Snippettsville: Proofreading Queue to Publish

[wildsweetone]

Ellen by PierceStreet

It took several visits to the Road House for Ellen Michaelson to find her guy. Ellen was not an especially attractive girl. It was not her fault. She shared her meager earnings from the packing plant two towns over with her widowed father. There was not much left for stylish clothes and makeup and hair salons.

A little money for clothes would have worked wonders. Ellen was slim and well developed. Her moderate breasts looked huge on her five foot frame. A smile would have made her sparkle, but the smiles seldom came.

No one had seen her around the Road House before. She hadn’t attended dances either in high school. Those who knew her, and none knew her well, were surprised when she showed up one Friday night at the bar. She was dressed in a pair of tight jeans, and a man’s t-shirt. She clearly didn’t have a bra on, but that was less racy then(than) some of the clothes girls wore to the Road House.

Ellen danced with several guys, and seemed to really be uncomfortable. Nathan Deets, always willing to take a shot in the dark, danced with her a couple of times and then suggested a drive out to Green Lake. Ellen declined.

On her fourth consecutive Friday night visit Ellen saw Kevin Kane. Kevin was a male version of Ellen, the others whispered when they saw them dancing. Like her, he was socially awkward and shy.

They danced the entire night together, and afterwards Ellen invited herself back to Kevin’s shabby little single wide trailer. He couldn’t quite remember afterwards what he’d said or done right, but they ended up in bed.

Ellen fought the revulsion that coursed through her as he caressed her and removed her clothing, but she successfully feigned passion. In the morning light, Kevin saw the blood stains. “Ellen, were you a…,” a kiss cut off his question.

“No longer dear.” Her lost virginity was no concern in the big picture. She feverishly prayed a baby was starting.

It took several nights over weeks like this before she woke up one morning nauseous. An EPT confirmed the news.

When she broke the news to Kevin he was stunned, but immediately offered to do the right thing. She knew he would. Rural boys from families like his would naturally take responsibility. It was why she had chosen him. He even told Ellen he loved her. That brought Ellen up short. She hadn’t planned on that. No one had loved her since her mother had died.

The wedding was a hurried and necessarily small affair. After the minister declared them husband and wife, they turned to their small group of friends and relatives. For once, Ellen had a smile on her face, but it looked oddly rueful as she looked at her father.

She was strongly tempted to shout her thoughts just then across the room. She restrained herself for Kevin. Looking at her father, she thought “Now I’m out of your clutches. No more will you beat me up when you get drunk. I’ve got my own man now to protect me.” She looked at Kevin. “He’s a good man, and he deserves better then(than) this, better then(than) me. I’ll make it up to him. I’ll fuck him every night if he wants. It’s not as bad as it once was, I’m even starting to enjoy it a bit. Maybe... “ She tore her thoughts away from the erotic. “He’ll make a great father.”

Her grandmother whispered to Ellen’s Grandfather, “Look at how she’s looking at him. She is truly in love.”

 

[wildsweetone]

Scared of Heights by PierceStreet

“Are you OK?”,(delete comma) Molly yelled up to the young man standing on the cliff ledge. He was shaking like a leaf.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”, she(fine," she) said almost conversationally.

“I’m scared of heights. I thought maybe I’d confront my fear, OK(okay) with you?”

“Boy,” Molly thought to herself, “give a damn about your fellow man and all you get is attitude.” She didn’t know the guy, so he was probably one of the college guys that came up to Green Lake on weekends to camp. "He was kind of cute."

Molly was out fishing in her Dad’s bass boat when she noticed him standing on the cliff overlooking the lake. The popular lookout had an easy trail leading up to it from behind.

His attitude sparked her mostly latent brat tendency. “If you really want to overcome your fear, jump! The water here is deep.”

The guy went white as a sheet.

“Come on,” urged Molly, “all the kids do it around here.”

His knees where shaking now like he was doing some native dance.

“What’s wrong?”,(delete comma) she challenged, “Never done anything impulsive?” He shook his head no.

“Jump, and maybe I’ll do something impulsive too.”

“Why the hell did I say that?”,(delete comma) Molly wondered. “You can be a bratty little bitch sometimes. Oh well, he isn’t reacting. Time to up the stakes.” She whipped off her t-shirt, and looked up at him, giving him a good look at what she was offering. Still he stayed frozen. He wasn’t going to jump, and his male ego wasn’t going to let him turn and walk away until she left. Molly scooted back to the outboard and started it.

