Writing Exercise no. 6: A party from the past

[StillStunned]

It's been a while, so let's try another of these. You know the drill: write a snippet or fragment of about 250 words from a theoretical story. It doesn't have to be the beginning, it doesn't have to stand by itself, it doesn't have to be complete in any way. Just words describing a scene.

Today's prompt: A party from the past.

Write a snippet describing a scene at a party in bygone times. Anything from Helen and Paris first laying eyes on each other to a drug-fuelled orgy from the 1960s, from a Mongol victory banquet to a secret Christmas in Interregnum England, from Oscar Night to a Roman wedding.

Party on, dudes!

 

[StillStunned]

Here's mine:


“Quick!” Miss Stafford seized Anthony’s hand as the guests began to leave the ballroom and make their way to where supper was laid out. “No-one will miss us now.”

Anthony allowed himself to be drawn out onto the veranda, and from there to a piece of grotesque statuary. Torn between his desire to be alone with this delightful creature and his concern at what would happen if her father found her – General Stafford was reputed to have duelled and killed three men, and over much smaller slights – he sought for a place that provided both shelter and a clear view of the veranda.

“Miss Stafford–” he began, but she interrupted him.

“It’s Nelly. You can’t kiss me, and then come all formal on me. Nelly. Say it.” She kissed him.

He found himself smiling. “Nelly.” It felt awkward on his tongue, so he tried it again. “Nelly. I should–”

“You should stop talking,” Miss Stafford murmured, “Otherwise I might become bored. Did you know that Mama hired a French cook for tonight? If I’m not going to be kissed, I would rather use my mouth for eating.”

Faced with this ultimatum, Anthony drew her close and kissed her. She melted in his arms, hands coming up to clutch at him. He felt himself responding, growing and swelling in ways that made his tailored uniform uncomfortably tight.

Miss Stafford moaned into his mouth. Her body pressed even closer against his, as if seeking out the heat in his breeches, as if the layers of silk and crinoline that separated them would melt away if only they held each other long enough.

 

[gunhilltrain]

I finally finished one of the earlier writing exercises - was this from May 17? I couldn't stop at 250 words; I had to actually write the "theoretical story" which became over 6,400 words. That took much longer than I expected and it it was finally published a couple of days ago. It was the one about Ellie and her neighbors Don and Val.

https://classic.literotica.com/s/ellie-and-joshs-kinky-adventure

So, thanks for the inspiration!

 

[StillStunned]

That's great! I'm writing one myself, based on "The Demon Under My Bed" from a month ago.

 

[shelleycat1]

Here's mine.

250w

The party was in a grey concrete barn off the main road, the A6 running north to Carlisle, through the village. Bales of hay were lined up as seats around the straw-strewn dance floor, a fiddle and a caller, all the locals at the barn dance. We had been dancing, hot and sweaty, gazing at each other, smiling.

I think we had been taken there by her parents, however, I don't recall that now. A few drinks, not many. Outside the barn through the farmyard was a green field, dotted with a few trees, the river running and murmuring on one side. She had shortish dark hair, blue eyes and was very slightly plump with well sized breasts. She was lovely and clinging closely to me as we walked out onto the cooler field. It was risky, behind one of the oak trees in the field. We couldn't be seen from the road, but any other pair could have come out and seen us as we coupled, standing up, behind that tree. It didn't take us long, me grunting and thrusting into her hot wet cleft. We put our arms around each other and kissed after the act. We went back, assuming that nobody had noticed us.

That was over forty ago now, we weren't married then. I remember the gift she gave me; one of a set of pictures over many years of life together. I loved her then and I love her now, our wedding anniversary next week.

 

[Erozetta]

260-ish words... I'm gonna be expanding this...

With his hand on my mid-back and my hand on his shoulder, he began unfamiliar steps. His gentle smile allowed me to forget the leering gaze of the rest of the room. It was only he and I in a sea of flame, dancing in tune to a song that didn't reach my ears, but I felt I knew by heart.

The red-rimmed gaze of his blackened eyes upon my naked form allowed me to match his steps along the warm obsidian floor perfectly. I was among the freshly dead offerings hand-picked across time.

There were so many from which to choose, but he came to me immediately. My burial dress lay tattered by the ornately carved stone entrance, torn from my frame as soon as I stepped through. This gala rejected all modesty for its guests, but I didn't mind.

