First Kiss

Combine the following into a story: school dance, cab driver, peas, wants their first kiss, romance/chick lit


Jen had been waiting for this for years, watching her sis go out with boys, being so cool. Jen couldn’t wait until she got older, until it was her turn to be cool.

And then, her time had come. Homecoming, her first dance in high school. And she was invited by her favorite boy, cute and funny Evan, who sat across from her in math. She could barely pay attention in that class, always distracted by his eyes, falling into his stare. And how he could make her laugh. She was so excited when he asked her out. Evan’s heaven… she thought to herself, he really is.

The night of the dance, Jen could barely contain herself, so excited for her first true high school experience. And maybe, if she was lucky, her first kiss. That was all she could think about, the dance and her first kiss.

Jen was so excited that she gobbled up dinner, chicken and peas, her favorite, her parents knowing how special this evening would be. After dinner, she went to her room and put on her prettiest dress, the blue one, the one she wore to her aunt’s wedding. Then a touch of makeup and her hair combed straight, one last check in the mirror, and she was ready. She was really nervous about what Evan would think; she wanted him to think she looked great.

When it was time to go, Jen emerged from her bedroom, her parent’s hushed, marveling at her innocence, her beauty.

“Ready to go?” Jen’s sister, Beth, asked; Beth, who wasn’t going to the dance, too cool for homecoming. She had a boyfriend and their first kiss was over two years ago; now they prefer more intimate settings, not high school dances.

“Yep, all ready,” Jen said as she twirled around, enjoying her dress and how it fluttered with her rotation.

“Great. We shouldn’t keep Evan waiting. Boys hate that.”

In the car, Beth drove Jen to their high school auditorium, the location of the dance. And the entire drive Jen thought about Evan: his eyes, his smile, his lips on her lips; Evan’s heaven… the words rang in her head.

After what felt like both the shortest and longest ride in history, Beth and Jen arrive to find Evan waiting outside the auditorium, holding roses and dressed in a beautiful rented suit. Jen thought he looked so cute; she cold barely contain her excitement, wanting to run to and kiss him immediately.

“I know you’re excited,” Beth says, “but you have to control yourself, otherwise you’ll seem easy. Guys don’t like that.”

Jen nods, calms herself. She never even thought about being too excited, and she definitely doesn’t want to seem easy. This is exactly what big sisters are for: to give you advice, to help make your first boy experiences amazing.

“When you get out,” Beth continues, “don’t walk too fast. Just wave to him, let him come to you. Let him do everything tonight, it’ll make him feel like a man. Guys like that.”

Jen nods, listening to Beth’s advice, absorbing it all in. Beth continues. “And when he kisses you, something that could take him all night to do, pretend it is amazing, no matter how bad it is.”

“It’ll be bad?” Jen responds, disappointed if that is the case, for it’s not what she expected.

Beth shakes her head. “Boys are terrible kissers until they learn better. Just hope he’s not a slobberer, or that he doesn’t stick his tongue down your throat. But even if he does, tell him it was great. Boys hate hearing they’re bad kissers, and you can teach him on your next date.”

“Okay,” Jen says, understanding Beth’s advice but hoping she won’t have to take it.

“Great! Then get out there, he’s been waiting long enough.”

Jen smiles, thanking Beth for the advice, for the ride, for being a great sister. She then exits the car, excited to for the wonderful time she’s about to have.

“Remember,” Beth says, before Jen can close the door, “don’t walk too fast. And I’ll see you at ten.”

Jen nods, then closes the car door and continues on her journey. Is this a good pace, she wonders to herself. Am I walking too fast? It is at this point that Evan sees her, and when he smiles, her insides melt, dissipating all the nerves that may have been building. He really is heavenly, Jen thinks once again.

Jen waves, just like Beth instructed. And like on cue, Evan waves back, then walks to her, reaching her with seemingly no time passing. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Jen says back.

“You look…” and Jen can tell he’s nervous, just as nervous as she is. “I got you these flowers,” he says, offering them to her.

“Thanks,” Jen says as she accepts Evan’s gift, trying to show him that she appreciates it immensely. “I really like them.”

And with that, they head into the auditorium, Jen feeling great, being with Evan at her first high school dance. If only he wasn’t so nervous, he’s so cute and she likes him so much. He’s a gentleman, a great person, her best guy friend; Jen likes him so much that whatever he does, she knows she’ll love it. And right now, she really wishes he would hold her hand.

Inside, the dance is in full swing, the dance floor filled with students, dancing together. They’re such good dancers, Jen thinks to herself, and she has no idea how to dance. Beth didn’t give her any advice on this.

But none of that matters when Evan asks her to the dance floor; Jen may be timid but she’s been waiting for this for years! She puts down her flowers and of course says yes.

On the dance floor, Jen and Evan remain nervous, each keeping distance as they dance together. Definitely more distance than some other students, but Jen doesn’t mind, for this is her first dance, and it’s Evan’s first too; she doesn’t want to intimidate him, or him intimidate her.

