Tag Archives: juliana sliema

Coincidences! Controversy! Starting an old school attention fight!

8 Apr

Nothing to get one’s career in writing smut going like a bit of dirty dirty controversy. Unfortunately, to the great disappointment of scatophiliacs the world over, I refuse to fling my feces around, even at other people.

So, I was checking my amazon books, as an obsessive author is want to do every so often (every 5 minutes! I don’t have time to write anymore! what has become of me! let me check my books again!) and I noticed a little something.

You may know that Amazon, the clever buggers that they are have this little feature under each book.

Customers Who Viewed This Item Also Viewed:

and this is what I found:


Holy SHIT!!! I thought (to the joy of scatophiliacs worldwide). Did I accidentally steal someone’s idea? I thought I was being original!

For those unaware this is my book:

medusa's lover copy

No, it’s probably completely different. It’s just a coincidence the titles are so similar. So, I went ahead and read the description:

“When Medusa was beautiful, finding a man to love her was easy. Poseidon fought for glances from her heavy-lidded eyes against suitors who proposed whenever she left her house. Even goddesses weren’t treated with such worship.

Athena grew jealous. She allowed Medusa to be violated in the Parthenon and turned her into a monster for her indiscretion.

Now when Medusa stares into the eyes of men, they scream as their skin hardens into stone. A caress against her cheek will be rewarded with the poisonous bites of the snakes that slither on her head.

No man is brave enough to approach her, until Perseus is ordered by the gods to kill her.

When they meet, desire sizzles between them. They are willing to risk it all-death, the wrath of the gods, the destruction of their families-if it means they can spend one more night together.”

I thought to myself: HOLY SHIT!

That’s exactly the plot of my short erotica story, except elaborated into a full-length novel.

Here’s the brief description of mine:

“Medusa is loathed by the gods themselves. Their jealousy and hatred forcing her into solitude, she spent an eternity alone with her desires when Perseus finally comes to kill her.

Will Perseus be able to destroy the monster, or will he be consumed by her desires?”

Then, I checked the publishing dates to see if I should be worried Mrs. Black would be writing me a complaint letter.

I published my story in July 2012, hers was published in November 2012. So, I was first. Therefore I say:



Anyways, who knows if it is coincidence, I must confess I haven’t read the actual book by Mrs. Black, but it sure seems damn close from the title and description. Can’t really copyright an idea and a myth is a myth and by goodness she wrote the whole 224 pages, which is no small amount of work, but I would appreciate a shout out from Mrs. Black if my story inspired her!

So something like this:


Juliana Sliema’s Medusa’s Lover is a real inspiration!

Anyways, check out my other stories before someone else steals my thunder!

Teaser: Shipmates

24 Dec

shipmates copy

The heavens were spinning. Pleasure fogged my brain as I tried to react. He was so deep inside me I couldn’t tell were I ended and he began. Spinning out of control, he quivered inside me. It was almost like he was asking for guidance. I against him harder. Something important was escaping me. My mind reached out to it, but my thoughts were washed away by another one of his pulsations inside me. I writhed on top of him, arching my back and trying to push him away. The spinning slowed, but the pleasure didn’t stop. It was no use. We were lost in space together.

In the distance through the fog I heard screaming. I knew it was urgent, but his need was more important. And he needed me to… needed me to…

What did I need to do?


I remember first contact. Aliens were all over the news. President Obama was shown shaking hands with the insectoid leader, smiling to the cameras. The kind of picture needed to reassure the country. Maybe the world.

Nothing much changed. They gave us a few trinkets from their ship to amuse us, while they orbited the planet. One thing on the planet did not stop when the aliens arrived: business. T-shirts, replica ships, action figures, movies, the aliens were everywhere. They were our heroes, our salvation, our key into interstellar travel. You’d think the aliens had instigated a PR campaign. They didn’t, but we sure realized they were a marketable product.

They were just waiting. Waiting for the big guns to arrive.

