Take any one genre of popular fiction literature — Action-adventure, Crime, Detective, Fantasy, Horror, Mystery, Romance, Science fiction, Western, Inspirational, etc. — and write a (short) story in that genre, but make all aspects of the story grossly stereotypical for that genre to the point of over-the-top.
WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT
I park my car in front of the building, staring at myself with one eye through the mirror. It’s not dark yet but I can see the sun beginning to dissolve into the pink clouds, making it’s way down. I twist my toes around inside my high heels, taking my feet out of them and putting them back in. I hadn’t been able to look at Mark with a straight face when leaving work. It was like some sort of hot glass bubble was growing inside my chest and that if I’d lift my eyes it would touch my flesh, burning me.
But I’m burning anyway.
I take the key out of the ignition and shove it in my purse, taking a final look at the mirror. I can’t help but grimace at what I’m seeing, my teeth sticking out to bite on my lip in agitation, near to drawing blood. I coat the area with some lipstick, hoping it would cover the taste, wobbling slightly as I step onto the slightly wet pavement. I extend my hand towards the buzzer, about to press it.
I jump as I hear a knock on the glass door, hitting my hand on the brick wall.
“I’m sorry! Did I scare you?” she says as she opens the door for me, immediately taking my hand into her grasp. “The elevator’s broken and the stairs are a bit hard to find so I came downstairs.”
I part my lips slightly to breathe in, suddenly out of words as she holds my hand to her face. “Yeah—“ I stammer, closing and opening my eyes. “You did scare me.”
She presses her lips to the palm of my hand, smiling unevenly. “I’m sorry. You get to choose the first film. As an apology.” She traces her fingertips along the burnt skin. “Unless there’s something else you’d like?” She grins, her touch only making my skin burn more.
I look down. “I think that would cover it. I’m not lethally wounded.”
I laugh, looking up to find her in front of me. I freeze as her eyes scan my face, her hand slowly setting mine back down. She grips the sides of my jacket, pulling me indoors, making me stumble over the threshold and smash against her again.
“Someone’s a little clumsy,” she whispers, peeling off my jacket as she leads me towards the stairs.
“Always been, I’m afraid,” I say, looking at the dark walls as she leads me on. “Where exactly are the stairs?” I glance over my shoulder to find yellow and gray tape covering the elevator doors.
“Just around that corner. We don’t have to climb much, it’s only the second floor,” she muses, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Do you have a favorite?” she says in an echo, glancing back at me.
“Of what? Foreign films?”
“I’ve only seen about one and a half, so I don’t suppose I have one.”
“Oh,” she says, turning around at the landing. “My Mom adores them. I’ll have to give you a list.” She grins, clip-clapping to the left.
What the fuck is all this?
I reply in some sort of undecided hum as I trail behind her, tucking at the seam of my top. I slip my hand down my thigh, pressing my nails against my skin through my jeans, breathing in slowly as I wait for her to open the door in a series of clings. She dashes inside, throwing the keys to a bowl at the table next to the wall.
She turns around to look at me, smiling. I smile back, walking toward her. I see her lift her foot off the ground, making me chuckle. “You still have them, huh?”
“They’re as good as new. Though some color came off the side but I had that fixed long ago,” she says, grinning.
“Well that’s good.”
“Was it your idea or mine?” she says, lifting an eyebrow.
I close the gap between us, laughing. “Yours. All yours.”
“Damn,” she murmurs, tilting her head. “I was so sure it was you.” She places her hand on my shoulder, letting her fingertips trickle down my arm as I open my mouth to reply.
“You can’t always win.” I shake my head slowly, leaning in to press my lips to her cheek, leaving a red mark. I lick my thumb, swiping it across her cheek in an attempt to rub the lipstick off her skin. I only end up smearing it.
She laughs quietly, interlocking my fingers with hers. “Would you like something to drink?” Her eyes linger at my parted lips before drifting up, squeezing at my hand as her gaze clicks into mine. I ask for some cold water as she walks us toward the kitchen, turning the tap on before letting slowly go of my hand. She leans her head under the flow of water, letting it slip down her cheek and dissolve my mark.
“There are glasses in the cupboard behind you,” she sings out, wiping her face on a little towel that was probably meant for dishes, a pink line painted on the white fabric. I fetch two glasses, placing them in her hands. “Thanks.”
