It’s not cool to look at history these days. Nowadays, it’s much easier to see something on social media and press a few buttons to post it as if it were fact. History is being revised and rewritten. This is one of the greatest modern dangers being pushed by the leftist Democrat supporters and being tolerated, hence accepted by the Democratic party. Not only is revisionist history a modern danger. It is a clear threat to America’s existence as a free country.
Another of the greatest modern dangers and threats to America is the readily apparent bias in the media. When more than the 90 percent of the stories about the President, like him or not, are negative, bias is pretty obvious. Then of course there are the narratives, quite false for the most part, that are continually pushed. You know, the racist narrative and the collusion narrative.
Most despicable is the comparison to Hitler and the overtly calling him Hitler-like. This is offensive to everyone who actually suffered through what Hitler did. It especially insults and belittles the actions of our WWII heroes and their remaining families. Here again is the demeaning and negative work of the Democrats and their blatant disregard for America and the American people.
The Democrats should be calling for an unbiased mainstream media. Their not doing so only underscores their lack of concern for the country and their acceptance of the support of a biased media hiding behind the First Amendment. Bias in the media is antithetical to what America stands for.
A third great modern danger and threat to America was played out in the Kavanaugh hearings. It was/is the disregard for innocent until proven guilty, the main tenet of the American justice system. As in the Russian collusion debacle, now, after the fact, we hear the stories of how NBC sat on definitive evidence that Avenati’s client—the one who made claims of Kavanaugh’s spiking the punch at the ten gang-rape parties—was not telling the truth. Yes, they had evidence to debunk those claims but held it back. Ring a bell? NBC has done that before, recently too.
A fourth great modern danger and threat to America is the continual attacks on America’s institutions. The Democrats now call for abolishing the Electoral College, abolishing ICE and disregarding law and order. They call for sanctuary cities. They advocate for allowing illegal aliens to vote, hold office and collect welfare and social security benefits. They hide the costs of these things to the American public and allow illegal alien criminals to prey upon the populace. The media assist the Democrats here too by perpetrating the false narrative that “those poor people” are all innocents. In fact, their very first acts in America are to break the law and then hide from it.
The Democrats would have us believe the real threats we face are global warming, (now called climate change) and Russia. In fact, the real threats to America are their relentless disregard for the rule of law and the continual undermining of the very institutions upon which America was founded.
When the Democrats’ desire for power is so great they are willing to allow history to be rewritten, bias in the media to be perpetuated and the very institutions upon which America was founded to continually be attacked, we are in real peril.
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Youth Turn
Copyright © 1996; 2018 by Peter Weiss
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
She kissed him once, lightly, took his hand and placed it on her breast, allowing him one short feel.
“Take us somewhere,” she said.
He imagined her dripping clear fluid down the inside of her thighs. Virgin juices, he thought. All he could think of was virgin pussy, her white skin, pink nipples and shiny pink pussy lips. Nipples and pussy lips and clear nectar. It was twenty-nine years since he’d met and married Debra and there was never anyone else. But he wanted Melina to sit on his face and then on his lap. He wanted to slurp her nectar and push inside her up to her navel.
Oh, he thought, how life leaves us so needy.
The letter came to him at the school about a week later. It was addressed to Mr. Joel Kagel, care of the English Department, and it had no return address. It reminded him of that afternoon, of the trip to the motel, of how they had spent several hours together. It did not state the things they had done. It didn’t have to. It was simple, a subtle reissue of the event.
His knees buckled and he felt faint. What did she want? It said nothing of what she wanted. He thought he was home free, that he had gotten away with the one-time, out-of-himself experience. You only live once. It was time travel, back to young and alive and unafraid. She was this nymph and he might never have another opportunity like this. He could never repeat such a thing. Never.
So what does she want? He wondered.
The second letter told him. It came shortly after the first. She wanted to meet him again. It gave a day, date and time. But he did not want this. There was no room for such a thing, no room for anyone but Debra, the kids and the grandchildren.
