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The prosecutor extended her right hand, lightly scratching the underside of
my scrotum and trailing the sensation up to my member. I closed my eyes,
trying to fill my thoughts with non-sexual themes, attempting to distract
myself as she gently stroked and fondled my penis. The futility of this
strategy was immediately evident as she began to stroke my hair and face
with her free hand and cooed a soft, low noise inaudible to everyone except
me. When her perfume once again invaded my olfactory senses, my resistance
was entirely broken down as my penis rapidly stiffened in her fingers.
Having won the battle to get my organ to respond to her touch, she began to
sculpt it, to stimulate it in such ways that it grew readily into the shape
…End of the part3. To be continued..

Mark broke off the kiss and reached for the cookies. Slowly, he
crumbled them along the center of her chest, watching them fall
against her glowing skin.

“Santa, you’re getting messy again. You really must clean up
after yourself.” She grinned at him. She watched him as his
head dipped down, licking up the crumbs slowly, his beard softly
rasping her skin. “Mmmmm, yes. Now, don’t miss any.” He looked
back up at her, his eyes twinkling in the firelight, and made a
show of licking very carefully between her breasts catching each
small crumb.

“Sorry-no milk there for the cookies. You’ll just have to get a
glass.” She grinned back. He answered her by nipping her
engorged nipple.

“Tease.” She sighed. “Is this my Christmas present?”

“Oh, no, it’s mine.” He licked another line up to the tip of
her breast catching the last of the cookies.

“While I love all this attention, this really isn’t very
comfortable, sweetheart.” She said wriggling against the carpet.

“Hold that thought,” as he got up and strode quickly to the
couch, removing the shams and the afghan they kept there for
chilly nights.

Gently, he lifted her head up and put the pillow under her.
The crumbs were gone, and she turned to her side. He laid down
beside her, pulling her naked back against his chest, then
wrapping the blanket around the both of them.

“I love you,” he murmured as they watched the fire. She pulled
his arm tighter around herself in response.

“The fire is nice. It’s almost hypnotic.” She said. “I could
almost sleep here, if the floor wasn’t so hard.” She added.

“I was thinking the same thing.” They listened to the crackle
of the fire, his hands gently caressing her abdomen and the
undersides of her breasts. She took his hand and brought it to
her lips, kissing it softly before returning it to its
wanderings.

“Lets put the air mattress down here next year. After the kids
go to bed, we’ll put it up, and sleep in front of the fire…a
new
Christmas tradition.”

“Will I be able to eat the cookies in bed?” he squeezed her.

“No crumbs in my bed!” she grinned, turning in his arms and
kissing his jaw.

“Actually, that would be nice…then I wouldn’t have to drag you
upstairs to give you your Christmas present, since you require
more comfort than the floor. You know, now that I think about
it, it would probably be safer too, with the fire and all.”

She nodded sleepily against him, “The kids are going to be up
at the break of dawn.”

He sighed, then stood up and placed the grate in front of the
fireplace.

“Did you put out Santa’s Letter?” she asked.

“Yep, right on the cookie plate, properly covered in cookie
crumbs.” He paused. “I’ll race you upstairs…and whoever wins
has
to give the other their Christmas present tonight.” He smirked.

“Oh, no. You promised me.” She giggled, tossing the pillows for
him to put up as she raced him up the stairs.