And that’s pretty much how the night went. Jen and Evan dancing together, sometimes slower, sometimes faster. Jen loved the slow dances, when she could nuzzle in close and Evan would hold her. She loved how strong he was, how he smelled so good and how she felt safe in his arms. Evan’s heaven… when he held her, the entire world was perfect.

If only he would kiss her. She wanted it so bad, she could feel it, all throughout her body. This night so wonderful, everything going great. But why won’t he kiss her? They’re having a great time, dancing and snuggling and holding each other; why is he so nervous? Why won’t he kiss her?

Ten o’clock comes before they can believe, bringing the dance to an end, and still no kissing. And now’s the perfect time, Jen thinks to herself, the perfect way to end their perfect first date. Why won’t he do it? It was all she wanted: her first kiss. She’d even let him stick his entire tongue down her throat; that didn’t matter to her, she just wanted her first kiss.

As they exit the auditorium, Jen spots Beth’s car, Beth inside, waiting for her. Evan walks Jen over, holding her hand and keeping her safe, but still no kissing. Beth sees them coming and smiles at them; Jen smiles back, a happy smile but not a perfect one, for her first kiss is still missing.

They reach the car and say their goodbyes, and as they do so Evan closes up, his nerves taking over, knowing he should kiss her but unable to do so. But before he can leave, a voice rings out. “Did you kiss her yet?” It’s Beth: reading the situation, knowing they want to but lacking the courage to make it happen.

Evan goes flush, put on the spot, not knowing what to say or do. He looks to Jen, but she does nothing but look back, hopeful and excited, waiting in anticipation.

“Just do it already. Here, I won’t watch,” Beth continues, after which she turns away, giving them privacy.

Privacy, and quiet, darkness on this perfect night. Jen stands open and waiting, so excited for their kiss that she can barely stand it. And then, after what seems like forever, Evan finally leans in and kisses her lips.

Jen kisses back, closing her eyes and enjoying the moment. A moment that is everything she imagined, everything she hoped it would be. A moment filled with tingling inside and shivers down her body, shivers that cause her to go weak in the knees, her barely able to stand, it getting better and better as they continue kissing.

Finally, after who knows how long (seconds? Hours? Whatever it was, it was the perfect time), their kiss comes to an end, them breaking apart, opening their eyes and smiling together. Each one is in heaven, the moment better than either could imagine. And it is here that Jen finally takes the lead, saying goodbye to Evan, him giving her a night way better than imagined.

“Bye,” Evan responds, and Jen is so giddy, she’s on the verge of giggling as she gets in Beth’s car, thinking of nothing but she can’t wait to kiss Evan again.

Once inside, Evan runs to another car, his parents inside, waiting for him. And then, with him finally out of earshot, Jen lets it all out, giggling and smiling and oh so happy. Evan is such a good kisser, she thinks to herself; no tongue, no slobber; it’s like he’s been kissing forever.

Beth pulls out of the parking lot, not even needing to ask how Jen’s night went. For she can see it in her eyes, and also her laugh, her smile, her everything. It all makes Beth happy too, remembering her first kiss and how it made her feel. It takes Beth back, way back, so much so that she lets her car drift, out of her lane and towards a cab next to her. The cab driver honks, bringing Beth back to reality, him cursing and screaming, yelling at her to pay attention. Which she does, coming back to reality and going back to driving safely. But none of this affects Jen, for her night was perfect and nothing can ruin it.

Exotic Beach Vacations Are The Best!


What’s going on? She’s eying every guy here. Not just eying, eye-fucking. Her term, not mine. What is this shit? Is this why she wanted this, is this why she wanted to come here? To fuck the guys and their chiseled abs and beach body tans? Next time we’re going to Canada, or the south: nothing but boring and fat men there. Then she’ll be mine, none of this check-out-the-hot-Latin-guy bullshit. Oh, look at that. A bikini. Two can play at this game. Wow, look, look what I’ve been missing. They’re everywhere. It’s almost nakedtown here, hourglass girls, exotic beauties, sizzling in the sun. Yes, two can play at this game. Damn, I’m feeling good now, really good. My girl is too, seems to be. I lean in: “Hotel room?” “Yes,” she says without a moment’s hesitation. Wow, jumping out of our seats, rushing to our room, we haven’t felt this way in a long time. Feeling each other, all over each other, we haven’t felt this way in a long time. And it feels great. She feels great. Lets do this all the time. Exotic beach vacations, all the time.

Fat Beached Whale

Write one sentence. Then write another without violating the first one. Continue until complete.


