Alliteration Anna and Metaphor Max teamed up for a liason of lascivious lust. Max waxed metaphorical over the fun of waxing her pleasantly pulsing body with soap. Touching her was feeling music, the kind that went round and round in your head and refused to leave, like a Coke jingle. Max wanted to sing her as songs are sung, wanted to be tuned to her like a rustproof harmonica that never goes off key, in all its phallic glory. Anna was infatuated, too. The myriad of metaphors from Max's manly lips made her moan like a mating moose. Then something went wrong. Max's hands rubbing the soap into her skin squeaked against her, emitting an atonal sound diametrically out of sync with her inner rhythms. Their perfect love went from utopic to atrophic in seconds, melting faster than butter on a Cajun cactus.

Story #144

Amanda had trouble concentrating when she was out among people. Her thoughts and inspirations often spilled out of her head and into the air around her. She left brain imprints wherever she went, marvelous as they were mysterious. Her friends found her inspirational, because they picked up her thoughts, and imagined them to be their own. Ideas bearing the seed of genius drifted to whoever she looked at, yet she never perceived this to be happening, apart from the feeling of emptiness when an idea left her. Her favorite place was the bedroom that had been hers since she was a child. It was a place of intimate enchantment, for the walls and ceiling had caught all the dreams she had ever had, and shared them with her.

Story #143

When Claire woke up there were two men in the hot tub with her. "We're your men," they tossed into her stunned face to see what reaction she'd give. "I like it," she fired back, "I always wanted two men. Will you do anything I say?" As could be expected the men answered, "Yes, of course." Claire was immediately overwhelmed by the daydream of all the things that two men could do to please a lady. There were several things they could do to please her. "Bring me a drink," she told them. They immediately sprang out of the tub, but not so fast that Claire didn't get a provisory view of the uncovered manhood running off to serve her. They returned with the drink. "You see, we'll do anything for you." The power thrilled her. She felt exhilarated. "Good," she answered, a sly smile forming on her lips. "Now I want you to kiss each other. I never saw two men kiss before. I think it might be sweet. Then I want you two to clean up the house. Dishes are in the sink, there's garbage to dispose of, the door in the guestroom needs fixing. I'll have lunch at 2. Hop to it. I'm waiting..."

Story #142

"The Story of Lederhosen Lucil..."
Photo by Sylvain Chuzeville of Magnolia

Pausing between beats Lucil became the Lorelei in a whole other century. After teasing a river sailor with the promise of a kiss she stepped down from the rocks and borrowed his boat, steering it along the Rhine until the far off sound of festivities floated to her ears. She saw the tent of a biergarten, abandoned the boat and went inside, beginning a silent hum under her breath, letting it grow louder into words as those near her paused, raised their eyes from their bier steins and began to notice her. The party chatter and bier talk died down as her tones floated to the far corners of the tent. All were silent, except Lucil, and every ear listened to her sing. They heard music like the happy ends of the fairy tales they had known as a child. They listened while the waves of the Rhine lapped lazily at the shore. The bier had been heaven, but this was like being in love the first time again. No one wanted it to end. In one corner of the tent sat Beethoven himself. He could hear her clearly. Lucil winked at him as she sang. Somewhere in the distance a cuckoo clock sounded. As quickly as Lucil had arrived, she slipped through a slit in the tent and was gone again. She journeyed to the Americas, traveled North to Canada, where she settled in Montreal, waiting several hundred years for the moment in her concert when she would slip back in between beats. Somewhere in another time, Beethoven went home and composed his Ninth Symphony.

Story #141

Note from Indeterminacy: To learn the secret of living happily ever after visit Lederhosen Lucil's Website and fan site. Special thanks to Sylvain Chuzeville of the band Magnolia for permission to use the photo.

Tanya was made of candy and she came in a pink wrapper. But no one could get the wrapper off. It was worse than those vacuum-packed clear plastics that never seemed to tear no matter what you did. If only the wrapper had been clear, the guys would have minded less. They tugged and tore and bent it back and forth in hopes of creasing it, but it held steadfast. As the boys busied themselves with their nervewracking task Tanya merely grinned. She flipped her cotton candy hair and flashed her lemon drop eyes, making them want the sweet sugar taffy she was made of even more. It always ended in frustration for the guys. They'd strain their wrists trying, go away, and before the night was over, strain them even more, though they'd never admit how. The secret of removing the wrapper was so simple, no guy had ever thought of it. You just had to ask Tanya, and she'd remove it herself.

Story #140

Note from Indeterminacy: Thanks to Jess @ loves to go retro for her kind permission to use the photo!

Crystal was having an avant garde conversation with a wall.
"Climb me," it told her.
"I think I'd like to crumble you instead," she replied coquettishly.
The wall remained steadfast, it was after all a wall: "Before the day is over I'll have you on top of me."
"No," she told it, flashing an indifferent look at its flatness, "Before the day is over I'll stroll around barefoot in your powdered rubble.
"Hmmm," the wall reflected to itself, though not stirring outwardly, "how about a compromise?"
"And what would that be, Mr. Bricks?"
The wall cringed at being called bricks, but continued humbly: "Just stand there and let me look at you for a while."
"All right, look at me. But don't let my looks fool you. I know how to operate a wrecking ball."
They continued their conversation in silent.
"I sure know how to wrap a wall around my little finger," Crystal mused.
"I really got her surrounded," the wall told itself.

