Mirror Images

by Cris Kane

"Ramon!"

Esteban leaned through the open car window and pressed firmly on the horn. He had been attempting to summon Ramon for the past ten minutes, to no avail. Agitated, Esteban glanced at his platinum Patek Philippe. He was in no danger of missing his flight, as he was important enough that the airline would delay takeoff if he had not yet arrived. In fact, the only person on earth who didn't jump into action immediately upon Esteban's command was his son.

At long last, Ramon shuffled drowsily out of the front door of the chalet, scratching his fingers through his short sandy hair. Ramon was trim and fit in his preferred ensemble of a zipper-front black polo, matching black cargo pants, and gleaming white trainers. Bored by the tedium of choosing a new combination of clothes each morning, he had settled on this outfit several years ago and rarely wore anything else. He was so fastidious about his appearance that, the moment his shoes became slightly soiled or scuffed, Ramon would discard them in favor of a fresh pair, and he was so spoiled that his father allowed him to continue this wasteful practice, even now as he reached adulthood.

"What is it, papa?", Ramon grumbled with annoyance, squinting even on such an overcast day. An outsider might chalk up this morning irritability to a hangover, but Ramon was too particular about his body to contaminate it with alcohol.

Caption This (17th Mar)

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Seanday Lunch: That Magic

"Hello? Earth to Cory," Wagner said, but there was no response. Cory was looking into the distance--somewhere else entirely.

"CORY!" Wagner shouted. That made Cory jump and he shook his head and looked over.

"Sorry, zoned out for a moment," he muttered.

Cory was the best dancer they had at the club--or at least that's what they'd told him. But when they said they were going to have let him go—and after six months—it was a shock.

"Why?" Cory asked in disbelief.

"People's tastes are changing. You're great, and boy can you move, but numbers in the club are dropping and we need something new."

"I can do new!"

"Sure you can, but we’ve got something in mind. It’s called Magic, and well--

Wagner scratched his nose, "You're a bit... pale for what we're looking for."

"Oh," Cory sighed as Wagner passed Cory an envelope. "Here's what we owe you--and a bit extra. Sorry Cory, but you know..."

Cory accepted the envelope, and nodded before reluctantly leaving.

He was hot at the club--a favourite, but even he'd noticed a decline in the tips that punters would slip him.

He ripped open the envelope as he walked back to the subway, and let out a whistle. "Damn, must be two thou' in there," he gasped. "Well, this should help out while I'm looking for something new."

Cory made his way to Union Street station, he was in a dream, when a woman forced something into his hand. He looked at it; a photocopied flier. He snorted, screwed it up and dropped it.

He managed to catch one of the late trains. He settled back for the 40 minute trip back to his apartment, still drowning in his thoughts.

The remainder of the passengers dispersed leaving the carriage empty. Nobody in their right mind travelled to this part of the city. So he sat--alone--thinking about what to do next, the cash wouldn’t last forever.

The subway had just left College West, a station supporting the local community college. He hadn’t seen anyone on the platform as he passed, but once the train pulled away he could hear internal doors slamming—one after another--and the noise was getting closer.

Caption This (10th Mar)

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Seanday Snack: The Deal

"Casey, comeon' bro we shook on it. A deals a deal," Brad muttered.

"No, no way. I've got a date with Judy tonight," Casey retorted.

"Then why did you agree on the bed dumb ass?"

Casey swallowed, "Because I thought I'd win."

"There's nobody better than me at hunting, and you can't go back on the bet. You might be my brother, but I'm not going to let you weasel out of it."

"Dude, we can do it next weekend--I promise!"

"Nah, doesn't work like that. It was your idea to pick the day, you chose Thursday, you knew I would be going to Daytona and thought you'd get in there for free." Brad chuckled, "I knew you were going to the lake this weekend with Judy. Bro' you fucked up big time."

"But I thought--

Casey frowned at his brother, "Wait! You cheated!"

"Don't even go there bro' I don't have a shit load of meat in the freezer because I shop at Costco!"

"Fuck!", Casey yelled at the top of his voice.

"Shout all you want bro' ain't nobody around to hear," Brad chuckled.

"But Judy?"

"I'll do the right thing, you can trust me bro'."

"I guess, but you'll have to tell me what you did, 'cos you know I won't remember any of it," Casey sighed.

"Sure," Brad said dismissively. "Look you know how this works, you have to give up willingly. Maybe you'll have better luck next time and you can ride my pretty ass around."

Caption This (3rd Mar)

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Going North

by Bill Rowan

Read Goin' South

It had been about a month since I had heard anything from my best bud Cletus and I was worried. He hadn’t returned any of my phone calls or text messages and that was not like him at all. When I talked to the sheriff all he would say is his deputy was up north on some assignment, but he wouldn’t give me any details. Then one day I got a call from someone named “Mark”. I was just about to decline the call when for some reason I hit the accept button instead.

“Hey, buddy. Sorry to be incommunicado for so long. How have you been?” The voice on the other end didn’t sound familiar to me so I had no idea who this “Mark” person was or how he got my number. Yet he was calling me buddy like he had known me for a long time.

“Do I know you, Mark?”

“Sure you do. It’s me… Cletus.”

“Cletus? Y’all sure don’t sound like Cletus and Cletus wouldn’t say no highfalutin word like incommuni…whatever.”

“No, I don’t, but I can’t explain now. Trust me. It is really me. Remember the time….” He proceeded to relate a story only Cletus and I would know.