In high school, I used to ride on the bus with some
girls from a Catholic school. I had my eye on the
prettiest one for a long while. Her name was Mary. At
sixteen, I had a constant hard-on, no experience and a lot
of curiosity. My selfish urges overpowered my realization
that we had nothing in common. I asked her out and she
accepted. She was overjoyed at my attention. I was
overwhelmed by her beauty and by the realization that I
couldn’t understand anything she was saying due to the
noise on the bus. I just nodded my head.
Now I’m sure you think you know what comes next. Young
boy finds carnal bliss. Well, I didn’t find it with Mary.
Her cool head prevailed (luckily for both of us probably)
and we never got past first base. We were looking for
different things. She wanted to go out and do things with
me. I wanted to find out what her breasts looked like. I
was working six days a week and she was keeping her blouse
on, so we had no basis for a relationship. Selfish person,
I got what I deserved.
I gave a lot of thought over the years to how it could
have turned out differently. It left me with a desire to
fulfill my teen-age dreams and go all the way with Mary or
someone like her. I thought about her in that cute school
uniform, the white blouse, the skirt ending just above the
knee, the white socks, the polished, black shoes. I thought
about the one time I saw her bra down her shirt. I thought
about the one time she bent over a little too far so that
her dress went up just enough for me to see her white
panties.
I met Ginger many years after high school. She was no
Mary despite the fact she had gone to Catholic School. She
did remain a virgin until after she graduated high school,
but between that time and the time I met her, she turned
into a bold, imaginative and wonderful lover. She was also
an incredible mind reader, so I shouldn’t have been so
surprised by her birthday present to me.
I went over to Ginger’s house on my 27th birthday. She
opened the door. It was all I could do to keep from cumming
on the spot! There she was, almost as if taken from my
fondest memories, wearing the white blouse, white socks,
and tartan wool skirt of her old school. She had her hair
in a school girl ponytail. Her small breasts pressed
against her shirt. Her cute ass gave shape to the skirt.
Ginger pecked me on the lips, gave me an innocent hug and
said, “I’m curious about sex. Could you show me how?”
There were no sweeter words she could have said. I’d
been waiting years to be able to explore the pleasures of
sex with this fantasy figure. I wanted to savor this
experience, recreate the thrill and curiosity and tension I
felt, hoping to get into Mary’s pants.
“First”, I said, “there’s the kiss. Open your lips a
little and put them against mine.” She stood on tip toes
and gently kissed me. I put my arms around her, careful to
stay on first. I slowly moved my tongue along to her lips
and searched for hers inside her mouth. I felt it, rough
and soft and wet. She wouldn’t reciprocate at first, then
she started to get into it. As usual, she brought me close
to cumming, just with her lips and tongue against mine. Oh,
did she make me hard!
I broke from her and said, in my best professorial tone,
“That is called French kissing”.
She jumped up and down. “Oh, that was fun! It made me
feel so juicy inside.”
I knew Ginger and I knew what she meant by juicy. But
how I longed to show the fantasy Ginger what the juiciness
was for. I said, “I liked it too, you sure are a good
kisser. Well, that was first base, do you want to go to
second?” I nodded in the general direction of her chest.
Ginger played coy. “Well, I don’t know, maybe just a
little, to see what it’s like.”
I put my hand on her left breast, or what there was of
it. Ginger really doesn’t have much besides nipples, which
is a real turn-on for me. Her breasts were pretty much
lost in the blouse. It felt like she had a padded training
bra on underneath. Anyway, my rubbing and squeezing wasn’t
doing much good.
“Gee, I don’t feel a thing”, said Ginger, confirming my
fears. “There must be more to it than this. If it’s second,
it should be better than first.”
“Well let me try this”, I said, unbuttoning the top
button of the blouse. I put my hand down the front of her
shirt and into the bra. Ginger let out squeals of delight
and mock embarrassment as I gently stroked her nipples to
erection. The blouse slowly slipped past her shoulders and
down, over her breasts to her waist.
I asked Ginger if I could take her bra off. “Oh, but
then you’ll be able to see my breasts!”, she said.
I begged her, “They feel so wonderful, please let me see
them! It’s not really second base unless I can kiss them.”
She nodded, OK, and, with coordination befitting a
typical 16 year old, I fumbled with the clasp in the back.
I let the bra rest on her shoulders and placed my lips on
her right breast, moving under the bra to her nipple,
nuzzling it’s wonderful firmness with my lips. I licked and
sucked it bringing sincere moans from Ginger.
I stopped, and with an innocent voice, I asked Ginger if
she’d like to find out about third. She asked what third
was and I told her it was “petting below the waist”. “That
sounds like fun!”, she said.
I told Ginger that she should feel free to put her hands
anywhere she wanted. She put one on my thigh, not the
boldest of moves. I put a hand on her dress, feeling her
soft, strong leg underneath. I moved my hand halfway up her
thigh, pulling the dress up with it. I reached under the
dress, feeling naked thigh.
I had fantasized about this moment throughout most of my
post-pubescent life. Here was my hand, underneath that wool
skirt, inches away from the mysteries of pleasure I longed
to experience. I slowly slid my hand higher and higher, up
into the warmness, until my hand reached the delicate
cotton fabric that foretold of delights to come. Meanwhile,
Ginger’s hand had slid, unbeknownst to me, up to my
wonderfully hard cock.
“Oooh, it’s so hard and long!”, she said, exploring
outside my zipper.
I was too engaged to comment. I had succeeded in
lifting up her dress. She was sitting with her legs
together, so, although I could see her beautiful panties,
her charms remained well hidden. Her ass cheeks did poke
out cutely from the sides of her undies.
Meanwhile, Ginger had pulled my cock from my pants.
“Wow! It’s got this big fat head on top and all these
veins,” She stroked it, making believe she didn’t know how
excited it was getting me. I countered by putting a hand
down the front of her panties.
I traced the folds of her labia up to her clit and
stroked it with the rotating motion that always makes
Ginger come. She ground her cunt into my hand and began to
hump on it in a frenzy. Ginger came in no time flat,
shooting her juices into the pure white panties.
By this time, it was impossible for either of us to keep
up the pretense. I grabbed a rubber. Ginger raised her ass
in the air and I stuck my cock under her skirt. I pushed
her panties to one side and thrust my rock hard cock into
her steaming, wet puss. She pushed her ass at my cock with
a sharp, rhythmic motion. I thrusted deep inside her, my
hips slapping against her ass.
Oh, the sight of my cock, plunging under her clothes,
pushing the pink cunt flesh aside, deeper and deeper. I
held back for as long as I could, but, finally, I found
myself unable to hold back from consummating my fantasy of
fifteen years. My ass muscles tightened. My jaws clamped
shut. My balls shot a gusher of cum out of my throbbing
cock and into my warm, sassy and fun friend, Ginger.
I wonder what I’ll get for my birthday this year?

“You’re a crude boy, Goss,” she said. “But you’re right. This is the
part of the fantasy where I begin to get aroused. Here I am, alone in
my house with three strangers. Mack asks me to dance to a slow tune on
the stereo and I accept. His strong arms are wrapped around me and his
hard-on is pressing against my pussy and we’re barely moving to the
music when I feel fingers on the back of my bare left thigh.”

She also felt fingers on her bare left breast, sneaking in through the
buttons on her blouse. My fingertips caressed her soft flesh, found an
erect, rubbery nipple.

“Can I ask you to do something a little weird?” Cathie asked.

“Sure, the weirder the better,” I told her.

“Go into the bedroom and get the KY jelly.”

A smile crossed my lips as I got up and went to fetch the tube. When I
got back, Cathie was just stepping out of her panties, totally naked.
“Take your clothes off and put some of that jelly on your cock.”

As I was doing it, Cathie was arranging pillows on the couch. Two large,
fluffy pillows went to the middle and two went to one end. She jumped
onto the couch face down, arranged pillows under her thighs so she
was kneeling without effort and her large, round ass was pointing up.
Her head rested on the other two pillows.

“I want you to put your cock all the way up my bum,” she said. “Don’t
fuck it. Just keep still while I tell you the fantasy. I want to see if
I can make us come, just talking.”

“Hmmm,” I said. “That’s sort of unnatural. How am I going to stop myself
from moving? It’s sort of like a reflex.” I climbed up behind her and
positioned myself between her legs. Upright on my knees, the tip of my
cock grazed her fleshy buttocks and settled in between her ass cheeks.
I grabbed her, one hand on each hind cheek, began squeezing rhythmically.
You could have said Cathie had a fat ass. It was wide and protruding
but it was also perfectly smooth, soft, and round.

“If I can do it, you can do it,” she assured me.

Leaving my left hand on her left cheek, I used my right hand to direct
the tip of my cock to her anus.

“Don’t mess around,” she said. “Just push it all the way in and hold
still.”

Cathie pushed back as I was pushing forward and I felt the length of
my cock swallowed tightly by her asshole. I pulled back a bit, just to
enjoy seeing the shaft disappearing between her ass cheeks, into her body.

“All the way in and hold still, she commanded.

After I complied and we moved around a bit to get comfortable, she
continued with her fantasy.

“Where did I leave off?” she asked.

“You were dancing with Mac and he was feeling your ass,” I prompted.
As I said it, my cock twitched slightly.

“He has his hand on the back of my bare thigh,” Cathie corrected.
“I tell him to stop but I’m giggling as I say it. I tell him Steve and
Tony will see. Mack responds by kissing my neck and putting his hand
right on the left cheek of my bum. He’s squeezing my bum and I’m looking
around to see if the other guys are watching. Tony is sitting on the
couch, smoking a cigarette and watching closely. My dress is hiked up
so I know he can see the whole ass end of my panties and Mack’s hand,
squeezing my ass cheek. Steve is standing in the entrance to the kitchen,
sipping on a can of beer and he can see too.”

