Poetry: Selections from PJ Grollet

night school
“Psychology, Mythology and Crime”
was the course title for the night class
I signed up for at the community college.
on the first day of class, I walked inside
the small auditorium and the instructor
handed out the syllabus which also
contained the day’s lecture notes.
I took a seat towards the center on the
right-hand side and as I settled in, I noticed
two gorgeous Latinas making out in the
front row. the girls were model types like
promotional girls for a beer company.
I tried to not let them distract me but by
10 minutes into class, one of them had
taken the top off the other and was
wildly sucking on her breasts.
I don’t remember anything about the
lecture but by the end of class, the girls
were taking turns eating each other out
on top of the seats and in the aisles too.
on the second day of class, I sat next
to an attractive older woman—a white
woman. she immediately put her hand
on my crotch, started to rub my dick and
it wasn’t long before my pants were all
around my ankles while my eager
classmate jerked me off.
those two sexy Latinas from the first
day really set the tone and I felt
completely at ease, engaged in sex
acts in the middle of class.
after that, I was unfortunately
transported to some abandoned
cobblestone town square but
that’s another story and one
that’s not as interesting.

double grossed out from the rat races at the dorm
during my first week away at
college, a massive party broke
out at the dorms; it bordered
on the carnivalesque.
the dormitory was a large, flat
building and I was still finding
my way around the place when
I walked into a room at the very
end of a hall where a gambling
operation, a rat race was set.
dozens of mice and long-tailed
rats scurried along a track on the
carpet and the only other person in the
room was the carny, a middle-aged man in
flannel and suspenders who held
dollar bills in his hand and chomped on
a cigar. the guy delighted in the close
proximity of the coeds as he waited for
them to step up and bet.
I left the room and quickly realized
the shoddiness of the operation as
several rodents had already escaped
and were crushed on the floor right
outside the door.
I was double grossed out because not
only was the dormitory now certainly infested
with rats, but the equally sick thought was
that my fellow residents stomped on the
rodents and continued to party with rat
death all over their feet.

Two Shapeshifters Talking Shop (in the Women’s Shop)
I saw an associate of mine, a college-aged guy, standing on the street corner in front of a shop that specialized in bridal and maternity wear and women’s undergarments too.
I walked up to him and we chatted a bit outside the place before he suggested we go inside to meet some women. Admittedly, I felt that my pickup days were far behind me, but I agreed to join the guy as his wingman.  
Once inside the place, I scanned all the females walking about and I considered how one would go about picking up a girl in a place like this. It struck me as unseemly to approach women in the bridal and maternity departments and way too obvious to hang around the bra and panty section and then I became acutely aware: perhaps I was indeed too long in the tooth to be playing this game.
Despite my reservations, I appreciated my young colleague’s moxie, and I was curious to see his opening move but when I glanced back at the guy, he was sound asleep on the aisle floor.
I knew he wouldn’t want store management to catch him sleeping in the aisles and throw him out before even his first approach, so I woke him up. I helped my comrade to his feet but he was suddenly completely exhausted. He wanted to fall back down, and I tried to keep him awake by engaging him and asking questions.
I asked, “Hey man, how’s it going with your new shapeshifting powers? Being a werewolf and all?”
While my friend swayed side to side, struggling to keep his eyes open, he pulled a smooth round stone from his pocket. The object emanated a sort of energy and even though I was the more experienced shapeshifter, I had never seen anything like it.
“You place the stone between your toes,” my young friend slurred, “and you speed through time and space.”
I took the stone from him, followed his instruction, and everything became an instant blur. With the stone you move too fast through the dimensions, and I knew I could easily get lost.
I came back down to the women’s shop, returned the object to my associate, and thought to myself what a trusting guy he was. Someone else could have easily run off with that stone never to be heard from again.

PJ Grollet is the scribe for the six-volume series, The Book of Dreams. He’s been published inHorror Sleaze Trash,Stereo Stories, ImpspiredBull: Men’s Fiction and elsewhere.