Paradise. Not really. Just a hotel. But those were her choices. Vacation, or a hotel. You can’t have both. Not for the paltry salary he makes. That bum, makes no money. And so they vacation, in the city they live in, a hotel on the beach, the beach they’ve been to a hundred times. But now it’s different, the other side of the fence. She lies at the pool, closes her eyes, imagines: a different life, a better one, Hawaii, no Fiji, and a guy, a guy who knows how to treat a lady, who makes big bucks and drives nice cars, who buys diamonds and houses and even people if he wanted to. A guy who can fuck, who knows what a girl likes, who can move and caress and hold and soothe. Who can fuck your fucking brains out. But most of all, who can do it without getting you pregnant. That’s the dream guy, no pregnancy. But instead, she’s a whale, lying by the pool on a vacation in the city she lives in. Everyone so happy for the fat beached whale, the fat beached whale who’s husband can’t afford a vacation, can’t afford a ring, can’t afford freaking anything except this stupid hotel in this stupid city in their stupid lives where she’ll never be free.

The Bus Stalker Rapist Killer

Write one sentence. Then write another without violating the first one. Continue until complete.


It’s empty, almost. Except it’s not. That guy, what’s he doing, watching me from the back row. Fuck. He thinks I don’t know, thinks I don’t see him, thinks he’s hiding it. But I can tell, just him and me and some others. Get off, off the bus. Safe. Fuck. He got off too. Not a coincidence, he got off cause I got off. Stalker, rapist, killer, coming after me. Picked me out, cute girl on the bus, cute girl with the big blue eyes and long brown hair and soft smooth skin. Walk away, don’t cause a scene. Cute girl who’d be a great lay, keeping quiet, eyes welling with tears, sad, vulnerable, fuck, fuck. Walk faster, faster, get help, need help. The cops. Where are the cops? Where am I? I don’t know. Somewhere I don’t know. Some industrial area. The perfect place. The perfect place to get raped and strangled and left for dead and who cares if you scream, no one would hear you and even if they did, they wouldn’t come, dumb girl walked right into it, all alone in that back alley, she deserved it, prude girl, won’t give it to anyone, bitch, slut, whore, you got to take it from girls like that. Trembling. No. People aren’t so cruel, they can’t be. Where are they anyway, where is everyone? Where is that guy? The rapist, the killer, the bus stalker rapist killer? He’s gone. Gone away. Away? This his actual bus stop? What?

A New Life

Throw a bunch of words in a hat, pull one out, and write a story using that word.

This week’s word: TEST


Addie walks into the bathroom, the weight of the world on her shoulders. She had hoped there was another way, that the pharmacist could tell her, or send her to someone who could. Instead, he gave her a test.

She was so bad at things like this. So bad she couldn’t even finish high school. All the tests and assignments and fail, fail, fail, she’d even fail tests you couldn’t fail, like IQ and SATs. She failed her driver’s test twice before she finally gave up on that endeavor. What even is a blind spot anyway?

It doesn’t matter, because today is another one: a pregnancy test. The pharmacist said it could explain why her blood never came, but why couldn’t he just tell her? Why does she have to fail another test?

In the bathroom, Addie drops her pants and panties, sits on the toilet, and sticks the test between her legs. She then covers the small end in urine, some of which splashes onto her leg. “Points off” her driving instructor says.

It doesn’t take long before she is done, her urine gone and her examination complete. Now, the results.

Addie sits on the toilet while she waits, thinking about her test and what would happen if she passed. What kind of a mother she would be? Much better than her own that’s for sure: always calling her stupid and a failure, even in front of her father, who never did anything about it. No, she’d have a smart baby, and she’d never have any reason to call her a failure.

Finally, her results appear: a plus sign.

She stares at the sign. “I passed?” she says, letting it sink in.

Then it hits her. “I passed!” she hollers as she bounds off the toilet, out of the bathroom and into her unkempt den. “I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed,” she cheers as she bounces around the apartment, unable to keep her excitement in.

“Passed? Passed what?” Don asks, Don being the guy on the couch, the guy watching football, empty beer cans and a bottle of Jack around him.

Addie bounds to him and drops her test in his lap. “I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed. The blood di’n’t come so I took a test, and I passed!”

Don holds the test up to see what it is, then sees the plus sign staring back at him. His eyes widen.


“But baby, I doan wanta go,” Addie says, sitting shotgun as he swerves down the road, around cars and through traffic. “I doan wanta kill mah baby.”

“You shut up you stupid bitch,” Don commands as he skids off the curb. “Whatcha want? To ruin our lives?”

“I di’n’t mean to. I di’n’t mean fo’ it to happen.”

“Ain’t possible for a girl to get pregnant less she means it. That’s a fact.”

Addie did not know that, did not know that was a fact. She didn’t think she wanted it, but pregnant she is, so maybe she did? Maybe deep down, in those secret parts of the brain scientists and doctors always talked about, maybe those parts wanted it and she didn’t know?

A red light. Don slams on the brakes, skids to a stop, just in time. They sit at the light, waiting. “I still doan wanta go,” she says.

Don doesn’t respond. The light turns green and off they go.