Melina was waiting. She was wearing jeans, her school blouse and sneakers. She was not sexual in any way, she was just a kid, just a kid
“Hi,” he said.
She got in the car. “So you got my letters.”
“There’s no more, I hope.”
“No.”
“So, why are we here?”
“Didn’t you like me?” Melina asked. “I mean,” she said, “you picked me up and then you did those things to me.”
“I thought it was mutual.”
She laughed. “Yeah, right. You thought I wanted to do those things with an old guy like you?”
“But I didn’t force you.”
“No, you paid me.”
“Well, what do you want from me now?”
“What do you think?”
“I have no idea. You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“God no. Who needs another little you running around?”
“So, what then?”
“Well,” Melina said, “a girl like me needs money, you know. I have expenses and my parents don’t give me a big allowance cause they don’t want me running around meeting perverts like you.”
“So you want money then.”
“That’s about it.”
“And what do I get?”
Pick up a copy of my published works here:
Books by Peter Weiss.
Youth Turn
Copyright © 1996; 2018 by Peter Weiss
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
“Sorry,” Melina said. But she knew she was right. Her skirt sat high on her thighs and she spread her legs. “I didn’t need a lift,” she said. “But I don’t feel like going to school. I mean I’m gonna go—you know at that school they call your home if you’re absent, and I don’t want to get grounded. So I have to go. But I don’t want to.”
They exchanged names, then Melina reached under the skirt, shifted in the seat and tugged at her panties. “These panties are killing me,” she said. She smelled her hand. “Wanna smell?” She pushed her fingers under his nose.
“Good, right?” she asked. She shifted again, facing him, drawing the leg closest to him up so her knee rested on the seat and he could see up her legs. “Taste it,” she ordered.
Like an automaton, he sucked.
“Nice, huh?” she said, withdrawing her hand.
They came to a red light. Indeed, he saw the white panties between her legs and he felt himself bulging. A pearl of pre-cum dripped into his underwear.
A sly smile crossed her face. “You do want some pussy,” she said, reaching to his crotch and feeling his erection. “Yeah,” she said. “I think you do.”
He picked her up at three o’clock a block away from the school, where he had dropped her off. She slid into the seat, this time sitting very close to him. Her lips were dark and she was made-up, eye makeup and all. She assured him her parents worked and wouldn’t miss her as long as she was home by six. Three hours was enough, right? That sly smile was still on her face, only now it seemed like a look of acknowledgment, and though he couldn’t say how exactly, it wasn’t the look of a sixteen year old, or however old she was—he was afraid to ask. It was a look of power though he wanted to call it enchantment. When she reached over and put her hand in his lap, his penis shot up in his pants and his heart thumped so that he thought he was having a heart attack.
“How old are you?” he managed.
“How old do you want me to be?” Melina asked.
“How old you are.”
“Whatever you want,” she said.
She massaged him, gathering the pants so she could put her hand around him. The harder he got, the more powerfully enchanting that look grew. The thought of Debra and the kids blew over him like a desert storm and eclipsed the scorching in his loins. Guilt followed.
“This is wrong.”
“Shh,” Melina said. She reached over and kissed his lips, thrusting her tongue in his mouth. Then she sucked up his tongue and squeezed him once so that he almost came in his pants.
“Okay,” she said. “We don’t have to. I’ll get out.” She started toward the door but knew he would hold her, and he did, a gentle grab at her hand.
“You want me to stay?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Pick up a copy of my published works here:
Books by Peter Weiss.
Resident Evil, The Walking Dead, The Hunger Games: all these movies have a common theme of division. There are the herds (the regular ordinary people) are there are the elites (the rich and famous, the politicians, the business titans, etc.). The populace is thus divided. Powerful and powerless, rich and poor, elite and ordinary, strong and weak, independent and dependent are some of the ways to view the division.
Make no mistake, all those leaders calling for a trend toward socialism, aka the Democrat leaders and their actor/actress friends, belong to one group and it isn’t the ordinary-people group.
