A Fictional Story by Camwhore1. Kevin sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, his hands clasped between his knees, his heart hammering so loud he was sure the neighbors could hear it. The bedroom smelled like Vanessa’s perfume — something floral and dark — and the fresh sheets she’d put on that afternoon. White sheets. She’d laughed when she’d chosen them, said they’d show everything. She was in the bathroom now, doing whatever women did that took forty-five minutes
Read moreA Fictional SPH Story by limpshrimp83. The weather broke on a Tuesday. I don’t mean it got a little warmer. I mean it went from thirty degrees and frost on the windshield to seventy-eight and full sun in the space of about forty-eight hours, like the atmosphere had just gotten bored of winter and decided to skip spring entirely. The kind of heat that arrives with attitude, making you open every window in your apartment, stand in front of the
Read moreA Fictional Story by VaderSomething. Greece changes you. Not in the spiritual, eat-pray-love way that people talk about in essays about finding themselves abroad, but in smaller, more permanent ways—the way your skin holds the salt, the way your sense of time loosens, the way you stop caring about things that used to seem important. I spent two years working on the islands, and I can tell you that the version of me who arrived—cautious, self-conscious, measuring himself against invisible
Read moreA Fictional Story by Illustrious_Pen_7964. I keep my body shaved and not trimmed, not groomed, not manscaped—shaved. Every part of it. Chest, stomach, arms, legs, underarms. The works. I’ve been doing it for years, since I started competing, and at this point the routine is as automatic as brushing my teeth. Once a week I sit on the edge of the bathtub with a razor and a can of shaving cream, and I go over every surface, careful and methodical,
Read moreA Fictional Story by mywifeishot888. The hotel in Krakow had the kind of walls that were less walls and more suggestions. Decorative partitions. Polite illusions of privacy. I’d checked in the previous afternoon, dropped my bag on the bed, and heard the person in the next room unzip their suitcase clear as a bell. I’d heard someone two doors down sneeze. I’d heard a toilet flush on the floor above me. The building was old—pre-war, maybe older—and it had been
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