Unexpected Love


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I’m going to tell you a story.  You have to promise to keep your mouth shut.  If not, I could get into a lot of trouble.  I shouldn’t tell you anything.  But I have to tell someone.  I have to relieve myself of it.  I’m ready to explode inside.


Here it is.  But please don’t say anything. 


Tonight, I’m going to make love to a woman I barely know.  That’s not exactly true.  I do know her.  I’ve known her for three weeks.  But there are still things I don’t know about her.  And there are things she still has to learn about me.  But none of that matters.  We’ll have time to learn more about one another.  What we know now is more than enough.


See we met in a grocery store.  It was accidental.  I watched her a little too long.  And she caught me.  Embarrassed, I turned my shopping cart around went down another aisle.  I felt like a fool and was relieved that I could hide.


Less than a minute later a woman’s voice came from behind me and asked, “Why did you run?”  The voice was calm but stern and intriguing all at once.  It made me turn around.  It was her.  The woman I had sexually molested with my eyes was a few feet away from me.


She was more beautiful than any woman I’d ever seen.  She was maybe fifty.  She had medium length dark blonde hair.  Her face was gorgeous.  She was curvaceous, like the movie stars of old.  Her legs were incredible.  Even her ankles coming out of the black heels she wore were sexy.  And that black dress fit her perfectly.  She turned lots of heads.  But here she was with me.


I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.  She watched me drown in my silence.  I don’t know if I stood blanked-faced for a few seconds or minutes.  But, finally, I opened my mouth to explain.  What I was going to do was lie to her.


Immediately she asked me to meet her down the road behind the old Vallan’s restaurant.  The building had been vacant for months.  I went to say something.  She cut me off and told me not to talk.  Just meet her if I was truly interested in her.  With that, she walked away.


I stood in the aisle unsure of what to do.  Head spinning, heart pounding, getting hot down below, I left my cart of groceries in the aisle and went outside.  She was nowhere in sight.  I got into my car and drove to the restaurant.  It was a couple of miles away.  I ran a few red lights on the way.


No cars were in the parking lot.  Not in the front.  I drove around back.  A big black BMW was parked there.  Its window came down.  That beautiful, unforgettable face stared right at me.


We did not waste any time.  We got out of our cars and started talking.  The conversation leaped from introducing ourselves to what we liked in people to our sexual preferences.


It was all too crazy, too unexpected, too unreal, too fast, too intoxicating, too much to take in.  It was almost like we didn’t breathe.  We just kept talking and talking.  Our arousal levels were pushing us down paths we were incapable of coming back from.  We were in an abyss.  We were gone.


We both liked the chase.  We liked unusual sexual experiences.  Neither of our spouses was into these things.  Before we left, we set up times to meet one another.


I wanted to kiss her goodbye.  Or…I just wanted to kiss her.  I wanted to taste those red lips, push my body against those breasts, feel the heat between her legs…I wanted her.  And she wanted me.  But we agreed not to ruin it.  We needed to let our emotions build until they were uncontrollable.  If we held out, the anticipation would be more than worth it.


We have been meeting and planning for this night for three weeks.  Now it’s here.  Our feelings for one another are immeasurable.  I can’t wait.  And she is having an equally difficult time waiting for the moment to arrive too.  The three weeks of foreplay promises to make it a night we’ll never forget.  We think we’re in love.  Three weeks have changed our lives.


In three hours I’m going to break into her home.  I’m going tie her up and gag her and have my way with her for several hours.  I’m going to hurt her.  And she doesn’t expect anything less.  Her husband will arrive home a little after we’re finished.  Then I’m to kill him.


I know it sounds awful.  But that’s the only way she and I can permanently be together.  If she divorced him he would never let her go.  I’ve never considered killing anyone.  But I’ve never been in love like this.  It hurts just to think about her.


Remember you promised.  Keep your mouth shut.  Wish me luck.  Happy New Year.


That’s a short love story for you to start off the New Year.


Hi Everyone,


It’s back to the grindstone for most of us.  The holidays are almost over.  That means no more wasting time at work while we’re pretending to work.  No more sneaking out of work early.  No more calling in sick only to have people spot you at the mall.  That behavior must stop.  And, now!  Life’s isn’t a joke.  It’s serious with serious problems.  And that’s where I come in.


In 2019 I’m going to try to lighten up some of those serious hours and days.  I’m going to take you away from one reality into another.  In other words, I’m going to lie to you.  Why?  You’re part of my goals for 2019.        

Like you, I have many things I want to accomplish this year. 


Each year I have a list of projects I want to complete.  Some of them are quite taxing and hard.  And when I’m not working on my day job or working on my list of projects, I like to be entertained.  I read books and short stories – fiction and nonfiction.  I watch movies – drama, thrillers, suspense, mystery and horror.  And occasionally, I’ll watch a love story.  I like getting into the written pages or the movies and being sucked in and transported into the story.    


