# 2/9/12 - LM - Sex Tape



## Potty (Sep 2, 2012)

*ATTENTION!!*Due to the provocative nature of the prompt this month, I wish to inform entrants that any stories entered ignoring forum rules on graphic content will be removed. This theme is not an excuse to disregard forum policy.
*

LITERARY MANEUVERS*
Sex Tape​
*A reminder of the prizes awarded to the winner of the LM.*

The winner will receive a forum award which will be pinned to their lapel by Baron himself. Also the winner will be awarded with a one month free subscription to the forums (FoWF) which will give you access to additional forums and use of the chat room where a there is a steadily growing community!

So, do your best!


*Our prompt for this months competition is: 

**Sex Tape.*

In 650 words, write a story where the prompt above is either the title, or is included in the story, or is in some way the theme of the story. So there should be many ways to connect to the prompt.


*The judges for this round are: 

KyleColorado; BilstonBlue; Fin; Noxicity 

*(To the judges, send your scores to Potty via PM - and if we could aim to have them sent a week after the closing date that would be ideal.)


*Now a recap of the rules:

*1.The word limit is 650 words not including the title. If you go over - Your story will not be counted.
2.You can no longer edit your entry after posting. There will be a 10-minute grace period, if you want to go in there and edit a typo or something, but you should approach this as if you were submitting your work to be published and paid for. When you submit, that should be your final work, the work you are happy with.
3.And of course, there can only be one entry per member.

No comments in this thread please - Only competition entries (and links to) to be posted in this thread.
Also hold off on "liking" stories until the judging's done.

*ATTENTION!!*Due to the provocative nature of the prompt this month, I wish to inform entrants that any stories entered ignoring forum rules on graphic content will be removed. This theme is not an excuse to disregard forum policy.


*There are two ways to post your entry:*

You can opt to have your entry posted in the LM Workshop Thread which is a special thread just for LM entries in the Writer's Workshop. You would put your story there if you wish to protect your first rights (in case you want to someday submit the work to a magazine or whatnot). Take note: If you have elected to put your entry there in the Workshop thread you must copy the link into the main competition thread or else it will not be counted.

If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you could place your here entry in the LM Challenge thread.

Everyone is welcome to participate. Judges are welcome to participate, too, but their entries will not receive a score.


*This competition will close on:

*Sunday the 16th of September. To avoid confusion the thread will close at 11:59pm (Sunday Night) LOS ANGELES, USA time.

*ATTENTION!!*Due to the provocative nature of the prompt this month, I wish to inform entrants that any stories entered ignoring forum rules on graphic content will be removed. This theme is not an excuse to disregard forum policy.

Now then, go forth and write! (Cleanly!)


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## Dave Watson (Sep 3, 2012)

http://www.writingforums.com/writers-workshop/132550-02-09-12-lm-sex-tape-workshop-thread.html


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## Deleted member 49710 (Sep 4, 2012)

Ending
(Language)


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## Terry D (Sep 4, 2012)

http://www.writingforums.com/writer...-lm-sex-tape-workshop-thread.html#post1555031


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## Chris Miller (Sep 4, 2012)

Panorama


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## Arcopitcairn (Sep 5, 2012)

Prince Dreamshine and Fufflemuff at Mount Starstuff

  In a rush of rainbow sparkles flew Fufflemuff, the gossamer winged, pink unicorn. Over the rustling green canopy of Furthest Forest, The Last Place, the mighty beast swooped, raking the uppermost leaves of the trees with his shiny, love-colored hooves.


  Prince Dreamshine, with handfuls of cotton candy mane, rode upon Fufflemuff’s proud back. Dreamshine’s elven face flashed a smile in the perfect sun, and his luxurious eyelashes protected his startling green eyes from the dusty sugar sprinkles that burst in clouds from Fufflemuff’s beating wings. Dreamshine was shirtless, wearing only leather breeches, and his bare feet caressed the unicorn’s velvet hide as they soared. A glistening sheen of sweat highlighted Dreamshine’s perfectly-muscled body, and tiny bits of magic ort and butterscotch dreams clung to his flowing blond as the pair dove low over the King’s Fields and its hundreds of miles of swaying flowers. 