So what does that tell you?
Of course the herds, the regular people, are more divided than the elites. The herds are separated by race, ethnicity, education and religion. They’re also separated by politics and political beliefs. There’s no joining factor within the herds like there is for the elites. The elites are all joined at the hip by money.
Let’s be clear. All those Hollywood elites, the ones who object to being called elites and who want to be acknowledged as “regular people” like the less-than-one-percent of the population with ordinary incomes belong to the elite class. They are not part of the herd and not part of the zombies they want the herd to be. They live in the gated cities and are protected by bodyguards who are armed. Still they support and advocate for the Democrats’ goal of moving toward socialism.
Taylor Swift, the latest one to come out for the Dems: net worth of 280 million
Robert De Niro net worth: about 200 million
Madonna net worth: about 590 million
Ashley Judd net worth: only a paltry 22 million
Johnny Depp net worth: about 200 million
Jimmy Kimmel net worth: about 35 million
Jimmy Fallon net worth: about 45 million
Alec Baldwin net worth: about 65 million
Rosie O’Donnell net worth: about 135 million
Bill Maher net worth: about 100 million
Whoopi Goldberg (who said she would leave the country if Trump were elected, but didn’t) net worth: about 45 million
Okay. So you get the idea. What would socialized medicine mean to them? Would the long lines at hospitals and for doctors, kind of like it is in England, affect them at all? Do they have to live with or fear the everyday violence in Chicago? Even if all the guns were taken away, the illegal guns would still be out there. But these people have protection and live in the gated cities.
The idea is simple. In order to accomplish an end, the Democrats must: “Pick the target, freeze it, personalize it, and polarize it,” Saul Alinsky’s thirteenth rule. Alinsky’s eleventh rule is “If you push a negative hard and deep enough it will break through into its counterside.”
For more than two years the Democrats and their supporters have been pushing the negatives, haven’t they? As we now see, they did this even before Trump was elected and they have been doing it for much longer than that. Division and polarization are their tools for obtaining power. They’re openly planning it as their after-election tactics.
Maxine Waters net worth: about 5 million. In 2005 she was only worth about half a million. She’s been in Congress since 1990 on a salary of about 170 thousand. How did she do that?
The Democrats and their elite friends have a vested interest in keeping us, the regular people, as their zombies. They tout socialism because it offers free stuff, but they will not be affected by its implementation or suffer the effects of its failure. Conversely, they will greatly benefit from its implementation.
Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it.
Pick up a copy of my published works here:
Books by Peter Weiss.
Youth Turn
Copyright © 1996; 2018 by Peter Weiss
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Joel Kagel had crossed the Whitestone Bridge for twenty-one years and driven along the service road of the Bruckner to Castle Hill where he turned left and rode over the overpass to the high school at which he taught. His wife, his kids, his grandchildren—two beautiful little girls—were his life. Every two weeks he deposited his paycheck. The house was paid off, kids taken care of, his wife’s salary deposited for vacations, savings and emergencies. Who could ask for more? Debra drove a new Camry and he drove a two-year-old Corolla, both paid for, and he had just upgraded his computer, keeping it state of the art. They belonged to the Temple, Debra serving as president of the sisterhood.
In the course of his day at school he interacted with several hundred high school students, three-quarters of them females. Most of the girls were sexually active yet terribly vulnerable and impressionable. He was hard-pressed to understand how or why they gave themselves away so readily or had children at the young ages they did. No one from the Temple or in his family or their families and extended families ever behaved so promiscuously. Premarital sex, perhaps, but a child to a child, or in wedlock, never.
So how it was that he saw Melina’s short skirt and open blouse, and how he came to make a youth turn on the overpass, he simply did not know. One moment he was going one way, and a moment later he had turned around and was going the other. He stopped at the light, the same light he had come to from the service road, and he watched as this girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, crossed the street. Already he pictured the swells of her breasts, and he could see her tushy sway while she crossed the street. Good God, he thought, what am I doing? But deep inside him he heard her calling. Go back, he told himself, and though he fought the urge, he found his car rolling along next to her.
