Writing Exercise: Love Story

[StillStunned]

Alright everyone, put down your pens and quills and pay attention. Here's the new Writing Exercise: write a love story.

(You can pick up those pens and quills again now.)

What kind of love story? That's up to you. A moment of infatuation with a stranger's smile. A love with deep roots that can weather the fiercest storm. A love that's physical, or shallow, or unrequited, or hopeless, or forbidden, or tragic. A love that saves the world, or destroys it. A love that makes you feel alive, or a love that makes you wish you were dead.

The usual rules apply. It only has to be a snippet. No introduction needed, no conclusion. In medias res is fine, but you can begin in medias mediae if you want. Just write the interesting bit. Keep it short: no more than 250-350 words. Don't write anything that wouldn't get published on the story side: nothing underage, no bestiality. Stick to the spirit of the site's publishing rules.

Have fun!

 

[StillStunned]

It was three minutes before he fell in love with her. She walked up to the bus stop where he was waiting and asked whether the Number 4 had left yet. It hadn’t, he was happy to tell her, because he was waiting for it too. When it arrived, it was packed, and they rolled their eyes at each other every time a stranger jostled them. By the time they were at his stop, he was in love.

It was four weeks and two days before she fell in love with him. They saw each other at the bus stop again a few days later, and sat next to each other when it arrived. He let her do most of the talking, and when they arrived at his stop she got off as well. Her flat was only a few streets over, and she was telling him about a holiday she’d had.

It was two more days before they kissed. They’d fallen into the habit of having a drink after they got off the bus, before they both headed home. It was a chain pub that did cheap food as well, so this time she suggested they stay for a bite. He agreed, because he had a story that was making her laugh, but as soon as they ordered she turned to him and said, “So, were you ever going to kiss me?”

It was five minutes before they stopped kissing. It felt much longer, though, as if time had stopped and the world was reduced to just the two of them. They looked at each other, and smiled, and kissed again.

 

[Erozetta]

My take is a love that's just beginning:

He appeared menacing as he smiled and approached.

I whimpered and backed up. “John,” I said, a sternness to my voice. “Maybe we can skip the ice pack tonight? None of the falls were especially hard and…” I fell back onto the couch as my legs hit it. I barely had time to brace myself before he'd turned me onto my stomach and climbed over my thighs, pinning me to the couch.

“Fuck!” I cried out as the ice pack pressed against my ass. “Why's it always so cold?” I shivered and he laughed.

“It’s ice and you're hot.” He cleared his throat then continued, “Hours of dancing leaves the blood flowing freely and heats up your body. It's why the bruises turn such a deep purple without the ice.”

“I'd rather have the ugly bruises.” I squirmed beneath him and he grabbed my hip, holding me still as I whined and lifted my ass in an effort to pull away.

“Stop squirming.”

“I can't, it's cold. Natural instinct is to move away from the bad man freezing my ass.”

“Stay still or I'll spank you.”

I stopped and looked over my shoulder at him, my eyes narrowed. “You wouldn't dare!”

 

[DraegonDaddy]

"I don't know if I can feel love." He pulled on his cigarette and breathed out a cloud of smoke as he spoke.

The therapist put the tip of her pen to her lips and paused a second, "and why do you feel that way?"

Another cloud of smoke passed his lips and he stubbed out the cigarette in the nearby ash tray. "Because, I feel like I always do numb, tired, worried about rent, bills, and where our next meal is coming from. I do feel my life is better with her in it, but the way the songs and movies describe love ... I just don't feel that. I don't think I ever did." He adjusted the tilt of his laptop monitor as he finished speaking.

The therapist's voice came slowly through the laptop speakers. "So the reason you want the divorce is because you don't think you ever loved your wife? Yet, you've been married over 20 years."

He clicked his pen repeatedly as he sat in front of screen, a nervous habit he had never fully gotten rid of. "Maybe I loved her once. Hell, maybe I still do. I want her to be able to be happy. I just make everyone around me miserable. After all these years, I think there's just too much built up resentment to overcome. I've tried to be a good husband, a good father, but too many times I can't seem to be able to get out of my own head to be there in the way she wants me to be."

It was all he could do, not to get up and grab the bottle of whiskey from the other side of the room.

 

[theWollstonecraftWoman]

Oh-oh, what's love got to do, got to do with it?
What's love but a second-hand emotion?
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?

