Workshop: Rumple Foreskin

[KillerMuffin]

This is the final test in this little project. We'll be trying things the other way. The story and the commentary will be in one thread (changeable at a later time if so desired). This is a bit more of a run because it's an author with a real story rather than just me running a test to see how it might work.

Please give R.F. your consideration since this is a real story he's planning on editing and submitting in the future. He has a few questions but don't feel necessarily restricted to answering them. If you can, please do. When you're done, you can also tell us if you think the workshop is effective and what you like, dislike, or would prefer! Thanks!

Author's Comments

1. This is a romance category story, so the sex is muted. Does it come too late to keep reader's interest and is it too muted?

2. Should I include some blow-by-blow sex with her two boyfriends even though that would slow the story?

3. Does the opening have enough "hook"?

4. Is the ending strong enough?

5. Do the time/scene shifts work or did they leave you confused?

Love on the Levee

Debbie Rankin kept wondering what had gotten into her. One minute she was joking with everyone else in the car, feeling great, looking forward to the party, and then it was like someone turned on all the bad vibes in the world. Squeezing her eyelids together to keep from crying, she felt angry and weepy, and incredibly stupid for not knowing why.

It probably had something to do with that look of pure happiness she’d seen on Linda’s face every since Frank surprised her by “officially” proposing back at the restaurant. She recalled her own crack about being “boyfriend-less” and wondered if she’d ever love anyone as much as Linda did Frank or be loved by someone the way Frank did Linda.

Back in high school, she thought Ronnie Stevens might be her special person. He was a senior, a year older than she was, when they started dating. The acknowledged school “brain,” he had a slender build, ran track, and was kind of cute in a cuddly, little-boy way. She'd been homecoming queen, so everybody called them, "beauty and the brain." They dated for most of her junior year, and both planned on going to the same college.

Then his father, an executive at the paper mill, was transferred to Oregon. His parents, who thought Debbie was great, said he could stay and enter LSU. But at precisely 9:25 in the evening of July 23, 1964, he told her he’d changed his mind and would be going with them. And while he never said so, Debbie knew why. They’d never, “gone all the way.”

At the time, it seemed like a stupid, selfish reason to break up, and she’d felt hurt, betrayed, and more than a little self-righteous. Poor Mike Floyd, her life-long best friend and confidant had to listen to her tale of woe all summer. Now, she wasn’t certain Ronnie hadn’t been right. Why should he give up his family for someone who wouldn’t even give up her virginity?

The irony was, when she eventually did surrender the “pearl beyond price,” the outcome was the same. Clayton Dupree was an architecture student from an old New Orleans family. He was handsome, smart, cultured, fun, easy-going, and a gentleman. They began dating during her second year at school. Last fall, Clayton gave her his fraternity pen.

Being “penned” was serious business, one step short of being engaged. With that symbolic sanctification, she’d given herself to him. There was no one for her to compare him with, of course, but she sensed he was a kind, gentle lover who enjoyed giving her pleasure she so enjoyed receiving.

After Christmas break, he came back to school with a new friend, a tall, longhaired creep named Roderick Heinz. According to Clayton, “Rod” was a part-time student and full-time poet he’d meet while vacationing with his parents.

In the weeks that followed, she saw more and more of Rod, which meant spending less and less time alone with Clayton. When Rod moved out of the dorms and in with Clayton, things got even worse. By the beginning of May, it’d been weeks since she and Clayton had been able to make love. Even going on a date without Rod tagging along had become a rare event.

To her relief, they finally managed to get away by themselves. After supper at their favorite restaurant, Clayton hesitantly told her he’d decided to transfer to some school in California. He said it was 1968, and in the world outside of the cultural backwater that was Baton Rouge, things were happening that he needed to experience. Rod, who hated the place and wanted to go back to the coast, had convinced him to make the move and would be going with him.

There was no mention of her in these plans. He’d always treasure their time together he said, and was sorry if this hurt her but….

She didn’t remember much about the next few days. Somehow she got around, probably by autopilot, moving like a zombie to classes, and then coming back to her room where she’d collapse onto bed and cry herself to sleep.

It was Thursday before she worked up the courage to call Mike. She felt hurt, mad, ashamed, confused, and didn’t think she could handle a face-to-face meeting, so they spent hours talking on the phone. Near the end of her marathon confessional, she heard him say something about a party that weekend on the nearby Mississippi River levee. While not sure exactly what he said, she remembered telling him that going to a party was the last thing she wanted to do on Saturday.

Two days later, her room was invaded by three girl friends. Saying it was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, they dragged her out of bed and, ignoring her protests, forced her to get dressed and come with them to the party.

As she’d suspected, it was Mike who got the party together and turned her friends into kidnappers. When they arrived, he was waiting for her with a grin on his face and a beer in his hand.

At first she tried to be a good sport and get into the spirit of the party. But the laughter and good times only annoyed her. After a few beers and her first experience with marijuana, she was feeling slightly drunk, maybe a little stoned, but definitely more miserable than ever. Not wanting to be a wet blanket, she grabbed a beer and wandered away from the party.

As the light from the bonfire dimmed, she found a small sanctuary of willows and driftwood near the riverbank. That’s where Mike found her a few minutes later, sitting behind a big log, crying.

Without saying a word, he sat down beside her. There was a light, cool breeze coming off the river. When she shivered, he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. With a sob that was a mixture of despair and release, she laid her head on his chest and cried until she ran out of tears.

As her breath began to even out, she noticed the front of his old dress shirt was soaked. Fascinated, she gently ran a fingertip across the damp cloth. He’d come to be with her, to comfort her, and in return she’d drenched his shirt with tears and probably covered it with mascara.

She lifted her head and looked up at him. Even in the dim moonlight, she could make out his familiar, comforting smile and immediately felt better.

He’d always been there, close and caring, whenever she needed a friend, needed a shoulder to cry on, just like tonight. Because, because he loves me. A new emotion suddenly swept over her, a sensation that had nothing to do with friendship. She no longer just needed Mike—she wanted him.

Slipping both hands behind his neck, she pulled his face to hers. Tilting her head, she began kissing her best friend.

When their lips finally parted, their eyes opened, and they looked at one another. There was an uncertain, questioning expression on Mike’s face. Debbie found herself praying he wouldn’t be sensible or cautious or, even worse, make a joke. Damn it, Mike, just kiss me. Please. Then he slowly leaned forward and began kissing his best friend.

At some point it occurred to her that Mike was a very good kisser. In a strange sort of way, it made her proud to know her best friend was so gifted.

The next time their lips separated, Mike started to say something. It was going to be about how they should stop; she was sure of that, and sure he was right. They’d have to do that, soon, but not now, not just yet. Before he could say anything, she snuggled closer and pulled him back onto her waiting mouth.

After that, the kisses became more intense and the touches more intimate. She felt Mike’s hand slip beneath her sweatshirt. When it made contact with bare skin, she shivered with pleasure. The anguish in her body eased under his gentle caress. His fingers took possession of her breast and she heard herself moan softly while arching her back to meet his touch.

She felt loved and wanted and safe. This was Mike who cared for her, who was always there when she needed a friend, who she could count on to do what was best. And in the back of her mind, she began wondering if he would decide what was best included their making love.

Releasing her throbbing nipple, he slowly slid his fingers down her torso until they reached her jeans. When he started fumbling with the zipper, she was certain he’d decided they would make love. But just when it began to yield, he stopped.

Their tongues continued to dance from mouth to mouth, but Mike’s fingers remained motionless. She felt his body sag and then noticed his hand was moving up from her waist. He paused to let his fingertips caress first one breast, then the other. It was a gently, searching touch, as if trying to memorize their texture, shape, and warmth. After a last, soft, parting touch, he slid his hand around to the small of her back.

With an unsettling mixture of relief and regret, she understood he’d decided their making love wasn’t what was best. The kissing continued, but now it was with increasing affection and decreasing passion. He was, she realized, letting them both gradually come down from their physical and emotional high.

#

A sudden dip in the road banged Debbie’s head against the window. At first she couldn’t figure out what had happened. Instead of sitting near the river kissing Mike, she was in the front seat of his old Ford, speeding down a four-lane highway. And instead of watching the road, he was looking over and grinning at her. “You’ve got to tell me what you were dreaming about, lady.”

“None of your business,” she teased, while yawning and stretching. To give her mind more time to re-enter the here and now, she glanced into the back. Frank, who could sleep through a hurricane, was snoring softly. Linda was stretched out across the back seat with her sandals off and her head pillowed on his lap.

Turning back around, Debbie studied the sultry, summer landscape. Between the live oaks lining the highway, she could see the incongruously tall state capital building beginning to emerge from the shimmering heat waves. Having traveled this road for years, she knew it meant they had plenty of time before the big pre-rush party got started.

Locating her purse, she pulled out a compact and studied her make-up in the small mirror. “Why do you think I was dreaming anyway? Maybe I was just deep in thought.”

“I doubt it. The thing is, when we left Krotz Springs, you looked awake and about like you did the day old Jeff, the natural born tomcat, went one-on-one with that log truck and lost. A few minutes later, your mouth was wide open; a sure sign you’d nodded off. The next time I checked, you had this dumb, happy look on your face. So what were you dreaming about?”