While Cathie is talking, I can feel my cock pulsing in her asshole.
Now and then she squeezes it. “Then what happens?” I ask.

“The song ends and Mack lets me go. I’m pretty embarrassed but I’m also
drunk and horny and I think I’d like to go to bed with Mack so I don’t
say anything. I brush past Steve and go into the kitchen. I don’t know
…End of the part2. To be continued..

This morning is no exception. You’re still asleep, so you don’t really notice
the heat between us, and you certainly don’t notice my insistent cock, pushing
between the flesh of your thighs. As I grow more awake, I notice the distinctly
pleasurable sensation of being trapped between your thighs, and with a tiny
discrete movement, I’m pressed right up against the warm furry patch between
your legs.

Not wanting you to awake too soon, I very slowly begin to move my hips against
you, rubbing against your warm body. The top of my cock rubs against the
sensitive outer lips of your pussy, making you breathe a little harder, but
not awaken. As my movements become a little faster, the moisture from between
your honeyed lips begins to lubricate my passage. I move my hand around you,
from where it had been holding you close to me, and reaches down to stroke your
clit, and play with the tender flesh at the top of your pussy.

With this more direct attention, you seem to wake. A full fledged moan escapes
your lips and your hips begin to grind against me with a conscious effort. I
recognise this sort of sleep-sex. You never wake up that easily. I grin as
I fondle you and slide myself against you. Wanting to take you further, I pull
gently away from you and ease you onto your stomach, spreading your legs.

Your bare pussy now exposed to my attentions from behind, I let my finger tips
dance lightly against you, eliciting another moan. Tips of fingers gently
push inside of you, wetting themselves. Lubed up nicely, I push them into you,
a few millimeters deeper with each pistonlike stroke. Gentle and slow. Soon
I’ve got my middle finger buried to my palm, and I desperately want for you to
get going. My motions become faster, and at one point, I stop to insert another
finger into you.

Soon, I’m levering my arm back and forth, plunging my fingers deeper and deeper
into you, and now, for sure, you’re awake. I know this because you’re clawing
the sheets, slamming your cunt back against me with every stroke, and biting
the pillow to keep from screaming aloud and waking the neighbors. I
intersperse my thrusts with brief slowdowns and alternate between slamming
into your pussy and twisting my fingers in half circles. I then begin to feel
the tightening of the muscles in your tight tunnel. I redouble my efforts at
pushing my fingers all the way inside of you, and you finally let go and
scream in ecstasy.

I awake with the sounds of your screams still echoing in my mind. I open my
eyes to find myself on my back with you between my legs. You’re looking up
at me, your eyes fairly glowing with triumph. Dribbles of my cum are rolling
down your chin, and your lips are curled in a most satisfied grin. It seems
that you finally got your wish. For once, you woke up before I did, and got
to wake me up your way.

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Willing Lover.


Her lips were pouting and wet, and she smiled at me again.

“Just to see if you still taste as good,” she said, and then went
down on her knees while I stood there by the side of the bed, and the
next thing I knew she was licking away at my pouty cunt lips.

Bill was sitting on the edge of the bed and he was watching. He was
looking more than happy. Well, most men would have looked happy to have
seen two naked women there, with one of them licking away at the others
cunt.

I felt a thrill go through me as Jane’s wet tongue lapped away at my
pussy lips. Then, she was just poking away inside me with the tip of her
tongue, pushing just the tip inside my cunt, getting a taste of my hot
sweet juices.

After a minute or so, during which time she gave me a couple of good
orgasms, she stood up and licked her lips.

“You taste as good as ever,” she said.

“I want a taste,” said Bill.

“You can suck her out later,” said Jane, steering me toward the bed.
“Right now, Carol here wants to feel that cock of yours inside her cunt,
that’s right, isn’t it Carol?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” I said.

“Okay, come here and get fucked,” said Bill.

“How do you want it?” asked Jane.

“Well, Jane,” I said. “It would be nice if you sat on my face so
that I could suck you out, while Bill fucked my pussy with his lovely
cock.”

“Now, that’s what I call a good idea,” said Jane.

I smiled and nodded, and I was pleased that she was going along with
what I wanted. This really was a secret desire come true, and I was sure
I was really going to enjoy every single thing that happened to me
during the course of the night.

I lay flat on my back, and then Jane moved up the bed and within a
few seconds she was crouched over my face, so that by looking up I could
see every single detail of her pussy.

Large drops of pussy juice were dripping down from her cunt, and
these were soon splashing over my face, and those drops were hot and
lovely. I opened my mouth and some fell inside and I drank them down
…. They tasted as good as ever.

Bill was watching all this. That is the good thing about a
threesome. A man has so much to watch. It must be a real turn on for a
man to see all that.

Anyway, she was above my face and her hot cunt was dripping juice,
and I was drinking it down making my own pussy produce gobs of juice of
it’s own.

Then Jane sat all the way down smothering my mouth with her pungent
pussy. It gave me both the opportunity and the pleasure to snake my
tongue up into her cunt and begin licking her out.

I heard her shout with joy as my tongue went up inside her, and soon
she was shaking like mad, proving that my efforts were making her cum
again and again.

I sucked away, lapped away up there inside her nice tasty pussy
hole, and then I felt something that made me have a huge climax.

What I felt was the head of a huge cock against my cunt lips, and
that is the sensation that will give any woman a mind blowing orgasm.

That cockhead of Bills was all purple, hot and huge, throbbing as he
pushed it gently against my pussy lips. I felt him increase the
pressure, then felt my lips part and my cunt cream flood and cover that
…End of the part3. To be continued..

