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Does she know that we use her toys when she’s out of town? She can smell another woman a mile away. But can she smell another man?


Call me Candy.

I’m the other {wo}man.

The one you crave when your wife is away.

Sweaty and sweet and ready to do all the things your wife won’t or can’t do.

Let my mouth go where you want it.

“You’re Catholic, right?” you ask out of nowhere.

“Yes,” I confess.

Forgive me, Father. I’m a sin.

“So, you swallow?” you ask, blushing.

“Well…” I purred, ”To quote Prince,” I smile up at you, “as I so often do,

“‘Life is too good to waste.’”


Is that all there is? Think again.

She can fuck you with a strap-on (She did that once, you tell me), but she can’t cum inside you

and make you bloom like springtime like I do.


one of you is the boy?” I asked, teasing them.

“I am,” she said.

“Fuck you,” he said.

“Fuck with me,” she said.

He felt himself disintegrate. Needle through his nipple. Ringlets round his face. Dancing around. Wild card up his sleeve. She quoted Rimbaud. She channeled Puccini. A pearl of a girl in the Chelsea Hotel. Taken down, tarnished stars. Falling from the sky, holding hands with God.


Earl Carrender is a poet and writer who lives in Indianapolis. He got his BA in English at Marian University and his MFA at Butler University. His fiction and poetry have appeared in The Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library Journal, Qwerty, Punchnel's, Clever, 101 Words, and Scissors and Spackle, among others.

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