sure what time it was.

Your mom called”, Chad told Ian. “You know your mom, bud. She does worry about you”.

“I texted Mom. I said I made it OK”, he replied.

“But did you actually talk to her?” Chad asked. “You know how she is. Unless she talked to you herself, I am sure she was convinced some madman took control of your cell phone and pretended to be you”.

Chad laughed and Ian tried not to act like what he said was that funny, but he shyly grinned and tried to cover his mouth to conceal it. He did have a special bond with his mother, but he knew his dad was right. His mom worried way too much.

“I talked to her just before the plane took off”, Ian admitted.

They drove in silence for a while. Chad had to admit to himself that Ian was looking more and more like him the more he grew up, and Chad seemed to favor his mother's looks—of which he was grateful—for he never wanted to resemble his dad.  Lots of times, Chad and Ian were mistaken for brothers, Ian a much younger brother, but surely not imagined to be his son. Chad felt that Ian was already looking like a teenager, maturing fast for his age, and Chad often was perceived as younger than his twenty-eight years. Ian was growing up so much more than his father could envision, and Chad knew why. It wasn't like he saw his son so frequently that the change was not obvious. Every time he saw him, a big gap had been gapped by growth and change, and Chad was guilty of missing much of those experiences.

Was it that Chad did not really want to grow up? Becca surely accused him of that. His father did, too. Performing gigs in a local band seemed far from a man's job to Chad's father. When he still lived in Wisconsin, he knew he had better learn to have other work to fall back on, for band work did not always pay the bills in those days. That is why he trained to be an x-ray technician. It wasn't the job of his dreams, but it helped keep him afloat when making money from music did not meet his financial requirements. Even though Chad did achieve a fairly decent and respectable job, it did not seem to matter to his critical father.

At the mere age of sixteen, Chad had nothing to back him up against the anger his father would have towards him. He knew he would be knocked down for sure when his parents found out about Becca's pregnancy.

The words his furious father told him stung pretty harshly. "You don't have the sense to be a father! You don't seem lately to have the sense to be anything! You'd ruin that kid’s life, for sure!"

His father had to always play the street-smart cop, even at home, and Chad was fed up as looking like a criminal in his eyes. He almost wanted to cry, but refused to show his father any such weakness. Instead, he gave him the best stone cold, unemotional response that he could muster up. Replying in a monotone manner, though he really feared his father's anger, was the best way to stick it back to him.

"Sure, you're right. I take after you. Bad fathering runs in the family", he said back.

Ed looked like he wanted to punch his son, though he never laid a hand on any of his sons in such a way. Trying to repress his own sense of hurt, and remain with his anger, he replied, "If you were eighteen, I'd throw your ass out right now! Don't push your luck!"

Chad always aspired to be a nonconformist. He wished that what his father said meant nothing to him. He did not want his dad to have the satisfaction, to have the upper hand. He never intended to ever push his father's buttons, but since his dad seemed to have zero respect for him, he wanted to oppose him every chance he got.

The battle of wills seemed to be a never ending struggle, one in which Chad's mom tried to be the mediator. It did not work though, so the day their troubling son turned eighteen he left the home of his parents to share an overcrowded house with six other roommates. Chad truly loved his mother, but he just couldn't stand being in the house with a man that seemed to despise him.

Ian had to be hungry by now. Chad knew very well that plane food was practically no food at all. His own stomach gave him good notice of its emptiness, starting to growl at him like a hungry animal.

"Hey, buddy, let's get something to eat before we get to my place. You hungry?" he asked.

Ian eagerly nodded, and so Chad pulled off the highway at the first exit he saw.

They ate at a kid-friendly restaurant, the pair of them walking in like an ill-fitting couple of weary travelers. The plane ride and airport experience had tired out Ian, and the stress of trying to meet up with his son, and not knowing what to expect, certainly stressed Chad out to the max.

The restaurant had all the perks for a twelve year old boy, video games in the back with his name practically on every one of them. Kids these days—it seemed to Chad that they could not get enough of that high tech stuff. Maybe he was just an oddball, but Chad never got the big deal sitting in front of a screen all day.

