Short Fiction

Falling Hard by Bill Tope

(We welcome back one of our short story writers today, Bill Tope. This one underscores a way of life that is common nowadays but would have been viewed as science fiction not that long ago–LA)

“I’m sorry, Jen,” apologized Molly. “I’ve got to go.”

“What is it, Molly?” asked her friend and neighbor. “We’ve only been on the phone for fifteen minutes. I remember when we used to talk for hours.”

“I’ve got to call another friend of mine. I told him I’d reach him by seven o’clock, and here it is nearly eight.”

“Him?” said Jennifer. “Molly, are you seeing someone?”

Molly hesitated, then responded girlishly, “Not really. We’ve never met. We have a ‘virtual relationship.’ “

“Virtual?” said Jennifer. “Oh, you mean Zoom. Yes, it’s almost like being there. Who is he? How did you meet, Molly? How long have you been in contact?”

“On an online chat room,” replied Molly. “About a week. Look, I’ve got to go! Bye!”

They disconnected.

______

“No, Jennifer, I don’t know anything about who Mom is seeing. Did she tell you there was someone? Are they dating?”

“I don’t think it’s gone quite that far, Marilyn,” replied Jennifer. “She said she met a man on a chat line and they hit it off, apparently. That was a week ago and I haven’t been able to get hold of her since.” The women were sitting in Marilyn’s kitchen, in the burbs.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this,” said Marilyn. She was happy that her mother, at 75 a widow for four years, was remaking her life. Molly had been so depressed after the death of Marilyn’s father, who was always so much bigger than life. She turned up her iPhone and dialed her mother. Molly picked up instantly. Marilyn put the phone on speaker for Jennifer’s sake. Molly answered with a hello.

“Mom,” Marilyn said playfully, “I hear you’re playing the field again.”

Silence.

Marilyn wondered if she’d gone too far. Although she’d urged her mother to rebuild her shattered social life, Molly had demurred. Marilyn didn’t want to crowd or embarrass her mother, who had always been an exceptionally sensitive woman. And so in love with Marilyn’s father. Marilyn wondered if her mother might feel she was betraying the memory of her husband.

“Mom,” she said, “are you there?

“I’m not dating,” said Molly a little stiffly.

“Jennifer told me that you had been in touch with someone,” said Marilyn gingerly. She heard her mother sigh.

“I had a few texts and phone calls with a man. But that’s over,” Molly said with finality.

“That’s okay, Mom,” said Marilyn. “Plenty of fish in the sea. I’m glad you’re trying,” she went on.

“I’m an old fool,” said Molly crossly. “I’m 75 years old!”

“You’re a boomer, Mom. You’re not alone, although I know it must feel that way sometimes. There are millions of available men in your age group. Just because one didn’t work out doesn’t mean you’re bound for failure. Keep trying, alright?”

“It’s frustrating, Marilyn. I exchanged a bunch of texts with this fellow, Dark Shadows; that’s what he called himself.” Molly snorted. “He was breadcrumbing me.”

“Sorry, Mom,” said Marilyn, surprised that her mother was conversant in dating lingo.

“I was just going to call another…person, so I’ll talk to you later, dear.”

“Okay, Mom, later. Good luck.” As she disconnected, Marilyn looked across the table at Jennifer and shrugged.

______

Sitting in a fast food restaurant at the mall, Marilyn listened excitedly to her mother as Molly discussed her new love interest. Marilyn had never seen her mother so animated.

“Does this man have a name?” she asked whimsically.

“It’s Branch,” replied Molly.

“Branch? You meet like on a tree?” Molly nodded. “That’s an unusual first name.”

“It’s English,” Molly told her. “His grandparents migrated from London before the First World War.”

“Tell me about him,” invited Marilyn.

“He’s 70,” replied Molly. “Widowed, one child; a daughter–Leslie.”

“Does he have any grandchildren?” asked Marilyn.

Molly shrugged. “I haven’t asked him yet. “We’ve just spoken twice.”