“Need a lift?” he called through his opened passenger window.
“Pervert,” she said.
“I just thought,” he said, “I mean, you just look like you need a lift.”
“I have a black belt in karate,” Melina said.
“You won’t need it with me,” Kagel said.
“Well, you don’t leave me alone, I will.”
“Okay,” Kagel said. “I just thought you were lonely.” He started to roll off, but she turned full toward him.
“Wait,” she called. He stopped the car and she approached. “You look like a nice man,” she said. “You can drop me off at school. It’s just a couple of blocks.”
Melina opened the door and got in. “No funny stuff,” she said. “I really do have a black belt.”
“No funny stuff,” Kagel said.
“So, where you headed?” Melina asked.
“I work over on the boulevard,” Kagel said.
“Why’d you stop me?”
“Truth?”
“Truth.”
“You remind me of my daughter,” Kagel lied.
“I think you want some pussy,” said Melina.
Kagel stopped the car. “You’d better get out.”
Pick up a copy of my published works here:
Books by Peter Weiss.
Youth Turn
Copyright © 1996; 2018 by Peter Weiss
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
She was quite small when she discovered her ability to control others and she was eleven when she realized she could excite boys. It happened accidentally one spring morning, not unlike this one, when she was wearing a white mock-turtleneck and no bra because she didn’t need one then. The breeze on the overpass stiffened her nipples into tiny marbles. As some boys approached, she heard them whispering, laughing as they passed, and when she looked back, all of them were looking at her. One called “Hey baby,” and blew her a kiss. She feigned annoyance but realized the power of her ability to attract boys. An opened blouse, a short skirt, colored or slicked lips, any one of these would do it, and more than one could drive boys crazy. Boys were stupid.
The first boy happened at thirteen, after karate class. He was eighteen, cute and he hurt her terribly. The second, also at thirteen, gave her money not to say anything. Pussy and silence: two great commodities. Sixteen now, she was no virgin.
Her sister, Virginia, had given her the first orgasm. Late one Sunday morning, her parents gone to church, they were watching videos on her sister’s bed. She was laying at her sister’s side, her head resting on her. Virginia simply reached into her pajama top and rolled a nipple between thumb and forefinger. Unhesitating, Melina looked at her invitingly and Virginia moved down for a kiss. Melina’s tongue met her sister’s and when she closed her eyes she pretended it was her favorite male pop star. A symphony of new sensations played through her. Fourth of July.
“Let’s smoke a blunt,” Virginia said. Melina watched her empty a cigar and refill it with weed. They smoked, and next she knew, she was droopy, her mouth dry. She coughed and choked and getting up for water, she realized how high she was.
Virginia stood over her. Melina lay sprawled on the bed. Virginia tugged off Melina’s pajama bottoms so Melina lay naked from the waist down, then she stroked a smooth-skinned thigh. She kneeled next to Melina, sliding a finger to the triangle between her legs. When she dipped her finger, she reached between her own legs with the other hand. She kissed Melina and slid her tongue into Melina’s throat. Melina purred.
It only took a moment. Virginia pushed one finger inside Melina and used another for her magic button. She undid the pajama top and fondled Melina’s breasts. Melina pressed against the fingers, sucking Virginia’s tongue while Virginia watched her explode.
“Wow,”
“Now me,” Virginia said. She gave the fingers she had used to Melina’s mouth. “Suck them, then suck my pussy.”
Melina obeyed. When Virginia swooned, her legs locked around Melina’s neck, Melina noted the power of pleasure.
Pick up a copy of my published works here:
Books by Peter Weiss.
Copyright © 1996; 2018 by Peter Weiss
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The car pulled up behind the car before it and stopped in the morning rush hour traffic. Other cars immediately lined up and the two lanes waiting for the approach to the bridge sat still.
The man behind the wheel stroked his mustache. He was bald-headed, about fifty. For All Those Years played on his car stereo. Hearing the song and the voice, tears welled up in his eyes. Traffic rolled slightly, a little ahead, but his car sat still.