The world collapsed into chaos when they did arrive. Their ships outclassed our own. Our resistance was pathetic. Capitals cities were wiped off the map in the blink of an eye.

The epidemics started. Intentional or not, their “trinkets” were killing us slowly. Our immune systems weren’t equipped to deal with their foreign viruses and bacteria. I don’t know how many died. No one kept records anymore.

Resistance was organized from the remnants of NATO. It could barely be called a resistance. The aliens ignored it, because it was a shit-hole city like any other. Far from their settlements, it was walled in and subject to the occasional raid. It was referred to as the Eastern Reservation. The locals called it the ER. An apt title considering it was filled largely with the sick and the injured.

I made my way there from the rubble of Valley Falls. My nowhere village wasn’t targeted, but its proximity to New York City made it suffer in collateral damage. Ironically most of the damage was caused by the inefficient weapons of the American government.

Alone, without family, without friends, they welcomed me into the ER. My first day there I volunteered to join the militia. Let them strap a bomb to me, I would walk straight at those insectoid fuckers and take as many of them as I could down with me.

The militia welcomed me with open arms and enrolled me in their pilot training program. They did some bullshit tests of intelligence and psychology. A lot of patterns, blots of ink, and stupid questions about things that didn’t exist anymore. If a train leaves Philadelphia at 10:15 going 45 mph and another train at 11:50 going 65mph – who gives a shit, there are no trains anymore? I didn’t need any training to kill these bugs.

I was called into the NATO headquarters after they had evaluated my tests. Headquarters consisted of an underground archive with flickering halogen lights. Criminal records of insignificant crimes, lined the walls. Nobody had bothered to clean it out and its moldy smell permeated the humid halls.

They invited me into a small windowless room. The papers had been thrown out, revealing walls covered in cracks and wet splotches. At least the light didn’t flicker. Two men sat on foldable aluminum chairs behind a white plastic desk. An empty seat awaited me and I sat down.

“We’ve reviewed your test results,” said a skinny man with glasses. It was hard to imagine he was a soldier, but I guess these days the pool they could chose from was small.

I raised my eyebrow at him. I waited for them to hand me my bomb.

“You have been specially selected for a division of the resistance,” he continued. He readjusted his glasses, nervously.

“Great,” I said keeping my voice flat.

“I have to brief you on the fact that this division is highly classified. Once you enter this division you are not allowed to leave it unless you fail the training, in which case you will be assigned to another unit. I’m afraid that desertion from this division is punished by…” he cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the next words. “…swift execution.”

“Strap a nuke to me, I’ll make a personal delivery to the bugs while I’m at it,” I said.

He fidgeted some more and handed me a folder, “You will be joining our outer atmosphere pilot program. You’ve been given the code name, Azrael. Please use it in all communications with all NATO personnel. Captain Loki will take you to your training facility.”


Read more…

Hot Wheels: Handcuffed – Teaser

20 Aug

I loved the open road and not only for the tingling sensations between my legs provoked by the rumbling of Esmeralda’s 600 horse power engine beneath me. Esmeralda was my several ton vibrator and I rode her every day. She was my truck.

Today, I pushed her a little harder than normal. The surge of her engines sent ripples of pleasure rushing through me. I was cruising fast and resisted the urge to slide my hand into my pants to add a little bit of extra stimulus. Speeding over the highway in slick conditions, I couldn’t afford to get distracted. The pleasant hum of Esmeralda’s engine was enough for me now. Teasing me enough to keep me awake, but not completely distracted.

Joel’s knife lay beside me. I stroked the leather hilt, it was hard and smooth. I recalled the night we had met where he had greeted me with that Southern accent. His body wrapped me up each curve fitting with jigsaw precision. My hand slid between my legs as I remembered his hesitant surprise as I guided him to my other entrance. I pressed through my jeans. My concentration could handle it. He slid inside me with a gasp of surprise, squeezed by the virginal tightness of my behind. I hoped to corrupt him by taking him on his first foray into the forbidden, but he had remained his naïve self. He left me flowers before we left. I threw them out immediately, but I can’t even remember the last time someone had given me flowers.