“Only The Shadow knows,” she intoned, giving him a smug, “I know a secret and you don’t,” smile. “And The Shadow would never tell a Peeping Tom.”

 

[Guest]

1. This is a romance category story, so the sex is muted. Does it come too late to keep reader's interest and is it too muted?
The sex is very well done, very intimately perceived by this reader, subtle and true to life it seems.

2. Should I include some blow-by-blow sex with her two boyfriends even though that would slow the story?
Not exactly blow-by-blow but perhaps something to compare the deep connection made w/Mike; e.g., cursery sex w/first boy, better w/next one but perhaps more focused on his pleasure, that kind of thing.

3. Does the opening have enough "hook"?
Almost not. It didn't stay with me and so I had to reread it merely because the ending did confuse me. Then I got them both. So frankly I only kept reading because of this thread and the author (whom I like and respect).

4. Is the ending strong enough?
After I got it, yes. Clever and happy in the moment is how I received it.

5. Do the time/scene shifts work or did they leave you confused?
As I said, the ending confused me, had to reread it to figure out who was who. In the beginning I didn't get any sense of a time shift. From the opening to the first recollection I thought that's all it was, like a long flashback, then I was jolted by the ending.
--
some misc. comments:

... But at precisely 9:25 in the evening of July 23, 1964, he told her he’d changed his mind and would be going with them.
I like this; very real for how some minds can work when wounded.

At the time, it seemed like a stupid, selfish reason to break up, and she’d felt hurt, betrayed, and more than a little self-righteous.
This is what another thread discussed as showing vs. telling. I know you can 'show' (the intimacy of the sex scene). Perhaps you just wanted to cut to the chase, i.e., use the beginning simply as a prelude to the meat of the story? However, this kind of telling, without special interest, is offputting to me.

The irony was, when she eventually did surrender the “pearl beyond price,” the outcome was the same.
You need not say there was irony, just go ahead with the story and show it. It's usually best not to 'say' something is ironic.

... There was no one for her to compare him with, of course, but she sensed he was a kind, gentle lover who enjoyed giving her pleasure she so enjoyed receiving.
As I mentioned above in #2, a little 'scene' might show more than the somewhat banal description above, especially if in contrast to what she achieves in her dream of Mike.

... There was no mention of her in these plans. He’d always treasure their time together he said, and was sorry if this hurt her but….
The fact that the two boys go off together is suggestive in itself, esp. as there's not much to go by so this plot device sticks out a bit garishly without any specific color. I'd say drop the extra guy or go into more; perhaps it could explain his care during sex but the lack of passion (if you go that way).
---------------

Rumple: Whatever you might reject I hope you know I meant well. It's a lovely story and idea - the connection friends might discover as lovers. I thought the time-play technique was clever after I figured it out. I'd say overall I felt the lack of specificity and details, as if the text surrounding the core of the story was still in outline mode. The core though is a beaut; maybe cut the rest more and pump that up.

Best always, Perdita

 

[Madame Manga]

You got me in my lengthy critical mode! Although I voted for trying out non-posted stories here, I am not sure that I reacted to this any differently than if it had been a posted story.

In general: This has some hints of a successful story. The basic situation--a friend who decides that making love could destroy a friendship--is a good one with a great deal of possibly interesting emotion and conflict. However, I don't think its potential has been realized yet. It reads like notes and outline for a story and not like a completed work.

Beginning hook: It starts out all right with Debbie's distress, since most readers would probably want to know what's eating her. But the immediate hunk of backstory: "Back in high school..." is an instant back-click risk. Work this stuff in incidentally, not as an info dump. I don't yet care enough about Debbie to read about homecoming queens for pleasure.

Style note: Don't put quotes around ordinary words (officially, boyfriend-less, brain, and so on). If you want emphasis, use italics instead. However, you are emphasizing so many words that they quickly add up to a serious distraction. Use emphasis only when it's essential for understanding--and if it's often essential, recast your sentences.

It probably had something to do with that look of pure happiness she’d seen on Linda’s face every since Frank surprised her by “officially” proposing back at the restaurant. She recalled her own crack about being “boyfriend-less” and wondered if she’d ever love anyone as much as Linda did Frank or be loved by someone the way Frank did Linda.

I think you mean that Debbie made a joke on herself by saying that she had no boyfriend, but I had to read this paragraph a few times to make sure. "She" at the beginning of the second sentence has unclear antecedents; the most proximate female is Linda, not Debbie. Frank and Linda get three mentions by name in the paragraph and Debbie none. One way I might sort it out:

Could Frank and Linda's happiness have bugged her that badly? She squirmed with the realization. At the restaurant, he had officially proposed in front of everyone, and Linda's squeal of pure joy still shrilled in Debbie's ears. Maybe cracking jokes about her own boyfriend-less state had been a defense. Or maybe it had been a way to bleed off a little of the pressure of other people's good fortune. Debbie wiped her burning eyes. Would that kind of love ever wander into her life?

My style, not yours, natch, but I've added some physical business to give Debbie more presence and make her distress more palpable. Rather than reporting that she is "angry and weepy", make her weep angrily.

Then his father, an executive at the paper mill, was transferred to Oregon. His parents, who thought Debbie was great, said he could stay and enter LSU.

Here's another pronoun antecedent problem. Ronnie has not been mentioned by name for five sentences and has dropped off my radar. Grammatically speaking "his parents" belong to "his father" and not to Ronnie. Again I had to re-read a couple of times to sort it out.

What's an LSU? It took me several moments and two more paragraphs to make the deduction that it probably is Louisiana State University, and if I didn't know that New Orleans was in LA and that the USA has a state university system, I might be out of luck. As it is, I'm a Californian and I don't read the sports pages, so "LSU" does not often cross my path. Write it out the first time you mention it. Don't make me guess.

And another point: You didn't tell me until now that they all started out in LA, so the transfer to Oregon didn't seem like a big deal at first. I can drive to Oregon in half a day; obviously Debbie is at more of a geographic disadvantage. "Levee" is a hint at the locale, I suppose, but it's only clear in retrospect. There are levees along the Sacramento River; they are not specific to the Big Easy.

I think you mean fraternity PIN, not PEN. "Pinned", as a special case of the word meaning something other than what it does in plain English, is the only appropriate use of quotes for emphasis.

There was no one for her to compare him with, of course, but she sensed he was a kind, gentle lover who enjoyed giving her pleasure she so enjoyed receiving.

Why does she only "sense" it when she has actually gone to bed with him? Does she enjoy receiving pleasure because (or only because) he enjoys giving it, or does he give her pleasure that she "so enjoys" receiving?

After supper at their favorite restaurant, Clayton hesitantly told her he’d decided to transfer to some school in California. He said it was 1968, and in the world outside of the cultural backwater that was Baton Rouge, things were happening that he needed to experience. Rod, who hated the place and wanted to go back to the coast, had convinced him to make the move and would be going with him.

I'm having a lot of trouble with the geography in this story. So it's Baton Rouge, not New Orleans? What place does Rod hate? It sounds at first glance like "the world outside of the cultural backwater". I didn't know he was from "the coast"--what coast? The first one that comes to mind, given the setting, is the Gulf, but I think you mean the Pacific, since he is going "back" to California. My head is spinning.

I hope she already knew what year it was before ol' Clay informed her...

I thought Rod was going to be a danger factor, especially when he started hanging around all the time. But he vanishes without a trace. Did he have sexual designs on Debbie that didn't pan out? Was he Clayton's secret lover? ;-) Maybe that's why the boys moved away together.

We've gone a long time in this story without a word of dialogue. It's starting to pall. I'm not getting a picture of any of the personalities involved except by direct report: Rod is a "creep", Clayton is "handsome, smart, cultured, fun, easy-going, and a gentleman", Ronnie is "kind of cute in a cuddly, little-boy way." I feel like I haven't met any of them yet--I haven't even met Debbie, frankly. Let her talk to at least one of them by this point in the story. I think you could draw a much clearer picture of her and of her confusingly multitudinous male acquaintances in dialogue scenes than by pure narrative.

It was Thursday before she worked up the courage to call Mike.

I've forgotten who Mike is by now. He was mentioned once many paragraphs ago, and I had to go back and check. This is a troublesome omission, IMO. He turns out to be the pivot of the story. He needs a lot more presence in it.

Damn it, Mike, just kiss me. Please.

I think I finally met her. You might try using this device--direct thoughts without quotes, square inside her head--at the beginning of the story and throughout. I think it would add a great deal of immediacy and personality to your narrative. I feel like the story actually got started at this point; it was holding its breath and working its way through to its real beginning, and just as it got a little air in it, it ended.

Turning back around, Debbie studied the sultry, summer landscape. Between the live oaks lining the highway, she could see the incongruously tall state capital building beginning to emerge from the shimmering heat waves. Having traveled this road for years, she knew it meant they had plenty of time before the big pre-rush party got started.

Eh? You mean that they still have a ways to drive? It sounds like the state capital has some direct connection to pre-rush parties, which I don't think you intended.