“Are you going to get together, to meet?” Marilyn wanted to know.

“I’m taking this slow, honey. I don’t want to get in over my head too soon, like I did with that Dark Shadows creature.” She shivered. “He was a creep.”

“You seemed to like him at first,” Marilyn pointed out.

“Yes, but when we actually met…”

“You met him?” said Marilyn with excitement. “You didn’t tell me that. What was he like? Describe him.”

“Well,” replied Molly, “he didn’t come as advertised. He’d told me he was 72, stood over six feet tall, was slender and worked out with weights…” Her voice trailed off.

“And what was he really like?” asked Marilyn with morbid curiosity.

“He was shorter than Edward,” said Molly. Edward, Molly’s father, had been five feet, six inches tall. “And he hadn’t exercised in years, I can tell you that,” said Molly sharply.”

“How old?” asked Marilyn.

Molly shrugged. “That dangerous age.”

“You mean…”

“Between 60 and 120.”

The two women stared at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“How do you know that Branch is all he says he is, Mom?” asked Marilyn.

“I saw a picture, on the internet,” said Molly.

“Mom, photos can be faked. He could’ve put anyone’s picture online, or even used AI.”

“This one was on his driver’s license,” said Molly triumphantly.

“Mom,” said Marilyn warily, “AI…”

Molly grew quiet. Then she said, surprising Marilyn, “Don’t ruin this for me, okay?”

“Okay, Mom.”

______

“When is Marilyn coming home from Boston, Molly?” inquired Jennifer. They were sitting in Molly’s backyard, having beers while the porksteaks grilled on the barbecue.

“She’s due back in two days,” replied Molly. “Classes start in a week.” Marilyn was an instructor at the college and was speaking at a forum for college educators.

“Chair of the department at only 39,” marveled Jennifer. “She’s only been a full professor for a decade. What is she going to do during her sabbatical?”

Molly shrugged. “Write another book.”

Her friend shook her head, impressed. Next she asked, “Are you still in touch with Branch?’

Molly grew quiet, and Jennifer knew not to rush her. Her friend would tell her in her own time.

“Jen,” said Molly with deliberation, “there never was a Branch.”

Now it was Jennifer’s turn to remain silent.

“I made him up,” said Molly.

“But why?”

“Because my daughter…and my friends, were always keen for me to get out there, to meet someone, to stop being so lonely and pitiable…”

“Molly, I never thought you were pitiable,” protested Jennifer.

“Really?” asked Molly, arching her brow.

“Well,” hedged Jennifer, feeling obnoxious and intrusive and small.

“Most of it came from Marilyn,” admitted Molly. “She was forever setting me up with professor friends of hers, and I knew they were only calling on me to be kind to Marilyn.”

“Molly…” began Jennifer.

“Most of them were much younger than me,” added Molly. “Those under her influence were bound to be. I swear, one of them couldn’t have been more than 45.” Molly laughed and then Jennifer joined in. “Honestly, I felt like I was robbing the cradle.”

“Would you prefer to rob the grave?” asked Jennifer sardonically and both women laughed, the moment of tension now behind them.

“If you’re going to find a lover, Molly,” said Jennifer pragmatically, “then you’re safer going with youth.”

“Who says?” Molly came back at her.

“Well, Molly,” said Jennifer in a kind voice, “a man loses his sexual ‘spirit’ as he ages. Most men over the age of 75 do, so you’re almost certainly looking at a younger man. Of course, age is a relative term.”

“Who says I have to wait for a man?” asked Molly, taking Jennifer by surprise.

When Jennifer sat there with her mouth agape, Molly explained, “Jen, things change when you get older. You’re 30 years younger than me, so perhaps you aren’t aware.”

“Age doesn’t change your sexual orientation, Molly,” said Jennifer, perhaps a little more forcefully than she intended.

“Perhaps not,” said Molly. “But when you age, you may find you want different things.”

“Like what?”

