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[Actingup]

I use that particular physics paradox in another story, a long one I'm in the process of publishing here:

https://literotica.com/s/separatrix-pt-01-ch-01

Your image that my MMC is trapped in a box with the cat (he meets her in the first scene) is really on target. I with I'd though of that and had him imagine or maybe dream of that happening.

For the WIP with opening lines I submitted above, I think the dean's office should somehow have two doors, and my MC storms out of both at once. I need to figure out how to work that in. Thanks!

Or oscillates wildly between the two realities for a bit until the Dean shuts one of the doors... or something like that!

 

[EmilyMiller]

I plan to catch up on this thread and ideally comment on each excerpt. Thanks for the posts. Keeping to something equivalent to a paragraph would be kinda helpful, even if the text is split between lines of dialog. Say < 100 words.

 

[Andreas_Kreuz]

"Come on girl, don't be so naive," Michelle said. "He is kinky. But too scared of himself to admit it. Classic whore versus saint syndrome. You have to be the saint. But deep down he wants a slut to fuck. To keep you as his saint, he finds the slut somewhere else."

 

[redgarters]

From a WIP being beta read. I don't know if this shows I've got any real writing chops, but I'm happy with it. In a short passage it gives a glimpse into what defines the two women I'm writing about. Lydia, the narrator, is a NYPD officer looking for a roommate. Marianne is a mother recently out of prison, trying to get back custody of her daughter.

---
It was written in the look on her face. She had lost hope, she knew there was no chance a cop was going to be roommates with a felony convict. She knew it was over.

But there was something solid underneath the hopeless, tired desperation. That steely determination.

She knew it was over but she was still standing, still facing me with her back straight. Still fighting for her kid to the very last moment with everything she had, even if she thought the battle was lost.

I respected that. I knew what it felt like to have parents who didn't give a shit.

I exhaled. Fuck. Tasha was going to have a field day with this.

“Okay. I'll give you the room.”

“What?”

“You can have the room.”

She swayed like she was going to drop from surprise, and her mouth opened in a pure moment of honest shock.

“W…why?”

I couldn't help a small smirk.

“Because you're not the first person to need a second chance.”
---

 

[Rob_Royale]

From my WIP, Bouncing Bonnie and Tail Chaser. (edit- the first draft)

“So, tell me, how long were you seeing this ‘friend with benefits’? Bonnie asked Tristan over the top of her beer glass. Her eyeshadow was dark and seductive, and the way she was looking at him was making his heart pound. A rather exhausted-looking server had just dropped off their pitcher and taken their meal orders.

The diner was a homey-looking place, full of yard sale antiques on the walls and old photos of Kansas City dating back to the covered wagon days.

Tristan shrugged. “About a year.”

Bonnie took a sip of the amber liquid, leaving a lipstick mark on the glass. “Was she your age or someone older?”

Feeling his face redden, Tristan took a sip of his beer. “What makes you ask?” he asked with a grin.

He felt his heart beat like a triphammer when she smiled back. “Let’s just say it could pertain to the rest of our evening.”

 

[gunhilltrain]

"____________________"

Very minimalist, avant-garde. It invites the readers to imagine their own stories in that space. In the world of painting, a blank white canvas would serve the same purpose. "What do you think should go in here?"

 

[ChloeTzang]

“I don’t believe you,” she said. She looked frightened though. “This is the twenty-fifth century. Things like that don’t happen now.”

My heart jolted with sudden shock. Probably everyone else’s hearts did too. We all looked at each other. I did wonder if I was as wide-eyed and startled-looking as they were. I felt it. Not just startled. Stunned. Stunned and now I was a little scared. Everyone else looked scared too.

“What?” Brittany said. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Brittannnnny,” Elena Woo said despairingly. “Don’t you even know what cycle and year it is? We don’t use those fascist anti-worker religio-oppressive Laowei dates anymore, we haven’t for two hundred years, and you might be a Laowei, but first and foremost, you’re a citizen of the Chinese Hegemony and that makes you Chinese.”