Time shift: Confusing. Yes, I was able to figure it out with some re-reading--again--but the sequence of events wasn't very clear. Was the restaurant where what's-his-name proposed to what's-her-name in Krotz Springs? Where is that? At least I've heard of Baton Rouge. I think you need to provide a map. ;-)

If you are going to use locale for color and atmosphere, as you seem to be trying to do with mentions of the shimmering heat and the levees and so on, you need to make an effort to place the area solidly in your reader's mind. Debbie doesn't actually move around much during the story. She stays in Louisiana, (possibly) near Baton Rouge. Establish that sultry Southern air and make the geography clear for people who have never been there.

Ending: See above. I'm not sure what you were going for, but it came across as truncated and a letdown. So Debbie got dumped a couple of times and had an abortive romantic encounter with another guy, which she won't say anything more about to him though it seems to occupy her mind--once she gets over reliving her earlier failed relationships. Where does that leave her? Is she moving forward? Is she stuck in an endless loop? I don't know, because I don't know who she is. Show me more before you leave me here.

No blow-by-blow sex with the boyfriends, IMO. That would bring everything to a screeching halt. This is about Debbie and Mike--concentrate on that.

You don't need to bring the sex in right away. But you do need to bring in the sexual tension earlier. That keeps most people eagerly reading. A suggestion: Tell the whole story in a conversation between Debbie and Mike. If she has confided in him for years, that's a natural. Leave out a lot of the incidental backstory; the important material will naturally find its way in, but don't stuff it where it doesn't fit. With that one device, you can establish the characters and their relationship, show their growing attraction and sexual thoughts, lead up to the sexual encounter, and show its aftermath. You could avoid all the problems of time, place and info dump and give a much stronger impression of the most important characters.

MM

Edit: Whoa, Perdita posted just about simultaneously! ;-)

 

[Guest]

p.s. from Perdita

Discussion: How to handle backstory?

One turn-off for me is a long opening palaver about where the narrator grew up, how they dated a few times in college, moved to another city out east, started a construction company, built it up, got married, got divorced: all for nothing more than an explanation of why they're gagging for it and driving an expensive car.

 

[jfinn]

Hi RF,

This is my favorite category, so I was happy to read your story. First let me answer your specific questions, then I'll give you my own thoughts.

1. This is a romance category story, so the sex is muted. Does it come too late to keep reader's interest and is it too muted?

Not for me, but then I'm known to wait chapters before I throw in the slap and tickle. But really, I liked the sex and thought it felt like just enough. I do agree with MM about introducing sexual tension earlier on in the story. Though I'm familiar enough with the Romance format to have figured out at the first mention of a male best friend that this was where we were heading, I'd have like to see more of their relationship developed along the way.

2. Should I include some blow-by-blow sex with her two boyfriends even though that would slow the story?

Nada. Like you said, this is a romance. You'll dilute that idea if you throw in sex with other partners.

3. Does the opening have enough "hook"?

Yes and no. On the one hand I liked the one minute she's happy, one minute she's not scenario. It's something we've all gone through and it gave me an immediate attachment to the character. On the other, I thought the use of her full name made it sound so formal. It distances me from the story from the first word. I don't think it makes any difference what hers or anyone elses last name is and all it can do is prevent the feeling of intimacy you want with these characters.

4. Is the ending strong enough?

5. Do the time/scene shifts work or did they leave you confused?

I'm going to answer both of these questions a little bit further down.

_____________________________________


I'm not going to do the grammer thing here. For one thing it's not my forte, just look at this post for the truth of that, and for another MM has already done a wonderful job. So I'll just stick to content.

I really like the main premise of this story. It's one that's used fairly commonly in the more romantic stories and when it's done well, it can be a great read. RF, I think you made a good start towards accomplishing that, but I'm with the pack here and think that more not less will make it better. Instead of the telling style in the beginning, I think you might be better served if you used a couple of small scenes with dialogue to show Debbie's breakup with the two other boys.

You've used third person, but still this feels like a memoir to me and most of us don't run commentary in our brains when thinking about a memory, we relive it including the sights and sounds that surrounded us at the time. I have one that always makes my leg itch because at the time it occured, I had a mosquito bite that was driving me crazy. Things like make a scene so much more vivid. If this girl is taking a trip down memory lane than let her experience all of it.

I agree too that it might be best to drop the high school references. Not because of the age restrictions of Lit, but because the first thing I thought of when I read that was she was too young then to regret it so much later. Besides you put the dates in yourself and in 1964 she'd have been absolutely convinced she did the right thing by waiting.

Like Perd and MM, I was intrigued by the appearance of Rod. Did you mean to infer a gay relationship there? It seems like it to me, so again I'm with MM and think that Clayton's passion as a lover should be shown as less than stellar. Debbie could even blame herself for this, a common enough occurance with an inexperienced woman who thinks a man's lack of interest can only be attributed to her own lack of desirability. But I wouldn't make it a big issue. I like very much that even at this point it appears that Debbie has no idea Clayton might be a switch hitter and I think you should keep his sexuality an unanswered question, just make it a little more obvious there's something to wonder about.

I also agree that Mike needs to be a much bigger player through all of this. If you do add some scenes I think a couple of them should be with him. I'd like to see you establish their relationship with examples instead of just telling me about it. She's been dating, has he? How come they are just friends? You say they've known each other their whole lives, but still, once the hormones kicked in they had to think about it, if only to themselves in secret and only for five minutes before dismissing it. I'm guessing, but reading between the lines I'd say that he's been interested in her even if she doesn't realize it. Let me see that.

I didn't have much problem with the transitions when I read it. Then I read the comments by the others and... Well, look at the next paragraph.

Now here comes the biggie and the one where I depart from the others. I didn't read the end the way they did. At least not from the comments I'm seeing. I thought the whole episode with Mike was a dream that came to an abrupt end when she bumped her head on the dash. Am I completely off base? Cause if I am then the end doesn't make much sense to me.

I assumed that once Debbie woke up from her nap, she also woke up to the reality that it was Mike she really wanted and I took the end to mean that she was now going to do her damndest to get him. If that's the case then yes, the end worked for me except for the last bit of dialogue, because I'm not sure I get the reference to peeping Toms. If I'm wrong, then I think I'm the one who needs the nap.

Thanks for putting up your story and I look forward to seeing the finished product.

Jayne

 

[jfinn]

Oh and KM,

If this is a vote thing than I vote for this format for the workshop. It's a lot easier to reference the story while writing your post.

Jayne

 

[Guest]

Ditto JFinn above. Plus the length was good for me, though I'd hate to discriminate against longer works. P.

 

[Madame Manga]

Referencing story while writing crit

When I'm critting a posted story, I bring it up in another window for reference. OC, I have a big hi-res monitor, so that works for me. It may not for everyone!

This was a good length for a single-session crit, yes. So I'm probably crap out of luck, since I write something that short once in a blue moon. ;-)

MM

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

For starters, thanks to Perdiat, Jfinn, and the geographically challenged Mandame Manga. I appreciate your time and have already used a lot of the suggestions to revise the story. I'll give some specific instances tomorrow but it's late here in Big D and I've got to take the wife unit to the airport tomorrow morning.

I agree with everyone else about this format being the best. As for length, shorter pieces will probably get more responses. Since this is for works-in-progress, perhaps writers of longer stories could be given options such as posting an excerpt or breaking their submission into sections that could be posted a few days apart. Fortunately, that issue is KM's worry, not mine.

Rumple Foreskin

 

[Guest]

from the jerk

RF-

Glad to see you getting some input on this story.

1. This is a romance category story, so the sex is muted. Does it come too late to keep reader's interest and is it too muted?

I felt a bit disappointed after reading through all the build up to have such a brief sex scene, a big revelation "he loves me" and then to return to the car where she was in the unhappy reality of not having a boyfriend but traveling with her best friend whom she loves.

I felt like some pieces were missing.

2. Should I include some blow-by-blow sex with her two boyfriends even though that would slow the story?

I think that it would be a way to illuminate her more. Showing her interaction with the boyfriends rather than summing them up would give opportunity to show how she changed through the relationships. It would also allow you to contrast them.


3. Does the opening have enough "hook"?

It starts out okay, and then gets bogged down a bit with the backstory. I agree with MM's comments about internal dialogue helping to move the story and that she really isn't a part of the story until too late.

4. Is the ending strong enough?

As I stated above, no. I was disappointed. Not having sex was fine, but I felt like I was left hanging from the lack of resolution in their relationship. She was crying at the beginning of the story.

5. Do the time/scene shifts work or did they leave you confused?

I thought I understood, but perhaps I didn't.


RF-

As is it just has too many loose ends for me.

If this is a stand alone story I would probably skip the car setting all together. Have her crying at the log at the beginning, then introduce the back story then finish the story with their make out session and a poignant closing line. Perhaps reworking the closing recollection scene and then have him say something along the lines of: "I love you too much for us to do this tonight, Debbie, but I hope we will do it soon."