My blood was pumping now, spreading the heat from between my legs to the tips of my limbs. The vibrations of Esmeralda’s engine never letting me quite come down. I unzipped my jean shorts. It couldn’t hurt to get a little more distracted. There was no one on the road. I slipped my fingers inside myself with a sigh of relief. I was slick and warm as thoughts of Joel and Esmeralda’s vibrations had been teasing me for miles. I moaned at the solid pressure of my fingers inside me. I trembled involuntarily as I curled my fingers to better reach my favorite spot.

I wanted more inside me, I wanted Joel inside me. I reached for his knife and covered the hilt with the juices on my hand before sliding the hilt between my legs. I rubbed it against me and when I felt it glide along the slippery edges of my lips, I forced the whole hilt in. I groaned in a throaty expression of pleasure. Each indentation on the hilt, meant for the fingers to grip it more comfortably, sent a shock of ecstasy up my spine. My hair stood on edge and my heart throbbed as the speed of hummingbird wings.

Never had I put anything like this inside me. A knife! What was I thinking? I looked down to see the blade sticking out between my legs. My head swam a little, tipsy from the cocktail of fear and pleasure.

Sirens and flashing lights made me tighten my grip around the hilt. In my rear view mirrors a police car shot out from behind a billboard advertisement and followed me. I checked my speedometer and cursed myself for being so stupid. I grabbed the blade delicately between my index finger and thumb and pulled it out slowly. Again the ribbed hilt gave me tiny little rhythmic shocks on the way out. I placed Joel’s knife in the glove compartment. I zipped up my jeans and pulled over. I looked at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes still sparkled with desire. There was not enough time to come down. It didn’t help that I’ve had fantasies of sleeping with a cop ever since the first time I was handcuffed.

The cop knocked on the door.

‘Please step out of the vehicle, sir,’ he said.

His jaw dropped when he saw me step out of the truck and I had to contain a giggle. He was everything you expect from a traffic cop. He had a mustache that accentuated his perpetual frown and mirrored aviators hiding his eyes. Muscular forearms stuck out from under his short sleeved uniform. He stood tall and confident, a hand casually resting on his holster.

‘License and registration please,’ he said after he recovered his composure and shut his mouth.

‘One second let me get it from my glove compartment,’ I said. I climbed back up and reached for the glove compartment. I made sure to lean over and arch my back to give the officer a got look at my round ass. My jean shorts tightened between my legs, as I bent over to get my license and registration.

I handed the papers to the cop who examined them with a poker face, any expression hidden behind the mustache and sunglasses.

‘Do you know why I pulled you over?’ he asked finally.

‘I don’t know officer Miller,’ I said in my best impression of innocent. Innocent was hard to portray and I didn’t keep it up for long, ‘You were looking for something pink?’

Officer Miller’s composure broke and he burst out laughing.

‘No,’ he said removing his sunglasses and wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. ‘I pulled you over because you were speeding, Mrs. Creamer.’

‘Miss Creamer,’ I corrected him. ‘I’m not married.’

‘You were speeding, Miss Creamer,’ he confirmed. ‘Is there a reason you were speeding? In hurry to get somewhere?’

‘No hurry, I was just a little distracted,’ I said.

‘I hope you weren’t talking on your cell phone,’ he said.

‘No, I wasn’t,’ I assured him. ‘I was masturbating.’

Want more?

Medusa’s Lover – Free Erotica this Sunday, 5 August

1 Aug

It’s my birthday this Sunday. Rather than receive a gift myself, I’m going to give a gift.

Medusa’s Lover – My most recent sexy short story will be free this Sunday August 5th. Be sure to download your free copy.

lust is blind.


Just to whet your appetite here’s a little preview.


Medusa’s Lover

The mirror revealed a beautiful woman. My hair flowed in waves over my shoulders, it shone with a million tiny stars. My flawless skin coated the ample curves of my body. I hated it. Clothes served no purpose. No one that saw me survived. I let them die with a final glimpse of my untethered beauty and yet all that registered on their petrified faces was horror.


