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I hear a lot about the need for more dialogue, dialogue in politics, relationships, just about everywhere, and certainly stories. I decided to explore the writing technique and tested myself with a short story comprised entirely of dialogue, a story where nothing is written that is not spoken by the characters. I found the task interesting as hell, far more demanding in choosing words and thoughts, and despite it all, perhaps a bit too easy. I would sure appreciate your objective comments. First impressions are terrific, and further considerations even better. I hope you enjoy this.
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Dialogue on the Train
“Excuse me?”
“Of course, this seat is free. Please… Let me move this out of your way.”
“Thanks. There. Sorry to bother your briefcase.”
“Not at all. The train’s crowded lately and I have no right to take up two seats.”
“Yes, it’s crowded, but it never seems too much to keep you form banging away on that laptop.”
“Am I that obvious? I suppose it looks kind of funny, buried in this thing every day. I’ll stop if it bothers you.”
“Not at all. It’s a boring hour's ride and I don't blame you. Between the two of us, you are the smart one. I just sit and let my mind go to waste.”
“Believe me, you could not be a waste of anything.”
“Oh? Well, thanks, I think.”
“Thank you, actually. You uh, brighten up this car. I do enjoy the hour here. Writing is liberating. A chance to let the imagination fly.”
“Oh? Then why did you close your laptop when I just sat beside to you?”
“Oh, you noticed. Hmm… How do I say this?”
“Shhh. Like this - whisper.”
“Nice smile. That’s intoxicating perfume. Sorry. I’ll whisper then. I uh, write erotica, for fun.”
“Erotica!”
“Hey! That’s a whisper?”
“Oh. Shhh. Sorry. Wow. I love erotica.”
“You do?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Very nice.”
“What's very nice?”
“Your chest. Oops. I guess I should save the bold-speak for the laptop.”
“My chest?”
“You looked down at your chest when you said you liked erotica.”
“I did?”
“That’s not a bad thing. I’ve been looking at your chest for weeks. There I go again. You'll have to forgive me.”
“Really!”
“Really.”
“I’m flattered. I guess you know, I’ve been looking at you too.”
“Yes! I could only hope, of course, but now I feel like a fool for not introducing us sooner.”
“Yes, You should have. So what are you writing? Can I see?”
“You did it again.”
“What? Oh. Looked at my boobs?”
“Shhh!Yes. I’m beginning to think you like those glorious orbs as much as I do. Sorry, that just slipped out.”
"It did, huh? Are you going to let me read what you are writing, or aren't you?”
“Are you sure? I don’t hold back when I write this stuff. I don’t want to offend.”
“You see my smile? Glorious orbs, huh? Let me see that story”
“Oh wow! Sorry, your lips drive me nuts too. You asked for it. Here.”
“I can hold it. There. Let’s see. This little nipple thing is the mouse? ‘Jenna looked up at me from the floor, her full ass lodged up against the bed and her back curved down to her shoulders, pressed flat on the floor. Long wavy, reddish-brown hair was arrayed on the throw rug beneath her pretty head. Two glorious orbs of bulbous, firm breast flesh were poised above her chest like rolling hills beckoning me to climb. Their areole peaks were reddish brown like her hair, textured perfectly and crowned with large nipples, hard and protruding directly at me. From her inviting ass, propped up and offered to me with both wanton orifices begging my intrusion, rose a pair of full thighs encapsulated in back-seamed stockings reaching up her long legs from slender feet within a few inches of her suddenly moistening, swollen pussy lips…”
“Why did you stop? Did it offend you?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“You could be describing me.”
“What makes…”
“You are, aren’t you? You wrote this about me, didn’t you? You wrote a pornographic story about a woman you spied on the train.”
“It’s pornographic, only because you are reading just that part. There’s a lot of plot in there, a real story first. Look. You started on page nine. Awe, what can I say? You want me to erase it? I’m sorry. Truly.”
“You would do that?”
“Of course! You are the last person I want to make unhappy.”
“Why?”
“Actually?”
“Yes. Honest Injun.”
“I have always admired you. You’re the sexiest woman on this train, every morning. And in what little I’ve heard of conversations you’ve had, I’ve always heard you tell it like it is, and I scream for candor.”
“Tell me more.”
“Tell you more. Hmmm. It’s all in there, really. But as long as you’re asking, I think your breasts are not just huge, but absolutely lively.”
“Lively!”
“Shhh, whisper, remember? Anyway, your gorgeous breasts. They have personalities of their own. I mean it! Don’t laugh. When you happen to sit someplace facing me, I watch them move with your every twist or turn. You tend to talk with your hands, and that’s perfect for watching you, believe me. And they move so independently, so impetuously, they keep me, well, fascinated the whole trip. I can’t tell you how many mornings I have waited for you to leave this train, before I can fold my laptop and not embarrass myself.”
“Oh, come on... More!”