Perhaps that was why he chose me before all others?

Many more beautiful women walked through, their dresses undone as though by imaginary whips shredding the cloth as soon as they crossed that threshold. Each covered their assets upon exposure. Shock and shame settled on their faces with disbelief at the sheer audacity of disrobing them so violently. I'd stood taller, raised my chin, and pushed my shoulders back. There was no shame to feel as I was a sight to behold.

He spun me 'round and I laughed. His hand grazed my hip, and he blushed. Imagine that, a demon of his standing blushing at a gentle caress upon a woman's skin.

Oh, is that what this is? Am I to be his first?

 

[StillStunned]

260-ish words... I'm gonna be expanding this...

Yes please, this is very intriguing!

 

[ShelbyDawn57]

Don't so much horror, but this just felt right.

---

The honor my master bestowed upon me not lost, I made my way into the flashing lights and chaos of the room. Hot sweaty bodies jumped and writhed against each other, letting the flashing strobes and heavy bass drive their desires. If they only knew...

My short skirt, accented by tight leather thigh boots and a too skimpy bustier, drew the attention I sought. Blood red polish on my long nails, black lipstick, accented my straight black hair and crystal blue eyes.

There, sitting off to the side, his cadre around him, almost worshiping him. He was the one. My master would be pleased.

The pretty blonde next to him tried to protest, but I knew he couldn’t resist. Pointing at him, I slowly turned my hand and beckoned him join me with the simple curl of a finger. His eyes locked on mine. Pushing her aside, he stood, making his way through his friends to meet his fate.

She shouted something, he thought about turning back. I licked my lips and smiled. He was mine. Pulling him close, I kissed him passionately, letting him explore my taut body with his hands.

“Derrick!” I heard the blonde call his name. It was too late. I sealed his fate the moment I walked in the door. It was the same for all of them.

We danced and kissed. I let him slip his hand under my dress, let him touch my most private parts, allowed him to believe there was a future.

Laughing, I caught my master’s eye. He nodded. First kill. I drove my fangs into Derrick’s neck, sucking him dry amidst the screams filling the air as my brothers and sisters selected their prey.

 

[yowser]

It wasn’t until I saw the fellow in a “Penis” costume that I realized this wasn’t going to be one of those garden-variety, drug-addled, post-Woodstock Halloween parties.

Mary, in her quaint Bambi-the-deer outfit, clutched my elbow with a grip that both startled me and hurt. I hadn’t known she was that strong.

The whole affair, something out of a John Waters movie, was over six feet from feet to “tip” as it were. The wearer’s head (or the cutout for it anyway) lay just underneath what anatomically stood for the “frenulum.” Someone back in their fraternity dorm room possessed some serious papier-mâché skills.

The “penis” was remarkably lifelike, blue veins Sharpied onto the pink shaft like a map of some great river. It appeared that two soccer balls had been enclosed inside a fabric “scrotum” that flounced around at waist height. To complete the pubic illusion, a section of cut-up brown shag carpet ringed the whole assemblage. If seen from any road anywhere in the US., it would have caused a massive traffic pile-up.

Mary’s eyes were wide as she stared into my face. I suddenly had a sinking feeling that my plans for our third official date and an entertaining evening out might not go well.

Was it just gobsmacked surprise in her face? Revulsion? A sudden and disastrous second guessing of my own common sense? My fitness and sanity as a “boyfriend?”

But to my right something else made my head swivel. Mary’s eyes followed mine before she let out a yelp that startled everyone around us.

We had spotted, across the ballroom, someone dressed up as a “vagina.”

 

[intim8]

Pin the Donkey on the Tail.

A gray felt donkey's head was pulled over my head. It was stuffy in there and I wondered how it would get when I started breathing heavy. There were no eyeholes.

My cock was already standing straight out, but someone put a vibrator against it for good measure. In the minute that took, I heard the shuffling of feet around me, but no voices; the women were all mixing themselves up.

My wife was among them, but unless I could pick her scent out of the crowd, there was little chance...

A hand slathered my dick with lube, then I was spun around three times and my hands were cuffed behind my back.

I wandered the room, dick in the lead, knowing that the targets would be bent over the tables that ringed the perimeter, tables laden with booze and soft drinks, food, lines of coke.