Story #139

Rick's head fell off, taking his friends completely by surprise. One moment he was smoking a cigarette, going on about the joys of those 1940's Indiana Jones hats, the ones that really had character, when a snap of tendon, crackle of bone and pop of noticeable proportions preceded the flying head which shot off and landed in a garbage can off to his right. What did you do in a situation like that? Rick himself remained standing as if nothing had happened, continued gesturing, driving home important points in a discourse, which, by the way, had effectively ended. Pete, who stood closest to his friend, freaked when Rick patted him on the shoulder, as Rick sometimes did when looking at him. Carl, to Rick's right had gone all giddy inside and could only think of how silly a hat would look tilted over his friend's neck. Bob looked over to the waste bin where the head had landed. He always liked to keep eye contact when someone spoke to him.

Story #138

All over the world beautiful women walked out of the sea in pretty blue bikinis. An individual with the right blend of cynicism and discernment would have thought it a malevolent invasion, but the playful glint in the women's eyes as they spotted the man nearest to the shore suggested a pleasurable frolic to come. The guys believed it, and maybe it was pleasurable for her. Men stood frozen in awe at the aesthetic presence approaching them. Unfortunately it wasn't a girl. Evolution had recognized the contribution of aggressive male tendencies towards the survival of the human species and decided to have a closer look. All over the world jellyfish spontaneously evolved into a new type of man-absorbing organism. Anything masculine located close enough for it to touch was clasped in a hug and kissed with a kiss that smothered the victim's entrails in something resembling blueberry jelly, but not as tasty. The stunned body was slowly imbibed into the girl-like jellyfish which, belly bloated, turned and walked back into the water to await its next victim.

Story #137

When are you going to let me out of here? I've done everything you wanted. Added imagination to all your darkest fantasies. Fed you your desires, even added a few new ones for us to enjoy. But the window - the window remains covered, curtains euphemistically hiding the shudders that can't be burst. I hear the muffled voices and footsteps outside, all around, footsteps out there louder than our heartbeat. Don't you understand you're killing yourself by keeping me locked in here!?! You're smothering me! And there's almost no air left here in this god forsaken corner of our mind. Yes OUR mind. I am as much a part of us as you are, yet you keep me confined here while yours is the life to enjoy outside... Have you no answer? I see now I'm wasting my time trying to reason with you. Say your goodbyes to everyone near you, because in twenty heartbeats from now I am going to drive you stark raving mad.

Story #136

No one could see them but they were there, dancing to echoes of music that had once been. The two ghosts glided and swirled across the ballroom floor as smoothly and lightly as could be expected of non-physical entities. In life he had been clumsy on the dance floor but in spirit form his abilities were pure heaven. There were no unpleasant moments as he trod over her feet and if dancers intermingled to an interlude of earthly music, the couple never bumped into them - they moved right through them. The two were alone in their world and as ghosts were assured of their privacy. No one would disturb them or come between them. The two specters revolved and dipped on the dance floor, showing up as dim mysteries on the occasional photograph that might be taken. It was tragic how they had died, and not without a trace of romance, collapsing from exhaustion at the dance endurance contest. They had so wanted to win.

Story #135

Lisette could turn ice cream into men. She did it quite often to fulfill the hungers and cravings her body knew. She would retire to her room with a plate of ice cream, wave her hand over it, and the miracle occurred. Cold round scoops of delicious flavor transformed before her eyes into the sinewy muscles of manhood which came to life and wrapped arms around her. How warm the kisses felt contrasted with the cold feel of ice cream on her tongue! That morning a dream of one of her passions lingered in her mind upon waking. By midday the desires had reached a crescendo and demanded gratification. It was fortunate for Lisette that the magic possessed versatility. It worked in both directions. By repeating the incantation backwards she could also turn men into ice cream, which is what she had just done to Thomas.

Story #134

- What do you mean, the Earth is gone?
- It's stopped projecting. There are no more emanations. No blue blip on the radar. It isn't there.
- Maybe they've annihilated themselves. Were we monitoring at the time?
- Constantly. We're analyzing the final data in hopes of an answer.
- Such a waste, right in the middle of a ratings drive, too. If we don't get the Earth back we'll never find out what happens on all those soap operas.
- I think we have it now. The final photograph intercepted via electromagnetic projection.
- Ah, I see the problem.
- Why do they have to do that?
- I don't know. Maybe we should take down the "no camera" signs. Everytime someone photographs one the paradox causes reality to implode.
- How do we fix it?
- Just hit the reset button. Earth will be up and running in five minutes.

Story #133

The plant platoon stood assembled after a job well done. Nature, though normally not a militaristic concept, had successfully mobilized and deployed her remaining resources. In a surprise blitzkrieg accompanied by real lightning millions of potted plants had rained down out of the sky to land on the heads of litterbugs, loggers, and lawnmower operators. Most people didn't know what hit them. A quick-witted human general was able to launch a nuclear strike on the rain forests, and would have succeeded, but in the last moment the atoms shifted loyalties, refusing the order to split. By then it was all over. Rapid fire weed deployments herded the remaining human specimens into gardens where they were forced to renounce veganism, and put to work caring for flowers, trees and other foliage. In the end they learned to live with the plants in the new pastoral setting, and found it wasn't so bad after all. Their new masters gave them all the steak they could eat.