“Wow. You’re talking to me like this. It's nearly more than I can handle. Just look at you. Your hair, is intoxicating. I dream of inhaling it, or having it…”
“Having it what?”
“You asked for this. I dream of having it gliding over my stomach, caressing my skin, my thighs, my…”
“Your balls?”
“Ohhh yes, my balls. You unbelievably sexy thing you. You are sure making this trip.”
“Good. Now tell me more.”
“My God! Where did you ever come from? I think I better pinch myself.”
“If it comes to that, I’ll see to it. Now talk!”
“You love to wear tight, short skirts. And I absolutely adore a woman’s figure as it emerges from a tight, short skirt. But you, you are so hot that way. You sometimes cross a leg and I watch that movement like an eagle watches its prey, the white skin under your thighs, that birth mark inside your right knee. Not a detail gets by, believe me. The crease behind your knee, for some reason, drives me nuts. And don’t ask why, ‘cause I don’t know. It just does. And oh, when you stand. I have dreams about your hips, your, uh, well, your delicious ass. Hell, I dream about all your beautiful parts. Hey, I’m sorry. Now you must really think I’m some kind of pervert or something.”
“…”
“Damn. You do. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“Shut up. First of all, as you pointed out, I asked for it. Why do men think they can’t talk to women? You are marvelous! Why do you think I dress the way I do? I can’t believe I’m actually getting to talk about this with a stranger, but you have some kind of aura of truth about you, or something like that. I’m not a writer, not so eloquent as you. I dress in hot skirts and tight bras and wag my tits and ass because I love to be watched! Damnit! What you’ve been doing, and especially what you did on this laptop, whooooeee! You make my day, Mr. Author.”
“Whoa. You have me now. I don’t know how to respond.”
“Honey, whatever your name is, and whatever you WERE going to do today, you aren’t! Do you understand me? When we get off this train, we are going straight across Seventh Avenue to a hotel and I am going give you everything you need to finish that story!”
“…”
“Oh, come on! What’s the matter? I thought you couldn’t wait to…”
“Read the last paragraph of that same chapter. On the laptop.”
“Oh? Let’s see. It says, ‘Honey, whatever your name is, and whatever you WERE going to do today, you aren’t! Do you understand me? When we get off this train, we are going straight across Seventh Avenue to a hotel and I am going to give you everything you need to finish that story!’”
“Ohhhhhhhhhh YES! Baby, I like your ending.”
I hear a lot about the need for more dialogue, dialogue in politics, relationships, just about everywhere, and certainly stories. I decided to explore the writing technique and tested myself with a short story comprised entirely of dialogue, a story where nothing is written that is not spoken by the characters. I found the task interesting as hell, far more demanding in choosing words and thoughts, and despite it all, perhaps a bit too easy. I would sure appreciate your objective comments. First impressions are terrific, and further considerations even better. I hope you enjoy this.
==============================================
Dialogue on the Train
“Excuse me?”
“Of course, this seat is free. Please… Let me move this out of your way.”
“Thanks. There. Sorry to bother your briefcase.”
“Not at all. The train’s crowded lately and I have no right to take up two seats.”
“Yes, it’s crowded, but it never seems too much to keep you form banging away on that laptop.”
“Am I that obvious? I suppose it looks kind of funny, buried in this thing every day. I’ll stop if it bothers you.”
“Not at all. It’s a boring hour's ride and I don't blame you. Between the two of us, you are the smart one. I just sit and let my mind go to waste.”
“Believe me, you could not be a waste of anything.”
“Oh? Well, thanks, I think.”
“Thank you, actually. You uh, brighten up this car. I do enjoy the hour here. Writing is liberating. A chance to let the imagination fly.”
“Oh? Then why did you close your laptop when I just sat beside to you?”
“Oh, you noticed. Hmm… How do I say this?”
“Shhh. Like this - whisper.”
“Nice smile. That’s intoxicating perfume. Sorry. I’ll whisper then. I uh, write erotica, for fun.”
“Erotica!”
“Hey! That’s a whisper?”
“Oh. Shhh. Sorry. Wow. I love erotica.”
“You do?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Very nice.”
“What's very nice?”
“Your chest. Oops. I guess I should save the bold-speak for the laptop.”
“My chest?”
“You looked down at your chest when you said you liked erotica.”
“I did?”
“That’s not a bad thing. I’ve been looking at your chest for weeks. There I go again. You'll have to forgive me.”
“Really!”
“Really.”
“I’m flattered. I guess you know, I’ve been looking at you too.”
“Yes! I could only hope, of course, but now I feel like a fool for not introducing us sooner.”
“Yes, You should have. So what are you writing? Can I see?”
“You did it again.”
“What? Oh. Looked at my boobs?”
“Shhh!Yes. I’m beginning to think you like those glorious orbs as much as I do. Sorry, that just slipped out.”
"It did, huh? Are you going to let me read what you are writing, or aren't you?”