“Do they still use those old religious dates in Gold Mountain Province?” Penny whispered, her eyes wide, like we’d suddenly found ourselves in a real life horror movie. Dawn of the Living Fascists or something.

“Uh…we do, at home,” Brittany admitted.

“Why?” I asked, and I knew I sounded plaintive. This was worse than we’d all thought. This was awful. If Security found out….I shuddered, I really did. Didn’t she have any idea what she’d just admitted to? She was clueless, she really was, and she was going to get us into trouble with her too.

“What’s the real date, Brittany?” I asked as an afterthought.

“Uh….”

Elena and I were still holding Brttany’s arms and we looked across her at each other, and I think Elena was as shocked as I was.

She had to think about what the date was. Mao! This was worse than awful.

“It’s…uh…it’s five thousand and…and….”

“Huangdi five thousand one hundred and forty seven,” Artemis said, very very patiently. “The forty seventh year, Geng-Xu, in cycle eighty five. Don’t you know that?”

“We use the real date, Brittany,” Penny said, as if she was talking to a child. “We don’t count dates from the birth of some semi-fictional person whose existence isn’t even confirmed by documentation who founded some weird religious cult that the Hegemony has prohibited as subversive that started off in some barbarian empire that’s been gone for two thousand odd years.”

“Why in Mao’s name would you do that?” Artemis asked. “It’s just weird. We count dates from the birth date of the Yellow Emperor, who was actually the first Glorious Chairman except they didn’t know to call him that back then, but that’s what he was. Didn’t they teach you that? That First Chairman Huang-di actually invented the calendar and founded the original Chinese Hegemony over five thousand years ago and started the first calendar from the date of his birth, which is documented in our records. And “we” includes you, Brittany. You may be a Laowei minority, but you’re a citizen of the Chinese Hegemony, just like us.”

 

[gunhilltrain]

Shamelessly plugging my own Born to Run author challenge with this one...

“Hello, lover,” said Tink, standing naked under the shower head, right in front of Wendy. A tribal tattoo adorned her right arm, twisting from shoulder to wrist, and matching barbells ran through the crinkled pink of her nipples. The gold of the piercings matched the yellow blonde of Tink’s pixie-cut hair. Both were sparkling.

Wendy from Peter Pan is living in New Jersey, as Wendy from Springsteen's Born to Run.

Sprung from cages on Highway 9
Chrome-wheeled, fuel-injected
And steppin’ out over the line
Baby this town rips the bones from your back
It’s a death trap, it’s a suicide rap
We gotta get out while we’re young
‘Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run.

I think cages is motorcyclist lingo for automobiles.

https://shorebeat.com/tomsriver/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/IMG_1114-1024x768.jpg

 

[MelissaBaby]

Sprung from cages on Highway 9
Chrome-wheeled, fuel-injected
And steppin’ out over the line
Baby this town rips the bones from your back
It’s a death trap, it’s a suicide rap
We gotta get out while we’re young
‘Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run.

I think cages is motorcyclist lingo for automobiles.

https://shorebeat.com/tomsriver/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/IMG_1114-1024x768.jpg

Very cool idea!

 

[lc69hunter]

From "The Marriage Plus Project"

Now about those rings you have been twisting and playing with. Never take them off. You are a hotwife, and you need to own it with pride. If you take them off, you are just another slut wanting to fuck around on her husband. Besides, when you hook up with a lucky guy, he will see those rings and get extra pumped because he getting ready to fuck another man’s wife, and will go the extra mile to try and convince you he is better than your husband. And you? When you look at that man, and wrap your fingers around him with those rings on, you will get a rush knowing you are getting ready to fuck a man who isn’t your husband. Again, one of the benefits of being a hotwife. And, BTW, a reminder, being a hotwife in a relationship like this does not give you a license to be a whore. Respect your husband, the man that you love.

 

[Archie93]

There wasn't usually a more hot looking woman in the gym that early. And Shivani was unusually curvy and muscular for a woman her age. By now, I have noticed her for a whole year and a quarter. We never miss an opportunity to smile at each other for a little longer than friends do.

