Exotic Beach Vacations Are The Best!

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.

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Fat Beached Whale

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

FAT BEACHED WHALE

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.

THE BUS STALKER RAPIST KILLER

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

A NEW LIFE

Addie walks into the bathroom, the weight of the world on her shoulders. She had hoped there was another way, that the pharmacist could just 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 a bigger 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 take a test?

In the bathroom, Addie drops her pants and panties, sits on the toilet, and sticks the test between her legs. Then she 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 actually 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, in disbelief. “I passed?” she says, letting it sink in. She never passes tests; how can this be?

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 over to him and drops her test on 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.”

“No.”

“Take me home!”

“No!”

“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 screams as he slaps her face. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

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

The officer pulls over 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!” commands the officer. Don listens, lowers his arm. “Out of the car,” the officer commands again.

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?” He 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, her man 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.”

“What?”

“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. Even the breathalyzer can’t fail her, she’s invincible, 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

THE BEST HALLOWEEN EVER

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.

LUSTFUL ATTRACTION

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

BEHIND HER BACK

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.