Chad watched Ian in frustration as he nearly wolfed down his burger and fries. "Hey, take it easy there, boy", he said. "I know the food here seems pretty descent, but come on!” Chad playfully put his hand on his son's head and tousled his hair and added, "Didn't your mom feed you today?"

"Dad, I want to have time to play video games!" Ian returned. The impatience in his tone was clear. He was a typical kid his age, a very normal tween that was raised in an overload of technology.

"Sure, Ian", Chad agreed. "We got lots of time to do that. But you don't need to rush. No hurries. No worries".

Chad knew he would be the same way at his age, surely if it was something that he had loved—like the drums—but  a nagging feeling crept up in his mind, and he wondered if Ian really wanted to be in his company or if he really wanted a good excuse to be away from him.

It was an easy out to blame Becca and her family, for the relations he had with his son. Becca seemed to do her best to turn Ian against him with her constant criticism, and Chad felt that now he needed to prove himself and undo the damage. But, all in all, he knew he was only making up excuses.

He did the damage all on his own, with no help at all from any one at all—simply by not being there for Ian when he was needed.

Chad finished up his food as his son rushed back to play some of the games. Keeping an eye on him, Chad tried to disguise his own sadness. He stuffed his true emotions down, just as Ian just stuffed down his food, a clever disguise that often came in handy.

Would this father-son thing really work out? Was he only kidding himself that they have a summer of togetherness, of getting to know each other better in some miraculous and beautiful bond? He didn't even know the boy. He didn't. He had to admit that, to understand it for what it really was.

And whose fault was that? The answer was clear. It was clear from the first day he laid eyes on his newborn son. Even though Ian seemed eager to run to the back of the restaurant to play games, he wasn't the one really doing the "running".

It was Chad who ran. He ran out of fear, and still seemed to be running every day.

He would have loved to portray Becca as the culprit—and her mother—that they tried to turn Ian against him. But what that would do is create a war of words, and Ian would be stuck in the middle of it. Nobody ever would win, especially Ian.

Over twelve years ago, Becca couldn't say enough good things about him. She had a huge crush on him since the seventh grade, and when Chad showed interest in her she was thrilled. It certainly helped that he played the drums, but Becca simply though Chad was a great guy , no matter what. Many girls fell for guys in music, followed them around like serious groupies, chased them and hounded them. Becca wasn't like that, but she still was a bit star struck over her drummer boyfriend at her young and impressionable age.

But all that naive puppy love changed when the reality of her pregnancy set in. Chad strongly recalled the look of disgust on his father's face at him when they all sat together for a meeting about what to do about "the problem". Chad's mom and dad sat together on the couch, across from Becca's mom, Judy, and Chad and Becca sat together on the loveseat. Becca was holding his hand, as if for dear life—the last time they ever would hold hands—and Chad never felt so uncomfortable in his whole life.

Any moment he wanted to rip his hand away from Becca, and run out of the house. It took all he had inside to stay put where he was.

Nancy admitted to Judy, "I knew I'd probably be a grandmother some day....I mean with three sons, I expected it to come some day in time". She looked over at her son, "But never like this. Not with my youngest son first...and certainly not at sixteen". Nancy smiled weakly at Chad, a nervous smile of obvious mixed emotions, of disappointment and unconditional love.

Chad looked down at the floor, too ashamed to meet her glance. He never wanted to hurt his mom and put her through this.

Judy began to speak up. She said, "Well, let me tell you that I think...."

"Well, anyone who knows me already knows what I think", Ed quickly chimed in.

Nancy gave him a sharp glance for interrupting, but he proceeded, pointing his finger toward Chad and Becca. "No, let me tell you what I think we should do. No way, shape or form is those two sitting there equipped to be parents. I don't believe in abortion. We are Catholic in this family—not strong churchgoers—but we know what our values are. I say we do what is best all the way around. And I say that we put that baby up for adoption!"