Though the morning was cloudless, he’d lost sight of the traffic, of where he was. He hesitated, then he opened the car door and stepped out. Immediately horns from the cars behind his blasted, but hypnotized, he left the car door open and headed to the tree-filled embankment. There, he drew a Smith & Wesson from inside his belt, chambered a bullet and blew off the top of his head.
The shot was unmistakable to those stuck in traffic, a single pop like the slap of a hammer against a board. Some people recalled a movie or a book. Others heard the rustle of the underbrush as the body fell. Everyone knew they would be late for work.
Melina rolled her skirt at the waist then opened the top two buttons of her blouse so you could see cleavage. Next, she took a lipstick from her school bag and with several deft strokes left a slick, smooth coat of red on her lips. She pressed her lips together, tossed the lipstick back in her bag and waited for the bus.
She found a window seat and took out her iPod. Eyes closed, she listened to Come to My Window. A breeze swirled from the window through the open blouse and over her breasts. She pictured one of her pop star idols and she felt creamy down there. She crossed her legs and squeezed tight.
She kept the iPod on as she crossed the Bruckner overpass toward school. The breeze stiffened her nipples so they pressed through her bra against her blouse. If her mother saw her now… But her mother was on her way to work in Manhattan, and her father too, and she was on her way to the prissy all-girls high school, where, before she could enter, she’d roll down her skirt and wipe off the lipstick. If she didn’t, she’d get detention and the Sisters would call home. Fuck that.
Public high school kids passed her in the opposite direction. She recognized some faces, boys and girls who passed her daily. The boys who stared at her breasts she gave the finger or blew kisses. The girls she sucked her lips at. “Ooh, baby,” she said once or twice. Already a black belt in karate, she waited for the pathetic being that might challenge her.
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Bill and Mary never did get it on. One thing led to the next to the next to the next and before either of them knew it, step-by-step, Henry Lee was in and downstairs cutting meat, they had moved through everything that had to be done for the prep cooking and Bill had gone down to join Henry Lee to help him in the meat room.
He and Henry Lee had a long discussion about Marie. They had such discussions several times already, Henry Lee expressing his hope that Bill would get with her because she had become a major pain in the ass. He was happy when he learned that Bill had been with her.
Bill told him about the night before. He also told him about getting home and finding his fiancé sleeping with Tim. He had to explain exactly what sleeping with Tim meant. He had to emphasize how innocent it was, really, and how gay Tim was. Still and all Henry Lee thought it rather strange, and Bill couldn’t disagree with him because on some level it really was rather strange.
“I’d get pissed if some other dude was in my bed,” Henry Lee said. “Gay, straight, or non-sexed at all, man.”
“Yeah, well I ain’t too happy about it.”
“Say something.”
“People in glass houses, man.”
“Yeah, I can see where you might not want to rock the boat.”
“Yeah, well…”
Tommy stopped in the meat room. He didn’t check out the work they were doing, but he did ask about the inventory. Henry Lee told him he was making enough of everything to get through record nights at both stores and he was making sure he had plenty of meat cut today so that everyone had enough to make it till late afternoon tomorrow.
“You going to stay down here with him?” Tommy asked Bill.
“I’m working through. I’ll be up with Mary when I know she needs me up there and I’ll be cutting meat here when I’m not up there.”
Tommy turned and was about to leave the meat room when he stopped and turned back. “Don’t you boys be getting drunk,” he said. “And you,” he said to Bill, “stay away from that funny stuff.”
Bill and Henry Lee took it. Henry Lee was about to curse Tommy, but he held himself in check. Bill wanted to give him the finger, but he didn’t. They both knew Tommy was right. Not only was he right, but he was under great pressure too. Drenovis went at him every chance he could, especially since this store was physically bigger than the other one and did less gross sales. Still, on days like today promised to be, this store did much more business.
