Feb 11 By The Horns 1
Feb 11 By the Horns 2
Read by Greg Page
Gordon Collindale went into the bathroom to prepare for bed. Marjorie was waiting for him, and the tone of her voice when she’d suggested an early night hinted that she had planned something other than their usual forty winks.
Gordon sighed to himself. He wasn’t really in the mood. Middle age had seized a large portion of his libido, cruelly coinciding with the moment his wife had discovered the second wave of hers. He was no longer the spry young man in his sexual prime, and Marjorie’s recent demands, though mostly fun, were beginning to tire him out.
Continue reading "By The Horns by Darren Lee" »
Feb 11 The Honourable Thing
Read by Jaz Deol
*NEW FEATURE* - click on "Continue Reading" and scroll to the end to watch a brand-new HD video of Jaz's performance of the story!
“That’s bollocks, Greenfield,” said Dean Murphy, hurling a half-deflated tennis ball against the wall of the gym. “There’s no way you’ve nobbed Gemma Hadley. For starters, cos she’s well fit, and for seconders, because you’re a total gay.”
Martin Greenfield pushed his hands into the pockets of his parka.
“Well, I have, so fuck off.”
“What’re her tits like then?”
“None of your business.”
Continue reading "The Honourable Thing by James Smyth" »
Feb 11 Love Says Truth
Read by Patsy Prince
It was a joke, once. It might still be a joke, but it’s been going on for so long that I don’t think I can tell any more. It certainly isn’t funny any more. But then there are plenty of jokes that aren’t funny.
He always used to say that normal human relationships were a fiction, a fantasy, because – he said – they were always founded on language. And language, he said, was always a lie, because it could only ever be a crude approximation, a rough sketch, of what truly went on in the deeps of the human soul. Humans, he said, were doomed to mistruth. Life was a lie. Love was a lie.
Continue reading "Love Says Truth by Richard Smyth" »
Feb 11 A Room of Ones Own
Read by Ben Farrow
Kayla, 29, was pretty, but in a pinched way, both literally thin and narrowly perched on a section of the border between beauty and ugliness that was particularly precarious. She was sitting awkwardly on some badly-carpeted stairs, holding her labia open with a greedy expression on her face. Even on her spare frame, the pose made her stomach ruffle into rolls. Her inner thighs had acne.
Sofia, 21, on the other hand, was burnished like lino. This wasn’t an afterthought for her. She’d had a spray tan to cover her knicker-marks. Her anus and vagina were partly shaded puckers in an otherwise smooth bronze surface.
Continue reading "A Room of One's Own by Johnny Steel" »
