Tag Archives: short story


I’m writing another short story. Most of it exists already in my head. I know the ending too. That is the way I often work. I like to sit down and write an almost finished version.

Yet I am still struggling with my English. There is an advantage though as I need to keep it simple, almost pure without any saying or other expressions only seasoned English people are aware of.

I’ll read the first paragraphs but even with a good microphone it still sounds like I am in a small room with lots of echo.

Comments are highly appreciated.


An exciting encounter – short story

It is a beautiful Sunday morning.
I am awake and lay on my side and look at Princess. She is still sound asleep.
Chinks of light filter trough the curtains and envelope Princess’s face with streaks of gold.
She looks gorgeous, while dreaming dreams I’ll never know about.

A sigh, soft and sensual. Barely audible.
Princess slowly arises from a deep sleep.

“Good morning beautiful,” I whisper, gently stroking her cheek, placing a soft kiss on her lips.

She wakes up, smiles at me, still dozy.

“I’ll make us a cup of coffee while you get out of bed”, I tell her.
“No morning sex?” she pouts.

“No Princess. I have another treat in mind for you.”
“Okay Milord,” she beams and hops out of bed.
“You’ll be wearing your skinny jeans, white T-shirt. No bra.”
“Yes Milord.”
Princess is a good girl.

Later we enjoy breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast, the works.  I love pampering Princess.

“We are going for a walk in the woods, Princess,” I reveal.
“Wow, great. Thank you Milord!”
Her enthusiasm is catchy, one of the many things making her so adorable.

We finish our coffee and clear the table.

It’s eleven when I park my car on the almost deserted parking lot.
“Mmmh,” Princess smiles and inhales the organic scent of flowers, grass and leaves.
It is pleasantly cool under the green foliage.

I kiss Princess in the neck and grab her hand.
Watching Princess’s boobs wiggle under her T-shirt with each step she takes is maddening hot. I wish I could fuck her but I have other plans.

We don’t talk much, just walk, happy being together.

I lead her to an open spot in the woods.
There is a small pond with blooming water lilies, humming bees and deep blue damselflies.

“Oh, this is so romantic, Milord. Thank you for bringing me here.” She looks so joyful, so careless. Happiness can be so simple.

We sit down on a fallen tree and kiss, enjoying our private Garden of Eden. It does not take long to feel completely disconnected from our daily and busy life.

A female jogger comes in our direction.

“Hi,” she says, stopping where we sit. She opens her bottle of water and takes a sip.
She’s cute, in her mid forties. Shoulder long black hair, surprisingly green eyes and luscious lips.
Still panting she does some stretching, knowingly showing her body off. Long sun burnt legs, great ass and one cannot look past her tits.

I look at Princess, her eyes are crawling over the woman’s body with virtually imperceptible desire.

“Must be pleasurable jogging in the woods,” I start the conversation.
“Yes it is,” the woman replies with a warm and husky voice. “I jog here every day.”

“I’m Franco, and this is Princess.”
“Nice to meet you both.” She takes another sip of water, spilling some over her chin.
With a glance on Princess she licks her lips, and, with the back of her hand, wipes the droplets of water away.

“I’m Leila.” She smiles at Princess who blushes, very aware her nipples harden.
“Hello Leila,” Princess stammer’s, confused because of what this encounter is doing with her.

“You seem very pleased to see me, Princess,” Leila giggles.
“She is not wearing a bra. Did you ask her not to, Franco?”

I see disbelief in Princess’s eyes when she hears the crude remark and impertinent question. It makes me smile.

“Yes I did, Leila. I love the idea being able to simply reach under her T-shirt and touch them.”

“I guess they are magnificent.”
I grin. “Yes Leila, they are. And her nipples are so sensitive.”

I look at Princess and enjoy seeing how shocked she is. Quickly I move behind Princess and rest my hands on her shoulders in a comforting way.

Princess’s breathing increases, she is getting aroused and I can almost smell it.

“Do you want to see them, Leila?” I ask. My voice is low, inviting yet commanding.

“I would love to, Franco.”

I slide my hands down Princess’s arms, let them linger for a few seconds on her hips while my fingers search for the rim of her T-shirt.

Teasingly slow I pull the fabric up, finally revealing her breasts.
“Open your mouth girl, and hold the fabric between your teeth.”

I pull back her arms behind her back hold her wrists with a firm grip. Princess is merely a toy now and she knows it. I can hear it in her moaning, her sighing.

“Wow,” Leila chuckles, “they are indeed gorgeous. Can I touch them?”
“Of course you can. Don’t forget to play with her nipples, Princess likes that very much.”

