Novel & Cerita Realistic Fiction Stories

Nothing new. Then she felt it. Something thick and hard slowly grew against the soft fabric of her skirt. The man did not move away. Instead he pushed forward on purpose. His bulge rubbed up and down the crack of her ass with every sway of the train. Laila’s heart started racing. Heat rushed to her face. She had read stories about this exact thing late at night under her blanket touching herself to the thought of being used by a stranger on a crowded train. But now that it was real her legs started shaking. The man leaned closer, his warm breath tickled her ear.

Some stories started with hate. This one ended with everything.

Something that is not offensive but is a turn on both mentally and physically' 'Do you think that that story is true? 'I don't know, probably, but even if not its almost certain to be based around a real event, I know my stories always are.' 'You write. Where do you get the ideas?' 'As I've just said, my stories are embellishments of real events. Do you fantasise?' A little hesitancy but Julia answered 'Yes. Doesn't everyone' 'I certainly do. My fantasies are always about real people and start in actual situations I've been in. It's the same for my stories.'

I was once again forced to speak to the man who broke my heart into a million pieces… I stopped writing and frowned at my words. I shook my head and deleted it. I don’t want to write yet another post about Brian. I thought about something Joseph had said on the first day of class and I started to grow inspired. Trying again I wrote: What is fiction? What defines fiction? Does it count as fiction if you’ve never seen something? Just because you’ve never seen a unicorn, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It just means you’ve never seen it. The idea that there could be otherworldly creatures living amongst us is crazy to me because it’s always seemed like such fiction. But as I grow older, and I ex

ARCANE DELIGHTS I slowly close the journal, settle it in my lap and gaze at its black leather-bound cover. I rub its pebbled surface lightly, thinking. Only stories. These are only stories. Fantastical stories. A little more fantastical than I usually prefer, though well-written, by someone with a much greater command of the craft than I yet possess. The vivid characterization, meticulous attention to detail and a surreal sense of place makes me want to believe these stories happened, but I know they couldn’t have, and am ready to dismiss them as nothing more than fiction . . .

"Yeah, tell me 'cause I sleep halfway through even picture books." I sighed and leaned back on the chair. "I just like to lose myself in fiction to forget reality. You know, a reality where my life's too short to do stuff like they do in books. Or even in real life like falling in love, having children, growing old, finding some treasure in some remote island, murdering someone--- " "You can still do that, I'll help you hide the body," he suggested while waggling his eyebrows and because of his creepy expression, I laughed.

“I have. Multiple times. It still feels… unusual. But after four different talk therapists, two sex coaches, and more self-help books than I care to count, I am willing to try something that actually involves real touch.” I took my seat opposite her, keeping my body language open and unhurried. “Good. Then let us begin slowly. No pressure, no expectations beyond honesty. Tell me about the last time you were intimate with someone.” Lena drew in a breath and looked down at her hands. “It was three months ago. A colleague from the firm. We had dinner, went back to his place. The kissing was fine. His hands on me felt… okay. But the moment he tried to undress me completely, my mind started spinn

Why trees have higher chances to live longer than anyone like me. I am relaxing on a new sofa set and drinking coffee. I am enlightened by the knowledge of me. This is all the money that was saved last month. My calculations say great ideas come in prettier environments than in broken homes. I don't know the world's reality on this as I performed no proper research on it. But it stands true to me, just as your ornament of diamond suits you more than me, that's what loyalty to money is. Creating too much pressure on my mind is upsetting me. But I will be acceptable by the end of this coffee cup. I know this much of if very well; many writers were born in or around a coffee shop. Not necessari

it was an erotic story ,titled the hot kidnapper) I raise an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in my eyes. I push off from the desk and walk closer, my heels clicking on the floor. “A story, huh? You think you can just walk in here and write a tale for me? How about you show me what you’re made of first? Tell me, what’s your fantasy? What gets you going in the dark?” I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, my large breasts pressing against your arm. (Pushing the paper to you I ask you to read it aloud ,you cheeks turn a faint red as you try to explain you brought the wrong story,I press a finger to your lips shushing you and telling you to read, you read it all)

Because of this, I would like to point out that this story is not for the weak of stomach or faint of heart. You’d expect to find a story like this in the fiction aisle of your brick and mortar bookstore instead of the non-fiction section where it truly belongs, and that’s okay with me. In fact, I prefer it. It makes it easier to tell a story that I find unbelievable even though I lived through it when it’s formatted and touted as fictitious. I feel free sharing the details under the guise of make believe.