spicing up the news room

While going through some old papers recently, I stumbled upon a gag some of my old co-workers and I had while we worked at our college newspaper. My senior year, before the holidays, my friends and I decided to try our hands out at writing romance novels. And being competitive, we made it a contest.

I'm posting the entries we came up with. My submission is in there somewhere. Feel free to take a guess.

WARNING: As this was a romance writing contest, there is some content that should not be read by the faint of heart. I'm going to go ahead and give this post an NC-17 rating, for sexuality and language. Otherwise, enjoy!

**********

Congratulations on being selected to participate in the first ever Daily Nebraskan Romance Story Contest Extravaganza. With your efforts, you have made this activity a success. Well done.

Hopefully, we can leave behind a legacy of future contest participants who will continue to promote these great principles of writing.

Enclosed you will find the works of you and your fellow participants.

The rules for this contest are as follows:
1. We all use the same first line as a prompt for our story and setting (keep in mind it's a romance story, so it should be good).
2. Anything else goes. You can talk about quivering members and nipples till the vicar comes home (or even after if you fancy).
3. 500 word max. We're journalists, let's be brief.
4. We will share whatever we have done post-budget Thursday evening at 9 p.m.
5. There must be at least one other character to help "Patience" out.

Here are the prompts (courtesy of the book Johnny bought for Laura):

• Title: "Naughty by Nature"
• Setting: October 1808, Cheshire, England
• First line: "Patience Rose Farnaly was rebellious, opinionated and prone to lie."

So with that final note, please enjoy the submissions, in the order in which they were submitted to our judge. Thank you all for your participation and God Bless.


Version 1

Patience Rose Farnaly was rebellious, opinionated and prone to lie.

This was standard, because she was a woman, a creature that is known to be devoid of logic and reasoning.

Oh, and Patience was actually a man, which makes her an intense liar of sorts.

This was an important fact Longballs O’Cocksmith was unaware of when he picked her up for their first tryst.

They went dining, dancing. They ate food and fondled each other. Later they would do the opposite.

“This was a ravishing meal,” said O’Cocksmith with quivering anticipation.

“Yes, it was,” said Farnaly, who was actually thinking about ravishing O’Cocksmith with her not-so-genuine member.

O’Cocksmith was thinking the same, only his involved thrusting, licking and gallivanting his prominent manhood into the vapid, onerous spaces of Farnaly. Too bad all he’d expect was docking.

Their afternoon excursion came to a close around 4 p.m. when they decided to go to a movie. If you asked them now, they wouldn’t remember the name, but they would remember the two hours of excruciatingly amazing foreplay.

The foreplay would eventually lead to abject horror.

But nonetheless, they went to the movie. During an intimate scene where the bear discovers he is not alone in the big, scary forest, Farnaly made her move. She caressed the thigh of O’Cocksmith, moving higher and higher while matching her hand to the happy-go-lucky soundtrack of the movie-bear reuniting with his rabbit friend.

Farnaly wanted to procreate like a rabbit.

O’Cocksmith moaned as her hand moved closer to his jujubes. He grabbed “her” face and pulled it toward his, licking the insides of her frail mouth while her tongue caressed his. Their teeth clicked from the passion of smashing against one another.

Her hand met his rigid hospitality. His rigid hospitality welcomed her hand.

She pulled up his shirt and kissed his stomach, licking her vacuous tongue all over his flamboyant happy trail.

He moaned slightly, trying not to disturb the family of seven Methodists sitting four rows in front.

She unzipped his fly, grasping his unflaccid ramrod in her hands and then inserting it into her eating orifice. He moaned louder, this time offering a faint sound of extreme pleasure: “Fuck!”

Farnaly cupped his cranberries and occasionally popped one in her mouth, all the while stroking his burgeoning anticipation.

He pumped harder and harder, smacking her uvula like a piston in an engine, only with less oil and more spit. She gagged, throwing up a little on his beckoning empathy. He did not mind because it only added to the lubricity.

At the moment the movie-bear found his family and discovered he was a king, O’Cocksmith shouted: “Fuck me raw!”

His crescent moon fulminated in her mouth with a fierce intensity like LeBron James shoots a layup.

He lay there, gasping, while she leaned back, gulping.

He grabbed for her womanliness only to find another wistful anticipation.

O’Cocksmith sighed, shook his head, and left the theater with haste, for he was not homosexual.

“Fuck!”


