Here I Am

"Where's Jim? He's late."

"Typical. He's so selfish."

"No kidding. Sometimes I wonder why we let him hang out with us. The only thing worse than his manners is that stupid expression he always has on his stupid face."

"Harsh. Besides, there's a very good reason you're always kissing his ass."

"Whatever. I don't care about his money."

"Then why do you let him pay for everything?"

"That's the tax for having to put up with his painful desperation.

"Let's order. I'm tired of waiting. He can pay when gets here."

"Here I am."

Jim was not late after all.

Leading Questions

“Does my ass look OK in these jeans?” she asked me.

“What do you mean?”

“Me arse—it looks OK?”

“Why? Did you do something to it?”

“Can’t you be serious?”

“You're aware it has a crack in it, aren’t you?”

“Do you think you’re funny?”

“What do you want to know? Is it the right shape? The right size?”

“Is it big?”

“What does big mean? Can you walk over by the door?”

“To here? Far enough?”

“There now you’ve made it smaller, haven’t you? Does that make you happy?”

“You just can’t get in the mood, can you?”

From Guest Contributor Edward Voeller

Abiding

I stir the White Russian, the clink of ice so soft, tender. I should be grading papers and concentrating on how to explain Rasputin and Nicholas II to my students. I just want to abide in White Russians and ice, a creamy sea.

I take a sip, savor cream-filled sensation. Hold onto it. Too many rules, kiss department chair’s ass. Don’t swear. Be responsible like Professor Gebert. Voices rise, like some discordant chorus.

I take another sip.

How rich I feel, world subordinated to ice-filled buzz.

I take another small sip, trying to keep creamy seas from melting.

I’m losing.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. His story, "Soon," was nominated for a Pushcart. Yash’s stories are forthcoming or have been published in Café Lit, Mad Swirl, 50 Word Stories, and Ariel Chart, among others.

Kiss Your Ass Goodbye

There are always more volunteers than available spots on the firing squad. But the really terrible part isn’t how cold it is out. It’s how much I tremble. The I Ching advises, “Wait in the meadow,” meaning caring for a cow will bring luck. I can remember a time when everyone wasn’t in such a hurry to fuck off to somewhere. Now, whatever phone number I punch in, the suicide hotline picks up. I think about mentioning this to someone. And then I get distracted by the wind and the rain and the loud kissing noises they seem to make.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

The Machiavellian Necessities Of A Woman On The New York City Subway

For the majority of Deb's daily commutes, she preoccupied herself with the most strategic seat location choice. She normally picked the open space closest to the door. She didn't like standing, when it felt like every male gaze pointed her way, or looking for less populated corners, where some old dude would inevitably decide it was cool to plop their sweaty ass right next to her or, sometimes worse, directly across from her.

Being near the exit provided the comfort of knowing she could quickly escape at any stop, should it ever become necessary.

This necessity was a weekly occurrence.

Teed Off

When Matt Dobson teed off for the tenth hole, he drilled Brian Witherspoon, who weighs about 350, as he bent over to pick up what he thought was a quarter but turned out to be a gum wrapper.

“Well damn,” Brian yelled, “Dobson’s ball hit me square in the ass!”

Everyone got real quiet and we thought a situation might develop, but Lawson jumped off the bench and yelled, “Oh come on, he missed your asshole by five inches.”

Then everyone started laughing and so Brian walked over and shook Dobson’s hand and we all got on with our game.

From Guest Contributor Andrew Miller

Andrew retired from a career that included university teaching and research. Now he has time to pursue his long-held interest in creative writing. Check out some of his publications at: http://www.andrewcmiller.com/

The Evil Twin

His twin's name was Darrel. Jerrod thought wistfully that most twins were nearly the same. It couldn’t be further from the truth in his and Darrel’s case. Darrel was the incarnate of evil. He, on the other hand, tried to be a good man. His life was difficult at best, but Darrel made it worse always whispering in his ear, trying to get him to do awful things. He always managed to talk Darrel out of doing these things, but it was getting more difficult dealing with Darrel. 'Being conjoined was a real pain in the ass,' he thought ruefully!

From Guest Contributor Derrick Fernie

Sonny Boy

Stop! You there STOP! Shouted the policeman.

No way was I going to stop. I didn’t do anything. The cops just wanted anyone who had been near the riot to bring in and arrest, and it wasn’t going to be me. So I ran. And I ran smack into a horse which knocked me flat on my ass.

“Where you going there sonny boy?” smiled the burly officer on the even burlier horse. “It’s Christmas mister, I was just heading home to my gran’s. She ‘d kill me if she knew I was even near a rally.”

Too Bad boy!

From Guest Contributor Philip Diehl

Advantages

It didn't have to be that way. Stan wanted her. Even now it was obvious. Maybe it had never been to Richard, who had been too busy indulging his taste for punishment. And everyone else was too scared to see anything but the inside of their own asses, but she knew it the first time he raked his eyes over her. Stan wanted everything that had ever belonged to Richard and that included her.

He could have sent someone else to fetch her back, but he wanted to find her himself. She would use his lust to her advantage.

Part Five