1 post tagged “writing fiction training”
The woman stood with her hands on her hips, hair tussled and blowing as traffic blew past her on the side of the road. She watched with puzzlement as steam hissed from under the hood of the car, a mid-90s model sedan built somewhere in . She waved when she saw the break lights of my truck, indicating help was on its way. She stood approximately 5'6" with spiked heels which elongated her shapely calves. She had a full figure packed into a tight package, which was all clearly revealed by her low cut t-shirt and blue-jean mini skirt.
The day was hot and she was clearly flustered, by the heat and the broken-down vehicle. Mid-thirties, sandy brown hair and dark brown eyes lined with a black pencil. We looked over her car and made introductions. Her name was Maureen. She was headed out of town to visit a girl-friend. She leaned over her car and pushed her lips and breast forward. The details of her sexuality were overwhelming—and her damsel in distress act was doing the trick. "Thanks for stopping," she said with a slight southern accent. "I think it overheated, darn thing. Can you give me a ride into town?"
As we walked towards the truck, she leaned in taking an arm and said, "I really appreciate your help. I could have been standing her all day. I'm sure glad you stopped." Back on the road headed in the opposite direction, she turned on the radio and started flipping through the channels. "Hope you don't mind," she said, "I can't believe how hot it is today." We listened to the music with out saying much more for the next couple of minutes.
She started rummaging around in her purse, and then she stopped abruptly. "If you don't mind me saying," she said as a commercial for a local car dealer came over the speakers, "You look like you could get laid." She watched with predator-like fascination as the shock of her words filled the air. The words rippling like the waves of heat emanating from the road. She straightened her back and said, "I could do it, but you should know I don't do it for free. I'm a call girl." Silence clung to the moment, and then the radio announcer broke in with news of war overseas. Maureen sighed. "May I smoke?" she asked. The flame of her lighter flickered before she finished her question
Fine lines appeared around
her eyes that hadn't seemed to be there before. Her shoulders slouched slightly
as she sucked in smoke and seductively exhaled out the window. We arrived at
the service station several minutes later. As she climbed out the car, she
paused then leaned back in extending her hand. She pressed a card with her
number into my palm. "Thanks again for the lift, and please,
call if you change your mind." She shut the door, winked through the
window, and then walked away. Her hips shifting with each step, rippling like
the words and possibilities she just left in the truck behind her.
***This is a fiction writing exercise, any resemblance to anyone real or alive is simply synchronicity.***
