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freshly fucked glow, impossible to disguise.
    â€˜It’s funny. I know we must have just had sex, but I don’t remember a thing about it.’ Ryan stuffed his limp cock back into his shorts, then hunted around till he found his T-shirt.
    â€˜Oh, it was amazing. Look at what happened to my dress.’ Melinda gestured to the ruined garment. ‘It was like I was being fucked by a wild man.’
    â€˜Glad to be of service.’ Ryan dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head, before helping to wrap the blanket around her, covering her up for their walk home.
    Halfway down the hill, Melinda glanced back over her shoulder, pausing just long enough to offer a silent thank you to the chalk figure. The rite had worked; she knew with a conviction she couldn’t explain that her period would be late this month. Putting her hand in Ryan’s, she was already looking forward to the moment when she could tell him they were going to have a baby.

Gabriel
by Athena Marie
    I am lost in pounding industrial rhythms and dark lyrics that sing of lust, pain, obsession and salvation. The music is pumping through me and I can feel the beat in counterpoint with my heart. I am dressed in black latex, and though my outfit is stifling and oppressive in the heat of the club, the way it feels against my body, like a second reptilian skin, makes the discomfort worth it.
    I rarely come here any more. Only on nights when I consciously step into my alter ego. Only when I need this darkness and this pounding music to dissolve and absolve my pain. For it is only here on this dance floor where I can lose myself. And always I hope that in losing myself I will find myself. Always I hope that some night at this club I will find … something.
    As I move, serpent-like on the dance floor, I meet the eyes of a man sitting alone in the corner. He’s been watching me since I arrived and his penetrating gaze is becoming unnerving. Of course I’m used to being watched but there’s something about his attention that is disconcerting. He doesn’t look away when our eyes meet. He doesn’t look at anyone else. It’s as if I am the only person he can see.
    He is dressed like everyone here – in black, complete with a trench coat and combat boots laced up to his knees. And yet, he could never blend in with the crowd. In a room full of people with black hair – most dyed simply for the sake of being dark – his shimmering golden curls are out of place. Men in this club often attempt to pull off the “gothic prince” look but I’ve never seen anyone do it quite so well. His very essence exudes power and it makes me nervous. He is too beautiful, too masculine, and sitting silent and alone, still and stoic like a statue in the corner, he sends a clear message that he has no interest in wasting his time with those he considers beneath him. It appears I am the only one that does not fall into that category.
    In an attempt to escape his piercing stare I wend my way off the dance floor, order another glass of wine, then head to the small lounge at the back of the club. Relieved to find the room empty, I sit down on one of the many well-worn couches and stretch my legs. A moment later, a large man clad in black leather, wearing thick eyeliner and spikes around his wrists, enters the room. I swear under my breath.
    â€˜Hey, beautiful. I haven’t seen you in ages.’ He plops down on the couch beside me and I scoot away. ‘You partying tonight?’ He opens his sweaty palm to reveal two blue pills inside a small plastic bag.
    For a brief moment I consider his offer. I take a deep breath and shake my head. ‘No. Sorry, Mike.’
    â€˜Aw, but it’s Friday night, baby! Let’s have some fun.’
    I turn away and feign interest in the amateur macabre art hanging on the walls. ‘I’m having enough fun, thanks.’
    â€˜Doesn’t look like it to me.’ He scoots