Liars' League

Things by Rob Cox

Read by Martin Lamb

She collects. She collects things ; trinkets and keepsakes. Books. Statuettes. Miniatures. Cups and saucers. Bric-a-brac. Everything and anything. We have come here because she thinks a space is only truly empty when you know there was something that once filled it. She fills, and there is less space for us. So I took her away.

If you would like to read the rest of this story, please check out Lovers' Lies, the Arachne Press anthology in which it, and many other sexy and lovable stories from the League archives, appears.

Bedtime Stories by Lane Ashfeldt

Bedtime Stories 

Read by Sabina Cameron

This is what I miss most about changing lovers: I miss having a new face up close to mine, eyes to watch, telling stories.

Sex? I don't mind it, or when it's good it's all I can think about for days, a feeling that can't be switched off. But what I really miss are those moments when you refashion yourself for the next person in your life. When time stands still and you have endless curiosity about each other and want to fill in the blanks.

Sexy Party by Suzy Amos

Sexy Party

Read by Susannah Holland

The first time Maria met Stuart, he was wearing the uniform of a British Airways stewardess. He'd greeted them with a wave and strode across the crowded room, patting a buttock and squeezing an arm here and there, until he reached them. She and Paul had been apprehensive and rather confused as to what a "Mile High" theme party consisted of; Paul, citing his long nose, had elected to come as Concorde, and Maria, who was working late at the office, decided to dress as a businesswoman. At forty-one she considered it a bit undignified to tart up as a trolley-dolly. The extent of her preparations had been getting her PA to make up a name-badge that read "Frequent Flyer".

2B by Mike Greenfield

2B by Mike Greenfield

Read by Ray Newe

I look up at Polly, waiting for the nod. When Mrs Freeman is on the far side of the room near the hamsters and the class goldfish I will bring my hand down hard on the pencil I'm holding half-on, half-off the desk. My pencil. On my desk.

Jeremy and Ben, the other pupils at our desks this afternoon, are heads-down, drawing week-old tadpoles in their work books with their pencils. I don't think they've noticed.

The Decision by Tom McKay

The Decision

Read by Max Berendt

I'm making an effort to keep deadly still.  It's a game I play with the bath water.  I hold my breath and the water begins to flatten.  A calm glaze spreads over its surface and, as I fixate on the ceiling tiles, faces begin to appear in the imperfections.  It seems that options have run out for me.  This is where I've been all afternoon, sat in the bathtub ignoring the phone.  The incessant ringing.  Suddenly I swish the bubbles and inhale deeply, ruining my game.  She would have been the phone-caller.  She has been calling here all day - probably after her contact lenses.  I can see the abandoned packet on the sink right now.  She probably wants to apologise too, some mumbled excuse.  The ceiling faces blur out of sight when I submerge my head.  She drinks hard liquor – that's her problem.