A scream made her look up. The guy had taken a running start and leaped.

He hit the water and disappeared below long enough to concern her. He bobbed up near the boat. Molly laughed“You(insert space between 'laughed' and '"You') crazy asshole.”

“Shit.(comma)” thought the tomboy, “What am I going to do now?” Then it occurred to her, “I’ve had guys exaggerate, scheme, and tell me sweet lies to be with me, but never has one done what he feared the most.” She helped him into the boat, and wasn’t surprised when he thought it his right to press his wet body up to hers and kiss her deeply.

“Sit down.(comma)” she commanded, as she put the boat in motion. She pulled the boat into a secluded cove and tied it to a tree. They waded ashore. He turned to her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to him. His hands explored her ass while they kissed, then started working her shorts down. Molly pulled his shirt up over his head, then unbuttoned his shorts. Things were moving fast, the release of adrenaline making him frantically horny. And it was catching, and all too soon, they were on the ground, he buried in her, her legs wrapped around him.

He was approaching his climax, when Molly admitted to herself it wasn’t going to happen for her. Normally it did, but normally there was more foreplay then this. It was OK,(okay,) it still felt good, and he’d confronted his worst fear. He deserved a reward.

Movement caught Molly’s eye. There was someone on the hillside above. At first she panicked, then recognized Jack from the diner. She motioned for him to be quiet, and not disrupt the young man’s pending orgasm. Then something amazing happened, Molly felt her own orgasm come out of nowhere and overwhelm her. Molly shouted her joy to the world, or at least for Jack to hear.

And an exhibitionist was born.

 

[wildsweetone]

Later... by Alex De Kok (add a space to separate the title from the story)
I must have been dreaming of her, because I had a formidable erection when I woke; 'piss-proud' I've seen it described. I stretched, then threw back the bedcovers from my nakedness, grasping my prick, stroking it, enjoying it and the images in my head.

There was a quick knock on the door and she came in with a coffee for me, a robe over her nightdress. She stopped short at the sight of my erection, flushing, but a strange expression passed over her face, one I could only describe as a cross between lust and hunger, a longing. She put the coffee cup down, tearing her gaze away from me and turned as if to go.

"Mary, no," I said. "Stay."

She turned, the flush still on her face, trying not to look at my erection.

"I, …" she began.

"Fuck me," I said, holding her eyes with mine.

She shook her head, her mouth working, soundless.

"Fuck me," I said again, but gently now, "we both want it."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can." I reached out and tugged at the sash of her robe. "You're not my mother, you're my stepmother."

She laughed. Brittle, harsh. "Not even that. Your Pa and I were never properly married. We said it for your sake." She shook her head in remembered pain, then looked up at me. "I never let him touch me again after you left."

Shock went through me, accompanied by…, what? Surprise? Pleasure? Anger at the bruises she bore? "So fuck me," I said again. "Make love to me." I tugged again at the sash of her robe, pulling her to the bedside. She came, unresisting, with a sigh of acceptance, her robe falling open as she moved to kneel astride my thighs.

She shrugged the robe off and discarded it, lifting the hem of her nightdress and taking gentle hold of my prick, angling it, feeding it to her pussy. I caught a glimpse of pubic hair, dark as her head, before the hem dropped again as she lowered herself onto me, her pussy surprisingly slick with her juices, a moan escaping her lips as she took my rigidity within her.

"Show me your breasts," I said.

She flushed again but reached to move the hem of her nightdress up, crossing her arms to strip it off over her head, discarding it beside her robe. Her breasts were full, slightly pendulous, the nipples thick and full with her own want. I reached up to cup the soft weight, my thumbs brushing over her hard nubs. She shuddered but began to move, to rise and fall on my aching hardness, her juices flowing freely, the squish of her movement loud in our ears.

I flexed my prick within her and she faltered briefly before continuing her ride, rising, falling,….

"Soon," I said, her movements getting me nearer and nearer.

"Me, too," she gasped as she moved, "very soon now."

I thrust up into her as she came down, moving my hand so that my fingers traced her labia before brushing lightly against her clitoris. Her belly convulsed and her pussy clamped down on me as she came, a plaintive mew of pleasure escaping from her lips, my hips moving urgently as I came in my turn and she collapsed across me as we stilled, my prick twitching in post-coital spasms. At last she turned her head and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

"Thank you, Alec," she whispered, "for everything, but perhaps most of all for making me feel needed again."