 

[onehitwanda]

I removed my helmet and goggles and stretched the tension out of my shoulders, then stood and flung a leg over the cockpit's side and dropped to the apron. The girl tried to copy me but couldn't quite manage. Cold had clearly lamed her, she'd do better tomorrow during the daylight leg.

“Here, like this,” I said, and took her foot in my hands, guiding it to the step. She tried to slide over the cockpit's sill but her foot slipped and she fell with a shriek. I caught her instinctively, clenched my arms around her and trapped her between me and the fuselage, preventing her from falling the remaining distance down to the concrete.

We stared at one another for a heartbeat... then both of us realised at the same moment that my hand had ended up somewhere it most definitely shouldn't be, with the soft swell of her bosom cupped by my fingers.

I tried to stammer an apology, she fumbled frantically, found a handhold, and pulled away. She was blushing, my cheeks were flaming, and we both backed hurriedly away from one another.

“Welcome to France,” I said, to cover my mortified shame.

 

[XerXesXu]

He called round before breakfast.

‘Hi Sam … so early …we’re not yet ready to face the day.’ Jane used the fingers of both hands to raise her specs and wipe the sleep from her eyes. When they fell back she focused and looked him up and down. ‘You look weirder than usual … what brings you here at this time.'

‘To borrow some of your Taylor Swift red lippy … uhh … and silky white foundation powder.’

‘Like … to keep … haven’t you heard of Boots.’

‘Boarded up … the one across town opens after I start and closes before I finish.’

‘The last time.’ Jane went to fetch her makeup.

Another groggy rag-doll in bobbled dorm-socks materialised at the kitchen door, one hand clutching her battle worn dressing gown over her miss-matched pyjamas, the other shielding her yawning mouth from view. One sleepy eye peered through the tangle of unmarshalled hair falling across her face.

Sam cocked his head and smiled enigmatically. ‘Where’ve I seen you before.’

‘We haven’t met.’

“In the movies … I’m sure I’ve seen you in a horror movie.’

Jane returned and put the makeup on the table. ‘This is Val … moved in last Friday.’

‘Wasn’t that the thirteenth.’ He grinned at Val who saluted him with one finger.

‘You two make friends easily … I’ve only been gone thirty seconds.’

‘She’s a girl who knows how to make a first impression … you need not fear burglars.’

Val saluted him with two fingers.

Jane laughed. ‘Imagine having to wake up to that sight every morning.’

‘Yes … I’m imagining.’ He flashed Val his best predatory smile.

‘Oh … I see … “Hello … nice to meet you … where have you been all my life?”’

Val said, ‘You think …maybe ... I’ve been waiting for Ronald McDonald to come into my life ... carry me off for a Big Mac?’

‘You’re in luck … it’s my half day today … don’t change … I’ll pick you up at five … we’ll fix our makeup … go downtown … clown and rag-doll … a terrifying combination… and hang out in my favourite haunts.’

 

[PennyThompson]

What if we fell in love in the Blockbuster Video



It's a Friday night, June 1996, and I'm cruising the isles at the Blockbuster Video. The popcorn ceiling is dusty, and dingey brown around the corners of the HVAC vents where years of cigarette smoke has been sucked up. The fluorescent lights buzz and clink. The faded blue carpet is filthy, and has probably never been cleaned since it was installed.

I've got five dollars in my pocket, a quarter-tank of gas in my teal Dodge Neon, and not a care in the world. Until I see you.

You're wearing a little tartan skirt, and a ratty blue sweater that bares your midriff. Your hair is short and black, two little plastic pink barrettes holding your bangs out of your big blue eyes. You've got a band-aid on one knee, and one of the shoe laces on your big clunky combat boots is untied.

It's love at first sight.

You're browsing the New Releases with your friend, a little Japanese girl in cargo pants and a hockey jersey. Both of you are searching the racks, eyes trailing across the spines of the VHS tapes, a look of disappointment on your faces. "Damn," I overhear you mutter. "I really wanted to watch Empire Records! Peter from film class said it was amazing..."

I look down at my hands. One of them is holding a bag of Red Vines. The other is holding the last copy of Empire Records.

I clear my throat nervously. "Hey, um." I blurt out. "Is this what you were looking for?" I hold up the tape with a grin.