I knew the layout of the room, but I had no idea which way I was facing.

I walked straight ahead till I contacted flesh. Tried to sniff, but couldn't really tell. The room was awash with smells, of food, drink, sweat, pussy.

I picked one, the first ass my dick contacted, and maneuvered my hips till I found the cleft. I followed that down - really awkward with no hands and no vision - till I felt a hollow. I pushed.

She squealed. I pushed further in. Someone undid the cuffs, then pulled the hood off. Pauline from personnel looked back up at me. "Wrong hole, buddy," she playfully scolded.

I reached around and cupped her copious breasts, then drove it home. "I don't think so," I said. "But Merry Christmas."

 

[Erozetta]

Yes please, this is very intriguing!

It hit 2k words in a couple of hours. Gonna save it for Pandemonium.

 

[DeLaFaye]

Cut it off at 250 or else I'd be up the rest of the night with it:

“We can’t! You heard what the Bishop said!”

“If that damned Gregory had just kept his mouth shut!”

“And if YOU had just kept your legs shut!”

“Dear cousin, what’s the fun in that?! We’re to be whored out either way. At least I was able to choose who I wanted to fuck.”

“Tell me after a time at that monastery with the nuns and eunuchs if it was worth it, then!”

“Celibacy is the fate that has been determined for us. So let us live up this last fine evening before becoming Sisters, cousin.”

The girls looked at one another and giggled. Both knowing damn well they’d sniff out other males in the monastery. Or they wouldn’t. And simply find other ways to entertain their… selves.

“Fine!” She’d always been the ‘slightly’ more pious one, but even she wasn’t looking forward to such a selfless life. “I have dibs on the blacksmith’s apprentice! Have you seen his hands?! I wonder what they’d feel like, grabbing my arse and—”

“Girls! What pray are you two….” The Bishop had found them out and deduced quickly their intentions. With a heavy sigh he walked away, believing this would be the last of their rebellious streak, whether they liked it or not. Besides, Gregory himself was only out this way after having seen to the apprenticing blacksmith’s tool. Not that he wasn’t one to judge, but it had been a tool worthy of praise and veneration. Not to mention a princesses’ --

 

[NotWise]

253 words. And a picture.

She backed up with her eyes on the room—not on me, but on the young and the beautiful all laughing under the chandelier—and she turned alone to the balcony. I downed my Manhattan and told the barkeep, “Thanks, I’ll be back” without even looking at him.

“Beautiful here,” I said. I found her silhouetted against the lights below. “The view down the canyon ain’t bad either.”

“Are you a producer? You don’t look like a producer.”

“You sound like a girl with a plan.” I turned my back to the Hollywood lights and leaned on the rail next to her. “Set your sights a little lower, and we might find a thing or two to talk about.”

She glanced at me around a wave in her blond bob. “I’d tell you to get lost, but I got nothin’ better to do right now.”

“Be still my heart.” There were new sounds from inside—a piano, a trumpet warming up. “We could dance.”

She laughed. “I’m havin’ a hard time seein’ you cuttin’ a rug.”

“We could leave. I have a car and I know a place… Dinner, people to see, people to see you. How ‘bout it?”

She fingered her long string of beads. “Producers?”

“Directors, too.”

“And liars like you?” She moved a little closer, and her perfume tickled my nose--Chanel, I think.

“Nothin’ but the honest truth.” Her painted lips curled into a smile, so I tucked my hand under her elbow and turned her around. “Tomorrow, you’ll be a star.”



And for the record, I don't know who this woman was.

 

[mrs_mackenzie]

250 words from me:

House party, 2005. The music, thudding through the floor from downstairs, was a new club banger I didn’t recognise. A woman was singing, the same song phrase repeated over and over in line with the heavy bass. The wooden doorframe, which my hand was resting on, was vibrating gently with the beat. I could feel it though my fingernails, painted hot pink four hours ago in preparation for the party. Kelly painted them: she was my best friend and it was a lot easier if someone else did the painting. She’d come to my flat so we could get ready together, bickering over who could use the bathroom mirror to do their makeup. I’d claimed I couldn’t get my eyeshadow right if she kept leaning over me to re-do her lip gloss. She hit back and said my annoying habit of humming along to the radio meant she couldn’t get her hair right with the straighteners. But we were best friends, so such things were instantly forgotten. Best friends could do anything and you’d always forgive them.