"That's not fair!" Becca shouted out. "You don't even know me!" She turned to Chad for emotional support. He would not take his gaze off his father, glaring at him in his contempt for him.

Nancy began to shake her head with frustration at her headstrong husband, knowing she better brace herself, for this was going to be one of the toughest times of her life. Expecting there to be an all out war soon, she dreaded it like an incurable disease. She felt a huge headache coming on that a jar full of aspirin did not seem sufficient to handle.

"We?" Judy questioned with annoyance. "What do you mean, we? You don't speak for me! You haven't even heard what I want or think! "

Becca started to get tears in her eyes as she squeezed Chad's hand for support. Chad appeared unresponsive, frustrating and frightening Becca as she realized she was losing him, witnessing him slowly slip away from her. He said he loved her once or twice. She said it dozens of times, herself. She always hoped Chad would be on board with her, even if he did not come around at first.

"And what is that?" Ed implored. "You want to help raise this baby? Because that is what you are going to do! Do you think your daughter will raise it? Hell, no! You’d be crazy and naïve to believe that one! She's a kid, for Pete's sake! Take a long, hard look at reality and think what you are in store for if you don't adopt this kid out! You're stuck for the long haul, lady. Believe me! You won't be unstuck for quite a long time and you'll get nothing from me!"

Judy glared at Ed as he seemed to dig his heels harder into the carpeting. Nancy opened her mouth to speak, but Judy beat her to it.  

"You can knock me down, mister, but you watch your mouth about what you say about my daughter and my grandchild! What did you say? This kid? This kid? You mean my unborn grandchild? An obvious burden to a man like you, Ed, dare I say! But you are talking about my flesh and blood here! What gives you the right to look down upon this poor, unborn child?"

"Well, what do you want me to do, Judy? Put on my happy face, like you, and pretend this is wonderful news!" he shot back. "If you think it is OK for your daughter to have a baby at sixteen, then I wonder about you’re state of mind! I wonder what's inside that head of yours! "

"Ed!" Nancy said, sternly. "This woman is not on trial here! It is not our right to judge her!"

Nancy looked at her with sympathy and she implored Judy to speak. So Judy said, "Thank you, Nancy! A true voice of reason! Then she turned her attention back to Ed. "I am not a pathetic idiot, sir! I don't condone what my daughter did, but last I heard getting pregnant is not a crime. How dare to condemn Becca! But I won't and never will!"

"And you shouldn't", Nancy agreed.

"Not that I owe you any explanation, Ed" Judy added, keeping her voice low, but firm and steady, making sure she did not totally lose her cool and give Ed the satisfaction. "But I raised my son and my daughter practically without any help from my ex husband. He left the scene a long time ago and has had almost zero impact in his children's lives ever since. I dealt with it and I go on with life. I finished getting my degree that I never finished before I got married. I have a respectable job teaching school, and I also tutor to make ends meet. I think I did quite fine by my children".

"Oh, really?" Ed sneered, his tone of cool sarcasm practically slapping her in the face "I see what a single parent household did in your situation".

Without so much as blinking an eye, Judy matched Ed, wit for wit. "My daughter didn't get pregnant all by herself. The female may be the one caught with the evidence in her belly, but she never has the luxury of high tailing it outta there when she can't handle it. I think I did a damn good job of raising my children...damn good. Maybe far better than you did with your so called parenting, so get off your high horse and either support my daughter in having her baby... or shut the hell up!"

Becca couldn't take the tension anymore and burst into tears, hoping for Chad to put his arm around her. When he didn't, she cried even harder.

Sitting at the table, watching his son pressing buttons with rapid succession on the video machines, Chad tried not to drudge up those unpleasant memories. Yet being with Ian was often like opening the floodgate that he tried so hard to avoid.

