ElectricBadger
Virgin
- Joined
- Aug 19, 2008
- Posts
- 5
I began a new story a couple days ago and I'm doing a few new things stylistically: trying to work in a lot more dialogue and voice, a first person viewpoint, and especially working with a slower burning story that has more sensuality than sex. So far only the first chapter is complete (and alot remains to be written) but I'd really like to hear some feedback: does this interest? does it flow? are there any issues that I should correct now, before I get too involved in this thing?
My thanks ahead of time to everyone who replies. Because of the brevity so far (2300 words) I'm simply posting it here. Although the full story will involve much more, the attached is Lesbian/High School/Romance/DS.
--------------
A Bad Idea
By E. B.
I’ll never know what made me do it. I think, looking back, that it just seemed like a harmless dare. Sure, I knew the sorts of bad things that could happen to a teenage girl in the wrong part of town – I thought I knew, at least. They say teenagers feel immortal, and I guess they’re right, because I used to.
It’s been a long two months since then, though.
-
Chapter One: Birth of a Bad Idea
“A fucking sociology experiment! That’s bullshit! No other class has to do that. I told you we should have transferred into Mister Carlson’s class.” I sighed. Jazmin’s whining was getting old. I stretched out my legs a bit further on the sofa, wiggling my toes as they poked past the hems of my flannel jammies. Earlier in the night – before Jaz got fixated on the damn assignment – we’d taken turns painting each others’ nails, and mine were now a bright, sexy red that contrasted perfectly against my pale skin.
“Mister Carlson’s class does that integrated studies thing. Thirty pages. On the industrial revolution. You should kiss my feet for getting you out of that shit.” She was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the front of the couch, and I nudged her playfully in the chin with my foot. At the same time I pointedly raised the big screen’s volume two notches and turned my attention back to the Princess Diaries.
Jazmin giggled and made a face. “Yeah, okay. Fine.” She suddenly took on a mischievous grin, then lifted her butt a little off the floor, twisting around to be as good as her word. Her gloss pink lips felt like silk brushing my toes and the sudden feel of her tongue, wet and warm, made me shiver. I felt it straight between my legs as I stared at the way her tee shirt pulled tightly across her chest, but I made a loud “eeew!” of protest and gave a show of wiping myself clean.
She ignored my theatrics and took the opportunity to grab the remote. The movie flickered into black silence with an electronic click and she turned humorless again.
“Seriously, Livvie, I don’t know what I’m going to do for the stupid thing. All Miss Faber’s ideas are lame.”
I rolled my eyes while her back was turned. “God, Jazmin, enough about the damn experiment, already! It sucks, get over it. This is a sleepover, we should be talking about boys or something!” I had a well prepared case for a girlish crush on Barry Stevens. A senior and a star linebacker, he was a socially acceptable target for my professed attentions – but he’d been dating Sarah Wells for three years now, so there wasn’t much chance I’d be pressed to actually try to do anything with him. In reality, of course, I was no more attracted to him than any other guys in school.
Jazmin just shrugged in dismissal. “Boys are pigs.” Well, we could agree on that, anyways.
“Well, do an experiment to show how boys are pigs, then.” I reached over and yanked the remote back from her hands, mashing my thumb against the power switch and glaring at the screen, then felt a wash of guilt at my rudeness.
Jazmin shrugged, her shoulders pressing against my leg. “Whatever. You’re so weird.” She sounded more thoughtful than offended, though, so I relaxed and focused on the television. Hopefully she’d get an idea and stop bothering me.
I spent rest of the movie lost in popcorn and day dreams about Heather Matarazzo; I imagined myself kneeling in front of her on the palace’s red carpet, both of us naked as the court looked on jealously while my mouth and tongue really gave her the royal treatment. It took a moment to come back to earth when the credits began to roll past.
Jazmin stood up and yawned hugely, stretching her arms high over her head towards the travertine tiles of the high arched ceiling. For the second time that night I stared breathless as her breasts rose, straining, Heather forgotten in a moment. And then she spoke, and my mood went to hell again.
“I thought of a project for us. To show men are pigs, I mean. We go through some situations, see how they react, how much they behave only because they have to.” Another time it might have sounded interesting. Jaz was pretty smart, and the suggested stuff had been pretty lame. But I was already so fed up with her complaints that I’d go bat shit crazy listening to her try to explain.
“I already have a project. I wrote most of it up yesterday.” Before bothering to do the experiment, of course. It was easier to adjust my findings than actually try to analyze everyone’s reaction. If the final project didn’t require film clips I wouldn’t even bother actually carrying it out.
Jazmin ignored my protest. “Is your maid home?”