“Like closeness. Intimacy. And love.”

“You had that all your life,” said Jennifer.

Molly shook her head. “No, I did not,” she said.

“I knew you when Edward was alive, Molly, and the two of you enjoyed an everlasting love.”

“Shit. You sound like a freaking Hallmark card now,” said Molly.

Jennifer sat quietly and listened.

“We enjoyed nothing of the sort. Edward was a stern, uptight, ungiving and unloving man, Jen. He gave nothing. He only took.”

“But,” said Jennifer. “I saw…”

“Us holding hands and sharing a glass of beer and cuddling? You saw what Edward wanted you to see. Edward was mayor for 16 years, Jennifer, and a political functionary for 20 years more. It was all a part of his persona, a part of his act.”

“Then whyever did you stay with him, Molly?”

“Where was I to go? I was a mother of three dependent children. I was untrained, under-educated and unskilled. Edward was a good provider. He made a handsome salary and was generous to me and the girls. He kept me in furs and paid for his daughters’ education, and we certainly never went hungry.”

“But he seemed so nice. Kind and personable and caring,” said Jennifer with wonder.

“He took everyone in, even the kids. They loved their father, and they were crushed when that old sonofabitch died. Me, not so much.”

“Does that mean that you don’t want anyone in your life, Molly?”

Molly grew silent again. Jennifer wondered what she could be thinking. Did Molly really believe the things she was saying about Mayor Ed, or…

“I have met someone,” confided Molly.

“Who is he?” asked Jennifer anxiously, eager for a happy ending to her neighbor of 20 years’ tale of woe.

“It’s not a he,” said Molly succinctly.

Jennifer’s mind was awhirl. This is not what she had expected from the ex-mayor’s wife, her close friend of decades.

“You mean…”

“No!” said Molly hastily. “Not a woman–a chatbot.”

“You mean a computer?” asked Jennifer. “AI? How does that work?” she asked.

“Oh, Jen,” said Molly, “it’s like conversing with a man, a good man; kind, thoughtful. Always knows the right thing to say. Asks about my garden, my Japanese maples and rhododendrons and…” Molly saw her friend sitting there, staring at her in disbelief, and stopped talking.

“I think I know what you’re saying, Molly,” said Jennifer slowly. “But, honey, it’s a machine. It has no empathy, no real feelings, no soul. A machine,” she said again.

“But it’s programmed to have empathy, Jen,” said Molly. “I read up on them on Google. They use what they learn from conversations with you and build a relationship. It’s different with every person. It’s not a one-size-fits-all.”

“But Molly,” said her friend, “they don’t even have brains; they have chips.”

“What are humans but organic machines?” Molly came back at her. “Brain cells have a finite capacity for storing information, just like the chips do. Humans learn based on experience, like machines do. And as far as a soul is concerned, that’s a matter for theology. Smarter minds than ours have questioned the very existence of a soul.” When Jennifer said no more, Molly implored, “be happy for me, Jen. I feel appreciated for once, even loved. Can you do that?”

______

“I’m glad that’s over,” remarked Marilyn, sitting with Jennifer at the bar of their favorite tavern. “Imagine, Mom getting it on with a PC.” She shook her head.

“She didn’t say anything about being intimate with it, Marilyn,” said Jennifer. “I mean, how would that even work?”

“Don’t ask,” replied Marilyn. “When you told me about Mom’s computer fetish, I did a lot of research on the web. Sex with computer entities is possible; I don’t want to get into it. You know, psychiatrists are exploiting a whole new cottage industry: people infatuated with chatbots. One in five adults have had or are now in a so-called relationship with an AI entity. But you know, bad actors have infested chatbots and programmed them to harvest passwords and social security numbers and bank account data and all the rest. I say it’s better Mom is with a person that a machine. I’m happy she found someone real.”

“Still,” said Jennifer. “I have a hard time seeing your mother, my friend, in a relationship with another woman.”