Version 2

Patience Rose Farnaly was rebellious, opinionated and prone to lie.

And she had no qualms with telling the soon-to-be vicar she was a virgin. She enjoyed the way he tried his best to maintain eye contact as she stood before him, her breasts uncovered, as he hid the fact that his britches had become painfully taught.

Knowing he was the true innocent made Patience’s conquest all the more satisfying. Ravaging the man of God would certainly be the single-most thrilling moment in her 18 years of life.

She knew just what to say. “I whole-heartedly give myself to you before you turn yourself over to a life with God so you can experience the pleasure of flesh once without regret.”

Howard Franklin Addison couldn’t mask his astonishment as her breasts pressed against his bare, muscular chest. Never in his life had he felt anything so enticing, and all thoughts of sermons and scriptures vacated his mind.

He hadn’t experienced the sweet touch of a woman’s flesh in far too long.

Though he had come to the barn to escape the temptation standing before him, he knew what he had to do. God had presented him with an opportunity and a sign, and he knew he must indulge.

He could never enter his work with the Lord with a clear heart after this, but Howard knew their mutual fulfillment would be worth the sacrifice.

Howard lifted his hand to cup her soft breast lightly with his palm, putting his other hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer. Her chin lifted as his mouth descended to hers in a rough mating of the tongues. Her womanhood flushed with heat as she anticipated the mating of their parts as well.

A soft moan escaped her throat as Patience’s fingers intertwined in his black hair. Her other hand traveled down his hard chest, hesitating at the waist of his pants a moment before it wandered under his belt. She grabbed his manhood and squeezed it, earning a husky groan from the vicar.

Knowing he was too close to the crucial moment already, Howard allowed her to undo his pants while he pulled the hem of her dress above her smooth hips.

He lifted Patience up, pressing her back to the wood of the wall, as her legs wrapped around his waist, ready to take him into her being. Howard tore his lips away from hers to take her breast into his hot mouth, sending waves of pleasure through her body.

Howard entered her sheath hard and pumped furiously, giving both what they desired. He passed the point where her maidenhead would have been and knew she had lied. But that mattered little to him as a scream escaped Patience’s mouth and he let out his own roar as they found fulfillment together.

“You weren’t a virgin,” Howard said gruffly, as he set her feet back on the ground and pulled her into his embrace. “But then again, neither was I.”


Version 3

Patience Rose Farnaly was rebellious, opinionated and prone to lie.

Her seemingly overwhelming emotional complexity was merely a façade for her innate, underlying instincts.  Atop her list were merely three things in life: a hot bath, a warm meal and Daemon Pierce — not necessarily in that order. For her, right now, she had nothing more to grasp than fleeting memories of mystic summer nights spent in his Ontario cabin — memories that had been haunting her to this moment, while she was with her boyfriend.

Michael's foreskin extended far from his tip, and hung down like an oversized raincoat on a small child. She didn't mind blowjobs; she had actually became quite accustomed to the practice. Men realize quickly, she fathomed, that a woman ought only be expected of so much in regard to pleasure-giving — haven't having a member of their own to grasp the concept (and the physicality) proves difficult in understanding the art of pleasure.

Nothing but these thoughts were in her head during the ordeal. It was a chore; a task needing completing to save their relationship. It was awful.

All she could think about was her first night with Daemon in the Canadian countryside. They ran around all day in the wilderness, stopped only by a light spring rain; they ran back to Daemon's cabin, soaking wet.

Daemon led Patience into the laundry room to dry their clothes. He slipped off his shirt first, shaking his head vigorously to rid it of water. His hair shined the light shone through the sole windowsill in the dark room. Her heart beat so loudly, Patience was afraid he'd hear it. Daemon unbuttoned her blouse and, without removing his gaze into her eyes, dropped it into the dryer. He caressed the intricate patterns on her bra with the tips of his fingers as she raised her left hand and grazed the knuckles of her fingers on his cheek. Her other hand was less innocent.

She could feel the veins run from the hairy base up to the tip. She fell to her knees. Her tongue extended, barely touching the tip — her heart raced; she was afraid if she went any further, she'd become so fluttery she'd fall over dead and go to Heaven — if she wasn't already there, she thought.

She curled up her tongue underneath him, and slowly put more and more pressure on it. Daemon quivered – his breathing was deeper than an ocean. He picked her up by her legs, upside down, and stuck his tongue inside of her, with her feet dangling in the air. They held each other so close, they could hardly breath.

