(I could have used “Threesome” in the post title, but I didn’t feel like making an obvious pun.)
My tiny collection of three stories (can it really be called an anthology?) is coming along nicely, much to my surprise. I was of two opinions when it came to revisiting these pieces. On the one hand, it would be great to see how much I’ve improved as a writer and an editor, and to overhaul a project and finally get my writing career started. On the other hand, I was going to revisit some potentially atrocious stories.
Looking over old material is almost never pleasant. But you know something? The stories weren’t as terrible as I’d thought they would be. Turning them into better stories wasn’t the insurmountable challenge I’d feared. I’d heard about writers slaving over projects that turned out to be not worth the time or effort, and I’ve suffered through the same thing many times. It’s a relief to know that the first book I plan on releasing won’t meet the same fate.
Despite this small victory, Sweet, Spicy, Steamy won’t be published in May like I’d originally intended. Not only is there editing to be done, I have to prepare the manuscript for Smashwords’s Meatgrinder. (Trust me, it’s a bigger headache than it sounds.) I’m not even quite done with editing but I’m already researching on how to format for the dreaded process.
In the meantime, here’s a sample from the third story, Under the Trees. Out of all the three, this one is my favorite, probably because I spent more time with Freddi and I can relate to her on so many levels. (Nah, she’s not a self-insert. For example, Freddi’s got groovy curves while I have a bothersome muffin top. Okay, Freddi has one, too, but she can rock hers.)
This is the second edit of the story, so there are bound to be a few errors or redundant phrases. The third edit is coming around shortly, so you guys will be getting a more improved version. For now, please enjoy!
All text is copyright 2013 Sabrina Winters. All rights reserved.
Being sick of a lifetime of being shy and safe, Freddi Smythe decided that she was going to tear out of her comfort zone and do something outrageous. After some careful thinking, she decided that she was going to do five outrageous things before the year was over.
Quiet Freddi never got in trouble. She was a model student, always getting excellent grades and reporting trouble whenever she spotted it. It made her unpopular with most classmates, but the awards and accolades she received from teachers and faculty more than made up for it. At least, that’s what she told herself.
Her parents kept her safe. Strict curfews and bedtimes were the norm until the age of 18. She didn’t get her driver’s license until she was 20; she had her mother drive her to college until then. She didn’t get her first job until 23. Her first kiss came soon after—as did her first time with a guy, a coworker at a boutique on the Virginia Beach Oceanfront. Having a job afforded her the freedom she’d craved all her life.
But all the while, she watched her friends date, get jobs, and move out long before she ever did. She was a late bloomer in the social and emotional sense. The only advantage she had over them was that her body matured faster. But big curves at the age of 15 couldn’t make up for the nights she spent alone in her room while her buddies went wild on the town. Their memories would be exciting and worth telling; hers were worth burying and forgetting altogether.
She was smart, though. Without a real social life to speak of, Freddi had few outlets through which to spend her money. While her friends crashed into debt with credit cards and loans, she was funneling most of her earnings into savings accounts. She was almost afraid to let go of a single cent, and so the money sat mostly untouched for a few years.
At the age of 28, she used most of those funds to buy her first house. She was moving out of her parents’ home in Chesapeake, far away from their influence. Never again would they dictate her lifestyle or criticize every little choice she made. She was going to grow up and make up for lost time.
She ended up buying a very modest home in Virginia Beach, which was right next to Chesapeake. Still, it was her own place. It had to count.
Her new job at a distribution center also counted as part of the maturing process. It was her first real job; she worked full time and received benefits, something the crappy retail jobs never offered. But like at the other jobs she’d had, she was a hard worker. She never caused trouble or gossiped—which earned her the distrust of many female coworkers.
Freddi ignored them. She didn’t come to make friends. She came to earn money so she’d never have to go back to her parents’ place.
Working in inventory gave Freddi plenty of time to think. It was during one of these mind-numbing shifts that she got the idea to perform five outrageous things before the year was over. At the age of 30, it felt like she hadn’t lived yet. There was still so much catching up to do. Five big things throughout the year seemed like a perfect start.
Parasailing at Virginia Beach Oceanfront was the first task. Takeoff had left her with skinned knees and sand where she really didn’t want it, but soaring at penthouse heights above the water took her mind off the discomforts. Her long hair obscured most of her vision, but she considered it a plus.
Next up was riding a motorcycle, which definitely took her out of her comfort zone. Being atop a roaring piece of machinery without the benefit of seatbelt, airbags, or heavy metal sides made her realize just how fragile her body really was, and she held onto the instructor for dear life. It was a small accomplishment—and feeling the guy’s amazing abs was a definite plus. She’d expand that moment into a different kind of fantasy on lonely nights.
