Pillars of Salt… by Eli J. Juhola


Pillars of Salt

He feels her when she walks into the room
it’s just a frisk but she loves a man in uniform
and likes the way handcuffs make her imagine

she’s helpless in her lover’s arms.

She tells him what she’d do to him if he took her
home to his place and he pretends not to care
but she knows he’s lonely because he’s not

wearing a wedding ring.

There’s something about the way she moves
that makes him think she’s used to being mishandled
but he doesn’t know her, or want to do anything

other than to drink some sweet tea and go to bed.

It’s almost four in the morning again and he has
just one more hour before he can go home, take a shower,
watch the morning news and read the paper

while trying to forget her proposal.

She’s in it for the long haul and he likes lewd women
he just stands there by the door watching, waiting for anyone
to make a wrong move so he can take his aggressions out on

the scum, which is how he thinks of them all.

Another man in uniform takes her away from him
and she screams so he’ll come over to touch her again,
she kicks so he’ll hold her down while she pretends

it’s just rough sex and he’s about to ravish her body.

He hates his work while he pins her to the floor,
growing excited and disgusted by the smell of her
and she loves him as she screams profanities

which fail to shock him after years on the job.

It’s just another day and in another setting maybe
he could have fallen in love with her instead of feeling
the revulsion that makes him long for home
while he straps her to the chair.


Eli Juhola has been writing poetry for over a decade. Every once in a while you can find him at the bar with a beer and a notebook, thinking about a thousand things and laughing at some mystical private joke. He likes to yell at people through microphones and has awesome powers of making coffee.

Copyright © 2013 by Eli J. Juhola



Crepuscule… by Peter Marra



naked spirits invited to the burning buildings

see black weather flights of skin.

a feast begins and a slow dance

noise has diminished.

a pity that’s told over and over again to their offspring is

surgically applied to memory:

leather thongs torturing eyeballs

their lids woven tightly together – a time for time.

a cold endeavor.

venture outside and see the blackness.

a room: a red oval shape turning many times over.

the quality adjusted the life of the disease,

drawn out over a bed of nails.

it endures as a massive, gargling convulsion.

a whimpering.


Peter Marra is from Williamsburg Brooklyn. Born in Brooklyn, he lived in the East Village, New York from 1979-1993 at the height of the punk – no wave movement. Peter has had a lifelong fascination with Surrealism, Dadaism, and Symbolism. His poems explore alienation, sex, love, addiction, havoc, secrets, and obsessions often recounted in an oneiric filmic haze. A surrealist and Dadaist, he was first published in Maintenant 4 and has had approximately 50 poems published in the past year in the following journals, amphibi.us, blue and yellow dog, Breadcrumb Scabs, Calliope Nerve, Caper Literary Journal, Carcinogenic, Carnage Conservatory, Clutching At Straws,Crash, Danse Macabre, dark chaos, farthermost dream, Indigo Rising Magazine, L.E.S.Review, mad swirl, Maintenant 4, Maintenant 5, negative suck, Sex and murder, Subliminal Interiors, Sweet Flowery Roses, The Beatnik, the vein, Why Vandalism?, Yes Poetry, Petrichor, Phantom Kangaroo, Unlikely, Apocrypha And Abstractions, Pipe Dreams, including an interview in Yes,Poetry. Among his influences are Tristan Tzara, Paul Eluard, Edgar Allan Poe, Russ Meyer, and Roger Corman.