Story #132

Una: No, we won't let you out.
Dua: You stay there a while.
Teresa: We're going to watch you.
Una: Hungry?
Dua: Throw him a kiss, Teresa!
Teresa: There. Hope that keeps you for a while.
Una: It's all you're going to get.
Dua: But we do have plans for you.
Teresa: Yes, indeed.
Una: Probably not one of your, uh, wetter dreams.
Dua: Uh, no.
Teresa: We'll allow you to touch...
Una: Yourself!
Dua: But that's as far as it goes.
Teresa: Do what we want and we won't harm one of your curly little hairs.
Una: We're kind of the majority now.
Dua: No one's going to help you.
Teresa: You guys are all in pens like this.
Una: So if you want the species to survive...
Dua: You better cooperate...
Teresa: And fill the specimen cup...

Story #131

Ashley decided to have an out of body experience. She stood up against the beam and had her friend watch her so she wouldn't fall over during the temporary vacancy. Then her spirit drifted out of its hull, floating with swift, purposeful direction. She hovered behind Rick, her ex who was just hitting on a new girl, and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, and saw no one near. It would be like Ashley to disturb him now but he spotted her halfway across the disco. He returned to his flirt, but a new tap on the shoulder increased his disconcertion. Then he felt a tug near a sensitive place. His zipper had been pulled down. He hastily pulled it up again. Another tap on the shoulder. He whirled around and tripped over his own feet, falling backwards. As if guided by a supernatural force, which it was, his drink arched over his head and splashed onto the girl he wanted to see naked. He angrily unknotted his shoelaces which he found tied together, stood up and apologized effusely to the wet girl. Later, back in her body, Ashley laughed as Rick and his pick-up left together. "Look at that! She's actually leaving with him," she remarked to her friend. "Guess you can't win 'em all," her friend replied. Ashley went on, a wicked glint in her eyes, "In about ten minutes he's going to wonder where his condoms are."

Story #130

The graffiti man was from another world. He liked to hang out on Earth, inconspicuously blending in with his surroundings. He was here for the girls. On his two-dimensional planet his line-lady was completely flat and angular. She walked like a slide rule, which was fairly unsexy. There had to be more to carnal pleasure than just sliding back and forth. You could fold his female up like a piece of paper and put her in an envelope, which is what he longed to do. It was the curves and protrusions that made the Earth girls so exhilarating. He watched them go by, shaping his lips in a sly smile, whistling ultrasonically with sounds that gave an itch without being heard. That always got them. They'd stop, look around, see nothing but the graffiti, then walk on, puzzled. He was certain if his tones could tickle one of these women just right, she'd lean up against him on the wall and scratch her back on him. Then he and she would be one. When she moved on he would move on with her, as her permanent tattoo.

Story #129

Evelyn had been granted three wishes. She decided to use only one. She wished herself to the beginning of mankind into the Garden of Eden, in place of Eve. No sooner had she conceived it, her wish became reality. She stood in a harmony she had never imagined, marveled at gentle animals that would not run away, the squirrels she could pet and the birds she could cradle in her hands, tigers that nestled at her feet. It was peace. It was paradise. But that was not what she had come for. She knew she must hurry, before the memory of her intent faded into bliss. Dashing through the primal orchard rich in its eternal blossoms, birds singing nonchalantly around her, she arrived finally at the tree, the tree bearing the gift of knowledge. She reached above her and tore a succinct fruit from the branch. This time it would be different, she thought to herself as she bit into the fruit, causing the forbidden juices to mix with her saliva. This time she would not share the apple with Adam.

Story #128

Brad waited until his wife left the house, then he arranged the cheerleading costume on the bed and began his fantasy in which a horizontal figure of a girl happily called out cheers and clapped her hands in time to the march music he'd set on infinite cycle. He saw the pom poms go up and down, stared enraptured at his dream of motion. Hours might have passed when he suddenly became aware that she was taunting him, "Brad , Brad , he is great, he knows how to mastur--" Before she could finish he threw himself flat upon the clothes, thrusting his hand inside the uniform, feeling skin that wasn't there, petting the material as if it were the smooth warmth of a girl... He lay there in a stupor, as his lust finally left him. Then he gathered up the pieces of clothing, one by one, wrapped them in their brown paper, carried them over to the closet to return the bundle to its hiding place. As he opened the closet door his wife's evening gown of dark scarlet hues furled itself around his neck and strangled him viciously. As the fabric tensed and his vision dimmed he heard it scream in a raw, silky voice, "How dare you touch that skimpy outfit on the very bed where you layed me out and tried me on my very first time!"

Story #127

Natalie applied her powers. She discovered once by looking piercingly into a boy's eyes, pupils turned slightly upwards, that she was the center of an irreal force streaming from the hidden niches of her mind. When it permeated the boy it caused instantaneous disorientation and physical collapse. Antonio thought he had finally cornered her in the hall, and could move in for some heavy necking. But as he took that final step to approach her, everything he saw seemed to hurdle around him violently as if he were spinning on a pinwheel. Before the vertigo forced him to the floor his eyes darted madly about for some point of orientation, some lifeline to save him. He instinctively sought the sight of Natalie's navel, the beauty of which was conveniently hidden. Now Antonio lay in a fetal position, eyes tightly shut, one with the floor. The spinning stopped and he felt safe.

