(the following is an example of the kind of FICTION content we are interested in running …)



a short story



I certainly didn’t expect THIS to happen, but that’s always how it goes, isn’t it? In the midst of another insanely crowded Shoreditch steel-wood-and-glass-bar. This awesome girl. She kind of wades forward, smiling, through a vast ocean of faceless, chatty, after-work binge-drinkers. Venus rising from a foam shell. But draped in a scarlet-red, sexy laser-cut cocktail dress. The most staggering face i’ve ever seen. At first I think I’m dreaming, it can’t be me she’s moving towards, smiling at. But she adamantly floats precisely to the place where I’m standing. On invisible angel wings or something. And a couple of seconds later, now only a few steps away from me, she still hasn’t stopped smiling. My knees feel like butter and the situation hits me with utmost sincerity. Adrenaline. Hair stiffening on the back of my neck. Fucking hell, I MUST be dreaming this. Jesus, how unbelievably beautiful this girl is. I’ve never ever seen anything like it. Black hair, white skin, green eyes. I almost drop my drink. almost shit in my pants, really really really.
“You look very sweet, babee. Wanna buy me a drink?” she says, still smiling. every-word-is-on-the-beat – wow!
“Sure. What you fancy?”
“Bloody Mary?”
“Sure, of course. Don’t move.”
Pause. “I won’t.”

The first thing I notice when we start talking is that she doesn’t seem to care at all about what I’m doing, nor where I’m coming from. I also don’t care much about what she’s up to etcetera, to be honest. Rich parents probably. Doesn’t seem to having to work and stuff. I’m still not sure whether I’m not dreaming up all of this. Her name is Amanda, she says and somehow hearing her say the name feels strangely comforting. Her voice trembles all the way through my body. Singer? Actress? In any case it has probably the same effect as pinching myself, I suppose. I’m most definitely wide awake, not dreaming.
“How’s the drink?” I ask in an attempt to stir up some more stimulated conversation. She’s still smiling at me, never stopped really. The most beautiful girl in the world’s just standing right in front of me, Bloody Mary in her hand, and she can’t stop smiling at me. Madness.
“Great, thanks. I just luuuv anything red.”
“Hahaha, having been bathed in blood as a newborn or something?”
“Hahaha, yeah, something like that.”
It quite stuns me that she didn’t actually think my joke was too dark or otherwise tasteless but I whisk away the creepy feeling. “I really like your dress by the way”, I say instead.
“Thanks. you’re really very sweet, babee. What’s your name?”
“Tom”, I say, shaking the ice cubes in my quadruple Jack Daniel’s.
“Nice name.”
She keeps smiling at me. Her lips, her mouth, her eyes, her face, her legs, her breasts. Her posture, her confidence, her elevatedness. It is all so incomprehensibly beautiful that I still have to put a lot of effort in to not just shit in my pants, right here, right now.

Keep calm, man. take it easy. EASY. Jesus, I’ve met many interesting girls in my life, that’s, well, just the way how it goes when you’re a successful DJ-Producer. A lot of them were confident and beautiful. But Amanda is something else completely and I can’t quite pin it down really. It’s EVERYTHING about her. Everything is like out of a dream or something. From another planet. I’m afraid I’m done. I’ve fallen for her the first split-second I saw her, all the way through the sea of binge-drinking mortals at the other end of the room. Should I be worrying about ‘why me’? Well I say, go with the flow, man. Ride the waves of the moment. I don’t think it’s vanity. And I’m definitely a cool enough guy to not think she’s an outrageously astute hooker either.
“You’re very nice too”, I say. “Unbelievably awesome, actually.”
She doesn’t answer. Just smiles. And then gently moves in to my lips for a long, soft, wet kiss.

On the streets back to mine we also don’t speak very much. We’re both quite a bit turned on by now. I’m in fact a bloody boiling steam tank, to be honest. Walking with her on my side through the Friday night crowd is pretty awkward. Every head we pass turns. They check us out. Something doesn’t seem right. They perhaps don’t like the idea of seeing someone so stunningly beautiful next to a just a ‘decent looking guy’ or something. It bothers them or something. And although Amanda’s kisses earlier on have given me all the confidence I ever need in this world I feel through their hostility strangely insecure and in a way almost undeserving. What if they’re right? What if I shouldn’t be going to my place with someone as beautiful as her? Perhaps even have sex – blimey? She slings both her arms around my neck, just in time before I’m getting too self-deprecating here. She hisses a “you make me so hot” in my ear, giggling from all the Bloody Marys she’s had. Her voice slithers into my brain like pungent lava. My ear is almost falling off. But it’s done the trick and I’m straight back into the vibe. I grab her waist and pull her towards me. What a wonderful drug. There’s nothing else to be said. Other people cease to exist. She’s licking my ear now and since I’ve always found it quite tricky to walk straight with a hard-on we have to slow down now, take it easy, chill.