He laid her atop the laundry machine, and went inside her. The vibrations of their intercourse were even more powerful than the dryer running next to them. She couldn't take her hands off his chest, and started squeezing his shoulders as she climaxed — he felt the sensation, too, and for the first time in her life, she and her partner orgasmed together.


Version 4

Patience Rose Farnaly was rebellious, opinionated and prone to lie.

Which was probably a bad thing to be since she was the editor in chief of the Weekly Nebraskan.

It was late and a few choice people were still at the office.

The news editor, Jonathan Perrey, Jaynold Carls and Chucksanne Lipstan stood in the printing room, pressing sheets of paper against ink blocks.

Then everything changed with a bolt of lightning. In an instant, a machine appeared in the middle of the newsroom. A man stepped out.

“Hello. I am H.G. Wells,” he said.

Wells convinced them to come with him the future as their descendants were in desperate need of help.

“Descendants!?” gasped Patience, holding her hand to her chest. The thought of which of the two men she might … you know … with left her breathless.

“I know this might blow the space-time continuum, but the future of the world depends on it,” Wells said.

The four were convinced and stumbled into the time machine. A second later, they were in 2007 standing in the middle of a dark college newsroom. Patience stepped back, scared by strange, glowing boxes stacked on tables. Jonathan held her arm so she wouldn’t fall down.

She looked up at him and blushed a deep crimson.

“What are we doing here?” Chucksanne asked.

“Your descendants can’t get into the newsroom because it’s covered with a sheet of ice,” Wells said. “They cannot put out a paper, and if they miss a day, their reputation will be ruined.”

They set to work. Wells showed them how to use the new-fangled equipment and told him he’d be back for them later.

“I have a kingdom to save in the year 556!”

Chucksanne and Jaynold went to the back room, where they put together the students’ hard work. Patience and Jonathan stayed in the newsroom, putting stories in the system. But their sense of curiosity was such that they decided to explore the newsroom’s various oddities.

After various poking arounds, they accidently locked themselves in a small room with a couch and two of the light boxes. After calling for help for, they gave up, sat down on the couch and sulked.

Chucksanne and Jaynold didn’t hear their cries because they had already been sucked into throws of passion. In this world, there seemed to be no consequences to any actions. They held each other’s scantily clad bodies, rolling among sheets of newspapers.

In the break room, Patience sat closer to Jonathan, wondering if he would ever love her. She felt his eyes on her. She touched her glasses at three precise points, a nervous habit. In a minute he was on top of her. The blue couch creaked beneath their rocking motions.

The next morning, H.G. Wells had still not arrived. The general manager of the school paper walked into the conference room in a hilarious sweater.

“Um, you all need to clean up this mess. And don’t tape things to the walls.”


Version 5

Patience Rose Farnsley was rebellious, opinionated and prone to lie.

That wasn't the kind of attitude that the quiet, self-respecting residents of Cheshire much liked. At the end of a cold, dreary November, Patience swore she would find someone - anyone - before the bells of the new year.

But tonight was Christmas Eve night. Every promise to herself, every lie-tinged web of distrust that Patience had weaved that year was as obscure in her mind as the fuzzy image of the childrens' white winter snowman in the front yard, peeking through falling snow as she tucked into bed. 

Like many on this anticipation filled holiday, Rose awoke too early. The moon still shone as she made her way past the tree for a glass of water, Christmas contentment deep in her soul.

As she made her way back, she made out the round shadow behind the tree.

Afraid but oddly curious at the mystery figure, she approached. A deep voice reached out and stopped her cold.

"And what would you like for Christmas, little girl?"

She stammered, paused. All she wanted, really, was what she dreamed of every night, lying alone in bed, stewing in hate. She wanted love.

They were alone. This was as good a time as any. She couldn't resist the voice, so deep, so loving; she could almost hear the … the wanting. Her heart opened up.

"Love. I want love."

The figure emerged. His suit of red and long, flowing white beard struck Rose in a new, new way. She had to act now.

"I want … I want you."

"Patience Rose Farnsley, that wish I can grant, but you should be aware…"

"Anything!" The voice was pulling her in; the lady in her was overcome and she burst with ill-conceived energy. She knew it was time.

"Patience, so many want only my body. There are too many lonely people in the world. Perhaps you've met old mister Swartzlander down the street…" the voice trailed off with fond nostalgia. "I don't do commitment, Patience."