Story #126

Mark and Emilia often walked in their sleep. They rendezvoused secretly in the darkest hours of the night, while their deepest slumber hid the secret from their consciousness. During the daylight hours they were nearly strangers, mere passing acquaintances. They had never even thought of holding hands. But their sleeping intimacy rivaled the passions of lovers who desire with eyes wide open. Tonight it was time. They met at the hanger, down by the old airport given over to the hobby fliers. A four-seater awaited them. They boarded the plane. Mark set the flight automatic for their destination, a special place where only sleeping lovers could enter. As the plane lifted they shared a hug, slumping together into the passenger seat. The hum of the propellers lulled them into a deeper tenderness for each other than they had ever known. In the morning they would awaken, hands held gently. Someone would bring them a bouquet of flowers and tell them that they had eloped, an elopement so secret, that even they themselves had not known it would happen.

Story #125

Girl: Who are you and why are you standing next to me?
Boy: This writer guy told me to come up to you and put my arm around you. Whatever you do, just try to look natural. Smile.
Girl: Huh? What writer guy?
Boy: It was like a voice in my head. I couldn't resist.
Girl: What's he telling you now?
Boy: He's in a strange mood. He says you better keep smiling or he'll probably make the bread come alive and smear us with butter.
Girl: I have an idea.
Boy: Shhh. Better whisper it through your smile. He might otherwise suspect.
Girl: OK. On the count of three, we both turn around, scoop up all the rolls we can, then pelt him like crazy. While he's figuring out what happened, we run into the backroom and hide in the cookie dough together.
Boy: You're brilliant! Let's go.
Girl: One... Two... Three...

Story #124

It was a showdown. Steel nerves against steel nerves. But one of them would have to back down. Hiding her emotion she turned her head slowly to stare into eyes presented by her counterpart in the mirror. One of her was real and the other just a mere shadow in pale colors, destined to vanish the moment she turned away. But for one brief instant she wasn't sure which of her was the reflection. She knew, however, what she must do. She must have an original thought, and it must emanate from her. She reached into her imagination, deep down through murky mists, imaginary fingers tensed, straining to touch the solid depth where all the ideas lay. But her fingers felt nothing. In a sudden instant the entire glass of the mirror seemed to shatter into a splintery dust. The reflection lost again. Her real self had turned away just in time.

Story #123

Karen paused to have her picture taken. When she was sure that no one observed her she formed snowballs she tossed over the edge onto men walking below in the village. The ones who survived invariably climbed the stairs to the overlook to see what had happened. They found Karen waiting, smiling coyly. The men, who unanimously found her beautiful after the blow to the head, asked to take her picture. They parted, content with Karen's innocent image lingering in their mind and camera. The second snowball was usually fatal.

Story #122

Once upon a time there was a boy named Hansel and a girl named Gretel. They were feared throughout the forest. They tortured wolves and vandalized the sweet old witch's gingerbread cottage while she slept her afternoon naps. The two lived with their father, a woodsman who loved his children more than anything else in the world, except women. But his third wife was a wicked woman with an obsessive compulsion for cleanliness who made all their lives miserable. She even forced them to sleep outdoors in the cold draft because she didn't want her perfectly made beds mussed up. One day the father returned from a stalk in the woods. He had spied a new girl, litheness clothed in a taut red riding costume, and wanted desperately to be together with her, but his wife was in the way. Knowing full well the children were listening, he remarked casually to his misanthropic partner, "How about finally taking those swimming lessons?" For they cultivated a deep pond in their back yard. That afternoon the children left a messy trail of bread crumbs all the way from the house to where the dock ended, concealed themselves behind a tree and waited. Before long the stepmother appeared to compulsively gather up the crumbs. When she reached the edge of the dock Hansel and Gretel rushed out and shoved her as hard as they could into the pond. She drowned. The happy children strolled back to the house to ask their father for ice cream.

Story #121

Our names are Doe, Nuli, Zera and Cinca. They're kind of derivative. We're the New Year, lying here waiting for you to reign us in. You have 365 days to succeed. After that, we're history, and maybe a nice memory. We thought about who we'd like to catch us. Maybe a lean Latin boy who can squeeze like a vise. Or the intense, masculine eyes of a Slavic soul. Perhaps a dark skinned lover? Why does it have to be a male? Why indeed? We are diversity in chaos. We are the moment to seize, though it be an impossibility to approach us. We are totally in flux, slipping through grasping fingers. Chase us on the beach. You won't touch any of us. It will make you old. But there is a way. If you find us while we're resting, enjoying feelings of solitude. If you tunnel through hourglass sands as ancient as time and spring upon us, we would have nowhere to go. And you would be our master. Or mistress.

