I mean his ass is right there. And your job, your glory, your whole career is staring up his asshole and then pushing in as close as you can get. That's what quarterbacking is all about when you think of it. Nothing happens until that snap between the Center's legs....
Gunnar Torvaldson rode in his cutter, his horse pulling with its head down against the combined weight of sleigh and occupant. Lamps swung on its sides. He watched the horse's haunches rise and fall, the crystalline air blowing from its nostrils. It was mid-December,...
In the lulling hours of late afternoon, when my sons are with their tutor and my husband is at his office, I usually take tea and sit with my daughter watching the birds along the lakeshore, but not today. Today, my daughter is dancing with other well-groomed girls at...
Life changes. Dicky Norvaks still goes to the city park at least twice a day, but now he takes Rex for his walk around the big preserve on the edge of town. Years ago Dicky was the animal that prowled through the tall grass, sniffing around the wild brush, skulking...
It was the same stupid dream. Jessica took her usual seat on the bus, enduring their stares, gasps and titters. But this time it would be different. This time Jessica would take control of her dream. After all the money she spent on those sessions with Dr. Kraiterman,...
"I wonder if it's male or female?" Joe Rose studied the alien sitting at the end of the bar, trying to decide on an answer to his question. There were maybe a hundred different species that came through the Staten Island transshipping station where he worked, and Joe...
This story appeared in The Harrington Lesbian Fiction Quarterly (Haworth Press), edited by Judith P. Stelboum, in 2004 The eclipse of the sun didn't seem important to me at the time. I had never been especially interested in the movements of stars, planets, or other...
As she faced the firing squad, in a distant chilling dawn, Margarete Louriette Magnons remembered that afternoon when she discovered Amaryllis. Then there had been no war, only desire. Amaryllis lived in Carcasone near the border. It was a small town, only sixty...
The moment I saw Aracelli, I decided I hated her. I was nineteen. For a year, I had been scrambling in the back rows of class and rehearsal at American Ballet. She appeared one sweltering May afternoon, a new student, serene, frail, with skin that gleamed like melted...
I was sitting on our bed in shorts and an Alouettes t-shirt and had just opened ICQ on the laptop, when the cordless rang. The caller ID read "LETHBRIDGE". I smiled and hit the speakerphone. "Hello!" "Hi Daddy!" Becky shouted, "Mommy and I love you!" "And I love you...