Saturday, March 12, 2005

With all those bodies breezing about out there it was destined to happen. Doug and Marsha got together. Warm skin against warm skin caused blood flowing parallel to tepid blood to sizzle in the veins. A mile-high feeling of dizzying ecstasy charged through them. With each pelvic thrust they shot into unfolding realms of altitude, hotly defying the futile "no's" of gravity. The carnal splendor saw them swirling through boundless tangents, an intertwining one with the stratosphere.

Subsequent to an extremely bumpy ride George inspected his jet car, wiping clouds from the chassis. It never ceased to astonish him how the random formations invariably culminated in some kind of meaningful gestalt.

Story #184

The reader stories have all been reposted at

Friday, March 11, 2005

Instructor: He's dead.
Trainee 1: Oh God, what'd you do to him.
Instructor: Only what was necessary. I have it down to a science.
Trainee 2: It's evil.
Instructor: It's lateral thinking: acupuncture, Kama Sutra and massage technique, a little of each. They give us a g-point. Guys have a d-circuit. But it's not easy to complete.
Trainee 1: Wish I'd been better in math.
Instructor: See, guys can't have multiple orgasms like we do. There's this protective mechanism, because the male heart can only stand so much. But nature gave us an override.
Trainee 2: How does it work?
Instructor: First of all bring him to the brink, and dangle him there.
Trainee 1: And then?
Instructor: Then there are these two nerves: one ends in his big toe, the other ends at the base of the skull. Read your acupuncture. So you're on him like a figure eight, if you get my drift. Usually it's pretty quick, and completely non-violent.
Trainee 1: Yeah, there's something humane about it, but it leaves such a mess afterwards.
Trainee 2: If they had black belts in love, they'd surely give you one.
Instructor: All right. Enough digressing. Put out your cigarettes and let the taxidermy lesson begin!

Story #183

Thursday, March 10, 2005

The two cave girls sat at the monitor, staring into the webcam they had found. They were highly adaptive creatures. They didn't even need stones to knock out the scientist who had reached back in time via laser verberations to grab them into the present. They were subtler. They slyly let their rocks scatter onto the transfer platform where they had materialized. As the scientist stepped into the circle to clear the rubble away they rushed to the panel and pressed all the buttons they had seen him press. Now, at the control PC, they watched him back in their era playing with their pet mastadon. But it didn't like him very much. It was trying to step on him. Finally it chased him out of camera range and the screams that subsequently filtered through showed that he had stumbled upon their house cat, the one with the scythe-like teeth. The two ingenious specimens of the stone age quickly set up shop in the 21st century, downloaded some mp3's, camouflaged the time platform as a hip hop disco, and turned their attention towards boys. Hunting was so much easier on the Internet, and with their bare shoulders and coquettish smiles they could easily lure over and send back all the boys their pet cat could eat.

Story #182

Note from Indeterminacy: This is part one of a two part set. Part two is here.

Special thanks to Becca for contributing the photo!

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

This would be an all-nighter. Programmer Frank and engineer Barnes were struggling to get the system working.

"This is the second brunette it's generated," stated Barnes in an irritated growl, "What's wrong with the friggin' thing?"
"Let me try a new parameter matrix with split radix primes," Frank replied, grasping at straws.
"That's how I got the broad with the dog on her lap," issued from Barnes' exasperated expression.

The Blondex 3200 was a complex and temperamental piece of equipment for the generation of easy-going, easy-to-handle, and most of all just plain easy blondes for modern mating purposes. But something had gone wrong. Now the girls it generated were complex and temperamental.

"Can't we just try something with these girls?" Frank interrupted Barnes who was typing desperately at the console.
"You try. They won't let anyone touch them. That girl with the long hair slapped me."
"What about the other one? I mean her dog has sort of blondish hair. Maybe she's gentler."
"She sicced the dog on me!"

Barnes clattered some more on the console, manipulated the system parameters then clicked the generation button. Both men waited expectantly. There was a zapping sound.