I like when people can entertain others.  It makes our day a bit more enjoyable.  It gives us an escape from everyday life.  That’s not to say we don’t enjoy our lives.  If you’re like me, I also enjoy reading novels and stories about other people’s lives as well.  And when I can’t find the story or movie that I like, I write it.


My writing takes me to other places too.  It entertains me.


One of my projects this year is to give you a story every month.  It may be a single story that I post in one blog.  Or it could be a 2 to 4-part story.  I want to introduce you to my writing.  I hope it entertains you.  I want to add something else good to your day.  Sometimes it will be drama.  Sometimes it will be horror. 


If you like what I’m putting out, let me know.  I’d love your feedback.


I look forward to connecting with you in the New Year.  Drop me a line sometime.  Let me know how your year is going.  Until later, Happy New Year!



Stephen Wallace




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We all see things that we don’t want to see.  The problem starts when what we see is something we should not have.  What then?




MITCH PANTED AS HE pointed the red flashlight beam down the foyer.  The front door was wide open.  His heart raced.  His hands shook.  He expected someone to come through the doorway.  He did not have a weapon to protect himself if it came down to that.  Guns and knives were not for him.  He never entered a house with intentions to hurt anyone.


Twenty seconds passed.  No one came through the doorway.  No one was there.


He tiptoed to the door and shut it.  Then he leaned back against the wall.  “Shit,” he whispered.  “Damn it.”  He must have half-closed it.  Dumb mistake.  Sloppy.  He caught his breath as his heartbeat slowed.


He looked out the door’s windows to outside.  There was no movement in the yard.  He needed to finish the job and get the hell out of that house.  He backed away from the door and turned and went to the stairs.


He crept up the stairs.  The third stair whined under his foot.  The floors had not squeaked in the hallway.  If there was going to be squeaking, it would be on the stairs.  He exhaled silently.  Each foot landed lightly on the stair before he added his full weight on it.  Slow and steady wins the race, he jokingly told himself, trying to lighten his mood.


He stepped off the last stair into the upstairs hallway.  Rooms were to his left and right.  Bedrooms, he thought.  They had to be bedrooms.  He counted seven.  He hoped there was enough moonlight coming in to see inside the rooms.  The room directly to his right was where he would start.


He stood in the doorway of the bedroom.  It had to be the master bedroom.  The room was large with big pieces of furniture in it.  He was going to have to come back and load up the furniture.  Each piece had to be an antique.  To the right was a huge armoire.  To the right of it was a wingback chair.  A dresser was in the far corner.  A big four-post bed high off the floor was in the middle of the room.  A small stand sat at the side of the bed.  On the other side of the bed was another dresser with a large mirror.  That would be the dresser to search first.


Experience had taught him that a dresser with a mirror was most likely used a lot by the person in that room.  And they tended to keep their jewelry close by—possibly inside the dresser.


He headed around the bed to the dresser, jerked to a stop and gasped.  He froze for a second before backing up.  He hit the wall behind him before he stopped.


The red beam pointed toward the floor at the naked woman on her stomach hogtied.




MITCH TURNED HIS HEAD away from the naked woman on the floor.  But he kept looking back at her.  It couldn’t be her.  It looked like her.  But it couldn’t be her.


He saw her leave.  He watched her.  She had that big suitcase.  She got in a taxi.  She left.  She was gone.  A suitcase that size meant she would be away for days.  She locked up her house more securely than usual.  She even had her cats picked up by a van that was a pet sitting service.  All were signs that indicated she would be out for days.  Not a day trip.


He turned his head sideways and looked around at the body.  After a few seconds he took a hesitant step toward her.  The flashlight’s red beam shook across her body.  He clamped a hand over his mouth and stood over her and shook his head.


Bruises were everywhere on her—arms, back, buttocks, legs, ankles and wrists.  Black marks were on the bottoms of her feet.


What happened to you?  He stared down at her and fought back nausea.


As he leaned in to get a closer look, his gloved hand was slowly going toward her feet to touch one of the black marks.  What were they?  He became aware he was reaching out to touch her, he jerked his hand back.  Don’t touch her.  Don’t touch anything. 


He needed to leave.  But, his need to know who she was overwhelmed him.  He could not ignore it.


He leaned over and reached out and gently pushed some of her gray hair off her face.  He jerked his hand back and pursed his mouth closed.  His heart sunk.  Disappointment showered over him.


It was her, the homeowner.  Sylvia Barnwood was dead.  A rag was stuffed inside her mouth.  Fear was frozen on her face.  She wore heavy makeup.  That was odd because he never saw her in makeup.  Dried tear streams were down her face.  Her eyes were open and looking up—as if she had been pleading with her attacker.


Mitch was shaking.  He forced himself not to run out of the room.  What if the killer was still inside the house?  What if the killer was watching him?  Was he outside the door waiting for him to come out?  Then, would he kill him too?


Mitch turned off the flashlight and squeezed it and held it like a club.  He took three deep breaths while counting to three.  He rushed into the hallway, swinging the flashlight.  It took him a few seconds to realize he was alone.