I laughed, teasing her. "No, Mom, thank you."

(Alex, I found the ellipses and commas together kind of strange... I'm not sure why that is, Quasi has shown me all manner of ways these things can be combined. I suggest that if this is the way you have learned from British grammar/punctuation skills then they are okay.)

 

[Alex De Kok]

Ellipses

I go through life wondering about ellipses. My references tend to contradict one another. Before I edit this one I'll see if I can find a definitive reference that satisfies me, and stick to it!

Alex

PS: There is a space after the title! Perhaps it needs two. Or bold for emphasis.

 

[Guest]

 

[wildsweetone]

i've just realised...

I haven't given anything postive back to any authors I have proofread for.

So here goes a general warm fuzzie for you all

I love the stories I'm reading. We have so much writing skill and talent amongst the SG that I really am proud to be part of the Group.

I love the way the stories are evolving, I love the individual styles that are shining through.

I am pleasantly happy that there is very little for me to do in the proofreading area.

I hope that the comments I'm making on your stories are okay with you all. I'm being very general and I'm now becoming more aware of my limits in the differences of punctuation and grammar around the world. (Thanks Quasi for the information you sent me.)

I am purposely trying to stick with proofreading only. If I put my full 'editor' hat on with these stories I am aware that I may cause some stories to need complete rewrites and I don't want that to happen. A suggested change for one single sentence can mean a lot of hard work for an author. And frankly, I'd rather see more new stories than rewrites.

 

[wildsweetone]

Hopes for Greens by Quasimodem



Wisteria wished Wilberforce would gather up his manhood and pop the question. Playing a waiting game had never been her forte. If only they were alone!

“Ante up, Wilberforce,” Arthur directed. “This is another hand.”

“This isn’t a hand,” Wilberforce objected, “It’s an unlikely organ. I think I’ll just fold.”

“Wilberforce has folded his organ,” Arthur announced to the room at large.

Wisteria hated when the boys played stud, they became so unruly.

“Come wiff me Will-Burr,” Beatrice commanded boozily. Grasping Wilberforce’s elbow, she dragging him onto the dance floor. “We can waltsh to your or-gone music.”

“It’ll be The Minute Waltz,” Wisteria sniffed. “Any bets?”

Arthur merely observed the half-drunk couple’s perverted display.

“Damn all women to hell!” Arthur exploded. Lightening his scowl, he added, “Wisteria, dear, let’s get some fresh air.”

That was the trouble with stud, Wisteria thought. Even a nebbish like Arthur Drutts might suddenly turn macho.

Without knowing how it happened, Wisteria found herself trotting through the brisk night air in the Snippettsville Country Club parking lot. That did not last for long.

Without warning or permission, Arthur grasped Wisteria and tossed her lightly onto the hood of an adjacent Ford Mustang. She barely had time to notice the waning moon, before she felt Arthur pluck her undersized breasts from her oversized brassiere.

A second later Wisteria’s hem was hiked up past her waist and her panties skinned down below her knees.

“Funny,” Wisteria stated calmly, “I never thought it could be like this, Arthur. Not in the Country Club parking lot, and especially not on Carl Witherspoon’s Mustang.”

For a moment, Wisteria’s world rocked, the moon danced crazily to the beat of Arthur’s boney shanks against Witherspoon’s Turtle Wax shine.

You could not call it love. You could not call it passion. Rather, it was the worn condition of the shock absorbers on Carl Witherspoon’s Mustang.

At last it was over. The zipping sound of Arthur’s fly being closed was immediately followed by a tentative beep from beneath Wisteria’s body.

“Well,” Arthur questioned icily, “are you going to make Carl wait all night before he can drive home? He has to work tomorrow, you know.”

Wisteria leapt from the Mustang’s hood, drawing her dishevelled apparel about her. Before she was prepared for public viewing, Arthur had re-entered the Country Club. In the distance, a thump could be heard as Carl bottomed his Mustang passing too quickly over a speed bump, whilst making his escape.

With Arthur’s ire unresolved, he launched an attack upon Wilberforce, in the Snippettsville Country Club.