"We've lost the motherboard," Barnes said in a giving up tone of voice.
"Look, Barnes, this is going nowhere. But I have an idea."
"How about we say some nice things to the girls. Take them out to dinner, dancing, conversation. You know, the way it used to be. And if they don't come around, well, maybe they're clever enough to help us get the Blondex working again."

Story #181

Thanks to Irma "Audra" Vep for the photo!

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Before leaving her abode for the "Who's Real" contest her thoughts spiraled into self-doubt. Soon she would pit her make believe existence against two living human contestants. On live national television! She'd done everything to conceal her artificiality. She'd put on make-up. She'd memorized the refrain of a top ten love song, practiced relating her aspiration: "I've always wanted to write a poem." She even planned the effect of a tear rolling down her cheek. But what if they saw beneath the surface? Saw the fiberglass weavings under her fragile, skin-colored veneer? It meant so much to her to win. Once they had certified her as real, she could do what real people did: share intense, one-time conversations with chance acquaintances, go shopping at Wal-Mart, use a cell phone and all the other mysterious and wonderful rituals accessible only to people with hearts and souls. At the studio she lost her way and wandered onto the set of a soap opera. Something about her, some searching look in her eye, struck the director. She was immediately given a role, returned each day to live out her new life with her new friends. And it was a sensation. The soap opera's ratings shot into double digits. Sacks bursting with fan mail arrived for the new character. Men basked in fantasies about her. Women all over the world saw her and wanted to be just like her.

Story #180

Monday, March 07, 2005

Mr. Peavey didn't mind taking his wife to the mall. Sure her tryings-on of every article of female covering with a three-digit price were about as fun to watch as a filibuster, but Peavey knew a secret. On the other side of the mall there was always some hot entertainment going on: scantily clad females whirling through the kind of motions that never failed to intrigue males. Peavey made his usual excuse. He would inquire at the travel agency about all the wonderful places he could take his dear partner-for-life on their next anniversary. As soon as she vanished inside the changing booth Mr. Peavey fairly galloped to the show and watched entranced, face glowing like a little boy at Christmas who found not one but two bicycles under the tree. He daydreamed as his eyes followed the gyrating bodies and his mind whirled on the nuances of the tropical dance. He would have to suggest an island cruise to Mrs. Peavey, and this time he would gladly come along with her. Unfortunately Mr. Peavey did not notice his wife sneaking up behind him. He also did not notice the mall wastebasket crashing down on his head. The dancing girls noticed, but didn't allow it to break their concentration. They were used to this sort of thing.

Story #179

Saturday, March 05, 2005

Only three had come to share in the farewell. And soon it would be officially over. The camera and other equipment were destined for a film museum, the seats were too old to interest anyone anymore. Everything else had been promised away to the usual caring scavengers catching wind of a cache of history. The beam of light through celluloid streamed from the projector across the span of the theater, spreading out into moving images on the screen. Victor, who sat towards the back, nodded off, lulled by the sound of the organ music accompanying the antique visuals of a silent movie. His dream became a spark of light mingling with the light of the diva flowing through the air. It gave her life and form flavored by his modern imagination. He awoke as the film ended, the dream but a vague memory. He left with the others, but in one hidden corner of the soon to be abandoned theater slumbered the diva he had created, waiting to be imagined again.

Story #178

Once again, I'm overwhelmed by all the story versions you dear people contributed! Thank you very much. It's fascinating how each person saw this photo in a different way. The stories will be posted at tomorrow morning.