“I said I doan wanta go. Take me home.”


“Take me home!”


“Take me HOME!” Addie screams as she grabs the wheel, forcing a turn in the middle of the road. Don pushes back, then smashes his fist into her elbow, breaking her grasp and regaining control of the car.

“What the fuck!” Don yells as he slaps her face. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

A siren blares, a police siren, behind them. “Fuck!” Don screams as he pulls the car to the side of the road. “You just sit there, keep your mouth shut.”

The officer stops behind them, then approaches and taps on their window. Don rolls it down. “License and registration please,” the officer says.

“He’s drunk officer! He’s drunk and he’s takin’ me to the hospital and I doan wanna go!”

“You stupid bitch!” Don winds up for another slap and-

“Hey! That’s enough!” the officer interjects. Don listens, lowers his arm. “Out of the car,” the officer now commands.

Drunk and angry, Don exits the car. “I ever see you try to hit that girl again,” the officer threatens, “I will kill you. You got that?” Don does. “Good. Now, walk this line.”

Don doesn’t want to but what can he do? He lines up and there’s no way he can do it, barely even able to stand. One step and it’s over, he’s on the ground, down and out. Addie can’t help but laugh. “Shouldn’ta drank all that Jack!” she yells as the officer cuffs him and takes him to his squad car.

Addie waits as the officer returns, Don safely locked away.

“Thank you officer,” she says. “That man was outta his mind.”

“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to step out of the car.”


“Out of the car, ma’am.”

What’s going on? She didn’t do anything. She doesn’t understand but she’s a good soldier and so she complies. “I’m gonna need you to walk this line.”

Oh no, a test. She’s no good at tests, fails them all the time. “But officer, I haven’t had nuttin’ to drink.”

“Just walk the line ma’am.”

Okay, she’ll do it, take this test. And you know what? She’s gonna pass, because today’s a new day and she passed her pregnancy test and she’ll pass this one too. Pregnant with the world’s smartest baby, who’ll read the entire dictionary and know all the answers on Wheel of Fortune and solve Sudokus without even looking at the page. Yes, the world’s smartest baby and she can surely pass this one test for him.

So she starts forward, walks a straight line. Then stands on one foot and touches her nose. And even the breathalyzer can’t fail her; she’s invincible, she passes them all.

“Well, you seem okay to me,” the officer says. “Just watch who you spend your time with. I’ll call you a cab.”

“I’m going to the hospital. Gonna have me a baby.”

The officer looks at her stomach. It’s normal sized, some belly fat but no signs of pregnancy. He looks back at her. “You just take care of yourself, okay?”

Addie nods. She will, her and her baby. She’ll take care of herself, her life, her world. Because now she can and now she will, passing her pregnancy test, passing another. Having a baby, being a mother. She will take care of herself, her new life, in this world.

The Best Halloween Ever

Combine the following into a story: suburbs, cheerleader, throwing knife, finding a missing train, comedy


Jack and Bill were walking down the street, ready for the night of their lives. For it was Halloween you see, and they had the best costumes. Jack wack was an astronaut, complete with a helmet, visor, and all the doohickeys that go with it, while Bill went the cooler route: a ninja. Not American Ninja Warrior, but a real one: a mask on his head, ninja clothes, and he even armed himself with a throwing knife. A real one, so the vendor in Chinatown said. Bill could only imagine if the police found out: they would probably arrest him, he was such a badass.

Jack and Bill had been waiting for Halloween for so long, ever since they started in high school, lowly freshman, finally able to go to a party on their own. Bill’s brother, three years his elder, was the king of parties, the coolest kid in school. He gave them the address, told them exactly where to go.

And now they are outside, dropped off by Lyft since they still can’t drive. They had to check the address, since the place, located high in the Hollywood hills, seemed way out of the way for a high school party, but the address was correct, and they had arrived.

Jack and Bill surveyed their surrounds: a wealthy neighborhood with nice large houses, dark and quiet, with only a single beat up Camry parked across the street from the house they were visiting. But the address was correct, so the boys approach and knock.

After a short while, the door opens, revealing… the most beautiful women both Jack and Bill has ever seen. Dressed in a tight black dress, she was ready for a night on the town, making her even prettier. “Hello?” she says.

The boys are dumbstruck, their mouths hanging open, them unable to control them. Bill luckily had his face hidden behind his ninja mask, but Jack is in plain view, wishing now more than ever that he had gotten the helmet with the tinted visor.

“Sorry boys,” the girl continues. “No trick-or-treating here.”

And it is at that moment that Bill finally recognizes her, realizes where his brother sent him. “Are you…” Bill stammers out, barely able to speak, “are you that cheerleader from the LA Rams?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” the woman says. “Like you didn’t know that, trick-or-treating way out here.”

“We didn’t,” Jack says. “His brother sent us. He said there’s be a party here.”

