Patrick M. Ohana
Bio
A medical writer who reads and writes fiction and some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. Most of my pieces (over 2,200) are or will be available on Shakespeare's Shoes.
Stories (508/0)
Dora Boyd
I never got involved with any of my neighbours or befriended any one of them. A simple salutation seemed more than sufficient, that is until I met Dora Boyd. She was determined to make me speak further to ascertain my full name. I think that I would have told her everything. I found myself talking to her as if I had known her since her Doris days. I even invited her, as soon as our chat was nearing its end, to my apartment for a homemade diner.
By Patrick M. Ohana3 years ago in Filthy
All That String?
Ben befriended everyone and everything, from the beggar on the beach to the brush in his bathroom. His favourite if not beloved other was, however, a string; blue and close to six feet long. He thought about it throughout the day at his desk, analyzing medical data and wondering, for instance, whether the more widespread type II diabetes should have been called type I, and then thinking that he would have liked the string best even if it had been black, the worst colour, or lack of it, he could imagine. By the same token, he also considered white to be quite unattractive, comprising all the colours as if scared of the darkness to come. At home, the string was always beside him when he was not rolling it around his penis or neck to better contemplate death either way.
By Patrick M. Ohana3 years ago in Filthy
Mobile Pussy
I was tired of his musings. Your pussy this and your pussy that. What a prick! I was basically a mobile pussy for him. He wanted to fuck me all the time. What the fuck! What a prick! It was good and hard, and pretty. Nice balls, too. Two. Sorry, astronauts! What? Their balls shrink in space.
By Patrick M. Ohana3 years ago in Filthy
I Took Her Inside
This story is hard to tell. I may need to skip some parts. Don’t worry! It won’t be the sex. It was too good to be left out. But before I start, just to set the mood, I want you to read the following haiku. You don’t have to. I left enough space to allow you to skip it. If I can skip some parts, so can you. Yet it’s only seventeen syllables long. Even a prick may be longer.
By Patrick M. Ohana3 years ago in Filthy
Dirty Desert
My head was aching and my back hurting when I awoke. I was sore all over and I soon discovered why. I was lying on a cement floor in the middle of nowhere. Far on the horizon around me, I could trace something, but unlike the concreteness of the floor I was sitting on by now, it was quite unclear. I could not just stay there and ponder. I stood up, stretching and rubbing myself, trying to feel erect. “I must be in some weird dream,” I considered. “No!” I decided. “It is quite real; really strange.” After a while, standing and waiting took also the attire of nothingness. I went forward toward the unknown; the direction seemed somewhat consequential but mostly unimportant.
By Patrick M. Ohana3 years ago in Filthy
They All Laughed
Some legend has it that one day — it was actually the middle of the night — most body organs were having a discussion as to which one of them was the most important part. Important how, some of us could ask? To life! But they are all important that way. Very true! But could any one organ, one singular part, or a part of a part, be crowned the king, or queen, of all parts? The optimum organ! The Don of organs!
By Patrick M. Ohana3 years ago in Filthy