Yellow Mama Archives

Scotch Rutherford
Home
Adair, Jay
Adhikari, Sudeep
Ahern, Edward
Aldrich, Janet M.
Allan, T. N.
Allen, M. G.
Ammonds, Phillip J.
Anderson, Fred
Anderson, Peter
Andreopoulos, Elliott
Arab, Bint
Armstrong, Dini
Augustyn, P. K.
Aymar, E. A.
Babbs, James
Baber, Bill
Bagwell, Dennis
Bailey, Ashley
Bailey, Thomas
Baird, Meg
Bakala, Brendan
Baker, Nathan
Balaz, Joe
BAM
Barber, Shannon
Barker, Tom
Barlow, Tom
Bates, Jack
Bayly, Karen
Baugh, Darlene
Bauman, Michael
Baumgartner, Jessica Marie
Beale, Jonathan
Beck, George
Beckman, Paul
Benet, Esme
Bennett, Brett
Bennett, Charlie
Bennett, D. V.
Benton, Ralph
Berg, Carly
Berman, Daniel
Bernardara, Will Jr.
Berriozabal, Luis
Beveridge, Robert
Bickerstaff, Russ
Bigney, Tyler
Blackwell, C. W.
Bladon, Henry
Blake, Steven
Blakey, James
Bohem, Charlie Keys and Les
Bonner, Kim
Booth, Brenton
Boski, David
Bougger, Jason
Boyd, A. V.
Boyd, Morgan
Boyle, James
Bracey, DG
Brewka-Clark, Nancy
Britt, Alan
Broccoli, Jimmy
Brooke, j
Brown, R. Thomas
Brown, Sam
Bruce, K. Marvin
Bryson, Kathleen
Burke, Wayne F.
Burnwell, Otto
Burton, Michael
Bushtalov, Denis
Butcher, Jonathan
Butkowski, Jason
Butler, Terence
Cameron, W. B.
Campbell, J. J.
Campbell, Jack Jr.
Cano, Valentina
Cardinale, Samuel
Cardoza, Dan A.
Carlton, Bob
Carr, Jennifer
Cartwright, Steve
Carver, Marc
Castle, Chris
Catlin, Alan
Centorbi, David
Chesler, Adam
Christensen, Jan
Clausen, Daniel
Clevenger, Victor
Clifton, Gary
Cmileski, Sue
Cody, Bethany
Coey, Jack
Coffey, James
Colasuonno, Alfonso
Condora, Maddisyn
Conley, Jen
Connor, Tod
Cooper, Malcolm Graham
Copes, Matthew
Coral, Jay
Corrigan, Mickey J.
Cosby, S. A.
Costello, Bruce
Cotton, Mark
Coverley, Harris
Crandall, Rob
Criscuolo, Carla
Crist, Kenneth
Cross, Thomas X.
Cumming, Scott
D., Jack
Dallett, Cassandra
Danoski, Joseph V.
Daly, Sean
Davies, J. C.
Davis, Christopher
Davis, Michael D.
Day, Holly
de Bruler, Connor
Degani, Gay
De France, Steve
De La Garza, Lela Marie
Deming, Ruth Z.
Demmer, Calvin
De Neve, M. A.
Dennehy, John W.
DeVeau, Spencer
Di Chellis, Peter
Dillon, John J.
DiLorenzo, Ciro
Dilworth, Marcy
Dioguardi, Michael Anthony
Dionne, Ron
Dobson, Melissa
Domenichini, John
Dominelli, Rob
Doran, Phil
Doreski, William
Dority, Michael
Dorman, Roy
Doherty, Rachel
Dosser, Jeff
Doyle, Jacqueline
Doyle, John
Draime, Doug
Drake, Lena Judith
Dromey, John H.
Dubal, Paul Michael
Duke, Jason
Duncan, Gary
Dunham, T. Fox
Duschesneau, Pauline
Dunn, Robin Wyatt
Duxbury, Karen
Duy, Michelle
Eade, Kevin
Ebel, Pamela
Elliott, Garnett
Ellman, Neil
England, Kristina
Erianne, John
Espinosa, Maria
Esterholm, Jeff
Fabian, R. Gerry
Fallow, Jeff
Farren, Jim
Fedolfi, Leon
Fenster, Timothy
Ferraro, Diana
Filas, Cameron
Fillion, Tom
Fishbane, Craig
Fisher, Miles Ryan
Flanagan, Daniel N.
Flanagan, Ryan Quinn
Flynn, Jay
