Examination

Discussion in 'Fictitious Stories' started by Aloha!, Jun 26, 2006.

  1. Aloha!

    Aloha! New Member

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    Hmmm, I know that I'm...to say the least...a newcomer to here and I really don't expect much feedback, let alone any good feedback on this, but I was extremely bored after my math final (only one final left!) and I had about an hour and a half to blow -snigger- so I decided to try my hand at writing something appropriate for these boards.

    Again, not expecting any good feedback, but any feedback at all would be nice...

    I have a fair bit more of this written out than I'm going to put, but I don't want to...bore...or...kill anyone with my aweful writing.

    This is about/will be about in a while/might be about if I continue a gay couple, and although I kind of doubt that people would be offended by that here you never know. I got fingered four times yesterday because people found out that I was about as straight as elbow macaroni, and I'm not in the mood to repeat the expirience, çava?

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    It’s funny how things turn out. An executive on the fast track to more money in a day than most people make in a year can fall flat on his face if the stock market falls. A trucker, grocery shopping at a gas station can fall into millions if he “wastes” two dollars on a lottery ticket. While my story isn’t one of riches lost or millions found, it’s a simple story about me and the life I’ve lived (don’t worry, I’ll try not to catch fisherman’s syndrome…too bad).

    I’ve always been short and asthmatic. There’s no way to put it other than that I was that kid who always got picked last in gym. Even at a very grumpy sixteen I barely hit the 5’2” mark on the large giraffe wall ruler at the doctor’s office.

    That’s not so bad, right? Sure I was short but would that just make me that much more cute? It most certainly did; I often had girls saying they’d like to fold me up and put me in their purses. I was asked quite a few times to go to dances, each time I smiled slightly, shaking my head, implying subtly that I was already “hitched”; I even added a small – no, that isn’t redundant – wink for good measure.

    It seemed that, at least for some girls, red hair, blue eyes, freckles, and a guy shorter than them was something likeable. They had a crush on a guy who looked like a leprechaun.

    I was once asked to go to a dance by Cindy Wheelwright (most people, especially the guys, called her Cindy Right); I knew that going to a dance with a tall voluptuous blonde on the school gymnastics team would help me lose the caste my stature had thrust me violently into. I thought about it for a few days and told her that I wasn’t going. She ended up going with Francis Carem, the biggest jock in the school.

    To tell the truth, I knew that Cindy would be the ticket to escaping being locked in a locker a few times a month; I would have gladly used that get out of jail free-card had my heart not already been sold.

    (might be continued...)
     
  2. Aloha!

    Aloha! New Member

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    Hehehe, I told you it wasn't very good...and...well...it doesn't really have too much in it...more history...the next bit I have has some more...meat...to it, but I haven't got to any good bits yet =/
     
  3. musc069

    Gold Member

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    Please continue. I like where this is going.
     
  4. hypolimnas

    hypolimnas Well-Known Member

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    Every story needs a setting, you'll get some great feed back if you get on with it, and suspend your own judgement. When you are finished you will be able to really see how it has turned out. Most people aren't a good judge of their own work. Go for it, it's an ok start. Good luck.
     
  5. MR.BLACK

    MR.BLACK Active Member

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    seem good so far i cant wait to see were this is going
     
  6. Aloha!

    Aloha! New Member

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    Heh, I never think my writing's any good...though...I am writing a novel at the moment...how's that for irony? Anywho, I shoul probably get on to transcribing the next...three pages I have written out...I stayed up for a while last night writing...

    Well, at least now I know I should continue :tongue:
     
  7. Matthew

    Gold Member

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    Might be easier if you used a different (bigger) font, friend.
     
  8. Aloha!

    Aloha! New Member

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    Alrighty, bigger font it is...

    Sorry 'bout not continuing...I had the next five pages typed up (yippee!) but my roommate's a dick and decided that he was going to delete the file after he forcibley removed me from my chair. Being a lot shorter than everyone you know is NOT fun.
     
  9. Big Irish

    Big Irish Member

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    learn to fight back. the shortest of people can still reach a dudes junk!:cool: good start though.
     