"Oh shit, you got the last one! Lucky."

"Yeah, I guess it's my lucky night," I say. "Um. I'm Ash."

"I'm Megan. This is Jin." Your friend waves shyly, half hidden behind you.

"Nice to meet you! Um. Hey, listen. Sorry if this is weird. I'm not trying to be weird."

"Too late for that, but you might as well keep going," you say dryly. Jin giggles behind you.

"Right. Well. I was just going to say. I was just going to watch this alone, tonight. I heard it's really great to watch in a group. But. I'm new in town and haven't really made any friends yet. So. Um."

"So...?" You watch me expectantly. I try not to stare at the freckles on your nose.

"So. If you wanted to. Maybe you and Jin would want to come over? And watch it with me?" I feel the heat rising up my face.

"Or I'll just let you have it and rent it another night, that's cool too!" I add hastily. "I promise I'm not weird!"

"I like weird," you say with a smile.

---

Someone tell me if I any of this felt inaccurate as a period piece, I've never been to a Blockbuster Video

 

[Belegon]

"What am I going to do if your wife calls and says she wants you back?"

"I promise you dear, I have no intention of ever leaving you and certainly not for her! You have been almost literally my savior over these last three weeks, and you are the sole reason I smile most days."

"Yes , but you love her. And you have told me yourself that you don't believe you have ever stopped loving a woman..."

If we had been in the same room, I would have been incredibly tempted to gently lay a finger upon her lips in a quieting gesture. Considering her agitated state, it is perhaps a good thing that we were having this conversation in a chat room.

"And since we have gotten acquainted over these weeks, I have told you that I believed myself to be falling for you. I have not changed that belief, nor do I show any signs whatsoever of doing so. The unfortunate fact that we are temporarily separated by distance does not mean I am going to change my mind about that."

" But what if she shows up and wants to sleep with you? I won't be able to do that until next week at the earliest and..."

" And you have nothing to worry about on that front. Her recent behavior has completely removed any attraction I once held for her, while yours has only proven that I was correct upon my first sight of you when I proclaimed you to be one of the loveliest women ever to inhabit God's great green earth. I will hold to that opinion until my dying day. You need have no worry upon that front."

"That's sweet of you to say, but..."

"No. No more buts...This time next week we will finally be together. And the only but that will be involved will be the one I will drop my hands to and squeeze when I kiss you hello!"

 

[glynndah]

He didn’t want a cat. Hell, he didn’t even like cats. Sneaky little beasts was what he thought of them, when he thought of them at all. But he couldn’t just ignore the bedraggled little kitten that crawled onto his chest and began to purr as he finished changing the oil in his car. She continued to purr as he yelped and slid the creeper out from under the car. He grabbed her by the scruff and tossed her aside. She ran back to him and twined around his legs. Finally, after he’d exhausted all his efforts to shoo her away, he picked her up and carried her across the street to Myra, the self-described “crazy old cat lady”. Myra would know what to do and he figured she owed him one since he spent quite a few Saturday afternoons mowing her grass for her.

He pounded on Myra’s door, listening for the old woman’s footsteps as she crossed the worn linoleum. The door opened much sooner than he’d expected and the woman who answered the door was certainly not what he’d expected.

“You’re not Myra,” he said.

“No, I’m her granddaughter, Emma, and who’s this?” she asked, reaching out to stroke the now sleepy, still purring kitten.

“You’re Emmie, the one in that picture on Myra’s wall?”

“The one with the braces, coke-bottle bottom glasses and the home perm? Yep. That’s me. Or it was about fifteen years ago. I hope I’ve improved since then.”

He looked at her face, tilting his head from side to side and then said, “Maybe just a little.” His smile belied his teasing words. She smiled in return.

“This,” he said, “is what I wanted to talk to Myra about.” The kitten, still purring, clung to the front of his shirt as he tried to give her to Emma.

“Poor little thing! She’s skin and bones! She needs food.” She held the door open for him and he followed her into the house.

“She’s not my cat!” he protested.

“Well, she certainly seems to think she is.”

“She’s mistaken.”

 

[glynndah]

These are all good. I want to know what happens next, what happened before, etc. I want more.

 

[mrs_mackenzie]

“Five, six, seven, eight, kick, step, kick, turn-”

I knew the moment I swivelled to the left that it was wrong and I cursed under my breath.