Friday, March 04, 2005

Karla had just been kissed. And it caused a minor sensation. Except in Karla, where the sensation was decidedly major. Her shoulders hunched up and she staggered for a moment. But even then she could not open her eyes, as all her fantasies focused on the lingering residue of erogenous feeling. Everyone saw the affects of the kiss, but no one actually saw who it had been. One moment she was dancing alone and the next her lips glistened with a coating of fresh saliva. Perhaps it was magic, but Karla knew she had to have that boy. She opened her eyes and issued the demand that all boys present line up to recreate what had just occurred. The one whose kiss she recognized would be the recipient of..., well, of her. Just as the boys began assembling for their moment of tenderness something odd happened. They began slipping, bumping into each other, and running into trees. In the midst of all this chaos an invisible force grabbed her by the hand, jerking her forward on unsure steps, whisking her behind a rock. That's when her guardian angel introduced himself to her and apologized. Watching over her day and night, protecting her from harm, was nice to do. But her lips, her desirable lips had tempted him too long. He had to allow himself this one little slip.

Story #177

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Vance and Vera invited an inflatable man to their house. When he arrived they sat him down on the sofa and ran through their act of hospitality. Refreshments were served, cake and coca cola. A half an hour went by gilded with small talk banalities. They conversed on the subject of helium-filled balloons. They asked him where he got his air. They inquired if he would like some fresh air at their window, a baldly audacious gesture, as the nearby highway billowed smog at tragic levels, and of course they knew that. The inflatable man had already noticed the bad air but concealed his perception, for fear of insulting his hosts. But his hosts were perceptive enough, especially now, and well aware that he had held his breath upon arriving, not that that concerned them. Nevertheless the inflatable man was becoming sluggish. He felt giddy and unable to move. The nitrous oxide Vance had carbonated into the coke and the aromatic glue solvents Vera stirred into the cake mix had done their job well. Before long he was defenseless. At sunset, heralded by the chimes of the wall clock, Vance and Vera fell upon their guest and sucked all the air out of his paralyzed form.

Story #176

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Harvey became the first soul in theological history to demand expulsion from heaven. He was a masochist who couldn't come to terms with the paradisiacal pleasures heaven had to offer. They tossed him from the cloud to a harp fanfare and waves of good riddance. A short time later he toppled into hell, which Satan had just made over into an icy wasteland. Satan wanted a change and the frostbite burns of absolute zero were just as delightful to him as the seared flesh of brimstone. Harvey landed naked and shivering before a horde of demonettes poised to pelt his unprotected body with snowballs. But this was, after all, hell. Masochist or not, Harvey had to suffer. Despite his pitiful begging, the demonic mistresses never let fly their sensual pellets of coldness, but followed him around, feinting imaginary blows. As for pain, if Harvey wanted pain, he could have pain. Satan, ever the opportunist, put him to work shoveling snow.

Story #175

Note from Indeterminacy:
This is part two of a three part set. Part one is here. The prequel is here.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Harvey awoke to the sound of harp strings strummed by unseen hands. It made him nervous. He saw beatific angels all around him in cute little heaven costumes. They approached him smiling, anticipating desire unfulfilled in the new arrival. Harvey was too stunned to even say a prayer.

"We brought you something to drink"
"Would you like a massage after your exhausting death?"
"Shall we give you a kiss bath?"
"Oh it's sooo warm up here. Won't you help us out of these clothes?"
"Don't let our angelic appearance fool you. We're used to more than missionaries."

Harvey began to tremble. The heavenly servents came nearer.

"Don't be afraid, we're your personal angels."
"We're going to share you among ourselves for the rest of eternity."
"And teach you the meaning of divine pleasure..."
"On our own private little cloud..."
"We call it Cloud Sixty-Nine."
"You'll have no more pain, forever and ever and ever..."

Harvey was having trouble holding up under the barrage of well-meant seduction. He broke down whimpering on the cloud.

"We know this is a bit much all at once."
"Please don't cry."
"Take a nap if you like, and we'll play with your sleeping body."

"No!" his primal scream echoed through the ethereal setting. "Send me to hell," he cried between sobs, his pounding fists caught up tenderly in the soft cumulus carpet, "I'm a masochist."

Story #174

Note from Indeterminacy:
This is part one of a two part set. Part two is here. The prequel is here.