I liked the imagery that is there. If you wanted you could end it with a positive image from the levee that indicates hope for the future. (This is a romance ) "He pulled her agains his chest and they watched the half-moon rise over the levee. The silence was just right. " Okay, that is way cheesy, but I hope it kind of communicates my thoughts.

Please take all that I have written with a grain of salt. I have been writing tawdry stuff lately and may just be insensitive. Thanks for posting the story.

KM-

I prefer the single thread format too.

Thanks for making this happen.

b

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

Greetings,

Once again, many thanks to everyone for their input, including BK whose advice is always helpful.

Since we’re experimenting, I decided to post the entire revised version. This way those who have already given a critique can check on any changes their ideas may have wrought and possibly make other suggestions while newcomers won’t have to go over the old version.

If this proves awkward, well, at least we tried.

Among other changes: I’ve tried to be a tad more geographically specific, redone the opening to give a better (?) hint about the nature of the levee scene, re-written the closing line, added more details about one boyfriend, given a little dialogue to the other, and tried to make Mike a bigger player in the piece.

Rumple Foreskin

--

LOVE ON THE LEVEE
(w/SDC revisions)


“What has gotten into you, girl?” Debbie's lips moved soundlessly as she stared out the car window. “One minute you’re joking with Mike about his driving, feeling great, and looking forward to going to a real hippie wedding. Then, it’s like someone turned on all the bad vibes in the world.”

She’d been gazing unseeing at the passing cypress trees and palmetto plants. Now she had to squeeze her eyelids shut to keep from crying. She felt angry and weepy, and incredibly stupid for not knowing why. Propping her head against the window, she tried to come up with an answer.

Bullshit not thy own self, she thought, quoting one of Mike’s favorite sayings. Well, what she was thinking might be bullshit, but she couldn't shake the feeling her mood had something to do with that look on Linda’s face after Frank proposed back at the restaurant in Lebeau.

Everybody knew they’d get married. After all, those two had been dating for years and even had a date picked out. Only Frank, that old romantic, had never formally proposed. Debbie recalled her own crack about being “boyfriend-less” and wondered if she’d ever love anyone as much as Linda did Frank or be loved by someone the way Frank did Linda.

Back in high school, she thought Ronnie might be her special someone. He was a senior, a year older than she was, when they started dating. The acknowledged school “brain,” he had a slender build, ran track, and was cute in a cuddly, little-boy way. When she became homecoming queen, everyone started calling them, “beauty and the brain.” They dated for most of her junior year, and both planned on going to Louisiana State.

Then his father, an executive at the paper mill, got a promotion and a transfer to the home office in Oregon. Ronnie’s parents, who thought Debbie was great, said he could stay in Louisiana and enter LSU in the fall. But at precisely 9:25 in the evening of July 23, 1964, he told her he’d changed his mind and would be going with them. And while he never said so, Debbie knew why. They’d done just about everything two people could do in a parked car, but she’d never agreed to, “go all the way.”

At the time, it’d seemed like a stupid, selfish reason for him to leave. She’d felt hurt, betrayed, and more than a little self-righteous. Poor Mike, he’d just been dumped by Jenny Connors, but as her closest friend and confidant, he patiently listened all summer to her tale of woe.

Now, she wasn’t certain Ronnie hadn’t been right. Why should he give up his family for someone who wouldn’t even give up her stupid virginity?

The irony was, when she eventually did surrender the “pearl beyond price,” the outcome was the same. Clayton Dupree was an architecture student from an old New Orleans family. He was handsome, smart, cultured, fun, easy-going, and a gentleman. They began dating during her second year at school. Then last fall, he gave her his fraternity pin.

Being “pinned” was serious business, one step short of being engaged. With that symbolic sanctification, she’d given herself to him. He proved to be a kind, gentle lover who, while not particularly passionate, seemed to enjoy giving her the pleasure she began looking forward to receiving.

After Christmas break, he came back to school with a new friend, a tall, longhaired creep named Roderick Heinz. They’d met while Clayton was vacationing with his parents in Mexico.

Rod, who was from somewhere in California, claimed he was a poet. In the weeks that followed, she saw more and more of Rod, which meant she and Clayton spent less and less time alone. When Rod moved in with him, things got even worse. By the beginning of May, it’d been weeks since she and Clayton had been able to make love. Even going on a date without Rod tagging along had become a rare event.

To her relief, they finally managed to get away by themselves. Over supper at their favorite restaurant, Clayton hesitantly told her he’d decided to transfer to some school in California. It was 1968, he said, and in the world outside of the cultural backwater that was Baton Rouge, things were happening that he needed to experience. Rod, who Clayton said had become a special friend, wanted to go back to the west coast. They’d be driving out together and had agreed to share an apartment. There was no mention of her in these plans.

“I’ll always treasure our time together, beautiful one. You are a prize and I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. But this feels like my destiny.” Clayton probably said a lot more, he usually did, but Debbie didn’t remember.

In fact, she didn’t remember much about the next few days. Somehow she got around, probably by autopilot, moving like a zombie to classes, and then coming back to her room where she’d collapse onto bed and cry herself to sleep.

It was Thursday before she worked up the courage to talk about it with Mike. She felt hurt, mad, ashamed, confused, and didn’t think she could handle a face-to-face meeting, so they spent hours talking on the phone. Near the end of her marathon confessional, she heard him say something about a party that weekend on the nearby Mississippi River levee. While not sure exactly what he said, she remembered telling him that going to a party was the last thing on her mind.

Two days later, three girl friends invaded her room. Saying she’d been in bed all day, which was true, they’d forced her to get up and, ignoring her protests, made her put on some clothes and come with them.

As she’d suspected, it was Mike who got the party together and turned her friends into kidnappers. It was early evening when they arrived. She saw him standing near the bonfire, waiting for her with a grin on his face and a beer in his hand.

At first she tried to be a good sport and get into the spirit of the party. But the laughter and good times only annoyed her. After a few beers and her first experience with marijuana, she was feeling slightly drunk, maybe a little stoned, but definitely more miserable than ever. Not wanting to be a wet blanket, she grabbed a beer and wandered away.

As the light from the bonfire dimmed, she found a small sanctuary of willows and driftwood near the riverbank. That’s where Mike found her a few minutes later, sitting behind a big log, crying.

Without saying a word, he sat down beside her. There was a light, cool breeze coming off the river. When she shivered, he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. With a sob that was a mixture of despair and release, she laid her head on his chest and cried until she ran out of tears.

As her breath began to even out, she noticed the front of his old dress shirt was soaked. Fascinated, she gently ran a fingertip across the damp cloth. He’d come to be with her, to comfort her, and in return she’d drenched his shirt with tears and probably covered it with mascara.

She lifted her head and looked up at him. Even in the dim moonlight, she could make out his familiar, comforting smile and immediately felt better.

He’d always been there, close and caring, whenever she needed a friend, needed a shoulder to cry on, just like tonight. Because, because he loves me. A new emotion suddenly swept over her, a sensation that had nothing to do with friendship. She no longer just needed Mike—she wanted him.

Slipping both hands behind his neck, she pulled his face to hers. Tilting her head, she began kissing her best friend.

When their lips finally parted, their eyes opened, and they looked at one another. There was an uncertain, questioning expression on Mike’s face. Debbie found herself praying he wouldn’t be sensible or cautious or, even worse, make a joke. Damn it, Mike, just kiss me. Please. Then he slowly leaned forward and began kissing his best friend.

At some point it occurred to her that Mike was a very good kisser. In a strange sort of way, it made her proud to know her best friend was so gifted.

The next time their lips separated, Mike started to say something. It was going to be about how they should stop; she was sure of that, and sure he was right. They’d have to do that, soon, but not now, not just yet. Before he could say anything, she snuggled closer and pulled him back onto her waiting mouth.

After that, the kisses became more intense and the touches more intimate. She felt Mike’s hand slip beneath her sweatshirt. When it made contact with bare skin, she shivered with pleasure. The anguish in her body eased under his gentle caress. His fingers took possession of her breast and she heard herself moan softly while arching her back to meet his touch.

She felt loved and wanted and safe. This was Mike who cared for her, who was always there when she needed a friend, who she could count on to do what was best. And in the back of her mind, she began wondering if he would decide what was best included their making love.

Releasing her throbbing nipple, he slowly slid his fingers down her torso until they reached her jeans. When he started fumbling with the zipper, she was certain he’d decided they would make love. But just when it began to yield, he stopped.

Their tongues continued to dance from mouth to mouth, but Mike’s fingers remained motionless. She felt his body sag and then noticed his hand was moving up from her waist. He paused to let his fingertips caress first one breast, then the other. It was a gently, searching touch, as if trying to memorize their texture, shape, and warmth. After a last, soft, parting touch, he slid his hand around to the small of her back.

With an unsettling mixture of relief and regret, she understood he’d decided their making love wasn’t what was best. The kissing continued, but now it was with increasing affection and decreasing passion. He was, she realized, letting them both gradually come down from their physical and emotional high.

#

There was a hard jolt and Debbie’s head banged against something. Confused, she opened her eyes and looked around. Apparently, they’d hit a bump and her head had bounced against the car window. Instead of sitting near the river kissing Mike, she was in the front seat of his old Ford, speeding down a four-lane highway. And instead of caressing her body, he was driving, kinda, while looking over and grinning at her. “You’ve got to tell me what you were dreaming about, lady.”