5

Except one of course, as a sudden howl of hunger reminded
me, before Betty Jean came dashing in the room to supply a much-
wanted breast to her little girl. Even Martha Jane was wanted,
if not planned for like her big sister Julie Mae, now lying on
the bed with her grandfather/great-grandfather’s sperm soaking
into the child’s tight little baby-hole, like her mother and
grandmother before her had taken it inside THEIR vaginas, when
THEY were five.
Now when Mary Beth and I get married, we plan on starting
our kids out at three years old, or maybe even younger, instead
of making them wait until they’re five, like Momma did with us.
I mean, just because a little girl is too small to take her
father or grandfather’s thick prick up inside her cute little
slit, squirting it full of incestuous baby-juice, doesn’t mean
the child won’t enjoy having sex with her brothers and sisters
until she IS big enough! Heck, even Martha Jane likes to have
her little slit rubbed, and she’s only a baby.
Even Joany Lou likes to feel me squirting her cute little
tummy full of cum at least once a week; in spite of the fact that
I’m still a little bit big for the 8-year-old. Still, my little
sister never complains; insisting on getting her “share” of my
sperm every few days. The little girl is so PROUD of the fact
that she’s finally big enough to take somebody besides Grandpa or
her little brother Mike inside her tiny little hole. So, I try
to be careful with her, and we both have a good time. Sex for
her is just fun; as it should be for girls her age, with no
worries about pregnancy or babies.
Children SHOULD be allowed and even encouraged to enjoy sex
as early and often as possible, so they’ll have that much more
time to have fun, before they get so old they have to start
worrying about babies and birth-control. Once they do however,
the kids should learn how to protect themselves, so they won’t
have any unwanted pregnancies. That’s what OUR parents taught
US, anyway.
I mean, can you imagine how big our family would be, if we
did NOT practice birth-control?

6

I sent both stories to the friend for comment, with a gap between them,
as I recovered the second. The enclosed material is excerpts from our
e-mail discussion of the stories. I am publishing this as an addendum
to both stories, to answer some questions (and possible flames) that
might otherwise raise their heads.

IN> Frank,

IN> Thank you very much for the story “Bound for Fun” which I read last
IN> week.

Thank YOU for the nice long response.

IN> Your story sure hits on some of our common and individual favorite
IN> themes. The girl is old enough for my tastes, I hope she is young
IN> enough for yours.

She is.

IN> I loved the allusion to “Preggie Sarah.” That was really choice.
IN> You really have a thing for getting them pregnant, don’t you?

As I’ve said before, getting pregnant is one of my biggest fantasies.
I’d give half of what I own, for the chance.
I know that I’m not the only man to harbor such desires, and
many women love the thought of BEING pregnant.

IN> The promise of a mother/daughter hot combo is also quite
IN> appealing, especially if both of them are kinked in the same
IN> directions as the protagonist, as they seem to be.

They are, but in slightly different ways.

IN> I appreciate the fact that you stayed away from specific descriptions
IN> of the bondage, etc, which you are not an expert in. This is great
IN> by me, since I find stories that start to read like parts catalogs for
IN> fetish wear to be tedious.

I always toss the ones that are nothing more than a description of torture-
devices.

IN> I am certainly no expert in bondage, although I have lurked about
IN> alt.sex.bondage for quite a while, but I think this story has some
IN> real-world problems with consensuality. Please let me note at the
IN> outset that I __know this is just fantasy, and no harm done, etc. etc.
IN> But the aspect of consensuality that primarily concerns me is the
IN> pregnancy one. Is the girl dumb, or am I? Does she know that she has
IN> been knocked up, and approve, or is she being taken along for a ride
IN> by her trusted parent? This could generate a lot of flames in a.s.b.

A. She’s dumb. Well, not DUMB exactly, just WAY too trusting. This is
explored MUCH more deeply in the second story. She trust EVERYONE,
even when she shouldn’t. Most especially, she trusts her mother to watch
out for her best interests, and in her own way June does.
B. Does she know? No.
C. Does she approve? I tried to make the implication, that she actually
WANTS to get pregnant, but is scared to do it, because:
1. She isn’t married, and doesn’t even have a steady boyfriend.
2. She’s afraid of what her school-mates would think, if she showed up
at school with a bulging belly.
3. This is the kicker. Most importantly, she THINKS her mother would
disapprove, and she doesn’t want to hurt her mother. If it wasn’t
for fear of overburdening her mother with raising another child,
Lynn would probably have already sneaked out and gotten pregnant
anyway. Her mother knows this, and implies at the start, that Lynn
would have to “earn” the privilege of getting pregnant.

IN> Also, I think, again with the “this is only fantasy” caveat, that it
IN> would be pretty weird for a loving, caring mother, which this one
IN> seems to be, to leave her kid in the hands of a semi-pro BD
IN> specialist, with only threats of retribution to safeguard her. I
IN> think a bit of talk about her extensive checking of Jones’ background,
…End of the part1. To be continued..

“And he was to marry
A girl who shown with beauty and light
And they loved each other
And with me watched the sun set into nights.”

Sarah. I remember the first time I saw her. She stood on the prow of a wooden
fishing ship leaving the bustling docks then traveled through the bay that lay
behind me. Sarah’s long skirt floated out behind her, as did her shining,
unbound hair. I could feel the wind myself. There was a brightness and pure
joy to her smile. The ship slowed as it dropped a dory. A few of the seaman
helped her down into it, where she rowed herself to us.

She scrambled to shore, and rushed into Joe’s arms. I think if I had had arms, I
would have wrapped them around them. It was obvious how much they loved
each other. He led her up to me, and I felt her soft fingers caress my doorway.
“Our home.” Joseph whispered. Sarah’s fingers brushed over the tables,
cushions, furnishings; my walls. I was smooth, clean and bright. She twirled
towards him and smiled. “I love it,” she said. “It’s beautiful, Joseph.”

They sat and talked, ate and planned. I watched them walk out along the now
choppy shoreline, hand in hand. As dusk fell, he pulled her up to my balcony,
carrying a blanket. He lit my lamp and curled up with her against my wall.

Their warmth spread against my cool exterior, as they watched the sun set over
the bay and how Aurora painted the sky in luscious, romantic colors and how it
played over the sails of the ships returning for the night. When the final ray of
sun caught the tip of my light, the ship that dropped her off set anchor and
awaited her dory. Sarah would snuggle into Joseph with a sigh, and he would
lead her down to the shore, where she made her short row back to the ship.

This was their habit for the weekends; her father, who was a fisherman, would
drop her in a dory to visit with Joseph, and pick her back up at the sun’s last
rays. And every evening, before they left, they would watch the sunset on my
balcony.

“She’d had to leave us
My keeper he prayed for her safe return
But when the night came
The weather to a raging storm had turned.”

One Saturday evening, the weather grew rough. They watched from my
balcony as the waves beat against the jagged rocks, the wind twisting Sarah’s
unbound hair and slapping it against my sides. They watched as ships bounced
on the choppy waves and as the sky turned grey and chill, Joseph turned on my
light. They saw her father’s ship fight to get closer to the island, so the dory
wouldn’t get swamped. Joe begged Sarah, “Wave your father off, I’ll row you
to shore myself in the morning.” She kissed him softly. “I want my first night
here to be our wedding night. I can wait. It will be soon.”