Wilberforce had wearied of keeping Beatrice at arm’s length. Arthur was in no condition to entertain the sight of Wilberforce oozing suggestively in a half-drunken rhumba(rumba) against his fiancee.

Pulling the drunk half of the combo from Wilberforce’s arms, Arthur cold-cocked his friend with a sledgehammer blow behind the ear.

The festivities were over, the merry-go-round had come unstuck.

That night, Arthur stayed at Beatrice’s apartment, but he permitted himself no sleep.

He was determined to prove his love to his wealthy fiancee, for several agonizing hours. He planted this love in expectation of a future bumper crop, but the portents were not promising.

Boring away over Beatrice’s naked body, Arthur pulled every trick that he knew, or vaguely suspected. Beatrice obviously enjoyed his amorous toil, but not enough for the silly bitch to stop humming the damn Latin song, to which she had been dancing with Wilberforce.

Arthur’s carrot grew and goaded into the moist earth of Beatrice’s fertile desire, while the shadowy bunny of jealousy nibbled perniciously at his hopes for greens.

 

[wildsweetone]

Ker-Snap! by Quasimodem





“What are you doing in my office?”

“Danielle said you wanted to see me.”

The distinguished-looking executive momentarily goggled at the gangly, redheaded scarecrow with the rich baritone voice.

“You,” he declared ominously, “will refer to Danielle as Miss Chilters, or preferably, not at all. I don’t want to see you near my daughter, or you’ll never work in this business again!”

With those words, Grayson Chilters III, separated his newest employee, Josh Billings, from his only daughter, Danielle.

“Now get the hell out of here! You’re on-air in five minutes.”

Josh caromed off the door jamb as he sped from Mr. Chilters’ private office.

“Danielle, don’t leave. Come in here.”


“Ker-Snap! It’s twelve midnight, and you’re soaking in it! The Bat Billings’ Show on 875 AM, KSNP.” Josh’s voice rolled majestically from the off-air feed in the deserted lobby.(if you wish Quasi, you could put the radio announcements into italics)


“But, father!”

“No buts! I don’t wish to hear another word about you and that . . . red-assed baboon,” Chilters informed his daughter. “I think it’s time you remember your position.”

“Oh, no! Please, father.”

“Great-great-grandfather, Daniel - your namesake - was the first settler after old Zachariah Snippett founded Snippettsville. Great-grandfather Grover was the prime mover behind the railroad coming here. Grandfather Grayson founded this radio station and the Green Lake Resort Lodge. Father built the electronics plant, and I incorporated our business, and positioned it on the stock exchange.

“Do you think someone with our heritage could marry a freak like Josh Billings?”

“But the railroad only carries freight, the Green Lake Lodge burned down years ago, the electronics plant can’t compete with the Japanese, and we’ve only got a bitty thousand watt transmitter. . . .”

Crack! The sound of a blow exploded in the hushed office.

“It’s time I take you in hand, my girl.”

“No! Please, no, daddy!”

Sounds of cloth ripping and an almost subhuman whimpering, were followed by the unmistakable rasp of a zipper.

“No!” It was a shuddering scream at the edge of sanity, then hysterical weeping. Intermingled, were animalistic grunts punctuating the girl’s screams. It seemed to go on forever.


Thump! Thump! Heavy pounding was followed by a voice calling, “Open up in there.”

“Get the fuck away!” Grayson shouted.

A splintering crash, then, “Stand away from that girl, Chilters!” Tom Holt’s tenor was burred with an authoritarian ring.

Sound then became confusing, as Josh Billings’ baritone uttered soothing inconsequentialities, behind Holt’s recitation of Miranda rights, and Chilters’ gibbering litany of impotent profanity.

“Take Chilters in your squad car,” Billings was heard to suggest, “I could bring Danielle later, when she’s calmer.”

Tom, loathe to disagree, was about to speak, when the State Trooper sent as back up entered the fray.

“It’s still broadcasting,” he exclaimed, incomprehensibly. “This is all going out on the radio.”

“Because this is still on,” Josh could be heard to explain. He pulled a small FM microphone from its position behind a Chamber of Commerce award, on the shelf behind Chilters’ desk. “You turn it off here. . . .”

The Great Snippettsville Incest Broadcast came to an abrupt end.


When anyone thought to inquire, Josh and Danielle had disappeared from Snippettsville. When urged to put out an APB on the fugitives, Constable Holt followed a personal hunch. He called a state forensic accountant to go over Chilters’ books.

