Hello, and welcome to the twentieth, and final, issue of
Tales from Snippettsville
, Short Stories From A Small Town.
If you want to know what it's all been about, go to
Snippettsville Group
If you have any feedback on the stories, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.
Contents of Issue 20
The Outbreak Of The Great Snippettsville War Of The Sexes
by Jon Hayworth
Tripping Triumph
by wildsweetone
The Ecumenical Hoodwink
by Quasimodem
A Matter Of Business
by Champagne1982
Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Couture, 2003
Lake picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2004
Door picture, (c)Perdita, 2003
Lake picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2004
Now read on...
* * * * *
The Outbreak Of The Great Snippettsville War Of The Sexes
by
jon.hayworth
I had spent a quiet Christmas up in my cabin, not wanting to join in the communal festivities of an event I did not believe in, I had given folks the impression I had gone home for a few weeks. Secretly I had been doing some serious writing without the distraction of Snippetsville matrons.
It was the first week in January when I rode the BMW into town, riding through deep snow was certainly an experience for me. The bike was fine, all the R&D on the Russian Front in WW2 had paid off.
I sensed the tension in the air the moment I entered the store. Seeing Jack's hang-dog demeanour I thought he had failed to perform his matrimonial duties over the Christmas period, Ethel could be very demanding sexually - one reason why I had avoided anyone.
Although Ethel smiled, I could sense there was something else on her mind. A few moments later when she brandished the clipboard in my face I knew what it was. “Will you sign our petition to keep our community pure.”
How I stopped myself from laughing I do not know. Keep the town PURE - first there had been Hannah, then Ethel knocking on my door and since then - well I will tell you about them some other time.
I looked at the petition, before I read the text I noted most of the signatories were women, Father Morrison and Mr Niles the minister were the only males who had signed. I always read the text before I sign a petition, ‘We the citizens of Snippetsville object to the idea of a Massage Parlour being located in Snippetsville.’ I shook my head and handed back the clipboard, “sorry Ethel I can't sign.”
“Why not?”
“I live at Green Lake; it’s not really Snippetsville.”
“You mean you’re like him,” she jerked her head in Jack’s direction. “Everytime he sees her his tongue is hanging out - I only wish he could show the same enthusiasm for his wife.”
“Now Ethel ...”
“Don’t you go now Ethelling me ... now look what you gone made me do! I told you Jack Carr I ain’t speaking to you.” ‘See you tonight,’ she mouthed. I nodded my head.
In post-coital bliss, while Ethel toyed with my sated, limp cock. I reciprocated by tweaking her nipple while marvelling on the pioneering spirit of American women, who will drive along snow covered tracks for a few hours of illicit sex - women I knew in England wouldn’t drive to the supermarket when snow had fallen.
We both heard the motor and the tires scrunching on the snow. My first thought was Jack had at last worked out where his wife was. I guess Ethel shared that idea, she dove under the bedclothes.
Going to the door, I wondered if Jack had a gun.
A wave of relief swept over me when I saw Hannah. “Hi,” she said, “I saw you were back and thought I’d be neighbourly. I see you gotten company.” I must have looked startled, because she said, “I saw Jack’s truck outside.”
She saw the empty room, then she clicked. “Well I’ll be damned,” she said striding to the bedroom door. “Ethel! Ethel Carr how dare you, he is mine.”
“Hey I’m not a lump of meat!”
“Shut up!” the viragos chorused.
“I can share if you can share,” Ethel offered.
“Has he got the stamina for the two of us?” was Hannah’s answer.
One guy, two women - every man’s dream but it is hell in reality, and I still haven’t signed the petition.
* * * * *
Tripping Triumph