 

[djrip]

"Malkuth!" he cried out, with tears in his eyes. He knew the moment it was about to happen, tightening his grip around his mount's neck as the great wings spread with a sound like a snapping sail, and then began to beat the air, stirring dust and bones from the stone floor. He kept his eyes open as the dragon launched them both into a broad corridor and out a colonnaded gallery, to soar away from the tower and over the mountainous landscape below.

Dragon and rider arced around the tower in an upward spiral, and then caught a thermal, gliding on still wings toward a row of cliffs in the distance. Tlan looked back at the tower and saw a pair of winged forms flying out, beating at the air for altitude and angling toward him. As he watched one of the flyers dove at the other, which evaded and snapped back, appearing to miss. He shook his head and chuckled.

"Where do you want to take them, Mal?" asked Tlan, rubbing the dragon's neck. "Someplace nice, mind."

The creature snorted, releasing a cloud of vapor, and angled downward, passing under a natural stone bridge. The sides of a canyon were a blur on either side of him as they swept over a narrow river, until the walls opened outward and they were skimming the mirror-like surface of a perfectly round mountain lake. Tlan could see the reflection of Malkuth's red and black body against a backdrop of blue sky and fluffy white clouds in the water just below his feet.

 

[VallesMarineris]

Or oscillates wildly between the two realities for a bit until the Dean shuts one of the doors... or something like that!

Hmm. I get it. The dean detects the emotional waveform that my protagonist is projecting, thus collapsing it.

That would be a brilliant conceit, but I suspect only you and Emily would get it.

 

[Actingup]

Hmm. I get it. The dean detects the emotional waveform that my protagonist is projecting, thus collapsing it.

That would be a brilliant conceit, but I suspect only you and Emily would get it.

If you get the title and tags right, the right readers will find it eventually

 

[EmmatheRunner]

It was hardly a Balinese mindfulness retreat, but it was as close to communing with nature as she could find in Peckham.

Just because this is so me. Everyone else goes super exotic and mine are just normal women doing normal stuff, in unexciting places...

 

[EmilyMiller]

It was hardly a Balinese mindfulness retreat, but it was as close to communing with nature as she could find in Peckham.

Just because this is so me. Everyone else goes super exotic and mine are just normal women doing normal stuff, in unexciting places...

Having been to Peckham once

 

[dreams_in_words]

I plan to catch up on this thread and ideally comment on each excerpt. Thanks for the posts. Keeping to something equivalent to a paragraph would be kinda helpful, even if the text is split between lines of dialog. Say < 100 words.

Thank you for starting this thread. It gives me a preview of "cumming" attractions to keep on the lookout for.

 

[TarnishedPenny]

From my Goldfinch WIP:

I was weeding Annie’s garden when it started. I say ‘Annie’s’ garden because it was she who had seen its potential, she who poured forty-five years of love into her flowers and bushes and… And now it is my garden and I tend it in her memory, seeing her and her love in every bud and berry, every raspberry and rose. I’m not as good at it as she was and never will never be, but I have some faint hope that she might be watching my efforts from somewhere and be pleased.

 

[EmilyMiller]

From my Goldfinch WIP:

I was weeding Annie’s garden when it started. I say ‘Annie’s’ garden because it was she who had seen its potential, she who poured forty-five years of love into her flowers and bushes and… And now it is my garden and I tend it in her memory, seeing her and her love in every bud and berry, every raspberry and rose. I’m not as good at it as she was and never will never be, but I have some faint hope that she might be watching my efforts from somewhere and be pleased.

I love how you convey suppressed hurt in matter of fact phrases.

 

[pink_silk_glove]

I don't like revealing WiPs but I'll break my rule with this one.

"What does it mean to be a prostitute and why is it looked down upon?" Corina asked and then paused before giving the answer. "It means doing a job that you'd rather not do at all except for the money. Well, I'm no sex worker but that sounds like every fucking job I've ever had. Funny how no one looks down on me for being a data and billing clerk, and you make more money than I do - tax free! So fuck what they think."