There was no need to pursue the fugitive couple. The irregularities found in Chilters’ accounts were enough to enroll Grayson Chilters III in the Rufe Dobson Medium Security Prison for not less than ten, nor more than eighteen years.

In this facility, Chilters is presently receiving sex abuse sensitivity training from a close personal friend.


(598 Word Count, plus Title and Author’s Note)



quote:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

___________________Author’s Note_____________________

KSNP 875 AM in Snippettsville differs in three major ways from KSNP FM 95.3, Burlington, KA. Different Frequency, Modulation, and that - of the Station, Personnel, and the Communities they serve - the Former exists only in Fiction, while the Latter exists actually in Kansas.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

[wildsweetone]

The stories up to and including Mermaid by Moonlight that have not been mentioned in this thread, appear okay to me at this point.

 

[wildsweetone]

Evidentiary Proceedings by Quasimodem - fine

 

[Alex De Kok]

Amendments completed

Later. . . has been changed, and I've also changed my usage of ellipses in Mermaid by Moonlight, courtesy of Quasimodem directing me to a couple of informative sites.

Alex

 

[wildsweetone]

Thanks for noting your changes

Quasimodem has altered Hopes for Greens, Ker-Snap and Evidentiary Proceedings.

 

[wildsweetone]

Where the fantasy begins by Why



We squirm on the coat, keeping forever within its large expanse. He, like I, seems loath to move onto the cold harsh duvet. The coat breathes scents and sensations with each fibre we crush. Warm soft sand, rasping skin and heady thick essence of honeysuckle blend in my mind and fire my senses, but most of all the sound of lapping of water in reed strewn fens sets my longing alight.

His lips burn on my skin as they tease my nipples, I am alternately cursing and welcoming the racing of my heart. It has been a long time, but never had the heat in my loins burned in such a way. I am begging, almost pleading for him to enter me. All thought of careful sex had gone with the first touch of his flesh against mine.

Rhisiart’s breath is coming in short harsh gasps, his hair damp with the sweat of our exercise. I run my fingers down between us and spread my legs, inviting him in. Words linger on his lips but I can’t hear them. All I hear is the roar of my blood as he enters me.

Each plunge of his flesh into mine sends my senses reeling. My nipples harden and surrender to his questing hands. I try to catch his half bitten words as his mouth brushes my ear, but they are lost in the passion.

I giggle, thinking they are some sort of lover’s talk and make to answer, but his mouth clamps on mine sucking my breath away. The lust in me is peaking, a throbbing, gut shuddering crescendo, which blossoms in sweat dripping off my skin. Rhisiart too is reaching the climax of his act. I feel him shake and gasp as his release takes him. My own plunge follows and is gripped in the silence of my heart’s stopping.

The palpitations seize my inner battered organ and my mind starts to laugh crying, “you bloody fool you are going out fucking yourself silly.” I try to move my arms and beat on Rhisiart’s chest, I have to get to my vials, my prescribed medication of survival.

“No Ruby, breathe slowly. I have you safe. You are mine…. Come what may…..” Rhisiart rasps, his eyes still wide and face muscles taut with sexual arousal, as he, still inside me, raises himself on his arms and drags the black coat around us both. He is entombing us in black folds of wool, as if he intends to share my crypt.

“You bloody fool I need… I need…. “(this end shows open speechmarks) The words blast from my lips. My eyes widen as my system starts to close down with the failing of my heart. The room behind Rhisiart explodes, as my mind begins to hallucinate. A wrenching tearing, bellowing cloud, blood red, peppered with grasping clawed hands, forms. I put my head back and my mouth starts to stretch in a bitter final laugh. It is hell waiting for me. My limbs fail and fall.

Rhisiart half turns, as if in some way he senses my oxygen starved brain’s nightmare vision. He raises his left hand to ward off the frothing creatures crawling out of my mind’s dying madness. I notice with my failing eyesight his fingers are webbed. His voice cries out, laced with purpose and anger.

“Cali, the act is done. End it!”

My failing mind roars with brittle anguished laughter, “what a fucking way to go, ushered on by a scene from a fantasy novel(add ending speechmarks)


(**wso note** I am PMing the author.)