  10. D_Gunther Snotpole

    D_Gunther Snotpole Account Disabled

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    There are nice touches here, lots of them. Keep going, man.
     
  11. Aloha!

    Aloha! New Member

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    Okay, finally continuing...I would have continued earlier but I wrote it all out then my computer crashed and took the file with it...after that I got really pissy and almost forgot about the story...but...I finished transcribing what I had written, plus a little bit...I'm actually still working on it now but I figured that it would be best to put what I have before my computer decides to DIE again...

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    Mr Johnathan David Locklear, head of the phys ed department (cliché, I know) and the only person I had ever wanted to give myself to.

    He was 27 in my graduating year, 6”4’ (a good foot taller than me in my last year in high school), sun-touched skin, dark brown eye the girls fawned over, a fairly light blonde main of hair, constantly tied back in a disciplined ponytail hitting his back just in-between his muscular shoulders. Not to mention the most perfectly muscled body I’d ever seen – you know the type, big arms, chest, and legs; slim hips, &c. How did I know? He happened to go swimming every day at the very same pool my dad owned. I often sat by the lifeguards’ chair and merely watched him doing lengths; fast lengths, slow lengths, and the occasional dive that I would surely hurt myself were I to attempt.

    Every day though, I anxiously waited for his cool-down: ten minutes merely floating on his back, the skin on his chest glowing with that healthy light that people get when they exercise.

    I never however saw him naked, though I definitely could have, the excuse of needing to use the washroom (the only washrooms being inside the locker rooms, just around the corner from the showers – at least in the men’s locker room) just as he left the pool to go shower. It’s not that I wouldn’t have loved the opportunity, but I knew that I would almost certainly be seen and I had no desire to answer the ensuing questions the next day.

    Things continued much as they had up until graduation, the day arriving to find Cindy still locked to Francis’ arm, her along with every girl in the room tearing up as the principal made her speech, one thing left to be said: the final words, this year, like every other, to be said by a randomly selected student.

    The small slip of paper was pulled from the hat, not a voice sounding in the room until the principal announced what unlucky (or lucky, depending on who you asked) senior student would make the final speech, the words that would stay with the class for many, many years to come.

    With a slight pause the principal read the name on that little, fateful piece of paper, clutched tightly in her hand, “B…Ba…Mr Pentolor, you’re our final inspiration for high school! Come on up here!”

    I didn’t even realize that it was me until Patty (Patty LeMay, already a novelist in her own right and one of the only people I actually considered a friend) muttered quietly in my direction. It was then that my annoyance at the principal (after three years she should know how to say my name!) disappeared, its replacement a feeling of sheer terror.

    One person began clapping as I slowly stood, a few other hands copying the motion as I walked up to the large oak (or was it maple? I never did pay attention in shop class) podium. Even with a large wood block placed in the bottom I was still as tall as a twelve year-old. From the back of the room I heard a voice – I realized later that it was Francis – yell something which sounded a lot like “Get the baby a phone book!” The room erupted with laughter, a loud sharp whistle from the crowd of teachers behind me the only thing able to stem the students’ mirth.

    There was a pause and the sound of heavy footfalls behind me. “Now, I believe everyone in here has done or heard about my suicide runs? If you don’t wish to spend the next four hours doing them I would advise you listen to what Baal has to say.” I swear that for the next thirty seconds my heart stopped. It was the gruff low voice of Mr Locklear.

    The room fell suddenly quiet, the silence bearing down like the walls of a crypt. One minute passed, my voice catching cruelly in my throat every time I tried to speak. The principal began to say something but was cut short; it was around that time that I felt a large heavy hand on my shoulder. I could feel a large ring – felt like one of those big college rings – on one of the fingers. It was Mr Locklear’s hand.

    I heard him whisper something quietly to me though I didn’t hear exactly what he said. I did know though, that what he said would probably be along the lines of “You need to say something, even if you just make something up.”

    I looked down at the papers clutched in my white-knuckled hands. After shuffling the sheets around for a few moments, I began.

