- Dołączono
- 12 Lip 2014
Mr. Church, do you still write for Literotica? Here is a story starter for you to join:
Predictably, he won't pick this up, so anyone else should feel free to continue. Sorry my writing is not very good.
You are an adult-aged male human named Ian living in the homely suburbs of Virginia. Your days are spent traversing your town's bucolic avenues, window shopping at the local minimall's furniture outlets, then stopping by the food court to tickle your throat with fizzy sodas and reward your palate with savory, salted comestibles. Today is a day like any other, with a cheeseburger minus the pickles, then an enduring pace outside the local hobby shop until evening.
But something is missing from your happy-go-lucky bachelor lifestyle. You are more than content, to be sure, save for the rigorous stress expected of your mundane lifestyle, but there is a void divesting you of some saccharine quality that you expect would warm your chest. You find yourself staring pensively at your bedroom's decorations, deep in contemplative repose, when you finally receive a gracious message on your computer. Her name was Julay, a beautiful moniker evocative of the summer months' torrid sunshine, and you've been longing to speak to her since your last conversation ended in the wee hours of the previous night.
Or at least, that's what you were expecting. Julay had an insufferable little brother named Max, and he messages you about some childish card game. Why he should choose his older sister's computer to communicate with strangers, you cannot imagine, and you tell him in no uncertain terms to butt out. But soon, Julay is there, the woman of your dreams whom you've had many long voice conversations with on every intimate subject that can conjoin your hearts over a distance like a crimson fishing line of your mutual love.
She's missed you immensely, like no words can say, but because of your distance from one another, words are all you have to share. She misses you so much that she invites you to visit where she lives, finally, after all these weeks, in her hometown in Ohio. It's something of a commute to drive from here to there, however, and you reassure her cajolingly that your mother and father would not dare bother the pair of you if Julay were to come visit you. You both admit that, while at this time impractical, it is certainly something to dream about as you both continue to talk until it is quite late.
For the next week and then some, your thoughts daydream on this notion, as you record videos for your online job and design graphic novels in your copious spare time. You accomplish all this because yu yearn to see this visit through, as it is the only obstacle to your idyllic romance.
So you think.
You had been contemplated asking a minister from your church to escort you on your trip, possibly asking for clarification on the tenets of premarital sex. After indulging your precious lovebug Julay to your designs, you resume your daily ritual, only to return later and find a message waiting for you. So early? It must be a sign from God, Jesus, and the bear of your manly bosom's loneliness.
Quite the opposite. The message is from Max, her brother. He'd been reading her lovey-dovey messages to you, and sounds concerned because Julay has disappeared. Pointing out that he's not exactly trustworthy, he admits some awful truth: For Julay's protection, he has conscripted some man to help kidnap her. If you do not visit Ohio within the next five days, something unthinkable will happen. You demand to know more details, but just before cutting off all contact, Max does drop you the name of his villainous associate: Clyde. The name burns in your mind, tanning your features with rage as you clutch your monitor. You let out a terrific wail of your love-torn soul as you bellow your lover's name in need.
On your birthday, the very next day, you can't drive off to Ohio because your aunt has passed on, but this event turns into a mixed blessing. You had always had misgivings about the drive, putting everything on hold without your parents' blessing. As you watch your aunt's casket descend into the hollow earth, a volition reels inside of your brain, as though your Chreokean ancestors were speaking to you from beyond the grave. They've wished you a safe trip.
You depart to your vehicle with some money and other necessities, and steel yourself for the fateful journey to rescue your precious woman and, by proxy of your undying passion, your own heart.
What do you, Ian, do next?
But something is missing from your happy-go-lucky bachelor lifestyle. You are more than content, to be sure, save for the rigorous stress expected of your mundane lifestyle, but there is a void divesting you of some saccharine quality that you expect would warm your chest. You find yourself staring pensively at your bedroom's decorations, deep in contemplative repose, when you finally receive a gracious message on your computer. Her name was Julay, a beautiful moniker evocative of the summer months' torrid sunshine, and you've been longing to speak to her since your last conversation ended in the wee hours of the previous night.
Or at least, that's what you were expecting. Julay had an insufferable little brother named Max, and he messages you about some childish card game. Why he should choose his older sister's computer to communicate with strangers, you cannot imagine, and you tell him in no uncertain terms to butt out. But soon, Julay is there, the woman of your dreams whom you've had many long voice conversations with on every intimate subject that can conjoin your hearts over a distance like a crimson fishing line of your mutual love.
She's missed you immensely, like no words can say, but because of your distance from one another, words are all you have to share. She misses you so much that she invites you to visit where she lives, finally, after all these weeks, in her hometown in Ohio. It's something of a commute to drive from here to there, however, and you reassure her cajolingly that your mother and father would not dare bother the pair of you if Julay were to come visit you. You both admit that, while at this time impractical, it is certainly something to dream about as you both continue to talk until it is quite late.
For the next week and then some, your thoughts daydream on this notion, as you record videos for your online job and design graphic novels in your copious spare time. You accomplish all this because yu yearn to see this visit through, as it is the only obstacle to your idyllic romance.
So you think.
You had been contemplated asking a minister from your church to escort you on your trip, possibly asking for clarification on the tenets of premarital sex. After indulging your precious lovebug Julay to your designs, you resume your daily ritual, only to return later and find a message waiting for you. So early? It must be a sign from God, Jesus, and the bear of your manly bosom's loneliness.
Quite the opposite. The message is from Max, her brother. He'd been reading her lovey-dovey messages to you, and sounds concerned because Julay has disappeared. Pointing out that he's not exactly trustworthy, he admits some awful truth: For Julay's protection, he has conscripted some man to help kidnap her. If you do not visit Ohio within the next five days, something unthinkable will happen. You demand to know more details, but just before cutting off all contact, Max does drop you the name of his villainous associate: Clyde. The name burns in your mind, tanning your features with rage as you clutch your monitor. You let out a terrific wail of your love-torn soul as you bellow your lover's name in need.
On your birthday, the very next day, you can't drive off to Ohio because your aunt has passed on, but this event turns into a mixed blessing. You had always had misgivings about the drive, putting everything on hold without your parents' blessing. As you watch your aunt's casket descend into the hollow earth, a volition reels inside of your brain, as though your Chreokean ancestors were speaking to you from beyond the grave. They've wished you a safe trip.
You depart to your vehicle with some money and other necessities, and steel yourself for the fateful journey to rescue your precious woman and, by proxy of your undying passion, your own heart.
What do you, Ian, do next?
Predictably, he won't pick this up, so anyone else should feel free to continue. Sorry my writing is not very good.
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