Wet and messy Stories

“Are you sure this is the path, Pete?” Assumpta bit back her finest Irish obscenities as brambles ripped another hole in her green tights. Admittedly, if she had to become a fairy for her best friend’s summer art project, a punk one in a shredded dress was more her style, though a pixie would have been more appropriate for prancing around Cornwall and suited her short black hair better. “No,” Peter admitted, holding the n...

“It’s getting late,” Naomi said, hoping Emmanuel would take the hint, stop playing with his new tablet, and notice the decreasingly subtle way she was invading his personal space, but just got a non-committal grunt. I really didn’t think his Christmas present through, did I? she thought, annoyed. She tried a different tack. “I think I might have digested enough dinner to have room for dessert. Are you ready for the puddin...

“Close your eyes.” Jamie obeyed, fiddling with one of the silk bows at his waist. The tiles were cool through his knee-high socks, making him wish he hadn’t removed his shoes as he listened to the approaching glock, glock of Sunil’s Mary Janes on the dining room tiles. There was a rustle as the skirt of his boyfriend’s cornflower blue dress met his complementary pastel pink one—a gift that morning, so cute it would have d...