Truth be told, Elise didn’t even really like him. That’s not to say she wasn’t already wet when she got off at his subway stop and climbed the familiar stairs into the lingering evening sun. She hadn’t been to his apartment in weeks. She hadn’t walked through the dirty streets of his neighborhood, next to the big school with the high metal fence and the little stores with the weird religious candles and the exotic smells.
All right, maybe she liked him in some weird way. He could be a good friend, in his own fashion, if he wanted to, but he was so very full of himself sometimes, so very Mark. They had dated for a while around two years ago, and maybe they were even in love for a couple of minutes, but Mark was an ass and that all disintegrated quickly. He was a much better fuck than he ever was a boyfriend.
Continue reading Ménage à Text
A story influenced by Alice in Wonderland. A young girl slips into a daydream world and is thrown into a frightening adventure. WARNING! Don’t read this if you are offended by fairy tale type characters of indeterminate age, very questionable consent, attempted cannibalism(?!), obscene cutlery, mammoth root vegetables and/or the misuse of butter.
Continue reading A Meal of You
I came home to find the apartment in disarray. A lamp, which was still on, was laying on the floor, shining a spotlight on the half empty bookshelf. The books were strewn about floor and one was soaking up the water that a vase once held, the violets having been trampled.
My Betty was a bruiser, a broad shouldered girl, too tall to ever be comfortable in her own skin. She’d been beaten into shape as a kid by her step-father, that was until she was old enough to kick his ass.
She sat on the kitchen floor with the last of my good bourbon. Unlaced roller-skates, a black skirt, and one of my old white t-shirts. Her tattoos were nothing but shadows under the white cotton, thick black and red lines peeking out.
“We lost,” she slurred and gave me a particularly petulant glare.
I poured myself a glass of water and leaned on the counter of the small kitchen, looking down at her as she rocked the bottle of amber liquid on the black and white tiled floor.
Continue reading Betty the Bruiser
Warning: This story involves forced sex/rape fantasies and role playing. Read The Date, Part 1 first.
I wonder what she saw when she looked at me. I was dying of curiosity, actually. I wanted to see the look in her eyes, study her body language, pick her apart, but we both had roles here. I had to drive. I had to look forward and clench my jaw and go.
“This isn’t the way to my apartment.” She was pouting with every word.
I didn’t have to pretend when I scoffed.
When I got to my block I was trying to formulate something that wouldn’t seem that horrific to anyone who might see us, but at the same time let her know that I was serious. I parked across the street and turned off the engine. I looked at her dead in the eyes. She had her arms folded in front of her chest and she was frowning. Continue reading Fiction – The Date, Part Two
Warning: This story involves forced sex/rape fantasies and role playing. Read The Date, Part 2 next.
The crickets chirped as I pulled the car up to the clearing. Nothing but trees around us and stars above us. I turned off the motor but left the lights and the radio on. Out there the station was a little static-y, but the smooth sounds of an old Motown song came through.
Stacy was twenty. We met online, talked a lot, hit it off. I wasn’t sure she would go for me. I was a bit older, a little awkward. Turns out she was just as awkward. Two book nerds who found we hit it off pretty well over coffee.
She was pretty; sort of fair skinned, green eyed, very short reddish brown hair parted neatly with bangs that were swept to the side and held back with a barrette. She was that perfect (at least for me) edge of just a little chubby. The slightest little belly and a plump bottom and chubby cheeks and cupid bow lips. She wore a light blue shirt with some band name on it I’ve never heard of and a smart little denim skirt. Knee high socks and Chucks. Cute. Adorable even. Big bright eyes and lip-glossed lips. Continue reading Fiction – The Date, Part One
It must have been because it was Halloween.
Violet just didn’t do things like this. She was a nice girl. She was a disciplined girl. She had a good job and a lovely apartment. She visited her parents regularly. She fed her cat and went to the gym and sent thank you cards to people who gave her gifts.
It was Halloween, though, and sometimes when you put on a costume it just changes you. It changes you enough to do something crazy, if only for one night.
Originally she really didn’t want to go to the party. She didn’t even have a costume, but her friend Christine had brought over some rabbit ears and said “Just put on the sluttiest thing you have and you can be a Playboy bunny or something!”
Continue reading Fiction – Halloween
For the writing prompt “outdoors” though being a city boy this was as outdoors as I tend to get. I wrote this in bits and pieces. I do love my iPhone and the ability to write on the go. One more prompt that I think will be a continuation of this one.
Continue reading Writing Prompt – Our Stop
And now for something completely different. I wrote bits of this a while ago, but it’s been floating around in my head lately so I put the finishing touches on it. This weekend I will have ample writing time, but no internet connect save my iPhone. Hopefully I can get some serious smut down.
Continue reading Fiction – Mike
Jack was addicted. It was something he needed to admit to himself. It was something he needed help with. It was something that was part of him.
“Gimme a quad shot cappuccino, very dry, non-fat milk.”
He stood at the counter digging deep into the pockets of his jeans trying to get another fifty cents. It was a costly habit, four shots of espresso with a little steamed milk was five bucks.
Behind him a line of well dressed people tried to summon the psychic power needed to destroy him. He was holding up the line, therefor holding up their caffeine intake. This was a dangerous thing.
“Don’t worry, you come in every day like three times. I think I can overlook fifty cents.” the girl with the thick glasses and the tight shirt behind the counter said with a smile.
Blond, bright green eyes, a nose ring. She was very cute, but a little to skinny and bubbly for Jack’s taste. He smiled and handed her his deficient funds.
“Quad non fat cap, dry!” she barked over to the barista.
Continue reading Barista
They broke up on the train.
Trains push his memories to the surface. All the trips into the country as a child. All the trees passing by, leaves changing to red and gold.
The city fades fast, faster then you can imagine. It is so small compared to the stretches of country to the Jersey Shore, to Upstate, to Boston and Maryland and DC.
Looking at Maggie, he could see her fighting her childhood memories. At least he wanted to think she was fighting them, hoping they were there to be fought. She had her nose in a notebook, making a list of things to do.
Continue reading Fiction – The Wrong Smith Girl