The Slut

by

“You slut!”

Red faced with fury, Theresa’s mother confronted her as she walked in the door.

Not particularly surprised, she said quietly, “I did nothing wrong, Mother.”

“You spent the night with that boy, and I expressly told you to stay away from him.”

Theresa sighed to herself. She knew she would be in trouble. She had gone to see Dean. He had been distraught. His boyfriend had dumped him. They had been friends since the beginning of high school. The state he was in, she could not leave him. Rachel, her mother, didn’t know he was gay. It was something she had kept from her.

The church Rachel had turned to for solace after her husband had died had very strong views about homosexuality. Although normally quite open minded

Rachel had fervently embraced all of their, to Theresa’s mind, fairly intolerant fundamentalism.

That included not spending the night with a boyfriend, and for some reason, although having known Dean for years, Rachel had taken a dislike to him, and forbid her from seeing him. Theresa suspected this had a lot to do with the strict moral code imposed on its members. Imagine her reaction if she knew Dean was gay.

He had been so upset on the phone, and she made the mistake of saying she was popping over to see him, over her mother’s objections, firmly telling her she was not about to give up any of her friendships just because she disapproved of them. Her mother always retired early, so wasn’t aware she not returned that night.

“I am sorry I lost my temper, Theresa, but I am extremely disappointed in you. Obviously you cannot be trusted. I will have to seek guidance so I can deal with this. I will be discussing the matter with Father Patrick, and we will determine a suitable punishment for you.”

Theresa looked at her mother with secret amusement. She had summed Father Patrick up the minute she had met him. A lecherous old man who undressed her with his eyes whenever she encountered him, which was as infrequently as possible. Her mother was blind to all that of course, but if the old lech offered her solace in her grief, she was happy to go along. She would be intrigued to find out what sort of punishment would be deemed suitable as she was not an active member of the church.

It was a few days later. Things had been frosty between mother and daughter, but now, as Theresa arrived home from work, her mother greeted her with: “I have spoken with Father Patrick, and he has agreed to counsel you.”

“I’ll bet he has,” was her wry thought.

“I have made an appointment for you for Sunday evening at six. You will present yourself at the vestry. Please be on time.”

“Are you coming too, Mother?”

“No, this appointment is for you.”

She looked contemplatively at her mother, then said, “ Alright, I’ll be there.”

Sunday came, and Theresa arrived at the vestry promptly at six. The evenings were quite cold so she wore her knee length coat buttoned to the throat. Father Patrick opened the door and ushered her into his office.

“Come and sit down, my dear.”

He showed her to a comfortable chair and sat down in another alongside it, angled so that his knees were almost touching hers.

“Now, your mother explained the situation to me. You wilfully disobeyed her, but I’m sure you must have a good reason. Are you close to this boy?”

“Oh, very Father. We have known each other for a long time.”

There was a gleam in his eye. He leaned forward.

“So do you see each other often, or more often than you tell your mother?”

“Oh yes.”

“And what do you do when you’re together?”

“Would you like me to show you, Father?”

“Oh yes, if you wish to.”

Theresa rose from her chair. Slowly, she unbuttoned her coat, starting with the top button. She opened it wide. All she was wearing was her laciest and tiniest Victoria’s Secret bra and briefs. Father Patrick’s eyes bulged, as did his trousers.

“Oh my,” he said in a strangled voice.

“Would you like me to show you what we do next?”

He could only nod, speechlessly.

“Well, actually, he would be wearing fewer clothes by now too,” she cooed.

Father Patrick struggled to his feet, and frantically pulled off his jacket, opened his shirt, exposing a hairy belly, then undid his belt and pushed his trousers to the floor, his erection straining against his underpants.

“And?” she said, pointing.

In a trice, his underpants joined his trousers around his ankles.

“Lovely!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands, then diving into the pocket of her coat, pulled out her smartphone.

“Smile!”

She rapidly took a number of pictures, including one of his by now subsiding member. She buttoned her coat and perched on the edge of his desk.

“Now,” she said briskly, “Let’s talk business, shall we? And please get dressed, Patrick. That’s not a pretty sight.”

Speechless and red faced, Father Patrick awkwardly dressed himself.

“Sit,” she told him.

He subsided into his chair.

“Ok, Patrick, this is how it’s going to go. I know it’s a big ask, but you’re a smart man. I know you can do it. Firstly, you’re going to tell my mother that Dean and I have been friends for a long time. I was comforting him because he was upset. That is what friends do. She needs to let me live my life as I see fit. Now, this is the biggie. You are going to start preaching compassion, love, and tolerance of all people, regardless of race, creed, colour, religious affiliation, or sexual orientation. You know, the sorts of things that I think religion is supposed to be about. If you don’t, all these lovely photos of you are going to be uploaded onto the internet, and once they get out there, they’re there forever, Patrick. Forever!”

She slid off the desk.

“Thank you, Patrick. I’ve really enjoyed our little counselling session, but let’s not do this ever again, shall we?”

She left the vestry, smiling happily to herself. Not a bad night’s work, for a slut.

©️Cesmo

Je ne sais quoi

by

Je ne sais quoi

“She’s got a certain je ne sais quoi quality about her, don’t you think?”

“What? Who?”

“Janelle.”

“You mean big boobs, big mouth, and long legs?”

“That’s not what I mean at all! You’re so crass.”

“If she didn’t look like that, would you still say that?”

“Of course.”

“Doubt it. Je ne sais quoi generally refers to an indefinable quality. Janelle’s qualities are very clearly defined.”

“But she’s got something.”

“Yes. Big boobs, big mouth, long legs.”

“Beyond the obvious, you nitwit.”

“But you can’t ignore the obvious.”

“So you can’t see it?”

