Sensual Nightmares: Tales From The Palomino, Vol. 1: Franz Rock Terror

By Rob Errera

What people are saying about Sensual Nightmares!

Twisted with a side of sex! Very interesting read. Anyone with a good warped mind will appreciate these short stories. Each one just the right length. Never boring. Can't wait to read the other "Palomino Tales"! – Amazon Review

Eight linked tales of terror guaranteed to give you sensual nightmares!

Femme fatales, buddy booth monstrosities, fortune-telling prostitutes, murderers, thieves, Micmac Indians, and misshapen freaks are some of the new friends you'll meet inside The Palomino Bar and Grill (formerly The Palomino 24 Hour Adult Emporium).

INCLUDES THE FULL-LENGTH NOVELLA "THE P0RN MAID'S TALE" — The worlds of H.P. Lovecraft, Margaret Atwood, and Geoffrey Chaucer collide with fetish videos, peep booths, and live sex shows in this horror mash-up.

Pull up a chair, order a shot, and prepare yourself for hardc0re horror!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bad Hound Press
• Release date: Sep 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469985763

Rob Errera

Rob Errera is a writer, editor, musician, and literary critic. His fiction, non-fiction, and essays have earned numerous awards. He lives in New Jersey with his wife, two kids, and a bunch of rescued dogs and cats. He blogs at roberrera.com, tweets @haikubob, and his work is available in both print and digital editions at all major online booksellers.

Book preview

THE GLUE TRAP

Step 1: Look for signs of infestation.

There is a drywell in the basement of The Palomino Bar and Grill. No one knows how deep the well is, or what lives at the bottom, but Dr. Philip Baker, current owner of The Palomino (formerly Palomino Liquors, formerly Palomino Topless Go-Go, formerly Palomino 24-Hour Adult Emporium), wants the well sealed up. And his son-in-law, Lloyd, is just the man to do it.

Rats are comin’ in through there, Dr. Baker said. Look.

He pointed to the shelves where the kitchen supplies were kept. A five-pound bag of flour with its bottom corner chewed out leaked white powder onto the floor. Lloyd noticed there was a crate of Bud longnecks there with a similar hole chewed through the cardboard.

That stuff should probably be stored in plastic containers or something, Lloyd suggested.

Dr. Baker regarded Lloyd with a scowl. He spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a particularly dimwitted child.

No. What we need is to get rid of the rats in the cellar. Go to the hardware store and get some traps. Set them tonight, and check them first thing in the morning, see what you catch. Get a sheet of plywood, too. The thick stuff, marine grade. And some concrete screws and a tube of silicone caulk. We can seal this well up Friday night after the restaurant closes.

On Friday nights Lloyd usually got a little drunker than usual. If he was lucky, Trudy tossed him a lay. Guess he wasn’t getting laid this Friday. But he was going to get fucked, all right. By Trudy’s father. Again.

Sure, Friday night sounds fine, Lloyd said. But listen, why don’t you stay home. I can cap this well myself. Or I can get Tommy to help. You don’t have to come all the way out in the middle of the night for this, Dr. B.

Baker paused long enough to let Lloyd know he didn’t think his son-in-law was capable of screwing in a light bulb without supervision.

No. I’ll be here. Baker turned to go, pointed to the cases of soda stacked near the foot of the stairs. Grab a couple of cases on your way up. We’re running low upstairs.

Yes, sir, Lloyd thought. Can I shine your shoes for you too, you old fuck?

Sure, Dr. B, Lloyd said. He grabbed two cases of Coke, and followed Dr. Baker upstairs.

It was mid-afternoon on a Thursday, and The Palomino wasn’t particularly busy. A few late lunchers, a few businessmen who left work early. Lloyd thought he recognized a group of guys sitting at a table near the window. Wasn’t that Barry from the old softball league? He turned and headed to the far end of the bar to store the soda. He didn’t want to run into any old chums, not with his father-in-law hovering around, riding his ass. Christ, we used to come to this dive for beers after softball. Now I work here and rent an apartment upstairs. What would they think?

Rosita sat at the end of the bar, eating a turkey club. She was one of the sexiest women Lloyd ever saw. She wasn’t the prettiest; her face was too round, her nose too pug, her body too soft. But there was something about the way she tilted her head when she spoke, and shifted her hips when she sat, and dabbed at her lips when she ate a turkey sandwich that was incredibly seductive. He supposed it was a good quality to have considering the line of work she was in.

