She couldn't believe it; after twenty years, her impetuous youth had come back to her. The glossy magazine -- "Vintage Honeys" -- was greasy with use. It fell open to a full-page picture of her, at twenty years of age, lewdly spreading her legs while cupping pert, full breasts. On the opposite page were closeups of dusky pink nipples and a slick, splayed-open pussy.
I looked so good then, before I was pregnant, she thought, then slipped the magazine back beneath her son's bed and resumed cleaning. She would pretend she had not found it.
The box intrigued her, tucked behind a stack of sweaters. Pulling it down, she gasped when the cover fell off. Dozens of pictures scattered over the floor. Naked bodies, in various sexual positions, their smiles frozen on the paper.
She stared, fixated on what she’d only ever imagined before. Tracing the hardened shapes, she memorized that which she’d never seen. Pictures of handcuffs, rope, chains and whips sent chills down her spine.
With the box hidden again, she ran to her room and closed the door. Stashing the stolen pictures in her boots, she went back to doing her homework.
He sat in his office chair, with his dress shirt carefully pulled up enough so it would not get messy when he came.
His cock was stiff; the skin was shiny and red showing he was close to release. His hand was grasping his shaft, and the position nicely showed off his beautiful cockhead.
But his eyes penetrated her! His face with its neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard that matched his thinning salt and pepper hair, showed his desire, want, need, for her. She melted when she saw his eyes.
Byron could hardly believe his luck. The Swamp Demon was real and in his viewfinder. The camera snapped and whirred as he recorded the greyish fur, the hunched body, needlelike claws, dripping fangs and the piercing red eyes. The tabloids and the tv shows would pay handsomely for these pictures. He would go down in history as the discoverer of the creature. Now it seemed to be staring at him, eyes blazing, pale pointed ears twitching. What a great shot.
***
Searchers found what was left of his body a week later, the camera in fragments.
Prince Daring urged his faithful steed Thunder on at a killing pace. The Troll Army was barely five leagues behind him. He had to warn the town and the castle so they could mount a defense. Hooves clattering, they crossed the river bridge and rode through town sounding the alarm; then it was off to Castle Moonbeam from which he would lead his knights in battle against the...
"Hey kid! You wanna 'nother ride, it's another buck."
Jimmy handed the carousel man a grimy dollar, the Troll Army must be stopped.
Becca stomped from the Fun House briskly, self-conscious of her Rubenesque body.
"Becca! It was only a joke!"
She stopped and whirled about, fierce eyes slicing toward Tony. "A joke?" she retorted. "You call wanting a fun-house mirror, which makes me look skinny, in our bedroom, a fucking joke?"
He stopped a few paces and gave his typically disarming rakish grin. "Imagine fucking in front of that mirror! It makes your tits look huge and your waist tiny!"
She glared. "Only if we get another mirror that makes your dick look bigger," she spat, then turned and ambled away.
The crowd watched the blonde woman as she stood on her little stage, expertly flashing a straight steel blade through the air. With casual finesse, she tilted her head back, opening her mouth. A pink tongue snaked out over her lower lip as the tip of the sword slid into her mouth, then her throat. Inch by effortless inch, the entire thing disappeared until the hilt was nestled comfortably against her lips.
"Damn," whispered Nick. "Wish I knew a girl like that."
"No shit," answered Mike. "Her husband's a lucky guy."
The Corkscrew looped its final loop, then slowed and shuddered to a halt. Gareth helped Gemma onto the platform, her legs trembling as she clung to him for support. Exhausted, she slumped down on the nearest bench and closed her eyes.
“Did you enjoy that?”
Gemma didn’t respond.
He flicked the control in his hand and the vibrator nestled against her clit sprung to life for a few seconds. Her eyes shot open.
“Got your attention,” Gareth grinned. “So, how many times did you cum?”
“Three, I think,” she panted.
He smiled contentedly. “See? Rollercoasters can be pleasurable after all.”
Sitting atop the Ferris wheel, she felt as if she could touch the stars. They twinkled across the sky like a shower of glitter. She thought back to their last conversation, her fingers twisting the gold ring on her left hand.
“Whenever you’re lonesome, look at the stars, baby. See me there, watching over you.”
The big wheel lurched, breaking into her thoughts. Laughter surrounded her as she wandered through the crowd.
“Be safe, my love,” she whispered, looking up once more.
Holding his rifle in the sandy trench, he stared at the sparkling stars and felt her protecting him.
The line up for the ride was long and finally I stood waiting for a seat. The only one was next to a young woman by herself. The ride took off and she was obviously nervous about it. As the ride started to do loops, she grabbed my leg for support, She held me there for the rest of the ride, feeling assured she was safe. "You carry a lot of quarters, don't you?" she said. I smiled and didn't have the heart to tell her I only carried bills.
The top was down the windscreen was down and the old car’s engine bellowed as he put his foot to the floor.
Sandy sat next to him, a scarf round her hair. He had a flat cap on back to front as they entered the forest. The lights were huge things like marine searchlights. They chased shadows round trees, the leaves in a swirl behind them, laughing all the time. She put her hand on his knee.
The police looked at the wreckage in the morning. If he’d been alive, he’d have seen her head twenty paces behind the wreck.
It seemed to the coupe' that it had been parked in the dark garage forever. It remembered the days when it's owners would take long drives in the country. Now it's tires were flat, upholstery cracked, gauges yellowed, paint dull; old and forgotten.
There was a blaze of light as the garage doors opened.
"There she is, young fella. Six fifty and it's yours."
"I'll take it. Bring the air pump and tow chain, Denny."
Five months later, it was reborn, winning races at the drag strip and inspiring a song.
"She's my little duce coupe with a flathead mill..."
Everywhere she looked, there were cars. Reds, greens, and whites, they all looked the same. Where was Bobby? Judy swore, a rare thing for her, but she didn’t dare scream. She walked along the rows, peering into car windows for Bobby. Guys yelled and girls squealed, trying to hide their partial nakedness. Her cheeks turned red when she realized what some of them had been doing. Running toward a blue Chevy, Judy almost cried when she saw Bobby leaning against the fender. Smiling at her, they climbed inside to watch the movie. All she could see was rows of cars . . .
“Get in the car Jimmy.”
“But Judy!”
“No buts you’re driving.”
“Oh Alright, I’m driving.”
“Go faster Jimmy.”
“Faster?”
“You know I like to go fast!”
“To Damn fast for me baby.”
“Now come on put your foot in it, lets get going Jimbo!”
“She won’t go any faster!”
“Why hell drop a gear, let’s go!”
“Feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“The vibration.”
“Oh I feel it alright!”
“I think the tranny’s fixin to go!”
“Jimmy! Watch it you!”
He took her hand, the end was near.
“Goodbye my Judy, speed gotcha, and got me good.”
Happy Halloween, it gotcha too!”
When I was in high school, a buddy of mine inherited a Nash Ambassador 4 door sedan from his aunt. It was a whale; kilograms of chrome, V-8 motor and seats like a living room sofa.
Therein lay the Nash's charm. The front seat back folded down against the rear seat cushion making a comfy bed. Bob found it was quite lucrative renting the Nash for teen assignations. I often wonder how many babies were conceived in that car while parked in the back row of a drive-in. In spite of repeated cleanings, the seats smelled of romance every time it rained.