knowing about his infidelity, indifference or cruelty. He liked to believe that his existing relationship with his son would eventually help him grow up into a man.
Next morning, the father and the son had met at the breakfast table. Both didn’t say anything for a while until Joe said, ‘It’s not you. You’re just being who you are. It’s me. Well, it’s my fault, anyway.’ Chris looked heavenwards and walked away. Henceforth, all conversations had ended this way.
For Joe, this was a good thing. He was single again. There would be no more women like his wife out to bugger him ever again – women who would start out being quite happy with a regular fuck, and then change their minds and decide that a quiet domesticated life was better than kinky sex and noisy orgasms.
Now he was free to find himself great sex, ego massages and fake love. The best part was that they’d leave him alone afterwards, alone with the secret love of his life – Shiraz. At fifty-five, that’s all he wanted.
Joe stroked his smooth, flat abdomen. He needed these women, the age didn’t matter. There were plenty of them out there. They kept him young. Just like his wine, he was ageing well with full-bodied women around him.
He was happy, yes, but in the most twisted sense of the word. At least he wasn’t a fake like so many men his age. And he was a good provider.
He’d even let Chris use the visitor’s gallery and the clearing in the vineyard for his college reunion tonight. Time and again, God needed a few virgin offerings to maintain the God-status. Or perhaps that was the devil.
After the death of his wife, he had been spending a lot of time reading about local, urban legends and devil worship. The small town had it all.
The belief in devil worship had wormed its way into the sleepy town that he now called home.
And tonight would be another night, a step closer to finding out. Like father, like son; only the dead knew it all.
Salmonella’s Web World
Salmonella absent-mindedly rubbed the scar on her right cheek. Thanks to Joe. It was a permanent reminder of his presence and she hated it. She was called Florence then, she was Salmonella now. In her mind, they were two different entities.
Florence had died along with her mother. She let her anger subside and tried to focus on the work piled up on her desk. The college reunion party had to be a grand success.
She was looking forward to the break. Although her job as a system administrator was tough, she knew she was very good at it, probably the best. So what if she was on her own at this age when most of her friends from college were either married or contemplating it?
Salmonella got up, stretched and glanced at her watch. It was past midnight and she was alone in the cold, dark room. All she could hear was the gentle humming of all the huge servers around her.
Not the stereotypical system administrator; Florence was tall, lean and athletic. The tight white tee accentuated the curve of her breasts and her jeans clung faithfully to her hips, highlighting her hourglass figure. She prided herself on her diet and exercise routines that kept her muscles firm, her body toned and her mind razor sharp.
‘Salmonella’ was the geeky genius, an anti-virus. She had the power to mess up anyone’s computer or mind. Folks who disliked her said she was from some country called ‘Lesbia’ because unlike the other women, she wasn’t into the regular dating scene with men.
Carefully lifting the styrofoam cup from her table, she realized the coffee had gone cold. She’d dozed off during her working hours. As a nightbird, she was at her best past midnight.
She looked around the dimly-lit server room and wondered why this place was home to her. The cold, dark server room was bereft of features, adornment or even proper lighting. It was as plain as it could get.
She looked at the brightly lit computer screens around her and wondered why she didn’t have a social life online way past
Next morning, the father and the son had met at the breakfast table. Both didn’t say anything for a while until Joe said, ‘It’s not you. You’re just being who you are. It’s me. Well, it’s my fault, anyway.’ Chris looked heavenwards and walked away. Henceforth, all conversations had ended this way.
For Joe, this was a good thing. He was single again. There would be no more women like his wife out to bugger him ever again – women who would start out being quite happy with a regular fuck, and then change their minds and decide that a quiet domesticated life was better than kinky sex and noisy orgasms.
Now he was free to find himself great sex, ego massages and fake love. The best part was that they’d leave him alone afterwards, alone with the secret love of his life – Shiraz. At fifty-five, that’s all he wanted.
Joe stroked his smooth, flat abdomen. He needed these women, the age didn’t matter. There were plenty of them out there. They kept him young. Just like his wine, he was ageing well with full-bodied women around him.
He was happy, yes, but in the most twisted sense of the word. At least he wasn’t a fake like so many men his age. And he was a good provider.
He’d even let Chris use the visitor’s gallery and the clearing in the vineyard for his college reunion tonight. Time and again, God needed a few virgin offerings to maintain the God-status. Or perhaps that was the devil.
After the death of his wife, he had been spending a lot of time reading about local, urban legends and devil worship. The small town had it all.
The belief in devil worship had wormed its way into the sleepy town that he now called home.
And tonight would be another night, a step closer to finding out. Like father, like son; only the dead knew it all.
Salmonella’s Web World
Salmonella absent-mindedly rubbed the scar on her right cheek. Thanks to Joe. It was a permanent reminder of his presence and she hated it. She was called Florence then, she was Salmonella now. In her mind, they were two different entities.
Florence had died along with her mother. She let her anger subside and tried to focus on the work piled up on her desk. The college reunion party had to be a grand success.
She was looking forward to the break. Although her job as a system administrator was tough, she knew she was very good at it, probably the best. So what if she was on her own at this age when most of her friends from college were either married or contemplating it?
Salmonella got up, stretched and glanced at her watch. It was past midnight and she was alone in the cold, dark room. All she could hear was the gentle humming of all the huge servers around her.
Not the stereotypical system administrator; Florence was tall, lean and athletic. The tight white tee accentuated the curve of her breasts and her jeans clung faithfully to her hips, highlighting her hourglass figure. She prided herself on her diet and exercise routines that kept her muscles firm, her body toned and her mind razor sharp.
‘Salmonella’ was the geeky genius, an anti-virus. She had the power to mess up anyone’s computer or mind. Folks who disliked her said she was from some country called ‘Lesbia’ because unlike the other women, she wasn’t into the regular dating scene with men.
Carefully lifting the styrofoam cup from her table, she realized the coffee had gone cold. She’d dozed off during her working hours. As a nightbird, she was at her best past midnight.
She looked around the dimly-lit server room and wondered why this place was home to her. The cold, dark server room was bereft of features, adornment or even proper lighting. It was as plain as it could get.
She looked at the brightly lit computer screens around her and wondered why she didn’t have a social life online way past
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