Turn Around

  • Another story about the first time taken from behind. These are just the first paragraphs. To read the rest, you will have to visit Threadbare Evelyn’s blog Threadbare Fiction. Enjoy. And if you’ve told your story at your own blog, let us know.

She writes:

Written in response to RedBud’s First Time Taken From Behind challenge. Read his story – it’s amazing – and then contributions on the topic from some of his guest writers.


We were old enough, for the record. It was just that, in those days, where we grew up, high school seemed to go on forever. He’d lived around the corner from me for a few years by that point, in a quiet neighboorhood on the outskirts of the city, but only recently had a neighbourly friendship morphed into a frenzy of sexual exploration unbefitting our staid upper-middle class suburb. We fancied ourselves unique, and we could hardly wait to move in a few months to some bigger brighter place for whatever was to come next.

Both of us had strict parents – that, at least, was unique. His were religious, in a slightly frightening, slightly sweet, fundamentalist kind of way. Mine were just trying to protect me from some evil that I never quite understood. Our saving grace was that he had a basement room, which afforded a certain amount of privacy not available at my house, but more importantly, that basement room had a basement window. Many times we faked our goodbyes in the foyer of his family’s big pink brick house; he’d head to bed, and I’d sneak around to that nighttime portal and wait. It never took him long to let me in.

And once inside, in his single bed, under him and the old brown comforter, it never took long for me to let him in.  Read More.

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