“None of your business,” she teased, while yawning and stretching. To give her mind more time to re-enter the here-and-now, she glanced into the back. Frank, who could sleep through a hurricane, was snoring softly. Linda lay stretched out across the back seat with her sandals off and her head pillowed on his lap.

Turning back around, Debbie studied the sultry, summer landscape. Swamps had given way to fields of soybeans and sugar cane. Ahead, between the live oaks lining the highway, she could see the incongruously tall state capital building beginning to emerge from the shimmering heat waves. Having traveled this road for years, she knew it meant they’d be in Baton Rouge in plenty of time for the pre-wedding party.

Locating her purse, she pulled out a compact and studied her make-up in the small mirror. “Why do you think I was dreaming anyway? Maybe I was just deep in thought.”

“I doubt it. The thing is, a few minutes after we left Lebeau, you looked awake and about like you did when we were kids and old Jeff, the natural born tomcat, went one-on-one with a log truck and lost. A few minutes later, your mouth was wide open. That’s always a sure sign you’ve nodded off. The next time I checked, you had this dumb, happy look on your face. So what were you dreaming about?”

She looked over at her best friend, and gave him an, I know a secret and you don’t, smile. “Oh, I’m not sure. You know how dreams are. But I think it had something to do with school, and friends, and levee parties, and maybe even a wedding or two.”

the end

xxxx

This some-to-be-a-submission is a short story version of an excerpt from a chapter in my novel. In the next chapter, it’s the day after the drive to Baton Rouge. Mike and Debbie are at the same spot she dreamed about because that’s where the hippie couple decided to hold their wedding.

After the ceremony, Mike and Debbie are alone, waiting for Linda and Frank to return after slipping off for a dalliance. During their conversation, Debbie asks him about the night they kissed.

Strictly FYI, the following 800 words of dialogue between Mike and Debbie occurs in that next chapter. I thought some folks might be interested in some background and motivation. My apologies if it annoys more than amuses anyone. RF

--

(additional dialogue)

For a change, Mike said nothing and they sat together in the comfortable silence only old friends can share. After slowly exhaling a stream of smoke and watching it drift away in the warm, gentle wind, Debbie broke the spell. Gesturing toward the small clump of trees, she asked, “Is that the same place, you know, where we…. I mean, is that the place?”

Mike glanced over and noticed a faint blush on her cheeks. It made her look like a little kid, a very cute little kid. “You’re asking if that’s the place where we made out like a couple of wild weasels?”

“Well, yes.”

“Well, no. That was in the spring; the water was a lot higher back then. We’d have needed scuba gear to do anything over where those two (Frank and Linda) are no doubt carrying on.

“The hallowed ground in question, a sacred place forever etched in my memory, is upstream from here,” he said, twisting around and pointing north. “You’ve gotta look back from where dat ‘Old Man River’ is rolling along now. See that big pile of brush and logs at the foot of those skinny willows? It was just above the shoreline back then and made a perfect nighttime hideout.”

Debbie turned around and silently studied the spot. When she spoke, it was in a low, hesitant voice. “Mike, this is a little embarrassing, but why didn’t you, well, why did you stop?”

Without getting up, Mike swung his legs over the log and faced upriver. After glancing at Debbie, he gazed at the place where they’d kissed. “Something just told me it wasn’t the right time, or place, or thing to do. God knows I didn’t want to stop and it damn near gave me the bends,” he said, giving her a rueful grin.

“But you mean a lot to me, lady, a whole lot, and I didn’t want to risk losing my best friend. The thing is, we both know we’re not in love, not romantically, and I guess I was afraid we might not be able to keep on being friends like we’ve always been if we, you know, made love.”

“I knew that was what you’d say. And you’re right, I suppose. But I still feel guilty. After all, I’m the one who started it, so it’s kind of my fault you got the bends,” she said, looking self-conscious.

“No complaints. You were ripped, bummed out, and very vulnerable. And don’t forget, the party was my dumb idea. I’m just glad I happened to notice you wandering away. Besides, if it hadn’t happened, I might never have known my best friend is such a great kisser.”

“God, but you saying that is so weird because, while we were kissing, I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Before he could reply, Debbie continued, “Damn, but life would be so much simpler if we weren’t such good friends. What I mean is, sometimes it seems like everybody I know wants us to get married.” She paused and looked at him with a small, embarrassed grin.

“Same here,” agreed Mike. “My mother would think she’d died and gone to heaven if we got married.”

“Mine feels the same way about you. But like you said, we’re not in love, not romantically anyway. The thing is, our being good friends has gotten us so screwed up we can’t…. Well, we can’t even screw. And it seems like everybody’s doing that these days.”

Mike nodded and flipped away his cigarette. “Right as usual, superstar Debbie. The way I figure it, our problem is we’re the last of the unrepentant, unreconstructed, hopeless southern romantics. Someone should have kept us from reading, Ivanhoe, when we were kids and I know we’ve read and seen, “Gone With the Wind,” way too many times.”

Assuming an overly-dramatic tone, he continued, “Both of us think we want, we need, we must have a great love, a passionate romance; you know, drama, rockets red glare, bombs bursting in air, thunder and lightning, high winds, higher emotions, and a torrid, maybe even dangerous encounter with a mysterious lover.”

Reverting to his normal voice, he continued, “What we got instead was two old friends who were so smashed one night they started making out. And while it was a helluva lot of fun, at least for me, I don’t think that qualifies as either great love or romance.”

“So what do we have?”

Mike lit another cigarette, offered it to Debbie who shook her head. After taking a long drag, he exhaled slowly. “We like each other. That’s what we have. At least, it’s what I have. Because I like you, Deborah Nicole. I like you very much, and that feels nice.”

Taking Mike’s hand in her own, Debbie leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re right, Michael Robert, we do like each other, a whole lot, and it does feel very, very nice.”

 

[Madame Manga]

Thanks for posting your revised version, RF. Unfortunately, I am going to have to drop the ball for a while at this stage of the game--I'm driving for five or six hours tomorrow morning and will be out of town until Sunday. The aforementioned trip to Oregon, natch. ;-)

MM

 

[Guest]

much better, but i am still confused

RF-

I like the opening much better. Lots more show than tell.

I am still confused though, is the dream a recollection or a dream? I still don't understand. And the dialogue at the end totally threw me.

b

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

BK,

It's summer whenever the setting is the car. Mike and Debbie both go to the same college. They are returning to the college town during summer break to attend the wedding, hippie style, of a couple they know. (the couple in the back seat are old friends who attend another college are are just along for the show). At some point, Debbie's recollections about her love life becomes a dream recalling what happened back in May, near the end of the semester. I'll try to think of a way to make the summer part clearer w/o saying, "It's summer, y'all.

Sorry if the dialogue confused you. As I tried, but obviously failed miserably to explain clearly, the submission is a short story version of an excerpt from my book. The dialogue appears in the next chapter. Because the ss has been altered, the two don't mesh perfectly. But I thought a few folks might be interested in a little of the background and motivation of the two characters. But as usual, I created more confusion than clarity.

Thanks again for all you feedback.

RF

 

[Guest]

for the format

for the short story format i would still cut the beginning and the end

 

[jfinn]

Hi RF,

Oh yes, this is much clearer. I like the dialogue snippets throughout and I think Mike is given the emphasis to show how important he is to Debbie.

But I'm going to have to agree with Bridget about the ending still being confusing as to time and place. The transition is too abrupt and until I read your later post I had no idea the interlude between Mike and Debbie was real, let alone it had happened months before. Maybe if you could have Deb reference it somehow when she wakes up.

I had no problem with the dialogue at the end, if fact it explained a lot. You sure you don't want to work that into this short story instead of saving it for later? It would be easy I'd think and would go along way towards promoting understanding.

Jayne

 

[the_bragis]

little A to big B.

Hi Rumple,

I’ve read a version of this story already haven’t I? Well I read it again, from go to woh, and I still think it would benefit from dialog right from the start. Maybe it’s just me? I don’t know. Maybe I’m just a little voyeur at heart, but dialog always makes me feel ‘closer’ to the characters.

But at precisely 9:25 in the evening of July 23, 1964, he told her he’d changed his mind and would be going with them.

The above tells me everything I need to know, time and date, but it’s … oh help me out here; what’s the word? Stilted? To me it’s one of a number of lost opportunities to show both character’s feelings, particularly hers.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, eyes cast down, and unable to look at her as he spoke,” but I’ve changed my mind. I’ll be going with my parents after all.”

She felt numb inside, like someone had… Mmm…just dumped her? Ok, that stinks, but I really would like to read more ‘emotion’, particularly since this is a romantic story.

Again here:

…so they spent hours talking on the phone.

Ok, the whole conversation would be tedious, but I wouldn’t have minded just a little snippet or two.

“beauty and the brain” - That made me smile.

Ok, on to your questions.