He looked downstairs for movement.  Convinced it was safe, he walked fast down the stairs.  Not as quiet as when he came up the stairs.  A few stairs creaked and moaned.


He stepped off the last stair and ran down the hallway and through the foyer.  He passed the kitchen and slid when he stopped at the front door.  That was where he came in.


He swallowed and took a few deep breaths.  He then slowly turned the doorknob and eased the door open enough to peek outside.  Everything looked normal.


His legs shook as he stepped outside onto the step.  He quietly closed the door and ran off the steps toward the wood line.  His car was on the other side of the woods—fifty meters away and parked off the road.


I hoped you enjoyed PART 2 & 3.

Thank you for stopping by.  See you next Monday.

Stephen Wallace



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I hope you enjoy PART 1 of this suspense and thriller.  I hope you dream tonight and wake up wondering what woke you up.  And, in the far corner of your dark bedroom, maybe…just maybe…your eyes will adjust just enough to see a little movement.  Don’t go see what it is.






Mitch broke into the house to rob it.  It was his last job.  In and out.  He would retire with a perfect record.  Seven years, over twenty-one burglaries and he had not come close to getting caught.  Planning and instinct had kept him off police radars.  So, why didn’t he leave this house when his instincts told him to?  Why had he kept going?  What had he stumbled into?




MITCH MOVED CAREFULLY THROUGH the dark foyer.  It would have been pitch-black if not for the moonlight coming through the windows.  The house was larger than he thought it would be.  Six to seven thousand square feet was his guess.  It was a small mansion.  The air was damp and heavy.  It seemed to close in around him.  The atmosphere gave him chills.


He shined the red beam of his flashlight down the foyer.  The foyer was wide.  He paused and questioned himself again.  Should he go any further?  A glance over his shoulder at the back door had him standing in the open too long.  Anyone peeking in the windows would see his figure.


He moved against the wall and hid in the darkness.  His heart pounded.  He felt clammy.  You’re a professional.      What’s wrong with you?  There’s nothing wrong with this house?  It’s in your head.  It’s just a house.  He swallowed and exhaled.  Why are you nervous?  You’re a pro.  You’ve proved it.  You plan everything.  There’s no reason for you to be nervous.  You’re being silly.    


He slowed his breathing and tried to remove the dark thoughts he allowed to enter his mind.  Embarrassed at himself for being foolish, he told himself, The house was not alive.  It did not know he was there.  Houses do not feel or think.  Come on.  Stop screwing around and finish this.  You’re too wrapped up in everything.  It is just another job.  He nodded and moved down the foyer.


This was not how he expected the night to go.  Losing his confidence was not part of the plan.  This was to be a perfect night.  It was special.


The red beam of his flashlight led the way.  It moved across cracked marble floors, onto worn hardwood floors, up the torn cloth wallpaper and onto a designer ceiling.  The house was over one hundred years old.  It had to have lots of memories and secrets hiding inside it and a few ghost stories, too.  The house had seen grandeur times, he thought.


He looked to his right inside the kitchen.  Two large stoves, two refrigerators and a huge island in the center caught his attention.  He slowed but kept moving.


At the end of the foyer was a hardwood hallway.  A room was ten feet to the left.  A small table was by the room’s entrance.  He pointed the red beam at the table.  He could not believe what he was seeing.


A Faberge egg sat in a gold stand.  A Faberge egg is sitting in plain sight on a table in the foyer?  How insane.  It could not be real.  He laughed to himself.  Worthless toy.  He picked it up and examined it anyway.  He had seen a few.  Most were cheap.  But this one was different.  It was not one of the original fifty.  But, it was not worthless.  It could have been worth tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands.


He reached over his shoulder and eased it into the backpack he wore.


He went around the table into the room on the left.  A large oak table sat in the middle of the room.  Twelve large, heavy looking oak chairs were around the table.  On the wall was a long continuous shelf that went around the room.


The red beam moved along the shelf and stopped at the start of a row of ten trinkets.  He examined them for ten seconds and was sure they were real.  They were crystal.  Each cost around ten thousand.  He removed the backpack from his back and sat it on the table.  He reached into it and took out a stack of cloths.  He wrapped the egg and each trinket separately and put them in the backpack.


He slipped the backpack on, adjusted the straps, turned to leave, and stopped.  His head turned to the left and right.  Was it the wind he heard?  He stayed still and listened for a couple of minutes.  No one should have been home.  He had made sure of it.


He was extra cautious with this job.  Not out of fear.  This was his last job.  Getting cocky and making mistakes was easy to do in his position.  Seven years of burglarizing houses and he had not come close to getting caught.  It had been a smooth seven years.  He was set for retirement.  Even before he did this house, he was set.  But after finding this house, he could not pass it up.  He scoped the place out for three weeks and waited for the right time.  And when it came, he took advantage of it.


He walked out of the room and looked up the foyer and down the hallway.  A staircase was up ahead to the right.  He stood in the hallway and looked around the house.  The direction of the moonlight helped him see the place a little better.