“Nope. You need someone with a lot less of the obvious.”

“Like who?”

“Zoe.”

“Why her?”

“No outstanding physical attributes, like Janelle, but there’s something about her that’s very appealing.”

“Yes. She’s slept with everyone of our football team.”

“That’s a disgusting thing to say, and not true. You’re only saying that because you propositioned her and she turned you down.”

“She did not!”

“She did. I was there, I overhead.”

“You did?”

“I did.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks man. You’re a good friend.”

“Yes I am. It’s not an obvious quality.”

“Uh oh.”

“What?

“ I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“You want me to say you’ve got a je ne sais quoi quality about you too.”

“And I don’t?”

“No you bloody don’t!”

©️Cesmo

Collision Course

by

Mark pressed down the clutch and eased the truck into a lower gear. It slowed momentarily, then its speed increased as it started to descend the steep slope. He gritted his teeth. His steel-capped work boot stomped futilely at the brake pedal, which, as before, sank to the floor. He swore to himself. This was his sixth trip from the quarry. He was fully laden. On the previous trip, he thought the brakes felt a bit spongy, but he was behind schedule, as Garry had sharply reminded him just an hour before. Garry, the works foreman, sitting safely in his office, who had assured him that Big Bertha, the unimaginatively named truck was good to go, and in fact, had just been serviced. So much for that assurance. He glanced across at his companion, eyes closed, fast asleep. Just as well. He didn’t want her to confront what was inevitably going to happen.

Sweat poured down his face. His tee shirt and shorts were drenched. He wiped his face with his hand, and then brought total concentration to bear on the road. A speck appeared ahead, growing rapidly larger. It looked like an old ute, just tootling along. He sounded the klaxon, the harsh sound reverberating through the cabin. Rosie didn’t stir, she was used to the sound. The ute kept up its pace, probably oblivious to the behemoth rapidly approaching behind it. The distance between them dwindled. Desperately, Mark sounded the horn again. He couldn’t overtake. There was a continuous stream of traffic coming at him. At the last minute, the ute driver must have seen him. He swerved off the road onto the gravel. Mark flashed past him. In his rear view mirror, he watched the old vehicle fishtail, his heart in his mouth. Dust and gravel flew everywhere. To his relief, it got back on the road, its occupants no doubt crapping themselves, and counting their lucky stars they had survived. They would also likely be on the blower, informing all and sundry that a maniac in a truck was running amuck on the highway. That was the least of his worries.

He knew the road ahead. It descended for another ten kilometres then curved to the right and inclined upwards. There was a lay by just beyond. If he could make it that far, he might be able to stop Big Bertha by pulling her off the road. A big if. He tried to down shift once more. No go. So he hung onto the steering wheel. A blue dot appeared. It soon turned into a BMW sedan.

‘Nice,’ he thought fleetingly. Not so nice if he rammed it up the backside at one hundred and twenty klicks an hour. Desperately, he sounded the horn again. The car stayed at the same speed. Once again.he couldn’t overtake. Too much oncoming traffic. He squeezed the steering wheel with an iron grip. As if that would help. As he reached the car, and he felt his bowels constrict, the driver’s window slid down. A hand emerged, with a red nailed finger raised at him. He watched in stupefaction as the car shot away. The damned woman had played chicken with him! He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with relief. He was a man. He opted to laugh.

By now, he had reached the curve in the road. Big Bertha started to slow as the road inclined upwards. He shifted down, this time, it worked! There was nothing ahead of him. He reached the lay by and carefully steered the rapidly slowing vehicle off the road. He down shifted again and slowed down even more. He gently applied the handbrake and Big Bertha came to a halt, inches from a huge boulder at the end of the lay by. He breathed an enormous sigh of relief. Rosie chose that moment to wake up. She gave a prodigious yawn and shook herself. Her reached over and patted her on the head.

“You missed all the fun, girl,” he said. She barked, as if in agreement. He released his seatbelt but didn’t trust himself to move. If he got out of the truck, his legs probably wouldn’t hold him up. He had driven trucks in Iraq, even got blown up once, but nobody got hurt. Nothing as scary as this, or maybe, he was just getting old. But regardless, this was it. No more. He would find something else to do. Garry could stick his job with its punishing schedules and dodgy vehicles.

Flashing blue lights appeared in his rear view mirror. The long arm of the law had finally arrived, no doubt, summoned by the occupants of the old ute or anyone else who had seen him careering down the highway. He reached over and grabbed all his paperwork. They would want that.

He opened the door and climbed down. He was right. His legs didn’t want to hold him up. He clung to the grab rail and turned to look into the suspicious eyes of two unsmiling police officers.

It took over a hour of explanations and mandatory drug and alcohol testing before they were satisfied. He would stay with the truck until someone could come and pick him up or the truck could be hauled away. He found a rock to sit on and let Rosie out to do her business and explore.

As he expected, Garry was none too pleased at the turn of events. He would organise for Bertha to be hauled away, and send someone to stay with the vehicle. Mark didn’t tell him of his own plans. He would reserve that pleasure for later. He closed his eyes, and then opened them with a start as a car pulled up behind Bertha. His eyes widened in recognition. It was the BMW that had played chicken with him. He watched appreciatively as a long legged figure in skinny blue jeans, with a skimpy top and huge dark sunglasses under a mop of dark red hair came striding towards him. He idly wondered if she had green eyes with gold flecks.

‘They would go with her red hair,’ he thought. He sat back and waited. She stopped, hands on her hips, and said, “You the driver of that?” pointing to Bertha.

“Yes, who wants to know?”

“I do,” she said.

“Why?”

“You almost killed me!” she exclaimed.

“I didn’t though, did I?”

“Because I took off!”

“You were playing chicken,” he said mildly.

