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Sin and a simmering wrath, resolve and action, alienation and rage.
~Honeysuckle pt.2


Wayne couldn’t leave.

He’d been trying all day, and despite being able to walk around the whole building with his bees, he couldn’t get past the old tree on the corner of the yard where they’d lynched and hung Paul Jackson three years before Wayne had bought the little cottage with its field of flowers. “This is perfect for bees,” he’d thought to himself when he went to see it, and so he bought it. It was his way; once he’d made a decision that he wanted something he would have it. Frustrated he stood on the corner with people going past him, not even able to push his hand out psat the edge of the sidewalk.

The rain had passed during the night and the sun had everyone in clothes that were far too skimpy from Wayne’s point of view. Standing there with people walking through him he saw them shiver as they passed. “Am I doing that? he wondered. He realized he was. Wayne was cold even though he wasn’t really there; at least not in any way that his simple mind could fathom. He walked back through the wall into the ground floor of the building that covered his entire little piece of land. He and his bees. Wayne has spent the morning pacing out his home plot. His old walls were still there, blocking him in places even though he couldn’t see them. The way around his cottage and its yards was as familiar to Wayne as the back of his hand though, and as he passed around the corner of his tool shed he walked through the bizarre bedroom he had seen earlier.

Laid out on the dresser for anyone to see were huge plastic cocks. Wayne wasn’t the type to have such graphic words in his head but he couldn’t help it. The world had become a den of sin while he’d been dead, and he couldn’t believe his eyes as he drifted through and into the living room, where his garden had once been. Sitting on the couch watching the television were two blonde girls, and they were only in their unmentionables. Why a person would bother even wearing knickers at all if they were that tiny and flimsy, Wayne didn’t know. He glanced at the television to see a lurid scene of debauchery, enough so that it eclipsed his wonder at what a television even was and how something like that would even work.

A blonde and a brunette, both a bit too firm looking from Wayne’s point of view, were cavorting naked on a bed while a man watched on with his cock in his hand. The minute voice of revulsion Wayne heard was quieter than his morbid curiosity or his arousal. As the man moved to join the two women on the bed movement caught Wayne’s eye to his right. The scandalously clad blonde girls, one tall and thin and the other somewhat shorter and rounder about the breasts and hips, had moved close enough together on the couch that their legs were touching and Wayne’s dead heart raced. The tall one had placed her hand on the other’s thigh and the smaller one was licking the side of the taller one’s face. Women lying with women; Wayne was scared.

“God will have their souls,” he said quietly to himself.

As Wayne watched they began kissing each other in earnest, flicking the tips of their tongues together between their mouths. The long blonde with dangerous eyes climbed over top of the lap of the smaller and coyly innocent girl and was moving her hips back and forth sensually as they kissed. The shorter haired one had her long, red painted nails digging softly into the taller girls back, raking downwards towards the waistband of her tiny white panties. Moving in a stunned shuffle Wayne went closer, standing between them and the television, as the girl’s nails caught the top of the other’s underwear and pulled them down over the top of her ass. Wayne’s bees flew around him nervously. She languidly moved the waistband up and down, first the left side and then the right, while the two girls kissed. As the smaller one sitting on the couch licked the girl in her lap’s stomach Wayne felt like he would die if he hadn’t already.

“God will have my soul, too.” he thought as he tried to pull his eyes away from the sin before him. Except that God had already had it, and for some reason hadn’t wanted it. “Maybe I’m in Hell…”

With her panties around her mid thigh the taller girl rolled of the other and sat back onto the couch, pulling them the rest of the way down and off over her delicate ankles. The smaller and curvier girl smiled wickedly and got to her knees, pushing apart her lover’s thighs and placing her face to her smooth, shaved slit. She licked at it, looking up from time to time into the taller girl’s eyes, and they both wore sinful grins of forbidden ecstasy. The one receiving the pleasure took the smaller girl’s face in her hands gently and guided her up for a lingering kiss, all tongue and no lip. Grinning those wicked grins they both stretched out on the couch, parting their legs so that one was atop the other and their faces were at each other’s softly swaying pelvises. Wayne shook his head.