Fortunato, Chris
Francisco, Edward
Frank, Tim
Fugett, Brian
Funk, Matthew C.
Gann, Alan
Gardner, Cheryl Ann
Garvey, Kevin Z.
Gay, Sharon Frame
Gentile, Angelo
Genz, Brian
Giersbach, Walter
Gladeview, Lawrence
Glass, Donald
Goddard, L. B.
Godwin, Richard
Goff, Christopher
Golds, Stephen J.
Goss, Christopher
Gradowski, Janel
Graham, Sam
Grant, Christopher
Grant, Stewart
Greenberg, K.J. Hannah
Greenberg, Paul
Grey, John
Guirand, Leyla
Gunn, Johnny
Gurney, Kenneth P.
Hagerty, David
Haglund, Tobias
Halleck, Robert
Hamlin, Mason
Hansen, Vinnie
Hanson, Christopher Kenneth
Hanson, Kip
Harrington, Jim
Harris, Bruce
Hart, GJ
Hartman, Michelle
Hartwell, Janet
Haskins, Chad
Hawley, Doug
Haycock, Brian
Hayes, A. J.
Hayes, John
Hayes, Peter W. J.
Heatley, Paul
Heimler, Heidi
Helmsley, Fiona
Hendry, Mark
Heslop, Karen
Heyns, Heather
Hilary, Sarah
Hill, Richard
Hivner, Christopher
Hockey, Matthew J.
Hogan, Andrew J.
Holderfield, Culley
Holton, Dave
Houlahan, Jeff
Howells, Ann
Hoy, J. L.
Huchu, Tendai
Hudson, Rick
Huffman, A. J.
Huguenin, Timothy G.
Huskey, Jason L.
Ippolito, Curtis
Irascible, Dr. I. M.
Jaggers, J. David
James, Christopher
Jarrett, Nigel
Jayne, Serena
Johnson, Beau
Johnson, Moctezuma
Johnson, Zakariah
Jones, D. S.
Jones, Erin J.
Jones, Mark
Kabel, Dana
Kaiser, Alison
Kanach, A.
Kaplan, Barry Jay
Kay, S.
Keaton, David James
Kempka, Hal
Kerins, Mike
Keshigian, Michael
Kevlock, Mark Joseph
King, Michelle Ann
Kirk, D.
Kitcher, William
Knott, Anthony
Koenig, Michael
Kokan, Bob
Kolarik, Andrew J.
Korpon, Nik
Kovacs, Norbert
Kovacs, Sandor
Kowalcyzk, Alec
Krafft, E. K.
Kunz, Dave
Lacks, Lee Todd
Lang, Preston
Larkham, Jack
La Rosa, F. Michael
Leasure, Colt
Leatherwood, Roger
LeDue, Richard
Lees, Arlette
Lees, Lonni
Leins, Tom
Lemieux, Michael
Lemming, Jennifer
Lerner, Steven M
Leverone, Allan
Levine, Phyllis Peterson
Lewis, Cynthia Ruth
Lewis, LuAnn
Licht, Matthew
Lifshin, Lyn
Lilley, James
Liskey, Tom Darin
Lodge, Oliver
Lopez, Aurelio Rico III
Lorca, Aurelia
Lovisi, Gary
Lubaczewski, Paul
Lucas, Gregory E.
Lukas, Anthony
Lynch, Nulty
Lyon, Hillary
Lyons, Matthew
Mac, David
MacArthur, Jodi
Malone, Joe
Mann, Aiki
Manthorne, Julian
Manzolillo, Nicholas
Marcius, Cal
Marrotti, Michael
Mason, Wayne
Mathews, Bobby
Mattila, Matt
Matulich, Joel
McAdams, Liz
McCaffrey, Stanton
McCartney, Chris
McDaris, Catfish
McFarlane, Adam Beau
McGinley, Chris
McGinley, Jerry
McElhiney, Sean
McJunkin, Ambrose
McKim, Marci
McMannus, Jack
McQuiston, Rick
Mellon, Mark
Memi, Samantha
Middleton, Bradford
Miles, Marietta
Miller, Max
Minihan, Jeremiah
Montagna, Mitchel
Monson, Mike
Mooney, Christopher P.
Moran, Jacqueline M.
Morgan, Bill W.
Moss, David Harry
Mullins, Ian
Mulvihill, Michael
Muslim, Kristine Ong
Nardolilli, Ben
Nelson, Trevor
Nessly, Ray
Nester, Steven
Neuda, M. C.
Newell, Ben