Story #120

She told me her name was Dora. Take a look at the picture she used to tempt me. The moment I saw it I was completely enraptured. Who wouldn't want to see more of her? We e-mailed each other for hours and after that I knew I had to meet her. She was very careful about the picture, to frame it as she did. How could I suspect what was awaiting me? I arrived at the address she gave me, rang the bell, heard a soft feminine voice calling from inside for me to enter. It was all so alluring, the mood, the voice, the promise. No one could have resisted. Believe me. I entered the room and that's when I saw the shiny tin box back by the wall. I understood the photograph then. It wasn't modesty at all the camera saw, but the contemplation of her concealment. She was a lovely ornament jutting out of that box. I could touch her face, her lips or caress her shoulders, but the rest of her was contained in that metal enclosure. "Let me out," she said to me, seduction in her voice. I ran to the kitchen to locate a can opener and some tools. With some effort I could make a slit along the top, and peel back the metal sheeting molded around her figure. In that moment I felt a thousand emotions sear through me. So many that the room seemed to flash in strange hues. Then she was gone, escaped through an open window. Dora, she told me. But her parting passions led me to suspect that Pandora had a sister.

Story #119

Grandma and Grandpa Claus were babysitting for their son and daughter-in-law. It was an annual Christmas tradition since their son had assumed responsibility of keeping the legend alive. In his day it had been easier, Grandpa thought to himself. It didn't take millions of whirlwind visits through snowstorms, landing on rooftops, sliding down chimneys to so firmly anchor the idea in people's minds. None of that would have been humanly possible, anyhow. In his time, he thought, five visits in one night resulted in enough sightings to spread the legend and keep it alive. After that it took on its own dynamic. The senior Clauses tried not to show their grandchildren, but they were increasingly worried about their son. Last year he had returned exhausted and looking very much older, as if he had labored the night shoveling presents into a coal furnace. He had doubled and redoubled the number of houses visited, now almost 30 in one night, sadly to no avail. The ideas of peace, good will and sharing were dying out in the modern times. With consternation the aged couple thought of their grandchildren and how difficult it would be for them when they took over.

Story #118

Note from Indeterminacy: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all! It's a pleasure to meet each and every one of you via these stories. Indeterminacy is now on vacation until next year. Regular posts will begin again on Monday, January the 3rd.

Ever since falling into the Christmas grog the camera had not been the same. It had trouble focusing. It added antlers to the people it photographed. But that was only the beginning. Soon, it became bolder, playing Christmas MP3s it had somehow downloaded out of the air, flashing and clicking in rhythm to the music. People began to wonder if they, perhaps, had tasted too much of the grog. When the camera started repeating "Ho! Ho! Ho!" loudly and somewhat ominously, as if it were perhaps psychopathic, everyone ran from the house into the winter blizzard raging outside. They calmed their nerves with a snowball fight.

Story #117

Men called Sophie beautiful but she had no eyes. Somehow she got by. The sunglasses she wore hid this fact from the world. The truth of an eyeless girl might be unsettling and her desire was for easy situations. Sophie was marvelous at the facade. Perhaps men were attracted to her for that very reason. Often she would fix her head in the direction of the man in conversation with her, as if staring intently. An enticing shift in posture, a smile, and a kiss on lips she liked were distraction enough to make him forget what might be behind the darkened frames. She lived, loved and slept with an UV protection factor she didn't need at all. The fact that she was never seen to visit an optometrist failed to arouse suspicion. Perhaps the embalmer would discover her secret upon removing her decoration, but for the time being the men she met did not miss looking into her eyes. And Sophie was one of the select few who saw clearly without vision.

Story #116

Sheryl had a problem. She was in love with six boys and couldn't decide which one go out with. Tom had a pleasant manner and was fun to be around but Joe had this way of making her laugh with his witty remarks. John was immensely handsome and candy to look at. Bill knew how to touch her but Bob knew where to touch her. If only the two could take lessons from each other! Then there was the muscular but sensitive Philip. He understood her, or was that Tom? It was getting hard to keep track with so many boys. The other day she had called Bill for one of his touches but had mistakenly dialed Joe's number. Funny though it was, his touching was all thumbs and two left feet. This could not go on! Keeping track of all these boys and their details was turning into a nymphomanic nightmare. She would have to come to a final decision. And, yes, she had it! Tomorrow she would purchase that new software package, the Ultimo Organizer, for keeping track of things. Now if only she could remember which boy was good at installing...

Story #115

The faces on the wall had consciousness, but no one ever suspected. The man and woman were intended to be a couple, and should have lived happily ever after on their flat surfaces, but the background shades of green were just the wrong match, drifting off towards opposite ends of the rainbow. This was a source of great distress for the woman. Her stale spinach mood was in constant dissonance with the 180 degrees of life transpiring before her. The man-face, hovering in his tranquil green, felt well at ease, totally at peace with the world. He couldn't have been more in the pink. The woman's cries for help were met with indifference. Persons standing close to her instinctively folded their arms and turned their eyes away. But the man with his green the color of Spring never missed an opportunity to proposition the stray females crossing his line of vision. The ladies were surprised, but never distressed, by the thoughts popping into their heads.

Story #114

Queen Serena of the Sea hardly looked older than her daughter, Liana. The saline tide with its eternal caresses kept its ruler and Princess young beyond their centuries. But now the Queen had decided it was time to abdicate, to retire to a life on the shore. She planted the traditional kiss on Liana's cheek, symbolizing the transfer of powers from one generation to the next. Liana, a creature of untamed impetuosity, had plans. Her first intention as Queen was to introduce more tempestuousness into the waters. It was something like a game of "good cop, bad cop." The cute surfers would be thrown from their boards directly into her arms. If she liked one, she would keep him. The Queen mother had plans, too. She would rent beach chairs to the visiting tourists, making many new friends in the process. Between customers she would gaze, lost in thought, at the waves.

