under construction
Lorraine Appleton, affectionately dubbed 'Lolo' by her father, friends and those others given to a fashionably casual mode of address, had never gotten along with her older sister, Margaret. Perhaps it was only natural. Their father's first marriage had not been a happy one, and most said that his often vocal and public disagreements with his wife had caused her to drink herself into an early grave. It probably didn't help that he married his mistress, and mother of his three-year-old illegitimate daughter Lorraine, less than two months after his wife's funeral.
Margaret, an overly serious girl who had developed a love of all things quiet, reserved, and peaceful -- likely because of her parents' loud quarrelling -- was both devastated and mortified that her father would flaunt his infidelities in so public a fashion. That quiet stoicism Margaret cultivated might not have allowed affection between the sisters, but it promote civility on Margaret's part, even when it was tight lipped, and the smiles she bestowed on Lolo during public functions never quite reached her eyes. Lolo had always suspected, and bitterly resented, that Margaret had considered the death of Lolo's mother to be a balancing of the universe's scales, her just desserts.
While Lolo could see that Margaret had some cause for anger, none of that had been her doing, and nor could she have prevented it by any stretch of the imagination save for not existing.
Expecting her to disappear seemed rather bushwa, and she hadn't hesitated in telling Margaret so until they'd settled into a pattern of simply sticking to superficial topics when the need to speak couldn't be avoided with good, or even adequate, grace.
Given the age difference between the two, coupled with personalities that were as different as those of their mothers had been, perhaps all would have been happier if they had quietly drifted apart and confined their animosities to those dutiful gatherings that their father demanded when his business trips allowed.
However, Margaret's desire to maintain the appearance of family, and perhaps even the desire to not give their father reason to favor Lolo in his will as he had favored her in most things, saw to it that Lolo received invitations for summers and holidays. Lolo's discovery, during the summer after her first year of Finch School, that her sister's husband Russell ... who had seemed quite ancient, almost as ancient as her father in her rather childish perspective ... suddenly seemed not so old at all as she noticed the pleasing aspects of his appearance and his character.
Lolo was smitten, and as Fate would have it, it was her first time experiencing such a fervid, all-encompassing emotion. The fact that she could not have him, the certainty that her sister has poisoned him against her and he regarded her as nothing more than a spoiled and pampered occasional annoyance, only increased her longing. Each time she left her sister's home, she would promise herself that she would refuse the next one, and yet when the time came, Lolo could not pass up the chance to be near the object of her unrequited affection.
And if she suspected, in her more introspective moments, that his appeal would have been less if he did not belong to her sister, she did not dwell on it any longer than the time that it took to shrug her shoulders.
During her second year away, she learned that the father Doreen Whitling, hor closest friend at Finch School, had a fascination with the theories and practices of Franz Friedrich Anton Mesmer, a German physician who believed that all individuals possessed a certain animal magnetism that could be manipulated to restore the flow of life's balance. After a demonstration of the technique's effectiveness, she asked Mr. Whitling to teach her more, but like most passions she conceived -- save for that for her painting and her desire for the man she could not possibly have -- it was short lived, and might have stayed that way had it not been for Fate taking a hand, in the form of a parlor game at her sister's home and Lolo's realization that perhaps there was a way that she could have all that she so longed for ...
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She had not been there long when she noticed that the gild had worn of the lillies of her sister's marriage, so to speak. They did not quarrel in her presence, and, really, she couldn't imagine them quarreling at all. When Margaret was confronted, she retreated behind walls thicker than thieves, and higher than Mt. Everest in the most genteel fashion possible. Russell seemed to joke less frequently in her presence, and while he might bestow a kiss upon Margaret's pale cheek, or upon her head -- gently, so as not to muss the strands -- it seemed that he was content to leave her to her walls and seek his pleasures elsewhere.
Had he sought out Lolo's company, she would have been over the moon. He did not, though it seemed to her that his glances sought her out more when he thought she wasn't looking. Yet she supposed he still thought her a child, and her efforts to prove that she wasn't probably met with the same sort of wretched indulgence that her father showed when they visited. It was maddening, though Lolo certainly hadn't given up. With Margaret's indifference now seeming to be heaped upon the both of them, there were more opportunities.
