Glass bottle Stories

Torrential downpours had turned most basements in the city into wading pools. My subterranean sleeping quarters met the same fate. Providence saw to it that my collection of intimate items was among the wreckage. Frustration loomed heavy as sleep worked to evade me. The quickest cure, an orgasm, didn't seem to be on the cards tonight. That was until I noticed the glow of a lightning strike illuminate a handy substitute. W...

“My condolences. If I can do anything, just ask. You have such a lovely home,” or variations thereof, were the prevailing, soothing comments. At least the funeral was an open-casket wake. Widowed before I’d turned forty, the implications hadn’t yet sunk in. It wasn’t my fault; I shouldn’t have blamed myself, yet I felt terribly guilty. My husband had been out of state, attending a business convention with Stacy, and the r...