  Mount Starstuff, with its cosmic snow peaks, loomed ahead. They passed close, taking in the beauty of the mythical mountain. Miracle streams flashed with undine smiles, snaking down the mountain in glowing rivulets, runoff from the ghostly, nebula-fogged ridges above. Trees waved and called his name as Dreamshine buzzed the peaks, keen on spotting any careless nymphs who often sunned their pale bodies on the moss-covered crags, believing themselves safe in their unwary nakedness, so high in the sky. The green-haired girls would scream as he flew by on Fufflemuff, and they would bashfully hurl themselves into the underbrush, ripping up handfuls of roots and vines to cover their sun-kissed flesh. It was Dreamshine’s favorite pastime, and if the nymphs could catch him, they would flip their weed-tangled hair in his face, whisper honey-dripping spells in his ears, and he would be in their thrall forever. But they could not catch him. They could only curse at him and throw rocks from their shady warrens. But they threw like girls, and he laughed and laughed.


  Nova-bursts crackled and danced in their wake as Fufflemuff’s wing skimmed the tumbling black voids of the star-jeweled waterfalls.  Dreamshine saw something, a glinting flash from below, like the pulse from a dying sun flickering in one of the streams that lazily flowed from the foot of the mountain. It was a metal something-or-other, poked at by sunlight, and whatever it was, it wasn’t there yesterday.


  “Something below, friend!” Dreamshine hollered against the scented winds, “Something new!”


  Fufflemuff had seen it too, and the unicorn spiraled downwards like a leaf until he landed on the white sand bank of the bubbling stream.


  Dreamshine leapt from the back of his friend, and the unicorn angled his large black eyes to see what mystery lied shining.  The prince squatted by the stream and dipped his hand into the cool water. He brought out a round tin of colored metal with words embossed on the front in striking red. It was small, like a disc, and it had a catch that would open, promising to reveal whatever shifted inside as Dreamshine turned the tin over in his hands, inspecting it carefully. The letters on the front of the tin spelled out ‘Sex Tape’ in bold script.


  “It says ‘Sex Tape’, Fufflemuff.” Dreamshine said, his fine features twisting in thought. “Should I open it?”


  “It looks to be from the world of men, my Prince.” Fufflemuff said, “Perhaps you should take it to the King. He’ll know what to do with it.”


  “I can make a decision without the aid of the King!” Dreamshine snapped. And he opened the tin. Inside was a roll of black adhesive tape, shiny and rubbery. The Prince looked at the roll for a moment, and he showed it to the unicorn, who shrugged as best as a unicorn could. Dreamshine closed the tin and jumped on Fufflemuff’s back.


  “We’ll throw it at the nymphs!” Dreamshine said. And that’s just what they did.


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## JackKnife (Sep 5, 2012)

Sex Tape - (Uses of language)

Six years and a day. That’s how long it took to stop the madness.

The young man returned home to the lens of his sweetheart’s newest gadget, recording his every move, every twitch of his mouth, and every quiver of her hands. Eventually, she stopped rolling and ran to him, swung in strong arms, tears staining olive cotton.

Over time, the couple had three children – Daniel, Elise, and Patrick – and the Brownie captured each birth. “Christ! How does this thing even work?” he shouted as they raced through the hospital to the delivery room. Her screams and curses did not help, but through the prompts of the nurses, he figured it out.

When the two of them walked the aisle, he wanted to wear a suit three sizes too large which once belonged to his more broad-shouldered father. She insisted he get fitted.

“It’s a waste of money. It doesn’t matter,” he answered simply. “Nobody will be looking at me.”

“I will.”

Daniel was entrusted with the camera on their wedding. His mother insisted he hold it steady and capture every moment. In stunning colour, it would remember the man’s grey suit and white lapel and her pallid blue dress.

Their children grew tall and money grew tight. To his wife’s distress, the Brownie was sold to make ends meet. To her husband’s protest, she brought home another just weeks later, though it only took stills.

“Look at these!” Patrick commented on a visit with his parents as they went through the old film reels.

“Don’t you goddamn touch them,” answered his father with a steely glare.

“Dad, look. There’s this thing called VHS now. They can transfer these before the dinosaurs come and chew them up.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” yelled his father back. “I said—“

“Dear.” Her warm hand rubbed his bristly arm. “Maybe we should. You don’t want to lose all our pictures, do you?”