Some woman from his office had come with papers for him to sign, and when she had admired the landscaping, Russell had offered to show her around. Lolo was not invited, though she had hung about hoping that she would be, but still she followed after -- not so close to be scolded, but close enough, she hoped, that she could suggest that Russell pose for her. While she wasn't, per se, a painter of portraits ordinarily, the opportunities should he agree were too good to pass up.
So in this leisurely, underhanded fashion, when she came upon the two of them sitting together upon a bench in the pergola near the pond, it seemed perfectly natural for her to take a circuitous route upon her walk, to come up from the side where the bushes would support her surprise at having interrupted.
Yet it was no legal discourse that occupied them. That much was obvious as Lolo drew closer, pushing aside a leafy branch so that she could see. Russell's hand was upon the woman's leg, no, not just her knee, but her thigh, above the stockings and moving higher as he kissed and nibbled at her neck. Lolo's breath caught as she stared, an ache of longing in her heart ... and ... were she honest, a certain point rather lower as she heard the woman's throaty laugh calling him incorrigible, a wolf. Her hands rose up, and for a hopeful moment, Lolo thought she was going to push him away, but instead one hand snaked through his hair, those beautiful locks, and lay atop his head, pushing upon it, as her other undid the buttons of her dress with a casual grace that Lolo envied.
And, oh, how she envied. She could hardly breathe as she watched her brother-in-law pull the woman's dress from her shoulders, kissing the flesh as he pushed up her chemise. Lolo's moan, half wounded, half lustful, was lost in the woman's own as his head pressed against her breasts, and the hand upon her leg slid higher still. Since noticing Russell, she had envied her sister all the more, but at the moment her full complement of envy, all of it, was with the strange woman who was half lying now upon the low bench, with Russell's mouth upon her breasts.
She knew, of course, what men and women did together. Hadn't she seen the art, read the books. Hadn't she even experimented just a bit herself, though such experimentation had been less appealing when she had found her thoughts more drawn to her sister's husband rather than the brothers of her schoolmates, or even the men she had met at various art functions and gathering.
It would, she thought, tear her heart out to see him make love to his woman who was neither her nor her sister, but yet she could not move away. She could do nothing but stare as feminine hands, the color of the polish upon the nails making the gesture all the more pronounced, move from head to shoulders and then reach for what could only be the waistband of his trousers ...
"Miss Lorraine! Miss Lorraine!" It was Hattie, the girl who came to do the lions share of of the housework, her voice loud as the clap of a gong. Lolo's eyes closed, the scene before her still visible against her shut lids like some beautiful, horrible still life, and then she turned and slipped quietly away, her feet as silent upon the lush grash as she could make them until she had enough distance to answer, praying that they wouldn't guess that she had seen.
And praying that he would ... and even more that perhaps, in the knowing, he would invite her to come sit with him beside the pond, to feed the ducks, to be the one his lips and hands explored.
From a story discussion that petered out ...
Carol Steadham Andrea Steadham (Andi)
Only two years separate the two sisters, but it might as well have been a decade or more. Even when they were young, Carol was the quiet one, the one who never seemed to get into trouble, except when she was following along with her younger sister in the hopes of keeping her out of it. Their parents were similarly different, and as the girls got older, those differences erupted into vicious and loud fights. Sometimes the fights turned physical, but their father was not the abuser, at least physically, but the abused.
When they divorced, Carol & Andi's father was granted full custody by the courts. Andi, who was thirteen at the time, bitterly blamed her father for the problems, and ran away to live with her mother. They went through the court system a couple of times, but when it became apparent that Andi would live with her mother or she'd run away every chance she got, their father gave in.
