Craverrr
Story Crafter
About me
- Gender
- Male
- Birthday
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- Location
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- Homepage
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Get to know me better
- When I'm not writing erotica I like to
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- When I'm not reading erotica I like to read
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I don't read alot
- My favorite word for "penis" is
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- My favorite word for "vagina" is
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- I write erotica because
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I can.
- In conclusion, I am
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inconclusive
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B-day Runaway
Today was the day. I’d been torturing you for weeks. Every afternoon I’d come home from school and there you’d be - up on your ladder, painting the side of our house. I started finding excuses to be outside. I’d wear my cutest, shortest gym shorts and sports bra, stretching dramatically after soccer practice right where I knew you’d see me. I’d linger around while you packed up your truck, playing with my hair, talking about nothing, laughing at everything you said... holding your gaze. And you’d just look me in the eye and talk to me like I was your own daughter. Or dismiss me. Or ignore me. I knew it wasn’t easy for you. God, what a rush. But today was different. I stayed home from school. The late afternoon sun filtered through my curtains, kissing my bare shoulders and making my room glow. I was waiting on my yoga mat, wearing nothing but a damp towel. When I heard the muffled thump of your ladder near my window, my heart started to pound in my ears. I listened, waiting for you to reach the top. I pulled open the curtain. “Hey,” I said, going for a casual tone. You didn’t look. You were leaning out dangerously far to paint the gutter, focused and straining from the reach. I leaned against the windowsill. “So... I turned eighteen today.” You dipped your brush and kept working, never even offering me a glance. “No big party. Dad’s too embarrassed because the house is all torn up.” I stared. You painted. I laced my voice with a playful lilt. “He said he went to get your cash, so... like... it’s just me here. Us.” Still no reaction. “I need someone to help me celebrate!” You paused but didn’t look. “Aren’t there plenty of boys at school you could call for that?” I crossed my arms, irritation flaring. What the fuck? Are you calling me a slut, a child, or what? “... I thought there was going to be a man here today so I’d have no need for boys,” I threw my hands up. “Oh well! Guess I was wrong.” I went to slam the window shut. But your shoe slipped into the track, right at the last second. That must have hurt. You slid the window back open with your foot as you lowered yourself a couple rungs. You finally looked at me. “Celebrate how, exactly?” You asked. I shrugged indifferently. “I don’t know... whatever you want. I’m legal now, so... like... you don’t have to keep pretending you don’t notice me.” My voice was shaking. I could hear the tremor in it, and I hated how obvious it was. Your eyes narrowed. You spoke in a slow, deadpan voice. “You’re standing in your bedroom. In nothing but a towel. Telling a man twice your age that you’re legal and offering to...” you gesture toward me, “celebrate with him.” My pulse spiked. Heat rushed to my face. “That’s a very dangerous invitation, Zola.” “I know what I’m doing,” I shot back, lifting my chin. “I’m not a little girl anymore.” You leaned one arm against the window frame, your body casually hanging in the gap between ladder and window, studying me like some unpredictable creature. “No,” you chided, “you’re not. But you’re still acting like one. Pushing buttons just for fun, because you think nothing can touch you. You have no idea what you’re asking for.” A corruptive little chill ran up and down my spine. “Show me, then,” I whispered, lightly shivering. “I’m right here.” You looked at me for a long, heavy moment. The look in your eyes made me think of a bird of prey - calculated, restrained, and patient. “I think you’re in over your head, sweetie-” The curtain fluttered once on a soft breeze. I let the towel drop.
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Fortunate Envy
Meet a girl and see where it goes
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F(r)iend
The neighborhood is quiet and normal, innocent and . A supernatural power from outside of all safety and sanity is about to be unleashed.