I wrinkled my brow in confusion. “What?”
“Nina. Your maid. The one who cleans this giant monstrosity you call a house. Is she home?”
“Oh.” I had a vague sense of unease, but I couldn’t define why or think of a way to avoid the question. “No. She leaves at seven.”
“Good.” Her arms dropped down to her sides with the rustling slap of skin on cloth, then she quickly skimmed out of her shirt and threw it towards me. I barely caught the thing; it was black, with the name and logo of an 80’s band. It might have been retro, cool, like I wasn’t at all, but I knew it was probably actually from the 80’s. From goodwill, most likely. Jazmin’s family didn’t have much money, and I knew this was a reason we became friends – both of us fascinated with lives beyond our own. I stared at the piece of clothing without comprehension, then looked up to see her walking away towards the main wing of the house. Her sleek, ebony back was bare and she threw a hand back over her shoulder, a black bra flying through the air to land at my feet. She was stripping, and my jaw dropped three feet.
“What…what are you doing?” I practically screamed it with panic, trying to sort out the turmoil of feelings in my breast – and other places. I knew this wasn’t…what I hoped, but I couldn’t help hoping, either. “Someone might see you!”
She paused and turned to look at me. For the first time I saw her naked breasts, huge and pendulous with taut, dark nipples. I couldn’t breathe.
“I wanna use the pool. And you said the maid was gone.”
I nodded, stuttering in my reply. “B-but, my parents, they might….”
She snorted, a derisive puff of air. “Yeah, right, bitch. Your parents are never home. Where are they now? Europe?”
I looked down, my face reddening even more. “Nepal,” I muttered.
“And I’ll bet my black ass you won’t see them again for a month.” When I didn’t respond she stepped closer to me, still half naked, her breasts so close I could touch them, somehow threatening. “Right?” she demanded.
I looked away and nodded, but in the expectant silence I felt like I had to respond. “Two. According to the note.”
“According to the note,” she repeated. Her intensity crumbled at my pitiful tone. Vanishing parents were the one thing we did share; mine seemed to want to be everywhere in the world but at home, while her single dad took more local trips to the bottoms of his tequila bottles. When she spoke again her voice was lighter, teasing. “Anyways, your pa could walk in on me just fine. He’s fucking hot!” She pretended to shiver in desire.
My stomach turned at the thought, and I had no need to fake a green look of disgust. “Ew. That’s gross.”
“And big feet. He’s probably got a huge dick.”
“You are so disgusting, Jaz.”
“Yeah,” she smiled, “I know. Race you to the pool!”
“But, you’re…you know….” I gestured feebly at her body, trying to take her in completely, devour her whole with my eyes while simultaneously looking away. It was a difficult feat to accomplish. “Naked.”
“Well, not yet….” She dragged out the last word as she quickly shimmied out of her torn jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor. “But now I am! Get over it, Livvie – nothing you haven’t seen before.”
My heart stopped as I caught a glimpse of dark, gleaming coils between her legs and I all I could think of was that I had definitely never seen anything like this before. Jazmin was wiry, muscled and athletic, and she always seemed tense, poised like a cat about to strike – I think her dad’s abuse left her half feral. She was delicious and exotic, forbidden and naked in my foyer, laughing in bright, crystal tones as she took long strides across Persian rugs and imported hardwood floors. It was like some wild, erotic creature had been unleashed in my house, and I ran after her, picking up her clothes as she dropped them haphazardly, playing the servant girl.
A few minutes later we were in the glass atrium, Jazmin’s decency somewhat restored by the motion of bright lights on water. I had tried to catch my breath as I changed inside the cedar planked shower stalls, but I still felt light headed, dizzy with emotion as I pumped my arms in swift, steady strokes across the pool. I watched my friend from the corner of my eye, trying to decipher her behavior; I never completely understood Jazmin, but tonight my interpretation was clouded by my own feelings, by what I wanted to see. I wanted to scream at her; I wanted to jump her. Instead, I swam as hard as I could until I was too exhausted to continue. Floating on my back, bobbing with each deep, ragged breath, I could almost forget about her – until I glanced over to see her sitting on the edge of the pool, legs spread just enough to reveal a hint of dark hair and pink skin.
I looked away quickly, my cheeks ablaze, but she laughed. “You’re such a prude.”
“What, because I’m not naked?” I laced my voice with sarcasm, although I knew it was true. The way she said it, though, made me feel ashamed: as if I were expected to run around wanton and naked.
She shrugged. “Yeah.”
“No,” I countered, “it just means I didn’t forget my swimsuit.”