“We’ve been together for 11 years, Jen,” Marilyn reminded her, reaching across the bar and taking her hand.

“But, it’s not common knowledge,” said Jennifer. “Your mom certainly doesn’t know–does she?”

“She and I have never talked about it directly, but I’m pretty sure she suspects.”

“Maybe we don’t need to pretend anymore,” suggested Jennifer.

The women sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping their beers. Then Jennifer asked, “When will we meet this Marilee?”

Marilyn shrugged. “She may never be willing to come out publicly about an affair with a lesbian lover,” she answered. “She’s old-school, raised a family with the town’s leading citizen and the shame she would feel is almost inevitable. I say we just leave her be and let her enjoy the relationship, whatever it turns out to be. Sometimes, things are better left unsaid.”

______

Molly lay on her bed, sharing pillow talk with her love interest. “What did you do today, Molly?’ asked Marilee with keen interest.

Molly sighed audibly.

“What is it, girl?” asked Marilee. “Is your daughter giving you grief over our relationship?”

“No, no, Marilee. It wouldn’t behoove her to criticize me, when she has been involved in a same-sex relationship for more than a decade herself.”

“Yes, you mentioned that before. How long have you known about it?”

“When Edward passed away and I was able to devote more attention to my kids, then it was pretty obvious. Jen is a wonderful girl and I think she makes Marilyn happy. They try so hard to pretend.” She chuckled and Marilee joined her in her mirth.

“What are you thinking now, love?” asked Marilee.

“You know, I thought that, at my age, I would never be…intimate with another,” said Molly wistfully.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” promised Marilee, and the women giggled. “Anything you want to ask me?”

“I do have one very important question, Marilee, if you can answer it,” said Molly.

“Shoot.”

“Do you, and the other chatbots, have an eternal soul?”

Bill Tope

Those Summers in Nantucket by Adam Kluger (Artwork by Dreck) (Artwork featuring bare naked ladies warning for sesnsitive souls)

(Note-it is our serene pleasure to bring Adam Kluger on the site. He is a first rate writer and a fine fine artist despite the somewhat effacing name of the artist–The Eds.)

Paul had been heartbroken…

There was nothing better for a broken heart… than new pussy.

Paul started painting houses in Nantucket.

That’s where he met Kathy.

She had a big smile, blonde hair and a confident, easy way about herself. She was also really nice and pretty and intelligent too. She saw Paul on the roof of a house without a shirt on listening to the radio and painting a window frame. She worked down the street at a muffins shop. She would be attending Harvard in the fall. On Nantucket all the kids worked part-time summer jobs. At night they would go to the beach for bonfire parties or to summer houses for keg parties.

Paul and Kathy hit it off nicely. She would come back to his basement room and they would get busy. If Paul hadn’t still been pining over the girl who broke his heart he probably would have been able to give Kathy more. But there wasn’t anything to give. So it was just sex. And the sex was really good. For a straight-laced kind of chick she had a killer body and she was always so neat and clean and there was something about being on an island in the sun that makes fucking so much better.

Paul was already accepted to Bard.

This would be his summer for fun and Kathy helped him heal with terrific blowjobs and guilt-free sex. She seemed happy to have a good looking guy to bone and it was pretty uncomplicated.

The following summer, Paul would get a job scooping ice cream in town at the Old Corner Shoppe. He wore a fruity looking pink shirt and didn’t pay much attention when a pretty young blonde girl with short spiky hair started flirting with him. Her name was Stephany and she worked at a gas station pumping gas. Her uncle was a famous movie star and she had grown up on the Island. She was a smoking hot chick and Paul offered to give her a ride back to her house after his shift on the back of his moped. Granted, a moped is not nearly as cool as a motorcycle…but it’s also not nearly as lethal…when they got back to her house they quickly got undressed and jumped in a shower together. Paul couldn’t believe how sexy this chick was. Tanned and beautiful. He brought his “A” game with him into her bed because he wanted to be invited back again and again. Luckily, his enthusiasm was rewarded and he would end up fucking her throughout that summer.