“Are you sure? I don’t hold back when I write this stuff. I don’t want to offend.”
“You see my smile? Glorious orbs, huh? Let me see that story”
“Oh wow! Sorry, your lips drive me nuts too. You asked for it. Here.”
“I can hold it. There. Let’s see. This little nipple thing is the mouse? ‘Jenna looked up at me from the floor, her full ass lodged up against the bed and her back curved down to her shoulders, pressed flat on the floor. Long wavy, reddish-brown hair was arrayed on the throw rug beneath her pretty head. Two glorious orbs of bulbous, firm breast flesh were poised above her chest like rolling hills beckoning me to climb. Their areole peaks were reddish brown like her hair, textured perfectly and crowned with large nipples, hard and protruding directly at me. From her inviting ass, propped up and offered to me with both wanton orifices begging my intrusion, rose a pair of full thighs encapsulated in back-seamed stockings reaching up her long legs from slender feet within a few inches of her suddenly moistening, swollen pussy lips…”
“Why did you stop? Did it offend you?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“You could be describing me.”
“What makes…”
“You are, aren’t you? You wrote this about me, didn’t you? You wrote a pornographic story about a woman you spied on the train.”
“It’s pornographic, only because you are reading just that part. There’s a lot of plot in there, a real story first. Look. You started on page nine. Awe, what can I say? You want me to erase it? I’m sorry. Truly.”
“You would do that?”
“Of course! You are the last person I want to make unhappy.”
“Why?”
“Actually?”
“Yes. Honest Injun.”
“I have always admired you. You’re the sexiest woman on this train, every morning. And in what little I’ve heard of conversations you’ve had, I’ve always heard you tell it like it is, and I scream for candor.”
“Tell me more.”
“Tell you more. Hmmm. It’s all in there, really. But as long as you’re asking, I think your breasts are not just huge, but absolutely lively.”
“Lively!”
“Shhh, whisper, remember? Anyway, your gorgeous breasts. They have personalities of their own. I mean it! Don’t laugh. When you happen to sit someplace facing me, I watch them move with your every twist or turn. You tend to talk with your hands, and that’s perfect for watching you, believe me. And they move so independently, so impetuously, they keep me, well, fascinated the whole trip. I can’t tell you how many mornings I have waited for you to leave this train, before I can fold my laptop and not embarrass myself.”
“Oh, come on... More!”
“Wow. You’re talking to me like this. It's nearly more than I can handle. Just look at you. Your hair, is intoxicating. I dream of inhaling it, or having it…”
“Having it what?”
“You asked for this. I dream of having it gliding over my stomach, caressing my skin, my thighs, my…”
“Your balls?”
“Ohhh yes, my balls. You unbelievably sexy thing you. You are sure making this trip.”
“Good. Now tell me more.”
“My God! Where did you ever come from? I think I better pinch myself.”
“If it comes to that, I’ll see to it. Now talk!”
“You love to wear tight, short skirts. And I absolutely adore a woman’s figure as it emerges from a tight, short skirt. But you, you are so hot that way. You sometimes cross a leg and I watch that movement like an eagle watches its prey, the white skin under your thighs, that birth mark inside your right knee. Not a detail gets by, believe me. The crease behind your knee, for some reason, drives me nuts. And don’t ask why, ‘cause I don’t know. It just does. And oh, when you stand. I have dreams about your hips, your, uh, well, your delicious ass. Hell, I dream about all your beautiful parts. Hey, I’m sorry. Now you must really think I’m some kind of pervert or something.”
“…”
“Damn. You do. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“Shut up. First of all, as you pointed out, I asked for it. Why do men think they can’t talk to women? You are marvelous! Why do you think I dress the way I do? I can’t believe I’m actually getting to talk about this with a stranger, but you have some kind of aura of truth about you, or something like that. I’m not a writer, not so eloquent as you. I dress in hot skirts and tight bras and wag my tits and ass because I love to be watched! Damnit! What you’ve been doing, and especially what you did on this laptop, whooooeee! You make my day, Mr. Author.”
“Whoa. You have me now. I don’t know how to respond.”
“Honey, whatever your name is, and whatever you WERE going to do today, you aren’t! Do you understand me? When we get off this train, we are going straight across Seventh Avenue to a hotel and I am going give you everything you need to finish that story!”
“…”
“Oh, come on! What’s the matter? I thought you couldn’t wait to…”
“Read the last paragraph of that same chapter. On the laptop.”
“Oh? Let’s see. It says, ‘Honey, whatever your name is, and whatever you WERE going to do today, you aren’t! Do you understand me? When we get off this train, we are going straight across Seventh Avenue to a hotel and I am going to give you everything you need to finish that story!’”
“Ohhhhhhhhhh YES! Baby, I like your ending.”
. Reading something aloud isn't dialogue. It's a sneaky way to avoid the dialogue. If it HAS to be about a story, I really really was hoping the most I would get would be her comentary about the story. Not the story itself.