Copyright © 2012 by Peter Marra


Romantic Songs… by Denise Falcone

Romantic Songs

       Amy and I met in front of the hotel where we were both living at the time. We were young then. She was a music student and I had a neat little business selling cocaine. She looked so cute in her tight black pants while gazing at my Bugatti.
       “Great car, huh?” she remarked when I nonchalantly moved to stand next to her.
       “Would you like to have a ride?”
       “This is your car?”
       “Now?” I said.
       I had a large white one bedroom that overlooked the cobblestoned square, where the intoxicating perfume from a row of old lindens drifted up on to my terrace. She had a faded closet-sized studio in the back, with a paint-chipped slanted ceiling. It had in it the smallest single bed and a piano. Books and stacks of music were piled in unruly columns on the chocolate-colored floor, and an image of Robert Redford cut from a magazine was taped to the wall.
       We must have come off as idiots in our attempt to push our lust aside with ridiculous small talk about things neither one of us could have cared less about. Who were we trying to kid? She ended up being the bold one as she unzipped her fly and sauntered over to the window to pull down the shade.
       Consummately enamored with Paris, she breathed her French as if she was trudging up a hill. She styled herself a gamine and let her mousy brown hair fall loose and long past her round shoulders.
       She was a wild little monkey. Instead of retreating to the bathroom to take care of herself like other women I knew, she would insert her diaphragm while lying on the bed. On her back with the sheets kicked to the floor, she’d smile and wink at me while I waited. Her pointed arched feet were like the tips of butterfly wings and I got so big and hard from staring into her pussy like that, I thought I would explode. Then she would offer me her ass.
       Although there was no love shared between us, I felt possessive enough to ask, “Why Robert Redford?”
       “Because he’s gorgeous, silly!”

       “Shouldn’t you have a picture of Beethoven up there instead?”

       Back then one could safely keep a small lucrative business such as mine. The city had other things to worry about. Its structures were collapsing and sleazy crime was everywhere. I wasn’t so impetuous to expect my luck to last, so it was no surprise when the big shots moved in to take advantage.
       I stepped off the elevator to hear her playing on my way down the hall. Instead of pausing at her door to listen, I impatiently rang the bell. Only hours remained till my return to South America.
       In place of the silky kimono she always wore in a way to suggest her nakedness underneath, she had on a skirt and a blouse. I saw her red espadrilles tied up her ankles and I wondered if she was going out. Was there someone new already?

       “Pablo,” she said with that frothy delight that still haunts me in my dreams sometimes, “I finished my piece and I want you to hear it.”
       In all the time we spent together, the tawny brown upright dominated the room, yet I had never asked her to play. I stretched out on the bed but the pillow I shoved behind my head kept on having to be adjusted. With perverse eyes, I watched the muscles in her back undulate from measure to measure while her hands glided up and down the keys.
       I recognized the theme of the Chopin Ballade immediately. She took hold of it with a passion that managed to touch my myopic soul, but by the time the music had accelerated and swelled to its climax, the air around us had changed. Her hair was pulled up in a chignon, and I bid farewell to our narrow erotic island.


Denise Falcone is a writer who lives in New York City. Her work has appeared in Blood Orange Review, Foliate Oak, J Journal, Why Vandalism?, Kerouac’s Dog, Perhaps I Am Wrong about The World, Antique Children, and others.

Copyright © 2012 by Denise Falcone


Sex Plan… by Sweet Cheeks

I wanted to spice up our love life. No, really it is our sex life I am concerned about. It is the same each and every time. I want to make him hot for me again. I want to make us hot for each other again. When we first dated we couldn’t take our eyes or hands off of each other. We had sex in the car or in public places. I don’t know when we stopped being young and having fun. However, it’s time to craft a plan to bring back sexual fun and desire.

I set my plan in motion on a Friday morning. While Carlos was in the bathroom taking his shower I went over to his blazer and placed a note in the pocket. I also turned on his cell phone. He always had his cell phone off at work and never bothered to check it anymore.

Since Carlos was still in the shower and I was still nude and very horny I slipped into the bathroom quietly. Noticing he was washing his hair most likely with his eyes closed, I stepped into the tub and knelt down.  It was so nice, his soft cock lay in my mouth and I sucked it as the water poured down on me. He almost jumped when he felt my tongue on him.

Startled, he smiled and said, “How long has it been?”

As he became hard I replied with my mouth full of his cock, “Too long.”

Soon I heard him groaning and yelling “Oh My God!” as he came in my mouth. We cleaned up, he got dressed for work and before he left he gave me a slow lingering kiss.

“Thank you for this morning, Alexandria. It has been far too long.”  His smile was wide as he grabbed his keys off of the kitchen counter, opened the door and closed it behind him. Outside he sighed, then continued smiling all the way to work.

As Carlos sat in his second meeting of the day he sighed. He still had another meeting, when would today be over and when would the weekend begin. He placed a hand into his blazer pocket searching for something to take his mind away from these thoughts. He felt a piece of paper folded up. Hmmm… I didn’t put this here did I? He slid forward and to the side a bit as he took out the paper to read it.

