Flashers by john e

Watch
© 2006

Imagine you're invisible, following a couple you know nothing about, trailing them through city streets. There's animated non-stop talk and laughter, and beyond that bright hunger. They enter a hotel, right into its lift. They kiss long there—claw more than embrace, filling the small elevator and bouncing off its walls.

Imagine these strangers in their room, and you right there. Watch: they don't stop to undress. He unzips and exposes; she lifts her skirt and fingers her panties aside.

And you? You are watching closely as this couple forgets the world in perfect spasms, anonymous. And you are invisible.

Another Thursday Night
© 2003

I'll admit I shook, sneaking through the back door of Sylvia's Bookstore. We came on leather, slapped ass with pulp. Her cheerless hair matured to whips. Scary. Later I dined with corporate cutie Sarah, and we ran into crazy cabbie Sue. I used the tension, made suggestions. I called in sick the next day. Sam came over, wanted to move in. She likes humiliation, and sucking me off.

All this is the God's honest truth; be dumbfounded, but believe it. Someone once told me water swirls around a drain the opposite way down South. I'll admit I staggered for days.

After the Fact
© 2003

"Fucking you on the floor like that brings back our desert motel."

"What a dump! But mmm, you fucked me wild and long!"

"A kiss for remembering."

"That horrid room affected us somehow; anyway ass-burn can be so stimulating—like in Cortlandt Woods."

"In the dirt there you lost it, like our first time—remember that old Pinto?"

"Nothing else mattered."

"Not even that cramp. You reminded me of Sharon—her leg shook too."

"She dated my brother one summer. I kissed her once."

"Nice tonight, fucking on the floor."

"So in-the-moment."

"I remember the first time you said that...."

Jack's Stutter
© 2002

Tough coming up. Lots of mocking, sure. Once in a while, a girl. On paper I could be eloquent, but my speech was a scream.

Mona didn't mind the stutter. When I talked a lot she'd be quiet, withdrawn. Sometimes she'd tease me and I'd stutter, and she'd float through the crowd, thinking of something. Intimately we lived; we pleased each other and ourselves. In bed she whispered "Talk Jack, keep talking Jack.” I stammered out the madness Mona made me feel, in short breaths stolen from between her legs. I stuttered into her; she pleaded "Yes, keep talking Jack.”

Something Different
© 2001