I clawed at my face, the pain searing my cheeks, but the gashes healed as fast as I created them. I screamed in frustration for the millionth time. It was no use.


The mirror was the only one in my palace I hadn’t ground into sand. One as lonely as myself needs some form of company, even if it is my odious own.


I walked through my palace resting my hands on the balustrade of my balcony. My eyes kept to the cracked and dusty floors. I avoided the horror etched on the stone statues that decorated my house. Their faces were forever imprinted in my mind. I did not need to look up to see them.


Heroes, all of them. Come to slay the monster. Me.


Only one of them had not come to slay me. His statue stood beside me.


He smiled at me, his eyes wide with surprise as his finger pulled aside his blindfold. I had turned away to admire the sunset and when I turned back he was turned to stone.


“You foolish boy,” I said. At least his face was not contorted in horror. His stone lips were shiny and worn from the kisses I would give him every night before I would go to sleep.


I wrapped by arms around him. My fingers scoured his body, lingering in the parts I used to love the most. His neck, the muscles of his back, but they were beginning to crumble at my touch. His solid frame had been reassuring when he was alive, but now I longed to touch soft flesh. Something alive.


The sea was visible from my balcony. In the valley beneath my palace I could see the city below. The sunset bathed it in an orange hue. Soon it would glow with the lights of their torches.


In the distance a figure approached my palace with determined steps. Even from this distance his sword shone through the mist that rose up from the valley. My heart raced with excitement. Another hero come to destroy me. I delighted at the prospect of my own destruction and the imminent end to my loneliness.


I observed him as he entered my expansive garden. The trees and flowers the only living thing I had touched in centuries. He edged his way under the imposing stone gate, sword drawn and muscles tensed. Sweat made his body glisten in the setting sun. He spun around, swinging his sword at the sound of rustling behind him. A small hedgehog that tried to scurry across the path froze in front of him. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He smiled, but his crooked smile faded as he came ever nearer to my door.


I hurried down the stairs to hide behind the door. I didn’t want him to see me. I feared him not. On the contrary, I wished him to succeed.


The thick muscles of his bare legs tensed with each slow, deliberate step. He stopped to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Like all those who came to slay me, he was a paragon of masculinity. A towering giant among men, with broad shoulders and limbs as thick as tree trunks. His sandaled footsteps fell on the floor as silently as a cat’s. It was difficult to tell where his golden skin started and where his breastplate ended. They flowed seamlessly into each other. He carried a golden Spartan shield.


“Don’t turn around,” I whispered. “If you do you can be sure it will be your death.”


He froze. A flesh statue, in the midst of a stone menagerie.


“I don’t want you to die,” I said. “I want to help you.”


“Are you going to lead me to the monster?” he asked.


“Lead you to the monster? I am the monster,” I said. My voice always put them off. They never expected a woman’s voice. They expected the shrill shrieks of a mindless beast with serpents instead of hair. I knew what they said about me in the village.


He shifted his shield slowly with the movements of a man cornered by an unpredictable and dangerous wild animal. He examined my golden reflection on his shield.


“But you’re just a woman,” he said. His posture relaxed.


“Don’t turn around,” I warned him. He stiffened again. “What did you expect?”


“Snakes for hair, demonic eyes, scaly skin, but not this,” he said.


“This?” I asked.


“You’re gorgeous. A rival to Athena herself,” he said.


I smiled. Athena’s jealousy was the very reason I suffered this horrid curse. I was happy to give my head to this man, “Listen to me carefully, hero. I do not want to hurt you. Are you listening?”


He nodded, shaking the plumes on his golden helmet.


“I’m going to walk and stand behind you. Watch me if you like in your shield. You can be sure it is not a trick. When I tell you I am ready, you will close your eyes and swing the blade round. Do you understand?” I asked.


Again, he nodded his understanding.