“I was not!” she said hotly.

“So what was the finger all about?”

“Just letting you know how I felt!”

“So why are you here now?”

“I was on my way home and just saw your truck, so I thought I’d give you a piece of my mind!”

“Which piece?” he said slyly.

“What? I don’t think you realize how serious this is!”

“Oh, I assure you I do. Would you like me to explain what happened?” “Apart from you driving dangerously, what’s to explain?”

“No brakes.”

“What?”

” I lost my brakes,”‘he explained.

“Oh.”

“Yes, I lost them coming down the hill.”

“Oh,”she said again.

He shrugged. “It’s ok, nothing bad happened.”

” I’m sorry, I did jump to conclusions a bit, didn’t I?” she confessed.

He said,” You weren’t to know.”

“So what happens now?”

“ I wait for them to pick up the truck. I guess the powers that be will deal with the company. I’m just a driver.”

“A good one if you were able to avoid a really bad accident like you did!”

He grinned.”Thanks, but I think I was lucky. I’m Mark”

“Gina.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I know,” she said. ” My mother just loved Gina Lollabrigida. Dad was Irish. Mum’s in Europe somewhere with husband number three,” she said with a trace of bitterness.

“Yes, well, my mum’s at home. Sometimes, I wish she was off overseas somewhere.”

His phone rang. He glanced at it.

“Speak of the devil.”

He pulled a face. “Hi Mum, how are you?”

Gina walked away and left him to it. Rosie chose that moment to appear, and ran up to her.

“Hello, girl,” she greeted her. ” You belong to him, do you?” and patted her on the head.

Mark finished his call and walked over. Rosie promptly left the girl and ran to him. He absently scratched her on the head, and said, “Mum’s invited me to lunch next Sunday. Want to come?”

“What? I don’t even know you!”

“Mum will tell you all about me,” he grinned.

She hesitated, then said,”Sorry, I can’t. I’ve got something on.”

He said cheerfully, “Oh well, next time maybe.”

A station wagon pulled up next to her car.

“Here’s my transport. Nice to have met you, Gina. Come on Rosie.”

The driver got out, gave her a curious look, then got in the truck. Lee and his dog got in the car, and drove slowly away. He regretted he hadn’t seen her eyes. He’d always wonder what colour they were.

Gina made a mental note of the name of the construction company on the side of the car as it went by, without quite knowing why. Just in case, perhaps. But Dylan was waiting. Dylan who was becoming increasingly impatient with her lack of enthusiasm for taking their relationship to the next level. He had already bought the ring, so he told her. All she had to do was say yes. So why hadn’t she? Deep down, she knew why. It had taken a close encounter with a runaway truck to bring it to the surface, and confront it. Which she would do when she got home. Decisively, she strode back to her car, and with a spray of gravel, took off. The name of the construction company was still fresh in her mind. She should be able to track him down without too much trouble. Lunch with a mother who loved her son and didn’t live on the other side of the world sounded very appealing.

©️Cesmo

The One

by

From his vantage point on the mezzanine floor of the night club, behind the one way glass window of his office, Robert looked down moodily. He sipped his Bloody Mary, but it did nothing for him.

“Bit blue are we, Bro?”his friend Bruno said sympathetically.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Bruno knew him better than anyone else in the world. They had known each other a long time. A very long time. Bruno too had a Bloody Mary. He took a swig.

“Tastes like piss,” he observed.

Then, nudging his friend, said, “You need to get laid, Bro. Your dick’s every bit as big as mine. Go find some hot chick to stick it into.”

“Don’t be so vulgar,” Robert chided him.

“And it’s not the size. It’s what you do with it.”

“I’ve never had any complaints,” Bruno said slyly.

“Not everyone is impressed by size.”

Robert looked up at his friend, all six foot four of blackness, only broken by the whiteness of his teeth, which Bruno now showed in a grin.

It was still early. The dance floor which they overlooked, was not as crowded as it would be later than night. Still, he had his undercover staff circulating. He had a very strict no drugs policy in his club. His people were the equivalent of sniffer dogs. Anyone caught peddling any illicit substances was discreetly removed. He grimaced as he remembered an incident just a few months ago. An evictee had returned after the nightclub had closed, with some associates to try and talk Robert into changing his policy. He and Bruno had ‘persuaded‘ them to take them to their boss, to whom they explained their policy in a more forceful way. When you were three hundred years old, and immortal to boot, there weren’t too many incidents that hadn’t previously been encountered and dealt with. Being vampires helped as well. So the drug lord had been convinced in a rather permanent way of the error of his ways, and they had not been troubled since.

Robert sighed. He was lonely. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a companion with whom to share his life. Thus far, he hadn’t found anyone he cared enough for, to ask. And they would have to be willing. He would never force anyone to share the kind of existence he and Bruno endured. Although the latter appeared quite untroubled by it all. He literally had thousands of liaisons over the last three centuries and happily moved from one to another.

He now exclaimed,” Hey, hot chick just walked in. I’m off, Bro.” and he was gone.

Robert didn’t bother to watch him go.

He finished his drink. It wasn’t really a Bloody Mary. It was synthetic blood, and it had taken years of research to develop. It contained all the nutrients of real blood, and it meant they didn’t need to go searching for unwilling human donors. Although he and Bruno had made an exception when they had that encounter with the drug lord and his associates. For some reason, reports of the discovery of any exsanguinated bodies had not made the news. He wondered why. The other members of the gang who found them may have had something to do with it.

He walked to his desk, and sat down. A bank of monitors on the wall showed every part of the dance floor which now revealed a heaving mass of gyrating bodies. The loud music was mercifully muted in the office. He grimaced. It was just noise as far as he was concerned. A far cry from the music of the century into which he had been born.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called out.