Newman, Paul
Nielsen, Ayaz
Nobody, Ed
Nore, Abe
Numann, Randy
Ogurek, Douglas J.
O'Keefe, Sean
Orrico, Connor
Ortiz, Sergio
Pagel, Briane
Park, Jon
Parks, Garr
Parr, Rodger
Parrish, Rhonda
Partin-Nielsen, Judith
Peralez, R.
Perez, Juan M.
Perez, Robert Aguon
Peterson, Ross
Petroziello, Brian
Petska, Darrell
Pettie, Jack
Petyo, Robert
Phillips, Matt
Picher, Gabrielle
Pierce, Curtis
Pierce, Rob
Pietrzykowski, Marc
Plath, Rob
Pointer, David
Post, John
Powell, David
Power, Jed
Powers, M. P.
Praseth, Ram
Prazych, Richard
Priest, Ryan
Prusky, Steve
Pruitt, Eryk
Purfield, M. E.
Purkis, Gordon
Quinlan, Joseph R.
Quinn, Frank
Rabas, Kevin
Ragan, Robert
Ram, Sri
Rapth, Sam
Ravindra, Rudy
Reich, Betty
Renney, Mark
reutter, g emil
Rhatigan, Chris
Rhiel, Ann Marie
Ribshman, Kevin
Ricchiuti, Andrew
Richardson, Travis
Richey, John Lunar
Ridgeway, Kevin
Rihlmann, Brian
Ritchie, Bob
Ritchie, Salvadore
Robinson, John D.
Robinson, Kent
Rodgers, K. M.
Roger, Frank
Rose, Mandi
Rose, Mick
Rosenberger, Brian
Rosenblum, Mark
Rosmus, Cindy
Rowland, C. A.
Ruhlman, Walter
Rutherford, Scotch
Sahms, Diane
Saier, Monique
Salinas, Alex
Sanders, Isabelle
Sanders, Sebnem
Santo, Heather
Savage, Jack
Sayles, Betty J.
Schauber, Karen
Schneeweiss, Jonathan
Schraeder, E. F.
Schumejda, Rebecca
See, Tom
Sethi, Sanjeev
Sexton, Rex
Seymour, J. E.
Shaikh, Aftab Yusuf
Sheagren, Gerald E.
Shepherd, Robert
Shirey, D. L.
Shore, Donald D.
Short, John
Sim, Anton
Simmler, T. Maxim
Simpson, Henry
Sinisi, J. J.
Sixsmith, JD
Slagle, Cutter
Slaviero, Susan
Sloan, Frank
Small, Alan Edward
Smith, Brian J.
Smith, Ben
Smith, C.R.J.
Smith, Copper
Smith, Greg
Smith, Elena E.
Smith, Ian C.
Smith, Paul
Smith, Stephanie
Smith, Willie
Smuts, Carolyn
Snethen, Daniel G.
Snoody, Elmore
Sojka, Carol
Solender, Michael J.
Sortwell, Pete
Sparling, George
Spicer, David
Squirrell, William
Stanton, Henry G.
Steven, Michael
Stevens, J. B.
Stewart, Michael S.
Stickel, Anne
Stoler, Cathi
Stolec, Trina
Stoll, Don
Stryker, Joseph H.
Stucchio, Chris
Succre, Ray
Sullivan, Thomas
Surkiewicz, Joe
Swanson, Peter
Swartz, Justin A.
Sweet, John
Tarbard, Grant
Tait, Alyson
Taylor, J. M.
Thompson, John L.
Thompson, Phillip
Thrax, Max
Ticktin, Ruth
Tillman, Stephen
Titus, Lori
Tivey, Lauren
Tobin, Tim
Torrence, Ron
Tu, Andy
Turner, Lamont A.
Tustin, John
Ullerich, Eric
Valent, Raymond A.
Valvis, James
Vilhotti, Jerry
Waldman, Dr. Mel
Walker, Dustin
Walsh, Patricia
Walters, Luke
Ward, Emma
Washburn, Joseph
Watt, Max
Weber, R.O.
Weil, Lester L.
White, Judy Friedman
White, Robb
White, Terry
Wickham, Alice
Wilhide, Zach
Williams, K. A.
Wilsky, Jim
Wilson, Robley
Wilson, Tabitha
Woodland, Francis
Woods, Jonathan
Young, Mark
Yuan, Changming
Zackel, Fred
Zafiro, Frank
Zapata, Angel
Zee, Carly
Zeigler, Martin
Zimmerman, Thomas
Butler, Simon Hardy