“Turn right, Lizzie, right then kick, kick, and down. Again!”

…

“Again!”

…

“Again!”

As much as I got yelled at, bawled at, screamed at, I wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the world. I loved dancing. And doing it professionally was everything I’d ever wanted: just thinking about sitting in an office somewhere crushed my soul. It was worth every moment of the ever-present sweat and occasional tears.

“Again!”

On the driveway at home I could hear the low thump of music playing in the living room. I crept up to the window, wanting to surprise my fiancé, a grin on my face. But it was me that was surprised: he was standing on the rug, determination on his face, moving his body clumsily in time with a video tutorial. He couldn’t dance; he had the proverbial two left feet. But here he was, stepping, turning… I loved him. The video stopped and he stood for a moment to catch his breath, then pressed to play the video. Again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together and join me in welcoming the lovely couple to the dancefloor for their first dance!”

I beamed with happiness as my husband took my hand and led me out there. The best man shouted, “She could do with the practice!” from behind us, getting a ripple of laughter.

Waiting for the music to begin, I put my hands onto his shoulders and looked into his eyes.

“Is this what you were practicing for?” I asked so only he could hear.

He smiled bashfully. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

Our feet began to move as the music kicked in. Our song. That disco bassline and those strings.

”I love to love… but my baby just loves to dance.”

 

[TheLobster]

It all went so smoothly — not just today, but over these last few weeks as well. He might've met Victoria in the most casual and mundane of circumstances, but Vicky herself was the furthest thing from boring.

He already loved her wide and easy smile, framed by the delicate hazel tresses of shoulder-length hair. He adored the way she laughed, and he would still marvel how it was possible that she'd always find him so funny.

Their first two dates had been just the right mix of comfortable, friendly companionship and that elusive, exciting touch of sparkling electricity. It glimmered in her deep blue eyes that John would look into as they spoke, with less and less nervousness each time. And while he was far from a suave maven when it came to romantic relationships, even he was well aware what the third date supposed to entail.

Yet he totally didn't expect it'd go so well that they'd end up at his place.

"Come on in," he said, a slight waver in his voice. His guest walked in with a cheeky grin.

As the door close, from behind a corner sauntered an intrigued feline. It padded to them cautiously, its tail brushing the carpet.

"Oh, you must be Genji," the girl cooed. "What a nice and fluffy cutie you are!"

She bent down to pet his silvery coat but the animal jumped nervously. She insisted, reaching out for his goofy round head, and in a flash all hell broke lose. The cat growled a loud and squealing meow, struck her with its open paws and immediately retreated behind John's ankles. It let out a heart-rending mewl and peered at the owner with its deep blue eyes.

The message was clear as day.

"Fuck! Your cat has just —"

"I think you should leave."

She blinked, rubbing her injured hand. "What?!"

"The taxi couldn't have gone far, could it?" he said coldly, then practically shoved her out the door and closed it in her face.

"Asshole! You and your fleabag can both go to hell!"

But he didn't listen to her yelling. She gave up it quickly enough anyway, leaving in a hurry so she could catch that cab.

Instead, John squatted towards Genji and ran a hand through the soft, dense coat of fur on his back. The cat purred contentedly.

"You saw something bad in her, didn't you? Something I must've missed..."

There had been no hesitation in John's voice, when he threw his supposed dream date out of the apartment. He would never, not in a million years, ignore the intuition of his beloved companion.

He knew that no pussy was worth it to threaten the bond with his special puss.

 

[TwystedDzyre]

The Secrets Of Jamal & Zainab​

Jamal worked in the quiet backstreet shop that had been in their family for generations. His nimble fingers danced over bolts of fabric, bringing life to the garments that lined the walls like a rainbow of secrets whispered on silken lips. A bell jingled, piercing the silence as the door opened, revealing a woman in a middle-eastern, embroidered gown.

She stepped in, the scent of jasmine emanating from her waist-length black hair, and the rustle of her gown and the clicking of her high heels the only sounds in the dimly lit room.

Her eyes, like dark pools of desire, searched through the racks before landing on a crimson dress that clung to the mannequin's body like a lover's embrace.

She approached, allowing the fabric to slip through her fingertips, her wedding ring glinting in the soft light. Without a word, she pulled the dress off the stand, the color stark against her pale skin. Her voice, a smoky siren's call, requested Jamal's assistance to alter it.