Patrick returned with a little black box and a tape. He showed them how to connect the player to their TV and boasted how much easier this was to store. “Look,” he demonstrated, placing a white sticker over the end, “You can even label it so you don’t forget.”

The old man did label it. It wasn’t that he worried about forgetting. How could he? He just didn’t want his kids looking at or touching it. Along with the label, he began to hide all of their photographs within the tape’s sleeve.

Decades stole the woman’s mind. Their pictures, moving and still, became a means to remember. It didn’t take long before supportive care was needed and she left home, but her husband visited daily and they spoke of the tape and photos and what once was.

She passed first. He followed only a year later. The estate sale was a matter of sorting through army relics, magazines, and clothing. “What _is _this?” Elise asked her brothers, holding her mother’s Brownie. “Is it a camera? It’s huge.”

“It’s five bucks,” replied Daniel as he thumbed through the magazines. “Maybe some old biddy’ll grab it for nostalgia’s sake.”

With a sigh, Patrick mumbled, “There’s nothing here. This won’t even cover the funeral.” He sorted diligently through their bedroom – the bookcases, the drawers, strongboxes, and closets – then recoiled with a gasp. “Holy shit!”

Their brother’s exclamation drew immediate attention and they gathered to see what horrified him so. A collective grimace ensued. “Are you serious?” groaned Elise. “Pat, throw that out.”

“God, why me?”

“Because I said so!”

With all the grace of a man picking up after his dog on the neighbour’s lawn, Patrick found a plastic bag and grabbed it. All the way outside, he lamented his life and situation aloud. “Good god,” he whined as he dropped the sleeved tape in the garbage.“’Sex Tape’… really, Dad?”

Without a second look, he walked back into the house, shaking his head.


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## KarlR (Sep 5, 2012)

Sex Tape
A sea of stars glittered before her, bright sequins stitched to a deep, black velvet sky. 
Playful breezes tossed her hair and ruffled in her ears. Points of light above were reflected in 
the calm surface of the bay, far below. She was suspended,perfectly, between heaven and earth.

The night wind carried with it a dank tang of low tide. She swayed to the rhythm of invisible 
eddies and currents, completely enveloped in the moment.

Flashing lights and crazed noises were behind her here.

Carley Womack took stock of her current position. It was complex. First there was Michael.
Sweet, wonderful Michael. Fifteen? No, _six_teen years. Dear God. Where does the time go?
Michael was poorly equipped for this. It was he who would suffer the most.

And Jack. Jack was a fixer. He enjoyed a good, challenging problem like no-one she’d ever 
met. Jack couldn’t wait to fix this one.

She breathed in deep. The night air was cleansing. She released Michael with the first
breath. “He loves me,” she thought. “That has always been our strength.”

She inhaled again, this one deeper than the last. She blew out this breath slowly but
forcefully. She aimed her exhalation at the sky. “Let Jack be a problem for the stars,” she thought.
“He’s always liked working with the stars.”

She closed her eyes and, in the blackness, saw the same velvet blanket speckled with 
the same stars. Her thoughts began to drift.

_She was on her knees._ _There was a man beneath her.__Another behind her.
__Still another….__ She was surrounded by warm flesh.__By need._ _By raw desire._ _And 
__she __was the focus of that desire._ _She was there again, and it was good.__Hands, 
skin, bodies—the smells of wanton lust—yes, it was good._

Television can be so cruel.

There was a shout. Was it in her memory or carried on the night wind?

She opened her eyes. The stars remained fixed in their high perch. The bay rested 
peacefully below. She was balanced still in that perfect place, beneath the heavens and above her
life. She took another deep breath. She was grateful for the night and its gentle embrace.

_Her mind flashed again to the crowd of warm flesh.__“Three!”_ _She smiled._ 
_Never before had she had three.__“Delicious."

_Again, the voices. This time they were close; demanding.

“Carley!”

Dammit, it was Jack. Always trying to fix things.

“Congresswoman! San Francisco police! Step back. We just want to help.”

Michel’s voice now cut through the din. “Carley! Baby, give me your hand. Come back with us,
Carley, please....”

There was more. There was a blur of rushing bodies and a confusion of grasping hands. It
didn’t matter.

