These days, I wax, but only out of nostalgia.
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Lydia considered fate had been inexplicably kind to her. She’d survived the 90’s with nothing more than a mild case of chlamydia.
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Gilles was French. But he bathed with surprising regularity.
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On her return from the launderette, Jackie discovered strange missives scrawled on the cotton gussets of her knickers. One said: “Repent. The End is Nigh.”
________
Now that masturbation had become fashionable, Russel eschewed all other sexual pursuits.
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It’s amazing how forlorn a fuck machine can look once the apocalypse has arrived.
Come on. Your turn. Have some fun.
Alright, it’s not an opening line, but I’m terrible at these games and this was the best I could come up with.
(For the MM, innuendo-laden version of Moby Dick)
“Call me, Ishmael!”
Here are the few I came up with. Hard to be self consciously literary without being goofy.:
The smoke curled up from Raynard’s Galoises like a finger in search of a G-spot.
—
I was warned when I moved to Oslo, there wasn’t much to do in the winter except fuck or paint, and I hated Munch.
—
Having poor circulation, Rebecca didn’t like masturbating in wintertime.
—
David was appalled at both the irony and mundanity that his dirtiest thoughts came to him in the shower.
I love that last one!
Philip’s editor was appalled to discover that not only were all the stories of sexual conquest and debauched weekends in his roman a clef completely true, but that he’d named the actual residences in the Hamptons where they’d occurred.
Geoffrey stared at the raindrops, slowly sliding down the window glass, much as his semen had done at the peep show on 48th.
Beaujolais nouveau tastes best, I learned, when pooled between a woman’s breasts.
She had the “rich girl slumming The Scene” vibe going, between the too-new hip high leather boots, the heavy black eye shadow, and the riding crop she tapped carelessly against her shoulder. The vibe that always faded when they discovered the denizens of this slum didn’t much care for amateur intruders.
Tbey say to begin at the beginning, which seems all wrong. For it’s always the final furious fuck that reveals the real truth of the soul.
Oh, Ed! THese are brilliant!
Thanks. I must admit to wondering myself what the rest of the story would be for a couple of them (particularly the second one).