Doc Sherwood
Bio
Stories (563)
Filter by community
The Girls From Space, Chapter Four
Dylan’s smart-missiles, configured exclusively for Harbin’s distinctive dark-light hide, bore down on their mark who withdrew the lethal spear intended for Auntie Green and vaulted heavenward instead. Jangling backwash from the sweep of his cape tipped Mini-Flash Meek in her impregnable sphere over onto her head again, though even from beneath her boots and knickers she kept up a persistent pattern of counterpoint to the other’s gloomy dissonance. Auntie Green, whose old bones were good for round two at the very least, thought once more how oddly garbled and oddly regular were the girl’s unremitting cries.
By Doc Sherwood3 years ago in Fiction
Thanks, Morgan
Morgan was lazily scratching the backs of her long legs with a ballpoint pen. She was the first thing I saw when I shyly stepped out into her garden after undressing, and that slow stroking action alone was starting to make my head spin. We were both down to our underwear, white cotton limpid in the dusk, but the high black hedges surrounding Morgan’s house guaranteed privacy. Though it was evening, there was still enough light in the late June sky for us to see each other.
By Doc Sherwood4 years ago in Fiction
The Birthday Battle, part three
“You shouldn’t poke it out so much then,” Jenny replied. “My serve!” I felt utterly defeated. She was right – nothing was ever going to hurt a girl in that way, just like no girl was ever going to be bothered in a PE lesson by what she had to carry around in her underwear. But I knew I couldn’t give up, so got ready for Jenny’s serve, feeling a pang of panic as I remembered she only needed one more volley to win. Doubtless Jenny saw the flicker of anxiety that crossed my face at this thought.
By Doc Sherwood4 years ago in Fiction
The Birthday Battle, part two
I should have known what I was letting myself in for, since it wasn’t even like I’d never played Jenny at tennis before. It was just I’d somehow decided the honour of boys everywhere rested on the outcome of this mixed-singles match. That was how I came to be scampering round the tennis court in Jenny’s garden this late birthday afternoon before tea, trying hard to keep up with her, for although younger than me she was very good at this game indeed.
By Doc Sherwood4 years ago in Fiction