She gave herself to empty air. Tumbling slowly into the waiting night, she half-wondered if the sea
could wash away all of the problems in the world—and not just the troubles of one woman 
and a sex tape. ​​


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## Kyle R (Sep 6, 2012)

*Spin-Cycle (Judge Entry)
*http://www.writingforums.com/writer...-lm-sex-tape-workshop-thread.html#post1555479


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## Potty (Sep 6, 2012)

MisterTributes Entry;

http://www.writingforums.com/writer...-lm-sex-tape-workshop-thread.html#post1555546


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## Jon M (Sep 9, 2012)

Kids​


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## Sunny (Sep 10, 2012)

*Sex Tape*​

Cold crawls under my feet and bites at my toes. My hands have gone numb. 

I watch my father's life timing out by the minute, and all I can think of is if I forgot to turn the stove off. 

He stares at the ceiling as though the dingy tiles over his head hold the answers to every question he's ever had. His lips curve into the shape of a smile I've only seen in black and white, half glued to yellowed album pages, faded over decades. 

I reach out to hold his hand, and the gesture feels foreign. I rub my thumb over the wrinkles of his age spotted skin and I try to memorize the softness I feel. His veins turn a bright blue as he presses his palm against my fingers and grips my hand in his. 

I feel a sob creep up my throat, but I swallow the sadness with a gulping noise through a twisted grin. It's dark inside his hospital room. The rain drips down the windowpane and I find myself drifting through the beeps of his heart monitor to my past. 

My father claps and cheers, “You're doing it. You're doing it.” His voice echoes with admiration when I pedal away on my bicycle for the first time.  

“Sex tape,” whispers from his lips, pulling me from my youth. 

I lean forward as my father slowly turns his face and focuses his tired eyes on mine. My heart starts to thrum in my chest like a humming bird. I feel my fingertips start to tingle. 

“D-dad? Do you need a nurse?” I ask with a nervous stutter.

“Sex tape,” he says a little louder. The smile that spreads across his dentures seems so out of place. 

“Maybe it's the pain med's.” My husband's lips brush against my ear. 

I know he's likely right. My father _was _talking about monkeys hanging from his bed-rails just yesterday. 

“What about a sex tape, Dad?” I lean even closer, rubbing his shoulder with my free hand. I want him to know I'm here, I'm listening. 

“Your mother. Your mother,” he keeps repeating with his eyes fluttering open, then closed, over and over. 

Minutes pass, his voice turns to quiet murmurs. His hand goes slack in mine and I watch his smile fade; not to a frown --but to nothing at all. Just a blankness, like a book of white pages with no story to tell. 

***​
“It's hard being back here.” My husband peeks through the curtain into the backyard. 

“You okay?” I ask, digging through a cardboard box labelled _Important_.

“Sure, Love. Just find what you need,” he says, twisting the curtains into his fist. 

I find the tapes easily: _Christmas 1982, Kindergarden play, _and _Sex Tape_. The words make my heart pound and a bead of sweat trickles down my spine. 

“Found it,” I say, holding the tape in my hand, not sure what to do with it. “Will you watch it for me?” 

My husband doesn't hesitate, “Sure honey.” He takes the tape and walks toward the VCR. 

I hear my father's laugh from the other room, and I'm curious all of sudden. 

I stand in the doorway of his bedroom and the yellow sun shines through the television, even though it's filtered through fuzzy videotape. 

The camera sits in a tree, half focused through branches and leaves at the bottom of the image. It's pointed toward my father and a woman holding a baby. She's wearing a green sundress and it dips low, showing her cleavage as she leans over the child, kissing it's tiny nose with tears streaking through the rouge on her cheeks. When she looks back to the camera, I see myself in my mother's gaze for the first time. I smile, knowing why the tape is labelled with _sex. _


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## Artanyis (Sep 11, 2012)

*An Envelope in the Morning*

I looked at the letter in disgust.  It must be some kind of sick joke.  Why would someone blackmail me?  It just didn’t make sense to me, I’m a nobody.  Worse actually, I’m a broke nobody.  This must be some kind of mistake, or a prank.  That’s what it is.  Someone is playing a prank on me.