The muted sex is fine with me, but do bear in mine I’m not your average horny male searching through the pages of the Literotica site for my daily jollies. This is what I would call a ladies’ erotic story. If you are concerned the sex beginning earlier I guess you could spice it up a little here – They’d never, “gone all the way.” - with details about exactly how far had they gone. That may give your story a wider appeal also. Dirty old men (like my old man) just love reading juicy stuff like that you know.

Again this is just my opinion, but I think a blow by blow description of sex with the boyfriends would have blown your story right out of the romantic category into erotic couplings. Personally I don’t think it's needed.

Yes, I thought it was a good hook. Not great, but not bad.

It’s a nice ending. Yep, I like it.

I had no problem with the time shift. The first time I read this I was jolted by the ending, but that’s not a bad thing really is it? I guess I felt a little like Debbie as she was suddenly woken from her dream.

Overall I thought this was just a little different, and I like that. It’s a little bit sexist, but I guess that’s how things were back then weren’t they?

I wish you well this one Rumple.

Have a great day,

Alex (fem).

Oh, and the ‘workshop’? Well if people want to put up their story before posting it and if others are happy to help/give an opinion, sure it’s a great idea.

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

NEW ENDING

In response to an underwhelming lack of demand, I've been tinkering with a new, longer ending to this yarn. To protect the weak of heart, I'm only going to post the last few paragraphs of the original story and then the new ending.

Any comments, with the possible exception of, don't do this again, will be appreciated and considered carefully.

RF

--

Love on the Levee, ver. many


Debbie looked over at her best friend and gave him a big, I know a secret and you don’t, smile. “Oh, I really was feeling rotten. But then I had this neat dream, real romantic and mushy with lots of heavy breathing, and I feel all better now.”

As Mike begged for details, she reached over and mussed his dark, wavy hair. That dream had done a lot more than just get her out of a bad mood—it totally hooked her on Mike Floyd, her life-long best friend who, if she had her way, was about to become a whole lot more. For the next time they kissed, and she’d make sure that happened soon, there’d be no stopping.

#

The “next time” happened the following day. Although Debbie still thought an outdoor wedding in south Louisiana during August was a sign of mental instability, she was delighted to learn the ceremony was being held between the levee and the bank of the Mississippi River near where she and Mike had kissed back in May.

Someone identified as the Chief Boo-Hoo of the Neo-American Church, a short, plump, bearded man who giggled a lot, conducted the service. He was stylishly clad in sandals, beads, a white, paisley suit with a vest, but no shirt, and had a garland of flowers in his long, red hair.

The wedding party caught a break from the usually brutal August heat. It was a clear, sunny day with temperatures in the low 90’s which by local standards was only warm. The normally stifling humidity had miraculously plunged to an almost humane level. All that, combined with a gentle breeze coming in off the river, kept the sweat index at a livable reading.

After the bride and groom kissed, there was an extended period of hand shaking, hugging, kissing, drinking, laughing, and talking. Except for the clothes and the setting, the scene looked and sounded to Mike like the milling and gabbing that followed most such ceremonies.

The crowd soon began to head over the levee toward the line of cars parked along the edge of the old river road. From their places of honor in the bed of a pick-up, the bride and groom lead the procession back to the communal Big House for the reception.

Minutes later, Mike and Debbie were the only ones left at the now quiet wedding site. Immediately after the Chief Boo-Hoo turned two erstwhile Episcopalians into husband and wife, Linda and Frank had wandered off and never returned.

Debbie looked up and down the shoreline. “Where do you think they are?”

“Out of sight.”

Shaking her head, she sat on a sun bleached, driftwood log. “Thanks for the help, Joe Friday.”

Sitting down beside her, Mike grinned, “I think of myself more as the suave, sophisticated Peter Gunn type.”

“Well, I think of yourself as nuts, and before you say it, I know, birds of a feather flock together.”

“Takes one to know one, I’ve always heard. Of course, I’ve also heard that opposites attract. So you pays your money, you takes your pick.”

“Seriously, do you think they’re all right?”

Mike nodded, lit a cigarette, and handed it over.

“They’re in love, remember? If one of ‘em had falling in, the other would be raising all kinds of hell.”

“Oh, that’s a real comfort.”

After taking a puff, she studied the cigarette. “Weren’t we going to quit these things?”

“We did,” he replied, placing the pack back in his shirt pocket. “It was our end-of-semester resolution, but it only applies when we’re home.”

After lighting his own cigarette, he pointed to a spot a couple hundred yards away near the river. “Now, as for our non-smoking lovebirds, they’re probably hiding in that little thicket and doing God knows what sort of disgusting things. You wanna sneak up and take a peek?”

Debbie shook her head and laughed, “Of course not.” Gesturing toward the small clump of trees, she asked, “Is that the same place, you know, where we…. I mean, is that the place?”

Mike glanced over and noticed a faint blush on her cheeks. It made her look like a little kid, a very cute little kid. “You’re asking if that’s the place where we made out like a couple of wild weasels?”

“Well, yes.”

“Well, no. That was in the spring; the water was a lot higher back then. We’d have needed scuba gear to do anything over where those two are no doubt carrying on.

“The hallowed ground in question, a sacred place forever etched in my memory, is upstream from here,” he said, twisting around and pointing north. “You’ve gotta look back from where dat ‘Old Man River’ is rolling along now. See that big pile of brush and logs at the foot of those skinny willows? It was just above the shoreline back then and made a perfect nighttime hideout.”

Debbie had turned around and was silently studying the spot. When she spoke, it was in a low, hesitant voice. “Mike, this is a little embarrassing, but why didn’t you, well, why did you stop?”

Without getting up, Mike swung his legs over the log and faced upriver. After glancing at Debbie, he gazed at the spot. “Something just told me it wasn’t the right time, or place, or thing to do. God knows I didn’t want to stop and it damn near gave me the bends,” he said, giving her a rueful grin.

“But you mean a lot to me, lady, a whole lot, and I didn’t want to risk losing my best friend. We’re not in love, not romantically, that is. And I guess I was afraid we might not be able to keep on being friends, like we’ve always been, if we, you know, made love.”

“I knew that was what you’d say. And you’re right, I suppose. But I still feel guilty. After all, I’m the one who started it, so it’s kind of my fault you got the bends,” she said, looking self-conscious.

“No complaints. You were ripped, bummed out, and very vulnerable. And don’t forget, the party was my dumb idea. I’m just glad I happened to notice you wandering away. Besides, if it hadn’t happened, I might never have known my best friend is such a great kisser.”

“God, but you saying that is so weird because, while we were kissing, I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Before he could reply, Debbie continued, “Damn, but life would be so much simpler if we weren’t such good friends. I mean, the thing is, our being good friends has gotten us so screwed up we can’t…. Well, we can’t even screw. And it seems like just about everybody’s doing that these days.”

Mike nodded and flipped away his cigarette. “Right as usual, superstar Debbie. The way I figure it, our problem is we’re the last of the unrepentant, unreconstructed, hopeless southern romantics. Someone should have kept us from reading, Ivanhoe, when we were kids and I know we’ve read and seen, “Gone With the Wind,” way too many times.

“But instead of a great romance, what we got was two old friends who were so smashed one night they started making out. And while it was a helluva lot of fun, at least for me, that probably doesn’t qualify as a great romance.”

“So what do we have?”

“We like each other. That’s what we have. At least, it’s what I have. Because I like you, Deborah Nicole. I like you very much, and that feels nice.”

Debbie stood, moved in between Mike’s outstretched legs, and stunned him by pressing her lips against his. When the kiss ended, she leaned back and looked into his eyes. “You’re right, Michael Henry, we do like each other, a whole lot, and it does feel very, very good. But I haven’t been able to think of you as just a friend since the night we first kissed. So what I want to know, what I need you to tell me, is whether I’m anything more than just someone you like a whole lot.”

Mike felt his stomach flip-flop and hoped he’d heard right. He put his arms around her slender waist and pulled her close. “Deb, I’ve fought falling in love with you all summer. But I just lost. My old friend, I love you so much it hurts.”

“Oh God, but I love you, too, old friend,” said Debbie, as she threw her arms around his neck.

At first they just hugged, savoring their new relationship. Debbie finally broke the sensual silence. Nodding toward the spot where they first kissed, she said, “Let’s go over there and start again. Only this time, if you really love me, if you want to keep me, don’t you dare stop.”

 

[the_bragis]

little a to big B

Hi Rumple,

Well to be honest I didn’t think there was anything wrong with the ending as it was. The fact is I don’t mind a being left with a little something to ponder at the end of a story.

I don’t know if it’s because I’ve already read this a few times already, but these extra paragraphs seemed like just that. To me they are not so much an ‘ending’ but a beginning to another chapter of your story. Does that make sense? Probably not. Well others will probably disagree with me anyway. It’s good stuff so I’m sure you’ll find a place for it.