My cock grows hard while I watch Leila caress Princess, gently squeezing her nipples.
I press my crotch against her ass to let her know how aroused I am.
“You like that, girl?” I growl.
Princess nods in affirmation.

“Enough, Leila.”
Immediately she pulls her hands back.

“You want more, girl?” I breathe in Princess’s ear.
“Please Milord. I do,” she mumbles doing her very best not to let go of the T-shirt’s rim she’s still holding between her teeth.

“You heard Princess, Leila.”
“I’m so looking forward discovering more of her, Franco.”

“Here.” I hand over the pen Princess gave me for our first anniversary, making sure she sees it. It has our names engraved and the date of our first rendezvous. Now I am using it for a groundbreaking moment in our relation.

Leila smiles, grabs the pen and writes down her phone number on Princess’s right breast.
Then gives me back the pen.

“It was a pleasure, Sir.” Leila bows her head. Plants a volatile kiss on Princess’s forehead.
Then she’s gone.

“Aren’t you going to write her number on a piece of paper, Milord? I’m sweaty and I’m afraid it will get rubbed off with my T-shirt.”

“No need for that, Princess.”
I grab my smart phone and take a photograph of Princess’s boob and the phone number.
“For our special photo album,” I smile and pull down her T-shirt.

We walk back to the car, Princess and I.
The sun is now hidden behind dark clouds.
It is still hot though. There is some far away rumbling.
I love these heavy summer thunderstorms.

We drive home.
Princess and I get naked and go to bed.
We make love.
And make love again.
Devour each other like famished dogs.

(c)Franco Bolli, 2015

The Aroma of Coffee

When I wake up I know it is going to be a bad day. Are there other ones I ask myself in disgust.
I feel dizzy, my head ready to explode and my chest hurts from smoking too much yesterday.
My bed is big and empty. I cannot remember when was the last time a woman slept next to me.
The fog in my head is getting thicker.
It is raining outside, drizzly, disconsolate. I feel so depressed.
I suppress a rising feeling of nausea and grab the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. Empty.
My mood descends way below zero.

The dizziness is getting stronger. I slip out of bed and stumble to the bathroom where disorder awaits me.
Just in time I bend over the toilet hole. The stench of stale urine rising out of that dark yellow pit hits me hard in the face. I haven’t flushed in days.
I throw up last evening’s spaghetti and it leaves an acid taste in my mouth. I dab my face with cold water and rinse my mouth.

It is cold and dirty in the kitchen too.
I make some coffee and scuffle to the living room.

Soon the aroma of coffee fills the room but it can’t reduce my bad temper. It is so cold here and I feel abandoned. Coffee is not meant to drink alone.
Why for heaven’s sake did I even take the trouble?

The scent reminds me of her and I don’t need that now.
My mind drifts away to those simple breakfasts with her when the bed was not yet to big or empty and cold.
The hot cups of black coffee were our Sunday morning tradition after the lovemaking and to greet the new day.

While she was dozing after the intense sex I jumped out of bed, plunged down the stairs into the kitchen and brewed a can of delicious and strong coffee.
In the meanwhile she had pushed up the pillows and welcomed me back by lifting up the duvet.
She took it with her when she left me and I never replaced it.

No wonder I have cold legs and feet at night, I think. For a split second I am longing more for the duvet than for her.

A specific memory springs to my mind although just the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. Fucking melancholy does that to people.

On a Sunday morning, so beautiful time should have halted at that precise moment, she asked for sugar. I was a little surprised. She always takes her coffee black.
I remember smiling.
“Sweetie,” I answered, “if you play sugar I will personally add some cream…”
“You are a man with wicked thoughts,” she chuckled and grabbed my cock.

These memories seem like fragments of a past life I never lived. I suddenly get a depressing feeling I’ve aged centuries. That I have wandered through deserts of absolute emptiness. Lost my bearings and myself at the same time.
I realize I have been chasing unreachable shadows while tapping myself on the shoulders. Encouraging myself in a no good life. Sinking in a pool of murky self-pity. Hoping for something that would never happen.
She won’t come back.

I loathe myself and my prominent lethargy and lack of resilience. In my mind, I draw a thick line under this chapter. I decide, starting tomorrow, to be a blank slate again. Alert and open for what comes. I need to look at the sky instead to the ground. Longing for what lies beyond the horizon.

This day, this Sunday, I should use to dispel of the filth in my house and in my life.

I rummage through some audiotapes and decide a piano sonata by Chopin is the only music that can endure this morning.
Chopin is a miracle I think with his twinkling fresh sadness.
I now know that I do not want to cherish my pain. In stead I want to search for blue skies and banish the grey from my life.

Chopin will accompany me.