Category Archives: short stories

When is a short story not a short story?

I began writing short stories in mid 2012. At least I thought that my compositions where short stories (I knew of no other means of describing them), however I now realise that many of my compositions are, in fact flash fiction (a term wholly unfamiliar to me until comparatively recently). Wikipedia describes flash fiction as follows

“Flash fiction is a style of fictional literature or

fiction

of extreme brevity.

[1]

There is no widely accepted definition of the length of the category. Some self-described markets for flash fiction impose caps as low as three hundred

words, while others consider stories as long as a thousand words to be flash fiction”. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flash_fiction

I have never consciously aimed at producing flash fiction (indeed, as mentioned above I was unaware of the label until quite recently) but many of my stories none the less fall into this category. See, for example my story entitled Chicken, http://newauthoronline.com/2013/09/15/chicken/. To be frank I haven’t counted the words but I guess that they total 1000 give or take a few either way!

Other stories most definitely can not be classified as flash fiction. Rather they fall into the category of short story, (see, for instance my long short story, Samantha which runs to approximately 29 pages, http://www.amazon.com/Samantha-ebook/dp/B00BL3CNHI).

To the best of my recollection all of my flash fiction has been composed in one sitting while my short stories have been written over a longer time-frame (Samantha was written over a period of several months).

To me it is irrelevant whether a composition is, technically a piece of flash fiction or a short story. What matters is that the story gives pleasure and (hopefully) causes people to think about the world in which they live. If I can achieve that in a thousand words or less then all well and good, however if it takes longer to convey my “message” (if that doesn’t sound too pompous)! Then that, also is absolutely fine. Ultimately it is the production of a meaningful tale which matters rather than how many words I as a writer have churned out.

 

Chicken

Julie took another swig of cider and passed the bottle to her friend Lizie.

“How’d you get it Jules?” Lizie asked taking a gulp of the dark liquid.

“How you think I got it. Bought it didn’t I” Julie replied taking another swig from the bottle which her friend had just handed back.

“But you aint old enough to drink Jules”.

Julie threw back her head and snorted with laughter.

“So fucking what. You aint old enough either but I could swear you’re drinking with me. Got it in that offie on Duke Street. Owner doesn’t give a stuff about how old you are, just cares about cash”.

“Its bloody good stuff Jules” Lizie said taking another mouthful.

“Its your turn next time Liz. I aint taking the risk every time. It aint fair. I got it last time as well”.

Lizie paled.

“But you look older than me Jules. You look all mature, I look like a little kid. I’ll never get served”.

“Chicken. Course you will. Borrow some of your mum’s make-up and those glittery heels your sister wears and nobody will have a bleeding clue that your 14”.

“Mum will fucking murder me if she finds out” Lizie said.

“Who’s going to tell her? I aint no grass. Just wait till she goes to work and nick a bit. She won’t notice” Julie said flicking a strand of long blonde hair out of her eyes.

“Angela’s mum went ape shit when the cops brought her home” Lizie said drumming her fingers nervously on the wooden bench.

“That stupid cow tried to buy cider in Sainsburys. Fucking idiot. Supermarkets are red hot on, oh what do you call it?” Julie asked.

“Age verification I think” her friend replied.

“Yeah, that’s it. Age verification. Why do you think I always go to the offie? Cause Mr Patel doesn’t give a shit. He’ll sell to anyone so long as they have the cash”. Julie said.

“Mum’s a teacher. She’ll kill me if I get caught. In fact it will be much worse. She’ll give me that I’m so disappointed in you Liz, how could you bring shame on me look. I can’t stand it when she does that. It makes me feel so small” Lizie said holding her hands six inches above the ground.

“I get it. Its fine for bimbo Julie to stick out her neck and maybe have it cut off but that little angel Elizabeth Cox won’t buy cider cause she doesn’t want to disappoint mummy. Well I’m pissed off. Go and find someone else to hang out with because I’ve had enough Lizie” Julie said jumping to her feet.

“Don’t go Jules” Lizie said taking hold of her friend’s sleeve.