                My mind whirled though another dozen thoughts as I stared down at the piece of paper in my hands.  I had found it sitting on my desk when I woke up this morning.  I still have no idea how it got there, my apartment is locked at all times; I don’t have a choice in the matter, all of the student apartments lock automatically.  And it is actual paper, who uses paper anymore?  Let alone writes a letter.  Then when you add in the fact that whoever put it here had to get into my apartment.  I shook my head in disbelief.  The handwriting on it is smooth and elegant, an impressive counter to my own scribbling style.  But then again, who actually writes anymore, there just isn’t much point.

                I lifted my arm and pulled up the security log for my room, it showed that there had been no access on either the door or the single window since I last came in at one twelve in the morning.  Well that couldn’t be accurate, someone must have hacked the security network for my apartment.  I put my finger into the holographic display coming from my arm and pulled it over to the terminal at my desk.  There must be some trace of who had been here.  I pulled up the SecNet and logged in as myself.  I’m just a tenant so I don’t have much access, but once in I can trip the system into thinking I’m an Analyst by using a virus to pull out my own credentials.  It’s a flaw in the system that a lot of these cheaper apartments use for their security, for some reason when you try to give a command while logged in, but don’t have any account credentials it makes you an Analyst User.  Analysts don’t have any real power, but they can see everything, the cameras in the halls, the security logs for all the rooms, and best of all, the caches of temp files left from every action performed while in the SecNet.

                I opened the cache and started poring through it.  Six hours later, I had still not found anything.  Every pile of commands went somewhere and none of it was to my room.  Worse yet the video log from my door showed that no one had come in.  This hack took some serious work, I could do it if I really tried, but none of my friends are that skilled.  Worse yet, I don’t think anyone I know has handwriting that nice.

                I looked at the letter again; it said to meet at the docks at twenty two hundred tonight.  I guess I don’t really have a choice now; I need to know what’s going on.

                The next five and a half hours felt like a million years.  Finally the time came and I headed to the docks.  There wasn’t much left of the space docks after the elevator had been finished; now it was a favorite place for refugees to hide out; nothing but tall broken concrete, deep pits, and no light.  I went over to the pier that was listed in the letter and waited.

                A tall figure approached, I couldn’t tell male or female, but the voice sounded male.

                “I brought the money.  Now where’s the sex tape?”

                I scratched the top of my head in confusion and felt dried blood.  Pain shot through me as I probed, I had a flood of partial memories; slipping and hitting my head, a writing computer.  Then it all went black.


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## bazz cargo (Sep 12, 2012)

It had been a long day. (300 words).
By  
Bazz cargo.


I woke up. The television was mumbling to itself and our kitten was curled up on my lap. I could hear strange noises coming from beyond the living room door. Carefully I picked up Mouser and carried her toward the sounds.


Helen, my beloved wife, was sitting on the top stair. She had one hand pushing the other one into her mouth in a so so attempt at muffling her laughter.  


As silently as I could I made my way up and sat beside her. Through Ed's bedroom door we could hear the twins talking.


“Did too.” That was eight-year-old Ed. Ever since he had been told he was eldest by seven minutes he had considered himself the Authority. Our Ed was going to be top dog and Meridith was not going to get a say in it.


“Did not,” said Meridith. Arch cynic and Ed's nemesis.    


“I was there. I know all about it,” said Ed. At their age it took a parent to be able to tell them apart vocally.


“So, just exactly what was on this video?” The tone of deep suspicion.


“Ree po duck ton. Where babies come from.” Far too smug for his own good.


“So, where do they come from?”


“We'ell. A chicken lays an egg inside mummy's tummy.”


A determined tone enters Meridith's voice. “How does it get inside?”


“It lays an egg on her tummy and pushes it through the belly button.”


“Okay...Then what?”


“We'ell, Daddy has this tentacle that squirts ink at it. Like a squid.”


Meridith sniffed. “Sounds awfully complicated.”


“It's how it works. Daddy squirts squink at the egg and it hatches.”


“I won't let no chicken near me.”


“So, how will you have kids then?”


There was a pause while Meridith considered. “Buy them at the supermarket.”


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## FleshEater (Sep 12, 2012)

Diclosure; Content

If this is too graphic, please feel free to remove it. 

I'm still getting used to this forum...this posted for 1 second and then was removed from being posted...I have no idea why.