She steps to the freezer, setting one glass beneath the ice machine. It only gurgles in pain, not providing us with anything. She laughs, turning to me with her lips curling downward into a pout. I move behind her, setting one hand on her hip and the other to the hand holding the glass, adjusting it. “You’re doing it wrong,” I whisper, pressing my body against hers. “It’s all about the angle. Mark has one of these at the restaurant.” I pull the glass up while pressing the rim to the machine, slipping my hand down her thigh, my thumb brushing along the zipper of her jeans.
She grins, leaning her head back on my shoulder. “Good to know.” She sets the glass on the table, her hand drifting to mine, guiding it to nestle between her thighs. I hold my palm up, pressing my wrist down against her, making her melt against me.
I listen to her breathe out slowly as I rest my palm back down, letting it descend a bit further as I feel her back arch, her shoulder blades pressed to my chest. She laughs quietly, extending her hand out towards the empty glass.
“Your glass doesn’t have ice yet,” she says, handing it to me while twisting her head around to steal a kiss. I place it underneath the machine like before, the clinking of the ice making my head throb as I walk to the sink for the water.
I glance back over my shoulder at Olivia before turning around, placing the cold glass in her hands before holding her close with my free hand, droplets of icy water trickling down the side of it and onto the little streak of skin between the hem of my top and the waist of my jeans.
I drink my water all at once, my brain not yet defrosted as my back is pushed against the refrigerator. I put the glass far away to the back of the counter; the cool metal door glued to my skin as she pins my hands right above my head.
“I don’t suppose the DVD’s been misplaced?” I murmur into her ear, placing a light kiss right below her earlobe. Emily loved that — loves. Emily… Oh, fuck.
“Oh not at all.” She leans her body to mine, her right hipbone pressing to my clit, making me whimper. She laughs quietly, whispering against my lips: “I just prefer live entertainment.”
I part my lips slightly, catching her warm breath in my mouth. “I’m sorry to be a disappointment but, I don’t speak any foreign languages,” I say, grinning slightly as my hands venture along her abdomen. “Will you forgive me?”
She sinks her nails into my wrists, resting all of her weight against me. I giggle as I hear the refrigerator clink to the wall, squirming as I feel her hip pressed tightly to my core. She leans her head to my neck, brushing her lower lip along my skin. “We’ll see. I might,” she laughs, her hot breath seeping through my top.
I slip my hands down her sides, pulling her further against me as my hips buck to her touch, clenching my teeth together as I draw in a sharp breath. Please just take me far away. Fuck me and forget me…
She leans over to the counter to get the glass I’d pushed away one hand, drinking from it while holding my hands captive with the other. I grin as I watch her catch a block of ice between her teeth, hooking my leg over her hip to pull her close again. “So Mark won’t be coming back for the night?”
She shakes her head while pressing her lips to mine, pushing the ice into my mouth with her tongue before letting go of my hands. She pushes herself back, making the fridge clink against the wall again. “He won’t be back till late tomorrow night,” she sings out as she walks toward the hallway, glancing back at me from over her shoulder. I crunch down on the ice, shivering as I unglue myself from the refrigerator.
“Busy guy,” I mumble to myself as I trail after her, holding my hand to my collarbone.
“Not always,” she says, turning around. She grins, opening the door to Mark’s bedroom while kissing my lips. “But I hate being bored when he is—“
“So you throw four-inch heels down from high buildings?” I raise an eyebrow at her, sitting down on the bed. The sheets are scratchy.
“Yes,” she says, laughing. “Among other things.”
I grin, holding my hand out to her. “Come here.”
She sits down in my lap, draping her legs over my hips. “You know, I would appreciate if you didn’t mention it to Mark that—“
“Of course not,” I whisper, slipping my hands to her hips. I taste blood again as I brush my tongue over my lower lip.
She grins, pushing me down on my back. I watch the ceiling as she rolls my top up my stomach, trailing kisses around my navel, her lips freezing against my skin. I try to sit up but she pushes me back down, unzipping my jeans.
An image flashes before my eyes like a fucking strobe light.
I lean up on my elbows, watching her as she slips her hand beneath the fabric. Truth be told, I need the distraction.