She looked me in the eye and raised an inquisitive brow as she leaned back on her arms and splashed her dangling feet in the pool. The movement stretched her legs wider, treating me to an unobstructed view, and I couldn’t help but lower my gaze. She was wet and glistening, and I wondered if was just because of her recent swim, or something more. I wondered if she knew what she was doing; my own breaths were short and fast, but she was relaxed, casual. Like this was just two friends chatting by the pool.
“You’ve only got a suit ‘cause your maid put it in here,” she quipped. I ducked my head, a blossom of shame bursting in my stomach. It was true: Nina kept a one piece nearby, since my room was a long walk through the house from the atrium. “Besides, who said I forgot my suit? I just preferred it this way.”
I gasped, scandalized. “Jaz!”
“See? You are a prude.” She announced with the resigned, condescending air of proven case.
Inflamed with embarrassment and frustration, I struggled against her verdict even though I knew she was right. In fact, exactly because I knew she was right I felt a sudden, suicidal urge to prove her wrong. My mouth opened, moved without thinking, raced ahead as Jazmin led me on. “I’m not!” I raised my voice, unequivocal, a line in the sand.
She actually smirked. “Prove it.”
Still racing ahead, still unthinking, I responded with the dumbest words of my life. “Fine, I will. Name it.” Admittedly, I would have said the same thing if I’d thought first. I was already mad with lust and the dare sent my fantasies flying to every corner of my imagination, returning with images of my spending the night naked with Jazmin, her eyes wandering over my body to be inflamed by desire of her own, and frenzied passion in the gardens by moonlight.
So her response was rather anti-climatic. “Help me with my project.”
My hunger dried up like a desert and I pushed back into the pool. “Christ, that again? I told you, I’m doing the pregnant belly thing. Look like a preggo ditz for two hours, get dumb questions about young moms then freak about how degrading it was. Simple.”
“That’s fucking boring. And you’re not – you’re helping me with my project. We prove men are pigs. You show around a bit, first like a frigid bitch, later like a helpless slut. We compare men’s responses. You know it’s way more fucking interesting than that shit, so the only reason not to is because you’re a prude.” She snapped to her feet and looked me in the eye, intense and demanding, almost angry though I couldn’t figure out why. “And you already said you would. So are you a lying prude, or are you in?”
I reeled, treading water and staring in shock at Jazmin’s outburst. I was repressed, and I knew it; the thought of parading around in, what, daisy dukes or something for a bunch of ugly, crude men terrified me. But Jaz was my only friend, really; and she was angry with me, and everything seemed to be falling apart, and I wasn’t a liar, so all I could do was nod. “Yeah. I’m in.”
My thanks ahead of time to everyone who replies. Because of the brevity so far (2300 words) I'm simply posting it here. Although the full story will involve much more, the attached is Lesbian/High School/Romance/DS.
--------------
A Bad Idea
By E. B.
I’ll never know what made me do it. I think, looking back, that it just seemed like a harmless dare. Sure, I knew the sorts of bad things that could happen to a teenage girl in the wrong part of town – I thought I knew, at least. They say teenagers feel immortal, and I guess they’re right, because I used to.
It’s been a long two months since then, though.
-
Chapter One: Birth of a Bad Idea
“A fucking sociology experiment! That’s bullshit! No other class has to do that. I told you we should have transferred into Mister Carlson’s class.” I sighed. Jazmin’s whining was getting old. I stretched out my legs a bit further on the sofa, wiggling my toes as they poked past the hems of my flannel jammies. Earlier in the night – before Jaz got fixated on the damn assignment – we’d taken turns painting each others’ nails, and mine were now a bright, sexy red that contrasted perfectly against my pale skin.
“Mister Carlson’s class does that integrated studies thing. Thirty pages. On the industrial revolution. You should kiss my feet for getting you out of that shit.” She was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the front of the couch, and I nudged her playfully in the chin with my foot. At the same time I pointedly raised the big screen’s volume two notches and turned my attention back to the Princess Diaries.
Jazmin giggled and made a face. “Yeah, okay. Fine.” She suddenly took on a mischievous grin, then lifted her butt a little off the floor, twisting around to be as good as her word. Her gloss pink lips felt like silk brushing my toes and the sudden feel of her tongue, wet and warm, made me shiver. I felt it straight between my legs as I stared at the way her tee shirt pulled tightly across her chest, but I made a loud “eeew!” of protest and gave a show of wiping myself clean.
She ignored my theatrics and took the opportunity to grab the remote. The movie flickered into black silence with an electronic click and she turned humorless again.
“Seriously, Livvie, I don’t know what I’m going to do for the stupid thing. All Miss Faber’s ideas are lame.”
