What Women Want .com - The Short-Short Story

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Reading, Writing, Watching

The Short-Short Story
We start. You finish.

We provide the first paragraph, you provide the second. Here is our newest short-short beginning! See what you come up with! Send us what you come up with.

Tina and Sandra

Tina looked inside the door to see if she could see her friend. They had been out for a night on the town when Sandra went off to the ladies room and didn't return. There was a door to a room in the back of the bar and Tina thought maybe Sandra mistakenly went in thinking the ladies room was back that way.

Thanks to Sarah for complementing the first paragraph with a erotic ending!

Tina gently pushed opened the door, hoping that it wouldn't squeak. She stepped inside the dark, musty room and reached for a lightswitch. A strong hand grabbed her wrist and held it against the wall. Tina gasped but did not say anything. Another hand went around her waist and drew her nearer to the body opposite her. Her head was pushed to his shoulders where she felt raw muscle, sweaty and hot. His pelvis pressed against hers and she felt his giant rock hard cock. She moaned lightly as a hand went up her skirt and ripped off her panties and shoved her against the wall. She wanted to protest but it felt so good. A zipper went down in the dark, and the next second he was in her, rocking here like never before, slamming her against the wall. She came within minutes, as did he. He kissed her erect nipples and then her full pouty lips and left her standing there. There was no sound except the bar life behind the door and her heart beating. She realized where she was and quickly got dressed. Just then, the door opened and her friend, Sandy, walked in. "I have been looking for you everywhere! What are you doing in here?!" Sandy asked her. Tina just smiled and walked out, looking back once to see if there was anyone just hanging around that she might have missed.....

Lucille's journery

Randi sends us this version of Lucille's journey....

Lucille stood in line waiting to board the plane to NYC. "Excuse me", said a voice from behind her. "May I ask where you are going?" "Is this a joke?" she thought to herself..where does he think I'm going? She looked baffled. "Well," he stammered, "did you enjoy the Cote d'Azur?...Did you love being in France in the summer?" She paused, looked blankly at him and replied, "It's a long story." "Well," he said, "it's a long flight."

Lucille was startled at this question. She had to look deep inside for that answer. Did she want him to leave her alone and never know who he was or did she want to really know him...completely know him? This question rolled around in her brain as she glanced backward and saw him standing there, so erotically, and enticing her with those broad shoulders and strong hands. Hands that could be all over her body in a second. Hands that could be hard and demanding one second and gentle and orgasmic the next. Just thinking about those hands made her body tingle. Sweet sensations rolled down and congregated in one delicious spot, making her hot, making her wet. Is this what she really wanted? Would she ever get this chance again, she asked herself. No, she wouldn't. She turned around and with the slightest movement of her lips, she mouthed to word "no."

Thanks to Deborah K for complementing the first paragraph with a steamy dream of an encounter!

"No," she replied, honestly. "I did not. Why do you ask?" He ignored her question. "France is a city of romance. France is a place to relax with a lover in a secret hide-a-way. You don't look relaxed." "Because guys like you were constantly disturbing my work," she thought, than said instead. "Look. I

appreciate your concern, whoever-you-are-- but---" "Jean Paul," he interjected and raised her hand to his lips. Lucille felt the heat creeping into her cheeks.... the imprint of his lips seared onto her skin. "Who are you?" Her knees felt weak. "An admirer of your artistry." "My artistry?" "You did some work for me." "I did? But-but I would remember you." Lucille grimaced and closed her eyes, wishing she could take back those last five words. When she reopened her eyes, he was looking down at her, amused. "And why is that, Lucille?" "How did you know my name?" She felt only a moment of concern until he pointed to her luggage tag. "Oh, right," she said, sheepishly. "You never answered my question. Why would you remember me?" Lucille held back an urge to brush a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes. Unconsciously, her eyes travelled to his incredible mouth. "Maybe the fact that you're a living adonis and guys like you don't talk to girls like me," she thought, than quickly recovered her compusure. "I tend to remember people who buy my artwork. Few and far between. So, it's rather easy." "I sent my sister to buy from you. I rather admired you from a discreet distance. I loved how you twirled your hair or rubbed your necklace across your lower lip when you were deep in concentration, how your summer dress rose steadily up your thigh when you crossed and uncrossed your legs, but you were so engrossed you didn't notice. You, Lucille, were my art! ! istry." She wondered if he could see her heart pounding beneath her sweatshirt. "Get away from me." She struggled to gain her place in line. "Tell me, Lucille. Is that really what you want?"