From then on, Chad's life would never be the same. His rift with Becca had just begun that fateful day when he was told about her pregnancy, and the rift even worsened when his parents got together with Becca's mom to discuss what to do. Chad's father and Becca's mother would never settle their differences—the resentment of Ed Brewster, from Judy Morgan, would be firmly fixed. Ed would never see Judy in a respectable light, and certainly not Becca, either. Judy would be forever disappointed with Chad for not taking more responsibility for his actions. And Chad and Ed would be more distant than they ever were, with no closure in sight. Only Nancy Brewster would be able to be the one to reach out, to hold an interest in the baby, to try to win over Judy as a friend. Ed had only seen his grandson twice, while Nancy made all the attempt she that she
could, on Ian’s birthday, on Christmas, or simply because she wanted to see her grandson. Even with all her efforts, the relations between Chad’s mother with Becca, and her mother, were fragile at best.

After the baby was born, Becca remained in school and graduated with the rest of her class. Nancy was proud of her for that, as if she truly was her own daughter-in-law, but Ed wouldn't budge in his opinions. Like her mother, Becca went to college and became a teacher. She taught kindergarten. She certainly could not do it without her mother's help, and her mom threw her heart and soul into helping to raise her grandson. And two years ago, Becca married a man named Tyler Baker and had a baby girl earlier in the year. She named her Hannah Faith.

It was always easy for Chad to get girlfriends. He had plenty of women who would date him, but he did not want a serious relationship, not one that would end up in marriage. Many women wanted to have children, and Chad was not up for that. To be upfront and honest, he had to tell it like it was. He always put his music first, and now he was worried about balancing his time with his career and with his son. Sure, Ian could come with him on some of his gigs, but Chad did not want to treat his son like extra, unwanted luggage in his band.        

And if Ian knew that his father did not really want any more children, would he feel wanted? Would he grow to hate him like he did with his own father?

It was like his mother's voice was often in Chad's head, like a ghost parent. Even though she was miles away, Chad often heard her words of wisdom. He knew what she would say if she were here in this situation now. She would encourage him walk over to his son and hang out with him, not to just be a passive bystander as his son played video games.

It was few years ago when Chad’s father was diagnosed with prostrate cancer. Though he ended up beating it, Chad’s mom used his cancer scare as a perfect opportunity to convince her son to be more in Ian’s life. Always trying to persuade Chad to try to first mend all the fences with his father, she was worried that the two may never put aside their disagreements and hostilities. If almost losing his own father could not shake up her son, she did not know what would.

"I'll never do right in Dad's opinion!" he argued with his mom. "Don't think we will be best friends, Mom! With Mike and Dave, it is a different story. They actually like the guy!"

Nancy put her hands on her hips. "Alright, Chad, alright. You both are truly more alike than you are different", she said. "Both pig headed! Both proud! Both afraid to admit your feelings. Admit it! "

"Mom! Leave it alone!" Ian warned.

Nancy threw her hands up in the air. "OK, I will", she agreed "But let me ask you this? If you are so upset that your dad doesn't want you around, why would you do that to your own son! Think about it! Please don't shut me out when I say you will end up doing the exact same thing to Ian!"

He wanted to argue with her that he did not care what his dad thought of him. And he wanted to be furious at her that she would say that he was be no better with his own son than his father was with him.

But he couldn't disagree, for he would be nothing but a liar.

There were already too many broken relationships in the father department. Becca's father was out of her life, and Chad had nothing but friction with his. His mother could see it clearly, and he'd be a fool not to open his eyes to it. Chad and Ian were headed down the same path that was headed down by Chad—that is if he did not hurry up to attempt to change it. And, one day, if Ian became a father, what kind of role modeling would he have? He would obviously be ill equipped.  

There was also Becca's husband to consider. Now that Ian had a step father, did Chad really want that man to be more of a father to his son than he was? That would be a tragedy.

So Chad listened to those "ghost" voices from past talks with his mom. It was so obvious to him why he watched his son from a distance.  It just seemed safer, easier, and Chad was now feeling ashamed of himself. What right did he have to accuse his father of pushing him away when he was just as guilty with Ian?

The irony of it all—here he was sitting in some restaurant, taking his son to his home, but afraid to be around him.