It was a shame that a house like that was in such disrepair.  All it needed was a renovation.  The inside columns, the wide hallways, windows in the ceiling, the antique flooring, the old exterior, all it needed was some attention.  Through the room’s window he could see the greenhouse.  It was a large all-glass building.  What a place.


A loud “BAM” made Mitch jump.  He whirled around and stared down the foyer.


See you next Monday.  Come back, please.  You won’t be sorry.


Stephen Wallace

Call It What You Want


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Enjoy this short story.  Tell me what you think.      


HE FOUND HER ON the bedroom floor when he came home for lunch.  She was lying beside their bed in a nightshirt.  He touched her to wake her.  Her body was cold.  Immediately he called the police.  A couple of hours later he called me.

My sister was dead.  The message was like a hammer upside the head.  Ringing was in my ears.  My brother-in-law, David, went on to explain what happened to her.  But I could not hear anything else he said.

At that moment I thought I would have to be institutionalized.  My sister was as much of my identity as I was of hers.  We were all each other had.  We stopped speaking to our parents and our two siblings years ago.  That is a family saga I will not get into now.

My heart jumped back and forth from grieving for my sister to grieving for David.  My husband understood when I told him I had to be with David and the children.  I was their godmother.

I rushed to be at David’s side.  My husband and my two children were left to fend for themselves.  They were more than capable.  My twin boys were twelve.

Standing inside my sister’s home magnified the dark, gigantic hole in my heart.  Her aura permeated throughout the place.  Her smell was everywhere.  It was comforting and overwhelmingly sad.  Reality pounded on my heart.  Her sweet odor would eventually be gone from her home.  With it would go some of her memories.

I forced myself to pull it together.  David and their children would need help getting through this dark time.

My poor brother-in-law was in a much worse place than I was.  He had no time to mourn.  Three children, all under the age of five, still had to be loved, cared for, and given direction.  He immediately donned both parental hats.  There was no time for a trial run.

For three weeks I helped, watched, and listened.  Calling my husband to keep him and my children posted on when I would be back.

Watching my brother-in-law suffer, while being strong for his children, was almost unbearable.

One night I walked by his bedroom to go to the bathroom and heard him softly crying.  This was a normal occurrence.  On my way back to my room I paused and listened to him.  He was worse than normal.

For three weeks I had wondered and feared whether he had a breaking point.  In public and around his children he restrained his grief.  In private, alone, he was inconsolable.

Standing at his door, I started crying myself and had to leave.  I took several steps and stopped and looked over my shoulder.  I could not leave him in the state that he was in.

I went back to his door, eased the door open, walked inside and locked it behind me.  I climbed into bed with him.

Neither of us talked.  We just reached out and held each other.  We both needed someone to hold onto.  We needed someone to feel the way we did.  We were both dying inside.

For one week we comforted one another.

Ten years later we have never talked about it.  Not even a slight mention of it.

It remains our secret.


If you enjoyed this story, send it to a friend and follow me on my blog. 







Good Friends.  Good Drinks.  Good Food. Good Time?


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Enjoy PART 4. 




BRENDA STARED AT THE other guests, confused.  What were they looking at?  Their eyes were no longer on her.  They were fixed above her.  “What?” Brenda asked.  Then she laughed.  Oh, she got it.  The joke was on them.  She was not going to be sucked into the joke they were about to play on her.  Instead, she joked with them.  She covered her mouth with her hand.  Blinking her eyes quickly, she slowly turned her head, looked over her shoulder and froze in terror.

The giant snake had raised a quarter of her body from the table.  She towered over Brenda.

Brenda’s mouth dropped open and stayed there.  She panted and shook all over.  Gripping the knife tightly she was unable to move.  She watched the snake sway and slowly recoil.  Her lungs would not let her take a deep breath.  Her feet refused to move.  Her eyes would not blink.

The snake seemed to grow taller and taller and more menacing.  Her yellow eyes met Brenda’s.  Brenda let out a scream as the snake’s head rushed down toward her.  Her scream was muzzled as the snake took Brenda’s head inside her mouth.

The guests had been frozen and watching in horror as the scene unfolded.  The snake’s mouth opened wider and slid down over Brenda’s shoulders.  Brenda’s feet left the floor as the snake recoiled with her in her mouth.  Her feet kicked violently.  Her hands and fingers moved quickly.  But her arms were pinned at her sides.  Her body was halfway down the snake.

The guests saw the last waiter run around the corner and out of sight.  The chef was already gone.

The guests screamed and yelled and ran after the waiters.  A few guests tripped, stumbled and fell to the floor.  Scrambling to their feet they continued running.  Some guests, including Phillip, looked back only to see Brenda’s legs sticking out of the snake’s mouth.

It was the last time that Francis, her friends, and Phillip saw Brenda.  It was a sight that none of them had forgotten.  How could they forget seeing Brenda being devoured by that monster?  They knew where she was.  The question was “Where was the snake?”  No one ever went back to find out where it went.

