Just one Line.

Jen's freckly and cute. With her long straight brown hair, she's always had this 'girl-next-door', wholesome, vibe. It may be aging into MILF-next-door, but nothing wrong with that. I mean, ILF still.

(Naked Bisexual Lube Wrestling)
 
Darla and Lacy’s moans caught their attention, they watched them kiss and play with each others breast.
“Damn,” Hanna took a drink.
“Right,” Sheila agreed.
Violet glanced at Sheila gawking, quickly kissed her lips.
“Fuuhhh,” she moaned.
“Feel better?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Those are my lips!”
“Come get them, then.”
Quinn waded over, sat in Violets lap, kissing her, Sheila and Hanna stare at each other.
“No,” Hanna pointed the bottle at her.
Sheila laughed taking the bottle from her.
 
From a story I'm working on about how social media helps to destroy a marriage in danger that probably could have been mended:

5:31 AM marked the first time I’d be called a cuck in a Twitter post. It was far from the last. It wasn’t anybody I knew; well, probably, anyways. It’s not like any of these platforms confirm who’s posting on them. Xx_cuntsplitter_xX didn’t seem to be the type of guy I’d willingly spend time with, though.
 
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"Bottom's up to see my bottom up"

From my wife as we did shots at the reception following our nephew's wedding in Vermont last weekend.

She's a fun drunk.
 
A heinous triple murder happened in this house. So, on one hand, this is considered a huge downside for buyers, on the other hand, it is a big plus side for me,” they explain, somewhat enjoying my shock. “By the time I found it, it had been abandoned for a couple of years and its price had been axed, much like the man who died where you are kneeling right now.
from "The invisible Hand"
 
Yeah, but “just one line” hasn’t been true since the second page or so. :)
True, I mean you simply cannot limit us creatives, we will defy all rules like the literary rebels we are.

The title thread sounded catchy, but people can post what they want. I'm just amazed that for the most part the thread hasn't gotten seriously derailed
 
This is a repost (#1278), but an honest example of the endless, iterative 'one line'. (First sentence of a 750 word, three sentence offering):

'To those persons with Literotica authorly ambitions, writers past, present and potential, scurrilous scribblers of sex, with vast unreasonable expectations of writerly recognition and wanton wishes for immortal fame, yet whose grandiose visions exceed their meager talents by immense margins, who find new and imaginative ways to violate time-honored literary conventions of the language, who recklessly run rampant through natural and normal rules of grammar, employ both clichés with impunity and plots rife with logical inconsistencies, develop character motivations of the flimsiest fabric, sodden prose of the most execrable flavour, stories of repulsive depravity - may you be cursed.'
 
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This is a repost (#1278), but an honest example of the endless, iterative 'one line'. (First sentence of a 750 word, three sentence offering):

'To those persons with Literotica authorly ambitions, writers past, present and potential, scurrilous scribblers of sex, with vast unreasonable expectations of writerly recognition and wanton wishes for immortal fame, yet whose grandiose visions exceed their meager talents by immense margins, who find new and imaginative ways to violate time-honored literary conventions of the language, who recklessly run rampant through natural and normal rules of grammar, employ both clichés with impunity and plots rife with logical inconsistencies, develop character motivations of the flimsiest fabric, sodden prose of the most execrable flavour, stories of repulsive depravity - may you be cursed.'
This feels like it needs a Blackadderesque curse.

"May you be cursed to have something mildly unpleasant happen to you... like having a palindrome drop on your head."
 
"A fate worse than a fate worse than death, eh? That's pretty bad." - Blackadder

I love this bit, so I'm going to quote it in full.

Harry: Oh, dear, Edmund: The Archbishop of Canterbury has met with the most tragic accident! There seems to be some confusion, but I think I’ve fathomed out on how it came about.

Edmund: Yes, I think I’ve got a pretty shrewd idea myself.

Harry: You see, Archbishop Godfrey was coming out of the Duke of Winchester’s room–

Edmund: …who had just died, leaving all his lands to the Church?

Harry: Well, as a matter of fact, yes.

Edmund: And so the King was really after his blood, presumably.

Harry: Well, I dare say, but the point of the matter is that, at that moment, round the corner, came Sir (Tabbis?) Mortimer.

Edmund: The King’s hired killer…

Harry: No, no, no. Mortimer — that tall, rather striking fellow with no ears.

Edmund: Yes, that’s him.

Harry: Well, he saw the Archbishop and rushed towards him with his head bowed, in order to receive his blessing, and, er, unfortunately, killed him stone dead.

Edmund: How?

Harry: Mortimer was wearing a Turkish helmet.

Edmund: Oh, I see, yes — one of those with the two feet spike coming out of the top?

Harry: It’s one of those things they normally use for butting their enemies in the stomach and (Edmund joins in) killing them stone dead.

Edmund: (sarcastic) Yes, so, presumably he’d forgotten he was wearing it.

Harry: Well, do you know, that’s exactly what the poor fellow had done! A tragic accident…tragic.

Edmund: Ah yes, almost as tragic as Archbishop Bertrum being struck by a falling gargoyle while swimming off Beachy Head.

Harry: Quite, quite. And nearly as tragic as poor old Archbishop Wilfred slipping and falling backwards onto the spire of Norwich Cathedral. Oh Lord, you do work in mysterious ways. I just don’t know how I’m going to break it to his (catamite?). (exits)
 
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