A young woman entered. He did not know her. She was as blonde as he was dark, wearing a simple black dress that showed off an attractive curved figure, but what caught his attention were her unusual green eyes. He found them mesmerising, and came to his feet.

“Hello, I’m Robert,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand.

“I am Katarina,” she responded in a soft, accented voice.

Her hand felt soft and warm in his. He reluctantly released it and guided her to a chair.

“Please sit,” and seated himself in another next to her.

“What can I do for you, Katarina?”

“I am not sure,” she said hesitantly, “But I just met your associate, Bruno, a little while ago. I have only recently arrived in your country, on holidays to visit my cousin Lydia, and she brought me to the club. Bruno welcomed us and when he heard where I was from, he insisted I come up to meet you.”

A light went on in Robert’s head.

“You’re from Transylvania!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, I am.”

“So am I,” Robert said.

A smile lit up her face.

“That is so wonderful,” she exclaimed.

“”How long have you been here?”she asked.

“Oh, a long time.” he said evasively.

“So, are you going to be visiting for a while?” he asked

“I will be here for four weeks,” she replied.

“Great.”

Plenty of time to get to know her. Maybe this was the one. He felt enormously attracted to her.

“Would you like me to show you the sights?”

“I would like that. Lydia works during the day. She could not get time off, so we have only gone out at night, and this weekend.”

“Alright, leave it to me. Where is Lydia now?”

“She is with Bruno. He insisted on buying her a drink. She likes him, I think.”

Robert reached out and took her hand.

“He will take good care of her.”

He resolutely pushed Bruno’s big dick comment out of his head.

“This may sound strange, but I don’t like what passes for music in my club. Would you like to go somewhere quieter for a drink and a snack, perhaps?”

She smiled and said, “I would like that.”

“Okay, great.”

He pulled her gently to her feet. He caught a whiff of some exotic perfume as they stood close together. He looked into her green eyes. They seemed to have gold flecks in them. He was entranced. She looked back at him, a slight smile curving her lips. Lips he badly wanted to kiss. A long white neck he wanted to sink his teeth into. If they was the one, he would owe Bruno a debt of gratitude he could never repay. Still holding her hand, he led her out of the office, and to what he profoundly hoped, was an eternal relationship.

©️Cesmo

The Time-Space Continuum

by

Ollie was annoyed. Seriously annoyed. Someone had been in his room and touched his stuff. He hated anyone touching his stuff. He had everything in its place, and he had a place for everything, so he knew when something had been touched. And something had, he just knew it. The problem was, he didn’t know what it was, and that annoyed him even more. Part of that annoyance was directed at himself for not knowing what it was. It was a strong, yet strange feeling. How could he be so sure, and not know what it was?

He stood in the middle of the room and slowly looked around. It was a large room with its own en-suite bathroom. Bethany’s room was the same, but there the comparison ended. She was disgustingly untidy. Mum had given up trying to get her to do anything about it. He didn’t know how she ever found anything in that mess. The fact that they were twins made it even harder to understand. They were so different. Their mother had bought the house when she and their Dad had divorced. She was a corporate lawyer. Dad hadn’t stood much of a chance. Right now, he was in Monaco with his girlfriend who used to be his PA. So cliched, Mum had told him. He hadn’t disagreed.

Ollie decided to start again and slowly rotated on his heel and once more examined everything in the room. Nothing. He blew out an exasperated breath. Maybe, just this once, it was his imagination. After all, he had made it very clear, no one was ever to go into his room.

Bethany had rolled her eyes, and said sarcastically, “Yes, we wouldn’t want to come in and find you doing something you shouldn’t, would we?”

He had ignored her. Coral, their mother, had suppressed a smile and told him his wishes would be respected. Both the twins were responsible for cleaning their own rooms and doing their own washing. Which was why Bethany often looked like something the cat dragged in, in his opinion. He washed and ironed all his own clothes. He was happy to do hers as well, for a fee of course. Quite an excessive one. But being as lazy as she was, she was willing to pay, and he had no qualms about taking her money.

He sat down at his desk and turned on his recently acquired new laptop, bought almost entirely from the money Bethany had paid him. The screensaver usually depicted Mount Vesuvius erupting. He liked the visual. It looked startlingly real. This time however, a man’s face looked out at him, a man who looked remarkably like him, except about twenty years older.

“Hello Ollie,” a voice said.

His office chair skittered backwards as he reacted in shock. He instinctively pushed back from the desk, toppled over and fell with a thump on the floor.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the voice said apologetically.

From his prone position, Ollie looked up at the screen.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice quivering.

“I’m you, of course,” came the reply.

He struggled to his feet and picked up the overturned chair, then sat back down.

“How can you be me?”

“I’m you in about forty years time,” the voice continued. The mouth moved in sync with the voice, he was being spoken to in real time.

“Uncle Joe, is that you? Are you FaceTiming me? It’s not funny you know.”

“Oh please. Do I really look like Joe? I’m much better looking for one thing and a lot younger,” the face on the screen said in an offended tone.

“But you can’t be me either. It’s not possible!”

“Not in your time, but I’m speaking to you from forty years in the future. You have no idea how much technology has advanced, and you, who is also me, play a big part in it.”

“How?”

“I can’t tell you that, just trust me. It happens.”

“So you’re actually talking to me from the future,” Ollie’s voice was high pitched with incredulity.

“I am. I’m Oliver Johansson, inventor and entrepreneur. To be honest, this is my first trial of my invention. What better way to test it than with myself, which is you.”

“Wow, that’s awesome! So how’s this invention of ours work?”

“I’ve given a lot of thought about how much to tell you, and the way it happened was almost by accident, so I think I need to let events take their course. I don’t want to interfere with the natural order of things.”