My bare feet glided the few steps left between us, leaving footsteps behind in the dust of crumbled statues. His muscles tensed as he watched my approach in his shield.


He was so alive. He smelled of fresh sweat and the grass he had crushed underfoot in the garden. Heat emanated from him. It had been so long since I had felt the heat of another living being. His broad chest heaved with each breath. His skin had little droplets of sweat. Did I even remember what skin felt like?


I reached to touch him. One last taste. Death would shortly follow.


More here.

Medusa’s Lover Cover

30 Jul

I’m excited about my next project, so I thought I’d share the upcoming cover and hear you thoughts on it. It should be live in the Kindle Store soon! Be sure to check it out!

I have used Marcus Ranum‘s photography, many thanks to him!

a romance with medusa. will that end in anything but death or only in many tiny little deaths?

I Release – Touching Myself in the Morning

23 Jul

” Hornover: what one wakes up with the morning after a night of getting too horny without release. “

Sommeil Liberosensa

And so it begins. Light trickles in from between the curtains. I throw my sheets off me, still half-asleep and in a daze. The heat of the day is warmth enough. Bare and exposed, my fingers begin to explore. My dreaming hand disconnected from me, its caresses feel alien and distant, but at the same time the texture of my own skin is fascinating and I want more. It feels as if I have never touched myself before.

My fingers glide over my tiny hairs, only perceptible because to the golden light seeping through the curtains. The hair grows coarse under my finger tips and it is as if they have arrived in a different world altogether. I’m surprised at my own moisture. I can feel it through the fabric of my panties, sticking to my body. The sudden shock of pleasure as my fingers reach inside me, wakes me up. My eyes open wide, only momentarily, until they embrace the sensation.

It’s not enough. It’s too slow now. I’m awake and I want it harder. Fingers dripping now, I grind them with careless abandon, using the elastic of my underwear to keep the rhythm.

And finally. It is there. It sneaks up on me. Like something looming out of my field of vision that suddenly pounces on me. Invading every pore with tiny shocks of electric ecstasy. I bury my head in the pillow to muffle my groans.

The door opens.

“Good morning, honey. The showers all yours,” he says.

He doesn’t know what he was missing.

“Good,” I say licking me fingers clean. I’m gonna need it, cause I’m a dirty girl.

Felt Tips, Coming 12-12-12

11 Jun

Mark your Calendars! Juliana Sliema is in an anthology edited by Tifanny Reisz, author of The Siren!

Since she put it so eloquently I will quote her, “Please congratulate all our fine FELT TIPS writers when you see them on Twitter. They donated their time and talents to this charity anthology. Because of them, some kids who couldn’t afford new school supplies and some down-on-their-luck parents who can’t afford work clothes will be getting a hand from our one-handed read.”

you want me to do what with the phone?

Check out the list of talented authors in the table of contents I plucked from her blog post:



Jenny Lyn – Indelible

Karen Booth – Taking Dictation

Karen Stivali – Hard at Work

Heather Cole – The Saint of Office Hell

Blacksilk – Of Silver, Sin, and School Desks

Brittany Lawrence – Mine

Eric Andrew Satchwill – What Is It, Suzie?