He nodded, his heart thumping a staccato rhythm in his chest. As she slipped into the changing room, his gaze lingered on her, a cocktail of longing and something...else.

She emerged, the dress hugging her curves like a second skin, revealing more than it concealed. The fabric whispered against her thighs as she walked towards him, the neckline plunging dangerously low, offering a glimpse of what lay beneath.

With trembling hands, Jamal began to measure her, his eyes tracing the contours of her body as if he were committing them to memory.

His fingertips grazed her waist, his breath hot against the nape of her neck as he took her measurements. Each touch sent a jolt of electricity through them, a silent symphony of desire.

He lingered at her breasts, cupping them, squeezing them hard, watching the fabric stretch over the mounds before he took the measurements with a practiced ease. She gasped, her body reacting to his touch, and he swallowed hard, his own desires rising like a tide.

The tension grew as he knelt before her, measuring the length of the dress from her upper thighs to her plump, shapely ass cheeks. His hand brushed against the damp fabric between her legs, and she moaned softly. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a hunger that she mirrored. He knew he should stop, but the heat between them was a wildfire, uncontainable and all-consuming.

Ignoring the voice of reason, Jamal slid his hands up her inner thighs, his thumb pressing gently into the softness of her sex. She leaned into his touch, her body betraying the forbidden longing that crackled in the air. He could feel her tremble as he began to massage her, his movements slow and deliberate.

The shop door creaked open, and the sound of boisterous laughter spilled in. A man's voice, familiar yet jarring, called out for his wife. Zainab's eyes widened in panic as she recognized the intrusion, her cheeks flaming. It was her husband, looking for her.

With a swiftness born of fear and adrenaline, Jamal pulled his hand away, his heart racing. He straightened, his eyes never leaving hers as he pretended to jot down her measurements on his notepad. She stepped away from him, composing herself as the man entered the room, a wide smile on his face.

"Ah, there you are," her husband said, his eyes alight with affection as they fell on her. "Jamal, how's the new stock coming along?"

Jamal smiled at the husband shyly, then went back to writing in his notepad.

Zainab felt a chill run down her spine as she realized the truth. She had been lost in a moment of passion with the one person she could never truly have.

Her hand trembled as she took time signing his notepad, and he handed her the customer's receipt. Her eyes darted to the spot between her thighs where she had felt Jamal's touch.

As they stepped out into the street, her husband's arm around her waist, she couldn't help but look back at the shop. Their twisted choices had thrown them together in the most unexpected of ways, leaving her craving more of the illicit pleasure she had just tasted. She winked over her shoulder wickedly.

Jamal, the meticulous tailor, whose touch had sent her spiraling into ecstasy, smiled at her until she disappeared round a corner.

He gazed down at his notepad: "Tomorrow is my chance to measure you, younger brother!"

-- Twysted Dzyre

 

[VerbalAbuse]

hand had ended up somewhere it most definitely shouldn't be,

wood chipper?
roaring oven?

 

[StillStunned]

A quick reminder to watch the word count, people. The mods have been very kind in letting us interpret the "no more than three paragraphs" in a way that's more reflective of today's short paragraph lengths, but let's not push the limits. If your snippet could almost qualify for publication story-side, maybe take it there instead.

 

[UsuallyPresent]

Bobbling into the bedroom with a badly defaced "Shake It Off" dribbling out of his lips, Ger dropped the laundry basket. "Oh, this is gonna be good!" he crooned as he shook out the still-warm sheets. Half-dancing (or what he fondly thought of as 'dancing') around the bed, the fitted bottom sheet was tugged into place, followed by the crisp top-sheet and the comforter/blanket/duvet thingummy. Snatching up the pillow case, he slipped his favorite pillow into place before tucking it under topsheet and cover at the head of the bed.

Eyeing it appreciatively, his clothes - yesterday's T, an old pair of sweats. and slip-on slippers - went flying as he slipped into the crisp and toasty nest of his bed. Folding his pillow juuuust right, he settled in for a well-deserved nap. As he slipped off to bliss, he muttered, "I love this pillow."

 

[SimonDoom]

“Do you love me?” she asked, looking up at me, eyes wide and searching mine.