Rosita, he said flatly. Finish your sandwich and go.

Nice to see you, too, Lloyd. She put her sandwich down and took a sip from a bottle of water. You treat all of your customers this well? No wonder this place is dead. It had more charm when it was a porno shop.

He lowered his voice a notch, but kept his tone firm.

Boss is here. You need to scram. I can’t have you trolling for customers.

Christ, Lloyd, don’t be a dick. I’m just trying to eat lunch.

There was a joke there, something about her eating dicks for lunch, but Lloyd didn’t crack it. Another time he might have played it, used it as a crude segue toward one of Rosita’s special humjobs, but not today. He didn’t like her in the place when his father-in-law was around.

Finish up, Lloyd said. Go.

Listen, you’re the reason I’m here, Lloyd. I have a message for you, Rosita said. Big Mike says you owe him something.

You running errands for him now?

Not an errand. Just delivering a message, Rosita said. Her voice softened. How much do you owe him?

None of your damn business!

Rosita shook her head. I told you a while ago, Lloyd. You and Trudy should pack up and go. Get outta town. Nothing good is gonna happen for you here.

Thanks, but I don’t need any advice from a wh—.

He choked on the last word because Rosita’s expression changed. She looked over Lloyd’s shoulder, and smiled so brilliantly, it both melted his heart and warmed his crotch.

Hello, Dr. Baker, she said.

Lloyd turned and saw his father-in-law beaming back.

Hello, Rosie.

There was something too familiar about their greeting, and Lloyd felt his stomach flip. He was sickened by the possibility that both he and his father-in-law had popped off in this woman’s mouth, but he shouldn’t be. Half the men in town could claim the same.

Don’t forget the traps, Dr. B said to him, and for a moment Lloyd was confused. Was Dr. B talking about Big Mike? Was Mike’s crew lying in wait for Lloyd someplace? How could Dr. B know about his gambling debts?

Sensing his confusion, Dr. Baker made a great show of repeating himself, holding his arms out wide for emphasis. The traps. For the basement.

Fuck you. Fuck you, you old fucking fucker! Even Rosita looked away, embarrassed for him.

Lloyd smiled and nodded.

No problem, Dr. B. I’ll get right on it.

Step 2: Bait as needed.

Lloyd and Trudy made love that night with a passion and intensity that surprised them both. Afterwards, they lay side-by-side, arms and legs entwined, speaking in the hushed tones of lovers.

I want something better for you, Tru, Lloyd said. I wish we weren’t so broke, living in this crummy apartment. You deserve better.

We both do, Trudy said. Be patient. We’ll get by. And when my parents go, we’ll be all set.

I think your father’d sooner leave his money and property to St. Mary’s before he left it to me, Lloyd said. And he doesn’t even go to that church.

I know Daddy’s hard on you, Trudy said. I’m sorry about that. He can be a real asshole, sometimes. Believe me, I know. I grew up with him.

He’s a cheap bastard, too.

"I know! I can’t believe how much he charges us to rent this crappy place. And the jobs he offered us are shit. A barmaid and a janitor? I’m his only child, his daughter for Christ’s sake! He employs three or four different property managers. Why aren’t we good enough for one of those jobs?"

Lloyd smiled in the darkness. Oh, it’s not so bad. Remember, you’re a hostess and I’m chief caretaker? See, doesn’t that sound better?

Sounds like crap any way you say it, Trudy said. But the edge was gone from her voice, replaced with a quiet resignation. Patience, baby...our day will come.

Your dad’s in his early seventies, and your mom is only 66. They’re not going anywhere, anytime soon, Lloyd said. I’m tired of waiting, Tru. So was Big Mike, but his wife didn’t need to know that.

Maybe my parents will have an unfortunate accident.

Lloyd liked the way her voice sounded in the dark bedroom—coy, wild, and sexy.

Car accident? he suggested.

Attacked and killed by escaped mental patients.

How about spontaneous combustion?

Trudy got the giggles.

"No! Wait! I’ve got it! They’ll be crushed by a flying house, like in The Wizard of Oz!"

They laughed, held each other, and then, miracle of miracles, made love for the second time that night.

Step3: Place in areas