    To this day I still have no clue what I actually said…except for the first line. “It’s funny how these things turn out.”

    While that would be a good spot to finish the recanting of my tale, there’s more to tell, after all, my life as an adult was just beginning…

    Nothing too exciting happen to me over the next four years…I went to university where I made full use of the free gym and track facilities. While the extra bulk didn’t make me any taller, it did make me a little less shy…just a little.

    I was 23 when I started my own business using a large family loan (did I mention my family was rich? Okay, not rich, but definitely better off than most) and a fairly sizable loan from the bank. Baal’s Jewellers was in business.

    I was the store’s everything for a year and a half; I was manager, smith, salesman, and every other conceivable job that there could be in a jewellery shop – during that time I almost always had a thick layer of black soot on my hand, face, hair…everywhere, really.

    Lucy Pattle was hired a year, six months, twelve days after the store’s doors opened. She ran the people aspect of the store, and, if I ignored her constant flirting, she was nice.
     
  12. Aloha!

    Aloha! New Member

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    Once Lucy was hired I was actually able to have a social life…although…even with my new-found time I wasn’t able to find anyone…anything other than a few guys looking who felt like fulfilling their fantasies about screwing a little guy’s head in.

    Richard VanBon was hired soon after my 26th birthday (the store was about three years old at the time) to take care of some of the manufacturing processes (Lucy never did any of that leaving me to be the only true jeweller in the store) for me. This again allowed me to have more free-time. I began doing a small comedy piece at a club (I’d given up on finding “the guy” for a while…a long while), making a few extra dollars a month.

    It was a Wednesday the day that he walked into the club while I was delivering the last joke of my act. He sat down at the bar, shirt and pants almost obscenely tight.

    I fell silent, watching him order a drink quietly. There was a cough from the audience which drew my attention back to my act. “Ummm…I’m really sorry, folks, but that’s all I have for you tonight. Leprechaun, out.” I hurried off the small stage, bolting out the door.

    I heard the door open behind me as I hurried away from the club, though I didn’t think anything of it. That is…I didn’t think anything of it until I heard my name called by a voice that had rung in my head since graduation. “Baal…you were much better last week.”

    I turned around slowly to lay eyes on the speaker; a god among mortal: Johnathon David Locklear. “Uh…thanks…Mr….Locklear…sir.” Here was the man I’d thought about each of those times another fulfilling his fantasies using me, and I was calling him “sir”.

    He chuckled lightly, the sound like that of golden bells…at least to my ears. “Call me John. Gosh…I haven’t seen you in ages! Why don’t we go somewhere and have a coffee? Catch up on old times?”

    I don’t know what I said but next I knew I was firmly buckled into the passengers seat of his midnight-black convertible.

    “So, what have you been up too these last few years?” I mumbled something about my business, to which he questioned some more, first about the store then about my social life. There was only one thing that really surprised me about the rather one-sided conversation: his total lack of pause at my answer to his question about whether I’d found anyone yet, to which I replied “No, I haven’t found the right guy yet.”

    After that the drive was fairly uneventful so I won’t bore you by telling everything, though I will say that all through the drive I kept my eyes forward, worried that if I looked at him I would be unable to look away and would be asked why I was staring. I frequently felt him look at me, a smell…his smell filling the air even as it rushed by us, the heavy smell of his leather coat the only thing I specific that I could smell, the rushing wind blowing any other smells away.

    We stopped in front of a large house – I assumed it was his house, and it turned out I was right. It looked like one of those houses that you always dream about when you’re a little kid; the kind of house you tell your parents you’ll have when you grow up but never actually get…well…most people don’t normally get.

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    And there you have it...the rest of my crappy, crappy writing so far.

    And yes, I have realized that -insert wow here- even after nine handwritten pages there's still no graphic discriptions of Baal screwing of getting screwed...

    I believe strongly that the journey is more important than the destination...doubt many other people here think the same thing, but what ever :tongue:
     
  13. Aloha!

    Aloha! New Member

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    Wow...I stunned everyone into silence with my aweful frightening evil writing...I haven't done that since...wait...my writing often does that....
     
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