“Oh,” said Ollie disappointedly.

“But you at seventeen are an essential part of it,” Oliver told him.

“Me being able to talk to you is proof that it works. We’ve found a way to refract the time space continuum.”

“That sounds like something out of Star Trek,” Ollie exclaimed.

“Believe me, you have no idea how much of science fiction will become reality in the next few decades,” Oliver told him.

“That’s fantastic!” Ollie exclaimed.

“Yes, but that’s all I’m going to tell you. There’s no need to remind you not to reveal this to anyone?”

Ollie pulled a face.

“Who’s going to believe me?”

Oliver nodded with a smile.

“True. This transmission is about to terminate. I won’t be in touch again. So goodbye Ollie and thanks.”

“Wait,” Ollie cried, but the image faded and Mount Vesuvius commenced erupting.

Ollie sat unmoving and stared at the screen for a long time. Had he dreamt it? Not unless he’d fallen asleep in front of the computer, something that had never happened before. So, he had just been talking to his fifty seven year old self, who looked only twenty years older. Or at least, how he imagined he’d look like in twenty years time. He’d certainly aged well. Or it was the result of medical and surgical advances. No reason why that couldn’t have occurred along with the technological ones, he supposed. Would he really be that vain?

Be that as it may, it certainly gave him a lot of food for thought. An inventor and an entrepreneur. That apparently was his future. A feeling of excitement ran through him. But who was he going to tell? Nobody, that’s who. Nobody would believe that his future self had contacted him from forty years in the future. He could scarcely believe it himself. There was so much he wanted to know, but perhaps older Oliver was right not to tell him. He knew all about ‘the butterfly effect.’ Would it apply in this case? Why take the risk.

That sense that something in his room had been touched. Was that the effect of the time space continuum when his older self was in the process of contacting him? Perhaps.

He would go for a bike ride. That might help to organise his thoughts.

As he walked through the kitchen, his mother, sitting at the bench, looked up and said, “I thought I heard voices. Were you taking to someone?”

Ollie smiled involuntarily and as he walked out of the back door, he said,

“I was just talking to myself.”

Alien Salvation

by

The bombs fell out of a clear blue sky. Within minutes, a city of six thousand souls was obliterated, buildings reduced to rubble. Schools, the hospital, shops, houses, everything levelled. Very few survived. There had been no warning. No one had been given an opportunity to escape. The dictator was teaching his people a lesson. Defy me and you die.

The word went out to surrounding cities. Resistance crumbled like the buildings. The last of the rebels fled, their lesson learnt. The toll in the city, added to the thousands who had already perished, brought the people to their knees. The dictator reigned supreme.

In the darkness, far from the cities, a young man sat on top of a hill. Dressed in ragged clothes, carrying a water bottle he had filled from the last river he had crossed, he stared up at the night sky. Denied any real education in a country where all places of learning had been purged, he gazed in wonder at the myriad of twinkling lights in the sky. He had only a rudimentary knowledge of stars and galaxies, yet wondered if any life existed around any of them and whether there were people like himself, forced to suffer as he and his people were. He sent his thoughts soaring up and up, reaching out, and hoping with all his heart that they did not and that they were living in peace and harmony. It seemed to him the lights twinkled in response.

He made his way down the hill till he came to a small clearing, lay down on a carpet of leaves and fell asleep.

He awoke as dawn was breaking. The rays of the sun filtered through the branches of the tree under which he had slept. He gazed in awe and wonderment at a shimmering blue lit sphere that hovered at the edge of the clearing. He felt no sense of fear as, with an audible hiss, an opening appeared and a figure emerged. It looked like a man and he got to his feet as the figure approached. It stopped and thoughts and images crowded into his head. He felt completely at peace. No harm was intended, in fact, the presence had arrived in response to his wish for peace and harmony for others, despite the suffering of his own people. They wished to reciprocate but in a more tangible way. In order to do that, they needed to merge with him. He did not question how they could possibly have known his thoughts, but acceded gladly.

The dictator’s personal bodyguard knocked discreetly on the door of his expansive office in the palace.

A voice barked, “Enter!”

From behind his elaborate ornate desk, the dictator glowered at the man, and said, “Yes? I gave strict instructions I was not to be disturbed.”

The bodyguard squirmed and said, “It’s a representative of the rebels, Sir.”

“Have him shot. I will not tolerate any rebels in the palace.”

“Sir, he has an important message for you.”

The dictator screamed, “I told you! I want him shot! You are relieved of your position effective immediately for daring to question my instruction. Now get out!”

Ashen-faced, the bodyguard walked back to the reception hall where six guards stood at attention around a tall, serene faced young man in nondescript clothing. The bodyguard instructed them to take him into the courtyard and execute him, as they had done to so many others before him. They showed no emotion and did as they had been ordered. They marched the young man out, and he stood quietly with his back to the bullet ridden, pockmarked wall.

The bodyguard looked on, his mind on his own probable fate. He didn’t understand how the young man had gotten as far as he had, nor why he had felt compelled to disobey his leader’s express order not to be disturbed. The guards raised their weapons, aimed at their target, and their leader barked, “Fire!”

To the bodyguard’s utter astonishment, the six men crumpled to the ground on top of their weapons. The young man walked over to him and said quietly, “Please take me back to your leader.”

He recoiled.

“Who are you?” he cried.

There was no response, the man merely waited.

Reluctantly, without knowing why, he led him back through the hall, and with great trepidation, knocked on the office door. There was a roar from inside and the door was flung open. The dictator stood, there, gun in hand. The bodyguard backed away as he pointed it at them both.

“I said I did not want to be disturbed,” he snarled, then looked for the first time at the young man, who stood quietly.

“Who are you?”