“I want a friend not a fucking chicken” Julie said wrenching free from Lizie’s grasp.

“OK I’ll get it next time, promise” Lizie said running after Julie as she headed towards the park gates.

“You promise?” Julie asked turning towards her friend.

“Yeah I promise Jules” Lizie replied.

 

 

Lizie looked up and down the street for the third time. At 8:45 on a wind swept and rainlashed Monday evening Cobden street was deserted with the exception of an elderly man fighting a losing battle with his umbrella. As Lizie watched the wind caught the umbrella and carried it away with the elderly gentleman in hot pursuit. Taking a deep breath Lizie pushed open the door to the off licence. The sound of the bell caused her to start guilterly. Funny that. She haden’t felt guilty while drinking Julie’s cider in the park but somehow the prospect of purchasing alcohol herself made Lizie feel sick.

“Can I help you?” Mr Patel said looking through the wire grill which acted as a safety barrier between those serving and the customers.

Lizie swallowed.

“I’ll have this please” she said placing a bottle of Woodpecker cider on the counter.

£3.75” Mr Patel said.

Lizie reached into her pocket for the money. Shit she could have sworn that she had £10 in her purse. It wasn’t there now, she must have left it on the chest of drawers in her bedroom.

“Sorry I’ve forgotten my money. Can I pay you tomorrow?” Lizie asked.

“Its only £3.75. Forget about it” Mr Patel said placing the cider in a plastic carrier bag, “but you could do me a small favour if you have a moment” he continued.

“What kind of favour?” Lizie asked.

Mr Patel grimaced with pain and massaged his back.

“I’ve hurt my back. The doctor says that I shouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting but in this job I have to carry heavy boxes. I’ve a box of wine out the back. Could you carry it in here for me?” Mr Patel asked.

“I’m meeting a friend” Lizie said glancing at the time on her mobile.

“It will only take a minute. I can unpack the box, I just need your help to carry it into the shop”.

“OK, where do I need to go?” Lizie enquired.

Mr Patel gestured towards a door at the back of the shop which stood slightly ajar.

“The box is just inside, straight ahead as you go through the door. Don’t trip over it” he said laughing.

Lizie entered the stock room. The box was straight ahead of her just as Mr Patel had said it would be. Lizie bent down to pick it up. As she bent forward to pick up the case of wine Lizie heard the click of a latch followed by a burst of bright light as Mr Patel flicked a switch. Lizie blinked dazzled by the flurescent lights. A hand was clamped over her mouth.

“Lets have some fun. I won’t hurt you if you are a good girl and don’t struggle” Mr Patel said.

Lizie could feel bile rising in her throat. The smell of Mr Patel’s sweat mixed with the scent of his garlicky breath made her wretch. She threw up all over his shirt. Mr Patel released Lizie and began dabbing at his shirt with a tissue.

“You fucking bitch. I’ll kill you” he screamed at Lizie.

Lizie made a dash for the stock room door. Fuck the bastard had locked it. She turned to see that Mr Patel was almost on her. Lizie had no option accept to run. She dashed to the opposite end of the room and stood with her back against a stack of boxes. Desperately she looked around for a means of escape. There was none and Mr Patel was almost on her. Lizie squeezed into the tiny gap between the boxes and the wall. What a crazy thing to have done Lizie  thought. She was well and truly trapped. Mr Patel reached the boxes.

“Come out bitch or I’ll drag you out”.

Lizie could feel her heart banging like a sledge hammer in her chest. She took deep breaths attempting to calm herself. She needed to think.

“Right I’m coming in” Mr Patel said attempting to force himself into the small gap between the boxes and the wall. Unlike Lizie Mr Patel was overweight and he struggled to force an entrance. Lizie tried to think of a way out. She was about to be raped and there wasn’t a thing she could do to prevent it. Her gaze alighted on one of the boxes. It had split open and several cans of Heinz baked beans, the ones with the ring pulls protruded from the box. Lizie grabbed a can. She pulled back the lid and with a jerk of her hand detached it from the tin. Mr Patel had managed to force his way in.

“Don’t struggle and it will be over quicker” he said grabbing for the girl.