“Give your penis satisfaction, as you yell I am cumming!  Our orgasms happen at the same time, mine ripples through my pussy and I moan in ecstasy.” The Dominatrix Carlos coughed, almost choking. He curled up the paper stuffing it back into his pocket and grabbed his water bottle.

“Are you okay?”  Several co-workers asked.

Carlos cleared his throat and took one last sip of water. “I am okay, really. Please continue.”

He sounded so professional even to himself yet his insides were jumping and he could feel his cock was stiffening. He squirmed a bit in his seat trying to think about boring things until he got back to his office. Finally his body settled down, the meeting was over and he was able to get back to his office and sit down.  Instead of sitting down it was more like collapsing into his leather chair and letting out a big sigh at the same time.

He picked up his office phone and dialed home. It rang a couple of times and she finally answered. “Alexandria, what was the meaning of this?” He asked her with a hint of annoyance in his tone. He knew she understood what he meant.

“Carlos, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Come clean, you placed that note in my pocket.” He said.

“I honestly don’t know what you are talking about. Someone else must have placed it there.” I said innocently.

“Well, we will talk about this when I get home tonight.” Carlos promised.

“You must promise to tell me what was in the note.”

“I got to go, my next meeting is in 15 minutes and I have to get ready. I love you, Alexandria.”

“I love you too Carlos.”

He hung up the phone and busied himself pulling papers together and stuffing them in a folder. He tried not to think of the note and the way it made his cock hard. Sure she put the note there. Who was she fooling? He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. He admitted it was bold and unexpected and sexy. Carlos shook his head clearing his sexual thoughts and picked up the folder and a pad of paper. He reached in his pocket to make sure his pen was in there, as he did so his fingers touched the note. He sighed and left the room.

As the meeting droned on he found himself bored. They had boxed lunches and he tried to focus on what the sales manager was saying. It wasn’t his department so it was even harder to care what was being said.

Carlos felt a vibration against his thigh. Great, he apparently forgot to turn his cell off this morning. He shifted in his seat, slid his phone out and hit the instant message button. He read the following and again choked from shock. “I am wet and waiting for you. If you don’t like what I do, you can spank me and then I will return the favor. I will make you cum harder than you have ever thought possible. Don’t make me wait too long…” Dominatrix Shit! He could instantly feel his cock harden and he had a coughing attack. “Carlos, are you alright?” His manager asked. “I just need some water.” He reached for the water bottle, opened it and managed to get some down.

His mind was developing all sorts of sexual fantasies and he knew he needed to get out of this meeting and fast, his only problem his raging hard on. He slipped his phone into his pants pocket, squirmed a bit in his chair and began thinking of baseball scores, of snotty nosed kids, and even about his parents. Finally, his cock softened and he felt relieved.

He began coughing again and finally his manager said, “You are excused from the rest of the meeting. And Carlos, for God’s sake, do something about that cough!” Looking a bit sheepish he gathered his things, got up out of his chair and left the room.

Once in his office, he sighed and then smiled wickedly. He was free; he could leave early! So without hesitation he grabbed his briefcase threw the folder in there, closed it up and grabbed his keys off of the desk. He turned off the light, and left his office. On his way out, he told his assistant, “I am out the rest of the day. If anyone calls I will be back in on Monday.” “Ok. Have a good weekend!” She yelled down to him as he stepped on the elevator. “I will!” he yelled back.

Once out of the elevator he walked into the parking garage finding his car quickly. He got in the car and before leaving, pulled his phone out of his pocket. He read the instant message again and his cock hardened immediately. He quickly sent a reply, “Dominatrix, I am on my way. I am ready for whatever you have planned.” He simply signed it “Your Sex Slave”. He threw the phone on to the passenger’s seat, turned on the engine and laughed. He knew this would be the best weekend he had in years!


Sweet Cheeks has been writing erotica for five years, but this is not all she writes. You can read more of her at Shazza’s Bedroom. Further, Ms Cheeks was also a contributor of the 2011 Austin International Poetry Festival; her poem, Purple Passion, was published in the festivals anthology


Copyright © 2010 by Sweet Cheeks