June, Thirty Years from Now



By


 

Scotch Rutherford


 


 


     She was what he’d always envisioned as physically perfect. Wide hips, short stature, full breasts, green eyes. She had the very facial blueprint that matched the women of his past. Her face was warmed by the bright afternoon sun. She had soft, shiny skin. The corners of her mouth only slightly upturned, but her eyes smiled wide.


     “Well.”


     “Well…”


     “Well”, she interrupted him. “Do I look like a Liberal Atheist?”


       Johnny didn’t say anything.


     “Johnny –I’m a Neo-Liberal Atheist. Look, I know we just met 10 minutes ago, but I don’t think it took me two to know I’d have SI with you. Or should I say sex? Oh, you’re sooo 2013. Just like the last guy I rendezvoused with. You’re living 20 years in the past, Johnny. What are you waiting for? Just like my dad—he told me stories about the old days, when people would actually wait. Men had the nerve, but they waited out of some…silly ideology, so they actually had some sort of friendship before the sex. If it was bad, they had this incredibly awkward bond they had to sever, so they’d often stay together, exclusively, despite bad SI. Johnny, don’t tell me that’s you”.


     Johnny wasn’t sure. “But they’re going to call you…”


     “Call me what?” she said. “Magnanimous” She laughed. “She’s mag-na-ni-mus with lust, ah-huh, ah-huh. What can I say, I’m a big Visceral-P fan.”


     “But, we’re in a public place.”


     Semi-puiblic. Inside a transport was ruled Semi-public, back in ’32, remember?  Look around at all those transports. The ones on either side of us, behind us. Just on this level. I count—seven that have their windows blacked out. Nobody uses a transport’s tint option on their meta glass, when they’re en-route. It’s illegal. They’re all having sex.”


    Johnny squirmed in his seat, trying to get comfortable.


    “Listen, I sprayed my orifices with Sperm Neutralizer, just this morning. You know—SN 3000. Do it, do it, all you want but you won’t get anee-thing. O-O-O-except hap-py”, she sang in the most irresistible pitch.


     He watched her slow full lips as they wrapped around every word.


     “Johnny, I know you’re hard. I have the infrared heat-vision option in my contacts.


     She slid her finger up inside the console, firmly against the touch screen on the dash, and instantly blacked out the meta glass. Johnny didn’t wait any longer.


     They had mutually gratifying, wild sloppy sex. He did it with her in every conceivable way two people could. And although modern Sex Ed had entire classes devoted to sexual communication; theirs was effortless. It was as loving and passionate as sex could be, and also equally as exciting.


     Johnny woke up with an erection. For some reason, he was staring at the calendar on the wall. Was it trash day? Did he have an appointment? He studied the glossy page, the HD shot of Jenna Jameson. Smoking hot, even though she was older. Her body excited him, but her eyes, her lips, the corners of her mouth—void of passion, as though she was simply appeasing the camera. His erection began to soften. There were no dates marked. Not for the month of June.


     He held onto his dream, and it made him wonder what a young man’s sex life might be like, in another 30 years.


 


 


 



trapdoorspider.jpg
Art by Brian Beardsley © 2014

The Scorpion and the Trapdoor Spider

 

by

 

Scotch Rutherford

 

South of Naked City between the red lights, Industrial Road had a nickname: The Other Strip. He walked amongst nocturnal vermin, along the seedy street, ripe with slowing midnight traffic.  He was an independent, and independent of fear. A predator for hire. Confirmed, with a long unwritten list. He carried heavy equipment, with big powerful hands that gripped like claws, holding anything stiff before the strike. Considered a tool by most mechanics, and clients alike; but he was a creature of many talents. Systematic, and thorough. He knew about the safe, the one the Fed didn’t. He knew it was in the basement. He didn’t have the numbers, but it didn’t matter. He’d either use heat, or apply pressure.