Lizie drove the serrated edge of the lid into Mr Patel’s face ripping open his left cheek. He bellowed in pain his hands protectively clutching at the wound. Lizie  drove her foot into his groin. With a pearcing scream Mr patel doubled over. He lay rithing on the floor animal noises coming from his mouth. Lizie bent down and felt in Mr Patel’s pockets. There it was. With a feeling of relief she retrieved the key and pausing only to kick the prostrate man in the face she walked to the door and unlocked it. The shop was empty. Lizie gazed out onto the deserted street. With a final glance up and down the empty pavement she stepped out into the rain swept evening.

My Confession

I have always regarded myself as a civilised man. The idea of violence makes me feel physically ill. Life is a precious spark which should on no account be snuffed out. To commit that most wicked of acts, murder is to lose one’s own soul. To have on one’s conscience the death of another is surely the most appalling weight any human being can carry. What is done can not be undone. The flash of a blade, a slight pressure on the trigger and death swiftly claims his prize.

However we all have our limits. A point beyond which we say thus far and no further. It is a rare man indeed who when struck on the right cheek proffers the left in order that his assailant may strike that also. Very few men can follow the precepts of Christ and permit others to abuse them with impunity. I for one do not possess the saintly qualities required to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune without taking up arms and, albeit reluctantly defending myself.

I am a patient person and possess the capacity to put up with a great deal of abuse but, ultimately my patience will snap.

You wouldn’t follow the path of prudence. No you, like a fool insisted on plaguing the life out of me. All I wanted to do was to enjoy my lunch free from distractions but you insisted on making that most irritating of noises. Not content with asailing my ears you wouldn’t keep still. Next to me one moment and then in the kitchen eating my food. It isn’t as though I invited you into my home. Like a thief in the night you entered and paid the consequences of your rash actions.

I aimed taking my time. It is important to get a good shot. You tried to escape but my merciless finger pressed down and death streaked as swift as lightening and found his mark. Poor little thing your death agonies pricked my conscience exceedingly. You rolled around on the floor desperately clinging to existence but, eventually you succumbed to the wasp spray …

The Root Of All Evil

Money is the root of all evil. Whoever said that, they must have been having a laugh.

“Charlotte darling money is the root of all evil”.

“I couldn’t agree more Tarquin. Don’t you just love those African village women? They look so natural and content carrying pales of water from the village well. I envy them, no investments to worry about or concerns regarding school fees. We are so pampered here in the west, we can learn so much from those ladies”.

I’d love to see Charlotte bent double carrying a gallon of water.

“Oh gosh Tarquin these party shoes aren’t designed for the African bush, my silk dress is absolutely ruined”.

Me I’m a dyed in the wool materialist. Money may be the root of all evil but it sure as hell makes life worth living. Just try existing without cold hard cash, go on and see how far you get.

Tarquin and his kind will try and convince you that money doesn’t make you happy. Come off it, try telling that to the young man sleeping under Waterloo Bridge. He’d laugh in your face if you are lucky and, if you aren’t he’ll break your nose.

Heres a riddle for you, what opens doors and is neither a key nor a door knob? Give up, I’ll tell you. The answer is money stupid!

I’ve plenty of the filthy stuff. It may be dirty but it sure as hell gets me into exclusive hotels and restaurants. Take tonight, here I am in the Ritz sipping champagne having just partaken of roast pheasant with all the trimmings. Delicious it was. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

That waitress, the slim brunette with those come to bed eyes keeps looking in my direction. I’m in there. Tonights the night if I play my cards right, to borrow a phrase. Girls love a big tipper and I’m always generous with my tips. Whats the greatest aphrodisiac in the world? Viagra. I thought you’d say that. No the answers money, course it is. One look at my wallet and women go weak at the knees. Well not all women but a fair number fall in love with my wadge. You think I’m shallow do you? Well I think you’re jealous. Come on, admit it man to man, you’d like some of what I’ve got wouldn’t you? You can deny it until you’re blue in the face but I can see the envy in your eyes.

