By David Stewart
General, I’m afraid the enemy will be here any minute. We’ve lost sir.
Well that is inconvenient. That’s a jolly nuisance I must say. What happened to our lot?
You mean the 19th battalion sir?
That’s the chaps. Weren’t they strategically located between where the enemy was and where we are now?
They’re dead sir.
I say, That’s dashed bad form, weren’t they wearing their cunning disguises?
They were dressed as trees as you ordered.
Well then they should have been damned near invisible.
They were dressed as trees… in a desert.
They should have huddled together to look like a copse.
In accordance with your orders they were dressed as Christmas trees. The enemy shot at the flashing lights.
I thought we could solve the twin dilemmas of camouflage and lack of morale at the same time. Didn’t they seem at all cheery as they died?
Oh. And what happened to my secret weapon?
You mean the books about hypnosis sir.
Powerful stuff. My wife’s aunt was cured of smoking thanks to that book.
It’s effectiveness was rather dependent on getting close enough to the enemy to perform the hypnosis.
Yes, now you come to mention it that is rather a shortfall.
That and the fact it only included instructions for the cure of nicotine addiction.
Well I thought the lads could improvise. After dissuading the enemy from the smoker’s life they could continue the hypnosis to include not killing us.
Sadly we’ll never know if they were capable of such tactical thinking, what with them all being dead.
Well this is a blow. And I had such a good victory speech prepared, some lovely passages and really juicy analogies. Oh here’s thought. Perhaps instead of surrendering we could team up?
I’m sorry sir I don’t follow.
Well obviously the enemy is a lot better than us at fighting and not dying while dressed as a festive tree but we hold the upper hand when it comes to writing cracking speeches. So instead of a surrender we offer to become their speech writers. They can do all the killing and I pen their stirring words of a victory.
What you’re suggesting is nothing short of treason and I’m duty bound to shoot you if you attempt it.
Colonel. Come here. Now I want you to look deep into my eyes, you can feel yourself becoming sleepy…
By Jason Geary
What I love about us is the space in between.
Sometimes it is electrified.
Sometimes it is a vacuum.
Sometimes it is violent.
Sometimes it is warm.
Sometimes it is vast.
Sometimes it is comfortable.
It is constantly in flux.
The result of the two of us at a given point in space and time.
By Tim Redmond
“Jesus Christ, it’s an eagle!”
We’re walking, late light on Christmas day when Lea spots it. Up ahead, just left off the path by The Hudson, a shape far bigger than any of the darting squirrels we’ve been throwing snowballs at. Then it lifts its head and we see its beak cut against the river, before it stoops and begins jabbing again.
It’ll make an awesome photo. That’s what I’m thinking. The George Washington bridge in the background, cars crawling like fire-ants, the eagle in relief against the water. America, America. But my camera has a shitty four times zoom and every time I nudge closer to get the shot, the bird lifts from whatever it’s eating and stares straight at me, completely still, and I retreat twice the distance I’ve just inched.
Lea laughs. I hold the camera out to her and she poses.
We make a wide hoop around the eagle and continue on up The Hudson, me glancing back every five steps to make sure it isn’t about to attack us. She laughs again.
“Big, brave man.”
By Rik Brown
By Jason Geary
Clouds counted the seconds. If it wasn’t for those uniformly grey clouds blowing gently across the clearing he could have been forgiven for thinking time had stood still. Lying on his back in the lush grass he was willing it to do so.
He didn’t want to go back to the cabin. He didn’t want to hear their conversations. He didn’t want to be used as leverage.
He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, held it in, opened his eyes then exhaled. Moments later the clouds above him parted revealing a small patch of the deepest blue that lay behind. The cloud mended its wound quickly, closing into a dull grey ceiling.
He furrowed his brow. No. It couldn’t be true.
He drew another breath and blew hard. Within seconds the clouds above him parted again.
It was true.
Another breath, another blow. This time with a vigorous shake of his head, like a ten year old determined to get every candle on their birthday cake. The clouds began to break apart and scatter.
It took two more breaths to clear his horizons.
A smile. His first in – he couldn’t remember how long. He looked up into the deep blue, so deep he was sure he could see stars. Time lost its grip. It had no clouds to hang onto.
Now he could stay here forever.
By Jason Geary
Elaine spent a small fortune on beauty products, a new scent every week. Vainly hoping that his head would finally turn.
It did not.
She would paint a picture of regret to her friends who were, quite frankly, sick of her whining about it. While out after work one evening her friend Julia, in a desperate attempt to stop her from talking about him any longer walked straight up to him and said ”Elaine wants you to notice her. Everything she does, she does for you. She’s sitting right over there.”
He took it in without as much as a blink of an eyelid then dismissed Julia with a sly smile.
After Julia walked away, he threw a look in the direction that she was pointing.
For the life of him he couldn’t figure out who she was talking about.
By Jason Geary
I didn’t have to work at getting a hard on. Samantha Fox did that for me. Arching her back, her huge breasts doing their best to defy gravity. She was looking at me like she knew what I was thinking, then giving me permission to do so. Who was I to deny her wish? I walked over to the door and put my ear to it. I heard the sound of my Mum and Dad watching Cheers, punctuated with short laughs and agreement on how funny Woody was now Coach had gone. They had settled, they wouldn’t move for ages. I went back to my bed where Samantha Fox waited wantonly. I dropped my underpants and took a wad of tissues out of my bedside draw. I placed them next to me on the bed with care, like some sort of ancient Eastern ritual. I sat still, tissues aligned to my left, Samantha Fox on my right. I closed my eyes as I started jerking dick. I hadn’t been masturbating long. I was still quite new to it, though I did take to it like a duck to water. Each time I’d find a way of making the experience better.
I’d just discovered that if I closed my eyes mid wank the picture I was looking began to dance, interact with me. In short, I’d discovered I could fantasise. This fantasy was all about having my face smothered with Samantha Fox’s breasts, quite good for the time. As I picked up the pace I’d open my eyes briefly to reaffirm her image, then close them and be ear to ear between her tits.
I could feel that tingling in my balls begin, it simultaneously made it’s way into the pit of my stomach and the tip of my dick. This was going to be big. I was almost there and decided to take one last peep to really take me over the top.
I opened my eyes and saw those spectacular tits again… And my mother horrified at the foot of my bed.
What? Mum? I couldn’t stop now. I was too close. I had to come. Two more strokes. I closed my eyes, trying to escape, and I’m instantly back in between those tits. My orgasm was huge. I heard Samantha Fox calling to me; I looked up, her nipple in my mouth, and saw my mothers face. NO! I opened my eyes to find her throwing tissues at me saying, “Not on the carpet.”
I closed my eyes again.
Samantha Fox was gone replaced by the image of my mother weeping.
That was 23 years ago. I haven’t been able to jerk off since, every time I’ve tried my mother is in the room standing right there weeping.