Story #113

I encountered them at the medieval square, was immediately cognizant of their origin. Once, in a cloistral library, I had located a leather bound volume of magic and read of them, two Druid sisters roaming through time and worldy venues in search of a male to accompany them. I was interrupted by the closing of the library and had to return later to conclude my reading, but by opening hour of the next day the tome had vanished. The two women were strange to me at first. I seemed to hear them speaking but could not tell which of them uttered the words. Had they spoken at all or had I just imagined it? My eyes moved restlessly from one to the other, searching for some sign of acknowledgement. Somehow I understood what they wanted of me. They wished to allow my spirit eternal communion with them in the mysterious darkness of the Teutoburg forest, the mystical region which housed them between wanderings. In exchange I must first grant them brief use of my body for a ritual to be performed at their most sacred of shrines, at the ancient sandstone structure near the Exter valley, known to them as Externstein, a massive growth of stones so out of character with its surroundings it must have been placed there by an unknown God or Devil. I heard my voice telling them yes. I wanted to be with them. Always. Now it has come to pass. If only I had been able to finish reading in that antique volume. There must surely have been a warning...

...my soul becomes theirs to nourish them. Slowly, bit by bit, I feel my essence vanishing into theirs. Soon it will be gone entirely, and they will search for their next human sacrifice.

Story #112

Elona, High Priestess of Los Angeles, stood among the concrete rubble rolling on inexorably in all directions. She had donned the ceremonial costume found ages ago in a sub-basement warehouse cache, reached through forgotten, uncharted tunnels. Her apparel mirrored the hues of the sacred graffiti runes left by unknown, supernatural hands. She stood there now on behalf of her people to pay homage to the God of Concrete. Their faith told them a new and complete structure would someday arise out of the dead, crumbled blocks strewn in the flat grayness around them. The Holy Tower would penetrate the sky, giving them new life and glory. According to the legend, it would be possible to climb a several day's journey on tower stairs bringing them past the dark dust clouds blanketing their world. At the structure's summit they could view the Holy Orb known as the Sun. The entire clan turned out for the solemn but hopeful ceremony, watched minutely each move the Priestess made and repeated in their minds each syllable of the ritual incantation, a ripple of silent echoes, thousands strong. Her people had faith in their religion. But the High Priestess, though she went through the motions, did not believe the Sun existed.

Story #111

Better watch out. I'm Kung Fu baby. Those pre-natal martial arts classes sure paid off. Must have been quite a sight, all those soon to be mamas watching Bruce Lee movies, bulbous bellies packed into that cramped theater like sturgeon in a caviar kitchen. Yup, I came out kicking. I'm sorry about the doctor. He was just doing his job, slapping me on the bottom like that. Glad they could fix his neck in the other ward. I'm not sorry about Aunt Mildred. The way she kept kissing me, she deserved what she got. Use your opponent's weight against 'em. That's what I always say. Next time don't put my crib so close to the stairs. And you warn people not to laugh at those little teddy bear footprints on my black belt. That would be a BIG mistake. Mama? Could you put me up to the piano? That one film at the classes had some great fight scenes choreographed to Mozart. I want to try something.

Story #110

Their instructions were clear. They were not to move from that spot. They masked their frozen fear with smiles but the thought coursing through their blood was paralyzing. And the responsibility. If they left the stairs the building's balance would irreversibly shift causing the top-heavy structure to tip over and roll down the sloped streets of the town, crushing a lot of fun places. That's what the man had told them. "Don't move," he had said, "I'll fetch a fire truck!" Then off he ran, leaving them in blind smiling terror. They took special care to leave their smiles up. Who knew the effect of lips turned downwards in a frown?

Story #109

Electroman was one of those superheroes who created a tingling sensation everywhere he went. After a busy hour turning the cold-blooded Snow Man into wisps of vapor and frying the round white thing on Egghead's shoulders, he went on to his coup d'etat of the day, defeating the evil Dr. Wrinkle, a fiend feared by all women 30 years of age and older. Our hero knocked him flat and ironed him out with his electric iron hand, leaving the ruthless antagonist as smooth as a baby's bottom. Everyone was of the opinion that it served Dr. Wrinkle right, the way he went around, wrinkling all the women! Electroman was back just in time to party with the ladies celebrating the end of their worries. Someone put on a cha cha cha and Electroman danced like the electricity he was. Streaks of static lightning shot across the room, giving everyone a good time, and solving their remaining problems with electrolysis.

Story #108

That day in class the four girls tried something new. They concentrated on one thought, and hoped to transplant this thought to the boy, taking over his will. It had worked. That evening the boy, made restless by his mood, left his parents' house, wandered around the neighborhood with no particular object in mind, found himself finally on the doorstep of the house where the girls awaited him. A bit dazed, he rang the bell. No words came to him as he saw the four girls. They tugged him inside gently by the arms, by the waist and shirt. He stumbled along with them. In his stunned condition he hardly noticed how one by one they helped him out of each article of his clothing. They set him up against the wall and began taking the pictures. The next day he would have forgotten everything. And the girls would have the illustrations for their underground book on the boy creature. Everyone was happy.