“Nope, no party. Just-” the cheerleader stops mid-sentence, cutting herself off. “Oh shit,” she says. She is no longer looking at the boys, instead she is looking past them, at the beat up Camry across the street. She pulls the boys inside, closes the door behind them.

“Did you see that car on the street?” she asks. “Was anyone in it?”

The boys don’t answer, too dumbstruck acting being in this woman’s house. Everything here, the TV, the pictures on the wall, even the freaking toaster are the coolest they’ve ever seen. After some time, they finally manage a nod, but that is it.

“Fuck!” the cheerleader shouts. “That guy’s been stalking me ever since our first home game! I got a restraining order, what’s he doing here?” She is panicked, pacing throughout the house. She peers through the window, confirms it is him. “I’m calling the police,” she says.

At this point, the boys still dumbstruck, barely processing what is happening, Bill sees his moment. He pulls out his throwing knife, the real one, from Chinatown. “I’ll protect you, my lady,” he says.

“Don’t joke around,” the cheerleader replies, as she dials 9-1-1 on her cellphone.  “Hello, 9-1-1?” she says, to the voice that responds.

Just then, a knock at the door disrupts the scene, the noise striking fear into the cheerleader, who screams.

“Bianca!” a voice yells from outside. “Bianca! I know you’re in there, you can’t hide from me!”

Bianca, as the boys now know her, runs into another room, away from the front door. “Hello, police? I need you, 322 Byron Drive. I have a stalker, he’s right outside!”

Another knock on the door, pounding this time. “Bianca! Let me in!” the voice yells again.

Jack is still dumbstruck, his jaw agape, staring at this beautiful lady in distress. Bill slaps him. “We have to do something! We have to protect her! We have to be men!”

“You’re right,” Jack says. “Plus, I’m an astronaut. Everyone knows you don’t mess with them.”

“And I have this knife,” Bill says. “Now what can we do in this situation.”

BANG BANG BANG! Coming from outside. Not knocking, not pounding; the boys peer through the window and see the stalker taking a sledgehammer to the door! He’s going to knock it down!

“No time to think!” Jack says. “I’ll distract him with my astronaut-ness, you throw the knife at him.”

“But that’s murder,” Bill says. “We’ll go to jail forever.”

Jack looks at Bianca, on the phone with the cops, trembling and scared but still beautiful in her tight black dress. “It’s worth it,” he says. “Now get ready.”

Jack approaches the door, opens his arms wide. He then cues Bill, who opens the door, Jack and his astronaut costume blocking the entrance.

“Go away!” Jack shouts. “Bianca doesn’t want to see you! She is a beautiful lady.”

“I’m going to marry her! Ahhhh!” the stalker screams as he grabs Jack, tries to choke him. Except he can’t, Jack’s astronaut costume being too thick. Instead, he and the stalker tries to spin Jack around while Jack resists, neither one getting an upperhand on the other.

“Do something!” Jack screams. “He’s attacking me!”

“You’re in the way!” Bill shouts, his throwing knife in hand. “I can’t get him!”

Jack and the stalker continue to wrestle, each one trying gain an advantage. Bill pivots around, looking for an opening. Finally, he finds one. “Hold him there!” he screams, then throws the knife straight at them.

He misses! Misses completely! The knife flies out the front door. “Oh shoot!” Bill says.

“What?” Jack asks, and in that moment the stalker gains the leverage he was wrestling for, throwing Jack to the ground. He then goes after Bill, who tries some karate moves to stop him. Except Bill doesn’t know karate at all, his moves barely doing anything.

But they do enough, stalling the stalker just long enough for the police to arrive, tackle the stalker, take control, and bring the craziness to an end.

The next hour or so consisted of nothing but police statements, the stalker locked up in the police car, Jack, Bill, and Bianca explaining the events. Jack and Bill leave out the throwing knife however, not wanting to get in trouble for it, and thus the police were totally confused about its position on the front lawn.

Finally, the police leave, Bianca allowing the boys to stay long enough to get picked up by their parents. But before they call them, she steps in. “You know,” she says, looking down at her sexy dress, “I don’t feel much like going out tonight. Wanna hang here with me instead?”

The boy’s jaws drop once again. All they can do is nod yes.

And that’s how the night went, Bianca changing into comfy clothes, Jack and Bill in their costumes (minus the mask and helmet), them all relaxing on the couch, eating frozen yogurt and watching scary movies. One involved something about a missing train, but honestly, the boys don’t remember any of it. All they remember is spending Halloween with a cheerleader from the LA Rams. It wasn’t a party, but it was the best Halloween they’d ever have.

Lustful Attraction

Write one sentence. Then write another without violating the first one. Continue until complete.


That little shit. Probably asleep by now. Sure, he has it good. Just does what he wants and then sleep sleep sleep. He doesn’t have to worry, nothing bad happens to him. No getting fat or ridiculed, no sneaking to the doctor for a fix, and who knows the cost. No shame with your parents or degradation on TV. No, just sleep.