Other things I noted were:

I’m a romantic through and through, so I would have perhaps enjoyed a little detail about how he looked at her and she looked at him, especially at weddings people in love tend feel very emotional don’t they? Well again, maybe it’s just me, because I do. I mean when the couple kiss - oh what can I say, it just makes me tingle all over. My SNAG, sensitive new age man, is the same. I think a few stolen looks and quick glances between Debbie and Mike would have built a little sexual tension. Maybe him noticing how lovely she looked? Her noting how handsome he looked in suite? Pretty corny hey? Ok , but just some little hints of sexual attraction.

neat dream - Oh boy nobody says ‘neat’ anymore, but since it’s set in the sixties good work Rumple.

temperatures in the low 90’s . – I know it’s not vital, but I’m not sure what that is.

made out like a couple of wild weasels? - Love it!

Debbie stood, moved in between Mike’s outstretched legs, and stunned him by pressing her lips against his. When the kiss ended, she leaned back and looked into his eyes. “You’re right, Michael Henry, we do like each other, a whole lot, and it does feel very, very good. But I haven’t been able to think of you as just a friend since the night we first kissed. So what I want to know, what I need you to tell me, is whether I’m anything more than just someone you like a whole lot.” - a little more detail… pretty please? I have a further problem here too, first she plants a big wet one on him, then she pulls away and starts yak yak yaking. I think the yak yak needs to come before the big wet one. She blurts out how she feels, they are both stop for a moment in stunned silence, then wam bam the big kiss!

Well that’s my two bobs worth.

Have a great day,

Alex.

 

[LilyMelb]

Hi Rumple,

I really liked this one, which surprised me, because romance is usually my least favourite genre. Granted, I just wanted to slap Debbie at times, but this is no criticism - romance heroines just drive me insane with the constant obsession with love and security, so if she's frustrating me then it's probably a great sign the charater's written damn well within the genre. (This is so *not* my genre, ha... )

Very well written tale, with just the right amount of sentimentality without being too gushy or over the top. I rather liked the original ending myself - the last dialog maybe needed slight adjustments to help it flow, but not much, only a mild tweaking. And like the_bragis stated, it can be good to be left pondering...

The sex was definitely very well done and because this is romance, I don't think you needed to get to it any quicker. Suited time, place and story; it was sweet, I liked it.

The only thing I was uneasy with was Debbie's acceptance/allowance to have Mike make the decision on 'what was best' in regards to whether they make love or not. Being set in the sixties, I could deal with her agonising at various stages over whether she should 'do it' or not and her focus on security and a certain brand of romantic love, (although I do wonder if I am not writing off the period too superficially with this, but what the hey, it's romantic fantasy.)

The gender relations between them, however, do towards the end tend to fall into the standard romantic trope, which I think stands out most with the removal of this decision - which is posited as central throughout the story - from Debbie to Mike. I wanted her to take responsibility for herself, but then, maybe that's just my background in feminist theory (hehe, wonder if that surprised anyone..? ), and hence not necessarily of interest/relevance either to other readers or yourself as author. This is not a criticism, therefore, but merely the way I was personally reading this story...

I've not been much help to your editing process in minutiae, I'm afraid! But these were my overall impressions... I liked it! Very well done...

Ciao... Lily

 

[champagne1982]

Hi RF.
I enjoyed reading the story. It's believable and sweet. As you say at the beginning of almost all of your feedback postings, I am not an expert and you should use as much of my offering as you like. Never fear, I won't be hurt if you discard it all. I have critiqued the rewrite so I hope I don't come to late to assist you in yet another revision.

1. This is a romance category story, so the sex is muted. Does it come too late to keep reader's interest and is it too muted?
Not at all. It's a romance, not erotica.

2. Should I include some blow-by-blow sex with her two boyfriends even though that would slow the story?
Again, not at all. It's... You know.

3. Does the opening have enough "hook"?
I think the story's too short for a prologue, but you stayed true to form by having a bit of an epilogue at the ending so I can't fault you there.

4. Is the ending strong enough?
I like it as it stands in the second version. When I read the latest additions it feels like you've just started another chapter and not finished a story.

5. Do the time/scene shifts work or did they leave you confused?
You handled them wonderfully in the second version.

Debbie looked over at her best friend and gave him a big, I know a secret and you don’t, smile. “Oh, I really[...]
YOU CAN RID YOURSELF OF THE PUNCTUATION PROBLEMS WITH THIS SENTENCE BY HYPHENATING YOUR SMILE WORDS AND TURNING THEM INTO ONE NOUN, AS IN, "A BIG I-KNOW-A-SECRET-AND-YOU-DON'T-SMILE."
ANOTHER PROBLEM IS THE PERIOD SEPARATING THE TAG PHRASE FROM THE SPEECH, YOU SHOULD USE A COMMA. (FOR A REFERENCE YOU CAN GO TO THE DIALOGUE DISCUSSION FOUND ON THIS VERY FORUM)

“What has gotten into you, girl?” Debbie's lips moved soundlessly as she stared out the car window. “One minute you’re joking with Mike about his driving, feeling great, and looking forward to going to a real hippie wedding. Then, it’s like someone turned on all the bad vibes in the world.”
WHO IS SPEAKING? I DON'T THINK THAT QUESTION IS EVER REALLY ANSWERED BY YOU THROUGH THE ENTIRE STORY. IS THIS SOMEONE IN THE BACKSEAT QUESTIONING HER? EVENTUALLY, I SURMISE THAT IT'S REALLY DEBBIE TALKING TO HERSELF BUT YOU NEED TO LET US KNOW FOR SURE.
IT'S AN AWFULLY LONG SPEECH FOR HER TO BE MOVING HER LIPS TO BTW AND IF IT WERE SOMEONE ELSE SPEAKING, THEN WHY IS SHE MOVING HER LIPS AT ALL? WHAT IF MIKE GLANCED OVER AND SAW THAT HAPPENING? HE'D THINK SHE WAS ON A TRIP AND HE WASN'T INVITED.

Bullshit not thy own self, she thought, quoting one of Mike’s favorite sayings.
IF THE ABOVE CONJECTURE ABOUT DEBBIE ADMONISHING HERSELF IS TRUE, THEN HER THOUGHTS NEED TO BE ENCLOSED IN A QUOTE.

Well, what she was thinking might be bullshit, but she couldn't shake the feeling her mood had something to do with that look on Linda’s face after Frank proposed back at the restaurant in Lebeau.
TALK ABOUT TMI (too much info)! I WAS BREATHLESS AFTER READING THIS SENTENCE. I KNOW THAT IT'S ALL IMPORTANT TO THE STORY SO LET'S BREAK IT UP A LITTLE, GIVING EACH BIT THE WEIGHT IT DESERVES. "Well, what she was thinking might be bullshit. She FELT her MELANCHOLY mood had something to do with that look on Linda’s face after Frank HAD (YOU NEED TO STAY IN THE PAST PERFECT TENSE HERE) proposed.(MAYBE YOU CAN ADD A LINE ABOUT THE OTHER COUPLE RIDING IN THE CAR HERE? SOMETHING LIKE --"THEIR SMILING FACES BEAMING FORWARD FROM THE BACK SEAT EVER SINCE THEY'D LEFT THAT RESTAURANT IN LEBEAU, SERVED ONLY TO REMIND HER OF HER SINGLE STATUS.")

[...]wondered if she’d ever love anyone as much as Linda did Frank or be loved by someone the way Frank did Linda.
HOW ABOUT wondered if she’d ever BE IN love WITH SOMEONE as much as Linda AND FRANK WERE.

Ronnie’s parents, who thought Debbie was great, said he could stay in Louisiana and enter LSU in the fall. But at precisely 9:25 in the evening of July 23, 1964, he told her he’d changed his mind and would be going with them.
THIS IS A HUGE LIFE ALTERING DECISION. COLLEGE AND MARRIAGE TO YOUR HS SWEETHEART THROWN AWAY AND ALL SUMMED UP AND TRIVIALIZED WITH A COMMENT ABOUT HER NOT GIVING UP HER CHERRY. PLUS, IT'S A LITTLE LATE IN THE YEAR TO HOPE TO GET ACCEPTED AT ANOTHER COLLEGE. I COULD BE WRONG BUT HER IDEAS SEEM TO MAKE HER SELF-CENTRED AND NAIVE. I DEFINITELY HAVE NO EMPATHY FOR HER AND I'M SURE THAT'S NOT WHAT IS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.

And while he never said so, Debbie knew why. They’d done just about everything two people could do in a parked car, but she’d never agreed to, “go all the way.”
EVERYTHING ABOUT THE PRECEDING OBSERVATION COULD BE RESOLVED RIGHT HERE. "Debbie THOUGHT she knew why. They’d done just about everything two people could do in a parked car, but she’d never agreed to, “go all the way"." DONT BREAK TO A NEW PARAGRAPH YET. YOU COULD QUALIFY HER REFLECTION MORE AT THE START OF THE NEXT SENTENCE. "SHE COULD HAVE BEEN WRONG. EVEN at the time, it’d seemed like a stupid, selfish reason for him to leave."

Now, she wasn’t certain Ronnie hadn’t been right. Why should he give up his family for someone who wouldn’t even give up her stupid virginity?
THIS IS SO OUT OF PLACE WHERE YOU HAVE IT. YOU EASE US INTO DEBBIE'S CONFIDENCE WITH MIKE, TELLING US HOW SWEET HE IS EVEN AFTER HIS OWN BREAKUP AND THEN WHAM! WE'RE HURLED BACK TO RONNIE. I THINK YOU SHOULD CUT THIS WHOLE BIT. AS A SIDE NOTE, IT DEFINITELY DOESN'T DESERVE IT'S OWN PARAGRAPH.