I am Mr popular tonight. That leggy blonde keeps giving me the eye. Wow my luck’s in, she is coming over

“Excuse me sir I’m arresting you on suspicion of credit card fraud. You do not need to say anything but anything you do say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you. Do you understand?”

A Question of Interpretation

“Wonderful to meet you Becky. The pictures on the website really don’t do you justice” Colin said rising to pull out a chair for his date.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls” Becky said smiling warmly at Colin.

“No I always say what I mean and you, Becky look absolutely stunning in that blue dress”.

“Thank you” Becky replied, “This is a nice restaurant, I’ve never been here before. I just love traditional restaurants, those oak beams look to be several centuries old”.

“Yes its rare to find a place like this that hasn’t been ruined by some god awful corporate chain. The boards of those places should be lined up against the wall and shot”.

“Shooting is a little extreme. Making them eat in their own restaurants every day for the remainder of their lives would be sufficient punishment”.

“I’ll settle for that because I’m opposed to the death penalty on principle” Colin said smiling broadly. “What would you like to eat or would you like a little longer to choose?”

“The roast venison looks delicious”.

“Good choice. I’ve had the venison several times here and its always been excellent. Would you like to choose the wine?”

“I’m happy with a bottle of the house white”.

“The house white it is then” Colin said signalling to the waiter.

 

 

Bret ascended the stairs. Christ the flat was on floor 21 and he was only on the 7th floor. Typical the lift was out of order and as was so often the case with these council built 60’s tower blocks the stairs stank of urine. Thank god he didn’t live in a place like this.

 

 

“So, Becky have you met many men through the agency?” Colin asked as he poured wine into their glasses.

“This is our evening darling. It doesn’t matter about anyone else” Becky said taking Colin’s hand, “lets not spoil it by talking about other people”.

 

 

Thank Christ he was there. Bret pressed the door bell. It was opened by a lady in her late fourties or early fifties with iron grey hair.

“Come in Bret. How are you?” she said closing the door behind him.

“I’m fine thanks Molly. How are you? Who’s working?”

“We have a lovely new black girl, Caroline. She’s petite, just five feet with long black hair and 36d cup. Monica’s also working”.

“I’ll see Caroline”.

“OK but she’s with a customer at the moment. Would you like a drink while you wait?”

“No thanks” Bret said trying to make himself comfortable on the ancient sofa. Something sharp pearced his skin.

“Fuck not a bloody needle?” he said jumping to his feet.

“We don’t allow drugs here. You know that Bret”.

Bret glanced at the sofa. A rusty metal spring protruded through the threadbare fabric.

“You should get the bloody thing replaced!”

“Sorry Bret I’ll speak to the owner”.

Bret nodded. He knew that nothing would happen. The next time he visited the same sofa would be standing in that filthy corner. Did they never clean this place!

 

 

“I love Keats Ode to a Nightingale. Every time I read it I’m reduced to tears”.

Colin raised his eyebrows.

“You weren’t expecting a girl like me to derive pleasure from literature. I’m the kind of lady who reads chick lit or those trashy novels you pick up in airport book shops am I? Is that what you think of me?” Becky said. She smiled but beneath the smile Colin could detect something else, was it sorrow?

“I must admit to being surprised but, of course there is no reason why you shouldn’t enjoy reading great literature”.

“I read English literature at Notingham university. You look shocked. What is an educated girl like me doing in a business like this. That is what you are asking yourself isn’t it?” They both spoke in low voices but given the noise emanating from their fellow diners it would have been almost impossible for their conversation to have been overheard.

“Yes I must confess that I was”.

“I need to pay off my student loan. Most jobs don’t pay the kind of money to clear it quickly. OK I could pay it off gradually, through my taxes but I want to get a mortgage on a decent place and I don’t want the loan hanging over me. Plus, if I’m honest I like nice clothes and fine dining” Becky said.

“I’m sorry if I offended you”.

“You didn’t darling” Becky said allowing her right foot to rub discreetly against Colin’s leg under the table.

 

 

A door opened. Bret could hear muffled voices followed by the closing of the front door.

“Caroline there is a customer for you”.

