Home of The Naughty Stories Series
Writers’ conferences always brought out the most bookish of folk, reflected Axel. Then he bumped into Lulu. They chatted genially about Gunter Grass and blogging, Georg Pabst and, funnily enough, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, when she dropped the unexpected. “Thing is, my father was a donor. I was brought up by two women.” A throw-away line, …
He saw her through the crowd. How unusually attractive, he thought, alone but confident, not quite part of the scene, but detached, perhaps amused by it all. They spoke briefly. She smiled at him and they wandered outside. “What do you do?” “I am a writer.” “That is absurd but romantic nonetheless. I don’t know …
There is something about reaching the end of the year and knowing that Christmas is around the corner that leads to a maelstrom of emotional reaction. There is an overwhelming urge to ensure that the elements that are conjured from a mainly half-forgotten childhood be recreated and then the driving psychopathic urge to share it …
There once was a waiting room with three people in it. One was a middle-aged woman, who was sitting by the door, handbag on her lap. She wore a pair of gloves that she was loath to take off in case she handled something unclean and revealed the liver spots on the back of her …
Scene One There was great pressure in the run up to Christmas at school. A convent education leads inevitable to an ability to create a nativity scene using nothing more than a shoe box, marker pen, tape and cotton wool. Having something of an artistic turn, the shoe box and occupant creations were not too …
“The banker of the tale had an invitation to dinner on the top floor. At the door of the lift someone handed him a mask, whereupon he found himself in a room full of masked dignitaries. Up on a stage, surrounded by tables serving sushi and other delicacies, were two unmasked and naked lap dancers. …