 

[APilgrimSquare]

From a longer story I'm working on about a divorced, horny father whose daughter and her friends spend a weekend with him at the beach house. Basic gist is protag develops the hots for one of the friends, that friend sticks around after the weekend is over, but she might end up having more control over him than he'd bargained for:

Soon I spotted the driftwood again and was shortly swinging my sandals in one hand, wiping the sweat through my hair as I walked back up our deck. I was still thinking of that jogger’s body, when I noticed another body on the deck in front of me. Gianna had her legs spread apart on a yoga mat and was bent forward, resting her forearms on the deck, her legs and ass forming a capital-M. The zip-up hoodie she had been wearing at breakfast lay rumpled on the deck beside her, leaving her with only a tiny pair of black workout shorts and a matching halter. She looked up before I could look away in time.

 

[NC_Coastal]

From my summertime contest entry that I never finished:

Our neighborhood was spread out along the river and the country club, away from the noise and the smell of tourists, their cars belching trails of fumes and Coppertone as they snaked their way to the bridge and the Crystal Coast that drew them like lemmings to our hot, sandy beaches where they would take their clothes off and drink themselves to oblivion, becoming different human beings for a week or so before returning home to their dull lives in the city.

 

[VallesMarineris]

"What does it mean to be a prostitute and why is it looked down upon?" Corina asked and then paused before giving the answer. "It means doing a job that you'd rather not do at all except for the money. Well, I'm no sex worker but that sounds like every fucking job I've ever had. Funny how no one looks down on me for being a data and billing clerk, and you make more money than I do - tax free! So fuck what they think."

This made me laugh out loud. And reminded me of a short, mostly dysfunctional relationship I had with a woman who liked to explain to me that "gentlemen" were supposed to make "gestures" to show their appreciation for a woman-- all of which gestures had hefty price tags. When I actually sprung for a plane ticket so she could visit her sick sister I got barely a thank you. I suppose there's a story in there somewhere, but it looks like a tragedy, so I don't think I'll pursue it.

 

[NuclearFairy]

This is from my WIP Neptune's Curse

He circled uncertainly in place until Jenas rejoined him, and then he grumbled to the other merman, “You can’t come, you have people here who need you.”

Gripping Mathias’ shoulder reassuringly, Jenas gently replied, “They don’t need me. You, however, do.”

When Mathias stubbornly pouted at him Jenas just as stubbornly said, “Now, either you can stay here with me, or I can go out there with you. You pick.”

Mathias cast a nervous glance downwards at the many mermaids that were starting to stir just below them, before shuddering in fear and wordlessly heading north with Jenas easily keeping pace beside him.

 

[PennyThompson]

Still noodling on this one, I'm not sure what it's going to turn into just yet...

It was the hottest driest summer in living memory when Margie Colton was hexed and murdered in her bed, choked on a witch ball.

She was a small skinny woman all her life and only got smaller and skinnier as she aged, so she was practically a mummy when the mailman found her, dead for days, dried and rattling like a honey locust seed pod.

It shouldn’t ought to have caused much stir. Old folks die up in the hollers all the time, unremarked and unmourned. But when the undertaker came to collect Margie’s mortal remains, he found a witch ball made of mud and beeswax and horsehair jammed up in her toothless mouth.

It was a well-known and undisputed fact that witches lived among the God-fearing folk of the hollers, and were responsible for all manner of blessings and curses.

A witch, properly flattered and paid, might be convinced to trade a service. She might be willing to share a poultice that’ll heal a stubborn wound. She might mark a spot to sink a well that will give clean water. If asked kindly, she might whisper a secret in a man’s ear that’ll make his wife scream in delight every evening.

On th’other hand, if a farmer scorns a witch asking for a cup of cool water on a hot day, she might hex their cow and make it to give down bloody milk. If a man should trespass on a witch’s land, steal from her peach tree or her collard patch, and she might curse his cock to limpness. Or she might turn him into a horse and ride him around at night.

To draw the ire of a witch so strong that she would kill you dead with a witch ball… old Margie Colton must’ve done something powerful insulting.