Catharsis Stories

It had been an oddly calm day at the café. There had been no inexplicable imbalances in the registers, no clueless trainees in need of babysitting, no last-minute sick calls - even the ever-malfunctioning espresso machine had kept its cool. Bertie had spent the latter half of his shift waiting for something to inevitably go wrong, but he clocked out at four p.m. disappointed. Typically by this time of the day he’d be exha...

The feel of your soft lips on mine lingers, leaving me longing for more. All those years, and still you manage to kiss me in ways that leave me wondering how far you’re about to take the fuckery. In the dim light of the unknown room, I can barely make out the shapes. Seemingly, the only source of illumination appears to be your mysterious smile that tells volumes about what this promised ‘surprise’ might entail. As you ho...

Lightnings in the dark. My eyes hurt for the tears I've spilled, But my soul is egging me on. Watch, it murmurs. Look. I see the clouds turning to a different shade. The fronds of the trees dance wildly with the wind And I observe your eyes. They appear before me. So far away. The rain begins to fall, it washes everything away, Except for my pain. That stays, as a knife, Planted between my ribs. You were the storm, the da...

Mikhail Ivanovych Artemenko, to most people, was Mischa, a carpenter who lived in Toronto with his extended family. However, in another life, Mischa had been held in a Soviet prison for ten years. His father had been a dissident in Ukraine who moved the family to America, but Mischa had found ways to piss off the KGB in several corners of the earth throughout his life. When he was in prison, he did horrible things to surv...

It is so vividly etched into my mind: the recollection of when I saw you enter that room which, although being crowded and the music blasting from the speakers, made me feel alone and left out. I was about to leave the party, stagger home, crawl back to bed when your eyes instantly sought mine and their corners wrinkled up naturally in your kind, warm smile. But what did it for me, really, was that deep color that seemed...

You're sitting in the train, looking out of the window as the landscape passes by, wondering what made you sit here, what made you follow her lure call. You sigh loudly—or lowly? You don't know, really, for the droning coming from your headphones drowns all exterior sounds. Loud enough, at least, to earn a worried look from the girl sitting in the same compartment. You choose to ignore her gaze as you are too absorbed by...

I read somewhere that for men in their mid-forties, ejaculation every 2-3 days was optimal for their physical and emotional health. I hoped that Charles had been masturbating for all those years when sex between us was separated by weeks instead of days. I'd used my vibrator until I needed human contact and he'd never turned me down when I snuggled up behind him and let him know I was ready. This history presented me with...