Now I was watching Kelly, lying on her front on the bed, my red party dress she’d borrowed to wear shoved up around her waist as my boyfriend fucked the hell out of her. They didn’t know I was in the doorway, watching. The party continued downstairs and they continued in the bedroom. It was just me who had stopped. I couldn’t stop thinking: why did watching them turn me on so much?

 

[ShelbyDawn57]

Cut it off at 250 or else I'd be up the rest of the night with it:

“We can’t! You heard what the Bishop said!”

“If that damned Gregory had just kept his mouth shut!”

“And if YOU had just kept your legs shut!”

“Dear cousin, what’s the fun in that?! We’re to be whored out either way. At least I was able to choose who I wanted to fuck.”

“Tell me after a time at that monastery with the nuns and eunuchs if it was worth it, then!”

“Celibacy is the fate that has been determined for us. So let us live up this last fine evening before becoming Sisters, cousin.”

The girls looked at one another and giggled. Both knowing damn well they’d sniff out other males in the monastery. Or they wouldn’t. And simply find other ways to entertain their… selves.

“Fine!” She’d always been the ‘slightly’ more pious one, but even she wasn’t looking forward to such a selfless life. “I have dibs on the blacksmith’s apprentice! Have you seen his hands?! I wonder what they’d feel like, grabbing my arse and—”

“Girls! What pray are you two….” The Bishop had found them out and deduced quickly their intentions. With a heavy sigh he walked away, believing this would be the last of their rebellious streak, whether they liked it or not. Besides, Gregory himself was only out this way after having seen to the apprenticing blacksmith’s tool. Not that he wasn’t one to judge, but it had been a tool worthy of praise and veneration. Not to mention a princesses’ --

Reminded me of an old story..,

Mother Superior was escorting a young novice back to the convent after a long day of community service when two strapping young men accost them, demanding and taking liberties.
“Forgive them Father for they know not what they do.” The young novice prayed.
“Quiet young one this one most certainly does.” Came the Mother Superior’s reply.

 

[Tio_Narratore]

Yes, I'm from the 60s, came of age in Greenwich Village. True story. 270 words. "If you remember the 60s, you weren't really there." Wrong. We do remember - Beginnings and ends. Middles are missing.


“Parties Past.”

“Long past?”

“No. Your past.”

And the pages flew off the calendar in a counterclockwise tornado of time. When all had settled, Bleeker Street slowly focused before my eyes. A lone figure. Jeans and chambray shirt. Engineer boots, Shoulder length hair, a deep brown.

“It’s me!” I shouted excitedly. “Me! And oh, would I love such hair again.”

Another approaches. A woman. Jeans and black leotard. Tall and blond. She hands me a paper and hurries silently down the street. I read. An invitation. The party’s on East 10th. Tonight.

I arrive at the appointed hour and enter a grungy tenement, the hallway reeking of stale piss. Upstairs. One flight. Two. Three. Number fifteen. I knock. The door opens. The tall blond. Now naked. I show her the invitation.

“I’m Sarah,” she says. “Take a deep breath.”

I inhale as she cracks an ampoule under my nose. I recognize the scent. Amyl nitrite. The blood rushes to my head and I fall, laughing, to the dirty tiled floor outside the apartment. I’m still laughing as Sarah takes me by the heels and drags me into her pad. The air is dense with weed; no need to toke to stay stoned. Others are there. Some help Sarah with my boots. My jeans. My chambray shirt. My socks. My boxers. All are naked, all entangled. I know not who I touch nor who touches me. Elation followed by darkness. My eyes struggle to open. There is sunlight. There is Sarah, crouched over me, stroking my arm, gazing intently into my fogged eyes.

“Do you know how to make coffee?” she asks.

 

[Norway_1705]

Party as a celebration! My misunderstanding leads to a political party from the past (you know, the old tale of a politician screwing a whole Nation... In 17th century of course)

 

[StillStunned]

Party as a celebration! My misunderstanding leads to a political party from the past (you know, the old tale of a politician screwing a whole Nation... In 17th century of course)

Politicians have always been party animals!