But not for her. For her it’s the bathroom, up all night, scrub, scrub, clean. Get it out, as much as possible, and morning after pill. 70% effective, that’s what she heard. 100% for her. One gulp and it’s down, problem solved, all is fixed, all forgiven, hopefully forever, at least for now.

She heads back to the bedroom, lights out, dark and silent. But light enough, thank you streetlight, and whoever was dumb enough to put a window in front. Light enough to see: he’s not asleep, he’s awake, awake for her. He shines in the darkness, still naked, so beautiful. And what do you know, still ready, at attention. His chiseled abs, round biceps, and his thing, standing tall, after all they just did. Amazing.

He says nothing, just lies silent, waiting. But he knows. His beauty, she can’t resist. Sure, she’s experienced, and no, she doesn’t do this with just anyone, well maybe she does, but with him, it’s special. He’s special. Who’s she to refuse?

She slides into bed, under covers and on top. And then, the bathroom. She remembers: cleaning and douching and she knows he’ll do it again, cum inside her, finish without thinking, that asshole, conceited fucker, doesn’t care about anything, thinks he can do whatever he wants because he is beautiful.

He slips inside and she smiles with delight. Yes he can. He is beautiful, he can do what he wants. She’s prepared, took her pill, 100% effective. And if not, there’s always the doctor, a thousand dollars, well worth tonight, this moment, this guy.

Behind Her Back

Throw a bunch of words in a hat, pull one out, and write a story using that word.

This week’s word: SLIP


Venice Beach. What kind of person doesn’t like Venice? The ocean, the boardwalk, filled with artists and entertainers, passion and beauty. Bums, that’s what she calls them. Lazy, leeches, dregs on society. Get a real job; contribute like the rest of us. Like she did to me.

That’s right, like me, 9-5, corporate marketing and my soul sucked dry, Monday through Friday and Saturdays too, fifty weeks a year for the rest of my life, earn that fat paycheck and buy nice things, dinners and jewelry, a fancy car, a place in the city. Things that don’t matter, no happiness, no fulfillment, no satisfaction for me.

We continue down the boardwalk, admiring and complaining. Me admiring, her complaining. The passion, the freedom, the talent and beauty. The ugliness and patheticness, these losers all losing. Inspiring and joyful, appreciate and take part. Disgusting, all useless, wasting time on crap art.

A painting, I like it. Sensual and beautiful, and sexy too. A woman, in bed, naked, alone. A real woman, with flesh and curves, I can see it on our bedroom wall, the openness and vulnerability, alive and free, tasteful, connected, uplifting. “If it were good it’d be in a gallery,” “I don’t want anything from here in my house,” “Real paintings go for much more than that.” I can hear it all, her criticism and contempt. And so the wall remains bare, no painting and no passion, bare walls and a bare life, and every once in a while it’s off to the boardwalk, where she judges and complains, too good for everyone, too good for me. Forever and always, stuck with this girl, to good for everyone, too good for me.

“Can you believe it?” she asks herself, to herself but aloud, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Of all things, classical.” She’s near a violinist, performing for us, for us and himself and everyone. Mozart’s 40th, beautiful, but to her, disgusting. And she’s not shy, she’s special, her thoughts are for everyone. “Who do these people think they are? If you’re gonna butcher something, at least not classical. God!”

And that’s it, her thoughts, through her mind and out her lips, for everyone to know. The violinist keeps playing, for himself and for others, no longer for us. But the music is beautiful, and so when she’s not looking I slip him a twenty. Into his tip jar when she’s not looking, because I don’t want a scene, encouraging poverty, laziness, apathy, and false dreams. Not music or art or passion or beauty. Must go behind her back to encourage those things. Behind her back, the only place where I can be me.

Cluck Cluck Silence

Write one sentence. Then write another without violating the first one. Continue until complete


Okay, this is bullshit. That bullshit situation and why do they do this? To prove themselves. To prove that they’re so hot we’ll do anything for them. Risk the ridicule of their friends for the chance to maybe get somewhere, something, maybe. Women, so fucking bullshit, with their troubles and their needs and their talk talk talk, wine me dine me talk. But so fucking worth it.

Especially this one, eying me, across the bar. Surrounded by friends, Mrs. Motherhen and the Ugly One and it’s all so cliché. Nothing cliché about her though, pretty as can be, and she’s definitely eying me.

Okay, lets do it. Finish your beer and go. Talk to her. Fuck the others, she’s yours, she wants you. Be brave. Walk over. Yes. Her eyes follow, you’re in, she’s yours, closer, across the bar, her eyes locked in, away, back, giving me the signs. Twenty feet, fifteen, ten, she looks away. Playing innocent, I get it, I saw you. Five, three, one.