 

[wildsweetone]

Swan by Alex De Kok
It was Julie Trask's idea. The Green Lake Lodge Spring Ball was coming up and Jake Miller and I had both asked her to be our date. I had thought about asking Sally Jansen but she and Charlie Thomson seemed to have become an item.

"How much do you know about dinghy racing?" Julie asked us.

Jake and I looked at each other. "The pointy end is the front," I said helpfully.

"Nothing?" said Julie. We shook our heads. "Okay," she said, grinning at us, "enter the open Laser race in the Regatta on Saturday and whichever one of you finishes highest can be my date."

I almost gave up there and then, but I knew Jake had as little a clue as I did. I was sitting moping when Beth Allan came by. Skinny, mousy, unattached little Beth, everybody's friend, nobody's lover.

"Something up, Alan?" Concern(concern - fussy eh) in her tone.

"Yeah." I told her the story.

"Ah. That would explain why Brad Torrens just took Jake out on the lake."

I let myself settle even more into my gloom.

"Hey, come on. I can show you how to sail a Laser," said Beth helpfully.

I looked at her sharply and she flushed. I knew she was one of the best around at handling a dinghy. "You mean it?"

"Of course." Indignant.

That was how I ended up spending virtually the whole of Thursday and Friday out on Green Lake with Beth. She drove me hard, but by Friday evening I was confident that I could at least keep the dinghy going in the right direction

Saturday dawned fine and warm, with a westerly breeze which wasn't too strong. I think just about everybody knew about the race within a race and there was a lot of joshing going on. Eventually it was time for the start. Beth had loaned me her own Laser, far from new but suberbly(superbly) maintained and trimmed.

"Thanks, Beth. If I win it will be thanks to you."

"Good luck, Alan," she said, but she avoided my eyes when she said it and I wondered if I'd upset her.

I managed not to get in anybody's way at the start and was pleased to see that I had a slight advantage over Jake, in Brad's boat. The race settled down with the more experienced sailors starting to pull away. Jake and I weren't doing too badly,(i paused here because of the comma and it didn't seem right - suggest delete comma) somewhere around the middle of the field, and I had about a three boat-lengths lead over him as we started the last lap.

I caught sight of Beth on the shore and thought back to our two days together on the lake. Her animation, her unexpected quick wit, her simple joy just in being out on the water. The finishing line was getting close and I let the wind spill from the sail for a moment, before hauling on the sheet and getting back on course, just half a length behind Jake as he crossed the line.

"You could have beaten him," said Beth accusingly when I got back to the dock.

I glanced across to where Jake was hugging Julie. I smiled. "Yes, Beth, I could. There was another prize I wanted more."

"There was? What?"

"Will you be my date for the Ball?"

She looked absolutely astonished for a moment, then flushed. "Yes, I will."

When I saw her slender loveliness in her ball gown I wondered why I had ever thought of her as either skinny or mousy, because she was stunning, but it was when she kissed me that she really knocked me out.

 

[wildsweetone]

Hometown Hotshot by Quasimodem

A local lad grew to become a strapping, handsome man. Maybe he tended toward sarcastic repartee and cruel humour, but that was just his way. All Snippettsville loved Jack Portner, the banker’s only son.

“Jack?” the girl called, with suppressed laughter. “Were you riding the bus?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Jack Portner, travelling Greyhound?” the girl snickered.

“Ah! Things aren’t always what they seem?”

“You on a bus,” she returned. “Things certainly have changed.”

“As a matter of fact. . . .”

“Yes?” gamin eyes sparkled upward.

“Er . . . my car . . . broke down.”

“Poor baby!” she laughed. “I’ll take you home.”

“Not yet,” he returned, sharply.

“You must tell them you’re home early, Jack. Surely you’re through arguing with your father?”

“That’s not it,” Jack replied. “I’d like a little time . . . look the town over . . . see what’s changed.”

“You were only gone ten months,” the sprite scoffed. “not twenty years.”

“Look at me, Millie,” he commanded. “Haven’t I changed?”

Millie looked as requested.

“You’ve more colour, and you’re a bit untidy, but then, you just stepped off a bus. I can’t expect you to look the same as when you left.”

“Hardly.”

“Now, where are you going?”

(delete the single extra space in here)
“To check on Willot’s Creek.”

“That’s the other side of the tracks.”

“Afraid the boogeyman will get you?”

“You’re home,” Millie declared, hugging Jack’s arm, “I’m afraid of nothing.”