While he threw himself into his law practice, and was appointed a judge in the city's municipality, Carol lived in the suburbs, finished high school with honors, and then went to college. In college, she was involved in a car accident involving the wife of a wealthy businessman and her father negotiated a nice settlement for her that meant she didn't have to have a steady job, and her father was of the opinion that what she really needed to do was marry someone with money and influence ... something that was all the more attractive as he began to gain a foothold in local politics and developed ambitions for more.
Andi didn't fare so well. Their mother became ill, and got hooked on narcotics, and pretty soon Andi was stealing her medications and selling them. The first couple of arrests, her father had stepped in and hushed it up, but after that, he had washed his hands of it, and his younger daughter. Not long after that severing, Andi seemed to have straightened up a little, sobered by their mother's death, and had found someone steady in her life who she swore was a good guy, even if he had half a billion tattoos and wore a leather jacket. He was a biker, but he seemed to be good for Andi and the sisters started talking more and trying to mend their relationship ...
At least until Carol caught Andi stealing from her ... which led to a huge fight that opened up all the can of worms about how Carol had always had it so good and had abandoned Andi and their mother.
There was some justice to that, as well as to Carol's rebuttal that Andi had made her own choices that led to her harder life ... but they were sisters still. When Carol reached out ... Andi was gone. Phone calls, texts, went unanswered, and Andi's shithole apartment had been abandoned, trashed.
Name: Fractured Fairy Tales (After Happy Hour)Content: Possibilities from Light to Extreme
Scenario: What is a fractured fairy tale, you might ask? It is a Fairy Tale that takes the conventional story and changes it up, giving it a new perspective, a new setting, and perhaps makes fun of the social implications of the original, while still maintaining a recognizable plot and theme.
What I'd like to do is take a fairy tale and 're-write' it in a probably humorous XXX fashion. The particulars would be up for negotiation, depending on the story and the partner, and I'd also like to write with someone who will enjoy the brainstorming and also helping guide the story from beginning to a satisfactory ending.
There are many fairy tales that can be twisted, but some possibilities are:
Goldilocks & the Three Bears - Goldy Locks is a cat burglar who has been casing the Bear household for a month. Momma, Poppa, and teenage son 'Babe' are always gone on Fridays, so that's when Goldy breaks in. It turns out, however, that at least one of the Bears noticed that they had been staked out. Let's find out how the the chairs and bed really got broken ... or maybe she decided that 'too hard' wasn't so bad after all.
Sleeping Beauty - Sleeping Beauty might well be the princess who only pretends to sleep while some other palace resident creeps in ...
Rumplestiltskin - Perhaps, instead of trinkets and first borne children, Rump decides upon a different negotiation -- and instead of straw spun into gold, we could make it the feeding of a gambling addiction, wins in the stock market or a beauty pageant ... and transform Rump and his would-be princess into modern equivalent.
Little Red Riding Hood - Perhaps instead of a girl and a wolf, we have a delivery driver for 'Red's House of Ribs' who keeps getting orders to make a delivery to a cottage in the woods owned by a pretty MILF.
Hansel & Gretel - Well, we don't need kids lost in the woods to tell this story. Perhaps, instead, a lost hunter or hiker seeking shelter from a storm needs a place to stay until it blows over ...
The Emperor's New Clothes - What if that fancy outfit she wore for their date started falling apart, bit by bit?
Rapunzel - a penthouse apartment inhabited by a reclusive celebrity known for her gorgeous hair ...
Of course, any of these scenarios are basic 'smut' type plots, but I'd love to sneak in elements of the story, suitably twisted, to keep the theme, rather than just changing the names around.Setting: Modern, Historical, and/or Fantasy
Requirements: A partner who likes to mix a little tongue-in-cheek humor with good writing and some sexy writing that still holds true to the story.
Other info:
Name:
The Wild Hunt (NOT CURRENTLY INTERESTED IN PURSUING THIS PLOT)Content: Quasi NC / Rough Sex
Scenario: The invitation came in the form of a plain white envelope. Inside was a white card, with only a web address -- thewildhunt.xxx. The Wild Hunt is an exclusive website, only open to hunters who meet certain physical requirements and skills. They offer the opportunity for a real, honest-to-god hunt, chase down your prey caveman style and drag her back to your camp and do whatever, for a price. The catch -- the prey isn't some random girl, terrified out of her mind, but rather someone who's just as keen to pit her skills against yours.