About ten-thirty, when they’d finished cutting the steaks they were going to cut for the moment and were about to start grinding meat for the hamburgers, Bill went up to check in with Mary. He had already carted a case of chickens up and helped Mary set them to boiling in a big stock pot. This meant they would have chicken soup tomorrow and chicken pot pies next week. They’d also have a baked chicken special with Supreme sauce sometime next week too.
Bill and Mary were all about business. He set the washed potatoes into the convection oven to bake and then quickly set up the steam table. He filled it with water, put in all the inserts then fired it up by turning on the steam valves. Then he carted over everything that was ready to come over at the time.
Mary saw that he had not changed his kitchen shirt and reminded him to do it before he came up for the lunch service. She also asked him to bring up two prime ribs to be cooked off. Bill told her he would change his shirt right after they finished the hamburgers.
Pick up a copy of my published works here:
Books by Peter Weiss.
Youth Turn was originally written in 1996 and was revised in 2016. It will appear here in a series of five or possibly six installments but it is a standalone short story. It is copyrighted. The copyright page will appear on each installment and is reprinted here. The story is presented for your entertainment, and I do hope you enjoy it.
Peter
Youth Turn
Copyright © 1996; 2018 by Peter Weiss
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Mary sat swinging her legs all the while she watched him. Bill took a hand saw from one of several hanging on the wall and immediately went to work moving through that bone. It didn’t take but a minute and he was done. When he was done and the two pieces were separated completely, he took the bigger one and wrapped it in layer after layer of film. Then he carted it into the walk-in.
“Let’s smoke a joint,” said Mary.
“I’ve got to get one from my locker,” said Bill.
“Well, boy, we ain’t got all day. Move your ass.”
“Be right back,” said Bill.
They didn’t linger in the deep freeze. It was too early in the morning and too cold to take their time. They didn’t even bother to close the parkas. They smoked, passed it along, smoked. Then they were high. They both hung their parkas back on the hook and straightened their uniforms.
Before Bill hoisted that one chunk of meat onto his shoulder to carry it upstairs, he and Mary took a drink of bourbon. While she was drinking Bill goosed her from behind, helping himself to a good feel of her. Mary leaned herself into his hand to let him enjoy, to let him know she was enjoying too. Then they went upstairs and worked through the morning nonstop.
Bill would discover as the day went on that the whole of this particular Friday would be just about nonstop. He and Mary set up the round, dressed it, carried it together in a large roasting pan to the oven. That done, only then, did Bill help himself to a cup of coffee. Bea asked if he wanted to play the numbers. He gave her his and Mary’s to play for the rest of the week. He handed her a $10 bill from which there would be change.
As he handed her the money, he remembered not so long ago when he couldn’t even pay his rent, when he and his fiancé were borrowing the money each month from his brother. He had no money, no job, no prospects. He was down and out.
Now, in contrast, he could spend money on gambling and he spent money on drugs. Sometimes he bought the booze for him and Henry Lee. On his days off, even though his days off were few and far between, he and his fiancé usually went out to eat. He could remember when they could barely buy food to eat at home.
Ain’t it funny how the night moves.
He stood by Bea awhile while he drank the coffee he had poured for himself. Bea was already pretty much done setting up her station for as much as she could do this early in the morning. Her special for the day was chicken salad. Bill and Mary would have to cook off the chickens and then cut them for Bea when they were cooled. They had done this together, he and Mary, many times.
Bea usually asked if he wanted to play the horses. She did not ask this morning. This morning she was about work, doing her best to get everything done as quickly as possible so that she could begin to prepare for what they all felt was going to be a gangbuster night.
When Bill finished his coffee, he went back by Mary. She was starting a pot of fresh Bordelaise sauce. He no longer had to learn how to do this, so he asked her what he could do for her instead. She told him to make sure they had enough pickerel and fried shrimp breaded then to scrub the potatoes for lunch. When he was done with that, she told him he could bring her a case of chickens for them to cook off.
“And change that shirt,” said Mary. “You got blood all over it.”