*

“Pretty, isn’t it, Mille?”

“I’ve never seen it before.”

“No, really?”

“I’m surprised you could find your way here.”

“You think I don’t know my own hometown?”

“This is what you once called ‘Snippettsville’s comfortless rustic hickery.’”

“Shh! I didn’t come to hear you kvetch.”(kvetch?)

“I realize that!” Millie murmured. “You must be real horny, bringing me here to neck.”

Harsh laughter escaped the man, then the couple clasped their arms about each other.

The sun set, twilight deepened, and the stars shone forth, while the couple concentrated upon one another.

Indeed, the man hungered for Millie, but was vastly changed. Vanished was his immediate ravening demand. In its place, Millie felt a slow stoking of her ardour, until they both erupted into a conflagration.

“Oh, m . . . my . . . goodness!” Millie panted, regaining her breath. “It was never . . . you . . . have changed. . . .”

“I’m exactly the same,” he declared, drawing on his clothes. “What’s different is, I’m not Jack.”

“Not Jack?”

“No.”

“Don’t be cruel, Jack.”

“Not Jack, Earl!” the man exclaimed. “Someone must have pointed out Snippettsville’s most disreputable Danvers.”

“But you. . . .”

“Look like Jack?” he sneered. “Certainly! That’s my worst offence.”

The man rose to his feet.

“It happens sometimes in towns like this. One boy looks like his father, the pillar of the community. Don’t much matter what the kid does, he’s a golden boy.”

The man spun, pointing across Willot Creek.

“On the poor side, another kid looks similar, has similar skills, but doesn’t get on any sports teams, or win any scholarship. Nobody will even give him a job. Why? Because he looks too much like his father. It scares the good folks.

“Get up,” Earl commanded. “No doubt, Jack will be home tomorrow. You’ll forget about me. I only stopped to visit my mother’s grave.”

*

The next morning, Jack Portner arrived home in his red BMW. Townsfolk welcomed him like a conquering hero, except for Millie DuBois, who seemed distracted.

Still, Jack’s father was conciliatory. Jack was his old self, settling into the well-worn grooves of hometown life.

Mille DuBois shocked Snippettsville by leaving Jack at the altar. Later, they learned she’d married someone on the West Coast, named Danvers.

“Didn’t some Danvers live around here?” Snippettsville wondered.

“It’s a big world,” they finally decided.

 

[wildsweetone]

just a quick note of apology either in arrears or advance

i am juggling between three threads whilst doing this.

600 word stories.
Accept/Decline and
Proofreading,

now and again i get an uncanny feeling i've read a story before. if i slip up and proofread something twice, please forgive me. i've now got a list beside me as i go, so hopefully i won't miss any stories or double up on any. feel free to shout when i slip up.


thanks

wso

 

[wildsweetone]

Running by jon.hayworth

A week passed by and became two weeks. I only used the room I rented from Hannah to write in – night times Hannah wanted to make whoopee. Hannah turned out to be an insomniac with a libido as big as Texas, and I was unable to keep up.

At first I tried to be diplomatic, saying things like, “you can have too much of a good thing,” or, “waiting makes it even more exciting,” but Hannah McGuire choose to ignore my comments.

When I walked into the store for a package of cigarettes Ethel Carr saw my eyes were damn near falling shut, “how are you today? Looking kinda peaky to me,” she called, “Jack this writer fella from England is looking all done in.”

Jack came out of the stock-room looked over and grinned, him knowing I was a writer and him aspiring to be a writer gave us a common bond in his eyes. “Looks like Hannah's been making too many demands.”

“Jack!” Ethel said sharply looking around to see if there was anyone in earshot, “she always was one for the men – demanding more than any man has, if you know what I mean.”

Both Jack and I bristled at this assault on our masculinity, an unspoken alliance against the aggressive female sex was instantly formed.

“Jack, I'll tell you what I do need, some place quiet where I can do some writing. I'm falling behind on my deadlines.(comma)” I added giving Jack a one writer to another writer look.

“There's the cabin up above Green Lake, but its(it's) kinda isolated. No running water and no electricity, we hardly use it.”

“Can I ride the bike up there?”

“The trail's rough but my truck gets up there.”

“I'll take it.”

---------------

I sneaked out of the back of the Dinner whilst there was a miniature rush about noon. Clipped the Krauzers onto the BMW and rode out of town on the road to Green Lake. I parked near the lake and settled down to wait.