*

Half a block long, plumes of smoke rising from the stack; the only reminder that the entire complex, once a paper mill, now pressed only flesh. Pan’s Haven. What it was. A private club for consenting adults.  Pytho’s Keep, the exotic storefront where she dwelled above her basement lair, could be seen from the alley between, that funneled out into the rear parking lot, blind to electric eyes. The storefront shared the club’s cabaret license on paper, and the paper owners paid up to Chechen partners. Occasionally, at management’s request, solitary men would wander across the alley, then through the glass door of the storefront, and disappear inside.

Long limbed; sprawled from top to bottom behind murky glass, gyrating to a seductive otherworldly tempo. Thick ebony hair draped like strands of silk over her muscular shoulders. Her powerful Amazon frame writhed under soft light that illuminated the sculpted flesh of her tight abdomen, giving way to tendrils of thick black bush that covered her opening. They found themselves going down with her on the deepest level, behind locked doors. They’d start to sweat before they got to the bottom of the stairs.

“This place used to be an old mill”, she’d always say, before she’d had her fun. Before she’d penetrated them. Before they’d even seen the ice pick. “Now it’s a crematorium”, she’d say after.

*

He found the unlit side of the industrial complex, by its solitary smoke stack, opposite end of Pan’s Haven. Then broke his way in through a locked trap door. He crawled along a shaft that smelled like rancid sweat, barely wide enough to squeeze his muscular frame. As he got closer, he could feel the heat. The shaft widened into a large industrial space. Despite the high ceilings, the heat was intense. He walked through a large room, where what appeared to be a massive incinerator was running. Then he found his way into a smaller room that looked to be the entry way to a private dwelling, at the bottom of a staircase. He walked into the last room on the right. He spied the safe in one dark corner, adjacent to the soft light that lit the tall, svelte opening of the door frame. Then he heard footsteps, and waited.

*

She watched the crepuscular creatures hungry for flesh, as they drifted in and out of the club, until the neon fought the piercing dawn. Then she slipped down below the steps, into reclusion. That night she’d had only one taker for the undertaking, and he’d long since gone; ashes to the wind. She felt unfulfilled. Then she smelled sweat. With her keen eyes she captured the light, as her powerful frame, bare down to her shin-high, steel-toed paramilitary boots, darkened the narrow doorway to the innermost part of her lair.

“Have you been waiting for me?” she said, her towering shadow eclipsing him, raising an eyebrow, as he stood static.

The incinerator roared behind her.

He could smell her pussy.

“Of course you have. You can’t resist my pheromones, it’s just human nature. The door behind me is locked, now. Just so you know. And yes, I have raped men. Why do I do it? Because I can. Any man can be held down, if he’s held the right way. This gives me enormous pleasure. Although, I should clarify—no man ever refused me; but when I take control, they usually beg me to stop. I stop when I’m satisfied”, she said. “I’m exceptionally strong for a woman. I can bench press 200 pounds.  I could squash your cock inside me like a vice. Would you like that? You would, wouldn’t you?” She licked her lips. “I’ll shove my big black rubber cock so far up your ass, your eyes will well up with tears of joy, and you’ll sing to me like a pre-teen choir girl. Oh, and trust me, no one can hear you scream. I can see you’re sweating. Are you afraid?”

He stepped into stark light, his eyes unblinking.  His face half cast.

“There’s something you should know”, he said. Arms slack at his sides, his chela at the ready, for her forthcoming prehension. “What you’ve got, you can’t possibly keep. I’m no stranger to the cage, or the hole. I’ve also been in the ring a few hundred times. Look at my brow line—that scar tissue doesn’t lie. Then there’s my Jiu-Jitsu experience. Three international title matches. If I let you put me in a hold, trust me, I’d get out of it. If I was feeling generous, I’d put you in a hold, cut off your airway, and watch you go to sleep. If not, I’d just tenderize your skull with my elbows, open palms, even my fists; until I’d smashed every bone in your face,” he said, flashing a smile. “Then I’d acquaint you with the Strong Arm Lever Bar drill rig, with the HSS bit—right through your skull. Still want to hold me?”

They both could feel the heat of the incinerator. The scorpion and the Trapdoor spider squared off.






Scotch Rutherford writes about dark corners between the bright lights. An artist, film maker, slam poet, and author, whose fiction work has appeared in Big Pulp, The Flash Fiction Offensive, Pulp Modern, Yellow Mama, and All Due Respect.

In Association with Fossil Publications