Straight upon entering my flat we need to split though. Breathe, Tom, breathe, I panicky keep telling myself. This is all too freaking intense. I lean against the wall, apologising and smiling, and beg her to sit down on the comfy leather Ikea lounge. Later on I walk over to the kitchen bit where I consult my flash mini-bar next to the fridge.
“What about Campari with blood-orange juice. Would make sense, wouldn’t it?” I ask as composedly and formally as I can muster.
“Mmmmmhhh”, comes her reply. She’s again smiling at me but obliviously someplace else. The bottom of her dress has come up a bit to reveal her flawless, deliciously juicy alabaster thighs. I force myself to look away but can’t quite manage. My head seems to be stuck to her as if to an all-powerful magnet. I bring her the cocktail and put on a really cool playlist off my iPod.
“Oh, that sounds nice”, she says when some of my stuff comes up.
“Thanks”, I mutter. I’m definitely not sure whether I should not join her on the sofa. It’s all just so fucking intense – Jesus Fucking Christ. My armpits are soaking. I bloody well know that I’ll be straight away gone if I go anywhere near her. Therefore I place myself leaning against the wall facing her whilst gathering all my willpower to not look into her direction. I pretend to stare out of the window instead. A few drunks pass by, pissing and shouting aimlessly.
“How did you spot me, back then in the bar?” I finally ask her, trying to act all casual, one hand in my pocket, the other one holding my drink. But even before I finish my question I already regret having asked it since I must come across like a completely insecure twat.
“I told you. You looked so sweet”, she says and there’s a comforting undertone in her voice as if she were to say that I might be insecure. But not a twat.
Silence again. I sip away on my drink and keep gazing out of the window. Luckily I’m quite hammered by now. She gets up from the sofa and comes over to me. She sticks her hand under my shirt and softly caresses my back. An electric shock runs all the way through me. My knees bend. Next thing I know are our mouths stuck on each other’s. Tongues rampaging. Hands fumbling. We’re lying entwined on the floor. Nothing really matters anymore. My dear, precious playlist has morphed into merely the echoing, squirming stutter from a far far away galaxy.

Multiple orgasmic waves shoot through my pent-up nervous system. We’re glowing. We’re splashed out on the floor like stranded, sticky seaweed. I don’t know what I’m doing at all, everything just happens. Our tongues snake in an out of whatever orifice they can possibly find. Legs part. Nipples contort. Cheeks shiver. We’re melting together. We’re forming a unit. We’re lost in each other and my flat has become a waiting lounge for all sorts of heavenly noise transmissions. We groan, utter, hiss, sigh. Everything is blurred. Everything is spinning. Our skins have become so incredibly sensitive that we squeak and convulse with even the gentlest of touches. Another series of orgasmic waves shoots through my body and leaves a sugary afterglow crystallising into our mutual aura. I feel that I want to totally give up myself, hand over my life to this person I’ve just met. Unconditionally. Wholeheartedly. Irrevocably.

And just before I can completely immerse myself into this feeling, sullenly, lusciously slide into it, I spot through my dreary, faint eyes how Amanda – one hand rapturously grabbing my member – suddenly reveals long, pearl-white canine teeth with her smile. They’re very long. I haven’t noticed before. And as she slowly sinks them into the skin of my steeled shaft – with delirious lust in her glazed, spaced-out eyes – I don’t think at all that I’m hallucinating this. I’m also not scared or shocked or repulsed in any way whatsoever. Instead I simply can’t stop shivering with delight. There’s a brief, tangy sting reverberating from her bite all the way to the lower end of my spine and then hot waves of pleasure radiate throughout my whole body. Several orgasmic explosions, different this time, spark up my brain again. My face is gleaming lasciviously. I’m burning. She’s still grabbing my shaft, thin rivulets of blood pour down her hand. Her mouth comes up towards mine. Our tongues meet. She bites into my lips, without the sting, without the blood and we just suck on each other. ‘Eat me, you beautiful demon’, I’m thinking and at the same time burst out laughing in ecstasy. I can hear my playlist again, but I’ve never heard it that way before. I’m transformed. I’ve become a new person. Another wave of orgasms and laughter. And then I fall back into the floor, deep, dark, dreary. I spread out my arms and legs as wide as i can. Whatever you want from me, whatever you need. Take it all, baby. I’m all yours. Truly and wholly yours. I suppose, till death us part or something, hahahahaha.