I REALLY LIKE HOW YOU HANDLE HER RELATIONSHIP WITH CLAYTON. YOU'VE CLARIFIED ROD'S PREDATORIAL STATUS AND ELUDED TO THE IDEA THAT HE AND CLAY ARE PROBABLY EXPLORING HOMOSEXUALITY.

In fact, she didn’t remember much about the next few days. Somehow she got around, probably by autopilot, moving like a zombie to classes, and then coming back to her room where she’d collapse onto bed and cry herself to sleep.

It was Thursday before she worked up the courage to talk about it with Mike. She felt hurt, mad, ashamed, confused, and didn’t think she could handle a face-to-face meeting, so they spent hours talking on the phone.
DON'T HAVE THIS AS TWO PARAGRAPHS. COMBINE EVERYTHING IN ONE AND YOU WON'T HAVE TO TELL US ALL OF THOSE SYNONYMS FOR UPSET. YOU'VE SHOWN US HER EMOTIONAL STATE AND THEN YOU BORE US BY TELLING. EDIT OUT YOUR LAST SENTENCE AND YOU WILL END WITH "In fact, she didn’t remember much about the next few days. Somehow she got around, probably by autopilot, moving like a zombie to classes, and then coming back to her room, where she’d collapse onto bed and cry herself to sleep. It was Thursday before she worked up the courage to talk about it with Mike. She didn’t think she could handle a face-to-face meeting, so they spent hours on the phone."

Near the end of her marathon confessional, she heard him say something about a party that weekend on the nearby Mississippi River levee. While not sure exactly what he said, she remembered telling him that going to a party was the last thing on her mind.
Two days later, three girl friends invaded her room. Saying she’d been in bed all day, which was true, they’d forced her to get up and, ignoring her protests, made her put on some clothes and come with them.
HERE IS ANOTHER SITUATION WHERE YOU CAN MAKE 2 PARAS INTO ONE AND CUT SOME UNNECCESSARY WORDS TOO, I THINK. "Near the end of her marathon confessional, she heard him say something about a party that weekend on the nearby Mississippi River levee. She remembered telling him that going to a party was the last thing on her mind. Two days later, three girl friends invaded her room, saying she’d been in bed all day. They’d forced her to get up and ignoring her protests, made her put on some clothes and come with them."

Because, because he loves me. AND Damn it, Mike, just kiss me. Please.
THESE ARE PART OF HER THOUGHTS AND YOU SHOULD FIND A WAY TO DELINEATE THEM. I WOULD USE A FEW EXCLAMATION POINTS TO ADD EXPRESSION TO THIS INTERNAL DIALOGUE, AFTER ALL "HE LOVES ME!" AND THEN SHE'S FRUSTRATED, ALMOST YELLING HER THOUGHTS, "DAMN IT, MIKE! JUST KISS ME!" THE EXCLUSION OF THE SUBJECT, -YOU-, IN THE VERBS, CHANGES THE STATEMENTS TO IMPERATIVES, IN ANY CASE. YOU ARE ALMOST OBLIGATED TO USE THE EXCLAMATION POINT.

She lifted her head and looked up at him. Even in the dim moonlight, she could make out his familiar, comforting smile and immediately felt better.
[...]
Slipping both hands behind his neck, she pulled his face to hers. Tilting her head, she began kissing her best friend.
[...]
At some point it occurred to her that Mike was a very good kisser. In a strange sort of way, it made her proud to know her best friend was so gifted.
I DON'T KNOW IF THIS IS A STYLISTIC THING BUT TOO SHORT PARAGRAPHS MAKE ME INSANE. THEY CAN BE WORSE THAN TOO LONG ONES, BREAKING UP THE FLOW FROM ONE IDEA TO THE NEXT. MAYBE YOU COULD FIND A WAY TO INCORPORATE THEM INTO THE SURROUNDING PARA'S.

Tilting her head, she began kissing her best friend. AT THE END OF THE NEXT PARAGRAPH, Then he slowly leaned forward and began kissing his best friend. AND FINALLY, ONE PARAGRAPH OR SO LATER, [...]it made her proud to know her best friend was so gifted.
ENOUGH ALREADY! WE KNOW THEY'RE BEST FRIENDS. YOU TOLD US WAY BACK AT THE BEGINNING OF THE STORY.

[...]she snuggled closer and pulled him back onto her waiting mouth.
I LIKED THE FACT THAT SHE WAS STOPPING HIM FROM SAYING MORE BY OFFERING HIM KISSES. YOU COULD CONTINUE THE IMAGE BY INSTEAD OF PULLING HIM "ONTO"(THAT WORD BUGS ME A LITTLE, TOO) HER WAITING MOUTH, "she snuggled closer and BLOCKED HIS WORDS WITH HER EAGER MOUTH."

[...]she heard herself moan softly[...]
OF COURSE SHE DID! SHE NOT DEAF IS SHE?

YOU MAKE THE PETTING SCENE POIGNANT AND SWEET AND NOT IN THE LEAST BIT SORDID. THANKYOU.

[...]she understood he’d decided[...]
DIALOGUE PLEASE!

There was a hard jolt and Debbie’s head banged against something. Confused, she opened her eyes and looked around. Apparently, they’d hit a bump and her head had bounced against the car window.
YOU COULD ILLUSTRATE THE JOLT BETTER BY ABBREVIATING THE FIRST 3 SENTENCES. "There was a hard jolt! Debbie’s head BOUNCED AGAINST THE WINDOW. Confused, she opened her eyes and looked around. DON'T START A NEW PARAGRAPH YET. Instead of sitting near the river kissing Mike, she was in the front seat of his old Ford, speeding down a four-lane highway. YOU START A COUPLE OF SENTENCES WITH CONJUGATING WORDS. I DON'T THINK YOU SHOULD, THEY SEEM UNNECESSARY And instead of caressing her body, he was driving.

And instead of caressing her body, he was driving, kinda, while looking over and grinning at her. “You’ve got to tell me what you were dreaming about, lady.”
SO THE FIRST SENTENCE IS BROKEN INTO TWO. Instead of caressing her body, he was driving. PART OF THE PRECEDING PARA AND THE REST BECOMES A DIALOGUE PARAGRAPH. HE LOOKED OVER AND GRINNED, "You’ve got to tell me what you were dreaming about, lady.”

[...]old Jeff, the natural born tomcat, went one-on-one with a log truck and lost.
IS OLD JEFF A MAN? IS HE A CAT? SHOULD WE CARE? I THINK I KNOW BUT I'D BE MORE CERTAIN IF YOU JUST SAID "OLD JEFF, THE CAT..." AFTER ALL HIS SEX IS SHOWN BY HIS NAME AND IF YOU GET RID OF THE "NATURAL BORN" (DID HIS MAM HAVE A C-SECTION?) YOU DEFINE THAT HE'S A CAT.

She looked over at her best friend, and gave him an, I know a secret and you don’t, smile. “Oh, I’m not sure. You know how dreams are. But I think it had something to do with school, and friends, and levee parties, and maybe even a wedding or two.”
I HAVE A MAJOR PROBLEM WITH THE PUNCTUATION IN THIS SENTENCE:
FIRST, YOU DON'T NEED A COMMA WHEN YOU USE A CONJUGATION, - "She looked over at her best friend and gave...";
THEN YOU'RE SEPARATING AN ARTICLE FROM ITS NOUN WITH A COMMA, - "him an I know..." SEE MY FIRST COMMENT ON THE SMILE AND IT WILL ELIMINATE THE COMMA ISSUE, I'M SURE AND
WITH SPEECH SENTENCES, YOU SEPARATE THE TAG PHRASE WITH A COMMA NOT A PERIOD, - "smile, “Oh, I’m not sure[...]"
THERE ARE MORE ISSUES WITH CONJUGATING WORDS AND COMMAS AND STARTING SENTENCES WITH THE SAME. "IF THIS IS TRULY WHERE SHE PAUSES, FOR HALF BEATS, AND, TAKES LITTLE BREATHS, THEN MAYBE THE COMMAS ARE JUST AS APPROPRIATE AS MINE AREN'T IN THIS SENTENCE."

I think grammar, spelling and punctuation are just as important at the end of a story as they are at the beginning. You have a wonderful story and I hate to see it end on a downbeat.

Thankyou for a fun read and all the best in the novel.

Carrie

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

Alex, LilyMelb, champagne1982,

Many thanks to all of you for the very useful critiques. I apologize for being so slow with my thank-you, but my place has been infested with two, grandkid-type, house-apes the last two weeks. Having them under foot 24/7 put a severe cramp on my writing style.

For me at least, this process has been a boot in the butt and a lot of help. The only problem is I'm getting hooked on re-doing the story. Now I've tinkering with a contemporary version that has Debbie's dream sequence occur sooner and on the levee.

Again, thanks for all your help.

Rumple Foreskin