Francis took another drink.  She wanted to tell the detectives the truth.  But the dinners were illegal.  Eating exotic animals.  They would all be arrested.  Their names would be tarnished.  Their lives, their status, would be destroyed.  What would it serve to tell the truth?  They would destroy themselves for no reason.  Nothing could bring Brenda back.

Francis poured another drink and brought it to her mouth and tossed her head back and gulped it down.


If you enjoyed this story, send it to a friend and follow me on my blog. 



Good Friends.  Good Drinks.  Good Food. Good Time?


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I call this a hybrid story.  It is a combination of suspense, thriller, and a little horror.  The story comes with the arrogance of getting away with something.  But then there is the comeuppance that shows what starts as a secret does not always stay a secret.  Enjoy PART 3.  See you the next time at the final PART 4.        




FRANCIS WIPED HER EYES and remembered what happened next at the dinner.

The chef walked up to the table with a roar of applause from the guests.  He raised two knives in the air.  The claps grew louder.  The guests whistled.  The evening events had begun.

A waiter rolled out a box on a cart.  The chef placed his hand inside the box and pulled out a red tag.  He looked at the tag and said, “Jason Carmichael.”

Jason, a guest, smiled and did a playful bow to the other guests.  He was getting the head and the first twelve inches of the snake.  It was an entrée that went for seven thousand dollars.

The chef pulled the next tag out of the box and said, “Phillip Counter.”  Phillip raised his hand up in the air and nodded his head as the other guests applauded.  He would get the second twelve inches of the snake for a mere sixty-five hundred dollars.

The chef continued to pull tags out of the box and call out the guests’ names.  Each tag laid claim to the guest’s entrée, their section of the snake.

When the box was empty a waiter brought out a small jewelry box in his hands.  The chef opened the jewelry box while the waiter held it.  The chef picked up the card from inside, read it and said, “Mrs. Brenda Counter will have the first cut.”

Phillip hugged Brenda.  Brenda smiled and raised her glass to the other guests and to chef and then to the snake.  She had been chosen for the highest honor of the evening.  She would be the one who would cut the snake first.  The first cut was worth an additional five thousand dollars, plus the cost of her entrée.  And this first cut was special.  No one in their group had ever cut an Anaconda.

The chef called Brenda up to the table and handed her the knife.  Brenda looked at the snake and admired it.  Its size was incredible.  She imagined its meat would be so succulent.  It was fresh.  Although the snake was still, it was not dead.  It was safely sedated.  Cutting the meat live kept it fresh.

Brenda turned to address the other guests.  “Let’s get this meal underway,” she said and laughed, raising the knife above her head.  The other guests laughed too.

“That’s my wife,” Phillip said.  “I may as well be on that table.  I’m use to that tone of voice.  Hurry up and get it over with.”

The guests laughed.

Brenda playfully waved her hand at Phillip to stop it.  “This is going to be one of our best dinners ever since starting this group,” she said.  “And, I can’t think of anyone else to share it with except for my best friends in this room.”  The guests clapped and cheered and laughed.  “And I can’t thank my wonderful accommodating husband enough for this birthday gift.  He worked tirelessly to set this evening up.  Without him, she,” she pointed to the snake, “wouldn’t be here.  Thank you, sweetheart.”  She blew Phillip a kiss.  He gave her a nod and smiled.  “So, without further ado, I’d like to…”

Brenda stopped talking and watched the other guests back away from her.


If you enjoyed this story, send it to a friend and follow me on my blog. 



Good Friends.  Good Drinks.  Good Food. Good Time?


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I call this a hybrid story.  It is a combination of suspense, thriller, and a little horror.  The story comes with the arrogance of getting away with something.  But then there is the comeuppance that shows what starts as a secret does not always stay a secret.  Enjoy PART 2.  See you the next time at PART 3.



THE DOOR CLICKED CLOSED behind the detectives.  Francis shot up off the sofa and went straight to the wet bar.  She grabbed a bottle of vodka and a shot glass and filled the glass to the top.  She drank it down and poured another.  She drank that down and poured another.  She drank that down and poured another.

“Francis,” John said.  Francis looked over at him.  “You have to stop this.  You have to get control of yourself.  I’ve called another doctor to come over and give you a sedative.  It’ll calm you.  Keep you from saying things you’ll regret.”

“You’re my lawyer!” she yelled.  “Not my boss.  Don’t you forget it!”  She looked down at the vodka bottle and the full shot glass.  “You don’t know what I saw!  You were not there.”  He told her to keep her voice down.  “Don’t tell me what to do!  Damn it!”  She brought the glass to her mouth and tossed it and her head back and gulped the drink down.  “It was like watching a damn horror movie!”  She poured another drink.  He told her to slow down.  “You were not there!  Don’t tell me what to do!”  She stared at him and gulped the drink down.

She leaned back against the wall and slid down it.  Sitting on the floor she put her head down and covered it with her hands.  “It was awful,” she cried.  “Just awful.”

That night was still fresh in her mind.  Two weeks had passed.  But the memory was not fading at all.