When I wake up she’s gone. The withdrawal symptoms hit me with sheer phenomenal power. I’m cringing, cuddling up myself. I’m shaking, shivering. Cold sweat. My heart is beating erratically. My nerves are itching with unspecifiable cravings. Somehow I manage to get out of bed. I try to shake off the nagging feeling of loss. The amount of sadness and despair almost makes me go down to the floor and die. I swallow a couple of Aspirins, take a long hit off the bong I keep to my rescue for generally unsettling conditions. I drag myself to the kitchen and whack up some scrambled eggs. Then I wash it all down with a few shots of vodka before I force myself to eventually hit the street. I’m walking on snakes and diving through aliens but somehow make my way down to the studio. Frank is there and it’s very good to see him although I have to rush to the toilet and vomit before I can even say hello. He usually doesn’t say very much anyway but he remains completely silent when he sees the state I’m in. I try to work but not getting anything done. We load up a track entitled ‘Prime Harvest’ which we’ve been working on for the past couple of days. He’s done bits and pieces since yesterday and plays it to me and I pretend to be listening but Amanda’s smile keeps cutting into my brain sharply. Her smell. Her skin. Her passion. The track has ended and I haven’t even realised. I sincerely apologise to Frank who looks at me with his child’s eyes. As usual his pupils are already at this time of the day stretching across the entire iris. I know he’s normally cool with things. “I’m really, really sorry, man. I’m completely fucking wasted. Most intense experience I’ve ever had”, I mumble. “Just carry on, sounds all cool to me”. Then I feebly totter my way out of the studio. He doesn’t answer. “See you tomorrow.”

On the street again. It’s about lunchtime. People are heading for food stalls, hungry stomachs wanting to be filled. I drift into the next available bar and order a quadruple Jack Daniel’s. Oozing into it. Drowning myself in self-pity. I check my phone. Yes, I do have her number. It wasn’t all just a dream. Everything is cool, Tom. You just need to keep it all nicely together up there. Keep it all tight. I wave for another couple of rounds.

Back in front of my door I have trouble putting the key through the keyhole. It’s become quite late. Midnight? I plunge into the flat as the door finally opens. Kick shut it. Then crawl all the way to the mini-bar. Glug glug glug. I fill a whole cognac ball with vodka and off you go. Zoning out. Waking up semi-naked on the floor. The withdrawal symtoms are still there, haven’t ceased a bit really. Nagging. Itching. Craving. Perhaps even more than ever before. Also a headache has mingled in in the meantime. For fuck’s sake. I crawl to the bathroom to fetch some more Aspirin. In the mirror I’m shocked about how awful I look. Both my eyes are pitch black. Blood vessels staining the white bits like nasty, poisonous cobwebs. I’m falling apart. I faint. Clinging to the sink I slide down to the tiles. It’s pretty obvious that I can’t live on like this. I’m done. Finished. She’s completely got me. Enraptured, hahaha. I lie there for I have no idea how long.

But it’s fine. I’ve found my master. I’m in love for the first time. Lying here naked, on the freezing floor of my bathroom, I’m drooling and drunk and fight off the most unbearable withdrawal symptoms I’ve ever had in my life. But whenever I think of HER, Amanda, the most staggeringly beautiful girl slash vampire, I’m rising. I’m suddenly awake. And all those ideas turn up in my head. Tracks, already perfectly written. It doesn’t matter who I am anymore. All I want is to surrender, be with her again. And as feelings turn into ideas, ideas form into decisions, I’m slowly becoming myself again. I’m starting to smile. The withdrawal symptoms miraculously fade. Even the fierce headache is almost gone, leaving behind only a distant memory of how miserable my whole life has thus far been.

A few hours later I’m leaving the elevator and step onto the corridor which leads up to her door. My legs are shaking as I knock. She’s naked underneath her scarlet-red silk robe and peels off my own clothes like the skin of an overripe apricot. And then I’m inside her and she groans and I’m zoning out again in bliss. The familiar electric waves of pleasure. Everything is sticky and wet. Blood, sweat, saliva, cunt juice or cum – I don’t know, I don’t care. This is going to be my life from now on. I’m completely, utterly hooked. And as we look at each other, giggling and smiling and shivering with bliss, I know that she’s going to take my life away from me, bit by bit devour it. And I tell you what – it doesn’t matter. Not now and not anytime in the future. It’s all cool, baby, love of my life. I’ve arrived where i belong to. I’m here with you. I’m the happiest person in the world.


Reinhard Schleining

London, August 2007
© 2007, all rights reserved



(the following is another example of the kind of VISUAL content we are interested in running. anything which pushes the boundaries, bring it on …)






image by reinhard schleining
© 2004 – 2005, all rights reserved

(the following is one example of the kind of VISUAL content we are interested in running. anything which pushes the boundaries, bring it on …)






image by reinhard schleining
© 2006, all rights reserved