His mom was right. She often was. Even though he was a grown man, and in no need to be guided by her anymore, Chad never forgot what she had told him . If he did not want to ever listen to his father, he could certainly try to heed the good advice of a woman that he held in high regard. He would gladly call his mother later to tell him he was thankful for what she once told him. She would be thrilled to hear it.

Ian did not see his dad standing behind him. "Hey, Ian, you want to clue me in on some of these games?" Chad asked. "The challenge is up and I aim to win!"

Ian whipped around, looked up at his dad, and smiled a little. "You're on!" he replied.

No, video games were not Chad's thing, but he knew his son was having a good time. They carried on for quite a while, shooting up bad guys, saving the planet from destruction, working their way through death and destruction. Chad enjoyed acting like a kid again with his son, seeing the joy on his face to be in his company. He wanted the moment to last, but the reality was this was only the tip of the iceberg in building their relationship together.

As Chad finally drove Ian to his modest, small house, he knew that being a parent was far from being a friend. Ian would not be able to stay up at any hour, just because his father seemed like a cool, young dad. He couldn't eat fast food morning, noon or night. They couldn't always hang together like best of friends, jamming on the drums because his dad was a rock-n-roller. But he sure didn't want to be like his own father, Ed, the perpetual policeman, fathering with cold, stern discipline and keeping his son away from him.

No matter what he did, Chad feared that he might disappoint his son, that Ian would grow resent his father’s discipline. After all, who was he to tell him what to do? What made him think he was a father now?

When they finally arrived to Chad's house, a black-and-white cat, named Scooter, greeted them at the door. Ian would be sleeping in the spare room, a room with a record player and old 45s, a double bed with a big, colorful, and modern painting of jazz players in New Orleans at the head of it.  

It was definitely the home of a musician, with good stereo equipment and lots of CDs from all genres. There were framed pictures on the living room walls of famous musicians—The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Elvis, and a few from less famous bands, and shots of his own band. There were some smaller instruments adorning one wall—a  banjo, the mandolin, and an old-fashioned lute—and the basement had the real deal. Down there were keyboards, a few guitars, and of course the drums. Not just one set, but there were bongos, and a hand-held Irish drum, called a bodhran.
"Can I try these out?" Ian asked. His face lit up with anticipation. He looked like a kid in a candy store, and the cool thing that this was his dad's candy store.

Chad was thrilled to be able to show his son some drumming, and he was proud of himself, for once, in his relationship with his new and enthusiastic student. Chad played around with the keyboards a bit while he soon handed over control of the sticks to Ian. He had to admit that the kid had potential, and he seemed quite comfortable trying to jam away with his dad.  Ian could be anything he wanted to in life, but Chad did not expect him to have his desires, would not care if he ever picked up an instrument.  It wouldn't be like his own father was with him—his way or the highway.

The sun was beginning to set. There was a beautiful purple-blue glow upon the distant mountains as Chad and Ian sat on the porch deck behind the house. Earlier for dinner, they had grilled hotdogs outside. In spite of his reservations and worries, it was a good day for Chad.

“Did you call your mom again?” Chad asked. “If not, you need to. Then I think you should call your grandma after…both of them”.

“I called mom a few hours ago, Dad”, Ian replied. “Why do you want me to call both my grandmas?”

“Because they would love to hear your voice”. Chad wanted to be fair, and treat everyone equally. They would be tickled to hear from their grandson way out here.

“Do you like being out here with me?”

It was a question that Chad got the nerve up to ask. He was afraid to have it answered, but he would respect Ian’s true opinion.

Ian thought about it for a moment. “I think so”, he replied. “I mean that it is only for the summer. If it was all year round, I’d miss my friends….and mom. And I’d miss my little sister”.

That was fair enough. Chad could respect that. “So you finally have another sibling. You must be happy to have your sister”.

“Yeah, it is nice both ways, I guess. Tyler is good for mom, and she wouldn’t be able to have Hannah without him. She really loves them, and I like to see her happy”.

“And she loves you”, Chad added.