Patience was too rebellious for commitment. She moved closer to him, taking his round bicep in her arms, slowly massaging the cotton at the top of his red cap before nonchalantly throwing it to the ground. They spoke no words as their lips moved closer…

With a flick of his fingers, her nightgown lay neatly boxed and wrapped in the far corner. Their lips met; his round little nose glowed.

"Ho, ho, ho," he whispered. And his hands did merry, merry, terrible things.

Caresses led where caresses do; she couldn't resist - she tasted of fudge and fruitcake, no matter where her lips ventured. She collapsed at the end, in his jolly arms. His nose slowly flashed berry red and mistletoe green.

He rose without a word, the pain of a thousand Christmastime hookups on his weathered old soul.

"Saint Nicholas doesn't forget, Patience."

"Goodbye, big papa Christmas."

"Goodbye."

And with that, he bowed slightly and shot up the chimney.


Version 6

Patience Rose Farnaly was rebellious, opinionated and prone to lie.

That's how she found herself in the garden shed waiting for the stable boy.

The stable boy, Gustav, was not particularly well-liked by her father, who claimed the boy was a sexual deviant. Her mother agreed but was quite fond of the boy's good table manners.

Patience didn't care. She yearned to know the things he could teach her. She had grown tired of her adolescent lovers. They were young and too frightened by her enthusiasm to put it in her.

Patience had heard of Gustav's raw lust for her from the other girls in town and stories of their own escapades with the mysterious foreigner.

Despite her name, Patience had no inclination to wait any longer – it was her turn to be pleasantly punished by the dashing Ukrainian.

She told her parents she was going to call on Charlotte down the road and slipped out the back door. Instead of walking down the cobblestone thoroughfare, however, she took the garden path past the menagerie and sauntered to the shed where she knew Gustav would she tiptoed past the lavender and lilac bushes, full bloom in June, ripe with their sumptuous scent and ready to be plucked.

She lifted the iron latch on the door of the shed and crept inside. The shed was full of the musk of earth and moss, and Patience thought wistfully of Gustav. She longingly caressed her loins, imagining his presence, his strong cock pushing deep inside her, touching her as she never could herself.

Patience worked herself into a frenzy, watching the sun set through a crack in the wooden planks of the shed’s rustic walls and wondering when Gustav would happen upon her, writhing in the foliage that lined the dusty floor.

She moaned softly as finger banged herself. She dreamt of intimately fondling Gustav and guiding him inside the soft warm abyss between her legs. Patience’s toes curled, and the beads of sweat that had collected on her face rolled down her cheeks. She tasted sweat on her lips.
Suddenly Patience heard Gustav’s footsteps outside the door, and she felt her dewy poon as she waited for him to open the door and find her there on the floor, ready to be taken.

Gustav’s eyes fell on Patience’s supple breasts. Bending down to touch her milky skin, there stirred within him the primal urge to penetrate her tight little pish. Wild with lust for Patience, Gustav ripped open his tattered work shirt. He pulled Patience to him, and after she removed his remaining clothing, she took him inside her and gave him the hot pleasure she had prepared for during her wet, solitude that evening.

She wondered silently if he liked pie.  


Version 7

Patience Rose Farnaly was rebellious, opinionated and prone to lie.

But the 18-year-old English girl did more than offer the occasional fib. More often than not, her slanderous speech was directed toward the sexual orientation of whichever boy caught her fancy.

As Patience had found throughout high school, calling a crush “gay” or “fag” inevitably provoked the boy to do whatever it took to prove he fancied women. On three separate occasions, Patience gleaned a long kiss from her aspired lovers behind the schoolhouse, but never more than that. The limited experiences had slowly made the teenager bitter toward the full sexual experience, but left her more determined than ever to find out what it was like.

One afternoon, Patience found a boy who was quite agreeable in mind and features. Timothy was his name, and he held about him an aura of someone who would make something out of himself one day. Particularly appealing to Patience was his flexible nature and tanned, muscular arms. He was a transfer student from London, and thus was blissfully unaware of Patience’s history of shenanigans.

On that fateful second Thursday in August, Patience tried in passing to comment regarding his preference for other boys. As if sensing Patience’s true intentions, Timothy turned to her and smiled a smile that melted her heart.

“If I were interested in boys,” Timothy grinned, “I wouldn’t find you so dashing right now.”

