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The paper said not guilty, but the truth, the real truth, was a secret, deep down inside my heart. Locked up like I should have been.

I pulled out my cigar, Cuban and custom made. The smoke was grey and pleasing and it soothed my nerves like a kind of music one hears down in their soul. My suspension on the force would last for another week or two, and so in the meanwhile I'm relaxing. I was about to fetch myself a glass of chardoney when the doorbell rung. I slipped on my slippers and came to a stop at the slab of treated mahogany wood. I opened the door and I couldn't believe my eyes.


We slapped our faces together and began kissing.


It was the long kind of kissing, the one where both your tongues dance around like wild snakes in a burrow. They slither all around in deep long holes, looking for prey but they happen to find each other. Curling and entwining until both are one. A mass of oscillating flesh, going round and round like a ferris wheel. And as we reached the top, the sights began pouring in. Vivid images blazing from my memory, like bullet shells.


Green light. Red light. Traffic ticket. Half-finished hotdogs. Smooth legs, warm hands, dark movie theaters. Dallas, Texas. Texas. Goddamnit.


I pulled away, knowing what this was all about.


"You shouldn't have come back" I said, shoving a cigar back into my mouth.
"I know. But I just couldn't resist."


How could she. She was dead afterall.

This story reminds me of the time my friend Jimmy had a birthday party with a pinata. He put on a blindfold, grabbed the bat, and started swinging. Problem was, he was much too off target. We told him where to walk, where to swing, but he ignored us and, well, Susie ended up with bone fractures and a hospital trip.


You are Jimmy. Please take my advice. Go read more books.

Sorry I have to agree. Your last post before this one was stiff as a board. This excerpt has a little more promise but gee - 'We slapped our faces together' does that sound remotely sexy? And 'your tongues dance around like wild snakes in a burrow' - that sounds downright gross unless that's what you're trying for. Personally I think you're trying too hard to be different.

Here's a tidbit from one of my novels:
They smoke and drink and make small talk for a while. Denise claims she is from Mississippi and he thinks it might be true and then it might not, you never could tell with these girls.
“What’s your real name?” he always wants to know this, it is a challenge. He hates calling any girl he is intimate with by some fake name.
She gives him a hard look.
“Just your first name. I don’t care about any other shit.”
“Deja. My momma named me Deja.”
“Then what the fuck are you calling yourself Denise for? Deja, that’s a beautiful name!” he says excitedly, he is getting pretty high but deep down he means it.
“Thanks baby. You can call me Deja if you like then.” she sits cross legged on the bed next to him and takes another hit.