Short Stories For Adults Novels & Stories

“I have my moments.” We talk about everything except football—travel horror stories, worst interviews we’ve done (theirs are better than mine), the general absurdity of adult life. Harper tells a story about accidentally interviewing the wrong athlete at the Olympics—fifteen minutes in before anyone realized. Sloane talks about the time she got stuck in an airport for three days covering a story that fell through. I tell them about the teammate who thought “per diem” was a type of pasta. It’s easy. Natural. The kind of conversation that makes hours feel like minutes.

The library stood silent, its towering bookshelves casting long shadows under the dim overhead lights, a sanctuary of knowledge where I retreated to lose myself in words. I was introverted, my mind a labyrinth of intellect, but beneath my reserved exterior simmered a curiosity about my own hidden fantasies—erotic encounters in quiet, public spaces, a thrill I’d explored before with lovers past. My skirt brushed my thighs as I moved, a book in hand, the rustle of pages masking the quickening of my breath as I imagined being caught in passion here.

"And we're not actually a family complication. We're just two adults who fell for each other." "An unconventional relationship." "Very unconventional," he agreed. "But some of the best things are."

My library professor whose deep commanding voice made my thighs clench during lectures. The man I’d fantasized about bending me over these very tables and fucking me senseless until I can’t remember my name. I opened the book, and the dedication page read: For those who crave quiet darkness.” My breath hitched. I flipped to the next page and started reading. “She knelt before him in the silence of stacks, skirts pushed high, panties already soaked. “Read it out,” He ordered. “Every filthy word, while I taste how wet you’ve become for me.”

His rolled up sleeves reveal the thick veins in his forearms, and the scent of him, that woodsmoke and sharp musk, seems to drift across the rows of desks, clogging my lungs. "Most writers fail because they are afraid to feel," Professor Tyler begins, his eyes snapping back to mine for a split second before moving on. "They describe a scene like a blueprint. But a story is not a blueprint. It is an experience. If you want your reader to bleed, you have to describe the coldness of the blade. If you want them to burn, you have to make them feel the heat of the skin."

“Well, I did create a million fantasies with you when I was like fourteen or fifteen.” “Sexual fantasies?” “Nah, I was too young to think about that. More like love and romance fantasies.” “How do you mean?” “Like I have always wanted to get married to a Mafia leader and I know that they are propellers of dark romance and I am soooo into dark romance.” The more she spoke, that more attractive she became to me and she was just so admirable. “I love when you talk.” She held her hand to her mouth, blushing hard.

Was it contagious? “Dated this guy for five years and he goes poof on me one day with everything I worked for throughout my college days. Tried to be a big girl and face it but two months later, I was evicted out of my apartment and I ran crying to my mama. They put me in therapy immediately like I was fourteen and not twenty-five.” She laughed lightly, but I could tell she was far from amused. “Therapy or not, how does one ever recover from something like that?” True.

The extended family dinner at the sprawling suburban house in suburban Chicago was hitting its fourth hour. Thanksgiving leftovers were being reheated, football highlights blared from the living-room TV, kids chased each other through the hallway, and the adults were deep into their third round of wine and stories about “the old days.” The dining table was still crowded with half-empty casserole dishes, cranberry sauce stains, and crumpled napkins.

Girl wakes feeling sweaty and sticky in motel with her dad. SUMMARY: This is a short story about Ellie and her father who are staying overnight in a very hot motel room near New Orleans. The girl wakes in the middle of the night feeling sweaty, sticky and... aroused. She can't help what happens next. All characters in this story are 18 years or older. Enjoy.. ****** 1 -- Ellie]

She was going to ask her to assign the story to her. Robert and Stella were in Stella’s office. The two were going through some of the articles submitted by other workers to see which stories would sell. After seeing how successful Robert had been in his last three articles, Stella had considered his opinions important and once in a while sought his advice. “This story by Jenny is good, but we can change its angle a little bit. Focusing on the human angle will make it reach the audience. people love reading about what affects them,” Robert said. “I thought so. That is why I set aside those stories,” Stella said, setting up two cups of coffee for both of them. It was cold outside, and it was