He hugged her tightly, and then led her down the stairs. I watched as he placed
her in the dory, kissing her once more. I wished for a voice then, to scream, to
let them know this was no ordinary storm. But I have no voice, and I watched
in distress as her father’s boat was getting pushed by the wind closer and closer
to my shore.

“He watched her ship fight
But in vain against the wild and terrible wind
And me so helpless
As dashed against the rocks she met her end.”

Joseph stood on the shore, watching her dory pitch and swale in the rough
water. Sarah became drenched as the cold rain started to pour down, nearly
flooding the small dory. Joseph yelled into the wind, calling her back, but the
wind tore his voice away.

Her father’s ship started to list, and its bow scraped the rocks on my shore. He
shifted his sails and managed to get back off, but further away from the
struggling dory. The wind began to twist, and even my solid walls began to
quake. Sarah and the dory were flung about like a feather in the breeze. Her
small boat, nearly submerged finally pulled along side her father’s ship. The
ship moved to block the wind, so she might climb on board, the dory lost, when
a particularly nasty gust pushed the boat sideways into my shore. It listed
under the weight of the wet sails. The port side- the side that Sarah had been
climbing- smashed against the rocks. Quickly, the ship sunk beneath the
violent waves as it was torn apart and dragged out to sea.

Joseph ran to the shore, screaming.The storm howled around him as he
searched frantically along the shore. He sought all night as the storm raged.
then on the next day.

“my keeper found her
washed up on the shore
he kissed her cold face
that they’d be together soon he swore. ”

I saw her before he did, her pale, limp body, tossed up on the shore in the first
light of dawn. Joseph was still circling the shore. It was a bright morning and
the sun glistened in her golden hair. He came upon her and fell to his knees at
her side. He brushed the sand from her face. I saw him whisper to her as he
leaned over her slight body and kissed her cheek.

He stumbled away, then turned and walked toward me with grim determined
steps, his face pale and his eyes red from crying and the wind. He reached the
shed and pulled out his shovel before returning to her side.

His tears consecrated the ground to his love as he dug her burial place in the
sand. He lifted her gently, kissed her one last time before placing the sand on
her final resting place.

He left the shovel on top of her sandy grave and trudged back toward me. He
looked up at me, squinting in the now bright sun. He slowly climbed the stairs
to my tower. He sat for a moment, in their usual sunset spot. I felt the wet
warmth of his back.

He stood then took a few steps forward and opened the safety grate to my
railing. I wish I could have closed it. I wish I could have stopped him. He
pressed his body against my side one last time, his fingers gently touching my
face, as if to say goodbye then he ran off the edge of the balcony to land on the
rocks below.

“I saw him crying
Watched as he buried her in the sand
Then climbed my tower
And off the edge of me he ran.

I am a lighthouse
Born by the weather and the waves
And though I am empty
I still warn the sailors on their way.”

I am alone now. Some people even say I am haunted. A new-fangled
automated system replaced my oil lamps, so no one need stay with me
anymore. Majestic sailing ships don’t pass by my shore much these days, just
motor boats speeding past.

I will not forget the happiness I saw, that I shared. As long as I stand, their
love will be remembered.

*thanks to Poison Ivan for the Edits! *
Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2002 http://www.asstr.org/~Dryad

Dear Diary, 11/5/88
Today I went to work. Chris was 1/2 hour late. Linc had left early (about 8:30) because he had to go to the Home Product Show. During first break, I kept bothering him; he told me to cut the shit. I kept going though. Why was I doing that? I was thinking maybe It was something like I can’t have him love me, I would want him to hate me? (Thin line between love and hate?) I don’t know. I kept myself extremely busy at Players the whole time. I got paint all over myself. Daniel was there till 5 Valerie, Michele, Eric, Carson, Linda and Jill left before the rest of us.

Dear Diary, 11/6/88
Today we cut up the deer Dad got. I had told Sandra and Maggie was there. Maggie’s chin dropped to her chest. It was so funny! I now have 18 1/2 hours in on the players (you need 200 to get a letter) Daniel gave me a ride home. We all, (Tabitha was there too!) started hitting eachother-Daniel hit me in the eye because he couldn’t see where he was hitting. We had a partial run through of Adam and Eve- during the blackout Sandra and I moved their new home on stage and put it nearly in the right spot; in the dark. I was proud of myself…don’t know why really…we have to know that anyway. I think rehearsal is until 9:30 tomorrow. Players paid for my dinner (also the people who came early) This is great therapy- I don’t have time to get mopey. I guess I ought to go to bed. Night!

Dear Diary, 11/7/88

Worked on show all afternoon. Deirdre took me home, Mr. Lion wanted to get up to Passionella’s change scene- we only got up to the first part of Lady or the Tiger. I honestly don’t think we’ll be done in time. Its late. Sandra and I were dropped off by Mr. Lion at Mama’s . We ordered pizza and brought it back (we walked) I’ve gotta get to bed. Night!

Dear Diary, 11/8/88

It’s 11:18 at night. We had the total run through of the play. There is a ghost in the Auditorium. We named it Sarah. Katherine’s been really edgy, but then so has everybody. I hope (as probably everyone else does) that opening night will be a success. It seemed to go fairly smoothly.

Dear Diary, 11/9/88
Opening night was a success! We only had maybe 2 mishaps. Linda forgot a few lines to her song- but it still sounded beautiful and the wheel on Adam and Eve’s hut broke, so we had to put a new one in. Sarah showed herself. There was a glowing in the back room and the work lights went on mysteriously twice. We accounted for one where Amanda flicked the switch on and off. Nicki had a sore throat but she still sounded beautiful. One of the candles fell out of the candlestick and off the platform. Afterward, everyone was hugging everyone. Daniel hugged 4 of us at once! (this is one growing boy!)
I’m starting to mend but I had a setback when I saw that boy again. Dierdre gave me a ride home. Night!

Dear Diary, 11/10/88
The play went great! In Adam and Eve Adam’s first hut fell over. Daniel said, “It’s all your fault Eve!” and they improvised until they got it back up. Nick had gone to the mall. There was a parrot in the pet store. When people said, “hi” it said hi; when people said “John” it said “John”. Well, Nicki thought she’d be smart and say, “Nicki’s God”. And the parrot LAUGHED! The whole entire store laughed.

I’m working 8-4 tomorrow, so I’ve got to get to sleep.

