START

3

“Commence the intercourse,” instructed the voice.

She stared at it. She stared at it so, so hard. Perhaps if she stared long enough, she might change the voice’s nature. Maybe change the way that it spoke. What the hell was wrong with it, anyway? Why did it always have to be like this?

“What are you looking at?” it remarked, irritation inherent in its sonorousity. “Start fucking with me!”

She wanted to tell him that you cannot just ‘start fucking’. What is wrong with a little kiss, at first? A little tiny bit of exchanging saliva? What is wrong with that?

He became fidgety. Whole body started shaking. “Make love to me, otherwise I will experience epilepsy!” he warned her.

“You have to take me out, first,” she said, and at this he became surprised. It was as though a whole new concept — that she had a voice, and could speak.

The machine started to break down. It became rudderless, due to losing some fins. It began to skid. It started skidding. Skip, skip, skid.

‘Skidding.

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About runningvein
Avatar of runningvein
"My pieces comprise, entirely, works of fiction. Some pieces are shorts, others tend to get a little longer. Some are straightforward and may be read evenly, while others can tend to be amorphous. You see, sometimes the writer does his piece completely lucid, sitting straight up and staring intently into it as his fingers simply glide across the keys. Other times his eyes are opaque with tears from imaginary emotions. Sentences, nay, words, barely come out as he stabs at each letter with one trembling finger, like how your mom types. Then there are the times a piece of work is scrawled from a leaking pen on a notepad in a bar after several whiskeys, as the writer gleefully tries to get everything down before the bouncers come over to throw him out for laughing like a crazy person to himself all night. The writer cannot say what is good, or what is bad. He can only write. It does not do for one to rank a piece of his work above others, just as it does not do for one to deign to strive to be published. That must be left to others, to come and ask the writer if they may publish his work, and that all of the work would be copyright (c) him 2000-2009, if they were to do so. Some of the pieces may even seem far too real -- as though he's actually blogging about his real life, his personal thoughts. You know -- because it is a blog, some people may think that may be the case. Well it ain't, damn you, it ain't." The man in the tracksuit shrugged over the counter. "Thanks for the info, Hemingway," he said, "but I just wanted to know where the damn ATM is."

3 thoughts on “START”

  1. August 10, 2009 at 8:47 pm
    My Morning Story says:

    This story reminds me of ( Real Sex 11 ) or something from HBO when I was like 10!

    Agh The memories, before I realized what sex was lol

  2. August 11, 2009 at 4:13 pm
    TrueStoryGuy says:

    I want that machine!

    I mean … Never! >.>

  3. August 28, 2009 at 12:43 am
    Zukny says:

    Is it ok if i goto bed and dream bout some chick commencing intercourse? LOL

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