Tag Archives: sad

Fake – Anniversary Story

Tomorrow marks the first anniversary of my blog.

So here is the last short story of year one

I knew a guy once. Dirty Harry. Like the Clint Eastwood movie. He wasn’t a dirty cop or anything. He was just a regular guy called Harry. But he owned a sex shop. I know right, what a weird job! I guess someone’s got to do it. He was in his late forties I reckon. Married for god knows how many years. No kids though. I don’t think he could have kids. Something about the whole situation made you think that was probably the case. He was a good guy. You could tell he was a looker in his day. He was still a handsome guy, but he wasn’t what he was. But then, none of us are what we were. What I’m trying to say is, he didn’t look like the sort of guy who ran a sex shop. He was, like I said, regular. Apart from all the sex shop stuff. People wouldn’t have called him ‘Dirty Harry’ if he was a panel beater or something.

I used to go to his shop on the reg, looking for stuff for me and the wife and the others. I got toys for them too. Well, ex-wife I should say. Dirty Harry and I used to get to talking. At first it was all business talk. I would ask which things to buy. Which handcuffs were the strongest, which bottle of lube did that tingly thing when you put it on. Sex stuff. But as we got better acquainted I started asking him about him and he started asking me about me. One day I brought up something that I had always wondered about.

“You must have the best sex life Harry” I said to him, looking up from the vibrator he advised me to get. He said it was the one that all the women bought. I was only half joking him around. But more than a little bit of me wanted to know how dirty Dirty Harry really was.

Dirty Harry turned away from me. He started putting these big brightly colored dildos in a straight line. They cast these big old shadows bigger than them.

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you Bill?” he said.

“Yeah. The ladies must love you coming home with all this stuff!” I said. I don’t know why I put it like that. I knew he was married. I’d seen the ring before. But he wasn’t wearing it that day.

“My wife, well, ex-wife, she hated all this stuff” he said.

“Really? That’s weird.”

He looked at me with one of those, ‘really?’ expressions. As if he was saying, ‘take a look around buddy. I work in a room full of big rubber dicks and blow-up chicks!’

“Well, maybe not that weird.” I said, taking that cue to correct myself.

“I sometimes wonder why I’m even in the business Bill. The money ain’t even what it used to be. People are buying their stuff on the internet these days. I don’t know…”

I didn’t say anything. I looked down at the vibrating thing in my hand. It had been vibrating the whole time Dirty Harry spoke to me. I looked for the off button. I was thinking about how much Janet would love this. Would love me for buying this for her. For me.

“You make a lot of people very happy Harry” I said.

He looked down at the floor. He brought his hand up to his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes.


Dirty Harry starts telling me that he almost sold the place once. He had it on the market. Had a few folks interested in buying it. One guy wanted to use the space. He didn’t want to own a sex shop though. Who the hell wants to own a sex shop? Not me let me tell you. I mean don’t get me wrong. I love the sex shops. But where would be the fun in being around this stuff all the time? And I don’t want to be known as Dirty Bill!

So Dirty Harry’s in the shop one day, waiting for the clock to strike midnight so he can lock up and go home. This broad walks in. High end he tells me. Not his words, mine. Big thing. All tits and ass and hips. Again, not his words. He smells her perfume before he hears the little door chimes rattle. She comes in all confident like. He told me once that women usually had more confidence in sex shops than men. I could understand that. So she comes in, all confident like.

I want the best vibrator you sell, she says. As calm and cool as that. Dirty Harry gets a little nervous. Says she’s looking at him, right in the eyes, just throwin’ her cards on the fuckin’ table.

Okay, he says. He shuffles round the counter and plucks the best toy off the top shelve. She stands behind him. He can feel her breath on the back of his neck. He hears a lighter click. He hears her suck on the cigarette. He feels her blow it against the back of his neck. He smells the blue smoke mix with that perfume. His hands are shaking like mad. He ain’t even got the dildo switched on for the woman yet!

What’s the rpm? she asks. Just like that. Obviously, this was not her first barbeque. Holding the thing against her palm, looking Dirty Harry in the eyes. He sees that there ain’t a wedding band on her finger. He was still wearing his then.

16,000, replies Harry.

Anything stronger? she asks. Poor old Dirty Harry is just about bowled over let me tell you. She’s looking at him like he’s an engine. He can feel her wondering what his rpm is. He can’t look her in the eyes.

That’s about as strong as they make them, he says, moving a couple of dildos around, tryin’ do somethin’ with those shakin’ hands. They were probably about 17,000rpm!

She closes her eyes and licks her lips, subtle like. She’s moving the vibrator around her palm.

Do you know how to use one of these? she asks him, still with her eyes closed. When he was telling me this he was looking really uncomfortable. Sad almost. But if I was sitting down, I’d have stood up, I’ll tell you that. This was a great story!

