-Complacency- My name is Will Kenning. I've got a wife with three kids in a house in a planned suburb, a couple of cars and a dog named Butch. Living the presumably normal American dream. My Father is a celebrity of sorts in the field of plastic surgery. He takes the aging heiress, sales executive or budding high school cheerleader with an inherent facial...
"Holly, hold your breasts up. That's it honey. Squeeze the nipples between your fingers. Make them hard for me, sweetie." Jason lifted and pushed his soft breasts together, squeezed the small dark nipples, and hurriedly looked up to see if what he was doing was okay. He really wanted what he was doing to be okay. It was dreadfully important to be okay. Kare...
For John, a prayer * The following is a true story, but with most names changed to protect the innocent and guilty alike. You know who you are anyway. I am cursed to fall in love under the stars- or at least under shooting stars; meteors; Spanish meteoros- however you say it, an inadequate word for a phenomenon as otherworldly as love itself. These fleet...
My name is Ariel. I'm twenty, and come from a poor family in the countryside. It's a beautiful place: all you could see was green for miles, we had a few grand poui trees, there were a couple of undulating hills here and there and from the top of one hill in particular you could see the entirety of the orange tree estate owned by Mr. Eli, our closest neighbo...
This is a Earth Day contest story. Please vote. * Finally free, my life without the telephone, the television, and the Internet is better. In my new daily celebration of Earth Day, not wasting water and electricity, and driving an economical car, I conserve energy and preserve natural resources whenever I can. Other than recycling, which I do, I don't wea...
More than a year on from his wife's premature death, Julian found himself increasingly thinking about sex. Adventurous though they had once been, during the later stages of their marriage, and especially during the last months of Joyce's illness, sexual activity had dwindled virtually to nothing. Julian had learned to go without, to put the idea out of his m...
Dear Shoeblossom: I've always known I was a bad boy. My Mother used to get so mad at me...she'd want me to spend time with my sisters, and help polish the silverware...she'd shake her head because I didn't want to play with paper dolls...I wanted to be like my macho father. Mother had strawberry blonde hair in a bouffant hairdo, and what they used to call...
I spent my undergrad years at Tulane, a history major. No, I didn't end up flipping burgers, but I did end up with an obsession about the French Quarter. As a well-traveled Air Force brat, I had lived in the U.S., Europe, South America, and Japan. I had a sense of regional peculiarities. Despite her origins, New Orleans felt like no other place on earth, and...
Dedicated to my wife's grandma. (Not enough of this story is fiction). Thanks to BarBar for helping me with the plot and characterisation, and to James E. Henry for editing. This story is vastly improved because of their assistance. ------------------------------- Steph grimaced as she peered into her grandmother's room and wondered, once again, just what...
Casablanca in the thirties was a cosmopolitan sprawl of adventurers and chancers from all corners of the planet; its Wild West feel drew many into its seedy society. The political climate to the north, mirrored by the eternal African turmoil to the south, only served to colour its atmosphere; generating business for the myriad of nightclub owners. A welcome...