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|
| Story writing still in progress.
| All necessary threads are present,
| Final scenes still need to be written.
|
| This is my first attempt at any
| erotic literature. Constructive
| criticism greatly appreciated!
|
| Update 9-12
| Sorry story writing has halted. Have
| some higher priority things I'm working on
| right now.
|
| I would still love to see this completed
| to my original vision. If my pace is too
| glacial for you and you've got some ideas
| let me know and maybe I'll feel
| comfortable letting you add on.
|
|There are 18 planned endings.
|
| 8 endings would result in you getting
| some action. So far just one of those Lisa
| endings, a Sarah ending, and some gay anal
| have been written.
|
| In homage to the choose your own adventures
| of my childhood (and I guess real life) a lot of
| the endings close with no action and you being
| the loser you were back in highschool. Or dead.
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You are sitting in your car in the parking lot of Hildale High. Its been 10 years since you were last here. This town has few pleasant memories for you and, since your parents died, there hasn't been any reason to return.
You pull out your cell phone and dial your friend Larry back in California. The phone rings twice before Larry picks up.
"Andy, if you're calling me then you're not at the reunion. Did you chicken out or what?" says Larry.
"I just don't feel the need to go in. Just looking at the building makes me anxious," you reply.
Larry sighs in frustration. "Are you fucking kidding me? Listen, you're not 18 any more. You're 28 years old and those people who made your life hell back then are going to be bowing and scraping to you now."
"Because what did they do with their lives? Jack squat is what. And what did you do with your life? Oh yeah, just built one of the most innovative and talked about companies before you were even 26."
"So get in there and lay waste, my man. If you call me again it better be with some hottie hanging off your dick so you can tell me how right I am."
Larry finishes his tirade and you finally get a word in.
"You're never going to let me hear the end of this if I don't go in?"
"You're damn straight. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm getting some action tonight, and you'll do the same if you've got any brains. Remember, you're a big fucking deal now. You could buy that shit hole and then bulldoze it over if you wanted."
And with that Larry hangs up on you.
You know Larry is right. And yes you now have money than you would have ever expected to earn in a lifetime. Plus, you're not the scrawny kid you once were. You hit a late growth spurt after high school. In addition, money has in fact bought you happiness. Its gotten you the best chef/nutritionists, stylist, personal trainers, and personal shoppers. You look good and feel good and you are going to make everyone regret the day they'd ever looked down on you.
You get out of the car and walk in through the gymnasium door. There's a table by the door with two high school girls taking care of name tags. You glance down at the quick update sheet and skim the names on the list. Your eye lingers on the name Heather Cole, now Heather Hamill.
So she married that asshole jock, Buck Hamill. You think to yourself. Too bad.
Heather had been every guy's secret crush back in the day. You'd had to go to every football game when you were in marching band, but seeing Heather bounce and down in that short skirt and those huge knockers had made it all worth while.
Buck had been every late-blooming nerd's worst nightmare. The star quarter back of the high school team, he was never called on his harassment of you and other students. He had always been able to charm his way out of any situation.
"Hi!" Says an overly enthusiastic girl at the registration table. If you squint right she's almost cute despite the crooked nose and the under bite and a light sprinkling of acne.
Get a grip, you tell yourself. You're not ogling the high schoolers. You're here to show up your old classmates, and you're pretty sure getting friendly with someone 10 years your junior isn't going to do it. Though you are curious what she's hiding beneath her loose, ill fitting clothing that looks like it fell off the back of a goodwill truck.
"You must be Andrew Ward! I saw you on the cover of Newsweek in August. Its such an honor to meet you. I'm Sarah." She reaches out and pumps your hand in a firm handshake.
"Uh, yeah," you say. You take the sticker with your name and affix it to your shirt. You mentally berate yourself. Really suave. But Sarah seems unperturbed by your lack of verbosity.
"If you're not busy, I have some questions I'd really like to ask you. You're like my idol. I volunteered to work this event hoping that you would show up. If you've got a minute, I think I have some really fresh ideas and I would love a chance to do like even an unpaid internship or anything with your company. I'm graduating in a few months, but I can start anytime you want and..."
As Sarah spews her nervous verbal diarrhea at you, you hear another voice from just behind you.
"Hey Andy, my man, how have you been! Excellent timing seeing as how I was just leaving. A minute later and I would have missed you."
Its Buck. You're disappointed to see how kind the past 10 years have been to him. You'd been hoping he'd be pot-bellied, balding, with stained teeth. Instead he's still sporting boyish good looks and looking as fit as ever.
You're not disappointed to see his wife Heather, who is following a little ways behind Buck. She is not fat by any stretch of the imagination, but she has filled out more since you last saw her 10 years ago. Looking at her, you're pretty sure it all went to her boobs and her butt. You have to keep looking straight ahead otherwise you'll end up staring at her cleavage. Other than that, she hasn't changed much. She is still sporting bleach blonde hair down to her waist, painting her long nails pink, and wearing those dangling hoop earrings.
The frustrated look on her face is directed at Buck. |