It was supposed to be the dinner of the year.  Fifteen of the most influential people in New York gathered in an old warehouse.  The place was decorated like a five-star restaurant.  Elegant tables and chairs and lighting, everything was just right.

The guests were in their tuxedos and evening gowns.  Everyone milled about the room until the evening events were to begin.

Waiters in white tuxedos served aged bottles of wines and special ports and exotic hors d’oeuvres.  Trays and trays of unique goodies made their way throughout the room.  Only the best would be served for this dinner crowd.

Wheels rolling across the floor had the guests looking around.  Ten waiters rolled a twenty-five feet table in the middle of the guests.

The guests gasped and were silent.  Laughter followed.  This was a surprise.  It was the best ever.  This dinner was living up to its hype.

In the center of the table was a female Anaconda lying lifeless on her stomach.  She was enormous.  Her head would not fit in a person’s hand.  She was placed straight out to show her full length of twenty feet.  She weighed four hundred and seventy-five pounds.  On top she was dark green.  Her belly was yellowish.  A straight white mark was at every twelve inches on her back.


If you enjoyed this story, send it to a friend and follow me on my blog.  



Good Friends.  Good Drinks.  Good Food. Good Time?


, , , , , , , ,

I call this a hybrid story.  It is a combination of suspense, thriller, and a little horror.  The story comes with the arrogance of getting away with something.  But then there is the comeuppance that shows what starts as a secret does not always stay a secret.  Enjoy PART 1.  See you the next time at PART 2.


Spending time with friends should bring us closer, but sometimes it tears us apart.



DETECTIVE MURRAY AND DETECTIVE BUNNER sat across the coffee table from Francis Devor.  Francis leaned back on her sofa in what she thought was a relaxed pose.  The detectives saw her differently.  She looked uncomfortable.

You would have thought she was sitting in an interrogation room at the police station.  Instead, they were sitting inside her twenty million dollar condo on the twenty-first floor.

The detectives had to force themselves not to look around the condo curiously.  Large brightly colored paintings covered parts of the walls.  The detectives were not art aficionados.  But, they knew one of the paintings could pay off both of their houses and their children’s colleges’ tuitions with millions left over.  The condo’s white on white interior was like being inside a museum.

The detectives knew it was easy to become distracted by the condo.  It was interesting.  Even Francis was a distraction.  At sixty-nine with white hair and good skin she was attractive in her designer dress and classic pumps.  A diamond necklace hung around her neck.  A matching diamond bracelet was on her wrist.  A gigantic emerald ring was on the ring finger of her right hand.

The detectives thought she was overdressed for an interview.  Telltale signs said that she was nervous.  That was one of the reasons they could not get distracted by the trappings of a woman with her wealth.  Their focus was on her missing friend, Brenda Counter.

Neither detective felt that Francis was telling them everything she knew.  Francis’s lawyer who sat beside her was picky on what and how Francis answered the detectives’ questions.  This seemed odd to the detectives.  They had not called Francis for this interview.  She had called and set it up.  She never mentioned her lawyer would be there.

On the phone Francis seemed to have something she wanted to get off her chest.  But, in person her tone was different.  She was not opening up at all.  Or, she was not allowed to open up.  The question was why.

The detectives decided the “why” would not be answered that day.  Even if Francis wanted to tell them what was on her mind, her lawyer was not going to allow it.

The detectives told Francis they had to leave and stood up.  They told her they would get in touch with her if they had more questions or got more information on her friend’s whereabouts.

Francis’s lawyer told them to call him first if they had something for Francis.  He handed them his business card.

The detectives nodded to Francis and closed the door behind them.


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Want To Have Some Fun?


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Enjoy Part 4 of this horror story.  




SHE WALKED BACK INTO the room.  Marvin’s eyes were glued to her.  Her hair was a mess.  But she was pleasant to look at, even more so than earlier.  It was going to be harder to kill her than it was the others.  She was a keeper.

Of all the young women he had gone through and disposed of this middle-aged woman comes out of nowhere and blows his mind.

Stop procrastinating, he told himself.  Get it over with.  Before she suspects anything, do it.  If you don’t, you’re going blow everything.  He sat up and slid to the bottom of the bed and sat there looking up at her.

“You never asked me my name,” she said.

“Does it matter?” he asked and started to stand.

“Wait,” she said before he could get up.  “Where are you going mister?”  He was taken back.  “You promised to give yourself to me.”  She took a step toward him.  “You’re not going to renege on a promise.  Are you?”

She was great, he thought.  She was just as wild as he was.  What a crazy sexual thing.  Maybe he could work something out this time.  Maybe she could save herself.

Inside he was floundering.  Stick to the plan, he told himself.  Get rid of her.  Do not deviate.  Do it!  Do it now!

“No,” he said.  “I don’t renege on promises.”

“Good,” she whispered.  “I’d be disappointed.”  She took another step toward him and stood between his legs.  He reached out and held her butt and kissed the dark patch of hair between her legs.  She stepped back and pushed him in the chest.  He fell back onto the bed.  “It’s my turn to do the work.  Slide all the way up on the bed.”  He pushed himself up on the bed.

