It's been a while since I've posted a story idea, so I thought I'd make a new thread to post a couple I've been tossing around in my head.
A little bit about me (in no particular order):
I'm fairly particular about my writing partners. I prefer a partner to write posts of a decent length, and although I'm not reading through every post with a red pen, I do require good grammar and spelling. A lot of errors tend to distract me from the story. I'm not a snob; it's just how my brain reads.
Aside from the technical aspects of writing, I'm simply picky. I definitely won't just start writing with the first person who comes along. It won't ever be personal. It's just a matter of whose style I think will work best with mine.
Please read my Ons and Offs. I'll also read yours if we talk about writing together. I'll probably read several of your past posts, and encourage you to read mine.
With all of that said, here's what's banging around my head these days. (If you're interested, I'd really like for you to send a PM rather than responding in this thread.)From the Cliffs of Bel'Ryxz
Life is good. You have a great job in Manhattan, and although you're just starting out, you're already making a solid start on a promising career. You have a small apartment, but it's comfortable. You live near the heartbeat of the world, the best clubs, the opera, museums. You were always an intelligent kid, maybe something of a nerd if it came right down to it, but your studying paid off and brought you here.
You've got a beautiful girlfriend, a young woman from Eastern Europe. She's proud to be one of the people that makes this place, this vibrant concrete and steel world, a "Melting Pot". Alesya works as a receptionist for a fashion magazine, but like you, she has big dreams of moving up in her chosen industry. You see her mostly on weekends, and she teases the wild side of you out of its shell, taking you to dive bars and techno parties and places you'd have never found on your own. The sex is fairly amazing to boot.
So it would be hard to imagine that anyone is trying to kill you. Who would want you dead? And why?
Yet that's what she
insists is true. Oh, and she
is the female warrior who appeared in front of you on the sidewalk this morning, just past the bodega that sells those frozen fruit juice things. She
is five-and-a-half feet of wild-haired, outrageously-armored, weapon-brandishing woman that looks to have stepped out of one of those fantasy novels you sort of liked as a teen.
She seems to think she's been sent to save your life. She swears she's come all the way from her home atop the blustery Cliffs of Bel'Ryxz. Her name, she says, is Nanaika, Warrior from the Temple Order of Kytar, and she's bound to protect you from those who would do you harm.
Sure, there are a lot of "colorful" people in this city. But she seems so sincere. And since she doesn't seem to have any idea what a bus is or how to get out of its way, it might be that she needs you
to save her
. Or at least find her a bed at Bellvue.Sensation
She's been in the art program for a year now. She seems so serious, so intent on her classes. She's had to work hard to get accepted here, and she's not going to blow the chance, not for anything.
It's been hard having her in your class. Her body is of the type that generally kicks your libido into overdrive: titian hair, soft curves, pale skin that practically screams
it will bruise easily. You've had to sit among the rest of the rabble in the thrice-weekly drawing class you share, while your mind has unbuttoned her well-tailored sweaters and left marks on her smooth skin. To make things worse, you're starting to realize a few weeks in that she's engaging on an intellectual level as well. She has a quirky sense of humor and a smile that leaves you feeling warm for hours.
The boys seem to be fascinated as well, but from what you can tell she turns them all down. You're privately pleased at that. Meanwhile, you can picture the teeth of clamps biting into her white skin, can almost taste the sharp, sweet tang of her pain as you kiss her coral lips, swollen from your biting. You've started to realize that sex for you entails pain: giving pain, drawing in the energy as your partner absorbs the sensations, gives them back to you as beautiful vocalizations, as tormented kisses, as writhing limbs.
The drawing you've been working on in your spare time is nothing like the pieces you've all been doing in class. You've been doing it for her, of her. In perfect lines, in bold colors, you've brought her to life on paper: copper hair, pale skin, perfectly pleasured, tortured face, head thrown back, arms and legs tied wide open. You've waited for the right time, and the time will never be better. As she's on the other side of the classroom speaking with someone, you slip the drawing into her sketch pad. She won't have any idea who left it. But at least you'll have the pleasure of watching her face when she finds it.