I was just finishing a beer and my second cigarette when I heard a vehicle, Jack's Chevy truck pulled up. “Your supplies are in the back. Follow me.”

When we turned off the tarmac road onto the trail I had to pull my visor down to shield my eyes from the hail of small stones that shot at me from the truck's tires. We passed a small cluster of cabins and the rough track narrowed, half a mile later Jack stopped next to a small dilapidated cabin.

“Told you it weren't up to much, but you can use it.”

He helped me carry in the boxes of food and five gallon cans of kerosene for the lamps. “Hope you like being alone, and watch out for the bears at night.”

When he had gone I explored – the cabin smelt unused but the open door and windows soon cured that. I found an outbuilding that I could put the bike in, inside it I found a rusty old generator – someday when I had time I would tinker with it, maybe I could make it run.

For the first time in days I wrote – I mean I wrote words that I wanted to keep, words that I felt enthusiastic about.

As I was falling asleep I thought to myself, this little cabin might be isolated and primitive but I like it, with a little bit of work it would make a good home it was the sort of place where a single man could put down some roots.

 

[wildsweetone]

(***wso note***)
I am caught up with the accept/decline thread now, awaiting a seconder for the last 4 story titles posted.

 

[wildsweetone]

Running by jon.hayworth has been altered.

 

[wildsweetone]

The Cabin by jon.hayworth

When I made my offer to buy the cabin from Jack and Ethel, Jack was genuinely overjoyed at the prospect of having another writer in town – although by the chronicles which have recently appeared there were many writers in and around Snippetsville.

As I worked on a short piece for a British Magazine I could hear the throb of the old generator, the slow running little engine had become the cabin's heartbeat - a comfortable disruption of the silent forest. The deeper sound of a truck's engine heralded an unwanted interruption – at times Jack was getting to be a royal pain in the ass! I shut down the laptop.

It was Ethel not Jack who stood at the door. “Just dropped by.”

“Come in Ethel.”

Her eyes swept the room taking in the improvements I had made – a couple of book shelves and a lick of paint. “Why you've made it real nice. Jack said you had fixed the electricity. Jack's no good with practical things,” she sighed(comma) a note of despair in her voice.

“I'm just making coffee? I have some beer – its(it's) not cold, I still have to get a refrigerator.”

“A beer will be fine.”

I poured two beers, when we were seated I said, “is there something you wanted?”

“Nope I was just passing by.”

A palpable lie no one but hunters or hikers could be just passing by this, and Ethel was not dressed for hiking. “It is nice to have a visitor,” I said.

“Not disturbing your writing or anything.”

She giggled, squirmed and flushed like a schoolgirl when I replied, “I never mind being disturbed by a beautiful woman.”

“Isn't Hannah McGuire a beautiful woman?” She(she) asked archly. My response was noncommittal, she went on to tell me how much Hannah was missing me, “she says your(you're) a unique man, someone who not only knows the moves but also knows how to push all the right buttons.”

I swigged my beer, “I also need my own space.”

“Hannah said you've not called round(around) – she's missing you. You know Jack knows the the(delete 'the') moves, maybe he knows the buttons in theory but somehow we(we never quite push, or he never quite pushes) never quite pushes them.” As she spoke she wriggled in her seat causing her skirt to creep up treating me to a view of three-quarters of her thigh. She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them, revealing a glimpse of her panties. In a husky breathless voice she added, “it is not that I do not love Jack, but I think it would be nice to have an uncomplicated fling with a man who knew what he was doing.”

According to one of my ex-wives, my life has been controlled by my cock, “Willy-led”, she called it and I guess that's true, because without considering the consequences in a trice I had moved nearer to her, taken hold of her hand and looking her in the eyes said, “Ethel if that is a proposition, I suggest we get more comfortable.”

“Oh that is so British,” she said as I kissed her hand.

“Come on,” I said tugging her to her feet. I walked behind her, my arms around her, my hands toying with her breasts. When we reached the bed, her exposed breasts were supported by my hands.

Ethel, like a wildcat, tore our clothes off. In minutes we were rolling on the bed and I was plumbing the depths of Ethel's inventive mind as I fullfilled her fantasies. Jack Carr's faults were my good fortune – long may he write and not do!

 

[jon.hayworth]

The Cabin has been edited.

jon