“My name is not important, but you may call me Jamal. I have a request. If you would be so kind as to summon all twelve leaders of your cadres to an important meeting.”

Confused, the dictator, gun now back in its holster, much to the bodyguard’s relief, said, “Why would I do that?”

“Because I request it.”

He opened his mouth to respond, looked into Jamal’s eyes, and said, “ Very well.”

The bodyguard goggled. His leader, the ruthless dictator, responsible for the deaths of thousands, acquiescing to the request of this quietly spoken, nondescript man. Why? Hypnosis. That was it. When he looked into his eyes, he must have hypnotised him. He had a duty to act. Surreptitiously, he reached for his sidearm. Then froze when Jamal glanced at him. He couldn’t move his hand any further. They walked into the office and the dictator placed calls to his underlings, summonsing them to an urgent meeting. None would dare to refuse. They waited quietly. No one spoke.

One by one, the men arrived, and went straight to the conference room. When everyone was assembled, all universally uneasy and suspicious, the dictator, accompanied by Jamal and the bodyguard, entered the room. Despite their fear of their leader, the animosity towards Jamal was palpable. That increased when he sat down next to him at the head of the table.

“This is Jamal,” the dictator announced.

“He wishes to speak to you.”

“He is a rebel!”someone shouted.

“Why should we listen to him?”

“Because I command it,” their leader said, in the quietist tone anyone had ever heard from him.

They gazed at him in astonishment. Jamal looked at each man in turn. They quietened till there was absolute silence in the room. Jamal did not speak. Instead, he closed his eyes. A small blue sphere shaped light appeared above the head of each man. The varying expressions of fear, distrust, anger and bewilderment disappeared, to be replaced by ones of calm and peacefulness. For several more minutes, the silence continued, then the lights gradually faded. As one, they all turned to Jamal. For the first time, he spoke.

“You have all been vested with the desire to govern your country for the good of all its people. You will go out and implement measures that will allow all to participate in its governance. You will make recompense to all who have been grievously affected by your past behaviours and accept any punishments meted out to you as a consequence. Any aggressive behaviours on your part will be channeled purely for the defence of your people and your country. All your activities will be monitored from now until it is determined that such monitoring is no longer required. You may leave now and begin the process.”

One by one, the men filed out of the room. Jamal spoke to the dictator.

“You are responsible for a great many of your country’s ills. It is fitting that you accept any punishment determined as appropriate for you.”

He turned to the bodyguard.

“You will see that this is done.”

The bodyguard nodded assent.

Jamal rose and walked out of the room, and out of the front hall of the palace. The front gates, previously locked, barred and heavily guarded, were wide open. The guards were gone. People were cautiously walking past, but some stopped and even ventured inside. The streets started filling, the word had spread. There had been no coup, but something had changed. The limited social media outlets suddenly found their restrictions gone and speculation was rife, but no one quite knew what had happened. That would soon change.

Jamal continued his walk out of the city which was coming alive around him. He made his way to the outskirts and to a small wooded area where he wended his way through the trees to a small clearing where the sphere had brought him. He stood quietly in front of it and waited. A small shiver went through him as the alien entity left his body. He felt a sense of loss, but was immediately reassured. They were not going anywhere. They would stay for as long as they were needed. He owed them an enormous debt of gratitude. They had saved his country and his people. It might well be, in fact, it was highly probable, that at some time, someone else on this beleaguered planet would require alien salvation.

©️Cesmo

A Fool and his Ferrari

by

Mason gunned the motor and guided the Ferrari skilfully through the evening traffic. That advanced driving course had certainly paid off. He saw the lights of his destination, the Grand Hotel in the distance, then cursed as he saw the long line of cars at the entrance, disgorging their occupants. He drove as close as he could, but there was no way he’d get upstairs in time. He spotted a flunky dressed in smart blue blazer and black pants standing near the entrance.

He pulled up behind a Lexus, hopped out and with an imperious wave, summoned the flunky. He seemed in no hurry, ambling over with an enquiring look.

Mason said, “I need to be up in the penthouse in five minutes. Park this in my usual spot. I’ll come down when I’m ready.”

He gave him a ferocious look.

“And be damned sure there’s not a scratch on it or it will be much more than your job’s worth. Got it?”

“Yessir!” the man replied, then slid into the driver’s seat.

Mason raced into the hotel lobby, then headed for the lift. It only went as far as the thirtieth floor. He had to get out and take another lift to the penthouse where the game was being held. The two security guards knew him well and let him in without hesitation. He’d made it, they hadn’t started. He slipped into his usual chair, exchanging greetings with everyone he knew. It was high stakes, fifty thousand a hand. And also quite illegal. That was part of the attraction. But in the time that he had been playing, he had pretty much summed up the opposition. He reckoned he was a pretty good judge of character. He knew their weaknesses, picked out when individuals were holding good or bad hands. He had a damned good chance of walking away with a very handy sum of money. The game started, the first hand was dealt.

It was three hours later. Mason realised he’d been suckered. It took a while, he’d won a few hands, small pots just to draw him in. Then it started. Now he was left owing five hundred thousand dollars. Of course, his credit was good, but he knew without a doubt what would happen if he didn’t cough up.

He left, conscious of sly conspiratorial glances as he exited the room. Down in the lobby, he wandered disconsolately over to the concierge and asked for his car to brought round.

The man looked at him in puzzlement.

“I’m sorry sir, but we don’t have your car.”

Mason spluttered, “But I gave it to one of your people to park when I arrived!”

Once again, the man repeated,”I’m sorry sir, but there’s no record of your car in the carpark.”

Realisation dawned. He had given his precious expensive Ferrari to a complete stranger, someone who wasn’t even an employee of the hotel. His father was going to kill him.