Finding Happiness
By Matthew A. Campbell​

Sometimes I sit and I dream of what it would be like to be “normal”. What it would be like to be truly loved. To have parents that would lose sight of themselves and lose all meaning of life if you were to just, disappear. 

I don't think about those things very often though. 

Instead I sit, and allow a dark and insatiable hatred to grow within me. I despise the hatred. It makes me sick to think of myself turning into a monster. Becoming completely devoid of sympathy, of all emotions but that one. I wish that I had the strength to end all of this misery, to make everything just go away, but I can't. My vengeful desire has kept me from committing myself to the grave. I keep thinking it will get better someday.

Today was the day everything changed. 

I'm sitting here, in the cellar, on the edge of the bed. The camcorder is resting on its tripod, towering over me like it had so many times before.

This is where they did those awful things to me. They told me not to worry, that it was normal and this is what parents do. They told me not to tell anyone. 

It's been ten years of that punishment. Ten long years of hiding the secrets within myself, hiding the bruises and the humility. 

I stare at that camcorder with such anger and disgust. Sometimes I would blame “it” so that I could imagine it wasn't their fault, that they still loved me, and that the camera made them do it. That's when I was younger, when I still cared about them and their empty “love”. Now I know the truth of what they were. 

The VHS cassettes line the shelves in the cellar closet. They're numbered, all in numerical order and neatly placed. They don't have titles, all they have is a collective title; “Sex Tapes”. Their shameful, disturbing, hidden library. I feel like vomiting at the immense display of perversion. 

None of this matters now. 

I said that everything changed today. Today was the day I grew up to be just like them. The only difference is that my sickness is of an entirely different nature. 

I'm sure they were proud of me. Seeing their “little boy” all grown up and fulfilling his own passionate desires. I could read the pride on their faces as they stared into that dark abyss of the lens. For once I could see the love they held for me in their eyes. They never told me that they loved me, they didn't have too, I knew they did. 

I sit here on the bed, remembering all those horrifying things they did to me. The hatred is still there, it's still hungry, but for now it's satisfied. 

It's terrible, what I did. I don't know why, but they look happier now, we all look happier now. Maybe it's the crimson smiles I painted on all of our faces. 

I laid down between my parents on that filthy, gross bed that's wrapped in plastic. I never got to cry myself to sleep in their bed at night when I was young and scared. Now I can. I know they'd tell me they loved me if they could. 

The thick, warm puddle of blood is like a comforting blanket. 

I think I know what it's like now to have the parents I used to dream about. 

​


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## garza (Sep 13, 2012)

*Sex 1979*

'See?' said Roddy. 'Sex 1979.'

The pencilled lettering on the paper label was faint but readable. 'Sex 1979'.

'Wow,' said J-J. 'Did they know about sex back then?'

'I guess,' said Roddy.

J-J. turned the black plastic cassette over in his hands. Beside the boys on the floor sat a large cardboard box filled with VHS tapes.

'What do you call this?'

'A tape cassette. It works in my dad's video player,' said Roddy. He pointed to a VCR on top of the television. 'It's how they watched movies when my dad was a kid. He taught me to run it. The box is full of movies and TV shows from the old days. I found the sex tape at the bottom. I'll bet my grandmother never knew about it.'

'Have you watched it?'

'Not yet. Today's the first day everybody's been gone.'   

'Let's watch it,' said J-J. He handed Roddy the tape. 

Roddy pushed the tape into the VCR and pressed PWR. He turned on the television with a remote, set it to a blank channel, and pressed START on the VCR. The TV screen flickered. 

Roddy started to sit down, but at that moment the door opened and Roddy's father walked into the room. Roddy turned back to the tape machine and jabbed STOP. 

'Roddy, J-J, hi. You boys going to watch a movie?'

'Oh, ah, hi, uh, Dad. I thought this was you golf morning.'

'It's starting to rain, so I cancelled out and came home. What movie are you going to watch? Maybe I'll watch it with you guys.'

Roddy's dad walked toward the TV. 

Roddy pushed EJECT, pulled out the tape, bent over the box, and swapped 'Sex 1979' for another tape. 

'We were going to watch that one you saw last night, but we'll watch something else since you're here.'