“Please stop,” Wayne said to them pleadingly, tinny and raspy.

The crotch of the smaller girl’s underwear was pushed to the side by the other’s long fingers, exposing her most private area to her wet tongue. Licking gently at first, they pushed their tongues into each other right in front of Wayne’s widening dead eyes. They lay flat against each other and rolled partially to the side as they ground themselves into each other’s faces. Sighing and moaning, mewling and inhaling sharp breaths now and then, writhing against each other. Their hands caressed the backs of their thighs or softly gripped at the other’s ass.

“Stop!”, Wayne yelled. They couldn’t hear him. “Please stop!”

Their sighs and moans became squeals and cries and their writhing became wild gyrations. A shudder would go through the taller girl’s body, starting at her heels and moving up the backs of her thighs to her narrow and smooth ass. The smaller girl was jerking wildly at the hips, her lower moans muffled by her lover’s wet pussy against her mouth. As they thrust and ground their way to a shared climax Wayne felt the lust inside of him turn into righteous anger at their unholy behavior and his fists began to shake at his sides. He knew this had to stop, before it was too late for any of them.

“STOP! he yelled.

As their glass coffee table exploded and bits of it scattered through the room the girls snapped their heads up, untangling from each other and jumping to their feet with shared shrieks. Wayne’s anger subsided and his bees swirling slowed; he unclenched his fists. With heavy breaths in his dead lungs he blinked several times. They both had little bleeding cuts all over their smooth flesh from the flying splinters of glass and he felt a momentary bit of regret at his rage, but if they were going to live under his roof they would learn that ladies do not behave like this.

“Thank you,” he said in his cracked and tinny voice, and he walked from where his garden had once been up the stairs to Kristin’s apartment.


Owen didn’t normally work on Saturday but it’s hard to say no when you have nothing better to do. Kristin had left sometime before he woke up, which was abnormal for a Saturday. Normally he would have stayed home and washed his dishes when she washed her dishes. Had lunch when she had lunch. Kristin rarely had breakfast on Saturdays, and Owen told himself it was because she wanted him to pay more attention to his weight. She never left before lunch though.

Walking down the street a few blocks from home Owen heard a knocking sound on the inside of the window of the coffee shop he was passing. Looking through the reflection on the glass he saw Kristin, smiling her warm smile and waving a small wave. Her hair was down, which was also abnormal, long red curls past her shoulders to her waist. He smiled and nodded, returned her wave in kind, and he felt his heart pound a bit harder in his chest. Owen was surprised for some reason that she would recognize him outside of the building, and he faltered a bit in his step; he stopped and looked at her through the glass. As he was about to knuckle up against his fears and open the door to the café he saw another man sit down at the table with her and she looked away from Owen to him and said something. He nodded again, smiled and waved again, and kept walking; he hoped no one had seen him behave so foolishly.


Kristin’s cousin was kind of boring and she hadn’t wanted to meet him for breakfast and coffee just because he was in town. She’d wanted to sleep in, maybe have another glass of wine with lunch, and then read a book until she fell asleep before supper. He’d caught her online last night though and insisted. There was nothing wrong with John, but he just wasn’t very interesting. Hearing him say it he had a full life, but Kristin didn’t like how much he sounded like her when he talked; like he was trying to add importance to the banal just to have something to say. As he told her about some new shelves he’d found at a garage sale she wondered why her friendly-faced neighbor hadn’t come in the coffee shop when she’d waved.

She didn’t even know his name. He was quiet and kept to himself, much like her. Kristin was normally the type to bake something for her new neighbors when she moved into another apartment, but she didn’t like it when others came over to greet her. She liked her tiny space to be just for her and Zane. He had seemed so much like her that she didn’t want to bother him.

Her cousin John finished his garage sale story and after the obligatory niceties exchanged by family that are barely family they parted ways outside the café. Empty promises to ‘do this more often’ and the half hearted hug of related strangers; the needlessly prolonged good bye. Missing Zane, and deciding that she needed to make an effort to be less like the parts of her that she saw reflected in John, Kristin went home to her small space on the third shelf of a storage place for the disinclined.