 

[TarnishedPenny]

A doodle

I’d caught him, sitting by himself, examining me over the rim of his wine glass. Most men would have apologized or at least turned their gaze, but not this one.

His eyes stayed on mine for a long three count, then ran over the rest of me, openly lingering on my cleavage and hips. Other men behaving so would have summoned up righteous indignation; for some reason, with him it was almost pleasing.

Sitting up straight, his shoulders back and his head up, he had seemed the epitome of confidence. He’d seemed utterly composed, serene, so completely unlike other men I’d met lately.

With a slight lift of one eyebrow, he rose to his feet and, without looking my way, strode outside onto the patio.

Yes, of course. You’re too right. I shouldn’t have. But I felt drawn. This man was different. At the moment, there was no other choice.

It was dark outside; no light but the crescent moon. I saw him silhouetted against the stars some way off.

Inside, the party had been noise and crowds and lights, almost overstimulating, but here, just steps away, I felt as if we had suddenly spirited away to another planet, a private planet.

The evening breeze brought his scent to me, healthy, vibrant male and a subtle cologne. I was surprised when I felt myself react, full yin to strong yang.

I was flooded by a feeling of intense privacy, of unexpressed intimacy and yes, of dangerous opportunity.

I stepped forward.

 

[Norway_1705]

Wow Penny, the epitome of masterpiece, that could be set in any century!
Now it becomes very humiliating to publish my nonsense... but at the end of the day, humility is also an ingredient of life.

 

[Norway_1705]

This is my exercise. Like almost all surviving fragments of ancient Greek literature, the beginning begins mutilated, but thanks to the gods, the conclusion is intact.
Some scholars suggest it may be a spurious fragment of the Odyssey.

THE FRAGMENT BEGINS.

... the parasites... spewing upon the beggar the wine, black as the sea.
Queen Penelope advanced with a proud gait, ahead of the Handmaidens.
The eyes of the suitors stared at her gloomily. To them, she was merely a widow: a necessary passage to become King of Ithaca.
Only young Phemius the Poet, the only boy with a pure heart, admired her with sincere love. He was 22 years old and his beard was still young, and he had never fucked a free woman (he had filled the cloaca of some prostitute in the brothel with jizz, but he did not even know her name, and of some, he could not even remember her face).
Queen Penelope stood before the marble throne painted red.
With nimble fingers, she untied the knot of her cloak and she let it fall from her shoulders.
Two proud nipples pointed menacingly at the vociferous crowd of testosterone-filled males. Two full, firm tits, which had suckled Telemachus 18 years ago, shouted their defiance against the eyes of those drunken, dressed pigs.
"My eyes are up here!" said Penelope in a commanding voice.
All the Suitors fell silent. Naked or not, she was still the Queen.
The drunken parasites stopped drinking.
She smiled and continued. "I have an important announcement to make, men, Each of you disgusts me, but a woman cannot wait for her husband to return for twenty long years."
A roar of shouts greeted this statement. Drunken belches, farts, curses against the gods.
Penelope smirked. "Until yesterday, we were all in doubt: whether my husband, Ulysses, was still alive or not. This morning I received the answer. There is no longer any doubt. And for this reason, I abandon my cloak as a potential widow, to show myself naked before the man who will be my husband forever."
Several men began to shout. "Pick me!" "I am taller!" "I have the biggest penis!" "I have a six-figure fortune in drachmas! [scoleum of note: an amount equal to a bowl of salad and tzatziki]"
Some got naked, to show a six-pack of abdominal muscles (not uncommon in ancient Greece, due almost to malnutrition).
Other Suitors masturbated panting obscenely in front of the Queen, to get the largest possible cock size: motivated by the delusional belief that a huge penis could influence the decisions of a Queen, who as a young woman had chosen to marry the cleverest man.
The handmaids giggled. There is nothing more ridiculous than a drunken man trying to get an erection, in front of a Queen who is much more sober than he is.
The Queen smiled. "My husband will be... in this hall... the ONLY ONE... who will be able to stretch Ulysses' bow."
Out of respect for the Queen's nakedness, the pure young Phemius the Poet lowered his impudent eyes. Below, on the steps of the pavilion, he saw the beggar, soiled with vomit. The young eyes saw the long white scar on his bare thigh, no doubt caused by a giant boar's tusk.
What is historical memory? To have listened attentively to your grandfather when he told of hunting with the young prince of Ithaca. Grandfather described that scar... that beggar was Ulysses himself!
Phemius the Poet hurried out of the room, leaving that Party in the Past.