'Let me pick one,' said Roddy's father. He reached into the box. 'Ah. Here's something I want you to see. I forgot this was here.'

He held up a tape. It was 'Sex 1979'.

'What's on this tape is something I know you boys will enjoy. And I think you will learn a few things by watching this. In fact you really need to watch it several times. There are some important lessons on this tape.'

J-J and Roddy looked at one another with raised eyebrows.

He handed Roddy the tape. 'Plug this in and let's watch it together. It's great.'

Roddy put the tape in the machine, pressed START, and sat down on the floor next to J.J. The TV screen flickered a few times, then went black and in a few seconds a title appeared in big white letters in the centre of the screen.

'SOX 1979.'

'This,' said Roddy's dad, 'is the entire Fairweather Red Sox 1979 season compressed into 90 fantastic minutes of highlights. 1979 was my last and best year in Little League. I played left field and batted 400 that year. You're getting ready to see a whole season of great ball.'

Roddy reached into his shirt pocket, eased out his cell phone, held it down where his dad couldn't see but J.J. could, and tapped the screen. J-J's cell phone began to ring. 

Roddy looked at J-J, winked, and turned back to the screen where a shot of the old Fairweather ball park had now appeared.

'Hi mom,' said J-J. A few seconds of silence. 'Sure,' said J-J. 'Can Roddy come too?'

He listened for a moment.

'My mom says she's going to the mall and wants to know if we want to go.'

'Can I go, dad?' said Roddy.

'Sure. You guys run along. I'm going to sit here and enjoy my glory days. You can watch it some other time.'

'That'll be great,' said Roddy.

'We'll be right there,' said J-J to his cell phone.


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## JimJanuary (Sep 16, 2012)

http://www.writingforums.com/writer...-lm-sex-tape-workshop-thread.html#post1558772


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## Gargh (Sep 16, 2012)

*The Sex Tape*


_
"Baz, we need to talk about Kevin."_

_"What about Kevin? Kids, house, that's your department, ain't it?"_

_"Not this time love, I think you need to speak to him."_

_"What then?"_

_"Well, I found this, this, tape."_

_"Let's have a look - heh heh - well, that's lads, innit?"_

_"But, he's a bit young, don't you think?"_

_"Nah, had loads of 'em at his age myself. Didn't do me no harm, it's what we do, ain't it? Can't stop boys bein' boys Margie."_

Marge sighed and went back upstairs to the cleaning. She couldn't expect him to understand. It was just so disappointing for her when she thought she'd brought Kevin up better. She'd got her hopes up lately, dared to believe he wouldn't turn out like his dad. Sure, he'd butch it up when Baz was around but as soon as he left for work they'd each settle down for the evening and watch movies or she'd do the ironing while he did his homework. It was becoming really companionable.

Turning the tape in her hands, she fixed her eyes on the label 'Private - sex tape - keep off!' written in his childish handwriting. Maybe it wasn't as bad as she thought? Maybe it was just some silly boyish porn... but no, she couldn't look, wouldn't invade his privacy like that, better put it back. She had to trust he was still her boy.



Kevin got back a bit late that afternoon and ran straight up to his room. Closing the door, he wedged his chair up against it and went straight to his wardrobe.

"_Kev, that you?"_

_"Yes Mum"_

_"Want anything to eat?"_

_"No Mum, I'm fine, just got some homework to get on with."_

He put some music on the stereo and cranked it up for some privacy. Groping around under his old clothes on the shelf, he found the envelope and slipped the tape out. He pushed it in and switched the television on, stripping down to his boxers as it flickered to life. He'd spent most of his day at school thinking about this.

A half-naked woman walked slowly on to the screen and uttered in a soft voice;

_'Today will be all about positions' _

Kevin bit his lip... so beautiful.