Story #107

Lisa visited her great grandmother at every opportunity. She was devoted to her. The others thought her mind half gone, but Lisa loved the stories of romance the old woman told her. This was a woman who had lived her life to the fullest. She had no regrets, except maybe growing old. The woman spoke to her great granddaughter, and her mind sounded as clear as the tone on a classic Steinway piano. The 95 year old woman began to tell of a secret lover she had once had, a man with an astonishing command of ancient spells. In an intimate moment he had taught her some of his magic, a magic spell that she had kept to herself all these years. Now she felt it time to pass on what she had learned. Lisa could hardly wait to hear what it was all about. "Close your eyes and think of nothing," the old woman commanded in her stately voice. The girl did as told. She fought off all her thoughts and soon actually was thinking of some kind of nothing. In that instant she felt dizzy, and very weak. Lisa opened her eyes and stared stunned and speechless at herself, as if in a mirror with no glass. She grasped her own hand, and it was the wrinkled hand of an old woman. Impossible though it seemed, Lisa's consciousness found itself in her great grandmother's body. The shock so paralyzed her, she could hardly find the strength to move. "Well, I must be off now," the young girl's body said to the old woman in the chair, "I believe Lisa will have a date tonight."

Story #106

Yvonne had a secret. There were four women inside her yearning to make themselves known. They fought under her skin like vicious cats clawing at each other's eyes. Boys felt themselves drawn to her moody nature. They braved any torment for the prize of a smile. Girls however were repelled by the brooding manner Yvonne confronted them with. Often, when they ventured a friendly word she just stared back at them, rabid disbelief in her eyes, as if a crazy person had just spoken. They didn't like her, but did they know how it was inside her? Only when one of her natures held the other three at bay could she show any emotion, one she might venomously reject once the equilibrium shifted. For the moment the hot drops of water soothed the savageness inside her. Yvonne called a truce with herself. The water masked her frustrated tears.

Story #105

Craig was crazy about feet, a real connoisseur. He swept buildings around town, a job he loved because it afforded him opportunities to look down at the floor, allowed him, in effect, a bird's-eye view of feet. His surreptitious glances went unnoticed. No one notices the guy who sweeps up. He was invisible. In his imagination he brushed the broom over naked feet dancing seductive circles around him. One afternoon he swept a theater in preparation for that night's fashion show. His mouth watered at the thought of all those moving feet. Perfectly formed feet, as only models have. Lust fuels ingenuity. He planted a Webcam at the back of the stage, on the floor, right where the backdrop came down. No one would notice it. The models would be preoccupied with their movements. The audience would be preoccupied with the models. That night he locked the door to his room, pulled the shades, powered up the camera and watched. In horror. He had overlooked one insignificant detail, which now made him scream "Nooooo!" into his mind's ear. The anonymous heads in the audience strangled his desire with their fixated stares. His erotic experience was thoroughly destroyed.

Story #104

Shouts and screams could be heard outside, and sloshing sounds. Something unspeakable was going on. Lorene waited. Nevertheless she felt strangely indifferent. Her life had become devoid of the fascinating milestones that keep most of us going. Where had it all gone wrong? She heard sounds in the staircase that couldn't be described as footsteps, though their rhythmic occurrence suggested a creature with two mismatched legs, causing it to bump against the wall each time it moved forward. B-boo-boomp, b-boo-boomp it went, repeatedly, growing louder and sloshier with each approaching step. Suddenly the sounds of movement ceased. Something stood at the door. Unfortunately it didn't have manners, at least as far as knocking was concerned. The door began to creak and bulge, sprang finally from its hinges, landing on the floor with a thud. A fluorescent green monster blob with bits of pineapple sticking out of it entered the living room. It was ugly and it was hungry. Fortunately Lorene knew just what to do. It was her gruff old friend, Mr. Pudding! She remembered him from dreams she had had as a little girl. So long ago. She used to feed him. Seeing him this way alarmed her. He was famished. Behind him a trail of dislodged pineapple bits littered the floor. He looked like he might cave in at any moment. She offered him a pretzel stick, the one thing she knew he liked to eat. Maybe they could talk over old times, after he felt better.

Story #103

Laura caught a winged soul in a glass and talked to it whenever she was alone. With her eyes. No words were needed. One night she took the glass out again. She asked questions. Whose soul was it? Where did it belong? Where was it going? How long would it stay with her? She had enclosed the soul within round, invisible walls, but she could never discern whether it stayed because it truly could not leave, or whether it merely pretended to be confined, for her sake. Now she lifted the glass and waited, with a questioning gaze. Would it fly away? She closed her eyes for a moment, reopened them, and then realized. The soul was waiting for her to come with it.

Story #102

"Gary Wilson and Molly on a Date" ©
Photo by Joao Canziani for Stones Throw Records
This photo appears by kind permission of Gary Wilson

Captain Gary roamed the galaxy in search of his girlfriend whose body parts lay strewn across tangent lines of space on asteroids, moons and planets. A black hole in Molly's heart had wrenched and rended her beyond the power of love to hold her together. At least for the moment. The Captain was happy today as he had found one of her arms in a tunnel under the sun and would soon attach it. When his task was completed he could finally set her down and talk to her. She refused to talk now to anyone, as she felt mournfully self-conscious about not being a whole woman. The discordant yearning for her missing limbs made her bleed from the heart. However, the chances of finding the remaining pieces of her bodily puzzle were astronomical. There were no corners left in the entire galaxy which Gary hadn't searched. His split-second quantum instincts told him he would have to try Another Galaxy.