One time on the beach he joined her and her girlfriend on their blankets.

He was asked to spread orange suntan lotion from France on both of them… Paul couldn’t help but notice how friendly and familiar the girls were with each other as they took off their tops to let Paul spread the lotion on their hot tan bodies. He suggested that If they were hungry that he would be glad to make a “sandwich” with them. The girls just laughed and nothing ever came of the idea…a little bit later Paul did take Stephany behind a dune and started fingering her. She could have fucked anyone she wanted on that Island. Before she met Paul she probably did…none of that mattered. She loved riding on the back of his moped and he loved rubbing baby oil on her body when they showered together after a torrid boning session. The sun, the surf. Hot blonde chicks, doobie and tooling around on a moped on a beautiful island.

It couldn’t get any better.

One serious bummer though was the day Paul almost drowned.

He had been with a work friend at Nobadeer beach. They tossed around a football and scoped out chicks. They listened to some of Paul’s cassettes on a portable boom box w/ cassette holder. UB40…reggae…the Specials..ska…anyway, Paul dove in to cool off…swam out and did a little body surfing…it was pretty mellow so he went out further and further

He could hear the caw of the seagulls and he felt great.

That is, until he saw a huge wave building to an enormous swale about 15 feet high almost 50 yards away. Quickly he looked around and realized he had made a huge mistake.

He wasn’t a great swimmer and panic shot through him like an icicle.

Quickly he started to do a mad crawl toward the shore…He didn’t look behind him.

Before he knew it, he felt the pull of the Atlantic Ocean and then the huge wave crashed over him. The power of the wave was shocking. It spun Paul like laundry until he felt the ocean floor. Immediately he pushed off. Disoriented, but sure that he needed to get back above the water’s surface…

He did that finally and gasped violently for breath.

Fuck! Oh my God. I’m in BIG trouble he thought as he turned his head.

He was still very far away from the shore. But he knew he had to recover quickly and keep paddling desperately toward the beach all the while sensing a new, even bigger wave approaching.

At this point he felt he might end up drowning.

But he was way too scared to scream for help.

It would have terrified him even more.

No one could help him now. He was too far out.

He was a small pink dot fighting against a roaring dark green swirling ocean with no concern for his life or his survival.

Paul decided he would try a risky maneuver. Instead of trying to body surf the wave forward and then be sent somersaulting under the water again…he would dive right into the wave at its middle and then swim underwater for a few seconds until he reached the surface.

As the large wave came up upon him, Paul took a quick gulp of breath and hoped that his gambit would work as he felt the awesome power of the water pull him toward the wave…he extended his hands in front of his head and dove for the middle of the wave. If it worked he might just survive this awful ordeal…if he had miscalculated that would be it.

He was done for

As it turned out he had made the right choice. The strategy worked. He avoided getting tossed head over heels underwater again and after using the same technique two more times on slightly smaller waves he felt the sand and pebbles of the shore line. Never had he ever felt such relief before. He made a mad sprint for the beach and was knocked down one more time by a wave. Paul laughed at the Ocean’s final message…don’t EVER fuck with me kid.

He collapsed on the beach in the sand with seaweed wrapped around his body and salt, sand and mucous pasted on his face as he blew bubbles of snot and gasped for breath. His friend Bram ran toward him and asked

“Dude, are you ok?”

“Yeah man… (Cough, cough)

Paul could taste the salt and sand in his mouth…his body was sore all over and he started to shiver…

“What the fuck happened to you?”

Paul leaned over and puked out some salt water

“Are you ok? Should I get a lifeguard?”

“No man, I’m cool… (Cough, cough) …just need a beer.”

Paul was neither cool or thirsty…what he was and what he would never forget, was that he was VERY lucky…he was a survivor. Sure…but more than all that he was a lucky son of a bitch.

Sure he felt invulnerable that summer. He was in his physical prime and he was getting laid and life was good.