“Don’t you know?” I replied.

“I want to hear it.”

We were different in that way. She was forever seeking reaffirmation of what, to me, seemed clear and did not need to be stated. She was always looking for some new way to express what I thought did not have to be expressed, or, barring the ready availability of novel words, seeking a repetition of the same old words about our feelings for each other.

My nature rebelled against that attitude. I wanted the expression of my feelings to be like a Zen Garden—sparse, austere, using only the simplest elements to say what I wanted to say. Instinctively, I felt that any other way of doing things would be to load down my feelings for her with sentiment and unnecessary filagree. The best expression of love, to my way of thinking, was the simplest.

But I thought of the way she had lifted me out of my darkness when I met her, of the way she put a spoon of soup to my lips when I was sick, of the way my heart lifted when she entered a room, and of the way the rest of the world went out of focus when she stood near me. My way was not the only way.

“Hell, yes, I love you,” I said.

 

[yowser]

Turning the corner, he stopped midstep, heart rising in his throat. Everyone had said that Florence in May was known for beauty, but nothing could have hit him more squarely than the image so suddenly revealed.

The cobblestones underfoot could almost sense how thoroughly he had been thrown off-center.

Suffused in red, the kind of red that said ‘lips’ in a soft voice, the red that called one like a siren from afar, the red of sunsets, dreams, and sultry sighs.

There in front of him, twenty feet away. Enchantment.

The sight brought thoughts back to him from earlier days, of elemental attractions strong as gravity, relentless, irresistible, compelling, lethal. Time stopped, blood halted in his veins, his fingers dug into his palms.

‘Thunderbolt.’ That’s what the Sicilians called it. Stricken.

He willed himself to move forward. One step, then another. He reached out and put his hand on a fender.

A 1976 Ferrari 246 Dino. With the three 40DCNF Weber carburetors and a sweet 2.4 liter V-6.

They almost had to scrape him off the pavement.

 

[StillStunned]

Turning the corner, he stopped midstep, heart rising in his throat. Everyone had said that Florence in May was known for beauty, but nothing could have hit him more squarely than the image so suddenly revealed.

I thought this was going to be about the Duomo. It had exactly the same effect on me and the wife when we turned a corner and saw it.

 

[PennyThompson]

The Secrets Of Jamal & Zainab​

Jamal worked in the quiet backstreet shop that had been in their family for generations. His nimble fingers danced over bolts of fabric, bringing life to the garments that lined the walls like a rainbow of secrets whispered on silken lips. A bell jingled, piercing the silence as the door opened, revealing a woman in a middle-eastern, embroidered gown.

She stepped in, the scent of jasmine emanating from her waist-length black hair, and the rustle of her gown and the clicking of her high heels the only sounds in the dimly lit room.

Her eyes, like dark pools of desire, searched through the racks before landing on a crimson dress that clung to the mannequin's body like a lover's embrace.

She approached, allowing the fabric to slip through her fingertips, her wedding ring glinting in the soft light. Without a word, she pulled the dress off the stand, the color stark against her pale skin. Her voice, a smoky siren's call, requested Jamal's assistance to alter it.

He nodded, his heart thumping a staccato rhythm in his chest. As she slipped into the changing room, his gaze lingered on her, a cocktail of longing and something...else.

She emerged, the dress hugging her curves like a second skin, revealing more than it concealed. The fabric whispered against her thighs as she walked towards him, the neckline plunging dangerously low, offering a glimpse of what lay beneath.

With trembling hands, Jamal began to measure her, his eyes tracing the contours of her body as if he were committing them to memory.

His fingertips grazed her waist, his breath hot against the nape of her neck as he took her measurements. Each touch sent a jolt of electricity through them, a silent symphony of desire.

He lingered at her breasts, cupping them, squeezing them hard, watching the fabric stretch over the mounds before he took the measurements with a practiced ease. She gasped, her body reacting to his touch, and he swallowed hard, his own desires rising like a tide.

The tension grew as he knelt before her, measuring the length of the dress from her upper thighs to her plump, shapely ass cheeks. His hand brushed against the damp fabric between her legs, and she moaned softly. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a hunger that she mirrored. He knew he should stop, but the heat between them was a wildfire, uncontainable and all-consuming.