If you* don't catch her within the allotted time, the money paid is hers, along with bragging rights and a gold star against her name on the members only website that arranges the hunt. If you do catch her, YOU get the bragging rights, and the sex. The money is still hers, either way, and she's not going to make it easy. You have to earn your good time, and your victory. And, of course, the hunt is streamed live so that your peers will all see your prowess -- and your bumbles. Whether or not they see the 'kill', which is what the victory sex is termed on site, is hunter's choice, assuming the prey doesn't get away.
*(you) used for convenience, but meaning 'your character'Requirements: A good writer willing to post once a week, and who would enjoy a good build-up in tension, working with me to create the dynamics of the hunt as well as giving dimension to both the hunter and the setting.
Other Info: This would be a one shot, and degradation/humiliation and bathroom play is off the table. Real world or supernatural characters, setting can be wilderness or urban, and can also incorporate sci-fi or virtual reality themes. Character appearance is negotiable, other than she will be athletic and of a sufficient age to have some real world experience.
This is also a bit of a wild hair for me, so it's thrown together in spur of the moment fashion. I've moved it here as discussion of the idea has shown me that I need to define and better clarify the feel that I'm looking for in this.
Her name was Diana, after the old world goddess of the hunt. She had been chosen at an early age, and her parents given a tidy sum to give her over. They had been delighted with the exchange, and even if her mother had cried when she said goodbye, Diana remembered most the words that she had said. “You are strong. Because of you, your family will not be hungry, not have to struggle. That is the greatest gift, the greatest honor. We will remember you, with love and gratitude.”
Diana had clung to those words, in the nights when missing her mother, her brothers, her sister, had curled her into a ball, the blanket stuffed into her mouth to keep her sobs from being heard. Crying was weakness, and weakness was discouraged. If you were weak, they sent you back to your family and took back all that they were given. That was the one thing Diana could not bear, and gradually the tears disappeared, and the memories grew less vivid, though at times the shape of a head, the timbre of a laugh, the roll in a walk would bring them to the forefront, and Diana might even take a step toward the one who had evoked the memory.
She and the other girls trained, in body and mind. They fought against each other, learned to evade each other, and when they were old enough, others were brought in to teach them. They lived together in a compound surrounded with a high wall, and, as she found out when she was 15, it was considered a mark of favor to have tried to escape.
At sixteen, she was allowed to watch her first Wild Hunt upon the vid screens, something that was usually reserved for dissecting their lessons. With fascination, she observed the drop of the hunter and hunted, their meeting, and the chase. During the first days of the hunt, she was there at every spare moment, rapt in fascination as the woman eluded the hunter. She cheered, and smiled a fierce smile, at the woman’s triumphs, and turned away when she was caught. For some time, she could not look again, but then … then the sounds drew her back … and Diana could not drag her eyes away as she watched the two mate – again, and again, and again. Most curious, and strangely stirring, to her was that though the woman attempted to get away once more, only to be dragged back to the makeshift bed where she was forcefully taken again. Diana saw her face, and the smile that she gave to the camera as her captor pushed her down and impaled her once more. It was a smile that Diana seemed to recognize, one of satisfaction, one that she herself might have given when another took the bait that she had laid out.
She thought much of it over the next several years as she continued to train, and was allowed greater freedoms. Yet now that she could escape, Diana trained all the harder, and when she was chosen for a hunt of her own, she accepted the honor with pride … and anticipation.
If she won, she would be allowed to participate in other hunts. The record holder, Artemis, had participated in six hunts before she retired, unconquered. Secretly, though, Diana rather pitied her, though she would never actually say so. Eluding once or twice would be honor enough, though the hunted was accorded a goodly measure of respect so long as she eluded for half the allotted time, and, of course, allowances were made if the Hunters were especially skilled.