Gwen Marie Porter – My New Office Chair

Amber Lin – Proof

Jason Darrick – Stapled

Kelly Jamieson – Getting Down to Business

AmyBeth Inverness – In the Closet

Rebecca Stewart – Special Delivery

Marie Wright – The Drawing

Sopphey Vance – Down to the Point

Lynne Silver – Doing it Write

Jillian Boyd – Mark Me

Shoshanna Evers – Tape

Alyssa Linn Palmer – Vee

Sandra Bunino – The Fountain Pen

Antonio Angelo – Trust Me

Lela Gwenn – Whiteboard

Xander Grimm – The Night Shift

Kiki Snow – The Benefits of Multitasking

R. Brennan – Routine Maintenance

Maxine Marsh – The Boss

Cara Ellyn – Private Message

Erin Danielle – All Marked Up

Lucy Felthouse – A Stroke of Peach

Anya Winter – The Server

Diana Cruz – A Rough Night at the Office

Emily Cale – A Planned Encounter

Patricia Correll – Theo’s Donation

Morgan Sierra – The Motion of the Ocean

Candice Bundy – Open Rack

K Fish – The Antique

Memory Scarlett – Silky & Silvered

Michelle Ribaric – All Work & No Play

Stella Harris – Turnabout

Juliana Sliema – Caught

Jade Adkins – Embrace the Strength Inside

Amanda Fletcher – What Happens at STAPLES

Allie Sanders – Love Letters

Tiffany Reisz – Teacher’s Pet

So like I said, remember the date (shouldn’t be too hard) and do contribute to charity with your clean hand. 😉

10 Statues Worth Having Sex With

4 Jun

10. Victor Noir

Victor Noir’s errection was immortalized and I absolutely cannot let a nice hard on like that go to waste. He was an obvious rake that led an adventurous life, shot down by Napoleon’s great-nephew, Pierre Bonaparte, after trying to arrange the terms of a duel. Men dueling kind of gets me hot, until the stupidity of their actions sets in. Part of the thrill will be straddling him and avoiding the security. Apparently, I’m not the only one who fantasizes about Victor.

9. The Hermaphroditos Asleep

turn around and SURPRISE!

This statue offers the best of both worlds. A beautiful, rounded ass with wide hips, where you can slide your hands along their parabolic curves. Supple breasts rest on a broad chest and a stiff penis awaits your touch to awaken it. My lesbian tendencies are perfectly balanced with the male equipment. Maybe it sounds twisted, but how often do you get to satiate your curiosity in such a way?

8. Two Peeing Guys

threesome anyone?

Although watersports are not usually my thing, this David Cerny statue has a lot of potential. First of all, its basically a threesome waiting to happen. I’m ready to bend over and take another in my mouth. There is more these statues can do however: they move! The top part of the body swivels and their penises move up and down. You probably think statues don’t know what they are doing, but you can send an SMS to the number indicated and have them write that text. With a little creative thinking, I think I could quite enjoy myself…

7. Woman by Ales Vesely

might have the sculptor wrong, but the important parts are smooth and silky

This entry might be a little less know and portray more of my lesbian side, but look at those curves. My hand could slip right between her legs before I even knew it. The way she is lifted up in the air provides me with easy access to provide her pleasure and watch her statuesque features contort in ecstasy. Yes, I know it’s just a statue, but sometimes I get carried away in my own fantasies.

6. Les Amants

sometimes i just want to cuddle

Another opportunity for a threesome is this cute statue in Brussels. I just want to climb between them and feel their gentle kisses over me. I’m not all about hard sex all the time. Sometimes, I’m a lady too and I want sweet and tender caresses.

5. Unknown Chinese Guy’s Tomb


And we’re back to hardcore sex! Enough cuddling. Who can resist this statue? It does a lot to dispel the baseless myth surrounding Chinese men. At least back in the 13th Century, they were clearly mutants. Look at that woman’s face. It says it all. It is a look we women crave all our lives, that mixture of surprise, lust, and well just plain fear. Still, we must all face our fears…

4. Penis-dog creature thing

oh fifi!

You don’t always want to make the effort for sex. Sometimes, it is better to spend some quite reflective time alone. For those quite moments alone, this is the perfect statue. Easy and undemanding, I can sit in a bath, light some candles and slip this statue inside me. No one need even know. This can be our little secret.

3. Multi-boobs

i need more hands!!!

Breasts, no matter how you look at them, they are beautiful. The alien with 3 breasts in Total Recall has become a legend, because everyone loves boobs. Another case of my lesbian desire to feel the supple flesh of breast cool against my fingertips and this statue certainly has enough breasts for me. I can feel myself getting wet from more than just the fountain as my mind struggles to decide which breast to fondle.