I rolled my eyes while her back was turned. “God, Jazmin, enough about the damn experiment, already! It sucks, get over it. This is a sleepover, we should be talking about boys or something!” I had a well prepared case for a girlish crush on Barry Stevens. A senior and a star linebacker, he was a socially acceptable target for my professed attentions – but he’d been dating Sarah Wells for three years now, so there wasn’t much chance I’d be pressed to actually try to do anything with him. In reality, of course, I was no more attracted to him than any other guys in school.
Jazmin just shrugged in dismissal. “Boys are pigs.” Well, we could agree on that, anyways.
“Well, do an experiment to show how boys are pigs, then.” I reached over and yanked the remote back from her hands, mashing my thumb against the power switch and glaring at the screen, then felt a wash of guilt at my rudeness.
Jazmin shrugged, her shoulders pressing against my leg. “Whatever. You’re so weird.” She sounded more thoughtful than offended, though, so I relaxed and focused on the television. Hopefully she’d get an idea and stop bothering me.
I spent rest of the movie lost in popcorn and day dreams about Heather Matarazzo; I imagined myself kneeling in front of her on the palace’s red carpet, both of us naked as the court looked on jealously while my mouth and tongue really gave her the royal treatment. It took a moment to come back to earth when the credits began to roll past.
Jazmin stood up and yawned hugely, stretching her arms high over her head towards the travertine tiles of the high arched ceiling. For the second time that night I stared breathless as her breasts rose, straining, Heather forgotten in a moment. And then she spoke, and my mood went to hell again.
“I thought of a project for us. To show men are pigs, I mean. We go through some situations, see how they react, how much they behave only because they have to.” Another time it might have sounded interesting. Jaz was pretty smart, and the suggested stuff had been pretty lame. But I was already so fed up with her complaints that I’d go bat shit crazy listening to her try to explain.
“I already have a project. I wrote most of it up yesterday.” Before bothering to do the experiment, of course. It was easier to adjust my findings than actually try to analyze everyone’s reaction. If the final project didn’t require film clips I wouldn’t even bother actually carrying it out.
Jazmin ignored my protest. “Is your maid home?”
I wrinkled my brow in confusion. “What?”
“Nina. Your maid. The one who cleans this giant monstrosity you call a house. Is she home?”
“Oh.” I had a vague sense of unease, but I couldn’t define why or think of a way to avoid the question. “No. She leaves at seven.”
“Good.” Her arms dropped down to her sides with the rustling slap of skin on cloth, then she quickly skimmed out of her shirt and threw it towards me. I barely caught the thing; it was black, with the name and logo of an 80’s band. It might have been retro, cool, like I wasn’t at all, but I knew it was probably actually from the 80’s. From goodwill, most likely. Jazmin’s family didn’t have much money, and I knew this was a reason we became friends – both of us fascinated with lives beyond our own. I stared at the piece of clothing without comprehension, then looked up to see her walking away towards the main wing of the house. Her sleek, ebony back was bare and she threw a hand back over her shoulder, a black bra flying through the air to land at my feet. She was stripping, and my jaw dropped three feet.
“What…what are you doing?” I practically screamed it with panic, trying to sort out the turmoil of feelings in my breast – and other places. I knew this wasn’t…what I hoped, but I couldn’t help hoping, either. “Someone might see you!”
She paused and turned to look at me. For the first time I saw her naked breasts, huge and pendulous with taut, dark nipples. I couldn’t breathe.
“I wanna use the pool. And you said the maid was gone.”
I nodded, stuttering in my reply. “B-but, my parents, they might….”
She snorted, a derisive puff of air. “Yeah, right, bitch. Your parents are never home. Where are they now? Europe?”
I looked down, my face reddening even more. “Nepal,” I muttered.
“And I’ll bet my black ass you won’t see them again for a month.” When I didn’t respond she stepped closer to me, still half naked, her breasts so close I could touch them, somehow threatening. “Right?” she demanded.
I looked away and nodded, but in the expectant silence I felt like I had to respond. “Two. According to the note.”
“According to the note,” she repeated. Her intensity crumbled at my pitiful tone. Vanishing parents were the one thing we did share; mine seemed to want to be everywhere in the world but at home, while her single dad took more local trips to the bottoms of his tequila bottles. When she spoke again her voice was lighter, teasing. “Anyways, your pa could walk in on me just fine. He’s fucking hot!” She pretended to shiver in desire.
My stomach turned at the thought, and I had no need to fake a green look of disgust. “Ew. That’s gross.”
“And big feet. He’s probably got a huge dick.”
“You are so disgusting, Jaz.”
“Yeah,” she smiled, “I know. Race you to the pool!”