The third thing was difficult. She thought she could brainstorm an entire list of outrageous things, but one look at her paycheck and schedule told her that she needed to file down the options. Some things she also didn’t have the nerve for. There was no way she could afford a trip down the Grand Canyon on a burro. Forget parachuting. Roller coasters had the tendency to make her vomit everything she’d eaten... the day before.
That left free mic night at the Smiley Punk Comedy Club. She had plenty of material from her job at the distribution center, but preserving her dignity was more important. So she entered a baking contest. Her coffee marshmallows didn’t win, but she did get a mention in the article that ran in the Virginian-Pilot. Not quite outrageous. Just brave enough to count, though.
Now the fourth thing. Finding out what that was proved to be harder than she’d imagined. Her list had already been purged of ideas that were too time-consuming, pricey, or super outrageous. She was really going to need some imagination this time around.
Inspiration came in the unlikeliest of places. Working as an inventory clerk at the distribution center for Fellman, Inc. offered occasional surprises, like a rat or a bird that had found its way indoors, the alcoholic custodian found slumped over a crate, or various romance books or questionable magazines.
The most unsavory reading material was found in the darker aisles, toward the back of the building, in a row called aisle 43. Her first discovery back there was a Teen Fit magazine which she found hidden under a printout. She didn’t think anything of it at first, but later on when she returned to scan another bin, she noticed that the magazine was missing. Which meant that whoever had it didn’t want it to be found.
Which begged the question: what was a magazine geared towards girls ages 12 to 17 doing in a part of the building populated mostly by men over the age of 40?
She hated going back there ever since. But her job required her to head back there. Besides, with no physical proof, she couldn’t report the incident.
From then on, she kept finding pages from various adult magazines. She didn’t want to entertain the reason for the pages being torn out of their original source, but she made sure that she wore gloves when back in that aisle. Naturally, the managers were lax and didn’t investigate her discoveries.
Perverts could be found anywhere. Freddi had accepted that, but she refused to accept that one could work so closely with her. She was considering transferring to another department or center altogether when the pervert gave her the inspiration.
It was an ad torn out of a magazine for swingers. She’d heard of them, but this was the first time she’d seen a publication dedicated exclusively for them.
Well, if there’s a fetish, there’s material for it, she thought.
She picked up the ad. She almost didn’t look at it this time; at this point, it was programmed into her to turn in anything unsavory to management. But the picture of tall trees covered in mist caught her eye. Always a sucker for forest scenes, she took a closer look.
Uncover the joys of nature at Misty Cloak Forest! the ad declared. There is no better place to be natural than in nature!
After reading the rest of the ad, she pocketed it. It wouldn’t be seeing any manager’s eyes.
Later at home, she visited the website from the ad. Misty Cloak Forest was a nudist resort, and a highly reputable one from the sounds of it. Indeed, all the reviews she was able to pull up claimed the resort had a professional staff, a comfortable atmosphere, and plenty of scenic views to enjoy.
There was something titillating about the prospect of being naked in front of strangers. But who would want to see her childbearing hips and heavy breasts? She’d been with only five men, and all their time in the nude was spent in dim lights or total darkness. Her excuse was that sex was more exciting in the dark.
It wasn’t like she was going to be seeing any these people again.
She Googled pictures of nudist resorts. Some of the people featured in them weren’t in the best of shape; in fact, many of them were middle-aged. She had yet to see her first wrinkle. But still, how would she deal with seeing and being around naked people? The thought terrified her.
She walked away from the laptop for a bit. Across the room was a full length mirror. She approached it, pulling up her shirt to expose her belly. The muffin top had the benefit of no stretch marks, and fortunately, it wasn’t too visible in clothing. She poked it and grimaced when her finger sank in up to the second joint.
Next up for inspection was her butt. Some guys liked a big trunk, but what a joy it would have been to be able to buy size 6 jeans. She pulled her size 12 down to glance at the light cottage cheese decorating the sides of her cheeks. Then she realized that she was clenching her buttocks, and relaxed. The dimpling went away immediately. That was promising.
She turned to get a look at her thighs. Never in her entire life had they been apart. Good thing she didn’t care for corduroy pants, or she would have been starting a fire every day.
Overall, she was a chubby gal. Not wrinkly or saggy like the middle-aged nudists. Just a bit large in a few places. If there were obese fetishists, then someone out there was bound to love her.
She returned to the laptop. The shortest package Misty Cloak offered was two days and one night, but she couldn’t justify the time and gas for that trip. The next best package was three days and two nights.
She’d found her fourth outrageous thing.