Why couldn’t he say it? Why couldn’t he say, “I love you” without it being some kind of embarrassing and risky thing to say?

“Is Tyler good to you?” Chad asked. Becca always told him that Tyler was more of a father to Ian than he was. This was another question he felt compelled to ask, but uneasy about.

Ian shrugged his shoulders. “He’s OK. He tries to give me as much attention as he does Hannah.” He grinned a little and added, “But he sucks at chess”.

“Chess? You like chess?” Chad was surprised.

“Yeah, I do, but I try to play with Tyler, and he doesn’t act like he knows what he is doing. Can you play?”

“Can I play!? You are looking at the unofficial chess champion here!” he responded, eager to have this commonality with his son. That was the one thing that Chad could honestly say that his own father taught him that he really liked doing. Nobody could picture Chad as a chess man, but he owned a few sets that he had since he was Ian’s age.

They played until it was time for Chad to tell Ian to go to bed. He needed limits just like he was back at home. Chad handed him his cell phone and reminded him to call up his own mother and Becca’s mom. Though it was getting late in Vegas, it was still early enough in Milwaukee to receive a call.  

Later on, an hour or so after Ian fell asleep, Chad slipped into his room to check on him. Yes, his son was still alive and breathing, but it was clear that he was dead tired and sound asleep. Chad’s cat, Scooter, was lying at Ian’s feet, also sound asleep. The sight put a quick smile on his face.

Chad sat on the edge of the bed, wishing to sit and watch his son for a few moments. Light from the hallway filtered into the room, and the breeze blew in through the window. The sound of his son’s breathing was comforting in the dark, quiet of the night.    

What would tomorrow be like? Or the day after? Or the day after that?

Chad still felt nervous about things, even though everything was looking up. Although the day started off well, Chad still felt like a man pretending to be a father, practically like a fraud. He’d have plenty to learn as he went along, for sure. His hesitancy did not diminish.  Plenty of doubts swirled about him in his mind, like dark clouds were above the bed.  He would have loved to call his mother up to seek her help, but he felt he would feel less like a man for it, and more like a boy Ian’s age.

Even though he sat here with his son sleeping securely under his roof, Ian felt so completely alone. He shouldn’t feel this way at all. It didn’t make any sense.. He should be grateful. He should be happy. But he could not shake the feeling all night, like a chill penetrating his bones.

It would be nearly an hour before Chad would rise up off the edge of the bed and go to his own room and his own bed. And the whole night through he lay there, unable to unwind and trying to ward off his lingering, lonely feeling, but without success.

Allen Wilbert Sep 2013


Walking down a path, where no man should ever go,
its dark, cold, damp and I'm moving very slow.
Feeling the walls that are covered in slime,
too many things happening at the same time.
So much hidden deep down in my soul,
not sure if I can escape this black hole.
Things I've done can never be told,
Sometimes life gets put on hold.
If only these things, I could mention,
it would relieve so much tension.
So many things, I just can't say,
if I did I'd be put so far away.
I've reached the point of no return,
next one who gets in my way, I'm gonna burn.
Getting more angry by the minute,
bought some guns in case I have to shoot.
This giant duffle bag is getting quite heavy,
I wish I still had my 57 Chevy.
Back then life was great,
Wife, kids, house, fence with a gate.
Then one stormy night, a car went off the road,
since that night my brain started to overload.
Fell into a deep depression,
lost my job, thanks to the recession.
Lost my house, lost my car,
all my dreams are now to far.
Walked into the place, I used to work,
hated my boss, he was such a jerk.
Grabbed my guns and started to shoot,
all the blood was staring to pollute.
Shot as many as I possibly could,
don't know why, just thought I should.
Losing everything drove me insane,
I'm not making excuses for my brain.
Not long after there were hundreds of police,
there was no offering of a sign of peace.
They barged in and I resisted arrest,
I was shot several times in the chest.
I wanted to die, but always in style,
all I could see was my families smile.
Now we're back all reunited,
I have never been more delighted.
No one I shot that day ended up dying,
just some blood and a lot of crying.

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