No, he says. She looks at him that same way I did after he told me about his sex life. She didn’t believe him. Man working in a sex shop must know a thing or two about dirty sex. She goes into the little handbag she would no doubt be keeping that vibrator in. She sounded like the type that would carry it around with her at all times. She pulls out her card. She hands it to Harry.

If you ever want to learn, just give me a call, she says, with a little wink.

Okay, says Dirty Harry, hand still shaking, holding her card.

She pays and leaves, leaving that perfume smell in the empty shop.


“I sat there the whole night Bill” says Dirty Harry, “I thought about calling her. I did. Thought real hard.”

“Did you?” I asked.


“Why?” I asked. I probably would have.

“Because I was married. Well, then I was. I went home the next morning and told my wife I was leaving her.”

“Shit” I said. It was all I could say. “Just like that?”

“Yup.” he said, smiling. But it was off sorta. Not a real smile. “There’s more to it than that. It’s never a simple thing Bill.”

I said nothing. I looked down at the thing in my hand. I had found the off button about halfway through his story. But I didn’t click it. At that point though, I turned it off. I thought about my wife. And Janet. And the others. And this thing I held in my hand.

“How much is this one?” I asked him.

“$65” he said.

I handed him the cash and walked to the door. I heard the little chimes above my head. I turned to Harry.

“See you later Harry” I said. I knew that I wouldn’t though.

He smiled that fake smile again. It fit. Everything in there was fake.

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25 Things About You – Jolene

Can you tell us twenty-five things about yourself that no one else knows?

  1. The doctor told me that I had a weak heart. He meant I should stay away from foods high in sodium and to avoid stimulants like caffeine or amphetamines. I took him to mean I should stay away from bad boys.
  2. I can’t take advice from people without piercings or tattoos. They can’t relate. My mom has her ears pierced. My doctor is as God made him.
  3. I like to wait for like a week before cleaning my ears. I like to see the wax on the bud.
  4. I miss the fact that sex doesn’t hurt anymore.
  5.  When I was a little kid I had an imaginary Chinese friend called ‘Tidy’. He lived in a bush at the back of my mom’s garden. My loneliness started when he went back to Shanghai to be a ventriloquist’s assistant.
  6. I have tattoos of butterflies coming from my pussy. They fly all across my body.
  7. Every time I listen to music on my headphones I imagine it being the soundtrack as I rob a bank and shoot an innocent man in the chest.
  8. I like to wave at CCTV cameras and imagine the security guard waving back at me.
  9. My bottle of wine with dinner was once a glass.
  10. I always dreamed of having sex in a grave, my school’s janitor closet and a big, empty aquarium shark tank.
  11. When I was six I stayed up all night to try and catch the tooth fairy in a net. I pulled out a wobbly tooth and used it as bait.
  12. I learned how to give head from watching gay porn.
  13. I learned how to fuck by doing it a lot.
  14. I imagine that cat and mice are best friends when we’re not watching.
  15. My father was the only man I ever hated.
  16. I got sad when I found out that the guy that works in my local coffee shop that I fall in love with every evening puts hearts on top of everyone’s coffee.
  17. I have sixteen tattoos, nine piercings, eleven pairs of stilettos, twenty-one scars on my arms, nine pairs of sunglasses, two blue eyes and one smile on my face.
  18. Someone asked me once why I dressed in the erratic way that I do: I told him I do it to attract the bees.
  19. I was raised vegetarian but as a kid I always wanted to bite into a piglet’s belly. I thought it looked delicious.
  20. Sometimes when people are talking to me I have to stop myself from kissing them, just to get a reaction.
  21. When I was young I always thought an umbrella should be called an ‘underbrella’. This was the first time I realized that some things just don’t make much sense.
  22. I always dreamed that a boy and I would each take a snowflake home each and keep them forever in the freezer.
  23. I started stealing little things from people’s houses about three years ago.  But I’ve never stolen anything anyone would notice.
  24. I think of my tits as being the armor for my heart and lungs.
  25. After six cries for help, I’m still here crying and nobody’s helping.
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No one remembers your birthday except Facebook.

I’m twenty-four today. Saying it feels strange.

No presents to open. No cards to read. No candles to blow out. No Facebook well wishers to thank. No one to see my birthday suit. No one to succumb to my pleas, no matter how ridiculous or unbefitting of my age as they may be. No one to tell me I’m still so young despite my limp attempts at nostalgia. No parents to hug for the seventh year running. No bother man. Just another day, innit? 

So if you, yes the wonderful you, would be so kind as to return again to the blog, I would consider that a birthday present and promise to put off cutting myself until next year at least.


Ross x

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