Hi! I am Jenn. I enjoy writing romance and erotic short stories. I hope that you enjoy reading them!
The beginning of something new.
I've been coming to the park every day for a month. Hi. My name is Jack. I am not a writer, I am an artist. But I felt the need to chronicle this adventure. I will try to stick to the point, but it's so exciting I tend to get flustered.
Come, my dear, sit down beside me and let me tell you a story. This is a story of a woman, a girl really. A mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend. The story of a girl who rose from the ashes of what she thought her life would be. She imagined a family with a loving husband, kids, a happy career. What she got was terror, addiction, and running for her life.
The Rough Road Home
This is part three of the series, you can read the last installment Here. ***** He had his head under the hood of her Stingray when she got back to the shop. He must have heard her coming from miles away, in that beast he called a vehicle, but he kept his head under the hood of her car; waiting for her to acknowledge him? She didn't know. The questions started filling her mind again as she looked him over. He looked good, better than before if she was being honest. His blue jeans were stretched across his hips just the way jeans were supposed to be worn, he always had had the nicest firm ass. Now it was rounded with muscles that hadn't been there when he was a teenager. He was exactly as she remembered, but a little older, and rougher around the edges.
The Long, Winding Road
This is part two of this series, if you'd like to read the first one you can read it Here **** Present Day She stood in the open doorway with her mouth hanging open as she watched the Polaris Slingshot pull up in front of her garage. She had been working on restoring a '74 Stingray all afternoon and she was covered in grease. Grabbing a rag to clean her hands she went out to get a better look at the beautiful machine.
Dancing for the Dead
Her favourite flower was the common Marigold. Her friends often made fun of her because of it, asking why she didn’t like something more exotic like orchids, but she didn’t care. Marigolds held a magic for her, one she was unable to explain to anyone else.
Knitting a path to recovery
When I was young I learned how to knit and crochet. I earned some badges for Girl Guides and made some hideous dishcloths that my mother might have used once before "accidentally" losing them in the wash. Then as time passed I tried making other things. I finger knit scarves, and crocheted bathmats. I once made my best friend a mitten. I was so proud of that thing until she put it on her foot and pretended to be a monkey. I apparently had the gauge off. But I never tried to make the second one of the set. In fact, I put my knitting away completely for a few years.
Taking the Back Roads
Prologue She’d known them all her life, Cole and Maxine McAllister, the twins who lived down the road. She couldn’t remember a time that they hadn’t been in her life. Always there, always a supporting presence throughout her childhood. When they were children, the three of them could always be found together. The twins were only a year older than her, and they were thick as thieves running wild in the fields outside of town.
I let myself in after work. I call out to you in the back of the house and hear a mumbled reply. I know you’ve been working all day and you’re absorbed in your task. I bet you haven’t eaten or drank anything in a while either. I put the kettle on, it feels delightful to step out of my heels. I sigh in relief as my sore feet ease against the cool ceramic tile. I begin to relax as I pull the pins out of my hair, allowing it to fall down my back. Once the kettle whistles, I pour the hot water into a teapot. I look in the fridge and see that there is chocolate cake leftover from the birthday party we hosted the day before. Serving up two slices I put them with the teapot on a tray and carry them, barefoot, down the hall.