“Do you fancy a road trip up north to Rhode Island?” Rhode Island? I had never been out of North Carolina never mind going up north to Yankee country. Pops would never let me associate with no Yankee scum. Not so sure he would cotton to the idea of me going to Rhode Island to meet up with Cletus either.

“Damn boy. I can’t get over how different you sound. I gotta talk to Pops first. If I can I’ll text you and y’all can give me the details.”

“Tell him to talk to the sheriff and that I need your help. By the way, have you met Bo?”

“Yup. Met him the other day. Just moved into the old Jenkins’ place. Was out plowing the fields. Something different ‘bout him though.”

“You’re right there. I’ll explain everything when I see you. I know Pops will let you come to visit. You have my number now so give me a holler so I can give you directions.”

“Sure thing Cletus. Be careful whatever you’re doin’.” I disconnected the call and went to talk to Pops.

I high tailed it home and told Pops everything Cletus had said, whereupon Pops went to talk to the sheriff. Whatever the sheriff told Pops it was enough to convince him to let me go north, with one provision: I had to stay with Cletus at all times and not go wandering alone among the Yankees. I could tell Pops was none too thrilled with the idea in any case and if he had said no I would not have disobeyed him, no matter how much I had to find out what had happened to Cletus. I called Cletus later that night and he told me the route to take and where we should meet. I was to call him when I got there or if I needed help along the way. I barely slept that night I was so excited, so I started to throw clothes and other things I would need into my huntin’ pack. Made sure my rifle was all primed and in the rack of my new truck Pops had just bought for me. As soon as daybreak hit I had breakfast with Pops, told him I would see him soon, and took off for parts unknown.

Seanday Short: Fathers Best

I'd been chasing Dominic Frost--a senior at my school--for the past few weeks. I was desperate to become one of the top jocks, and something about him made my heart race whenever I saw him wrestling. Perhaps it was his tight singlet, or his tight ass--I don't know.

All I knew for sure was I wanted to be wrapped up in his skin, take his perfect physique, all his perfect friends and most of all his perfect life.

Caption This (24th Feb)

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Seanday: The Honey Pot, pt 7 (of 7)

READ PART ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE or SIX

"Sandy," I chuckled. "You're so naughty. And on their wedding night.

"It's still MY wedding night, and tonight I wanted to be the woman. Why should Becky have all the fun?"

I eased myself into Mark's body enjoying the confined fit. The shirt I was wearing was damp and tight, as was the waistcoat. I took a deep breath stretching my arms above my head. With a grunt, I sat up on the bed. "Hello gorgeous, did you miss me?" I whispered in Mark's voice. Piece by piece I slowly started to undress beginning with my tie pulling it free of the collar and swinging it around my head. Next the waistcoat, shirt, and then my pants. I stood there in just my white underwear, turning in a circle. "This is what you signed up for, this is it!" I looked down, and then back at Becky. "Have you been working out? Mark's got a lot more definition," I flexed an arm, "yeah, definitely."

Becky smiled at me, "I made him sweat, making him hot for the wedding."

I hooked my fingers into the waistband of the underwear and pulled them down. "Should the married couple christen the suite?"

"I think they should," she smirked.

Caption This (17th Feb)

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Seanday: The Honey Pot, pt 6 (of 7)

READ PART ONE, PART TWO, PART THREE,

PART FOUR or PART FIVE

I walked into the storeroom. On the table was an identical suit to the one Mark was wearing. The girl; I now knew as Jill was holding out a white shirt. "Try this on for size," she told me. I pushed each arm inside as she held it up, and then pulled it over my shoulders. I turned around and she started to button it up. "It's tailored, so should be a snug, close fit around your middle."

Smiling I pushed all of Grant's confidence to the fore. "You're a beautiful woman, stunning. My friend's talking to his fiancée. I'd like to find out if you're a snug close fit around my middle." I rolled my shoulders tightening the shirt across my chest.

Her eyes widened, as if a wish had been granted. She said nothing, but pushed the suit aside hopping onto the table. "You sure your friend won't come to find you?" She asked pulling at her panties. I shook my head as I pulled at my underwear, freeing my hardening dick.

Leaning across her, I kissed her gently, then more deeply, slowly laying her to the table. Unbuttoning her blouse, I eased my hands inside and freed her breasts and sensuously massaging them. She murmured something between kissing, but it made no sense. I reached down and took my dick. From memories I knew it to be about eight inches, but it was thick. Even as I touched it I was surprised at its weight as I'd never had the opportunity to experience it hard. She let out a gasp as I pushed in deep, the fit more than snug--tight, almost restrictive. Pulling back, I paused and pushed again--a little harder. Each time I ploughed deeper, the louder she moaned. I was pacing the rhythm and she was keeping up. The tightness, warmth and dampness only made me want more. Beads of sweat began to pepper my forehead as the pace slowed, but each stroke only became more purposeful, and the harder she pushed back. I felt my butt clench, my abs tighten and with a lingering growl I pumped five loads into her. We both paused, catching our breaths. Bracing myself against the table I pushed myself up, unceremoniously pulling myself clear. The shirt clung to my torso, damp with sweat and sticking to my back. I unbuttoned it, and peeled it off as Jill eased herself off the table. Her long hair was tangled, and she tried to fix it--unsuccessfully. Her attention turned to her clothes, she pulled at her panties fixing them in place as best she could. I handed her the shirt. "Sorry, hope that's not the only one," I asked. "Have you got any--," I gestured to my groin and she pointed at a box of tissues.

"That's our only shirt in that size, but I can have it cleaned by the time you need to pick it up next week."