2. The Golden Man

ok, now i believe in angels

It was almost inevitable that there would be another David Cerny statue on this list. Look at that. It is a giant, muscular, golden man, sitting on the edge of the National Theater and coming in a powerful burst on all the people walking beneath him. Now if that doesn’t get you wet, I don’t know what will.

1. Oscar Wilde’s Tomb

The Pere Lachaise Cemetery  actually had to cover the tombstone with glass so people would stop kissing it. It had been kissed so often the grease was wearing the stone away. Sure some other bitch stole the rock hard cock to keep it all for herself, but just look at the way the angel is poised to take me from behind. There is even a convenient place for me to get on all fours and grind against his granite genitals. To top it all of, it Oscar Wilde is lying beneath you and despite what this list suggests, I’m not a necropheliac, but I have often fantasized about Oscar. He was so sexy and had the seductive advantage of being able to make me laugh. An undisputed number one!

Are eBooks Sexy?

28 May

When I see a man with a dog-eared copy of Animal Farm or 1984, I confess to getting a little wet and warm. The blood rushes through my body and causes pulsations in my core. I usually spot the book before the man, so my arousal sometimes leaves my body feeling very confused. Confusion is fun, though. I’m confused about my sexuality, but that makes the world twice as sexual for me.

gotta be careful with all that hotness in the library.

eBooks are great. You can carry a library in your pocket and leave plenty of space in your pants for vibrators and other toys. They feel slick and clean. In the end, reading an eBook is like masturbating. It gets you where you need to go, without much hassle. A paper book on the other hand, is something that you can touch and caress and bend into better positions. You can get dirty with a paper book in a way that you can’t with an eReader. If you turn a page with your fingers slick with arousal, the paper is forever marked with your loving caress.

On the other hand, if you get you’re eReader wet with your juices, you can just wipe it off.

Maybe an eReader is better after all…

And you my dear sexy readers, what say you?


9 May

I don’t believe in omens, he told himself.

Standing at the gate he watched airplane after airplane land, barely a minute separating each landing. And yet he had stood here staring for over an hour and nothing had gone wrong.

He shuddered. That only increased the chance that the next one would crash. One in a million planes crashed, right? How many had landed across the globe while he stood here? Which one would be number one million?

That’s not how statistics work, he reminded himself.

It didn’t help. The thought of a sky crowded with tons of titanium traveling through clouds at several hundred miles per hour still gave him goosebumps.

Of course, there were professionals in charge with hi-tech equipment and years of training. But they must have had a first time. The is no room for ‘oops’. And what if they had a fight with their wife the night before? Got drunk? What if his child was just run over by a Polish person and he had to give landing instructions to a LOT aircraft?

Easy, he steadied himself. They had systems for this kind of thing. Rules and regulations. He deliberately guided his thought away from how they dealt with rules and regulations where he worked.

A woman screamed. He spun to witness the commotion at the gate. Her hand was gripped to her breast and her face was pale, but a weak laughter escaped her.

“A bird,” blushing, she explained to the people’s bewildered glances. “It just flew right into the window. Smash! I can’t believe he didn’t break it!”

A few of the younger children darted to the window in youthful curiosity. Some dragging their parents with them.

“Eeew,” said one of them pointing out of the window. “I think its dead.”

“No, its still moving,” responded another.

“That happens sometimes after they die,” yet another.

“Isn’t it kind of dangerous to have birds flying around at the airport?” asked one of the parents.

“It is,” answered another one, sagely. “They can get sucked into the turbines and cause an airplane to crash.”

“Its nothing to worry about,” assured a uniformed cabin attendant. It was said with such practical ease and confidence, it must have been a phrase he needed to perfect to graduate to flight attendant. “I’ll just quickly ring up the clean up crew.”

Leaving the passengers to peer curiously at the spasming bird he walked briskly off.

He marveled at the perfect haircut and impossibly close shave of the flight attendant, calling to mind an image of a Thunderbird doll. A dead, inanimate object. He observed the steward’s jaw closely as announced that boarding had now commenced for business class passengers.

Good thing I don’t believe in omens, he thought.

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