Caroline entered and without speaking motioned to Bret to follow her. Closing the bedroom door she asked

“What do you want?”

“Sex”.

“£60”.

Bret handed over the money and undressed. Wordlessly Caroline followed his example and began to massage his back.

“Turn over” she said after only 5 minutes, “Come quick for me babe there is another client waiting”. As she spoke Caroline rolled a durex down over Bret’s erect penis. straddling him she started to sway her hips rapidly in circular motions.

In the distance the sound of running feet could be heard. A crash of breaking wood reached the couple’s ears. Caroline leapt off Bret just as the bedroom door burst open admitting two men in police uniform.

“I’m arresting you sir on suspicion of paying for sex. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say will be taken down and may be used in evidence. Do you understand?”

Bret desperately attempted to cover his privates with the bed sheet. This couldn’t be happening. He would wake up in a minute at home in his own bed. Bret had heard about the new law which criminalised those who paid for sex, however he had taken the view that police resources being extremely tight the force was highly unlikely to go out of it’s way to enforce the legislation.

“But what about her?” Bret asked pointing to Caroline.

“You haven’t answered my question sir. Do you understand the caution?”

“Yes, but what about the girl, aren’t you going to arrest her?”

“The law says that she is a victim sir so no we aren’t going to arrest her”.

Bret looked stunned.

“But that isn’t justice, its fucking Alice in Wonderland! Everything was consensual”.

“I don’t make the laws sir. I just enforce them. Now just get some clothes on as you will need to accompany us down to the station”.

 

 

“I’ll need to go soon darling” Becky said giving Colin a kiss on the cheek, “can I use your shower please?”

“Of course. There are clean towels in the airing cupboard”.

“Thanks sweetheart. Don’t get up, I’ll take a shower and let myself out. I hope to see you again soon” Becky said climbing out of the bed.

Colin lay there listening to the sound of the shower. The agency was a good one. They always provided top quality girls and the ability to pay by credit card prior to the bookings meant that you didn’t have the unpleasant task of handing over brown envelopes to your date. Under the new legislation what he was doing was technically illegal. However in the unlikely event that anyone did ask questions he and the girl would say that they had met through the agency which provided dates for social events. They had enjoyed one another’s company and had ended up in bed. Payment was however (as stated on the agency’s site) for companionship only, consequently no offence had been committed. Alice in Wonderland? Perhaps but no prosecutions had taken place of clients using escorts and Colin very much doubted that any such prosecution would meet with success.

 

The end

A Man Of Compassion

It really is a disgrace that in 21st century Britain people are still homeless on the streets. Believe me the conditions portrayed by Dickens are still very much with us. You don’t need me to tell you that hunger and poverty still stalk the land. Just take a stroll under the arches by Embankment and Charing cross stations and you will be confronted by the people society forgot, sleeping in cardboard boxes. There are two parallel cities in London, that inhabited by you and I with our comfortable homes and then there is cardboard city. It breaks my heart to see men and women of all ages huddled in doorways under filthy blankets. Some don’t even own a single blanket, its tragic to see them with nothing to keep themselves warm other than fellow denisons of the streets. On occasions I’ve seen two or three of the poor sods huddled together so as to extract animal warmth from their fellow man. Oh my country, oh my country I weep to see what you have become, a land in which the weak die on the cold streets while the heedless majority parties on this sinking ship.

I do what I can to help. It isn’t much, a flask of hot coffee here, a few sandwitches and most important of all a kind word. What most of the homeless want more than anything else is a sympathetic ear, someone to listen without passing judgement. I’m a good listener, always have been and I think that is why I’ve built up such close relationships with so many of the people sleeping rough.

Its tragic listening to the street people speak about their lives. Take, for example young Janet who ran away from Manchester to London at the age of 14 to get away from her father who’s idea of fatherly love was to sexually abuse her on an almost daily basis. Then there was Mark a successful trader in the city but, come the recession he lost everything and ended up residing in cardboard city.