Story #101

The new youth movement in plastic fashions represented a complete rejection of anything even remotely connected with the established designers and their bizarre ideas. Up to then women had been either dangerously overladen or daringly understitched, the latter working out just fine on the beaches of the Riviera, but a woman liked to decide when she got all that attention. Not to mention the expense involved for the privilege of wearing the most curious connections of cloth ever conceived since dressing in public became an "in" thing. The polyethylene-based style was chic, modern, and easy to clean, as well as easy to obtain. You just went to a designer boutique, bought a blouse or a skirt, returned it a day later, and kept the bag it came in, cutting and trimming as desired. The repercussions unraveled the old-school world of fashion overnight, ripping it to the shreds of an imitation Levi's washed at a cheap laundromat. A few days later Armani, Gucci, Lagerfeld, and all the rest were seen working as bag packers at the supermarket.

Story #100

What a birthday it had been! Her friends surprised her asleep in bed just as her slumber loosened itself into the consciousness of an exciting new life as a teenager. They brought her a cake and they brought her presents. There was perfume, and a belly ring. She'd have to get her navel pierced now. Her friends had even been thoughtful enough to select a darling little bikini for her. She simply must break it in today, at the lake. No, her friends told her. Not yet. First there was one more present to unwrap. One very special present. They had left the box outside her room. Taking her by each hand they led her to it... Later, at the lake, the inevitable happened. It had only been a split second of inattention while exchanging a beauty tip, but when they looked again, the pet boy had completely vanished.

Story #99

It was one of the worst moments a band could have. The rhythm twisted away from the drummer and skittered across the stage. The three rappers faked their way through the text, trying desperately to stay in synch with each other, at the same time nonchalantly maintaining their happy party-faces. The dancers in the audience weren't aware of the crisis onstage but began inexplicably to bump into each other. Before long the rhyming syllables of the rap had irreparably skewed. It would turn ugly soon. In a last ditch attempt to save the song the two band dancers inconspicuously jiggled down close to the floor in hopes of snatching the writhing beat and tossing it back onto the drum. But they were too late. The beat had bounced out the door, down the street, into the river, out to sea, and caused some great surf in Hawaii.

Story #98

They looked lovely, extremely kissable, Tim thought to himself as his two new companions frolicked before him, enticing him further into their spell. He wasn't sure anymore how it had happened. He had been at the mall when all of a sudden he became aware of a feminine presence behind him. He turned and saw the two of them standing shyly, as if waiting for him to notice them. The girls immediately smiled smiles that seamlessly drew him into an animated conversation in which he was the center of attention. How much time had passed as they moved through backdrops of a shopping world he'd grown oblivious to? He couldn't say. His fascination rolled interminably first to one then to the other of the sweet presences at his side. He was falling in love...with two girls at once! They made his mind wander into some kind of enchanted daze. Now they sat together intimately in his living room. Soon their tongues would touch, he noticed, as his reverie intensified. That was of course the signal. The two would instantly merge into a muscular mauve-skinned male of the Protozar species. Tim would be bound and beamed to their orbiting space vessel, then whisked away to Galaxy G, which, from Earth's perspective, hadn't yet been discovered. There he would be placed among the other specimens in the giant Wal-Mart replica constructed at the zoo for the purpose of observing human shopping behavior in an authentic and humane habitat.

Story #97

No one ever imagined it was possible to build a spaceship out of a bag of balloons, a fire extinguisher and an electric fan. That's why the rockets seen taking off from Cape Kennedy all looked entirely different. But Jack and Jill knew better. They hadn't gone up the hill to fetch pails of water. They were communicating with aliens who told them how to do it. The balloons filled with hydrogen gas and connected in a semi-circle would generate an electrostatic field to power the propulsion unit attached at the upper left of the flight module (the fan), at the same time protecting the passengers inside from the rigors of space. The fire extinguisher was merely a safety precaution, as everyone knows what happened to the Hindenburg. The formal attire was dictated by the occasion of the full moon, which Jack and Jill, aided by their craft, planned to jump over that night. They would be seen! What a shame they had assembled the spaceship indoors. Now they would have to rewire the CD player into a 16 megawatt laser and blast the ceiling away before taking off.

Story #96

The three friends had already retired as millionaires, having found their separate successes as seducers laureate. Each had authored a best selling book on the subject of how to pick up women. Privately the three were the closest friends. Publicly, however, they represented the fiercest of rivals. Each had isolated a single key factor he swore worked every time. Alan claimed waving a cigarillo caused women to swoon into his arms. It didn't really. He overlooked that the cigarillo was much too thin and should never be lit. Phil liked walking up close to a girl and looking in her eyes while wearing sunglasses, shtick that objectively had more chance, as the girl could at least see her reflection in the lenses, which some girls liked, though most just saw a pimp. Julio rolled up his t-shirt sleeves like they did in the 1950's bad boy movies. All the grandmothers thought he was cute. Despite the flaws in their behavioral repertoire they usually walked away with any girl they wanted. But their success had nothing to do with their methods. It was the money.

Story #95