Ignoring the voice of reason, Jamal slid his hands up her inner thighs, his thumb pressing gently into the softness of her sex. She leaned into his touch, her body betraying the forbidden longing that crackled in the air. He could feel her tremble as he began to massage her, his movements slow and deliberate.

The shop door creaked open, and the sound of boisterous laughter spilled in. A man's voice, familiar yet jarring, called out for his wife. Zainab's eyes widened in panic as she recognized the intrusion, her cheeks flaming. It was her husband, looking for her.

With a swiftness born of fear and adrenaline, Jamal pulled his hand away, his heart racing. He straightened, his eyes never leaving hers as he pretended to jot down her measurements on his notepad. She stepped away from him, composing herself as the man entered the room, a wide smile on his face.

"Ah, there you are," her husband said, his eyes alight with affection as they fell on her. "Jamal, how's the new stock coming along?"

Jamal smiled at the husband shyly, then went back to writing in his notepad.

Zainab felt a chill run down her spine as she realized the truth. She had been lost in a moment of passion with the one person she could never truly have.

Her hand trembled as she took time signing his notepad, and he handed her the customer's receipt. Her eyes darted to the spot between her thighs where she had felt Jamal's touch.

As they stepped out into the street, her husband's arm around her waist, she couldn't help but look back at the shop. Their twisted choices had thrown them together in the most unexpected of ways, leaving her craving more of the illicit pleasure she had just tasted. She winked over her shoulder wickedly.

Jamal, the meticulous tailor, whose touch had sent her spiraling into ecstasy, smiled at her until she disappeared round a corner.

He gazed down at his notepad: "Tomorrow is my chance to measure you, younger brother!"

-- Twysted Dzyre

This one is easily publishable as a 750-word scene

I feel the sudden urge to go clothes shopping...

 

[TwystedDzyre]

This one is easily publishable as a 750-word scene

I feel the sudden urge to go clothes shopping...

Now, now--watch out there! Not every tailor is going to be like me.

Thank you for those lovely words, and I am glad it stirred deep passions within you.

As a matter of fact, there is an explicit, blatantly sexual, almost-bordering-on-porn version of this same story, which I am going to publish on my main Lit author's profile page hopefully by today.

 

[MK_Whimsy]

A quick reminder to watch the word count, people. The mods have been very kind in letting us interpret the "no more than three paragraphs" in a way that's more reflective of today's short paragraph lengths, but let's not push the limits. If your snippet could almost qualify for publication story-side, maybe take it there instead.

To clarify, is the word count or the number of paragraphs more important? A 350-word story could still span several paragraphs.

 

[StillStunned]

To clarify, is the word count or the number of paragraphs more important? A 350-word story could still span several paragraphs.

We've stuck to the word count, and the mods haven't come down on us even with snippets that are a dozen paragraphs. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say that paragraphs have evolved since the "three paragraphs" rule was introduced: they've become much shorter, with more focus.

Even so, I realise that these Writing Exercises could easily be abused. Most people who post snippets have been around long enough to understand and accept Lit's general publication rules. But it just takes one person to write something that's too long, and then another to say, "But it was alright for so-and-so to post a long snippet...!" And before you know it everyone's writing complete 750-worders. The Writing Exercises are popular enough that it would be a shame if we pushed the mods' patience too far and they started to enforce the rule.

Also, the point isn't to write anything remotely resembling a complete story. It's all about snippets. A single scene, just enough to give readers a taste of what might be, and perhaps inspire the writer to turn it into a complete story. And remember that the longer your snippet is, the more likely people are to skip past it.

 

[UsuallyPresent]

"Oi, ye mangy crew, what’re you up to hiding away back here?" old Jaspers queried the teens loitering in the back of the store. He didn’t think they were trying to rob anything - garden hoses and sprinklers aren’t rare, pricy, or in criminal demand - but Danny, Hank and Fran were low grade trouble wherever they went.

Fran was the mouthy one. "We ain’t doin’ nothing wrong," he half-sneered and partially answered.

"Well then, if ye ain’t buying hoses, ye can do nothin’ elsewhere!"

Muttering, the three young men shuffled out of Jaspers’ Hardware like sad little boys. There wasn’t much for the young ones to do in this town without getting in trouble, which was perfect from Jaspers’ point of view.

He did so love living in such a quiet little town, especially if he was one of the bigger fish in this teacup-sized pond.