She crawled onto the bed and began to crawl up his body.  Her tongue slid along the front of his legs.  She got to his manhood and blew hot air on it.  He got erect.  “Not yet,” she whispered.

She slid her body up his and stopped to circle his belly button with her tongue.  He shivered with anticipation.  She was going to be his lover.  This was not going to end here.  They could take this to another level.  How far?  It was worth exploring.  Not only that.  This was going to be one of those nights that guys brag about to one another.

He could hear himself telling the story.  He met this woman in a bar.  They both had had too much to drink.  But, that was not what attracted him to her.  He liked her slutty appearance and just wanted to have sex with her.  She was more than he bargained for.

Just think, he thought.  Just hours ago this crazy bitch had told him at the bar that she had told her friend who left her at the bar that she was thinking about killing herself.  Her husband had just left her for a younger woman.  She did not want to go home alone.  What luck, he thought.  Talk about being in the right place at the right time.

Her friend left her at the bar and told her he was coming back.  But while he was in the bathroom he went up to her and said, “You’re beautiful.  I’d like to take you home and make love to you all night.  I’ve never seen someone so gorgeous.  Let’s get out of here.”  Even though she looked at him through hazy drunken eyes he knew he had her.  He took her by the arm.  They were out of that bar in less than a minute.

Now he can say he just had the best two hours of his life.  And hour number three was probably going to be just as great.

She made her way up to his mouth.  “Kiss me,” she said.  He lifted his head to her.  She brought her mouth down over his.  He squeezed her ass.  She reached down between them and took hold of him and eased him inside of her.  She lifted her head and whispered, “Don’t let go of me.”

“Oh fu…” he said, losing his breath, feeling light-headed.  She was amazing.  He groaned loudly.

She put her mouth back over his.  She slid her hands down his arms and around his wrists.  She slid his arms up over his head.  She stared into his eyes.  He could not believe her.  She was too much.  He wanted to hold her and went to bring his hands down.

She had his wrists pinned to the bed.  He pulled harder to free his arms.  He wanted to hold her.  But he could not free his hands.  She stared into his eyes and rocked back and forth.  She looked different.

He tried turning his head away from her.  He wanted to tell her to let go of his wrists.  Her mouth was clamped down hard over his.  She was using it to press his head into the bed.  He grunted and groaned.  Not in pleasure.  He wanted her to let him go.

Her tongue snaked around the inside of his mouth.  It was suddenly thick and forcing its way down his throat.  His eyes were wide.  He could not swallow.  Breathing was getting harder.  What little air his lungs took in was putrid.

The smell of rotting flesh filled his lungs.  They burned.  The taste of the smell was sickening and choking him.  He began to shake.  He body began to convulse.

Gravel, dirt, bugs and worms slid down his throat.  He could feel them crawling and sliding down into his stomach.  This was a living hell.  He wanted to die.  If he could just pass out he would be satisfied.

She was changing before him.  Her black hair had turned to a grayish matted mess.  Her skin was changing.  Her makeup was gone.  Her skin was no longer Olive.  It was gray and slimy and wrinkled.  Her cheek began to poke out further and further.  A black snake broke through her skin.  He slithered out the hole and down the side of her face.

He shut his eyes.  Just let me die.  Please.

She clamped down tighter with her mouth.  His eyes shot open.  Bugs, worms, maggots and flies were coming from the corners of her eyes, out her ears and mouth and dropping onto him.  They entered his body through his nose and ears and tear ducts.

He struggled hard, groaning and yelling, but the sounds were trapped inside him.  After a minute he stopped moving.  His eyes were still open.  Insects were still entering inside him.

She kept her mouth over his and eased her body all the way down on top of him.  She then removed her mouth from over his and took a deep loud breath and sighed.

She laid there for a few minutes.  Then she lifted her head and looked down at Marvin.  “What an end to a perfect night.”  Her skin rippled and moved as small creatures crawled beneath it.  “Thank you for making the ultimate sacrifice.”

Marvin’s corpse was already decomposing.  It looked as if he had been dead for a week.  His skin was gray and slimy.  His hair was dried up.  His eyes were sunk deep into their sockets.  His body shook slightly as the insects inside him did their jobs.

“You willing gave yourself to me.”  She kissed him gently on the lips.

“Happy Birthday to me.”

She laid her head on his chest.  Her hair began to turn darker. Her skin began to tighten.  Its Olive color was slowly coming back.

She slept.


In PART 5, what is the truth? 


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Want To Have Some Fun?


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I initially told you this would be a three-part story.  It will be a five-part story.  I do hope you enjoy it, all of it.



MARVIN PUT THE KEY into the lock of the motel room’s door.  The middle-aged woman from the bar had her arm around his neck.  He could feel most of her weight leaning on him.  Her knees buckled again.  He squeezed her tight around the waist and held her up for the fourth time.

He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was in the parking lot.  He looked quickly to his left and right and pushed the door open.  Holding her up he pulled her inside the room and shut the door and locked it.  Only then did he touch the wall to his left and flip the light switch up.