Dear Diary, 11/11/88
Nothing much today. I went to work and we did geraniums, new guinea impatiens and fuscia oh, and vinca. It was Linc, Chris, Sasha, me and mom. Got home and went to eat at Dragon City. Its 7:00 now. I’m gonna get ready for bed.

Dear Diary, 11/12/88

I worked at the store today, 9-1. I got home, ate, sat and moped. I am feeling extremely sorry for myself. I miss Chris (as a boyfriend) The play went beautifully, near success. Daniel’s mom drove me home because everyone else went to Friendly’s. Last night I had the strangest dream. I had a dream that I was going out with Eric Brando and that we were rolling all over the ground, fucking like mad. If his lips are as good in real life…
My subconscious has a filthy mind.

Dear Diary, 11/13/88
I slept until 8, which is late for me. I putzed around, did 2 loads of wash (still have 2 left). Lianne and I are going to do the seminar for the Newspaper tomorrow. It ought to be fun. I am feeling worse and worse. When I was working on the play, I was kept busy enough. I always seem about to cry.
I have a dull ache in my chest where my heart used to be. But now, my heart has shattered causing my breath to be short and a constant lump in my throat.
I am in a constant state of melancholy though no one even sees it. I would honestly be a fantastic actress.

Dear Diary, 11/14/88
I went to the journalism workshop which was interesting and I got letters from my pen pals—on the same day. I am tired so that’s all I’ll say except that I’m getting a 62 in French.

Dear Diary, 11/16/88
Nothing much goin on. I am sending a poem to YM to see if I can get it published. Daniel lost his voice. We are hoping that he will get it back. (oh, well) I sent the letter to Australia the next day.

Dear Diary, 11/17/88
Nothing much. It was a ½ day so I went ot work. Got my report card. English-78, foreign policy-85, Algebra- 71, French- 62, CPR- 88, Gym- 88 Chemistry- 83. Test on Moby Dick tomorrow. UGH.

Dear Diary, 11/18/88
I am in the pits of mortal despair. (Dryad note: obviously stolen from “Anne of Green Gables”.) I hurt so badly, If only I could cry and let it all out, but instead I have this horrid ache inside. It is so hard to be on the verge of tears all the time and never being able to cry. Putting on a brave face so no one (and honestly no one does) knows how badly I’ve been hurt. Its something like putting a bandaid over a chopped off arm.
Why? I care for him surely, but do I (honestly now do I love him? My symptoms are pointing to that, but its too late for me to do anything now.
On to cheerier matters. The play went great. Daniel had his voice (praise the lord). Daniel is having the cast party tomorrow night. I had better get to bed now.

Dear Diary, 11/20/88
Being so early in the morning (1:30am) and so much to tell, I’ll finish in the morning. All I’ll say now is that I went to the cast party, the play was the best yet, and work was okay. Finish later.

I never finished last night. Mom got mad at me this morning for asking if she was going to the play. Chris cheered me up (not just the sight—verbal wise!) Mom and dad took me to school. Closing night was our best night. Daniel made a joke about Quayle as president in Adam and Eve. The party was fun. We watched a video tape of the show. Lizzie’s mom took me home. I didn’t do much today.

Dear Diary, 11/23/88
Sorry so late in writing. Nothing much is going on. We’ve been taking down set, sophomore class is selling cookies, I got an A+ on my French composition and a 91 on my oral report in English and an 80 on my chemistry test. In volleyball, I dove for the ball and got a floor burn. (feels nasty too) (Dryad note: still have the scar too!) Well tomorrow is thanksgiving. What am I thankful for? My family of course, friends? I put a question mark there because I have no real friends anymore. I used to be able to tell Lianne anything but now it’s hard. I have plenty of friends though between classes and Players. Well, I’ve got too many to count.
Mr. Cloog liked the changes I made in my poem. In a way, I hope YM doesn’t print it, because It’s so much better now. I’m still extremely sad all the time, but I’m getting better–I can forget about it for a second now and then. After my oral report, Josh started clapping and everyone followed. I think I’m healing because I’ve been thinking about Josh. We have so much in common. Just a thought of course, and like I said, no more unless someone says something to me. I refuse to ask a male out again. Forever! I hate (!) feeling this way. Ah well, C’est la vie! Not only that, Josh is cute (though tall).

Dear Diary, 11/24/88
Thanksgiving is over. Tomorrow I work 8-4. I’m still tired. Last night I asked mom to cut my hair. Its shoulder length now. Its nearly all even except for my bangs and a small part where my hair used to be feathered. It looks nice, but I want my long hair back! Mom cut about 5 inches off –OUCH! I have a headache for some reason, so I’m going.

Dear Diary, 11/25/88
Today I went to work. A while ago I said I had bothered Chris and said it might be “thin line between love and hate” I figured it out. I did the same thing today. I wanted to inflict pain onto him, he had inflicted onto me. And it hurt to realize this. We had a long talk about things after that. I think I have finally come to terms with it. He told me it was all psychological. I told him he wouldn’t say that if he felt like I felt. I hate that saying “its better to have loved and lost…” I’m going to feel worse if I write anymore on that so I’m going to bed.

Dear Diary, 11/26/88
Worked today. I was in a fairly good mood. Chris and Linc read my poem. Linc didn’t say anything and Chris said it was nice. My face is itchy again. We went to my aunt and uncles house right after work. The first Star Trek of the new season was great. Deana Troi had a baby that grew rapidly. Wesley’s mom left and he was supposed to but he is staying. (Thank god!) Anyway, I’m going to bed.

Dear Diary, 11/27/88
Have I really changed a whole lot? I figure as long as I’m not happy with myself, I’ll keep changing! I did my wash and a little homework. That’s really all.

Dear Diary, 11/28/88
I am feeling very poetic this evening. If my name were Elizabeth, my mood would certainly be that. Most of the day today I was a Liz; the majority of the time I’m a Beth though. I just wrote “If you keep a smile in your heart and a laugh on your lips you shall always be happy” On October 24th I asked, “how long does it take for a broken heart to heal?” I think I can answer that as being now. Approximately a month. I am ready to live again! Watch out world, here I come!
Would you believe-
I talked with Lianne today. This is a list of who she likes (in order of course):
1)Peter 2) Sean 3) someone I don’t know 4) Josh 5) Seth 6) Karl and 7)Jeff.
This is my list:
1)Chris (still) 2) Josh 3) Seth 4,5,6 (in no particular order—because I’m only mildly interested) Daniel, Eric and Chad,

Players is doing (the believe) 12 Angry People (actually men, but well, obviously) [Dryad note: perhaps your drama dept was unlike mine, but we were very male challenged…and female heavy] I am going to try out for it. That’s all for tonight, G’night!