“Hello,” I say. I’ve never been good with game; hello’s all I got. “Not interested,” says Mrs. Motherhen. Fuck you bitch, I ain’t talking to you. No one is. I smile. Chicks love the smile. “Can I get you a drink?” “I said she’s not interested.” Cluck cluck cluck, that’s all I hear, as I stare at the girl. I’m in, she’s with me, staring back, eye contact, the most powerful connection one can make.

“Cluck cluck cluck why are you still here cluck cluck cluck.” Okay seriously, this bitch, say something lady, get up and lets go, before I smack her. This fucking cunt, ruining my time, my game, which I don’t have much of, and fuck, she’s just sitting there, I don’t get it. “Bartender cluck cluck cluck, this guy is bothering us. Make him leave.” What? Fucking hen, fucking bitch, making eye contact still, just sitting there, not moving, and now I look like an ass, an idiot. Nothing to say, no idea what to do. Fuck, I should just crawl up and die. The bouncer comes and I don’t resist, just walk away, defeated, dead, done.

One look back and there are the three girls, no eye contact, just laughing. Fuck.

The Engine Lab

Cristina and Scott meet after a failed experiment. One wants revenge and there is a near death experience involved. Write the story.


It was supposed to be a simple experiment. They did it every year, Aero 351, turn on the engine and measure some shit, then go home and do calculations, write a report. That’s how it was supposed to be, how it went every year.

But not this year.

This year there was a leak. One of the injection valves, leaking gas into the engine. It’s an old engine, and used so rarely and who knows how long it’d been leaking for: a day? a month? All year?

No one knew, of course, no one knew it was leaking at all. The lab always stank of gas, so that wasn’t a warning, and how can you see a leak that’s inside an engine? No, no one knew, not until they turned on the engine and a fireball shot out the nozzle, right into unsuspecting engineering student Cristina Locks.


Cristina was an aberration. There aren’t a lot of girls in engineering, even less attractive ones. But Cristina was the ultimate, sweet and cute, with a smile that could inspire you to greatness and melt your heart. All the guys either fell in love with or want to fuck her, but none had a chance, at least not her classmates, no way.

That was before the incident. Before the fireball covered her in burns and seared her face. She was lucky to survive, the doctors doing everything to save her, but they couldn’t save her face, her sweetness, her innocence.

Before the incident engineering was hard. It’s hard for everyone but it’s even harder for girls, entering a boys club, dealing with chauvinism and sexism and trying to fit in. It helped that she was cute, that the boys worship her, that they’d do anything to help and be with her. But now they treat her like a freak, gossiping and avoiding, or worse, giving her their sympathy; it was too much, that she couldn’t take. And so, by the end of the year, she dropped out.


It was around this time, sitting at home doing nothing, that Cristina found him. Scott Bryant, local high school boy, ranting and raving about being rejected from his dream college. Cristina’s college, her very own department, had rejected him. And with no backups, no secondary plans, he’d been reduced to ranting on Craigslist. That’s where she found him.

His first rants were innocent enough, angry at the college, his parents, himself. But then they got worse, organizing protests, calling for action, for revenge against his dream school. This was perfect for Cristina, for she wanted it as well.

So Cristina attended his next “protest”. She was the only one there, the only one listening as Scott yelled at the university from its student union quad. And when he took a break she introduced herself, then said: “Why don’t we get out of here? Talk this through?”


Of course he said yes. This crazy boy, with no friends and terrible social skills, and someone was actually listening to him? Someone wants to talk? Someone interested in what he had to say?

They met later that evening, a local diner, off campus and out of sight of any school action. Cristina dressed up for the date, ready to make this boy hers.

Not that she needed to, for this boy was crazy! Even at dinner he couldn’t help himself, ranting against the world, raving against the school. Filled with anger and disgust, spewing out conspiracy theories and other untrue stories; no wonder her college didn’t let him in. What does he have: ADHD? Bipolar? Borderline personality disorder? Doesn’t matter, for all she had to do was agree, let him talk and agree with everything. It was simple as that, she agreed with everything and they hit it off completely.


For their second meeting, Cristina chose a library. It was a test, could he control himself? Could he be quiet, adapt himself, behave in a challenging situation?

They chatted and she watched him, observing, evaluating. He was nervous, yes, having lots of energy with no release. Being forced to stay quiet, not able to rant or rave; he was almost bursting at his seems. But he was trying, working hard to stay under control, and he did well enough, it getting easier and easier as time went by. He can control himself, she concluded; he just has to work hard to do it.


She held their third meeting at her place, all alone, just the two of them. She knew it was safe, for not only could he control himself, but she could control him. And now, with some privacy, she finally could tell him why she went to his protest, what made her interested in him. It was something in his Craigslist posts, something about revenge?

Just bringing it up set Scott off again, that evil school and their conspiracy against him, the abusive system that’s ruining America and didn’t let him in.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” Cristina asked, focusing his anger, focusing him. Stop ranting, stop raving, get serious. Do something with your feelings, make something happen.

