Amanda Earl

Dirty Little Religion

My new master was a lapsed Catholic. He forked over the five buck admission fee to the Notre Dame Cathedral. Nuns hovered in back, saying rosaries. He ushered me to a pew overlooking a statue of Jesus on the cross. Placed my hand on the bulge in his jeans, I knew what... read more

The Storywriter

There once was a man who wrote stories. Some readers were shocked and angered by his stories and called for their censorship and ban, while quite a few were confused and dismissed the works without giving them a second thought. Still others were disturbed by them. The... read more

The Travellers

Carleton folded his white Oxford shirt into the brown leather carry on bag, smoothed down his suit and left the apartment. Michael spread Philadelphia cream cheese on Ritz crackers. It had to be Philadelphia. It had to be Ritz. Richard called a taxi. Marthe lay naked... read more

Unraveling the Threads of an Ordinary Life

“I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I cannot transform into something marvelous, I let go.... read more


Death. The noose tightening around my neck. The act of strangulation as I’m coming. A leather cord constricting my cock, the blood swelling and making it hard. If I’m lucky, it’ll just fall the fuck off. And then these voices will be gone. One makes... read more

Sir North

He told me to meet him in the park, wearing only a flimsy top and skirt, no underwear, no bra. I walked from my apartment to the park across the street from the beer store, passing the old drunks, who leered at my nipples stiffening in the cool breeze of an early... read more

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