It is difficult gaining the trust of the homeless. People who have suffered many knocks in life find it hard to fully trust another human being. However I have managed to gain the absolute trust of many a homeless man and woman. Once the relationship is solid I’ll invite them back to my home. Of course they jump at the chance. Who wouldn’t embrace the prospect of a square meal and a clean bed to sleep in.

A little something in their drink and once they are asleep my friend removes a kidney or, sometimes a lung. We are humane men so the men and women are stiched up properly afterwards and given a few hundred quid for their trouble. I’m a charitable man, it’s a crying shame that there are so many men and women sleeping on the streets and we have the cheek to call ourselves a civilised society.

A Trip To The Beach

I thought that I would try my hand at a short children’s story.

 

 

Johny was bored. In fact he couldn’t remember having ever felt so fed up in his entire life. Dad had fallen asleep reading the paper while his mum sat reading some silly book with long words he couldn’t understand.

“I’m bored”.

“Why don’t you go and find someone to play with? There are lots of children on the beach, so many I can’t count them” his mother said laughing.

“Don’t want to. I’m bored” Johny said kicking sand in his mum’s face.

“You naughty boy!” Mrs Thomas said desperately attempting to clear her eyes of sand with a tissue. “Just wait until I get my hands on you!”

Johny felt guilty but he wasn’t about to apologise. Saying sorry was for wimps and he was no wimp. Before his mum had chance to get the sand out of her eyes Johny ran into the sea.

The water was cool. Johny kicked his legs sending water splashing high into the air. This was fun! Johny paddled away from the beach. He was no longer bored, this was much more interesting than reading a boring old newspaper or a book with words he couldn’t understand.

Suddenly the ground began to slope downwards. Johny felt that he was going to be sucked to the very bottom of the ocean.

“Help!” he cried his hands grabbing at an enormous chain of sea weed. Gosh the chain was thick, bigger even than his dad’s huge arms. The chain didn’t move.

“That’s lucky I thought that sea weed floated but this is attached to something. Its stopped me from drowning. If it moved then I’d be sucked to the bottom of the ocean” Johny said with a shiver.

Johny followed the chain down. It was attached to a large rock.

“I wonder if I can lift this rock” Johny thought.

He tugged at the chain. Nothing happened.

“You will move you stupid rock” he said digging his toes into the soft sand and pulling back with all his strenghth. Suddenly there was a loud pop followed by a gurgling sound. Johny found himself lying flat on his back in a puddle of water. A puddle that couldn’t be right!

“Now look what you have done!”

Johny looked up to see a star fish desperately trying to find some water to swim in.

“You have let the plug out!”

“But I didn’t mean to!”

“That’s all very well but the fact is that you pulled the plug out and soon I and the other creatures who live in the sea will have no water to swim in. Without water we will die!”

Johny began to cry.

“I’m very sorry I didn’t know that the sea had a plug”.

“Your bath has a plug doesn’t it?”

“Yes of course”.

“Well then it should be obvious to an intelligent little boy like you that the ocean has a plug. How else do you think the sea god controls the tide? But the sea god only opens the plug hole a little bit so that I and the other creatures have time to swim far out into the ocean before the water disappears. There are lots of plugs all over the world and you have pulled one of them out completely!”

“What can I do? I’m very sorry Mr star fish, please just tell me what I can do”.

“See that cave over there?” the star fish asked pointing in the direction of a small cave in the cliff face.

“Yes”.

“Run as quick as you can and turn the taps on”.

“The taps?”

“I thought that you where a clever little boy. Yes the taps. Your sink and bath at home have taps don’t they to fill them up? So how else do you think that the sea god fills up the ocean?”

“Wow I didn’t know that” Johny said. As quick as a flash Johny raced to the cave. Inside he found a huge tap built into the cliff face.

“I’ll never be able to move that” Johny thought looking sadly at the enormous tap, “but I must otherwise all those poor sea creatures will die and it will be all my fault”. Taking hold of the tap Johny turned with all his might. At first nothing happened but, gradually a stream of salt water began to flow from the secret pipes hidden far below the sea bed. The sea level began to rise. Johny could see small waves dancing in the sunshine.

“Thank you little boy” the star fish called as he headed out into the deep blue ocean.

