Seeds of Fear

'Boy, you were eager for some beaver!' she chided playfully. But he turned away from her. 'Hey, what's wrong?' she asked.

'I.. didn't expect to come so fast. Sorry.'

'I thought you said you got sex all the time. Maybe your card trick doesn't work so well after all.'

He turned back to face her and she noticed his face was red. Studley Do-Right was embarrassed, she thought with amusement.

'It's not that, it's just. well, I didn't get to — you know — get you off.'

'So who's stopping you?' She pulled the drawstring and her pants slid noiselessly to the floor. She stepped out of them and glared at him defiantly, allowing him to notice that she too had neglected to wear underwear that evening.

He gasped at her bare beauty and at his first-ever view of shaved pussy. He approached her slowly, trembling slightly, and finally allowed his hand to caress the soft mound of skin directly above her vagina, rubbing his hand up and down, exploring her innermost secrets with his eager fingers, slipping one, then two deep inside her. She stood as still as a statue as he finger-fucked her and he kissed her breasts while pushing his fingers in and out of her vagina. Then he replaced them with his again engorged dick.

She moaned as he pushed into her and they started a love dance, still standing while moving slowly around the small living room, their every movement ecstasy to her supersensitive pussy. Despite her own preferences, she felt herself on the verge of coming. All too soon she was forced to allow herself to experience a thunderous orgasm while still standing and locked in his sexual embrace. The climax was better than she remembered, and a thousand times better than the orgasms she'd given herself over the years as she waited for the chance to fuck a man again.

Finally her orgasm ended and she disengaged from him and fell back on the couch, catching her breath. He lay down next to her. She looked around lazily until her eyes spotted an ashtray.

'Oh God, you smoke! I'd kill for a cigarette right now.'

'No problem,' Rob said, reaching to open a drawer of an end table next to the couch. He sifted through it and brought out a pack of Winstons, displacing a book from the drawer. They both watched it fall to the floor.

'Oh shit.' Rob blanched as Chris read the title aloud.

''How to Seduce Women: A Failsafe Guide for Bachelors.'' She reached down for the book, but Rob caught her arm.

'Please,' he said, obvious strain in his voice. 'Don't.'

'Is it yours? Let me see it.' She shrugged his hand off her arm with surprising strength and flipped through the book's pages.

'Oh, this is great,' she said sarcastically. 'This is priceless.' She held the book up for him to see the page featuring the «Handyman» business card. 'I don't fucking believe it! You got all this from a fucking book!' She laughed at him. 'Where's the page that tells you what wine to use on nipples? Or how to do it standing up?' She threw the book down in disgust.

'I've been had,' she said as she stood up and gathered her clothing. 'Well, it serves me right, I guess, for being so anxious myself. I mean, I just got out today, so you can imagine how horny I was after eight years in the asylum.'

Rob was quickly putting on his pants to hide an erection that had faded with embarrassment down to a dick that was smaller than he could remember having since he was in grade school. 'What. what did you say? What do you mean?'

She took a deep breath of smoke into her lungs, held it for a second, and exhaled in his face. 'Eight years — that's a long time to waste away. But they were convinced I was crazy for killing my boyfriend Rob.' She blinked twice. 'What did you say your name was?'

'R. Rob.'

'Rob. Well. Of course.' She thought about that for a moment, chuckled to herself, and then continued: 'My Rob, he was a liar too. Told me he wasn't having an affair when he was actually fucking his secretary. Are you fucking your secretary too, Rob? Did you use the book on her too, Rob? I can't stand liars, Rob.'

Slowly she placed the pack of cigarettes in her purse. 'Thanks for these, Rob. You remember what I said before?'

Stunned that she'd found him out, stunned by everything she'd said, he could barely concentrate on her words, as she repeated softly, 'I said I'd kill for a cigarette.'

As she removed the long, razor-sharp knife from her purse, she stepped menacingly toward Rob Parvis, once a lonely, desperate bachelor, soon to be deceased.

Christine Kent and Vickie Wayne sat at the bar, sipping cranberry juice and vodkas. Chris spoke first: 'First round's on me because you won the bet. How'd you know I'd kill him?'

Vickie shrugged. 'It doesn't take a brain surgeon. As soon as you said his name, I knew he was a goner. I just hope you cleaned up after yourself.'

'The place is spotless, I promise.'

Vickie shook her head. 'You really are crazy, Chris.'

'That's what they said at the asylum, till I convinced them otherwise. Took eight years, though. Needless to say, I'm still horny.'

As if on cue, a short, overweight, sweaty man with thick glasses in a dirty Grateful Dead T-shirt walked up to them, glass of beer in one hand, business card in the other. He handed the card to Chris.

'Oh shit,' Vickie said as her friend read aloud: ''The Handyman.''

The man nodded eagerly. 'That's me. I couldn't help hearing you mention how horny you are.'

Christine put up a hand to silence him. 'Well. Matt,' she said, exaggerating his name, 'I'm sorry, but I've already read that book.'

She laughed as she dropped the card into his glass of beer and turned away from the man. A look of disappointment spread across his face.

'Shit,' he cursed. 'I just can't get lucky.'

Vickie eyed him for several seconds before responding, 'Mister, you don't know just how lucky you are.'

AIRHEAD Michael Newton

Tar baby don't say nothin'.

Where the hell did that come from?

It took a minute, Larry Gaskins thinking hard, before he got it. Uncle Rastus. No, that wasn't right, but it was close.

Forget it. He had work to do.

The thing that made him think of Uncle What's-his-name just then was Sucky Suzee. Not that she was black or anything. To hell with that noise. But you couldn't beat her when it came to keeping secrets. She was Larry's favorite kind of woman when it came to noise, in fact. Bitch never said a word.

Of course, she couldn't, really, since she had no tongue, no vocal cords, no lungs.

At that, she was a bargain. Fifty-seven ninety-five, plus tax, and Larry never had to feed her, never had to buy her drinks or clothes or gifts or any other fucking thing.

Because the lady was inflatable.

She wasn't absolutely lifelike, granted, but the in dustry had come a long way since the fifties, when you paid your ten or fifteen dollars for a blow-up doll that looked like Howdy Doody, with the tits and features simply painted on, no hair and precious little satisfaction for your money.

Sucky Suzee measured five foot six when Larry stood her up, and she had blond hair cut to shoulder length. He favored blondes, and if the hair was artificial, what the hell could anyone expect?

She had a nose, eyelashes, curly pubic hair, and perky little tits with half-inch nipples. Anything beyond a mouthful's wasted, as the old man used to say, and Larry liked them slim, young, blond.

For dress rehearsals, he decked Suzee out in sexy underwear he bought from catalogs. The size had been a