END OF THE FRAGMENT.

 

[StillStunned]

It's Saturday, so it's party time!

===

The Lord knew we had little to celebrate, and even less to celebrate with, but it was Oak Apple Day. So we bravely put on our oak leaves and went made our way to the Common.

Some enterprising soul had brought a barrel and was selling jacks of small ale at a penny a piece. He had no shortage of takers, and the songs were already beginning. The Parson was urging the village folk to sing hymns, but Good King Charles was only a few years restored to his throne, and we all remembered the Commonwealth.

“I don’t know whether I’ll ever get used to people singing.” Hal’s face was lit up in a smile. “Come, let’s sample some of that ale.”

I protested, but my heart wasn’t in it. The mood was affecting me too – a celebration for the sake of celebrating, to remember the dark time without song or dance. The miller’s sons had their fiddles, and the smith beat time on an empty barrel. The May sun was bright, the air smelled clean after the morning’s rain, and our worries were locked away at home.

We joined the singing, and we danced, and Hal’s arms felt wonderfully familiar around my waist. The scent of his body filled my nostrils when I leaned against his chest, my breath matching his. How long had it been?

No-one looked at us twice when we slipped away. We weren’t the first. There was an empty stall off the ostler’s yard, with hay for rolling around. I lifted my skirts and straddled Hal’s hips. His eyes were bright with anticipation, the same anticipation I knew must be clear on my face.

I closed my eyes as I lowered myself onto him, feeling that wonderful completeness of having him inside me. His hands rested on my hips, mine on his chest. My eyes opened and met his. I leaned forward to kiss his lips, to taste his breath and–

The door of the stall banged open, bringing with it breathy whispers and a familiar giggle. I froze and turned. My heart sank, knowing before my mind what was to come.

“Mother? Uncle Hal?”

 

[TheLobster]

I somehow missed this one until now. Well, no biggie.

So, here's mine. This one is definitely in the past.

===

Fire cracked the dry wood, raising small embers. We gathered around it, charring a large haunch of meat. It was only one of many. The hunt had been good.

"Berries," Liga said, passing me a handful of blue fruits. It was her who watched over the tribeswomen today. They all gathered them.

A nice handful. Sweet.

"Good." I nodded, looking at the other men who tended to the meat. "It will go well with the game."

She smiled, snugging close to me and to the fire. I put an arm around her, drawing her even closer. I could see her bosom, heaving under the patch of fur she'd thrown over it. There was a smile on my face, as I remembered skinning the beast that it came from. It was a ferocious one. But the effort had been worth it.

I'd sewn the fur myself and given it to Liga. She then showed me what a ferocious beast she could be, roaring and howling on her hands and knees.

Good times, then. But good times now, too.

"Where's Dago?" I asked about our son. "He's old enough to sit with us."

"He's over there. Beating up a piece of a rock."

I smiled with pride. "Good. We can always use another spear."

Liga shook her head. "No. That rock isn't sharp."

"Not a spear tip?" It surprised me. "Then what is it?"

"It's flat," she said, looking puzzled herself. "But it's also... round."

I understood even less. "Round?"

She made a sign with her hand, joining the thumb with the long finger. It made a round hole. She then put it to her right eye and flicked the wrist to and fro several times. Her fingers moved, and yet they didn't. They stayed around her eye as they moved.

"It goes like this. And it goes fast."

A frown crept over my face. I had to check what this kid was up to. It might be important.

 

[StillStunned]

So, here's mine. This one is definitely in the past.

I was thinking of writing one set in the same time period!

 

[TheLobster]

I was thinking of writing one set in the same time period!

Pretty interesting to imagine it. I figured I'd keep the dialogue very simple, since whatever language they'd use would likely be simple and unsuited to conveying complex concepts. But that doesn't mean they wouldn't be able to entertain some more complex thoughts; after all, the human brain barely changed over the last few dozen millennia. They just wouldn't be used to it, so the narration is this jumble of simplistic and slightly more elaborate sentences.

Wait, did I just do a WIWAW for my piece?... Curse you! It's catching on!