“But, you’re…you know….” I gestured feebly at her body, trying to take her in completely, devour her whole with my eyes while simultaneously looking away. It was a difficult feat to accomplish. “Naked.”
“Well, not yet….” She dragged out the last word as she quickly shimmied out of her torn jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor. “But now I am! Get over it, Livvie – nothing you haven’t seen before.”
My heart stopped as I caught a glimpse of dark, gleaming coils between her legs and I all I could think of was that I had definitely never seen anything like this before. Jazmin was wiry, muscled and athletic, and she always seemed tense, poised like a cat about to strike – I think her dad’s abuse left her half feral. She was delicious and exotic, forbidden and naked in my foyer, laughing in bright, crystal tones as she took long strides across Persian rugs and imported hardwood floors. It was like some wild, erotic creature had been unleashed in my house, and I ran after her, picking up her clothes as she dropped them haphazardly, playing the servant girl.
A few minutes later we were in the glass atrium, Jazmin’s decency somewhat restored by the motion of bright lights on water. I had tried to catch my breath as I changed inside the cedar planked shower stalls, but I still felt light headed, dizzy with emotion as I pumped my arms in swift, steady strokes across the pool. I watched my friend from the corner of my eye, trying to decipher her behavior; I never completely understood Jazmin, but tonight my interpretation was clouded by my own feelings, by what I wanted to see. I wanted to scream at her; I wanted to jump her. Instead, I swam as hard as I could until I was too exhausted to continue. Floating on my back, bobbing with each deep, ragged breath, I could almost forget about her – until I glanced over to see her sitting on the edge of the pool, legs spread just enough to reveal a hint of dark hair and pink skin.
I looked away quickly, my cheeks ablaze, but she laughed. “You’re such a prude.”
“What, because I’m not naked?” I laced my voice with sarcasm, although I knew it was true. The way she said it, though, made me feel ashamed: as if I were expected to run around wanton and naked.
She shrugged. “Yeah.”
“No,” I countered, “it just means I didn’t forget my swimsuit.”
She looked me in the eye and raised an inquisitive brow as she leaned back on her arms and splashed her dangling feet in the pool. The movement stretched her legs wider, treating me to an unobstructed view, and I couldn’t help but lower my gaze. She was wet and glistening, and I wondered if was just because of her recent swim, or something more. I wondered if she knew what she was doing; my own breaths were short and fast, but she was relaxed, casual. Like this was just two friends chatting by the pool.
“You’ve only got a suit ‘cause your maid put it in here,” she quipped. I ducked my head, a blossom of shame bursting in my stomach. It was true: Nina kept a one piece nearby, since my room was a long walk through the house from the atrium. “Besides, who said I forgot my suit? I just preferred it this way.”
I gasped, scandalized. “Jaz!”
“See? You are a prude.” She announced with the resigned, condescending air of proven case.
Inflamed with embarrassment and frustration, I struggled against her verdict even though I knew she was right. In fact, exactly because I knew she was right I felt a sudden, suicidal urge to prove her wrong. My mouth opened, moved without thinking, raced ahead as Jazmin led me on. “I’m not!” I raised my voice, unequivocal, a line in the sand.
She actually smirked. “Prove it.”
Still racing ahead, still unthinking, I responded with the dumbest words of my life. “Fine, I will. Name it.” Admittedly, I would have said the same thing if I’d thought first. I was already mad with lust and the dare sent my fantasies flying to every corner of my imagination, returning with images of my spending the night naked with Jazmin, her eyes wandering over my body to be inflamed by desire of her own, and frenzied passion in the gardens by moonlight.
So her response was rather anti-climatic. “Help me with my project.”
My hunger dried up like a desert and I pushed back into the pool. “Christ, that again? I told you, I’m doing the pregnant belly thing. Look like a preggo ditz for two hours, get dumb questions about young moms then freak about how degrading it was. Simple.”
“That’s fucking boring. And you’re not – you’re helping me with my project. We prove men are pigs. You show around a bit, first like a frigid bitch, later like a helpless slut. We compare men’s responses. You know it’s way more fucking interesting than that shit, so the only reason not to is because you’re a prude.” She snapped to her feet and looked me in the eye, intense and demanding, almost angry though I couldn’t figure out why. “And you already said you would. So are you a lying prude, or are you in?”
I reeled, treading water and staring in shock at Jazmin’s outburst. I was repressed, and I knew it; the thought of parading around in, what, daisy dukes or something for a bunch of ugly, crude men terrified me. But Jaz was my only friend, really; and she was angry with me, and everything seemed to be falling apart, and I wasn’t a liar, so all I could do was nod. “Yeah. I’m in.”
