------------------------------------- This work within its first few lines contains language or other material which some readers may find offensive. In consideration, Stories Space has hidden the preview of this selection. By choosing to view the piece in its entirety, you agree that you are 18 or older and do not object to such content. ------------------------------------- “My feet are fucking KILLING me. I've been sta...

So there I lay, my arms splayed out with one wrist tied to each bedpost, my ankles tied to the lower ones and a pillow wedged up under my hips. Because of the blindfold and headphones, I had no idea what she was up to. Perhaps I should back up a bit. Laura seemed like a shy, almost painfully bookish librarian. She wasn’t particularly pretty. She had mousey brown hair she kept in a bun, except for a few stray wisps at the...

Jimmy was born on July 5, 1897. Until he was five or six, he believed all the parades and excitement on July 4 th were in celebration of his birthday. He was a little disappointed; when in the first grade, he learned they were not. He was an intelligent child, with an abiding curiosity, particularly in the sciences and mechanics. Because he was a late child of a second marriage, his father indulged him greatly. When he wa...

It is July third, 2013, and a warm, soft night outside tonight. The fireflies are rising, and I am reminded of a night just like this one, many years ago – Paul Anka was singing “Diana” on the record player, and all the other kids were lined up, doing a dance called the cha-cha. I watched from the side, and sipped my coke. I watched Mary Lou Basler and Joy Abraham, since they were directly in front of me. Mary Lou was wea...

Hey, Stan! It is a good thing you called just when you did; had you been five minutes later, I would have just finished beating my 1950 Toastmaster to death with a big hammer, and throwing it into the trash. Over the past six months or so, it has been getting worse and worse about popping up when the toast is done and the latch lets go. I have been putting off getting into it to lube the sliding parts, remembering what my...

Piano Lessons When I was about three and a half, we left Darby, and moved to live with my father’s parents in their house in Catonsville. We had our own apartment in three rooms of their house, but since they were my grandparents, and their daughter was only six years older than I, I pretty much had the run of the entire house. Except I wasn’t allowed in my great grandmother’s room without being invited. She was very stra...

Life is like a game of poker. You play by the rules. And you make the smart bets. You sit at the table, folding hand after hand of ten- two, seven- three, nine-five, while everyone else is getting aces and face cards, and raking in your five or ten dollar blind. And then it happens. You get a pair of aces, so you bet them. You bet them big, trying to catch up to the rest of the world. But some fool sitting across the tabl...

I graduated college with a BS in Geography. As “they” are wont to say, “That and a buck will get you a cup of coffee.” Sure enough, it didn’t get me a job, so I went to work as an automobile mechanic. After four years of twisting wrenches, and being sick and tired of never having clean hands, or feeling really clean all over, I decided to look for other gainful employment. Perusing the Help Wanted ads (in those days there...

I am driving along in the center lane of I-695 at 70 miles an hour. Miles Davis Quintet – the old one, from the fifties, with John Coltrane, Red Garland, Paul Chambers and Philly Jo Jones – is playing Surrey With A Fringe On Top on the car radio. I am thinking about whether I want to grill a chicken breast or a couple of polish sausages for supper. Suddenly I sense, rather than hear, “POP!” followed by “chu-chu-chu-chu-ch...

I arrived home from work today, opened my email to find the following message forwarded from an acquaintance, and it gave me cause for thought: “Homographs are words of like spelling but with more than one meaning. A homograph that is also pronounced differently is a heteronym. You think English is easy?? I think a retired English teacher was bored...THIS IS GREAT! Read all the way to the end................. This took a...

I read somewhere that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to become good at something. I would respectfully suggest that “good” is relative. I doubt that I have that many hours of practice on any musical instrument, including piccolo and flute, which I played professionally for four years as a Navy musician. After four years of playing several hours each day, was I good? Yes. Was I a world-class musician? Not by a long shot...

It was a scorching hot day, with humidity hovering around the ninety percent mark. All of us musicians, even wearing white uniforms, were soaked through to the skin. The Norfolk Parade had not been too bad, though; the route was only about two miles, and we didn’t have to march behind the horses. We had a Marine color guard and contingent immediately behind us. Rather than calling out a cadence, the Gunnery Sergeant told...

He leans back on the bed watching over the top of his book as she sits at the dressing table, unpinning her hair. I like the way your breasts rise when you raise your arms over your head, he thinks. But it does not arouse me as it did in those early days. Each pin removed allows a few more strands to fall from the tightly coiled bun.  She tilts her head to one side allowing the brush to stroke freely. The tendons at the s...

I finished my noon chow, and was walking back across the drill field towards the school, and smoking a cigarette, when Doug Holmes came running across the field toward me. “Hey man, they just shot the president!” “You’re shitting me, right?” “No! Seriously! Com’on! Cronkite’s on the TV in the staff lounge, but if we hustle, we can get to the doorway and watch it from out in the hall.” We double-timed it to T-1 Admin Build...

When I was in the second grade, I said, “I want to be a geologist.” The other kids in the class, who wanted to be firemen, and policemen and doctors, and brick layers looked at me. Mrs. Callahan looked at me, one eyebrow raised questioningly. “A geologist?” “Yes. Either that, or a musician.” From that day on, I knew I was different. I didn’t want to play kickball in the playground; I wanted to look for druzy quartz sample...