Several hundred kilometres away, the sleek red Ferrari was being loaded into the back of a specially fitted out truck. It was lead lined to block out emissions of the tracking device that was bound to have been built into the car. No longer dressed in the hotel uniform, the opportunistic thief climbed into the passenger side of the truck. He gave his mate the thumbs up, who put it into gear and moved off.

“Man, that was a great ride. Would love to own one of them,” the thief said.

His mate shrugged.

“I wouldn’t. You never know when some bugger like you might come along and flog it!”

They both laughed uproariously, as the truck trundled off into the night.

©️Cesmo.

Verisimilitude

by

Verisimilitude

Gertrude peered over her glasses at Enid who was busy knitting what looked like the longest scarf in the world.

“What’s verisimilitude?” she asked.

”The appearance or semblance of the truth. Also called truth likeness,” Enid said promptly.

“How the hell do you know that?” Gertrude asked in astonishment.

“I know stuff,” Enid said smugly.“Why do you want to know?”

“It’s in this book, “ Gertrude said, waving it in the air.

“It’s a Mills & Boon. Big word for that sort of romantic tosh,” Enid observed.

“It’s got other big words too. Like ‘exemplify.”

“That’s not a big word. Antidisestablishmentarianism is a big word,” Enid scoffed.

“You’re just showing off,” Gertrude declared. “What on earth are you knitting?”

“It’s a scarf.”

“It can’t be. It’s ten miles long!”

“That’s 17600 meters,” Enid said immediately.”And It’s not. You’re exaggerating.”

“Stop bickering you two,” a voice intruded.

Iris stood at the gate just meters from the front veranda of Gertrude’s little timber cottage where the two were sitting in comfortable chairs with their morning cuppa. Iris was almost as wide as she was tall, which wasn’t very tall at all. They often wondered how she got around. Gertrude had a walker and Enid a cane. Both with problem hips and bad knees. And they were all the same ages, in their seventies. Iris opened the gate and waddled up the short path and heaved herself up on to the porch. She plopped into a chair which creaked in protest.

“Any chance of a cuppa?” she asked.

“Get it yourself, you know where everything is,” Gertrude told her.

Iris humphed, then heaved herself up and waddled off.

“Take as long you like,” Enid called out. “Give us a chance to talk about you!”

Iris made an obscene gesture as she left.

“What’s there to talk about?” Gertrude asked.

“Daryl of course.”

“Who?”

“Daryl. Her new man.”

“She’s got a man?”

“Sure has. Three months now. I hear they’re at it like rabbits.”

Gertrude couldn’t help herself. She spluttered with laughter.

“For God’s sake, how?”

“ Beats me. He’s taller but as wide as she is. And he’s a few years younger.”

“Who told you?”

“Beryl.”

“You think she might be exaggerating a bit?”

Enid shrugged. “ Don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?” Iris reappeared with a mug in her hand, and reseated herself.

“Beryl said you’ve got a man,” Enid informed her. “I was saying I don’t know if it’s true or not.”

Iris said coyly, “What if it is?”

“Then I’d say you’re a lucky bitch, but we were wondering how the two of you do it,” Gertrude said forthrightly.

Iris spat out a mouthful of tea.

“That’s none of your damn business! And you’ve made me spit tea all over my dress!”

“Oh come on, Iris. You can tell us, we’re friends aren’t we?” Enid said in a wheedling tone.

“And we’re not getting any, that’s for sure,” Gertrude added.

Iris wiped ineffectually at the expansive front of her dress. Then she said, “I’m all wet and sticky. I need to go and get changed. But I’ll tell you if you promise not to laugh.”

“We promise,” they chorused.

“We do it doggy style,” she almost whispered.

The two women exchanged glances.

Gertrude asked, “Do you enjoy it?”

Iris reddened then said, “Oh yes.” heaved herself up and waddled off. They watched her go. When she disappeared, they dissolved into spasms of laughter.

“Oh God, the mind boggles,” Enid cried.

Gertrude nodded agreement.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Enid asked.

“I’d say so,” Gertrude said thoughtfully, “Though,”she paused and gave a little laugh, “It could be a case of verisimilitude.”

Once again, the two women collapsed into peals of laughter.

The End.

Don’t Wait Up!

by

A short story to read on your way to work.

“What time will you be home?”

Alex looked up absently, as he placed some documents in his briefcase.

“Not sure,” he answered.

“The partners are meeting with a new client later this afternoon. Why?”

“Just wondered,” his wife Alyssa said.

“I’ll probably not be home until late. Going to see Bronwyn after tennis. We might go out to dinner, so don’t wait up.”

“Ok, I’ll just make myself something if you’re not here.”

“Will Kylie be at the meeting?”

“No idea. Why?”

Alyssa shrugged.

“Just wondered. She’s the newest junior partner. I hear she’s very good.”

“Really? From whom?”

“Oh, I don’t remember. Craig maybe.”

Craig was one of the senior partners. Alex wondered idly just when they had had this particular conversation.

“Don’t know if she’ll be there or not. I haven’t had much to do with her. Anyway, got to go. Enjoy your day.”

He kissed her briefly on the cheek and walked to the front door, and down the front steps to his car which he had left in the driveway the previous night.

As he drove through the early morning traffic, he replayed the conversation he had just had in his head. Alyssa, as he learnt from the many years they had been married, never made idle conversation. There was a reason Kylie’s name came up. He wondered what it was. It was true he had not had much to do with her. He remembered being impressed at her interview, but had been sidetracked by another matter and left the decision of her appointment to others. She was certainly a very attractive, competent young woman, at least, so she appeared. The others on the panel must have agreed. But when had Alyssa obtained that information from Craig?