Scott falls silent. He’s never encountered this before, someone listening to his rants, encouraging him. What was she getting at? What did she want from him?

Cristina suspected he’d respond like this, and so she was ready. First, she told him her story: the dream student at the dream school, how everyone loved her and how she was doing great. And how they all destroyed it, destroyed her. Lit a fire and burned her face off. That’s real pain, even more than being rejected, real pain is being accepted then being destroyed, being ripped apart by the people you trust, the people you love. Deeds like that cannot be undone, they can’t be allowed and they can’t go unpunished.

Scott listened, agreeing with everything. He continued to agree as Cristina laid our her plan: to sabotage the lab, destroy that engine so it could do no more damage. He agreed with everything until she got to the finale: unfolding their plan during an actual lab, taking out all who would use such a machine. Scott didn’t like that part. Did death really need to be part of their plan?

Yes it did. They did this to her, she’s doing this to them.

Cristina saw that Scott needed more convincing, that revenge means more to her than it did to him. She needed extra to get him on her side, and it was at this point that she decided to sleep with him.


At their next meeting, Cristina laid out the details: where to go, how to get in, how to sabotage the Aero lab engine. It was simple really, a couple incisions that she detailed for him, then the gas will seep in, just waiting to be ignited, just like what happened to her in lab.

After detailing her plan their meeting ended, but before Scott left, Cristina took off her clothes and fucked him again. Really good this time, giving it her all and even going down on him, making sure to give him the best feeling he’s ever had. Not that she liked it, not that she even likes him, but this was her insurance: him addicted to her, drowning him in pleasure with the promise of it forever; he won’t have a single other thought in his feeble little head.

All he had to do was this one deed. God knows it was needed, God knows they deserved it.


And so, with sex on his mind and craziness in his brain, Scott went to campus, to the engine lab. The lab was outside (for “safety”), surrounded by barb wire and a chain link fence. Scott had to be careful getting past all that, climbing over the fence and sneaking in. But he was and he did, dropping down inside, he was in.

He went to the engine and poked various tubes and valves with a sewing needle, exactly as instructed. The result was holes so small they were guaranteed to go undetected. But even so, the leaks would begin, causing the engine to blow once it was ignited.

Once finished, Scott exited the way he came. He then went back to Cristina’s, ready to be congratulated and fucked again. But Cristina corrected him; his job wasn’t done yet. For the lab hadn’t been conducted yet, and he needed to be there to confirm their success.

And so Scott did what he was told, went to class and stood by the door, in the exact spot Cristina told him. And then, when the lab began and the engine was ignited, it completely exploded! One leak caused a fireball and this time there were ten leaks, twenty, who knows how many. Enough to take out the whole lab, the professor, the students, the fence and everything inside it, and even the random eighteen-year-old by the door outside the lab.


The fire department rushed to the scene, a scene filled with smoke and numerous charred bodies, surrounded by students too scared to intervene. News crews arrived soon after, reporting on the carnage as campus police controlled the crowd, paramedics worked through the smell of burnt flesh and the screams of the student body.

The whole situation was a nightmare. This shitty professor, his lab a ticking time bomb, how did the department not learn from last year? What even happened this time? And who was that kid who was incinerated outside?

The Fire Marshall, studying the scene, immediately recognized it as sabotage. An explosion like that, with so many failures all happening at once, and on an engine repaired less than a year ago? That doesn’t just happen.

Also involved were detectives, identifying the bodies: the professor, the students, the random boy outside. The boy was tricky, and it took some legwork to identify him. But once they did, they match him to his rejection, and then to his numerous Craigslist rants. They then search his bedroom, finding his medication untaken, and with it several articles about Cristina and her accident. It was obvious he did it, sabotaged the lab as revenge for his rejection, then stood outside to enjoy it, no idea the amount of sabotage he actually did. It was an open and shut case, but for completeness the detectives did question Cristina: she didn’t know anything, never even met the kid.


Now Cristina she spends her time alone, supported by her settlement with her war-torn school. The school was reeling: fifteen deaths (no survivors), lawsuits flying left and right. But there was one thing the school was lucky about: in the first incident Cristina survived. Cristina survived and simply wanted to move on with her life, although she would only do so for the right price. The right price which the school immediately paid, eager get this nightmare behind them, and least in part.

Yes, now Cristina lives alone, surviving on her settlement, enjoying a simple life. Except for every once in a while when a reporter stops by. Several had done so, each one looking for a survivor’s perspective on the “Aero disaster”. Cristina’s response was always the same: devastation and sadness for the tragedy that transpired, but also relief that the lab will claim no more lives. The reporters also couldn’t help but take her picture, her face representative of the damage the school did. And sometimes, the reporters would even ask about the perpetrator, the crazy kid hell bent on revenge. And to that Cristina always said the same thing: she didn’t know him, but he seemed like a troubled kid.