Night of the Screwing Dead

This entry is part 6 of 19 in the series 2012 Nov

It happened last Halloween. Ray had driven more than 90 minutes upstate into the boonies for the costume party. He’d heard there would be a lot of action at this, the biggest bar in the small town, including swinger wives and some young hippie chicks who worked on organic farms in the area and dug orgasms for a natural high. There was nothing else to do but drink and fuck when the landscape was mostly farms and graveyards.

He finished his third beer, blearily scanning the scene for a potential fuck, alone and in a sexy costume, but so far, nothing. He flipped his eye patch up for a better look. The thin elastic snapped and broke. He shrugged, removed the pirate hat and decided that looking “poetic” in his puffy white shirt would be enough. Instead of a “pirate of the Caribbean,” he could say he was John Milton, looking for paradise lost between a woman’s legs.

The hired band came back from their break, and the lead singer, bearded and dressed in black, grunted, “No more Black Sabbath requests, okay? Here’s an original about the owner of a bar in Hawley who went nuts and killed his wife and himself. His final destination: the ground!”  Ominous riffs rang out, the drums kicked like gunshots, and Ray could only think he was dying . . . to get laid.
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A CLOCKWORK ORGASM

This entry is part 22 of 22 in the series 2012 Oct

He was a jeweler. Precision was his life. He knew just what made something beautiful tick. He also knew that expert hands controlled the face and the form, and that without these, there was nothing. The most exquisite timepiece could not function without a master.

Unlike the average shop owner, who greeted customers with humility and an ingratiating smile, he looked as if he resented intrusion. When the shop bell rang and she entered the store, he peered at her for only a moment before adjusting his thick magnifying lenses and returning to the disemboweled clock on the table, its face blank and its workings spread out on a bed of white cloth.

“Look around as you please,” he said. “If you have anything specific in mind, tell me, and you’ll leave completely satisfied, I guarantee.”
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