He had an idea that he knew. Of course. He was a bit slow this morning. Too many hours at work. He needed to take a break. He had long held a suspicion Alyssa and Craig were having an affair. After all, he was a good looking man, several years younger than he was, and, truth be told, sex between Alyssa and himself had become infrequent and perfunctory.

Strangely, the thought didn’t upset him anywhere near as much as he expected it to. He was quite fond of Alyssa, but really, his interest in her had waned considerably over the years. She was vain and quite self-centred. Never wanted children. Enjoyed the status being his wife gave her, the tennis and golf at the best clubs with her coterie of snobby friends and the charity work that apparently consumed much of her time.

When she announced, shortly after he made senior partner, that she had been diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, necessitating in her having to stop work, he had not questioned her. On reflection, her condition did not seem to have affected her other activities, which probably now included bonking Craig, he thought sourly.

But back to Kylie, was Alyssa a little concerned that she might have a rival for Craig’s affection? He resolved to keep a closer eye on things at work. A little bit of awareness might not go amiss.

That idea went out the window when a mini-crisis with an influential client raised its ugly head soon after he arrived in the office. The rest of the day was spent working on various strategies to minimise the fallout from the obdurate and quite frankly, the bizarre behaviour of said client who had a meltdown when he discovered his boyfriend in bed with a despised enemy. As they owned considerable assets in joint names, he turned up demanding that they find a way to strip the cheating boyfriend of his share, after admitting he had chased both men out of his luxury penthouse with a large and very sharp butchers knife.

And Craig had rung in sick earlier. According to his PA, he sounded terrible.

Alex was skeptical. Craig and the PA had history until both had been informed, discreetly but forcefully, that if they did not desist, both would be dismissed. That had been a few years ago, but still.

The crisis was eventually averted, just in time for the meeting with a new client. By that time, Alex was worn out. By mutual consent, Kylie was invited to join the meeting, and given all the briefing notes. Considering the short notice, he was impressed with her quiet efficiency, and competency, as were the other senior partners. It didn’t hurt that she was an extremely attractive woman, elegantly dressed, with flawless features, short black hair and dark eyes. He noted what he assumed was an engagement ring on her finger. ‘Lucky man, or woman,’ he silently reflected.

The client left satisfied, Alex escorting him out. He wearily made his way to his office, then detoured to the staff room. He needed coffee. To his surprise, Kylie was sitting at a table, also sipping a coffee. He smiled warmly at her.

“You did very well in there. and at such short notice too.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Would you like me to get you a coffee?”

“Oh no, I’ll get it.”

He programmed the machine, and soon joined her at the table.

“Long day?” she asked sympathetically.

He nodded.

“I’m thinking of taking a break.”

He smiled slightly.

“And now I know the place will be in good hands.”

Red coloured her cheeks.

“Yes, you have a very efficient and professional team of people working here.”

She looked at him for a minute, then said abruptly, “May I be honest with you?”

Surprised, he said,”Of course.”

“I only applied to work here because of you.”

At his raised eyebrows, she hurried on.

“You have a reputation in the business world as a person of honesty and integrity. And you demand the same of the company. This is one of the few companies in the city that has such an unblemished record. You must be very proud of that.”

“I’m only one of a very good team,” he pointed out.

“I know, and I’m sure everyone is deserving of the same respect that you command.”

“But?”

“No buts. I just thought I’d tell you. But also, I want you to know that I don’t want to work here for very long.”

“Why not?” he said in a puzzled voice.

She said slowly, “Alex, we service some of the richest people in the country. Our clients are mostly millionaires, businessmen and people with inherited wealth. There are many people who need the same kind of services we provide here, but obviously can’t afford our fees.”

She stopped, took a breath, then said, “Those are the kind of people I want to work with.”

Alex put down his mug, and looked at her thoughtfully.

“And how do you propose to do that?” he asked in a neutral voice.

She said defensively, “I want to get as much experience as I can, then start up my own business.”

“That’s very admirable, but do you realise how much that would cost?”

She nodded, determinedly.

“Yes, I’ve done all the costings. I would have to work for a few years at my current salary, but I think I can do it.”

“I see. Well, it’s good to have a goal. Thank you for telling me.”

“Do you think I’m being foolish and naive?”

“Not at all. As I said, I think it’s very admirable to have a goal, especially such an altruistic one. I may even be able to be of some help.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Let me think about it. I’ve been around a while. I know people.”

He got to his feet.

“Let’s call it a day shall we?”

After rinsing their mugs, they left the building. A few of the staff and one of the partners were still finishing off some work. He bade Kylie farewell and watched her walk to her car, then slowly made his way to his. As he drove out of the car park, a thought occurred to him. Craig had called in sick. Maybe he should call in to see how he was faring. At least, that was what he told himself.

About thirty minutes later, he drove down the quiet suburban street where Craig lived in an expensive townhouse. He drew up outside and noted, without surprise, that Alyssa’s car was parked in a side street just around the corner. He sat for a minute, then slowly continued on his way. He had some thinking to do. Some serious thinking. Basically, what to do with the rest of his life.

He needed to extricate himself from Alyssa, it would be discreet, without fanfare. His suspicions now confirmed, he would simply activate the plans he had previously made in the event of just such an occurrence. Alyssa would be amply compensated. But now, he had something else to think about. Perhaps a complete change. He wondered if Kylie would be interested in a partner in her venture. A venture that might come to fruition sooner than she expected. The company would survive. After all, it employed a team of very competent people.

So there was only one thing left to do. He stopped the car at the side of the road and pulled out his phone. Luckily, he had programmed her number into it before he left the office. As he listened to it ring, he thought with a slight smile, when Alyssa had told him not to wait up, neither had realised that it might equally have applied to her.

Kylie said, “Hello?” and he started to talk.

©️Cesmo