Diana’s first Hunt had been rather depressingly easy. It might have been better had not one of her traps worked a little too well, aided by an unlucky flaw in the rock, but she had been less than impressed than she had hoped by her hunter, but she had not had the opportunity to choose.
Her second Hunt was coming up, and this time, she would be offered to those of a higher skill class, and have right of refusal.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this one yet, but fog makes for a wonderful backdrop, whether it is physical, mental, or spiritual. I'd like to do a story with the theme, and the above images are all possibilities that could be incorporated into a marvelous story.
Stephen King with an Erotic TwistSalem's Lot -- there's a new vampire in town
Needful Things - She KNOWS what you want
Duma Key - I'd love to have you pose for me
Good Sister / Bad Sister
Based on an observation made by Capone that these two images looked like they could be sisters (my avatar, Madame Professor's avatar).WWII - husbands going over to fight Jerry, young wives left behind to hold down the fort, work factory jobs, do their bit for God & Country.
One sister does what she should, puts on a good face during the day, cries into her pillow at night. The other sister doesn't -- resents being left alone, has no wish to do the Rosie Riveter thing, determines to enjoy her newfound freedom and let tomorrow take care of itself. Why make plans for a future that may never happen, waiting until it's her turn to get the visit, the telegram, the letter? She looks for trouble and finds it -- in spades. The good sister gets drawn in ... at first to save her sister from herself, and later ... well ... life doesn't always follow the plan laid out for it.
Possibly the two sisters are one in the same (split personality or just a means of escapism) ... or not.
Beyond Oak IslandEveryone's heard the legends of Oak Island, the tiny little spot off the coast of Nova Scotia that was just far enough off the sea lanes to have been used by merchant vessels, pirate ships, and seagoing vessels of all kinds, sometimes as a port in a storm and sometimes to hide ill-gotten gains, legitimate cargo that -- for whatever reason -- couldn't be transported all the way to its final destination.
This story isn't about Oak Island. It's about another little island, a fictional one, that can be appointed in any way the story requires, and the possibilities are many, just like the legends.
This story can be about pirates burying their treasure, constructing traps to thwart those who would take it from them, hold captives for ransom, tryst with their women while they waited for the navy's ships to pass them by.
This story can be about treasure hunters, modern day or historical, who hope to find their fortune and make a name for themselves in the annals of maritime history.
This story can be about a haunting, years later ... a woman who was cast aside by her pirate lover and now repeats the cycle of seduction and betrayal? A shipwrecked noble who seeks to live out whatever dreams she can with a sailor, a treasure hunter, a scholar?
Or perhaps there are shades of Roanoke here, where a small group of people flee seeking refuge -- from what? A zombie plague? Unfriendly natives? Raiders?
The Identity Thief'Professional' Con-Woman buys a series of identities to use in her scams. Thinking nothing of it, she uses them as she has need, and then ditches them before the cops move in ... leaving those who didn't safeguard their information to pick up the pieces and rebuild their credit.
This time, the identity she steals is going to bring her more trouble than she ever wanted.
-- a woman wanted by a drug lord, powerful politician or entrepreneur for reasons of espionage or corporate theft, or even someone who knows secrets that someone of a paranormal bent wants to make sure never surfaces.
The Body ThiefIn a twist on the idea above ...A woman in a bad situation finds/inherits/is given an amulet that allows her to 'displace' the spirit of another and replace it with her own, for a time.
The longer she stays, the stronger the attachment ... and the more quickly her spirit anchors to the new body.
That means she has a very limited time to figure out how to put it to use, if at all. And, of course, the life of the woman with the perfect body may not be all it's cracked up to be -- and there are things that stay with the body, it seems, rather than the mind.
In the short 'tryouts' as she figures out what's going on, the dispossessed does not seem to know what happened to them ... they awake to a period of 'blackout' that they can't explain ... but the longer she remains in the body, the more they seem to remember of her body, her life, her circumstances.
How can she use this to better her own life? How can she use this without losing her soul?