 

The end

Review of my book Sting in the tail and other stories on Amazon

The first review of my collection of short stories, Sting in the Tail and other stories awards it 4 stars. I am, needless to say delighted to have received the review which can be found here, http://www.amazon.com/Sting-tail-other-stories-ebook/product-reviews/B00DFK6R54/ref=cm_cr_dp_see_all_btm?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=1&sortBy=bySubmissionDateDescendingless. Sting in the tail remains free in the Kindle store until approximately 12 today (6 September).

Shades of Grey

“Prostitution is the exploitation of women and children by selfish men. In order to protect sex workers those who purchase sex should be criminalised while prostituted women ought to be assisted to exit prostitution without the risk of prosecution”.

“Prostitution is the oldest profession. You will never abolish sex work. The only practical way of dealing with prostitution is to legalise and/or decriminalise it. What consenting adults do, in private whether entailing payment for sex or otherwise is no concern of the state and/or society”.

The above is, I believe a fair representation of the two main attitudes to prostitution. However there is another perspective, one in which sex work is perceived as a complex issue. According to this viewpoint prostitution is a grey area which can (and frequently does) entail exploitation but one in which abuse is not necessarily part and parcel of working as a sex worker. It is to this latter perspective that I subscribe.

In my short story, “The First Time” we meet Becky, a young graduate who enters the world of prostitution as a professional escort in order to clear her debts. I pull no punches. Becky feels a sense of shame during and after her encounter with her first client, Mike, however no one compels Becky to enter sex work, she does so of her own free will.

In contrast to “The First Time”, “Samantha” tells the story of a lady forced into prostitution in the city of Liverpool. Unlike Becky Sam is raped by her brutal pimp, Barry and is, in effect a sex slave.

The two contrasting portrayals of sex work in “The First Time” and “Samantha” provide a more realistic picture than the above (admittedly simplified) perspectives on sex work. Prostitution is for many ladies (and a few men) a choice as in “The First Time”. It isn’t Becky’s idea of the perfect job by any means! It is, for all that still a choice. In contrast Sam has little (if any) choice regarding her entanglement in prostitution. She is a victim of her brutal pimp, Barry and deserves our compassion. Of course Becky is worthy of compassion to but one can not contend that she has been forced into the sex industry.

So what of the clients? In “The First Time” Mike is polite and considerate in his treatment of Becky. That doesn’t stop Becky from attempting to dissociate herself from the sexual act (she thinks of country walks with her grandfather while Mike is having sex with her). However Becky’s attempt to disassociate herself from the reality of her situation (having sex with a man she finds physically repulsive) should not blind us to the fact that she has taken a conscious decision to work as an escort.

Should people who pay for sex be criminalised as is the case in Sweden, Iceland and a number of other countries?

First let us look at the practical problems with this approach. While it is relatively easy for the police to apprehend men paying for sex on the street it is extremely difficult to enforce such a prohibition on those who use the services of escorts. Escorts provide sex in private accommodation (usually homes or hotel rooms) and most liberal minded people (including me) would be horrified at the idea of the police bursting into people’s residences to arrest them for paying for sex with consenting adults. Also how would the police/the authorities know that an individual escort was providing sex as opposed to company? Of course one could imagine fake agencies being set up and when sex is requested the requestor is arrested, however one needs to ask whether this would be an effective use of police time. I understand that this approach has been adopted in America but the escort industry still thrives there.

There is also the ethical question as to whether acts which are perfectly legal when no payment is entailed should be rendered criminal when cash is handed over. The consensus in Sweden is that this should be the case but I, as a liberal have my doubts.

For my books please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/K.-Morris/e/B00CEECWHY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Thank You

Thanks to you, my readers newauthoronline.com has, as of today (4 September) achieved a total following of 307. I very much appreciate all your likes, comments and other feedback.

While writing just a quick note to let you know that my collection of short stories, Sting in the tail and other stories remains free to download until 6 September. To download Sting in the tail please visit http://www.amazon.com/Sting-tail-other-stories-ebook/dp/B00DFK6R54.