_'Let's start at the beginning. Heels together, toes pointing outward, arms in front and, of course, a nice straight back.'_

There. Assuming the position, Kevin sighed. What a fabulous dancer; He, in this body, couldn't even dare dream to be that good and, with a dad like his, there was even less hope of improvement. He'd never get him to understand, never mind support him! Well, he'd just have to keep practising when he could; He could no more stop this than breathing. Since catching a glimpse of the rehearsals for Nutcracker last week he hadn't been able to stop thinking about what it would be like to fly through the air like that. It looked so good. Determined, he kept practising; drumming a beat, over and over - _first, second, third, first, second, third._



Downstairs Marge sighed. All she could hear was the rhythmic movement from Kevin's room. Grabbing the remote, she turned the telly up again and tried to block it out. Slipping down on the sofa she tried to remember life before Baz, before she got pregnant. She'd been a dancer,  don't suppose Kevin even knew that. Baz certainly never mentioned it. Her life before their marriage was irrelevant to him. And, well, it was too painful for her to think of what she'd lost... better to focus on what she'd gained, Kevin. Kevin, who seemed further away every day. No, she wouldn't think like that. She had to hold on, he was still her boy, her baby boy, and she'd believe in him no matter what. There had to be hope for their future.


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## alanmt (Sep 17, 2012)

*Losing My Head 645 words*

*Note:  I posted this after the deadline; which I hadn't realized had passed.  Please read for pleasure, if you like, but do not judge.

Losing My Head
by alanmt
*
Three taps at the door; quiet, but not tentative. I know it’s her. I just do.

“Come in,” I say, not turning my head, still watching the computer screen.

She deserves better, I think. At least from me. College junior paying attention to new freshman. Theater/music student with expressive eyes and full lips coming to the dorm room of shy, serious computer science major who spends way too much time online gaming. But I can’t turn my head away from the monitor. 

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey hey,” she responds lightly. “What’re you watching?” 

I do not hear her light footsteps as she approaches, but the touch of her hand on my T-shirted shoulder makes me bite my lip. I shift my chair closer to the table so she cannot look down and see the physical effect she has on my too-rarely touched body.

“Ewww! Bugs!” She seems disgusted. “Why are you watching this?”

“Intro to Biology,” I lie. 

Actually, my R.A. told me to watch it. After he had seen us – her and me - chatting on the sidewalk outside the dorm. And by chatting I mean her making small talk, with a twist of flirtation, while I stammer awkwardly like a fool. She is in my Intro to Sociology class, along with another forty or so students. So she said hi, and asked about how I was doing an assignment.

“It” is a video on youtube. Two and a half minutes long. I am watching for the sixth time. In the last hour.

“What are they doing?” she leans over me, her tight sweater-covered breasts perilously close to my head, while the perfume that smells sickly sweet on my sister but smells somehow musky-desirable on her, like strawberries dipped in sex, spins a dizziness through me that eases my tense awkwardness.

“Mating.”

“Really?” She begins to almost absently rub my shoulder with her thumb through my t-shirt. “They’re so still. They look like they’re sleeping.” 

“The male must be feeling so good he doesn’t even want to move,” I say. I know exactly how he feels. Her thumb shifts to lightly rub the bare skin on the back of my neck. I exhale softly, trying to be cool, but oh my god that feels good. 

_“Saw you talking to Sara,” my R.A. said.
_
_“Yeah,” I replied. I was a bit surprised that he knew her, but it was a small liberal arts college, after all.
_
_“Be careful, bud,” he warned. “She eats guys like you for breakfast.”
_
On the video, the camera zooms in on the connection between the insects, their abdomens meeting.  The camera zooms out again, as the female almost casually shifts her body and reaches back to sink her jaws into the neck of the male. Her thumb digs into my neck. 

“What is she doing?” she asks.

“Biting his head off.”

Her sound of disgust is smaller this time, and only slightly conceals her fascination, her excitement.

“Whoa,” she says. Admiringly.

“I know,” I say.

“Turn around,” she commands. I do.

_“Try googling praying mantis sex,” my R.A. told me. “Watch the first video that comes up.”
_
She swivels my chair around and I jump up.

“I’m on my way to rehearsal, but thought I would stop by,”she says.

“I – I’m glad you did.” I stammer.

She starts to go, but turns back. Puts her hand on my neck. Pulls me in close. 

“Beautiful blue eyes,” she says. “I just love a guy with blue eyes and dark hair.”

And she’s gone. But she’ll be back. And we will have sex.

My R.A. is crazy. It’s not like she will literally bite my head off. Right? I just want her once. I don’t care what comes after. How bad could it really be?

Just once.

Behind me, on the screen, the praying mantis begins to eat her mate’s head.


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