Flash Fiction



Eighty-five, alone; Lillian is cautious.  Who’s at her door?  Pranksters, robbers, Mormons?

Frank would’ve been amused – intrepid Lillian afraid!  She misses him; he’d loved her well, with his mouth when nothing else cooperated.


Lillian contemplates the neighboring old-timer, a widower.  She imagines him here, wildflowers in hand.  Would he be shocked to know she’s wondered how his long white hair would feel if she held it as he spread her upon the crocheted bedspread, fucking her hard, making up for the lonely years?

Finally responding, she finds an empty doorstep.

‘Maybe next time,’ Lillian thinks, closing the door.


Window-shopping in Amsterdam – a buffet of flesh he wants to fuck, she wants to study.

The prostitutes, on display (defiantly sexual), eye the couple cagily.

“Think they’d let us watch?”

“Watch what?”

“Them, you know … fucking a john.”

“We could go to a sex show for that.”

“Yes, but there they’d know we were watching.  This would be more fun.”


They walk on, browsing.  Nordic, blonde whip.  Manly, Asian push-up bra.  Gorgeous, black cutting eyes.

3AM, the smells repellent garbage mingled with sex.  Even the whores look tired and bored.

“Fuck it; let’s just go buy some weed.”


She had Puerto Rican, come-hither eyes.

Her rockin’, knee-high purple boots and sweet ass went straight to my head.  I saw her walking the street, and I had to have her.

I paid.  Told her my real name even.  She said no to fucking but when she slid plush-glitter lips down my pole, I didn’t care.

I shot cum-droplets decorated fake eyelashes and rouged cheeks.

I asked for her number and gave her mine.

She laughed, leaving parting gifts the haunting memory of her cock, under trashy pink panties, and a phone call, “Sir, it’s the Health Department.”

“The serpent upheld GOD’S prohibition against eating from the Tree of Knowledge!  It KNEW why God forbade it, for it POSSESSED his gifts!”

“Hallelujah!” believers chanted, dipping into their wallets.

“Upon thy belly shalt thou go,” the snake handler hissed later that night, introducing my zealous ass to his punishing rod, plowing it well with his serpent.

“I believe!”  I cried, erupting.

If Moses’ staff had been this prodigious, I finally understood why all those people remained loyal in the barren desert and why God had given his magical rod an honored place in the Ark of the Covenant.


In ’88 I seduced her with my idealistic, American exchange-student politics, talking about Bush while fingering hers.  I recall almond eyes, teacup breasts, and widespread thighs.

She had such high hopes.

In Tiananmen Square, she wore a white bandanna inscribed FREEDOM NOW because I’d promised democracy could make the Great Wall tumble down.  I lied.

Does anybody else remember the students who died?  Can you spare a tear for my lost china doll?

She was everybody’s sister, everybody’s lover her bloodstained clothes the symbolic banner of our failures.

She wanted to set us free and we just watched on TV.
Author’s note:  Thanks to Roger Waters for inspiring me via his album, Amused to Death.


Their 15th anniversary was incomparable.

Jack didn’t mention it all day, and Chloe’s emotions moved from fury to sorrow until finally, while he showered, she snooped in his briefcase.

Inside, she found a card and a long velvet box.

On the card:
You are the love of my life.
The perfume of you lingers on my skin
I can’t wait to be with you
Wear this for me
Beautiful.  Jack could be so romantic.

Inside the box was a stunning diamond choker, just like the one Chloe had shown him – hinting.

Too bad the name on the envelope was Sheila.


I saw her today at the reception.

She lounged on the wedding-party table, her leather whip curling down the center – a hellish, black centerpiece among shimmering candles and white Calla Lilies.  At her feet was a footloose man, wearing a self-satisfied smirk.

Practiced at the art of deception – you could tell by her bloodstained hands – she appeared only to me and toasted my new bride, my new life.

“You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need.”  She sang along with the band and winked.

Then she vanished.
Author’s note:  Thanks to Mick Jagger and Keith Richards for inspiring me.

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