What’s your strongest opening to a story?

Late to the party.

"Strongest opening" is such a widely interpreted thing.

If I went with solid opening lines, JUST the opening lines, it's a toss up between:

You Hear The Bullet
"They say you never hear the bullet with your name on it. Allow me to dispel that myth."

or

The Devil And Angel Em
"It seemed like a good idea at the time, it really did. But then, bad ideas often do."

But as far as an opening that I think drew readers in best?

The opening of Accidental Nudes:
I had just gotten off the conference call that had tied up most of my morning when my personal phone chirped.

It was a text message from my secretary, Shelly.

"Why is she texting me instead of using the intercom?" I wondered.

Opening it, I found a shocking surprise.

The text read, "Hey, baby, miss you so much! Thinking about you at work has got me so wet 😉."

The picture below showed an upskirt view of what surely must have been my secretary of five year's panties, a damp spot clearly visible on the cotton fabric.

It wastes no time getting right to the heart of the story. No set up or backstory, just right to the accidental nudes promised in the title.
 
I'm proud of my opening line in Emergence:

"I'm allowed one orgasm per month."

'Orgasm' to make it clear this is a sexual story, and 'allowed' to convey that the main character is being restrained or controlled in some way.
 
I'm proud of my opening line in Emergence:

"I'm allowed one orgasm per month."

'Orgasm' to make it clear this is a sexual story, and 'allowed' to convey that the main character is being restrained or controlled in some way.
One of the comments says something like "ridiculous and I loved it." All I can say to that is a hearty "hear, hear!"
 
This one seems to have worked:
I don't hang out with my girlfriends on Tuesday nights. I don't date or work late. I don't meet my boyfriend, when I have one. Because Tuesday nights are when she teaches ballet.

There's a community centre that backs onto the same courtyard as my flat. The window, only a few feet away from my box room, covers almost the entire wall, from ceiling to floor. There's a theatre group that rehearses, and there are art classes, and exercises for the elderly -- ironic, because it's three floors up with no lift.

And on Tuesday nights she teaches a ballet class for grown-ups.
- From Pas de Trois: "A woman spies on three dancers"
 
Someone just Faved my story Meaningless Kisses, so I had a look at it (it was published over a year ago), and I'm still pretty happy with the start. The first paragraph could be condensed a bit, but it's not bad. And we get a description of the other woman worked in without looking too obvious. It's probably better for readers familiar with the cramped venue, but suspect it works for anyone clicking on the Lesbian Sex category.

The First Out café was always crowded upstairs. I balanced my meal and drink on my tray, praying I wouldn't have to resort to seeking a seat in the basement, when I spied an empty chair.

"Excuse me. Is this seat taken?

"No, not at all. You're welcome." The well-spoken tone wasn't what I'd expected from the sullen late-teenage girl, who clutched her denim jacket around herself as she looked up from her popular thriller. I gave her a second look.

"Is that food good?" she asked.

"Yes! It always is. Put it this way, I ate here regularly for about six months before I realised it was all vegetarian."

"Impressive. Could you mind my seat, while I get some, too? Thank you." She gave me a shy smile, transforming her grumpy appearance.

I'm a sucker for a cute smile.

I gave the girl a good long third look while I had a good view of her from behind. A tall brunette, dressed in black, hair drawn back in a practical bunch, deep red lipstick a nod to dressing up. Slim, cute little cleavage and dinky curves of her bum in snug jeans. Nice.

Totally different from my blonde ex, who had just ruined my plans for my evening, by materialising and taking her new squeeze downstairs to the basement bar. That bar would shortly become an intimate nightclub, which I had planned to dance my cares away in.

The girl in black returned, with a plate. "Thanks. You come here often, then?"
 
“You want to fuck my sister, don’t you?”

Not a sweeping, strong opening but the views skyrocketed faster than I recall ever seeing in any of my other stories.

Ashley’s Sister
 
From Alison Goes to London:

"Fucking or Non-Fucking?" asked the lady behind the ticket counter.
"Fucking, please," replied Alison confidently.
"First Class or Shit Class?"
"First, please."
"Two-berth, four-berth, or seat?"
"Uh... what's the difference?"
"Well, it's a long journey, so frankly, if you're planning on doing any fucking, I would avoid the seat carriages. You can just about give a blowjob, but there's barely room to spread your legs. Are you travelling alone?"
"Yes."
"Then I'd go for a four-berth fucker. More fun that way: you might get a nice little orgy going."
"Okay, that sounds good. So, one ticket for the 10.30 Whiteshit Express to London, in a First Class four-berth fucker."
"Would you like to pre-book any extras?"
"Like what?"
"Well, in First Class Fucking you can book a strap-on fuck from the conductor if you like."
"Only strap-on? No real cocks?"
"Not on this service. They used to offer a choice of male or female fuckers in First Class, but in the past year they've gone for female conductors only. Austerity, I guess."
"Well, maybe I'll just wait and see. I can purchase a fuck on board, can't I?"
"Oh, sure. And that way you can see who you're sharing your compartment with before you pay for any extras."
"Okay, I'll do that. So how much is that?"
"One thousand three hundred and forty-four euros."
"Here you are. Thanks a lot, you've been very helpful. Lick my pussy, ma'am."
"Lick m' pussy, young lady. Have a good trip."
 
Alternatively (though I can't really claim credit for it), from The Fockit, or, In and Out Again:

In a Hole in an Arse there lived a Fockit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet Hole, filled with the ends of turds and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy Hole with nothing about it worth eating or slobbering at: it was a Fockit Hole, and that means comfort.
 
From this week's latest WIP, a tale of sword & sorcery set in the world of The Rivals:
Night lay on the temple complex like a silk blanket. Beyond the tall walls, the desert wind whispered the secrets of the sands to the small settlement, but here silence reigned.

It crept through halls and passages and echoed around courtyards. It lurked in black corners like a predator lying in wait for its prey. It swallowed the tiniest sound alive.

Orra preferred the temple at night. It was stifling during the day, both from the heat and from the press of bodies. Priests, servants and supplicants rubbed shoulders – literally, on the days of the High Sun. Even hushed, their voices battered against the walls and ceilings until Orra sometimes felt she might suffocate.
 
That absolutely nails the sword and sorcery vibe. Definitely taking notes for my own foray into the genre
Thanks! I think some of the best S&S uses the opening paragraphs to paint a vivid picture of the setting to get the reader in the right mindset, and from there on it focuses more on the action. RE Howard's The Tower of the Elephant, for example, accomplishes that with a level of mastery that I can only dream of.
 
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