It was a bit run down, but that was more a comment on the general state of the building than on how Kristin kept her apartment. The kitchen tap leaked a bit and the pipes groaned. The old and time worn hardwood floor creaked in more places than it didn’t. The white plastic blinds, installed somewhere along the way many tenants ago, were stained beige and bent in awkward places; Kristin had hung curtains she found at a garage sale over the tops of them, but wished that she had real curtain rods. One wall in the living room and one in the bedroom were covered with old wood paneling. Looking at it now, coming from her visit with her cousin, it looked a bit drab. She opened the blinds, struggling with the tangled string and the stubborn catch that was supposed to keep them up. With the sun shining in her things looked drab too.

Kristin dusted often enough, you have to when you have a cat that sheds as much as Zane, but in the bright light she could see that dusting around things isn’t entirely the same as moving them all and cleaning everything. She went to the hall closet and got out some cleaning supplies she had bought at one point or another and lined them up on the kitchen counter, reading their labels so she didn’t poison herself with fumes. When you don’t do something very often you tend to take care on the rare occasion that you feel motivated into action.

As she cleaned she thought to herself that maybe it was time to get some new things. New furniture, new curtains, new dishes, new clothes, new Kristin; cleaning was a good enough start for today.


All Owen had was a multipurpose spray cleaner and two rolls of paper towel. Kristin’s sounds through the wall were strange to him at first, but he recognized the sound of someone deep cleaning from his memories of his mother; almost religious in her precision. An old and stained sponge mop from the back depths of his hall closet was broken on the counter from where he had tried to ring its sticky and worn head over the sink and snapped it.

It occurred to him suddenly as he wiped and sprayed and wiped that there had to be some reason for what he was doing; that is to say that there had to be some reason for what Kristin was doing. Who had that man been that was with her at the coffee shop, and where did he fit into their life? Was she cleaning because he was coming over? Did she need to impress him; and if so did that mean he meant something to her?

Owen threw the wad of wet and worn paper towel from his hand to the floor and slammed his door closed as he left for the liquor store. He wasn’t usually a drinker, but if he was going to have to listen to Kristin spend time with another man through the walls he would do it drunk.


Wayne watched Kirstin clean. This is how a proper woman behaves, not like those two whores downstairs. He was glad that at least one person around here hadn’t decided to tread the path to Hell so willingly and wantonly. They’d aroused him, but that’s how the Devil gets you. His father, a pastor, had done Wayne the good service of moral foundation early in his life and he’d be damned if sluttery was going to take place on his property. He reminded himself to check around on the rest of these degenerates when he wasn’t busy.

He watched Kristin bend down onto her hands and knees, putting her nice round backside into the air and moving it back and forth under her thin flowered skirt as she cleaned under the couch. His bees danced their lazy dance, jumping in their wheezing path as a door slammed out in the hallway.

Loud noise wasn’t as bad as sluttery, but it wasn’t necessary either. He drifted out through the door and saw that man from next door going down the stairs with one hand on the wall. Wayne glowered at his back as he left and his bees drifted around him in tight circles.

Anonymous readerReport

2016-11-12 11:47:00
I love your sad description of the apartment, I have lived in places like that. Where nobody is going anywhere and they are just enduring life. The facilities are as worn-out and run-down as their souls and it's good enough.

Minus ThreeReport

2011-10-10 04:08:08
"Please make pt 3 of ~Honeysuckle!"

-I promise that I will. This left a lot of people hanging, I know. I had a publisher that wanted it. I've since told them to go away, so I'll be posting ther est of it here eventually. I'm in the middle fo something really big and involved right now...but I *promise* I'll get back to this when I can.

anonymous readerReport

2011-10-08 11:37:26
Please make pt 3 of ~Honeysuckle!


2011-10-04 03:08:00
This one is so beautiful. I wished you'd finished it. Its like if Wes Anderson and Wes Craven made a movie together or something.

Minus ThreeReport

2011-09-18 03:16:11
That is still up in the air. If you click on my profile you'll find a link ot my author Page on Facebook and if you lcick Like on that thing then you'll know long before any here does.

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