Dear Diary, 11/29/88
Nothing much today. I have a French test, a vocab test, anything else (?) tomorrow. Joy, Joy.
I had a dream last night about Josh. We were lying side by side on the grass, and he asked “What would you say if I said we were the perfect couple?” very softly and (both of us being on our sides) leaned over and kissed me. I answered back, “ I’d die of happiness.” And we began kissing again. Then we were up in my room, and we were going downstairs. We were holding hands. Mom, Dad, Uncle Chris, and Grandma were in the kitchen. We had gone out the back door, and he put his arm around me. Then the scene changed and we were under a tree house and he said, “you’re plan came out well.” And a bunch of other things I can’t remember. We had a short argument and we kissed. Then Sean or Matthew (I can’t remember which) popped out a window and were like, “ooooh, look at you two kiss” type thing. It was a nice dream. Oh, Well! At least I can kiss (I mean, know how for sure.) That’s really all.

Dear Diary, 12/4/88
I forgot to mention on 11/23 that I got my hair cut. I was extremely depressed Saturday morning, but Chris cheered me up. He really is a great friend. He’s the one person I can talk to- not even how I talk with Lianne. I tell him nearly everything. My shopping is done except I made a mistake on Uncle Chris’s present (I got him a Christmas tape, and he doesn’t really care for the artist) So, I’ll return it and get another one.
I got dad a black leather wallet; mom a CD; Grandma a PenDelfin named Jingles; Ron some blank tapes; Sabrina a pair of silver heart earrings; Aunt Ellen and Uncle Leo a meat and cheese set; Sasha a sweater; and got the rest of my girlfriends earrings. Whew! I spent well over $100, which for me is an awful lot. I might get Chris a present and I might get Bea one too. U have 3 small jars of herbs which I’m thinking of giving her. I have to start my term paper for Foreign Policy- I haven’t even started, (oh, shit!) it’s due something like January 7th. I’m doing better in French class except for the asses, such as Melanie and Roberta. We had a sub in class on Friday, and she asked the class who hadn’t had a turn reading the dialogue. And Roberta says, “Marie hasn’t!” It wasn’t so much her words, but the venom just oozed from her lips like it poisoned her just to say my French name. Ah well! Life is full of undesirable people. The photo for the newspaper for the yearbook, for instance. Linda went up to Julie and told her Tasha and her were Co-Editors. I go to tell her, 1) she spelled my name wrong, and 2) that I’m assistant editor. Linda says, “oh, that isn’t necessary.” As if it isn’t enough she already took editor, but won’t even let me have that scrape of recognition? After writing all the wrong things of that day, no wonder I was depressed! Just thinking gets me feeling down again. I’ve cleaned my room. So that’s all.
P.S. I started my period—again! (Already, I should say)

Work in Progress

Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2003

Dear friends and readers,
This is different from many of the stories you’ve seen me write. It is more or less true (names and places have been changed to protect …well, ME). I had my first real boyfriend when I was 14, and a sophomore in high school. I began my diary. Told it more than just my dating quandaries, but filled with all sorts of teenage angst and melodramatics. (and looking back, I could be incredibly melodramatic). The diary ended about a month before my wedding, so I guess you really could call this the Dating Diary.
Why post my pathetic diary? Easy. While I realize many of us write in fantasy, I’m tired of 14/16 year olds thinking like 30 year olds. Realism Folks! And what’s more real than an actual diary? In some respects the writing sucks. I have changed nothing but actual names. Thought about elaborating, but then, you’d get my near 30 year brain in places it doesn’t belong. This is what it is.
The basics, however, still apply. This is my work, (for better or worse) is copyrighted by me, and no posting without my prior permission. Celeste’s blow job principle is still in action guys. This may or may not include adult situations, so if you’re not allowed to watch a nc-17 movie, scram. All other enjoy (or not *shrug *).
*****************************************************************************************************************************
Dating Diary 1988 part 2
By Dryad

Dear Diary, 10/24/88
I asked Chris today the usual question when I see him-“Est ce que tu amore moi?” He wouldn’t answer, so I kept pushing. Finally he said no, that he liked me but It wouldn’t work romantically. He was worried about me being depressed. Right, now I’m either in shock, or I didn’t care in the first place. For some reason, I knew he really didn’t care- now I truly believe in that line in the song I wrote:
“I’ve given up on love now/ it causes too much pain.” I wrote another line to another song- “my heart’s been broken so many times/ it’s falling apart”

Why can’t my heart just leave my body? That way I wouldn’t hurt. For some reason, I was really mad (before he told me) and he told me he better not tell me (naturally I assumed the worst) I got even madder. He told me I shouldn’t assume yet, I was right.

How does a broken heart feel? It seems to me to be a dull ache inside. We came home instead of going straight from work. I’m drowning and no one will save me! I can’t cry until I go to bed. I should get an academy award for what I am about to do. My family isn’t going to know. I am going to ask Chris as a favor to a friend to help me cover it up. I hope he does. I’ve gotta go now. I’ll write tonight. I know what this is- I had a dream, and now I’m waking up. Only thing is it was too real- so it still hurts. I wrote before that love is like a roller coaster. Yeah, but mine came to a stop after turning my world upside down {Dryad note: Egad, did I really write this drivel??}

Can you believe this? Here I am at Diamond mall writing this? I got so bad I couldn’t even shop! Finally I called Chris, from here!

I’m back home now. I called Chris. I told him there were 2 ways to go. Either we are just friends, or if there is a chance of romance, go as we have been. We both agreed our minds were too foggy (due to the late hour) to decide. (not to mention, he was downstairs) I told him I didn’t know what I wanted. I would like to go on the way we have, but not if there isn’t a change for me. It wouldn’t be fair to me to keep me dangling. I’m really zonked. Gotta go. Bye bye.

Dear Diary, 10/30/88
Chris never called me. Right now I don’t expect he’ll ever call.

Sasha came over today. She said something about keeping work and personal life separate. Linc noticed how I jumped (as he said, 5ft) when he came into the office during break. He asked Sasha how he should bring it up and Sasha told him she’d handle it. I told her be probably wouldn’t have to worry about it much longer. Therefore she is the only one besides Chris who knows about what happened. You are the only one, Diary, who knows everything though. So much for my love life! Who needs it? I’m going to become a hermit and live by myself. (idea- Crista says that Seth wants to be a hermit too.) I’m through with love- I’m not touching unless someone throws themselves at me. (besides Rod, heaven forbid) I’m going to be a writer; a best selling writer and everyone will die for me just to shake my hand! There, I fixed that! Chris said I had talent. I’ll make him wish he never said no! yeah, I’m hurt. I’m sick of the whole damned human race!