Two minutes later, down by the old tool shed behind the schoolhouse, the pair began to engage in a behavior strictly forbidden by the schoolhouse master. Patience knew they had time to indulge in intercourse before anyone would notice, but Timothy seemed reluctant to make a move beyond the tender kisses he offered.

With this thought in mind, Patience began to undo the knot on Timothy’s britches. The London boy withdrew temporarily, looked Patience in the eye, then unleashed a fury of kisses upon her bosom.

From there, everything became a blur. For the first time, Patience saw firsthand what made a man a man. Timothy’s dillywacker lay fully exposed and ready to take its prize. The girl was more than happy to oblige, and within moments her anticipation transformed into a pain then, quickly, a satisfaction beyond what she could have imaged. The last thing she remembered before passing into a state of complete ecstasy was that this boy wasn’t a homosexual after all.


Version 8 (WINNER)

Patience Rose Farnaly was rebellious, opinionated and prone to lie.  

She and her dashing husband James Famaly were amongst the higher echelon of London aristocracy.  Their extravagant wealth stemmed from his countless years of service in His Majesty's honorary protective service.  Though this job provided a gifted lifestyle for the two, James was often called away for extended periods of time, leaving Patience alone in their mansion.  

And that was exactly how she liked it.

One day she couldn't take it anymore—she needed to feel the warm touch of a man gently brush her hair out of her face, slide down her bare shoulder and caress over her erect nipples.  
She called upon her stable boy, Pepe, a 17-year-old Spanish immigrant with a supple yet strong physique, speaking not one word of English. Their unrequited passion needed no words, only vigorous thrusting motion.     

 She told him she had just finished her afternoon horse ride and had become hot and bothered as a result.  Hence, in her weakened state she was unable to untie the intricate lacings of her confining corset and required an extra pair of hands. He arrived in the stable post haste.   Due to blistering heat from the summer sun, Pepe began to get hot and unbuttoned his shirt as he ran, exposing his glistening chest and his mocha tan. 

Upon his arrival, Patience said, "Oh, I've been waiting for you.  Now that I've had my ride, it's time for you to have yours".  

With that, unable to control their animalistic desire, Pepe ripped off the corset, revealing Patience's voluptuous bosom which was now heaving uncontrollably, causing immediate rigor mortous to his now throbbing member.  He threw her down upon a bed of hay.  Once settled, Patience slowly spread her long quivering legs, as Pepe kneeled whilst removing his slacks.  Being but a naïve, virginal child Pepe was unsure of the next action to take.  Aware of his nerves, Patience guided his throbbing manhood into her void that could only be filled with some saucy Spanish loving.   

Almost instinctively, Pepe proceeded to thrust with vigor.  With each thrust, Patience let out a cry of ecstasy accompanied by a groan of pleasure, letting Pepe know he was doing a job well done.
  
It was the most passionate moment of her life.

Two years later, James returned to the not-so-modest estate.  Upon his arrival, he was greeted by his wife, but in her arms, was something that made his blood run cold.  A young infant with a distinct mocha complexion lay sleeping in a cashmere blanket.  

His wife said, "I'm sorry my love, I guess I got a little Latin in me."


Epilogue

 Jonathon stood with his wife on their building’s rooftop and he thought that she had never looked prettier.  The sun setting behind her set her hair aglow like a halo and at that moment he saw her as an angel.

He studied her face, so beautiful in the fading light.  He remembered the sensation of kissing her lips for the first time and how for days afterward the very thought of her touch and her presence made him the happiest man in the world.

He remembered taking her to bed years ago, how they slowly explored each other for the first time.  Her hands were so soft, so loving.

Their love had blossomed, days of passion grew into weeks which grew into months and then years.  They had spent hours just staring at each other, their eyes locked together with love, somehow more intimate than anything else they could share.

There on the rooftop, twelve stories from the street below, he immediately regretted sleeping with her sister.  It was only one time, he tried to explain, they were drunk.  They were stupid.

But her eyes were stones now, they were sharp stones and they dug into him painfully and they did not stop.  When she put her hands on his shoulders, her grip was gentle and careful and he thought that things could improve.  When she pushed, sending him over the side and into the concrete below, he did not know what to think.

There on the street, a bloody broken mess, he thought he felt a single drop of rain strike his cheek.  But he could see the sky above, it was clear, nothing but a mix of oranges and blues shielding the stars.

It wasn’t rain, he realized, it was a tear.  “Was it mine… or hers?”