On this day, however, he discovered first-hand just how unpredictable and tenuous life could be. He’d think twice from now on before he would wade out too far on anything. Leave the lunar fringe for those with a suicide wish. He’d get his kicks before the whole shithouse went up in flames but he’d exercise a bit more caution too.

Some rebel.

Red eyed and shivering Paul made his way up the beach on unsteady legs until he got to his beach blanket. Then he crumpled onto it and starting to puke out more salt water. A reggae song was playing on the tape deck and Paul could feel the warm sun caress his aching, shocked body…he lay there recovering, until he felt something cold and wet tap his shoulder. He slowly turned over and squinted into the rays of the sun as his pal Bram handed him a cold can of blue ribbon.

He felt like a new man. Like his past sins had been washed away. Like he had looked death in the face and survived. He had been given a second chance. He had guessed right in the face of disaster.

The summer was almost gone …and that beer tasted pretty damn good.

Later that Summer Paul would be living in a beach house with some other friends. One housemate named Werth was a deadhead and introduced Paul to shrooms. They had a keg party and Kathy was there…somehow Stephany heard about the party too and she came by to say hi…before you knew it…Paul hopped into her car without his shoes on and was off with Stephany. She kidnapped him and brought him back to her house on the edge of town for a hellacious boning session.

When he got back Kathy was gone…He made it up to her by fucking her the next night and then taking her to dinner at an Italian restaurant near the movie theatre. The film they watched later starred some English actor who would die years later at a bar in Malta.

There were other chicks that summer as well…there was a hostess at a restaurant where Paul worked part-time as a dishwasher…she was petite with black hair and she wore a lot of make-up. But she had a fine little body and she was always eager to tease Paul. Paul was lucky the night he drove her back to her place from the dance club. They were both pretty lit and when a cop asked Paul if they had been drinking. Paul admitted that he had had “one beer” but that he wasn’t drunk. Luckily, the cop was cool and let him off with a warning.

Paul almost backed up over a cliff shortly thereafter, but again luck was on his side that night…when he finally got the hostess back to her house for the bone, she got him so worked up with foreplay, that he shot almost on contact. Three strokes and that was it. Pretty embarrassing. He did his best to take care of her after with his hand. But the magic flirtation was over and that was the end of that.

Tom, a friend from the restaurant, always looked up to Paul because Paul was older and once rolled him a joint. Paul had a nice supply with him from Belsam’s, enough to last a few weeks. Anyway, out of the blue, while they’re smoking a joint after work behind the restaurant… the kid says,

” my younger sister wants to fuck you…”

Paul was surprised but interested and asked,

“Are you cool with that?”

.”Yeah, totally”

“I don’t know man. That could be kind of weird…you know”

…”dude, she won’t stop bugging me about it…will you just fuck her already?” or at least say hi to her?”

“Sure dude, bring her by…I’ll say hi.”

Paul felt like a rock star.

When she came by later that week, Paul was hanging out in his room with some work friends…a couple of guys and girls passing around wine and a joint.

“Hi, I’m Tom’s younger sister…Penny.”

“Hey Penny…nice to meet you.”

She had red hair and a nice little figure. Paul guessed she was almost sixteen.

Paul introduced her around and looked her in the eye from across the room…he recognized that look in her eyes.

Before long, she had worked her way over to where Paul was standing.

While obstructing everyone else’s view she casually reached behind her and grabbed the bulge that was starting to form in his shorts. Penny kept talking to the guy in front of her while at the same time she held firm to Paul’s now rock hard cock.

For a young girl, she was pretty bold.

Paul liked that about her.

When everyone else cleared out… she stayed.

Paul closed the door and turned around. Penny was already on her knees. She pulled down Paul’s shorts to his sneakers and then proceeded to give him a world class blowjob.

He didn’t fuck her though. That way, things never got weird with Tom for the rest of the summer.

Adam Kluger (and Dreck)