This is a song I wrote:
The memory of his kiss
Is still fresh in my mind
The las words he said
The feeling of his hand in mine
But now he’s gone
And I don’t know if I can go on.

Chorus: why did he leave?
Why did I say goodbye?
I loved him
But I let him go.
Now I’m the one that’s hurting
And he’s the one that’s gone away.

I put a padlock on my heart
He pried it open and crawled inside
I felt without knowing
I gave without caring
If my love was going to be returned.
(repeat chorus)
I ought to be used to this by now
My hearts been broken so many times
Its falling apart
Now I cry nearly every night
Especially when I see a picture of him.
(repeat chorus)
(repeat first verse)

I feel better now diary-writing songs usually has that effect on me. So does sleepyness, which is why I’m gonna stop here. Night!

Dear Diary, 10/31/88
Halloween! Tonight I was Odin, King of the Norse Gods. Mom and dad got mad, because I used so much powder in my hair. Chris still hasn’t called. I called him Wednesday since tomorrow is Katie and Dad’s birthday. 6 months (I think) and I finally got my period (unfortunately) I’ve got homework; bye.

Dear Diary, 11/1/88
It’s Katie and dad’s birthday. I got really bad in school today. I nearly cried in study and I when I saw that boy that looks like Chris. I hate myself for feeling so depressed but I can’t help it.
I really like Mr. Cloog. He’s a teacher I can relate to. I still have my period I Hate it. I’m going to bed now, night!

Dear Diary, 11/2/88
Chris still hasn’t called-I didn’t have time between trying to finish everything (Friday’s the last day of the marking period) Melissa asked me again about working on the stage crew. I told her who lived near me, and who to ask for a ride for me. She was supposed to call me, but she hasn’t.
My room’s cleaner-I did all my regular homework and part of my makeup work. I made apple and rose potpourri. It ought to be done by Christmas. (ripening time) I’ve gotta go to bed.
P.S. Katie said she read you!!

Dear Diary, 11/3/88
My room is clean, and Deirdre can give me a ride.
I called Chris today. He was in the shower so he called me back. He said to him, boyfriend and girlfriend meant love and if we went on as we were we would be so we ruled that out.
At least that ‘s cleared up. Now maybe my heart will mend. I really feel terrible (about this)
How long does it take to fall out of love? I’ll tell you when I find out.
Why can’t I just cry and get it all out? Everytime I hear “addicted” “I know how he feels” see the boy who looks like Chris or such instance as what Mr. Cloog said today makes me almost but never have.
Oh yeah, Mr. Cloog was talking about a word meaning Rejection; he says something on the idea of “your boyfriend tells you he doesn’t want to go out with you anymore.” I nearly screamed. I’m another Julliet on the stage of life, and my romeo doesn’t care. I have to start something else or I’ll just wither away into the woodwork and die. I’ve gotta go to bed now.

Dear diary, 11/4/88
…End of the part1. To be continued..

I’ll be waiting with “baited breath”, like the cat who ate cheese, and sat by
the mousehole.
_____
/ ‘ /
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_ / <_

P.S. Do you mind if I save this letter, except for your name, and use it
and my response to answer any future flames/criticism? It helps not
to have to do it twice.
P.P.S. I got the scanner, and recovered part-2. Story follows this post.
PLEASE don't get squicked, until you've finished the whole story.
THEN feel free to let me have it with both barrels. ;-}

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

IN> Frank,

IN>1. Using my last letter to respond to other critics, some
IN>probably not as friendly. I re-read the letter, and it is fine, except
IN>for my personal identity, which you should please safeguard totally, and
IN>the first paragraph. The first paragraph is not only irrelevant to the
IN>story, but also is pretty identifiable as written by me. To those who
IN>know me, that may be true of the whole thing, but they would not be able
IN>to prove anything, so go ahead.

I’ll remove the first paragraph, and anything else that points to you.

IN>2. Have not yet had time to go over “BfF I” in the detail I
IN>promised, to send you the minor typos, etc. Hope to do so today,
IN>if not, tomorrow.

I’ll wait on both stories for your criticism.

IN>3. “Bound for Fun II” – the blistering literary criticism! ;=}

IN>Anyway, I liked “BfF II” It certainly
IN>did not squick me. It dealt well with the trust issues, and the whole
IN>fascination with violence and torture as “fun” when in the real world
IN> 1) they actually go on, and
IN> 2) they are __NO fun.

Amen.

IN>Now, the literary hard part for me, is that I must tell you that you
IN>did not pull the wool over the reader’s eyes. This reader, at least.
IN>Jones is clearly too careful of Lynn’s feelings, her peripheral
IN>circulation, etc. etc. for him to actually be planning to kill her
IN>This plot reminds me of the movie “The Sting” I thought that
IN>was a fantastic movie, because it was all about a sting operation, and
IN>audience member thinks he is in on it, but in the end, gets totally
IN>taken in himself, and actually gasps when it appears that one of the good
IN>guys kills the other. Again, at least this viewer.

IN>I do not read a lot of the NC stories, except the Parker works,
IN>and so I am not too good at telling you what a NC perpetrator must “think
IN>like” in a story, but one thing is that he must be totally
IN>uncaring about the victim, except regarding leaving clues.
IN>Clues don’t really have to do with
IN>the victim, just protecting himself, but at least that as close as he gets
IN>to giving a damn about the victim. Jones is way too careful.
IN>He is also clearly too nice a guy. I really don’t know
IN>how to remedy this from the dramatic
IN>viewpoint in the story. That he is careful is okay,
IN> but that he is careful of the girl’s
IN>feelings and comfort is not. I don’t know how to get across his care,
IN>and maybe carefully and intentionally mislead the innocent reader, with
IN>statements
IN>that when read quickly look like the self-centered detail worries of a
IN>schmuck trying to cover the clues, but on rereading after the surprise
IN>ending actually may be interpreted to see that he was looking out for
IN>her all along. A difficult task,
IN>but the only way I can see to get the desired effect and leave it in 1st
IN>person.

The idea was never to pull the wool over the reader’s eyes. The Idea was
to see if you could convince the reader that “Joe” was good enough and
convincing enough to pull the wool over Lynn’s eyes. Since you don’t point
…End of the part3. To be continued..

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