The bed had a green blanket on it.  The carpet was dark green.  A cheap table and two chairs sat in the center of the room.  The walls were a grimy looking off-white.  They were probably white at one time, he thought.

He dragged her over to the bed.  One of her heels came off along the way.  He tossed her on the bed.  Her body bounced on it and stopped.  She mumbled a few incoherent words.  He looked down at her and smiled.  He then leaned over and put his hands on her thighs.  Her dress was hiked up revealing red panties.  He stood up and admired his catch.  She was his prey for the night.  It was time for him to devour her like a wild animal, he thought and grinned.

He reached under her dress and grabbed her panties and pulled them down.  He pulled the left side and then the right side, alternating sides until her panties were down her thighs and just above her knees.  He then slid them down to her ankles and took off her other heel as he pulled the panties off.  She moved her head and mumbled.

“Shhhh,” he said and dropped the panties on the floor.  He then pulled her dress up to her waist.  Then he got behind her on the bed and lifted her upper body.  With her leaned back against him he pulled the dress up and over her head.  She was not wearing a bra.  He grabbed her breasts and massaged them.  “Firm breasts for a woman your age,” he whispered.

His eyes strolled down her nude body.  He licked his lips.  “You’re going to be a good one,” he said.  He could barely restrain himself.  No rush, he thought.  Still, he hurried and took off his clothes, pulled her legs apart, and climbed on top of her.  He took hold of himself and pushed himself inside her.

Her eyes opened wide.  She gasped.  His hand went over her throat.  “Wait,” she whispered.  He ignored her.  She pushed her hands against his chest.  “Please, wait.”  She gasped.

“Why?” he asked, irritated.  She was supposed to be drunk.  No conversation.  No resistance.  “Why am I waiting?”

She swallowed and panted.  “Because,” she whispered.  He asked her because what.  “Promise me.”  He asked her to promise what.  “I don’t this.”  He stared down at her in disbelief.  “I don’t.  This means something to me.”

He tried to hide how annoyed he was.  He was not going to have a conversation with this woman.  She was a drunken slut.  A stranger.  This was going to go one way.  His way.  And then he was going to end it.  He was not making any promises.

“Just promise me,” she said.  He was getting mad.  She was going to ruin this.  “Don’t hurt me.”  He told her he could not promise her that.  She looked terrified.  “Then…Then I’ll give myself to you.  Just don’t hurt me too much.”  He told her he could do that.  He started again on her.

“Wait,” she said, holding her hands in the air.  He exhaled and stared down at her.  She looked too afraid to touch him again.  Maybe he would hurt her just because if she did.  “Just one more promise.  Please.”  He told her this was it.  No more stopping.  “Promise me you’ll give yourself to me if I give myself to you.”  His annoyance was showing on his face.  “Please.  I don’t have sex with just anyone.  But if we’re giving ourselves to each other we’re making love.  Then I can be uninhibited in what I’ll do for you.”

He paused and sighed.  “I promise,” he said.  “I’ll give myself to you.”  He figured that was the least he could do for her.  If a little lie relaxed her and made her more willing, why not tell her what she wanted to hear?  He began to aggressively take her.

For the next two hours he took her every way he could imagine.  Even when he knew she did not like some of what he did, he did it again and again.  She was just a vessel.  Nothing about her was important.  She was close to fulfilling her purpose.

He moved faster and faster.  Then he groaned loudly and collapsed on top of her.  She lay under him panting.  It took him a minute to roll off of her.

She curled up in a ball with her back to him and cried.  He lay beside her, panting.  After a few minutes he turned and looked at her.  He liked her body.  It was sturdy.  She could take a lot of abuse.  He rolled over close behind her.  He stroked her long, thick dark hair.  He pushed her hair away from her neck.  She was actually a good looking woman.

But, he could not keep her.  No one could know what he did.  No one could ever know what he does.  He had a life to protect.  And she was probably going to say he raped her.  All that crying and regret would win people over to her side.  He clenched his fists and opened them and brought his hands up.

He hated it.  Finally, he found someone who he wanted to hurt and pleasure.  A rare find she was.  But he could not keep her.  He had to end it.  Should he choke her or break her neck?  That was the only question.

She looked over her shoulder.  He dropped his hands.  “I need to go to the bathroom,” she whispered and sniffed.

He paused and thought, no.  Then he changed his mind.  Why not?  It was her last time.  “Go ahead,” he said.  “But keep the door open.”

“Okay,” she said in a weak timid tone.  She slid off the bed and walked gingerly to the bathroom.

He watched her, proud of what he had done.  Guarantee what little time she has left she will never forget it, he thought.  He craned his neck to watch her.  What a body, he thought.  What a waste.

He listened to her peeing.  Her urine hitting the water in the toilet bowl was relaxing to him.  It was like a calm stream.  Maybe he would do her again before he got rid of her.  A farewell gift, he thought.


In PART 4, don’t make promises you can’t keep.   


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